'Interrogators: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister for Magic; Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister. Court Scribe, Percy Ignatius Weasley - '
In the complete silence that greeted these words, the witch to the right of Fudge leaned forwards so that Harry saw her for the first time.
He thought she looked just like a large, pale toad. She was rather squat with a broad, flabby face, as little neck as Uncle Vernon and a very wide, slack mouth. Her eyes were large, round and slightly bulging. Even the little black velvet bow perched on top of her short curly hair put him in mind of a large fly she was about to catch on a long sticky tongue.
'The Chair recognises Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Under-secretary to the Minister,' said Fudge.
The witch spoke in a fluttery, girlish, high-pitched voice that took Harry aback; he had been expecting a croak.
'I'm sure I must have misunderstood you, Professor Dumbledore,' she said, with a simper that felt her big, round eyes as cold as ever. 'So silly of me. But it sounded for a teensy moment as though you were suggesting that the Ministry of Magic had ordered an attack on this boy!'
She gave a silvery laugh that made the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stand up. A few other members of the Wizengamot laughed with her. It could not have been plainer that not one of them was really amused.
Harry's eyes followed hers. They lit first upon Professor Dumbledore, sitting in his high-backed golden chair at the centre of the long staff table, wearing deep-purple robes scattered with silvery stars and a matching hat. Dumbledore's head was inclined towards the woman sitting next to him, who was talking into his ear. She looked, Harry thought, like somebody's maiden aunt: squat, with short, curly, mouse-brown hair in which she had placed a horrible pink Alice band that matched the fluffy pink cardigan she wore over her robes. Then she turned her face slightly to take a sip from her goblet and he saw, with a shock of recognition, a pallid, toadlike face and a pair of prominent, pouchy eyes.
'It's that Umbridge woman!'
'Who?' said Hermione.
'She was at my hearing, she works for Fudge!'
'Nice cardigan,' said Ron, smirking.
'She works for Fudge!' Hermione repeated, frowning. 'What on earth's she doing here, then?'
'Dunno . . .'
Hermione scanned the staff table, her eyes narrowed.
'No,' she muttered, 'no, surely not . . .'
'We have had two changes in staffing this year. We are very pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking Care of Magical Creatures lessons; we are also delighted to introduce Professor Umbridge, our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.'
There was a round of polite but fairly unenthusiastic applause, during which Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged slightly panicked looks; Dumbledore had not said for how long Grubbly-Plank would be teaching.
Dumbledore continued, 'Tryouts for the house Quidditch teams will take place on the - '
He broke off, looking enquiringly at Professor Umbridge. As she was not much taller standing than sitting, there was a moment when nobody understood why Dumbledore had stopped talking, but then Professor Umbridge cleared her throat, 'Hem, hem,' and it became clear that she had got to her feet and was intending to make a speech.
Dumbledore only looked taken aback for a moment, then he sat down smartly and looked alertly at Professor Umbridge as though he desired nothing better than to listen to her talk. Other members of staff were not as adept at hiding their surprise. Professor Sprout's eyebrows had disappeared into her flyaway hair and Professor McGonagall's mouth was as thin as Harry had ever seen it. No new teacher had ever interrupted Dumbledore before. Many of the students were smirking; this woman obviously did not know how things were done at Hogwarts.
Thank you, Headmaster,' Professor Umbridge simpered, 'for those kind words of welcome.'
Her voice was high-pitched, breathy and little-girlish and, again, Harry felt a powerful rush of dislike that he could not explain to himself; all he knew was that he loathed everything about her, from her stupid voice to her fluffy pink cardigan. She gave another little throat-clearing cough ('hem, hem') and continued.
'Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say!' She smiled, revealing very pointed teeth. 'And to see such happy little faces looking up at me!'
Harry glanced around. None of the faces he could see looked happy. On the contrary, they all looked rather taken-aback at being addressed as though they were five years old.
'I am very much looking forward to getting to know you all and I'm sure we'll be very good friends!'
Students exchanged looks at this; some of them were barely concealing grins.
'I'll be her friend as long as I don't have to borrow that cardigan,' Parvati whispered to Lavender, and both of them lapsed into silent giggles.
Professor Umbridge cleared her throat again ('hem, hem'), but when she continued, some of the breathiness had vanished from her voice. She sounded much more businesslike and now her words had a dull learned-by-heart sound to them.
The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance. The rare gifts with which you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction. The ancient skills unique to the wizarding community must be passed down the generations lest we lose them for ever. The treasure trove of magical knowledge amassed by our ancestors must be guarded, replenished and polished by those who have been called to the noble profession of teaching.'
Professor Umbridge paused here and made a little bow to her fellow staff members, none of whom bowed back to her. Professor McGonagall's dark eyebrows had contracted so that she looked positively hawklike, and Harry distinctly saw her exchange a sig-nificant glance with Professor Sprout as Umbridge gave another little 'hem, hem' and went on with her speech.
'Every headmaster and headmistress of Hogwarts has brought something new to the weighty task of governing this historic school, and that is as it should be, for without progress there will be stag-nation and decay. There again, progress for progress's sake must be discouraged, for our tried and tested traditions often require no tinkering. A balance, then, between old and new, between permanence and change, between tradition and innovation . . .'
Harry found his attentiveness ebbing, as though his brain was slipping in and out of tune. The quiet that always filled the Hall when Dumbledore was speaking was breaking up as students put t heir heads together, whispering and giggling. Over on the Ravenclaw table Cho Chang was chatting animatedly with her friends. A few seats along from Cho, Luna Lovegood had got out The Quibbler again. Meanwhile, at the Hufflepuff table Ernie Macmillan was one of the few still staring at Professor Umbridge, but he was glassy-eyed and Harry was sure he was only pretending to listen in an attempt to live up to the new prefect's badge gleaming on his chest.
Professor Umbridge did not seem to notice the restlessness of her audience. Harry had the impression that a full-scale riot could have broken out under her nose and she would have ploughed on with her speech. The teachers, however, were still listening very attentively, and Hermione seemed to be drinking in every word Umbridge spoke, though, judging by her expression, they were not at all to her taste.
'. . . because some changes will be for the better, while others will come, in the fullness of time, to be recognised as errors of judgement. Meanwhile, some old habits will be retained, and rightly so, whereas others, outmoded and outworn, must be abandoned. Let us move forward, then, into a new era of openness, effective-ness and accountability, intent on preserving what ought to be pre-served, perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited.'
She sat down. Dumbledore clapped. The staff followed his lead, though Harry noticed that several of them brought their hands together only once or twice before stopping. A few students joined in, but most had been taken unawares by the end of the speech, not having listened to more than a few words of it, and before they could start applauding properly, Dumbledore had stood up again.
Thank you very much, Professor Umbridge, that was most illu-minating,' he said, bowing to her. 'Now, as I was saying, Quidditch tryouts will be held . . .'
'Yes, it certainly was illuminating,' said Hermione in a low voice.
'You're not telling me you enjoyed it?' Ron said quietly, turning a glazed face towards Hermione. That was about the dullest speech I've ever heard, and I grew up with Percy.'
'I said illuminating, not enjoyable,' said Hermione. 'It explained a lot.'
'Did it?' said Harry in surprise. 'Sounded like a load of waffle to me.'
'Look at today!' groaned Ron. 'History of Magic, double Potions, Divination and double Defence Against the Dark Arts . . . Binns, Snape, Trelawney and that Umbridge woman all in one day! I wish Fred and George'd hurry up and get those Skiving Snackboxes sorted . . ."
'D'you realise how much homework we've got already? Binns set us a foot-and-a-half-long essay on giant wars, Snape wants a foot on the use of moonstones, and now we've got a month's dream diary from Trelawney! Fred and George weren't wrong about OWL year, were they? That Umbridge woman had better not give us any . . .'
When they entered the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom they found Professor Umbridge already seated at the teachers desk, wearing the fluffy pink cardigan of the night before and the black velvet bow on top of her head. Harry was again reminded forcibly of a large fly perched unwisely on top of an even larger toad.
The class was quiet as it entered the room; Professor Umbridge was, as yet, an unknown quantity and nobody knew how strict a disciplinarian she was likely to be.
'Well, good afternoon!' she said, when finally the whole class had sat down.
A few people mumbled 'good afternoon' in reply.
'Tut, tut,' said Professor Umbridge. 'That won't do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply "Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge". One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!'
'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge,' they chanted back at her.
There, now,' said Professor Umbridge sweetly. That wasn't too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please.'
Many of the class exchanged gloomy looks; the order 'wands away' had never yet been followed by a lesson they had found interesting. Harry shoved his wand back inside his bag and pulled cut quill, ink and parchment. Professor Umbridge opened her handbag, extracted her own wand, which was an unusually short one, and tapped the blackboard sharply with it; words appeared on the board at once:
Defence Against the Dark Arts
A Return to Basic Principles
'Well now, your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn't it?' stated Professor Umbridge, turning to face the class with her hands clasped neatly in front of her. The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your OWL year.
'You will be pleased to know, however, that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory-centred, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year. Copy down the following, please.'
She rapped the blackboard again; the first message vanished and was replaced by the 'Course Aims'.
1. Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic.
2. Learning to recognise situations in which defensive magic can legally
he used
3. Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use.
For a couple of minutes the room was full of the sound of scratching quills on parchment. When everyone had copied down Professor Umbridge's three course aims she asked, 'Has everybody got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?'
There was a dull murmur of assent throughout the class.
'I think we'll try that again,' said Professor Umbridge. 'When I ask you a question, I should like you to reply, "Yes, Professor Umbridge", or "No, Professor Umbridge'. So: has everyone got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?'
'Yes, Professor Umbridge,' rang through the room.
'Good,' said Professor Umbridge. I should like you to turn to page five and read "Chapter One, Basics for Beginners". There will be no need to talk.'
Professor Umbridge left the blackboard and settled herself in the chair behind the teacher's desk, observing them all closely with those pouchy toad's eyes. Harry turned to page five of his copy of Defensive Magical Theory and started to read.
It was desperately dull, quite as bad as listening to Professor Binns. He felt his concentration sliding away from him; he had soon read the same line half a dozen times without taking in more than the first few words. Several silent minutes passed. Next to him, Ron was absent-mindedly turning his quill over and over in his fingers, staring at the same spot on the page. Harry looked right and received a surprise to shake him out of his torpor. Hermione had not even opened her copy of Defensive Magical Theory. She was staring fixedly at Professor Umbridge with her hand in the air.
Harry could not remember Hermione ever neglecting to read when instructed to, or indeed resisting the temptation to open any book that came under her nose. He looked at her enquiringly, but she merely shook her head slightly to indicate that she was not about to answer questions, and continued to stare at Professor Umbridge, who was looking just as resolutely in another direction.
After several more minutes had passed, however, Harry was not the only one watching Hermione. The chapter they had been instructed to read was so tedious that more and more people were choosing to watch Hermione's mute attempt to catch Professor Umbridge's eye rather than struggle on with 'Basics for Beginners'.
When more than half the class were staring at Hermione rather than at their books, Professor Umbridge seemed to decide that she could ignore the situation no longer.
'Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?' she asked Hermione, as though she had only just noticed her.
'Not about the chapter, no,' said Hermione.
'Well, we're reading just now,' said Professor Umbridge, showing her small pointed teeth. 'If you have other queries we can deal with them at the end of class.'
'I've got a query about your course aims,' said Hermione.
Professor Umbridge raised her eyebrows.
'And your name is?'
'Hermione Granger,' said Hermione.
'Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully' said Professor Umbridge in a voice of determined sweetness.
'Well, I don't,' said Hermione bluntly. 'There's nothing written up there about using defensive spells.'
There was a short silence in which many members of the class turned their heads to frown at the three course aims still written on the blackboard.
'Using defensive spells?' Professor Umbridge repeated with a little laugh. 'Why, I can't imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class?'
'We're not going to use magic?' Ron exclaimed loudly.
'Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr - ?'
'Weasley,' said Ron, thrusting his hand into the air.
Professor Umbridge, smiling still more widely, turned her back or. him. Harry and Hermione immediately raised their hands too. Professor Umbridge's pouchy eyes lingerec. on Harry for a moment before she addressed Hermione.
'Yes, Miss Granger? You wanted to ask something else?'
'Yes,' said Hermione. 'Surely the whole point of Defence Against the Dark Arts is to practise defensive spells?'
'Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?' asked Professor Umbridge, in her falsely sweet voice.
'No, but - '
'Well then, I'm afraid you are not qualified to decide what the "whole point" of any class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised our new programme of study. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way - '
'What use is that?' said Harry loudly. 'If we're going to be attacked, it won't be in a - '
'Hand, Mr Potter!' sang Professor Umbridge.
Harry thrust his fist in the air. Again, Professor Umbridge promptly turned away from him, but now several other people had their hands up, too.
'And your name is?' Professor Umbridge said to Dean.
'Dean Thomas.'
'Well, Mr Thomas?'
'Well, it's like Harry said, isn't it?' said Dean. 'If we're going to be attacked, it won't be risk free.'
'I repeat,' said Professor Umbridge, smiling in a very irritating fashion at Dean, 'do you expect to be attacked during my classes?'
'No, but - '
Professor Umbridge talked over him. 'I do not wish to criticise the way things have been run in this school,' she said, an uncon-vincing smile stretching her wide mouth, 'but you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class, very irres-ponsible indeed - not to mention,' she gave a nasty little laugh, 'extremely dangerous half-breeds.'
'If you mean Professor Lupin,' piped up Dean angrily, 'he was the best we ever -
'Hand, Mr Thomas! As I was saying - you have been introduced to spells that have been complex, inappropriate to your age group and potentially lethal. You have been frightened into believing that you are likely to meet Dark attacks every other day - '
'No we haven't,' Hermione said, 'we just - '
'Your hand is not up, Miss Granger!'
Hermione put up her hand. Professor Umbridge turned away from her.
'It is my understanding that my predecessor not only performed illegal curses in front of you, he actually performed them on you.'
'Well, he turned out to be a maniac, didn't he?' said Dean hotly. 'Mind you, we still learned loads.'
'Your hand is not up, Mr Thomas!' trilled Professor Umbridge. 'Now, it is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be more than sufficient to get you through your examination, which, after all, is what school is all about. And your name is?' she added, staring at Parvati, whose hand had just shot up.
'Parvati Patil, and isn't there a practical bit in our Defence Against
the Dark Arts OWL? Aren't we supposed to show that we can actu-ally do the counter-curses and things?'
As long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there is no reason why you should not be able to perform the spells under care-fully controlled examination conditions,' said Professor Umbridge dismissively.
'Without ever practising them beforehand?' said Parvati incred-ulously. Are you telling us that the first time we'll get to do the spells will be during our exam?'
'I repeat, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough - '
And what good's theory going to be in the real world?' said Harry loudly, his fist in the air again.
Professor Umbridge looked up.
'This is school, Mr Potter, not the real world,' she said softly.
'So we're not supposed to be prepared for what's waiting for us out there?'
'There is nothing waiting out there, Mr Potter.'
'Oh, yeah?' said Harry. His temper, which seemed to have been bubbling just beneath the surface all day, was reaching boiling point.
'Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?' enquired Professor Umbridge in a horribly honeyed voice.
'Hmm, let's think . . .' said Harry in a mock thoughtful voice. 'Maybe . . . Lord Voldemort?'
Ron gasped; Lavender Brown uttered a little scream; Neville slipped sideways off his stool. Professor Umbridge, however, did not flinch. She was staring at Harry with a grimly satisfied expres-sion on her face.
'Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr Potter.'
The classroom was silent and still. Everyone was staring at either Umbridge or Harry.
'Now, let me make a few things quite plain.'
Professor Umbridge stood up and leaned towards them, her stubby-fingered hands splayed on her desk.
'You have been told that a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead - '
'He wasn't dead,' said Harry angrily, 'but yeah, he's returned!'
'Mr-Potter-you-have-already-lost-your-house-ten-points-do-not-make-matters-worse-for-yourself,' said Professor Umbridge in one breath without looking at him. 'As I was saying, you have been informed that a certain Dark wizard is at large once again. This is a lie.'
'It is NOT a lie!' said Harry. 'I saw him, I fought him!'
'Detention, Mr Potter!' said Professor Umbridge triumphantly. Tomorrow evening. Five o'clock. My office. I repeat, this is a lie. The Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard. If you are still worried, by all means come and see me outside class hours. If someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn Dark wizards, I would like to hear about it. I am here to help. I am your friend. And now, you will kindly continue your reading. Page five, "Basics for Beginners".'
Professor Umbridge sat down behind her desk. Harry, however, stood up. Everyone was staring at him; Seamus looked half-scared, half-fascinated.
'Harry, no!' Hermione whispered in a warning voice, tugging at his sleeve, but Harry jerked his arm out of her reach.
'So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?' Harry asked, his voice shaking.
There was a collective intake of breath from the class, for none of them, apart from Ron and Hermione, had ever heard Harry talk about what had happened on the night Cedric had died. They stared avidly from Harry to Professor Umbridge, who had raised her eyes and was staring at him without a trace of a fake smile on her face.
'Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident,' she said coldly.
'It was murder,' said Harry. He could feel himself shaking. He had hardly spoken to anyone about this, least of all thirty eagerly listening classmates. 'Voldemort killed him and you know it.'
Professor Umbridge's face was quite blank. For a moment, Harry thought she was going to scream at him. Then she said, in her softest, most sweetly girlish voice, 'Come here, Mr Potter, dear.'
He kicked his chair aside, strode around Ron and Hermione and up to the teacher's desk. He could feel the rest of the class holding its breath. He felt so angry he did not care what happened next.
Professor Umbridge pulled a small roll of pink parchment out of her handbag, stretched it out on the desk, dipped her quill into a bottle of ink and started scribbling, hunched over so that Harry could not see what she was writing. Nobody spoke. After a minute or so she rolled up the parchment and tapped it with her wand; it sealed itself seamlessly so that he could not open it.
Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear,' said Professor Umbridge, holding out the note to him.
'I've been sent to see you,' said Harry stiffly.
'Sent? What do you mean, sent?'
He held out the note from Professor Umbridge. Professor McGonagall took it from him, frowning, slit it open with a tap of her wand, stretched it out and began to read. Her eyes zoomed from side to side behind their square spectacles as she read what Umbridge had written, and with each line they became narrower.
'Come in here, Potter.'
He followed her inside her study. The door closed automatically behind him.
'Well?' said Professor McGonagall, rounding on him. "Is this true?'
'Is what true?' Harry asked, rather more aggressively than he had intended. 'Professor?' he added, in an attempt to sound more polite.
'Is it true that you shouted at Professor Umbridge?'
'Yes,' said Harry.
'You called her a liar?'
'Yes.'
'You told her He Who Must Not Be Named is back?'
'Yes.'
Professor McGonagall set down Professor Umbridge's note and looked very seriously at Harry.
'Potter, you need to be careful.'
'Misbehaviour in Dolores Umbridge's class could cost you much more than house points and a detention.'
'What do you - ?'
'Potter, use your common sense,' snapped Professor McGonagall, with an abrupt return to her usual manner. 'You know where she comes from, you must know to whom she is reporting.'
'It says here she's given you detention every evening this week, starting tomorrow,' Professor McGonagall said, looking down at Umbridge's note again.
'Every evening this week!' Harry repeated, horrified. 'But, Professor, couldn't you - ?'
'No, I couldn't,' said Professor McGonagall flatly.
'But - '
'She is your teacher and has every right to give you detention. You will go to her room at five o'clock tomorrow for the first one. Just remember: tread carefully around Dolores Umbridge.'
'Didn't you listen to Dolores Umbridge's speech at the start-of-term feast, Potter?'
'Yeah,' said Harry. 'Yeah . . . she said . . . progress will be prohibited or . . . well, it meant that . . . that the Ministry of Magic is trying to interfere at Hogwarts.'
Professor McGonagall eyed him closely for a moment, then sniffed, walked around her desk and held open the door for him.
Dinner in the Great Hall that night was not a pleasant experience for Harry. The news about his shouting match with Umbridge had travelled exceptionally fast even by Hogwarts' standards. He heard whispers all around him as he sat eating between Ron and Hermione. The funny thing was that none of the whisperers seemed to mind him overhearing what they were saying about him. On the con-trary, it was as though they were hoping he would get angry and start shouting again, so that they could hear his story first-hand.
As Harry was starving, and he had his first detention with Umbridge at five o'clock, he headed straight for dinner without dropping off his bag in Gryffindor Tower so that he could bolt something down before facing whatever she had in store for him. He had barely reached the entrance of the Great Hall, however, when a loud and angry voice yelled, 'Oi, Potter!'
'I didn't decide not to be there!' said Harry, stung by the in-justice of these words. 'I got detention from that Umbridge woman, just because I told her the truth about You-Know-Who.'
'Well, you can just go straight to her and ask her to let you off en Friday,' said Angelina fiercely, 'and I don't care how you do it. Tell her You-Know-Who's a figment of your imagination if you like, just make sure you're there!'
'What d'you reckon are the odds of Umbridge letting you off on Friday?' said Ron sceptically, as they sat down at the Gryffindor table.
'Less than zero,' said Harry glumly, tipping lamb chops on to his plate and starting to eat. 'Better try, though, hadn't I? I'll offer to do two more detentions or something, I dunno . . .' He swallowed a mouthful of potato and added, 'I hope she doesn't keep me too long this evening. You realise we've got to write three essays, prac-tise Vanishing Spells for McGonagall, work out a counter-charm for Flitwick, finish the Bowtruckle drawing and start that stupid dream diary for Trelawney?'
At five to five Harry bade the other two goodbye and set off for Umbridge's office on the third floor. When he knocked on the door she called, 'Come in,' in a sugary voice. He entered cautiously, looking around.
He had known this office under three of its previous occupants.
