The above is in accordance with

 

Educational Decree Number Twenty-seven.

Signed:

 

 

 

 

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.

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 CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

 

 

 

“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! ”

And it seemed that Hermione was quite right. By the end of that

 

day, though Harry had not seen so much as a corner of The Quibbler  

anywhere in the school, the whole place seemed to be quoting the in- terview at each other; Harry heard them whispering about it as they queued up outside classes, discussing it over lunch and in the back of lessons, while Hermione even reported that every occupant of the cu- bicles in the girls’ toilets had been talking about it when she nipped in there before Ancient Runes.

“And then they spotted me, and obviously they know I know you, so they were bombarding me with questions, ” Hermione told Harry, her eyes shining, “and Harry, I think they believe you, I really do, I think you’ve finally got them convinced! ”

 

Meanwhile Professor Umbridge was stalking the school, stopping 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. The pages carrying Harry’s interview had been bewitched to resemble extracts from text- books 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 the in- terview 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

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live to a ripe old age, become Minister of Magic, and have twelve children.

 

But what made Harry happiest was Cho catching up with him as he was hurrying along to Transfiguration the next day. Before he knew what had happened her hand was in his and she was breathing in his ear, “I’m really, really sorry. That interview was so brave... it made me cry.”

He was sorry to hear she had shed even more tears over it, but very glad they were on speaking terms again, and even more pleased when she gave him a swift kiss on the cheek and hurried off again. And un- believably, no sooner had he arrived outside Transfiguration than something just as good happened: Seamus stepped out of the queue to face him.

 

“I just wanted to say, ” he mumbled, squinting at Harry’s left knee, “I believe you. And I’ve sent a copy of that magazine to me mam.” If anything more was needed to complete Harry’s happiness, it was Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle’s reactions. He saw them with their heads together later that afternoon in the library, together with a weedy- looking boy Hermione whispered was called Theodore Nott. They looked around at Harry as he browsed the shelves for the book he needed on Partial Vanishment, and Goyle cracked his knuckles threat- eningly and Malfoy whispered something undoubtedly malevolent to Crabbe. Harry knew perfectly well why they were acting like this: He had named all of their fathers as Death Eaters.

“And the best bit is, ” whispered Hermione gleefully as they left the library, “they can’t contradict you, because they can’t admit they’ve read the article! ”

 

To cap it all, Luna told him over dinner that no copy of The Quib-

bler had ever sold out faster.

 

“Dad’s reprinting! ” she told Harry, her eyes popping excitedly. “He can’t believe it, he says people seem even more interested in this than the Crumple-Horned Snorkacks! ”

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 CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

 

 

 

Harry was a hero in the Gryffindor common room that night; dar- ingly, Fred and George had put an Enlargement Charm on the front

 

cover of The Quibbler and hung it on the wall, so that Harry’s giant

head gazed down upon the proceedings, occasionally saying things like “The Ministry are morons” and “Eat dung, Umbridge” in a booming voice. Hermione did not find this very amusing; she said it interfered with her concentration, and ended up going to bed early out of irritation. Harry had to admit that the poster was not quite as funny after an hour or two, especially when the talking spell had started to wear off, so that it merely shouted disconnected words like “Dung” and “Umbridge” at more and more frequent intervals in a progressively higher voice. In fact it started to make his head ache and his scar began prickling uncomfortably again. To disappointed moans from the many people who were sitting around him, asking him to re- live his interview for the umpteenth time, he announced that he too needed an early night.

The dormitory was empty when he reached it. He rested his fore- head for a moment against the cool glass of the window beside his bed; it felt soothing against his scar. Then he undressed and got into bed, wishing his headache would go away. He also felt slightly sick. He rolled over onto his side, closed his eyes, and fell asleep almost at once....

He was standing in a dark, curtained room lit by a single branch of candles. His hands were clenched on the back of a chair in front of him. They were long-fingered and white as though they had not seen sunlight for years and looked like large, pale spiders against the dark velvet of the chair.

 

Beyond the chair, in a pool of light cast upon the floor by the can- dles, knelt a man in black robes.

 

“I have been badly advised, it seems, ” said Harry, in a high, cold voice that pulsed with anger.

 

“Master, I crave your pardon....” croaked the man kneeling on

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the floor. The back of his head glimmered in the candlelight. He seemed to be trembling.

 

“I do not blame you, Rookwood, ” said Harry in that cold, cruel voice.

 

He relinquished his grip upon the chair and walked around it, closer to the man cowering upon the floor, until he stood directly over him in the darkness, looking down from a far greater height than usual.

 

“You are sure of your facts, Rookwood? ” asked Harry. “Yes, My Lord, yes... I used to work in the department after — after all....”

“Avery told me Bode would be able to remove it.” “Bode could never have taken it, Master.... Bode would have known he could not.... Undoubtedly that is why he fought so hard against Malfoy’s Imperius Curse....”

 

“Stand up, Rookwood, ” whispered Harry.

The kneeling man almost fell over in his haste to obey. His face was pockmarked; the scars were thrown into relief by the candlelight. He remained a little stooped when standing, as though halfway through a bow, and he darted terrified looks up at Harry’s face.

“You have done well to tell me this, ” said Harry. “Very well... I have wasted months on fruitless schemes, it seems.... But no matter

.  .. We begin again, from now. You have Lord Voldemort’s gratitude, Rookwood....”

“My Lord... yes, My Lord, ” gasped Rookwood, his voice hoarse with relief.

“I shall need your help. I shall need all the information you can give me.”

“Of course, My Lord, of course... anything...” “Very well... you may go. Send Avery to me.” Rookwood scurried backward, bowing, and disappeared through a door.

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 CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

 

 

 

Left alone in the dark room, Harry turned toward the wall. A cracked, age-spotted mirror hung on the wall in the shadows. Harry moved toward it. His reflection grew larger and clearer in the darkness.

.  .. A face whiter than a skull... red eyes with slits for pupils... “NOOOOOOOOO! ”

“What? ” yelled a voice nearby.

 

Harry flailed around madly, became entangled in the hangings, and fell out of his bed. For a few seconds he did not know where he was; he was convinced that he was about to see the white, skull-like face looming at him out of the dark again, then Ron’s voice spoke very near to him.

“Will you stop acting like a maniac, and I can get you out of here! ” Ron wrenched the hangings apart, and Harry stared up at him in the moonlight, as he lay flat on his back, his scar searing with pain. Ron looked as though he had just been getting ready for bed; one arm was out of his robes.

“Has someone been attacked again? ” asked Ron, pulling Harry roughly to his feet. “Is it Dad? Is it that snake? ”

“No — everyone’s fine —” gasped Harry, whose forehead felt as though it was on fire again. “Well... Avery isn’t.... He’s in trouble.

.  .. He gave him the wrong information.... He’s really angry....” Harry groaned and sank, shaking, onto his bed, rubbing his scar. “But Rookwood’s going to help him now.... He’s on the right track again....”

