'There'll only be one murder here tonight,' said Black, and his grin widened.
'Why's that?' Harry spat, trying to wrench himself free of Ron and Hermione. 'Didn't care last time, did you? Didn't mind slaughtering all those Muggles to get at Pettigrew … What's the matter, gone soft in Azkaban?'
'Harry!' Hermione whimpered, 'Be quiet!' 'HE KILLED MY MUM AND DAD!' Harry roared, and with a huge effort he broke free of Hermione and Ron's restraint and lunged forwards.
He had forgotten about magic, he had forgotten that he was short and skinny and thirteen, whereas Black was a tall, full-grown man.
All Harry knew was that he wanted to hurt Black as badly as he could and that he didn't care how much he got hurt in return…
Perhaps it was the shock of Harry doing something so stupid, but Black didn't raise the wands in time. One of Harry's hands fastened over Black's wasted wrist, forcing the wand tips away;
the knuckles of Harry's other hand collided with the side of Black's head and they fell, backwards, into the wall.
Hermione was screaming; Ron was yelling; there was a blinding flash as the wands in Black's hand sent into the air a jet of sparks which missed Harry's face by inches;
Harry felt the shrunken arm under his fingers twisting madly, but he clung on, his other hand punching every part of Black it could find. But Black's free hand had found Harry's throat…