In the days when Gilderoy Lockhart had lived here it had been plastered in beaming portraits of himself. When Lupin had occu-pied it, it was likely you would meet some fascinating Dark creature in a cage or tank if you came to call. In the impostor Moody's days it had been packed with various instruments and artefacts for the detection of wrongdoing and concealment.
Now, however, it looked totally unrecognisable. The surfaces had all been draped in lacy covers and cloths. There were several vases full of dried flowers, each one residing on its own doily, and on one of the walls was a collection of ornamental plates, each decorated with a large technicolour kitten wearing a different bow around its neck. These were so foul that Harry stared at them, transfixed, until Professor Umbridge spoke again.
'Good evening, Mr Potter.'
Harry started and looked around. He had not noticed her at first because she was wearing a luridly flowered set of robes that blended only too well with the tablecloth on the desk behind her.
'Evening, Professor Umbridge,' Harry said stiffly.
'Well, sit down,' she said, pointing towards a small table draped in lace beside which she had drawn up a straight-backed chair. A piece of blank parchment lay on the table, apparently waiting for him.
'Er,' said Harry, without moving. 'Professor Umbridge. Er - before we start, I - I wanted to ask you a . . . a favour.'
Her bulging eyes narrowed.
'Oh, yes?'
'Well, I'm . . . I'm in the Gryffindor Quidditch team. And I was supposed to be at the tryouts for the new Keeper at five o'clock on Friday and I was - was wondering whether I could skip deten-tion that night and do it - do it another night . . . instead . . .'
He knew long before he reached the end of his sentence that it was no good.
'Oh, no,' said Umbridge, smiling so widely that she looked as though she had just swallowed a particularly juicy fly. 'Oh, no, no, no. This is your punishment for spreading evil, nasty, attention-seeking stories, Mr Potter, and punishments certainly cannot be adjusted to suit the guilty one's convenience. No, you will come here at five o'clock tomorrow, and the next day, and on Friday too, and you will do your detentions as planned. I think it rather a good thing that you are missing something you really want to do. It ought to reinforce the lesson I am trying to teach you.'
Harry felt the blood surge to his head and heard a thumping noise in his ears. So he told 'evil, nasty, attention-seeking stones', did he?
She was watching him with her head slightly to one side, still smiling widely, as though she knew exactly what he was thinking and was waiting to see whether he would start shouting again. With a massive effort, Harry looked away from her, dropped his schoolbag beside the straight-backed chair and sat down.
'There,' said Umbridge sweetly, 'we're getting better at controlling our temper already, aren't we? Now, you are going to be doing some lines for me, Mr Potter. No, not with your quill,' she added, as Harry bent down to open his bag. 'You're going to be using a rather special one of mine. Here you are.'
She handed him a long, thin black quill with an unusually sharp point.
'I want you to write, I must not tell lies,' she told him softly.
'How many times?' Harry asked, with a creditable imitation of politeness.
'Oh, as long as it takes for the message to sink in,' said Umbridge sweetly. 'Off you go.'
She moved over to her desk, sat down and bent over a stack of parchment that looked like essays for marking. Harry raised the sharp black quill, then realised what was missing.
'You haven't given me any ink,' he said.
'Oh, you won't need ink,' said Professor Umbridge, with the merest suggestion of a laugh in her voice.
Harry placed the point of the quill on the paper and wrote: I must not tell lies.
He let out a gasp of pain. The words had appeared on the parchment in what appeared to be shining red ink. At the same time, the words had appeared on the back of Harry's right hand, cut into his skin as though traced there by a scalpel - yet even as he stared at the shining cut, the skin healed over again, leaving the place where it had been slightly redder than before but quite smooth.
Harry looked round at Umbridge. She was watching him, her wide, toadlike mouth stretched in a smile.
'Yes?'
'Nothing,' said Harry quietly.
He looked back at the parchment, placed the quill on it once more, wrote I must not tell lies, and felt the searing pain on the back of his hand for a second time; once again, the words had been cut into his skin; once again, they healed over seconds later.
And on it went. Again and again Harry wrote the words on the parchment in what he soon came to realise was not ink, but his own blood. And, again and again, the words were cut into the back of his hand, healed, and reappeared the next time he set quill to parchment.
Darkness fell outside Umbridge's window. Harry did not ask when he would be allowed to stop. He did not even check his watch. He knew she was watching him for signs of weakness and he was not going to show any, not even if he had to sit there all night, cutting open his own hand with this quill . . .
'Come here,' she said, after what seemed hours.
He stood up. His hand was stinging painfully. When he looked down at it he saw that the cut had healed, but that the skin there was red raw.
'Hand,' she said.
He extended it. She took it in her own. Harry repressed a shudder as she touched him with her thick, stubby fingers on which she wore a number of ugly old rings.
'Tut, tut, I don't seem to have made much of an impression yet,' she said, smiling. 'Well, we'll just have to try again tomorrow evening, won't we? You may go.'
'How was detention with Umbridge, anyway? What did she make you do?'
Harry hesitated for a fraction of a second, then said, 'Lines.'
It was another bad day for Harry; he was one of the worst in Transfiguration, not having practised Vanishing Spells at all. He had to give up his lunch hour to complete the picture of the Bowtruckle and, meanwhile, Professors McGonagall, Grubbly-Plank and Sinistra gave them yet more homework, which he had no prospect of finishing that evening because of his second deten-tion with Umbridge. To cap it all, Angelina Johnson tracked him down at dinner again and, on learning that he would not be able to attend Friday's Keeper tryouts, told him she was not at all impressed by his attitude and that she expected players who wished to remain on the team to put training before their other commitments.
'I'm in detention!' Harry yelled after her as she stalked away. 'D'you think I'd rather be stuck in a room with that old toad or playing Quidditch?'
'At least it's only lines,' said Hermione consolingly, as Harry sank back on to his bench and looked down at his steak and kidney pie, which he no longer fancied very much. 'It's not as it it's a dreadful punishment, really . . .'
Harry opened his mouth, closed it again and nodded. He was not really sure why he was not telling Ron and Hermione exactly what was happening in Umbridge's room: he only knew that he did not want to see their looks of horror; that would make the whole thing seem worse and therefore more difficult to face. He also felt dimly that this was between himself and Umbridge, a private battle of wills, and he was not going to give her the satis-faction of hearing that he had complained about it.
The second detention was just as bad as the previous one. The skin on the back of Harry's hand became irritated more quickly now and was soon red and inflamed. Harry thought it unlikely that it would keep healing as effectively for long. Soon the cut would remain etched into his hand and Umbridge would, perhaps, be satisfied. He let no gasp of pain escape him, however, and from the moment of entering the room to the moment of his dismissal, again past midnight, he said nothing but 'good evening' and 'goodnight'.
Thursday passed in a haze of tiredness. Ron seemed very sleepy too, though Harry could not see why he should be. Harry's third detention passed in the same way as the previous two, except that after two hours the words 'I must not tell lies' did not fade from the back of Harry's hand, but remained scratched there, oozing droplets of blood. The pause in the pointed quills scratching made Professor Umbridge look up.
'Ah,' she said softly, moving around her desk to examine his hand herself. 'Good. That ought to serve as a reminder to you, oughtn't it? You may leave for tonight.'
'Do I still have to come back tomorrow?' said Harry, picking up his schoolbag with his left hand rather than his smarting right one.
'Oh yes,' said Professor Umbridge, smiling as widely as before. 'Yes, I think we can etch the message a little deeper with another evenings work.'
Harry had never before considered the possibility that there might be another teacher in the world he hated more than Snape, but as he walked back towards Gryffindor Tower he had to admit he had found a strong contender. She's evil, he thought, as he climbed a staircase to the seventh floor, she's an evil, twisted, mad old-
'I thought you said she was just giving you lines?'
Harry hesitated, but after all, Ron had been honest with him, so he told Ron the truth about the hours he had been spending in Umbridge's office.
The old hag!' Ron said in a revolted whisper as they came to a halt in front of the Fat Lady, who was dozing peacefully with her head against her frame. 'She's sick! Go to McGonagall, say some-thing!'
'No,' said Harry at once. 'I'm not giving her the satisfaction of knowing she's got to me.'
'Got to you? You can't let her get away with this!'
'I don't know how much power McGonagall's got over her,' said Harry.
Friday dawned sullen and sodden as the rest of the week. Though Harry automatically glanced towards the staff table when he entered the Great Hall, it was without any real hope of seeing Hagrid, and he turned his mind immediately to his more pressing problems, such as the mountainous pile of homework he had to do and the prospect of yet another detention with Umbridge.
Two things sustained Harry that day. One was the thought that it was almost the weekend; the other was that, dreadful though his final detention with Umbridge was sure to be, he had a dis-tant view of the Quidditch pitch from her window and might, with luck, be able to see something of Ron's tryout. These were rather feeble rays of light, it was true, but Harry was grateful for any-thing that might lighten his present darkness; he had never had a worse first week of term at Hogwarts.
At five o'clock that evening he knocked on Professor Umbridge's office door for what he sincerely hoped would be the final time, and was told to enter. The blank parchment lay ready for him on the lace-covered table, the pointed black quill beside it.
'You know what to do, Mr Potter,' said Umbridge, smiling sweetly at him.
Harry picked up the quill and glanced through the window. If he just shifted his chair an inch or so to the right . . . on the pre-text of shifting himself closer to the table, he managed it. He now had a distant view of the Gryffindor Quidditch team soaring up and down the pitch, while half a dozen black figures stood at the foot of the three high goalposts, apparently awaiting their turn to Keep. It was impossible to tell which one was Ron at this dis-tance.
He looked up whenever he thought he could risk it; when he could hear the scratching of Umbridge's quill or the opening of a desk drawer. The third person to try out was pretty good, the fourth was terrible, the fifth dodged a Bludger exceptionally well but then fumbled an easy save. The sky was darkening, and Harry doubted he would be able to see the sixth and seventh people at all.
'Lets see if you've got the message yet, shall we?' said Umbridge's soft voice half an hour later.
She moved towards him, stretching out her short ringed fingers for his arm. And then, as she took hold of him to examine the words now cut into his skin, pain seared, not across the back of his hand, but across the scar on his forehead. At the same time, he had a most peculiar sensation somewhere around his midriff.
He wrenched his arm out of her grip and leapt to his feet, staring at her. She looked back at him, a smile stretching her wide, slack mouth.
'Yes, it hurts, doesn't it?' she said softly.
He did not answer. His heart was thumping very hard and fast. Was she talking about his hand or did she know what he had just felt in his forehead?
'Well, I think I've made my point, Mr Potter. You may go.'
'Great,' said Harry distractedly; if he did not tell somebody soon, he would burst. 'Listen, Hermione, I was just up in Umbridge's office and she touched my arm . . .'
Hermione listened closely. When Harry had finished, she said slowly, 'You're worried You-Know-Who's controlling her like he controlled Quirrell?'
'Well,' said Harry, dropping his voice, 'it's a possibility, isn't it?'
'I suppose so,' said Hermione, though she sounded unconvinced. 'But I don't think he can be possessing her the way he possessed Quirrell, I mean, he's properly alive again now, isn't he, he's got his own body, he wouldn't need to share someone else's. He could have her under the Imperius Curse, I suppose . . .'
Harry watched Fred, George and Lee Jordan juggling empty Butterbeer bottles for a moment. Then Hermione said, 'But last year your scar hurt when nobody was touching you, and didn't Dumbledore say it had to do with what You-Know-Who was feeling at the time? I mean, maybe this hasn't got anything to do with Umbridge at all, maybe it's just coincidence it happened while you were with her?'
'She's evil,' said Harry flatly. Twisted.'
'She's horrible, yes, but . . . Harry, I think you ought to tell Dumbledore your scar hurt.'
Dear Snuffles,
Hope you're OK, the first week back here's been terrible, I'm really glad it's the weekend.
We've got a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Umbridge. She's nearly as nice as your mum. I'm writing because that thing I wrote to you about last summer happened again last night when I was doing a detention with Umbridge.
We're all missing our biggest friend, we hope he'll be back soon.
Please write back quickly.
Best,
Harry
Cho looked up, the parcel only half-attached to the owls legs.
'That Umbridge woman's foul,' she said in a low voice. 'Putting you in detention just because you told the truth about how - how - how he died. Everyone heard about it, it was all over the school. You were really brave standing up to her like that.'
[Percy's Letter]
Dear Ron,
I have only just heard (from no less a person than the Minister for Magic himself, who has it from your new teacher, Professor Umbridge) that you have become a Hogwarts prefect.
[Percy's Letter]
It may be that you are afraid to sever ties with Potter - I know that he can be unbalanced and, for all I know, violent - but if you have any worries about this, or have spotted anything else in Potter's behaviour that is troubling you, I urge you to speak to Dolores Umbridge, a truly delightful woman who I know will be only too happy to advise you.
This leads me to my other bit of advice. As I have hinted above, Dumbledore's regime at Hogwarts may soon be over. Your loyalty, Ron, should be not to him, but to the school and the Ministry. I am very sorry to hear that, so far, Professor Umbridge is encountering very little co-operation from staff as she strives to make those nec-essary changes within Hogwarts that the Ministry so ardently desires (although she should find this easier from next week - again, see the Daily Prophet tomorrow!). I shall say only this - a student who shows himself willing to help Professor Umbridge now may be very well-placed for Head Boy ship in a couple of years!
He knew that half the people inside Hogwarts thought him strange, even mad; he knew that the Daily Prophet had been making snide allusions to him for months, but there was something about seeing it written down like that in Percy's writing, about knowing that Percy was advising Ron to drop him and even to tell tales about him to Umbridge, that made his situation real to him as nothing else had. He had known Percy for four years, had stayed in his house during the summer holidays, shared a tent with him during the Quidditch World Cup, had even been awarded full marks by him in the second task of the Triwizard Tournament last year, yet now, Percy thought him unbalanced and possibly violent.
'So you don't think it had anything to do with Umbridge touching me when I was in detention with her?' Harry asked.
'I doubt it,' said Sirius. 'I know her by reputation and I'm sure she's no Death Eater - '
'She's foul enough to be one,' said Harry darkly, and Ron and Hermione nodded vigorously in agreement.
'Yes, but the world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters,' said Sirius with a wry smile. 'I know she's a nasty piece of work, though - you should hear Remus talk about her.'
'Does Lupin know her?' asked Harry quickly, remembering Umbridge's comments about dangerous half-breeds during her first lesson.
'No,' said Sirius, 'but she drafted a bit of anti-werewolf legisla-tion two years ago thai makes it almost impossible for him to get a job.'
Harry remembered how much shabbier Lupin looked these days and his dislike of Umbridge deepened even further.
'What's she got against werewolves?' said Hermione angrily.
'Scared of them, I expect,' said Sirius, smiling at her indigna-tion. 'Apparently, she loathes part-humans; she campaigned to have merpeople rounded up and tagged last year, too. Imagine wasting your time and energy persecuting merpeople when there are little toerags like Kreacher on the loose.'
'So, what are Umbridge's lessons like?' Sirius interrupted. 'Is she training you all to kill half-breeds?'
'No,' said Harry, ignoring Hermione's affronted look at being cut off in her defence of Kreacher. 'She's not letting us use magic at all!'
They had expected to have to comb Hermione's Daily Prophet carefully next morning to find the article Percy had mentioned in his letter. However, the departing delivery owl had barely cleared the top of the milk jug when Hermione let out a huge gasp and flat-tened the newspaper to reveal a large photograph of Dolores Umbridge, smiling widely and blinking slowly at them from beneath the headline.
MINISTRY SEEKS EDUCATIONAL REFORM
DOLORES UMBRIDGE APPOINTED
FIRST EVER HIGH INQUISITOR
'Umbridge - "High Inquisitor"?' said Harry darkly, his half-eaten piece of toast slipping from his fingers. 'What does that mean?'
Hermione read aloud:
'In a surprise move last night the Ministry of Magic passed new legislation giving itself an unprecedented level of control at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
' "The Minister has been growing uneasy about goings-on at Hogwarts for some time," said Junior Assistant to the Minister, Percy Weasley. "He is now responding to concerns, voiced by anx-ious parents, who feel the school may be moving in a direction they do not approve of."
'This is not the first time in recent weeks that the Minister, Cornelius Fudge, has used new laws to effect improvements at the wizarding school. As recently as 30th August, Educational Decree Number Twenty-two was passed, to ensure that, in the event of the current Headmaster being unable to provide a candidate for a teaching post, the Ministry should select an appropriate person.
' "That's how Dolores Umbridge came to be appointed to the teaching staff at Hogwarts," said Weasley last night. "Dumbledore couldn't find anyone so the Minister put in Umbridge, and of course, she's been an immediate success - " '
'She's been a WHAT?' said Harry loudly.
'Wait, there's more,' said Hermione grimly.
' "- an immediate success, totally revolutionising the teaching of Defence Against the Dark Arts and providing the Minister with on-the-ground feedback about what's really happening at Hogwarts."
'It is this last function that the Ministry has now formalised with the passing of Educational Decree Number Twenty-three, which creates the new position of Hogwarts High Inquisitor.
' "This is an exciting new phase in the Minister's plan to get to grips with what some are calling the falling standards at Hogwarts," said Weasley. "The Inquisitor will have powers to inspect her fellow educators and make sure that they are coming up to scratch. Professor Umbridge has been offered this position in addition to her own teaching post and we are delighted to say that she has accepted."
' "I think the appointment of the Inquisitor is a first step towards ensuring that Hogwarts has a headmaster in whom we can all repose our confidence," said a Ministry insider last night.
'Wizengamot elders Griselda Marchbanks and Tiberius Ogden have resigned in protest at the introduction of the post of Inquisitor to Hogwarts.
'So now we know how we ended up with Umbridge! Fudge passed this "Educational Decree" and forced her on us! And now he's given her the power to inspect the other teachers!' Hermione was breathing fast and her eyes were very bright. 'I can't believe this. It's outrageous!'
'I know it is,' said Harry. He looked down at his right hand, clenched on the table-top, and saw the faint white outline of the words Umbridge had forced him to cut into his skin.
But a grin was unfurling on Ron's face.
'What?' said Harry and Hermione together, staring at him.
'Oh, I can't wait to see McGonagall inspected,' said Ron hap-pily. 'Umbridge won't know what's hit her.'
'Well, come on,' said Hermione, jumping up, 'we'd better get going, if she's inspecting Binns's class we don't want to be late . . .'
But Professor Umbridge was not inspecting their History of Magic lesson, which was just as dull as the previous Monday, nor was she in Snape's dungeon when they arrived for double Potions, where Harry's moonstone essay was handed back to him with a large, spiky black 'D' scrawled in an upper corner.
Fred shrugged.
'Not that bad. Umbridge just lurked in the corner making notes on a clipboard. You know what Flitwick's like, he treated her like a guest, didn't seem to bother him at all. She didn't say much. Asked Alicia a couple of questions about what the classes are nor-mally like, Alicia told her they were really good, that was it.'
'I can't see old Flitwick getting marked down,' said George, 'he usually gets everyone through their exams all right.'
'Who've you got this afternoon?' Fred asked Harry.
Trelawney - '
'A "T" if ever I saw one.'
' - and Umbridge herself.'
'Well, be a good boy and keep your temper with Umbridge today,' said George. 'Angelina'll do her nut if you miss any more Quidditch practices.'
But Harry did not have to wait for Defence Against the Dark Arts to meet Professor Umbridge. He was pulling out his dream diary in a seat at the very back of the shadowy Divination room when Ron elbowed him in the ribs and, looking round, he saw Professor Umbridge emerging through the trapdoor in the floor. The class, which had been talking cheerily, fell silent at once. The abrupt fall in the noise level made Professor Trelawney, who had been wafting about handing out copies of The Dream Oracle, look round.
'Good afternoon, Professor Trelawney,' said Professor Umbridge with her wide smile. "You received my note, I trust? Giving the time and date of your inspection?'
Professor Trelawney nodded curtly and, looking very disgrun-tled, turned her back on Professor Umbridge and continued to give out books. Still smiling, Professor Umbridge grasped the back of the nearest armchair and pulled it to the front of the class so that it was a few inches behind Professor Trelawney's seat. She then sat down, took her clipboard from her flowery bag and looked up expectantly, waiting for the class to begin.
Professor Trelawney pulled her shawls tight about her with slightly trembling hands and surveyed the class through her hugely magnifying lenses.
'We shall be continuing our study of prophetic dreams today,' she said in a brave attempt at her usual mystic tones, though her voice shook slightly. 'Divide into pairs, please, and interpret each others latest night-time visions with the aid of the Oracle.'
She made as though to sweep back to her seat, saw Professor Umbridge sitting right beside it, and immediately veered left towards Parvati and Lavender, who were already deep in discussion about Parvati's most recent dream.
Harry opened his copy of The Dream Oracle, watching Umbridge covertly. She was already making notes on her clipboard. After a few minutes she got to her feet and began to pace the room in "Trelawney's wake, listening to her conversations with students and posing questions here and there. Harry bent his head hurriedly over his book.
'It doesn't matter, pick any of them.' said Harry, chancing a glance behind him. Professor Umbridge was now standing at Professor Trelawney's shoulder making notes while the Divination teacher questioned Neville about his dream diary.
'What night did you dream this again?' Ron said, immersed in calculations.
'I dunno, last night, whenever you like,' Harry told him, trying to listen to what Umbridge was saying to Professor Trelawney. They were only a table away from him and Ron now. Professor Umbridge was making another note on her clipboard and Professor Trelawney was looking extremely put out.
'Now,' said Umbridge, looking up at Trelawney, 'you've been in this post how long, exactly?'
Professor Trelawney scowled at her, arms crossed and shoulders hunched as though wishing to protect herself as much as possible from the indignity of the inspection. After a slight pause in which she seemed to decide that the question was not so offensive that she could reasonably ignore it, she said in a deeply resentful tone, 'Nearly sixteen years.'
