Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (2003)

Chapter 10 Luna Lovegood

Harry had a troubled night's sleep. His parents wove in and out of his dreams, never speaking; Mrs. Weasley sobbed over Kreacher's dead body, watched by Ron and Hermione who were wearing crowns, and yet again Harry found himself walking down a corridor ending in a locked door. He awoke abruptly with his scar prickling to find Ron already dressed and talking to him.

'...better hurry up, Mums going ballistic, she says we're going to miss the train....'

There was a lot of commotion in the house. From what he heard as he dressed at top speed, Harry gathered that Fred and George had bewitched their trunks to fly downstairs to save the bother of carrying them, with the result that they had hurtled straight into Ginny and knocked her down two flights of stairs into the hall; Mrs. Black and Mrs. Weasley were both screaming at the top of their voices.

'--COULD HAVE DONE HER A SERIOUS INJURY, YOU IDIOTS--'

'--FILTHY HALF-BREEDS, BESMIRCHING THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS--'

Hermione came hurrying into the room looking flustered, just as Harry was putting on his trainers. Hedwig was swaying on her shoulder, and she was carrying a squirming Crookshanks in her arms.

'Mum and Dad just sent Hedwig back'--the owl fluttered obligingly over and perched on top of her cage--'are you ready yet?'

'Nearly--Ginny all right?' Harry asked, shoving on his glasses.

'Mrs. Weasley's patched her up,' said Hermione. 'But now Mad-Eye's complaining that we can't leave unless Sturgis Podmore's here, otherwise the guard will be one short.'

'Guard?' said Harry. 'We have to go to King's Cross with a guard?'

'You have to go to King's Cross with a guard,' Hermione corrected him.

'Why?' said Harry irritably. 'I thought Voldemort was supposed to be lying low, or are you telling me he's going to jump out from behind a dustbin to try and do me in.'

'I don't know, it's just what Mad-Eye says,' said Hermione distractedly, looking at her watch, 'but if we don't leave soon we're definitely going to miss the train ....'

'WILL YOU LOT GET DOWN HERE NOW, PLEASE!' Mrs. Weasley bellowed and Hermione jumped as though scalded and hurried out of the room. Harry seized Hedwig, stuffed her unceremoniously into her cage, and set off downstairs after Hermione, dragging his trunk.

Mrs. Black's portrait was howling with rage but nobody was bothering to close the curtains over her; all the noise in the hall was bound to rouse her again, anyway.

'Harry, you're to come with me and Tonks,' shouted Mrs. Weasley over the repeated screeches of 'MUDBLOODS! SCUM! CREATURES OF DIRT!' 'Leave your trunk and your owl, Alastor's going to deal with the luggage.... Oh, for heavens sake, Sirius, Dumbledore said no!'

A bearlike black dog had appeared at Harry's side as he was clambering over the various trunks cluttering the hall to get to Mrs. Weasley.

'Oh honestly...' said Mrs. Weasley despairingly, 'well, on your own head be it!'

She wrenched open the front door and stepped out into the weak September sunlight. Harry and the dog followed her. The door slammed behind them and Mrs. Black's screeches were cut off instantly.

'Where's Tonks?' Harry said, looking round as they went down the stone steps of number twelve, which vanished the moment they reached the pavement.

'She's waiting for us just up here,' said Mrs. Weasley stiffly, averting her eyes from the lolloping black dog beside Harry.

An old woman greeted them on the corner. She had tightly curled grey hair and wore a purple hat shaped like a pork pie.

'Wotcher, Harry,' she said, winking. 'Better hurry up, hadn't we, Molly?' she added, checking her watch.

'I know, I know,' moaned Mrs. Weasley, lengthening her stride, 'but Mad-Eye wanted to wait for Sturgis.... If only Arthur could have got us cars from the Ministry again ... but Fudge won't let him borrow so much as an empty ink bottle these days... How Muggles can stand travelling without magic...'

But the great black dog gave a joyful bark and gambolled around them, snapping at pigeons and chasing its own tail. Harry couldn't help laughing. Sirius had been trapped inside for a very long time. Mrs. Weasley pursed her lips in an almost Aunt Petunia-ish way.

It took them twenty minutes to reach King's Cross on foot and nothing more eventful happened during that time than Sirius scaring a couple of cats for Harry's entertainment. Once inside the station they lingered casually beside the barrier between platforms nine and ten until the coast was clear, then each of them leaned against it in turn and fell easily through on to platform nine and three-quarters, where the Hogwarts Express stood belching sooty steam over a platform packed with departing students and their families. Harry inhaled the familiar smell and felt his spirits soar.... He was really going back ...

'I hope the others make it in time,' said Mrs. Weasley anxiously, staring behind her at the wrought-iron arch spanning the platform, through which new arrivals would come.

'Nice dog, Harry!' called a tall boy with dreadlocks.

'Thanks, Lee,' said Harry, grinning, as Sirius wagged his tail frantically.

'Oh good,' said Mrs. Weasley, sounding relieved, 'here's Alastor with the luggage, look...'

A porter's cap pulled low over his mismatched eyes, Moody came limping through the archway pushing a trolley loaded with their trunks.

'All okay,' he muttered to Mrs. Weasley and Tonks, 'don't think we were followed....'

Seconds later, Mr. Weasley emerged on to the platform with Ron and Hermione. They had almost unloaded Moody's luggage trolley when Fred, George, and Ginny turned up with Lupin.

'No trouble?' growled Moody.

'Nothing,' said Lupin.

'I'll still be reporting Sturgis to Dumbledore,' said Moody, 'that's the second time he's not turned up in a week. Getting as unreliable as Mundungus.'

'Well, look after yourselves,' said Lupin, shaking hands all round. He reached Harry last and gave him a clap on the shoulder. 'You too, Harry. Be careful.'

'Yeah, keep your head down and your eyes peeled,' said Moody, shaking Harry's hand too. 'And don't forget, all of you--careful what you put in writing. If in doubt, don't put it in a letter at all.'

'It's been great meeting all of you,' said Tonks, hugging Hermione and Ginny. 'We'll see you soon, I expect.'

A warning whistle sounded; the students still on the platform started hurrying on to the train.

'Quick, quick,' said Mrs. Weasley distractedly, hugging them at random and catching Harry twice, 'Write.... Be good.... If you've forgotten anything we'll send it on.... Onto the train, now, hurry....'

For one brief moment, the great black dog reared on to its hind legs and placed its front paws on Harry's shoulders, but Mrs. Weasley shoved Harry away towards the train door, hissing, 'For heaven's sake, act more like a dog, Sirius!'

'See you!' Harry called out of the open window as the train began to move, while Ron, Hermione, and Ginny waved beside him. The figures of Tonks, Lupin, Moody, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley shrank rapidly but the black dog was bounding alongside the window, wagging its tail; blurred people on the platform were laughing to see it chasing the train, then they rounded a bend, and Sirius was gone.

'He shouldn't have come with us,' said Hermione in a worried voice.

'Oh, lighten up,' said Ron, 'he hasn't seen daylight for months, poor bloke.'

'Well,' said Fred, clapping his hands together, 'can't stand around chatting all day, we've got business to discuss with Lee. See you later,' and he and George disappeared down the corridor to the right.

The train was gathering still more speed, so that the houses outside the window flashed past, and they swayed where they stood.

'Shall we go and find a compartment, then?' Harry asked.

Ron and Hermione exchanged looks.

'Er,' said Ron.

'We're--well--Ron and I are supposed to go into the prefect carriage,' Hermione said awkwardly.

Ron wasn't looking at Harry; he seemed to have become intensely interested in the fingernails on his left hand.

'Oh,' said Harry. 'Right. Fine.'

'I don't think we'll have to stay there all journey,' said Hermione quickly. 'Our letters said we just get instructions from the Head Boy and Girl and then patrol the corridors from time to time.'

'Fine,' said Harry again. 'Well, I--I might see you later, then.'

'Yeah, definitely,' said Ron, casting a shifty, anxious look at Harry. 'It's a pain having to go down there, I'd rather--but we have to--I mean, I'm not enjoying it, I'm not Percy,' he finished defiantly.

'I know you're not,' said Harry and he grinned. But as Hermione and Ron dragged their trunks, Crookshanks, and a caged Pigwidgeon off towards the engine end of the train, Harry felt an odd sense of loss. He had never travelled on the Hogwarts Express without Ron.

'Come on,' Ginny told him, 'if we get a move on we'll be able to save them places.'

'Right,' said Harry, picking up Hedwig's cage in one hand and the handle of his trunk in the other. They struggled off down the corridor, peering through the glass-panelled doors into the compartments they passed, which were already full. Harry could not help noticing that a lot of people stared back at him with great interest and that several of them nudged their neighbours and pointed him out. After he had met this behaviour in five consecutive carriages he remembered that the Daily Prophet had been telling its readers all summer what a lying show-off he was. He wondered dully whether the people now staring and whispering believed the stories.

In the very last carriage they met Neville Longbottom, Harry's fellow fifth-year Gryffindor, his round face shining with the effort of pulling his trunk along and maintaining a one-handed grip on his struggling toad, Trevor.

'Hi, Harry,' he panted. 'Hi, Ginny.... Everywhere's full.... I can't find a seat....'

'What are you talking about?' said Ginny, who had squeezed past Neville to peer into the compartment behind him. 'There's room in this one, there's only Loony Lovegood in here--'

Neville mumbled something about not wanting to disturb anyone.

'Don't be silly,' said Ginny, laughing, 'she's all right.'

She slid the door open and pulled her trunk inside. Harry and Neville followed.

'Hi, Luna,' said Ginny, 'is it okay if we take these seats?'

The girl beside the window looked up. She had straggly, waist-length, dirty-blonde hair, very pale eyebrows and protuberant eyes that gave her a permanently surprised look. Harry knew at once why Neville had chosen to pass this compartment by. The girl gave off an aura of distinct dottiness. Perhaps it was the fact that she had stuck her wand behind her left ear for safekeeping, or that she had chosen to wear a necklace of Butterbeer corks, or that she was reading a magazine upside-down. Her eyes ranged over Neville and came to rest on Harry. She nodded.

'Thanks,' said Ginny, smiling at her.

Harry and Neville stowed the three trunks and Hedwig's cage in the luggage rack and sat down. Luna watched them over her upside-down magazine, which was called The Quibbler. She did not seem to need to blink as much as normal humans. She stared and stared at Harry, who had taken the seat opposite her and now wished he hadn't.

'Had a good summer, Luna?' Ginny asked.

'Yes,' said Luna dreamily, without taking her eyes off Harry. 'Yes, it was quite enjoyable, you know. You're Harry Potter,' she added.

'I know I am,' said Harry.

Neville chuckled. Luna turned her pale eyes on him instead.

'And I don't know who you are.'

'I'm nobody,' said Neville hurriedly.

'No you're not,' said Ginny sharply. 'Neville Longbottom--Luna Lovegood. Luna's in my year, but in Ravenclaw.'

'Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure,' said Luna in a singsong voice.

She raised her upside-down magazine high enough to hide her face and fell silent. Harry and Neville looked at each other with their eyebrows raised. Ginny suppressed a giggle.

The train rattled onwards, speeding them out into open country. It was an odd, unsettled sort of day; one moment the carriage was full of sunlight and the next they were passing beneath ominously grey clouds.

'Guess what I got for my birthday?' said Neville.

'Another Remembrall?' said Harry, remembering the marble-like device Neville's grandmother had sent him in an effort to improve his abysmal memory.

'No,' said Neville. 'I could do with one, though, I lost the old one ages ago.... No, look at this....'

He dug the hand that was not keeping a firm grip on Trevor into his schoolbag and after a little bit of rummaging pulled out what appeared to be a small grey cactus in a pot, except that it was covered with what looked like boils rather than spines.

'Mimbulus mimbletonia,' he said proudly.

Harry stared at the thing. It was pulsating slightly, giving it the rather sinister look of some diseased internal organ.

'It's really, really rare,' said Neville, beaming. 'I don't know if there's one in the greenhouse at Hogwarts, even. I can't wait to show it to Professor Sprout. My Great Uncle Algie got it for me in Assyria. I'm going to see if I can breed from it.'

Harry knew that Neville's favourite subject was Herbology, but for the life of him he could not see what he would want with this stunted little plant.

'Does it--er--do anything?' he asked.

'Loads of stuff!' said Neville proudly. 'It's got an amazing defensive mechanism. Here, hold Trevor for me....'

He dumped the toad into Harry's lap and took a quill from his schoolbag. Luna Lovegood's popping eyes appeared over the top of her upside-down magazine again, watching what Neville was doing. Neville held the Mimbulus mimbletonia up to his eyes, his tongue between his teeth, chose his spot, and gave the plant a sharp prod with the tip of his quill.

Liquid squirted from every boil on the plant; thick, stinking, dark green jets of it. They hit the ceiling, the windows, and spattered Luna Lovegood's magazine; Ginny, who had flung her arms up in front of her face just in time, merely looked as though she was wearing a slimy green hat, but Harry, whose hands had been busy preventing Trevor's escape, received a faceful. It smelled like rancid manure.

Neville, whose face and torso were also drenched, shook his head to get the worst out of his eyes.

'Sosorry,' he gasped. 'I haven't tried that before.... Didn't realise it would be quite so... Don't worry, though, Stinksap's not poisonous,' he added nervously, as Harry spat a mouthful on to the floor.

At that precise moment the door of their compartment slid open.

'Oh ... hello, Harry,' said a nervous voice. 'Um ... bad time?'

Harry wiped the lenses of his glasses with his Trevor-free hand. A very pretty girl with long, shiny black hair was standing in the doorway smiling at him: Cho Chang, the Seeker on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team.

'Oh ... hi,' said Harry blankly.

'Um...' said Cho. 'Well ... just thought I'd say hello ... 'bye then.'

Rather pink in the face, she closed the door and departed. Harry slumped back in his seat and groaned. He would have liked Cho to discover him sitting with a group of very cool people laughing their heads off at a joke he had just told; he would not have chosen to be sitting with Neville and Loony Lovegood, clutching a toad and dripping in Stinksap.

'Never mind,' said Ginny bracingly. 'Look, we can easily get rid of all this.' She pulled out her wand. 'Scourgify!'

The Stinksap vanished.

'Sorry.' said Neville again, in a small voice.

Ron and Hermione did not turn up for nearly an hour, by which time the food trolley had already gone by. Harry, Ginny, and Neville had finished their pumpkin pasties and were busy swapping Chocolate Frog Cards when the compartment door slid open and they walked in, accompanied by Crookshanks and a shrilly hooting Pigwidgeon in his cage.

'I'm starving,' said Ron, stowing Pigwidgeon next to Hedwig, grabbing a Chocolate Frog from Harry and throwing himself into the seat next to him. He ripped open the wrapper, bit off the frog's head and leaned back with his eyes closed as though he had had a very exhausting morning.

'Well, there are two fifth-year prefects from each house,' said Hermione, looking thoroughly disgruntled as she took her seat. 'Boy and girl from each.'

'And guess who's a Slytherin prefect?' said Ron, still with his eyes closed.

'Malfoy,' replied Harry at once, certain his worst fear would be confirmed.

' 'Course,' said Ron bitterly, stuffing the rest of the Frog into his mouth and taking another.

'And that complete cow Pansy Parkinson,' said Hermione viciously. 'How she got to be a prefect when she's thicker than a concussed troll...'

'Who are Hufflepuff's?' Harry asked.

'Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbott,' said Ron thickly.

'And Anthony Goldstein and Padma Patil for Ravenclaw,' said Hermione.

'You went to the Yule Ball with Padma Patil,' said a vague voice.

Everyone turned to look at Luna Lovegood, who was gazing unblinkingly at Ron over the top of The Quibbler. He swallowed his mouthful of Frog.

'Yeah, I know I did,' he said, looking mildly surprised.

'She didn't enjoy it very much,' Luna informed him. 'She doesn't think you treated her very well, because you wouldn't dance with her. I don't think I'd have minded,' she added thoughtfully, 'I don't like dancing very much.'

She retreated behind The Quibbler again. Ron stared at the cover with his mouth hanging open for a few seconds, then looked around at Ginny for some kind of explanation, but Ginny had stuffed her knuckles in her mouth to stop herself giggling. Ron shook his head, bemused, then checked his watch.

'We're supposed to patrol the corridors every so often,' he told Harry and Neville, 'and we can give out punishments if people are misbehaving. I can't wait to get Crabbe and Goyle for something....'

'You're not supposed to abuse your position, Ron!' said Hermione sharply.

'Yeah, right, because Malfoy won't abuse it at all,' said Ron sarcastically.

'So you're going to descend to his level?'

'No, I'm just going to make sure I get his mates before he gets mine.'

'For heavens sake, Ron--'

'I'll make Goyle do lines, it'll kill him, he hates writing,' said Ron happily. He lowered his voice to Goyle's low grunt and, screwing up his face in a look of pained concentration, mimed writing in midair. 'I ... must ... not ... look ... like ... a ... baboon's ... backside.'

Everyone laughed, but nobody laughed harder than Luna Lovegood. She let out a scream of mirth that caused Hedwig to wake up and flap her wings indignantly and Crookshanks to leap up into the luggage rack, hissing. Luna laughed so hard her magazine slipped out of her grasp, slid down her legs, and onto the floor.

'That was funny!'

Her prominent eyes swam with tears as she gasped for breath, staring at Ron. Utterly nonplussed, he looked around at the others, who were now laughing at the expression on Ron's face and at the ludicrously prolonged laughter of Luna Lovegood, who was rocking backwards and forwards, clutching her sides.

'Are you taking the mickey?' said Ron, frowning at her.

'Baboon's ... backside!' she choked, holding her ribs.

Everyone else was watching Luna laughing, but Harry, glancing at the magazine on the floor, noticed something that made him dive for it. Upside-down it had been hard to tell what the picture on the front was, but Harry now realised it was a fairly bad cartoon of Cornelius Fudge; Harry only recognised him because of the lime-green bowler hat. One of Fudges hands was clenched around a bag of gold; the other hand was throttling a goblin. The cartoon was captioned: How Far Will Fudge Go to Gain Gringotts?

Beneath this were listed the titles of other articles inside the magazine.

CORRUPTION IN THE QUIDDITCH LEAGUE:How the Tornados are Taking Control

SECRETS OF THE ANCIENT RUINS REVEALED

SIRIUS BLACK: Villain or Victim?

'Can I have a look at this?' Harry asked Luna eagerly.

She nodded, still gazing at Ron, breathless with laughter.

Harry opened the magazine and scanned the index. Until this moment he had completely forgotten the magazine Kingsley had handed Mr. Weasley to give to Sirius, but it must have been this edition of The Quibbler.

He found the page, and turned excitedly to the article.

This, too, was illustrated by a rather bad cartoon; in fact, Harry would not have known it was supposed to be Sirius if it hadn't been captioned. Sirius was standing on a pile of human bones with his wand out. The headline on the article said:

SIRIUS--Black As He's Painted Notorious Mass Murderer OR Innocent Singing Sensation?

Harry had to read this first sentence several times before he was convinced that he had not misunderstood it. Since when had Sirius been a singing sensation?

For fourteen years Sirius Black has been believed guilty of the mass murder of twelve innocent Muggles and one wizard. Black's audacious escape from Azkaban two years ago has led to the widest manhunt ever conducted by the Ministry of Magic. None of us has ever questioned that he deserves to be recaptured and handed back to the dementors.

BUT DOES HE?

Startling new evidence has recently come to light that Sirius Black may not have committed the crimes for which he was sent to Azhaban. In fact, says Doris Purkiss, of 18 Acanthia Way, Little Norton, Black may not even have been present at the killings.

'What people don't realise is that Sirius Black is a false name,' says Mrs. Purkiss. 'The man people believe to be Sirius Black is actually Stubby Boardman, lead singer of popular singing group The Hobgoblins, who retired from public life after being struck on the ear by a turnip at a concert in Little Norton Church Hall nearly fifteen years ago. I recognised him the moment I saw his picture in the paper. Now, Stubby couldn't possibly have committed those crimes, because on the day in question he happened to be enjoying a romantic candlelit dinner with me. I have written to the Minister for Magic and am expecting him to give Stubby, alias Sirius, a full pardon any day now.'

Harry finished reading and stared at the page in disbelief. Perhaps it was a joke, he thought, perhaps the magazine often printed spoof items. He flicked back a few pages and found the piece on Fudge.

Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic, denied that he had any plans to take over the running of the Wizarding Bank, Gringotts, when he was elected Minister for Magic jive years ago. Fudge has always insisted that he wants nothing more than to 'cooperate peacefully' with the guardians of our gold.

BUT DOES HE?

Sources close to the Minister have recently disclosed that Fudge's dearest ambition is to seize control of the goblin gold supplies and that he will not hesitate to use force if need be.

'It wouldn't be the first time, either,' said a Ministry insider. 'Cornelius "Goblin-Crusher" Fudge, that's what his friends call him. If you could hear him when he thinks no one's listening, oh, he's always talking about the goblins he's had done in; he's had them drowned, he's had them dropped off buildings, he's had them poisoned, he's had them cooked in pies....'

Harry did not read any further. Fudge might have many faults but Harry found it extremely hard to imagine him ordering goblins to be cooked in pies. He flicked through the rest of the magazine. Pausing every few pages, he read: an accusation that the Tutshill Tornados were winning the Quidditch League by a combination of blackmail, illegal broom-tampering and torture; an interview with a wizard who claimed to have flown to the moon on a Cleansweep Six and brought back a bag of moon frogs to prove it; and an article on ancient runes which at least explained why Luna had been reading The Quibbler upside-down. According to the magazine, if you turned the runes on their heads they revealed a spell to make your enemy's ears turn into kumquats. In fact, compared to the rest of the articles in The Quibbler, the suggestion that Sirius might really be the lead singer of The Hobgoblins was quite sensible.

'Anything good in there?' asked Ron as Harry closed the magazine.

'Of course not,' said Hermione scathingly, before Harry could answer. 'The Quibbler's rubbish, everyone knows that.'

'Excuse me,' said Luna; her voice had suddenly lost its dreamy quality. 'My father's the editor.'

'I--oh,' said Hermione, looking embarrassed. 'Well ... it's got some interesting ... I mean, it's quite...'

'I'll have it back, thank you,' said Luna coldly, and leaning forwards she snatched it out of Harry's hands. Riffling through it to page fifty-seven, she turned it resolutely upside-down again and disappeared behind it, just as the compartment door opened for the third time.

Harry looked around; he had expected this, but that did not make the sight of Draco Malfoy smirking at him from between his cronies Crabbe and Goyle any more enjoyable.

'What?' he said aggressively, before Malfoy could open his mouth.

'Manners, Potter, or I'll have to give you a detention,' drawled Malfoy, whose sleek blond hair and pointed chin were just like his father's. 'You see, I, unlike you, have been made a prefect, which means that I, unlike you, have the power to hand out punishments.'

'Yeah,' said Harry, 'but you, unlike me, are a git, so get out and leave us alone.'

Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville laughed. Malfoy's lip curled.

'Tell me, how does it feel being second-best to Weasley, Potter?' he asked.

'Shut up, Malfoy,' said Hermione sharply.

'I seem to have touched a nerve,' said Malfoy, smirking. 'Well, just watch yourself, Potter, because I'll be dogging your footsteps in case you step out of line.'

'Get out!' said Hermione, standing up.

Sniggering, Malfoy gave Harry a last malicious look and departed, with Crabbe and Goyle lumbering along in his wake. Hermione slammed the compartment door behind them and turned to look at Harry, who knew at once that she, like him, had registered what Malfoy had said and been just as unnerved by it.

'Chuck us another Frog,' said Ron, who had clearly noticed nothing.

Harry could not talk freely in front of Neville and Luna. He exchanged another nervous look with Hermione, then stared out of the window.

He had thought Sirius coming with him to the station was a bit of a laugh, but suddenly it seemed reckless, if not downright dangerous.... Hermione had been right.... Sirius should not have come. What if Mr. Malfoy had noticed the black dog and told Draco? What if he had deduced that the Weasleys, Lupin, Tonks and Moody knew where Sirius was hiding? Or had Malfoy's use of the word 'dogging' been a coincidence?

The weather remained undecided as they travelled farther and farther north. Rain spattered the windows in a half-hearted way, then the sun put in a feeble appearance before clouds drifted over it once more. When darkness fell and lamps came on inside the carriages, Luna rolled up The Quibbler, put it carefully away in her bag and took to staring at everyone in the compartment instead.

Harry was sitting with his forehead pressed against the train window, trying to get a first distant glimpse of Hogwarts, but it was a moonless night and the rain-streaked window was grimy.

'We'd better change,' said Hermione at last, and all of them opened their trunks with difficulty and pulled on their school robes. She and Ron pinned their prefect badges carefully to their chests. Harry saw Ron checking his reflection in the black window.

At last, the train began to slow down and they heard the usual racket up and down it as everybody scrambled to get their luggage and pets assembled, ready for departure. Ron and Hermione were supposed to supervise all this; they disappeared from the carriage again, leaving Harry and the others to look after Crookshanks and Pigwidgeon.

'I'll carry that owl, if you like,' said Luna to Harry, reaching out for Pigwidgeon as Neville stowed Trevor carefully in an inside pocket.

'Oh--er--thanks,' said Harry, handing her the cage and hoisting Hedwig's more securely into his arms.

They shuffled out of the compartment feeling the first sting of the night air on their faces as they joined the crowd in the corridor. Slowly, they moved towards the doors. Harry could smell the pine trees that lined the path down to the lake. He stepped down on to the platform and looked around, listening for the familiar call of 'firs' years over 'ere ... firs' years...'

But it did not come. Instead, a quite different voice, a brisk female one, was calling out, 'First years line up over here, please! All first years to me!'

A lantern came swinging towards Harry and by its light he saw the prominent chin and severe haircut of Professor Grubbly-Plank, the witch who had taken over Hagrid's Care of Magical Creatures lessons for a while the previous year.

'Where's Hagrid?' he said out loud.

'I don't know,' said Ginny, 'but we'd better get out of the way, we're blocking the door.'

'Oh, yeah...'

Harry and Ginny became separated as they moved off along the platform and out through the station. Jostled by the crowd, Harry squinted through the darkness for a glimpse of Hagrid; he had to be here, Harry had been relying on it--seeing Hagrid again was one of the things he'd been looking forward to most. But there was no sign of him.

He can't have left, Harry told himself as he shuffled slowly through a narrow doorway on to the road outside with the rest of the crowd. He's just got a cold or something....

He looked around for Ron or Hermione, wanting to know what they thought about the reappearance of Professor Grubbly-Plank, but neither of them was anywhere near him, so he allowed himself to be shunted forward onto the dark rain-washed road outside Hogsmeade Station.

Here stood the hundred or so horseless stagecoaches that always took the students above first year up to the castle. Harry glanced quickly at them, turned away to keep a lookout for Ron and Hermione, then did a double-take.

The coaches were no longer horseless. There were creatures standing between the carriage shafts. If he had had to give them a name, he supposed he would have called them horses, though there was something reptilian about them, too. They were completely fleshless, their black coats clinging to their skeletons, of which every bone was visible. Their heads were dragonish, and their pupil-less eyes white and staring. Wings sprouted from each wither--vast, black leathery wings that looked as though they ought to belong to giant bats. Standing still and quiet in the gathering gloom, the creatures looked eerie and sinister. Harry could not understand why the coaches were being pulled by these horrible horses when they were quite capable of moving along by themselves.

'Where's Pig?' said Ron's voice, right behind Harry.

'That Luna girl was carrying him,' said Harry, turning quickly, eager to consult Ron about Hagrid. 'Where d'you reckon--'

'--Hagrid is? I dunno,' said Ron, sounding worried. 'He'd better be okay....'

A short distance away, Draco Malfoy, followed by a small gang of cronies including Crabbe, Goyle and Pansy Parkinson, was pushing some timid-looking second-years out of the way so that he and his friends could get a coach to themselves. Seconds later, Hermione emerged panting from the crowd.

'Malfoy was being absolutely foul to a first-year back there. I swear I'm going to report him, he's only had his badge three minutes and he's using it to bully people worse than ever.... Where's Crookshanks?'

'Ginny's got him,' said Harry. 'There she is....'

Ginny had just emerged from the crowd, clutching a squirming Crookshanks.

'Thanks,' said Hermione, relieving Ginny of the cat. 'Come on, let's get a carriage together before they all fill up....'

'I haven't got Pig yet!' Ron said, but Hermione was already heading off towards the nearest unoccupied coach. Harry remained behind with Ron.

'What are those things, d'you reckon?' he asked Ron, nodding at the horrible horses as the other students surged past them.

'What things?'

'Those horse--'

Luna appeared holding Pigwidgeon's cage in her arms; the tiny owl was twittering excitedly as usual.

'Here you are,' she said. 'He's a sweet little owl, isn't he?'

'Er ... yeah ... he's all right,' said Ron gruffly. 'Well, come on then, let's get in.... What were you saying, Harry?'

'I was saying, what are those horse things?' Harry said, as he, Ron, and Luna made for the carriage in which Hermione and Ginny were already sitting.

'What horse things?'

'The horse things pulling the carriages!' said Harry impatiently. They were, after all, about three feet from the nearest one; it was watching them with empty white eyes. Ron, however, gave Harry a perplexed look.

'What are you talking about?'

'I'm talking about--look!'

Harry grabbed Ron's arm and wheeled him about so that he was face to face with the winged horse. Ron stared straight at it for a second, then looked back at Harry.

'What am I supposed to be looking at?'

'At the--there, between the shafts! Harnessed to the coach! It's right there in front--'

But as Ron continued to look bemused, a strange thought occurred to Harry.

'Can't ... can't you see them?'

'See what?'

'Can't you see what's pulling the carriages?'

Ron looked seriously alarmed now.

'Are you feeling all right, Harry?'

'I ... yeah...'

Harry felt utterly bewildered. The horse was there in front of him, gleaming solidly in the dim light issuing from the station windows behind them, vapour rising from its nostrils in the chilly night air. Yet, unless Ron was faking--and it was a very feeble joke if he was--Ron could not see it at all.

'Shall we get in, then?' said Ron uncertainly, looking at Harry as though worried about him.

'Yeah,' said Harry. 'Yeah, go on...'

'It's all right,' said a dreamy voice from beside Harry as Ron vanished into the coach's dark interior. 'You're not going mad or anything. I can see them, too.'

'Can you?' said Harry desperately, turning to Luna. He could see the bat-winged horses reflected in her wide silvery eyes.

'Oh, yes,' said Luna, 'I've been able to see them ever since my first day here. They've always pulled the carriages. Don't worry. You're just as sane as I am.'

Smiling faintly, she climbed into the musty interior of the carriage after Ron. Not altogether reassured, Harry followed her.

Chapter 11 The Sorting Hat's New Song

Harry did not want to tell the others that he and Luna were having the same hallucination, if that was what it was, so he said nothing more about the horses as he sat down inside the carriage and slammed the door behind him. Nevertheless, he could not help watching the silhouettes of the horses moving beyond the window.

'Did everyone see that Grubbly-Plank woman?' asked Ginny. 'What's she doing back here? Hagrid can't have left, can he?'

'I'll be quite glad if he has,' said Luna, 'he isn't a very good teacher, is he?'

'Yes, he is!' said Harry, Ron and Ginny angrily.

Harry glared at Hermione. She cleared her throat and quickly said, 'Erm ... yes ... he's very good.'

'Well, we in Ravenclaw think he's a bit of a joke,' said Luna, unfazed.

'You've got a rubbish sense of humour then,' Ron snapped, as the wheels below them creaked into motion.

Luna did not seem perturbed by Ron's rudeness; on the contrary, she simply watched him for a while as though he were a mildly interesting television programme.

Rattling and swaying, the carriages moved in convoy up the road. When they passed between the tall stone pillars topped with winged boars on either side of the gates to the school grounds, Harry leaned forwards to try and see whether there were any lights on in Hagrid's cabin by the Forbidden Forest, but the grounds were in complete darkness. Hogwarts Castle, however, loomed ever closer: a towering mass of turrets, jet black against the dark sky, here and there a window blazing fiery bright above them.

The carriages jingled to a halt near the stone steps leading up to the oak front doors and Harry got out of the carriage first. He turned again to look for lit windows down by the Forest, but there was definitely no sign of life within Hagrid's cabin. Unwillingly, because he had half-hoped they would have vanished, he turned his eyes instead upon the strange, skeletal creatures standing quietly in the chill night air, their blank white eyes gleaming.

Harry had once before had the experience of seeing something that Ron could not, but that had been a reflection in a mirror, something much more insubstantial than a hundred very solid-looking beasts strong enough to pull a fleet of carriages. If Luna was to be believed, the beasts had always been there but invisible. Why, then, could Harry suddenly see them, and why could Ron not?

'Are you coming or what?' said Ron beside him.

'Oh ... yeah,' said Harry quickly and they joined the crowd hurrying up the stone steps into the castle.

The Entrance Hall was ablaze with torches and echoing with footsteps as the students crossed the flagged stone floor for the double doors to the right, leading to the Great Hall and the start-of-term feast.

The four long house tables in the Great Hall were filling up under the starless black ceiling, which was just like the sky they could glimpse through the high windows. Candles floated in midair all along the tables, illuminating the silvery ghosts who were dotted about the Hall and the faces of the students talking eagerly, exchanging summer news, shouting greetings at friends from other houses, eyeing one another's new haircuts and robes. Again, Harry noticed people putting their heads together to whisper as he passed; he gritted his teeth and tried to act as though he neither noticed nor cared.

Luna drifted away from them at the Ravenclaw table. The moment they reached Gryffindor's, Ginny was hailed by some fellow fourth-years and left to sit with them; Harry, Ron, Hermione and Neville found seats together about halfway down the table between Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor house ghost, and Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown, the last two of whom gave Harry airy, overly-friendly greetings that made him quite sure they had stopped talking about him a split second before. He had more important things to worry about, however: he was looking over the students' heads to the staff table that ran along the top wall of the Hall.

'He's not there.'

Ron and Hermione scanned the staff table too, though there was no real need; Hagrid's size made him instantly obvious in any lineup.

'He can't have left,' said Ron, sounding slightly anxious.

'Of course he hasn't,' said Harry firmly.

'You don't think he's ... hurt, or anything, do you?' said Hermione uneasily.

'No,' said Harry at once.

'But where is he, then?'

There was a pause, then Harry said very quietly, so that Neville, Parvati and Lavender could not hear, 'Maybe he's not back yet. You know--from his mission--the thing he was doing over the summer for Dumbledore.'

'Yeah ... yeah, that'll be it,' said Ron, sounding reassured, but Hermione bit her lip, looking up and down the staff table as though hoping for some conclusive explanation of Hagrid's absence.

'Who's that?' she said sharply, pointing towards the middle of the staff table.

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 ...'

Harry did not understand what she was talking about but did not ask; his attention had been caught by Professor Grubbly-Plank who had just appeared behind the staff table; she worked her way along to the very end and took the seat that ought to have been Hagrid's. That meant the first-years must have crossed the lake and reached the castle, and sure enough, a few seconds later, the doors from the Entrance Hall opened. A long line of scared-looking first-years entered, led by Professor McGonagall, who was carrying a stool on which sat an ancient wizards hat, heavily patched and darned with a wide rip near the frayed brim.

