сердце живет в груди солнцем, сжигающим суть.
Мой поводырь оказался лжецом.
Где же теперь закончится путь?
Когда я смогу отдохнуть?
Но знай, что гибнуть в твоих руках
мне все же легче, чем жить одной.
Воскреснуть в пепле твоих шагов
мне было трудно, любимый мой.
И если встретиться суждено,
то западня пустых лиц не в счет.
Только бы время позволило вырвать
из тлена хотя бы еще один год.
Утро растащит опять нас по разным углам.
Пропасть лежит между жизнью и мной.
Но греть ладони в холодной земле
мне рано, пока есть потребность в тепле.

Я всегда твердил, что судьба - игра.
Что зачем нам рыба, раз есть икра.
Что готический стиль победит, как школа,
как способность торчать, избежав укола.

Я считал, что лес - только часть полена.
Что зачем вся дева, раз есть колено.
Что, устав от поднятой веком пыли,
русский глаз отдохнет на эстонском шпиле.

Я сижу у окна. За окном осина.
Я любил немногих. Однако - сильно.
Я сижу у окна. Я помыл посуду.
Я был счастлив здесь, и уже не буду.
Я сижу у окна.

Я писал, что в лампочке - ужас пола.
Что любовь, как акт, лишена глагола.
Что не знал Эвклид, что, сходя на конус,
вещь обретает не ноль, но Хронос.

Я сказал, что лист разрушает почку.
И что семя, упавши в дурную почву,
не дает побега; что луг с поляной
есть пример рукоблудья, в Природе данный.

Я сижу у окна. Вспоминаю юность.
Улыбнусь порою, порой отплюнусь.
Я сижу у окна, обхватив колени,
в обществе своей грузной тени.
Я сижу у окна.

И моя песнь была лишена мотива,
но зато ее хором не спеть. Не диво,
что в награду мне за такие речи
своих ног никто не кладет на плечи.

Гражданин второсортной эпохи, гордо
признаю я товаром второго сорта
свои лучшие мысли и дням грядущим
я дарю их как опыт борьбы с удушьем.

Я сижу у окна в темноте; как скорый,
Я сижу в темноте. И она не хуже
в комнате, чем темнота снаружи.
Я сижу у окна.

Ты знаешь, сколько мне лет,
И я за это плачу.
А если нужно сказать,
То я скажу, не смолчу.
Ты не изменишь меня.

Не прикрывайся ничем,
Когда ты спишь не со мной.
И делай пассы другим,
Но у меня за спиной.
Ты не обидишь меня.

Годы - реки.
Люди - пароходы.
За тобой.
Сердце - в небо.
Стану смелой.
За тобой.

Жалей других, для меня
Побереги свою злость.
Не можешь - так уходи.
Искалось, но не звалось.
Я не забуду тебя.

Годы - реки...

Услышу плеск в камышах,
Увижу чьи-то следы.
Не дотяну до воды.
Не дотяну до воды.

Годы - реки...

Тексты песен | Тексты песен Metallica - Текст песни Better Than You



Тексты песен | Тексты песен Metallica - Текст песни ...And Justice For All



Тексты песен | Тексты песен Metallica - Текст песни Battery

Тексты песен | Тексты песен Ночные Снайперы - Текст песни Время Года Зима

Любовь - это то от чего ты улыбаешься, даже когда устал.

Настоящая любовь - подобна жизни, дается раз и навсегда!

Одно лишь слово "люблю" сможет перевернуть весь мир.

Любовь - это то, что не выразишь ни одним словом. Так что знай, если такие признаки есть, ты нашел самое дорогое золото в своей жизни. Смотри не потеряй его!!!

Любовь это такое состояние души, когда жить не можешь без любимого, он необходим как воздух, как жизнь и миг разлуки с ним кажется вечностью...

Влечение души порождает дружбу. Влечение ума порождает уважение. Влечение тела порождает страсть и желание. Совмещение трех влечений порождает любовь. Вот оно истинное чувство!

Проснувшись утром - разбиваешься об лед
Однажды утром - стук сердца замрет

не греет солнца свет давно
живу я в грусти и печали
ведь не хватает лишь его
и взор идет в пустые дали...

.......

Love of my life, you hurt me,
You broken my heart, now you leave me.

Love of my life can't you see,
Bring it back bring it back,
Don't take it away from me,
Because you don't know what it means to me.

Love of my life don't leave me,
You've taken my love now desert me,

Love of my life can't you see,
Bring it back bring it back,
Don't take it away from me,
Because you don't know what it means to me.

You will remember when this is blown over,
And everything's all by the way,
When I grow older,
I will be there by your side,
To remind you how I still love you
I still love you.

Back hurry back,
Please bring it back home to me,
Because you don't know what it means to me.

Love of my life,
Love of my life

Давно исчез за горизонтом твой карам,
Мою мечту разбили волны о причал, 
Ты посмотрел в мои глаза и на прощание сказал:
Я ничего тебе не обещал! 
Всего пять слов и в целом мире я одна,
Не надо верить было в сказку про любовь.
Морской вокзал, пустой причал, я ничего не обещал…
Твои слова я повторяю вновь и вновь.
Не забуду тебя никогда,  Мою боль успокоят года,
   И в ночной тишине, только во сне Ты прикоснешься ко мне.

ты для меня все
О чем можно мечтать
За что можно страдать
Солнце мое
Ты для меня все
За что можно жизнь отдать
Только б не потерять
Счастье свое
Ты вечной вселенной секрет
Ты таинство бытия
Я буду любить тебя
Пока не померкнет свет
Ты не просто любовь земная моя

Он сказал: "Я устал".

И его не вернуть.

Ты считаешь до 100,

Ты мечтаешь уснуть.

Ты считаешь до 100,

100 случайных имен,

А тебе надо спать и не думать о нем,

Твоя лодка пуста

У чужих берегов.

Ты считаешь до ста.

100 рассветных снегов.

Эта тема проста,

Ты же знаешь как быть.

Надо просто до 100 досчитать и забыть,

НА-ВСЕ-ГДА.

4 5 6 7 8 ......

100 бессонных ночей

В лабиринтах любви.

100 случайных ключей,

А в итоге нули.

100 друзей, 100 врагов.

Сто растаявших льдин.

Забывай про него. 101, 101.

Забывай про него, забывай навсегда,

НА-ВСЕ-ГДА.

59, 60, 61, 62 .....

Не свернёшь,
Sorry, все стёрли
А ему все равно 
Голубой-голубой
Шарик будет лететь
Без тебя и с тобой
Не вернёшь,
Sorry, все стёрли...стерли...стееерлиииии

nothing ...

просто так ) хоть как-то поднять настроение

Я устал от одинаковых писем
И если нам не быть вместе
Я нарисую в воздухе сердце - пусть растает
Растворится в тумане осеннем
И в холодное воскресенье
Меня любовь навсегда оставит

Я не умру без твоей любви,
Но только что-то болит в груди -
Наверное, сердце мое не хочет тебя терять.
Я не умру без твоей любви
Прошу, ты только одно пойми:
Я буду помнить тебя всегда и ждать.

Разговоры ни к чему не приводят
Незаметно горечь уходит
И ненужным кажется все, что было
И минуты последней встречи
Забываются, и уже легче
Понимать, что сердце давно остыло, остыло…

Я не умру без твоей любви,
Но только что-то болит в груди -
Наверное, сердце мое не хочет тебя терять.
Я не умру без твоей любви
Прошу, ты только одно пойми:
Я буду помнить тебя всегда и ждать.