'Quite a period,' said Professor Umbridge, making a note on her clipboard. 'So it was Professor Dumbledore who appointed you?'
That's right,' said Professor Trelawney shortly.
Professor Umbridge made another note.
'And you are a great-great-granddaughter of the celebrated Seer Cassandra Trelawney?'
'Yes,' said Professor Trelawney, holding her head a little higher.
Another note on the clipboard.
'But I think - correct me if I am mistaken - that you are the first in your family since Cassandra to be possessed of Second Sight?'
These things often skip - er - three generations,' said Professor Trelawney.
Professor Umbridge's toadlike smile widened.
'Of course,' she said sweetly, making yet another note. 'Well, if you could just predict something for me, then?' And she looked up enquiringly, still smiling.
Professor Trelawney stiffened as though unable to believe her ears. 'I don't understand you,' she said, clutching convulsively at the shawl around her scrawny neck.
'I'd like you to make a prediction for me,' said Professor Umbridge very clearly.
Harry and Ron were not the only people now watching and lis-tening sneakily from behind their books. Most of the class were staring transfixed at Professor Trelawney as she drew herself up to her lull height, her beads and bangles clinking.
The Inner Eye does not See upon command!' she said in scan-dalised tones.
'I see,' said Professor Umbridge softly, making yet another note on her clipboard.
'I - but - but . . . wait!' said Professor Trelawney suddenly, in an attempt at her usual ethereal voice, though the mystical effect was ruined somewhat by the way it was shaking with anger. 'I . . . I think I do see something . . . something that concerns you . . . why, I sense something . . . something dark . . . some grave peril . . .'
Professor Trelawney pointed a shaking finger at Professor Umbridge who continued to smile blandly at her, eyebrows raised.
'I am afraid . . . I am afraid that you are in grave danger!' Professor Trelawney finished dramatically.
There was a pause. Professor Umbridge surveyed Professor Trelawney.
'Right,' she said softly, scribbling on her clipboard once more. 'Well, if that's really the best you can do . . .'
She turned away, leaving Professor Trelawney standing rooted to the spot, her chest heaving. Harry caught Ron's eye and knew that Ron was thinking exactly the same as he was: they both knew that Professor Trelawney was an old fraud, but on the other hand, they loathed Umbridge so much that they felt very much on Trelawney's side - until she swooped down on them a few seconds later, that is.
And by the time she had interpreted Harry's dreams at the top of her voice (all of which, even the ones that involved eating por-ridge, apparently foretold a gruesome and early death), he was feeling much less sympathetic towards her. All the while, Professor Umbridge stood a few feet away, making notes on that clipboard, and when the bell rang she descended the silver ladder first and was waiting for them all when they reached their Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson ten minutes later.
She was humming and smiling to herself when they entered the room. Harry and Ron told Hermione, who had been in Arithmancy, exactly what had happened in Divination while they all took out their copies of Defensive Magical Theory, but before Hermione could ask any questions Professor Umbridge had called them all to order and silence fell.
'Wands away,' she instructed them all with a smile, and those people who had been hopeful enough to take them out, sadly returned them to their bags. 'As we finished Chapter One last lesson, I would like you all to turn to page nineteen today and commence "Chapter Two, Common Defensive Theories and their Derivation". There will be no need to talk.'
Still smiling her wide, self-satisfied smile, she sat down at her desk. The class gave an audible sigh as it turned, as one, to page nineteen. Harry wondered dully whether there were enough chap-ters in the book to keep them reading through all this years les-sons and was on the point of checking the contents page when he noticed that Hermione had her hand in the air again.
Professor Umbridge had noticed, too, and what was more, she seemed to have worked out a strategy for just such an eventuality. Instead of trying to pretend she had not noticed Hermione she got to her feet and walked around the front row of desks until they were face to face, then she bent down and whispered, so that the rest of the class could not hear, 'What is it this time, Miss Granger?'
'I've already read Chapter Two,' said Hermione.
'Well then, proceed to Chapter Three.'
'I've read that too. I've read the whole book.'
Professor Umbridge blinked but recovered her poise almost instantly.
'Well, then, you should be able to tell me what Slinkhard says about counter-jinxes in Chapter Fifteen.'
'He says that counter-jinxes are improperly named,' said Hermione promptly. 'He says "counter-jinx" is just a name people give their jinxes when they want to make them sound more acceptable.'
Professor Umbridge raised her eyebrows and Harry knew she was impressed, against her will.
'But I disagree,' Hermione continued.
Professor Umbridge's eyebrows rose a little higher and her gaze became distinctly colder.
'You disagree?' she repeated.
'Yes, I do,' said Hermione, who, unlike Umbridge, was not whis-pering, but speaking in a clear, carrying voice that had by now attracted the attention of the rest of the class. 'Mr Slinkhard doesn't like jinxes, does he? But I think they can be very useful when they're used defensively.'
'Oh, you do, do you?' said Professor Umbridge, forgetting to whisper and straightening up. 'Well, I'm afraid it is Mr Slinkhard's opinion, and not yours, that matters within this classroom, Miss Granger.'
'But - ' Hermione began.
That is enough,' said Professor Umbridge. She walked back to the front of the class and stood before them, all the jauntiness she had shown at the beginning of the lesson gone. 'Miss Granger, I am going to take five points from Gryffindor house.'
There was an outbreak of muttering at this.
'What for?' said Harry angrily.
'Don't you get involved!' Hermione whispered urgently to him.
'For disrupting my class with pointless interruptions,' said Professor Umbridge smoothly. 'I am here to teach you using a Ministry-approved method that does not include inviting students to give their opin-ions on matters about which they understand very little. Your pre-vious teachers in this subject may have allowed you more licence, but as none of them - with the possible exception of Professor Quirrell, who did at least appear to have restricted himself to age-appropriate subjects - would have passed a Ministry inspection - '
'Yeah, Quirrell was a great teacher,' said Harry loudly, 'there was just that minor drawback of him having Lord Voldemort sticking out of the back of his head.'
This pronouncement was followed by one of the loudest silences Harry had ever heard. Then -
'I think another week's detentions would do you some good, Mr Potter,' said Umbridge sleekly.
The cut on the back of Harry's hand had barely healed and, by the following morning, it was bleeding again. He did not complain during the evening's detention; he was determined not to give Umbridge the satisfaction; over and over again he wrote I must not tell lies and not a sound escaped his lips, though the cut deepened with every letter.
'What's this, Potter?' said Professor McGonagall sharply, rounding on Harry. 'Detention? From whom?'
'From Professor Umbridge,' muttered Harry, not meeting Professor McGonagall's beady, square-framed eyes.
'Are you telling me,' she said, lowering her voice so that the group of curious Ravenclaws behind them could not hear, that after the warning I gave you last Monday you lost your temper in Professor Umbridge's class again?'
'Yes,' Harry muttered, speaking to the floor.
'I wish she hadn't taken points from you, but I think she's right to warn you not to lose your temper with Umbridge,' said Hermione's voice, while Fudge gesticulated forcefully from the front page, clearly giving some kind of speech.
Harry did not speak to Hermione all through Charms, but when they entered Transfiguration he forgot about being cross with her. Professor Umbridge and her clipboard were sitting in a corner and the sight of her drove the memory of breakfast right out of his head.
'Excellent,' whispered Ron, as they sat down in their usual seats. 'Let's see Umbridge get what she deserves.'
Professor McGonagall marched into the room without giving the slightest indication that she knew Professor Umbridge was there.
That will do,' she said and silence fell immediately. 'Mr Finnigan, kindly come here and hand back the homework - Miss Brown, please take this box of mice - don't be silly, girl, they won't hurt you - and hand one to each student - '
'Hem, hem,' said Professor Umbridge, employing the same silly little cough she had used to interrupt Dumbledore on the first night of term. Professor McGonagall ignored her. Seamus handed back Harry's essay; Harry took it without looking at him and saw, to his relief, that he had managed an 'A'.
'Right then, everyone, listen closely - Dean Thomas, if you do that to the mouse again I shall put you in detention - most of you have now successfully Vanished your snails and even those who were left with a certain amount of shell have got the gist of the spell. Today, we shall be - '
'Hem, hem,' said Professor Umbridge.
'Yes?' said Professor McGonagall, turning round, her eyebrows so close together they seemed to form one long, severe line.
'I was just wondering, Professor, whether you received my note telling you of the date and time of your inspec - '
'Obviously I received it, or I would have asked you what you are doing in my classroom,' said Professor McGonagall, turning her back firmly on Professor Umbridge. Many of the students exchanged looks of glee. 'As I was saying: today, we shall be prac-tising the altogether more difficult Vanishment of mice. Now, the Vanishing Spell - '
'Hem, hem.'
'I wonder,' said Professor McGonagall in cold fury, turning on Professor Umbridge, 'how you expect to gain an idea of my usual teaching methods if you continue to interrupt me? You see, I do not generally permit people to talk when I am talking.'
Professor Umbridge looked as though she had just been slapped in the face. She did not speak, but straightened the parchment on her clipboard and began scribbling furiously.
Looking supremely unconcerned, Professor McGonagall addressed the class once more.
'As I was saying: the Vanishing Spell becomes more difficult with the complexity of the animal to be Vanished. The snail, as an invertebrate, does not present much of a challenge; the mouse, as a mammal, offers a. much greater one. This is not, therefore, magic you can accomplish with your mind on your dinner. So - you know the incantation, let me see what you can do . . .'
'How she can lecture me about not losing my temper with Umbridge!' Harry muttered to Ron under his breath, but he was grin-ning - his anger with Professor McGonagall had quite evaporated.
Professor Umbridge did not follow Professor McGonagall around the class as she had followed Professor Trelawney; perhaps she realised Professor McGonagall would not permit it. She did, how-ever, take many more notes while sitting in her corner, and when Professor McGonagall finally told them all to pack away, she rose with a grim expression on her face.
'Well, it's a start,' said Ron, holding up a long wriggling mouse-tail and dropping it back into the box Lavender was passing around.
As they filed out of the classroom, Harry saw Professor Umbndge approach the teachers desk; he nudged Ron, who nudged Hermione in turn, and the three of them deliberately fell back to eavesdrop.
'How long have you been teaching at Hogwarts? Professor Umbridge asked.
Thirty-nine years this December,' said Professor McGonagall brusquely, snapping her bag shut.
Professor Umbridge made a note.
'Very well,' she said, 'you will receive the results of your inspec-tion in ten days' time.
'I can hardly wait,' said Professor McGonagall, in a coldly indif-ferent voice, and she strode off towards the door. 'Hurry up, you three,' she added, sweeping Harry, Ron and Hermione before her.
He had thought that the next time he would see Umbridge would be in his detention that evening, but he was wrong. When they walked down the lawns towards the Forest for Care of Magical Creatures, they found her and her clipboard waiting for them beside Professor Grubbly-Plank.
'You do not usually take this class, is that correct?' Harry heard her ask as they arrived at the trestle table where the group of cap-tive Bowtruckles were scrabbling around for woodlice like so many living twigs.
'Quite correct,' said Professor Grubbly-Plank, hands behind her back and bouncing on the balls of her feet. 'I am a substitute teacher standing in for Professor Hagrid.'
Harry exchanged uneasy looks with Ron and Hermione. Malfoy was whispering with Crabbe and Goyle; he would surely love this opportunity to tell tales on Hagrid to a member of the Ministry.
'Hmm,' said Professor Umbridge, dropping her voice, though Harry could still hear her quite clearly. 'I wonder - the Headmaster seems strangely reluctant to give me any information on the matter - can you tell me what is causing Professor Hagrid's very extended leave of absence?'
Harry saw Malfoy look up eagerly and watch Umbridge and Grubbly-Plank closely.
' 'Fraid I can't,' said Professor Grubbly-Plank breezily. 'Don't know anything more about it than you do. Got an owl from Dumbledore, would I like a couple of weeks' teaching, work. I accepted. That's as much as I know. Well . . . shall I get started then?'
'Yes, please do,' said Professor Umbridge, scribbling on her clip-board.
Umbridge took a different tack in this class and wandered amongst the students, questioning them on magical creatures. Most people were able to answer well and Harry's spirits lifted some-what; at least the class was not letting Hagrid down.
'Overall,' said Professor Umbridge, returning to Professor Grubbly-Plank's side after a lengthy interrogation of Dean Thomas, 'how do you, as a temporary member of staff- an objective outsider,
I suppose you might say - how do you find Hogwarts? Do you feel you receive enough support from the school management?'
'Oh, yes, Dumbledore's excellent,' said Professor Grubbly-Plank heartily. 'Yes, I'm very happy with the way things are run, very happy indeed.'
Looking politely incredulous, Umbridge made a tiny note on her clipboard and went on, 'And what are you planning to cover with this class this year - assuming, of course, that Professor Hagrid does not return?'
'Oh, I'll take them through the creatures that most often come up in OWL,' said Professor Grubbly-Plank. 'Not much left to do - they've studied unicorns and Nifflers, I thought we'd cover Porlocks and Kneazles, make sure they can recognise Crups and Knarls, you know . . .'
'Well, you seem to know what you're doing, at any rate,' said Professor Umbridge, making a very obvious tick on her clipboard. Harry did not like the emphasis she put on 'you' and liked it even less when she put her next question to Goyle. 'Now, I hear there have been injuries in this class?'
Goyle gave a stupid grin. Malfoy hastened to answer the ques-tion.
That was me,' he said. 'I was slashed by a Hippogriff.'
'A Hippogriff?' said Professor Umbridge, now scribbling franti-cally.
'Only because he was too stupid to listen to what Hagrid told him to do,' said Harry angrily.
Both Ron and Hermione groaned. Professor Umbridge turned her head slowly in Harry's direction.
'Another night's detention, I think,' she said softly. 'Well, thank you very much, Professor Grubbly-Plank, I think that's all I need here. You will be receiving the results of your inspection within ten days.'
'Jolly good,' said Professor Grubbly-Plank, and Professor Umbridge set off back across the lawn to the castle.
It was nearly midnight when Harry left Umbridge's office that night, his hand now bleeding so severely that it was staining the scarf he had wrapped around it. He expected the common room to be empty when he returned, but Ron and Hermione had sat up waiting for him. He was pleased to see them, especially as Hermione was disposed to be sympathetic rather than critical.
'McGonagall would go nuts if she knew - '
'Yeah, she probably would,' said Harry dully. 'And how long do you reckon it'd take Umbridge to pass another decree saying anyone who complains about the High Inquisitor gets sacked immediately?'
Ron opened his mouth to retort but nothing came out and, after a moment, he closed it again, defeated.
'She's an awful woman,' said Hermione in a small voice. 'Awful. You know, I was just saying to Ron when you came in . . . we've got to do something about her.'
'I suggested poison,' said Ron grimly.
'No . . . I mean, something about what a dreadful teacher she is, and how we're not going to learn any Defence from her at all,' said Hermione.
'Well, what can we do about that?' said Ron, yawning. "S too late, isn't it? She's got the job, she's here to stay. Fudge'll make sure of that.'
'Don't be silly, of course there is,' said Hermione, and Harry saw, with an ominous feeling, that her face was suddenly alight with the kind of fervour that SPEW usually inspired in her. 'It's about preparing ourselves, like Harry said in Umbridge's first lesson, for what's waiting for us out there. It's about making sure we really can defend ourselves. If we don't learn anything for a whole year - '
Hermione made no mention of Harry giving Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons for two whole weeks after her original sugges-tion. Harry's detentions with Umbridge were finally over (he doubted whether the words now etched into the back of his hand would ever fade entirely); Ron had had four more Quidditch practices and not been shouted at during the last two; and all three of them had managed to Vanish their mice in Transfiguration (Hermione had actually progressed to Vanishing kittens), before the subject was broached again, on a wild, blustery evening at the end of September, when the three of them were sitting in the library, looking up potion ingredients for Snape.
'Because,' said Hermione, returning to the diagram of the Chinese Chomping Cabbage she was copying, 'I don't think Umbridge would be very happy if she found out what we were up to.'
She was quite right, of course, he was barely keeping up with his homework, though he was doing much better now that he was no longer spending every evening in detention with Umbridge.
'I don't know about this, Hermione,' Harry muttered, as they crossed to the bar. He was looking particularly at the heavily veiled witch. 'Has it occurred to you Umbridge might be under that?'
Hermione cast an appraising eye over the veiled figure.
'Umbridge is shorter than that woman,' she said quietly. 'And anyway, even if Umbridge does come in here there's nothing she can do to stop us, Harry, because I've double- and triple-checked the school rules. We're not out of bounds; I specifically asked Professor Flitwick whether students were allowed to come in the Hog's Head, and he said yes, but he advised me strongly to bring our own glasses. And I've looked up everything I can think of about study groups and homework groups and they're definitely allowed. I just don't think it's a good idea if we parade what we're doing.'
'Well . . . erm . . . well, you know why you're here. Erm . . . well, Harry here had the idea - I mean' (Harry had thrown her a sharp look) 'I had the idea - that it might be good if people who wanted to study Defence Against the Dark Arts - and I mean, really study it, you know, not the rubbish that Umbridge is doing with us - '(Hermione's voice became suddenly much stronger and more con-fident) ' - because nobody could call that Defence Against the Dark Arts - ' ('Hear, hear,' said Anthony Goldstein, and Hermione looked heartened) ' - Well, I thought it would be good if we, well, took matters into our own hands.'
'We think the reason Umbridge doesn't want us trained in Defence Against the Dark Arts,' said Hermione, 'is that she's got some . . . some mad idea that Dumbledore could use the students in the school as a kind of private army. She thinks he'd mobilise us against the Ministry'
'Hem, hem,' said Ginny, in such a good imitation of Professor Umbridge that several people looked around in alarm and then laughed. 'Weren't we trying to decide how often we're going to meet and have defence lessons?'
'I - I think everybody should write their name down, just so we know who was here. But I also think,' she took a deep breath, 'that we all ought to agree not to shout about what we're doing. So if you sign, you're agreeing not to tell Umbridge or anybody else what we're up to.'
'I - well, we are prefects,' Ernie burst out. 'And if this list was found . . . well, I mean to say . . . you said yourself, if Umbridge finds out - '
Knowing they were doing something to resist Umbridge and the Ministry and that he was a key part of the rebellion, gave Harry a feeling of immense satisfaction.
BY ORDER OF THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS
All student organisations, societies, teams, groups and clubs are
henceforth disbanded.
An organisation, society, team, group or club is hereby defined
as a regular meeting of three or more students.
Permission to re-form may be sought from the High Inquisitor
(Professor Umbridge).
No student organisation, society, team, group or club may exist
without the knowledge and approval of the High Inquisitor.
Any student found to have formed, or to belong to, an organisa-tion,
society, team, group or club that has not been approved by
the High Inquisitor will be expelled.
The above is in accordance with Educational Decree
Number Twenty-four.
Signed: Dolores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor
'This isn't a coincidence,' he said, his hands forming fists. 'She knows.'
'She can't,' said Ron at once.
There were people listening in that pub. And let's face it, we don't know how many of the people who turned up we can trust . . . any of them could have run off and told Umbridge . . .'
'No, they can't have done, because I put a jinx on that piece of parchment we all signed,' said Hermione grimly. 'Believe me, if anyone's run off and told Umbridge, we'll know exactly who they are and they will really regret it.'
It was immediately apparent on entering the Great Hall that Umbridge's sign had not only appeared in Gryffindor Tower. There was a peculiar intensity about the chatter and an extra measure of movement in the Hall as people scurried up and down their tables conferring on what they had read. Harry, Ron and Hermione had barely taken their seats when Neville, Dean, Fred, George and Ginny descended upon them.
'Did you see it?'
'D'you reckon she knows?'
She hurried off towards the Ravenclaw table; Harry watched her go. Cho was sitting not far away, talking to the curly-haired friend she had brought along to the Hog's Head. Would Umbridge's notice scare her off meeting them again?
'You read the sign, it mentions teams too! So listen, Harry . . . I am saying this for the last time . . . please, please don't lose your temper with Umbridge again or she might not let us play any more!'
'OK, OK,' said Harry, for Angelina looked as though she was on the verge of tears. 'Don't worry, I'll behave myself . . .'
'Bet Umbridge is in History of Magic,' said Ron grimly, as they set off for Binns's lesson. 'She hasn't inspected Binns yet . . . bet you anything she's there . . .'
'Yeah, Umbridge gave the Slytherin Quidditch team permission to continue playing straightaway, I went to ask her first thing this morning. Well, it was pretty much automatic, I mean, she knows my father really well, he's always popping in and out of the Ministry . . . it'll be interesting to see whether Gryffindor are allowed to keep playing, won't it?'
'Don't rise,' Hermione whispered imploringly to Harry and Ron, who were both watching Malfoy, faces set and fists clenched. 'It's what he wants.'
'You will notice,' said Snape, in his low, sneering voice, 'that we have a guest with us today.'
He gestured towards the dim corner of the dungeon and Harry saw Professor Umbridge sitting there, clipboard on her knee. He glanced sideways at Ron and Hermione, his eyebrows raised. Snape and Umbridge, the two teachers he hated most. It was hard to decide which one he wanted to triumph over the other.
Professor Umbridge spent the first half hour of the lesson making notes in her corner. Harry was very interested in hearing her ques-tion Snape; so interested, that he was becoming careless with his potion again.
'Right,' said Harry vaguely, putting down the bottle and con-tinuing to watch the corner. Umbridge had just got to her feet. 'Ha,' he said softly, as she strode between two lines of desks towards Snape, who was bending over Dean Thomas's cauldron.
'Well, the class seem fairly advanced for their level,' she said briskly to Snape's back. 'Though I would question whether it is advisable to teach them a potion like the Strengthening Solution. I think the Ministry would prefer it if that was removed from the syllabus.'