The buzz of talk in the Great Hall faded away. The first-years lined up in front of the staff table facing the rest of the students, and Professor McGonagall placed the stool carefully in front of them, then stood back.

The first-years' faces glowed palely in the candlelight. A small boy right in the middle of the row looked as though he was trembling. Harry recalled, fleetingly, how terrified he had felt when he had stood there, waiting for the unknown test that would determine to which house he belonged.

The whole school waited with bated breath. Then the rip near the hat's brim opened wide like a mouth and the Sorting Hat burst into song:

In times of old when I was new

And Hogwarts barely started

The founders of our noble school

Thought never to be parted:

United by a common goal,

They had the selfsame yearning,

To make the world's best magic school

And pass along their learning.

'Together we will build and teach!'

The four good friends decided

And never did they dream that they

Might some day be divided,

For were there such friends anywhere

As Slytherin and Gryffindor?

Unless it was the second pair

Of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw?

So how could it have gone so wrong?

How could such friendships fail?

Why, I was there and so can tell

The whole sad, sorry tale.

Said Slytherin, 'We'll teach just those

Whose ancestry is purest.'

Said Ravenclaw, 'We'll teach those whose

Intelligence is surest. '

Said Gryffindor, 'We'll teach all those

With brave deeds to their name, '

Said Hufflepuff, 'I'll teach the lot,

And treat them just the same. '

These differences caused little strife

When first they came to light,

For each of the four founders had

A house in which they might

Take only those they wanted, so,

For instance, Slytherin

Took only pure-blood wizards

Of great cunning, just like him,

And only those of sharpest mind

Were taught by Ravenclaw

While the bravest and the boldest

Went to daring Gryffindor.

Good Hufflepuff, she took the rest,

And taught them all she knew,

Thus the houses and their founders

Retained friendships firm and true.

So Hogwarts worked in harmony

For several happy years,

But then discord crept among us

Feeding on our faults and fears.

The houses that, like pillars four,

Had once held up our school,

Now turned upon each other and,

Divided, sought to rule.

And for a while it seemed the school

Must meet an early end,

What with duelling and with fighting

And the clash of friend on friend

And at last there came c morning

When old Slytherin departed

And though the fighting then died out

He left us quite downhearted.

And never since the founders four

Were whittled down to three

Have the houses been united

As they once were meant to be.

And now the Sorting Hat is here

And you all know the score:

I sort you into houses

Because that is what I'm for,

But this year I'll go further,

Listen closely to my song:

Though condemned I am to split you

Still I worry that it's wrong,

Though I must fulfil my duty

And must quarter every year

Still I wonder whether Sorting

May not bring the end I fear.

Oh, know the perils, read the signs,

The warning history shows,

For our Hogwarts is in danger

From external, deadly foes

And we must unite inside her

Or we'll crumble from within

I have told you, I have warned you ...

Let the Sorting now begin.



The Hat became motionless once more; applause broke out, though it was punctured, for the first time in Harry's memory, with muttering and whispers. All across the Great Hall students were exchanging remarks with their neighbours, and Harry, clapping along with everyone else, knew exactly what they were talking about.

'Branched out a bit this year, hasn't it?' said Ron, his eyebrows raised.

'Too right it has,' said Harry.

The Sorting Hat usually confined itself to describing the different qualities looked for by each of the four Hogwarts houses and its own role in Sorting them. Harry could not remember it ever trying to give the school advice before.

'I wonder if it's ever given warnings before?' said Hermione, sounding slightly anxious.

'Yes, indeed,' said Nearly Headless Nick knowledgeably, leaning across Neville towards her (Neville winced; it was very uncomfortable to have a ghost lean through you). 'The Hat feels itself honour-bound to give the school due warning whenever it feels--'

But Professor McGonagall, who was waiting to read out the list of first-years' names, was giving the whispering students the sort of look that scorches. Nearly Headless Nick placed a see-through finger to his lips and sat primly upright again as the muttering came to an abrupt end. With a last frowning look that swept the lour house tables, Professor McGonagall lowered her eyes to her long piece of parchment and called out the first name.

'Abercrombie, Euan.'

The terrified-looking boy Harry had noticed earlier stumbled forwards and put the Hat on his head; it was only prevented from falling right down to his shoulders by his very prominent ears. The Hat considered for a moment, then the rip near the brim opened again and shouted:

'Gryffindor!'

Harry clapped loudly with the rest of Gryffindor house as Euan Abercrombie staggered to their table and sat down, looking as though he would like very much to sink through the floor and never be looked at again.

Slowly, the long line of first-years thinned. In the pauses between the names and the Sorting Hat's decisions, Harry could hear Ron's stomach rumbling loudly. Finally, 'Zeller, Rose' was Sorted into Hufflepuff, and Professor McGonagall picked up the Hat and stool and marched them away as Professor Dumbledore rose to his feet.

Whatever his recent bitter feelings had been towards his Headmaster, Harry was somehow soothed to see Dumbledore standing before them all. Between the absence of Hagrid and the presence of those dragonish horses, he had felt that his return to Hogwarts, so long anticipated, was full of unexpected surprises, like jarring notes in a familiar song. But this, at least, was how it was supposed to be: their Headmaster rising to greet them all before the start-of-term feast.

'To our newcomers,' said Dumbledore in a ringing voice, his arms stretched wide and a beaming smile on his lips, 'welcome! To our old hands--welcome back! There is a time for speech-making, but this is not it. Tuck in!'

There was an appreciative laugh and an outbreak of applause as Dumbledore sat down neatly and threw his long beard over his shoulder so as to keep it out of the way of his plate--for food had appeared out of nowhere, so that the five long tables were groaning under joints and pies and dishes of vegetables, bread and sauces and flagons of pumpkin juice.

'Excellent,' said Ron, with a kind of groan of longing, and he seized the nearest plate of chops and began piling them on to his plate, watched wistfully by Nearly Headless Nick.

'What were you saying before the Sorting?' Hermione asked the ghost. 'About the Hat giving warnings?'

'Oh, yes,' said Nick, who seemed glad of a reason to turn away from Ron, who was now eating roast potatoes with almost indecent enthusiasm. 'Yes, I have heard the Hat give several warnings before, always at times when it detects periods of great danger for the school. And always, of course, its advice is the same: stand together, be strong from within.'

'Ow kunnit nofe skusin danger ifzat?' said Ron.

His mouth was so full Harry thought it was quite an achievement for him to make any noise at all.

'I beg your pardon?' said Nearly Headless Nick politely, while Hermione looked revolted. Ron gave an enormous swallow and said, 'How can it know if the school's in danger if it's a Hat?'

'I have no idea,' said Nearly Headless Nick. 'Of course, it lives in Dumbledore's office, so I daresay it picks things up there.'

'And it wants all the houses to be friends?' said Harry, looking over at the Slytherin table, where Draco Malfoy was holding court. 'Fat chance.'

'Well, now, you shouldn't take that attitude,' said Nick reprovingly. 'Peaceful co-operation, that's the key. We ghosts, though we belong to separate houses, maintain links of friendship. In spite of the competitiveness between Gryffindor and Slytherin, I would never dream of seeking an argument with the Bloody Baron.'

'Only because you're terrified of him,' said Ron.

Nearly Headless Nick looked highly affronted.

'Terrified? I hope I, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, have never been guilty of cowardice in my life! The noble blood that runs in my veins--'

'What blood?' asked Ron. 'Surely you haven't still got--?'

'It's a figure of speech!' said Nearly Headless Nick, now so annoyed his head was trembling ominously on his partially severed neck. 'I assume I am still allowed to enjoy the use of whichever words I like, even if the pleasures of eating and drinking are denied me! But I am quite used to students poking fun at my death, I assure you!'

'Nick, he wasn't really laughing at you!' said Hermione, throwing a furious look at Ron.

Unfortunately, Ron's mouth was packed to exploding point again and all he could manage was 'Node iddum eentup sechew,' which Nick did not seem to think constituted an adequate apology. Rising into the air, he straightened his feathered hat and swept away from them to the other end of the table, coming to rest between the Creevey brothers, Colin and Dennis.

'Well done, Ron,' snapped Hermione.

'What?' said Ron indignantly, having managed, finally, to swallow his food. 'I'm not allowed to ask a simple question?'

'Oh, forget it,' said Hermione irritably, and the pair of them spent the rest of the meal in huffy silence.

Harry was too used to their bickering to bother trying to reconcile them; he felt it was a better use of his time to eat his way steadily through his steak and kidney pie, then a large plateful of his favourite treacle tart.

When all the students had finished eating and the noise level in the Hall was starting to creep upwards again, Dumbledore got to his feet once more. Talking ceased immediately as all turned to face the Headmaster. Harry was feeling pleasantly drowsy now. His four-poster bed was waiting somewhere above, wonderfully warm and soft ...

'Well, now that we are all digesting another magnificent feast, I beg a few moments of your attention for the usual start-of-term notices,' said Dumbledore. 'First-years ought to know that the Forest in the grounds is out-of-bounds to students--and a few of our older students ought to know by now, too.' (Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged smirks.)

'Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me, for what he tells me is the four-hundred-and-sixty-second time, to remind you all that magic is not permitted in corridors between classes, nor are a number of other things, all of which can be checked on the extensive list now fastened to Mr. Filch's office door.

'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 significant 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 stagnation 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 their 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, effectiveness and accountability, intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, 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 illuminating,' 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.'

There was some important stuff hidden in the waffle,' said Hermione grimly.

'Was there?' said Ron blankly.

'How about: "progress for progress's sake must be discouraged"? How about: "pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited"?'

'Well, what does that mean?' said Ron impatiently.

'I'll tell you what it means,' said Hermione through gritted teeth. 'It means the Ministry's interfering at Hogwarts.'

There was a great clattering and banging all around them; Dumbledore had obviously just dismissed the school, because everyone was standing up ready to leave the Hall. Hermione jumped up, looking flustered.

'Ron, we're supposed to show the first-years where to go!'

'Oh yeah,' said Ron, who had obviously forgotten. 'Hey--hey, you lot! Midgets!'

'Ron!'

'Well, they are, they're titchy ...'

'I know, but you can't call them midgets!--First-years!' Hermione called commandingly along the table. 'This way, please!'

A group of new students walked shyly up the gap between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables, all of them trying hard not to lead the group. They did indeed seem very small; Harry was sure he had not appeared that young when he had arrived here. He grinned at them. A blond boy next to Euan Abercrombie looked petrified; he nudged Euan and whispered something in his ear. Euan Abercrombie looked equally frightened and stole a horrified look at Harry, who felt the grin slide off his face like Stinksap.

'See you later,' he said dully to Ron and Hermione and he made his way out of the Great Hall alone, doing everything he could to ignore more whispering, staring and pointing as he passed. He kept his eyes fixed ahead as he wove his way through the crowd in the Entrance Hall, then he hurried up the marble staircase, took a couple of concealed short cuts and had soon left most of the crowds behind.

He had been stupid not to expect this, he thought angrily as he walked through the much emptier upstairs corridors. Of course everyone was staring at him; he had emerged from the Triwizard maze two months previously clutching the dead body of a fellow student and claiming to have seen Lord Voldemort return to power. There had not been time last term to explain himself before they'd all had to go home--even if he had felt up to giving the whole school a detailed account of the terrible events in that graveyard.

Harry had reached the end of the corridor to the Gryffindor common room and come to a halt in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady before he realised that he did not know the new password.

'Er ...' he said glumly, staring up at the Fat Lady, who smoothed the folds of her pink satin dress and looked sternly back at him.

'No password, no entrance,' she said loftily.

'Harry, I know it!' Someone panted up behind him and he turned to see Neville jogging towards him. 'Guess what it is? I'm actually going to be able to remember it for once-- ' He waved the stunted little cactus he had shown them on the train. 'Mimbuius mimbletonia!'

'Correct,' said the Fat Lady, and her portrait swung open towards them like a door, revealing a circular hole in the wall behind, through which Harry and Neville now climbed.

The Gryffindor common room looked as welcoming as ever, a cosy circular tower room full of dilapidated squashy armchairs and rickety old tables. A fire was crackling merrily in the grate and a few people were warming their hands by it before going up to their dormitories; on the other side of the room Fred and George Weasley were pinning something up on the noticeboard. Harry waved goodnight to them and headed straight for the door to the boys' dormitories; he was not in much of a mood for talking at the moment. Neville followed him.

Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan had reached the dormitory first and were in the process of covering the walls beside their beds with posters and photographs. They had been talking as Harry pushed open the door but stopped abruptly the moment they saw him. Harry wondered whether they had been talking about him, then whether he was being paranoid.

'Hi,' he said, moving across to his own trunk and opening it.

'Hey, Harry,' said Dean, who was putting on a pair of pyjamas in the West Ham colours. 'Good holiday?'

'Not bad,' muttered Harry, as a true account of his holiday would have taken most of the night to relate and he could not face it. 'You?'

'Yeah, it was OK,' chuckled Dean. 'Better than Seamus's, anyway, he was just telling me.'

'Why, what happened, Seamus?' Neville asked as he placed his Mimbuius mimbletonia tenderly on his bedside cabinet.

Seamus did not answer immediately; he was making rather a meal of ensuring that his poster of the Kenmare Kestrels Quidditch team was quite straight. Then he said, with his back still turned to Harry, 'Me mam didn't want me to come back.'

'What?' said Harry, pausing in the act of pulling off his robes.

'She didn't want me to come back to Hogwarts.'

Seamus turned away from his poster and pulled his own pyjamas out of his trunk, still not looking at Harry.

'But--why?' said Harry, astonished. He knew that Seamus's mother was a witch and could not understand, therefore, why she should have come over so Dursleyish.

Seamus did not answer until he had finished buttoning his pyjamas.

'Well,' he said in a measured voice, 'I suppose ... because of you.'

'What d'you mean?' said Harry quickly.

His heart was beating rather fast. He felt vaguely as though something was closing in on him.

'Well,' said Seamus again, still avoiding Harry's eye, she ... er ... well, it's not just you, it's Dumbledore, too ...'

'She believes the Daily Prophet?' said Harry. 'She thinks I'm a liar and Dumbledore's an old fool?'

Seamus looked up at him.

'Yeah, something like that.'

Harry said nothing. He threw his wand down on to his bedside table, pulled off his robes, stuffed them angrily into his trunk and pulled on his pyjamas. He was sick of it: sick of being the person who is stared at and talked about all the time. If any of them knew, if any of them had the faintest idea what it felt like to be the one all these things had happened to ... Mrs. Finnigan had no idea, the stupid woman, he thought savagely.

He got into bed and made to pull the hangings closed around him, but before he could do so, Seamus said, 'Look ... what did happen that night when ... you know, when ... with Cedric Diggory and all?'

Seamus sounded nervous and eager at the same time. Dean, who had been bending over his trunk trying to retrieve a slipper, went oddly still and Harry knew he was listening hard.

'What are you asking me for?' Harry retorted. 'Just read the Daily Prophet like your mother, why don't you? That'll tell you all you need to know.'

'Don't you have a go at my mother,' Seamus snapped.

'I'll have a go at anyone who calls me a liar,' said Harry.

'Don't talk to me like that!'

'I'll talk to you how I want,' said Harry, his temper rising so fast he snatched his wand back from his bedside table. 'If you've got a problem sharing a dormitory with me, go and ask McGonagall if you can be moved ... stop your mummy worrying-- '

'Leave my mother out of this, Potter!'

'What's going on?'

Ron had appeared in the doorway. His wide eyes travelled from Harry, who was kneeling on his bed with his wand pointing at Seamus, to Seamus, who was standing there with his fists raised.

'He's having a go at my mother!' Seamus yelled.

'What?' said Ron. 'Harry wouldn't do that--we met your mother, we liked her ...'

'That's before she started believing every word the stinking Daily Prophet writes about me!' said Harry at the top of his voice.

'Oh,' said Ron, comprehension dawning across his freckled face. 'Oh ... right.'

'You know what?' said Seamus heatedly, casting Harry a venomous look. 'He's right, I don't want to share a dormitory with him any more, he's mad.'

'That's out of order, Seamus,' said Ron, whose ears were starting to glow red--always a danger sign.

'Out of order, am I?' shouted Seamus, who in contrast with Ron was going pale. 'You believe all the rubbish he's come out with about You-Know-Who, do you, you reckon he's telling the truth?'

'Yeah, I do!' said Ron angrily.

'Then you're mad, too,' said Seamus in disgust.

'Yeah? Well, unfortunately for you, pal, I'm also a prefect!' said Ron, jabbing himself in the chest with a finger. 'So unless you want detention, watch your mouth!'

Seamus looked for a few seconds as though detention would be a reasonable price to pay to say what was going through his mind; but with a noise of contempt he turned on his heel, vaulted into bed and pulled the hangings shut with such violence that they were ripped from the bed and fell in a dusty pile to the floor. Ron glared at Seamus, then looked at Dean and Neville.

'Anyone else's parents got a problem with Harry?' he said aggressively.

'My parents are Muggles, mate,' said Dean, shrugging. 'They don't know nothing about no deaths at Hogwarts, because I'm not stupid enough to tell them.'

'You don't know my mother, she'd weasel anything out of anyone!' Seamus snapped at him. 'Anyway, your parents don't get the Daily Prophet.They don't know our Headmaster's been sacked from the Wizengamot and the International Confederation of Wizards because he's losing his marbles--'

'My gran says that's rubbish,' piped up Neville. 'She says it's the Daily Prophet that's going downhill, not Dumbledore. She's cancelled our subscription. We believe Harry,' said Neville simply. He climbed into bed and pulled the covers up to his chin, looking owlishly over them at Seamus. 'My grans always said You-Know-Who would come back one day. She says if Dumbledore says he's back, he's back.'

Harry felt a rush of gratitude towards Neville. Nobody else said anything. Seamus got out his wand, repaired the bed hangings and vanished behind them. Dean got into bed, rolled over and fell silent. Neville, who appeared to have nothing more to say either, was gazing fondly at his moonlit cactus.

Harry lay back on his pillows while Ron bustled around the next bed, putting his things away. He fell, shaken by the argument with Seamus, whom he had always liked very much. How many more people were going to suggest that he was lying, or unhinged?

Had Dumbledore suffered like this all summer, as first the Wizengamot, then the International Confederation of Wizards had thrown him from their ranks? Was it anger at Harry, perhaps, that had stopped Dumbledore getting in touch with him for months? The two of them were in this together, after all; Dumbledore had believed Harry, announced his version of events to the whole school and then to the wider wizarding community. Anyone who thought Harry was a liar had to think that Dumbledore was, too, or else that Dumbledore had been hoodwinked ...

They'll know we're right in the end, thought Harry miserably, as Ron got into bed and extinguished the last candle in the dormitory. But he wondered how many more attacks like Seamus's he would have to endure before that time came.

Chapter 12 Professor Umbridge

Seamus dressed at top speed next morning and left the dormitory before Harry had even put on his socks.

'Does he think he'll turn into a nutter if he stays in a room with me too long?' asked Harry loudly as the hem of Seamus's robes wnipped out of sight.

'Don't worry about it, Harry,' Dean muttered, hoisting his schoolbag on to his shoulder, 'he's just ...'

But apparently he was unable to say exactly what Seamus was, and after a slightly awkward pause followed him out of the room.

Neville and Ron both gave Harry an it's-his-problem-not-yours look, but Harry was not much consoled. How much more of this would he have to take?

'What's the matter?' asked Hermione five minutes later, catching up with Harry and Ron halfway across the common room as they all headed towards breakfast. 'You look absolutely--Oh for heavens sake.'

She was staring at the common-room noticeboard, where a large new sign had been put up.

GALLONS OF GALLEONS!

Pocket money failing to keep pace with your outgoings?

Like to earn a little extra gold?

Contact Fred and George Weasley, Gryffindor common room,

for simple, part-time, virtually painless jobs.

(We regret that all work is undertaken at applicant's own risk.)

'They are the limit,' said Hermione grimly, taking down the sign, which Fred and George had pinned up ewer a poster giving the date of the first Hogsmeade weekend, which was to be in October. 'We'll have to talk to them, Ron.'

Ron looked positively alarmed.

'Why?'

'Because we're prefects!' said Hermione, as they climbed out through the portrait hole. 'It's up to us to stop this kind of thing!'

Ron said nothing; Harry could tell from his glum expression that the prospect of stopping Fred and George doing exactly what they liked was not one he found inviting.

'Anyway, what's up, Harry?' Hermione continued, as they walked down a flight of stairs lined with portraits of old witches and wizards, all of whom ignored them, being engrossed in their own conversation. 'You look really angry about something.'

'Seamus reckons Harry's lying about You-Know-Who,' said Ron succinctly, when Harry did not respond.

Hermione, who Harry had expected to react angrily on his behalf, sighed.

'Yes, Lavender thinks so too,' she said gloomily.

'Been having a nice little chat with her about whether or not I'm a lying, attention-seeking prat, have you?' Harry said loudly.

'No,' said Hermione calmly. 'I told her to keep her big fat mouth shut about you, actually. And it would be quite nice if you stopped jumping down our throats, Harry, because in case you haven't noticed, Ron and I are on your side.'

There was a short pause.

'Sorry,' said Harry in a low voice.

'That's quite all right,' said Hermione with dignity. Then she shook her head. 'Don't you remember what Dumbledore said at the last end-of-term feast?'

Harry and Ron both looked at her blankly and Hermione sighed again.

'About You-Know-Who. He said his "gift for spreading discord and enmity is very great. We can fight it only by showing an equally strong bond of friendship and trust--" '

'How do you remember stuff like that?' asked Ron, looking at her in admiration.

'I listen, Ron,' said Hermione, with a touch of asperity.

'So do I, but I still couldn't tell you exactly what--'

'The point,' Hermione pressed on loudly, 'is that this sort of thing is exactly what Dumbledore was talking about. You-Know-Who's only been back two months and we've already started fighting among ourselves. And the Sorting Hat's warning was the same: stand together, be united--'

'And Harry got it right last night,' retorted Ron. 'If that means we're supposed to get matey with the Slytherins--fat chance.'

'Well, I think it's a pity we're not trying for a bit of inter-house unity,' said Hermione crossly.

They had reached the foot of the marble staircase. A line of fourth-year Ravenclaws was crossing the Entrance Hall; they caught sight of Harry and hurried to form a tighter group, as though frightened he might attack stragglers.

'Yeah, we really ought to be trying to make friends with people like that,' said Harry sarcastically.

They followed the Ravenclaws into the Great Hall, all looking instinctively at the staff table as they entered. Professor Grubbly-Plank was chatting to Professor Sinistra, the Astronomy teacher, and Hagrid was once again conspicuous only by his absence. The enchanted ceiling above them echoed Harry's mood; it was a miserable rain-cloud grey.

'Dumbledore didn't even mention how long that Grubbly-Plank woman's staying,' he said, as they made their way across to the Gryffindor table.

'Maybe ...' said Hermione thoughtfully.

'What?' said both Harry and Ron together.

'Well ... maybe he didn't want to draw attention to Hagrid not being here.'

'What d'you mean, draw attention to it?' said Ron, half-laughing. 'How could we not notice?'

Before Hermione could answer, a tall black girl with long braided hair had marched up to Harry.

'Hi, Angelina.'

'Hi,' she said briskly, 'good summer?' And without waiting for an answer, 'Listen, I've been made Gryffindor Quidditch Captain.'

'Nice one,' said Harry, grinning at her; he suspected Angelina's pep talks might not be as long-winded as Oliver Wood's had been, which could only be an improvement.

'Yeah, well, we need a new Keeper now Oliver's left. Tryouts are on Friday at five o'clock and I want the whole team there, all right? Then we can see how the new person'll fit in.'

'OK,' said Harry.

Angelina smiled at him and departed.

'I'd forgotten Wood had left,' said Hermione vaguely as she sat down beside Ron and pulled a plate of toast towards her. 'I suppose that will make quite a difference to the team?'

'I s'pose,' said Harry, taking the bench opposite. 'He was a good Keeper ...'

'Still, it won't hurt to have some new blood, will it?' said Ron.

With a whoosh and a clatter, hundreds of owls came soaring in through the upper windows. They descended all over the Hall, bringing letters and packages to their owners and showering the breakfasters with droplets of water; it was clearly raining hard outside. Hedwig was nowhere to be seen, but Harry was hardly surprised; his only correspondent was Sirius, and he doubted Sirius would have anything new to tell him after only twenty-four hours apart. Hermione, however, had to move her orange juice aside quickly to make way gor a large damp barn owl bearing a sodden Daily Prophet in its beak.

'What are you still getting that for?' said Harry irritably, thinking of Seamus as Hermione placed a Knut in the leather pouch on the owl's leg and it took off again. 'I'm not bothering ... load of rubbish.'

'It's best to know what the enemy is saying,' said Hermione darkly, and she unfurled the newspaper and disappeared behind it, not emerging until Harry and Ron had finished eating.

'Nothing,' she said simply, rolling up the newspaper and laying it down by her plate. 'Nothing about you or Dumbledore or anything.'

Professor McGonagall was now moving along the table handing out timetables.

'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 ...'

'Do mine ears deceive me?' said Fred, arriving with George and squeezing on to the bench beside Harry. 'Hogwarts prefects surely don't wish to skive off lessons?'

'Look what we've got today,' said Ron grumpily, shoving his timetable under Fred's nose. 'That's the worst Monday I've ever seen.'

'Fair point, little bro,' said Fred, scanning the column. 'You can have a bit of Nosebleed Nougat cheap if you like.'

'Why's it cheap?' said Ron suspiciously.

'Because you'll keep bleeding till you shrivel up, we haven't got an antidote yet,' said George, helping himself to a kipper.

'Cheers,' said Ron moodily, pocketing his timetable, 'but I think I'll take the lessons.'

'And speaking of your Skiving Snackboxes,' said Hermione, eyeing Fred and George beadily, 'you can't advertise for testers on the Gryffindor noticeboard.'

'Says who?' said George, looking astonished.

'Says me,' said Hermione. 'And Ron.'

'Leave me out of it,' said Ron hastily.

Hermione glared at him. Fred and George sniggered.

'You'll be singing a different tune soon enough, Hermione,' said Fred, thickly buttering a crumpet. 'You're starting your fifth year, you'll be begging us for a Snackbox before long.'

'And why would starting fifth year mean I want a Skiving Snackbox?' asked Hermione.

'Fifth year's OWL year,' said George.

'So?'

'So you've got your exams coming up, haven't you? They'll be keeping your noses so hard to that grindstone they'll be rubbed raw,' said Fred with satisfaction.

'Half our year had minor breakdowns coming up to OWLs,' said George happily. 'Tears and tantrums ... Patricia Stimpson kept coming over faint ...'

'Kenneth Towler came out in boils, d'you remember?' said Fred remmiscently.

'That's 'cause you put Bulbadox powder in his pyjamas,' said George.

'Oh yeah,' said Fred, grinning. 'I'd forgotten ... hard to keep track sometimes, isn't it?'

'Anyway, it's a nightmare of a year, the fifth,' said George. 'If you care about exam results, anyway. Fred and I managed to keep our peckers up somehow.'

'Yeah ... you got, what was it, three OWLs each?' said Ron.

'Yep,' said Fred unconcernedly. 'But we feel our futures lie outside the world of academic achievement.'

'We seriously debated whether we were going to bother coming back for our seventh year,' said George brightly, 'now that we've got--'

He broke off at a warning look from Harry, who knew George had been about to mention the Triwizard winnings he had given them.

'--now that we've got our OWLs,' George said hastily. 'I mean, do we really need NEWTs? But we didn't think Mum could take us leaving school early not on top of Percy turning out to be the world's biggest prat.'

'We're not going to waste our last year here, though,' said Fred, looking affectionately around at the Great Hall. 'We're going to use it to do a bit of market research, find out exactly what the average Hogwarts student requires from a joke shop, carefully evaluate the results of our research, then produce products to fit the demand.'

'But where are you going to get the gold to start a joke shop?' Hermione asked sceptically. 'You're going to need all the ingredients and materials--and premises too, I suppose ...'

Harry did not look at the twins. His face felt hot; he deliberately dropped his fork and dived down to retrieve it. He heard Fred say overhead, 'Ask us no questions and we'll tell you no lies, Hermione. C'mon, George, if we get there early we might be able to sell a few Extendable Ears before Herbology.'

Harry emerged from under the table to see Fred and George walking away, each carrying a stack of toast.

'What did that mean?' said Hermione, looking from Harry to Ron. '"Ask us no questions ..." Does that mean they've already got some gold to start a joke shop?'

'You know, I've been wondering about that,' said Ron, his brow furrowed. 'They bought me a new set of dress robes this summer and I couldn't understand where they got the Galleons ...'

Harry decided it was time to steer the conversation out of these dangerous waters.

'D'you reckon it's true this year's going to be really tough? Because of the exams?'

'Oh, yeah,' said Ron. 'Bound to be, isn't it? OWLs are really important, affect the jobs you can apply for and everything. We get career advice, too, later this year, Bill told me. So you can choose what NEWTs you want to do next year.'

'D'you know what you want to do after Hogwarts?' Harry asked the other two, as they left the Great Hall shortly afterwards and set off towards their History of Magic classroom.

'Not really,' said Ron slowly. 'Except ... well ...'

He looked slightly sheepish.

'What?' Harry urged him.

'Well, it'd be cool to be an Auror,' said Ron in an off-hand voice.

'Yeah, it would,' said Harry fervently.

'But they're, like, the elite,' said Ron. 'You've got to be really good. What about you, Hermione?'

'I don't know,' she said. 'I think I'd like to do something really worthwhile.'

'An Auror's worthwhile!' said Harry.

'Yes, it is, but it's not the only worthwhile thing,' said Hermione thoughtfully, 'I mean, if I could take SPEW further ...'

Harry and Ron carefully avoided looking at each other.

History of Magic was by common consent the most boring subject ever devised by wizardkind. Professor Binns, their ghost teacher, had a wheezy, droning voice that was almost guaranteed to cause severe drowsiness within ten minutes, five in warm weather. He never varied the form of their lessons, but lectured them without pausing while they took notes, or rather, gazed sleepily into space. Harry and Ron had so far managed to scrape passes in this subject only by copying Hermione's notes before exams; she alone seemed able to resist the soporific power of Binns's voice.

Today, they suffered an hour and a half's droning on the subject of giant wars. Harry heard just enough within the first ten minutes to appreciate dimly that in another teacher's hands this subject might have been mildly interesting, but then his brain disengaged, and he spent the remaining hour and twenty minutes playing hangman on a corner of his parchment with Ron, while Hermione shot them filthy looks out of the corner of her eye.

'How would it be,' she asked them coldly, as they left the classroom for break (Binns drifting away through the blackboard), 'if I refused to lend you my notes this year?'

'We'd fail our OWL, said Ron. 'If you want that on your conscience, Hermione ...'

'Well, you'd deserve it,' she snapped. 'You don't even try to listen to him, do you?'

'We do try,' said Ron. 'We just haven't got your brains or your memory or your concentration-- you're just cleverer than we are--is it nice to rub it in?'

'Oh, don't give me that rubbish,' said Hermione, but she looked slightly mollified as she led the way out into the damp courtyard.

A fine misty drizzle was falling, so that the people standing in huddles around the edges of the yard looked blurred at the edges. Harry, Ron and Hermione chose a secluded corner under a heavily dripping balcony, turning up the collars of their robes against the chilly September air and talking about what Snape was likely to set them in the first lesson of the year. They had got as far as agreeing that it was likely to be something extremely difficult, just to catch them off guard after a two-month holiday, when someone walked around the corner towards them.

'Hello, Harry!'

It was Cho Chang and, what was more, she was on her own again. This was most unusual: Cho was almost always surrounded by a gang of giggling girls; Harry remembered the agony of trying to get her by herself to ask her to the Yule Ball.

'Hi,' said Harry, feeling his face grow hot. At least you're not covered in Stinksap this time, he told himself. Cho seemed to be thinking along the same lines.

'You got that stuff off, then?'

'Yeah,' said Harry, trying to grin as though the memory of their last meeting was funny as opposed to mortifying. 'So, did you ... er ... have a good summer?'

The moment he had said this he wished he hadn't--Cedric had been Cho's boyfriend and the memory of his death must have affected her holiday almost as badly as it had affected Harry's. Something seemed to tauten in her face, but she said, 'Oh, it was all right, you know ...'

'Is that a Tornados badge?' Ron demanded suddenly, pointing to the front of Cho's robes, where a sky-blue badge emblazoned with a double gold 'T' was pinned. 'You don't support them, do you?'

'Yeah, I do,' said Cho.

'Have you always supported them, or just since they started winning the league?' said Ron, in what Harry considered an unnecessarily accusatory tone of voice.

'I've supported them since I was six,' said Cho coolly. 'Anyway ... see you, Harry.'

She walked away. Hermione waited until Cho was halfway across the courtyard before rounding on Ron.

'You are so tactless!'

'What? I only asked her if--'

'Couldn't you tell she wanted to talk to Harry on her own?'

'So? She could've done, I wasn't stopping--'

'Why on earth were you attacking her about her Quidditch team?'

'Attacking? I wasn't attacking her, I was only--'

'Who cares if she supports the Tornados?'

'Oh, come on, half the people you see wearing those badges only bought them last season--'

'But what does it matter?'

'It means they're not real fans, they're just jumping on the bandwagon--'

'That's the bell,' said Harry dully, because Ron and Hermione were bickering too loudly to hear it. They did not stop arguing all the way down to Snapes dungeon, which gave Harry plenty of time to reflect that between Neville and Ron he would be lucky ever to have two minutes of conversation with Cho that he could look back on without wanting to leave the country.

And yet, he thought, as they joined the queue lining up outside Snape's classroom door, she had chosen to come and talk to him, hadn't she? She had been Cedric's girlfriend; she could easily have hated Harry for coming out of the Triwizard maze alive when Cedric had died, yet she was talking to him in a perfectly friendly way, not as though she thought him mad, or a liar, or in some horrible way responsible for Cedric's death ... yes, she had definitely chosen to come and talk to him, and that made the second time in two days ... and at this thought, Harry's spirits rose. Even the ominous sound of Snape's dungeon door creaking open did not puncture the small, hopeful bubble that seemed to have swelled in his chest. He filed into the classroom behind Ron and Hermione and followed them to their usual table at the back, where he sat down between Ron and Hermione and ignored the huffy, irritable noises now issuing from both of them.

'Settle down,' said Snape coldly, shutting the door behind him.

There was no real need for the call to order; the moment the class had heard the door close, quiet had fallen and all fidgeting stopped. Snape's mere presence was usually enough to ensure a class's silence.

'Before we begin today's lesson,' said Snape, sweeping over to his desk and staring around at them all, 'I think it appropriate to remind you that next June you will be sitting an important examination, during which you will prove how much you have learned about the composition and use of magical potions. Moronic though some of this class undoubtedly are, I expect you to scrape an "Acceptable" in your OWL, or suffer my ... displeasure.'