“What are you talking about? ” said Ron, sounding scared. “D’you mean... did you just see You-Know-Who? ”

“I was You-Know-Who, ” said Harry, and he stretched out his

 

hands in the darkness and held them up to his face to check that they were no longer deathly white and long-fingered. “He was with Rook- wood, he’s one of the Death Eaters who escaped from Azkaban, re- member? Rookwood’s just told him Bode couldn’t have done it....”

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“Done what? ”

“Remove something.... He said Bode would have known he couldn’t have done it.... Bode was under the Imperius Curse.... I think he said Malfoy’s dad put it on him....”

 

“Bode was bewitched to remove something? ” Ron said. “But — Harry, that’s got to be —”

 

“The weapon, ” Harry finished the sentence for him. “I know.” The dormitory door opened; Dean and Seamus came in. Harry swung his legs back into bed. He did not want to look as though any- thing odd had just happened, seeing as Seamus had only just stopped thinking Harry was a nutter.

“Did you say, ” murmured Ron, putting his head close to Harry’s on the pretense of helping himself to water from the jug on his bedside

 

table, “that you were You-Know-Who? ”

“Yeah, ” said Harry quietly.

 

Ron took an unnecessarily large gulp of water. Harry saw it spill over his chin onto his chest.

 

“Harry, ” he said, as Dean and Seamus clattered around noisily, pulling off their robes, and talking, “you’ve got to tell —”

 

“I haven’t got to tell anyone, ” said Harry shortly. “I wouldn’t have seen it at all if I could do Occlumency. I’m supposed to have learned to shut this stuff out. That’s what they want.”

By “they” he meant Dumbledore. He got back into bed and rolled over onto his side with his back to Ron and after a while he heard Ron’s mattress creak as he lay back down too. His scar began to burn; he bit hard on his pillow to stop himself making a noise. Somewhere, he knew, Avery was being punished....

 

 

Harry and Ron waited until break next morning to tell Hermione ex- actly what had happened. They wanted to be absolutely sure they could not be overheard. Standing in their usual corner of the cool and 

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 CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

 

 

 

breezy courtyard, Harry told her every detail of the dream he could remember. When he had finished, she said nothing at all for a few moments, but stared with a kind of painful intensity at Fred and George, who were both headless and selling their magical hats from under their cloaks on the other side of the yard.

“So that’s why they killed him, ” she said quietly, withdrawing her gaze from Fred and George at last. “When Bode tried to steal this weapon, something funny happened to him. I think there must be defensive spells on it, or around it, to stop people from touching it. That’s why he was in St. Mungo’s, his brain had gone all funny and he couldn’t talk. But remember what the Healer told us? He was recov- ering. And they couldn’t risk him getting better, could they? I mean, the shock of whatever happened when he touched that weapon prob- ably made the Imperius Curse lift. Once he’d got his voice back, he’d explain what he’d been doing, wouldn’t he? They would have known he’d been sent to steal the weapon. Of course, it would have been easy for Lucius Malfoy to put the curse on him. Never out of the Ministry, is he? ”

“He was even hanging around that day I had my hearing, ” said Harry. “In the — hang on...” he said slowly. “He was in the De- partment of Mysteries corridor that day! Your dad said he was proba- bly trying to sneak down and find out what happened in my hearing, but what if —”

 

“Sturgis, ” gasped Hermione, looking thunderstruck. “Sorry? ” said Ron, looking bewildered.

 

“Sturgis Podmore, ” said Hermione, breathlessly. “Arrested for try- ing to get through a door. Lucius Malfoy got him too. I bet he did it the day you saw him there, Harry. Sturgis had Moody’s Invisibility Cloak, right? So what if he was standing guard by the door, invisible, and Malfoy heard him move, or guessed he was there, or just did the Imperius Curse on the off chance that a guard was there? So when Sturgis next had an opportunity — probably when it was his turn on

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guard duty again — he tried to get into the department to steal the weapon for Voldemort — Ron, be quiet — but he got caught and sent to Azkaban....”

She gazed at Harry.

 

“And now Rookwood’s told Voldemort how to get the weapon? ” “I didn’t hear all the conversation, but that’s what it sounded like, ” said Harry. “Rookwood used to work there.... Maybe Voldemort’ll send Rookwood to do it? ”

 

Hermione nodded, apparently still lost in thought. Then, quite abruptly, she said, “But you shouldn’t have seen this at all, Harry.” “What? ” he said, taken aback.

“You’re supposed to be learning how to close your mind to this sort of thing, ” said Hermione, suddenly stern.

 

“I know I am, ” said Harry. “But —”

“Well, I think we should just try and forget what you saw, ” said Hermione firmly. “And you ought to put in a bit more effort on your Occlumency from now on.”

 

Harry was so angry with her that he did not talk to her for the rest of the day, which proved to be another bad one. When people were not discussing the escaped Death Eaters in the corridors today, they were laughing at Gryffindor’s abysmal performance in their match against Hufflepuff; the Slytherins were singing “Weasley Is Our King” so loudly and frequently that by sundown Filch had banned it from the corridors out of sheer irritation.

The week did not improve as it progressed: Harry received two more D’s in Potions, was still on tenterhooks that Hagrid might get the sack, and could not stop himself from dwelling on the dream in which he had seen Voldemort, though he did not bring it up with Ron and Hermione again because he did not want another telling-off from Hermione. He wished very much that he could have talked to Sirius about it, but that was out of the question, so he tried to push the mat- ter to the back of his mind.

? 589‘

 CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

 

 

 

Unfortunately, the back of his mind was no longer the secure place it had once been.

 

“Get up, Potter.”

A couple of weeks after his dream of Rookwood, Harry was to be found, yet again, kneeling on the floor of Snape’s office, trying to clear his head. He had just been forced, yet again, to relive a stream of very early memories he had not even realized he still had, most of them concerning humiliations Dudley and his gang had inflicted upon him in primary school.

“That last memory, ” said Snape. “What was it? ” “I don’t know, ” said Harry, getting wearily to his feet. He was find- ing it increasingly difficult to disentangle separate memories from the rush of images and sound that Snape kept calling forth. “You mean the one where my cousin tried to make me stand in the toilet? ” “No, ” said Snape softly. “I mean the one concerning a man kneel- ing in the middle of a darkened room....”

“It’s... nothing, ” said Harry.

 

Snape’s dark eyes bored into Harry’s. Remembering what Snape had said about eye contact being crucial to Legilimency, Harry blinked and looked away.

“How do that man and that room come to be inside your head, Potter? ” said Snape.

“It —” said Harry, looking everywhere but at Snape, “it was — just a dream I had.”

“A dream, ” repeated Snape.

 

There was a pause during which Harry stared fixedly at a large dead frog suspended in a purple liquid in its jar.

 

“You do know why we are here, don’t you, Potter? ” said Snape in a low, dangerous voice. “You do know why I am giving up my evenings to this tedious job? ”

“Yes, ” said Harry stiffly.

 

“Remind me why we are here, Potter.”