Snape straightened up slowly and turned to look at her.
'Now . . . how long have you been teaching at Hogwarts?' she asked, her quill poised over her clipboard.
'Fourteen years,' Snape replied. His expression was unfathom-able. Harry, watching him closely, added a few drops to his potion; it hissed menacingly and turned from turquoise to orange.
'You applied first for the Defence Against the Dark Arts post, I believe?' Professor Umbridge asked Snape.
'Yes,' said Snape quietly.
'But you were unsuccessful?'
Snape's lip curled.
'Obviously.'
Professor Umbridge scribbled on her clipboard.
'And you have applied regularly for the Defence Against the Dark Arts post since you first joined the school, I believe?'
'Yes,' said Snape quietly, barely moving his lips. He looked very angry.
'Do you have any idea why Dumbledore has consistently refused to appoint you?' asked Umbridge.
'I suggest you ask him,' said Snape jerkily.
'Oh, I shall,' said Professor Umbridge, with a sweet smile.
'I suppose this is relevant?' Snape asked, his black eyes nar-rowed.
'Oh yes,' said Professor Umbridge, 'yes, the Ministry wants a thorough understanding of teachers' - er - backgrounds.'
She turned away, walked over to Pansy Parkinson and began questioning her about the lessons. Snape looked round at Harry and their eyes met for a second. Harry hastily dropped his gaze to his potion, which was now congealing foully and giving off a. strong smell of burned rubber.
'But, Professor, who's insulting you?' asked Parvati timidly.
The Establishment!' said Professor Trelawney, in a deep, dra-matic, wavering voice. 'Yes, those with eyes too clouded by the mundane to See as I See, to Know as I Know . . . of course, we Seers have always been feared, always persecuted . . . it is - alas - 'our fate.'
She gulped, dabbed at her wet cheeks with the end of her shawl, then she pulled a small embroidered handkerchief from her sleeve, and blew her nose very hard with a sound like Peeves blowing a raspberry.
Ron sniggered. Lavender shot him a disgusted look.
'Professor,' said Parvati, 'do you mean . . . is it something Professor Umbridge - ?'
'Do not speak to me about that woman!' cried Professor Trelawney leaping to her feet, her beads rattling and her spectacles flashing. 'Kindly continue with your work!'
And she spent the rest of the lesson striding among them, tears still leaking from behind her glasses, muttering what sounded like threats under her breath.
'. . . may well choose to leave . . . the indignity of it . . . on pro-bation . . . we shall see . . . how she dares . . .'
'You and Umbridge have got something in common,' Harry told Hermione quietly when they met again in Defence Against the Dark Arts. 'She obviously reckons Trelawney's an old fraud, too . . . looks like she's put her on probation.'
Umbridge entered the room as he spoke, wearing her black velvet bow and an expression of great smugness.
'Good afternoon, class.'
'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge,' they chanted dully.
'Wands away, please.'
But there was no answering flurry of movement this time; nobody had bothered to take out their wands.
'Please turn to page thirty-four of Defensive Magical Theory and read the third chapter, entitled "The Case for Non-Offensive Responses to Magical Attack". There will be - '
' - no need to talk,' Harry, Ron and Hermione said together, under their breaths.
But Harry could imagine how much Umbridge was enjoying holding the threat of no Gryffindor Quidditch team over their heads and could easily understand why she would not want to relinquish that weapon over them too soon.
'Of course I do!' said Sirius. 'D'you think your father and I would've lain down and taken orders from an old hag like Umbridge?'
A hand had appeared amongst the flames, groping as though to catch hold of something; a stubby, short-fingered hand covered in ugly old-fashioned rings.
The three of them ran for it. At the door of the boys' dormitory Harry looked back. Umbridge's hand was still making snatching move-ments amongst the flames, as though she knew exactly where Sirius's hair had been moments before and was determined to seize it.
'Umbridge has been reading your mail, Harry. There's no other explanation.'
'You think Umbridge attacked Hedwig?' he said, outraged.
'I'm almost certain of it,' said Hermione grimly. 'Watch your frog, it's escaping.'
Charms was always one of the best lessons in which to enjoy a private chat; there was generally so much movement and activity that the danger of being overheard was very slight. Today, with the room full of croaking bullfrogs and cawing ravens, and with a heavy downpour of rain clattering and pounding against the class-room windows, Harry, Ron and Hermione's whispered discussion about how Umbridge had nearly caught Sirius went quite un-noticed.
'I've been suspecting this ever since Filch accused you of ordering Dungbombs, because it seemed such a stupid lie,' Hermione whis-pered. 'I mean, once your letter had been read it would have been quite clear you weren't ordering them, so you wouldn't have been in trouble at all - it's a bit of a feeble joke, isn't it? But then I thought, what if somebody just wanted an excuse to read your mail? Well then, it would be a perfect way for Umbridge to manage it - tip off Filch, let him do the dirty work and confiscate the letter, then either find a way of stealing it from him or else demand to see it - I don't think Filch would object, when's he ever stuck up for a student's rights? Harry, you're squashing your frog.'
Harry looked down; he was indeed squeezing his bullfrog so tightly its eyes were popping; he replaced it hastily upon the desk.
'It was a very, very close call last night,' said Hermione. 'I just wonder if Umbridge knows how close it was. Silendo.'
'Yeah,' said Angelina, beaming. 'I went to McGonagall and I think she might have appealed to Dumbledore. Anyway, Umbridge had to give in. Ha! So I want you down at the pitch at seven o'clock tonight, all right, because we've got to make up time. You realise we're only three weeks away from our first match?'
'Is this what it was about last time?' said Ron in a hushed voice. 'When your scar hurt in Umbridge's office? You-Know-Who was angry?'
Harry was thinking himself back. He had been looking into Umbridge's face . . . his scar had hurt . . . and he had had that odd feeling in his stomach . . . a strange, leaping feeling . . . a happy feeling . . . but of course, he had not recognised it for what it was, as he had been feeling so miserable himself . . .
'Can't, can I?' said Harry grimly. 'Umbridge is watching the owls and the fires, remember?'
Harry had not thought about those words in weeks; he had been too absorbed in what was going on at Hogwarts, too busy dwelling on the ongoing battles with Umbridge, the injustice of all the Ministry interference . . . but now they came back to him and made him wonder . . . Voldemort s anger would make sense if he was no nearer to laying hands on the weapon, whatever it was. Had the Order thwarted him, stopped him from seizing it? Where was it kept? Who had it now?
He bent and picked up his Potions book. He'd have to try to finish the essay tomorrow. He closed the book and as he did so the firelight illuminated the thin white scars on the back of his hand - the result of his detentions with Umbridge . . .
'I need to find a place where twenty-eight people can practise Defence Against the Dark Arts without being discovered by any of the teachers. Especially,' Harry clenched his hand on the book, so that the scars shone pearly white, 'Professor Umbridge.'
'Filch is on the second floor,' said Harry, holding the map close to his eyes, 'and Mrs Norris is on the fourth.'
'And Umbridge?' said Hermione anxiously.
'In her office,' said Harry, pointing. 'OK, let's go.'
'Can we be the Anti-Umbridge League?' said Angelina hopefully.
'Don't mind her,' Cho muttered. 'She doesn't really want to be here but I made her come with me. Her parents have forbidden her to do anything that might upset Umbridge. You see - her mum works for the Ministry.'
'What about your parents?' asked Harry.
'Well, they've forbidden me to get on the wrong side of Umbridge, too,' said Cho, drawing herself up proudly. 'But if they think I'm not going to fight You-Know-Who after what happened to Cedric - '
Harry felt as though he were carrying some kind of talisman inside his chest over the following two weeks, a glowing secret that sup-ported him through Umbridge's classes and even made it possible for him to smile blandly as he looked into her horrible bulging eyes. He and the DA were resisting her under her very nose, doing the very thing she and the Ministry most feared, and whenever he was supposed to be reading Wilbert Slinkhard's book during her lessons he dwelled instead on satisfying memories of their most recent meetings, remembering how Neville had successfully dis-armed Hermione, how Colin Creevey had mastered the Impediment Jinx after three meetings' hard effort, how Parvati Patil had pro-duced such a good Reductor Curse that she had reduced the table carrying all the Sneakoscopes to dust.
'Well - I thought it was a good idea,' she said uncertainly, 'I mean, even if Umbridge asked us to turn out our pockets, there's nothing fishy about carrying a Galleon, is there? But . . . well, if you don't want to use them - '
'But instead of leaving it to Madam Hooch to sort out, you two decided to give an exhibition of Muggle duelling, did you?' bellowed Professor McGonagall. 'Have you any idea what you've - ?'
'Hem, hem.'
Harry and George both wheeled round. Dolores Umbridge was standing in the doorway wrapped in a green tweed cloak that greatly enhanced her resemblance to a giant toad, and was smiling in the horrible, sickly, ominous way that Harry had come to asso-ciate with imminent misery.
'May I help, Professor McGonagall?' asked Professor Umbridge in her most poisonously sweet voice.
Blood rushed into Professor McGonagall's face.
'Help?' she repeated, in a constricted voice. 'What do you mean, help?'
Professor Umbridge moved forwards into the office, still smiling her sickly smile.
'Why, I thought you might be grateful for a little extra authority.'
Harry would not have been surprised to see sparks fly from Professor McGonagall's nostrils.
'You thought wrong,' she said, turning her back on Umbridge.
'Now, you two had better listen closely. I do not care what provo-cation Malfoy offered you, I do not care if he insulted every family member you possess, your behaviour was disgusting and I am giving each of you a week's worth of detentions! Do not look at me like that, Potter, you deserve it! And if either of you ever - '
'Hem, hem.'
Professor McGonagall closed her eyes as though praying for patience as she turned her face towards Professor Umbridge again.
'Yes?'
'I think they deserve rather more than detentions,' said Umbridge, smiling still more broadly.
Professor McGonagall's eyes flew open.
'But unfortunately,' she said, with an attempt at a reciprocal smile that made her look as though she had lockjaw, 'it is what I think that counts, as they are in my House, Dolores.'
'Well, actually, Minerva,' simpered Professor Umbridge, 'I think you'll find that what I think does count. Now, where is it? Cornelius just sent it . . . I mean,' she gave a false little laugh as she rum-maged in her handbag, 'the Minister just sent it . . . ah yes . . .'
She had pulled out a piece of parchment which she now unfurled, clearing her throat fussily before starting to read what it said.
'Hem, hem . . . "Educational Decree Number Twenty-five".'
'Not another one!' exclaimed Professor McGonagall violently.
'Well, yes,' said Umbridge, still smiling. 'As a matter of fact, Minerva, it was you who made me see that we needed a further amendment . . . you remember how you overrode me, when I was unwilling to allow the Gryffindor Quidditch team to re-form? How you took the case to Dumbledore, who insisted that the team be allowed to play? Well, now, I couldn't have that. I contacted the Minister at once, and he quite agreed with me that the High Inquisitor has to have the power to strip pupils of privileges, or she - that is to say, I - would have less authority than common teachers! And you see now, don't you, Minerva, how right I was in attempting to stop the Gryffindor team re-forming? Dreadful tempers . . . anyway, I was reading out our amendment . . . hem, hem . . . "the High Inquisitor will henceforth have supreme authority over all punishments, sanctions and removal of privileges pertaining to the students of Hogwarts, and the power to alter such punish-ments, sanctions and removals of privileges as may have been ordered by other staff members. Signed, Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, Order of Merlin First Class, etc., etc." '
She rolled up the parchment and put it back into her handbag still smiling.
'So . . . I really think I will have to ban these two from playing Quidditch ever again,' she said, looking from Harry to George and back again.
Harry felt the Snitch fluttering madly in his hand.
'Ban us?' he said, and his voice sounded strangely distant. 'From playing . . . ever again?'
'Yes, Mr Potter, I think a lifelong ban ought to do the trick,' said Umbridge, her smile widening still further as she watched him struggle to comprehend what she had said. 'You and Mr Weasley here. And I think, to be safe, this young man's twin ought to be stopped, too - if his teammates had not restrained him, I feel sure he would have attacked young Mr Malfoy as well. I will want their broomsticks confiscated, of course; I shall keep them safely in my office, to make sure there is no infringement of my ban. But I am not unreasonable, Professor McGonagall,' she continued, turning back to Professor McGonagall who was now standing as still as though carved from ice, staring at her. The rest of the team can continue playing, I saw no signs of violence from any of them. Well . . . good afternoon to you.'
And with a look of the utmost satisfaction, Umbridge left the room, leaving a horrified silence in her wake.
Hagrid seized Harry and Ron's mugs and shoved them under the cushion in Fang's basket. Fang was now leaping up at the door; Hagrid pushed him out of the way with his foot and pulled it open.
Professor Umbridge was standing in the doorway wearing her green tweed cloak and a matching hat with earflaps. Lips pursed, she leaned back so as to see Hagrid's face; she barely reached his navel.
'So,' she said slowly and loudly, as though speaking to some-body deaf. 'You're Hagrid, are you?'
Without waiting for an answer she strolled into the room, her bulging eyes rolling in every direction.
'Get away,' she snapped, waving her handbag at Fang, who had bounded up to her and was attempting to lick her face.
'Er - I don' want ter be rude,' said Hagrid, staring at her, 'but who the ruddy hell are you?'
'My name is Dolores Umbridge.'
Her eyes were sweeping the cabin. Twice they stared directly into the corner where Harry stood, sandwiched between Ron and Hermione.
'Dolores Umbridge?' Hagrid said, sounding thoroughly confused. 'I thought you were one o' them Ministry - don' you work with Fudge?'
'I was Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, yes,' said Umbridge, now pacing around the cabin, taking in every tiny detail within, from the haversack against the wall to the abandoned travelling cloak. 'I am now the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher - '
Tha's brave of yeh,' said Hagrid, 'there's not many'd take tha' job any more.'
' - and Hogwarts High Inquisitor,' said Umbridge, giving no sign that she had heard him.
'Wha's that?' said Hagrid, frowning.
'Precisely what I was going to ask,' said Umbridge, pointing at the broken shards of china on the floor that had been Hermione's mug.
'Oh,' said Hagrid, with a most unhelpful glance towards the corner where Harry, Ron and Hermione stood hidden, 'oh, tha' was . . . was Fang. He broke a mug. So I had ter use this one instead.'
Hagrid pointed to the mug from which he had been drinking, one hand still clamped over the dragon steak pressed to his eye. Umbridge stood facing him now, taking in every detail of his appearance instead of the cabins.
'I heard voices,' she said quietly.
'I was talkin' ter Fang,' said Hagrid stoutly.
'And was he talking back to you?'
'Well . . . in a manner o' speakin',' said Hagrid, looking uncom-fortable. 'I sometimes say Fang's near enough human - '
There are three sets of footprints in the snow leading from the castle doors to your cabin,' said Umbridge sleekly.
Hermione gasped; Harry clapped a hand over her mouth. Luckily, Fang was sniffing loudly around the hem of Professor Umbridge's robes and she did not appear to have heard.
'Well, I on'y jus' got back,' said Hagrid, waving an enormous hand at the haversack. 'Maybe someone came ter call earlier an' I missed 'em.'
There are no footsteps leading away from your cabin door.'
'Well, I . . . I don' know why that'd be . . .' said Hagrid, tugging nervously at his beard and again glancing towards the corner where Harry, Ron and Hermione stood, as though asking for help. 'Erm . . .'
Umbridge wheeled round and strode the length of the cabin, looking around carefully. She bent and peered under the bed. She opened Hagrid's cupboards. She passed within two inches of where Harry, Ron and Hermione stood pressed against the wall; Harry actually pulled in his stomach as she walked by. After looking care-fully inside the enormous cauldron Hagrid used for cooking, she wheeled round again and said, 'What has happened to you? How did you sustain those injuries?'
Hagrid hastily removed the dragon steak from his face, which in Harry's opinion was a mistake, because the black and purple bruising all around his eye was now clearly visible, not to men-tion the large amount of fresh and congealed blood on his face. 'Oh, I . . . had a bit of an accident,' he said lamely.
'What sort of accident?'
'I - I tripped.'
'You tripped,' she repeated coolly.
'Yeah, tha's right. Over . . . over a friends broomstick. I don' fly, meself. Well, look at the size o' me, I don' reckon there's a broom-stick that'd hold me. Friend o' mine breeds Abraxan horses, I dunno if you ve ever seen em, big beasts, winged, yen know, I've had a bit of a ride on one o' them an' it was - '
'Where have you been?' asked Umbridge, cutting coolly through Hagrid's babbling.
"Where've I - ?'
'Been, yes,' she said. Term started two months ago. Another teacher has had to cover your classes. None of your colleagues has been able to give me any information as to your whereabouts. You left no address. Where have you been?'
There was a pause in which Hagrid stared at her with his newly uncovered eye. Harry could almost hear his brain working furiously.
'I - I've been away for me health,' he said.
'For your health,' repeated Professor Umbridge. Her eyes trav-elled over Hagrid's discoloured and swollen face; dragon blood dripped gently and silently on to his waistcoat. 'I see.'
'Yeah,' said Hagrid, 'bit o' - o' fresh air, yeh know - '
'Yes, as gamekeeper fresh air must be so difficult to come by' said Umbridge sweetly. The small patch of Hagrid's face that was not black or purple, flushed.
'Well - change o' scene, yeh know - '
'Mountain scenery?' said Umbridge swiftly.
She knows, Harry thought desperately.
'Mountains?' Hagrid repeated, clearly thinking fast. 'Nope, South o' France fer me. Bit o' sun an' . . . an' sea.'
'Really?' said Umbridge. 'You don't have much of a tan.'
'Yeah . . . well . . . sensitive skin,' said Hagrid, attempting an ingra-tiating smile. Harry noticed that two of his teeth had been knocked out. Umbridge looked at him coldly; his smile faltered. Then she hoisted her handbag a little higher into the crook of her arm and said, 'I shall, of course, be informing the Minister of your late return.'
'Righ',' said Hagrid, nodding.
'You ought to know, too, that as High Inquisitor it is my unfor-tunate but necessary duty to inspect my fellow teachers. So I daresay we shall meet again soon enough.'
She turned sharply and marched back to the door.
'You're inspectin' us?' Hagrid repeated blankly, looking after her.
'Oh, yes; said Umbridge softly, looking back at him with her hand on the door handle. The Ministry is determined to weed out unsatisfactory teachers, Hagrid. Goodnight.'
She left, closing the door behind her with a snap. Harry made to pull off the Invisibility Cloak but Hermione seized his wrist.
'Not yet,' she breathed in his ear. 'She might not be gone yet.'
Hagrid seemed to be thinking the same way; he stumped across the room and pulled back the curtain an inch or so.
'She's goin' back ter the castle,' he said in a low voice. 'Blimey . . . inspectin' people, is she?'
'Look, Hagrid,' said Hermione urgently, dropping all pretence, 'Professor Umbridge won't be at all happy if you bring anything to class that's too dangerous.'
'Dangerous?' said Hagrid, looking genially bemused. 'Don' be silly, I wouldn' give yeh anythin' dangerous! I mean, all righ', they can look after themselves - '
'Hagrid, you've got to pass Umbridge's inspection, and to do that it would really be better if she saw you teaching us how to look after Porlocks, how to tell the difference between Knarls and hedgehogs, stuff like that!' said Hermione earnestly.
'Hagrid . . . please . . .' said Hermione, a note of real desperation in her voice. 'Umbridge is looking for any excuse to get rid of teachers she thinks are too close to Dumbledore. Please, Hagrid, teach us something dull that's bound to come up in our OWL.'
'No,' said Hermione miserably. 'He says he wants them to be a surprise. I tried to explain about Umbridge, but he just doesn't get it. He kept saying nobody in their right mind would rather study Knarls than Chimaeras - oh, I don't think he's got a Chimaera,' she added at the appalled look on Harry and Ron's faces, 'but that's not for lack of trying, from what he said about how hard it is to get eggs. I don't know how many times I told him he'd be better off following Grubbly-Plank's plan, I honestly don't think he lis-tened to half of what I said. He's in a bit of a funny mood, you know. He still won't say how he got all those injuries.'
It was with a certain amount of apprehension that Harry, Ron and Hermione headed down to Hagrid's on Tuesday, heavily muffled against the cold. Harry was worried, not only about what Hagrid might have decided to teach them, but also about how the rest of the class, particularly Malfoy and his cronies, would behave if Umbridge was watching them.
However, the High Inquisitor was nowhere to be seen as they struggled through the snow towards Hagrid, who stood waiting for them on the edge of the Forest. He did not present a reassuring sight; the bruises that had been purple on Saturday night were now tinged with green and yellow and some of his cuts still seemed to be bleeding. Harry could not understand this: had Hagrid per-haps been attacked by some creature whose venom prevented the wounds it inflicted from healing? As though to complete the omi-nous picture, Hagrid was carrying what looked like half a dead cow over his shoulder.
Tha's exactly right,' said Hagrid solemnly, 'ten points ter Gryffindor. Now, Thestrals - '
'Hem, hem.'
Professor Umbridge had arrived. She was standing a few feet away from Harry, wearing her green hat and cloak again, her clip-board at the ready. Hagrid. who had never heard Umbridge's fake cough before, was gazing in some concern at the closest Thestral, evidently under the impression that it had made the sound.
'Hem, hem.'
'Oh, hello!' Hagrid said, smiling, having located the source of the noise.
'You received the note I sent to your cabin this morning?' said Umbridge, in the same loud, slow voice she had used with him earlier, as though she were addressing somebody both foreign and very slow. Telling you that I would be inspecting your lesson?'