His gaze lingered this time on Neville, who gulped.

'After this year, of course, many of you will cease studying with me,' Snape went on. 'I take only the very best into my NEWT Potions class, which means that some of us will certainly be saying goodbye.'

His eyes rested on Harry and his lip curled. Harry glared back, feeling a grim pleasure at the idea that he would be able to give up Potions after fifth year.

'But we have another year to go before that happy moment of farewell,' said Snape softly, 'so, whether or not you are intending to attempt NEWT, I advise all of you to concentrate your efforts upon maintaining the high pass level I have come to expect from my OWL students.

'Today we will be mixing a potion that often comes up at Ordinary Wizarding Level: the Draught of Peace, a potion to calm anxiety and soothe agitation. Be warned: if you are too heavy-handed with the ingredients you will put the drinker into a heavy and sometimes irreversible sleep, so you will need to pay close attention to what you are doing.' On Harry's left, Hermione sat up a little straighter, her expression one of utmost attention. The ingredients and method--' Snape flicked his wand '--are on the blackboard--(they appeared there) '--you will find everything you need--' he flicked his wand again '--in the store cupboard--' (the door of the said cupboard sprang open) '--you have an hour and a half ... start.'

Just as Harry, Ron and Hermione had predicted, Snape could hardly have set them a more difficult, fiddly potion. The ingredients had to be added to the cauldron in precisely the right order and quantities; the mixture had to be stirred exactly the right number of times, firstly in clockwise, then in anti-clockwise directions; the heat of the flames on which it was simmering had to be lowered to exactly the right level for a specific number of minutes before the final ingredient was added.

'A light silver vapour should now be rising from your potion,' called Snape, with ten minutes left to go.

Harry, who was sweating profusely, looked desperately around the dungeon. His own cauldron was issuing copious amounts of dark grey steam; Ron's was spitting green sparks. Seamus was feverishly prodding the flames at the base of his cauldron with the tip of his wand, as they seemed to be going out. The surface of Hermione's potion, however, was a shimmering mist of silver vapour, and as Snape swept by he looked down his hooked nose at it without comment, which meant he could find nothing to criticise.

At Harry's cauldron, however, Snape stopped, and looked down at it with a horrible smirk on his face.

'Potter, what is this supposed to be?'

The Slytherins at the front of the class all looked up eagerly; they loved hearing Snape taunt Harry.

'The Draught of Peace,' said Harry tensely.

'Tell me, Potter,' said Snape softly, 'can you read?'

Draco Malfoy laughed.

'Yes, I can,' said Harry, his fingers clenched tightly around his wand.

'Read the third line of the instructions for me, Potter.'

Harry squinted at the blackboard; it was not easy to make out the instructions through the haze of multi-coloured steam now filling the dungeon.

'"Add powdered moonstone, stir three times counter-clockwise, allow to simmer for seven minutes then add two drops of syrup of hellebore." '

His heart sank. He had not added syrup of hellebore, but had proceeded straight to the fourth line of the instructions after allowing his potion to simmer for seven minutes.

'Did you do everything on the third line, Potter?'

'No,' said Harry very quietly.

'I beg your pardon?'

'No,' said Harry, more loudly. 'I forgot the hellebore.'

'I know you did, Potter, which means that this mess is utterly worthless. Evanesce.'

The contents of Harry's potion vanished; he was left standing foolishly beside an empty cauldron.

'Those of you who have managed to read the instructions, fill one flagon with a sample of your potion, label it clearly with your name and bring it up to my desk for testing,' said Snape. 'Homework: twelve inches of parchment on the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion-making, to be handed in on Thursday.'

While everyone around him filled their flagons, Harry cleared away his things, seething. His potion had been no worse than Ron's, which was now giving off a foul odour of bad eggs; or Neville's, which had achieved the consistency of just-mixed cement and which Neville was now having to gouge out of his cauldron; yet it was he, Harry, who would be receiving zero marks for the day's work. He stuffed his wand back into his bag and slumped down on to his seat, watching everyone else march up to Snape's desk with filled and corked flagons. When at long last the bell rang, Harry was first out of the dungeon and had already started his lunch by the time Ron and Hermione joined him in the Great Hall. The ceiling had turned an even murkier grey during the morning. Rain was lashing the high windows.

'That was really unfair,' said Hermione consolingly, sitting down next to Harry and helping herself to shepherd's pie. 'Your potion wasn't nearly as bad as Goyle's; when he put it in his flagon the whole thing shattered and set his robes on fire.'

'Yeah, well,' said Harry, glowering at his plate, 'since when has Snape ever been fair to me?'

Neither of the others answered; all three of them knew that Snape and Harry's mutual enmity had been absolute from the moment Harry had set foot in Hogwarts.

'I did think he might be a bit better this year,' said Hermione in a disappointed voice. 'I mean ... you know ...' she looked around carefully; there were half a dozen empty seats on either side of them and nobody was passing the table ' ... now he's in the Order and everything.'

'Poisonous toadstools don't change their spots,' said Ron sagely. 'Anyway, I've always thought Dumbledore was cracked to trust Snape. Where's the evidence he ever really stopped working for You-Know-Who?'

'I think Dumbledore's probably got plenty of evidence, even if he doesn't share it with you, Ron,' snapped Hermione.

'Oh, shut up, the pair of you,' said Harry heavily, as Ron opened his mouth to argue back. Hermione and Ron both froze, looking angry and offended. 'Can't you give it a rest?' said Harry. 'You're always having a go at each other, it's driving me mad.' And abandoning his shepherd's pie, he swung his schoolbag back over his shoulder and left them sitting there.

He walked up the marble staircase two steps at a time, past the many students hurrying towards lunch. The anger that had just flared so unexpectedly still blazed inside him, and the vision of Ron and Hermione's shocked faces afforded him a sense of deep satisfaction. Serve them right, he thought, why can't they give it a rest ... bickering all the time ... it's enough to drive anyone up the wall ...

He passed the large picture of Sir Cadogan the knight on a landing; Sir Cadogan drew his sword and brandished it fiercely at Harry, who ignored him.

'Come back, you scurvy dog! Stand fast and fight!' yelled Sir Cadogan in a muffled voice from behind his visor, but Harry merely walked on and when Sir Cadogan attempted to follow him by running into a neighbouring picture, he was rebuffed by its inhabitant, a large and angry-looking wolfhound.

Harry spent the rest of the lunch hour sitting alone underneath the trapdoor at the top of North Tower. Consequently, he was the first to ascend the silver ladder that led to Sybill Trelawney's classroom when the bell rang.

After Potions, Divination was Harry's least favourite class, which was due mainly to Professor Trelawney's habit of predicting his premature death every few lessons. A thin woman, heavily draped in shawls and glittering with strings of beads, she always reminded Harry of some kind of insect, with her glasses hugely magnifying her eyes. She was busy putting copies of battered leather-bound books on each of the spindly little tables with which her room was littered when Harry entered the room, but the light cast by the lamps covered by scarves and the low-burning, sickly-scented fire was so dim she appeared not to notice him as he took a seat in the shadows. The rest of the class arrived over the next five minutes. Ron emerged from the trapdoor, looked around carefully, spotted Harry and made directly for him, or as directly as he could while having to wend his way between tables, chairs and overstuffed pouffes.

'Hermione and me have stopped arguing,' he said, sitting down beside Harry.

'Good,' grunted Harry.

'But Hermione says she thinks it would be nice if you stopped taking out your temper on us,' said Ron.

'I 'm not--'

'I'm just passing on the message,' said Ron, talking over him. 'But I reckon she's right. It's not our fault how Seamus and Snape treat you.'

'I never said it --'

'Good-day,' said Professor Trelawney in her usual misty, dreamy voice, and Harry broke off, again feeling both annoyed and slightly ashamed of himself. 'And welcome back to Divination. I have, of course, been following your fortunes most carefully over the holidays, and am delighted to see that you have all returned to Hogwarts safely--as, of course, I knew you would.

'You will find on the tables before you copies of The Dream Oracle, by Inigo Imago. Dream interpretation is a most important means of divining the future and one that may very probably be tested in your OWL. Not, of course, that I believe examination passes or failures are of the remotest importance when it comes to the sacred art of divination. If you have the Seeing Eye, certificates and grades matter very little. However, the Headmaster likes you to sit the examination, so ...'

Her voice trailed away delicately, leaving them all in no doubt that Professor Trelawney considered her subject above such sordid matters as examinations.

'Turn, please, to the introduction and read what Imago has to say on the matter of dream interpretation. Then, divide into pairs. Use The Dream Oracle to interpret each other's most recent dreams. Carry on.'

The one good thing to be said for this lesson was that it was not a double period. By the time they had all finished reading the introduction of the book, they had barely ten minutes left for dream interpretation. At the table next to Harry and Ron, Dean had paired up with Neville, who immediately embarked on a long-winded explanation of a nightmare involving a pair of giant scissors wearing his grandmother's best hat; Harry and Ron merely looked at each other glumly.

'I never remember my dreams,' said Ron, 'you say one.'

'You must remember one of them,' said Harry impatiently.

He was not going to share his dreams with anyone. He knew perfectly well what his regular nightmare about a graveyard meant, he did not need Ron or Proiessor Trelawney or the stupid Dream Oracle to tell him.

'Well, I dreamed I was playing Quidditch the other night,' said Ron, screwing up his face in an effort to remember. 'What d'you reckon that means?'

'Probably that you're going to be eaten by a giant marshmallow or something,' said Harry, turning the pages of The Dream Oracle without interest. It was very dull work looking up bits of dreams in the Oracle and Harry was not cheered up when Professor Trelawney set them the task of keeping a dream diary for a month as homework. When the bell went, he and Ron led the way back down the ladder, Ron grumbling loudly.

'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:

Course Aims:
1. Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic.

2. Learning to recognise situations in which defensive magic can legally be 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 on him. Harry and Hermione immediately raised their hands too. Professor Umbridge's pouchy eyes lingered 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 unconvincing smile stretching her wide mouth, 'but you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class, very irresponsible 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 actually 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 carefully controlled examination conditions,' said Professor Umbridge dismissively.

'Without ever practising them beforehand?' said Parvati incredulously. '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 expression 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.

He took it from her without saying a word, turned on his heel and left the room, not even looking back at Ron and Hermione, slamming the classroom door shut behind him. He walked very fast along the corridor, the note to McGonagall clutched tight in his hand, and turning a corner walked slap into Peeves the poltergeist, a wide-mouthed little man floating on his back in midair, juggling several inkwells.

'Why, it's Potty Wee Potter!' cackled Peeves, allowing two of the inkwells to fall to the ground where they smashed and spattered the walls with ink; Harry jumped backwards out of the way with a snarl.

'Get out of it, Peeves.'

'Oooh, Crackpot's feeling cranky,' said Peeves, pursuing Harry along the corridor, leering as he zoomed along above him. 'What is it this time, my fine Potty friend? Hearing voices? Seeing visions? Speaking in--' Peeves blew a gigantic raspberry '-- tongues?'

'I said, leave me ALONE!' Harry shouted, running down the nearest flight of stairs, but Peeves merely slid down the banister on his back beside him.

'Oh, most think he's barking, the potty wee lad,

But some are more kindly and think he's just sad,

But Peevesy knows better and says that he's mad--'



'SHUT UP!'

A door to his left flew open and Professor McGonagall emerged from her office looking grim and slightly harassed.

'What on earth are you shouting about, Potter?' she snapped, as Peeves cackled gleefully and zoomed out of sight. 'Why aren't you in class?'

'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 sat down behind her desk, watching Harry closely. Then she said, 'Have a biscuit, Potter.'

'Have--what?'

'Have a biscuit,' she repeated impatiently, indicating a tartan tin lying on top of one of the piles of papers on her desk. 'And sit down.'

There had been a previous occasion when Harry, expecting to be caned by Professor McGonagall, had instead been appointed by her to the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He sank into a chair opposite her and helped himself to a Ginger Newt, feeling just as confused and wrong-footed as he had done on that occasion.

Professor McGonagall set down Professor Umbridge's note and looked very seriously at Harry.

'Potter, you need to be careful.'

Harry swallowed his mouthful of Ginger Newt and stared at her. Her tone of voice was not at all what he was used to; it was not brisk, crisp and stern; it was low and anxious and somehow much more human than usual.

'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.'

The bell rang for the end of the lesson. Overhead and all around came the elephantine sounds of hundreds of students on the move.

'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.'

'But I was telling the truth!' said Harry, outraged. 'Voldemort is back, you know he is; Professor Dumbledore knows he is--'

'For heaven's sake, Potter!' said Professor McGonagall, straightening her glasses angrily (she had winced horribly when he had used Voldemort's name). 'Do you really think this is about truth or lies? It's about keeping your head down and your temper under control!'

She stood up, nostrils wide and mouth very thin, and Harry stood up, too.

'Have another biscuit,' she said irritably, thrusting the tin at him.

'No, thanks,' said Harry coldly.

'Don't be ridiculous,' she snapped.

He took one.

'Thanks,' he said grudgingly.

'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.

'Well, I'm glad you listen to Hermione Granger at any rate,' she said, pointing him out of her office.

Chapter 13 Dentention with Delores

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 contrary, it was as though they were hoping he would get angry and start shouting again, so that they could hear his story first-hand.

'He says he saw Cedric Diggory murdered ...'

'He reckons he duelled with You-Know-Who ...'

'Come off it ...'

'Who does he think he's kidding?'

'Pur-lease ...'

'What I don't get,' said Harry through clenched teeth, laying down his knife and fork (his hands were shaking too much to hold them steady), 'is why they all believed the story two months ago when Dumbledore told them ...'

'The thing is, Harry, I'm not sure they did,' said Hermione grimly. 'Oh, let's get out of here.'

She slammed down her own knife and fork; Ron looked longingly at his half-finished apple pie but followed suit. People stared at them all the way out of the Hall.

'What d'you mean, you're not sure they believed Dumbledore?' Harry asked Hermione when they reached the first-floor landing.

'Look, you don't understand what it was like after it happened,' said Hermione quietly. 'You arrived back in the middle of the lawn clutching Cedric's dead body ... none of us saw what what happened in the maze ... we just had Dumbledore's word for it that You-Know-Who had come back and killed Cedric and fought you.'

'Which is the truth!' said Harry loudly.

'I know it is, Harry, so will you please stop biting my head off?' said Hermione wearily. 'It's just that before the truth could sink in, everyone went home for the summer, where they spent two months reading about how you're a nutcase and Dumbledore's going senile!'

Rain pounded on the windowpanes as they strode along the empty corridors back to Gryffindor Tower. Harry felt as though his first day had lasted a week, but he still had a mountain of homework to do before bed. A dull pounding pain was developing over his right eye. He glanced out of a rain-washed window at the dark grounds as they turned into the Fat Lady's corridor. There was still no light in Hagrid's cabin.

'Mimbulus mimbletonia,' said Hermione, before the Fat Lady could ask. The portrait swung open to reveal the hole behind it and the three of them scrambled through it.

The common room was almost empty; nearly everyone was still down at dinner. Crookshanks uncoiled himself from an armchair and trotted to meet them, purring loudly, and when Harry, Ron and Hermione took their three favourite chairs at the fireside he leapt lightly on to Hermione's lap and curled up there like a furry ginger cushion. Harry gazed into the flames, feeling drained and exhausted.

'How can Dumbledore have let this happen?' Hermione cried suddenly, making Harry and Ron jump; Crookshanks leapt off her, looking affronted. She pounded the arms of her chair in fury, so that bits of stuffing leaked out of the holes. 'How can he let that terrible woman teach us? And in our OWL year, too!'

'Well, we've never had great Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers, have we?' said Harry. 'You know what it's like, Hagrid told us, nobody wants the job; they say it's jinxed.'

'Yes, but to employ someone who's actually refusing to let us do magic! What's Dumbledore playing at?'

'And she's trying to get people to spy for her,' said Ron darkly.

'Remember when she said she wanted us to come and tell her if we hear anyone saying You-Know-Who's back?'

'Of course she's here to spy on us all, that's obvious, why else would Fudge have wanted her to come?' snapped Hermione.

'Don't start arguing again,' said Harry wearily, as Ron opened his mouth to retaliate. 'Can't we just... let's just do that homework, get it out of the way...'

They collected their schoolbags from a corner and returned to the chairs by the fire. People were coming back from dinner now. Harry kept his face averted from the portrait hole, but could still sense the stares he was attracting.

'Shall we do Snape's stuff first?' said Ron, dipping his quill into his ink. '"The properties... of moonstone... and its uses ... in potion-making..."' he muttered, writing the words across the top of his parchment as he spoke them. 'There.' He underlined the title, then looked up expectantly at Hermione.

'So, what are the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion-making?'

But Hermione was not listening; she was squinting over into the far corner of the room, where Fred, George and Lee Jordan were now sitting at the centre of a knot of innocent-looking first-years, all of whom were chewing something that seemed to have come out of a large paper bag that Fred was holding.

'No, I'm sorry, they've gone too far,' she said, standing up and looking positively furious. 'Come on, Ron.'

'I --what?' said Ron, plainly playing for time. 'No--come on, Hermione--we can't tell them off for giving out sweets.'

'You know perfectly well that those are bits of Nosebleed Nougat or--or Puking Pastilles or--'

'Fainting Fancies?' Harry suggested quietly.

One by one, as though hit over the head with an invisible mallet, the first-years were slumping unconscious in their seats; some slid right on to the floor, others merely hung over the arms of their chairs, their tongues lolling out. Most of the people watching were laughing; Hermione, however, squared her shoulders and marched directly over to where Fred and George now stood with clipboards, closely observing the unconscious first-years. Ron rose halfway out of his chair, hovered uncertainly for a moment or two, then muttered to Harry, 'She's got it under control,' before sinking as low in his chair as his lanky frame permitted.

'That's enough!' Hermione said forcefully to Fred and George, both of whom looked up in mild surprise.

'Yeah, you're right,' said George, nodding, 'this dosage looks strong enough, doesn't it?'

'I told you this morning, you can't test your rubbish on students!'

'We're paying them!' said Fred indignantly.

'I don't care, it could be dangerous!'

'Rubbish,' said Fred.

'Calm down, Hermione, they're fine!' said Lee reassuringly as he walked from first-year to first-year, inserting purple sweets into their open mouths.

'Yeah, look, they're coming round now,' said George.

A few of the first-years were indeed stirring. Several looked so shocked to find themselves lying on the floor, or dangling off their chairs, that Harry was sure Fred and George had not warned them what the sweets were going to do.

'Feel all right?' said George kindly to a small dark-haired girl lying at his feet.

'I--I think so,' she said shakily.

'Excellent,' said Fred happily, but the next second Hermione had snatched both his clipboard and the paper bag of Fainting Fancies from his hands.

'It is NOT excellent!'

'Course it is, they're alive, aren't they?' said Fred angrily.

'You can't do this, what if you made one of them really ill?'

'We're not going to make them ill, we've already tested them all on ourselves, this is just to see if everyone reacts the same--'

'If you don't stop doing it, I'm going to--'

'Put us in detention?' said Fred, in an I'd-like-to-see-you-try-it voice.

'Make us write lines?' said George, smirking.

Onlookers all over the room were laughing. Hermione drew herself up to her full height; her eyes were narrowed and her bushy hair seemed to crackle with electricity.

'No,' she said, her voice quivering with anger, 'but I will write to your mother.'

'You wouldn't,' said George, horrified, taking a step back from her.

'Oh, yes, I would,' said Hermione grimly. 'I can't stop you eating the stupid things yourselves, but you're not to give them to the first-years,'

Fred and George looked thunderstruck. It was clear that as far as they were concerned, Hermione's threat was way below the belt. With a last threatening look at them, she thrust Fred's clipboard and the bag of Fancies back into his arms, and stalked back to her chair by the fire.

Ron was now so low in his seat that his nose was roughly level with his knees.

'Thank you for your support, Ron,' Hermione said acidly.

'You handled it fine by yourself,' Ron mumbled.

Hermione stared down at her blank piece of parchment for a few seconds, then said edgily, 'Oh, it's no good, I can't concentrate now. I'm going to bed.'

She wrenched her bag open; Harry thought she was about to put her books away, but instead she pulled out two misshapen woolly objects, placed them carefully on a table by the fireplace, covered them with a few screwed-up bits of parchment and a broken quill and stood back to admire the effect.

'What in the name of Merlin are you doing?' said Ron, watching her as though fearful for her sanity.

'They're hats for house-elves,' she said briskly now stuffing her books back into her bag. 'I did them over the summer. I'm a really slow knitter without magic but now I'm back at school I should be able to make lots more.'

'You're leaving out hats for the house-elves?' said Ron slowly. 'And you're covering them up with rubbish first?'

'Yes,' said Hermione defiantly, swinging her bag on to her back.

That's not on,' said Ron angrily. 'You're trying to trick them into picking up the hats. You're setting them free when they might not want to be free.'

'Of course they want to be free!' said Hermione at once, though her face was turning pink. 'Don't you dare touch those hats, Ron!'

She turned on her heel and left. Ron waited until she had disappeared through the door to the girls' dormitories, then cleared the rubbish off the woolly hats.

'They should at least see what they're picking up,' he said firmly. 'Anyway ...' he rolled up the parchment on which he had written the title of Snape's essay, 'there's no point trying to finish this now, I can't do it without Hermione, I haven't got a clue what you're supposed to do with moonstones, have you?'

Harry shook his head, noticing as he did so that the ache in his right temple was getting worse. He thought of the long essay on giant wars and the pain stabbed at him sharply. Knowing perfectly well that when the morning came, he would regret not finishing his homework that night, he piled his books back into his bag.

'I'm going to bed too.'

He passed Seamus on the way to the door leading to the dormitories, but did not look at him. Harry had a fleeting impression that Seamus had opened his mouth to speak, but he sped up and reached the soothing peace of the stone spiral staircase without having to endure any more provocation.

The following day dawned just as leaden and rainy as the previous one. Hagrid was still absent from the staff table at breakfast.

'But on the plus side, no Snape today,' said Ron bracingly.

Hermione yawned widely and poured herself some coffee. She looked mildly pleased about something, and when Ron asked her what she had to be so happy about, she simply said, 'The hats have gone. Seems the house-elves do want freedom after all.'

'I wouldn't bet on it,' Ron told her cuttingly. 'They might not count as clothes. They didn't look anything like hats to me, more like woolly bladders.'

Hermione did not speak to him all morning.

Double Charms was succeeded by double Transfiguration. Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall both spent the first fifteen minutes of their lessons lecturing the class on the importance of OWLs.

'What you must remember,' said little Professor Flitwick squeakily, perched as ever on a pile of books so that he could see over the top of his desk, 'is that these examinations may influence your futures for many years to come! If you have not already given serious thought to your careers, now is the time to do so. And in the meantime, I'm afraid, we shall be working harder than ever to ensure that you all do yourselves justice!'

They then spent over an hour revising Summoning Charms, which according to Professor Flitwick were bound to come up in their OWL, and he rounded off the lesson by setting them their largest ever amount of Charms homework.

It was the same, if not worse, in Transfiguration.

'You cannot pass an OWL,' said Professor McGonagall grimly, 'without serious application, practice and study. I see no reason why everybody in this class should not achieve an OWL in Transfiguration as long as they put in the work.' Neville made a sad little disbelieving noise. 'Yes, you too, Longbottom,' said Professor McGonagall. 'There's nothing wrong with your work except lack of confidence. So ... today we are starting Vanishing Spells. These are easier than Conjuring Spells, which you would not usually attempt until NEWT level, but they are still among the most difficult magic you will be tested on in your OWL.'

She was quite right; Harry found the Vanishing Spells horribly difficult. By the end of a double period, neither he nor Ron had managed to vanish the snails on which they were practising, though Ron said hopefully he thought his looked a bit paler. Hermione, on the other hand, successfully vanished her snail on the third attempt, earning her a ten-point bonus for Gryffindor from Professor McGonagall. She was the only person not given homework; everybody else was told to practise the spell overnight, ready for a fresh attempt on their snails the following afternoon.

Now panicking slightly about the amount of homework they had to do, Harry and Ron spent their lunch hour in the library looking up the uses of moonstones in potion-making. Still angry about Ron's slur on her woolly hats, Hermione did not join them. By the time they reached Care of Magical Creatures in the afternoon, Harry's head was aching again.

The day had become cool and breezy, and as they walked down the sloping lawn towards Hagrid's cabin on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, they felt the occasional drop of rain on their faces. Professor Grubbly-Plank stood waiting for the class some ten yards from Hagrid's front door, a long trestle table in front of her laden with twigs. As Harry and Ron reached her, a loud shout of laughter sounded behind them; turning, they saw Draco Malfoy striding towards them, surrounded by his usual gang of Slytherin cronies. He had clearly just said something highly amusing, because Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy Parkinson and the rest continued to snigger heartily as they gathered around the trestle table and, judging by the way they all kept looking over at Harry, he was able to guess the subject of the joke without too much difficulty.

'Everyone here?' barked Professor Grubbly-Plank, once all the Slytherins and Gryffindors had arrived. 'Let's crack on then. Who can tell me what these things are called?'

She indicated the heap of twigs in front of her. Hermione's hand shot into the air. Behind her back, Malfoy did a buck-toothed imitation of her jumping up and down in eagerness to answer a question. Pansy Parkinson gave a shriek of laughter that turned almost at once into a scream, as the twigs on the table leapt into the air and revealed themselves to be what looked like tiny pixie-ish creatures made of wood, each with knobbly brown arms and legs, two twiglike fingers at the end of each hand and a funny flat, barklike face in which a pair of beetle-brown eyes glittered.

'Oooooh!' said Parvati and Lavender, thoroughly irritating Harry. Anyone would have thought Hagrid had never shown them impressive creatures; admittedly, the Flobberworms had been a bit dull, but the salamanders and hippogriffs had been interesting enough, and the Blast-Ended Skrewts perhaps too much so.

'Kindly keep your voices down, girls!' said Professor Grubbly-Plank sharply, scattering a handful of what looked like brown rice among the stick-creatures, who immediately fell upon the food. 'So--anyone know the names of these creatures? Miss Granger?'

'Bowtruckles,' said Hermione. 'They're tree-guardians, usually live in wand-trees.'

'Five points for Gryffindor,' said Professor Grubbly-Plank. 'Yes, these are Bowtruckles, and as Miss Granger rightly says, they generally live in trees whose wood is of wand quality. Anybody know what they eat?'

'Woodlice,' said Hermione promptly, which explained why what Harry had taken to be grains of brown rice were moving. 'But fairy eggs if they can get them.'

'Good girl, take another five points. So, whenever you need leaves or wood from a tree in which a Bowtruckle lodges, it is wise to have a gift of woodlice ready to distract or placate it. They may not look dangerous, but if angered they will try to gouge at human eyes with their fingers, which, as you can see, are very sharp and not at all desirable near the eyeballs. So if you'd like to gather closer, take a few woodlice and a Bowtruckle--I have enough here for one between three--you can study them more closely. I want a sketch from each of you with all body-parts labelled by the end of the lesson.'

The class surged forwards around the trestle table. Harry deliberately circled around the back so that he ended up right next to Professor Grubbly-Plank.

'Where's Hagrid?' he asked her, while everyone else was choosing Bowtruckles.

'Never you mind,' said Professor Grubbly-Plank repressively, which had been her attitude last time Hagrid had failed to turn up for a class, too. Smirking all over his pointed face, Draco Malfoy leaned across Harry and seized the largest Bowtruckle.

'Maybe,' said Malfoy in an undertone, so that only Harry could hear him, 'the stupid great oaf's got himself badly injured.'

'Maybe you will if you don't shut up,' said Harry out of the side of his mouth.

'Maybe he's been messing with stuff that's too big for him, if you get my drift.'

Malfoy walked away, smirking over his shoulder at Harry, who felt suddenly sick. Did Malfoy know something? His father was a Death Eater after all; what if he had information about Hagrid's fate that had not yet reached the ears of the Order? He hurried back around the table to Ron and Hermione who were squatting on the grass some distance away and attempting to persuade a Bowtruckle to remain still long enough for them to draw it. Harry pulled out parchment and quill, crouched down beside the others and related in a whisper what Malfoy had just said.

'Dumbledore would know if something had happened to Hagrid,' said Hermione at once. 'It's just playing into Malfoy's hands to look worried; it tells him we don't know exactly what's going on. We've got to ignore him, Harry. Here, hold the Bowtruckle for a moment, just so I can draw its face ...'

'Yes,' came Malfoy's clear drawl from the group nearest them, 'Father was talking to the Minister just a couple of days ago, you know, and it sounds as though the Ministry's really determined to crack down on sub-standard teaching in this place. So even if that overgrown moron does show up again, he'll probably be sent packing straightaway.'

'OUCH!'

Harry had gripped the Bowtruckle so hard that it had almost snapped, and it had just taken a great retaliatory swipe at his hand with its sharp fingers, leaving two long deep cuts there. Harry dropped it. Crabbe and Goyle, who had already been guffawing at the idea of Hagrid being sacked, laughed still harder as the Bowtruckle set off at full tilt towards the Forest, a little moving stick-man soon swallowed up among the tree roots. When the bell echoed distantly over the grounds, Harry rolled up his blood-stained Bowtruckle picture and marched off to Herbology with his hand wrapped in Hermione's handkerchief, and Malfoy's derisive laughter still ringing in his ears.

'If he calls Hagrid a moron one more time ...' said Harry through gritted teeth.

'Harry, don't go picking a row with Malfoy, don't forget, he's a prefect now, he could make life difficult for you ...'

'Wow, I wonder what it'd be like to have a difficult life?' said Harry sarcastically. Ron laughed, but Hermione frowned. Together, they traipsed across the vegetable patch. The sky still appeared unable to make up its mind whether it wanted to rain or not.

'I just wish Hagrid would hurry up and get back, that's all,' said Harry in a low voice, as they reached the greenhouses. 'And don't say that Grubbly-Plank woman's a better teacher!' he added threateningly.

'I wasn't going to,' said Hermione calmly.

'Because she'll never be as good as Hagrid,' said Harry firmly, fully aware that he had just experienced an exemplary Care of Magical Creatures lesson and was thoroughly annoyed about it.

The door of the nearest greenhouse opened and some fourth-years spilled out of it, including Ginny.

'Hi,' she said brightly as she passed. A few seconds later, Luna Lovegood emerged, trailing behind the rest of the class, a smudge of earth on her nose, and her hair tied in a knot on the top of her head. When she saw Harry, her prominent eyes seemed to bulge excitedly and she made a beeline straight for him. Many of his classmates turned curiously to watch. Luna took a great breath and then said, without so much as a preliminary hello, 'I believe He Who Must Not Be Named is back and I believe you fought him and escaped from him.'

'Er--right,' said Harry awkwardly. Luna was wearing what looked like a pair of orange radishes for earrings, a fact that Parvati and Lavender seemed to have noticed, as they were both giggling and pointing at her earlobes.

'You can laugh,' Luna said, her voice rising, apparently under the impression that Parvati and Lavender were laughing at what she had said rather than what she was wearing, 'but people used to believe there were no such things as the Blibbering Humdinger or the Crumple-Horned Snorkack!'

'Well, they were right, weren't they?' said Hermione impatiently. There weren't any such things as the Blibbering Humdinger or the Crumple-Horned Snorkack.'

Luna gave her a withering look and flounced away, radishes swinging madly. Parvati and Lavender were not the only ones hooting with laughter now.

'D'you mind not offending the only people who believe me?' Harry asked Hermione as they made their way into class.

'Oh, for heaven's sake, Harry, you can do better than her,' said Hermione. 'Ginny's told me all about her; apparently, she'll only believe in things as long as there's no proof at all. Well, I wouldn't expect anything else from someone whose father runs The Quibbler.'

Harry thought of the sinister winged horses he had seen on the night he had arrived and how Luna had said she could see them too. His spirits sank slightly. Had she been lying? But before he could devote much more thought to the matter, Ernie Macmillan had stepped up to him.

'I want you to know, Potter,' he said in a loud, carrying voice, 'that it's not only weirdos who support you. I personally believe you one hundred per cent. My family have always stood firm behind Dumbledore, and so do I.'

'Er--thanks very much, Ernie,' said Harry, taken aback but pleased. Ernie might be pompous on occasions like this, but Harry was in a mood to deeply appreciate a vote of confidence from somebody who did not have radishes dangling from their ears. Ernie's words had certainly wiped the smile from Lavender Browns face and as he turned to talk to Ron and Hermione, Harry caught Seamus's expression, which looked both confused and defiant.

To nobody's surprise, Professor Sprout started their lesson by lecturing them about the importance of OWLs. Harry wished all the teachers would stop doing this; he was starting to get an anxious, twisted feeling in his stomach every time he remembered how much homework he had to do, a feeling that worsened dramatically when Professor Sprout gave them yet another essay at the end of class. Tired and smelling strongly of dragon dung, Professor Sprouts preferred type of fertiliser, the Gryffindors trooped back up to the castle an hour and a half later, none of them talking very much; it had been another long day.

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!'

'What now?' he muttered wearily, turning to face Angelina Johnson, who looked as though she was in a towering temper.

'I'll tell you what now,' she said, marching straight up to him and poking him hard in the chest with her finger. 'How come you've landed yourself in detention for five o'clock on Friday?'

'What?' said Harry. 'Why ... oh yeah, Keeper tryouts!'

'Now he remembers!' snarled Angelina. 'Didn't I tell you I wanted to do a tryout with the whole team, and find someone who fitted in with everyone?Didn't I tell you I'd booked the Quidditch pitch specially? And now you've decided you're not going to be there!'

'I didn't decide not to be there!' said Harry, stung by the injustice 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!'

She turned on her heel and stormed away.

'You know what.?' Harry said to Ron and Hermione as they entered the Great Hall. 'I think we'd better check with Puddlemere United whether Oliver Wood's been killed during a training session, because Angelina seems to be channelling his spirit.'

'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, practise Vanishing Spells for McGonagall, work out a counter-charm for Flitwick, finish the Bowtruckle drawing and start that stupid dream diary for Trelawney?'

Ron moaned and for some reason glanced up at the ceiling.

'And it looks like it's going to rain.'

'What's that got to do with our homework?' said Hermione, her eyebrows raised.

'Nothing,' said Ron at once, his ears reddening.

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 occupied 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 detention 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.'

Harry left her office without a word. The school was quite deserted; it was surely past midnight. He walked slowly up the corridor, then, when he had turned the corner and was sure she would not hear him, broke into a run.

He had not had time to practise Vanishing Spells, had not written a single dream in his dream diary and had not finished the drawing of the Bowtruckle, nor had he written his essays. He skipped breakfast next morning to scribble down a couple of made-up dreams for Divination, their first lesson, and was surprised to find a dishevelled Ron keeping him company.

'How come you didn't do it last night?' Harry asked, as Ron stared wildly around the common room for inspiration. Ron, who had been fast asleep when Harry got back to the dormitory, muttered something about 'doing other stuff, bent low over his parchment and scrawled a few words.