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“So I can learn Occlumency, ” said Harry, now glaring at a dead eel. “Correct, Potter. And dim though you may be” — Harry looked back at Snape, hating him — “I would have thought that after two months’ worth of lessons you might have made some progress. How many other dreams about the Dark Lord have you had? ”

“Just that one, ” lied Harry.

 

“Perhaps, ” said Snape, his dark, cold eyes narrowing slightly, “per- haps you actually enjoy having these visions and dreams, Potter. Maybe they make you feel special — important? ”

“No, they don’t, ” said Harry, his jaw set and his fingers clenched tightly around the handle of his wand.

“That is just as well, Potter, ” said Snape coldly, “because you are neither special nor important, and it is not up to you to find out what the Dark Lord is saying to his Death Eaters.”

“No — that’s your job, isn’t it? ” Harry shot at him. He had not meant to say it; it had burst out of him in temper. For a long moment they stared at each other, Harry convinced he had gone too far. But there was a curious, almost satisfied expression on Snape’s face when he answered.

 

“Yes, Potter, ” he said, his eyes glinting. “That is my job. Now, if you are ready, we will start again....”

 

He raised his wand. “One — two — three — Legilimens! ”

A hundred dementors were swooping toward Harry across the lake in the grounds.... He screwed up his face in concentration.... They were coming closer.... He could see the dark holes beneath their hoods... yet he could also see Snape standing in front of him, his eyes fixed upon Harry’s face, muttering under his breath.... And somehow, Snape was growing clearer, and the dementors were grow- ing fainter...

 

Harry raised his own wand.

“ Protego! ”

 

Snape staggered; his wand flew upward, away from Harry — and

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 CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

 

 

 

suddenly Harry’s mind was teeming with memories that were not his — a hook-nosed man was shouting at a cowering woman, while a small dark-haired boy cried in a corner.... A greasy-haired teenager sat alone in a dark bedroom, pointing his wand at the ceiling, shoot- ing down flies.... A girl was laughing as a scrawny boy tried to mount a bucking broomstick —

 

“ENOUGH! ”

Harry felt as though he had been pushed hard in the chest; he took several staggering steps backward, hit some of the shelves covering Snape’s walls and heard something crack. Snape was shaking slightly, very white in the face.

The back of Harry’s robes were damp. One of the jars behind him had broken when he fell against it; the pickled slimy thing within was swirling in its draining potion.

“ Reparo! ” hissed Snape, and the jar sealed itself once more. “Well,

 

Potter... that was certainly an improvement....” Panting slightly, Snape straightened the Pensieve in which he had again stored some of his thoughts before starting the lesson, almost as though checking that they were still there. “I don’t remember telling you to use a Shield Charm... but there is no doubt that it was effective....”

Harry did not speak; he felt that to say anything might be danger- ous. He was sure he had just broken into Snape’s memories, that he had just seen scenes from Snape’s childhood, and it was unnerving to think that the crying little boy who had watched his parents shouting was ac- tually standing in front of him with such loathing in his eyes.... “Let’s try again, shall we? ” said Snape.

Harry felt a thrill of dread: He was about to pay for what had just happened, he was sure of it. They moved back into position with the desk between them, Harry feeling he was going to find it much harder to empty his mind this time....

“On the count of three, then, ” said Snape, raising his wand once more. “One — two —”

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Harry did not have time to gather himself together and attempt to

clear his mind, for Snape had already cried “ Legilimens! ”

 

He was hurtling along the corridor toward the Department of Mys- teries, past the blank stone walls, past the torches — the plain black door was growing ever larger; he was moving so fast he was going to collide with it, he was feet from it and he could see that chink of faint blue light again —

The door had flown open! He was through it at last, inside a black- walled, black-floored circular room lit with blue-flamed candles, and there were more doors all around him — he needed to go on — but which door ought he to take —?

“POTTER! ”

Harry opened his eyes. He was flat on his back again with no memory of having gotten there; he was also panting as though he re- ally had run the length of the Department of Mysteries corridor, really had sprinted through the black door and found the circular room.... “Explain yourself! ” said Snape, who was standing over him, look- ing furious.

“I... dunno what happened, ” said Harry truthfully, standing up. There was a lump on the back of his head from where he had hit the ground and he felt feverish. “I’ve never seen that before. I mean, I told you, I’ve dreamed about the door... but it’s never opened before....” “You are not working hard enough! ”

 

For some reason, Snape seemed even angrier than he had done two minutes before, when Harry had seen into his own memories. “You are lazy and sloppy, Potter, it is small wonder that the Dark Lord —”

 

“Can you tell me something,   sir? ” said Harry, firing up again.

“Why do you call Voldemort the Dark Lord, I’ve only ever heard Death Eaters call him that —”

Snape opened his mouth in a snarl — and a woman screamed from somewhere outside the room.

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 CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

 

 

 

Snape’s head jerked upward; he was gazing at the ceiling. “What the —? ” he muttered.

 

Harry could hear a muffled commotion coming from what he thought might be the entrance hall. Snape looked around at him, frowning.

“Did you see anything unusual on your way down here, Potter? ” Harry shook his head. Somewhere above them, the woman screamed again. Snape strode to his office door, his wand still held at the ready, and swept out of sight. Harry hesitated for a moment, then followed.

 

The screams were indeed coming from the entrance hall; they grew louder as Harry ran toward the stone steps leading up from the dun- geons. When he reached the top he found the entrance hall packed. Students had come flooding out of the Great Hall, where dinner was still in progress, to see what was going on. Others had crammed them- selves onto the marble staircase. Harry pushed forward through a knot of tall Slytherins and saw that the onlookers had formed a great ring, some of them looking shocked, others even frightened. Professor McGonagall was directly opposite Harry on the other side of the hall; she looked as though what she was watching made her feel faintly sick.

 

Professor Trelawney was standing in the middle of the entrance hall with her wand in one hand and an empty sherry bottle in the other, looking utterly mad. Her hair was sticking up on end, her glasses were lopsided so that one eye was magnified more than the other; her in- numerable shawls and scarves were trailing haphazardly from her shoulders, giving the impression that she was falling apart at the seams. Two large trunks lay on the floor beside her, one of them up- side down; it looked very much as though it had been thrown down the stairs after her. Professor Trelawney was staring, apparently terri- fied, at something Harry could not see but that seemed to be standing at the foot of the stairs.

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“No! ” she shrieked. “NO! This cannot be happening.... It cannot

.  .. I refuse to accept it! ”

 

“You didn’t realize 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 tomorrow’s weather, you must surely have realized that your pitiful performance during my inspections, and lack of any improvement, would make it inevitable 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 re-

 

volted to see the enjoyment stretching her toadlike face as she watched Professor Trelawney sink, sobbing uncontrollably, onto one of her trunks, “until an hour ago, when the Minister of Magic countersigned the order for your dismissal. Now kindly remove yourself 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- ward and forward on her trunk in paroxysms of grief. Harry heard a sob to his left and looked around. Lavender and Parvati were both cry- ing silently, their arms around 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 handkerchief from within her robes. “There, there, Sibyll... 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 state- ment is...? ”

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 CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

 

 

 

“That would be mine, ” said a deep voice.

