Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (2003)

Chapter 20 Hagrid's Tale

Harry sprinted up to the boys' dormitories to fetch the Invisibility Cloak and the Marauder's Map from his trunk; he was so quick that he and Ron were ready to leave at least five minutes before Hermione hurried back down from the girls' dormitories, wearing scarf, gloves and one of her own knobbly elf hats.

'Well, it's cold out there!' she said defensively, as Ron clicked his tongue impatiently.

They crept through the portrait hole and covered themselves hastily in the Cloak--Ron had grown so much he now needed to crouch to prevent his feet showing--then, moving slowly and cautiously, they proceeded down the many staircases, pausing at intervals to check on the map for signs of Filch or Mrs. Morris. They were lucky; they saw nobody but Nearly Headless Nick, who was gliding along absent-mindedly humming something that sounded horribly like 'Weasley is our King'. They crept across the Entrance Hall and out into the silent, snowy grounds. With a great leap of his heart, Harry saw little golden squares of light ahead and smoke coiling up from Hagrid's chimney. He set off at a quick march, the other two jostling and bumping along behind him. They crunched excitedly through the thickening snow until at last they reached the wooden front door. When Harry raised his fist and knocked three times, a dog started barking frantically inside.

'Hagrid, it's us!' Harry called through the keyhole.

'Shoulda known!' said a gruff voice.

They beamed at each other under the Cloak; they could tell by Hagrid's voice that he was pleased. 'Bin home three seconds ... out the way, Fang ... out the way, yeh dozy dog ...'

The bolt was drawn back, the door creaked open and Hagrid's head appeared in the gap.

Hermione screamed.

'Merlin's beard, keep it down!' said Hagrid hastily, staring wildly over their heads. 'Under that Cloak, are yeh? Well, get in, get in!'

'I'm sorry!' Hermione gasped, as the three of them squeezed past Hagrid into the house and pulled the Cloak off themselves so he could see them. 'I just--oh, Hagrid!'

'It's nuthin', it's nuthin'!' said Hagrid hastily, shutting the door behind them and hurrying to close all the curtains, but Hermione continued to gaze up at him in horror.

Hagrid's hair was matted with congealed blood and his left eye had been reduced to a puffy slit amid a mass of purple and black bruising. There were many cuts on his face and hands, some of them still bleeding, and he was moving gingerly, which made Harry suspect broken ribs. It was obvious that he had only just got home: a thick black travelling cloak lay over the back of a chair and a haversack large enough to carry several small children leaned against the wall inside the door. Hagrid himself, twice the size of a normal man, was now limping over to the fire and placing a copper kettle over it.

'What happened to you?' Harry demanded, while Fang danced around them all, trying to lick their faces.

'Told yeh, nuthin',' said Hagrid firmly. 'Want a cuppa?'

'Come off it,' said Ron, 'you're in a right state!'

'I'm tellin' yeh, I'm fine,' said Hagrid, straightening up and turning to beam at them all, but wincing. 'Blimey, it's good ter see yeh three again--had good summers, did yeh?'

'Hagrid, you've been attacked!' said Ron.

'Fer the las' time, it's nuthin'!' said Hagrid firmly.

'Would you say it was nothing if one of us turned up with a pound of mince instead of a face?' Ron demanded.

'You ought to go and see Madam Pomfrey, Hagrid,' said Hermione anxiously, 'some of those cuts look nasty.'

'I'm dealin' with it, all righ?' said Hagrid repressively.

He walked across to the enormous wooden table that stood in the middle of his cabin and twitched aside a tea towel that had been lying on it. Underneath was a raw, bloody, green-tinged steak slightly larger than the average car tyre.

'You're not going to eat that, are you, Hagrid?' said Ron, leaning in for a closer look. 'It looks poisonous.'

'It's s'posed ter look like that, it's dragon meat,' Hagrid said. 'An' I didn' get it ter eat.'

He picked up the steak and slapped it over the left side of his face. Greenish blood trickled down into his beard as he gave a soft moan of satisfaction.

'Tha's better. It helps with the stingin', yeh know.'

'So, are you going to tell us what's happened to you?' Harry asked.

'Can't, Harry. Top secret. More'n me job's worth ter tell yeh that.'

'Did the giants beat you up, Hagrid?' asked Hermione quietly.

Hagrid's fingers slipped on the dragon steak and it slid squelchily on to his chest.

'Giants?' said Hagrid, catching the steak before it reached his belt and slapping it back over his face, 'who said anythin' abou' giants? Who yeh bin talkin' to? Who's told yeh what I've--who's said I've bin--eh?'

'We guessed,' said Hermione apologetically.

'Oh, yeh did, did yeh?' said Hagrid, surveying her sternly with the eye that was not hidden by the steak.

'It was kind of ... obvious,' said Ron. Harry nodded.

Hagrid glared at them, then snorted, threw the steak back on to the table and strode over to the kettle, which was now whistling.

'Never known kids like you three fer knowin' more'n yeh oughta,' he muttered, splashing boiling water into three of his bucket-shaped mugs. 'An' I'm not complimentin' yeh, neither. Nosy, some'd call it. Interferin'.'

But his beard twitched.

'So you have been to look for giants?' said Harry, grinning as he sat down at the table.

Hagrid set tea in front of each of them, sat down, picked up his steak again and slapped it back over his face.

'Yeah, all righ',' he grunted, 'I have.'

'And you found them?' said Hermione in a hushed voice.

'Well, they're not that difficult ter find, ter be honest, said Hagrid. 'Pretty big, see.'

'Where are they?' said Ron.

'Mountains,' said Hagrid unhelpfully.

'So why don't Muggles--?'

'They do,' said Hagrid darkly. 'On'y their deaths are always put down ter mountaineerin' accidents, aren' they?'

He adjusted the steak a little so that it covered the worst of the bruising.

'Come on, Hagrid, tell us what you've been up to!' said Ron. 'Tell us about being attacked by the giants and Harry can tell you about being attacked by the dementors--'

Hagrid choked in his mug and dropped his steak at the same time; a large quantity of spit, tea and dragon blood was sprayed over the table as Hagrid coughed and spluttered and the steak slid, with a soft splat, on to the floor.

'Whadda yeh mean, attacked by dementors?' growled Hagrid.

'Didn't you know?' Hermione asked him, wide-eyed.

'I don' know any thin' that's bin happenin' since I left. I was on a secret mission, wasn' I, didn' wan' owls followin' me all over the place--ruddy dementors! Yeh're not serious?'

'Yeah, I am, they turned up in Little Whinging and attacked my cousin and me, and then the Ministry of Magic expelled me--'

'WHAT?'

'--and I had to go to a hearing and everything, but tell us about the giants first.'

'You were expelled!'

'Tell us about your summer and I'll tell you about mine.'

Hagrid glared at him through his one open eye. Harry looked right back, an expression of innocent determination on his face.

'Oh, all righ',' Hagrid said in a resigned voice.

He bent down and tugged the dragon steak out of Fang's mouth.

'Oh, Hagrid, don't, it's not hygien--' Hermione began, but Hagrid had already slapped the meat back over his swollen eye.

He took another fortifying gulp of tea, then said, 'Well, we set off righ' after term ended--'

'Madame Maxime went with you, then?' Hermione interjected.

'Yeah, tha's righ',' said Hagrid, and a softened expression appeared on the few inches of face that were not obscured by beard or green steak. 'Yeah, it was jus' the pair of us. An' I'll tell yeh this, she's not afraid of roughin' it, Olympe. Yeh know, she's a fine, well-dressed woman, an' knowin' where we was goin' I wondered 'ow she'd feel abou' clamberin' over boulders an' sleepin' in caves an' tha', bu' she never complained once.'

'You knew where you were going?' Harry repeated. 'You knew where the giants were?'

'Well, Durnbledore knew, an' he told us,' said Hagrid.

'Are they hidden?' asked Ron. 'Is it a secret, where they are?'

'Not really,' said Hagrid, shaking his shaggy head. 'It's jus' that mos' wizards aren' bothered where they are, 's'long as it's a good long way away. But where they are's very difficult ter get ter, fer humans anyway, so we needed Dumbledore's instructions. Took us abou' a month ter get there--'

'A month?' said Ron, as though he had never heard of a journey lasting such a ridiculously long time. 'But--why couldn't you just grab a Portkey or something?'

There was an odd expression in Hagrid's unobscured eye as he surveyed Ron; it was almost pitying.

'We're bein' watched, Ron,' he said gruffly.

'What d'you mean?'

'Yeh don' understand,' said Hagrid. 'The Ministry's keepin' an eye on Dumbledore an' anyone they reckon's in league with 'im, an'--'

'We know about that,' said Harry quickly, keen to hear the rest of Hagrid's story, 'we know about the Ministry watching Dumbledore--'

'So you couldn't use magic to get there?' asked Ron, looking thunderstruck, 'you had to act like Muggles all the way?'

'Well, not exactly all the way,' said Hagrid cagily. 'We jus' had ter be careful, 'cause Olympe an' me, we stick out a bit--'

Ron made a stifled noise somewhere between a snort and a sniff and hastily took a gulp of tea.

'--so we're not hard ter follow. We was pretendin' we was goin' on holiday together, so we got inter France an' we made like we was headin' fer where Olympe's school is, 'cause we knew we was bein' tailed by someone from the Ministry. We had to go slow, 'cause I'm not really s'posed ter use magic an' we knew the Ministry'd be lookin' fer a reason ter run us in. But we managed ter give the berk tailin' us the slip round abou' Dee-John--'

'Ooooh, Dijon?' said Hermione excitedly. 'I've been there on holiday, did you see--?'

She fell silent at the look on Ron's face.

'We chanced a bit o' magic after that an' it wasn' a bad journey. Ran inter a couple o' mad trolls on the Polish border an' I had a sligh' disagreement with a vampire in a pub in Minsk, bu' apart from tha' couldn't'a bin smoother.

'An' then we reached the place, an' we started trekkin' up through the mountains, lookin' fer signs of 'em ...

'We had ter lay off the magic once we got near 'em. Partly 'cause they don' like wizards an' we didn' want ter put their backs up too soon, an' partly 'cause Dumbledore had warned us You-Know-Who was bound ter be after the giants an' all. Said it was odds on he'd sent a messenger off ter them already. Told us ter be very careful of drawin' attention ter ourselves as we got nearer in case there was Death Eaters around.'

Hagrid paused for a long draught of tea.

'Go on!' said Harry urgently.

'Found 'em,' said Hagrid baldly. 'Went over a ridge one nigh' an' there they was, spread ou' underneath us. Little fires burnin' below an' huge shadows ... it was like watchin' bits o' the mountain movin'.'

'How big are they?' asked Ron in a hushed voice.

' 'Bout twenty feet,' said Hagrid casually. 'Some o' the bigger ones mighta bin twenty-five.'

'And how many were there?' asked Harry.

'I reckon abou' seventy or eighty,' said Hagrid.

'Is that all?' said Hermione.

'Yep,' said Hagrid sadly, 'eighty left, an' there was loads once, musta bin a hundred diff'rent tribes from all over the world. Bu' they've bin dyin' out fer ages. Wizards killed a few, o' course, bu' mostly they killed each other, an' now they're dyin' out faster than ever. They're not made ter live bunched up together like tha'. Dumbledore says it's our fault, it was the wizards who forced 'em to go an' made 'em live a good long way from us an' they had no choice bu' ter stick together fer their own protection.'

'So,' said Harry, 'you saw them and then what?'

'Well, we waited till morning, didn' want ter go sneakin' up on 'em in the dark, fer our own safety,' said Hagrid. ' 'Bout three in the mornin' they fell asleep jus' where they was sittin'. We didn' dare sleep. Fer one thing, we wanted ter make sure none of 'em woke up an' came up where we were, an' fer another, the snorin' was unbelievable. Caused an avalanche near mornin'.

'Anyway once it was light we wen' down ter see 'em.'

'Just like that?' said Ron, looking awestruck. 'You just walked right into a giant camp?'

'Well, Dumbledore'd told us how ter do it,' said Hagrid. 'Give the Gurg gifts, show some respect, yeh know.'

'Give the what gifts?' asked Harry.

'Oh, the Gurg-- means the chief.'

'How could you tell which one was the Gurg?' asked Ron.

Hagrid grunted in amusement.

'No problem,' he said. 'He was the biggest, the ugliest and the laziest. Sittin' there waitin' ter be brought food by the others. Dead goats an' such like. Name o' Karkus. I'd put him at twenty-two, twenty-three feet an' the weight o' a couple o' bull elephants. Skin like rhino hide an' all.'

'And you just walked up to him?' said Hermione breathlessly.

'Well ... down ter him, where he was lyin' in the valley. They was in this dip between four pretty high mountains, see, beside a mountain lake, an' Karkus was lyin' by the lake roarin' at the others ter feed him an' his wife. Olympe an' I went down the mountainside--'

'But didn't they try and kill you when they saw you?' asked Ron incredulously.

'It was def'nitely on some o' their minds,' said Hagrid, shrugging, 'but we did what Dumbledore told us ter do, which was ter hold our gift up high an' keep our eyes on the Gurg an' ignore the others. So tha's what we did. An' the rest of 'em went quiet an' watched us pass an' we got right up ter Karkuss leet an we bowed an' put our present down in front o' him.'

'What do you give a giant?' asked Ron eagerly. 'Food?'

'Nah, he can get food all righ' fer himself,' said Hagrid. 'We took him magic. Giants like magic, jus' don' like us usin' it against 'em. Anyway, that firs' day we gave 'im a branch o' Gubraithian fire.'

Hermione said, 'Wow!' softly, but Harry and Ron both frowned in puzzlement.

'A branch of--?'

'Everlasting fire,' said Hermione irritably, 'you ought to know that by now. Professor Flitwick's mentioned it at least twice in class!'

'Well, anyway,' said Hagrid quickly, intervening before Ron could answer back, 'Dumbledore'd bewitched this branch to burn fer evermore, which isn' somethin' any wizard could do, an' so I lies it down in the snow by Karkuss feet and says, "A gift to the Gurg of the giants from Albus Dumbledore, who sends his respectful greetings." '

'And what did Karkus say?' asked Harry eagerly.

'Nothin',' said Hagrid. 'Didn' speak English.'

'You're kidding!'

'Didn' matter,' said Hagrid imperturbably, 'Dumbledore had warned us tha' migh' happen. Karkus knew enough to yell fer a couple o' giants who knew our lingo an' they translated fer us.'

'And did he like the present?' asked Ron.

'Oh yeah, it went down a storm once they understood what it was,' said Hagrid, turning his dragon steak over to press the cooler side to his swollen eye. 'Very pleased. So then I said, "Albus Dumbledore asks the Gurg to speak with his messenger when he returns tomorrow with another gift." '

'Why couldn't you speak to them that day?' asked Hermione.

'Dumbledore wanted us ter take it very slow,' said Hagrid. 'Let 'em see we kept our promises. We'll come back tomorrow with another present, an' then we do come back with another present--gives a good impression, see? An' gives them time ter test out the firs' present an' fnd out it's a good one, an' get 'em eager fer more. In any case, giants like Karkus--overload 'em with information an' they'll kill yeh jus' to simplify things. So we bowed outta the way an' went off an' found ourselves a nice little cave ter spend that night in an' the followin' mornin' we went back an' this time we found Karkus sittin' up waitin' fer us lookin' all eager.'

'And you talked to him?'

'Oh yeah. Firs' we presented him with a nice battle helmet--goblin-made an' indestructible, yeh know--an' then we sat down an' we talked.'

'What did he say?'

'Not much,' said Hagrid. 'Listened mostly. Bu' there were good signs. He'd heard o' Dumbledore, heard he'd argued against the killin' o' the last giants in Britain. Karkus seemed ter be quite int'rested in what Dumbledore had ter say. An' a few o' the others, 'specially the ones who had some English, they gathered round an' listened too. We were hopeful when we left that day. Promised ter come back next mornin' with another present.

'Bu' that night it all wen' wrong.'

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

'Well, like I say, they're not meant ter live together, giants,' said Hagrid sadly. 'Not in big groups like that. They can' help themselves, they half kill each other every few weeks. The men fight each other an' the women fight each other; the remnants of the old tribes fight each other, an' that's even without squabbles over food an' the best fires an' sleepin' spots. Yeh'd think, seein' as how their whole race is abou' finished, they'd lay off each other, bu' ...'

Hagrid sighed deeply.

'That night a fight broke out, we saw it from the mouth of our cave, lookin' down on the valley. Went on fer hours, yeh wouldn' believe the noise. An' when the sun came up the snow was scarlet an' his head was lyin' at the bottom o' the lake.'

'Whose head?' gasped Hermione.

'Karkus's,' said Hagrid heavily. 'There was a new Gurg, Golgomath.' He sighed deeply. 'Well, we hadn' bargained on a new Gurg two days after we'd made friendly contact with the firs' one, an' we had a funny feelin' Golgomath wouldn' be so keen ter listen to us, bu' we had ter try.'

'You went to speak to him?' asked Ron incredulously. 'After you'd watched him rip off another giant's head?'

'Course we did,' said Hagrid, 'we hadn' gone all that way ter give up after two days! We wen' down with the next present we'd meant ter give ter Karkus.

'I knew it was no go before I'd opened me mouth. He was sitting there wearin' Karkus's helmet, leerin' at us as we got nearer. He's massive, one o' the biggest ones there. Black hair an' matchin' teeth an' a necklace o' bones. Human-lookin' bones, some of 'em. Well, I gave it a go--held out a great roll o' dragon skin--an' said, "A gift fer the Gurg of the giants--'" Nex' thing I knew, I was hangin' upside-down in the air by me feet, two of his mates had grabbed me.'

Hermione clapped her hands to her mouth.

'How did you get out of that?' asked Harry.

'Wouldn'ta done if Olympe hadn' bin there,' said Hagrid. 'She pulled out her wand an' did some o' the fastes' spellwork I've ever seen. Ruddy marvellous. Hit the two holdin' me right in the eyes with Conjunctivitus Curses an' they dropped me straightaway--'bu' we were in trouble then, 'cause we'd used magic against 'em, an' that's what giants hate abou' wizards. We had ter leg it an' we knew there was no way we was going ter be able ter march inter the camp again.'

'Blimey, Hagrid,' said Ron quietly.

'So, how come it's taken you so long to get home if you were only there for three days?' asked Hermione.

'We didn' leave after three days!' said Hagrid, looking outraged. 'Dumbledore was relyin' on us!'

'But you've just said there was no way you could go back!'

'Not by daylight we couldn', no. We just had ter rethink a bit. Spent a couple o' days lyin' low up in the cave an' watchin'. An' wha' we saw wasn' good.'

'Did he rip off more heads?' asked Hermione, sounding squeamish.

'No,' said Hagrid, 'I wish he had.'

'What d'you mean?'

'I mean we soon found out he didn' object ter all wizards--'just us.'

'Death Eaters?' said Harry quickly.

'Yep,' said Hagrid darkly. 'Couple oi 'em were visitin' him ev'ry day, bringin' gifts ter the Gurg, an' he wasn' dangling them upside-down.'

'How d'you know they were Death Eaters?' said Ron.

'Because I recognised one of 'em,' Hagrid growled. 'Macnair, remember him? Bloke they sent ter kill Buckbeak? Maniac, he is. Likes killin' as much as Golgomath; no wonder they were gettin' on so well.'

'So Macnair's persuaded the giants to join You-Know-Who?' said Hermione desperately.

'Hold yer hippogriffs, I haven' finished me story yet!' said Hagrid indignantly, who, considering he had not wanted to tell them anything in the first place, now seemed to be rather enjoying himself. 'Me an' Olympe talked it over an' we agreed, jus' 'cause the Gurg looked like favourin' You-Know-Who didn' mean all of 'em would. We had ter try an' persuade some o' the others, the ones who hadn' wanted Golgomath as Gurg.'

'How could you tell which ones they were?' asked Ron.

'Well, they were the ones bein' beaten to a pulp, weren' they?' said Hagrid patiently. 'The ones with any sense were keepin' outta Golgomath's way, hidin' out in caves roun' the gully jus' like we were. So we decided we'd go pokin' round the caves by night an' see if we couldn' persuade a few o' them.'

'You went poking around dark caves looking for giants?' said Ron, with awed respect in his voice.

'Well, it wasn' the giants who worried us most,' said Hagrid. 'We were more concerned abou' the Death Eaters. Dumbledore had told us before we wen' not ter tangle with 'em if we could avoid it, an' the trouble was they knew we was around--'spect Golgomath told 'em abou' us. At night, when the giants were sleepin' an' we wanted ter be creepin' inter the caves, Macnair an' the other one were sneakin' round the mountains lookin' fer us. I was hard put to stop Olympe jumpin' out at 'em,' said Hagrid, the corners of his mouth lifting his wild beard, 'she was rarin' ter attack 'em ... she's somethin' when she's roused, Olympe ... fiery, yeh know ...'spect it's the French in her ...'

Hagrid gazed misty-eyed into the fire. Harry allowed him thirty seconds of reminiscence before clearing his throat loudly.

'So, what happened? Did you ever get near any of the other giants?'

'What? Oh ... oh, yeah, we did. Yeah, on the third night after Karkus was killed we crept outta the cave we'd bin hidin' in an' headed back down inter the gully, keepin' our eyes skinned fer the Death Eaters. Got inside a few o' the caves, no go-- then, in abou' the sixth one, we found three giants hidin'.'

'Cave must've been cramped,' said Ron.

'Wasn' room ter swing a Kneazle,' said Hagrid.

'Didn't they attack you when they saw you?' asked Hermione.

'Probably woulda done if they'd bin in any condition,' said Hagrid, 'but they was badly hurt, all three o' them; Golgomath's lot had beaten 'em unconscious; they'd woken up an' crawled inter the nearest shelter they could find. Anyway, one o' them had a bit of English an' 'e translated fer the others, an' what we had ter say didn' seem ter go down too badly. So we kep' goin' back, visitin' the wounded ... I reckon we had abou' six or seven o' them convinced at one poin'.'

'Six or seven?' said Ron eagerly. 'Well that's not bad--are they going to come over here and start fighting You-Know-Who with us?'

But Hermione said, 'What do you mean "at one point", Hagrid?'

Hagrid looked at her sadly.

'Golgomath's lot raided the caves. The ones tha' survived didn' wan' no more ter to do with us after that.'

'So ... so there aren't any giants coming?' said Ron, looking disappointed.

'Nope,' said Hagrid, heaving a deep sigh as he turned over his steak and applied the cooler side to his face, 'but we did wha' we meant ter do, we gave 'em Dumbledore's message an' some o' them heard it an' I spect some o' them'll remember it. Jus' maybe, them that don' want ter stay around Golgomath'll move outta the mountains, an' there's gotta be a chance they'll remember Dumbledore's friendly to 'em ... could be they'll come.'

Snow was filling up the window now. Harry became aware that the knees of his robes were soaked through: Fang was drooling with his head in Harry's lap.

'Hagrid?' said Hermione quietly after a while.

'Mmm?'

'Did you ... was there any sign of ... did you hear anything about your ... your ... mother while you were there?'

Hagrids unobscured eye rested upon her and Hermione looked rather scared.

'I'm sorry ... I ... forget it--'

'Dead,' Hagrid grunted. 'Died years ago. They told me.'

'Oh ... I'm ... I'm really sorry,' said Hermione in a very small voice. Hagrid shrugged his massive shoulders.

'No need,' he said shortly. 'Can't remember her much. Wasn' a great mother.'

They were silent again. Hermione glanced nervously at Harry and Ron, plainly wanting them to speak.

'But you still haven't explained how you got in this state, Hagrid,' Ron said, gesturing towards Hagrid's bloodstained face.

'Or why you're back so late,' said Harry. 'Sirius says Madame Maxime got back ages ago--'

'Who attacked you?' said Ron.