'Oh, yeah,' said Hagrid brightly. 'Glad yeh found the place all righ'! Well, as you can see - or, I dunno - can you? We're doin' Thestrals today - '
'I'm sorry?' said Professor Umbridge loudly, cupping her hand around her ear and frowning. 'What did you say?'
Hagrid looked a little confused.
'Er - Thestrals!' he said loudly. 'Big - er - winged horses, yeh know!'
He flapped his gigantic arms hopefully. Professor Umbridge raised her eyebrows at him and muttered as she made a note on her clipboard: 'Has . . . to . . . resort . . . to . . . crude . . . sign . . . lan-guage.'
'Well . . . anyway . . .' said Hagrid, turning back to the class and looking slightly flustered, 'erm . . . what was I sayin?'
'Appears . . . to . . . have . . . poor . . . short . . . term . . . memory,' mut-tered Umbridge, loudly enough for everyone to hear her. Draco Malfoy looked as though Christmas had come a month early; Hermione, on the other hand, had turned scarlet with suppressed rage.
'Oh, yeah,' said Hagrid, throwing an uneasy glance at Umbridge's clipboard, but ploughing on valiantly. 'Yeah, I was gonna tell yeh how come we got a herd. Yeah, so, we started off with a male an' five females. This one,' he patted the first horse to have appeared, 'name o' Tenebrus, he's my special favourite, firs' one born here in the Forest - '
'Are you aware,' Umbridge said loudly, interrupting him, 'that the Ministry of Magic has classified Thestrals as "dangerous"?'
Harry's heart sank like a stone, but Hagrid merely chuckled.
Thestrals aren' dangerous! All righ', they might take a bite outta yeh if yeh really annoy them - '
'Shows . . . signs . . . of. . . pleasure . . . at . . . idea . . . of. . . violence,' muttered Umbridge, scribbling on her clipboard again.
'No - come on!' said Hagrid, looking a little anxious now. 'I mean, a dog'll bite if yeh bait it, won' it - but Thestrals have jus' got a bad reputation because o' the death thing - people used ter think they were bad omens, didn' they? Jus' didn' understand, did they?'
Umbridge did not answer; she finished writing her last note, then looked up at Hagrid and said, again very loudly and slowly, 'Please continue teaching as usual. I am going to walk,' she mimed walking (Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson were having silent fits of laughter) 'among the students' (she pointed around at individual members of the class) 'and ask them questions.' She pointed at her mouth to indicate talking.
Hagrid stared at her, clearly at a complete loss to understand why she was acting as though he did not understand normal English. Hermione had tears of fury in her eyes now.
'You hag, you evil hag!' she whispered, as Umbridge walked towards Pansy Parkinson. 'I know what you're doing, you awiul, twisted, vicious - '
'Erm . . . anyway,' said Hagrid, clearly struggling to regain the flow of his lesson, 'so - Thestrals. Yeah. Well, there's loads o' good stuff abou' them . . .'
'Do you find,' said Professor Umbridge in a ringing voice to Pansy Parkinson, 'that you are able to understand Professor Hagrid when he talks?'
Just like Hermione, Pansy had tears in her eyes, but these were tears of laughter; indeed, her answer was almost incoherent because she was trying to suppress her giggles.
'No . . . because . . . well . . . it sounds . . . like grunting a lot of the time . . .'
Umbridge scribbled on her clipboard. The few unbruised bits of Hagrid's face flushed, but he tried to act as though he had not heard Pansy's answer.
'Assuming they can understand you, of course,' said Malfoy loudly, and Pansy Parkinson collapsed in a fit of renewed giggles. Professor Umbridge smiled indulgently at them and then turned to Neville.
'You can see the Thestrals, Longbottom, can you?' she said.
Neville nodded.
'Who did you see die?' she asked, her tone indifferent.
'My . . . my grandad,' said Neville.
'And what do you think of them?' she said, waving her stubby hand at the horses, who by now had stripped a great deal of the carcass down to bone.
'Erm,' said Neville nervously, with a glance at Hagrid. 'Well, they're . . . er . . . OK . . .'
'Students . . . are . . . too . . . intimidated . . . to . . . admit . . . they . . . are . . . frightened,' muttered Umbridge, making another note on her clipboard.
'No!' said Neville, looking upset. 'No, I'm not scared of them!'
'It's quite all right,' said Umbridge, patting Neville on the shoulder with what she evidently intended to be an understanding smile, though it looked more like a leer to Harry. 'Well, Hagrid,' she turned to look up at him again, speaking once more in that loud, slow voice, 'I think I've got enough to be getting along with. You will receive' (she mimed taking something from the air in front of her) 'the results of your inspection' (she pointed at the clipboard) 'in ten days' time.' She held up ten stubby little fingers, then, her smile wider and more toadlike than ever before beneath her green hat, she bustled from their midst, leaving Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson in fits of laughter, Hermione actually shaking with fury and Neville looking confused and upset.
That foul, lying, twisting old gargoyle!' stormed Hermione half an hour later, as they made their way back up to the castle through the channels they had made earlier in the snow. 'You see what she's up to? It's her thing about half-breeds all over again - she's trying to make out Hagrid's some kind of dimwitted troll, just because he had a giantess for a mother - and. oh, it's not fair, that really wasn't a bad lesson at all - I mean, all right, if it had been Blast-Ended Skrewts again, but Thestrals are fine - in fact, for Hagrid, they're really good!'
'Umbridge said they're dangerous,' said Ron.
Sirius had not contacted Harry at all since his last appearance in the fire, and although Harry knew that with Umbridge on con-stant watch it would be unwise to attempt to contact him, he did not like to think of Sirius alone in his mother's old house, perhaps pulling a lonely cracker with Kreacher.
Harry dreamed he was back in the DA room. Cho was accusing him of luring her there under false pretences; she said he had promised her a hundred and fifty Chocolate Frog Cards if she showed up. Harry protested . . . Cho shouted, 'Cedric gave me loads of Chocolate Frog Cards, look!' And she pulled out fistfuls of Cards from inside her robes and threw them into the air. Then she turned into Hermione, who said, 'You did promise her, you know, Harry . . . I think you'd better give her something else instead . . . how about your Firebolt?' And Harry was protesting that he could not give Cho his Firebolt, because Umbridge had it, and anyway the whole thing w;3s ridiculous, he'd only come to the DA room to put up some Christmas baubles shaped like Dobby's head . . .
'It is Fawkes's warning,' said Dumbledore, catching the feather as it fell. 'Professor Umbridge must know you're out of your beds . . . Minerva, go and head her off - tell her any story - '
'Is Mum here?' said Fred, turning to Sirius.
'She probably doesn't even know what's happened yet,' said Sirius. The important thing was to get you away before Umbridge could interfere. I expect Dumbledore's letting Molly know now.'
Witches and wizards in lime-green robes were walking up and down the rows, asking questions and making notes on clipboards like Umbridge's. Harry noticed the emblem embroidered on their chests: a wand and bone, crossed.
'I came on the Knight Bus,' said Hermione airily, pulling off her jacket before Harry had time to speak. 'Dumbledore told me what had happened first thing this morning, but I had to wait for term to end officially before setting off. Umbridge is already livid that you lot disappeared right under her nose, even though Dumbledore told her Mr Weasley was in St Mungo's and he'd given you all per-mission to visit. So . . .'
Harry didn't want to leave Sirius again with only Kreacher for company; in fact, for the first time in his life, he was not looking forward to returning to Hogwarts. Going back to school would mean placing himself once again under the tyranny of Dolores Umbridge, who had no doubt managed to force through another dozen decrees in their absence; there was no Quidditch to look forward to now that he had been banned, there was every likeli-hood that their burden of homework would increase as the exams drew even nearer; and Dumbledore remained as remote as ever.
'Because the Headmaster thinks it a good idea,' said Snape smoothly. 'You will receive private lessons once a week, but you will not tell anybody what you are doing, least of all Dolores Umbridge. You understand?'
Harry found Ron and Hermione in the library, where they were working on Umbridge's most recent ream of homework. Other stu-dents, nearly all of them fifth-years, sat at lamp-lit tables nearby, noses close to books, quills scratching feverishly, while the sky outside the mullioned windows grew steadily blacker. The only other sound was the slight squeaking of one of Madam Pince's shoes, as the librarian prowled the aisles menacingly, breathing down the necks of those touching her precious books.
'Don't leave it till later, you big second-rater!' chided the book as Harry scribbled down Umbridge's homework. Hermione beamed at it.
He glanced up at the staff table. It was a different story there: Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall were deep in conversation, both looking extremely grave. Professor Sprout had the Prophet propped against a bottle of ketchup and was reading the front page with such concentration that she was not noticing the gentle drip o egg yolk falling into her lap from her stationary spoon. Meanwhile, at the far end of the table, Professor Umbridge was tucking into a bowl of porridge. For once her pouchy toad's eyes were not sweeping the Great Hall looking for misbehaving students. She scowled as she gulped down her food and every now and then she shot a malevolent glance up the table to where Dumbledore and McGonagall were talking so intently.
'They obviously can't talk freely in the staff room any more,' said Hermione in a low voice, as she, Harry and Ron passed Professors McGonagall, Flitwick and Sprout huddled together out-side the Charms classroom one day. 'Not with Umbridge there.'
BY ORDER OF THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS
Teachers are hereby banned from giving students any information
that is not strictly related to the subjects they are paid to teach.
The above is in accordance with Educational Decree
Number Twenty-six.
Signed: Dolores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor
This latest Decree had been the subject of a great number of jokes among the students. Lee Jordan had pointed out to Umbridge that by the terms of the new rule she was not allowed to tell Fred and George off for playing Exploding Snap in the back of the class.
'Exploding Snap's got nothing to do with Defence Against the Dark Arts, Professor! That's not information relating to your subject!'
When Harry next saw Lee, the back of his hand was bleeding rather badly. Harry recommended essence of Murtlap.
Harry had thought the breakout from Azkaban might have humbled Umbridge a little, that she might have been abashed at the catastrophe that had occurred right under the nose of her beloved Fudge. It seemed, however, to have only intensified her furious desire to bring every aspect of life at Hogwarts under her personal control. She seemed determined at the very least to achieve a sacking before long, and the only question was whether it would be Professor Trelawney or Hagrid who went first.
Every single Divination and Care of Magical Creatures lesson was now conducted in the presence of Umbridge and her clipboard. She lurked by the fire in the heavily perfumed tower room, inter-rupting Professor Trelawney's increasingly hysterical talks with dif-ficult questions about ornithomancy and heptomology, insisting that she predicted students' answers before they gave them and demanding that she demonstrate her skill at the crystal ball, the tea leaves and the rune stones in turn. Harry thought Professor Trelawney might soon crack under the strain. Several times he passed her in the corridors - in itself a very unusual occurrence as she generally remained in her tower room - muttering wildly to herself, wringing her hands and shooting terrified glances over her shoulder, and all the while giving off a powerful smell of cooking sherry. If he had not been so worried about Hagrid, he would have felt sorry for her - but if one of them was to be ousted from their job, there could be only one choice for Harry as to who should remain.
Unfortunately, Harry could not see that Hagrid was putting up a better show than Trelawney. Though he seemed to be following Hermione's advice and had shown them nothing more frightening than a Crup - a creature indistinguishable from a Jack Russell ter-rier except for its forked tail - since before Christmas, he too seemed to have lost his nerve. He was oddly distracted and jumpy during lessons, losing the thread of what he was saying to the class, answering questions wrongly, and all the time glancing anxiously at Umbridge. He was also more distant with Harry, Ron and Hermione than he had ever been before, and had expressly for-bidden them to visit him after dark.
'If she catches yeh, it'll be all of our necks on the line,' he told them flatly, and with no desire to do anything that might jeopar-dise his job further they abstained from walking down to his hut :.n the evenings.
It seemed to Harry that Umbridge was steadily depriving him of everything that made his life at Hogwarts worth living: visits to Hagrid's house, letters from Sirius, his Firebolt and Quidditch. He took his revenge the only way he could - by redoubling his efforts for the DA.
'Oh, there's a really nice place just up here; haven't you ever been to Madam Puddifoot's?' she said brightly, leading him up a side road and into a small teashop that Harry had never noticed before. It was a cramped, steamy little place where everything seemed to have been decorated with frills or bows. Harry was reminded unpleasantly of Umbndge's office.
'Cute, isn't it?' said Cho happily.
After a few more painful minutes, Cho mentioned Umbridge. Harry seized on the subject with relief and they passed a few happy moments abusing her, but the subject had already been so thoroughly can-vassed during DA meetings it did not last very long. Silence fell again. Harry was very conscious of the slurping noises coming from the table next door and cast wildly around for something else to say.
'Can't wait to see what Umbridge thinks of you going public,' said Dean, sounding awestruck at dinner on Monday night. Seamus was shovelling down large amounts of chicken and ham pie on Dean's other side, but Harry knew he was listening.
'You're banned as long as Umbridge is in the school,' Ginny cor-rected him. There's a difference. Anyway, once you're back, I think I'll, try out for Chaser. Angelina and Alicia are both leaving next year and I prefer goal-scoring to Seeking anyway'
Umbridge had been sitting a few rows below Harry and Hermione. Once or twice she had turned squatly in her seat to look at him, her wide toad's mouth stretched in what he thought had been a gloating smile. The memory of it made him feel hot with anger as he lay there in the dark. After a few minutes, how-ever, he remembered that he was supposed to be emptying his mind of all emotion before he slept, as Snape kept instructing him at the end of every Occlumency lesson.
He tried for a moment or two, but the thought of Snape on top of memories of Umbridge merely increased his sense of grumbling resentment and he found himself focusing instead on how much he loathed the pair of them. Slowly, Ron's snores died away to be replaced by the sound of deep, slow breathing. It took Harry much longer to get to sleep; his body was tired, but it took his brain a long time to close down.
'Another one who thinks you're barking,' said Ron, throwing a crumpled letter over his shoulder '. . . but this one says you've got her converted and she now thinks you're a real hero - she's put in a photograph, too - wow!'
'What is going on here?' said a falsely sweet, girlish voice.
Harry looked up with his hands full of envelopes. Professor Umbridge was standing behind Fred and Luna, her bulging toad's eyes scanning the mess of owls and letters on the table in front of Harry. Behind her he saw many of the students watching them avidly.
'Why have you got all these letters, Mr Potter?' she asked slowly.
'Is that a crime now?' said Fred loudly. 'Getting mail?'
'Be careful, Mr Weasley or I shall have to put you in detention,' said Umbridge. 'Well, Mr Potter?'
Harry hesitated, but he did not see how he could keep what he had done quiet; it was surely only a matter of time before a copy of The Quibbler came to Umbridge's attention.
'People have written to me because I gave an interview,' said Harry. 'About what happened to me last June.'
For some reason he glanced up at the staff table as he said this. Harry had the strangest feeling that Dumbledore had been watching him a second before, but when he looked towards the Headmaster he seemed to be absorbed in conversation with Professor Flitwick.
'An interview?' repeated Umbridge, her voice thinner and higher than ever. 'What do you mean?'
'I mean a reporter asked me questions and I answered them,' said Harry. 'Here - '
And he threw the copy of The Quibbler to her. She caught it and stared down at the cover. Her pale, doughy face turned an ugly, patchy violet.
'When did you do this?' she asked, her voice trembling slightly.
'Last Hogsmeade weekend,' said Harry.
She looked up at him, incandescent with rage, the magazine shaking in her stubby fingers.
There will be no more Hogsmeade trips for you, Mr Potter,' she whispered. 'How you dare . . . how you could . . .' She took a deep breath. 'I have tried again and again to teach you not to tell lies. The message, apparently, has still not sunk in. Fifty points from Gryffindor and another week's worth of detentions.'
She stalked away, clutching The Quibbler to her chest, the eyes of many students following her.
By mid-morning enormous signs had been put up all over the school, not just on house noticeboards, but in the corridors and classrooms too.
BY ORDER OF THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS
Any student found in possession of the magazine
The Quibbler will be expelled.
The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-seven.
Signed: Dolores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor
For some reason, every time Hermione caught sight of one of these signs she beamed with pleasure.
'What exactly are you so happy about?' Harry asked her.
'Oh, Harry, don't you see?' Hermione breathed. 'If she could have done one thing to make absolutely sure that every single person in this school will read your interview, it was banning it!'
Meanwhile, Professor Umbridge was stalking the school, stop-ping students at random and demanding that they turn out their books and pockets: Harry knew she was looking for copies of The Quibbler, but the students were several steps ahead of her. Tie pages carrying Harry's interview had been bewitched to resemble extracts from textbooks if anyone but themselves read it, or else wiped magically blank until they wanted to peruse it again. Soon it seemed that every single person in the school had read it.
The teachers were of course forbidden from mentioning I ie interview by Educational Decree Number Twenty-six, but they found ways to express their feelings about it all the same. Professor Sprout awarded Gryffindor twenty points when Harry passed her a watering can; a beaming Professor Flitwick pressed a box of squeaking sugar mice on him at the end of Charms, said, 'Shh!' and hurried away; and Professor Trelawney broke into hysterical sobs during Divination and announced to the startled class, and a very disapproving Umbridge, that Harry was not going to suffer an early death after all, but would live to a ripe old age, become Minister for Magic and have twelve children.
Professor Trelawney was staring, apparently terrified, at something Harry could not see but which seemed to be standing at the foot of the stairs.
'No!' she shrieked. 'NO! This cannot be happening . . . it cannot . . . I retuse to accept it!'
'You didn't realise this was coming?' said a high girlish voice, sounding callously amused, and Harry, moving slightly to his right, saw that Trelawney's terrifying vision was nothing other than Professor Umbridge. 'Incapable though you are of predicting even tomorrows weather, you must surely have realised that your pitiful performance during my inspections, and lack of any improvement, would make it inevitable that you would be sacked?'
'You c - can't!' howled Professor Trelawney, tears streaming down her face from behind her enormous lenses, 'you c - can't sack me! I've b - been here sixteen years! H - Hogwarts is m - my h - home!'
'It was your home,' said Professor Umbridge, and Harry was revolted to see the enjoyment stretching her toadlike face as she watched Professor Trelawney sink, sobbing uncontrollably, on to one of her trunks, 'until an hour ago, when the Minister for Magic: countersigned your Order of Dismissal. Now kindly remove your-self from this Hall. You are embarrassing us.'
But she stood and watched, with an expression of gloating enjoy-ment, as Professor Trelawney shuddered and moaned, rocking back-wards and forwards on her trunk in paroxysms of grief. Harry heard a muffled sob to his left and looked around. Lavender and Parvati were both crying quietly, their arms round each other. Then he heard footsteps. Professor McGonagall had broken away from the spectators, marched straight up to Professor Trelawney and was patting her firmly on the back while withdrawing a large handker-chief from within her robes.
There, there, Sybill . . . calm down . . . blow your nose on this . . . it's not as bad as you think, now . . . you are not going to have to leave Hogwarts . . .'
'Oh really, Professor McGonagall?' said Umbridge in a deadly voice, taking a few steps forward. 'And your authority for that statement is . . . ?'
That would be mine,' said a deep voice.
The oaken front doors had swung open. Students beside them scuttled out of the way as Dumbledore appeared in the entrance. What he had been doing out in the grounds Harry could not imagine, but there was something impressive about the sight of him framed in the doorway against an oddly misty night. Leaving the doors wide open behind him he strode forwards through the circle of onlookers towards Professor Trelawney, tear-stained and trembling, on her trunk, Professor McGonagall alongside her.
'Yours, Professor Dumbledore?' said Umbridge, with a singu-larly unpleasant little laugh. 'I'm afraid you do not understand the position. I have here - ' she pulled a parchment scroll from within her robes'- an Order of Dismissal signed by myself and the Minister for Magic. Under the terms of Educational Decree Number Twenty-three, the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts has the power to inspect, place upon probation and sack any teacher she - that is to say, I - feel is not performing to the standards required by the Ministry of Magic. I have decided that Professor Trelawney is not up to scratch. I have dismissed her.'
To Harry's very great surprise, Dumbledore continued to smile. He looked down at Professor Trelawney, who was still sobbing and choking on her trunk, and said, 'You are quite right, of course, Professor Umbridge. As High Inquisitor you have every right to dismiss my teachers. You do not, however, have the authority to send them away from the castle. I am afraid,' he went on, with a courteous little bow, 'that the power to do that still resides with the Headmaster, and it is my wish that Professor Trelawney con-tinue to live at Hogwarts.'
Professor Sprout came hurrying forwards out of the crowd and grabbed Professor Trelawney's other arm. Together, they guided her past Umbridge and up the marble stairs. Professor Flitwick went scurrying after them, his wand held out before him; he squeaked 'Locomotor trunks!' and Professor Trelawney's luggage rose into the air and proceeded up the staircase after her, Professor Flitwick bringing up the rear.
Professor Umbridge was standing stock still, staring at Dumbledore, who continued to smile benignly.
'And what,' she said, in a whisper that carried all around the Eintrance Hall, 'are you going to do with her once I appoint a new Divination teacher who needs her lodgings?'
'Oh, that won't be a problem,' said Dumbledore pleasantly. 'You see, I have already found us a new Divination teacher, and he will prefer lodgings on the ground floor.'
'You've found - ?' said Umbridge shrilly. 'You've found? Might I remind you, Dumbledore, that under Educational Decree Number Twenty-two - '
'The Ministry has the right to appoint a suitable candidate if - and only if - the Headmaster is unable to find one,' said Dumbledore. 'And I am happy to say that on this occasion I have succeeded. May I introduce you?'
This is Firenze,' said Dumbledore happily to a thunderstruck Umbridge. 'I think you'll find him suitable.'
'Not very good, poor thing,' said Lavender sympathetically. 'She v/as crying and saying she'd rather leave the castle for ever than stay here where Umbridge is, and I don't blame her, Umbridge was horrible to her, wasn't she?'