'That'll have to do,' he said, slamming the diary shut. 'I've said I dreamed I was buying a new pair of shoes, she can't make anything weird out of that, can she?'

They hurried off to North Tower together.

'How was detention with Umbridge, anyway? What did she make you do?'

Harry hesitated for a fraction of a second, then said, 'Lines.'

'That's not too bad, then, eh?' said Ron.

'Nope,' said Harry.

'Hey--I forgot-- did she let you off for Friday?'

'No,' said Harry.

Ron groaned sympathetically.

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 detention 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 satisfaction of hearing that he had complained about it.

'I can't believe how much homework we've got,' said Ron miserably.

'Well, why didn't you do any last night?' Hermione asked him. 'Where were you, anyway?'

'I was ... I fancied a walk,' said Ron shiftily.

Harry had the distinct impression that he was not alone in concealing things at the moment.

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'.

His homework situation, however, was now desperate, and when he returned to the Gryffindor common room he did not, though exhausted, go to bed, but opened his books and began Snape's moonstone essay. It was half past two by the time he had finished it. He knew he had done a poor job, but there was no help for it; unless he had something to give in he would be in detention with Snape next. He then dashed off answers to the questions Professor McGonagall had set them, cobbled together something on the proper handling of Bowtruckles for Professor Grubbly-Plank, and staggered up to bed, where he fell fully clothed on top of the covers and fell asleep immediately.

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-

'Ron?'

He had reached the top of the stairs, turned right and almost walked into Ron, who was lurking behind a statue of Lachlan the Lanky, clutching his broomstick. He gave a great leap of surprise when he saw Harry and attempted to hide his new Cleansweep Eleven behind his back.

'What are you doing?'

'Er--nothing. What are you doing?'

Harry frowned at him.

'Come on, you can tell me! What are you hiding here for?'

'I'm--I'm hiding from Fred and George, if you must know,' said Ron. 'They just went past with a bunch of first-years, I bet they're testing stuff on them again, I mean, they can't do it in the common room now, can they, not with Hermione there.'

He was talking in a very fast, feverish way.

'But what have you got your broom for, you haven't been flying, have you?' Harry asked.

'I--well--well, OK, I'll tell you, but don't laugh, all right?' Ron said defensively, turning redder with every second. 'I--I thought I'd try out for Gryffindor Keeper now I've got a decent broom. There. Go on. Laugh.'

'I'm not laughing,' said Harry. Ron blinked. 'It's a brilliant idea! It'd be really cool if you got on the team! I've never seen you play Keeper, are you good?'

'I'm not bad,' said Ron, who looked immensely relieved at Harry's reaction. 'Charlie, Fred and George always made me keep for them when they were training during the holidays.'

'So you've been practising tonight?'

'Every evening since Tuesday ... just on my own, though. I've been trying to bewitch Quaffles to fly at me, but it hasn't been easy and I don't know how much use it'll be.' Ron looked nervous and anxious. 'Fred and George are going to laugh themselves stupid when I turn up for the tryouts. They haven't stopped taking the mickey out of me since I got made a prefect.'

'I wish I was going to be there,' said Harry bitterly, as they set off together towards the common room.

'Yeah, so do-- Harry, what's that on the back of your hand?'

Harry, who had just scratched his nose with his free right hand, tried to hide it, but had as much success as Ron with his Cleansweep.

'It's just a cut --it's nothing--it's--'

But Ron had grabbed Harry's forearm and pulled the back of Harry's hand up level with his eyes. There was a pause, during which he stared at the words carved into the skin, then, looking sick, he released Harry.

'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 something!'

'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.

'Dumbledore, then, tell Dumbledore!'

'No,' said Harry flatly.

'Why not?'

'He's got enough on his mind,' said Harry, but that was not the true reason. He was not going to go to Dumbledore for help when Dumbledore had not spoken to him once since June.

'Well, I reckon you should--' Ron began, but he was interrupted by the Fat Lady, who had been watching them sleepily and now burst out, 'Are you going to give me the password or will I have to stay awake all night waiting for you to finish your conversation?'

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 distant 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 anything 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 pretext 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 distance.

I must not tell lies,Harry wrote. The cut in the back of his right hand opened and began to bleed afresh.

I must not tell lies.The cut dug deeper, stinging and smarting.

I must not tell lies.Blood trickled down his wrist.

He chanced another glance out of the window. Whoever was defending the goalposts now was doing a very poor job indeed. Katie Bell scored twice in the few seconds Harry dared to watch. Hoping very much that the Keeper wasn't Ron, he dropped his eyes back to the parchment shining with blood.

I must not tell lies.

I must not tell lies.

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.

I must not tell lies.

I must not tell lies.

The parchment was now dotted with drops of blood from the back of his hand, which was searing with pain. When he next looked up, night had fallen and the Quidditch pitch was no longer visible.

'Let's 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.'

He caught up his schoolbag and left the room as quickly as he could.

Stay calm, he told himself, as he sprinted up the stairs. Stay calm, it doesn't necessarily mean what you think it means ...

'Mimbulus mimbletonia!' he gasped at the Fat Lady, who swung forwards once more.

A roar of sound greeted him. Ron came running towards him, beaming all over his face and slopping Butterbeer down his front from the goblet he was clutching.

'Harry, I did it, I'm in, I'm Keeper!'

'What? Oh-- brilliant!' said Harry, trying to smile naturally, while his heart continued to race and his hand throbbed and bled.

'Have a Butterbeer.' Ron pressed a bottle on him. 'I can't believe it--where's Hermione gone?'

'She's there,' said Fred, who was also swigging Butterbeer, and pointed to an armchair by the fire. Hermione was dozing in it, her drink tipping precariously in her hand.

'Well, she said she was pleased when I told her,' said Ron, looking slightly put out.

'Let her sleep,' said George hastily. It was a few moments before Harry noticed that several of the first-years gathered around them bore unmistakeable signs of recent nosebleeds.

Come here, Ron, and see if Oliver's old robes fit you,' called Kade Bell, 'we can take off his name and put yours on instead ...'

As Ron moved away, Angelina came striding up to Harry.

'Sorry I was a bit short with you earlier, Potter,' she said abruptly. 'It's stressful this managing lark, you know, I'm starting to think I was a bit hard on Wood sometimes.' She was watching Ron over the rim of her goblet with a slight frown on her face.

'Look, I know he's your best mate, but he's not fabulous,' she said bluntly. 'I think with a bit of training he'll be all right, though. He comes from a family of good Quidditch players. I'm banking on him turning out to have a bit more talent than he showed today, to be honest. Vicky Frobisher and Geoffrey Hooper both flew better this evening, but Hooper's a real whiner, he's always moaning about something or other, and Vicky's involved in all sorts of societies. She admitted herself that if training clashed with her Charms Club she'd put Charms first. Anyway, we're having a practice session at two o'clock tomorrow, so just make sure you're there this time. And do me a favour and help Ron as much as you can, OK?'

He nodded, and Angelina strolled back to Alicia Spinnet. Harry moved over to sit next to Hermione, who awoke with a jerk as he put down his bag.

'Oh, Harry, it's you ... good about Ron, isn't it?' she said blearily. 'I'm just so--so--so tired,' she yawned. 'I was up until one o'clock making more hats. They're disappearing like mad!'

And sure enough, now that he looked, Harry saw that there were woolly hats concealed all around the room where unwary elves might accidentally pick them up.

'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.'

It was the second time in two days he had been advised to go to Dumbledore and his answer to Hermione was just the same as his answer to Ron.

'I'm not bothering him with this. Like you just said, it's not a big deal. It's been hurting on and off all summer--it was just a bit worse tonight, that's all--'

'Harry, I'm sure Dumbledore would want to be bothered by this--'

'Yeah,' said Harry, before he could stop himself, 'that's the only bit of me Dumbledore cares about, isn't it, my scar?'

'Don't say that, it's not true!'

'I think I'll write and tell Sirius about it, see what he thinks--'

'Harry, you can't put something like that in a letter!' said Hermione, looking alarmed. 'Don't you remember, Moody told us to be careful what we put in writing! We just can't guarantee owls aren't being intercepted any more!'

'All right, all right, I won't tell him, then!' said Harry irritably. He got to his feet. 'I'm going to bed. Tell Ron for me, will you?'

'Oh no,' said Hermione, looking relieved, 'if you're going that means I can go too, without being rude. I'm absolutely exhausted and I want to make some more hats tomorrow. Listen, you can help me if you like, it's quite fun, I'm getting better, I can do patterns and bobbles and all sorts of things now.'

Harry looked into her face, which was shining with glee, and tried to look as though he was vaguely tempted by this offer.

'Er ... no, I don't think I will, thanks,' he said. 'Er--not tomorrow. I've got loads of homework to do ...'

And he traipsed off to the boys' stairs, leaving her looking slightly disappointed.

Chapter 14 Percy and Padfoot

Harry was first to wake up in his dormitory next morning. He lay for a moment watching dust swirl in the ray of sunlight coming through the gap in his four-poster's hangings, and savoured the thought that it was Saturday. The first week of term seemed to have dragged on for ever, like one gigantic History of Magic lesson.

Judging by the sleepy silence and the freshly minted look of that beam of sunlight, it was just after daybreak. He pulled open the curtains around his bed, got up and started to dress. The only sound apart from the distant twittering of birds was the slow, deep breathing of his fellow Gryffindors. He opened his schoolbag carefully, pulled out parchment and quill and headed out of the dormitory for the common room.

Making straight for his favourite squashy old armchair beside the now extinct fire, Harry settled himself down comfortably and unrolled his parchment while looking around the room. The detritus of crumpled-up bits of parchment, old Gobstones, empty ingredient jars and sweet wrappers that usually covered the common room at the end of each day was gone, as were all Hermione's elf hats. Wondering vaguely how many elves had now been set free whether they wanted to be or not, Harry uncorked his ink bottle, dipped his quill into it, then held it suspended an inch above the smooth yellowish surface of his parchment, thinking hard ... but after a minute or so he found himself staring into the empty grate, at a complete loss for what to say.

He could now appreciate how hard it had been for Ron and Hermione to write him letters over the summer. How was he supposed to tell Sirius everything that had happened over the past week and pose all the questions he was burning to ask without giving potential letter-thieves a lot of information he did not want them to have?

He sat quite motionless for a while, gazing into the fireplace, then, finally coming to a decision, he dipped his quill into the ink bottle once more and set it resolutely on the parchment.

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

Harry reread the letter several times, trying to see it from the point of view of an outsider. He could not see how they would know what he was talking about--or who he was talking to--just from reading this letter. He did hope Sirius would pick up the hint about Hagrid and tell them when he might be back. Harry did not want to ask directly in case it drew too much attention to what Hagrid might be up to while he was not at Hogwarts.

Considering it was a very short letter, it had taken a long time to write; sunlight had crept halfway across the room while he had been working on it and he could now hear distant sounds of movement from the dormitories above. Sealing the parchment carefully, he climbed through the portrait hole and headed off for the Owlery.

'I would not go that way if I were you,' said Nearly Headless Nick, drifting disconcertingly through a wall just ahead of Harry as he walked down the passage. 'Peeves is planning an amusing joke on the next person to pass the bust of Paracelsus halfway down the corridor.'

'Does it involve Paracelsus falling on top of the person's head?' asked Harry.

'Funnily enough, it does,' said Nearly Headless Nick in a bored voice. 'Subtlety has never been Peeves's strong point. I'm off to try and find the Bloody Baron ... he might be able to put a stop to it ... see you, Harry ...'

'Yeah, bye,' said Harry and instead of turning right, he turned left, taking a longer but safer route up to the Owlery. His spirits rose as he walked past window after window showing brilliantly blue sky; he had training later, he would be back on the Quidditch pitch at last.

Something brushed his ankles. He looked down and saw the caretaker's skeletal grey cat, Mrs Norris, slinking past him. She turned lamplike yellow eyes on him for a moment before disappearing behind a statue of Wilfred the Wistful.

'I'm not doing anything wrong,' Harry called after her. She had the unmistakeable air of a cat that was off to report to her boss, yet Harry could not see why; he was perfectly entitled to walk up to the Owlery on a Saturday morning.

The sun was high in the sky now and when Harry entered the Owlery the glassless windows dazzled his eyes; thick silvery beams of sunlight crisscrossed the circular room in which hundreds of owls nestled on rafters, a little restless in the early-morning light, some clearly just returned from hunting. The straw-covered floor crunched a little as he stepped across tiny animal bones, craning his neck for a sight of Hedwig.

'There you are,' he said, spotting her somewhere near the very top of the vaulted ceiling. 'Get down here, I've got a letter for you.'

With a low hoot she stretched her great white wings and soared down on to his shoulder.

'Right, I know this says Snuffles on the outside,' he told her, giving her the letter to clasp in her beak and, without knowing exactly why, whispering, 'but it's for Sirius, OK?'

She blinked her amber eyes once and he took that to mean that she understood.

'Safe flight, then,' said Harry and he carried her to one of the windows; with a moments pressure on his arm, Hedwig took off into the blindingly bright sky. He watched her until she became a tiny black speck and vanished, then switched his gaze to Hagrid's hut, clearly visible from this window, and just as clearly uninhabited, the chimney smokeless, the curtains drawn.

The treetops of the Forbidden Forest swayed in a light breeze. Harry watched them, savouring the fresh air on his face, thinking about Quidditch later ... then he saw it. A great, reptilian winged hcrse, just like the ones pulling the Hogwarts carriages, with leahery black wings spread wide like a pterodactyl's, rose up out of the trees like a grotesque, giant bird. It soared in a great circle, then plunged back into the trees. The whole thing had happened so quickly, Harry could hardly believe what he had seen, except that his heart was hammering madly.

The Owlery door opened behind him. He leapt in shock and, turning quickly, saw Cho Chang holding a letter and a parcel in his hands.

'Hi,' said Harry automatically.

'Oh ... hi,' she said breathlessly. 'I didn't think anyone would be up here this early ... I only remembered five minutes ago, it's my mum's birthday'

She held up the parcel.

'Right,' said Harry. His brain seemed to have jammed. He wanted to say something funny and interesting, but the memory of that terrible winged horse was fresh in his mind.

'Nice day,' he said, gesturing to the windows. His insides seemed to shrivel with embarrassment. The weather. He was talking about the weather ...

'Yeah,' said Cho, looking around for a suitable owl. 'Good Quidditch conditions. I haven't been out all week, have you?'

'No,' said Harry.

Cho had selected one of the school barn owls. She coaxed it down on to her arm where it held out an obliging leg so that she could attach the parcel.

'Hey has Gryffindor got a new Keeper yet?' she asked.

'Yeah,' said Harry. 'It's my friend Ron Weasley, d'you know him?'

'The Tornados-hater?' said Cho rather coolly. 'Is he any good?'

'Yeah,' said Harry, 'I think so. I didn't see his tryout, though, I was in detention.'

Cho looked up, the parcel only half-attached to the owl's 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.'

Harry's insides re-inflated so rapidly he felt as though he might actually float a few inches off the dropping-strewn floor. Who cared about a stupid flying horse; Cho thought he had been really brave. For a moment, he considered accidentally-on-purpose showing her his cut hand as he helped her tie her parcel on to her owl ... but the very instant this thrilling thought occurred, the Owlery door opened again.

Filch the caretaker came wheezing into the room. There were purple patches on his sunken, veined cheeks, his jowls were aquiver and his thin grey hair dishevelled; he had obviously run here. Mrs. Norris came trotting at his heels, gazing up at the owls overhead and mewing hungrily. There was a restless shifting of wings from above and a large brown owl snapped his beak in a menacing fashion.

'Aha!' said Filch, taking a flat-footed step towards Harry, his pouchy cheeks trembling with anger. 'I've had a tip-off that you are intending to place a massive order for Dungbombs!'

Harry folded his arms and stared at the caretaker.

'Who told you I was ordering Dungbombs?'

Cho was looking from Harry to Filch, also frowning; the barn owl on her arm, tired of standing on one leg, gave an admonitory hoot but she ignored it.

'I have my sources.' said Filch in a self-satisfied hiss. 'Now hand over whatever it is you're sending.'

Feeling immensely thankful that he had not dawdled in posting off the letter, Harry said, 'I can't, it's gone.'

'Gone?' said Filch, his face contorting with rage.

'Gone,' said Harry calmly.

Filch opened his mouth furiously, mouthed for a few seconds, then raked Harry's robes with his eyes.

'How do I know you haven't got it in your pocket?'

'Because--'

'I saw him send it,' said Cho angrily.

Filch rounded on her.

'You saw him--?'

'That's right, I saw him,' she said fiercely.

There was a moment's pause in which Filch glared at Cho and Cho glared right back, then the caretaker turned on his heel and shuffled back towards the door. He stopped with his hand on the handle and looked back at Harry.

'If I get so much as a whiff of a Dungbomb ...'

He stumped off down the stairs. Mrs. Norris cast a last longing look at the owls and followed him.

Harry and Cho looked at each other.

'Thanks,' Harry said.

'No problem,' said Cho, finally fixing the parcel to the barn owl's other leg, her face slightly pink. 'You weren't ordering Dungbombs, were you?'

'No,' said Harry.

'I wonder why he thought you were, then?' she said as she carried the owl to the window.

Harry shrugged. He was quite as mystified by that as she was, though oddly it was not bothering him very much at the moment.

They left the Owlery together. At the entrance of a corridor that led towards the west wing of the castle, Cho said, 'I'm going this way.Well, I'll ... I'll see you around, Harry.'

'Yeah ... see you.'

She smiled at him and departed. Harry walked on, feeling quietly elated. He had managed to have an entire conversation with her and not embarrassed himself once ... you were really brave standing up to her like that ...Cho had called him brave ... she did not hate him for being alive ...

Of course, she had preferred Cedric, he knew that ... though if he'd only asked her to the Ball before Cedric had, things might have turned out differently ... she had seemed sincerely sorry that she'd had to refuse when Harry asked her ...

'Morning,' Harry said brightly to Ron and Hermione as he joined them at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall.

'What are you looking so pleased about?' said Ron, eyeing Harry in surprise.

'Erm ... Quidditch later,' said Harry happily, pulling a large platter of bacon and eggs towards him.

'Oh ... yeah ...' said Ron. He put down the piece of toast he was eating and took a large swig of pumpkin juice. Then he said, 'Listen ... you don't fancy going out a bit earlier with me, do you? Just to--er--give me some practice before training? So I can, you know, get my eye in a bit.'

'Yeah, OK,' said Harry.

'Look, I don't think you should,' said Hermione seriously. 'You're both really behind on homework as it--'

But she broke off; the morning post was arriving and, as usual, the Daily Prophet was soaring towards her in the beak of a screech owl, which landed perilously close to the sugar bowl and held out a leg. Hermione pushed a Knut into its leather pouch, took the newspaper, and scanned the front page critically as the owl took off.

'Anything interesting?' said Ron. Harry grinned, knowing Ron was keen to keep her off the subject of homework.

'No,' she sighed, 'just some guff about the bass player in the Weird Sisters getting married.'

Hermione opened the paper and disappeared behind it. Harry devoted himself to another helping of eggs and bacon. Ron was staring up at the high windows, looking slightly preoccupied.

'Wait a moment,' said Hermione suddenly. 'Oh no ... Sirius!'

'What's happened?' said Harry, snatching at the paper so violently it ripped down the middle, with him and Hermione each holding one half.

' "The Ministry of Magic has received a tip-off from a reliable source that Sirius Black, notorious mass murderer ... blah blah blah ...is currently hiding in London!"'Hermione read from her half in an anguished whisper.

'Lucius Malfoy, I'll bet anything,' said Harry in a low, furious voice. 'He did recognise Sirius on the platform ...'

'What?' said Ron, looking alarmed. 'You didn't say--'

'Shh!' said the other two.

'... "Ministry warns wizarding community that Black is very dangerous ... killed thirteen people ... broke out of Azkaban ..." the usual rubbish,' Hermione concluded, laying down her half of the paper and looking fearfully at Harry and Ron. 'Well, he just won't be able to leave the house again, that's all,' she whispered. 'Dumbledore did warn him not to.'

Harry looked down glumly at the bit of the Prophet he had torn off. Most of the page was devoted to an advertisement for Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, which was apparently having a sale.

'Hey!' he said, flattening it down so Hermione and Ron could see it. 'Look at this!'

'I've got all the robes I want,' said Ron.

'No,' said Harry. 'Look ... this little piece here ...'

Ron and Hermione bent closer to read it; the item was barely an inch long and placed right at the bottom of a column. It was headlined:

TRESPASS AT MINISTRY



Sturgis Podmore, 38, of number two, Laburnum Gardens, Clapham, has appeared in front of the Wizcngamot charged with trespass and attempted robbery at the Ministry of Magic on 31st August. Podmore was arrested by Ministry of Magic watchwizard Eric Munch, who found him attempting to force his way through a top-security door at one o'clock in the morning. Podmore, who refused to speak, in his own defence, was convicted on both charges and sentenced to six months in Azkaban.



'Sturgis Podmore?' said Ron slowly. 'He's that bloke who looks like his head's been thatched, isn't he? He's one of the Ord--

'Ron, shh!' said Hermione, casting a terrified look around them.

'Six months in Azkaban!' whispered Harry, shocked. 'Just for trying to get through a door!'

'Don't be silly, it wasn't just for trying to get through a door. What on earth was he doing at the Ministry of Magic at one o'clock in the morning?' breathed Hermione.

D'you reckon he was doing something for the Order?' Ron muttered.

'Wait a moment ...' said Harry slowly. 'Sturgis was supposed to come and see us off, remember?'

The other two looked at him.

'Yeah, he was supposed to be part of our guard going to King's Cross, remember? And Moody was all annoyed because he didn't turn up; so he couldn't have been on a job for them, could he?'

'Well, maybe they didn't expect him to get caught,' said Hermione.

'It could be a frame-up!' Ron exclaimed excitedly. 'No--listen!' he went on, dropping his voice dramatically at the threatening look on Hermione's face. 'The Ministry suspects he's one of Dumbledore's lot so--I dunno--they lured him to the Ministry, and he wasn't trying to get through a door at all! Maybe they've just made something up to get him!'

There was a pause while Harry and Hermione considered this. Harry thought it seemed far-fetched. Hermione, on the other hand, looked rather impressed.

'Do you know, I wouldn't be at all surprised if that were true.'

She folded up her half of the newspaper thoughtfully. As Harry laid down his knife and fork, she seemed to come out of a reverie.

'Right, well, I think we should tackle that essay for Sprout on self-fertilising shrubs first and if we're lucky we'll be able to start McGonagall's Inanimatus Conjurus Spell before lunch ...'

Harry felt a small twinge of guilt at the thought of the pile of homework awaiting him upstairs, but the sky was a clear, exhilarating blue, and he had not been on his Firebolt for a week ...

'I mean, we can do it tonight,' said Ron, as he and Harry walked down the sloping lawns towards the Quidditch pitch, their broomsticks over their shoulders, and with Hermione's dire warnings that they would fail all their OWLs still ringing in their ears. 'And we've got tomorrow. She gets too worked up about work, that's her trouble ...' There was a pause and he added, in a slightly more anxious tone, 'D'you think she meant it when she said we weren't copying from her?'

'Yeah, I do,' said Harry. 'Still, this is important, too, we've got to practise if we want to stay on the Quidditch team ...'

'Yeah, that's right,' said Ron, in a heartened tone. 'And we have got plenty of time to do it all ...'

As they approached the Quidditch pitch, Harry glanced over to his right to where the trees of the Forbidden Forest were swaying darkly. Nothing flew out of them; the sky was empty but for a few distant owls fluttering around the Owlery tower. He had enough to worry about; the flying horse wasn't doing him any harm; he pushed it out of his mind.

They collected balls from the cupboard in the changing room and set to work, Ron guarding the three tall goalposts, Harry playing Chaser and trying to get the Quaffle past Ron. Harry thought Ron was pretty good; he blocked three-quarters of the goals Harry attempted to put past him and played better the longer they practised. After a couple of hours they returned to the castle for lunch--during which Hermione made it quite clear she thought they were irresponsible--then returned to the Quidditch pitch for the real training session. All their teammates but Angelina were already in the changing room when they entered.

'All right, Ron?' said George, winking at him.

'Yeah,' said Ron, who had become quieter and quieter all the way down to the pitch.

'Ready to show us all up, Ickle Prefect?' said Fred, emerging tousle-haired from the neck of his Quidditch robes, a slightly malicious grin on his face.

'Shut up,' said Ron, stony-faced, pulling on his own team robes for the first time. They fitted him well considering they had been Oliver Wood's, who was rather broader in the shoulder.

'OK, everyone,' said Angelina, entering from the Captain's office, already changed. 'Let's get to it; Alicia and Fred, if you can just bring out the ball crate for us. Oh, and there are a couple of people out there watching but I want you to just ignore them, all right?'

Something in her would-be casual voice made Harry think he might know who the uninvited spectators were, and sure enough, when they left the changing room for the bright sunlight of the pitch it was to a storm of catcalls and jeers from the Slytherin Quidditch team and assorted hangers-on, who were grouped halfway up the empty stands and whose voices echoed loudly around the stadium.

'What's that Weasley's riding?' Malfoy called in his sneering drawl. 'Why would anyone put a flying charm on a mouldy old log like that?'

Crabbe, Goyle and Pansy Parkinson guffawed and shrieked with laughter. Ron mounted his broom and kicked off from the ground and Harry followed him, watching his ears turn red from behind.

'Ignore them,' he said, accelerating to catch up with Ron, 'we'll see who's laughing after we play them ...'

'Exactly the attitude I want, Harry,' said Angelina approvingly soaring around them with the Quaffle under her arm and slowing to hover on the spot in front of her airborne team. 'OK, everyone, we're going to start with some passes just to warm up, the whole team please--'

'Hey, Johnson, what's with that hairstyle, anyway?' shrieked Pansy Parkinson from below. 'Why would anyone want to look like they've got worms coming out of their head?'

Angelina swept her long braided hair out of her face and continued calmly, 'Spread out, then, and let's see what we can do ...'

Harry reversed away from the others to the far side of the pitch. Ron fell back towards the opposite goal. Angelina raised the Quaffle with one hand and threw it hard to Fred, who passed to George, who passed to Harry, who passed to Ron, who dropped it.

The Slytherins, led by Malfoy, roared and screamed with laughter. Ron, who had pelted towards the ground to catch the Quaffle before it landed, pulled out of the dive untidily, so that he slipped sideways on his broom, and returned to playing height, blushing. Harry saw Fred and George exchange looks, but uncharacteristically neither of them said anything, for which he was grateful.

'Pass it on, Ron,' called Angelina, as though nothing had happened.

Ron threw the Quaffle to Alicia, who passed back to Harry, who passed to George ...

'Hey, Potter, how's your scar feeling?' called Malfoy. 'Sure you don't need a lie down? It must be, what, a whole week since you were in the hospital wing, that's a record for you, isn't it?'

George passed to Angelina; she reverse-passed to Harry, who had not been expecting it, but caught it in the very tips of his fingers and passed it quickly to Ron, who lunged for it and missed by inches.

'Come on now, Ron,' said Angelina crossly, as he dived for the ground again, chasing the Quaffle. 'Pay attention.'

It would have been hard to say whether Ron's face or the Quaffle was a deeper scarlet when he again returned to playing height. Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherin team were howling with laughter.

On his third attempt, Ron caught the Quaffle; perhaps out of relief he passed it on so enthusiastically that it soared straight though Katie's outstretched hands and hit her hard in the face.

'Sorry!' Ron groaned, zooming forwards to see whether he had done any damage.

'Get back in position, she's fine!' barked Angelina. 'But as you're passing to a teammate, do try not to knock her off her broom, won't you? We've got Bludgers for that!'

Katie's nose was bleeding. Down below, the Slytherins were stamping their feet and jeering. Fred and George converged on Katie.

'Here, take this,' Fred told her, handing her something small anc purple from out of his pocket, 'it'll clear it up in no time.'

'All right,' called Angelina, 'Fred, George, go and get your bats and a Bludger. Ron, get up to the goalposts. Harry, release the Snitch when I say so. We're going to aim for Ron's goal, obviously.'

Harry zoomed off after the twins to fetch the Snitch.

'Ron's making a right pig's ear of things, isn't he?' muttered George, as the three of them landed at the crate containing the balls and opened it to extract one of the Bludgers and the Snitch.

'He's just nervous,' said Harry, 'he was fine when I was practising with him this morning.'

'Yeah, well, I hope he hasn't peaked too soon,' said Fred gloomily.

They returned to the air. When Angelina blew her whistle, Harry released the Snitch and Fred and George let fly the Bludger. From that moment on, Harry was barely aware of what the others were doing. It was his job to recapture the tiny fluttering golden ball that was worth a hundred and fifty points to the Seeker's team and doing so required enormous speed and skill. He accelerated, rolling and swerving in and out of the Chasers, the warm autumn air whipping his face, and the distant yells of the Slytherins so much meaningless roaring in his ears ... but too soon, the whistle brought him to a halt again.

'Stop--stop-- STOP!' screamed Angelina. 'Ron--you're not covering your middle post!'

Harry looked round at Ron, who was hovering in front of the left-hand hoop, leaving the other two completely unprotected.

'Oh ... sorry ...'

'You keep shifting around while you're watching the Chasers!' said Angelina. 'Either stay in centre position until you have to move to defend a hoop, or else circle the hoops, but don't drift vaguely off to one side, that's how you let in the last three goals!'

'Sorry ...' Ron repeated, his red face shining like a beacon against the bright blue sky.

'And Katie, can't you do something about that nosebleed?'

'It's just getting worse!' said Katie thickly, attempting to stem the flow with her sleeve.

Harry glanced round at Fred, who was looking anxious and checking his pockets. He saw Fred pull out something purple, examine it for a second and then look round at Katie, evidently horror-struck.

'Well, let's try again,' said Angelina. She was ignoring the Slytherins, who had now set up a chant of 'Gryffindor are losers, Gryffindor are losers,' but there was a certain rigidity about her seat on the broom nevertheless.

This time they had been flying for barely three minutes when Angelinas whistle sounded. Harry, who had just sighted the Snitch circling the opposite goalpost, pulled up feeling distinctly aggrieved.

'What now?' he said impatiently to Alicia, who was nearest.

'Katie,' she said shortly.

Harry turned and saw Angelina, Fred and George all flying as fast as they could towards Katie. Harry and Alicia sped towards her, too. It was plain that Angelina had stopped training just in time; Katie was now chalk white and covered in blood.

'She needs the hospital wing,' said Angelina.

'We'll take her,' said Fred. 'She--er--might have swallowed a Blood Blisterpod by mistake--'

'Well, there's no point continuing with no Beaters and a Chaser gone,' said Angelina glumly as Fred and George zoomed off towards the castle supporting Katie between them. 'Come on, let's go and get changed.'

The Slytherins continued to chant as they trailed back into the changing rooms.

'How was practice?' asked Hermione rather coolly half an hour later, as Harry and Ron climbed through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room.

'It was--' Harry began.

'Completely lousy,' said Ron in a hollow voice, sinking into a chair beside Hermione. She looked up at Ron and her frost mess seemed to melt.

'Well, it was only your first one,' she said consolingly, 'it's bound to take time to--'

'Who said it was me who made it lousy?' snapped Ron.

'No one,' said Hermione, looking taken aback, 'I thought--'

'You thought I was bound to be rubbish?'

'No, of course I didn't! Look, you said it was lousy so I just--'

'I'm going to get started on some homework,' said Ron angrily and stomped off to the staircase to the boys' dormitories and vanished from sight. Hermione turned to Harry.

'Was he lousy?'

'No,' said Harry loyally.

Hermione raised her eyebrows.

'Well, I suppose he could've played better,' Harry muttered, 'but it was only the first training session, like you said ...'

Neither Harry nor Ron seemed to make much headway with their homework that night. Harry knew Ron was too preoccupied with how badly he had performed at Quidditch practice and he himself was having difficulty in getting the 'Gryffindor are losers' chant out of his head.

They spent the whole of Sunday in the common room, buried in ! heir books while the room around them filled up, then emptied. It was another clear, fine day and most of their fellow Gryffindors spent the day out in the grounds, enjoying what might well be some of the last sunshine that year. By the evening, Harry felt as though somebody had been beating his brain against the inside of his skull.

'You know, we probably should try and get more homework done during the week,' Harry muttered to Ron, as they finally laid aside Professor McGonagall's long essay on the Inanimatus Conjurus Spell and turned miserably to Professor Sinistra's equally long and difficult essay about Jupiter's many moons.

'Yeah,' said Ron, rubbing slightly bloodshot eyes and throwing his fifth spoiled bit of parchment into the fire beside them. 'Listen ... shall we just ask Hermione if we can have a look at what she's done?'

Harry glanced over at her; she was sitting with Crookshanks on her lap and chatting merrily to Ginny as a pair of knitting needles flashed in midair in front of her, now knitting a pair of shapeless elf socks.

'No,' he said heavily, 'you know she won't let us.'

And so they worked on while the sky outside the windows became steadily darker. Slowly, the crowd in the common room began to thin again. At half past eleven, Hermione wandered over to them, yawning.

'Nearly done?'

'No,' said Ron shortly.

'Jupiter's biggest moon is Ganymede, not Callisto,' she said, pointing over Ron's shoulder at a line in his Astronomy essay, 'and it's Io that's got the volcanoes.'

'Thanks,' snarled Ron, scratching out the offending sentences.

'Sorry, I only-- '

'Yeah, well, if you've just come over here to criticise--'

'Ron--'

'I haven't got time to listen to a sermon, all right, Hermione, I'm up to my neck in it here-- '

'No--look!'

Hermione was pointing to the nearest window. Harry and Ron both looked over. A handsome screech owl was standing on the windowsill, gazing into the room at Ron.

'Isn't that Hermes?' said Hermione, sounding amazed.

'Blimey, it is!' said Ron quietly, throwing down his quill and getting to his feet. 'What's Percy writing to me for?'

He crossed to the window and opened it; Hermes flew inside, landed on Ron's essay and held out a leg to which a letter was attached. Ron took the letter off it and the owl departed at once, leaving inky footprints across Ron's drawing of the moon Io.

'That's definitely Percy's handwriting,' said Ron, sinking back into his chair and staring at the words on the outside of the scroll: Ronald Weasley, Gryffindor House, Hogwarts. He looked up at the other two. 'What d'you reckon?'

'Open it!' said Hermione eagerly, and Harry nodded.

Ron unrolled the scroll and began to read. The further clown the parchment his eyes travelled, the more pronounced became his scowl. When he had finished reading, he looked disgusted. He thrust the letter at Harry and Hermione, who leaned towards each other to read it together:

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.

I was most pleasantly surprised when f heard this news and must firstly offer my congratulations. I must admit that I have always been afraid that you would take what we might call the 'Fred and George' route, rather than following in my footsteps, so you can imagine my feelings on hearing you have stopped flouting authority and have decided to shoulder some real responsibility.

But I want to give you more than congratulations, Ron, I want to give you some advice, which is why I am sending this at night rather than by the usual morning post. Hopefully, you will be able to read this away from prying eyes and avoid awkward questions.