'I haven' bin attacked!' said Hagrid emphatically. 'I--'

But the rest of his words were drowned in a sudden outbreak of rapping on the door. Hermione gasped; her mug slipped through her fingers and smashed on the floor; Fang yelped. All four of them stared at the window beside the doorway. The shadow of somebody small and squat rippled across the thin curtain.

'It's her!' Ron whispered.

'Get under here!' Harry said quickly, seizing the Invisibility Cloak, he whirled it over himself and Hermione while Ron tore around the table and dived under the Cloak as well. Huddled together, they backed away into a corner. Fang was barking madly at the door. Hagrid looked thoroughly confused.

'Hagrid, hide our mugs!'

Hagrid seized Harry and Ron's mugs and shoved them under the cushion in Fang's basket. Fang was now leaping up at the door; Hagrid pushed him out of the way with his foot and pulled it open.

Professor Umbridge was standing in the doorway wearing her green tweed cloak and a matching hat with earflaps. Lips pursed, she leaned back so as to see Hagrid's face; she barely reached his navel.

'So,' she said slowly and loudly, as though speaking to somebody deaf. 'You're Hagrid, are you?'

Without waiting for an answer she strolled into the room, her bulging eyes rolling in every direction.

'Get away,' she snapped, waving her handbag at Fang, who had bounded up to her and was attempting to lick her face.

'Er--I don' want ter be rude,' said Hagrid, staring at her, 'but who the ruddy hell are you?'

'My name is Dolores Umbridge.'

Her eyes were sweeping the cabin. Twice they stared directly into the corner where Harry stood, sandwiched between Ron and Hermione.

'Dolores Umbridge?' Hagrid said, sounding thoroughly confused. 'I thought you were one o' them Ministry--don' you work with Fudge?'

'I was Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, yes,' said Umbridge, now pacing around the cabin, taking in every tiny detail within, from the haversack against the wall to the abandoned travelling cloak. 'I am now the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher--'

'Tha's brave of yeh,' said Hagrid, 'there's not many'd take tha' job any more.'

'--and Hogwarts High Inquisitor,' said Umbridge, giving no sign that she had heard him.

'Wha's that?' said Hagrid, frowning.

'Precisely what I was going to ask,' said Umbridge, pointing at the broken shards of china on the floor that had been Hermione's mug.

'Oh,' said Hagrid, with a most unhelpful glance towards the corner where Harry, Ron and Hermione stood hidden, 'oh, tha' was ... was Fang. He broke a mug. So I had ter use this one instead.'

Hagrid pointed to the mug from which he had been drinking, one hand still clamped over the dragon steak pressed to his eye. Umbridge stood facing him now, taking in every detail of his appearance instead of the cabins.

'I heard voices,' she said quietly.

'I was talkin' ter Fang,' said Hagrid stoutly.

'And was he talking back to you?'

'Well ... in a manner o' speakin',' said Hagrid, looking uncomfortable. 'I sometimes say Fang's near enough human--'

'There are three sets of footprints in the snow leading from the castle doors to your cabin,' said Umbridge sleekly.

Hermione gasped; Harry clapped a hand over her mouth. Luckily, Fang was sniffing loudly around the hem of Professor Umbridge's robes and she did not appear to have heard.

'Well, I on'y jus' got back,' said Hagrid, waving an enormous hand at the haversack. 'Maybe someone came ter call earlier an' I missed 'em.'

'There are no footsteps leading away from your cabin door.'

'Well, I ... I don' know why that'd be ...' said Hagrid, tugging nervously at his beard and again glancing towards the corner where Harry, Ron and Hermione stood, as though asking for help. 'Erm ...'

Umbridge wheeled round and strode the length of the cabin, looking around carefully. She bent and peered under the bed. She opened Hagrid's cupboards. She passed within two inches of where Harry, Ron and Hermione stood pressed against the wall; Harry actually pulled in his stomach as she walked by. After looking carefully inside the enormous cauldron Hagrid used for cooking, she wheeled round again and said, 'What has happened to you? How did you sustain those injuries?'

Hagrid hastily removed the dragon steak from his face, which in Harry's opinion was a mistake, because the black and purple bruising all around his eye was now clearly visible, not to mention the large amount of fresh and congealed blood on his face. 'Oh, I ... had a bit of an accident,' he said lamely.

'What sort of accident?'

'I--I tripped.'

'You tripped,' she repeated coolly.

'Yeah, tha's right. Over ... over a friends broomstick. I don' fly, meself. Well, look at the size o' me, I don' reckon there's a broomstick that'd hold me. Friend o' mine breeds Abraxan horses, I dunno if you ve ever seen em, big beasts, winged, yer know, I've had a bit of a ride on one o' them an' it was--'

'Where have you been?' asked Umbridge, cutting coolly through Hagrid's babbling.

'Where've I--?'

'Been, yes,' she said. 'Term started two months ago. Another teacher has had to cover your classes. None of your colleagues has been able to give me any information as to your whereabouts. You left no address. Where have you been?'

There was a pause in which Hagrid stared at her with his newly uncovered eye. Harry could almost hear his brain working furiously.

'I--I've been away for me health,' he said.

'For your health,' repeated Professor Umbridge. Her eyes travelled over Hagrid's discoloured and swollen face; dragon blood dripped gently and silently on to his waistcoat. 'I see.'

'Yeah,' said Hagrid, 'bit o'--o' fresh air, yeh know--'

'Yes, as gamekeeper fresh air must be so difficult to come by' said Umbridge sweetly. The small patch of Hagrid's face that was not black or purple, flushed.

'Well--change o' scene, yeh know--'

'Mountain scenery?' said Umbridge swiftly.

She knows, Harry thought desperately.

'Mountains?' Hagrid repeated, clearly thinking fast. 'Nope, South o' France fer me. Bit o' sun an' ... an' sea.'

'Really?' said Umbridge. 'You don't have much of a tan.'

'Yeah ... well ... sensitive skin,' said Hagrid, attempting an ingratiating smile. Harry noticed that two of his teeth had been knocked out. Umbridge looked at him coldly; his smile faltered. Then she hoisted her handbag a little higher into the crook of her arm and said, 'I shall, of course, be informing the Minister of your late return.'

'Righ',' said Hagrid, nodding.

'You ought to know, too, that as High Inquisitor it is my unfortunate but necessary duty to inspect my fellow teachers. So I daresay we shall meet again soon enough.'

She turned sharply and marched back to the door.

'You're inspectin' us?' Hagrid repeated blankly, looking after her.

'Oh, yes,' said Umbridge softly, looking back at him with her hand on the door handle. 'The Ministry is determined to weed out unsatisfactory teachers, Hagrid. Goodnight.'

She left, closing the door behind her with a snap. Harry made to pull off the Invisibility Cloak but Hermione seized his wrist.

'Not yet,' she breathed in his ear. 'She might not be gone yet.'

Hagrid seemed to be thinking the same way; he stumped across the room and pulled back the curtain an inch or so.

'She's goin' back ter the castle,' he said in a low voice. 'Blimey ... inspectin' people, is she?'

'Yeah,' said Harry, pulling off the Cloak. 'Trelawney's on probation already ...'

'Um ... what sort of thing are you planning to do with us in class, Hagrid?' asked Hermione.

'Oh, don' you worry abou' that, I've got a great load o' lessons planned,' said Hagrid enthusiastically, scooping up his dragon steak from the table and slapping it over his eye again. 'I've bin keepin' a couple o' creatures saved fer yer OWL year; you wait, they're somethin' really special.'

'Erm ... special in what way?' asked Hermione tentatively.

'I'm not sayin',' said Hagrid happily. 'I don' want ter spoil the surprise.'

'Look, Hagrid,' said Hermione urgently, dropping all pretence, 'Professor Umbridge won't be at all happy if you bring anything to class that's too dangerous.'

'Dangerous?' said Hagrid, looking genially bemused. 'Don' be silly, I wouldn' give yeh anythin' dangerous! I mean, all righ', they can look after themselves--'

'Hagrid, you've got to pass Umbridge's inspection, and to do that it would really be better if she saw you teaching us how to look after Porlocks, how to tell the difference between Knarls and hedgehogs, stuff like that!' said Hermione earnestly.

'But tha's not very interestin', Hermione,' said Hagrid. 'The stuff I've got's much more impressive. I've bin bringin' 'em on fer years, I reckon I've got the on'y domestic herd in Britain.'

'Hagrid ... please ...' said Hermione, a note of real desperation in her voice. 'Umbridge is looking for any excuse to get rid of teachers she thinks are too close to Dumbledore. Please, Hagrid, teach us something dull that's bound to come up in our OWL.'

But Hagrid merely yawned widely and cast a one-eyed look of longing towards the vast bed in the corner.

'Lis'en, it's bin a long day an' it's late,' he said, patting Hermione gently on the shoulder, so that her knees gave way and hit the floor with a thud. 'Oh--sorry--' He pulled her back up by the neck of her robes. 'Look, don' you go worryin' abou' me, I promise yeh I've got really good stuff planned fer yer lessons now I'm back ... now you lot had better get back up to the castle, an' don' forget ter wipe yer tootprints out behind yeh!'

'I dunno if you got through to him,' said Ron a short while later when, having checked that the coast was clear, they walked back up to the castle through the thickening snow, leaving no trace behind them due to the Obliteration Charm Hermione was performing as they went.

'Then I'll go back again tomorrow,' said Hermione determinedly. 'I'll plan his lessons for him if I have to. I don't care if she throws out Trelawney but she's not getting rid of Hagrid!'

Chapter 21 The Eye of the Snake

Hermione ploughed her way back to Hagrid's cabin through two feet of snow on Sunday morning. Harry and Ron wanted to go with her, but their mountain of homework had reached an alarming height again, so they remained grudgingly in the common room, Tying to ignore the gleeful shouts drifting up from the grounds outside, where students were enjoying themselves skating on the frozen lake, tobogganing and, worst of all, bewitching snowballs to zoom up to Gryffindor Tower and rap hard on the windows.

'Oi!' bellowed Ron, finally losing patience and sticking his head out of the window, 'I am a prefect and if one more snowball hits this window--OUCH!'

He withdrew his head sharply, his face covered in snow.

'It's Fred and George,' he said bitterly, slamming the window behind him. 'Gits ...'

Hermione returned from Hagrid's just before lunch, shivering slightly, her robes damp to the knees.

'So?' said Ron, looking up when she entered. 'Got all his lessons planned for him?'

'Well, I tried,' she said dully, sinking into a chair beside Harry. She pulled out her wand and gave it a complicated little wave so that hot air streamed out of the tip; she then pointed this at her robes, which began to steam as they dried out. 'He wasn't even there when I arrived, I was knocking for at least half an hour. And then he came stumping out of the Forest--'

Harry groaned. The Forbidden Forest was teeming with the kind of creatures most likely to get Hagrid the sack. 'What's he keeping in there? Did he say?' he asked.

'No,' said Hermione miserably. 'He says he wants them to be a surprise. I tried to explain about Umbridge, but he just doesn't get it. He kept saying nobody in their right mind would rather study Knarls than Chimaeras--oh, I don't think he's got a Chimaera,' she added at the appalled look on Harry and Ron's faces, 'but that's not for lack of trying, from what he said about how hard it is to get eggs. I don't know how many times I told him he'd be better off following Grubbly-Plank's plan, I honestly don't think he listened to half of what I said. He's in a bit of a funny mood, you know. He still won't say how he got all those injuries.'

Hagrid's reappearance at the staff table at breakfast next day was not greeted by enthusiasm from all students. Some, like Fred, George and Lee, roared with delight and sprinted up the aisle between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables to wring Hagrid's enormous hand; others, like Parvati and Lavender, exchanged gloomy looks and shook their heads. Harry knew that many of them preferred Professor Grubbly-Planks lessons, and the worst of it was that a very small, unbiased part of him knew that they had good reason: Grubbly-Plank's idea of an interesting class was not one where there was a risk that somebody might have their head ripped off.

It was with a certain amount of apprehension that Harry, Ron and Hermione headed down to Hagrid's on Tuesday, heavily muffled against the cold. Harry was worried, not only about what Hagrid might have decided to teach them, but also about how the rest of the class, particularly Malfoy and his cronies, would behave if Umbridge was watching them.

However, the High Inquisitor was nowhere to be seen as they struggled through the snow towards Hagrid, who stood waiting for them on the edge of the Forest. He did not present a reassuring sight; the bruises that had been purple on Saturday night were now tinged with green and yellow and some of his cuts still seemed to be bleeding. Harry could not understand this: had Hagrid perhaps been attacked by some creature whose venom prevented the wounds it inflicted from healing? As though to complete the ominous picture, Hagrid was carrying what looked like half a dead cow over his shoulder.

'We're workin' in here today!' Hagrid called happily to the approaching students, jerking his head back at the dark trees behind him. 'Bit more sheltered! Anyway, they prefer the dark.'

'What prefers the dark?' Harry heard Malfoy say sharply to Crabbe and Goyle, a trace of panic in his voice. 'What did he say prefers the dark--did you hear?'

Harry remembered the only other occasion on which Malfoy had entered the Forest before now; he had not been very brave then, either. He smiled to himself; after the Quidditch match anything that caused Malfoy discomfort was all right with him.

'Ready?' said Hagrid cheerfully, looking around at the class. 'Right, well, I've bin savin' a trip inter the Forest fer yer fifth year. Thought we'd go an' see these creatures in their natural habitat. Now, what we're studyin' today is pretty rare, I reckon I'm probably the on'y person in Britain who's managed ter train 'em.'

'And you're sure they're trained, are you?' said Malfoy, the panic in his voice even more pronounced. 'Only it wouldn't be the first time you'd brought wild stuff to class, would it?'

The Slytherins murmured agreement and a few Gryffindors looked as though they thought Malfoy had a fair point, too.

'Course they're trained,' said Hagrid, scowling and hoisting the dead cow a little higher on his shoulder.

'So what happened to your face, then?' demanded Malfoy.

'Mind yer own business!' said Hagrid, angrily. 'Now, if yeh've finished askin' stupid questions, follow me!'

He turned and strode straight into the Forest. Nobody seemed much disposed to follow. Harry glanced at Ron and Hermione, who sighed but nodded, and the three of them set off after Hagrid, leading the rest of the class.

They walked for about ten minutes until they reached a place where the trees stood so closely together that it was as dark as twilight and there was no snow at all on the ground. With a grunt, Hagrid deposited his half a cow on the ground, stepped back and turned to face his class, most of whom were creeping from tree to tree towards him, peering around nervously as though expecting to be set upon at any moment.

'Gather roun', gather roun',' Hagrid encouraged. 'Now, they'll be attracted by the smell 'o the meat but I'm going ter give em a call anyway, 'cause they'll like ter know it's me.'

He turned, shook his shaggy head to get the hair out of his face and gave an odd, shrieking cry that echoed through the dark trees like the call of some monstrous bird. Nobody laughed: most of them looked too scared to make a sound.

Hagrid gave the shrieking cry again. A minute passed in which the class continued to peer nervously over their shoulders and around trees for a first glimpse of whatever it was that was coming. And then, as Hagrid shook his hair back for a third lime and expanded his enormous chest, Harry nudged Ron and pointed into the black space between two gnarled yew trees.

A pair of blank, white, shining eyes were growing larger through the gloom and a moment later the dragonish face, neck and then skeletal body of a great, black, winged horse emerged from the darkness. It surveyed the class for a few seconds, swishing its long black tail, then bowed its head and began to tear flesh from the dead cow with its pointed fangs.

A great wave of relief broke over Harry. Here at last was proof that he had not imagined these creatures, that they were real: Hagrid knew about them too. He looked eagerly at Ron, but Ron was still staring around into the trees and after a few seconds he whispered, 'Why doesn't Hagrid call again?'

Most of the rest of the class were wearing expressions as confused and nervously expectant as Ron's and were still gazing everywhere but at the horse standing feet from them. There were only two other people who seemed to be able to see them: a stringy Slytherin boy standing just behind Goyle was watching the horse eating with an expression of great distaste on his face; and Neville, whose eyes were following the swishing progress of the long black tail.

'Oh, an' here comes another one!' said Hagrid proudly, as a second black horse appeared out of the dark trees, folded its leathery-wings closer to its body and dipped its head to gorge on the meat. 'Now ... put yer hands up, who can see 'em?'

Immensely pleased to feel that he was at last going to understand the mystery of these horses, Harry raised his hand. Hagrid nodded at him.

'Yeah ... yeah, I knew you'd be able ter, Harry,' he said seriously. 'An' you too, Neville, eh? An'--'

'Excuse me,' said Malfoy in a sneering voice, 'but what exactly are we supposed to be seeing?'

For an answer, Hagrid pointed at the cow carcass on the ground. The whole class stared at it for a few seconds, then several people gasped and Parvati squealed. Harry understood why: bits of flesh stripping themselves away from the bones and vanishing into thin air had to look very odd indeed.

'What's doing it?' Parvati demanded in a terrified voice, retreating behind the nearest tree. 'What's eating it?'

'Thestrals,' said Hagrid proudly and Hermione gave a soft 'Oh!' of comprehension at Harry's shoulder. 'Hogwarts has got a whole herd of 'em in here. Now, who knows --?'

'But they're really, really unlucky!' interrupted Parvati, looking alarmed. 'They're supposed to bring all sorts of horrible misfortune on people who see them. Professor Trelawney told me once--'

'No, no, no,' said Hagrid, chuckling, 'tha's jus' superstition, that is, they aren' unlucky, they're dead clever an' useful! Course, this lot don' get a lot o' work, it's mainly jus' pullin' the school carriages unless Dumbledore's takin' a long journey an' don' want ter Apparate--an' here's another couple, look--'

Two more horses came quietly out of the trees, one of them passing very close to Parvati, who shivered and pressed herself closer to the tree, saying, 'I think I felt something, I think it's near me!'

'Don' worry, it won' hurt yeh,' said Hagrid patiently. 'Righ', now, who can tell me why some o' yeh can see 'em an' some can't?'

Hermione raised her hand.

'Go on then,' said Hagrid, beaming at her.

'The only people who can see Thestrals,' she said, 'are people who have seen death.'

'Tha's exactly right,' said Hagrid solemnly, 'ten points ter Gryffindor. Now, Thestrals--'

'Hem, hem.'

Professor Umbridge had arrived. She was standing a few feet away from Harry, wearing her green hat and cloak again, her clipboard at the ready. Hagrid. who had never heard Umbridge's fake cough before, was gazing in some concern at the closest Thestral, evidently under the impression that it had made the sound.

'Hem, hem.'

'Oh, hello!' Hagrid said, smiling, having located the source of the noise.

'You received the note I sent to your cabin this morning?' said Umbridge, in the same loud, slow voice she had used with him earlier, as though she were addressing somebody both foreign and very slow. 'Telling you that I would be inspecting your lesson?'

'Oh, yeah,' said Hagrid brightly. 'Glad yeh found the place all righ'! Well, as you can see-- or, I dunno--can you? We're doin' Thestrals today--'

'I'm sorry?' said Professor Umbridge loudly, cupping her hand around her ear and frowning. 'What did you say?'

Hagrid looked a little confused.

'Er--Thestrals!' he said loudly. 'Big--er--winged horses, yeh know!'

He flapped his gigantic arms hopefully. Professor Umbridge raised her eyebrows at him and muttered as she made a note on her clipboard: 'Has ... to ... resort ... to ... crude ... sign ... language.'

'Well ... anyway ...' said Hagrid, turning back to the class and looking slightly flustered, 'erm ... what was I sayin?'

'Appears ... to ... have ... poor ... short ... term ... memory,' muttered Umbridge, loudly enough for everyone to hear her. Draco Malfoy looked as though Christmas had come a month early; Hermione, on the other hand, had turned scarlet with suppressed rage.

'Oh, yeah,' said Hagrid, throwing an uneasy glance at Umbridge's clipboard, but ploughing on valiantly. 'Yeah, I was gonna tell yeh how come we got a herd. Yeah, so, we started off with a male an' five females. This one,' he patted the first horse to have appeared, 'name o' Tenebrus, he's my special favourite, firs' one born here in the Forest--'

'Are you aware,' Umbridge said loudly, interrupting him, 'that the Ministry of Magic has classified Thestrals as "dangerous"?'

Harry's heart sank like a stone, but Hagrid merely chuckled.

'Thestrals aren' dangerous! All righ', they might take a bite outta yeh if yeh really annoy them --'

'Shows ... signs ... of... pleasure ... at ... idea ... of... violence,' muttered Umbridge, scribbling on her clipboard again.

'No--come on!' said Hagrid, looking a little anxious now. 'I mean, a dog'll bite if yeh bait it, won' it--but Thestrals have jus' got a bad reputation because o' the death thing--people used ter think they were bad omens, didn' they? Jus' didn' understand, did they?'

Umbridge did not answer; she finished writing her last note, then looked up at Hagrid and said, again very loudly and slowly, 'Please continue teaching as usual. I am going to walk,' she mimed walking (Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson were having silent fits of laughter) 'among the students' (she pointed around at individual members of the class) 'and ask them questions.' She pointed at her mouth to indicate talking.

Hagrid stared at her, clearly at a complete loss to understand why she was acting as though he did not understand normal English. Hermione had tears of fury in her eyes now.

'You hag, you evil hag!' she whispered, as Umbridge walked towards Pansy Parkinson. 'I know what you're doing, you awiul, twisted, vicious--'

'Erm ... anyway,' said Hagrid, clearly struggling to regain the flow of his lesson, 'so --Thestrals. Yeah. Well, there's loads o' good stuff abou' them ...'

'Do you find,' said Professor Umbridge in a ringing voice to Pansy Parkinson, 'that you are able to understand Professor Hagrid when he talks?'

Just like Hermione, Pansy had tears in her eyes, but these were tears of laughter; indeed, her answer was almost incoherent because she was trying to suppress her giggles.

'No ... because ... well ... it sounds ... like grunting a lot of the time ...'

Umbridge scribbled on her clipboard. The few unbruised bits of Hagrid's face flushed, but he tried to act as though he had not heard Pansy's answer.

'Er ... yeah ... good stuff abou' Thestrals. Well, once they're tamed, like this lot, yeh'll never be lost again. 'Mazin' sense o' direction, jus' tell 'em where yeh want ter go--'

'Assuming they can understand you, of course,' said Malfoy loudly, and Pansy Parkinson collapsed in a fit of renewed giggles. Professor Umbridge smiled indulgently at them and then turned to Neville.

'You can see the Thestrals, Longbottom, can you?' she said.

Neville nodded.

'Who did you see die?' she asked, her tone indifferent.

'My ... my grandad,' said Neville.

'And what do you think of them?' she said, waving her stubby hand at the horses, who by now had stripped a great deal of the carcass down to bone.

'Erm,' said Neville nervously, with a glance at Hagrid. 'Well, they're ... er ... OK ...'

'Students ... are ... too ... intimidated ... to ... admit ... they ... are ... frightened,' muttered Umbridge, making another note on her clipboard.

'No!' said Neville, looking upset. 'No, I'm not scared of them!'

'It's quite all right,' said Umbridge, patting Neville on the shoulder with what she evidently intended to be an understanding smile, though it looked more like a leer to Harry. 'Well, Hagrid,' she turned to look up at him again, speaking once more in that loud, slow voice, 'I think I've got enough to be getting along with. You will receive' (she mimed taking something from the air in front of her) 'the results of your inspection' (she pointed at the clipboard) 'in ten days' time.' She held up ten stubby little fingers, then, her smile wider and more toadlike than ever before beneath her green hat, she bustled from their midst, leaving Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson in fits of laughter, Hermione actually shaking with fury and Neville looking confused and upset.

'That foul, lying, twisting old gargoyle!' stormed Hermione half an hour later, as they made their way back up to the castle through the channels they had made earlier in the snow. 'You see what she's up to? It's her thing about half-breeds all over again--she's trying to make out Hagrid's some kind of dimwitted troll, just because he had a giantess for a mother--and oh, it's not fair, that really wasn't a bad lesson at all--I mean, all right, if it had been Blast-Ended Skrewts again, but Thestrals are fine--in fact, for Hagrid, they're really good!'