'I've got a feeling Umbridge has only just started being horrible,' said Hermione darkly.
'Impossible,' said Ron, who was tucking into a large plate of eggs and bacon. 'She can't get any worse than she's been already.'
'You mark my words, she's going to want revenge on Dumbledore for appointing a new teacher without consulting her,' said Hermione, closing the newspaper. 'Especially another part-human. You saw the look on her face when she saw Firenze.'
Umbridge had continued attending all Care of Magical Creatures lessons, so it had been very difficult to deliver Firenze's warning to Hagrid. At last, Harry had managed it by pretending he'd lost his copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, and doubling back after class one day. When he'd repeated Firenze's words, Hagrid gazed at him for a moment through his puffy, blackened eyes, apparently taken aback. Then he seemed to pull himself together.
'Hagrid, what're you up to?' asked Harry seriously. 'Because you've got to be careful, Umbridge has already sacked Trelawney and, if you ask me, she's on a roll. If you're doing anything you shouldn't be, you'll be - '
If it had not been for the DA lessons, Harry thought he would have been extremely unhappy. He sometimes felt he was living for the hours he spent in the Room of Requirement, working hard but thoroughly enjoying himself at the same time, swelling with pride as he looked around at his fellow DA members and saw how far they had come. Indeed, Harry sometimes wondered how Umbridge was going to react when all the members of the DA received 'Outstanding' in their Defence Against the Dark Arts OWLs.
'What's happened, Dobby?' Harry asked, grabbing the elf's tiny arm and holding him away from anything with which he might seek to hurt himself.
'Harry Potter . . . she . . . she . . .'
Dobby hit himself hard on the nose with his free fist. Harry seized that, too.
'Who's "she", Dobby?'
But he thought he knew; surely only one 'she' could induce such fear in Dobby? The elf looked up at him, slightly cross-eyed, and mouthed wordlessly.
'Umbridge?' asked Harry, horrified.
Dobby nodded, then tried to bang his head on Harry's knees. Harry held him at arm's length.
'What about her? Dobby - she hasn't found out about this - 'about us - about the DA?'
He read the answer in the elf's stricken face. His hands held fast by Harry, the elf tried to kick himself and fell to the floor.
'Is she coming?' Harry asked quietly.
Dobby let out a howl, and began beating his bare feet hard on the floor.
'Yes, Harry Potter, yes!'
'Trip Jinx, Potter!' he said. 'Hey, Professor - PROFESSOR! I've got one!'
Umbridge came bustling round the far corner, breathless but wearing a delighted smile.
'It's him!' she said jubilantly at the sight of Harry on the floor, 'Excellent, Draco, excellent, oh, very good - fifty points to Slytherin! I'll take him from here . . . stand up, Potter!'
Harry got to his feet, glaring at the pair of them. He had never seen Umbridge looking so happy. She seized his arm in a vice-like grip and turned, beaming broadly, to Malfoy.
'You hop along and see if you can round up any more of them, Draco,' she said. 'Tell the others to look in the library - anybody out of breath - check the bathrooms, Miss Parkinson can do the girls' ones - off you go - and you,' she added in her softest, mos: dangerous voice, as Malfoy walked away, 'you can come with me to the Headmaster's office, Potter.'
They were at the stone gargoyle within minutes. Harry won-dered how many of the others had been caught. He thought of Ron - Mrs Weasley would kill him - and of how Hermione would feel if she was expelled before she could take her OWLs. And it had been Seamus's very first meeting . . . and Neville had been get-ting so good . . .
'Fizzing Whizzbee,' sang Umbridge; the stone gargoyle jumped aside, the wall behind split open, and they ascended the moving stone staircase. They reached the polished door with the griffin knocker, but Umbridge did not bother to knock, she strode straight inside, still holding tight to Harry.
The office was full of people. Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, his expression serene, the tips of his long fingers together. Professor McGonagall stood rigidly beside him, her face extremely tense. Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, was rocking backwards and forwards on his toes beside the fire, apparently immensely pleased with the situation; Kingsley Shacklebolt and a tough-looking wizard with very short wiry hair whom Harry did not recognise, were positioned either side of the door like guards, and the freckled, bespectacled form of Percy Weasley hovered excitedly beside the wall, a quill and a heavy scroll of parchment in his hands, appar-ently poised to take notes.
The portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses were not shamming sleep tonight. All of them were alert and serious, watching what was happening below them. As Harry entered, a few flitted into neighbouring frames and whispered urgently into their neigh-bour's ear.
Harry pulled himself free of Umbridge's grasp as the door swung shut behind them. Cornelius Fudge was glaring at him with a kind of vicious satisfaction on his face.
'He was heading back to Gryffindor Tower,' said Umbridge. There was an indecent excitement in her voice, the same callous pleasure Harry had heard as she watched Professor Trelawney dis-solving with misery in the Entrance Hall. The Malfoy boy cor-nered him.'
Fudge looked incredulously from Harry to Professor Umbridge. Harry took advantage of his momentary inattention to steal another quick look at Dumbledore, who gave the carpet the tiniest of nods and the shadow of a wink.
'So you have no idea,' said Fudge, in a voice positively sagging with sarcasm, 'why Professor Umbridge has brought you to this office? You are not aware that you have broken any school rules?'
His heart was still hammering very fast. It was almost worth telling these lies to watch Fudges blood pressure rising, but he could not see how on earth he would get away with them; if some-body had tipped off Umbridge about the DA then he, the leader, might as well be packing his trunk right now.
'I think, Minister,' said Umbridge silkily from beside him, 'we might make better progress if I fetch our informant.'
'Yes, yes, do,' said Fudge, nodding, and he glanced maliciously at Dumbledore as Umbridge left the room. There's nothing like a good witness, is there, Dumbledore?'
There was a wait of several minutes, in which nobody looked at each other, then Harry heard the door open behind him. Umbridge moved past him into the room, gripping by the shoulder Cho's curly-haired friend, Marietta, who was hiding her face in her hands.
'Don't be scared, dear, don't be frightened,' said Professor Umbridge softly, patting her on the back, 'it's quite all right, now. You have done the right thing. The Minister is very pleased with you. He'll be telling your mother what a good girl you've been.
Marietta's mother, Minister,' she added, looking up at Fudge, 'is Madam Edgecombe from the Department of Magical Transportation, Floo Network office - she's been helping us police the Hogwarts lines, you know.'
'Never mind the spots now, dear,' said Umbridge impatiently, 'just take your robes away from your mouth and tell the Minister - '
But Marietta gave another muffled wail and shook her head frantically.
'Oh, very well, you silly girl, I'll tell him,' snapped Umbridge. She hitched her sickly smile back on to her face and said, 'Well, Minister, Miss Edgecombe here came to my office shortly after dinner this evening and told me she had something she wanted to tell me. She said that if I proceeded to a secret room on the sev-enth floor, sometimes known as the Room of Requirement, I would find out something to my advantage. I questioned her a little fur-ther and she admitted that there was to be some kind of meeting there. Unfortunately, at that point this hex,' she waved impatiently at Marietta's concealed face, 'came into operation and upon catching sight of her face in my mirror the girl became too distressed to tell me any more.'
'Well, now,' said Fudge, fixing Marietta with what he evidently imagined was a kind and fatherly look, 'it is very brave of you, my dear, coming to tell Professor Umbridge. You did exactly the right thing. Now, will you tell me what happened at this meeting? What was its purpose? Who was there?'
But Marietta would not speak; she merely shook her head again, her eyes wide and fearful.
'Haven't we got a counter-jinx for this?' Fudge asked Umbridge impatiently, gesturing at Marietta's face. 'So she can speak freely?'
'I have not yet managed to find one,' Umbridge admitted grudg-ingly, and Harry felt a surge of pride in Hermione's jinxing ability 'But it doesn't matter if she won't speak, I can take up the story from here.
'You will remember, Minister, that I sent you a report back in October that Potter had met a number of fellow students in the Hog's Head in Hogsmeade - '
'And what is your evidence for that?' cut in Professor McGonagall
'I have testimony from Willy Widdershins, Minerva, who hap-pened to be in the bar at the time. He was heavily bandaged, it is true, but his hearing was quite unimpaired,' said Umbridge smugly 'He heard every word Potter said and hastened straight to the school to report to me - '
The purpose of Potters meeting with these students,' continued Professor Umbridge, 'was to persuade them to join an illegal society, whose aim was to learn spells and curses the Ministry has decided are inappropriate for school-age - '
'I think you'll find you're wrong there, Dolores,' said Dumbledore quietly, peering at her over the half-moon spectacles perched halfway down his crooked nose.
Umbridge recovered first.
That's all very fine, Headmaster,' she said, smiling sweetly, 'but we are now nearly six months on from the introduction of Educational Decree Number Twenty-four. If the first meeting was not illegal, all those that have happened since most certainly are.'
'Well,' said Dumbledore, surveying her with polite interest over the top of his interlocked fingers, 'they certainly would be, if they had continued after the Decree came into effect. Do you have any evidence that any such meetings continued?'
'Evidence?' repeated Umbridge, with that horrible wide toad-like smile. 'Have you not been listening, Dumbledore? Why do you think Miss Edgecombe is here?'
'Oh, can she tell us about six months' worth of meetings?' said Dumbledore, raising his eyebrows. 'I was under the impression that she was merely reporting a meeting tonight.'
'Miss Edgecombe,' said Umbridge at once, 'tell us how long these meetings have been going on, dear. You can simply nod or shake your head, I'm sure that won't make the spots worse. Have they been happening regularly over the last six months?'
'Just nod or shake your head, dear,' Umbridge said coaxingly to Marietta, 'come on, now, that won't re-activate the jinx.'
Umbridge looked quickly at Fudge, then back at Marietta.
'I don't think you understood the question, did you, dear? I'm asking whether you've been going to these meetings for the past six months? You have, haven't you?'
Again, Marietta shook her head.
'What do you mean by shaking your head, dear?' said Umbridge in a testy voice.
'But there was a meeting tonight!' said Umbridge furiously. There was a meeting, Miss Edgecombe, you told me about it, in the Room of Requirement! And Potter was the leader, was he not, Potter organised it, Potter - why are you shaking your head, girl?'
'Well, usually when a person shakes their head,' said McGonagall coldly, 'they mean "no". So unless Miss Edgecombe is using a form of sign-language as yet unknown to humans - '
Professor Umbridge seized Marietta, pulled her round to face her and began shaking her very hard. A split second later Dumbledore was on his feet, his wand raised; Kingsley started forwards and Umbridge leapt back from Marietta, waving her hands in the air as though they had been burned.
'I cannot allow you to manhandle my students, Dolores,' said Dumbledore and, for the first time, he looked angry.
'You want to calm yourself, Madam Umbridge,' said Kingsley, in his deep, slow voice. 'You don't want to get yourself into trouble, now.'
'No,' said Umbridge breathlessly, glancing up at the towering figure of Kingsley. 'I mean, yes - you're right, Shacklebolt - I - I forgot myself.'
Marietta was standing exactly where Umbridge had released her. She seemed neither perturbed by Umbridge's sudden attack, nor relieved by her release; she was still clutching her robe up to her oddly blank eyes and staring straight ahead of her.
'Dolores,' said Fudge, with the air of trying to settle something once and for all, 'the meeting tonight - the one we know definitely happened - '
'Yes,' said Umbridge, pulling herself together, 'yes . . . well, Miss Edgecombe tipped me off and I proceeded at once to the seventh floor, accompanied by certain trustworthy students, so as to catch those in the meeting red-handed. It appears that they were fore-warned of my arrival, however, because when we reached the sev-enth floor they were running in every direction. It does not matter, however. I have all their names here, Miss Parkinson ran into the Room of Requirement for me to see if they had left anything behind. We needed evidence and the room provided.'
And to Harry's horror, she withdrew from her pocket the list of names that had been pinned upon the Room of Requirement's wall and handed it to Fudge.
The moment I saw Potter's name on the list, I knew what we were dealing with,' she said softly.
'Excellent,' said Fudge, a smile spreading across his face, 'excel-lent, Dolores. And . . . by thunder . . .'
Umbridge's face was growing steadily redder; she looked as though she was being filled with boiling water. Fudge stared at Dumbledore with a very silly expression on his face, as though he had just been stunned by a sudden blow and could not quite believe it had happened.
The dust was clearing. The wreckage of the office loomed into view: Dumbledore's desk had been overturned, all of the spindly tables had been knocked to the floor, their silver instruments in pieces. Fudge, Umbridge, Kingsley and Dawlish lay motionless on the floor. Fawkes the phoenix soared in wide circles above them, singing softly.
'Well, he can't have Disapparated!' cried Umbridge. 'You can't do it from inside this school - '
The stairs!' cried Dawlish, and he flung himself upon the door, wrenched it open and disappeared, followed closely by Kingsley and Umbridge. Fudge hesitated, then got slowly to his feet, brushing dust from his front. There was a long and painful silence.
BY ORDER OF THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC
Dolores Jane Umbridge (High Inquisitor) has replaced
Albus Dumbledore as Head of Hogwarts School of
Witchcraft and Wizardry.
The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-eight.
Signed: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister for Magic
'Dumbledore will be back before long,' said Ernie Macmillan confidently on the way back from Herbology, after listening intently to Harry's story. They couldn't keep him away in our second year and they won't be able to this time. The Fat Friar told me - ' he dropped his voice conspiratorially, so that Harry, Ron and Hermione had to lean closer to him to hear '- that Umbridge tried to get back into his office last night after they'd searched the castle and grounds for him. Couldn't get past the gargoyle. The Head's office has sealed itself against her.' Ernie smirked. 'Apparently, she had a right little tantrum.'
'Oh, I expect she really fancied herself sitting up there in the Head's office,' said Hermione viciously, as they walked up the stone steps into the Entrance Hall. 'Lording it over all the other teachers, the stupid puffed-up, power-crazy old - '
'The Inquisitorial Squad, Granger,' said Malfoy, pointing towards a tiny silver 'I' on his robes just beneath his prefect's badge. 'A select group of students who are supportive of the Ministry of Magic, hand-picked by Professor Umbridge. Anyway, members of the Inquisitorial Squad do have the power to dock points . . . so, Granger, I'll have five from you for being rude about our new Headmistress. Macmillan, five for contradicting me. Five because I don't like you, Potter. Weasley, your shirt's untucked, so I'll have another five for that. Oh yeah, I forgot, you're a Mudblood, Granger, so ten off for that.'
Umbridge had obviously gone to some lengths to get Filch on her side, Harry thought, and the worst of it was that he would probably prove an important weapon; his knowledge of the school's secret passageways and hiding places was probably second only to that of the Weasley twins.
'Here we are,' he said, leering down at Harry as he rapped three times on Professor Umbridge's door and pushed it open. The Potter boy to see you, Ma'am.'
Umbridge's office, so very familiar to Harry from his many deten-tions, was the same as usual except for the large wooden block lying across the front of her desk on which golden letters spelled the word: HEADMISTRESS. Also, his Firebolt and Fred and George's Cleansweeps, which he saw with a pang, were chained and pad-locked to a stout iron peg in the wall behind the desk.
Umbridge was sitting behind the desk, busily scribbling on some of her pink parchment, but she looked up and smiled widely at their entrance.
'Thank you, Argus,' she said sweetly.
'Not at all, Ma'am, not at all,' said Filch, bowing as low as his rheumatism would permit, and exiting backwards.
'Sit,' said Umbridge curtly, pointing towards a chair. Harry sat. She continued to scribble for a few moments. He watched some of the foul kittens gambolling around the plates over her head, wondering what fresh horror she had in store for him.
'Well, now,' she said finally, setting down her quill and surveying him complacently, like a toad about to swallow a particularly juicy fly. 'What would you like to drink?'
'What? said Harry, quite sure he had misheard her.
To drink, Mr Potter,' she said, smiling still more widely. Tea? Coffee? Pumpkin juice?'
As she named each drink, she gave her short wand a wave, and a cup or glass of it appeared on her desk.
'Nothing, thank you,' said Harry.
'I wish you to have a drink with me,' she said, her voice becoming dangerously sweet. 'Choose one.'
'Fine . . . tea then,' said Harry shrugging.
She got up and made quite a performance of adding milk w.th her back to him. She then bustled around the desk with it, smiling in a sinisterly sweet fashion.
There,' she said, handing it to him. 'Drink it before it gets cold, won't you? Well, now, Mr Potter . . . I thought we ought to have a little chat, after the distressing events of last night.'
He said nothing. She settled herself back into her seat and waited. When several long moments had passed in silence, she said gaily, 'You're not drinking up!'
He raised the cup to his lips and then, just as suddenly, low-ered it. One of the horrible painted kittens behind Umbridge had great round blue eyes just like Mad-Eye Moody's magical one and it had just occurred to Harry what Mad-Eye would say if he ever heard that Harry had drunk anything offered by a known enemy.
'What's the matter?' said Umbridge, who was still watching him closely. 'Do you want sugar?'
'No,' said Harry.
He raised the cup to his lips again and pretended to take a sip, though keeping his mouth tightly closed. Umbridge's smile widened.
'Good,' she whispered. 'Very good. Now then . . .' She leaned forwards a little. 'Where is Albus Dumbledore?'
'No idea,' said Harry promptly.
'Drink up, drink up,' she said, still smiling. 'Now, Mr Potter, let us not play childish games. I know that you know where he has gone. You and Dumbledore have been in this together from the beginning. Consider your position, Mr Potter . . .'
'I don't know where he is,' Harry repeated.
He pretended to drink again. She was watching him very closely.
'Very well,' she said, though she looked displeased. 'In that case, you will kindly tell me the whereabouts of Sirius Black.'
Harry's stomach turned over and his hand holding the teacup shook so that it rattled in its saucer. He tilted the cup to his mouth with his lips pressed together, so that some of the hot liquid trickled down on to his robes.
'I don't know,' he said, a little too quickly.
'Mr Potter,' said Umbridge, 'let me remind you that it was I who almost caught the criminal Black in the Gryffindor fire in October. I know perfectly well it was you he was meeting and if I had had any proof neither of you would be at large today, I promise you. I repeat, Mr Potter . . . where is Sirius Black?'
'No idea,' said Harry loudly. 'Haven't got a clue.'
They stared at each other so long that Harry felt his eyes watering. Then Umbridge stood up.
'Very well, Potter, I will take your word for it this time, but be warned: the might of the Ministry stands behind me. All channels of communication in and out of this school are being monitored. A Floo Network Regulator is keeping watch over every fire in Hogwarts - except my own, of course. My Inquisitorial Squad is opening and reading all owl post entering and leaving the castle. And Mr Filch is observing all secret passages in and out of the castle. If I find a shred of evidence . . .'
BOOM!
The very floor of the office shook. Umbridge slipped sideways, clutching her desk for support, and looking shocked.
'What was - ?'
She was gazing towards the door. Harry took the opportunity to empty his almost-full cup of tea into the nearest vase of dried flowers. He could hear people running and screaming several floors below.
'Back to lunch you go, Potter!' cried Umbridge, raising her wand and dashing out of the office. Harry gave her a few seconds' start, then hurried after her to see what the source of all the uproar was.
Filch and Umbridge were standing, apparently transfixed in horror, halfway down the stairs. As Harry watched, one of the larger Catherine wheels seemed to decide that what it needed was more room to manoeuvre; it whirled towards Umbridge and Filch with a sinister 'wheeeeeeeeee'. They both yelled with fright and ducked, and it soared straight out of the window behind them and off across the grounds. Meanwhile, several of the dragons and a large purple bat that was smoking ominously took advantage of the open door at the end of the corridor to escape towards the second floor.
'Hurry, Filch, hurry!' shrieked Umbridge, 'they'll be all over the school unless we do something - Stupefy!'
A jet of red light shot out of the end of her wand and hit one of the rockets. Instead of freezing in midair, it exploded with such force that it blasted a hole in a painting of a soppy-looking witch in the middle of a meadow; she ran for it just in time, reappearing seconds later squashed into the next painting, where a couple of wizards playing cards stood up hastily to make room for her.
'Don't Stun them, Filch!' shouted Umbridge angrily, for all the world as though it had been his incantation.
'Right you are, Headmistress!' wheezed Filch, who as a Squib could no more have Stunned the fireworks than swallowed them. He dashed to a nearby cupboard, pulled out a broom and began swatting at the fireworks in midair; within seconds the head of the broom was ablaze.
Harry had seen enough; laughing, he ducked down low, ran to a door he knew was concealed behind a tapestry a little way along the corridor and slipped through it to find Fred and George hiding just behind it, listening to Umbridge and Filch's yells and quaking with suppressed mirth.
The upshot of it all was that Professor Umbridge spent her first afternoon as Headmistress running all over the school answering the summonses of the other teachers, none of whom seemed able to rid their rooms of the fireworks without her. When the final bell rang and they were heading back to Gryffindor Tower with their bags, Harry saw, with immense satisfaction, a dishevelled and soot-blackened Umbridge tottering sweaty-faced from Professor Flitwick's classroom.
Thank you so much, Professor!' said Professor Flitwick in his squeaky little voice. 'I could have got rid of the sparklers myself, of course, but I wasn't sure whether or not I had the authority.'
He got into bed, yawning. With his glasses off, the occasional firework passing the window had become blurred, looking like sparkling clouds, beautiful and mysterious against the black sky. He turned on to his side, wondering how Umbridge was feeling about her first day in Dumbledore's job, and how Fudge would react when he heard that the school had spent most of the day in a state of advanced disruption. Smiling to himself, Harry closed his eyes . . .
'Over here,' said Harry, glad of a reason to postpone his meeting with Snape, and beckoning her across to the corner of the Entrance Hall where the giant hour-glasses stood. Gryffindor's was now almost empty. 'Are you OK? Umbridge hasn't been asking you about the DA, has she?'