From something the Minister let slip when telling me you are now a prefect, I gather that you are still seeing a lot of Harry Potter. I must tell you, Ron, that nothing could put you in danger of losing your badge more than continued fraternisation with that boy. Yes, I am sure you are surprised to hear this-- no doubt you will say that Potter has always been Dumbledore's favourite--but I feel bound to tell you that Dumbledore may not be in charge at Hogwarts much longer and the people who count have a very different--and probably more accurate--view of Potter's behaviour. I shall say no more here, but if you look at the Daily Prophet tomorrow you will get a good idea of the way the wind is blowing--and see if you can spot yours truly!

Seriously, Ron, you do not want to be tarred with the same brush as Potter, it could be very damaging to your future prospects, and I am talking here about life after school, too. As you must be aware, given that our father escorted him to court, Potter had a disciplinary hearing this summer in front of the whole Wizengamot and he did not come out of it looking too good. He got off on a mere technicality, if you ask me, and many of the people I've spoken to remain convinced of his guilt.

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 necessary 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 Boyship in a couple of years!

I am sorry that I was unable to see more of you over the summer. It pains me to criticise our parents, but I am afraid I can no longer live under their roof while they remain mixed up with the dangerous crowd around Dumbledore. (If you are writing to Mother at any point, you might tell her that a certain Sturgis Podmore, who is a great friend of Dumbledore's, has recently been sent to Azkaban for trespass at the Ministry. Perhaps that will open their eyes to the kind of petty criminals with whom they are currently rubbing shoulders.) I count myself very lucky to have escaped the stigma of association with such people--the Minister really could not be more gracious to me--and I do hope, Ron, that you will not allow family ties to blind you to the misguided nature of our parents' beliefs and actions, either. I sincerely hope that, in time, they will realise how mistaken they were and I shall, of course, be ready to accept a full apology when that day comes.

Please think over what I have said most carefully, particularly the bit about Harry Potter, and congratulations again on becoming prefect.

Your brother,

Percy

Harry looked up at Ron.

'Well,' he said, trying to sound as though he found the whole thing a joke, 'if you want to--er --what is it?'--he checked Percy's letter--'Oh yeah--"sever ties" with me, I swear I won't get violent.'

'Give it back,' said Ron, holding out his hand. 'He is--' Ron said jerkily, tearing Percy's letter in half 'the world's--' he tore it into quarters 'biggest--' he tore it into eighths 'git.' He threw the pieces into the fire.

'Come on, we've got to get this finished sometime before dawn,' he said briskly to Harry, pulling Professor Sinistra's essay back towards him.

Hermione was looking at Ron with an odd expression on her face.

'Oh, give them here,' she said abruptly.

'What?' said Ron.

'Give them to me, I'll look through them and correct them,' she said.

'Are you serious? Ah, Hermione, you're a life-saver,' said Ron, 'what can I--?'

'What you can say is, "We promise we'll never leave our homework this late again," ' she said, holding out both hands for their essays, but she looked slightly amused all the same.

'Thanks a million, Hermione,' said Harry weakly, passing over his essay and sinking back into his armchair, rubbing his eyes.

It was now past midnight and the common room was deserted but for the three of them and Crookshanks. The only sound was that of Hermione's quill scratching out sentences here and there on their essays and the ruffle of pages as she checked various facts in the reference books strewn across the table. Harry was exhausted. He also felt an odd, sick, empty feeling in his stomach that had nothing to do with tiredness and everything to do with the letter now curling blackly in the heart of the fire.

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.

And with a surge of sympathy for his godfather, Harry thought Sirius was probably the only person he knew who could really understand how he felt at the moment, because Sirius was in the same situation. Nearly everyone in the wizarding world thought Sirius a dangerous murderer and a great Voldemort supporter and he had had to live with that knowledge for fourteen years ...

Harry blinked. He had just seen something in the fire that could not have been there. It had flashed into sight and vanished immediately. No ... it could not have been ... he had imagined it because he had been thinking about Sirius ...

'OK, write that down,' Hermione said to Ron, pushing his essay and a sheet covered in her own writing back to Ron, 'then add this conclusion I've written for you.'

'Hermione, you are honestly the most wonderful person I've ever met,' said Ron weakly, 'and if I'm ever rude to you again--'

'--I'll know you're back to normal,' said Hermione. 'Harry, yours is OK except for this bit at the end, I think you must have misheard Professor Sinistra, Europa's covered in ice, not mice--Harry?'

Harry had slid off his chair on to his knees and was now crouching on the singed and threadbare hearthrug, gazing into the flames.

'Er--Harry?' said Ron uncertainly. 'Why are you down there?'

'Because I've just seen Sirius's head in the fire,' said Harry.

He spoke quite calmly; after all, he had seen Sirius's head in this very fire the previous year and talked to it, too; nevertheless, he could not be sure that he had really seen it this time ... it had vanished so quickly ...

'Sirius's head?' Hermione repeated. 'You mean like when he wanted to talk to you during the Triwizard Tournament? But he wouldn't do that now, it would be too--Sirius!'

She gasped, gazing at the fire; Ron dropped his quill. There in the middle of the dancing flames sat Sirius's head, long dark hair failing around his grinning face.

'I was starting to think you'd go to bed before everyone else had disappeared,' he said. 'I've been checking every hour.'

'You've been popping into the fire every hour?' Harry said, half-laughing.

'Just for a few seconds to check if the coast was clear.'

'But what if you'd been seen?' said Hermione anxiously.

'Well, I think a girl--first-year, by the look of her--might've get a glimpse of me earlier, but don't worry,' Sirius said hastily, as Hermione clapped a hand to her mouth, 'I was gone the moment she looked back at me and I'll bet she just thought I was an oddly-shaped log or something.'

'But, Sirius, this is taking an awful risk--' Hermione began.

'You sound like Molly,' said Sirius. 'This was the only way I could come up with of answering Harry's letter without resorting to a code--and codes are breakable.'

At the mention of Harry's letter, Hermione and Ron both turned to stare at him.

'You didn't say you'd written to Sirius! said Hermione accusingly.

'I forgot,' said Harry, which was perfectly true; his meeting with Cho in the Owlery had driven everything before it out of his mind. 'Don't look at me like that, Hermione, there was no way anyone would have got secret information out of it, was there, Sirius?'

'No, it was very good,' said Sirius, smiling. 'Anyway, we'd better be quick, just in case we're disturbed--your scar.'

'What about--?' Ron began, but Hermione interrupted him.

'We'll tell you afterwards. Go on, Sirius.'

'Well, I know it can't be fun when it hurts, but we don't think its anything to really worry about. It kept aching all last year, didn't it?'

'Yeah, and Dumbledore said it happened whenever Voldemort was feeling a powerful emotion,' said Harry, ignoring, as usual, Ron and Hermione's winces. 'So maybe he was just, I dunno, really angry or something the night I had that detention.'

'Well, now he's back it's bound to hurt more often,' said Sirius.

'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 legislation two years ago that 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 indignation. '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.'

Ron laughed but Hermione looked upset.

'Sirius!' she said reproachfully. 'Honestly, if you made a bit of an effort with Kreacher, I'm sure he'd respond. After all, you are the only member of his family he's got left, and Professor Dumbledore said--'

'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!'

'All we do is read the stupid textbook,' said Ron.

'Ah, well, that figures,' said Sirius. 'Our information from inside the Ministry is that Fudge doesn't want you trained in combat.'

'Trained in combat!' repeated Harry incredulously. 'What does he think we're doing here, forming some sort of wizard army?'

'That's exactly what he thinks you're doing,' said Sirius, 'or, rather, that's exactly what he's afraid Dumbledore's doing--forming his own private army, with which he will be able to take on the Ministry of Magic.'

There was a pause at this, then Ron said, That's the most stupid thing I've ever heard, including all the stuff that Luna Lovegood comes out with.'

'So we're being prevented from learning Defence Against the Dark Arts because Fudge is scared we'll use spells against the Ministry?' said Hermione, looking furious.

'Yep,' said Sirius. 'Fudge thinks Dumbledore will stop at nothing to seize power. He's getting more paranoid about Dumbledore by the day. It's a matter of time before he has Dumbledore arrested on some trumped-up charge.'

This reminded Harry of Percy's letter.

'D'you know if there's going to be anything about Dumbledore in the Daily Prophet tomorrow? Ron's brother Percy reckons there will be--'

'I don't know,' said Sirius, 'I haven't seen anyone from the Order all weekend, they're all busy. It's just been Kreacher and me here.'

There was a definite note of bitterness in Sirius's voice.

'So you haven't had any news about Hagrid, either?'

'Ah ...' said Sirius, 'well, he was supposed to be back by now, no one's sure what's happened to him.' Then, seeing their stricken faces, he added quickly, 'But Dumbledore's not worried, so don't you three get yourselves in a state; I'm sure Hagrid's fine.'

'But if he was supposed to be back by now ...' said Hermione in a small, anxious voice.

'Madame Maxime was with him, we've been in touch with her and she says they got separated on the journey home--but there's nothing to suggest he's hurt or--well, nothing to suggest he's not perfectly OK.'

Unconvinced, Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged worried looks.

'Listen, don't go asking too many questions about Hagrid,' said Sirius hastily, 'it'll just draw even more attention to the fact that he's not back and I know Dumbledore doesn't want that. Hagrid's tough, he'll be OK.' And when they did not appear cheered by this, Sirius added, 'When's your next Hogsmeade weekend, anyway? I was thinking, we got away with the dog disguise at the station, didn't we? I thought I could--'

'NO!' said Harry and Hermione together, very loudly.

'Sirius, didn't you see the Daily Prophet?' said Hermione anxiously.

'Oh, that,' said Sirius, grinning, 'they're always guessing where I am, they haven't really got a clue--'

'Yeah, but we think this time they have,' said Harry. 'Something Malfoy said on the train made us think he knew it was you, and his father was on the platform, Sirius-- you know, Lucius Malfoy--so don't come up here, whatever you do. If Malfoy recognises you again--'

'All right, all right, I've got the point,' said Sirius. He looked most displeased. 'Just an idea, thought you might like to get together.'

'I would, I just don't want you chucked back in Azkaban!' said Harry.

There was a pause in which Sirius looked out of the fire at Harry, a crease between his sunken eyes.

'You're less like your father than I thought,' he said finally, a definite coolness in his voice. 'The risk would've been what made it fun for James.'

'Look--'

'Well, I'd better get going, I can hear Kreacher coming down the stairs,' said Sirius, but Harry was sure he was lying. 'I'll write to tell you a time I can make it back into the fire, then, shall I? If you can stand to risk it?'

There was a tiny pop, and the place where Sirius's head had been was flickering flame once more.

Chapter 15 The Hogwart's High Inquisitor

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 flattened 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

'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 anxious 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."

'The Ministry's new moves have received enthusiastic support from parents of students at Hogwarts.

'"I feel much easier in my mind now that I know Dumbledore is being subjected to fair and objective evaluation," said Mr. Lucius Malfoy, 41, speaking from his Wiltshire mansion last night. "Many of us with our children's best interests at heart have been concerned about some of Dumbledore's eccentric decisions in the last few years and are glad to know that the Ministry is keeping an eye on the situation."

'Among those eccentric decisions are undoubtedly the controversial staff appointments previously described in this newspaper, which have included the employment of werewolf Remus Lupin, half-giant Rubeus Hagrid and delusional ex-Auror, "Mad-Eye" Moody.

'Rumours abound, of course, that Albus Dumbledore, once Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, is no longer up to the task of managing the prestigious school of Hogwarts.

'"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.

'"Hogwarts is a school, not an outpost of Cornelius Fudge's office," said Madam Marchbanks. "This is a further, disgusting attempt to discredit Albus Dumbledore." '(For a full account of Madam Marchbanks's alleged links to subversive goblin groups, turn to page seventeen.)'

Hermione finished reading and looked across the table at the other two.

'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 happily. '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.

'I have awarded you the grades you would have received if you presented this work in your OWL,' said Snape with a smirk, as he swept among them, passing back their homework. 'This should give you a realistic idea of what to expect in the examination.'

Snape reached the front of the class and turned on his heel to face them.

'The general standard of this homework was abysmal. Most of you would have failed had this been your examination. I expect to see a great deal more effort for this week's essay on the various varieties of venom antidotes, or I shall have to start handing out detentions to those dunces who get a "D".'

He smirked as Malfoy sniggered and said in a carrying whisper, 'Some people got a "D"? Ha!'

Harry realised that Hermione was looking sideways to see what grade he had received; he slid his moonstone essay back into his bag as quickly as possible, feeling that he would rather keep that information private.

Determined not to give Snape an excuse to tail him this lesson, Harry read and reread every line of instructions on the blackboard at least three times before acting on them. His Strengthening Solution was not precisely the clear turquoise shade of Hermione's but it was at least blue rather than pink, like Neville's, and he delivered a flask of it to Snape's desk at the end of the lesson with a feeling of mingled defiance and relief.

'Well, that wasn't as bad as last week, was it?' said Hermione, as they climbed the steps out of the dungeon and made their way across the Entrance Hall towards lunch. 'And the homework didn't go too badly, either, did it?'

When neither Ron nor Harry answered, she pressed on, 'I mean, all right, I didn't expect the top grade, not if he's marking to OWL standard, but a pass is quite encouraging at this stage, wouldn't you say?'

Harry made a non-committal noise in his throat.

'Of course, a lot can happen between now and the exam, we've got plenty of time to improve, but the grades we're getting now are a sort of baseline, aren't they? Something we can build on ...'

They sat down together at the Gryffindor table.

'Obviously, I'd have been thrilled if I'd got an "O"-- '

'Hermione,' said Ron sharply, 'if you want to know what grades we got, ask.'

'I don't--I didn't mean--well, if you want to tell me--'

'I got a "P",' said Ron, ladling soup into his bowl. 'Happy?'

'Well, that's nothing to be ashamed of,' said Fred, who had just arrived at the table with George and Lee Jordan and was sitting down on Harry's right. 'Nothing wrong with a good healthy "P".'

'But,' said Hermione, 'doesn't "P" stand for ...'

'"Poor", yeah,' said Lee Jordan. 'Still, better than "D", isn't it? "Dreadful"?'

Harry felt his face grow warm and faked a small coughing fit over his roll. When he emerged from this he was sorry to find that Hermione was still in full flow about OWL grades.

'So top grade's "O" for "Outstanding",' she was saying, 'and then there's "A"--'

'No, "E",' George corrected her, '"E" for "Exceeds Expectations". And I've always thought Fred and I should've got "E" in everything, because we exceeded expectations just by turning up for the exams.'

They all laughed except Hermione, who ploughed on, 'So, after "E" it's "A" for "Acceptable", and that's the last pass grade, isn't it?'

'Yep,' said Fred, dunking an entire roll in his soup, transferring it to his mouth and swallowing it whole.

'Then you get "P" for "Poor"--' Ron raised both his arms in mock celebration--'and "D" for "Dreadful".

'And then "T",' George reminded her.

'"T"?' asked Hermione, looking appalled. 'Even lower than a "D"? What on earth does "T" stand for?'

'"Troll",' said George promptly.

Harry laughed again, though he was not sure whether or not George was joking. He imagined trying to conceal from Hermione that he had received 'T's in all his OWLs and immediately resolved to work harder from now on.

'You lot had an inspected lesson yet?' Fred asked them.

'No,' said Hermione at once. 'Have you?'

'Just now, before lunch,' said George. 'Charms.'

'What was it like?' Harry and Hermione asked together.

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 normally 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 disgruntled, 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.

'Think of a dream, quick,' he told Ron, 'in case the old toad comes our way.'

'I did it last time,' Ron protested, 'it's your turn, you tell me one.'

'Oh, I dunno ...' said Harry desperately, who could not remember dreaming anything at all over the last few days. 'Let's say I dreamed I was ... drowning Snape in my cauldron. Yeah, that'll do ...'

Ron chortled as he opened his Dream Oracle.

'OK, we've got to add your age to the date you had the dream, the number of letters in the subject ... would that be "drowning" or "cauldron" or "Snape"?'

'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 listening 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 scandalised 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.

'Well?' she said, snapping her long fingers under Harry's nose, uncharacteristically brisk. 'Let me see the start you've made on your dream diary, please.'

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 porridge, 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 chapters in the book to keep them reading through all this years lessons 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 whispering, 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 opinions on matters about which they understand very little. Your previous 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.

The very worst part of this second week's worth of detentions v/as, just as George had predicted, Angslina's reaction. She cornered him just as he arrived at the Gryffindor table for breakfast on Tuesday and shouted so loudly that Professor McGonagall came sweeping down upon the pair of them from the staff table.

'Miss Johnson, how dare you make such a racket in the Great Hall! Five points from Gryffindor!'

'But Professor-- he's gone and landed himself in detention again--'

'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.

'Potter, you must get a grip on yourself! You are heading for serious trouble! Another five points from Gryffindor!'

'But--what--? Professor, no!' Harry said, furious at this injustice, 'I'm already being punished by her, why do you have to take points as well?'

'Because detentions do not appear to have any effect on you whatsoever!' said Professor McGonagall tartly. 'No, not another word of complaint, Potter! And as for you, Miss Johnson, you will confine your shouting matches to the Quidditch pitch in future or risk losing the team captaincy!'

Professor McGonagall strode back towards the staff table. Angelina gave Harry a look of deepest disgust and stalked away, upon which he flung himself on to the bench beside Ron, fuming.

'She's taken points off Gryffindor because I'm having my hand sliced open every night! How is that fair, how?'

'I know, mate,' said Ron sympathetically, tipping bacon on to Harry's plate, 'she's bang out of order.'

Hermione, however, merely rustled the pages of her Daily Prophet and said nothing.

'You think McGonagall was right, do you?' said Harry angrily to the picture of Cornelius Fudge obscuring Hermione's face.

'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 practising 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 grinning--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, however, 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 inspection in ten days' time.'

'I can hardly wait,' said Professor McGonagall, in a coldly indifferent voice, and she strode off towards the door. 'Hurry up, you three,' she added, sweeping Harry, Ron and Hermione before her.

Harry could not help giving her a faint smile and could have sworn he received one in return.

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 captive 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 clipboard.

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 somewhat; 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 question.

'That was me,' he said. 'I was slashed by a hippogriff.'

'A hippogriff?' said Professor Umbridge, now scribbling frantically.

'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.

'Here,' she said anxiously, pushing a small bowl of yellow liquid towards him, 'soak your hand in that, it's a solution of strained and pickled Murtlap tentacles, it should help.'

Harry placed his bleeding, aching hand into the bowl and experienced a wonderful feeling of relief. Crookshanks curled around his legs, purring loudly, then leapt into his lap and settled down.

'Thanks,' he said gratefully, scratching behind Crookshanks's ears with his left hand.

'I still reckon you should complain about this,' said Ron in a low voice.

'No,' said Harry flatly.

'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.'

'Well,' said Hermione tentatively. 'You know, I was thinking today ...' she shot a slightly nervous look at Harry and then plunged on, 'I was thinking that-- maybe the time's come when we should just--just do it ourselves.'

'Do what ourselves?' said Harry suspiciously, still floating his hand in the essence of Murtlap tentacles.

'Well--learn Defence Against the Dark Arts ourselves, said Hermione.

'Come off it,' groaned Ron. 'You want us to do extra work? D'you realise Harry and I are behind on homework again and it's only the second week?'

'But this is much more important than homework!' said Hermione.

Harry and Ron goggled at her.

'I didn't think there was anything in the universe more important than homework!' said Ron.

'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--'

'We can't do much by ourselves,' said Ron in a defeated voice. 'I mean, all right, we can go and look jinxes up in the library and try and practise them, I suppose--'

'No, I agree, we've gone past the stage where we can just learn things out of books,' said Hermione. 'We need a teacher, a proper one, who can show us how to use the spells and correct us if we're going wrong.'

'If you're talking about Lupin ...' Harry began.

'No, no, I'm not talking about Lupin,' said Hermione. 'He's too busy with the Order and, anyway, the most we could see him is during Hogsmeade weekends and that's not nearly often enough.'

'Who, then?' said Harry, frowning at her.

Hermione heaved a very deep sigh.

'Isn't it obvious?' she said. 'I'm talking about you,Harry.'

There was a moment's silence. A light night breeze rattled the windowpanes behind Ron, and the fire guttered.

'About me what?' said Harry.

'I'm talking about you teaching us Defence Against the Dark Arts.'

Harry stared at her. Then he turned to Ron, ready to exchange the exasperated looks they sometimes shared when Hermione elaborated on far-fetched schemes like SPEW. To Harry's consternation, however, Ron did not look exasperated.

He was frowning slightly, apparently thinking. Then he said, 'That's an idea.'

'What's an idea?' said Harry.

'You,' said Ron. 'Teaching us to do it.'

'But ...'

Harry was grinning now, sure the pair of them were pulling his leg.

'But I'm not a teacher, I can't--'

'Harry, you're the best in the year at Defence Against the Dark Arts,' said Hermione.

'Me?' said Harry now grinning more broadly than ever. 'No, I'm not, you've beaten me in every test--'

'Actually I haven't,' said Hermione coolly. 'You beat me in our third year--the only year we both sat the test and had a teacher who actually knew the subject. But I'm not talking about test results, Harry. Think what you've done!'

'How d'you mean?'

'You know what, I'm not sure I want someone this stupid teaching me,' Ron said to Hermione, smirking slightly. He turned to Harry.

'Let's think,' he said, pulling a face like Goyle concentrating. 'Uh ... first year--you saved the Philosopher's Stone from You-Know-Who.'

'But that was luck,' said Harry, 'it wasn't skill--'

'Second year,' Ron interrupted, 'you killed the Basilisk and destroyed Riddle.'

'Yeah, but if Fawkes hadn't turned up, I--'

'Third year,' said Ron, louder still, 'you fought off about a hundred dementors at once--'

'You know that was a fluke, if the Time-Turner hadn't--'

'Last year,' Ron said, almost shouting now, 'you fought off You-know-Who again--'

'Listen to me!' said Harry, almost angrily, because Ron and Hermione were both smirking now. 'Just listen to me, all right? It sounds great when you say it like that, but all that stuff was luck--I didn't know what I was doing half the time, I didn't plan any of it, I just did whatever I could think of, and I nearly always had help--'

Ron and Hermione were still smirking and Harry felt his temper rise; he wasn't even sure why he was feeling so angry.

'Don't sit there grinning like you know better than I do, I was there, wasn't I?' he said heatedly. 'I know what went on, all right? And I didn't get through any of that because I was brilliant at Defence Against the Dark Arts, I got through it all because-- because help came at the right time, or because I guessed right--but I just blundered through it all, I didn't have a clue what I was doing--STOP LAUGHING!'

The bowl of Murtlap essence fell to the floor and smashed. He became aware that he was on his feet, though he couldn't remember standing up. Crookshanks streaked away under a sofa. Ron and Hermione's smiles had vanished.

'You don't know what it's like!You--neither of you--you've never had to face him, have you? You think it's just memorising a bunch of spells and throwing them at him, like you're in class or something? The whole time you're sure you know there's nothing between you and dying except your own--your own brain or guts or whatever--like you can think straight when you know you're about a nanosecond from being murdered, or tortured, or watching your friends die-- they've never taught us that in their classes, what it's like to deal with things like that--and you two sit there acting like I'm a clever little boy to be standing here, alive, like Diggory was stupid, like he messed up--you just don't get it, that could just as easily have been me, it would have been if Voldemort hadn't needed me--'

'We weren't saying anything like that, mate,' said Ron, looking aghast. 'We weren't having a go at Diggory, we didn't--you've got the wrong end of the--'

He looked helplessly at Hermione, whose face was stricken.

'Harry,' she said timidly, 'don't you see? This ... this is exactly why we need you ... we need to know what it's r-really like ... facing him ... facing V-Voldemort.'

It was the first time she had ever said Voldemort's name and it was this, more than anything else, that calmed Harry. Still breathing hard, he sank back into his chair, becoming aware as he did so that his hand was throbbing horribly again. He wished he had not smashed the bowl of Murtlap essence.

'Well ... think about it,' said Hermione quietly. 'Please?'

Harry could not think of anything to say. He was feeling ashamed of his outburst already. He nodded, hardly aware of what he was agreeing to.

Hermione stood up.

'Well, I'm off to bed,' she said, in a voice that was clearly as natural as she could make it. 'Erm ... night.'

Ron had got to his feet, too.

'Coming?' he said awkwardly to Harry.

'Yeah,' said Harry. 'In ... in a minute. I'll just clear this up.'

He indicated the smashed bowl on the floor. Ron nodded and left.

'Reparo,' Harry muttered, pointing his wand at the broken pieces of china. They flew back together, good as new, but there was no returning the Murtlap essence to the bowl.

He was suddenly so tired he was tempted to sink back into his armchair and sleep there, but instead he forced himself to his feet and followed Ron upstairs. His restless night was punctuated once more by dreams of long corridors and locked doors and he awoke next day with his scar prickling again.

Chapter 16 In the Hog's Head

Hermione made no mention of Harry giving Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons for two whole weeks after her original suggestion. 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.

'I was wondering,' Hermione said suddenly, 'whether you'd thought any more about Defence Against the Dark Arts, Harry.'

'Course I have,' said Harry grumpily, 'can't forget it, can we, with that hag teaching us--'

'I meant the idea Ron and I had--' Ron cast her an alarmed, threatening kind of look. She frowned at him, '--Oh, all right, the idea I had, then--about you teaching us.'

Harry did not answer at once. He pretended to be perusing a page of Asiatic Anti-Venoms, because he did not want to say what was in his mind.

He had given the matter a great deal of thought over the past fortnight. Sometimes it seemed an insane idea, just as it had on the night Hermione had proposed it, but at others, he had found himself thinking about the spells that had served him best in his various encounters with Dark creatures and Death Eaters--found himself, in fact, subconsciously planning lessons ...

'Well,' he said slowly, when he could no longer pretend to find Asiatic Anti-Venoms interesting, 'yeah, I--I've thought about it a bit.'

'And?' said Hermione eagerly.

'I dunno,' said Harry, playing for time. He looked up at Ron.

'I thought it was a good idea from the start,' said Ron, who seemed keener to join in this conversation now that he was sure Harry was not going to start shouting again.

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

'You did listen to what I said about a load of it being luck, didn't you?'

'Yes, Harry,' said Hermione gently, 'but all the same, there's no point pretending that you're not good at Defence Against the Dark Arts, because you are. You were the only person last year who could throw off the Imperius Curse completely, you can produce a Patronus, you can do all sorts of stuff that full-grown wizards can't, Viktor always said--'

Ron looked round at her so fast he appeared to crick his neck. Rubbing it, he said, 'Yeah? What did Vicky say?'

'Ho ho,' said Hermione in a bored voice. 'He said Harry knew how to do stuff even he didn't, and he was in the final year at Durmstrang.'

Ron was looking at Hermione suspiciously.

'You're not still in contact with him, are you?'

'So what if I am?' said Hermione coolly, though her face was a little pink. 'I can have a pen-pal if I--'

'He didn't only want to be your pen-pal,' said Ron accusingly.

Hermione shook her head exasperatedly and, ignoring Ron, who was continuing to watch her, said to Harry, 'Well, what do you think? Will you teach us?'

'Just you and Ron, yeah?'

'Well,' said Hermione, looking a mite anxious again. 'Well ... now, don't fly off the handle again, Harry, please ... but I really think you ought to teach anyone who wants to learn. I mean, we're talking about defending ourselves against V-Voldemort. Oh, don't be pathetic, Ron. It doesn't seem fair if we don't offer the chance to other people.'

Harry considered this for a moment, then said, 'Yeah, but I doubt anyone except you two would want to be taught by me. I'm a nutter, remember?'

'Well, I think you might be surprised how many people would be interested in hearing what you've got to say,' said Hermione seriously. 'Look,' she leaned towards him-- Ron, who was still watching her with a frown on his face, leaned forwards to listen too--'you know the first weekend in October's a Hogsmeade weekend? How would it be if we tell anyone who's interested to meet us in the village and we can talk it over?'

'Why do we have to do it outside school?' said Ron.

'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.'

Harry had been looking forward to the weekend trip into Hogsmeade, but there was one thing worrying him. Sirius had maintained a stony silence since he had appeared in the fire at the beginning of September; Harry knew they had made him angry by saying they didn't want him to come--but he still worried from time to time that Sirius might throw caution to the winds and turn up anyway. What were they going to do if the great black dog came bounding up the street towards them in Hogsmeade, perhaps under the nose of Draco Malfoy?

'Well, you can't blame him for wanting to get out and about,' said Ron, when Harry discussed his fears with him and Hermione. 'I mean, he's been on the run for over two years, hasn't he, and I know that can't have been a laugh, but at least he was free, wasn't he? And now he's just shut up all the time with that ghastly elf.'

Hermione scowled at Ron, but otherwise ignored the slight on Kreacher.

'The trouble is,' she said to Harry, 'until V-Voldemort--oh, for heaven's sake,Ron-- comes out into the open, Sirius is going to have to stay hidden, isn't he? I mean, the stupid Ministry isn't going to realise Sirius is innocent until they accept that Dumbledore's been telling the truth about him all along. And once the fools start catching real Death Eaters again, it'll be obvious Sirius isn't one ... I mean, he hasn't got the Mark, for one thing.'

'I don't reckon he'd be stupid enough to turn up,' said Ron bracingly. 'Dumbledore'd go mad if he did and Sirius listens to Dumbledore even if he doesn't like what he hears.'

When Harry continued to look worried, Hermione said, 'Listen, Ron and I have been sounding out people who we thought might want to learn some proper Defence Against the Dark Arts, and there are a couple who seem interested. We've told them to meet us in Hogsmeade.'

'Right,' said Harry vaguely, his mind still on Sirius.

'Don't worry, Harry,' Hermione said quietly. 'You've got enough on your plate without Sirius, too.'

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. Ron was even further behind with his work than Harry, because while they both had Quidditch practice twice a week, Ron also had his prefect duties. However, Hermione, who was taking more subjects than either of them, had not only finished all her homework but was also finding time to knit more elf clothes. Harry had to admit that she was getting better; it was now almost always possible to distinguish between the hats and the socks.

The morning of the Hogsmeade visit dawned bright but windy. Alter breakfast they queued up in front of Filch, who matched their names to the long list of students who had permission from their parents or guardian to visit the village. With a slight pang, Harry remembered that if it hadn't been for Sirius, he would not have been going at all.

When Harry reached Filch, the caretaker gave a great sniff as though trying to detect a whiff of something from Harry. Then he gave a curt nod that set his jowls aquiver again and Harry walked on, out on to the stone steps and the cold, sunlit day.

'Er--why was Filch sniffing you?' asked Ron, as he, Harry and Hermione set off at a brisk pace down the wide drive to the gates.

'I suppose he was checking for the smell of Dungbombs,' said Harry with a small laugh. 'I forgot to tell you ...'

And he recounted the story of sending his letter to Sirius and Filch bursting in seconds later, demanding to see the letter. To his slight surprise, Hermione found this story highly interesting, much more, indeed, than he did himself.

'He said he was tipped off you were ordering Dungbombs? But who tipped him off?'

'I dunno,' said Harry, shrugging. 'Maybe Malfoy he'd think it was a laugh.'

They walked between the tall stone pillars topped with winged boars and turned left on to the road into the village, the wind whip-, ping their hair into their eyes.

'Malfoy?' said Hermione, sceptically. 'Well ... yes ... maybe ...'

And she remained deep in thought all the way into the outskirts of Hogsmeade.

'Where are we going, anyway?' Harry asked. 'The Three Broomsticks?'

'Oh--no,' said Hermione, coming out of her reverie, 'no, it's always packed and really noisy. I've told the others to meet us in the Hog's Head, that other pub, you know the one, it's not on the main road. I think it's a bit ... you know ... dodgy ... but students don't normally go in there, so I don't think we'll be overheard.'

They walked down the main street past Zonko's Wizarding Joke Shop, where they were not surprised to see Fred, George and Lee Jordan, past the post office, from which owls issued at regular intervals, and turned up a side-street at the top of which stood a small inn. A battered wooden sign hung from a rusty bracket over the door, with a picture on it of a wild boar's severed head, leaking blood on to the white cloth around it. The sign creaked in the wind as they approached. All three of them hesitated outside the door.

'Well, come on,' said Hermione, slightly nervously. Harry led the way inside.

It was not at all like the Three Broomsticks, whose large bar gave an impression of gleaming warmth and cleanliness. The Hog's Head bar comprised one small, dingy and very dirty room that smelled strongly of something that might have been goats. The bay windows were so encrusted with grime that very little daylight could permeate the room, which was lit instead with the stubs of candles sitting on rough wooden tables. The floor seemed at first glance to be compressed earth, though as Harry stepped on to it he realised that there was stone beneath what seemed to be the accumulated filth of centuries.

Harry remembered Hagrid mentioning this pub in his first year: 'Yeh get a lot o' funny folk in the Hog's Head,' he had said, explaining how he had won a dragon's egg from a hooded stranger there. At the time Harry had wondered why Hagrid had not found it odd that the stranger kept his face hidden throughout their encounter; now he saw that keeping your face hidden was something of a fashion in the Hog's Head. There was a man at the bar whose whole head was wrapped in dirty grey bandages, though he was still managing to gulp endless glasses of some smoking, fiery substance through a slit over his mouth; two figures shrouded in hoods sat at a table in one of the windows; Harry might have thought them dementors if they had not been talking in strong Yorkshire accents, and in a shadowy corner beside the fireplace sat a witch with a thick, black veil that fell to her toes. They could just see the tip of her nose because it caused the veil to protrude slightly.

'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.'

'No,' said Harry drily, 'especially as it's not exactly a homework group you're planning, is it?'

The barman sidled towards them out of a back room. He was a grumpy-looking old man with a great deal of long grey hair and beard. He was tall and thin and looked vaguely familiar to Harry.

'What?' he grunted.

'Three Butterbeers, please,' said Hermione.

The man reached beneath the counter and pulled up three very dusty, very dirty bottles, which he slammed on the bar.

'Six Sickles,' he said.

'I'll get them,' said Harry quickly, passing over the silver. The barman's eyes travelled over Harry, resting for a fraction of a second on his scar. Then he turned away and deposited Harry's money in an ancient wooden till whose drawer slid open automatically to receive it. Harry, Ron and Hermione retreated to the furthest table from the bar and sat down, looking around. The man in the dirty grey bandages rapped the counter with his knuckles and received another smoking drink from the barman.

'You know what?' Ron murmured, looking over at the bar with enthusiasm. 'We could order anything we liked in here. I bet that bloke would sell us anything, he wouldn't care. I've always wanted to try Firewhisky--'

'You--are--a--prefect,' snarled Hermione.

'Oh,' said Ron, the smile fading from his face. 'Yeah ...'

'So, who did you say is supposed to be meeting us?' Harry asked, wrenching open the rusty top of his Butterbeer and taking a swig.

'Just a couple of people,' Hermione repeated, checking her watch and looking anxiously towards the door. 'I told them to be here about now and I'm sure they all know where it is--oh, look, this might be them now.'