The oak front doors had swung open. Students beside them scut- tled 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 behind him, he strode forward through the circle of onlookers toward the place where Professor Trelawney sat, tearstained and trembling, upon her trunk, Professor McGonagall alongside her.

“Yours, Professor Dumbledore? ” said Umbridge with a singularly unpleasant little laugh. “I’m afraid you do not understand the posi- tion. I have here” — she pulled a parchment scroll from within her robes — “an Order of Dismissal signed by myself and the Minister of 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 up to the standard required by the Ministry of Magic. I have decided that Professor Trelawney is not up to scratch. I have dis- missed her.”

 

To Harry’s very great surprise, Dumbledore continued to smile. He looked down at Professor Trelawney, who was still sobbing and chok- ing 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 continue to live at Hogwarts.”

 

At this, Professor Trelawney gave a wild little laugh in which a hic- cup was barely hidden.

 

“No — no, I’ll g-go, Dumbledore! I sh-shall l-leave Hogwarts and s-seek my fortune elsewhere —”

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“No, ” said Dumbledore sharply. “It is my wish that you remain, Sibyll.”

 

He turned to Professor McGonagall.

“Might I ask you to escort Sibyll back upstairs, Professor McGonagall? ”

“Of course, ” said McGonagall. “Up you get, Sibyll....” Professor Sprout came hurrying forward 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 scur-

rying after them, his wand held out before him; he squeaked, “ Loco-

 

motor 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 Dumble- dore, who continued to smile benignly.

 

“And what, ” she said in a whisper that nevertheless carried all around the entrance 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 pre- fer lodgings on the ground floor.”

 

“You’ve found —? ” said Umbridge shrilly. “ You’ve found? Might I

remind you, Dumbledore, that under Educational Decree Twenty- two —”

“— the Ministry has the right to appoint a suitable candidate if — and only if — the headmaster is unable to find one, ” said Dumble- dore. “And I am happy to say that on this occasion I have succeeded. May I introduce you? ”

He turned to face the open front doors, through which night mist was now drifting. Harry heard hooves. There was a shocked murmur around the hall and those nearest the doors hastily moved even farther 

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 CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

 

 

 

backward, some of them tripping over in their haste to clear a path for the newcomer.

 

Through the mist came a face Harry had seen once before on a dark, dangerous night in the Forbidden Forest: white-blond hair and astonishingly blue eyes, the head and torso of a man joined to the palomino body of a horse.

 

“This is Firenze, ” said Dumbledore happily to a thunderstruck Umbridge. “I think you’ll find him suitable.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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C H A P T E R T W E N T Y - S E V E N

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE CENTAUR AND THE SNEAK

 

 

 

 

’ll bet you wish you hadn’t given up Divination now, don’t you,

I

Hermione? ” asked Parvati, smirking.

 

It was breakfast time a few days after the sacking of Professor Trelawney, and Parvati was curling her eyelashes around her wand and examining the effect in the back of her spoon. They were to have their first lesson with Firenze that morning.

 

“Not really, ” said Hermione indifferently, who was reading the

Daily Prophet. “I’ve never really liked horses.”

 

She turned a page of the newspaper, scanning its columns. “He’s not a horse, he’s a centaur! ” said Lavender, sounding shocked.

 

“A gorgeous centaur...” sighed Parvati.

“Either way, he’s still got four legs, ” said Hermione coolly. “Any- way, I thought you two were all upset that Trelawney had gone? ” “We are! ” Lavender assured her. “We went up to her office to see her, we took her some daffodils — not the honking ones that Sprout’s got, nice ones....”

 

“How is she? ” asked Harry.

“Not very good, poor thing, ” said Lavender sympathetically. “She

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was crying and saying she’d rather leave the castle forever than stay here if Umbridge is still here, 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....”

After breakfast Hermione departed for her Arithmancy class and Harry and Ron followed Parvati and Lavender into the entrance hall, heading for Divination.

“Aren’t we going up to North Tower? ” asked Ron, looking puzzled, as Parvati bypassed the marble staircase.

Parvati looked scornfully over her shoulder at him. “How d’you expect Firenze to climb that ladder? We’re in class- room eleven now, it was on the notice board yesterday.” Classroom eleven was situated in the ground-floor corridor leading off the entrance hall on the opposite side to the Great Hall. Harry knew it to be one of those classrooms that were never used regularly, and that it therefore had the slightly neglected feeling of a cupboard or storeroom. When he entered it right behind Ron, and found him- self right in the middle of a forest clearing, he was therefore momen- tarily stunned.

“What the —? ”

 

The classroom floor had become springily mossy and trees were growing out of it; their leafy branches fanned across the ceiling and windows, so that the room was full of slanting shafts of soft, dappled, green light. The students who had already arrived were sitting on the earthy floor with their backs resting against tree trunks or boulders,

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arms wrapped around their knees or folded tightly across their chests, looking rather nervous. In the middle of the room, where there were no trees, stood Firenze.

“Harry Potter, ” he said, holding out a hand when Harry entered. “Er — hi, ” said Harry, shaking hands with the centaur, who sur- veyed him unblinkingly through those astonishingly blue eyes but did not smile. “Er — good to see you...”

“And you, ” said the centaur, inclining his white-blond head. “It was foretold that we would meet again.”

Harry noticed that there was the shadow of a hoof-shaped bruise on Firenze’s chest. As he turned to join the rest of the class upon the floor, he saw that they were all looking at him with awe, apparently deeply impressed that he was on speaking terms with Firenze, whom they seemed to find intimidating.

When the door was closed and the last student had sat down upon a tree stump beside the wastepaper basket, Firenze gestured around the room.

 

“Professor Dumbledore has kindly arranged this classroom for us, ” said Firenze, when everyone had settled down, “in imitation of my natural habitat. I would have preferred to teach you in the Forbidden Forest, which was — until Monday — my home... but this is not possible.”

“Please — er — sir —” said Parvati breathlessly, raising her hand, “why not? We’ve been in there with Hagrid, we’re not frightened! ” “It is not a question of your bravery, ” said Firenze, “but of my po- sition. I can no longer return to the forest. My herd has banished me.” “Herd? ” said Lavender in a confused voice, and Harry knew she was thinking of cows. “What — oh! ” Comprehension dawned on her

face. “There are more of you? ” she said, stunned.

 

“Did Hagrid breed you, like the thestrals? ” asked Dean eagerly. Firenze turned his head very slowly to face Dean, who seemed to realize at once that he had said something very offensive.

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“I didn’t — I meant — sorry, ” he finished in a hushed voice. “Centaurs are not the servants or playthings of humans, ” said Firenze quietly. There was a pause, then Parvati raised her hand again. “Please, sir... why have the other centaurs banished you? ”

 

“Because I have agreed to work for Professor Dumbledore, ” said Firenze. “They see this as a betrayal of our kind.”