'Umbridge said they're dangerous,' said Ron.

'Well, it's like Hagrid said, they can look after themselves,' said Hermione impatiently, 'and I suppose a teacher like Grubbly-Plank wouldn't usually show them to us before NEWT level, but, well, they are very interesting, aren't they? The way some people can see them and some can't! I wish I could.'

'Do you?' Harry asked her quietly.

She looked suddenly horrorstruck.

'Oh, Harry--I'm sorry--no, of course I don't--that was a really stupid thing to say.'

'It's OK,' he said quickly, 'don't worry'

'I'm surprised so many people could see them,' said Ron. 'Three in a class--'

'Yeah, Weasley, we were just wondering,' said a malicious voice. Unheard by any of them in the muffling snow, Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle were walking along right behind them. 'D'you reckon if you saw someone snuff it you'd be able to see the Quaffle better?'

He, Crabbe and Goyle roared with laughter as they pushed past on their way to the castle, then broke into a chorus of 'Weasley is our King'. Ron's ears turned scarlet.

'Ignore them, just ignore them,' intoned Hermione, pulling out her wand and performing the charm to produce hot air again, so that she could melt them an easier path through the untouched snow between them and the greenhouses.

December arrived, bringing with it more snow and a positive avalanche of homework for the fifth-years. Ron and Hermione's prefect duties also became more and more onerous as Christmas approached. They were called upon to supervise the decoration of the castle ('You try putting up tinsel when Peeves has got the other end and is trying to strangle you with it,' said Ron), to watch over first- and second-years spending their break-times inside because of the bitter cold ('And they're cheeky little snot-rags, you know, we definitely weren't that rude when we were in first year,' said Ron) and to patrol the corridors in shifts with Argus Filch, who suspected that the holiday spirit might show itself in an outbreak of wizard duels ('He's got dung for brains, that one,' said Ron furiously). They were so busy that Hermione had even stopped knitting elf hats and was fretting that she was down to her last three.

'All those poor elves I haven't set free yet, having to stay here over Christmas because there aren't enough hats!'

Harry, who had not had the heart to tell her that Dobby was taking everything she made, bent lower over his History of Magic essay. In any case, he did not want to think about Christmas. For the first time in his school career, he very much wanted to spend the holidays away from Hogwarts. Between his Quidditch ban and worry about whether or not Hagrid was going to be put on probation, he felt highly resentful towards the place at the moment. The only thing he really looked forward to were the DA meetings, and they would have to stop over the holidays, as nearly everybody in the DA would be spending the time with their families. Hermione was going skiing with her parents, something that greatly amused Ron, who had never heard of Muggles strapping narrow strips of wood on to their feet to slide down mountains. Ron was going home to The Burrow. Harry endured several days of envy before Ron said, in response to Harry asking him how he was going to get home for Christmas: 'But you're coming too! Didn't I say? Mum wrote and told me to invite you weeks ago!'

Hermione rolled her eyes, but Harry's spirits soared: the thought of Christmas at The Burrow was truly wonderful, though slightly marred by Harry's guilty feeling that he would not be able to spend the holiday with Sirius. He wondered whether he could possibly persuade Mrs. Weasley to invite his godfather for the festivities. Even though he doubted whether Dumbledore would permit Sirius to leave Grimmauld Place anyway, he could not help but think Mrs. Weasley might not want him; they were so often at loggerheads. Sirius had not contacted Harry at all since his last appearance in the fire, and although Harry knew that with Umbridge on constant watch it would be unwise to attempt to contact him, he did not like to think of Sirius alone in his mother's old house, perhaps pulling a lonely cracker with Kreacher.

Harry arrived early in the Room of Requirement for the last DA meeting before the holidays and was very glad he had, because when the torches burst into flame he saw that Dobby had taken it upon himself to decorate the place for Christmas. He could tell the elf had done it, because nobody else would have strung a hundred golden baubles from the ceiling, each showing a picture of Harry's face and bearing the legend: 'HAVE A VERY HARRY CHRISTMAS!'

Harry had only just managed to get the last of them down before the door creaked open and Luna Lovegood entered, looking as dreamy as usual.

'Hello,' she said vaguely, looking around at what remained of the decorations. 'These are nice, did you put them up?'

'No,' said Harry, 'it was Dobby the house-elf.'

'Mistletoe,' said Luna dreamily, pointing at a large clump of white berries placed almost over Harry's head. He jumped out from under it. 'Good thinking,' said Luna very seriously. 'It's often infested with Nargles.'

Harry was saved the necessity of asking what Nargles are by the arrival of Angelina, Katie and Alicia. All three of them were breathless and looked very cold.

'Well,' said Angelina dully, pulling off her cloak and throwing it into a corner, 'we've finally replaced you.'

'Replaced me?' said Harry blankly.

'You and Fred and George,' she said impatiently. 'We've got another Seeker!'

'Who?' said Harry quickly.

'Ginny Weasley,' said Katie.

Harry gaped at her.

'Yeah, I know,' said Angelina, pulling out her wand and flexing her arm, 'but she's pretty good, actually. Nothing on you, of course,' she said, throwing him a very dirty look, 'but as we can't have you ...'

Harry bit back the retort he was longing to utter: did she imagine for a second that he did not regret his expulsion from the team a hundred times more than she did?

'And what about the Beaters? he asked, trying to keep his voice even.

'Andrew Kirke,' said Alicia without enthusiasm, 'and Jack Sloper. Neither of them are brilliant, but compared to the rest of the idiots who turned up ...'

The arrival of Ron, Hermione and Neville brought this depressing discussion to an end, and within five minutes the room was full enough to prevent Harry seeing Angelina's burning, reproachful looks.

'OK,' he said, calling them all to order. 'I thought this evening we should just go over the things we've done so far, because it's the last meeting before the holidays and there's no point starting anything new right before a three-week break--'

'We're not doing anything new?' said Zacharias Smith, in a disgruntled whisper loud enough to carry through the room. 'If I'd known that, I wouldn't have come.'

'We're all really sorry Harry didn't tell you, then,' said Fred loudly.

Several people sniggered. Harry saw Cho laughing and felt the familiar swooping sensation in his stomach, as though he had missed a step going downstairs.

'--we can practise in pairs,' said Harry. 'We'll start with the Impediment Jinx, for ten minutes, then we can get out the cushions and try Stunning again.'

They all divided up obediently; Harry partnered Neville as usual. The room was soon full of intermittent cries of 'Impedimenta!' People froze for a minute or so, during which their partner would stare aimlessly around the room watching other pairs at work, then would unfreeze and take their turn at the jinx.

Neville had improved beyond all recognition. After a while, when Harry had unfrozen three times in a row, he had Neville join Ron and Hermione again so that he could walk around the room and watch the others. When he passed Cho she beamed at him; he resisted the temptation to walk past her several more times.

After ten minutes on the Impediment Jinx, they laid out cushions all over the floor and started practising Stunning again. Space was really too confined to allow them all to work this spell at once; half the group observed the others for a while, then swapped over.

Harry felt himself positively swelling with pride as he watched them all. True, Neville did Stun Padma Patil rather than Dean, at whom he had been aiming, but it was a much closer miss than usual, and everybody else had made enormous progress.

At the end of an hour, Harry called a halt.

'You're getting really good,' he said, beaming around at them. 'When we get back from the holidays we can start doing some of the big stuff--maybe even Patronuses.'

There was a murmur of excitement. The room began to clear in the usual twos and threes; most people wished Harry a 'Happy Christmas' as they went. Feeling cheerful, he collected up the cushions with Ron and Hermione and stacked them neatly away. Ron and Hermione left before he did; he hung back a little, because Cho was still there and he was hoping to receive a 'Merry Christmas' from her.

'No, you go on,' he heard her say to her friend Marietta and his heart gave a jolt that seemed to take it into the region of his Adam's apple.

He pretended to be straightening the cushion pile. He was quite sure they were alone now and waited for her to speak. Instead, he heard a hearty sniff.

He turned and saw Cho standing in the middle of the room, tears pouring down her face.

'Wha--?'

He didn't know what to do. She was simply standing there, crying silently.

'What's up?' he said, feebly.

She shook her head and wiped her eyes on her sleeve.

'I'm--sorry,' she said thickly. 'I suppose ... it's just ... learning all this stuff ... it just makes me ... wonder whether ... if he'd known it all ... he'd still be alive.'

Harry's heart sank right back past its usual spot and settled somewhere around his navel. He ought to have known. She wanted to talk about Cedric.

'He did know this stuff,' Harry said heavily. 'He was really good at it, or he could never have got to the middle of that maze. But if Voldemort really wants to kill you, you don't stand a chance.'

She hiccoughed at the sound of Voldemort's name, but stared at Harry without flinching.

'You survived when you were just a baby,' she said quietly.

'Yeah, well,' said Harry wearily, moving towards the door, 'I dunno why, nor does anyone else, so it's nothing to be proud of.'

'Oh, don't go!' said Cho, sounding tearful again. 'I'm really sorry to get all upset like this ... I didn't mean to ...'

She hiccoughed again. She was very pretty even when her eyes were red and puffy. Harry felt thoroughly miserable. He'd have been so pleased with just a 'Merry Christmas'.

'I know it must be horrible for you,' she said, mopping her eyes on her sleeve again. 'Me mentioning Cedric, when you saw him die ... I suppose you just want to forget about it?'

Harry did not say anything to this; it was quite true, but he felt heartless saying it.

'You're a r-really good teacher, you know,' said Cho, with a watery smile. 'I've never been able to Stun anything before.'

'Thanks,' said Harry awkwardly.

They looked at each other for a long moment. Harry felt a burning desire to run from the room and, at the same time, a complete inability to move his feet.

'Mistletoe,' said Cho quietly, pointing at the ceiling over his head.

'Yeah,' said Harry. His mouth was very dry. 'It's probably full of Nargles, though.'

'What are Nargles?'

'No idea,' said Harry. She had moved closer. His brain seemed to have been Stunned. 'You'd have to ask Loony. Luna, I mean.'

Cho made a funny noise halfway between a sob and a laugh. She was even nearer to him now. He could have counted the freckles on her nose.

'I really like you, Harry.'

He could not think. A tingling sensation was spreading through him, paralysing his arms, legs and brain.

She was much too close. He could see every tear clinging to her eyelashes ...

He returned to the common room half an hour later to find Hermione and Ron in the best seats by the fire; nearly everybody else had gone to bed. Hermione was writing a very long letter; she had already filled half a roll of parchment, which was dangling from the edge of the table. Ron was lying on the hearthrug, trying to finish his Transfiguration homework.

'What kept you?' he asked, as Harry sank into the armchair next to Hermione's.

Harry didn't answer. He was in a state of shock. Half of him wanted to tell Ron and Hermione what had just happened, but the other half wanted to take the secret with him to the grave.

'Are you all right, Harry?' Hermione asked, peering at him over the tip of her quill.

Harry gave a half-hearted shrug. In truth, he didn't know whether he was all right or not. 'What's up?' said Ron, hoisting himself up on his elbow to get a clearer view of Harry. 'What's happened?'

Harry didn't quite know how to set about telling them, and still wasn't sure whether he wanted to. Just as he had decided not to say anything, Hermione took matters out of his hands.

'Is it Cho?' she asked in a businesslike way. 'Did she corner you after the meeting?'

Numbly surprised, Harry nodded. Ron sniggered, breaking off when Hermione caught his eye.

'So--er--what did she want?' he asked in a mock casual voice.

'She--' Harry began, rather hoarsely, he cleared his throat and tried again. 'She--er--'

'Did you kiss?' asked Hermione briskly.

Ron sat up so fast he sent his ink bottle flying all over the rug. Disregarding this completely, he stared avidly at Harry.

'Well?' he demanded.

Harry looked from Ron's expression of mingled curiosity and hilarity to Hermione's slight frown, and nodded.

'HA!'

Ron made a triumphant gesture with his fist and went into a raucous peal of laughter that made several timid-looking second-years over beside the window jump. A reluctant grin spread over Harry's face as he watched Ron rolling around on the hearthrug.

Hermione gave Ron a look or deep disgust and returned to her letter.

'Well?' Ron said finally, looking up at Harry. 'How was it?'

Harry considered for a moment.

'Wet,' he said truthfully.

Ron made a noise that might have indicated jubilation or disgust, it was hard to tell.

'Because she was crying,' Harry continued heavily.

'Oh,' said Ron, his smile fading slightly. 'Are you that bad at kissing?'

'Dunno,' said Harry, who hadn't considered this, and immediately felt rather worried. 'Maybe I am.'

'Of course you're not,' said Hermione absently, still scribbling away at her letter.

'How do you know?' said Ron very sharply.

'Because Cho spends half her time crying these days,' said Hermione vaguely. 'She does it at mealtimes, in the loos, all over the place.'

'You'd think a bit of kissing would cheer her up,' said Ron, grinning.

'Ron,' said Hermione in a dignified voice, dipping the point of her quill into her inkpot, 'you are the most insensitive wart I have ever had the misfortune to meet.'

'What's that supposed to mean?' said Ron indignantly. 'What sort of person cries while someone's kissing them?'

'Yeah,' said Harry, slightly desperately, 'who does?'

Hermione looked at the pair of them with an almost pitying expression on her face.

'Don't you understand how Cho's feeling at the moment?' she asked.

'No,' said Harry and Ron together.

Hermione sighed and laid down her quill.

'Well, obviously, she's feeling very sad, because of Cedric dying. Then I expect she's feeling confused because she liked Cedric and now she likes Harry, and she can't work out who she likes best. Then she'll be feeling guilty, thinking it's an insult to Cedric's memory to be kissing Harry at all, and she'll be worrying about what everyone else might say about her if she starts going out with Harry. And she probably can't work out what her feelings towards Harry are, anyway, because he was the one who was with Cedric when Cedric died, so that's all very mixed up and painful. Oh, and she's afraid she's going to be thrown off the Ravenclaw Quidditch team because she's been flying so badly.'

A slightly stunned silence greeted the end of this speech, then Ron said, 'One person can't feel all that at once, they'd explode.'

'Just because you've got the emotional range of a teaspoon doesn't mean we all have,' said Hermione nastily, picking up her quill again.

'She was the one who started it,' said Harry. 'I wouldn't've--she just sort of came at me--and next thing she's crying all over me--I didn't know what to do--'

'Don't blame you, mate,' said Ron, looking alarmed at the very thought.

'You just had to be nice to her,' said Hermione, looking up anxiously. 'You were, weren't you?'

'Well,' said Harry, an unpleasant heat creeping up his face, 'I sort of--patted her on the back a bit.'

Hermione looked as though she was restraining herself from rolling her eyes with extreme difficulty.

'Well, I suppose it could have been worse,' she said. 'Are you going to see her again?'

'I'll have to, won't I?' said Harry. 'We've got DA meetings, haven't we?'

'You know what I mean,' said Hermione impatiently.

Harry said nothing. Hermione's words opened up a whole new vista of frightening possibilities. He tried to imagine going somewhere with Cho--Hogsmeade, perhaps--and being alone with her for hours at a time. Of course, she would have been expecting him to ask her out after what had just happened ... the thought made his stomach clench painfully.

'Oh well,' said Hermione distantly, buried in her letter once more, 'you'll have plenty of opportunities to ask her.'

'What if he doesn't want to ask her?' said Ron, who had been watching Harry with an unusually shrewd expression on his face.

'Don't be silly,' said Hermione vaguely, 'Harry's liked her for ages, haven't you, Harry?'

He did not answer. Yes, he had liked Cho for ages, but whenever he had imagined a scene involving the two of them it had always featured a Cho who was enjoying herself, as opposed to a Cho who was sobbing uncontrollably into his shoulder.

'Who're you writing the novel to, anyway?' Ron asked Hermione, trying to read the bit of parchment now trailing on the floor. Hermione hitched it up out of sight.

'Viktor.'

'Krum?'

'How many other Viktors do we know?'

Ron said nothing, but looked disgruntled. They sat in silence for another twenty minutes, Ron finishing his Transfiguration essay with many snorts of impatience and crossings-out, Hermione writing steadily to the very end of the parchment, rolling it up carefully and sealing it, and Harry staring into the fire, wishing more than anything that Sirius's head would appear there and give him some advice about girls. But the fire merely crackled lower and lower, until the red-hot embers crumbled into ash and, looking around, Harry saw that they were, yet again, the last ones in the common room.

'Well, night,' said Hermione, yawning widely as she set off up the girls' staircase.

'What does she see in Krum?' Ron demanded, as he and Harry climbed the boys' stairs.

'Well,' said Harry, considering the matter, 'I s'pose he's older, isn't he ... and he's an international Quidditch player ...'

'Yeah, but apart from that,' said Ron, sounding aggravated. 'I mean, he's a grouchy git, isn't he?'

'Bit grouchy, yeah,' said Harry, whose thoughts were still on Cho.

They pulled off their robes and put on pyjamas in silence; Dean, Seamus and Neville were already asleep. Harry put his glasses on his bedside table and got into bed but did not pull the hangings closed around his four-poster; instead, he stared at the patch of starry sky visible through the window next to Neville's bed. If he had known, this time last night, that in twenty-four hours' time he would have kissed Cho Chang ...

'Night,' grunted Ron, from somewhere to his right.

'Night,' said Harry.

Maybe next time ... if there was a next time ... she'd be a bit happier. He ought to have asked her out; she had probably been expecting it and was now really angry with him ... or was she lying in bed, still crying about Cedric? He did not know what to think. Hermione's explanation had made it all seem more complicated rather than easier to understand.

That's what they should teach us here, he thought, turning over on to his side, how girls' brains work ... it'd be more useful than Divination, anyway ...

Neville snuffled in his sleep. An owl hooted somewhere out in the night.

Harry dreamed he was back in the DA room. Cho was accusing him of luring her there under false pretences; she said he had promised her a hundred and fifty Chocolate Frog Cards if she showed up. Harry protested ... Cho shouted, 'Cedric gave me loads of Chocolate Frog Cards, look!' And she pulled out fistfuls of Cards from inside her robes and threw them into the air. Then she turned into Hermione, who said, 'You did promise her, you know, Harry ... I think you'd better give her something else instead ... how about your Firebolt?' And Harry was protesting that he could not give Cho his Firebolt, because Umbridge had it, and anyway the whole thing was ridiculous, he'd only come to the DA room to put up some Christmas baubles shaped like Dobby's head ...

The dream changed ...

His body felt smooth, powerful and flexible. He was gliding between shining metal bars, across dark, cold stone ... he was flat against the floor, sliding along on his belly ... it was dark, yet he could see objects around him shimmering in strange, vibrant colours ... he was turning his head ... at first glance the corridor was empty ... but no ... a man was sitting on the floor ahead, his chin drooping on to his chest, his outline gleaming in the dark ...

Harry put out his tongue ... he tasted the man's scent on the air ... he was alive but drowsy ... sitting in front of a door at the end of the corridor ..

Harry longed to bite the man ... but he must master the impulse ... he had more important work to do ...

But the man was stirring ... a silver Cloak fell from his legs as he jumped to his feet; and Harry saw his vibrant, blurred outline towering above him, saw a wand withdrawn from a belt ... he had no choice ... he reared high from the floor and struck once, twice, three times, plunging his fangs deeply into the man's flesh, feeling his ribs splinter beneath his jaws, feeling the warm gush of blood ...

The man was yelling in pain ... then he fell silent ... he slumped backwards against the wall ... blood was splattering on to the floor ...

His forehead hurt terribly ... it was aching fit to burst ...

'Harry! HARRY!'

He opened his eyes. Every inch of his body was covered in icy sweat; his bed covers were twisted all around him like a strait-jacket; he felt as though a white-hot poker were being applied to his forehead.

'Harry!'

Ron was standing over him looking extremely frightened. There were more figures at the foot of Harry's bed. He clutched his head in his hands; the pain was blinding him ... he rolled right over and vomited over the edge of the mattress.

'He's really ill,' said a scared voice. 'Should we call someone?'

'Harry! Harry!'

He had to tell Ron, it was very important that he tell him ... taking great gulps of air, Harry pushed himself up in bed, willing himself not to throw up again, the pain half-blinding him.

'Your dad,' he panted, his chest heaving. 'Your dad's ... been attacked ...'

'What?' said Ron uncomprehendingly.

'Your dad! He's been bitten, it's serious, there was blood everywhere ...'

'I'm going for help,' said the same scared voice, and Harry heard footsteps running out of the dormitory.

'Harry, mate,' said Ron uncertainly, 'you ... you were just dreaming--'

'No!' said Harry furiously; it was crucial that Ron understand.

'It wasn't a dream ... not an ordinary dream ... I was there, I saw it ... I did it ...'

He could hear Seamus and Dean muttering but did not care. The pain in his forehead was subsiding slightly, though he was still sweating and shivering feverishly. He retched again and Ron leapt backwards out of the way.

'Harry, you're not well,' he said shakily. 'Neville's gone for help.'

'I'm fine!' Harry choked, wiping his mouth on his pyjamas and shaking uncontrollably. 'There's nothing wrong with me, it's your dad you've got to worry about--we need to find out where he is--he's bleeding like mad--I was--it was a huge snake.'

He tried to get out of bed but Ron pushed him back into it; Dean and Seamus were still whispering somewhere nearby. Whether one minute passed or ten, Harry did not know; he simply sat there shaking, feeling the pain recede very slowly from his scar ... then there were hurried footsteps coming up the stairs and he heard Neville's voice again.

'Over here, Professor.'

Professor McGonagall came hurrying into the dormitory in her tartan dressing gown, her glasses perched lopsidedly on the bridge of her bony nose.

'What is it, Potter? Where does it hurt?'

He had never been so pleased to see her; it was a member of the Order of the Phoenix he needed now, not someone fussing over him and prescribing useless potions.

'It's Ron's dad,' he said, sitting up again. 'He's been attacked by a snake and it's serious, I saw it happen.'

'What do you mean, you saw it happen?' said Professor McGonagall, her dark eyebrows contracting.

'I don't know ... I was asleep and then I was there ...'

'You mean you dreamed this?'

'No!' said Harry angrily; would none of them understand? 'I was having a dream at first about something completely different, something stupid ... and then this interrupted it. It was real, I didn't imagine it. Mr. Weasley was asleep on the floor and he was attacked by a gigantic snake, there was a load of blood, he collapsed, someone's got to find out where he is ...'

Professor McGonagall was gazing at him through her lopsided spectacles as though horrified at what she was seeing.

'I'm not lying and I'm not mad!' Harry told her, his voice rising to a shout. 'I tell you, I saw it happen!'

'I believe you, Potter,' said Professor McGonagall curtly. 'Put on your dressing gown--we're going to see the Headmaster.'

Chapter 22 St. Mungo's Hosptial for Magical Maladies and Injuries

Harry was so relieved she was taking him seriously that he did not hesitate, but jumped out of bed at once, pulled on his dressing gown and pushed his glasses back on to his nose.

'Weasley, you ought to come too,' said Professor McGonagall.

They followed Professor McGonagall past the silent figures of Neville, Dean and Seamus, out of the dormitory down the spiral stairs into the common room, through the portrait hole and off along the Fat Lady's moonlit corridor. Harry felt as though the panic inside him might spill over at any moment; he wanted to run, to yell for Dumbledore; Mr. Weasley was bleeding as they walked along so sedately and what if those fangs (Harry tried hard not to think 'my fangs') had been poisonous? They passed Mrs. Norris, who turned her lamplike eyes upon them and hissed faintly but Professor McGonagall said, 'Shoo!' Mrs. Norris slunk away into the shadows, and in a few minutes they had reached the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore s office.

'Fizzing Whizzbee,' said Professor McGonagall.