The door of the pub had opened. A thick band of dusty sunlight split the room in two for a moment and then vanished, blocked by the incoming rush of a crowd of people.

First came Neville with Dean and Lavender, who were closely followed by Parvati and Padma Patil with (Harry's stomach did a back-flip) Cho and one of her usually-giggling girlfriends, then (on her own and looking so dreamy she might have walked in by accident) Luna Lovegood; then Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet and Angelina Johnson, Colin and Dennis Creevey Ernie Macmillan, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Hannah Abbott, a Hufflepuff girl with a long plait clown her back whose name Harry did not know; three Ravenclaw boys he was pretty sure were called Anthony Goldstein, Michael Corner and Terry Boot, Ginny, closely followed by a tall skinny blond boy with an upturned nose whom Harry recognised vaguely as being a member of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team and, bringing up the rear, Fred and George Weasley with their friend Lee Jordan, all three of whom were carrying large paper bags crammed with Zonko's merchandise.

'A couple of people?' said Harry hoarsely to Hermione. 'A couple of people?'

'Yes, well, the idea seemed quite popular,' said Hermione happily. 'Ron, do you want to pull up some more chairs?'

The barman had frozen in the act of wiping out a glass with a rag so filthy it looked as though it had never been washed. Possibly, he had never seen his pub so full.

'Hi,' said Fred, reaching the bar first and counting his companions quickly, 'could we have ... twenty-five Butterbeers, please?'

The barman glared at him for a moment, then, throwing down his rag irritably as though he had been interrupted in something very important, he started passing up dusty Butterbeers from under the bar.

'Cheers,' said Fred, handing them out. 'Cough up, everyone, I haven't got enough gold for all of these ...'

Harry watched numbly as the large chattering group took their beers from Fred and rummaged in their robes to find coins. He could not imagine what all these people had turned up for until the horrible thought occurred to him that they might be expecting same kind of speech, at which he rounded on Hermione.

'What have you been telling people?' he said in a low voice. 'What are they expecting?'

'I've told you, they just want to hear what you've got to say,' said Hermione soothingly; but Harry continued to look at her so furiously that she added quickly, 'you don't have to do anything yet, I'll speak to them first.'

'Hi, Harry,' said Neville, beaming and taking a seat opposite him.

Harry tried to smile back, but did not speak; his mouth was exceptionally dry. Cho had just smiled at him and sat down on Ron's right. Her friend, who had curly reddish-blonde hair, did not smile, but gave Harry a thoroughly mistrustful look which plainly told him that, given her way, she would not be here at all.

In twos and threes the new arrivals settled around Harry, Ron and Hermione, some looking rather excited, others curious, Luna Lovegood gazing dreamily into space. When everybody had pulled up a chair, the chatter died out. Every eye was upon Harry.

'Er,' said Hermione, her voice slightly higher than usual out of nerves. 'Well--er--hi.'

The group focused its attention on her instead, though eyes continued to dart back regularly to Harry.

'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 confident) '-- 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.'

She paused, looked sideways at Harry and went on, 'And by that I mean learning how to defend ourselves properly, not just in theory but doing the real spells--'

'You want to pass your Defence Against the Dark Arts OWL too, though, I bet?' said Michael Corner, who was watching her closely.

'Of course I do,' said Hermione at once. 'But more than that, I want to be properly trained in defence because ... because ...' she took a great breath and finished, 'because Lord Voldemort is back.'

The reaction was immediate and predictable. Cho's friend shrieked and slopped Butterbeer down herself; Terry Boot gave a kind of involuntary twitch; Padma Patil shuddered, and Neville gave an odd yelp that he managed to turn into a cough. All of them, however, looked fixedly, even eagerly, at Harry.

'Well ... that's the plan, anyway,' said Hermione. 'If you want to join us, we need to decide how we're going to--'

'Where's the proof You-Know-Who's back?' said the blond Hufflepuff player in a rather aggressive voice.

'Well, Dumbledore believes it--' Hermione began.

'You mean, Dumbledore believes him,' said the blond boy, nodding at Harry.

'Who are you?' said Ron, rather rudely.

'Zacharias Smith,' said the boy, 'and I think we've got the right to know exactly what makes him say You-Know-Who's back.'

'Look,' said Hermione, intervening swiftly, 'that's really not what this meeting was supposed to be about--'

'It's OK, Hermione,' said Harry.

It had just dawned on him why there were so many people there. He thought Hermione should have seen this coming. Some of these people--maybe even most of them--had turned up in the hopes of hearing Harry's story firsthand.

'What makes me say You-Know-Who's back?' he repeated, looking Zacharias straight in the face. 'I saw him. But Dumbledore told the whole school what happened last year, and if you didn't believe him, you won't believe me, and I'm not wasting an afternoon trying to convince anyone.'

The whole group seemed to have held its breath while Harry spoke. Harry had the impression that even the barman was listening. He was wiping the same glass with the filthy rag, making it steadily dirtier.

Zacharias said dismissively, 'All Dumbledore told us last year was that Cedric Diggory got killed by You-Know-Who and that you brought Diggory's body back to Hogwarts. He didn't give us details, he didn't tell us exactly how Diggory got murdered, I think we'd all like to know--'

'If you've come to hear exactly what it looks like when Voldemort murders someone I can't help you,' Harry said. His temper, always so close to the surface these days, was rising again. He did not take his eyes from Zacharias Smith's aggressive face, and was determined not to look at Cho. 'I don't want to talk about Cedric Diggory, all right? So if that's what you're here for, you might as well clear out.'

He cast an angry look in Hermione's direction. This was, he felt, all her fault; she had decided to display him like some sort of freak and of course they had all turned up to see just now wild his story was. But none of them left their seats, not even Zacharias Smith, though he continued to gaze intently at Harry.

'So,' said Hermione, her voice very high-pitched again. 'So ... like I was saying ... if you want to learn some defence, then we need to work out how we're going to do it, how often we're going to meet and where we're going to--'

'Is it true,' interrupted the girl with the long plait down her back, looking at Harry, 'that you can produce a Patronus?'

There was a murmur of interest around the group at this.

'Yeah,' said Harry slightly defensively.

'A corporeal Patronus?'

The phrase stirred something in Harry's memory.

'Er--you don't know Madam Bones, do you?' he asked.

The girl smiled.

'She's my auntie,' she said. 'I'm Susan Bones. She told me about your hearing. So--is it really true? You make a stag Patronus?'

'Yes,' said Harry.

'Blimey, Harry!' said Lee, looking deeply impressed. 'I never knew that!'

'Mum told Ron not to spread it around,' said Fred, grinning at Harry. 'She said you got enough attention as it was.'

'She's not wrong,' mumbled Harry, and a couple of people laughed.

The veiled witch sitting alone shifted very slightly in her seat.

'And did you kill a Basilisk with that sword in Dumbledore's office?' demanded Terry Boot. 'That's what one of the portraits on the wall told me when I was in there last year ...'

'Er--yeah, I did, yeah,' said Harry.

Justin Finch-Fletchley whistled; the Creevey brothers exchanged awestruck looks and Lavender Brown said 'Wow!' softly. Harry was feeling slightly hot around the collar now; he was determinedly looking anywhere but at Cho.

'And in our first year,' said Neville to the group at large, 'he saved that Philological Stone-- '

'Philosopher's,' hissed Hermione.

'Yes, that--from You-Know-Who,' finished Neville.

Hannah Abbotts eyes were as round as Galleons.

'And that's not to mention,' said Cho (Harry's eyes snapped across to her; she was looking at him, smiling; his stomach did another somersault) 'all the tasks he had to get through in the Triwizard Tournament last year--getting past dragons and merpeople and Acromantula and things ...'

There was a murmur of impressed agreement around the table. Harry's insides were squirming. He was trying to arrange his face so that he did not look too pleased with himself. The fact that Cho had just praised him made it much, much harder for him to say the thing he had sworn to himself he would tell them.

'Look,' he said, and everyone fell silent at once, 'I ... I don't want to sound like I'm trying to be modest or anything, but ... I had a lot of help with all that stuff ...'

'Not with the dragon, you didn't,' said Michael Corner at once. 'That was a seriously cool bit of flying ...'

'Yeah, well--' said Harry, feeling it would be churlish to disagree.

'And nobody helped you get rid of those dementors this summer,' said Susan Bones.

'No,' said Harry, 'no, OK, I know I did bits of it without help, but the point I'm trying to make is--'

'Are you trying to weasel out of showing us any of this stuff?' said Zacharias Smith.

'Here's an idea,' said Ron loudly, before Harry could speak, 'why don't you shut your mouth?'

Perhaps the word 'weasel' had affected Ron particularly strongly. In any case, he was now looking at Zacharias as though he would like nothing better than to thump him. Zacharias flushed.

'Well, we've all turned up to learn from him and now he's telling us he can't really do any of it,' he said.

'That's not what he said,' snarled Fred.

'Would you like us to clean out your ears for you?' enquired Greorge, pulling a long and lethal-looking metal instrument from inside one of the Zonko's bags.

'Or any part of your body, really, we're not fussy where we stick this,' said Fred.

'Yes, well,' said Hermione hastily, moving on ...'the point is, are we agreed we want to take lessons from Harry?'

There was a murmur of general agreement. Zacharias folded his arms and said nothing, though perhaps this was because he was too busy keeping an eye on the instrument in Fred's hand.

'Right,' said Hermione, looking relieved that something had at last been settled. 'Well, then, the next question is how often we do it. I really don't think there's any point in meeting less than once a week--'

'Hang on,' said Angelina, 'we need to make sure this doesn't clash with our Quidditch practice.'

'No,' said Cho, 'nor with ours.'

'Nor ours,' added Zacharias Smith.

'I'm sure we can find a night that suits everyone,' said Hermione, slightly impatiently, 'but you know, this is rather important, we're talking about learning to defend ourselves against V-Voldemort's Death Eaters--'

'Well said!' barked Ernie Macmillan, who Harry had been expecting to speak long before this. 'Personally, I think this is really important, possibly more important than anything else we'll do this year, even with our OWLs coming up!'

He looked around impressively, as though waiting for people to cry 'Surely not!' When nobody spoke, he went on, 'I, personally, am at a loss to see why the Ministry has foisted such a useless teacher on us at this critical period. Obviously, they are in denial about the return of You-Know-Who, but to give us a teacher who is trying to actively prevent us from using defensive spells--'

'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.'

Nearly everybody looked stunned at this news; everybody except Luna Lovegood, who piped up, 'Well, that makes sense. After all, Cornelius Fudge has got his own private army.'

'What?' said Harry, completely thrown by this unexpected piece of information.

'Yes, he's got an army of Heliopaths,' said Luna solemnly.

'No, he hasn't,' snapped Hermione.

'Yes, he has,' said Luna.

'What are Heliopaths?' asked Neville, looking blank.

'They're spirits of fire,' said Luna, her protuberant eyes widening so that she looked madder than ever, 'great tall flaming creatures that gallop across the ground burning everything in front of--'

'They don't exist, Neville,' said Hermione tartly.

'Oh, yes, they do!' said Luna angrily.

'I'm sorry, but where's the proof of that?' snapped Hermione.

'There are plenty of eye-witness accounts. Just because you're so narrow-minded you need to have everything shoved under your nose before you--'

'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?'

'Yes,' said Hermione at once, 'yes, we were, you're right, Ginny.'

'Well, once a week sounds cool,' said Lee Jordan.

'As long as--' began Angelina.

'Yes, yes, we know about the Quidditch,' said Hermione in a tense voice. 'Well, the other thing to decide is where we're going to meet ...'

This was rather more difficult; the whole group fell silent.

'Library?' suggested Katie Bell after a few moments.

'I can't see Madam Pince being too chuffed with us doing jinxes in the library,' said Harry.

'Maybe an unused classroom?' said Dean.

'Yeah,' said Ron, 'McGonagall might let us have hers, she did when Harry was practising for the Tri wizard.'

But Harry was pretty certain that McGonagall would not be so accommodating this time. For all that Hermione had said about study and homework groups being allowed, he had the distinct feeling that this one might be considered a lot more rebellious.

'Right, well, we'll try to find somewhere,' said Hermione. 'We'll send a message round to everybody when we've got a time and a place for the first meeting.'

She rummaged in her bag and produced parchment and a quill, then hesitated, rather as though she was steeling herself to say something.

'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.'

Fred reached out for the parchment and cheerfully wrote his signature, but Harry noticed at once that several people looked less than happy at the prospect of putting their names on the list.

'Er ...' said Zacharias slowly, not taking the parchment that George was trying to pass to him, 'well ... I'm sure Ernie will tell me when the meeting is.'

But Ernie was looking rather hesitant about signing, too. Hermione raised her eyebrows at him.

'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--'

'You just said this group was the most important thing you'd do this year,' Harry reminded him.

'I--yes,' said Ernie, 'yes, I do believe that, it's just--'

'Ernie, do you really think I'd leave that list lying around?' said Hermione testily.

'No. No, of course not,' said Ernie, looking slightly less anxious. 'I--yes, of course I'll sign.'

Nobody raised objections after Ernie, though Harry saw Cho's friend give her a rather reproachful look before adding her own name. When the last person--Zacharias-- had signed, Hermione took the parchment back and slipped it carefully into her bag. There was an odd feeling in the group now. It was as though they had just signed some kind of contract.

'Well, time's ticking on,' said Fred briskly, getting to his feet. 'George, Lee and I have got items of a sensitive nature to purchase, we'll be seeing you all later.'

In twos and threes the rest of the group took their leave, too.

Cho made rather a business of fastening the catch on her bag before leaving, her long dark curtain of hair swinging forwards to hide her face, but her friend stood beside her, arms folded, clicking her tongue, so that Cho had little choice but to leave with her. As her friend ushered her through the door, Cho looked back and waved at Harry.

'Well, I think that went quite well,' said Hermione happily, as she, Harry and Ron walked out of the Hog's Head into the bright sunlight a few moments later. Harry and Ron were clutching their bottles of Butterbeer.

'That Zacharias bloke's a wart,' said Ron, who was glowering after the figure of Smith, just discernible in the distance.

'I don't like him much, either,' admitted Hermione, 'but he overheard me talking to Ernie and Hannah at the Hufflepuff table and he seemed really interested in coming, so what could I say? But the more people the better really--I mean, Michael Corner and his friends wouldn't have come if he hadn't been going out with Ginny--'

Ron, who had been draining the last few drops from his Butterbeer bottle, gagged and sprayed Butterbeer down his front.

'He's WHAT?' spluttered Ron, outraged, his ears now resembling curls of raw beef. 'She's going out with--my sister's going--what d'you mean, Michael Corner?'

'Well, that's why he and his friends came, I think--well, they're obviously interested in learning defence, but if Ginny hadn't told Michael what was going on--'

'When did this-- when did she--?'

'They met at the Yule Ball and got together at the end of last year,' said Hermione composedly. They had turned into the High Street and she paused outside Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop, where there was a handsome display of pheasant feather quills in the window. 'Hmm ... I could do with a new quill.'

She turned into the shop. Harry and Ron followed her.

'Which one was Michael Corner?' Ron demanded furiously.

'The dark one,' said Hermione.

'I didn't like him,' said Ron at once.

'Big surprise,' said Hermione under her breath.

'But,' said Ron, following Hermione along a row of quills in copper pots, 'I thought Ginny fancied Harry!'

Hermione looked at him rather pityingly and shook her head.

'Ginny used to fancy Harry, but she gave up on him months ago. Not that she doesn't like you, of course,' she added kindly to Harry while she examined a long black and gold quill.

Harry, whose head was still full of Cho's parting wave, did not find this subject quite as interesting as Ron, who was positively quivering with indignation, but it did bring something home to him that until now he had not really registered.

'So that's why she talks now?' he asked Hermione. 'She never used to talk in front of me.'

'Exactly,' said Hermione. 'Yes, I think I'll have this one ...'

She went up to the counter and handed over fifteen Sickles and two Knuts, with Ron still breathing down her neck.

'Ron,' she said severely as she turned and trod on his feet, 'this is exactly why Ginny hasn't told you she's seeing Michael, she knew you'd take it badly. So don't harp on about it, for heaven's sake.'

'What d'you mean? Who's taking anything badly? I'm not going to harp on about anything ...' Ron continued to chunter under his breath all the way down the street.

Hermione rolled her eyes at Harry and then said in an undertone, while Ron was still muttering imprecations about Michael Corner, 'And talking about Michael and Ginny ... what about Cho and you?'

'What d'you mean?' said Harry quickly.

It was as though boiling water was rising rapidly inside him; a burning sensation that was causing his face to smart in the cold--had he been that obvious?

'Well,' said Hermione, smiling slightly, 'she just couldn't keep her eyes off you, could she?'

Harry had never before appreciated just how beautiful the village of Hogsmeade was.

Chapter 17 Educational Decree Number Twenty-four

Harry felt happier for the rest of the weekend than he had done all term. He and Ron spent much of Sunday catching up with all their homework again, and although this could hardly be called fun, the last burst of autumn sunshine persisted, so rather than sitting hunched over tables in the common room they took their work outside and lounged in the shade of a large beech tree on the edge of the lake. Hermione, who of course was up to date with all her work, brought more wool outside with her and bewitched her knitting needles so that they flashed and clicked in midair beside her, producing more hats and scarves.

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. He kept reliving Saturdays meeting in his mind: all those people, coming to him to learn Defence Against the Dark Arts ... and the looks on their faces as they had heard some of the things he had done ... and Cho praising his performance in the Triwizard Tournament--knowing all those people did not think him a lying weirdo, but someone to be admired, buoyed him up so much that he was still cheerful on Monday morning, despite the imminent prospect of all his least favourite classes.

He and Ron headed downstairs from their dormitory, discussing Angelina's idea that they were to work on a new move called the Sloth Grip Roll during that nights Quidditch practice, and not until they were halfway across the sunlit common room did they notice the addition to the room that had already attracted the attention of a small group of people.

A large sign had been affixed to the Grffindor noticeboard, so large it covered everything else on it--the lists of secondhand spellbooks for sale, the regular reminders of school rules from Argus Filch, the Quidditch team training timetable, the offers to barter certain Chocolate Frog Cards for others, the Weasleys' latest advertisement for testers, the dates of the Hogsmeade weekends and the lost and found notices. The new sign was printed in large black letters and there was a highly official-looking seal at the bottom beside a neat and curly signature.

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 organisation,

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

Harry and Ron read the notice over the heads of some anxious-looking second-years.

'Does this mean they're going to shut down the Gobstones Club?' one of them asked his friend.

'I reckon you'll be OK with Gobstones,' Ron said darkly, making the second-year jump. 'I don't think we're going to be as lucky, though, do you?' he asked Harry as the second-years hurried away.

Harry was reading the notice through again. The happiness that had filled him since Saturday was gone. His insides were pulsing with rage.

'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 ...'

And he had thought they believed him, thought they even admired him ...

'Zacharias Smith!' said Ron at once, punching a fist into his hand. 'Or--I thought that Michael Corner had a really shifty look, too--'

'I wonder if Hermione's seen this yet?' Harry said, looking round at the door to the girls' dormitories.

'Let's go and tell her,' said Ron. He bounded forwards, pulled open the door and set off up the spiral staircase.

He was on the sixth stair when there was a loud, wailing, klaxon-like sound and the steps melted together to make a long, smooth stone slide like a helter-skelter. There was a brief moment when Ron tried to keep running, arms working madly like windmills, then he toppled over backwards and shot down the newly created slide, coming to rest on his back at Harry's feet.

'Er--I don't think we're allowed in the girls' dormitories,' said Harry, pulling Ron to his feet and trying not to laugh.

Two fourth-year girls came zooming gleefully down the stone slide.

'Oooh. who tried to get upstairs?' they giggled happily, leaping to their feet and ogling Harry and Ron.

'Me,' said Ron, who was still rather dishevelled. 'I didn't realise that would happen. It's not fair!' he added to Harry, as the girls headed off for the portrait hole, still giggling madly. 'Hermione's allowed in our dormitory, how come we're not allowed --?'

'Well, it's an old-fashioned rule,' said Hermione, who had just slid neatly on to a rug in front of them and was now getting to her feet, 'but it says in Hogwarts: A History, that the founders thought boys were less trustworthy than girls. Anyway, why were you trying to get in there?'

'To see you--look at this!' said Ron, dragging her over to the noticeboard.

Hermione's eyes slid rapidly down the notice. Her expression became stony.

'Someone must have blabbed to her!' Ron said angrily.

'They can't have done,' said Hermione in a low voice.

'You're so naive,' said Ron, 'you think just because you're all honourable and trustworthy --'

'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.'

'What'll happen to them?' said Ron eagerly.

'Well, put it this way,' said Hermione, 'it'll make Eloise Midgeon's acne look like a couple of cute freckles. Come on, let's get down to breakfast and see what the others think ... I wonder whether this has been put up in all the houses?'

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?'

'What are we going to do?'

They were all looking at Harry. He glanced around to make sure there were no teachers near them.

'We're going to do it anyway, of course,' he said quietly.

'Knew you'd say that,' said George, beaming and thumping Harry on the arm.

'The prefects as well?' said Fred, looking quizzically at Ron and Hermione.

'Of course,' said Hermione coolly.

'Here come Ernie and Hannah Abbott,' said Ron, looking over his shoulder. 'And those Ravenclaw blokes and Smith ... and no one looks very spotty.'

Hermione looked alarmed.

'Never mind spots, the idiots can't come over here now, it'll look really suspicious--sit down!' she mouthed to Ernie and Hannah, gesturing frantically to them to rejoin the Hufflepuff table. 'Later! We'll--talk--to--you--later!'

'I'll tell Michael,' said Ginny impatiently, swinging herself off her bench, 'the fool, honestly ...'

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?

But the full repercussions of the sign were not felt until they were leaving the Great Hall for History of Magic.

'Harry! Ron!'

It was Angelina and she was hurrying towards them looking perfectly desperate.

'It's OK,' said Harry quietly, when she was near enough to hear him. 'We're still going to--'

'You realise she's including Quidditch in this?' Angelina said over him. 'We have to go and ask permission to re-form the Gryffindor team!'

'What?' said Harry.

'No way,' said Ron, appalled.

'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 ...'

But he was wrong; the only teacher present when they entered was Professor Binns, floating an inch or so above his chair as usual and preparing to continue his monotonous drone on giant wars. Harry did not even attempt to follow what he was saying today; he doodled idly on his parchment ignoring Hermione's frequent glares and nudges, until a particularly painful poke in the ribs made him look up angrily.

'What?'

She pointed at the window. Harry looked round. Hedwig was perched on the narrow window ledge, gazing through the thick glass at him, a letter tied to her leg. Harry could not understand it; they had just had breakfast, why on earth hadn't she delivered the letter then, as usual? Many of his classmates were pointing out Hedwig to each other, too.

'Oh, I've always loved that owl, she's so beautiful,' Harry heard Lavender sigh to Parvati.

He glanced round at Professor Binns who continued to read his notes, serenely unaware that the class's attention was even less focused upon him than usual. Harry slipped quietly off his chair, crouched down and hurried along the row to the window, where he slid the catch and opened it very slowly.

He had expected Hedwig to hold out her leg so that he could remove the letter and then fly off to the Owlery, but the moment the window was open wide enough she hopped inside, hooting dolefully. He closed the window with an anxious glance at Professor Binns, crouched low again and sped back to his seat with Hedwig on his shoulder. He regained his seat, transferred Hedwig to his lap and made to remove the letter tied to her leg.

Only then did he realise that Hedwig's feathers were oddly ruffled; some were bent the wrong way, and she was holding one of her wings at an odd angle.

'She's hurt!' Harry whispered, bending his head low over her. Hermione and Ron leaned in closer; Hermione even put down her quill. 'Look--there's something wrong with her wing--'

Hedwig was quivering; when Harry made to touch the wing she gave a little jump, all her feathers on end as though she was inflating herself, and gazed at him reproachfully.

'Professor Binns,' said Harry loudly, and everyone in the class turned to look at him. 'I'm not feeling well.'

Professor Binns raised his eyes from his notes, looking amazed, as always, to find the room in front of him full of people.

'Not feeling well?' he repeated hazily.

'Not at all well,' said Harry firmly, getting to his feet with Hedwig concealed behind his back. 'I think I need to go to the hospital wing.'

'Yes,' said Professor Binns, clearly very much wrong-footed. 'Yes ... yes, hospital wing ... well, off you go, then, Perkins ...'

Once outside the room, Harry returned Hedwig to his shoulder and hurried off up the corridor, pausing to think only when he was out of sight of Binns's door. His first choice of somebody to cure Hedwig would have been Hagrid, of course, but as he had no idea where Hagrid was his only remaining option was to find Professor Grubbly-Plank and hope she would help.

He peered out of a window at the blustery, overcast grounds. There was no sign of her anywhere near Hagrid's cabin; if she was not teaching, she was probably in the staff room. He set off downstairs, Hedwig hooting feebly as she swayed on his shoulder.

Two stone gargoyles flanked the staff-room door. As Harry approached, one of them croaked, 'You should be in class, Sonny Jim.'

'This is urgent,' said Harry curtly.

'Ooooh, urgent, is it?' said the other gargoyle in a high-pitched voice. 'Well, that's put us in our place, hasn't it?'

Harry knocked. He heard footsteps, then the door opened and he found himself face to face with Professor McGonagall.

'You haven't been given another detention!' she said at once, her square spectacles flashing alarmingly.

'No, Professor!' said Harry hastily.

'Well then, why are you out of class?'

'It's urgent, apparently,' said the second gargoyle snidely.

'I'm looking for Professor Grubbly-Plank,' Harry explained. 'It's my owl, she's injured.'

'Injured owl, did you say?'

Professor Grubbly-Plank appeared at Professor McGonagall's shoulder, smoking a pipe and holding a copy of the Daily Prophet.

'Yes,' said Harry, lifting Hedwig carefully off his shoulder, 'she turned up after the other post owls and her wing's all funny, look--'

Professor Grubbly-Plank stuck her pipe firmly between her teeth and took Hedwig from Harry while Professor McGonagall watched.

'Hmm,' said Professor Grubbly-Plank, her pipe waggling slightly as she talked. 'Looks like something's attacked her. Can't think what would have done it, though. Thestrals will sometimes go for birds, of course, but Hagrid's got the Hogwarts Thestrals well-trained not to touch owls.'

Harry neither knew nor cared what Thestrals were; he just wanted to know that Hedwig was going to be all right. Professor McGonagall, however, looked sharply at Harry and said, 'Do you know how far this owl's travelled, Potter?'

'Er,' said Harry. 'From London, I think.'

He met her eyes briefly and knew, by the way her eyebrows had joined in the middle, that she understood 'London' to mean 'number twelve, Grimmauld Place'.

Professor Grubbly-Plank pulled a monocle out of the inside of her robes and screwed it into her eye, to examine Hedwig's wing closely. 'I should be able to sort this out if you leave her with me, Potter,' she said, 'she shouldn't be flying long distances for a few days, in any case.'

'Er--right--thanks,' said Harry, just as the bell rang for break.

'No problem,' said Professor Grubbly-Plank gruffly, turning back into the staff room.

'Just a moment, Wilhelmina!' said Professor McGonagall. 'Potter's letter!'

'Oh yeah!' said Harry, who had momentarily forgotten the scroll tied to Hedwig's leg. Professor Grubbly-Plank handed it over and then disappeared into the staff room carrying Hedwig, who was staring at Harry as though unable to believe he would give her away like this. Feeling slightly guilty, he turned to go, but Professor McGonagall called him back.

'Potter!'

'Yes, Professor?'

She glanced up and down the corridor; there were students coming from both directions.

'Bear in mind,' she said quickly and quietly, her eyes on the scroll in his hand, 'that channels of communication in and out of Hogwarts may be being watched, won't you?'

'I--' said Harry, but the flood of students rolling along the corridor was almost upon him. Professor McGonagall gave him a curt nod and retreated into the staff room, leaving Harry to be swept out into the courtyard with the crowd. He spotted Ron and Hermione already standing in a sheltered corner, their cloak collars turned up against the wind. Harry slit open the scroll as he hurried towards them and found five words in Sirius's handwriting:

Today, same time, same place.

'Is Hedwig OK?' asked Hermione anxiously, the moment he was within earshot.

'Where did you take her?' asked Ron.

'To Grubbly-Plank,' said Harry. 'And I met McGonagall ... listen ...'

And he told them what Professor McGonagall had said. To his surprise, neither of the others looked shocked. On the contrary, they exchanged significant looks.

'What?' said Harry, looking from Ron to Hermione and back again.

'Well, I was just saying to Ron ... what if someone had tried to intercept Hedwig? I mean, she's never been hurt on a flight before, has she?'

'Who's the letter from, anyway?' asked Ron, taking the note from Harry.

'Snuffles,' said Harry quietly.

'"Same time, same place?" Does he mean the fire in the common room?'

'Obviously,' said Hermione, also reading the note. She looked uneasy. 'I just hope nobody else has read this ...'

'But it was still sealed and everything,' said Harry, trying to convince himself as much as her. 'And nobody would understand what it meant if they didn't know where we'd spoken to him before, would they?'

'I don't know,' said Hermione anxiously, hitching her bag back over her shoulder as the bell rang again, 'it wouldn't be exactly difficult to re-seal the scroll by magic ... and if anyone's watching the Floo Network ... but I don't really see how we can warn him not to come without that being intercepted, too!'

They trudged down the stone steps to the dungeons for Potions, all three of them, lost in thought, but as they reached the bottom of the steps they were recalled to themselves by the voice of Draco Malfoy, who was standing just outside Snape's classroom door, waving around an official-looking piece of parchment and talking much louder than was necessary so that they could hear every word.

'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.'

'I mean,' said Malfoy, raising his voice a little more, his grey eyes glittering malevolently in Harry and Ron's direction, 'if it's a question of influence with the Ministry, I don't think they've got much chance ... from what my father says, they've been looking for an excuse to sack Arthur Weasley for years ... and as for Potter ... my father says it's a matter of time before the Ministry has him carted off to St. Mungo's ... apparently they've got a special ward for people whose brains have been addled by magic.'

Malfoy made a grotesque face, his mouth sagging open and his eyes rolling. Crabbe and Goyle gave their usual grunts of laughter; Pansy Parkinson shrieked with glee.

Something collided hard with Harry's shoulder, knocking him sideways. A split second later he realised that Neville had just charged past him, heading straight for Malfoy.

'Neville, no!'

Harry leapt forward and seized the back of Neville's robes; Neville struggled frantically, his fists flailing, trying desperately to get at Malfoy who looked, for a moment, extremely shocked.

'Help me!' Harry flung at Ron, managing to get an arm around Neville's neck and dragging him backwards, away from the Slytherins. Crabbe and Goyle were flexing their arms as they stepped in front of Malfoy, ready for the fight. Ron seized Neville's arms, and together he and Harry succeeded in dragging Neville back into the Gryffindor line. Nevilles face was scarlet; the pressure Harry was exerting on his throat rendered him quite incomprehensible, but odd words spluttered from his mouth.

'Not ... funny ... don't ... Mungo's ... show ... him ...'

The dungeon door opened. Snape appeared there. His black eyes swept up the Gryffindor line to the point where Harry and Ron were wrestling with Neville.

'Fighting, Potter, Weasley, Longbottom?' Snape said in his cold, sneering voice. 'Ten points from Gryffindor. Release Longbottom, Potter, or it will be detention. Inside, all of you.'

Harry let go of Neville, who stood panting and glaring at him.

'I had to stop you,' Harry gasped, picking up his bag. 'Crabbe and Goyle would've torn you apart.'

Neville said nothing; he merely snatched up his own bag and stalked off into the dungeon.

'What in the name of Merlin,' said Ron slowly, as they followed Neville, 'was that about?'

Harry did not answer. He knew exactly why the subject of people who were in St. Mungo's because of magical damage to their brains was highly distressing to Neville, but he had sworn to Dumbledore that he would not tell anyone Neville's secret. Even Neville did not know Harry knew.

Harry, Ron and Hermione took their usual seats at the back of the class, pulled out parchment, quills and their copies of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi.The class around them was whispering about what Neville had just done, but when Snape closed the dungeon door with an echoing bang, everybody immediately fell silent.

'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.

'We are continuing with our Strengthening Solution today. You will find your mixtures as you left them last lesson; it correctly made they should have matured well over the weekend--instructions--' he waved his wand again '--on the board. Carry on.'

Professor Umbridge spent the first half hour of the lesson making notes in her corner. Harry was very interested in hearing her question Snape; so interested, that he was becoming careless with his potion again.

'Salamander blood, Harry!' Hermione moaned, grabbing his wrist to prevent him adding the wrong ingredient for the third time, 'not pomegranate juice!'

'Right,' said Harry vaguely, putting down the bottle and continuing 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 unfathomable. 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 narrowed.

'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.

'No marks again, then, Potter,' said Snape maliciously, emptying Harry's cauldron with a wave of his wand. 'You will write me an essay on the correct composition of this potion, indicating how and why you went wrong, to be handed in next lesson, do you understand?'

'Yes,' said Harry furiously. Snape had already given them homework and he had Quidditch practice this evening; this would mean another couple of sleepless nights. It did not seem possible that he had awoken that morning feeling very happy. All he felt now was a fervent desire for this day to end.

'Maybe I'll skive off Divination,' he said glumly, as they stood in the courtyard after lunch, the wind whipping at the hems of robes and brims of hats. 'I'll pretend to be ill and do Snape's essay instead, then I won't have to stay up half the night.'

'You can't skive off Divination,' said Hermione severely.

'Hark who's talking, you walked out of Divination, you hate Trelawney!' said Ron indignantly.

'I don't hate her,' said Hermione loftily. 'I just think she's an absolutely appalling teacher and a real old fraud. But Harry's already missed History of Magic and I don't think he ought to miss anything else today!'

There was too much truth in this to ignore, so half an hour later Harry took his seat in the hot, overperfumed atmosphere of the Divination classroom, feeling angry at everybody. Professor Trelawney was yet again handing out copies of The Dream Oracle.Harry thought he'd surely be much better employed doing Snape's punishment essay than sitting here trying to find meaning in a lot of made-up dreams.

It seemed, however, that he was not the only person in Divination who was in a temper. Professor Trelawney slammed a copy of the Oracle down on the table between Harry and Ron and swept away, her lips pursed; she threw the next copy of the Oracle at Seamus and Dean, narrowly avoiding Seamus's head, and thrust the final one into Neville's chest with such force that he slipped off his pouffe.

'Well, carry on!' said Professor Trelawney loudly, her voice high-pitched and somewhat hysterical, 'you know what to do! Or am I such a sub-standard teacher that you have never learned how to open a book?'

The class stared perplexedly at her, then at each other. Harry, however, thought he knew what was the matter. As Professor Trelawney flounced back to the high-backed teachers chair, her magnified eyes full of angry tears, he leaned his head closer to Ron's and muttered, 'I think she's got the results of her inspection back.'

'Professor?' said Parvati Patil in a hushed voice (she and Lavender had always rather admired Professor Trelawney). 'Professor, is there anything--er--wrong?'