И тогда решила я...  буду куклой

Пластмассой холодной,

не чувствовать боли,

И быть безразличной ко всем,

словно море,

Забыть, что такое любовь и разлука,

Я буду Барби – стервой и сукой…

_________________________________

Tu mi manchi, amore mio
e mi manchi come quando cerco Dio
ho bisogno di te
di averti ancora qui con me

____________________________

У околицы Земли, возле самого рассвета
Запах скошенного лета, поцелуи без конца.
Разве можно позабыть, все что прожито и спето
И оставить без ответа бабьи слезы у крыльца?

Припев:
Ты лети голубок в поднебесную высь
Ты лети голубок на все стороны
Но смотри не вернись, но смотри не вернись
Черным вороном.

Все прощается в любви, искупается любовью.
Очищается любовью, как полуденной грозой.
Можно клясться на крови, можно врать, не двинув бровью,
То чего не смоешь кровью, бабьей смоется слезой.

Припев:
Ты лети голубок в поднебесную высь
Ты лети голубок на все стороны
Но смотри не вернись, но смотри не вернись
Черным вороном.

Коль гулять, так до зари. А прощаться, так навеки.
А когда ты так навеки, то не верить, что всерьез.
Вот такие мужики. Вот такие Человеки
От того в России реки из одних из бабьих слез.

Припев:
Ты лети голубок в поднебесную высь
Ты лети голубок на все стороны
Но смотри не вернись, но смотри не вернись
Черным вороном.

прости...а может прощай.....

 Не боюсь старомодной казаться,
Написав о вечной любви.
Хочешь – в этом могу поклясться
На словах или на крови?...

Не могу опять без тебя уснуть,
Одинокая,холодная постель,
Положить бы к тебе голову на грудь,
Только я одна.Совсем одна теперь.
Я люблю тебя,хороший.Так люблю,
Как наверное никто теперь не любит....
Моя любовь всегда с твоей,
И только небо разлучит нас.
Ты знаешь, я так скучаю по тебе,
Что не могу обнять, поцеловать.
Дотронуться к твоей руке и просто помолчать.
И я не знаю, как мне быть.
Я так устала понимать,
Что ты лежишь, закрыв глаза,
И не вернёшься никогда.
Ты кинул "нас" в мир иной,
И я теперь одна, совсем одна.
Душа моя совсем пуста,
Любовь свою я отдала тебе,
Когда ты был со мной.
Ласкал, любил и обнимал.
И обещаю я тебе любить тебя
И лишь тебя.
И на надгробье написать:
“Тебя люблю. И я одна!”
Не, я так больше не могу...
Приду/уйду возьму...
Зачем мне это, mama mia???
Как это все невыносимо...
А я люблю... да-да... лю-блю...
Ценю, храню... Иду, молю...
Все, милый, больше не могу...
Я, кажется, иду ко дну...
Когда наступает вечер
Беру я в руки дневник
Ему открываю я тайны
Он к ним уже давно привык
Пишу, а из глаз невольно
Капают слезы мои
Обидно и больно что чувства
раскрыть не могу я свои
О том, как тебя люблю я
Знает только дневник
Но он никому не скажет
Бумага мертва ну а я
Я никому не открою
Что трудно мне без тебя…

 

Эх... пишу стих, а он чёт не пишется...... не пишу стих, сразу хочется его писать....

я человек эмоциональный...если мне плохо, значит мне ПЛОХО.

Она зажигает спичку от спички,

Она не знает, как это опасно.

Она раздувает огонь по привычке,

Хотя всем ясно - пламя погасло

Жизнь - такая штука... не знаешь с какой стороны подъехать...

Странно так... неужели все отношения неизбежно приходят к тому, что людям друг на друга плевать? ... НЕ ВЕРЮ...вот хоть убейте...я НЕ ВЕРЮ.................................

Когда любишь не можешь объяснить за что и почему. Ты просто любишь его за то, что он есть со всеми достоинствами и недостатками

Ты далеко и крепко беззаботно спишь.
Ну почему ты не со мною, мой малыш?
Прийди ко мне, прости и здесь останься.
Люби меня. Люби и предавайся
Безумным ласкам и страстям, любви мук,
Целуй меня, согрей дыханьем рук.
Ну почему же все так безнадежно сложно?
Если нельзя, но очень хочется - то можно.)))))

Я так устала думать о тебе
Каждый час, минуту и секунду.
Этим лишь боль причиняю я себе,
Но я люблю, люблю тебя безумно.

И вот сейчас сижу и плачу,
И слезы капают из глаз.
Я для тебя хоть что-то значу?
Нет, вряд ли. Это не про нас.

Всегда считала себя сильной, гордой
И думала, что все переживу.
И жду: когда же разлюблю?

Я так устала видеть сны с тобой
И вскакивать в поту холодном.
Ты в этих снах всегда со мной
И манишь меня взглядом томным.

Но в жизни все идет не так,
Ты не со мной уже давно.
Тебя я вижу лишь во снах.
Смотрю за темное окно

И не могу забыть те дни,
Когда мы вместе, рядом были.
Нам было хорошо одним,
Ведь мы друг друга так любили…((((((((((((

я тебя не искала, я тебя не ждала,
просто раз увидала и забыть не смогла,
просто раз улыбнулся ты улыбкой своей.
и не стало на свете человека РОДНЕЙ
и совсем не старалась я тебя полюбить,
только первые взгляды мне теперь не забыть
просто день тот в универе не забыть никогда
я первую встречу буду помнить всегда.

Белый потолок,
Синие стены...
Пулю в висок?
Или лезвие в вену?
Смерть или жизнь?
Что выбрать? Вопрос...
Странные мысли
Ветер принес...

Ночь. Лежу под одеялом,
Не переставая думать о тебе,
И мысли, как под черным покрывалом,
Все не дают покоя мне.

Смотрю я каждый раз на фото,
Что было сделано когда то летом,
И вспоминается мне что-то…
И это мы любовью называли.

Мне кажется, нет, я надеюсь все же,
Что что-то есть еще меж нами.
А передо мной все то же фото,
Которое мне сердце разрывает.

Да…поняла слишком поздно
Да…идиоткой я была.
Но все вернуть еще не поздно.
Я тут…совсем-совсем одна.

Да, я поплачу – просто легче станет.
Да, напишу тебе вконтакт.
Но чувства в душу глубже манят,
А в жизни каждый раз «антракт».

И если есть хоть капелька надежды,
Попробовать начать с нуля.
Я обещаю, все не так как прежде,
Ведь это все – совсем другая «Я».

А напоследок, я сказать хочу,
Что дорог мне был ты любой.

Скажи,ну зачем...
Зачем мы любим и мечтаем?
Ведь столько боли на душе,
Когда любовь свою теряем!

Когда мы любим,мы мечтаем...
О солнце,звёздах,небесах
Но вдруг,мы все мечты теряем,
Боль оставляя навсегда!

Себе находим мы замену,
Хотим влюбиться,но увы...
Та боль так бысто не проходит,
Не забываются мечты!!!

Хотим любить,любить как в сказке,
Без ссор,взаимно,навсегда...
А жизнь другому нас всех учит
Боль оставляя на сердцах..