 

Harry remembered how, nearly four years ago, the centaur Bane had shouted at Firenze for allowing Harry to ride to safety upon his back, calling him a “common mule.” He wondered whether it had been Bane who had kicked Firenze in the chest.

 

“Let us begin, ” said Firenze. He swished his long palomino tail, raised his hand toward the leafy canopy overhead then lowered it slowly, and as he did so, the light in the room dimmed, so that they now seemed to be sitting in a forest clearing by twilight, and stars

emerged upon the ceiling. There were oohs and gasps, and Ron said

 

audibly, “Blimey! ”

“Lie back upon the floor, ” said Firenze in his calm voice, “and ob- serve the heavens. Here is written, for those who can see, the fortune of our races.”

 

Harry stretched out on his back and gazed upward at the ceiling. A twinkling red star winked at him from overhead.

 

“I know that you have learned the names of the planets and their moons in Astronomy, ” said Firenze’s calm voice, “and that you have mapped the stars’ progress through the heavens. Centaurs have unrav- eled the mysteries of these movements over centuries. Our findings teach us that the future may be glimpsed in the sky above us....” “Professor Trelawney did Astrology with us! ” said Parvati excitedly, raising her hand in front of her so that it stuck up in the air as she lay on her back. “Mars causes accidents and burns and things like that, and when it makes an angle to Saturn, like now” — she drew a right angle in the air above her — “that means that people need to be extra careful when handling hot things —”

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“That, ” said Firenze calmly, “is human nonsense.” Parvati’s hand fell limply to her side.

 

“Trivial hurts, tiny human accidents, ” said Firenze, as his hooves thudded over the mossy floor. “These are of no more significance than the scurryings of ants to the wide universe, and are unaffected by planetary movements.”

 

“Professor Trelawney —” began Parvati, in a hurt and indignant voice.

 

“— is a human, ” said Firenze simply. “And is therefore blinkered and fettered by the limitations of your kind.”

 

Harry turned his head very slightly to look at Parvati. She looked very offended, as did several of the people surrounding her.

“Sibyll Trelawney may have Seen, I do not know, ” continued Firenze, and Harry heard the swishing of his tail again as he walked up and down before them, “but she wastes her time, in the main, on the self-flattering nonsense humans call fortune-telling. I, however, am here to explain the wisdom of centaurs, which is impersonal and im- partial. We watch the skies for the great tides of evil or change that are sometimes marked there. It may take ten years to be sure of what we are seeing.”

Firenze pointed to the red star directly above Harry. “In the past decade, the indications have been that Wizard-kind is living through nothing more than a brief calm between two wars. Mars, bringer of battle, shines brightly above us, suggesting that the fight must break out again soon. How soon, centaurs may attempt to divine by the burning of certain herbs and leaves, by the observation of fume and flame....”

 

It was the most unusual lesson Harry had ever attended. They did indeed burn sage and mallowsweet there on the classroom floor, and Firenze told them to look for certain shapes and symbols in the pun- gent fumes, but he seemed perfectly unconcerned that not one of them could see any of the signs he described, telling them that humans

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were hardly ever good at this, that it took centaurs years and years to become competent, and finished by telling them that it was foolish to put too much faith in such things anyway, because even centaurs sometimes read them wrongly. He was nothing like any human teacher Harry had ever had. His priority did not seem to be to teach them what he knew, but rather to impress upon them that nothing, not even centaurs’ knowledge, was foolproof.

“He’s not very definite on anything, is he? ” said Ron in a low voice, as they put out their mallowsweet fire. “I mean, I could do with a few more details about this war we’re about to have, couldn’t you? ”

 

The bell rang right outside the classroom door and everyone jumped; Harry had completely forgotten that they were still inside the castle, quite convinced that he was really in the forest. The class filed out, looking slightly perplexed; Harry and Ron were on the point of following them when Firenze called, “Harry Potter, a word, please.” Harry turned. The centaur advanced a little toward him. Ron hesitated.

 

“You may stay, ” Firenze told him. “But close the door, please.” Ron hastened to obey.

 

“Harry Potter, you are a friend of Hagrid’s, are you not? ” said the centaur.

 

“Yes, ” said Harry.

“Then give him a warning from me. His attempt is not working. He would do better to abandon it.”

“His attempt is not working? ” Harry repeated blankly. “And he would do better to abandon it, ” said Firenze, nodding. “I would warn Hagrid myself, but I am banished — it would be unwise for me to go too near the forest now — Hagrid has troubles enough, without a centaurs’ battle.”

 

“But — what’s Hagrid attempting to do? ” said Harry nervously. Firenze looked at Harry impassively.

 

“Hagrid has recently rendered me a great service, ” said Firenze,

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“and he has long since earned my respect for the care he shows all liv- ing creatures. I shall not betray his secret. But he must be brought to his senses. The attempt is not working. Tell him, Harry Potter. Good day to you.”

 

 

The happiness Harry had felt in the aftermath of The Quibbler inter-

 

view had long since evaporated. As a dull March blurred into a squally April, his life seemed to have become one long series of worries and problems again.

Umbridge had continued attending all Care of Magical Creatures lessons, so it had been very difficult to deliver Firenze’s warning to Ha- grid. At last Harry had managed it by pretending he had lost his copy

of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them     and doubling back after

 

class one day. When he passed on Firenze’s message, Hagrid gazed at him for a moment through his puffy, blackened eyes, apparently taken aback. Then he seemed to pull himself together.

“Nice bloke, Firenze, ” he said gruffly, “but he don’ know what he’s talkin’ abou’ on this. The attemp’s comin’ on fine.”

“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 —”

“There’s things more importan’ than keepin’ a job, ” said Hagrid, though his hands shook slightly as he said this and a basin full of knarl droppings crashed to the floor. “Don’ worry abou’ me, Harry, jus’ get along now, there’s a good lad....”

Harry had no choice but to leave Hagrid mopping up the dung all over his floor, but he felt thoroughly dispirited as he trudged back up to the castle.

 

Meanwhile, as the teachers and Hermione persisted in reminding them, the O.W.L.s were drawing ever nearer. All the fifth years were suffering from stress to some degree, but Hannah Abbott became the

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first to receive a Calming Draught from Madam Pomfrey after she burst into tears during Herbology and sobbed that she was too stupid to take exams and wanted to leave school now.

If it had not been for the D.A. lessons, Harry thought he would have been extremely unhappy. He sometimes felt that 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 D.A. members and saw how far they had come. Indeed, Harry sometimes wondered how Umbridge was going to react when all the members of the D.A. received “Outstand- ing” in their Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.s.

They had finally started work on Patronuses, which everybody had been very keen to practice, though as Harry kept reminding them, producing a Patronus in the middle of a brightly lit classroom when they were not under threat was very different to producing it when confronted by something like a dementor.

“Oh, don’t be such a killjoy, ” said Cho brightly, watching her sil- very swan-shaped Patronus soar around the Room of Requirement during their last lesson before Easter. “They’re so pretty! ”

 

“They’re not supposed to be pretty, they’re supposed to protect you, ” said Harry patiently. “What we really need is a boggart or some- thing; that’s how I learned, I had to conjure a Patronus while the bog- gart was pretending to be a dementor —”

 

“But that would be really scary! ” said Lavender, who was shooting puffs of silver vapor out of the end of her wand. “And I still — can’t — do it! ” she added angrily.