'Wrong!' cried Professor Trelawney in a voice throbbing with emotion. 'Certainly not! I have been insulted, certainly ... insinuations have been made against me ... unfounded accusations levelled ... but no, there is nothing wrong, certainly not!'

She took a great shuddering breath and looked away from Parvati, angry tears spilling from under her glasses.

'I say nothing,' she choked, 'of sixteen years of devoted service ... it has passed, apparently, unnoticed ... but I shall not be insulted, no, I shall not!'

'But, Professor, who's insulting you?' asked Parvati timidly.

'The Establishment!' said Professor Trelawney, in a deep, dramatic, 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 probation ... 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.

'No Quidditch practice,' said Angelina in hollow tones when Harry, Ron and Hermione entered the common room after dinner that night.

'But I kept my temper!' said Harry, horrified. 'I didn't say anything to her, Angelina, I swear, I--'

'I know, I know, said Angelina miserably. 'She just said she needed a bit of time to consider.'

'Consider what?' said Ron angrily. 'She's given the Slytherins permission, why not us?'

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.

'Well,' said Hermione, 'look on the bright side--at least now you'll have time to do Snape's essay!'

'That's a bright side, is it?' snapped Harry, while Ron stared incredulously at Hermione. 'No Quidditch practice, and extra Potions?'

Harry slumped down into a chair, dragged his Potions essay reluctantly from his bag and set to work. It was very hard to concentrate; even though he knew Sirius was not due in the fire until much later, he could not help glancing into the flames every few minutes just in case. There was also an incredible amount of noise in the room: Fred and George appeared finally to have perfected one type of Skiving Snackbox, which they were taking turns to demonstrate to a cheering and whooping crowd.

First, Fred would take a bite out of the orange end of a chew, at which he would vomit spectacularly into a bucket they had placed in front of them. Then he would force down the purple end of the chew, at which the vomiting would immediately cease. Lee Jordan, who was assisting the demonstration, was lazily Vanishing the vomit at regular intervals with the same Vanishing Spell Snape kept using on Harry's potions.

What with the regular sounds of retching, cheering and the sound of Fred and George taking advance orders from the crowd, Harry was finding it exceptionally difficult to focus on the correct method for Strengthening Solution. Hermione was not helping matters; the cheers and the sound of vomit hitting the bottom of Fred and George's bucket were punctuated by her loud and disapproving sniffs, which Harry found, if anything, more distracting.

'Just go and stop them, then!' he said irritably, after crossing out the wrong weight of powdered griffin claw for the fourth time.

'I can't, they're not technically doing anything wrong,' said Hermione through gritted teeth. 'They're quite within their rights to eat the foul things themselves and I can't find a rule that says the other idiots aren't entitled to buy them, not unless they're proven to be dangerous in some way and it doesn't look as though they are.'

She, Harry and Ron watched George projectile-vomit into the bucket, gulp down the rest of the chew and straighten up, beaming with his arms wide to protracted applause.

'You know, I don't get why Fred and George only got three OWLs each,' said Harry, watching as Fred, George and Lee collected gold from the eager crowd. 'They really know their stuff.'

'Oh, they only know flashy stuff that's of no real use to anyone,' said Hermione disparagingly.

'No real use?' said Ron in a strained voice. 'Hermione, they've made about twenty-six Galleons already.'

It was a long while before the crowd around the Weasley twins dispersed, then Fred, Lee and George sat up counting their takings even longer, so it was well past midnight when Harry, Ron and Hermione finally had the common room to themselves. At long last, Fred had closed the doorway to the boys' dormitories behind him, rattling his box of Galleons ostentatiously so that Hermione scowled. Harry, who was making very little progress with his Potions essay, decided to give it up for the night. As he put his books away, Ron, who was dozing lightly in an armchair, gave a muffled grunt, awoke, and looked blearily into the fire.

'Sirius!' he said.

Harry whipped round. Sirius's untidy dark head was sitting in the fire again.

'Hi,' he said, grinning.

'Hi,' chorused Harry, Ron and Hermione, all three kneeling down on the hearthrug. Crookshanks purred loudly and approached the fire, trying, despite the heat, to put his face close to Sirius's.

'How're things?' said Sirius.

'Not that good,' said Harry, as Hermione pulled Crookshanks back to stop him singeing his whiskers. 'The Ministry's forced through another decree, which means we're not allowed to have Quidditch teams--'

'Or secret Defence Against the Dark Arts groups?' Said Sirius.

There was a short pause.

'How did you know about that?' Harry demanded.

'You want to choose your meeting places more carefully,' said Sirius, grinning still more broadly. 'The Hog's Head, I ask you.'

'Well, it was better than the Three Broomsticks!' said Hermione defensively. 'That's always packed with people--'

'Which means you'd have been harder to overhear,' said Sirius. 'You've got a lot to learn, Hermione.'

'Who overheard us?' Harry demanded.

'Mundungus, of course,' said Sirius, and when they all looked puzzled he laughed. 'He was the witch under the veil.'

'That was Mundungus?' Harry said, stunned. 'What was he doing in the Hog's Head?'

'What do you think he was doing?' said Sirius impatiently. 'Keeping an eye on you, of course.'

'I'm still being followed?' asked Harry angrily.

'Yeah, you are,' said Sirius, 'and just as well, isn't it, if the first thing you're going to do on your weekend off is organise an illegal defence group.'

But he looked neither angry nor worried. On the contrary, he was looking at Harry with distinct pride.

'Why was Dung hiding from us?' asked Ron, sounding disappointed. 'We'd've liked to've seen him.'

'He was banned from the Hog's Head twenty years ago,' said Sirius, 'and that barman's got a long memory. We lost Moody's spare Invisibility Cloak when Sturgis was arrested, so Dung's been dressing as a witch a lot lately ... anyway ... first of all, Ron--I've sworn to pass on a message from your mother.'

'Oh yeah?' said Ron, sounding apprehensive.

'She says on no account whatsoever are you to take part in an illegal secret Defence Against the Dark Arts group. She says you'll be expelled for sure and your future will be ruined. She says there will be plenty of time to learn how to defend yourself later and that you are too young to be worrying about that right now. She also' (Sirius's eyes turned to the other two) 'advises Harry and Hermione not to proceed with the group, though she accepts that she has no authority over either of them and simply begs them to remember that she has their best interests at heart. She would have written all this to you, but if the owl had been intercepted you'd all have been in real trouble, and she can't say it for herself because she's on duty tonight.'

'On duty doing what?' said Ron quickly.

'Never you mind, just stuff for the Order,' said Sirius. 'So it's fallen to me to be the messenger and make sure you tell her I passed it all on, because I don't think she trusts me to.'

There was another pause in which Crookshanks, mewing, attempted to paw Sirius's head, and Ron fiddled with a hole in the hearthrug.

'So, you want me to say I'm not going to take part in the Defence group?' he muttered finally.

'Me? Certainly not!' said Sirius, looking surprised. 'I think it's an excellent idea!'

'You do?' said Harry, his heart lifting.

'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?'

'But--last term all you did was tell me to be careful and not take risks--'

'Last year, all the evidence was that someone inside Hogwarts was trying to kill you, Harry!' said Sirius impatiently. 'This year, we know there's someone outside Hogwarts who'd like to kill us all, so I think learning to defend yourselves properly is a very good idea!'

'And if we do get expelled?' Hermione asked, a quizzical look on her face.

'Hermione, this whole thing was your idea!' said Harry, staring at her.

'I know it was. I just wondered what Sirius thought,' she said, shrugging.

'Well, better expelled and able to defend yourselves than sitting safely in school without a clue,' said Sirius.

'Hear, hear,' said Harry and Ron enthusiastically.

'So,' said Sirius, 'how are you organising this group? Where are you meeting?'

'Well, that's a bit of a problem now,' said Harry. 'Dunno where we're going to be able to go.'

'How about the Shrieking Shack?' suggested Sirius.

'Hey, that's an idea!' said Ron excitedly, but Hermione made a sceptical noise and all three of them looked at her, Sirius's head turning in the flames.

'Well, Sirius, it's just that there were only four of you meeting in the Shrieking Shack when you were at school,' said Hermione, 'and all of you could transform into animals and I suppose you could all have squeezed under a single Invisibility Cloak if you'd wanted to. But there are twenty-eight of us and none of us is an Animagus, so we wouldn't need so much an Invisibility Cloak as an Invisibility Marquee--'

'Fair point,' said Sirius, looking slightly crestfallen. 'Well, I'm sure you'll come up with somewhere. There used to be a pretty roomy secret passageway behind that big mirror on the fourth floor, you might have enough space to practise jinxes in there.'

'Fred and George told me it's blocked,' said Harry, shaking his head. 'Caved in or something.'

'Oh ...' said Sirius, frowning. 'Well, I'll have a think and get back to--'

He broke off. His face was suddenly tense, alarmed. He turned sideways, apparently looking into the solid brick wall of the fireplace.

'Sirius?' said Harry anxiously.

But he had vanished. Harry gaped at the flames for a moment, then turned to look at Ron and Hermione.

'Why did he--?'

Hermione gave a horrified gasp and leapt to her feet, still staring at the fire.

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 movements amongst the flames, as though she knew exactly where Sirius's hair had been moments before and was determined to seize it.

Chapter 18 Dumbledore's Army

'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.'

Harry pointed his wand at the bullfrog that had been hopping hopefully towards the other side of the table--'Accio!'-- and it zoomed gloomily back into his hand.

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 classroom windows, Harry, Ron and Hermione's whispered discussion about how Umbridge had nearly caught Sirius went quite unnoticed.

'I've been suspecting this ever since Filch accused you of ordering Dungbombs, because it seemed such a stupid lie,' Hermione whispered. '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. Silencio.'

The bullfrog on which she was practising her Silencing Charm was struck dumb mid-croak and glared at her reproachfully.

'If she'd caught Snuffles--'

Harry finished the sentence for her.

'--He'd probably be back in Azkaban this morning.' He waved his wand without really concentrating; his bullfrog swelled like a green balloon and emitted a high-pitched whistle.

'Silencio!' said Hermione hastily, pointing her wand at Harry's frog, which deflated silently before them. 'Well, he mustn't do it again, that's all. I just don't know how we're going to let him know. We can't send him an owl.'

'I don't reckon he'll risk it again,' said Ron. 'He's not stupid, he knows she nearly got him. Silencio.'

The large and ugly raven in front of him let out a derisive caw.

'Silencio. SILENCIO!'

The raven cawed more loudly.

'It's the way you're moving your wand,' said Hermione, watching Ron critically, 'you don't want to wave it, it's more a sharp jab.'

'Ravens are harder than frogs,' said Ron through clenched teeth.

'Fi ne, let's swap,' said Hermione, seizing Ron's raven and replacing it with her own fat bullfrog. 'Silencio!' The raven continued to open and close its sharp beak, but no sound came out.

'Very good, Miss Granger!' said Professor Flitwick's squeaky little voice, making Harry, Ron and Hermione all jump. 'Now, let me see you try, Mr. Weasley'

'Wha--? Oh--oh, right,' said Ron, very flustered. 'Er--silencio!'

He jabbed at the bullfrog so hard he poked it in the eye: the frog gave a deafening croak and leapt off the desk.

It came as no surprise to any of them that Harry and Ron were given additional practice of the Silencing Charm for homework.

They were allowed to remain inside over break due to the downpour outside. They found seats in a noisy and overcrowded classroom on the first floor in which Peeves was floating dreamily up near the chandelier, occasionally blowing an ink pellet at the top of somebody's head. They had barely sat down when Angelina came struggling towards them through the groups of gossiping students.

'I've got permission!' she said. 'To re-form the Quidditch team!'

'Excellent!' said Ron and Harry together.

'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?'

She squeezed away from them, narrowly dodged an ink pellet from Peeves, which hit a nearby first-year instead, and vanished from sight.

Ron's smile slipped slightly as he looked out of the window, which was now opaque with hammering rain.

'Hope this clears up. What's up with you, Hermione?'

She, too, was gazing at the window, but not as though she really saw it. Her eyes were unfocused and there was a frown on her face.

'Just thinking ...' she said, still frowning at the rain-washed window.

'About Siri-- Snuffles?' said Harry.

'No ... not exactly ...' said Hermione slowly. 'More ... wondering ... I suppose we're doing the right thing ... I think ... aren't we?'

Harry and Ron looked at each other.

'Well, that clears that up,' said Ron. 'It would've been really annoying if you hadn't explained yourself properly.'

Hermione looked at him as though she had only just realised he was there.

'I was just wondering,' she said, her voice stronger now, 'whether we're doing the right thing, starting this Defence Against the Dark Arts group.'

'What?' said Harry and Ron together.

'Hermione, it was your idea in the first place!' said Ron indignantly.

'I know,' said Hermione, twisting her fingers together. 'But after talking to Snuffles ...'

'But he's all for it,' said Harry.

'Yes,' said Hermione, staring at the window again. 'Yes, that's what made me think maybe it wasn't a good idea after all ...'

Peeves floated over them on his stomach, peashooter at the ready; automatically all three of them lifted their bags to cover their heads until he had passed.

'Let's get this straight,' said Harry angrily, as they put their bags back on the floor, 'Sirius agrees with us, so you don't think we should do it any more?'

Hermione looked tense and rather miserable. Now staring at her own hands, she said, 'Do you honestly trust his judgement?'

'Yes, I do!' said Harry at once. 'He's always given us great advice!'

An ink pellet whizzed past them, striking Katie Bell squarely in the ear. Hermione watched Katie leap to her feet and start throwing things at Peeves; it was a few moments before Hermione spoke again and it sounded as though she was choosing her words very carefully.

'You don't think he has become ... sort of ... reckless ... since he's been cooped up in Grimmauld Place? You don't think he's ... kind of ... living through us?'

'What d'you mean, "living through us"?' Harry retorted.

'I mean ... well, I think he'd love to be forming secret Defence societies right under the nose of someone from the Ministry ... I think he's really frustrated at how little he can do where he is ... so I think he's keen to kind of ... egg us on.'

Ron looked utterly perplexed.

'Sirius is right,' he said, 'you do sound just like my mother.'

Hermione bit her lip and did not answer. The bell rang just as Peeves swooped down on Katie and emptied an entire ink bottle over her head.

The weather did not improve as the day wore on, so that at seven o'clock that evening, when Harry and Ron went down to the Quidditch pitch for practice, they were soaked through within minutes, their feet slipping and sliding on the sodden grass. The sky was a deep, thundery grey and it was a relief to gain the warmth and light of the changing rooms, even if they knew the respite was only temporary. They found Fred and George debating whether to use one of their own Skiving Snackboxes to get out of flying.

'... but I bet she'd know what we'd done,' Fred said out of the corner of his mouth. 'If only I hadn't offered to sell her some Puking Pastilles yesterday.'

'We could try the Fever Fudge,' George muttered, 'no one's seen that yet--'

'Does it work?' enquired Ron hopefully, as the hammering of rain on the roof intensified and wind howled around the building.

'Well, yeah,' said Fred, 'your temperature'll go right up.'

'But you get these massive pus-filled boils, too,' said George, 'and we haven't worked out how to get rid of them yet.'

'I can't see any boils,' said Ron, staring at the twins.

'No, well, you wouldn't,' said Fred darkly, 'they're not in a place we generally display to the public.'

'But they make sitting on a broom a right pain in the--'

'All right, everyone, listen up,' said Angelina loudly, emerging from the Captain's office. 'I know it's not ideal weather, but there's a chance we'll be playing Slytherin in conditions like this so it's a good idea to work out how we're going to cope with them. Harry, didn't you do something to your glasses to stop the rain fogging them up when we played Hufflepuff in that storm?'

'Hermione did it,' said Harry. He pulled out his wand, tapped his glasses and said, 'Impervius!'

'I think we all ought to try that,' said Angelina. 'If we could just keep the rain off our faces it would really help visibility--all together, come on--Impervius!OK. Let's go.'

They all stowed their wands back in the inside pockets of their robes, shouldered their brooms and followed Angelina out of the changing rooms.

They squelched through the deepening mud to the middle of the pitch; visibility was still very poor even with the Impervius Charm; light was fading fast and curtains of rain were sweeping the grounds.

'All right, on my whistle,' shouted Angelina.

Harry kicked off from the ground, spraying mud in all directions, and shot upwards, the wind pulling him slightly off course.

He had no idea how he was going to see the Snitch in this weather; he was having enough difficulty seeing the one Bludger with which they were practising; a minute into the practice it almost unseated him and he had to use the Sloth Grip Roll to avoid it. Unfortunately, Angelina did not see this. In fact, she did not appear to be able to see anything; none of them had a clue what the others were doing. The wind was picking up; even at a distance Harry could hear the swishing, pounding sounds of the rain pummelling the surface of the lake.

Angelina kept them at it for nearly an hour before conceding defeat. She led her sodden and disgruntled team back into the changing rooms, insisting that the practice had not been a waste of time, though without any real conviction in her voice. Fred and George were looking particularly annoyed; both were bandy-legged and winced with every movement. Harry could hear them complaining in low voices as he towelled his hair dry.

'I think a few of mine have ruptured,' said Fred in a hollow voice.

'Mine haven't,' said George, through clenched teeth, 'they're throbbing like mad ... feel bigger if anything.'

'OUCH!' said Harry.

He pressed the towel to his face, his eyes screwed tight with pain. The scar on his forehead had seared again, more painfully than it had in weeks.

'What's up?' said several voices.

Harry emerged from behind his towel; the changing room was blurred because he was not wearing his glasses, but he could still tell that everyone's face was turned towards him.

'Nothing,' he muttered, 'I--poked myself in the eye, that's all.'

But he gave Ron a significant look and the two of them hung back as the rest of the team filed back outside, muffled in their cloaks, their hats pulled low over their ears.

'What happened?' said Ron, the moment Alicia had disappeared through the door. 'Was it your scar?'

Harry nodded.

'But ...' looking scared, Ron strode across to the window and stared out into the rain, 'he--he can't be near us now, can he?'

'No,' Harry muttered, sinking on to a bench and rubbing his forehead. 'He's probably miles away. It hurt because ... he's ... angry.'

Harry had not meant to say that at all, and heard the words as though a stranger had spoken them--yet knew at once that they were true. He did not know how he knew it, but he did; Voldemort, wherever he was, whatever he was doing, was in a towering temper.

'Did you see him?' said Ron, looking horrified. 'Did you ... get a vision, or something?'

Harry sat quite still, staring at his feet, allowing his mind and his memory to relax in the aftermath of the pain.

A confused tangle of shapes, a howling rush of voices ...

'He wants something done, and it's not happening fast enough,' he said.

Again, he felt surprised to hear the words coming out of his mouth, and yet was quite certain they were true.

'But ... how do you know?' said Ron.

Harry shook his head and covered his eyes with his hands, pressing down upon them with his palms. Little stars erupted in them. He felt Ron sit down on the bench beside him and knew Ron was staring at him.

'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 shook his head.

'What is it, then?'

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 ...

'Last time, it was because he was pleased,' he said. 'Really pleased. He thought ... something good was going to happen. And the night before we came back to Hogwarts ...' he thought back to the moment when his scar had hurt so badly in his and Ron's bedroom in Grimmauld Place ... he was furious.

He looked round at Ron, who was gaping at him.

'You could take over from Trelawney, mate,' he said in an awed voice.

'I'm not making prophecies,' said Harry.

'No, you know what you're doing?' Ron said, sounding both scared and impressed. 'Harry, you're reading You-Know-Who's mind!'

'No,' said Harry, shaking his head. 'It's more like ... his mood, I suppose. I'm just getting flashes of what mood he's in. Dumbledore said something like this was happening last year. He said that when Voldemort was near me, or when he was feeling hatred, I could tell. Well, now I'm feeling it when he's pleased, too ...'

There was a pause. The wind and rain lashed at the building.

'You've got to tell someone,' said Ron.

'I told Sirius last time.'

'Well, tell him about this time!'

'Can't, can I?' said Harry grimly. 'Umbridge is watching the owls and the fires, remember?'

'Well then, Dumbledore.'

'I've just told you, he already knows,' said Harry shortly, getting to his feet, taking his cloak off his peg and swinging it around him. 'There's no point telling him again.'

Ron did up the fastening of his own cloak, watching Harry thoughtfully.

'Dumbledore'd want to know,' he said.

Harry shrugged.

'C'mon ... we've still got Silencing Charms to practise.'

They hurried back through the dark grounds, sliding and stumbling up the muddy lawns, not talking. Harry was thinking hard. What was it that Voldemort wanted done that was not happening quickly enough?

'... he's got other plans ... plans he can put into operation very quietly indeed ... stuff he can only get by stealth ... like a weapon. Something he didn't have last time.'

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?

'Mimbulus mimbletonia,' said Ron's voice and Harry came back to his senses just in time to clamber through the portrait hole into the common room.

It appeared that Hermione had gone to bed early, leaving Crookshanks curled in a nearby chair and an assortment of knobbly knitted elf hats lying on a table by the fire. Harry was rather grateful that she was not around, because he did not much want to discuss his scar hurting and have her urge him to go to Dumbledore, too. Ron kept throwing him anxious glances, but Harry pulled out his Charms books and set to work on finishing his essay, though he was only pretending to concentrate and by the time Ron said he was going up to bed, too, he had written hardly anything.

Midnight came and went while Harry was reading and rereading a passage about the uses of scurvy-grass, lovage and sneezewort and not taking in a word of it.

These plantes are moste efficacious in the inflaming of the braine, and are therefore much used in Confusing and Befuddlement Draughts, where the wizard is desirous of producing hot-headedness and recklessness ...

... Hermione said Sirius was becoming reckless cooped up in Grimmauld Place ...

... moste efficacious in the inflaming of the braine, and are therefore much used ...

... the Daily Prophet would think his brain was inflamed if they found out that he knew what Voldemort was feeling ...

... therefore much used in Confusing and Befuddlement Draughts ...

... confusing was the word, all right; why did he know what Voldemort was feeling? What was this weird connection between them, which Dumbledore had never been able to explain satisfactorily?

... where the wizard is desirous ...

... how Harry would like to sleep ...

... of producing hot-headedness ...

... it was warm and comfortable in his armchair before the fire, with the rain still beating heavily on the windowpanes, Crookshanks purring, and the crackling of the flames ...

The book slipped from Harry's slack grip and landed with a dull thud on the hearthrug. His head lolled sideways ...

He was walking once more along a windowless corridor, his footsteps echoing in the silence. As the door at the end of the passage loomed larger, his heart beat fast with excitement ... if he could only open it ... enter beyond ...

He stretched out his hand ... his fingertips were inches from it ...

'Harry Potter, sir!'

He awoke with a start. The candles had all been extinguished in the common room, but there was something moving close by.

'Whozair?' said Harry, sitting upright in his chair. The fire was almost out, the room very dark.

'Dobby has your owl, sir!' said a squeaky voice.

'Dobby?' said Harry thickly, peering through the gloom towards the source of the voice.

Dobby the house-elf was standing beside the table on which Hermione had left half a dozen of her knitted hats. His large, pointed ears were now sticking out from beneath what looked like all the hats Hermione had ever knitted; he was wearing one on top of the other, so that his head seemed elongated by two or three feet, and on the very topmost bobble sat Hedwig, hooting serenely and obviously cured.

'Dobby volunteered to return Harry Potter's owl,' said the elf squeakily, with a look of positive adoration on his face, 'Professor Grubbly-Plank says she is all well now, sir.' He sank into a deep bow so that his pencil-like nose brushed the threadbare surface of the hearthrug and Hedwig gave an indignant hoot and fluttered on to the arm of Harry's chair.

'Thanks, Dobby!' said Harry, stroking Hedwig's head and blinking hard, trying to rid himself of the image of the door in his dream ... it had been very vivid. Surveying Dobby more closely, he noticed that the elf was also wearing several scarves and innumerable socks, so that his feet looked far too big for his body.

'Er ... have you been taking all the clothes Hermione's been leaving out?'

'Oh, no, sir,' said Dobby happily. 'Dobby has been taking some for Winky, too, sir.'

'Yeah, how is Winky?' asked Harry.

Bobby's ears drooped slightly.

'Winky is still drinking lots, sir,' he said sadly, his enormous round green eyes, large as tennis balls, downcast. 'She still does not care for clothes, Harry Potter. Nor do the other house-elves. None of them will clean Gryffindor Tower any more, not with the hats and socks hidden everywhere, they finds them insulting, sir. Dobby does it all himself, sir, but Dobby does not mind, sir, for he always hopes to meet Harry Potter and tonight, sir, he has got his wish!' Dobby sank into a deep bow again. 'But Harry Potter does not seem happy,' Dobby went on, straightening up again and kicking timidly at Harry. 'Dobby heard him muttering in his sleep. Was Harry Potter having bad dreams?'

'Not really bad,' said Harry, yawning and rubbing his eyes. 'I've had worse.'

The elf surveyed Harry out of his vast, orb-like eyes. Then he said very seriously, his ears drooping, 'Dobby wishes he could help Harry Potter, for Harry Potter set Dobby free and Dobby is much, much happier now.'

Harry smiled.

'You can't help me, Dobby, but thanks for the offer.'

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 ...

'Wait a moment-- there is something you can do for me, Dobby,' said Harry slowly.

The elf looked round, beaming.

'Name it, Harry Potter, sir!'

'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.'

He expected the elf's smile to vanish, his ears to droop; he expected him to say it was impossible, or else that he would try to find somewhere, but his hopes were not high. What he had not expected was for Dobby to give a little skip, his ears waggling cheerfully, and clap his hands together.

'Dobby knows the perfect place, sir!' he said happily. 'Dobby heard tell of it from the other house-elves when he came to Hogwarts, sir. It is known by us as the Come and Go Room, sir, or else as the Room of Requirement!'

'Why?' said Harry curiously.

'Because it is a room that a person can only enter,' said Dobby seriously, 'when they have real need of it. Sometimes it is there, and sometimes it is not, but when it appears, it is always equipped for the seeker's needs. Dobby has used it, sir,' said the elf, dropping his voice and looking guilty, 'when Winky has been very drunk; he has hidden her in the Room of Requirement and he has found antidotes to Butterbeer there, and a nice elf-sized bed to settle her on while she sleeps it off, sir ... and Dobby knows Mr. Filch has found extra cleaning materials there when he has run short, sir, and--'

'And if you really needed a bathroom,' said Harry, suddenly remembering something Dumbledore had said at the Yule Ball the previous Christmas, 'would it fill itself with chamber pots?'

'Dobby expects so, sir,' said Dobby, nodding earnestly. 'It is a most amazing room, sir.'

'How many people know about it?' said Harry, sitting up straight er in his chair.

'Very few, sir. Mostly people stumbles across it when they needs it, sir, but often they never finds it again, for they do not know that it is always there waiting to be called into service, sir.'

'It sounds brilliant,' said Harry, his heart racing. 'It sounds perfect, Dobby. When can you show me where it is?'

'Any time, Harry Potter, sir,' said Dobby, looking delighted at Harry's enthusiasm. 'We could go now, if you like!'

For a moment Harry was tempted to go with Dobby. He was halfway out of his seat, intending to hurry upstairs for his Invisibility Cloak when, not for the first time, a voice very much like Hermione's whispered in his ear: reckless.It was, after all, very late, he was exhausted, and had Snape's essay to finish.

'Not tonight, Dobby,' said Harry reluctantly, sinking back into his chair. 'This is really important ... I don't want to blow it, it'll need proper planning. Listen, can you just tell me exactly where this Room of Requirement is, and how to get in there?'

Their robes billowed and swirled around them as they splashed across the flooded vegetable patch to double Herbology where they could hardly hear what Professor Sprout was saying over the hammering of raindrops hard as hailstones on the greenhouse roof. The afternoon's Care of Magical Creatures lesson was to be relocated from the storm-swept grounds to a free classroom on the ground floor and, to their intense relief, Angelina had sought out her team at lunch to tell them that Quidditch practice was cancelled.

'Good,' said Harry quietly, when she. told him, 'because we've found somewhere to have our first Defence meeting. Tonight, eight o'clock, seventh floor opposite that tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy being clubbed by those trolls. Can you tell Katie and Alicia?'

She looked slightly taken aback but promised to tell the others. Harry returned hungrily to his sausages and mash. When he looked up to take a drink of pumpkin juice, he found Hermione watching him.

'What?' he said thickly.

'Well ... it's just that Dobby's plans aren't always that safe. Don't you remember when he lost you all the bones in your arm?'

'This room isn't just some mad idea of Dobby's; Dumbledore knows about it, too, he mentioned it to me at the Yule Ball.'

Hermione's expression cleared.

'Dumbledore told you about it?'

'Just in passing,' said Harry, shrugging.

'Oh, well, that's all right then,' said Hermione briskly and raised no more objections.

Together with Ron they had spent most of the day seeking out those people who had signed their names to the list in the Hog's Head and telling them where to meet that evening. Somewhat to Harry's disappointment, it was Ginny who managed to find Cho Chang and her friend first; however, by the end of dinner he was confident that the news had been passed to every one of the twenty-five people who had turned up in the Hog's Head.

At half past seven Harry, Ron and Hermione left the Gryffindor common room, Harry clutching a certain piece of aged parchment in his hand. Fifth-years were allowed to be out in the corridors until nine o'clock, but all three of them kept looking around nervously as they made their way along the seventh floor.

'Hold it,' Harry warned, unfolding the piece of parchment at the top of the last staircase, tapping it with his wand and muttering, 'I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.'

A map of Hogwarts appeared on the blank surface of the parchment. Tiny black moving dots, labelled with names, showed where various people were.

'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.'

They hurried along the corridor to the place Dobby had described to Harry, a stretch of blank wall opposite an enormous tapestry depicting Barnabas the Barmy's foolish attempt to train trolls for the ballet.

'OK,' said Harry quietly, while a moth-eaten troll paused in his relentless clubbing of the would-be ballet teacher to watch them. 'Dobby said to walk past this bit of wall three times, concentrating hard on what we need.'

They did so, turning sharply at the window just beyond the blank stretch of wall, then at the man-sized vase on its other side. Ron had screwed up his eyes in concentration; Hermione was whispering something under her breath; Harry's fists were clenched as he stared ahead of him.

We need somewhere to learn to fight ... he thought. Just give us a place to practise ... somewhere they can't find us ...

'Harry!' said Hermione sharply, as they wheeled around after their third walk past.

A highly polished door had appeared in the wall. Ron was staring at it, looking slightly wary. Harry reached out, seized the brass handle, pulled open the door and led the way into a spacious room lit with flickering torches like those that illuminated the dungeons eight floors below.

The walls were lined with wooden bookcases and instead of chairs the re were large silk cushions on the floor. A set of shelves at the far end of the room carried a range of instruments such as Sneakoscopes, Secrecy Sensors and a large, cracked Foe-Glass that Harry was sure had hung, the previous year, in the fake Moody's office.

'These will be good when we're practising Stunning,' said Ron enthusiastically, prodding one of the cushions with his foot.

'And just look at these books!' said Hermione excitedly, running a finger along the spines of the large leather-bound tomes. 'A Compendium of Common Curses and their Counter-Actions ... The Dark Arts Outsmarted ... Self-Defensive Spellwork ... wow ...' She looked around at Harry, her face glowing, and he saw that the presence of hundreds of books had finally convinced Hermione that what they were doing was right. 'Harry, this is wonderful, there's everything we need here!'

And without further ado she slid Jinxes for the Jinxed from its shelf, sank on to the nearest cushion and began to read.

There was a gentle knock on the door. Harry looked round. Ginny, Neville, Lavender, Parvati and Dean had arrived.

'Whoa,' said Dean, staring around, impressed. 'What is this place?'

Harry began to explain, but before he had finished more people had arrived and he had to start all over again. By the time eight o'clock arrived, every cushion was occupied. Harry moved across to the door and turned the key protruding from the lock; it clicked in a satisfyingly loud way and everybody fell silent, looking at him. Hermione carefully marked her page of Jinxes for the Jinxed and set the book aside.

'Well,' said Harry, slightly nervously. 'This is the place we've found for practice sessions, and you've--er--obviously found it OK.'

'It's fantastic!' said Cho, and several people murmured their agreement.

'It's bizarre,' said Fred, frowning around at it. 'We once hid from Filch in here, remember, George? But it was just a broom cupboard then.'

'Hey, Harry, what's this stuff?' asked Dean from the rear of the room, indicating the Sneakoscopes and the Foe-Glass.

'Dark detectors,' said Harry, stepping between the cushions to reach them. 'Basically they all show when Dark wizards or enemies are around, but you don't want to rely on them too much, they can be fooled ...'

He gazed for a moment into the cracked Foe-Glass; shadowy figures were moving around inside it, though none was recognisable. He turned his back on it.

'Well, I've been thinking about the sort of stuff we ought to do first and--er--' He noticed a raised hand. 'What, Hermione?'

'I think we ought to elect a leader,' said Hermione.

'Harry's leader,' said Cho at once, looking at Hermione as though she were mad.

Harry's stomach did yet another back-flip.

'Yes, but I think we ought to vote on it properly,' said Hermione, unperturbed. 'It makes it formal and it gives him authority. So--everyone who thinks Harry ought to be our leader?'

Everybody put up their hand, even Zacharias Smith, though he did it very half-heartedly.

'Er--right, thanks,' said Harry, who could feel his face burning. 'And--what,Hermione?'

'I also think we ought to have a name,' she said brightly, her hand still in the air. 'It would promote a feeling of team spirit and unity, don't you think?'

'Can we be the Anti-Umbridge League?' said Angelina hopefully.

'Or the Ministry of Magic are Morons Group?' suggested Fred.

'I was thinking,' said Hermione, frowning at Fred, 'more of a name that didn't tell everyone what we were up to, so we can refer to it safely outside meetings.'

'The Defence Association?' said Cho. 'The DA for short, so nobody knows what we're talking about?'

'Yeah, the DA's good,' said Ginny. 'Only let's make it stand for Dumbledore's Army, because that's the Ministry's worst fear, isn't it?'

There was a good deal of appreciative murmuring and laughter at this.

'All in favour of the DA?' said Hermione bossily, kneeling up on her cushion to count. 'That's a majority--motion passed!'

She pinned the piece of parchment with all of their signatures on it on to the wall and wrote across the top in large letters:

DUMBLEDORE'S ARMY

'Right,' said Harry, when she had sat down again, 'shall we get practising then? I was thinking, the first thing we should do is Expelliarmus, you know, the Disarming Charm. I know it's pretty basic but I've found it really useful--'

'Oh, please,' said Zacharias Smith, rolling his eyes and folding his arms. 'I don't think Expelliarmus is exactly going to help us against You-Know-Who, do you?'

'I've used it against him,' said Harry quietly. 'It saved my life in June.'

Smith opened his mouth stupidly. The rest of the room was very quiet.

'But if you think it's beneath you, you can leave,' Harry said.

Smith did not move. Nor did anybody else.

'OK,' said Harry, his mouth slightly drier than usual with all these eyes upon him, 'I reckon we should all divide into pairs and practise.'