Harry had not seen Malfoy look so gleeful since Umbridge had turned up to inspect Hagrid.
'Well, Draco, what is it?' asked Snape.
'It's Professor Umbridge, sir - she needs your help,' said Malfoy. 'They've found Montague, sir, he's turned up jammed inside a toilet on the fourth floor.'
'Well, we're not sure, but we think he knocked himself out with his own bat.' She sighed heavily. 'Anyway . . . a package just arrived, it's only just got through Umbridge's new screening process.'
'Come on,' said Harry dully. 'With Umbridge policing the fires and reading all our mail?'
'Don't be so ridiculous,' said Hermione, straightening up and looking at him as though she could not believe her eyes. 'With Umbridge groping around in the fires and frisking all the owls?'
'Yes, but still,' said Hermione, with an air of explaining some-thing very simple to somebody very obtuse, 'even if you do cause a diversion, how is Harry supposed to talk to him?'
'Umbridge's office,' said Harry quietly.
He had been thinking about it for a fortnight and could come up with no alternative. Umbridge herself had told him that the only fire that was not being watched was her own.
Harry awoke very early the next day, feeling almost as anxious as he had done on the morning of his disciplinary hearing at the Ministry of Magic. It was not only the prospect of breaking into Umbridge's office and using her fire to speak to Sirius that was making him feel nervous, though that was certainly bad enough; today also happened to be the first time Harry would be in close proximity to Snape since Snape had thrown him out of his office.
With the prospect of forcing entry into Umbridge's office ahead. Harry had never expected the day to be a restful one, but he had not reckoned on Hermione's almost continual attempts to dissuade him from what he was planning to do at five o'clock. For the first time ever, she was at least as inattentive to Professor Binns in History of Magic as Harry and Ron were, keeping up a stream of whispered admonitions that Harry tried very hard to ignore.
'. . . and if she does catch you there, apart from being expelled, she'll be able to guess you've been talking to Snuffles and this time I expect she'll force you to drink Veritaserum and answer her ques-tions . . .'
Harry could not bring himself to answer. When the bell rang, he hurried out of the dungeon without a backwards glance, and made sure that he found himself a seat between Neville and Seamus for lunch so that Hermione could not start nagging him again about using Umbridge's office.
'Sorry, Professor,' he panted, as he closed the door. 'I forgot.'
'No matter, Potter,' she said briskly, but as she spoke, somebody else sniffed from the corner. Harry looked round.
Professor Umbridge was sitting there, a clipboard on her knee, a fussy little pie-frill around her neck and a small, horribly smug smile on her face.
'Sit down, Potter,' said Professor McGonagall tersely. Her hands shook slightly as she shuffled the many pamphlets littering her desk.
Harry sat down with his back to Umbridge and did his best to pretend he could not hear the scratching of her quill on her clip-board.
At this moment, Professor Umbridge gave a very tiny cough, as though she was trying to see how quietly she could do it. Professor McGonagall ignored her.
Professor Umbridge gave another cough, a little more audible this time. Professor McGonagall closed her eyes for a moment, opened them again, and continued as though nothing had hap-pened.
Professor Umbridge gave her most pronounced cough yet.
'May I offer you a cough drop, Dolores?' Professor McGonagall asked curtly, without looking at Professor Umbridge.
'Oh, no, thank you very much,' said Umbridge, with that sim-pering laugh Harry hated so much. 'I just wondered whether I could make the teensiest interruption, Minerva?'
'I daresay you'll find you can,' said Professor McGonagall through tightly gritted teeth.
'I was just wondering whether Mr Potter has quite the tem-perament for an Auror?' said Professor Umbridge sweetly.
'Were you?' said Professor McGonagall haughtily. 'Well, Potter,' she continued, as though there had been no interruption, if you are serious in this ambition, I would advise you to concentrate hard on bringing your Transfiguration and Potions up to scratch. I see Professor Flitwick has graded you between "Acceptable" and "Exceeds Expectations" for the last two years, so your Charmwork seems satisfactory. As for Defence Against the Dark Arts, your marks have been generally high, Professor Lupin in particular thought you - are you quite sure you wouldn't like a cough drop, Dolores?'
'Oh, no need, thank you, Minerva,' simpered Professor Umbridge, who had just coughed her loudest yet. 'I was just concerned that you might not have Harry's most recent Defence Against the Dark Arts marks in front of you. I'm quite sure I slipped in a note.'
'What, this thing?' said Professor McGonagall in a tone of revul-sion, as she pulled a sheet of pink parchment from between the leaves of Harry's folder. She glanced down it, her eyebrows slightly raised, then placed it back into the folder without comment.
'Yes, as I was saying, Potter, Professor Lupin thought you showed a pronounced aptitude for the subject, and obviously for an Auror - '
'Did you not understand my note, Minerva?' asked Professor Umbndge in honeyed tones, quite forgetting to cough.
'Of course I understood it,' said Professor McGonagall, her teeth clenched so tightly the words came out a little muffled.
'Well, then, I am confused . . . I'm afraid I don't quite under-stand how you can give Mr Potter false hope that - '
'False hope?' repeated Professor McGonagall, still refusing to look round at Professor Umbridge. 'He has achieved high marks in all his Defence Against the Dark Arts tests - '
'I'm terribly sorry to have to contradict you, Minerva, but as you will see from my note, Harry has been achieving very poor results in his classes with me - '
'I should have made my meaning plainer,' said Professor McGonagall, turning at last to look Umbridge directly in the eyes. 'He has achieved high marks in all Defence Against the Dark Arts tests set by a competent teacher.'
Professor Umbridge's smile vanished as suddenly as a light bulb blowing. She sat back in her chair, turned a sheet on her clipboard and began scribbling very fast indeed, her bulging eyes rolling from side to side. Professor McGonagall turned back to Harry, her thin nostrils flared, her eyes burning.
'Any questions, Potter?'
'Yes,' said Harry. 'What sort of character and aptitude tests do the Ministry do on you, if you get enough NEWTs?'
'Well, you'll need to demonstrate the ability to react well to pres-sure and so forth,' said Professor McGonagall, 'perseverance and dedi-cation, because Auror training takes a further three years, not to mention very high skills in practical Defence. It will mean a lot more study even after you've left school, so unless you're prepared to - '
'I think you'll also find,' said Umbridge, her voice very cold now, 'that the Ministry looks into the records of those applying to be Aurors. Their criminal records.'
'- unless you're prepared to take even more exams after Hogwarts, you should really look at another - '
'Which means that this boy has as much chance of becoming an Auror as Dumbledore has of ever returning to this school.'
'A very good chance, then,' said Professor McGonagall.
'Potter has a criminal record,' said Umbridge loudly.
'Potter has been cleared of all charges,' said McGonagall, even more loudly.
Professor Umbridge stood up. She was so short that this did not make a great deal of difference, but her fussy, simpering demeanour had given place to a hard fury that made her broad, flabby face look oddly sinister.
'Potter has no chance whatsoever of becoming an Auror!'
Professor McGonagall got to her feet, too, and in her case this was a much more impressive move: she towered over Professor Umbridge.
'Potter,' she said in ringing tones, 'I will assist you to become an Auror if it is the last thing I do! If I have to coach you nightly, I will make sure you achieve the required results!'
The Minister for Magic will never employ Harry Potter!' said Umbridge, her voice rising furiously.
There may well be a new Minister for Magic by the time Potter is ready to join!' shouted Professor McGonagall.
'Aha! shrieked Professor Umbridge, pointing a stubby linger at McGonagall. 'Yes! Yes, yes, yes! Of course! That's what you want, isn't it, Minerva McGonagall? You want Cornelius Fudge replaced by Albus Dumbledore! You think you'll be where I am, don't you: Senior Undersecretary to the Minister and Headmistress to boot!'
'You are raving,' said Professor McGonagall, superbly disdainful. Totter, that concludes our careers consultation.'
Harry swung his bag over his shoulder and hurried out of the room, not daring to look at Professor Umbridge. He could hear her and Professor McGonagall continuing to shout at each other all the way back along the corridor.
Professor Umbridge was still breathing as though she had just run a race when she strode into their Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson that afternoon.
'I hope you've thought better of what you were planning to do, Harry,' Hermione whispered, the moment they had opened their books to 'Chapter Thirty-four, Non-Retaliation and Negotiation'. 'Umbridge looks like she's in a really bad mood already . . .'
Every now and then Umbridge shot glowering looks at Harry, who kept his head down, staring at Defensive Magical Theory, his eyes unfocused, thinking . . .
He could just imagine Professor McGonagall's reaction if he was caught trespassing in Professor Umbridge's office mere hours after she had vouched for him . . .
'Dumbledore sacrificed himself to keep you in school, Harry!' whispered Hermione, raising her book to hide her face from Umbridge. 'And if you get thrown out today it will all have been for nothing!'
Umbridge came pelting out of her classroom as fast as her short legs would carry her. Pulling out her wand, she hurried off in the opposite direction: it was now or never.
Harry reached the corridor to Umbridge's office and found it deserted.
Harry dived for the Invisibility Cloak and had just managed to pull it back over himself when Filch burst into the office. He looked absolutely delighted about something and was talking to himself feverishly as he crossed the room, pulled open a drawer in Umbridge's desk and began rifling through the papers inside it.
'Approval for Whipping . . . Approval for Whipping . . . I can do it at last . . . they've had it coming to them for years . . .'
One landing down from Umbridge's office, Harry thought it was safe to become visible again. He pulled off the Cloak, shoved it in his bag and hurried onwards. There was a great deal of shouting and movement coming from the Entrance Hall. He ran down the marble staircase and found what looked like most of the school assembled there.
'So!' said Umbridge triumphantly. Harry realised she was standing just a few stairs in front of him, once more looking down upon her prey. 'So - you think it amusing to turn a school corridor into a swamp, do you?'
'Pretty amusing, yeah,' said Fred, looking up at her without the slightest sign of fear.
Filch elbowed his way closer to Umbridge, almost crying with happiness.
'Very good, Argus,' she said. 'You two,' she went on, gazing down at Fred and George, 'are about to learn what happens to wrong-doers in my school.'
And before Umbridge could say a word, they raised their wands and said together:
'Accio brooms!'
Harry heard a loud crash somewhere in the distance. Looking to his left, he ducked just in time. Fred and George's broomsticks, one still trailing the heavy chain and iron peg with which Umbridge had fastened them to the wall, were hurtling along the corridor towards their owners; they turned left, streaked down the stairs and stopped sharply in front of the twins, the chain clattering loudly on the flagged stone floor.
'We won't be seeing you,' Fred told Professor Umbridge, swinging his leg over his broomstick.
'Yeah, don't bother to keep in touch,' said George, mounting his own.
'Special discounts to Hogwarts students who swear they're going to use our products to get rid of this old bat,' added George, pointing at Professor Umbridge.
'STOP THEM!' shrieked Umbridge, but it was too late. As the Inquisitorial Squad closed in, Fred and George kicked off from the floor, shooting fifteen feet into the air, the iron peg swinging dangerously below. Fred looked across the hall at the poltergeist bobbing on his level above the crowd.
'Give her hell from us, Peeves.'
The story of Fred and George's flight to freedom was retold so often over the next few days that Harry could tell it would soon become the stuff of Hogwarts legend: within a week, even those who had been eye-witnesses were half-convinced they had seen the twins dive-bomb Umbridge on their brooms and pelt her with Dungbombs before zooming out of the doors. In the immediate aftermath of their departure there was a great wave of talk about copying them. Harry frequently heard students saying things like, 'Honestly, some days I just feel like jumping on my broom and leaving this place,' or else, 'One more lesson like that and I might just do a Weasley.'
Fred and George had made sure nobody was likely to forget them too soon. For one thing, they had not left instructions on how to remove the swamp that now filled the corridor on the fifth floor of the east wing. Umbridge and Filch had been observed trying different means of removing it but without success. Eventually, the area was roped off and Filch, gnashing his teeth furiously, was given the task of punting students across it to their classrooms. Harry was certain that teachers like McGonagall or Flitwick could have removed the swamp in an instant but, just as in the case of Fred and George's Wildfire Whiz-bangs, they seemed to prefer to watch Umbridge struggle.
Then there were the two large broom-shaped holes in Umbridge's office door, through which Fred and George's Cleansweeps had smashed to rejoin their masters. Filch fitted a new door and removed Harry's Firebolt to the dungeons where, it was rumoured, Umbridge had set an armed security troll to guard it. However, her troubles were far from over.
Inspired by Fred and George's example, a great number of stu-dents were now vying for the newly vacant positions of Troublemakers-in-Chief. In spite of the new door, somebody man-aged to slip a hairy-snouted Niffler into Umbridge's office, which promptly tore the place apart in its search for shiny objects, leapt on Umbridge when she entered and tried to gnaw the rings off her stubby fingers.
Meanwhile, it became clear just how many Skiving Snackboxes Fred and George had managed to sell before leaving Hogwarts. Umbridge only had to enter her classroom for the students assem-bled there to faint, vomit, develop dangerous fevers or else spout blood from both nostrils. Shrieking with rage and frustration, she attempted to trace the mysterious symptoms to their source, but the students told her stubbornly they were suffering from 'Umbridge - 'itis'. Alter putting four successive classes in detention and failing to discover their secret, she was forced to give up and allow the bleeding, swooning, sweating and vomiting students to leave her classes in droves.
Peeves smashed lanterns and snuffed out candles, juggled burning torches over the heads of screaming students, caused neatly stacked piles of parchment to topple into fires or out of windows; flooded the second floor when he pulled off all the taps in the bathrooms, dropped a bag of tarantulas in the middle of the Great Hall during breakfast and, whenever he fancied a break, spent hours at a time floating along after Umbridge and blowing loud raspberries every time she spoke.
None of the staff but Filch seemed to be stirring themselves to help her. Indeed, a week after Fred and Georges departure Harry witnessed Professor McGonagall walking right past Peeves, who was determinedly loosening a crystal chandelier, and could have sworn he heard her tell the poltergeist out of the corner of her mouth, 'It unscrews the other way.'
'Anyway, more trouble for Umbridge, isn't it?' said Harry in a satisfied voice.
'When Mum's next letter finally gets through Umbridge's screening process,' said Ron bitterly, now holding his cup up while its frail legs tried feebly to support its weight, 'I'm going to be in deep trouble. I wouldn't be surprised if she's sent another Howler.'
'I 'ppreciate this, you two, I really do,' said Hagrid as they reached the stairs. He kept looking around nervously as they descended towards the lawn below. 'I jus' hope she doesn' notice us goin'.'
'You mean Umbridge?' said Harry. 'She won't, she's got her whole Inquisitorial Squad sitting with her, didn't you see? She must be expecting trouble at the match.'
'But you've lasted this long - ' Hermione said tentatively. 'What makes you think - '
'Umbridge reckons it was me that put tha' Niffler in her office.'
'Oh, come off it, Harry!' said Hermione angrily, stopping dead in her tracks so that the people behind had to swerve to avoid her. 'Of course he's going to be chucked out and, to be perfectly honest, after what we've just seen, who can blame Umbridge?'
There was a pause in which Harry glared at her, and her eyes filled slowly with tears.
'You didn't mean that,' said Harry quietly.
Harry and Ron whipped around on their bench. Through the doors to the Great Hall they could see Umbridge standing with a small group of ancient-looking witches and wizards. Umbridge, Harry was pleased to see, looked rather nervous.
'Shall we go and have a closer look?' said Ron.
Harry and Hermione nodded and they hastened towards the double doors into the Entrance Hall, slowing down as they stepped over the threshold to walk sedately past the examiners. Harry thought Professor Marchbanks must be the tiny, stooped witch with a face so lined it looked as though it had been draped in cobwebs; Umbridge was speaking to her deferentially. Professor Marchbanks seemed to be a little deaf; she was answering Professor Umbridge very loudly considering they were only a foot apart.
'Journey was fine, journey was fine, we've made it plenty of times before!' she said impatiently. 'Now, I haven't heard from Dumbledore lately!' she added, peering around the Hall as though hopeful he might suddenly emerge from a broom cupboard. 'No idea where he is, I suppose?'
'None at all,' said Umbridge, shooting a malevolent look at Harry, Ron and Hermione, who were now dawdling around the foot of the stairs as Ron pretended to do up his shoelace. 'But I daresay the Ministry of Magic will track him down soon enough.'
'I doubt it,' shouted tiny Professor Marchbanks, 'not it Dumbledore doesn't want to be found! I should know . . . exam-ined him personally in Transfiguration and Charms when he did NEWTs . . . did things with a wand I'd never seen before.'
'Yes . . . well . . .' said Professor Umbridge as Harry, Ron and Hermione dragged their feet up the marble staircase as slowly as they dared, 'let me show you to the staff room. I daresay you'd like a cup of tea after your journey.'
They had their Herbology exam on Wednesday (other than a small bite from a Fanged Geranium, Harry felt he had done rea-sonably well); and then, on Thursday, Deience Against the Dark Arts. Here, tor the first time, Harry felt sure he had passed. He had no problem with any of the written questions and took particular pleasure, during the practical examination, in performing all the counter-jinxes and defensive spells right in front of Umbridge, who was watching coolly from near the doors into the Entrance Hall.
'I heard, from my dear friend Tiberius Ogden, that you can pro-duce a Patronus? For a bonus point . . . ?'
Harry raised his wand, looked directly at Umbridge and imag-ined her being sacked.
As Harry passed Umbridge beside the door, their eyes met. There was a nasty smile playing around her wide, slack mouth, but he did not care. Unless he was very much mistaken (and he was not planning on telling anybody, in case he was), he had just achieved an 'Outstanding' OWL.
'Oh, shut up!' said Hermione angrily. 'It could be the one mis-take that makes the difference between a pass and a fail. And what's more, someone's put another Nifiler in Umbridge's office. I don't know how they got it through that new door, but I just walked past there and Umbridge is shrieking her head off - by the sound of it, it tried to take a chunk out of her leg - '
'Good,' said Harry and Ron together.
'It is not good!' said Hermione hotly. 'She thinks it's Hagrid doing it, remember? And we do not want Hagrid chucked out!'
'He's teaching at the moment; she can't blame him,' said Harry, gesturing out of the window.
'Oh, you're so naive sometimes, Harry. You really think Umbridge will wait for proof?' said Hermione, who seemed determined to be in a towering temper, and she swept off towards the girls' dormi-tories, banging the door behind her.
He could not think why Umbridge would be taking a stroll out-side after midnight, much less accompanied by five others. Then somebody coughed behind him, and he remembered that he was halfway through an exam. He had quite forgotten Venus's position. Jamming his eye to his telescope, he found it again and was once more about to enter it on his chart when, alert for any odd sound, he heard a distant knock which echoed through the deserted grounds, followed immediately by the muffled barking of a large dog.
'Get him, get him!' screamed Umbridge, but her remaining helper seemed highly reluctant to go within reach of Hagrid's fists; indeed, he was backing away so fast he tripped over one of his unconscious colleagues and fell over. Hagrid had turned and begun to run with Fang still hung around his neck. Umbridge sent one last Stunning Spell after him but it missed; and Hagrid, running full-pelt towards the distant gates, disappeared into the darkness.
It was nearly four in the morning before the common room cleared. Harry felt wide awake; the image of Hagrid sprinting away into the dark was haunting him; he was so angry with Umbridge he could not think of a punishment bad enough for her, though Ron's suggestion of having her fed to a box of starving Blast-Ended Skrewts had its merits. He fell asleep contemplating hideous revenges and arose from bed three hours later feeling distinctly unrested.
'We'll have to use Umbridge's fire and see if we can contact him, said Hermione, who looked positively terrified at the thought. 'We'll draw Umbridge away again, but we'll need lookouts, and that's where we can use Ginny and Luna.'
'Right,' said Hermione, twisting her hands together and pacing up and down between the desks. 'Right . . . well . . . one of us has to go and find Umbridge and - and send her off in the wrong direction, keep her away from her office. They could tell her - I don't know - that Peeves is up to something awful as usual . . .'
Even through his anger and impatience, Harry recognised Hermione's offer to accompany him into Umbridge's office as a sign of solidarity and loyalty.
'I - oh, all right,' she said desperately. 'You go and get the Invisibility Cloak and we'll meet you at the end of Umbridge's corridor, OK?'
But Harry was already tearing away back along the corridor, and a couple of minutes later was jumping the last few stairs to join Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Luna, who were huddled together at the end of Umbridge's corridor.
'All right, whispered Hermione as a gang of loud sixth-years passed them. 'So Ron - you go and head Umbridge off . . . Ginny, Luna, if you can start moving people out of the corridor . . . Harry and I will get the Cloak on and wait until the coast is clear . . ."
'What's the signal?' muttered Harry, as they approached Umbridge's door.
'A loud chorus of "Weasley is our King" if they see Umbridge coming,' replied Hermione, as Harry inserted the blade of Sirius's knife in the crack between door and wall. The lock clicked open and they entered the office.
But before he could utter a single curse or insult, Harry felt a great pain at the top of his head; he inhaled a lot of ash and, choking, found himself being dragged backwards through the flames, until with a horrible abruptness he was staring up into the wide, pallid face of Professor Umbridge who had dragged him backwards out of the fire by the hair and was now bending his neck back as far as it would go, as though she were going to slit his throat.
'You think,' she whispered, bending Harry's neck back even fur-ther, so that he was looking up at the ceiling, 'that after two Nifflers I was going to let one more foul, scavenging little creature enter my office without my knowledge? I had Stealth Sensoring Spells placed all around my doorway after the last one got in, you foolish boy. Take his wand,' she barked at someone he could not see, and he felt a hand grope inside the chest pocket of his robes and remove the wand. 'Hers, too.'
Harry heard a scuffle over by the door and knew that Hermione had also just had her wand wrested from her.