The gargoyle sprang to life and leapt aside; the wall behind it split in two to reveal a stone staircase that was moving continually upwards like a spiral escalator. The three of them stepped on to the moving stairs; the wall closed behind them with a thud and they were moving upwards in tight circles until they reached the highly polished oak door with the brass knocker shaped like a griffin.

Though it was now well past midnight there were voices coming from inside the room, a positive babble of them. It sounded as though Dumbledore was entertaining at least a dozen people.

Professor McGonagall rapped three times with the griffin knocker and the voices ceased abruptly as though someone had switched them all off. The door opened of its own accord and Professor McGonagall led Harry and Ron inside.

The room was in half-darkness; the strange silver instruments standing on tables were silent and still rather than whirring and emitting puffs of smoke as they usually did; the portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses covering the walls were all snoozing in their frames. Behind the door, a magnificent red and gold bird the size of a swan dozed on its perch with its head under its wing.

'Oh, it's you, Professor McGonagall ... and ... ah.'

Dumbledore was sitting in a high-backed chair behind his desk; he leaned forward into the pool of candlelight illuminating the papers laid out before him. He was wearing a magnificently embroidered purple and gold dressing gown over a snowy white nightshirt, but seemed wide-awake, his penetrating light blue eyes fixed intently upon Professor McGonagall.

'Professor Dumbledore, Potter has had a ... well, a nightmare,' said Professor McGonagall. 'He says ...'

'It wasn't a nightmare,' said Harry quickly.

Professor McGonagall looked round at Harry, frowning slightly.

'Very well, then, Potter, you tell the Headmaster about it.'

'I ... well, I was asleep ...' said Harry and, even in his terror and his desperation to make Dumbledore understand, he felt slightly irritated that the Headmaster was not looking at him, but examining his own interlocked fingers. 'But it wasn't an ordinary dream ... it was real ... I saw it happen ...' He took a deep breath, 'Ron's dad--Mr. Weasley--has been attacked by a giant snake.'

The words seemed to reverberate in the air after he had said them, sounding slightly ridiculous, even comic. There was a pause in which Dumbledore leaned back and stared meditatively at the ceiling. Ron looked from Harry to Dumbledore, white-faced and shocked.

'How did you see this?' Dumbledore asked quietly, still not looking at Harry.

'Well ... I don't know,' said Harry, rather angrily--what did it matter? 'Inside my head, I suppose--'

'You misunderstand me,' said Dumbledore, still in the same calm tone. 'I mean ... can you remember--er--where you were positioned as you watched this attack happen? Were you perhaps standing beside the victim, or else looking down on the scene from above?'

This was such a curious question that Harry gaped at Dumbledore; it was almost as though he knew ...

'I was the snake,' he said. 'I saw it all from the snake's point of view.'

Nobody else spoke for a moment, then Dumbledore, now looking at Ron who was still whey-faced, asked in a new and sharper voice, 'Is Arthur seriously injured?'

'Yes,' said Harry emphatically--why were they all so slow on the uptake, did they not realise how much a person bled when fangs that long pierced their side? And why could Dumbledore not do him the courtesy of looking at him?

But Dumbledore stood up, so quickly it made Harry jump, and addressed one of the old portraits hanging very near the ceiling. 'Everard?' he said sharply. 'And you too, Dilys!'

A sallow-faced wizard with a short black fringe and an elderly witch with long silver ringlets in the frame beside him, both of whom seemed to have been in the deepest of sleeps, opened their eyes immediately.

'You were listening?' said Dumbledore.

The wizard nodded; the witch said, 'Naturally.'

'The man has red hair and glasses,' said Dumbledore. 'Everard, you will need to raise the alarm, make sure he is found by the right people--'

Both nodded and moved sideways out of their frames, but instead of emerging in neighbouring pictures (as usually happened at Hogwarts) neither reappeared. One frames now contained nothing but a backdrop of dark curtain, the other a handsome leather armchair. Harry noticed that many of the other headmasters and mistresses on the walls, though snoring and drooling most convincingly, kept sneaking peeks at him from under their eyelids, and he suddenly understood who had been talking when they had knocked.

'Everard and Dilys were two of Hogwartss most celebrated Heads,' Dumbledore said, now sweeping around Harry, Ron and Professor McGonagall to approach the magnificent sleeping bird on his perch beside the door. 'Their renown is such that both have portraits hanging in other important wizarding institutions. As they are free to move between their own portraits, they can tell us what may be happening elsewhere ...'

'But Mr. Weasley could be anywhere!' said Harry.

'Please sit down, all three of you,' said Dumbledore, as though Harry had not spoken, 'Everard and Dilys may not be back for several minutes. Professor McGonagall, if you could draw up extra chairs.'

Professor McGonagall pulled her wand from the pocket of her dressing gown and waved it; three chairs appeared out of thin air, straight-backed and wooden, quite unlike the comfortable chintz armchairs that Dumbledore had conjured up at Harry's hearing. Harry sat down, watching Dumbledore over his shoulder. Dumbledore was now stroking Fawkes's plumed golden head with one finger. The phoenix awoke immediately. He stretched his beautiful head high and observed Dumbledore through bright, dark eyes.

'We will need,' Dumbledore said very quietly to the bird, 'a warning.'

There was a flash of fire and the phoenix had gone.

Dumbledore now swooped down upon one of the fragile silver instruments whose function Harry had never known, carried it over to his desk, sat down facing them again and tapped it gently with the tip of his wand.

The instrument tinkled into life at once with rhythmic clinking noises. Tiny puffs of pale green smoke issued from the minuscule silver tube at the top. Dumbledore watched the smoke closely, his brow furrowed. After a few seconds, the tiny puffs became a steady stream of smoke that thickened and coiled in the air ... a serpent's head grew out of the end of it, opening its mouth wide. Harry wondered whether the instrument was confirming his story: he looked eagerly at Dumbledore for a sign that he was right, but Dumbledore did not look up.

'Naturally, naturally,' murmured Dumbledore apparently to himself, still observing the stream of smoke without the slightest sign of surprise. 'But in essence divided?'

Harry could make neither head nor tail of this question. The smoke serpent, however, split itself instantly into two snakes, both coiling and undulating in the dark air. With a look of grim satisfaction, Dumbledore gave the instrument another gentle tap with his wand: the clinking noise slowed and died and the smoke serpents grew faint, became a formless haze and vanished.

Dumbledore replaced the instrument on its spindly little table. Harry saw many of the old headmasters in the portraits follow him with their eyes, then, realising that Harry was watching them, hastily pretend to be sleeping again. Harry wanted to ask what the strange silver instrument was for, but before he could do so, there was a shout from the top of the wall to their right; the wizard called Everard had reappeared in his portrait., panting slightly.

'Dumbledore!'

'What news?' said Dumbledore at once.

'I yelled until someone came running,' said the wizard, who was mopping his brow on the curtain behind him, 'said I'd heard something moving downstairs--they weren't sure whether to believe me but went down to check--you know there are no portraits down there to watch from. Anyway, they carried him up a few minutes later. He doesn't look good, he's covered in blood, I ran along to Elfrida Cragg's portrait to get a good view as they left--'

'Good,' said Dumbledore as Ron made a convulsive movement. 'I take it Dilys will have seen him arrive, then--'

And moments later, the silver-ringleted witch had reappeared in her picture, too; she sank, coughing, into her armchair and said, 'Yes, they've taken him to St. Mungo's, Dumbledore ... they carried him past my portrait ... he looks bad ...'

'Thank you,' said Dumbledore. He looked round at Professor McGonagall.

'Minerva, I need you to go and wake the other Weasley children.'

'Of course ...'

Professor McGonagall got up and moved swiftly to the door. Harry cast a sideways glance at Ron, who was looking terrified.

'And Dumbledore-- what about Molly?' said Professor McGonagall, pausing at the door.

'That will be a job for Fawkes when he has finished keeping a lookout for anybody approaching,' said Dumbledore. 'But she may already know ... that excellent clock of hers ...'

Harry knew Dumbledore was referring to the clock that told, not the time, but the whereabouts and conditions of the various Weasley family members, and with a pang he thought that Mr. Weasley's hand must, even now, be pointing at mortal peril.But it was very late. Mrs. Weasley was probably asleep, not watching the clock. Harry felt cold as he remembered Mrs. Weasley's boggart turning into Mr. Weasley's lifeless body, his glasses askew, blood running down his face ... but Mr. Weasley wasn't going to die ... he couldn't ...

Dumbledore was now rummaging in a cupboard behind Harry and Ron. He emerged from it carrying a blackened old kettle, which he placed carefully on his desk. He raised his wand and murmured, 'Portus!' For a moment the kettle trembled, glowing with an odd blue light; then it quivered to rest, as solidly black as ever.

Dumbledore marched over to another portrait, this time of a clever-looking wizard with a pointed beard, who had been painted wearing the Slytherin colours of green and silver and was apparently sleeping so deeply that he could not hear Dumbledore's voice when he attempted to rouse him.

'Phineas. Phineas.'

The subjects of the portraits lining the room were no longer pretending to be asleep; they were shifting around in their frames, the better to watch what was happening. When the clever-looking wizard continued to feign sleep, some of them shouted his name, too.

'Phineas! Phineas! PHINEAS!'

He could not pretend any longer; he gave a theatrical jerk and opened his eyes wide.

'Did someone call?'

'I need you to visit your other portrait again, Phineas,' said Dumbledore. 'I've got another message.'

'Visit my other portrait?' said Phineas in a reedy voice, giving a long, fake yawn (his eyes travelling around the room and focusing on Harry). 'Oh, no, Dumbledore, I am too tired tonight.'

Something about Phineas's voice was familiar to Harry, where had he heard it before? But before he could think, the portraits on the surrounding walls broke into a storm of protest.

'Insubordination, sir!' roared a corpulent, red-nosed wizard, brandishing his fists. 'Dereliction of duty!'

'We are honour-bound to give service to the present Headmaster of Hogwarts!' cried a frail-looking old wizard whom Harry recognised as Dumbledore's predecessor, Armando Dippet. 'Sharne on you, Phineas!'

'Shall I persuade him, Dumbledore?' called a gimlet-eyed witch, raising an unusually thick wand that looked not unlike a birch rod.

'Oh, very well,' said the wizard called Phineas, eyeing the wand with mild apprehension, 'though he may well have destroyed my picture by now, he's done away with most of the family--'

'Sirius knows not to destroy your portrait,' said Dumbledore, and Harry realised immediately where he had heard Phineas's voice before: issuing from the apparently empty frame in his bedroom in Grimmauld Place. 'You are to give him the message that Arthur Weasley has been gravely injured and that his wife, children and Harry Potter will be arriving at his house shortly. Do you understand?'

'Arthur Weasley, injured, wife and children and Harry Potter coming to stay,' repeated Phineas in a bored voice. 'Yes, yes ... very well ...'

He sloped away into the frame of the portrait and disappeared from view at the very moment the study door opened again. Fred, George and Ginny were ushered inside by Professor McGonagall, all three of them looking dishevelled and shocked, still in their night things.

'Harry--what's going on?' asked Ginny, who looked frightened. 'Professor McGonagall says you saw Dad get hurt--'

'Your father has been injured in the course of his work for the Order of the Phoenix,' said Dumbledore, before Harry could speak. 'He has been taken to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. I am sending you back to Sirius's house, which is much more convenient for the hospital than The Burrow. You will meet your mother there.'

'How're we going?' asked Fred, looking shaken. 'Floo powder?'

'No,' said Dumbledore, 'Floo powder is not safe at the moment, the Network is being watched. You will be taking a Portkey.' He indicated the old kettle lying innocently on his desk. 'We are just waiting for Phineas Nigellus to report back ... I want to be sure that the coast is clear before sending you--'

There was a flash of flame in the very middle of: the office, leaving behind a single golden feather that floated gently to the floor.

'It is Fawkes's warning,' said Dumbledore, catching the feather as it fell. 'Professor Umbridge must know you're out of your beds ... Minerva, go and head her off--tell her any story--'

Professor McGonagall was gone in a swish of tartan.

'He says he'll be delighted,' said a bored voice behind Dumbledore; the wizard called Phineas had reappeared in front of his Slytherin banner. 'My great-great-grandson has always had an odd taste in house-guests.'

'Come here, then,' Dumbledore said to Harry and the Weasleys. 'And quickly, before anyone else joins us.'

Harry and the others gathered around Dumbledore's desk.

'You have all used a Portkey before?' asked Dumbledore, and they nodded, each reaching out to touch some part of the blackened kettle. 'Good. On the count of three, then ... one ... two ...'

It happened in a fraction of a second: in the infinitesimal pause before Dumbledore said 'three', Harry looked up at him--they were very close together--and Dumbledore's clear blue gaze moved from the Portkey to Harry's face.

At once, Harry's scar burned white-hot, as though the old wound had burst open again--and unbidden, unwanted, but terrifyingly strong, there rose within Harry a hatred so powerful he felt, for that instant, he would like nothing better than to strike--to bite--to sink his fangs into the man before him--

'... three.'

Harry felt a powerful jerk behind his navel, the ground vanished from beneath his feet, his hand was glued to the kettle; he was banging into the others as they all sped forwards in a swirl of colours and a rush of wind, the kettle pulling them onwards ... until his feet hit the ground so hard his knees buckled, the kettle clattered to the ground, and somewhere close at hand a voice said:

'Back again, the blood-traitor brats. Is it true their father's dying?'

'OUT!' roared a second voice.

Harry scrambled to his feet and looked around; they had arrived in the gloomy basement kitchen of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. The only sources of light were the fire and one guttering candle, which illuminated the remains of a solitary supper. Kreacher was disappearing through the door to the hall, looking back at them malevolently as he hitched up his loincloth; Sirius was hurrying towards them all, looking anxious. He was unshaven and still in his day clothes; there was also a slightly Mundungus-like whiff of stale drink about him.

'What's going on?' he said, stretching out a hand to help Ginny up. 'Thineas Nigellus said Arthur's been badly injured--'

'Ask Harry,' said Fred.

'Yeah, I want to hear this for myself,' said George.

The twins and Ginny were staring at him. Kreacher's footsteps had stopped on the stairs outside.

'It was--' Harry began; this was even worse than telling McGonagall and Dumbledore. 'I had a--a kind of--vision ...'

And he told them all that he had seen, though he altered the story so that it sounded as though he had watched from the sidelines as the snake attacked, rather than from behind the snake's own eyes. Ron, who was still very white, gave him a fleeting look, but did not speak. When Harry had finished, Fred, George and Ginny continued to stare at him for a moment. Harry did not know whether he was imagining it or not, but he fancied there was something accusatory in their looks. Well, if they were going to blame him just for seeing the attack, he was glad he had not told them that he had been inside the snake at the time.

'Is Mum here?' said Fred, turning to Sirius.

'She probably doesn't even know what's happened yet,' said Sirius. 'The important thing was to get you away before Umbridge could interfere. I expect Dumbledore's letting Molly know now.'

'We've got to go to St. Mungos,' said Ginny urgently, She looked around at her brothers; they were of course still in their pyjamas. 'Sirius, can you lend us cloaks or anything?'

'Hang on, you can't go tearing off to St. Mungo's!' said Sirius.

'Course we can go to St. Mungo's if we want,' said Fred, with a mulish expression. 'He's our dad!'

'And how are you going to explain how you knew Arthur was attacked before the hospital even let his wife know?'

'What does that matter?' said George hotly.

'It matters because we don't want to draw attention to the fact that Harry is having visions of things that are happening hundreds of miles away!' said Sirius angrily. 'Have you any idea what the Ministry would make off that information?'

Fred and George looked as though they could not care less what the Ministry made of anything. Ron was still ashen-faced and silent.

Ginny said, 'Somebody else could have told us ... we could have heard it somewhere other than Harry.'

'Like who?' said Sirius impatiently. 'Listen, your dad's been hurt while on duty for the Order and the circumstances are fishy enough without his children knowing about it seconds after it happened, you could seriously damage the Order's--'

'We don't care about the dumb Order!' shouted Fred.

'It's our dad dying we're talking about!' yelled George.

'Your father knew what he was getting into and he won't thank you for messing things up for the Order!' said Sirius, equally angry. 'This is how it is--this is why you're not in the Order--you don't understand--there are things worth dying for!'

'Easy for you to say, stuck here!' bellowed Fred. 'I don't see you risking your neck!'

The little colour remaining in Sirius's face drained from it. He looked for a moment as though he would quite like to hit Fred, but when he spoke, it was in a voice of determined calm.

'I know it's hard, but we've all got to act as though we don't know anything yet. We've got to stay put, at least until we hear from your mother, all right?'

Fred and George still looked mutinous. Ginny, however, took a few steps over to the nearest chair and sank into it. Harry looked at Ron, who made a funny movement somewhere between a nod and a shrug, and they sat down too. The twins glared at Sirius for another minute, then took seats either side of Ginny.

'That's right,' said Sirius encouragingly, 'come on, lets all ... let's all have a drink while we're waiting. Accio Butterbeer!'

He raised his wand as he spoke and half a dozen bottles came flying towards them out of the pantry, skidded along the table, scattering the debris of Sirius's meal, and stopped neatly in front of the six of them. They all drank, and for a while the only sounds were those of the crackling of the kitchen fire and the soft thud of their bottles on the table.

Harry was only drinking to have something to do with his hands. His stomach was full of horrible hot, bubbling guilt. They would not be here if it were not for him; they would all still be asleep in bed. And it was no good telling himself that by raising the alarm he had ensured that Mr. Weasley was found, because there was also the inescapable business of it being he who had attacked Mr. Weasley in the first place.

Don't be stupid, you haven't got fangs, he told himself, trying to keep calm, though the hand on his Butterbeer bottle was shaking, you were lying in bed, you weren't attacking anyone ...

But then, what just happened in Dumbledore's office? he asked himself. I felt like I wanted to attack Dumbledore, too ...

He put the bottle down a little harder than he meant to, and it slopped over on to the table. No one took any notice. Then a burst of fire in midair illuminated the dirty plates in front of them and, as they gave cries of shock, a scroll of parchment fell with a thud on to the table, accompanied by a single golden phoenix tail feather.

'Fawkes!' said Sirius at once, snatching up the parchment. 'That's not Dumbledore's writing-- it must be a message from your mother--here--'

He thrust the letter into George's hand, who ripped it open and read aloud: 'Dad is still alive. I am setting out for St. Mungo's now. Stay where you are. I will send news as soon as I can. Mum.'

George looked around the table.

'Still alive ...' he said slowly. 'But that makes it sound ...'

He did not need to finish the sentence. It sounded to Harry, too, as though Mr. Weasley was hovering somewhere between life and death. Still exceptionally pale, Ron stared at the back of his mother's letter as though it might speak words of comfort to him. Fred pulled the parchment out of George's hands and read it for himself, then looked up at Harry, who felt his hand shaking on his Butterbeer bottle again and clenched it more tightly to stop the trembling.

If Harry had ever sat through a longer night than this one, he could not remember it. Sirius suggested once, without any real conviction, that they all go to bed, but the Weasleys' looks of disgust were answer enough. They mostly sat in silence around the table, watching the candle wick sinking lower and lower into liquid wax, occasionally raising a bottle to their lips, speaking only to check the time, to wonder aloud what was happening, and to reassure each other that if there was bad news, they would know straightaway, for Mrs. Weasley must long since have arrived at St. Mungo's.

Fred fell into a doze, his head lolling sideways on to his shoulder. Ginny was curled like a cat on her chair, but her eyes were open; Harry could see them reflecting the firelight. Ron was sitting with his head in his hands, whether awake or asleep it was impossible to tell. Harry and Sirius looked at each other every so often, intruders upon the family grief, waiting ... waiting ...

At ten past five in the morning by Ron's watch, the kitchen door swung open and Mrs. Weasley entered the kitchen. She was extremely pale, but when they all turned to look at her, Fred, Ron and Harry half rising from their chairs, she gave a wan smile.

'He's going to be all right,' she said, her voice weak with tiredness. 'He's sleeping. We can all go and see him later. Bill's sitting with him now; he's going to take the morning off work.'

Fred fell back into his chair with his hands over his face. George and Ginny got up, walked swiftly over to their mother and hugged her. Ron gave a very shaky laugh and downed the rest of his Butterbeer in one.

'Breakfast!' said Sirius loudly and joyfully, jumping to his feet. 'Where's that accursed house-elf? Kreacher! KREACHER!'

But Kreacher did not answer the summons.

'Oh, forget it, then,' muttered Sirius, counting the people in front of him. 'So, it's breakfast for--let's see--seven ... bacon and eggs, I think, and some tea, and toast--'

Harry hurried over to the stove to help. He did not want to intrude on the Weasleys' happiness and he dreaded the moment when Mrs. Weasley would ask him to recount his vision. However, he had barely taken plates from the dresser when Mrs Weasley lifted them out of his hands and pulled him into a hug.

'I don't know what would have happened if it hadn't been for you, Harry' she said in a muffled voice. 'They might not have found Arthur for hours, and then it would have been too late, but thanks to you he's alive and Dumbledore's been able to think up a good cover story for Arthur being where he was, you've no idea what trouble he would have been in otherwise, look at poor Sturgis ...'

Harry could hardly bear her gratitude, but fortunately she soon released him to turn to Sirius and thank him for looking after her children through the night. Sirius said he was very pleased to have been able to help, and hoped they would all stay with him as long as Mr. Weasley was in hospital.

'Oh, Sirius, I'm so grateful ... they think he'll be there a little while and it would be wonderful to be nearer ... of course, that might mean we're here for Christmas.'

'The more the merrier!' said Sirius with such obvious sincerity that Mrs. Weasley beamed at him, threw on an apron and began to help with breakfast.

'Sirius,' Harry muttered, unable to stand it a moment longer. 'Can I have a quick word? Er-- now?'

He walked into the dark pantry and Sirius followed. Without preamble, Harry told his godfather every detail of the vision he had had, including the fact that he himself had been the snake who had attacked Mr. Weasley.

When he paused for breath, Sirius said, 'Did you tell Dumbledore this?'

'Yes,' said Harry impatiently,' but he didn't tell me what it meant. Well, he doesn't tell me anything any more.'

'I 'm sure he would have told you if it was anything to worry about,' said Sirius steadily.

'But that's not all,' said Harry, in a voice only a little above a whisper. 'Sirius, I ... I think I'm going mad. Back in Dumbledore's office, just before we took the Portkey ... for a couple of seconds there I thought I was a snake, I felt like one--my scar really hurt when I was looking at Dumbledore--Sirius, I wanted to attack him!'

He could only see a sliver of Sirius's face; the rest was in darkness.

'It must have been the aftermath of the vision, that's all,' said Sirius. 'You were still thinking of the dream or whatever it was and--'

'It wasn't that,' said Harry, shaking his head, 'it was like something rose up inside me, like there's a snake inside me.'

'You need to sleep,' said Sirius firmly. 'You're going to have breakfast, then go upstairs to bed, and after lunch you can go and see Arthur with the others. You're in shock, Harry; you're blaming yourself for something you only witnessed, and it's lucky you did witness it or Arthur might have died. Just stop worrying.'

He clapped Harry on the shoulder and left the pantry, leaving Harry standing alone in the dark.

Everyone but Harry spent the rest of the morning sleeping. He went up to the bedroom he and Ron had shared over the last few weeks of summer, but while Ron crawled into bed and was asleep within minutes, Harry sat fully clothed, hunched against the cold metal bars of the bedstead, keeping himself deliberately uncomfortable, determined not to fall into a doze, terrified that he might become the serpent again in his sleep and wake to find that he had attacked Ron, or else slithered through the house after one of the others ...

When Ron woke up, Harry pretended to have enjoyed a refreshing nap too. Their trunks arrived from Hogwarts while they were eating lunch, so they could dress as Muggles for the trip to St. Mungo's. Everybody except Harry was riotously happy and talkative as they changed out of their robes into jeans and sweatshirts. When Tonks and Mad-Eye turned up to escort them across London, they greeted them gleefully, laughing at the bowler hat Mad-Eye was wearing at an angle to conceal his magical eye and assuring him, truthfully, that Tonks, whose hair was short and bright pink again, would attract far less attention on the Underground.