It felt very odd to be issuing instructions, but not nearly as odd as seeing them followed. Everybody got to their feet at once and divided up. Predictably, Neville was left partnerless.

'You can practise with me,' Harry told him. 'Right--on the count of three, then--one, two, three--'

The room was suddenly full of shouts of Expelliarmus.Wands flew in all directions; missed spells hit books on shelves and sent them flying into the air. Harry was too quick for Neville, whose wand went spinning out of his hand, hit the ceiling in a shower of sparks and landed with a clatter on top of a bookshelf, from which Harry retrieved it with a Summoning Charm. Glancing around, he thought he had been right to suggest they practise the basics first; there was a lot of shoddy spellwork going on; many people were not succeeding in Disarming their opponents at all, but merely causing them to jump backwards a few paces or wince as their feeble spell whooshed over them.

'Expelliarmus!' said Neville, and Harry, caught unawares, felt his wand fly out of his hand.

'I DID IT!' said Neville gleefully. 'I've never done it before--I DID IT!'

'Good one!' said Harry encouragingly, deciding not to point out that in a real duel Neville's opponent was unlikely to be staring in the opposite direction with his wand held loosely at his side. 'Listen, Neville, can you take it in turns to practise with Ron and Hermione for a couple of minutes so I can walk around and see how the rest are doing?'

Harry moved off into the middle of the room. Something very odd was happening to Zacharias Smith. Every time he opened his mouth to disarm Anthony Goldstein, his own wand would fly out of his hand, yet Anthony did not seem to be making a sound. Harry did not have to look far to solve the mystery: Fred and George were several feet from Smith and taking it in turns to point their wands at his back.

'Sorry Harry,' said George hastily, when Harry caught his eye. 'Couldn't resist.'

Harry walked around the other pairs, trying to correct those who were doing the spell wrong. Ginny was teamed with Michael Corner; she was doing very well, whereas Michael was either very bad or unwilling to jinx her. Ernie Macmillan was flourishing his wand unnecessarily, giving his partner time to get in under his guard; the Creevey brothers were enthusiastic but erratic and mainly responsible for all the books leaping off the shelves around them; Luna Lovegood was similarly patchy, occasionally sending Justin Finch-Fletchleys wand spinning out of his hand, at other times merely causing his hair to stand on end.

'OK, stop!' Harry shouted. 'Stop. STOP!'

I need a whistle, he thought, and immediately spotted one lying on top of the nearest row of books. He caught it up and blew hard. Everyone lowered their wands.

'That wasn't bad,' said Harry, 'but there's definite room for improvement.' Zacharias Smith glared at him. 'Let's try again.'

He moved off around the room again, stopping here and there to make suggestions. Slowly, the general performance improved.

He avoided going near Cho and her friend for a while, but after walking twice around every other pair in the room felt he could not ignore them any longer.

'Oh no,' said Cho rather wildly as he approached. 'Expelliarmious!I mean, Expellimellius! I--oh, sorry, Marietta!'

Her curly-haired friend's sleeve had caught fire; Marietta extinguished it with her own wand and glared at Harry as though it was his fault.

'You made me nervous, I was doing all right before then!' Cho told Harry ruefully.

'That was quite good,' Harry lied, but when she raised her eyebrows he said, 'Well, no, it was lousy, but I know you can do it properly, I was watching from over there.'

She laughed. Her friend Marietta looked at them rather sourly and turned away.

'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--'

She broke off, looking rather confused, and an awkward silence fell between them; Terry Boot's wand went whizzing past Harry's ear and hit Alicia Spinnet hard on the nose.

'Well, my dad is very supportive of any anti-Ministry action!' said Luna Lovegood proudly from just behind Harry; evidently she had been eavesdropping on his conversation while Justin Finch--'Fletchley attempted to disentangle himself from the robes that had flown up over his head. 'He's always saying he'd believe anything of Fudge; I mean, the number of goblins Fudge has had assassinated! And of course he uses the Department of Mysteries to develop terrible poisons, which he secretly feeds to anybody who disagrees with him. And then there's his Umgubular Slashkilter--'

'Don't ask,' Harry muttered to Cho as she opened her mouth, looking puzzled. She giggled.

'Hey, Harry,' Hermione called from the other end of the room, 'have you checked the time?'

He looked down at his watch and was shocked to see it was already ten past nine, which meant they needed to get back to their common rooms immediately or risk being caught and punished by Filch for being out of bounds. He blew his whistle; everybody stopped shouting 'Expelliarmus' and the last couple of wands clattered to the floor.

'Well, that was pretty good,' said Harry, 'but we've overrun, we'd better leave it here. Same time, same place next week?'

'Sooner!' said Dean Thomas eagerly and many people nodded in agreement.

Angelina, however, said quickly, 'The Quidditch season's about to start, we need team practices too!'

'Let's say next Wednesday night, then,' said Harry, 'we can decide on additional meetings then. Come on, we'd better get going.'

He pulled out the Marauder's Map again and checked it carefully for signs of teachers on the seventh floor. He let them all leave in threes and fours, watching their tiny dots anxiously to see that they returned safely to their dormitories: the Hufflepuffs to the basement corridor that also led to the kitchens; the Ravenclaws to a tower on the west side of the castle, and the Gryffindors along the corridor to the Fat Lady's portrait.

'That was really, really good, Harry,' said Hermione, when finally it was just her, Harry and Ron who were left.

'Yeah, it was!' said Ron enthusiastically, as they slipped out of the door and watched it melt back into stone behind them. 'Did you see me disarm Hermione, Harry?'

'Only once,' said Hermione, stung. 'I got you loads more than you got me--'

'I did not only get you once, I got you at least three times--'

'Well, if you're counting the one where you tripped over your own feet and knocked the wand out of my hand--'

They argued all the way back to the common room, but Harry was not listening to them. He had one eye on the Marauder's Map, but he was also thinking of Cho saying he made her nervous.

Chapter 19 The Lion and the Serpent

Harry felt as though he were carrying some kind of talisman inside his chest over the following two weeks, a glowing secret that supported 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 disarmed Hermione, how Colin Creevey had mastered the Impediment Jinx after three meetings' hard effort, how Parvati Patil had produced such a good Reductor Curse that she had reduced the table carrying all the Sneakoscopes to dust.

He was finding it almost impossible to fix a regular night of the week for the DA meetings, as they had to accommodate three separate: team's Quidditch practices, which were often rearranged due to bad weather conditions; but Harry was not sorry about this; he had a feeling that it was probably better to keep the timing of their meetings unpredictable. If anyone was watching them, it would be hard to make out a pattern.

Hermione soon devised a very clever method of communicating the time and date of the next meeting to all the members in case they needed to change it at short notice, because it would look suspicious if people from different Houses were seen crossing the Great Hall to talk to each other too often. She gave each of the members of the DA a fake Galleon (Ron became very excited when he first saw the basket and was convinced she was actually giving out gold).

'You see the numerals around the edge of the coins?' Hermione said, holding one up for examination at the end of their fourth meeting. The coin gleamed fat and yellow in the light from the torches. 'On real Galleons that's just a serial number referring to the goblin who cast the coin. On these fake coins, though, the numbers will change to reflect the time and date of the next meeting. The coins will grow hot when the date changes, so if you're carrying them in a pocket you'll be able to feel them. We take one each, and when Harry sets the date of the next meeting he'll change the numbers on his coin, and because I've put a Protean Charm on them, they'll all change to mimic his.'

A blank silence greeted Hermione's words. She looked around at all the faces upturned to her, rather disconcerted.

'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--'

'You can do a Protean Charm?' said Terry Boot.

'Yes,' said Hermione.

'But that's ... that's NEWT standard, that is,' he said weakly.

'Oh,' said Hermione, trying to look modest. 'Oh ... well ... yes, I suppose it is.'

'How come you're not in Ravenclaw?' he demanded, staring at Hermione with something close to wonder. 'With brains like yours?'

'Well, the Sorting Hat did seriously consider putting me in Ravenclaw during my Sorting,' said Hermione brightly, 'but it decided on Gryffindor in the end. So, does that mean we're using the Galleons?'

There was a murmur of assent and everybody moved forwards to collect one from the basket. Harry looked sideways at Hermione.

'You know what these remind me of?'

'No, what's that?'

The Death Eaters' scars. Voldemort touches one of them, and all their scars burn, and they know they've got to join him.'

'Well ... yes,' said Hermione quietly, 'that is where I got the idea ... but you'll notice I decided to engrave the date on bits of metal rather than on our members' skin.'

'Yeah ... I prefer your way,' said Harry, grinning, as he slipped his Galleon into his pocket. 'I suppose the only danger with these is that we might accidentally spend them.'

'Fat chance,' said Ron, who was examining his own fake Galleon with a slightly mournful air, 'I haven't got any real Galleons to confuse it with.'

As the first Quidditch match of the season, Gryffindor versus Slytherin, drew nearer, their DA meetings were put on hold because Angelina insisted on almost daily practices. The fact that the Quidditch Cup had not been held for so long added considerably to the interest and excitement surrounding the forthcoming game; the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were taking a lively interest in the outcome, for they, of course, would be playing both teams over the coming year; and the Heads of House of the competing teams, though they attempted to disguise it under a decent pretence of sportsmanship, were determined to see their own side victorious. Harry realised how much Professor McGonagall cared about beating Slytherin when she abstained from giving them homework in the week leading up to the match.

I think you've got enough to be getting on with at the moment,' she said loftily. Nobody could quite believe their ears until she looked directly at Harry and Ron and said grimly, 'I've become accustomed to seeing the Quidditch Cup in my study, boys, and I really don't want to have to hand it over to Professor Snape, so use the extra time to practise, won't you?'

Snape was no less obviously partisan; he had booked the Quidditch pitch for Slytherin practice so often that the Gryffindors had difficulty getting on it to play. He was also turning a deaf ear to the many reports of Slytherin attempts to hex Gryffindor players in the corridors. When Alicia Spinnet turned up in the hospital wing with her eyebrows growing so thick and fast they obscured her vision and obstructed her mouth, Snape insisted that she must have attempted a Hair-thickening Charm on herself and refused to listen to the fourteen eye-witnesses who insisted they had seen the Slytherin Keeper, Miles Bletchley, hit her from behind with a jinx while she worked in the library.

Harry felt optimistic about Gryffindors chances; they had, after all, never lost to Malfoy's team. Admittedly, Ron was still not performing to Wood's standard, but he was working extremely hard to improve. His greatest weakness was a tendency to lose confidence after he'd made a blunder; if he let in one goal he became flustered and was therefore likely to miss more. On the other hand, Harry had seen Ron make some truly spectacular saves when he was on form; during one memorable practice he had hung one-handed from his broom and kicked the Quaffle so hard away from the goalhoop that it soared the length of the pitch and through the centre hoop at the other end; the rest of the team felt this save compared favourably with one made recently by Barry Ryan, the Irish International Keeper, against Poland's top Chaser, Ladislaw Zamojski. Even Fred had said that Ron might yet make him and George proud, and that they were seriously considering admitting he was related to them, something they assured him they had been trying to deny for four years.

The only thing really worrying Harry was how much Ron was allowing the tactics of the Slytherin team to upset him before they even got on to the pitch. Harry, of course, had endured their snide comments for over four years, so whispers of, 'Hey, Potty, I heard Warrington's sworn to knock you off your broom on Saturday', far from chilling his blood, made him laugh. 'Warrington's aim's so pathetic I'd be more worried if he was aiming for the person next to me,' he retorted, which made Ron and Hermione laugh and wiped the smirk off Pansy Parkinson's face.

But Ron had never endured a relentless campaign of insults, jeers and intimidation. When Slytherins, some of them seventh-years and considerably larger than he was, muttered as they passed in the corridors, 'Got your bed booked in the hospital wing, Weasley?' he didn't laugh, but turned a delicate shade of green. When Draco Malfoy imitated Ron dropping the Quaffle (which he did whenever they came within sight of each other), Ron's ears glowed red and his hands shook so badly that he was likely to drop whatever he was holding at the time, too.

October extinguished itself in a rush of howling winds and driving rain and November arrived, cold as frozen iron, with hard frosts every morning and icy draughts that bit at exposed hands and faces. The skies and the ceiling of the Great Hall turned a pale, pearly grey, the mountains around Hogwarts were snowcapped, and the temperature in the castle dropped so low that many students wore their thick protective dragonskin gloves in the corridors between lessons.

The morning of the match dawned bright and cold. When Harry awoke he looked round at Ron's bed and saw him sitting bolt upright, his arms around his knees, staring fixedly into space.

'You all right?' said Harry.

Ron nodded but did not speak. Harry was reminded forcibly of the time Ron had accidentally put a Slug-vomiting Charm on himself; he looked just as pale and sweaty as he had done then, not to mention as reluctant to open his mouth.

'You just need some breakfast,' Harry said bracingly. 'C'mon.'

The Great Hall was filling up fast when they arrived, the talk louder and the mood more exuberant than usual. As they passed the Slytherin table there was an upsurge of noise. Harry looked round and saw that, in addition to the usual green and silver scarves and hats, every one of them was wearing a silver badge in the shape of what seemed to be a crown. For some reason many of them waved at Ron, laughing uproariously. Harry tried to see what was written on the badges as he walked by, but he was too concerned to get Ron past their table quickly to linger long enough to read them.

They received a rousing welcome at the Gryffindor table, where everyone was wearing red and gold, but far from raising Ron's spirits the cheers seemed to sap the last of his morale; he collapsed on to the nearest bench looking as though he were facing his final meal.

'I must've been mental to do this,' he said in a croaky whisper. 'Mental.'

'Don't be thick,' said Harry firmly, passing him a choice of cereals, 'you're going to be fine. It's normal to be nervous.'

'I'm rubbish,' croaked Ron. 'I'm lousy. I can't play to save my life. What was I thinking?'

'Get a grip,' said Harry sternly. 'Look at that save you made with your foot the other day, even Fred and George said it was brilliant.'

Ron turned a tortured face to Harry.

'That was an accident,' he whispered miserably. 'I didn't mean to do it--I slipped off my broom when none of you were looking and when I was trying to get back on I kicked the Quaffle by accident.'

'Well,' said Harry, recovering quickly from this unpleasant surprise, 'a few more accidents like that and the game's in the bag, isn't it?'

Hermione and Ginny sat down opposite them wearing red and gold scarves, gloves and rosettes.

'How're you feeling?' Ginny asked Ron, who was now staring into the dregs of milk at the bottom of his empty cereal bowl as though seriously considering attempting to drown himself in them.

'He's just nervous,' said Harry.

'Well, that's a good sign, I never feel you perform as well in exams if you're not a bit nervous,' said Hermione heartily.

'Hello,' said a vague and dreamy voice from behind them. Harry looked up: Luna Lovegood had drifted over from the Ravenclaw table. Many people were staring at her and a few were openly laughing and pointing; she had managed to procure a hat shaped like a life-size lion's head, which was perched precariously on her head.

'I'm supporting Gryffindor,' said Luna, pointing unnecessarily at her hat. 'Look what it does ...'

She reached up and tapped the hat with her wand. It opened its mouth wide and gave an extremely realistic roar that made everyone in the vicinity jump.

'It's good, isn't it?' said Luna happily. 'I wanted to have it chewing up a serpent to represent Slytherin, you know, but there wasn't time. Anyway ... good luck, Ronald!'

She drifted away. They had not quite recovered from the shock of Luna's hat before Angelina came hurrying towards them, accompanied by Katie and Alicia, whose eyebrows had mercifully been returned to normal by Madam Pomfrey.

'When you're ready,' she said, 'we're going to go straight down to the pitch, check out conditions and change.'

'We'll be there in a bit,' Harry assured her. 'Ron's just got to have some breakfast.'

It became clear after ten minutes, however, that Ron was not capable of eating anything more and Harry thought it best to get him down to the changing rooms. As they rose from the table, Hermione got up, too, and taking Harry's arm she drew him to one side.

'Don't let Ron see what's on those Slytherins' badges,' she whispered urgently.

Harry looked questioningly at her, but she shook her head warningly; Ron had just ambled over to them, looking lost and desperate.

'Good luck, Ron,' said Hermione, standing on tiptoe and kissing him on the cheek. 'And you, Harry --'

Ron seemed to come to himself slightly as they walked back across the Great Hall. He touched the spot on his face where Hermione had kissed him, looking puzzled, as though he was not quite sure what had just happened. He seemed too distracted to notice much around him, but Harry cast a curious glance at the crown-shaped badges as they passed the Slytherin table, and this time he made out the words etched on to them:

Weasley is our King

With an unpleasant feeling that this could mean nothing good, he hurried Ron across the Entrance Hall, clown the stone steps and out into the icy air.

The frosty grass crunched under their feet as they hurried down the sloping lawns towards the stadium. There was no wind at all and the sky was a uniform pearly white, which meant that visibility would be good without the drawback of direct sunlight in the eyes. Harry pointed out these encouraging factors to Ron as they walked, but he was not sure that Ron was listening.

Angelina had changed already and was talking to the rest of the team when they entered. Harry and Ron pulled on their robes (Ron attempted to do his up back-to-front for several minutes before Alicia took pity on him and went to help), then sat down to listen to the pre-match talk while the babble of voices outside grew steadily louder as the crowd came pouring out of the castle towards the pitch.

'OK, I've only just found out the final line-up for Slytherin,' said Angelina, consulting a piece of parchment. 'Last year's Beaters, Derrick and Bole, have left, but it looks as though Montague's replaced them with the usual gorillas, rather than anyone who can fly particularly well. They're two blokes called Crabbe and Goyle, I don't know much about them--'

'We do,' said Harry and Ron together.

'Well, they don't look bright enough to tell one end of a broom from the other,' said Angelina, pocketing her parchment, 'but then I was always surprised Derrick and Bole managed to find their way on to the pitch without signposts.'

'Crabbe and Goyle are in the same mould,' Harry assured her.

They could hear hundreds of footsteps mounting the banked benches of the spectators' stands. Some people were singing, though Harry could not make out the words. He was starting to feel nervous, but he knew his butterflies were as nothing compared to Ron's, who was clutching his stomach and staring straight ahead again, his jaw set and his complexion pale grey.

'It's time,' said Angelina in a hushed voice, looking at her watch. 'C'mon everyone ... good luck.'

The team rose, shouldered their brooms and marched in single file out of the changing room and into the dazzling sunlight, A roar of sound greeted them in which Harry could still hear singing, though it was muffled by the cheers and whistles.

The Slytherin team was standing waiting for them. They, too, were wearing those silver crown-shaped badges. The new Captain, Montague, was built along the same lines as Dudley Dursley with massive forearms like hairy hams. Behind him lurked Crabbe and Goyle, almost as large, blinking stupidly in the sunlight, swinging their new Beaters' bats. Malfoy stood to one side, the sunlight gleaming on his white-blond head. He caught Harry's eye and smirked, tapping the crown-shaped badge on his chest.

'Captains, shake hands,' ordered the referee Madam Hooch, as Angelina and Montague reached each other. Harry could tell that Montague was trying to crush Angelina's fingers, though she did not wince. 'Mount your brooms ...'

Madam Hooch placed her whistle in her mouth and blew.

The balls were released and the fourteen players shot upwards. Out of the corner of his eye Harry saw Ron streak off towards the goalhoops. Harry zoomed higher, dodging a Bludger, and set off on a wide lap of the pitch, gazing around for a glint of gold; on the other side of the stadium, Draco Malfoy was doing exactly the same.

'And it's Johnson --Johnson with the Quaffle, what a player that girl is, I've been saying it for years but she still won't go out with me--'

'JORDAN!' yelled Professor McGonagall.

'--just a fun fact, Professor, adds a bit of interest--and she's ducked Warrington, she's passed Montague, she's--ouch--been hit from behind by a Bludger from Crabbe ... Montague catches the Quaffle, Montague heading back up the pitch and--nice Bludger there from George Weasley, that's a Bludger to the head for Montague, he drops the Quaffle, caught by Katie Bell, Katie Bell of Gryffindor reverse-passes to Alicia Spinnet and Spinnet's away--'

Lee Jordan's commentary rang through the stadium and Harry listened as hard as he could through the wind whistling in his ears and the din of the crowd, all yelling and booing and singing.

'--dodges Warrington, avoids a Bludger--close call, Alicia--and the crowd are loving this, just listen to them, what's that they're singing?'

And as Lee paused to listen, the song rose loud and clear from the sea of green and silver in the Slytherin section of the stands:



'Weasley cannot save a thing,

He cannot block a single ring,

That's why Slytherins all sing:

Weasley is our King.


'Weasley was born in a bin

He always lets the Quaffle in

Weasley will make sure we win

Weasley is our King.'

' --a nd Alicia passes back to Angelina!' Lee shouted, and as Harry swerved, his insides boiling at what he had just heard, he knew Lee was trying to drown out the words of the song. 'Come on now, Angelina--looks like she's got just the Keeper to beat!--SHE SHOOTS--SHE--aaaah ...'

Bletchley, the Slytherin Keeper, had saved the goal; he threw the Quaffle to Warrington who sped off with it, zig-zagging in between Alicia and Katie; the singing from below grew louder and louder as he drew nearer and nearer Ron.

'Weasley is our King,

Weasley is our King,

He always lets the Quaffle in

Weasley is our King. '

Harry could not help himself: abandoning his search for the Snitch, he wheeled around to watch Ron, a lone figure at the far end of the pitch, hovering before the three goalhoops while the massive Warrington pelted towards him.

'--and it's Warrington with the Quaffle, Warrington heading for goal, he's out of Bludger range with just the Keeper ahead--'

A great swell of song rose from the Slytherin stands below:

'Weasley cannot save a thing,

He cannot block a single ring ...'



'-- so it's the first test for new Gryffindor Keeper Weasley, brother of Beaters Fred and George, and a promising new talent on the team--come on, Ron!'

But the scream of delight came from the Slytherins' end: Ron had dived wildly, his arms wide, and the Quaffle had soared between them straight through Ron's central hoop.

'Slytherin score!' came Lee's voice amid the cheering and booing from the crowds below, 'so that's ten-nil to Slytherin--bad luck, Ron.'

The Slytherins sang even louder:

'WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN

HE ALWAYS LETS THE QUAFFLE IN... '

'--and Gryffindor back in possession and it's Katie Bell tanking up the pitch--' cried Lee valiantly, though the singing was now so deafening that he could hardly make himself heard above it.

'WEASLEY WILL MAKE SURE WE WIN

WEASLEY IS OUR KING ...'



'Harry, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?' screamed Angelina, soaring past him to keep up with Katie. 'GET GOING!'

Harry realised he had been stationary in midair for over a minute, watching the progress of the match without sparing a thought for the whereabouts of the Snitch; horrified, he went into a dive and started circling the pitch again, staring around, trying to ignore the chorus now thundering through the stadium:

'WEASLEY IS OUR KING,

WEASLEY IS OUR KING ... '

There was no sign of the Snitch anywhere he looked; Malfoy was still circling the stadium just as he was. They passed one another midway around the pitch, going in opposite directions, and Harry heard Malfoy singing loudly:

'WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN ...'



'--and it's Warrington again,' bellowed Lee, 'who passes to Pucey, Pucey's off past Spinnet, come on now, Angelina, you can take him - turns out you can't--but nice Bludger from Fred Weasley I mean, George Weasley, oh, who cares, one of them, anyway, and Warrington drops the Quaffle and Katie Bell--er--drops it, too--so that's Montague with the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Montague takes the Quaffle and he's off up the pitch, come on now, Gryffindor, block him!'

Harry zoomed around the end of the stadium behind the Slytherin goalhoops, willing himself not to look at what was going on at Ron's end. As he sped past the Slytherin Keeper, he heard Bletchley singing along with the crowd below:

'WEASLEY CANNOT SAVE A THING ...'

'--and Pucey's dodged Alicia again and he's heading straight for goal, stop it, Ron!'

Harry did not have to look to see what had happened: there was a terrible groan from the Gryffindor end, coupled with fresh screams and applause from the Slytherins. Looking down, Harry saw the pug-faced Pansy Parkinson right at the front of the stands, her back to the pitch as she conducted the Slytherin supporters who were roaring:

'THAT'S WHY SLYTHERINS ALL SING

WEASLEY IS OUR KING.'

But twenty-nil was nothing, there was still time for Gryffindor to catch up or catch the Snitch. A few goals and they would be in the lead as usual, Harry assured himself, bobbing and weaving through the other players in pursuit of something shiny that turned out to be Montague's watchstrap.

But Ron let in two more goals. There was an edge of panic in Harry's desire to find the Snitch now. If he could just get it soon and finish the game quickly.

'--and Katie Bell of Gryffindor dodges Pucey, ducks Montague, nice swerve, Katie, and she throws to Johnson, Angelina Johnson takes the Quaffle, she's past Warrington, she's heading for goal, come on now, Angelina--GRYFFINDOR SCORE! It's forty-ten, forty-ten to Slytherin and Pucey has the Quaffle ...'

Harry could hear Luna's ludicrous lion hat roaring amidst the Gryffindor cheers and felt heartened; only thirty points in it, that was nothing, they could pull back easily. Harry ducked a Bludger that Crabbe had sent rocketing in his direction and resumed his frantic scouring of the pitch for the Snitch, keeping one eye on Malfoy in case he showed signs of having spotted it, but Malfoy, like him, was continuing to soar around the stadium, searching fruitlessly ...

'--Pucey throws to Warrington, Warrington to Montague, Montague back to Pucey--Johnson intervenes, Johnson takes the Quaffle, Johnson to Bell, this looks good--I mean bad--Bell's hit by a Bludger from Goyle of Slytherin and it's Pucey in possession again ...'

'WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN

HE ALWAYS LETS THE QUAFFLE IN

WEASLEY WILL MAKE SURE WE WIN ... '

But Harry had seen it at last: the tiny fluttering Golden Snitch was hovering feet from the ground at the Slytherin end of the pitch.

He dived ...

In a matter of seconds, Malfoy was streaking out of the sky on Harry's left, a green and silver blur lying flat on his broom ...

The Snitch skirted the foot of one of the goalhoops and scooted off towards the other side of the stands; its change of direction suited Malfoy, who was nearer; Harry pulled his Firebolt around, he and Malfoy were now neck and neck ...

Feet from the ground, Harry lifted his right hand from his broom, stretching towards the Snitch ... to his right, Malfoy's arm extended too, was reaching, groping ...

It was over in two breathless, desperate, windswept seconds--Harry's fingers closed around the tiny, struggling ball--Malfoy's fingernails scrabbled the back of Harry's hand hopelessly--Harry pulled his broom upwards, holding the struggling ball in his hand and the Gryffindor spectators screamed their approval ...

They were saved, it did not matter that Ron had let in those goals, nobody would remember as long as Gryffindor had won--

WHAM.

A Bludger hit Harry squarely in the small of the back and he flew forwards off his broom. Luckily he was only five or six feet above the ground, having dived so low to catch the Snitch, but he was winded all the same as he landed flat on his back on the frozen pitch. He heard Madam Hooch's shrill whistle, an uproar in the stands compounded of catcalls, angry yells and jeering, a thud, then Angelina's frantic voice.

'Are you all right?'

'Course I am,' said Harry grimly, taking her hand and allowing her to pull him to his feet. Madam Hooch was zooming towards one of the Slytherin players above him, though he could not see who it was from this angle.

'It was that thug Crabbe,' said Angelina angrily, 'he whacked the Bludger at you the moment he saw you'd got the Snitch--but we won, Harry, we won!'

Harry heard a snort from behind him and turned around, still holding the Snitch tightly in his hand: Draco Malfoy had landed close by. White-faced with fury, he was still managing to sneer.

'Saved Weasley's neck, haven't you?' he said to Harry. 'I've never seen a worse Keeper ... but then he was born in a bin ... did you like my lyrics, Potter?'

Harry didn't answer. He turned away to meet the rest of the team who were now landing one by one, yelling and punching the air in triumph; all except Ron, who had dismounted from his broom over by the goalposts and seemed to be making his way slowly back to the changing rooms alone.

'We wanted to write another couple of verses!' Malfoy called, as Katie and Alicia hugged Harry. 'But we couldn't find rhymes for fat and ugly--we wanted to sing about his mother, see--'

'Talk about sour grapes,' said Angelina, casting Malfoy a disgusted look.

'--we couldn't fit in useless loser either--for his father, you know--'

Fred and George had realised what Malfoy was talking about. Halfway through shaking Harry's hand, they stiffened, looking round at Malfoy.

'Leave it!' said Angelina at once, taking Fred by the arm. 'Leave it, Fred, let him yell, he's just sore he lost, the jumped-up little--

'--but you like the Weasleys, don't you, Potter?' said Malfoy, sneering. 'Spend holidays there and everything, don't you? Can't see how you stand the stink, but I suppose when you've been dragged up by Muggles, even the Weasleys' hovel smells OK--'

Harry grabbed hold of George. Meanwhile, it was taking the combined efforts of Angelina, Alicia and Katie to stop Fred leaping on Malfoy, who was laughing openly. Harry looked around for Madam Hooch, but she was still berating Crabbe for his illegal Bludger attack.

'Or perhaps,' said Malfoy, leering as he backed away, 'you can remember what your mother's house stank like, Potter, and Weasley's pigsty reminds you of it--'

Harry was not aware of releasing George, all he knew was that a second later both of them were sprinting towards Malfoy. He had completely forgotten that all the teachers were watching: all he wanted to do was cause Malfoy as much pain as possible; with no time to draw out his wand, he merely drew back the fist clutching the Snitch and sank it as hard as he could into Malfoy's stomach--

'Harry! HARRY! GEORGE! NO!'

He could hear girls' voices screaming, Malfoy yelling, George swearing, a whistle blowing and the bellowing of the crowd around him, but he did not care. Not until somebody in the vicinity yelled 'Impedimenta!' and he was knocked over backwards by the force of the spell, did he abandon the attempt to punch every inch of Malfoy he could reach.

'What do you think you're doing?' screamed Madam Hooch, as Harry leapt to his feet. It seemed to have been her who had hit him with the Impediment Jinx; she was holding her whistle in one hand and a wand in the other; her broom lay abandoned several feet away. Malfoy was curled up on the ground, whimpering and moaning, his nose bloody; George was sporting a swollen lip; Fred was still being forcibly restrained by the three Chasers, and Crabbe was cackling in the background. 'I've never seen behaviour like it--back up to the castle, both of you, and straight to your Head of House's office! Go! Now.'

Harry and George turned on their heels and marched off the pitch, both panting, neither saying a word to the other. The howling and jeering of the crowd grew fainter and fainter until they reached the Entrance Hall, where they could hear nothing except the sound of their own footsteps. Harry became aware that something was still struggling in his right hand, the knuckles of which he had bruised against Malfoy's jaw. Looking down, he saw the Snitch's silver wings protruding from between his fingers, struggling for release.

They had barely reached the door of Professor McGonagalls office when she came marching along the corridor behind them. She was wearing a Gryffindor scarf, but tore it from her throat with shaking hands as she strode towards them, looking livid.

'In!' she said furiously, pointing to the door. Harry and George entered. She strode around behind her desk and faced them, quivering with rage as she threw the Gryffindor scarf aside on to the floor.

'Well?' she said. 'I have never seen such a disgraceful exhibition. Two on one! Explain yourselves!'

'Malfoy provoked us,' said Harry stiffly.

'Provoked you?' shouted Professor McGonagall, slamming a fist on to her desk so that her tartan tin slid sideways off it and burst open, littering the floor with Ginger Newts. 'He'd just lost, hadn't he? Of course he wanted to provoke you! But what on earth he can have said that justified what you two--'

'He insulted my parents,' snarled George. 'And Harry's mother.'

'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 associate 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 provocation 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 rummaged 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 punishments, 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.

'Banned,' said Angelina in a hollow voice, late that evening in the common room. 'Banned.No Seeker and no Beaters ... what on earth are we going to do?'

It did not feel as though they had won the match at all. Everywhere Harry looked there were disconsolate and angry faces; the team themselves were slumped around the fire, all apart from Ron, who had not been seen since the end of the match.

'It's just so unfair,' said Alicia numbly. 'I mean, what about Crabbe and that Bludger he hit after the whistle had been blown? Has she banned him?'

'No,' said Ginny miserably; she and Hermione were sitting on either side of Harry. 'He just got lines, I heard Montague laughing about it at dinner.'

'And banning Fred when he didn't even do anything!' said Alicia furiously, pummelling her knee with her fist.

'It's not my fault I didn't,' said Fred, with a very ugly look on his face, 'I would've pounded the little scumbag to a pulp if you three hadn't been holding me back.'

Harry stared miserably at the dark window. Snow was falling. The Snitch he had caught earlier was now zooming around and around the common room; people were watching its progress as though hypnotised and Crookshanks was leaping from chair to chair, trying to catch it.

'I'm going to bed,' said Angelina, getting slowly to her feet. 'Maybe this will all turn out to have been a bad dream ... maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and find we haven't played yet ...'

She was soon followed by Alicia and Katie. Fred and George sloped off to bed some time later, glowering at everyone they passed, and Ginny went not long after that. Only Harry and Hermione were left beside the fire.

'Have you seen Ron?' Hermione asked in a low voice.

Harry shook his head.

'I think he's avoiding us,' said Hermione. 'Where do you think he--?'

But at that precise moment, there was a creaking sound behind them as the Fat Lady swung forwards and Ron came clambering through the portrait hole. He was very pale indeed and there was snow in his hair. When he saw Harry and Hermione, he stopped dead in his tracks.

'Where have you been?' said Hermione anxiously, springing up.

'Walking,' Ron mumbled. He was still wearing his Quidditch things.

'You look frozen,' said Hermione. 'Come and sit down!'

Ron walked to the fireside and sank into the chair furthest from Harry's, not looking at him. The stolen Snitch zoomed over their heads.

'I'm sorry,' Ron mumbled, looking at his feet.

'What for?' said Harry.

'For thinking I can play Quidditch,' said Ron. 'I'm going to resign first thing tomorrow.'

'If you resign,' said Harry testily, 'there'll only be three players left on the team.' And when Ron looked puzzled, he said, 'I've been given a lifetime ban. So've Fred and George.'

'What?' Ron yelped.

Hermione told him the full story; Harry could not bear to tell it again. When she had finished, Ron looked more anguished than ever.

'This is all my fault--'

'You didn't make me punch Malfoy,' said Harry angrily.

'-- if I wasn't so terrible at Quidditch--'

'--it's got nothing to do with that.'

'--it was that song that wound me up--'

'--it would've wound anyone up.'

Hermione got up and walked to the window, away from the argument, watching the snow swirling down against the pane.

'Look, drop it, will you!' Harry burst out. 'It's bad enough, without you blaming yourself for everything!'

Ron said nothing but sat gazing miserably at the damp hem of his robes. After a while he said in a dull voice, 'This is the worst I've ever felt in my life.'

'Join the club,' said Harry bitterly.

'Well,' said Hermione, her voice trembling slightly. 'I can think of one thing that might cheer you both up.'

'Oh yeah?' said Harry sceptically.

'Yeah,' said Hermione, turning away from the pitch-black, snow-flecked window, a broad smile spreading across her face. 'Hagrid's back.'