'I want to know why you are in my office,' said Umbridge, shaking the fist clutching his hair so that he staggered.
'I was - trying to get my Firebolt!' Harry croaked.
'Liar.' She shook his head again. 'Your Firebolt is under strict guard in the dungeons, as you very well know, Potter. You had your head in my fire. With whom have you been communicating?'
'No one - ' said Harry, trying to pull away from her. He felt several hairs part company with his scalp.
'Liar!' shouted Umbridge. She threw him from her and he slammed into the desk. Now he could see Hermione pinioned against the wall by Millicent Bulstrode. Malfoy was leaning on the windowsill, smirking as he threw Harry's wand into the air one-handed and caught it again.
'Good, good,' said Umbridge, watching Ginny's struggles. 'Well, it looks as though Hogwarts will shortly be a Weasley-free zone, doesn't it?'
Malfoy laughed loudly and sycophantically. Umbridge gave her wide, complacent smile and settled herself into a chintz-covered armchair, blinking up at her captives like a toad in a flowerbed.
'So, Potter,' she said. 'You stationed lookouts around my office and you sent this buffoon,' she nodded at Ron - Malfoy laughed even louder - 'to tell me the poltergeist was wreaking havoc in the Transfiguration department when I knew perfectly well that he was busy smearing ink on the eyepieces of all the school telescopes - 'Mr Filch having just informed me so.
'Clearly, it was very important for you to talk to somebody. Was it Albus Dumbledore? Or the half-breed, Hagrid? I doubt it was Minerva McGonagall, I hear she is still too ill to talk to anyone.'
Malfoy and a few of the other members of the Inquisitorial Squad laughed some more at that. Harry found he was so full of rage and hatred he was shaking.
'It's none of your business who I talk to,' he snarled.
Umbridge's slack face seemed to tighten.
'Very well,' she said in her most dangerous and falsely sweet voice. 'Very well, Mr Potter . . . I offered you the chance to tell me freely. You refused. I have no alternative but to force you. Draco - fetch Professor Snape.'
There was silence in the office except for the fidgetings and scufflings resulting from the Slytherins' efforts to keep Ron and the others under control. Ron's lip was bleeding on to Umbridge's carpet as he struggled against Warrington's half-nelson; Ginny was still trying to stamp on the feel of the sixth-year girl who had both her upper arms in a tight grip; Neville was turning steadily more purple in the face while lugging at Crabbe's arms; and Hermione was attempting, in vain, to throw Millicent Bulstrode off her. Luna, however, stood limply by the side of her captor, gazing vaguely out of the window as though rather bored by the proceedings.
Harry looked back at Umbridge, who was watching him closely. He kept his face deliberately smooth and blank as footsteps were heard in the corridor outside and Draco Malfoy entered the room, closely followed by Snape.
'You wanted to see me, Headmistress?' said Snape, looking around at all the pairs of struggling students with an expression of com-plete indifference.
'Ah, Professor Snape,' said Umbridge, smiling widely and standing up again. 'Yes, I would like another bottle of Veritaserum, as quick as you can, please.'
'You took my last bottle to interrogate Potter,' he said, surveying her coolly through his greasy curtains of black hair. 'Surely you did not use it all? I told you that three drops would be sufficient.'
Umbridge flushed.
'You can make some more, can't you?' she said, her voice becoming more sweetly girlish as it always did when she was furious.
'Certainly,' said Snape, his lip curling. 'It takes a full moon-cycle to mature, so I should have it ready for you in around a month.'
'A month?' squawked Umbndge, swelling toadishly. 'A month! But I need it this evening, Snape! I have just found Potter using my fire to communicate with a person or persons unknown!'
'Really?' said Snape, showing his first, faint sign of interest as he looked round at Harry. 'Well, it doesn't surprise me. Potter has never shown much inclination to follow school rules.'
His cold, dark eyes were boring into Harry's, who met his gaze unflinchingly, concentrating hard on what he had seen in his dream, willing Snape to read it in his mind, to understand . . .
'I wish to interrogate him!' repeated Umbridge angrily, and Snape looked away from Harry back into her furiously quivering lace. 'I wish you to provide me with a potion that will force him to tell me the truth!'
'I have already told you,' said Snape smoothly, 'that I have no further stocks of Veritaserum. Unless you wish to poison Potter - 'and I assure you I would have the greatest sympathy with you if you did - I cannot help you. The only trouble is that most venoms act too fast to give the victim much lime for truth-telling.'
'You are on probation!' shrieked Professor Umbridge, and Snape looked back at her, his eyebrows slightly raised. 'You arc being deliberately unhelpful! I expected better, Lucius Malfoy always speaks most highly of you! Now get out of my office!'
Snape gave her an ironic bow and turned to leave.
Snape had stopped with his hand on Umbridge's door handle.
'Padfoot?' cried Professor Umbridge, looking eagerly from Harry to Snape. 'What is Padfoot? Where what is hidden? What does he mean, Snape?'
Snape looked round at Harry. His face was inscrutable. Harry could not tell whether he had understood or not, but he did not dare speak more plainly in front of Umbridge.
'I have no idea,' said Snape coldly.
He closed the door behind him with a snap, leaving Harry in a state of worse turmoil than before: Snape had been his very last hope. He looked at Umbridge, who seemed to be feeling the same way; her chest was heaving with rage and frustration.
'Very well,' she said, and she pulled out her wand. 'Very well . . . I am left with no alternative . . . this is more than a matter of school discipline . . . this is an issue of Ministry security . . . yes . . . yes . . .'
She seemed to be talking herself into something. She was shifting her weight nervously from foot to foot, staring at Harry, beating her wand against her empty palm and breathing heavily As he watched her, Harry felt horribly powerless without his own wand.
'You are forcing me, Potter . . . I do not want to,' said Umbridge, still moving restlessly on the spot, 'but sometimes circumstances justify the use . . . I am sure the Minister will understand that I had no choice . . .'
Malfoy was watching her with a hungry expression on his face.
The Cruciatus Curse ought to loosen your tongue,' said Umbridge quietly.
'No!' shrieked Hermione. 'Professor Umbridge - it's illegal.'
But Umbridge took no notice. There was a nasty eager, excited look on her face that Harry had never seen before. She raised her wand.
The Minister wouldn't want you to break the law, Professor Umbridge!' cried Hermione.
'What Cornelius doesn't know won't hurt him,' said Umbridge, who was now panting slightly as she pointed her wand at different parts of Harry's body in turn, apparently trying to decide where it would hurt most. 'He never knew I ordered Dementors to go after Potter last summer, but he was delighted to be given the chance to expel him, all the same.'
'It was you?' gasped Harry. 'You sent the Dementors after me?'
'Somebody had to act,' breathed Umbridge, as her wand came to rest pointing directly at Harry's forehead. They were all bleating about silencing you somehow - discrediting you - but I was the one who actually did something about it . . . only you wriggled out of that one, didn't you, Potter? Not today though, not now - ' And taking a deep breath, she cried, 'Cruc-
'NO!' shouted Hermione in a cracked voice from behind Millicent Bulstrode. 'No - Harry - we'll have to tell her!'
'No way!' yelled Harry, staring at the little of Hermione he could see.
'We'll have to, Harry, she'll force it out of you anyway, what's . . . what's the point?'
And Hermione began to cry weakly into the back of Millicent Bulstrode's robes. Millicent stopped trying to squash her against the wall immediately and dodged out of her way looking disgusted.
'Well, well, well!' said Umbridge, looking triumphant. 'Little Miss Question-all is going to give us some answers! Come on then, girl, come on!'
'That's right, that's right, girl!' said Umbridge, seizing Hermione by the shoulders, thrusting her into the abandoned chintz chair and leaning over her. 'Now then . . . with whom was Potter com-municating just now?'
Ron froze, his eyes wide; Ginny stopped trying to stamp on her Slytherin captor's toes; and even Luna looked mildly surprised. Fortunately, the attention of Umbridge and her minions was focused too exclusively upon Hermione to notice these suspicious signs
'Dumbledore?' said Umbridge eagerly. 'You know where Dumbledore is, then?'
'Well . . . no!' sobbed Hermione. 'We've tried the Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley and the Three Broomsticks and even the Hog's Head - '
'Idiot girl - Dumbledore won't be sitting in a pub when the whole Ministry's looking for him!' shouted Umbridge, disappoint-ment etched in every sagging line of her face.
'But - but we needed to tell him something important!' wailed Hermione, holding her hands more tightly over her face, not, Harry knew, out of anguish, but to disguise the continued absence of tears.
'Yes?' said Umbridge with a sudden resurgence of excitement. 'What was it you wanted to tell him?'
'We . . . we wanted to tell him it's r - ready!' choked Hermione.
'What's ready?' demanded Umbridge, and now she grabbed Hermione's shoulders again and shook her slightly. 'What's ready, girl?'
The . . . the weapon,' said Hermione.
'Weapon? Weapon?' said Umbridge, and her eyes seemed to pop with excitement. 'You have been developing some method of resistance? A weapon you could use against the Ministry? On Professor Dumbledore's orders, of course?'
'Y - y - yes,' gasped Hermione, 'but he had to leave before it was finished and n - n - now we've finished it for him, and we c - c - can't find him t - t - to tell him!'
'What kind of weapon is it?' said Umbridge harshly, her stubby hands still tight on Hermione's shoulders.
'We don't r - r - really understand it,' said Hermione, sniffing loudly. 'We j - j - just did what P - P - Professor Dumbledore told us t - t - to do.'
Umbridge straightened up, looking exultant.
'Lead me to the weapon,' she said.
'I'm not showing . . . them,' said Hermione shrilly, looking around at the Slytherins through her fingers.
'It is not for you to set conditions,' said Professor Umbridge harshly.
'Fine,' said Hermione, now sobbing into her hands again. 'Fine . . . let them see it, I hope they use it on you! In fact, I wish you'd invite loads and loads of people to come and see! Th - that would serve you right - oh, I'd love it if the wh - whole school knew where it was, and how to u - use it, and then if you annoy any of them they'll, be able to s - sort you out!'
These words had a powerful impact on Umbridge: she glanced swiftly and suspiciously around at her Inquisitorial Squad, her bulging eyes resting for a moment on Malfoy, who was too slow to disguise the look of eagerness and greed that had appeared on his lace.
Umbridge contemplated Hermione for another long moment, then spoke in what she clearly thought was a motherly voice.
'All right, dear, let's make it just you and me . . . and we'll take Potter, loo, shall we? Get up, now.'
'Professor,' said Malfoy eagerly, 'Professor Umbridge, I think some of the Squad should come with you to look after - '
'I am a fully qualified Ministry official, Malfoy, do you really think I cannot manage two wandless teenagers alone?' asked Umbridge sharply. 'In any case, it does not sound as though this weapon is something that schoolchildren should see. You will
remain here until I return and make sure none of these - she ges-tured around at Ron, Ginny, Neville and Luna ' - escape.'
'All right,' said Malfoy, looking sulky and disappointed.
'And you two can go ahead of me and show me the way,' said Umbridge, pointing at Harry and Hermione with her wand. 'Lead on.'
Harry had no idea what Hermione was planning, or even whether she had a plan. He walked half a pace behind her as they headed down the corridor outside Umbridge's office, knowing it would look very suspicious if he appeared not to know where they were going. He did not dare attempt to talk to her; Umbridge was walking so closely behind them that he could hear her ragged breathing.
Hermione walked straight out of the oak front doors and down the stone steps into the balmy evening air. The sun was falling towards the tops of the trees in the Forbidden Forest now, and as Hermione marched purposefully across the grass - Umbridge jog-ging to keep up - their long dark shadows rippled over the grass behind them like cloaks.
'It's hidden in Hagrid's hut, is it?' said Umbridge eagerly in Harry's ear.
'Of course not,' said Hermione scathingly. 'Hagrid might have set it off accidentally.'
'Yes,' said Umbridge, whose excitement seemed to be mounting. 'Yes, he would have done, of course, the great half-breed oaf.'
She laughed. Harry felt a strong urge to swing round and seize her by the throat, but resisted. His scar was throbbing in the soft evening air but it had not yet burned white-hot, as he knew it would if Voldemort had moved in for the kill.
'Then . . . where is it? asked Umbridge, with a hint or uncertainty in her voice as Hermione continued to stride towards the Forest.
'In there, of course,' said Hermione, pointing into the dark trees. 'It had to be somewhere that students weren't going to find it acci-dentally, didn't it?'
'Of course,' said Umbridge, though she sounded a little appre-hensive now. 'Of course . . . very well, then . . . you two stay ahead of me.'
'Can we have your wand, then, if we're going first?' Harry asked her.
'No, I don't think so, Mr Potter,' said Umbridge sweetly, poking him in the back with it. The Ministry places a rather higher value on my life than yours, I'm afraid.'
As they reached the cool shade of the first trees, Harry tried to catch Hermione s eye; walking into the Forest without wands seemed to him to be more foolhardy than anything they had done so far this evening. She, however, merely gave Umbridge a contemptuous glance and plunged straight into the trees, moving at such a pace that Umbridge, with her shorter legs, had difficulty in keeping up.
'Is it very far in?' Umbridge asked, as her robe ripped on a bramble.
'Oh yes,' she said in a steely voice, crashing through the under-growth with what he thought was a wholly unnecessary amount of noise. Behind them, Umbridge tripped over a fallen sapling. Neither of them paused to help her up again; Hermione merely strode on, calling loudly over her shoulder, 'It's a bit further in!'
'Hermione, keep your voice down,' Harry muttered, hurrying to catch up with her. 'Anything could be listening in here - '
'I want us heard,' she answered quietly, as Umbridge jogged noisily after them. 'You'll see . . .'
'How much further?' demanded Umbridge angrily from behind him.
An arrow flew through the air and landed with a menacing thud in the tree just over her head. The air was suddenly full of the sound of hooves; Harry could feel the Forest floor trembling; Umbridge gave a little scream and pushed him in front of her like a shield - '
He wrenched himself free of her and turned. Around fifty cen-taurs were emerging on every side, their bows raised and loaded, pointing at Harry, Hermione and Umbridge. They backed slowly into the centre of the clearing, Umbridge uttering odd little whim-pers of terror. Harry looked sideways at Hermione. She was wearing a triumphant smile.
'Who are you?' said a voice.
Harry looked left. The chestnut-bodied centaur called Magorian was walking towards them out of the circle: his bow, like those of the others, was raised. On Harry's right, Umbridge was still whim-pering, her wand trembling violently as she pointed it at the advancing centaur.
'I asked you who are you, human,' said Magorian roughly.
'I am Dolores Umbridge!' said Umbridge in a high-pitched, terri-fied voice. 'Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic and Headmistress and High Inquisitor of Hogwarts!'
'You are from the Ministry of Magic?' said Magorian, as many of the centaurs in the surrounding circle shifted restlessly.
'That's right!' said Umbridge, in an even higher voice, 'so be very careful! By the laws laid down by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, any attack by half-breeds such as yourselves on a human - '
'What did you call us?' shouted a wild-looking black centaur, whom Harry recognised as Bane. There was a great deal of angry muttering and tightening of bowstrings around them.
'Don't call them that!' Hermione said furiously, but Umbridge did not appear to have heard her. Still pointing her shaking wand at Magorian, she continued, 'Law Fifteen "B" states clearly that "any attack by a magical creature who is deemed to have near-human intelligence, and therefore considered responsible for its actions - '
' "Near-human intelligence"?' repeated Magorian, as Bane and several others roared with rage and pawed the ground. 'We con-sider that a great insult, human! Our intelligence, thankfully, far outstrips your own.'
'What are you doing in our Forest?' bellowed the hard-faced grey centaur Harry and Hermione had seen on their last trip into the Forest. 'Why are you here?'
'Your Forest?' said Umbridge, shaking now not only with fright but also, it seemed, with indignation. 'I would remind you that you live here only because the Ministry of Magic permits you cer-tain areas of land - '
An arrow flew so close to her head that it caught at her mousy hair in passing: she let out an ear-splitting scream and threw her hands over her head, while some of the centaurs bellowed their approval and others laughed raucously. The sound of their wild, neighing laughter echoing around the dimly lit clearing and the sight of their pawing hooves was extremely unnerving.
'Whose Forest is it now, human?' bellowed Bane.
'Filthy half-breeds!' she screamed, her hands still tight over her head. 'Beasts! Uncontrolled animals!'
'Be quiet!' shouted Hermione, but it was too late: Umbridge pointed her wand at Magorian and screamed, 'Incarcerous!'
Ropes flew out of midair like thick snakes, wrapping themselves tightly around the centaur's torso and trapping his arms: he gave a cry of rage and reared on to his hind legs, attempting to free himself, while the other centaurs charged.
'Nooooo!' he heard Umbridge shriek. 'Noooooo . . . I am Senior Undersecretary . . . you cannot - Unhand me, you animals . . . nooooo!'
Harry saw a flash of red light and knew she had attempted to Stun one of them; then she screamed very loudly. Lifting his head a few inches, Harry saw that Umbridge had been seized from behind by Bane and lifted high into the air, wriggling and yelling with fright. Her wand fell from her hand to the ground, and Harry's heart leapt. If he could just reach it - '
'Now!' roared a voice in Harry's ear and a thick hairy arm descended from thin air and dragged him upright. Hermione, too, had been pulled to her feet. Over the plunging, many-coloured backs and heads of the centaurs, Harry saw Umbridge being borne away through the trees by Bane. Screaming non-stop, her voice grew fainter and fainter until they could no longer hear it over the trampling of hooves surrounding them.
'Couple of Stunners, a Disarming Charm, Neville brought off a really nice little Impediment Jinx,' said Ron airily, now handing back Hermione's wand, too. 'But Ginny was best, she got Malfoy - Bat Bogey Hex - it was superb, his whole face was covered in the great flapping things. Anyway, we saw you out of the window heading into the Forest and followed. What've you done with Umbridge?'
'She got carried away,' said Harry. 'By a herd of centaurs.'
'You're too - ' Harry began, but Ginny said fiercely, 'I'm three years older than you were when you fought You-Know-Who over the Philosophers Stone, and it's because of me that Malfoy's stuck back in Umbridge's office with giant flying bogies attacking him - '
His voice faltered as Dumbledore surveyed him magisterially over his half-moon spectacles.
'You will give the order to remove Dolores Umbridge from Hogwarts,' said Dumbledore. 'You will tell your Aurors to stop searching for my Care of Magical Creatures teacher so that he can return to work. I will give you . . .' Dumbledore pulled a watch with twelve hands from his pocket and surveyed it. . . half an hour of my time tonight, in which I think we shall be more than able to cover the important points of what has happened here. After that, I shall need to return to my school. If you need more help from me you are, of course, more than welcome to contact me at Hogwarts. Letters addressed to the Headmaster will find me.'
'I tried to check he'd really taken Sirius, I went to Umbridge's office, I spoke to Kreacher in the fire and he said Sirius wasn't there, he said he'd gone!'
'Kreacher told me last night,' said Dumbledore. 'You see, when you gave Professor Snape that cryptic warning, he realised that you had had a vision of Sirius trapped in the bowels of the Department of Mysteries. He, like you, attempted to contact Sirius at once. I should explain that members of the Order of the Phoenix have more reliable methods of communicating than the fire in Dolores Umbridge's office. Professor Snape found that Sirius was alive and safe in Grimmauld Place.
'When, however, you did not return from your trip into the Forest with Dolores Umbridge, Professor Snape grew worried that you still believed Sirius to be a captive of Lord Voldemort's. He alerted certain Order members at once.'
'Harry you know Professor Snape had no choice but to pretend not to take you seriously in front of Dolores Umbridge,' said Dumbledore steadily, 'but as I have explained, he informed the Order as soon as possible about what you had said. It was he who deduced where you had gone when you did not return from the Forest. It was he, too, who gave Professor Umbridge fake Veritaserum when she was attempting to force you to tell her Sirius's where-abouts.'
'Not at all,' said Ginny. 'He's really, really miserable, actually . . .' She lowered her voice to a whisper. 'He keeps saying Umbridge was the best thing that ever happened to Hogwarts . . .'
All six of them looked around. Professor Umbridge was lying in a bed opposite them, gazing up at the ceiling. Dumbledore had strode alone into the Forest to rescue her from the centaurs; how he had done it - how he had emerged from the trees supporting Professor Umbridge without so much as a scratch on him - nobody knew, and Umbridge was certainly not telling. Since she had returned to the castle she had not, as far as any of them knew, uttered a single word. Nobody really knew what was wrong with her, either. Her usually neat mousy hair was very untidy and there were still bits of twigs and leaves in it, but otherwise she seemed to be quite unscathed.
'Madam Pomfrey says she's just in shock,' whispered Hermione.
'Sulking, more like,' said Ginny.
'Yeah, she shows signs of life if you do this,' said Ron, and with his tongue he made soft clip-clopping noises. Umbridge sat bolt upright, looking around wildly.
'Anything wrong, Professor?' called Madam Pomfrey, poking her head around her office door.
'No . . . no . . .' said Umbridge, sinking back into her pillows. 'No, I must have been dreaming . . .'
Hermione and Ginny muffled their laughter in the bedclothes.
Professor Umbridge left Hogwarts the day before the end of term. It seemed she had crept out of the hospital wing during dinnertime, evidently hoping to depart undetected, but unfortu-nately for her, she met Peeves on the way, who seized his last chance to do as Fred had instructed, and chased her gleefully from the premises whacking her alternately with a walking stick and a sock full of chalk. Many students ran out into the Entrance Hall to watch her running away down the path and the Heads of Houses tried only half-heartedly to restrain them. Indeed, Professor McGonagall sank back into her chair at the staff table after a few feeble remonstrances and was clearly heard to express a regret that she could not run cheering after Umbridge herself, because Peeves had borrowed her walking stick.