Neville was having trouble too. His face was screwed up in concen- tration, but only feeble wisps of silver smoke issued from his wand tip. “You’ve got to think of something happy, ” Harry reminded him. “I’m trying, ” said Neville miserably, who was trying so hard his round face was actually shining with sweat.

 

“Harry, I think I’m doing it! ” yelled Seamus, who had been

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brought along to his first ever D.A. meeting by Dean. “Look — ah — it’s gone.... But it was definitely something hairy, Harry! ” Hermione’s Patronus, a shining silver otter, was gamboling around her.

 

“They are sort of nice, aren’t they? ” she said, looking at it fondly.

The door of the Room of Requirement opened and then closed again; Harry looked around to see who had entered, but there did not seem to be anybody there. It was a few moments before he realized that the people close to the door had fallen silent. Next thing he knew, something was tugging at his robes somewhere near the knee. He looked down and saw, to his very great astonishment, Dobby the house-elf peering up at him from beneath his usual eight hats.

“Hi, Dobby! ” he said. “What are you — what’s wrong? ”

 

For the elf’s eyes were wide with terror and he was shaking. The members of the D.A. closest to Harry had fallen silent now: Every- body in the room was watching Dobby. The few Patronuses people had managed to conjure faded away into silver mist, leaving the room looking much darker than before.

“Harry Potter, sir...” squeaked the elf, trembling from head to foot, “Harry Potter, sir... Dobby has come to warn you... but the house-elves have been warned not to tell...”

 

He ran headfirst at the wall: Harry, who had some experience of Dobby’s habits of self-punishment, made to seize him, but Dobby merely bounced off the stone, cushioned by his eight hats. Hermione and a few of the other girls let out squeaks of fear and sympathy. “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? ”

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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 off Harry’s knees; Harry held him at bay.

 

“What about her? Dobby — she hasn’t found out about this — about us — about the D.A.? ”

 

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! ”

 

Harry straightened up and looked around at the motionless, terri- fied people gazing at the thrashing elf.

 

“WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? ” Harry bellowed. “RUN! ” They all pelted toward the exit at once, forming a scrum at the door, then people burst through; Harry could hear them sprinting along the corridors and hoped they had the sense not to try and make it all the way to their dormitories. It was only ten to nine, if they just took refuge in the library or the Owlery, which were both nearer — “Harry, come on! ” shrieked Hermione from the center of the knot

of people now fighting to get out.

 

He scooped up Dobby, who was still attempting to do himself seri- ous injury, and ran with the elf in his arms to join the back of the queue.

“Dobby — this is an order — get back down to the kitchen with the other elves, and if she asks you whether you warned me, lie and say no! ” said Harry. “And I forbid you to hurt yourself! ” he added, drop- ping the elf as he made it over the threshold at last and slamming the door behind him.

 

“Thank you, Harry Potter! ” squeaked Dobby, and he streaked off.

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Harry glanced left and right, the others were all moving so fast that he caught only glimpses of flying heels at either end of the corridor be- fore they vanished. He started to run right; there was a boys’ bath- room up ahead, he could pretend he’d been in there all the time if he could just reach it —

“AAARGH! ”

 

Something caught him around the ankles and he fell spectacularly, skidding along on his front for six feet before coming to a halt. Some- one behind him was laughing. He rolled over onto his back and saw Malfoy concealed in a niche beneath an ugly dragon-shaped vase. “Trip Jinx, Potter! ” he said. “Hey, Professor — PROFESSOR! I’ve got one! ”

Umbridge came bustling around the far corner, breathless but wearing a delighted smile.

“It’s him! ” she said jubilantly at the sight of Harry on the floor. “Ex- cellent, 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 vicelike grip and turned, beaming broadly, to Malfoy. “You hop along and see if you can round up anymore 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, most 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 wondered 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 O.W.L.s. And it had been Sea- mus’s very first meeting... and Neville had been getting so good.... “Fizzing Whizbee, ” sang Umbridge, and the stone gargoyle jumped aside, the wall behind split open, and they ascended the moving stone

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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. Pro- fessor McGonagall stood rigidly beside him, her face extremely tense. Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, was rocking backward and for- ward on his toes beside the fire, apparently immensely pleased with the situation. Kingsley Shacklebolt and a tough-looking wizard Harry did not recognize with very short, wiry hair were positioned on 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, apparently poised to take notes.

 

The portraits of old headmasters and mistresses were not sham- ming sleep tonight. All of them were watching what was happening below, alert and serious. As Harry entered, a few flitted into neigh- boring frames and whispered urgently into their neighbors’ ears. 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 upon his face.

“Well, ” he said. “Well, well, well...”

 

Harry replied with the dirtiest look he could muster. His heart drummed madly inside him, but his brain was oddly cool and clear. “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 dissolving with misery in the entrance hall. “The Malfoy boy cornered him.”

 

“Did he, did he? ” said Fudge appreciatively. “I must remember to tell Lucius. Well, Potter... I expect you know why you are here? ” Harry fully intended to respond with a defiant “yes”: His mouth had opened and the word was half formed when he caught sight of 

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Dumbledore’s face. Dumbledore was not looking directly at Harry; his eyes were fixed upon a point just over his shoulder, but as Harry stared at him, he shook his head a fraction of an inch to each side. Harry changed direction mid-word.

 

“Yeh — no.”

“I beg your pardon? ” said Fudge.

 

“No, ” said Harry, firmly.

“You don’t know why you are here? ”

 

“No, I don’t, ” said Harry.

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? ”

“School rules? ” said Harry. “No.”

 

“Or Ministry decrees? ” amended Fudge angrily. “Not that I’m aware of, ” said Harry blandly.

 

His heart was still hammering very fast. It was almost worth telling these lies to watch Fudge’s blood pressure rising, but he could not see how on earth he would get away with them. If somebody had tipped off Umbridge about the D.A. then he, the leader, might as well be packing his trunk right now.

“So it’s news to you, is it, ” said Fudge, his voice now thick with anger, “that an illegal student organization has been discovered within this school? ”

 

“Yes, it is, ” said Harry, hoisting an unconvincing look of innocent surprise onto his face.

 

“I think, Minister, ” said Umbridge silkily from beside him, “we might make better progress if I fetch our informant.”

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“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? ”

“Nothing at all, Cornelius, ” said Dumbledore gravely, inclining his head.

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 Um- bridge 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 of- fice — she’s been helping us police the Hogwarts fires, you know.” “Jolly good, jolly good! ” said Fudge heartily. “Like mother, like daughter, eh? Well, come on, now, dear, look up, don’t be shy, let’s hear what you’ve got to — galloping gargoyles! ”

 

As Marietta raised her head, Fudge leapt backward in shock, nearly landing himself in the fire. He cursed and stamped on the hem of his cloak, which had started to smoke, and Marietta gave a wail and pulled the neck of her robes right up to her eyes, but not before the whole room had seen that her face was horribly disfigured by a series of close-set purple pustules that had spread across her nose and cheeks to form the word “SNEAK.”