Мне страшно знать твои мысли.
Ты хочешь меня убить.
Желанья мои зависли.
Ты сумел меня разлюбить.
Как жить без тебя я стану?
Кому свою жизнь я отдам?
Поверю чужому обману...
И слезы текут по щекам.
Я тебя не просто отпускаю,
Медленно глаза я закрываю,
Нажимая нежно на курок...

Любовь без ответного чувства грустна. Это всё-равно, что дарить подарок кому-то и не ждать, что его раскроют, посмотрят, порадуются.

Мужская измена: почему мужчины изменяют?

Оригинал статьи

Рубрика: Калейдоскоп
Подписаться на рубрику

Подписаться на рубрику закрыть

E-mail

Теги: секс, психология, мужчины, любовь

Популярность: 418  просмотров

Его что-то тревожит. Вам не следует расстраиваться или спорить с ним. Вместо этого осторожно выясните, что происходит в душе вашего избранника. Искусно воспользуйтесь вопросами, начинающимися со слов «как», «что» и «почему», чтобы понять, чем вызвано его нежелание вступать в брак. После этого вы сможете переубедить мужчину.

Имея дело с человеком визуального типа, вы можете сказать: «Я вижу, что ты чем-то обеспокоен, и хочу рассмотреть проблему вместе с тобой. Похоже, что-то мешает тебе увидеть наше совместное безоблачное будущее. Что тебя смущает?»

Если ваш избранник принадлежит к слуховому типу, произнесите примерно такие слова: «Наш дуэт перестал звучать гармонично. Я хочу настроиться на твою волну. Пожалуйста, скажи мне, о чем ты думаешь».

Мужчина чувственного типа лучше всего воспримет следующие фразы: «Я чувствую, что тебя беспокоят какие-то проблемы, связанные с нашими отношениями. Ты знаешь, что можешь поделиться со мной твоими опасениями. Почему бы тебе не сделать это?»

Когда Кэтрин пришла ко мне за советом, она была совершенно растеряна и подавлена. Она прожила с Джоном примерно год. Кэтрин была уверена в том, что Джон по-настоящему счастлив и влюблен в нее не меньше, чем она в него. Однако он испытывал явное беспокойство всякий раз, когда Кэтрин упоминала в беседе о браке — даже если речь шла о другой паре.

Выбрав подходящий момент, женщина сказала своему избраннику о том, что он, судя по всему, расстроен чем-то, и ненавязчиво предложила обсудить ситуацию. Оказалось, что Джон также сильно разочарован. Больше всего на свете он хотел cделать предложение Кэтрин, но не мог решиться на этот шаг из-за деловой неудачи, которая лишила его денег, необходимых для содержания жены.

Испытав облегчение, Кэтрин смогла искренне ответить: «О, Джон, я люблю тебя не из-за твоих денег. Сейчас идеальное время для женитьбы. Если бы у тебя было много денег, ты бы боялся потерять их при разводе. В нынешней ситуации тебе нечего терять. Наших общих доходов хватит на оплату счетов. Наше богатство — любовь, которая ценнее денег».

Сборная России совершила чудо, обыграв в четвертьфинале фаворита чемпионата Европы – голландцев со счетом 3:1. Павлюченко, Торбинский и Аршавин – авторы забитых мячей в составе нашей команды. Наша команда вышла в полуфинал, в котором встретится с победителем матча Испания – Италия. Сборные России и Голландии начали матч осторожно. В первые пятнадцать минут футболисты боялись идти вперед, присматриваясь друг к другу. А потом неожиданно для многих инициативой завладела сборная России. Аршавин, Жирков, Павлюченко и Семшов завели партнеров и у ворот ванн дер Сара стали регулярно возникать опасные моменты. Вначале Жирков закрутил мяч со штрафного, назначенного в нескольких метрах от штрафной площади соперника, но выручил ван дер Сар, в прыжке переведший мяч за линию ворот. А потом Семшов навесил с правого фланга атаки в центр штрафной, но Павлюченко немного не дотянулся до мяча, пробив над перекладиной. Тревожные звонки никак не насторожил голландцев. Только главный тренер “оранжевых” Марко ван Бастен напряженно пытался предугадать, что еще задумал его оппонент-соотечественник Гус Хиддинк. Следующий опасный момент возник у ворот сборной Голландии после дальнего удара Колодина. Опять выручил ванн дер Сар. Сборная России увидев, что игра у нее получается, успокоилась и стала выполнять план на игру, разработанный Гусом Хиддинком: грамотно играть в обороне, заполняя зоны на своей половине поля и атаковать флангами, где активно действовали Жирков и Саенко. Голландцы в первом тайме ответили на активность россиян только двумя опасными моментами. И оба были созданы после стандартных положений. К счасть., для россиян к мячу, который дважды посылал ван дер Варт к воротам Акинфеева, ван Нистелрой не успевал. После перерыва у голландцев в составе произошли изменения. Поле покинул Кюйт. Вместо него вышел нападающий - ванн Перси. Однако забили не голландцы, а россияне. Эффектную атаку с участием Аршавина и Семака завершил Павлюченко – 1:0! Полчаса вела наша команда в счете и даже могла забить второй мяч, но удача отвернулась от того же Павлюченко и Аршавина с Жирковым. А за четыре минуты до конца второго тайма сказал свое слово ван Нистелрой, отличившийся после подачи Снейдера с левого фланга. Форвард мадридского “Реала” перевел мяч в ворота Акинфеева в падении головой – 1:1! А на последней минуте матча случилось небывалое! Судья Михел, показавший Колодину вторую желтую карточку, которая автоматически превращалась в красную, свое решение отменил, посовещавшись с боковым арбитром. К счастью, для нашей команды. Дополнительное время пусть голов и не принесло, но зрители не скучали. И вновь в центре внимания была Россия. Аршавин, Торбинский, Жирков, Павлюченко… Во втором дополнительном тайме словацкий судья Михел мог назначить пенальти за нарушение против Жиркова, но свисток рефери промолчал! Однако россиян в этом матче уже ничего не могло остановить. И после навеса Аршавина Торбинский переправил мяч в ворота – 2:1. А закрепил победу сборной России Аршавин, получив на грани офсайда мяч, он пробил между ног ванн дер Сара – 3:1! План Гуса Хиддинка сработал! Сборная России в полуфинале!

Euro-2008. 1/4 финала

Голландия – Россия – 1:3 (0:0, 1:1, 0:0, 0:2).

Предупреждения: Булахруз 50, ван Перси 55, ван дер Варт 60, Колодин 71, Жирков 103, Торбинский 110.

Голы: ван Нистелрой 86 - Павлюченко 56, Торбинский 112, Аршавин 116.

Голландия: ван дер Сар, Булахруз (Хейтинга 54), Ойер, Матейсен, ван Бронкхорст, де Йонг, Энгелар (Афеллай, 62), Кюйт (ван Перси, 46), ван дер Варт, Снейдер, ван Нистелрой.

Россия: Акинфеев, Анюков, Игнашевич, Колодин, Жирков, Семшов (Билялетдинов, 69), Зырянов, Семак, Саенко (Торбинский, 81), Аршавин, Павлюченко (Сычев 115).

ONE WAY

=))

Что такое мятежность ?

В их жизни будет много любви, много страданий, слез, и дружбы, и веселья, все самые лучшие и самые худшие стороны их жизни! Вместе они пройдут скрозь огонь и воду!