Tonks was very interested in Harry's vision of the attack on Mr. Weasley, something Harry was not remotely interested in discussing.

'There isn't any Seer blood in your family, is there?' she enquired curiously, as they sat side by side on a train rattling towards the heart of the city.

'No,' said Harry thinking of Professor Trelawney and feeling insulted.

'No,' said Tonks musingly, 'no, I suppose it's not really prophecy you're doing, is it? I mean, you're not seeing the future, you're seeing the present ... it's odd, isn't it? Useful, though ...'

Harry didn't answer; fortunately, they got out at the next stop, a station in the very heart of London, and in the bustle of leaving the train he was able to allow Fred and George to get between himself and Tonks, who was leading the way. They all followed her up the escalator, Moody clunking along at the back of the group, his bowler tilted low and one gnarled hand stuck in between the buttons of his coat, clutching his wand. Harry thought he sensed the concealed eye staring hard at him. Trying to avoid any more questions about his dream, he asked Mad-Eye where St. Mungo's was hidden.

'Not far from here,' grunted Moody as they stepped out into the wintry air on a broad store-lined street packed with Christmas shoppers. He pushed Harry a little ahead of him and stumped along just behind; Harry knew the eye was rolling in all directions under the tilted hat. 'Wasn't easy to find a good location for a hospital. Nowhere in Diagon Alley was big enough and we couldn't have it underground like the Ministry--wouldn't be healthy. In the end they managed to get hold of a building up here. Theory was, sick wizards could come and go and just blend in with the crowd.'

He seized Harry's shoulder to prevent them being separated by a gaggle of shoppers plainly intent on nothing but making it into a nearby shop full of electrical gadgets.

'Here we go,' said Moody a moment later.

They had arrived outside a large, old-fashioned, red-brick department store called Purge & Dowse Ltd. The place had a shabby, miserable air; the window displays consisted of a few chipped dummies with their wigs askew, standing at random and modelling fashions at least ten years out of date. Large signs on all the dusty doors read: 'Closed for Refurbishment'. Harry distinctly heard a large woman laden with plastic shopping bags say to her friend as they passed, 'It's never open, that place ...'

'Right,' said Tonks, beckoning them towards a window displaying nothing but a particularly ugly female dummy. Its false eyelashes were hanging off and it was modelling a green nylon pinafore dress. 'Everybody ready?'

They nodded, clustering around her. Moody gave Harry another shove between the shoulder blades to urge him forward and Tonks leaned close to the glass, looking up at the very ugly dummy, her breath steaming up the glass. 'Wotcher,' she said, 'we're here to see Arthur Weasley.'

Harry thought how absurd it was for Tonks to expect the dummy to hear her talking so quietly through a sheet of glass, with buses rumbling along behind her and all the racket of a street full of shoppers. Then he reminded himself that dummies couldn't hear anyway. Next second, his mouth opened in shock as the dummy gave a tiny nod and beckoned with its jointed finger, and Tonks had seized Ginny and Mrs. Weasley by the elbows, stepped right through the glass and vanished.

Fred, George and Ron stepped after them. Harry glanced around at the jostling crowd; not one of them seemed to have a glance to spare for window displays as ugly as those of Purge & Dowse Ltd; nor did any of them seem to have noticed that six people had just melted into thin air in front of them.

'C'mon,' growled Moody, giving Harry yet another poke in the back, and together they stepped forward through what felt like a sheet of cool water, emerging quite warm and dry on the other side.

There was no sign of the ugly dummy or the space where she had stood. They were in what seemed to be a crowded reception area where rows of witches and wizards sat upon rickety wooden chairs, some looking perfectly normal and perusing out-of-date copies of Witch Weekly, others sporting gruesome disfigurements such as elephant trunks or extra hands sticking out of their chests. The room was scarcely less quiet than the street outside, for many of the patients were making very peculiar noises: a sweaty-faced witch in the centre of the front row, who was fanning herself vigorously with a copy of the Daily Prophet, kept letting off a high-pitched whistle as steam came pouring out of her mouth; a grubby-looking warlock in the corner clanged like a bell every time he moved and, with each clang, his head vibrated horribly so that he had to seize himself by the ears to hold it steady.

Witches and wizards in lime-green robes were walking up and down the rows, asking questions and making notes on clipboards like Umbridge's. Harry noticed the emblem embroidered on their chests: a wand and bone, crossed.

'Are they doctors?' he asked Ron quietly.

'Doctors?' said Ron, looking startled. 'Those Muggle nutters that cut people up? Nah, they're Healers.'

'Over here!' called Mrs. Weasley, above the renewed clanging of the warlock in the corner, and they followed her to the queue in front of a plump blonde witch seated at a desk marked Enquiries.The wall behind her was covered in notices and posters saying things like: A CLEAN CAULDRON KEEPS POTIONS FROM BECOMING POISONS and ANTIDOTES ARE ANTI-DON'TS UNLESS APPROVED BY A QUALIFIED HEALER. There was also a large portrait of a witch with long silver ringlets which was labelled:

Dilys Derwent

St. Mungo's Healer 1722-1741

Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

1741-1768

Dilys was eyeing the Weasley party closely as though counting them; when Harry caught her eye she gave a tiny wink, walked sideways out of her portrait and vanished.

Meanwhile, at the front of the queue, a young wizard was performing an odd on-the-spot jig and trying, in between yelps of pain, to explain his predicament to the witch behind the desk.

'It's these-- ouch--shoes my brother gave me--ow--they re eating my--OUCH--feet--look at them, there must be some kind of--AARGH--jinx on them and I can't-- AAAAARGH--get them off.' He hopped from one foot to the other as though dancing on hot coals.

'The shoes don't prevent you reading, do they?' said the blonde witch, irritably pointing at a large sign to the left of her desk. 'You want Spell Damage, fourth floor. Just like it says on the floor guide. Next!'

As the wizard hobbled and pranced sideways out of the way, the Weasley party moved forward a few steps and Harry read the floor guide:

ARTEFACT ACCIDENTS...................................... Ground floor

Cauldron explosion, wand backfiring, broom

crashes, etc.

CREATURE-INDUCED INJURIES........................ First floor

Bites, stings, burns, embedded spines, etc.

MAGICAL BUGS.................................................... Second floor

Contagious maladies, e.g. dragon pox,

vanishing sickness, scrofungulus, etc.

POTION AND PLANT POISONING...................... Third floor

Rashes, regurgitation, uncontrollable

giggling, etc.

SPELL DAMAGE..................................................... Fourth floor

Unliftable jinxes, hexes, incorrectly

applied charms, etc.

VISITORS' TEAROOM / HOSPITAL SHOP.......... Fifth floor


IF YOU ARE UNSURE WHERE TO GO, INCAPABLE OF NORMAL SPEECH OR UNABLE TO REMEMBER WHY YOU ARE HERE, OUR WELCOMEWITCH WILL BE PLEASED TO HELP.

A very old, stooped wizard with a hearing trumpet had shuffled to the front of the queue now. 'I'm here to see Broderick Bode!' he wheezed.

'Ward forty-nine, but I'm afraid you're wasting your time,' said the witch dismissively. 'He's completely addled, you know--still thinks he's a teapot. Next!'

A harassed-looking wizard was holding his small daughter tightly by the ankle while she flapped around his head using the immensely large, feathery wings that had sprouted right out through the back of her romper suit.

'Fourth floor,' said the witch, in a bored voice, without asking, and the man disappeared through the double doors beside the desk, holding his daughter like an oddly shaped balloon. 'Next!'

Mrs. Weasley moved forward to the desk.

'Hello,' she said, 'my husband, Arthur Weasley, was supposed to be moved to a different ward this morning, could you tell us--?'

'Arthur Weasley?' said the witch, running her finger down a long list in front of her. 'Yes, first floor, second door on the right, Dai Llewellyn Ward.'

Thank you,' said Mrs. Weasley. 'Come on, you lot.'

They followed her through the double doors and along the narrow corridor beyond, which was lined with more portraits of famous Healers and lit by crystal bubbles full of candles that floated up on the ceiling, looking like giant soapsuds. More witches and wizards in lime-green robes walked in and out of the doors they passed; a foul-smelling yellow gas wafted into the passageway as they passed one door, and every now and then they heard distant wailing. They climbed a flight of stairs and entered the Creature-Induced Injuries corridor, where the second door on the right bore the words: 'Dangerous' Dai Llewellyn Ward: Serious Bites.Underneath this was a card in a brass holder on which had been handwritten: Healer-in-Charge: Hippocrates Smethwyck. Trainee Healer: Augustus Pye.

'We'll wait outside, Molly,' Tonks said. 'Arthur won't want too many visitors at once ... it ought to be just the family first.'

Mad-Eye growled his approval of this idea and set himself with his back against the corridor wall, his magical eye spinning in all directions. Harry drew back, too, but Mrs Weasley reached out a hand and pushed him through the door, saying, 'Don't be silly, Harry, Arthur wants to thank you.'

The ward was small and rather dingy, as the only window was narrow and set high in the wall facing the door. Most of the light came from more shining crystal bubbles clustered in the middle of the ceiling. The walls were of panelled oak and there was a portrait of a rather vicious-looking wizard on the wall, captioned: Urquhart Rackharrow, 1612-1697, Inventor of the Entrail-expelling Curse.

There were only three patients. Mr. Weasley was occupying the bed at the far end oi the ward beside the tiny window. Harry was pleased and relieved to see that he was propped up on several pillows and reading the Daily Prophet by the solitary ray of sunlight falling on to his bed. He looked up as they walked towards him and, seeing who it was, beamed.

'Hello!' he called, throwing the Prophet aside. 'Bill just left, Molly, had to get back to work, but he says he'll drop in on you later.'

'How are you, Arthur?' asked Mrs. Weasley, bending down to kiss his cheek and looking anxiously into his face. 'You're still looking a bit peaky.'

'I feel absolutely fine,' said Mr. Weasley brightly, holding out his good arm to give Ginny a hug. 'If they could only take the bandages off, I'd be fit to go home.'

'Why can't they take them off, Dad?' asked Fred.

'Well, I start bleeding like mad every time they try,' said Mr. Weasley cheerfully, reaching across for his wand, which lay on his bedside cabinet, and waving it so that six extra chairs appeared at his bedside to seat them all. 'It seems there was some rather unusual kind of poison in that snake's fangs that keeps wounds open. They're sure they'll find an antidote, though; they say they've had much worse cases than mine, and in the meantime I just have to keep taking a Blood-Replenishing Potion every hour. But that fellow over there,' he said, dropping his voice and nodding towards the bed opposite in which a man lay looking green and sickly and staring at the ceiling. 'Bitten by a werewolf, poor chap. No cure at all.'

'A werewolf?' whispered Mrs. Weasley, looking alarmed. 'Is he safe in a public ward? Shouldn't he be in a private room?'

'It's two weeks till full moon,' Mr. Weasley reminded her quietly. 'They've been talking to him this morning, the Healers, you know, trying to persuade him he'll be able to lead an almost normal life. I said to him--didn't mention names, of course-- but I said I knew a werewolf personally, very nice man, who finds the condition quite easy to manage.'

'What did he say?' asked George.

'Said he'd give me another bite if I didn't shut up,' said Mr. Weasley sadly. 'And that woman over there,' he indicated the only other occupied bed, which was right beside the door, 'won't tell the Healers what bit her, which makes us all think it must have been something she was handling illegally. Whatever it was took a real chunk out of her leg, very nasty smell when they take off the dressings.'

'So, you going to tell us what happened, Dad?' asked Fred, pulling his chair closer to the bed.

'Well, you already know, don't you?' said Mr. Weasley, with a significant smile at Harry. 'It's very simple--I'd had a very long day, dozed off, got sneaked up on and bitten.'

'Is it in the Prophet, you being attacked?' asked Fred, indicating the newspaper Mr. Weasley had cast aside.

'No, of course not,' said Mr. Weasley, with a slightly bitter smile, 'the Ministry wouldn't want everyone to know a dirty great serpent got--'

'Arthur!' Mrs Weasley warned him.

'--got--er-- me,' Mr. Weasley said hastily, though Harry was quite sure that was not what he had meant to say.

'So where were you when it happened, Dad?' asked George.

'That's my business,' said Mr. Weasley, though with a small smile. He snatched up the Daily Prophet, shook it open again and said, 'I was just reading about Willy Widdershins's arrest when you arrived. You know Willy turned out to be behind those regurgitating toilets back in the summer? One of his jinxes backfired, the toilet exploded and they found him lying unconscious in the wreckage covered from head to foot in--'

'When you say you were "on duty",' Fred interrupted in a low voice, 'what were you doing?'

'You heard your father,' whispered Mrs. Weasley, 'we are not discussing this here! Go on about Willy Widdershins, Arthur.'

'Well, don't ask me how, but he actually got off the toilet charge,' said Mr. Weasley grimly. 'I can only suppose gold changed hands--'

'You were guarding it, weren't you?' said George quietly. 'The weapon? The thing You-Know-Who's after?'

'George, be quiet!' snapped Mrs. Weasley.

'Anyway,' said Mr Weasley, in a raised voice, 'this time Willy's been caught selling biting doorknobs to Muggles and I don't think he'll be able to worm his way out of it because, according to this article, two Muggles have lost fingers and are now in St. Mungo's for emergency bone re-growth and memory modification. Just think of it, Muggles in St. Mungo's! I wonder which ward they're in?'

And he looked eagerly around as though hoping to see a signpost.

'Didn't you say You-Know-Who's got a snake, Harry?' asked Fred, looking at his father for a reaction. 'A massive one? You saw it the night he returned, didn't you?'

'That's enough,' said Mrs. Weasley crossly. 'Mad-Eye and Tonks are outside, Arthur, they want to come and see you. And you lot can wait outside,' she added to her children and Harry. 'You can come and say goodbye afterwards. Go on.'

They trooped back into the corridor. Mad-Eye and Tonks went in and closed the door of the ward behind them. Fred raised his eyebrows.

'Fine,' he said coolly, rummaging in his pockets, 'be like that. Don't tell us anything.'

'Looking for these?' said George, holding out what looked like a tangle of flesh-coloured string.

'You read my mind,' said Fred, grinning. 'Let's see if St. Mungo's puts Imperturbable Charms on its ward doors, shall we?'

He and George disentangled the string and separated five Extendable Ears from each other. Fred and George handed them around. Harry hesitated to take one.

'Go on, Harry, take it! You saved Dad's life. If anyone's got the right to eavesdrop on him, it's you.'

Grinning in spite of himself, Harry took the end of the string and inserted it into his ear as the twins had done.

'OK, go!' Fred whispered.

The flesh-coloured strings wriggled like long skinny worms and snaked under the door. At first, Harry could hear nothing, then he jumped as he heard Tonks whispering as clearly as though she were standing right beside him.

'... they searched the whole area but couldn't find the snake anywhere. It just seems to have vanished after it attacked you, Arthur ... but You-Know-Who can't have expected a snake to get in, can he?'

'I reckon he sent it as a lookout,' growled Moody, ' 'cause he's not had any luck so far, has he? No, I reckon he's trying to get a clearer picture of what he's facing and if Arthur hadn't been there the beast would've had a lot more time to look around. So, Potter says he saw it all happen?'

'Yes,' said Mrs Weasley. She sounded rather uneasy. 'You know, Dumbledore seems almost to have been waiting for Harry to see something like this.'

'Yeah, well,' said Moody, 'there's something funny about the Potter kid, we all know that.'

'Dumbledore seemed worried about Harry when I spoke to him this morning,' whispered Mrs Weasley.

' 'Course he's worried,' growled Moody. 'The boy's seeing things from inside You-Know-Who's snake. Obviously, Potter doesn't realise what that means, but if You-Know-Who's possessing him--'

Harry pulled the Extendable Ear out of his own, his heart hammering very fast and heat rushing up his face. He looked around at the others. They were all staring at him, the strings still trailing from their ears, looking suddenly fearful.

Chapter 23 Christmas on the Closed Ward

Was this why Dumbledore would no longer meet Harry's eyes? Did he expect to see Voldemort staring out of them, afraid, perhaps, that their vivid green might turn suddenly to scarlet, with catlike slits for pupils? Harry remembered how the snakelike face of Voldemort had once forced itself out of the back of Professor Quirrell's head and ran his hand over the back of his own, wondering what it would feel like if Voldemort burst out of his skull.

He felt dirty, contaminated, as though he were carrying some deadly germ, unworthy to sit on the Underground train back from the hospital with innocent, clean people whose minds and bodies were free of the taint of Voldemort ... he had not merely seen the snake, he had been the snake, he knew it now ...

A truly terrible thought then occurred to him, a memory bobbing to the surface of his mind, one that made his insides writhe and squirm like serpents.

What's he after, apart from followers?

Stuff he can only get by stealth ... like a weapon. Something he didn't have last time.

I'm the weapon, Harry thought, and it was as though poison were pumping through his veins, chilling him, bringing him out in a sweat as he swayed with the train through the dark tunnel. I'm the one Voldemort's trying to use, that's why they've got guards around me everywhere I go, it's not for my protection, it's for other people's, only it's not working, they can't have someone on me all the time at Hogwarts ... I did attack Mr. Weasley last night, it was me. Voldemort made me do it and he could be inside me, listening to my thought's right now--'

'Are you all right, Harry, dear?' whispered Mrs. Weasley, leaning across Ginny to speak to him as the train rattled along through its dark tunnel. 'You don't look very well. Are you feeling sick?'

They were all watching him. He shook his head violently and stared up at an advertisement for home insurance.

'Harry, dear, are you sure you're all right?' said Mrs. Weasley in a worried voice, as they walked around the unkempt patch of grass in the middle of Grimmauld Place. 'You look ever so pale ... are you sure you slept this morning? You go upstairs to bed right now and you can have a couple of hours of sleep before dinner, all right?'

He nodded; here was a ready-made excuse not to talk to any of the others, which was precisely what he wanted, so when she opened the front door he hurried straight past the trolls-leg umbrella stand, up the stairs and into his and Ron's bedroom.

Here, he began to pace up and down, past the two beds and Phineas Nigellus's empty picture frame, his brain teeming and seething with questions and ever more dreadful ideas.

How had he become a snake? Perhaps he was an Animagus ... no, he couldn't be, he would know ... perhaps Voldemort was an Animagus ... yes, thought Harry, that would fit, he would turn into a snake of course ... and when he's possessing me, then we both transform ... that still doesn't explain how I got to London and back to my bed in the space of about five minutes ... but then Voldemort's about the most powerful wizard in the world, apart from Dumbledore, it's probably no problem at all to him to transport people like that.

And then, with a terrible stab of panic, he thought, but this is insane--if Voldemort's possessing me, I'm giving him a clear view into the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix right now! He'll know who's in the Order and where Sirius is ... and I've heard loads of stuff I shouldn't have, everything Sirius told me the first night I was here ...

There was only one thing for it: he would have to leave Grimmauld Place straightaway. He would spend Christmas at Hogwarts without the others, which would keep them safe over the holidays at least ... but no, that wouldn't do, there were still plenty of people at Hogwarts to maim and injure. What if it was Seamus, Dean or Neville next time? He stopped his pacing and stood staring at Phineas Nigellus's empty frame. A leaden sensation was settling in the pit of his stomach. He had no alternative: he was going to have to return to Privet Drive, cut himself off from other wizards entirely.

Well, if he had to do it, he thought, there was no point hanging around. Trying with all his might not to think how the Dursleys were going to react when they found him on their doorstep six months earlier than they had expected, he strode over to his trunk, slammed the lid shut and locked it, then glanced around automatically for Hedwig before remembering that she was still at Hogwarts--well, her cage would be one less thing to carry--he seized one end of his trunk and had dragged it halfway towards the door when a snide voice said, 'Running away, are we?'

He looked around. Phineas Nigellus had appeared on the canvas of his portrait and was leaning against the frame, watching Harry with an amused expression on his face.

'Not running away, no,' said Harry shortly, dragging his trunk a few more feet across the room.

'I thought,' said Phineas Nigellus, stroking his pointed beard, 'that to belong in Gryffindor house you were supposed to be brave? It looks to me as though you would have been better off in my own house. We Slytherins are brave, yes, but not stupid. For instance, given the choice, we will always choose to save our own necks.'

'It's not my own neck I'm saving,' said Harry tersely, tugging the trunk over a patch of particularly uneven, moth-eaten carpet right in front of the door.

'Oh, I see,' said Phineas Nigellus, still stroking his beard, 'this is no cowardly flight--you are being noble.'

Harry ignored him. His hand was on the doorknob when Phineas Nigellus said lazily, 'I have a message for you from Albus Dumbledore.'

Harry span round.

'What is it?'

'"Stay where you are." '

'I haven't moved!' said Harry, his hand still upon the doorknob. 'So what's the message?'

'I have just given it to you, dolt,' said Phineas Nigellus smoothly. 'Dumbledore says, "Stay where you are."'

'Why?' said Harry eagerly, dropping the end of his trunk. 'Why does he want me to stay? What else did he say?'

'Nothing whatsoever,' said Phineas Nigellus, raising a thin black eyebrow as though he found Harry impertinent.

Harry's temper rose to the surface like a snake rearing from long grass. He was exhausted, he was confused beyond measure, he had experienced terror, relief, then terror again in the last twelve hours, and still Dumbledore did not want to talk to him!

'So that's it, is it?' he said loudly. '"Stay where you are"? That's all anyone could tell me after I got attacked by those dementors, too! Just stay put while the grown-ups sort it out, Harry! We won't bother telling you anything, though, because your tiny little brain might not be able to cope with it!'

'You know,' said Phineas Nigellus, even more loudly than Harry, 'this is precisely why I loathed being a teacher! Young people are so infernally convinced that they are absolutely right about everything. Has it not occurred to you, my poor puffed-up popinjay, that there might be an excellent reason why the Headmaster of Hogwarts is not confiding every tiny detail of his plans to you? Have you never paused, while feeling hard-done-by, to note that following Dumbledore's orders has never yet led you into harm? No.No, like all young people, you are quite sure that you alone feel and think, you alone recognise danger, you alone are the only one clever enough to realise what the Dark Lord may be planning--'

'He is planning something to do with me, then?' said Harry swiftly.

'Did I say that?' said Phineas Nigellus, idly examining his silk gloves. 'Now, if you will excuse me, I have better things to do than listen to adolescent agonising ... good-day to you.'

And he strolled to the edge of his frame and out of sight.

'Fine, go then!' Harry bellowed at the empty frame. 'And tell Dumbledore thanks for nothing!'

The empty canvas remained silent. Fuming, Harry dragged his trunk back to the foot of his bed, then threw himself face down on the moth-eaten covers, his eyes shut, his body heavy and aching.

He felt as though he had journeyed for miles and miles ... it seemed impossible that less than twenty-four hours ago Cho Chang had been approaching him under the mistletoe ... he was so tired ... he was scared to sleep ... yet he did not know how long he could fight it ... Dumbledore had told him to stay ... that must mean he was allowed to sleep ... but he was scared ... what if it happened again?

He was sinking into shadows ...

It was as though a film in his head had been waiting to start. He was walking down a deserted corridor towards a plain black door, past rough stone walls, torches, and an open doorway on to a flight of stone steps leading downstairs on the left ...

He reached the black door but could not open it... he stood gazing at it, desperate for entry ... something he wanted with all his heart lay beyond ... a prize beyond his dreams ... if only his scar would stop prickling ... then he would be able to think more clearly ...

'Harry,' said Ron's voice, from far, far away, 'Mum says dinners ready, but she'll save you something if you want to stay in bed.'

Harry opened his eyes, but Ron had already left the room.

He doesn't want to be on his own with me, Harry thought. Not after what he heard Moody say.