“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 onto her face and said, “Well, Minister,

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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 seventh floor, some- times known as the Room of Requirement, I would find out some- thing to my advantage. I questioned her a little further and she admitted that there was to be some kind of meeting there. Unfortu- nately at that point this hex, ” she waved impatiently at Marietta’s con- cealed 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 counterjinx 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 Oc- tober 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 re- port to me —”

 

“Oh, so that’s why he wasn’t prosecuted for setting up all those

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regurgitating toilets! ” said Professor McGonagall, raising her eye- brows. “What an interesting insight into our justice system! ” “Blatant corruption! ” roared the portrait of the corpulent, red- nosed wizard on the wall behind Dumbledore’s desk. “The Ministry did not cut deals with petty criminals in my day, no sir, they did not! ” “Thank you, Fortescue, that will do, ” said Dumbledore softly.

 

“The purpose of Potter’s 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.

 

Harry stared at him. He could not see how Dumbledore was going to talk him out of this one; if Willy Widdershins had indeed heard every word he said in the Hog’s Head there was simply no escaping it. “Oho! ” said Fudge, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet again. “Yes, do let’s hear the latest cock-and-bull story designed to pull Potter out of trouble! Go on, then, Dumbledore, go on — Willy Widdershins was lying, was he? Or was it Potter’s identical twin in the Hog’s Head that day? Or is there the usual simple explanation involv- ing a reversal of time, a dead man coming back to life, and a couple of invisible dementors? ”

 

Percy Weasley let out a hearty laugh.

“Oh, very good, Minister, very good! ”

 

Harry could have kicked him. Then he saw, to his astonishment, that Dumbledore was smiling gently too.

 

“Cornelius, I do not deny — and nor, I am sure, does Harry — that he was in the Hog’s Head that day, nor that he was trying to re- cruit students to a Defense Against the Dark Arts group. I am merely pointing out that Dolores is quite wrong to suggest that such a group was, at that time, illegal. If you remember, the Ministry decree ban-

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 THE CENTAUR AND THE SNEAK

ning all student societies was not put into effect until two days after Harry’s Hogsmeade meeting, so he was not breaking any rules in the Hog’s Head at all.”

Percy looked as though he had been struck in the face by something very heavy. Fudge remained motionless in mid-bounce, his mouth hanging open.

 

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 these meetings continued? ”

 

As Dumbledore spoke, Harry heard a rustle behind him and rather thought Kingsley whispered something. He could have sworn too that he felt something brush against his side, a gentle something like a draft or bird wings, but looking down he saw nothing there. “Evidence? ” repeated Umbridge with that horrible wide toadlike 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 hap- pening regularly over the last six months? ”

 

Harry felt a horrible plummeting in his stomach. This was it, they had hit a dead end of solid evidence that not even Dumbledore would be able to shift aside....

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 CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

 

 

 

“Just nod or shake your head, dear, ” Umbridge said coaxingly to Marietta. “Come on, now, that won’t activate the jinx further....” Everyone in the room was gazing at the top of Marietta’s face. Only her eyes were visible between the pulled up robes and her curly fringe. Perhaps it was a trick of the firelight, but her eyes looked oddly blank. And then — to Harry’s utter amazement — Marietta shook her head. Umbridge looked quickly at Fudge and then back at Marietta.

“I don’t think you understood the question, did you, dear? I’m ask- ing 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.

 

“I would have thought her meaning was quite clear, ” said Professor McGonagall harshly. “There have been no secret meetings for the past six months. Is that correct, Miss Edgecombe? ”

Marietta nodded.

 

“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

organized 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 around to face her, and began shaking her very hard. A split second later Dumbledore was on his feet, his wand raised. Kingsley started forward 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

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 THE CENTAUR AND THE SNEAK

his deep, slow voice. “You don’t want to get yourself into trouble now.”

 

“No, ” said Umbridge breathlessly, glancing up at the towering fig- ure 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 re- lieved by her release. She was still clutching her robe up to her oddly blank eyes, staring straight ahead of her. A sudden suspicion con- nected to Kingsley’s whisper and the thing he had felt shoot past him sprang into Harry’s mind.

“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 forewarned of my arrival, however, because when we reached the seventh 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 Re- quirement 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...”

He looked up at Dumbledore, who was still standing beside Mari- etta, his wand held loosely in his hand.

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 CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

 

 

 

“See what they’ve named themselves? ” said Fudge quietly. “ Dum-

bledore’s Army.”

 

Dumbledore reached out and took the piece of parchment from Fudge. He gazed at the heading scribbled by Hermione months be- fore and for a moment seemed unable to speak. Then he looked up, smiling.

 

“Well, the game is up, ” he said simply. “Would you like a written confession from me, Cornelius — or will a statement before these witnesses suffice? ”

Harry saw McGonagall and Kingsley look at each other. There was fear in both faces. He did not understand what was going on, and nei- ther, apparently, did Fudge.

“Statement? ” said Fudge slowly. “What — I don’t —? ” “Dumbledore’s Army, Cornelius, ” said Dumbledore, still smiling as he waved the list of names before Fudge’s face. “Not Potter’s Army.

 

Dumbledore’s Army. ”

“But — but —”

 

Understanding blazed suddenly in Fudge’s face. He took a horrified step backward, yelped, and jumped out of the fire again.

 

“You? ” he whispered, stamping again on his smoldering cloak. “That’s right, ” said Dumbledore pleasantly.

 

“You organized this? ”

“I did, ” said Dumbledore.

 

“You recruited these students for — for your army? ” “Tonight was supposed to be the first meeting, ” said Dumbledore, nodding. “Merely to see whether they would be interested in joining me. I see now that it was a mistake to invite Miss Edgecombe, of course.”

Marietta nodded. Fudge looked from her to Dumbledore, his chest swelling.

“Then you have been plotting against me! ” he yelled.

 

“That’s right, ” said Dumbledore cheerfully.

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“NO! ” shouted Harry.

Kingsley flashed a look of warning at him, McGonagall widened her eyes threateningly, but it had suddenly dawned upon Harry what Dumbledore was about to do, and he could not let it happen.

 

“No — Professor Dumbledore! ”

“Be quiet, Harry, or I am afraid you will have to leave my office, ” said Dumbledore calmly.

“Yes, shut up, Potter! ” barked Fudge, who was still ogling Dumble- dore with a kind of horrified delight. “Well, well, well — I came here tonight expecting to expel Potter and instead —”

 

“Instead you get to arrest me, ” said Dumbledore, smiling. “It’s like losing a Knut and finding a Galleon, isn’t it? ”

“Weasley! ” cried Fudge, now positively quivering with delight, “Weasley, have you written it all down, everything he’s said, his con- fession, have you got it? ”

 

“Yes, sir, I think so, sir! ” said Percy eagerly, whose nose was splat- tered with ink from the speed of his note-taking.