Marco tu nъmero
Espero
Me duele pensarte
Ya van mil veces
Te escucho
Y no puedo hablarte
Otra noche triste
Te cuelgo y me pierdo
Otra noche oscura
Me muero en el sueсo

Si yo supiera
Como hacer
Para que mires
Una sola vez
Serнa una sola vez
Serнa tu chico ideal
Te amarнa hasta el final
Mirame, mirame
Si yo supiera
Como hacer
Para que me mires
Una sola vez
Serнa tu chico ideal
Me sentirнa inmortal
Mirame
Mirame
Mirame
Mirame

Llega la noche
Y repito
El llamado secreto
Hola, quiйn habla
Tu voz
Y mi miedo de nuevo
Dulce, nena, Linda
Te cuelgo y me pierdo
Soy el mбs idiota
Me quedo en silencio

Estribillo

Прижал к себе-
Так мило...
Не отпустил...
Какой ты сильный...
Я, мой малыш,
Хочу с тобою,
Закрыв глаза,
Лететь вниз головою...
Целуй меня-
Я буду рада,
Твоя любовь-
Моя награда...:)

Женщина как химический элемент

ЭЛЕМЕНТ: 115
НАЗВАНИЕ: Женщина
ОБОЗНАЧЕНИЕ: Fm
ПЕРВООТКРЫВАТЕЛЬ: Адам
АТОМНАЯ МАССА: 60 кг;
также встречаются изотопы от 40 до 250 кг
РАСПРОСТРАНЕННОСТЬ: Очень распространен
ФИЗИЧЕСКИЕ СВОЙСТВА
Тает при определенном воздействии.
Самопроизвольно закипает и без внешних причин охлаждается.
Коэффициент расширения: увеличивается с годами.
Мнется при сдавливании в определенных местах.
ХИМИЧЕСКИЕ СВОЙСТВА
Очень хорошо взаимодействует с Au, Ag, Pt и другими благородными металлами.
Поглощает дорогостоящие вещества в больших количествах.
Может неожиданно взорваться.
Быстро насыщается этиловым спиртом.
Активность варьируется в зависимости от времени суток.
ПРИМЕНЕНИЕ
Широко применяется в декоративных целях, особенно в спортивных автомобилях.
Является очень эффективным чистящим и моющим средством.
Помогает расслабиться и снять стресс.
КАЧЕСТВЕННАЯ РЕАКЦИЯ
Приобретает зеленую окраску, если рядом находится другой образец более высокого качества.
МЕРЫ ПРЕДОСТОРОЖНОСТИ
При попадании в неопытные руки представляет серьезную опасность.
Нежелательно иметь более одного образца.
Однако можно иметь и большее количество образцов, но держать их следует отдельно друг от друга, чтобы они не взаимодействовали между собой.

CHAPTER ONE
OWL POST

 Harry Potter was a highly unusual boy in many ways. For one thing, he hated the summer holidays more than any other time of year. For another, he really wanted to do his homework but was forced to do it in secret, in the dead of night. And he also happened to be a wizard.
 It was nearly midnight, and he was lying on his stomach in bed, the blankets drawn right over his head like a tent, a flashlight in one hand and a large leather-bound book (A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot) propped open against the pillow. Harry moved the tip of his eagle-feather quill down the page, frowning as he looked for something that would help him write his essay, "Witch Burning in the Fourteenth Century Was Completely Pointless discuss."
 The quill paused at the top of a likely-looking paragraph. Harry Pushed his round glasses up the bridge of his nose, moved his flashlight closer to the book, and read:
 Non-magic people (more commonly known as Muggles) were particularly afraid of magic in medieval times, but not very good at recognizing it. On the rare occasion that they did catch a real witch or wizard, burning had no effect whatsoever. The witch or wizard would perform a basic Flame Freezing Charm and then pretend to shriek with pain while enjoying a gentle, tickling sensation. Indeed, Wendelin the Weird enjoyed being burned so much that she allowed herself to be caught no less than fortyseven times in various disguises.
 Harry put his quill between his teeth and reached underneath his pillow for his ink bottle and a roll of parchment. Slowly and very carefully he unscrewed the ink bottle, dipped his quill into it, and began to write, pausing every now and then to listen, because if any of the Dursleys heard the scratching of his quill on their way to the bathroom, he'd probably find himself locked in the cupboard under the stairs for the rest of the summer.
 The Dursley family of number four,