He supposed none of them would want him there any more, now that they knew what was inside him.

He would not go down to dinner; he would not inflict his company on them. He turned over on to his other side and, after a while, dropped back off to sleep. He woke much later, in the early hours of the morning, his insides aching with hunger and Ron snoring in the next bed. Squinting around the room, he saw the dark outline of Phineas Nigellus standing again in his portrait and it occurred to Harry that Dumbledore had probably sent Phineas Nigellus to watch over him, in case he attacked somebody else.

The feeling of being unclean intensified. He half-wished he had not obeyed Dumbledore ... if this was how life was going to be for him in Grimmauld Place from now on, maybe he would be better off in Privet Drive after all.

Everybody else spent the following morning putting up Christmas decorations. Harry could not remember Sirius ever being in such a good mood; he was actually singing carols, apparently delighted that he was to have company over Christmas. Harry could hear his voice echoing up through the floor in the cold drawing room where he was sitting alone, watching the sky growing whiter outside the windows, threatening snow, all the time feeling a savage pleasure that he was giving the others the opportunity to keep talking about him, as they were bound to be doing. When he heard Mrs. Weasley calling his name softly up the stairs around lunchtime, he retreated further upstairs and ignored her.

Around six o'clock in the evening the doorbell rang and Mrs. Black started screaming again. Assuming that Mundungus or some other Order member had come to call, Harry merely settled himself more comfortably against the wall of Buckbeak's room where he was hiding, trying to ignore how hungry he felt as he fed dead rats to the hippogriff. It came as a slight shock when somebody hammered hard on the door a few minutes later.

'I know you're in there,' said Hermione's voice. 'Will you please come out? I want to talk to you.'

'What are you doing here?' Harry asked her, pulling open the door as Buckbeak resumed his scratching at the straw-strewn floor for any fragments of rat he may have dropped. 'I thought you were skiing with your mum and dad?'

'Well, to tell the truth, skiing's not really my thing,' said Hermione. 'So, I've come here for Christmas.' There was snow in her hair and her face was pink with cold. 'But don't tell Ron. I told him skiing's really good because he kept laughing so much. Mum and Dad are a bit disappointed, but I've told them that everyone who is serious about the exams is staying at Hogwarts to study. They want me to do well, they'll understand. Anyway,' she said briskly, 'let's go to your bedroom, Ron's mum has lit a fire in there and she's sent up sandwiches.'

Harry followed her back to the second floor. When he entered the bedroom, he was rather surprised to see both Ron and Ginny waiting for them, sitting on Ron's bed.

'I came on the Knight Bus,' said Hermione airily, pulling off her jacket before Harry had time to speak. 'Dumbledore told me what had happened first thing this morning, but I had to wait for term to end officially before setting off. Umbridge is already livid that you lot disappeared right under her nose, even though Dumbledore told her Mr. Weasley was in St. Mungo's and he'd given you all permission to visit. So ...'

She sat down next to Ginny, and the two girls and Ron all looked up at Harry.

'How're you feeling?' asked Hermione.

'Fine,' said Harry stiffly.

'Oh, don't lie, Harry,' she said impatiently. 'Ron and Ginny say you've been hiding from everyone since you got back from St. Mungo's.'

'They do, do they?' said Harry, glaring at Ron and Ginny. Ron looked down at his feet but Ginny seemed quite unabashed.

'Well, you have!' she said. 'And you won't look at any of us!'

'It's you lot who won't look at me!' said Harry angrily.

'Maybe you're taking it in turns to look, and keep missing each other,' suggested Hermione, the corners of her mouth twitching.

'Very funny,' snapped Harry, turning away.

'Oh, stop feeling all misunderstood,' said Hermione sharply. 'Look, the others have told me what you overheard last night on the Extendable Ears--'

'Yeah?' growled Harry, his hands deep in his pockets as he watched the snow now falling thickly outside. 'All been talking about me, have you? Well, I'm getting used to it.'

'We wanted to talk toyou, Harry,' said Ginny, 'but as you've been hiding ever since we got back--'

'I didn't want anyone to talk to me,' said Harry, who was feeling more and more nettled.

'Well, that was a bit stupid of you,' said Ginny angrily, 'seeing as you don't know anyone but me who's been possessed by You-Know-Who, and I can tell you how it feels.'

Harry remained quite still as the impact of these words hit him. Then he wheeled round.

'I forgot,' he said.

'Lucky you,' said Ginny coolly.

'I'm sorry,' Harry said, and he meant it. 'So ... so, do you think I'm being possessed, then?'

'Well, can you remember everything you've been doing?' Ginny asked. 'Are there big blank periods where you don't know what you've been up to?'

Harry racked his brains.

'No,' he said.

'Then You-Know-Who hasn't ever possessed you,' said Ginny simply. 'When he did it to me, I couldn't remember what I'd been doing for hours at a time. I'd find myself somewhere and not know how I got there.'

Harry hardly dared believe her, yet his heart was lightening almost in spite of himself.

'That dream I had about your dad and the snake, though--'

'Harry, you've had these dreams before,' Hermione said. 'You had flashes of what Voldemort was up to last year.'

'This was different,' said Harry, shaking his head. 'I was inside that snake. It was like I was the snake ... what if Voldemort somehow transported me to London--?'

'One day,' said Hermione, sounding thoroughly exasperated, 'you'll read Hogwarts: A History, and perhaps it will remind you that you can't Apparate or Disapparaie inside Hogwarts. Even Voldemort couldn't just make you fly out of your dormitory, Harry.'

'You didn't leave your bed, mate,' said Ron. 'I saw you thrashing around in your sleep for at least a minute before we could wake you up.'

Harry started pacing up and down the room again, thinking. What they were all saying was not only comforting, it made sense ... without really thinking, he took a sandwich from the plate on the bed and crammed it hungrily into his mouth.

I'm not the weapon after all, thought Harry. His heart swelled with happiness and relief, and he felt like joining in as they heard Sirius tramping past their door towards Buckbeak's room, singing 'God Rest Ye, Merry Hippogriffs' at the top of his voice.

How could he have dreamed of returning to Privet Drive for Christmas? Sirius's delight at having the house full again, and especially at having Harry back, was infectious. He was no longer their sullen host of the summer; now he seemed determined that everyone should enjoy themselves as much, if not more than they would have done at Hogwarts, and he worked tirelessly in the run-up to Christmas Day, cleaning and decorating with their help, so that by the time they all went to bed on Christmas Eve the house was barely recognisable. The tarnished chandeliers were no longer hung with cobwebs but with garlands of holly and gold and silver streamers; magical snow glittered in heaps over the threadbare carpets; a great Christmas tree, obtained by Mundungus and decorated with live fairies, blocked Sirius's family tree from view, and even the stuffed elf-heads on the hall wall wore Father Christmas hats and beards.

Harry awoke on Christmas morning to find a stack of presents at the foot of his bed and Ron already halfway through opening his own, rather larger, pile.

'Good haul this year,' he informed Harry through a cloud of paper. 'Thanks for the Broom Compass, it's excellent; beats Hermione's--she got me a homework planner--'

Harry sorted through his presents and found one with Hermione's handwriting on it. She had given him, too, a book that resembled a diary except that every time he opened a page it said aloud things like: 'Do it today or later you'll pay!'

Sirius and Lupin had given Harry a set of excellent books entitled Practical Defensive Magic and its Use Against the Dark Arts, which had superb, moving colour illustrations of all the counter-jinxes and hexes it described. Harry flicked through the first volume eagerly; he could see it was going to be highly useful in his plans for the DA. Hagrid had sent a furry brown wallet that had fangs, which were presumably supposed to be an anti-theft device, but unfortunately prevented Harry putting any money in without getting his fingers ripped off. Tonks's present was a small, working model of a Firebolt, which Harry watched fly around the room, wishing he still had his full-size version; Ron had given him an enormous box of Every-Flavour Beans, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley the usual hand-knitted jumper and some mince pies, and Dobby a truly dreadful painting that Harry suspected had been done by the elf himself. He had just turned it upside-down to see whether it looked better that way when, with a loud crack, Fred and George Apparated at the foot of his bed.

'Merry Christmas,' said George. 'Don't go downstairs for a bit.'

'Why not?' said Ron.

'Mum's crying again,' said Fred heavily. 'Percy sent back his Christmas jumper.'

'Without a note,' added George. 'Hasn't asked how Dad is or visited him or anything.'

'We tried to comfort her,' said Fred, moving around the bed to look at Harry's portrait. 'Told her Percy's nothing more than a humungous pile of rat droppings.'

'Didn't work,' said George, helping himself to a Chocolate Frog. 'So Lupin took over. Best let him cheer her up before we go down for breakfast, I reckon.'

'What's that supposed to be, anyway?' asked Fred, squinting at Dobbys painting. 'Looks like a gibbon with two black eyes.'

'It's Harry!' said George, pointing at the back of the picture, 'says so on the back!'

'Good likeness,' said Fred, grinning. Harry threw his new homework diary at him; it hit the wall opposite and fell to the floor where it said happily: 'If you've dotted the "i"s and crossed the "t"s then you may do whatever you please!'

They got up and dressed. They could hear the various inhabitants of the house calling 'Merry Christmas' to one another. On their way downstairs they met Hermione.

Thanks for the book, Harry,' she said happily. 'I've been wanting that New Theory of Numerology for ages! And that perfume's really unusual, Ron.'

'No problem,' said Ron. 'Who's that for, anyway?' he added, nodding at the neatly wrapped present she was carrying.

'Kreacher,' said Hermione brightly.

'It had better not be clothes!' Ron warned her. 'You know what Sirius said: Kreacher knows too much, we can't set him free!'

'It isn't clothes,' said Hermione, 'although if I had my way I'd certainly give him something to wear other than that filthy old rag. No, it's a patchwork quilt, I thought it would brighten up his bedroom.'

'What bedroom?' said Harry, dropping his voice to a whisper as they were passing the portrait of Sirius's mother.

'Well, Sirius says it's not so much a bedroom, more a kind of--den,' said Hermione. 'Apparently he sleeps under the boiler in that cupboard off the kitchen.'

Mrs. Weasley was the only person in the basement when they arrived there. She was standing at the stove and sounded as though she had a bad head cold as she wished them 'Merry Christmas', and they all averted their eyes.

'So, is this Kreacher's bedroom?' said Ron, strolling over to a dingy door in the corner opposite the pantry. Harry had never seen it open.

'Yes,' said Hermione, now sounding a little nervous. 'Er ... I think we'd better knock.'

Ron rapped on the door with his knuckles but there was no reply.

'He must be sneaking around upstairs,' he said, and without further ado pulled open the door. 'Urgh!'

Harry peered inside. Most of the cupboard was taken up with a very large and old-fashioned boiler, but in the foot of space underneath the pipes Kreacher had made himself something that looked like a nest. A jumble of assorted rags and smelly old blankets were piled on the floor and the small dent in the middle of it showed where Kreacher curled up to sleep every night. Here and there among the material were stale bread crusts and mouldy old bits of cheese. In a far corner glinted small objects and coins that Harry guessed Kreacher had saved, magpie-like, from Sirius's purge of the house, and he had also managed to retrieve the silver-framed family photographs that Sirius had thrown away over the summer. Their glass might be shattered, but still the little black-and-white people inside them peered up at him haughtily, including--he felt a little jolt in his stomach--the dark, heavy-lidded woman whose trial he had witnessed in Dumbledore's Pensieve: Bellatrix Lestrange. By the looks of it, hers was Kreacher's favourite photograph; he had placed it to the fore of all the others and had mended the glass clumsily with Spellotape.

'I think I'll just leave his present here,' said Hermione, laying the package neatly in the middle of the depression in the rags and blankets and closing the door quietly. 'He'll find it later, that'll be fine.'

'Come to think of it,' said Sirius, emerging from the pantry carrying a large turkey as they closed the cupboard door, 'has anyone actually seen Kreacher lately?'

'I haven't seen him since the night we came back here,' said Harry. 'You were ordering him out of the kitchen.'

'Yeah ...' said Sirius, frowning. 'You know, I think that's the last time I saw him, too ... he must be hiding upstairs somewhere.'

'He couldn't have left, could he?' said Harry. 'I mean, when you said "out", maybe he thought you meant get out of the house?'

'No, no, house-elves can't leave unless they're given clothes. They're tied to their family's house,' said Sirius.

'They can leave the house if they really want to,' Harry contradicted him. 'Dobby did, he left the Malfoy's' to give me warnings two years ago. He had to punish himself afterwards, but he still managed it.'

Sirius looked slightly disconcerted for a moment, then said, 'I'll look for him later, I expect I'll find him upstairs crying his eyes out over my mother's old bloomers or something. Of course, he might have crawled into the airing cupboard and died ... but I mustn't get my hopes up.'

Fred, George and Ron laughed; Hermione, however, looked reproachful.

Once they had eaten their Christmas lunch, the Weasleys, Harry and Hermione were planning to pay Mr. Weasley another visit, escorted by Mad-Eye and Lupin. Mundungus turned up in time for Christmas pudding and trifle, having managed to 'borrow' a car for the occasion, as the Underground did not run on Christmas Day. The car, which Harry doubted very much had been taken with the consent of its owner, had been enlarged with a spell like the Weasleys' old Ford Anglia had once been. Although normally proportioned outside, ten people with Mundungus driving were able to fit into it quite comfortably. Mrs. Weasley hesitated before getting inside--Harry knew her disapproval of Mundungus was battling with her dislike of travelling without magic--but, finally, the cold outside and her children's pleading triumphed, and she settled herself into the back seat between Fred and Bill with good grace.

The journey to St Mungo's was quite quick as there was very little traffic on the roads. A small trickle of witches and wizards was creeping furtively up the otherwise deserted street to visit the hospital. Harry and the others got out of the car, and Mundungus drove off around the corner to wait for them. They strolled casually towards the window where the dummy in green nylon stood, then, one by one, stepped through the glass.

The reception area looked pleasantly festive: the crystal orbs that illuminated St. Mungo's had been coloured red and gold to become gigantic, glowing Christmas baubles; holly hung around every doorway; and shining white Christmas trees covered in magical snow and icicles glittered in every corner, each one topped with a gleaming gold star. It was less crowded than the last time they had been there, although halfway across the room Harry found himself shunted aside by a witch with a satsuma jammed up her left nostril.

'Family argument, eh?' smirked the blonde witch behind the desk. 'You're the third I've seen today ... Spell Damage, fourth floor.'

They found Mr Weasley propped up in bed with the remains of his turkey dinner on a tray on his lap and a rather sheepish expression on his face.

'Everything all right, Arthur?' asked Mrs. Weasley, after they had all greeted Mr. Weasley and handed over their presents.

'Fine, fine,' said Mr. Weasley, a little too heartily. 'You--er--haven't seen Healer Smethwyck, have you?'

'No,' said Mrs Weasley suspiciously, 'why?'

'Nothing, nothing,' said Mr. Weasley airily, starting to unwrap his pile of gifts. 'Well, everyone had a good day? What did you all get for Christmas? Oh, Harry-- this is absolutely wonderful!' For he had just opened Harry's gift of fuse-wire and screwdrivers.

Mrs. Weasley did not seem entirely satisfied with Mr. Weasley's answer. As her husband leaned over to shake Harry's hand, she peered at the bandaging under his nightshirt.

'Arthur,' she said, with a snap in her voice like a mousetrap, 'you've had your bandages changed. Why have you had your bandages changed a day early, Arthur? They told me they wouldn't need doing until tomorrow.'

'What?' said Mr Weasley, looking rather frightened and pulling the bed covers higher up his chest. 'No, no--it's nothing--it's--I--'

He seemed to deflate under Mrs. Weasley's piercing gaze.

'Well--now don't get upset, Molly, but Augustus Pye had an idea ... he's the Trainee Healer, you know, lovely young chap and very interested in ... um ... complementary medicine ... I mean, some of these old Muggle remedies ... well, they're called stitches, Molly, and they work very well on--on Muggle wounds--'

Mrs. Weasley let out an ominous noise somewhere between a shriek and a snarl. Lupin strolled away from the bed and over to the werewolf, who had no visitors and was looking rather wistfully at the crowd around Mr. Weasley; Bill muttered something about getting himself a cup of tea and Fred and George leapt up to accompany him, grinning.

'Do you mean to tell me,' said Mrs. Weasley, her voice growing louder with every word and apparently unaware that her fellow visitors were scurrying for cover, 'that you have been messing about with Muggle remedies?'

'Not messing about, Molly, dear,' said Mr. Weasley imploringly, 'it was just--just something Pye and I thought we'd try--only, most unfortunately--well, with these particular kinds of wounds--it doesn't seem to work as well as we'd hoped--'

'Meaning?'

'Well ... well, I don't know whether you know what--what stitches are?'

'It sounds as though you've been trying to sew your skin back together,' said Mrs. Weasley with a snort of mirthless laughter, 'but even you, Arthur, wouldn't be that stupid --'

'I fancy a cup of tea, too,' said Harry, jumping to his feet.

Hermione, Ron and Ginny almost sprinted to the door with him. As it swung closed behind them, they heard Mrs. Weasley shriek, 'WHAT DO YOU MEAN, THAT'S THE GENERAL IDEA?'

'Typical Dad,' said Ginny, shaking her head as they set off up the corridor. 'Stitches ... I ask you ...'

'Well, you know, they do work well on non-magical wounds,' said Hermione fairly. 'I suppose something in that snake's venom dissolves them or something. I wonder where the tearoom is?'

'Fifth floor,' said Harry, remembering the sign over the welcomewitch's desk.

They walked along the corridor, through a set of double doors and found a rickety staircase lined with more portraits of brutal-looking Healers. As they climbed it, the various Healers called out to them, diagnosing odd complaints and suggesting horrible remedies. Ron was seriously affronted when a medieval wizard called out that he clearly had a bad case of spattergroit.

'And what's that supposed to be?' he asked angrily, as the Healer pursued him through six more portraits, shoving the occupants out of the way.

' 'Tis a most grievous affliction of the skin, young master, that will leave you pockmarked and more gruesome even than you are now--'

'Watch who you're calling gruesome!' said Ron, his ears turning red.

'--the only remedy is to take the liver of a toad, bind it tight about your throat, stand naked at the full moon in a barrel of eels' eyes--'

'I have not got spattergroit!'

'But the unsightly blemishes upon your visage, young master--'

'They're freckles!' said Ron furiously. 'Now get back in your own picture and leave me alone!'

He rounded on the others, who were all keeping determinedly straight faces.

'What floor's this?'

'I think it's the fifth,' said Hermione.

'Nah, it's the fourth,' said Harry, 'one more--'

But as he stepped on to the landing he came to an abrupt halt, staring at the small window set into the double doors that marked the start of a corridor signposted SPELL DAMAGE. A man was peering out at them all with his nose pressed against the glass. He had wavy blond hair, bright blue eyes and a broad vacant smile that revealed dazzlingly white teeth.

'Blimey!' said Ron, also staring at the man.

'Oh, my goodness,' said Hermione suddenly, sounding breathless. 'Professor Lockhart.'

Their ex-Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher pushed open the doors and moved towards them, wearing a long lilac dressing gown.

'Well, hello there!' he said. 'I expect you'd like my autograph, would you?'

'Hasn't changed much, has he?' Harry muttered to Ginny, who grinned.

'Er--how are you, Professor?' said Ron, sounding slightly guilty. It had been Ron's malfunctioning wand that had damaged Professor Lockhart's memory so badly that he had landed in St. Mungo's in the first place, though as Lockhart had been attempting to permanently wipe Harry and Ron's memories at the time, Harry's sympathy was limited.

'I'm very well indeed, thank you!' said Lockhart exuberantly, palling a rather battered peacock-feather quill from his pocket. 'Now, how many autographs would you like? I can do joined-up writing now, you know!'

'Er--we don't want any at the moment, thanks,' said Ron, raising his eyebrows at Harry, who asked, 'Professor, should you be wandering around the corridors? Shouldn't you be in a ward?'

The smile faded slowly from Lockhart's face. For a few moments he gazed intently at Harry, then he said, 'Haven't we met?'

'Er ... yeah, we have,' said Harry. 'You used to teach us at Hogwarts, remember?'

'Teach?' repeated Lockhart, looking faintly unsettled. 'Me? Did I?'

And then the smile reappeared upon his face so suddenly it was rather alarming.

'Taught you everything you know, I expect, did I? Well, how about those autographs, then? Shall we say a round dozen, you can give them to all your little friends then and nobody will be left out!'

But just then a head poked out of a door at the far end of the corridor and a voice called, 'Gilderoy, you naughty boy, where have you wandered off to?'

A motherly-looking Healer wearing a tinsel wreath in her hair came bustling up the corridor, smiling warmly at Harry and the others.

'Oh, Gilderoy, you've got visitors! How lovely, and on Christmas Day, too! Do you know, he never gets visitors, poor lamb, and I can't think why, he's such a sweetie, aren't you?'

'We're doing autographs!' Gilderoy told the Healer with another glittering smile. 'They want loads of them, won't take no for an answer! I just hope we've got enough photographs!'

'Listen to him,' said the Healer, taking Lockhart's arm and beaming fondly at him as though he were a precocious two-year-old. 'He was rather well known a few years ago; we very much hope that this liking for giving autographs is a sign that his memory might be starting to come back. Will you step this way? He's in a closed ward, you know, he must have slipped out while I was bringing in the Christmas presents, the door's usually kept locked ... not that he's dangerous! But,' she lowered her voice to a whisper, 'he's a bit of a danger to himself, bless him ... doesn't know who he is, you see, wanders off and can't remember how to get back ... it is nice of you to have come to see him.'

'Er,' said Ron, gesturing uselessly at the floor above, 'actually, we were just--er--'

But the Healer was smiling expectantly at them, and Ron's feeble mutter of 'going to have a cup of tea' trailed away into nothingness. They looked at each other helplessly, then followed Lockhart and his Healer along the corridor.

'Let's not stay long,' Ron said quietly.

The Healer pointed her wand at the door of the Janus Thickey Ward and muttered, 'Alohomora.' The door swung open and she led the way inside, keeping a firm grasp on Gilderoy's arm until she had settled him into an armchair beside his bed.

'This is our long-term residents' ward,' she informed Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny in a low voice. 'For permanent spell damage, you know. Of course, with intensive remedial potions and charms and a bit of luck, we can produce some improvement. Gilderoy does seem to be getting back some sense of himself; and we've seen a real improvement in Mr. Bode, he seems to be regaining the power of speech very well, though he isn't speaking any language we recognise yet. Well, I must finish giving out the Christmas presents, I'll leave you all to chat.'

Harry looked around. The ward bore unmistakeable signs of being a permanent home to its residents. They had many more personal effects around their beds than in Mr Weasley's ward; the wall around Gilderoy's headboard, for instance, was papered with pictures of himself, all beaming toothily and waving at the new arrivals. He had autographed many of them to himself in disjointed, childish writing. The moment he had been deposited in his chair by the Healer, Gilderoy pulled a fresh stack of photographs towards him, seized a quill and started signing them all feverishly.

'You can put them in envelopes,' he said to Ginny, throwing the signed pictures into her lap one by one as he finished them. 'I am not forgotten, you know, no, I still receive a very great deal of fan mail ... Gladys Gudgeon writes weekly ... I just wish I knew why ...' He paused, looking faintly puzzled, then beamed again and returned to his signing with renewed vigour. 'I suspect it is simply my good looks ...'

A sallow-skinned, mournful-looking wizard lay in the bed opposite staring at the ceiling; he was mumbling to himself and seemed quite unaware of anything around him. Two beds along was a woman whose entire head was covered in fur; Harry remembered something similar happening to Hermione during their second year, although fortunately the damage, in her case, had not been permanent. At the far end of the ward flowery curtains had been drawn around two beds to give the occupants and their visitors some privacy.