 

“The bit about how he’s been trying to build up an army against the Ministry, how he’s been working to destabilize me? ”

 

“Yes, sir, I’ve got it, yes! ” said Percy, scanning his notes joyfully. “Very well, then, ” said Fudge, now radiant with glee. “Duplicate

 

your notes, Weasley, and send a copy to the Daily Prophet at once. If

we send a fast owl we should make the morning edition! ” Percy dashed from the room, slamming the door behind him, and Fudge turned back to Dumbledore. “You will now be escorted back to the Ministry, where you will be formally charged and then sent to Azka- ban to await trial! ”

 

“Ah, ” said Dumbledore gently, “yes. Yes, I thought we might hit that little snag.”

 

“Snag? ” said Fudge, his voice still vibrating with joy. “I see no snag, Dumbledore! ”

 

“Well, ” said Dumbledore apologetically, “I’m afraid I do.”

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 CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

 

 

 

“Oh really? ”

“Well — it’s just that you seem to be laboring under the delusion that I am going to — what is the phrase? ‘Come quietly’ I am afraid I am not going to come quietly at all, Cornelius. I have absolutely no intention of being sent to Azkaban. I could break out, of course — but what a waste of time, and frankly, I can think of a whole host of things I would rather be doing.”

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 hap- pened. He made a small choking noise and then looked around at Kingsley and the man with short gray hair, who alone of everyone in the room had remained entirely silent so far. The latter gave Fudge a reassuring nod and moved forward a little, away from the wall. Harry saw his hand drift, almost casually, toward his pocket.

“Don’t be silly, Dawlish, ” said Dumbledore kindly. “I’m sure you are an excellent Auror, I seem to remember that you achieved ‘Out- standing’ in all your N.E.W.T.s, but if you attempt to — er — ‘bring me in’ by force, I will have to hurt you.”

The man called Dawlish blinked, looking rather foolish. He looked toward Fudge again, but this time seemed to be hoping for a clue as to what to do next.

 

“So, ” sneered Fudge, recovering himself, “you intend to take on Dawlish, Shacklebolt, Dolores, and myself single-handed, do you, Dumbledore? ”

“Merlin’s beard, no, ” said Dumbledore, smiling. “Not unless you are foolish enough to force me to.”

“He will not be single-handed! ” said Professor McGonagall loudly, plunging her hand inside her robes.

“Oh yes he will, Minerva! ” said Dumbledore sharply. “Hogwarts needs you! ”

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 THE CENTAUR AND THE SNEAK

“Enough of this rubbish! ” said Fudge, pulling out his own wand.

“Dawlish! Shacklebolt! Take him! ”

 

A streak of silver light flashed around the room. There was a bang like a gunshot, and the floor trembled. A hand grabbed the scruff of Harry’s neck and forced him down on the floor as a second silver flash went off — several of the portraits yelled, Fawkes screeched, and a cloud of dust filled the air. Coughing in the dust, Harry saw a dark fig- ure fall to the ground with a crash in front of him. There was a shriek and a thud and somebody cried, “No! ” Then the sound of breaking glass, frantically scuffling footsteps, a groan — and silence.

 

Harry struggled around to see who was half-strangling him and saw Professor McGonagall crouched beside him. She had forced both him and Marietta out of harm’s way. Dust was still floating gently down through the air onto them. Panting slightly, Harry saw a very tall fig- ure moving toward them.

 

“Are you all right? ” said Dumbledore.

“Yes! ” said Professor McGonagall, getting up and dragging Harry and Marietta with her.

The dust was clearing. The wreckage of the office loomed into view: Dumbledore’s desk had been overturned, all of the spindly ta- bles 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. “Unfortunately, I had to hex Kingsley too, or it would have looked very suspicious, ” said Dumbledore in a low voice. “He was remark- ably quick on the uptake, modifying Miss Edgecombe’s memory like that while everyone was looking the other way — thank him for me, won’t you, Minerva?

“Now, they will all awake very soon and it will be best if they do not know that we had time to communicate — you must act as though no time has passed, as though they were merely knocked to the ground, they will not remember —”

? 621‘

 CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

 

 

 

“Where will you go, Dumbledore? ” whispered Professor McGona- gall. “Grimmauld Place? ”

 

“Oh no, ” said Dumbledore with a grim smile. “I am not leaving to go into hiding. Fudge will soon wish he’d never dislodged me from Hogwarts, I promise you....”

“Professor Dumbledore...” Harry began.

 

He did not know what to say first: how sorry he was that he had started the D.A. in the first place and caused all this trouble, or how terrible he felt that Dumbledore was leaving to save him from expul- sion? But Dumbledore cut him off before he could say another word. “Listen to me, Harry, ” he said urgently, “you must study Occlu- mency as hard as you can, do you understand me? Do everything Pro- fessor Snape tells you and practice it particularly every night before sleeping so that you can close your mind to bad dreams — you will understand why soon enough, but you must promise me —”

 

The man called Dawlish was stirring. Dumbledore seized Harry’s wrist.

 

“Remember — close your mind —”

But as Dumbledore’s fingers closed over Harry’s skin, a pain shot through the scar on his forehead, and he felt again that terrible, snake- like longing to strike Dumbledore, to bite him, to hurt him —

 

“— you will understand, ” whispered Dumbledore.

Fawkes circled the office and swooped low over him. Dumbledore released Harry, raised his hand, and grasped the phoenix’s long golden tail. There was a flash of fire and the pair of them had gone.

 

“Where is he? ” yelled Fudge, pushing himself up from the ground.

“ Where is he? ”

 

“I don’t know! ” shouted Kingsley, also leaping to his feet. “Well, he can’t have Disapparated! ” cried Umbridge. “You can’t in- side this school —”

“The stairs! ” cried Dawlish, and he flung himself upon the door, wrenched it open, and disappeared, followed closely by Kingsley and

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 THE CENTAUR AND THE SNEAK

Umbridge. Fudge hesitated, then got to his feet slowly, brushing dust from his front. There was a long and painful silence.

 

“Well, Minerva, ” said Fudge nastily, straightening his torn shirt- sleeve, “I’m afraid this is the end of your friend Dumbledore.” “You think so, do you? ” said Professor McGonagall scornfully. Fudge seemed not to hear her. He was looking around at the wrecked office. A few of the portraits hissed at him; one or two even made rude hand gestures.

 

“You’d better get those two off to bed, ” said Fudge, looking back at Professor McGonagall with a dismissive nod toward Harry and Marietta.

She said nothing, but marched Harry and Marietta to the door. As it swung closed behind them, Harry heard Phineas Nigellus’s voice. “You know, Minister, I disagree with Dumbledore on many counts

.  .. but you cannot deny he’s got style....”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

? 623‘

C H A P T E R T W E N T Y - E I G H T

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

SNAPE’S WORST MEMORY

 

 

 

—   by order of —

The Ministry of Magic

 

 

 

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