CHAPTER TWO
AUNT MARGE'S BIG MISTAKE

 Harry went down to breakfast the next morning to find the three Dursleys already sitting around the kitchen table. They were watching a brand-new television, a welcome-home-for-the-summer present for Dudley, who had been complaining loudly about the long walk between the fridge and the television in the living room. Dudley had spent most of the summer in the kitchen, his piggy little eyes fixed on the screen and his five chins wobbling as he ate continually.
 Harry sat down between Dudley and Uncle Vernon, a large, beefy man with very little neck and a lot of mustache. Far from wishing Harry a happy birthday, none of the Dursleys made any sign that they had noticed Harry enter the room, but Harry was far too used to this to care. He helped himself to a piece of toast and then looked up at the reporter on the television, who was halfway through a report on an escaped convict:
 "... The public is warned that Black is armed and extremely dangerous. A special hot line has been set up, and any sighting of Black should be reported immediately."
 "No need to tell us he's no good," snorted Uncle Vernon, staring over the top of his newspaper at the prisoner. "Look at the state of him, the filthy layabout! Look at his hair!"
 He shot a nasty look sideways at Harry, whose untidy hair had always been a source of great annoyance to Uncle Vernon. Compared to the man on the television, however, whose gaunt face was surrounded by a matted, elbow-length tangle, Harry felt very well groomed indeed.
 The reporter had reappeared.
 "The Ministry of Agriculture and Fisheries will announce today --"
 "Hang on!" barked Uncle Vernon, staring furiously at the reporter. "You didn't tell us where that maniac's escaped from! \What use is that? Lunatic could be coming up the street right now!"
 Aunt Petunia, who was bony and horse-faced, whipped around and peered intently out of the kitchen window. Harry knew Aunt Petunia would simply love to be the one to call the hot line number. She was the nosiest woman in the world and spent most of her life spying on the boring, law-abiding neighbors.
 "When will they learn," said Uncle Vernon, pounding the table with his large purple fist, "that hanging's the only way to deal with these people?"
 "Very true," said Aunt Petunia, who was still squinting into next door's runner beans.
 Uncle Vernon drained his teacup, glanced at his watch, and added, "I'd better be off in a minute, Petunia. Marge's train gets in at ten."
 Harry, whose thoughts had been upstairs with the Broomstick Servicing Kit, was brought back to earth with an unpleasant bump.
 "Aunt Marge?" he blurted out. "Sh -- she's not coming here, is she?"
 Aunt Marge was Uncle Vernon's sister. Even though she was not a blood relative of Harry's (whose mother had been Aunt Petunia's sister), he had been forced to call her "Aunt" all his life. Aunt Marge lived in the country, in a house with a large garden, where she bred bulldogs. She didn't often stay at Privet Drive, because she couldn't bear to leave her precious dogs, but each of her visits stood out horribly vividly in Harry's mind.
 At Dudley's fifth birthday party, Aunt Margo had whacked Harry around the shins with her walking stick to stop him from beating Dudley at musical statues. A few years later, she had turned up at Christmas with a computerized robot for Dudley and a box of dog biscuits for Harry. On her last visit, the year before Harry started at Hogwarts, Harry had accidentally trodden on the tail of her favorite dog. Ripper had chased Harry out into the garden and up a tree, and Aunt Marge had refused to call him off until past midnight. The memory of this incident still brought tears of laughter to Dudley's eyes.
 "Marge'll be here for a week," Uncle Vernon snarled, 11 and while we're on the subject" -- he pointed a fat finger threateningly at Harry -- "we need to get a few things straight bbefore I go and collect her."
 Dudley smirked and withdrew his gaze from the television. Watching Harry being bullied by Uncle Vernon was Dudley's favorite form of entertainment.
 "Firstly," growled Uncle Vernon, "you'll keep a civil tongue in your head when you're talking to Marge."
 "All right," said Harry bitterly, "if she does when she's talking to me.
 "Secondly," said Uncle Vernon, acting as though he had not heard Harry's reply, "as Marge doesn't know anything about your abnormality, I don't want any -- any funny stuff while she's here.
 You behave yourself, got me?"
 "I will if she does," said Harry through gritted teeth.
 "And thirdly," said Uncle Vernon, his mean little eyes now slits in his great purple face, "we've told Marge you attend St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys."
 "What?" Harry yelled.
 "And you'll be sticking to that story, boy, or there'll be trouble, spat Uncle Vernon.
 Harry sat there, white-faced and furious, staring at Uncle Vernon, hardly able to believe it. Aunt Marge coming for a weeklong visit -- it was the worst birthday present the Dursleys had ever given him, including that pair of Uncle Vernon's old socks.
 "Well, Petunia," said Uncle Vernon, getting heavily to his feet, "I'll be off to the station, then. Want to come along for the ride, Dudders?"
 "No," said Dudley, whose attention had returned to the television now that Uncle Vernon had finished threatening Harry.
 "Duddy's got to make himself smart for his auntie," said Aunt Petunia, smoothing Dudley's thick blond hair. "Mummy's bought him a lovely new bow tie."
 Uncle Vernon clapped Dudley on his porky shoulder. "See you in a bit, then," he said, and he left the kitchen.
 Harry, who had been sitting in a kind of horrified trance, had a sudden idea. Abandoning his toast, he got quickly to his feet and followed Uncle Vernon to the front door.
 Uncle Vernon was pulling on his car coat.
 "I'm not taking you," he snarled as he turned to see Harry watching him.
 "Like I wanted to come," said Harry coldly. "I want to ask you something."
 Uncle Vernon eyed him suspiciously.
 "Third years at Hog -- at my school are allowed to visit the village sometimes," said Harry.
 "So?" snapped Uncle Vernon, taking his car keys from a hook next to the door.
 "I need you to sign the permission form," said Harry in a rush.
 "And why should I do that?" sneered Uncle Vernon.
 "Well," said Harry, choosing his words carefully, "it'll be hard work, pretending to Aunt Marge I go to that St. Whatsits --"
 "St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys!" bellowed Uncle Vernon, and Harry was pleased to hear a definite note of panic in Uncle Vernon's voice.
 "Exactly," said Harry, looking calmly up into Uncle Vernon's large, purple face. "It's a lot to remember. I'll have to make it sound convincing, won't I? What if I accidentally let something slip?"
 "You'll get the stuffing knocked out of you, won't you?" roared Uncle Vernon, advancing on Harry with his fist raised. But Harry stood his ground.
 "Knocking the stuffing out of me won't make Aunt Marge forget what I could tell her," he said grimly.
 Uncle Vernon stopped, his fist still raised, his face an ugly puce.
 "But if you sign my permission form," Harry went on quickly, "I swear I'll remember where I'm supposed to go to school, and I'll act like a Mug -- like I'm normal and everything."