'Here you are, Agnes,' said the Healer brightly to the furry-faced woman, handing her a small pile of Christmas presents. 'See, not forgotten, are you? And your son's sent an owl to say he's visiting tonight, so that's nice, isn't it?'

Agnes gave several loud barks.

'And look, Broderick, you've been sent a pot plant and a lovely calendar with a different fancy hippogriff for each month; they'll brighten things up, won't they?' said the Healer, bustling along to the mumbling man, setting a rather ugly plant with long, swaying tentacles on the bedside cabinet and fixing the calendar to the wall with her wand. 'And--oh, Mrs. Longbottom, are you leaving already?'

Harry's head span round. The curtains had been drawn back from the two beds at the end of the ward and two visitors were walking back down the aisle between the beds: a formidable-looking old witch wearing a long green dress, a moth-eaten fox fur and a pointed hat decorated with what was unmistakeably a stuffed vulture and, trailing behind her looking thoroughly depressed--Neville.

With a sudden rush of understanding, Harry realised who the people in the end beds must be. He cast around wildly for some means of distracting the others so that Neville could leave the ward unnoticed and unquestioned, but Ron had also looked up at the sound of the name 'Longbottom', and before Harry could stop him had called out, 'Neville!'

Neville jumped and cowered as though a bullet had narrowly missed him.

'It's us, Neville!' said Ron brightly, getting to his feet. 'Have you seen--? Lockhart's here! Who've you been visiting?'

'Friends of yours, Neville, dear?' said Neville's grandmother graciously, bearing down upon them all.

Neville looked as though he would rather be anywhere in the world but here. A dull purple flush was creeping up his plump face and he was not making eye contact with any of them.

'Ah, yes,' said his grandmother, looking closely at Harry and sticking out a shrivelled, clawlike hand for him to shake. 'Yes, yes, I know who you are, of course. Neville speaks most highly of you.'

'Er--thanks,' said Harry, shaking hands. Neville did not look at him, but surveyed his own feet, the colour deepening in his face all the while.

'And you two are clearly Weasleys,' Mrs. Longbottom continued, proffering her hand regally to Ron and Ginny in turn. 'Yes, I know your parents--not well, of course--but fine people, fine people ... and you must be Hermione Granger?'

Hermione looked rather startled that Mrs. Longbottom knew her name, but shook hands all the same.

'Yes, Neville's told me all about you. Helped him out of a few sticky spots, haven't you? He's a good boy,' she said, casting a sternly appraising look down her rather bony nose at Neville, 'but be hasn't got his father's talent, I'm afraid to say.' And she jerked her head in the direction of the two beds at the end of the ward, so that the stuffed vulture on her hat trembled alarmingly.

'What?' said Ron, looking amazed. (Harry wanted to stamp on Ron's foot, but that sort of thing is much harder to bring off unnoticed when you're wearing jeans rather than robes.) 'Is that your dad down the end, Neville?'

'What's this?' said Mrs. Longbottom sharply. 'Haven't you told your friends about your parents, Neville?'

Neville took a deep breath, looked up at the ceiling and shook his head. Harry could not remember ever feeling sorrier for anyone, but he could not think of any way of helping Neville out of the situation.

'Well, it's nothing to be ashamed of!' said Mrs. Longbottom angrily. 'You should be proud, Neville, proud!They didn't give their health and their sanity so their only son would be ashamed of them, you know!'

'I'm not ashamed,' said Neville, very faintly, still looking anywhere but at Harry and the others. Ron was now standing on tiptoe to look over at the inhabitants of the two beds.

'Well, you've got a funny way of showing it!' said Mrs. Longbottom. 'My son and his wife,' she said, turning haughtily to Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny, 'were tortured into insanity by You-Know-Who's followers.'

Hermione and Ginny both clapped their hands over their mouths. Ron stopped craning his neck to catch a glimpse of Neville's parents and looked mortified.

'They were Aurors, you know, and very well respected within the wizarding community,' Mrs Longbottom went on. 'Highly gifted, the pair of them. I--yes, Alice dear, what is it?'

Neville's mother had come edging down the ward in her nightdress. She no longer had the plump, happy-looking face Harry had seen in Moody's old photograph of the original Order of the Phoenix. Her face was thin and worn now, her eyes seemed overlarge and her hair, which had turned white, was wispy and dead-looking. She did not seem to want to speak, or perhaps she was not able to, but she made timid motions towards Neville, holding something in her outstretched hand.

'Again?' said Mrs Longbottom, sounding slightly weary. 'Very well, Alice dear, very well-- Neville, take it, whatever it is.'

But Neville had already stretched out his hand, into which his mother dropped an empty Drooble's Best Blowing Gum wrapper.

'Very nice, dear,' said Neville's grandmother in a falsely cheery voice, patting his mother on the shoulder.

But Neville said quietly, 'Thanks, Mum.'

His mother tottered away, back up the ward, humming to herself. Neville looked around at the others, his expression defiant, as though daring them to laugh, but Harry did not think he'd ever found anything less funny in his life.

'Well, we'd better get back,' sighed Mrs. Longbottom, drawing on long green gloves. 'Very nice to have met you all. Neville, put that wrapper in the bin, she must have given you enough of them to paper your bedroom by now.'

But as they left, Harry was sure he saw Neville slip the sweet wrapper into his pocket.

The door closed behind them.

'I never knew,' said Hermione, who looked tearful.

'Nor did I,' said Ron rather hoarsely.

'Nor me,' whispered Ginny.

They all looked at Harry.

'I did,' he said glumly. 'Dumbledore told me but I promised I wouldn't tell anyone ... that's what Bellatrix Lestrange got sent to Azkaban for, using the Cruciatus Curse on Neville's parents until they lost their minds.'

'Bellatrix Lestrange did that?' whispered Hermione, horrified. 'That woman Kreacher's got a photo of in his den?'

There was a long silence, broken by Lockhart's angry voice.

'Look, I didn't learn joined-up writing for nothing, you know!'

Chapter 24 Occlumency

Kreacher, it transpired, had been lurking in the attic. Sirius said he had found him up there, covered in dust, no doubt looking for more relics of the Black family to hide in his cupboard. Though Sirius seemed satisfied with this story, it made Harry uneasy. Kreacher seemed to be in a better mood on his reappearance, his bitter muttering had subsided somewhat and he submitted to orders more docilely than usual, though once or twice Harry caught the house-elf staring at him avidly, but always looking quickly away whenever he saw that Harry had noticed.

Harry did not mention his vague suspicions to Sirius, whose cheerfulness was evaporating fast now that Christmas was over. As the date of their departure back to Hogwarts drew nearer, he became more and more prone to what Mrs. Weasley called 'fits of the sullens', in which he would become taciturn and grumpy, often withdrawing to Buckbeak's room for hours at a time. His gloom seeped through the house, oozing under doorways like some noxious gas, so that all of them became infected by it.

Harry didn't want to leave Sirius again with only Kreacher for company; in fact, for the first time in his life, he was not looking forward to returning to Hogwarts. Going back to school would mean placing himself once again under the tyranny of Dolores Umbridge, who had no doubt managed to force through another dozen decrees in their absence; there was no Quidditch to look forward to now that he had been banned, there was every likelihood that their burden of homework would increase as the exams drew even nearer; and Dumbledore remained as remote as ever. In fact, if it hadn't been for the DA, Harry thought he might have begged Sirius to let him leave Hogwarts and remain in Grimmauld Place.

Then, on the very last day of the holidays, something happened that made Harry positively dread his return to school.

'Harry, dear,' said Mrs. Weasley poking her head into his and Ron's bedroom, where the pair of them were playing wizard chess watched by Hermione, Ginny and Crookshanks, 'could you come down to the kitchen? Professor Snape would like a word with you.'

Harry did not immediately register what she had said; one of his castles was engaged in a violent tussle with a pawn of Ron's and he was egging it on enthusiastically.

'Squash him-- squash him, he's only a pawn, you idiot. Sorry, Mrs. Weasley, what did you say?'

'Professor Snape, dear. In the kitchen. He'd like a word.'

Harry's mouth fell open in horror. He looked around at Ron, Hermione and Ginny, all of whom were gaping back at him. Crookshanks, whom Hermione had been restraining with difficulty for the past quarter of an hour, leapt gleefully on to the board and set the pieces running for cover, squealing at the top of their voices.

'Snape?' said Harry blankly.

'Professor Snape, dear,' said Mrs. Weasley reprovingly. 'Now come on, quickly, he says he can't stay long.'

'What's he want with you?' said Ron, looking unnerved as Mrs. Weasley withdrew from the room. 'You haven't done anything, have you?'

'No!' said Harry indignantly, racking his brains to think what he could have done that would make Snape pursue him to Grimmauld Place. Had his last piece of homework perhaps earned a 'T'?

A minute or two later, he pushed open the kitchen door to find Sirius and Snape both seated at the long kitchen table, glaring in opposite directions. The silence between them was heavy with mutual dislike. A letter lay open on the table in front of Sirius.

'Er,' said Harry, to announce his presence.

Snape looked around at him, his face framed between curtains of greasy black hair.

'Sit down, Potter.'

'You know,' said Sirius loudly, leaning back on his rear chair legs and speaking to the ceiling, 'I think I'd prefer it if you didn't give orders here, Snape. It's my house, you see.'

An ugly flush suffused Snape's pallid face. Harry sat down in a chair beside Sirius, facing Snape across the table.

'I was supposed to see you alone, Potter,' said Snape, the familiar sneer curling his mouth, 'but Black--'

'I'm his godfather,' said Sirius, louder than ever.

'I am here on Dumbledore's orders.' said Snape, whose voice, by contrast, was becoming more and more quietly waspish, 'but by all means stay, Black, I know you like to feel ... involved.'

'What's that supposed to mean?' said Sirius, letting his chair fall back on to all four legs with a loud bang.

'Merely that I am sure you must feel--ah--frustrated by the fact that you can do nothing useful,' Snape laid a delicate stress on the word, 'for the Order.'

It was Sirius's turn to flush. Snape's lip curled in triumph as he turned to Harry.

'The Headmaster has sent me to tell you, Potter, that it is his wish for you to study Occlumency this term.'

'Study what?' said Harry blankly.

Snape's sneer became more pronounced.

'Occlumency, Potter. The magical defence of the mind against external penetration. An obscure branch of magic, but a highly useful one.'

Harry's heart began to pump very fast indeed. Defence against external penetration? But he was not being possessed, they had all agreed on that ...

'Why do I have to study Occlu--thing?' he blurted out.

'Because the Headmaster thinks it a good idea,' said Snape smoothly. 'You will receive private lessons once a week, but you will not tell anybody what you are doing, least of all Dolores Umbridge. You understand?'

'Yes,' said Harry. 'Who's going to be teaching me?'

Snape raised an eyebrow.

'I am,' he said.

Harry had the horrible sensation that his insides were melting.

Extra lessons with Snape--what on earth had he done to deserve this? He looked quickly round at Sirius for support.

'Why can't Dumbledore teach Harry?' asked Sirius aggressively. 'Why you?'

'I suppose because it is a headmaster's privilege to delegate less enjoyable tasks,' said Snape silkily. 'I assure you I did not beg for the job.' He got to his feet. 'I will expect you at six o'clock on Monday evening, Potter. My office. If anybody asks, you are taking remedial Potions. Nobody who has seen you in my classes could deny you need them.'

He turned to leave, his black travelling cloak billowing behind him.

'Wait a moment,' said Sirius, sitting up straighter in his chair.

Snape turned back to face them, sneering.

'I am in rather a hurry, Black. Unlike you, I do not have unlimited leisure time.'

'I'll get to the point, then,' said Sirius, standing up. He was rather taller than Snape who, Harry noticed, balled his fist in the pocket of his cloak over what Harry was sure was the handle of his wand. 'If I hear you're using these Occlumency lessons to give Harry a hard time, you'll have me to answer to.'

'How touching,' Snape sneered. 'But surely you have noticed that Potter is very like his father?'

'Yes, I have,' said Sirius proudly.

'Well then, you'll know he's so arrogant that criticism simply bounces off him,' Snape said sleekly.

Sirius pushed his chair roughly aside and strode around the table towards Snape, pulling out his wand as he went. Snape whipped out his own. They were squaring up to each other, Sirius looking livid, Snape calculating, his eyes darting from Sirius's wand-tip to his face.

'Sirius!' said Harry loudly, but Sirius appeared not to hear him.

'I've warned you, Snivelus,' said Sirius, his face barely a foot from Snape's, 'I don't care if Dumbledore thinks you've reformed, I know better--'

'Oh, but why don't you tell him so?' whispered Snape. 'Or are you afraid he might not take very seriously the advice of a man who has been hiding inside his mother's house for six months?'

'Tell me, how is Lucius Malfoy these days? I expect he's delighted his lapdog's working at Hogwarts, isn't he?'

'Speaking of dogs,' said Snape softly, 'did you know that Lucius Malfoy recognised you last time you risked a little jaunt outside? Clever idea, Black, getting yourself seen on a safe station platform ... gave you a cast-iron excuse not to leave your hidey-hole in future, didn't it?'

Sirius raised his wand.

'NO!' Harry yelled, vaulting over the table and trying to get in between them. 'Sirius, don't!'

'Are you calling me a coward?' roared Sirius, trying to push Harry out of the way, but Harry would not budge.

'Why, yes, I suppose I am,' said Snape.

'Harry--get-- out--of--it!' snarled Sirius, pushing him aside with his free hand.

The kitchen door opened and the entire Weasley family, plus Hermione, came inside, all looking very happy, with Mr. Weasley walking proudly in their midst dressed in a pair of striped pyjamas covered by a mackintosh.

'Cured!' he announced brightly to the kitchen at large. 'Completely cured!'

He and all the other Weasleys froze on the threshold, gazing at the scene in front of them, which was also suspended in mid-action, both Sirius and Snape looking towards the door with their wands pointing into each other's faces and Harry immobile between them, a hand stretched out to each, trying to force them apart.

'Merlin's beard,' said Mr. Weasley, the smile sliding off his face, 'what's going on here?'

Both Sirius and Snape lowered their wands. Harry looked from one to the other. Each wore an expression of utmost contempt, yet the unexpected entrance of so many witnesses seemed to have brought them to their senses. Snape pocketed his wand, turned on his heel and swept back across the kitchen, passing the Weasleys without comment. At the door he looked back.

'Six o'clock, Monday evening, Potter.'

And he was gone. Sirius glared after him, his wand at his side.

'What's been going on?' asked Mr. Weasley again.

'Nothing, Arthur,' said Sirius, who was breathing heavily as though he had just run a long distance. 'Just a friendly little chat between two old school friends.' With what looked like an enormous effort, he smiled. 'So ... you're cured? That's great news, really great.'

'Yes, isn't it?' said Mrs. Weasley, leading her husband forward to a chair. 'Healer Smethwyck worked his magic in the end, found an antidote to whatever that snake's got in its fangs, and Arthur's learned his lesson about dabbling in Muggle medicine, haven't you, dear?' she added, rather menacingly.

'Yes, Molly dear,' said Mr. Weasley meekly.

'That night's meal should have been a cheerful one, with Mr. Weasley back amongst them. Harry could tell Sirius was trying to make it so, yet when his godfather was not forcing himself to laugh loudly at Fred and George's jokes or offering everyone more food, his face fell back into a moody, brooding expression. Harry was separated from him by Mundungus and Mad-Eye, who had dropped in to offer Mr. Weasley their congratulations. He wanted to talk to Sirius, to tell him he shouldn't listen to a word Snape said, that Snape was goading him deliberately and that the rest of them didn't think Sirius was a coward for doing as Dumbledore told him and remaining in Grimmauld Place. But he had no opportunity to do so, and, eyeing the ugly look on Sirius's face, Harry wondered occasionally whether he would have dared to mention it even if he had the chance. Instead, he told Ron and Hermione under his voice about having to take Occlumency lessons with Snape.

'Dumbledore wants to stop you having those dreams about Voldemort,' said Hermione at once. 'Well, you won't be sorry not to have them any more, will you?'

'Extra lessons with Snape?' said Ron, sounding aghast. 'I'd rather have the nightmares!'

They were to return to Hogwarts on the Knight Bus the following day, escorted once again by Tonks and Lupin, both of whom were eating breakfast in the kitchen when Harry, Ron and Hermione came down next morning. The adults seemed to have been mid-way through a whispered conversation as Harry opened the door; all of them looked round hastily and fell silent.

After a hurried breakfast, they all pulled on jackets and scarves against the chilly grey January morning. Harry had an unpleasant constricted sensation in his chest; he did not want to say goodbye to Sirius. He had a bad feeling about this parting; he didn't know when they would next see each other and he felt it was incumbent upon him to say something to Sirius to stop him doing anything stupid--Harry was worried that Snape's accusation of cowardice had stung Sirius so badly he might even now be planning some foolhardy trip beyond Grimmauld Place. Before he could think of what to say, however, Sirius had beckoned him to his side.

'I want you to take this,' he said quietly, thrusting a badly wrapped package roughly the size of a paperback book into Harry's hands.

'What is it?' Harry asked.

'A way of letting me know if Snape's giving you a hard time. No, don't open it in here!' said Sirius, with a wary look at Mrs. Weasley, who was trying to persuade the twins to wear hand-knitted mittens. 'I doubt Molly would approve--but I want you to use it if you need me, all right?'

'OK,' said Harry, stowing the package away in the inside pocket of his jacket, but he knew he would never use whatever it was. It would not be he, Harry, who lured Sirius from his place of safety, no matter how foully Snape treated him in their forthcoming Occlumency classes.

'Let's go, then,' said Sirius, clapping Harry on the shoulder and smiling grimly, and before Harry could say anything else, they were heading upstairs, stopping before the heavily chained and bolted front door, surrounded by Weasleys.

'Goodbye, Harry, take care,' said Mrs. Weasley, hugging him.

'See you, Harry, and keep an eye out for snakes for me!' said Mr. Weasley genially, shaking his hand.

'Right--yeah,' said Harry distractedly; it was his last chance to tell Sirius to be careful; he turned, looked into his godfather's face and opened his mouth to speak, but before he could do so Sirius was giving him a brief, one-armed hug, and saying gruffly, 'Look after yourself, Harry.' Next moment, Harry found himself being shunted out into the icy winter air, with Tonks (today heavily disguised as a tall, tweedy woman with iron-grey hair) chivvying him down the steps.

The door of number twelve slammed shut behind them. They followed Lupin down the front steps. As he reached the pavement, Harry looked round. Number twelve was shrinking rapidly as those on either side of it stretched sideways, squeezing it out of sight. One blink later, it had gone.

'Come on, the quicker we get on the bus the better,' said Tonks, and Harry thought there was nervousness in the glance she threw around the square. Lupin flung out his right arm.

BANG.

A violently purple, triple-decker bus had appeared out of thin air in front of them, narrowly avoiding the nearest lamppost, which jumped backwards out of its way.

A thin, pimply, jug-eared youth in a purple uniform leapt down on to the pavement and said, 'Welcome to the--'

'Yes, yes, we know, thank you,' said Tonks swiftly. 'On, on, get on--'

And she shoved Harry forwards towards the steps, past the conductor, who goggled at Harry as he passed.

' 'Ere--it's 'Arry--!'

'If you shout his name I will curse you into oblivion,' muttered Tonks menacingly, now shunting Ginny and Hermione forwards.

'I've always wanted to go on this thing,' said Ron happily, joining Harry on board and looking around.

It had been evening the last time Harry had travelled by Knight Bus and its three decks had been full of brass bedsteads. Now, in the early morning, it was crammed with an assortment of mismatched chairs grouped haphazardly around windows. Some of these appeared to have fallen over when the bus stopped abruptly in Grimmauld Place; a few witches and wizards were still getting to their feet, grumbling, and somebody's shopping bag had slid the length of the bus: an unpleasant mixture of frogspawn, cockroaches and custard creams was scattered all over the floor.

'Looks like we'll have to split up,' said Tonks briskly, looking a.round for empty chairs. 'Fred, George and Ginny, if you just take those seats at the back ... Remus can stay with you.'

She, Harry, Ron and Hermione proceeded up to the very top deck, where there were two unoccupied chairs at the very front of the bus and two at the back. Stan Shunpike, the conductor, followed Harry and Ron eagerly to the back. Heads turned as Harry passed and, when he sat down, he saw all the faces flick back to the front again.

As Harry and Ron handed Stan eleven Sickles each, the bus set off again, swaying ominously. It rumbled around Grimmauld Place, weaving on and off the pavement, then, with another tremendous BANG, they were all flung backwards; Ron's chair toppled right over and Pigwidgeon, who had been on his lap, burst out of his cage and flew twittering wildly up to the front of the bus where he fluttered down on to Hermione's shoulder instead. Harry, who had narrowly avoided falling by seizing a candle bracket, looked out of the window: they were now speeding down what appeared to be a motorway.

'Just outside Birmingham,' said Stan happily, answering Harry's unasked question as Ron struggled up from the floor. 'You keepin' well, then, 'Arry? I seen your name in the paper loads over the summer, but it weren't never nuffink very nice. I said to Ern, I said, 'e didn't seem like a nutter when we met 'im, just goes to show, dunnit?'

He handed over their tickets and continued to gaze, enthralled, at Harry. Apparently, Stan did not care how nutty somebody was, if they were famous enough to be in the paper. The Knight Bus swayed alarmingly, overtaking a line of cars on the inside. Looking towards the front of the bus, Harry saw Hermione cover her eyes with her hands, Pigwidgeon swaying happily on her shoulder.

BANG.

Chairs slid backwards again as the Knight Bus jumped from the Birmingham motorway to a quiet country lane full of hairpin bends. Hedgerows on either side of the road were leaping out of their way as they mounted the verges. From here they moved to a main street in the middle of a busy town, then to a viaduct surrounded by tall hills, then to a windswept road between high-rise flats, each time with a loud BANG.

'I've changed my mind,' muttered Ron, picking himself up from the floor for the sixth time, 'I never want to ride on this thing again.'

'Listen, it's 'Ogwarts stop after this,' said Stan brightly, swaying towards them. 'That bossy woman up front 'oo got on with you, she's given us a little tip to move you up the queue. We're just gonna let Madam Marsh off first, though--there was a retching sound from downstairs, followed by a horrible spattering noise-- she's not feeling 'er best.'

A few minutes later, the Knight Bus screeched to a halt outside a small pub, which squeezed itself out of the way to avoid a collision. They could hear Stan ushering the unfortunate Madam Marsh out of the bus and the relieved murmurings of her fellow passengers on the second deck. The bus moved on again, gathering speed, until--

BANG.

They were rolling through a snowy Hogsmeade. Harry caught a glimpse of the Hog's Head down its side street, the severed boar's head sign creaking in the wintry wind. Flecks of snow hit the large window at the front of the bus. At last they rolled to a halt outside the gates to Hogwarts.

Lupin and Tonks helped them off the bus with their luggage, then got off to say goodbye. Harry glanced up at the three decks of the Knight Bus and saw all the passengers staring down at them, noses flat against the windows.

'You'll be safe once you're in the grounds,' said Tonks, casting a careful eye around at the deserted road. 'Have a good term, OK?'

'Look after yourselves,' said Lupin, shaking hands all round and reaching Harry last. 'And listen ...' he lowered his voice while the rest of them exchanged last-minute goodbyes with Tonks, 'Harry, I know you don't like Snape, but he is a superb Occlumens and we all--Sirius included--want you to learn to protect yourself, so work hard, all right?'

'Yeah, all right,' said Harry heavily, looking up into Lupin's prematurely lined face. 'See you, then.'

The six of them struggled up the slippery drive towards the castle, dragging their trunks. Hermione was already talking about knitting a few elf hats before bedtime. Harry glanced back when they reached the oaken front doors; the Knight Bus had already gone and he half-wished, given what was coming the following evening, that he was still on board.