 Harry could tell that Uncle Vernon was thinking it over, even if his teeth were bared and a vein was throbbing in his temple.
 "Right," he snapped finally. "I shall monitor your behavior carefully during Marge's visit. If, at the end of it, you've toed the line and kept to the story, I'll sign your ruddy form."
 He wheeled around, pulled open the front door, and slammed it so hard that one of the little panes of glass at the top fell out.
 Harry didn't return to the kitchen. He went back upstairs to his bedroom. If he was going to act like a real Muggle, he'd better start now. Slowly and sadly he gathered up all his presents and his birthday cards and hid them under the loose floorboard with his homework. Then he went to Hedwig's cage. Errol seemed to have recovered; he and Hedwig were both asleep, heads under their wings. Harry sighed, then poked them both awake.
 "Hedwig," he said gloomily, "you're going to have to clear off for a week. Go with Errol. Ron'll look after you. I'll write him a note, explaining. And don't look at me like that" -- Hedwig's large amber eyes were reproachful -- "it's not my fault. It's the only way I'll be allowed to visit Hogsmeade with Ron and Hermione."
 Ten minutes later, Errol and Hedwig (who had a note to Ron bound to her leg) soared out of the window and out of sight. Harry, now feeling thoroughly miserable, put the empty cage away inside the wardrobe.
 But Harry didn't have long to brood. In next to no time, Aunt Petunia was shrieking up the stairs for Harry to come down and get ready to welcome their guest.
 "Do something about your hair!" Aunt Petunia snapped as he reached the hall.
 Harry couldn't see the point of trying to make his hair lie flat. Aunt Marge loved criticizing him, so the untidier he looked, the happier she would be.
 All too soon, there was a crunch of gravel outside as Uncle Vernon's car pulled back into the driveway, then the clunk of the car doors and footsteps on the garden path.
 "Get the door!" Aunt Petunia hissed at Harry.
 A feeling of great gloom in his stomach, Harry pulled the door open.
 On the threshold stood Aunt Marge. She was very like Uncle Vernon: large, beefy, and purple- faced, she even had a mustache, though not as bushy as his. In one hand she held an enormous suitcase, and tucked under the other was an old and evil-tempered bulldog.
 "Where's my Dudders?" roared Aunt Marge. "Where's my neffy-poo?"
 Dudley came waddling down the hall, his blond hair plastered flat to his fat head, a bow tie just visible under his many chins. Aunt Marge thrust the suitcase into Harry's stomach, knocking the wind out of him, seized Dudley in a tight one-armed hug, and planted a large kiss on his cheek.
 Harry knew perfectly well that Dudley only put up with Aunt Marge's hugs because he was well paid for it, and sure enough, when they broke apart, Dudley had a crisp twenty-pound note clutched in his fat fist.
 "Petunia!" shouted Aunt Marge, striding past Harry as though he was a hat stand. Aunt Marge and Aunt Petunia kissed, or rather, Aunt Marge bumped her large jaw against Aunt Petunia's bony cheekbone.
 Uncle Vernon now came in, smiling jovially as he shut the door.
 "Tea, Marge?" he said. "And what will Ripper take?"
 "Ripper can have some tea out of my saucer," said Aunt Marge as they all proceeded into the kitchen, leaving Harry alone in the hall with the suitcase. But Harry wasn't complaining; any excuse not to be with Aunt Marge was fine by him, so he began to heave the case upstairs into the spare bedroom, taking as long as he could.
 By the time he got back to the kitchen, Aunt Marge had been supplied with tea and fruitcake, and Ripper was lapping noisily in the corner. Harry saw Aunt Petunia wince slightly as specks of tea and drool flecked her clean floor. Aunt Petunia hated animals.
 "Who's looking after the other dogs, Marge?" Uncle Vernon asked.
 "Oh, I've got Colonel Fubster managing them," boomed Aunt Marge. "He's retired now, good for him to have something to do. But I couldn't leave poor old Ripper. He pines if he's away from me."
 Ripper began to growl again as Harry sat down. This directed Aunt Marge's attention to Harry for the first time.
 "So!" she barked. "Still here, are you?"
 "Yes," said Harry.
 "Don't you say yes' in that ungrateful tone," Aunt Marge growled. "It's damn good of Vernon and Petunia to keep you. Wouldn't have done it myself. You'd have gone straight to an orphanage if you'd been dumped on my doorstep."
 Harry was bursting to say that he'd rather live in an orphanage than with the Dursleys, but the thought of the Hogsmeade form stopped him. He forced his face into a painful smile.
 "Don't you smirk at me!" boomed Aunt Marge. "I can see you haven't improved since I last saw you. I hoped school would knock some manners into you." She took a large gulp of tea, wiped her mustache, and said, "Where is it that you send him, again, Vernon?"
 "St. Brutus's," said Uncle Vernon promptly. "It's a first-rate institution for hopeless cases."
 "I see," said Aunt Marge. "Do they use the cane at St. Brutus's, boy?" she barked across the table.
 "Er --"
 Uncle Vernon nodded curtly behind Aunt Marge's back.
 "Yes," said Harry. Then, feeling he might as well do the thing properly, he added, "all the time."
 "Excellent," said Aunt Marge. "I won't have this namby-pamby, wishy-washy nonsense about not hitting people who deserve it. A good thrashing is what's needed in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred. Have you been beaten often?"
 "Oh, yeah," said Harry, "loads of times."
 Aunt Marge narrowed her eyes.
 "I still don't like your tone, boy," she said. "If you can speak of your beatings in that casual way, they clearly aren't hitting you hard enough. Petunia, I'd write if I were you. Make it clear that you approve the use of extreme force in this boy's case."
 Perhaps Uncle Vernon was worried that Harry might forget their bargain; in any case, he changed the subject abruptly.
 "Heard the news this morning, Marge? What about that escaped prisoner, eh?"
 As Aunt Marge started to make herself at home, Harry caught himself thinking almost longingly of life at number four without her. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia usually encouraged Harry to stay out of their way, which Harry was only too happy to do. Aunt Marge, on the other hand, wanted Harry under her eye at all times, so that she could boom out suggestions for his improvement. She delighted in comparing Harry with Dudley, and took huge pleasure in buying Dudley expensive presents while glaring at Harry, as though daring him to ask why he hadn't got a present too. She also kept throwing out dark hints about what made Harry such an unsatisfactory person.
 "You mustn't blame yourself for the way the boy's turned out, Vernon," she said over lunch on the third day. "If there's something rotten on the inside, there's nothing anyone can do about it."
 Harry tried to concentrate on his food, but his hands shook and his face was starting to burn with anger. Remember the form, he told himself Think about Hogsmeade. Don't say anything. Don't rise
 Aunt Marge reached for her glass of wine.
 "It's one of the basic rules of breeding," she said. "You see it all the time with dogs. If there's something wrong with the bitch, there'll be something wrong with the pup --"
 At that moment, the wineglass Aunt Marge was holding exploded in her hand. Shards of glass flew in every direction and Aunt Marge sputtered and blinked, her great ruddy face dripping.
 "Marge!" squealed Aunt Petunia. "Marge, are you all right?"
 "Not to worry," grunted Aunt Marge, mopping her face with her napkin. "Must have squeezed it too hard. Did the same thing at Colonel Fubster's the other day. No need to fuss, Petunia, I have a very firm grip..."
 But Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were both looking at Harry suspiciously, so he decided he'd better skip dessert and escape from the table as soon as he could.
 Outside in the hall, he leaned against the wall, breathing deeply It had been a long time since he'd lost control and made something explode. He couldn't afford to let it happen again. The Hogsmeade form wasn't the only thing at stake -- if he carried on like that, he'd be in trouble with the Ministry of Magic.
 Harry was still an underage wizard, and he was forbidden by wizard law to do magic outside school. His record wasn't exactly clean either. Only last summer he'd gotten an official warning that had stated quite clearly that if the Ministry got wind of any more magic in Privet Drive, Harry would face expulsion from Hogwarts.
 He heard the Dursleys leaving the table and hurried upstairs out of the way.
 Harry got through the next three days by forcing himself to think about his Handbook of Do-It-Yourself Broomcare whenever Aunt Marge started on him. This worked quite well, though it seemed to give him a glazed look, because Aunt Marge started voicing the opinion that he was mentally subnormal.
 At last, at long last, the final evening of Marge's stay arrived. Aunt Petunia cooked a fancy dinner and Uncle Vernon uncorked several bottles of wine. They got all the way through the soup and the salmon without a single mention of Harry's faults; during the lemon meringue pie, Uncle Vernon bored them A with a long talk about Grunnings, his drill-making company; then Aunt Petunia made coffee and Uncle Vernon brought out a bottle of brandy.
 "Can I tempt you, Marge?"
 Aunt Marge had already had quite a lot of wine. Her huge face was very red.
 "Just a small one, then," she chuckled. "A bit more than that... and a bit more... that's the ticket."
 Dudley was eating his fourth slice of pie. Aunt Petunia was sipping coffee with her little finger sticking out. Harry really wanted to disappear into his bedroom, but he met Uncle Vernon's angry little eyes and knew he would have to sit it out.
 "Aah," said Aunt Marge, smacking her lips and putting the empty brandy glass back down. "Excellent nosh, Petunia. It's normally just a fry-up for me of an evening, with twelve dogs to look after...." She burped richly and patted her great tweed stomach. "Pardon me. But I do like to see a healthy-sized boy," she went on, winking at Dudley. "You'll be a proper-sized man, Dudders, like your father. Yes, I'll have a spot more brandy, Vernon...."
 "Now, this one here --"
 She jerked her head at Harry, who felt his stomach clench. The Handbook, he thought quickly.
 "This one's got a mean, runty look about him. You get that with dogs. I had Colonel Fubster drown one last year. Ratty little thing it was- Weak. Underbred."
 Harry was trying to remember page twelve of his book: A Charm to Cure Reluctant Reversers. "It all comes down to blood, as I was saying the other day.
 Bad blood will out. Now, I'm saying nothing against your family, Petunia" she patted Aunt Petunia's bony hand with her shovellike one "but your sister was a bad egg. They turn up in the best families. Then she ran off with a wastrel and here's the result right in front of us."
 Harry was staring at his plate, a funny ringing in his ears. Grasp your broom firmly by the tail, he thought. But he couldn't remember what came next. Aunt Marge's voice seemed to be boring into him like one of Uncle Vernon's drills.
 "This Potter, 5) said Aunt Marge loudly, seizing the brandy bottle and splashing more into her glass and over the tablecloth, "you never told me what he did?"
 Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were looking extremely tense. Dudley had even looked up from his pie to gape at his parents.
 "He -- didn't work," said Uncle Vernon, with half a glance at Harry. "Unemployed."
 "As I expected!" said Aunt Marge, taking a huge swig of brandy and wiping her chin on her sleeve. "A no-account, good-for-nothing, lazy scrounger who --"
 "He was not," said Harry suddenly. The table went very quiet. Harry was shaking all over. He had never felt so angry in his life.
 "MORE BRANDY!" yelled Uncle Vernon, who had gone very white. He emptied the bottle into Aunt Marge's glass. "You, boy," he snarled at Harry. "Go to bed, go on --"
 "No, Vernon," hiccuped Aunt Marge, holding up a hand, her tiny bloodshot eyes fixed on Harry's. "Go on, boy, go on. Proud of your parents, are you? They go and get themselves killed in a car crash (drunk, I expect) --"
 'They didn't die in a car crash!" said Harry, who found himself on his feet.
 "They died in a car crash, you nasty little liar, and left you to be a burden on their decent, hardworking relatives!" screamed Aunt Marge, swelling with fury. "You are an insolent, ungrateful little --"
 But Aunt Marge suddenly stopped speaking. For a moment, it looked as though words had failed her. She seemed to be swelling with inexpressible anger -- but the swelling didn't stop. Her great red face started to expand, her tiny eyes bulged, and her mouth stretched too tightly for speech -- next second, several buttons had just burst from her tweed jacket and pinged off the walls -- she was inflating like a monstrous balloon, her stomach bursting free of her tweed waistband, each of her fingers blowing up like a salami --
 "MARGE!" yelled Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia together as Aunt Marge's whole body began to rise off her chair toward the ceiling. She was entirely round, now, like a vast life buoy with piggy eyes, and her hands and feet stuck out weirdly as she drifted up into the air, making apoplectic popping noises. Ripper came skidding into the room, barking madly.
 "NOOOOOOO!"
 Uncle Vernon seized one of Marge's feet and tried to pull her down again, but was almost lifted from the floor himself. A second later, Ripper leapt forward and sank his teeth into Uncle Vernon's leg.
 Harry tore from the dining room before anyone could stop him, heading for the cupboard under the stairs. The cupboard door burst magically open as he reached it. In seconds, he had heaved his trunk to the front door. He sprinted upstairs and threw himself under the bed, wrenching up the loose floorboard, and grabbed the pillowcase full of his books and birthday presents. He wriggled out, seized Hedwig's empty cage, and dashed back downstairs to his trunk, just as Uncle Vernon burst out of the dining room, his trouser leg in bloody tatters.
 "COME BACK IN HERE!" he bellowed. "COME BACK AND PUT HER RIGHT!"
 But a reckless rage had come over Harry. He kicked his trunk open, pulled out his wand, and pointed it at Uncle Vernon.
 "She deserved it," Harry said, breathing very fast. "She deserved what she got. You keep away from me."
 He fumbled behind him for the latch on the door.
 "I'm going," Harry said. "I've had enough."
 And in the next moment, he was out in the dark, quiet street, heaving his heavy trunk behind him, Hedwig's cage under his arm.

CHAPTER THREE
THE KNIGHT BUS

 Harry was several streets away before he collapsed onto a low wall in Magnolia Crescent, panting from the effort of dragging his trunk. He sat quite still, anger still surging through him, listening to the frantic thumping of his heart.
 But after ten minutes alone in the dark street, a new emotion overtook him: panic. Whichever way he looked at it, he had never been in a worse fix. He was stranded, quite alone, in the dark Muggle world, with absolutely nowhere to go. And the worst of it was, he had just done serious magic, which meant that he was almost certainly expelled from Hogwarts. He had broken the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry so badly, he was surprised Ministry of Magic representatives weren't swooping down on him where he sat.
 Harry shivered and looked up and down Magnolia Crescent.
 What, was going to happen to him? Would he be arrested, or would he simply be outlawed from the wizarding world? He thought of Ron and Hermione, and his heart sank even lower. Harry was sure that, criminal or not, Ron and Hermione would want to help him now, but they were both abroad, and with Hedwig gone, he had no means of contacting them.
 He didn't have any Muggle money, either. There was a little wizard gold in the money bag at the bottom of his trunk, but the rest of the fortune his parents had left him was stored in a vault at Gringotts Wizarding Bank in London. He'd never be able to drag his trunk all the way to London. Unless...
 He looked down at his wand, which he was still clutching in his hand. If he was already expelled (his heart was. now thumping painfully fast), a bit more magic couldn't hurt. He had the Invisibility Cloak he had inherited from his father -- what if he bewitched the trunk to make it feather-light, tied it to his broomstick, covered himself in the cloak, and flew to London? Then he could get the rest of his money out of his vault and... begin his life as an outcast. It was a horrible prospect, but he couldn't sit on this wall forever, or he'd find himself trying to explain to Muggle police why he was out in the dead of night with a trunkful of spellbooks and a broomstick.
 Harry opened his trunk again and pushed the contents aside, looking for the Invisibility Cloak - but before he had found it, he straightened up suddenly, looking around him once more.
 A funny prickling on the back of his neck had made Harry feel he was being watched, but the street appeared to be deserted, and no lights shone from any of the large square houses.
 He bent over his trunk again, but almost immediately stood up once more, his hand clenched on his wand. He had sensed rather than heard it: someone or something was standing in the narrow gap between the garage and the fence behind him. Harry squinted at the black alleyway. If only it would move, then he'd know whether it was just a stray cat or -- something else.
 "Lumos," Harry muttered, and a light appeared at the end of his wand, almost dazzling him. He held it high over his head, and the pebble-dashed walls of number two suddenly sparkled; the garage door gleamed, and between them Harry saw, quite distinctly, the hulking outline of something very big, with wide, gleaming eyes.
 Harry stepped backward. His legs hit his trunk and he tripped. His wand flew out of his hand as he flung out an arm to break his fall, and he landed, hard, in the gutter --
 There was a deafening BANG, and Harry threw up his hands to shield his eyes against a sudden blinding light --
 With a yell, he rolled back onto the pavement, just in time. A second later, a gigantic pair of wheels and headlights screeched to a halt exactly where Harry had just been lying. They belonged, as Harry saw when he raised his head, to a triple-decker, violently purple bus, which had appeared out of thin air. Gold lettering over the windshield spelled The Knight Bus.
 For a Split second, Harry wondered if he had been knocked silly by his fall. Then a conductor in a purple uniform leapt out of the bus and began to speak loudly to the night.
 "Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. just stick out your wand hand, step on board) and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this eve --"
 The conductor stopped abruptly. He had just caught sight of "Harry, who was still sitting on the ground. Harry snatched up his wand again and scrambled to his feet. Close up, he saw that Stan Shunpike was only a few years older than he was, eighteen or nineteen at most, with large, protruding ears and quite a few pimples.
 "What were you doin' down there?" said Stan, dropping his professional manner.
 "Fell over," said Harry.
 "'Choo fall over for?" sniggered Stan.
 "I didn't do it on purpose," said Harry, annoyed. One of the knees in his jeans was torn, and the hand he had thrown out to break his fall was bleeding. He suddenly remembered why he had fallen over and turned around quickly to stare at the alleyway between the garage and fence. The Knight Bus's headlamps were flooding it with light, and it was empty.
 "'Choo lookin' at?" said Stan.
 "There was a big black thing," said Harry, pointing uncertainly into the gap. "Like a dog... but massive..."
 He looked a-round at Stan, whose mouth was slightly open. With a feeling of unease, Harry saw Stan's eyes move to the scar on Harry's forehead.
 "Woss that on your 'ead?" said Stan abruptly.
 "Nothing," said Harry quickly, flattening his hair over his scar. If the Ministry of Magic was looking for him, he didn't want to make it too easy for them.
 "Woss your name?" Stan persisted.
 "Neville Longbottom," said Harry, saying the first name that came into his head. "So -- so this bus," he went on quickly, hoping to distract Stan, "did you say it goes anywhere?"
 "Yep," said Stan proudly, "anywhere you like, long's it's on land. Can't do nuffink underwater. 'Ere," he said, looking suspicious again, ,You did flag us down, dincha? Stuck out your wand 'and, dincha?"
 "Yes," said Harry quickly. "Listen, how much would it be to get to London?"
 "Eleven Sickles," said Stan, "but for fifteen you get 'or chocolate, and for fifteen you get an 'ot water bottle an' a toofbrush in the color of your choice."
 Harry rummaged once more in his trunk, extracted his money bag, and shoved some gold into Stan's hand. He and Stan then lifted his trunk, with Hedwig's cage balanced on top, up the steps of the bus.
 There were no seats; instead, half a dozen brass bedsteads stood beside the curtained windows. Candles were burning in brackets beside each bed, illuminating the wood-paneled walls. A tiny wizard in a nightcap at the rear of the bus muttered, "Not now, thanks, I'm pickling some slugs" and rolled over in his sleep.
 "You 'ave this one," Stan whispered, shoving Harry's trunk under the bed right behind the driver, who was sitting in an armchair in front of the steering wheel. "This is our driver, Ernie Prang. This ,is Neville Longbottom, Ern. "
 Ernie Prang, an elderly wizard wearing very thick glasses, nodded to Harry, who nervously flattened his bangs again and sat down on his bed.
 "Take 'er away, Ern," said Stan, sitting down in the armchair next to Ernie's.
 There was another tremendous BANG, and the next moment Harry found himself flat on his bed, thrown backward by the speed of the Knight Bus. Pulling himself up, Harry stared out of the dark window and saw that they were now bowling along a completely different street. Stan was watching Harry's stunned face with great enjoyment.
 "This is where we was before you flagged us down," he said. "Where are we, Ern? Somewhere in Wales?"
 "Ar," said Ernie.
 "How come the Muggles don't hear the bus?" said Harry.
 "Them!" said Stan contemptuously. "Don' listen properly, do they? Don' look properly either. Never notice nuffink, they don'."
 "Best go wake up Madam Marsh, Stan," said Ern. "We'll be in Abergavenny in a minute."
 Stan passed Harry's bed and disappeared up a narrow wooden staircase. Harry was still looking out of the window, feeling increasingly nervous. Ernie didn't seem to have mastered the use of a steering wheel. The Knight Bus kept mounting the pavement, but it didn't hit anything; lines of lampposts, mailboxes, and trash cans jumped out of its way as it approached and back into position once it had passed.
 Stan came back downstairs, followed by a faintly green witch wrapped in a traveling cloak.
 "'Ere you go, Madam Marsh," said Stan happily as Ern stamped on the brake and the beds slid a foot or so toward the front of the bus. Madam Marsh clamped a handkerchief to her mouth and tottered down the steps. Stan threw her bag out after her and rammed the doors shut; there was another loud BANG, and they were thundering down a narrow country lane, trees leaping out of the way.
 Harry wouldn't have been able to sleep even if he had been traveling on a bus that didn't keep banging loudly and jumping a hundred miles at a time. His stomach churned as he fell back to wondering what was going to happen to him, and whether the Dursleys had managed to get Aunt Marge off the ceiling yet.
 Stan had unfurled a copy of the Daily Prophet and was now reading with his tongue between his teeth. A large photograph of a sunken-faced man with long, matted hair blinked slowly at Harry from the front page. He looked strangely familiar.
 "That man!" Harry said, forgetting his troubles for a moment. "He was on the Muggle news!"  Stanley turned to the front page and chuckled.
 "Sirius Black," he said, nodding. "'Course 'e was on the Muggle news, Neville, where you been?"
 He gave a superior sort of chuckle at the blank look on Harry's face, removed the front page, and handed it to Harry.
 "You oughta read the papers more, Neville."
 Harry held the paper up to the candlelight and read:
 BLACK STILL AT LARGE
 Sirius Black, possibly the most infamous prisoner ever to be held in Azkaban fortress, is still eluding capture, the Ministry of Magic confirmed today.
 "We are doing all we can to recapture Black," said the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, this morning, "and we beg the magical community to remain calm."
 Fudge has been criticized by some members of the International Federation of Warlocks for informing the Muggle Prime Minister of the crisis.
 "Well, really, I had to, don't you know," said an irritable Fudge. "Black is mad. He's a danger to anyone who crosses him, magic or Muggle. I have the Prime Minister's assurance that he will not breathe a word of Black's true identity to anyone. And let's face it-who'd believe him if he did?"
 While Muggles have been told that Black is carrying a gun (a kind of metal wand that Muggles use to kill each other), the magical community lives in fear of a massacre like that of twelve years ago, when Black murdered thirteen people with a single curse.
 Harry looked into the shadowed eyes of Sirius Black, the only part of the sunken face that seemed alive. Harry had never met a vampire, but he had seen pictures of them in his Defense Against the Dark Arts classes, and Black, with his waxy white skin, looked just like one.
 "Scary-lookin' fing, inee?" said Stan, who had been watching Harry read.
 "He murdered thirteen people?" said Harry, handing the page back to Stan, "with one curse?"
 "Yep," said Stan, "in front of witnesses an' all. Broad daylight. Big trouble it caused, dinnit, Ern?"
 "Ar," said Ern darkly.
 Stan swiveled in his armchair, his hands on the back, the better to look at Harry.
 "Black woz a big supporter of You-Know-'Oo," he said.
 "What, Voldemort?" said Harry, without thinking.
 Even Stan's pimples went white; Ern jerked the steering wheel so hard that a whole farmhouse had to jump aside to avoid the bus.
 "You outta your tree?" yelped Stan. "'Choo say 'is name for?"
 "Sorry," said Harry hastily. "Sorry, I -- I forgot --"
 "Forgot!" said Stan weakly. "Blimey, my 'eart's goin' that fast ..."
 "So -- so Black was a supporter of You-Know-Who?" Harry prompted apologetically.
 "Yeah," said Stan, still rubbing his chest. "Yeah, that's right. Very close to You-Know-'Oo, they say. Anyway, when little 'Arry Potter got the better of You-Know-'Oo --"
 Harry nervously flattened his bangs down again.
 "-- all You-Know-'Oo's supporters was tracked down, wasn't they, Ern? Most of 'em knew it was all over, wiv You-Know-'Oo gone, and they came quiet. But not Sirius Black. I 'eard he thought 'e'd be second-in-command once You-Know-'Oo 'ad taken over.
 "Anyway, they cornered Black in the middle of a street full of Muggles an' Black took out 'is wand and 'e blasted 'alf the street apart, an' a wizard got it, an' so did a dozen Muggles what got in the way. 'Orrible, eh? An' you know what Black did then?" Stan continued in a dramatic whisper.
 "What?" said Harry.
 "Laughed," said Stan. "Jus' stood there an' laughed. An' when reinforcements from the Ministry of Magic got there, I 'e went wiv em quiet as anyfink, still laughing 'is 'ead off. 'Cos 'e's mad, inee, Ern? Inee mad?"
 "If he weren't when he went to Azkaban, he will be now," said Ern in his slow voice. "I'd blow meself up before I set foot in that place. Serves him rig