Harry spent most of the next day dreading the evening. His morning double-Potions lesson did nothing to dispel his trepidation, as Snape was as unpleasant as ever. His mood was further lowered by the DA members constantly approaching him in the corridors between classes, asking hopefully if there would be a meeting that night.

'I'll let you know in the usual way when the next one is,' Harry said over and over again, 'but I can't do it tonight, I've got to go to--er--remedial Potions.'

'You take remedial Potions?' asked Zacharias Smith superciliously, having cornered Harry in the Entrance Hall after lunch. 'Good Lord, you must be terrible. Snape doesn't usually give extra lessons, does he?'

As Smith strode away in an annoyingly buoyant fashion, Ron glared after him.

'Shall I jinx him? I can still get him from here,' he said, raising his wand and taking aim between Smith's shoulder blades.

'Forget it,' said Harry dismally. 'It's what everyone's going to think, isn't it? That I'm really stup--'

'Hi, Harry,' said a voice behind him. He turned round and found Cho standing there.

'Oh,' said Harry as his stomach leapt uncomfortably. 'Hi.'

'We'll be in the library, Harry,' said Hermione firmly as she seized Ron above the elbow and dragged him off towards the marble staircase.

'Had a good Christmas?' asked Cho.

'Yeah, not bad,' said Harry.

'Mine was pretty quiet,' said Cho. For some reason, she was looking rather embarrassed. 'Erm ... there's another Hogsmeade trip next month, did you see the notice?'

'What? Oh, no, I haven't checked the noticeboard since I got back.'

'Yes, it's on Valentines Day ...'

'Right,' said Harry, wondering why she was telling him this. 'Well, I suppose you want to-- ?'

'Only if you do,' she said eagerly.

Harry stared. He had been about to say, 'I suppose you want to know when the next DA meeting is?' but her response did not seem to fit.

'I--er--' he said.

'Oh, it's OK if you don't,' she said, looking mortified. 'Don't worry. I--I'll see you around.'

She walked away. Harry stood staring after her, his brain working frantically. Then something clunked into place.

'Cho! Hey--CHO!'

He ran after her, catching her halfway up the marble staircase.

'Er--d'you want to come into Hogsmeade with me on Valentine's Day?'

'Oooh, yes!' she said, blushing crimson and beaming at him.

'Right ... well ... that's settled then,' said Harry, and feeling that the day was not going to be a complete loss after all, he virtually bounced off to the library to pick up Ron and Hermione before their afternoon lessons.

By six o'clock that evening, however, even the glow of having successfully asked out Cho Chang could not lighten the ominous feelings that intensified with every step Harry took towards Snape's office.

He paused outside the door when he reached it, wishing he were almost anywhere else, then, taking a deep breath, he knocked and entered.

The shadowy room was lined with shelves bearing hundreds of glass jars in which slimy bits of animals and plants were suspended in variously coloured potions. In one corner stood the cupboard full of ingredients that Snape had once accused Harry--not without reason--of robbing. Harry's attention was drawn towards the desk, however, where a shallow stone basin engraved with runes and symbols lay in a pool of candlelight. Harry recognised it at once--it was Dumbledore's Pensieve. Wondering what on earth it was doing there, he jumped when Snape's cold voice came out of the shadows.

'Shut the door behind you, Potter.'

Harry did as he was told, with the horrible feeling that he was imprisoning himself. When he turned back into the room, Snape had moved into the light and was pointing silently at the chair opposite his desk. Harry sat down and so did Snape, his cold black eyes fixed unblinkingly upon Harry, dislike etched in every line of his face.

'Well, Potter, you know why you are here,' he said. 'The Headmaster has asked me to teach you Occlumency. I can only hope that you prove more adept at it than at Potions.'

'Right,' said Harry tersely.

'This may not be an ordinary class, Potter,' said Snape, his eyes narrowed malevolently, 'but I am still your teacher and you will therefore call me "sir" or "Professor" at all times.'

'Yes ... sir,' said Harry.

Snape continued to survey him through narrowed eyes for a moment, then said, 'Now, Occlumency. As I told you back in your dear godfather's kitchen, this branch of magic seals the mind against magical intrusion and influence.'

'And why does Professor Dumbledore think I need it, sir?' said Harry looking directly into Snape's eyes and wondering whether Snape would answer.

Snape looked back at him for a moment and then said contemptuously, 'Surely even you could have worked that out by now, Potter? The Dark Lord is highly skilled at Legilimency --'

'What's that? Sir?'

'It is the ability to extract feelings and memories from another person's mind--'

'He can read minds?' said Harry quickly, his worst fears confirmed.

'You have no subtlety, Potter,' said Snape, his dark eyes glittering. 'You do not understand fine distinctions. It is one of the shortcomings that makes you such a lamentable potion-maker.'

Snape paused for a moment, apparently to savour the pleasure of insulting Harry, before continuing.

'Only Muggles talk of "mind-reading". The mind is not a book, to be opened at will and examined at leisure. Thoughts are not etched on the inside of skulls, to be perused by any invader, the mind is a complex and many-layered thing, Potter-- or at least, most minds are.' He smirked. 'It is true, however, that those who have mastered Legilimency are able, under certain conditions, to delve into the minds of their victims and to interpret their findings correctly. The Dark Lord, for instance, almost always knows when somebody is lying to him. Only those skilled at Occlumency are able to shut down those feelings and memories that contradict the lie, and so can utter falsehoods in his presence without detection.'

Whatever Snape said, Legilimency sounded like mind-reading to Harry, and he didn't like the sound of it at all.

'So he could know what we're thinking right now? Sir?'

'The Dark Lord is at a considerable distance and the walls and grounds of Hogwarts are guarded by many ancient spells and charms to ensure the bodily and mental safety of those who dwell within them,' said Snape. 'Time and space matter in magic, Potter. Eye contact is often essential to Legilimency.'

'Well then, why do I have to learn Occlumency?'

Snape eyed Harry, tracing his mouth with one long, thin finger as he did so.

'The usual rules do not seem to apply with you, Potter. The curse that failed to kill you seems to have forged some kind of connection between you and the Dark Lord. The evidence suggests that at times, when your mind is most relaxed and vulnerable --when you are asleep, for instance--you are sharing the Dark Lord's thoughts and emotions. The Headmaster thinks it inadvisable for this to continue. He wishes me to teach you how to close your mind to the Dark Lord.'

Harry's heart was pumping fast again. None of this added up.

'But why does Professor Dumbledore want to stop it?' he asked abruptly. 'I don't like it much, but it's been useful, hasn't it? I mean ... I saw that snake attack Mr Weasley and if I hadn't, Professor Dumbledore wouldn't have been able to save him, would he? Sir?'

Snape stared at Harry for a few moments, still tracing his mouth with his finger. When he spoke again, it was slowly and deliberately, as though he weighed every word.

'It appears that the Dark Lord has been unaware of the connection between you and himself until very recently. Up till now it seems that you have been experiencing his emotions, and sharing his thoughts, without his being any the wiser. However, the vision you had shortly before Christmas--'

'The one with the snake and Mr. Weasley?'

'Do not interrupt me, Potter,' said Snape in a dangerous voice. 'As I was saying, the vision you had shortly before Christmas represented such a powerful incursion upon the Dark Lord's thoughts--'

'I saw inside the snake's head, not his!'

'I thought I just told you not to interrupt me, Potter?'

But Harry did not care if Snape was angry; at last he seemed to be getting to the bottom of this business; he had moved forwards in his chair so that, without realising it, he was perched on the very edge, tense as though poised for flight.

'How come I saw through the snake's eyes if it's Voldemort's thoughts I'm sharing?'

'Do not say the Dark Lord's name!' spat Snape.

There was a nasty silence. They glared at each other across the Pensieve.

'Professor Dumbledore says his name.' said Harry quietly.

'Dumbledore is an extremely powerful wizard,' Snape muttered. 'While he may feel secure enough to use the name ... the rest of us ...' He rubbed his left forearm, apparently unconsciously, on the spot where Harry knew the Dark Mark was burned into his skin.

'I just wanted to know,' Harry began again, forcing his voice back to politeness, 'why--'

'You seem to have visited the snake's mind because that was where the Dark Lord was at that particular moment,' snarled Snape. 'He was possessing the snake at the time and so you dreamed you were inside it, too.'

'And Vol--he-- realised I was there?'

'It seems so,' said Snape coolly.

'How do you know?' said Harry urgently. 'Is this just Professor Dumbledore guessing, or-- ?'

'I told you,' said Snape, rigid in his chair, his eyes slits, 'to call me "sir".

'Yes, sir,' said Harry impatiently, 'but how do you know--'?

'It is enough that we know,' said Snape repressively. 'The important point is that the Dark Lord is now aware that you are gaining access to his thoughts and feelings. He has also deduced that the process is likely to work in reverse; that is to say, he has realised that he might be able to access your thoughts and feelings in return--'

'And he might try and make me do things?' asked Harry. 'Sir?' he added hurriedly.

'He might,' said Snape, sounding cold and unconcerned. 'Which brings us back to Occlumency.'

Snape pulled out his wand from an inside pocket of his robes and Harry tensed in his chair, but Snape merely raised the wand to his temple and placed its tip into the greasy roots of his hair. When he withdrew it, some silvery substance came away, stretching from temple to wand like a thick gossamer strand, which broke as he pulled the wand away from it and fell gracefully into the Pensieve, where it swirled silvery-white, neither gas nor liquid. Twice more, Snape raised the wand to his temple and deposited the silvery substance into the stone basin, then, without offering any explanation of his behaviour, he picked up the Pensieve carefully, removed it to a shelf out of their way and returned to face Harry with his wand held at the ready.

'Stand up and take out your wand, Potter.'

Harry got to his feet, feeling nervous. They faced each other with the desk between them.

'You may use your wand to attempt to disarm me, or defend yourself in any other way you can think of,' said Snape.

'And what are you going to do?' Harry asked, eyeing Snape's wand apprehensively.

'I am about to attempt to break into your mind,' said Snape softly. 'We are going to see how well you resist. I have been told that you have already shown aptitude at resisting the Imperius Curse. You will find that similar powers are needed for this ... brace yourself, now. Legilimens!'

Snape had struck before Harry was ready, before he had even begun to summon any force of resistance. The office swam in front of his eyes and vanished; image after image was racing through his mind like a flickering film so vivid it blinded him to his surroundings.

He was five, watching Dudley riding a new red bicycle, and his heart was bursting with jealousy ... he was nine, and Ripper the bulldog was chasing him up a tree and the Dursleys were laughing below on the lawn ... he was sitting under the Sorting Hat, and it was telling him he would do well in Slytherin ... Hermione was lying in the hospital wing, her face covered with thick black hair ... a hundred dementors were closing in on him beside the dark lake ... Cho Chang was drawing nearer to him under the mistletoe ...

No, said a voice inside Harry's head, as the memory of Cho drew nearer, you're not watching that, you're not watching it, it's private--

He felt a sharp pain in his knee. Snape's office had come back into view and he realised that he had fallen to the floor; one of his knees had collided painfully with the leg of Snape's desk. He looked up at Snape, who had lowered his wand and was rubbing his wrist. There was an angry weal there, like a scorch mark.

'Did you mean to produce a Stinging Hex?' asked Snape coolly.

'No,' said Harry bitterly, getting up from the floor.

'I thought not,' said Snape, watching him closely. 'You let me get in too far. You lost control.'

'Did you see everything I saw?' Harry asked, unsure whether he wanted to hear the answer.

'Flashes of it,' said Snape, his lip curling. 'To whom did the dog belong?'

'My Aunt Marge,' Harry muttered, hating Snape.

'Well, for a first attempt that was not as poor as it might have been,' said Snape, raising his wand once more. 'You managed to stop me eventually, though you wasted time and energy shouting. You must remain focused. Repel me with your brain and you will not need to resort to your wand.'

'I'm trying,' said Harry angrily, 'but you're not telling me how!'

'Manners, Potter,' said Snape dangerously. 'Now, I want you to close your eyes.'

Harry threw him a filthy look before doing as he was told. He did not like the idea of standing there with his eyes shut while Snape faced him, carrying a wand.

'Clear your mind, Potter,' said Snape's cold voice. 'Let go of all emotion ...'

But Harry's anger at Snape continued to pound through his veins like venom. Let go of his anger? He could as easily detach his legs ...

'You're not doing it, Potter ... you will need more discipline than this ... focus, now ...'

Harry tried to empty his mind, tried not to think, or remember, or feel ...

'Let's go again ... on the count of three ... one--two--three--Legilimens!'

A great black dragon was rearing in front of him ... his father and mother were waving at him out of an enchanted mirror ... Cedric Diggory was lying on the ground with blank eyes staring at him ...

'NOOOOOOO!'

Harry was on his knees again, his face buried in his hands, his brain aching as though someone had been trying to pull it from his skull.

'Get up!' said Snape sharply. 'Get up! You are not trying, you are making no effort. You are allowing me access to memories you fear, handing me weapons!'

Harry stood up again, his heart thumping wildly as though he had really just seen Cedric dead in the graveyard. Snape looked paler than usual, and angrier, though not nearly as angry as Harry was.

'I--am--making --an--effort,' he said through clenched teeth.

'I told you to empty yourself of emotion!'

'Yeah? Well, I'm finding that hard at the moment,' Harry snarled.

'Then you will find yourself easy prey for the Dark Lord!' said Snape savagely. 'Fools who wear their hearts proudly on their sleeves, who cannot control their emotions, who wallow in sad memories and allow themselves to be provoked so easily--weak people, in other words--they stand no chance against his powers! He will penetrate your mind with absurd ease, Potter!'

'I am not weak,' said Harry in a low voice, fury now pumping through him so that he thought he might attack Snape in a moment.

'Then prove it! Master yourself!' spat Snape. 'Control your anger, discipline your mind! We shall try again! Get ready, now! Legilimens!'

He was watching Uncle Vernon hammering the letterbox shut ... a hundred dementors were drifting across the lake in the grounds towards him ... he was running along a windowless passage with Mr. Weasley ... they were drawing nearer to the plain black door at the end of the corridor ... Harry expected to go through it ... but Mr. Weasley led him off to the left, down a flight of stone steps ...

'I KNOW! I KNOW!'

He was on all fours again on Snape's office floor, his scar was prickling unpleasantly, but the voice that had just issued from his mouth was triumphant. He pushed himself up again to find Snape storing at him, his wand raised. It looked as though, this time, Snape had lifted the spell before Harry had even tried to fight back.

'What happened then, Potter?' he asked, eyeing Harry intently.

'I saw--I remembered,' Harry panted. 'I've just realised ...'

'Realised what?' asked Snape sharply.

Harry did not answer at once; he was still savouring the moment of blinding realisation as he rubbed his forehead ...

He had been dreaming about a windowless corridor ending in a locked door for months, without once realising that it was a real place. Now, seeing the memory again, he knew that all along he had been dreaming about the corridor down which he had run with Mr. Weasley on the twelfth of August as they hurried to the courtrooms in the Ministry; it was the corridor leading to the Department of Mysteries and Mr. Weasley had been there the night that he had been attacked by Voldemort's snake.

He looked up at Snape.

'What's in the Department of Mysteries?'

'What did you say?' Snape asked quietly and Harry saw, with deep satisfaction, that Snape was unnerved.

'I said, what's in the Department of Mysteries, sir?' Harry said.

'And why,' said Snape slowly, 'would you ask such a thing?'

'Because,' said Harry, watching Snape's face closely, 'that corridor I've just seen--I've been dreaming about it for months--I've just recognised it--it leads to the Department of Mysteries ... and I think Voldemort wants something from--'

'I have told you not to say the Dark Lord's name!'

They glared at each other. Harry's scar seared again, but he did not care. Snape looked agitated; but when he spoke again he sounded as though he was trying to appear cool and unconcerned.

'There are many things in the Department of Mysteries, Potter, few of which you would understand and none of which concern you. Do I make myself plain?'

'Yes,' Harry said, still rubbing his prickling scar, which was becoming more painful.

'I want you back here same time on Wednesday. We will continue work then.'

'Fine,' said Harry. He was desperate to get out of Snape's office and find Ron and Hermione.

'You are to rid your mind of all emotion every night before sleep; empty it, make it blank and calm, you understand?'

'Yes,' said Harry, who was barely listening.

'And be warned, Potter ... I shall know if you have not practised ...'

'Right,' Harry mumbled. He picked up his schoolbag, swung it over his shoulder and hurried towards the office door. As he opened it, he glanced back at Snape, who had his back to Harry and was scooping his own thoughts out of the Pensieve with the tip of his wand and replacing them carefully inside his own head. Harry left without another word, closing the door carefully behind him, his scar still throbbing painfully.

Harry found Ron and Hermione in the library, where they were working on Umbridge's most recent ream of homework. Other students, nearly all of them fifth-years, sat at lamp-lit tables nearby, noses close to books, quills scratching feverishly, while the sky outside the mullioned windows grew steadily blacker. The only other sound was the slight squeaking of one of Madam Pince's shoes, as the librarian prowled the aisles menacingly, breathing down the necks of those touching her precious books.

Harry felt shivery; his scar was still aching, he felt almost feverish.

When he sat down opposite Ron and Hermione, he caught sight of himself in the window opposite; he was very white and his scar seemed to be showing up more clearly than usual.

'How did it go?' Hermione whispered, and then, looking concerned. 'Are you all right, Harry?'

'Yeah ... fine ... I dunno,' said Harry impatiently, wincing as pain shot through his scar again. 'Listen ... I've just realised something ...'

And he told them what he had just seen and deduced.

'So ... so are you saying ...' whispered Ron, as Madam Pince swept past, squeaking slightly 'that the weapon--the thing You-Know-Who's after--is in the Ministry of Magic?'

'In the Department of Mysteries, it's got to be,' Harry whispered. 'I saw that door when your dad took me down to the courtrooms for my hearing and it's definitely the same one he was guarding when the snake bit him.'

Hermione let out a long, slow sigh.

'Of course,' she breathed.

'Of course what?' said Ron rather impatiently.

'Ron, think about it... Sturgis Podmore was trying to get through a door at the Ministry of Magic ... it must have been that one, it's too much of a coincidence!'

'How come Sturgis was trying to break in when he's on our side?' said Ron.

'Well, I don't know,' Hermione admitted. 'That is a bit odd ...'

'So what's in the Department of Mysteries?' Harry asked Ron. 'Has your dad ever mentioned anything about it?'

'I know they call the people who work in there "Unspeakables",' said Ron, frowning. 'Because no one really seems to know what they do--weird place to have a weapon.'

'It's not weird at all, it makes perfect sense,' said Hermione. 'It will be something top secret that the Ministry has been developing, I expect ... Harry, are you sure you're all right?'

For Harry had just run both his hands hard over his forehead as though trying to iron it.

'Yeah ... fine ...' he said, lowering his hands, which were trembling. 'I just feel a bit ... I don't like Occlumency much.'

'I expect anyone would feel snaky if they'd had their mind attacked over and over again,' said Hermione sympathetically. 'Look, let's get back to the common room, we'll be a bit more comfortable there.'

But the common room was packed and full of shrieks of laughter and excitement; Fred and George were demonstrating their latest bit of joke shop merchandise.

'Headless Hats!' shouted George, as Fred waved a pointed hat decorated with a fluffy pink feather at the watching students. 'Two Galleons each, watch Fred, now!'

Fred swept the hat on to his head, beaming. For a second he merely looked rather stupid; then both hat and head vanished.

Several girls screamed, but everyone else was roaring with laughter.

'And off again!' shouted George, and Fred's hand groped for a moment in what seemed to be thin air over his shoulder; then his head reappeared as he swept the pink-feathered hat from it.

'How do those hats work, then?' said Hermione, distracted from her homework and watching Fred and George closely. 'I mean, obviously it's some kind of Invisibility Spell, but it's rather clever to have extended the field of invisibility beyond the boundaries of the charmed object ... I'd imagine the charm wouldn't have a very long life though.'

Harry did not answer; he was feeling ill.

'I'm going to have to do this tomorrow,' he muttered, pushing the books he had just taken out of his bag back inside it.

'Well, write it in your homework planner then!' said Hermione encouragingly. 'So you don't forget!'

Harry and Ron exchanged looks as he reached into his bag, withdrew the planner and opened it tentatively.

'Don't leave it till later, you big second-rater!' chided the book as Harry scribbled down Umbridge's homework. Hermione beamed at it.

'I think I'll go to bed,' said Harry, stuffing the homework planner back into his bag and making a mental note to drop it in the fire the first opportunity he got.

He walked across the common room, dodging George, who tried to put a Headless Hat on him, and reached the peace and cool of the stone staircase to the boys' dormitories. He was feeling sick again, just as he had the night he had had the vision of the snake, but thought that if he could just lie down for a while he would be all right.

He opened the door of his dormitory and was one step inside it when he experienced pain so severe he thought that someone must have sliced into the top of his head. He did not know where be was, whether he was standing or lying down, he did not even know his own name.

Maniacal laughter was ringing in his ears ... he was happier than he had been in a very long time ... jubilant, ecstatic, triumphant ... a wonderful, wonderful thing had happened ...

'Harry? HARRY!'

Someone had hit him around the face. The insane laughter was punctuated with a cry of pain. The happiness was draining out of him, but the laughter continued ...

He opened his eyes and, as he did so, he became aware that the wild laughter was coming out of his own mouth. The moment he realised this, it died away; Harry lay panting on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, the scar on his forehead throbbing horribly. Ron was bending over him, looking very worried.

'What happened?' he said.

'I ... dunno ...' Harry gasped, sitting up again. 'He's really happy ... really happy ...'

'You-Know-Who is?'

'Something good's happened,' mumbled Harry. He was shaking as badly as he had done after seeing the snake attack Mr. Weasley and felt very sick. 'Something he's been hoping for.'

The words came, just as they had back in the Gryffindor changing room, as though a stranger was speaking them through Harry's mouth, yet he knew they were true. He took deep breaths, willing himself not to vomit all over Ron. He was very glad that Dean and Seamus were not here to watch this time.

'Hermione told me to come and check on you,' said Ron in a low voice, helping Harry to his feet. 'She says your defences will be low at the moment, after Snape's been fiddling around with your mind ... still, I suppose it'll help in the long run, won't it?' He looked doubtfully at Harry as he helped him towards his bed. Harry nodded without any conviction and slumped back on his pillows, aching all over from having fallen to the floor so often that evening, his scar still prickling painfully. He could not help feeling that his first foray into Occlumency had weakened his mind's resistance rather than strengthening it, and he wondered, with a feeling of great trepidation, what had happened to make Lord Voldemort the happiest he had been in fourteen years.

Chapter 25 The Beetle at Bay

Harry's question was answered the very next morning. When Hermione's Daily Prophet arrived she smoothed it out, gazed for a moment at the front page and gave a yelp that caused everyone in the vicinity to stare at her.

'What?' said Harry and Ron together.

For answer she spread the newspaper on the table in front of them and pointed at ten black-and-white photographs that filled the whole of the front page, nine showing wizards' faces and the tenth, a witch's. Some of the people in the photographs were silently jeering; others were tapping their fingers on the frame of their pictures, looking insolent. Each picture was captioned with a name and the crime for which the person had been sent to Azkaban.

Antonin Dolohov, read the legend beneath a wizard with a long, pale, twisted face who was sneering up at Harry, convicted of the brutal murders of Gideon and Fabian Prewett.

Algernon Rookwood, said the caption beneath a pockmarked man with greasy hair who was leaning against the edge of his picture, looking bored, convicted of leaking Ministry of Magic secrets to He Who Must Not Be Named.

But Harry's eyes were drawn to the picture of the witch. Her face had leapt out at him the moment he had seen the page. She had long, dark hair that looked unkempt and straggly in the picture, though he had seen it sleek, thick and shining. She glared up at him through heavily lidded eyes, an arrogant, disdainful smile playing around her thin mouth. Like Sirius, she retained vestiges of great good looks, but something--perhaps Azkaban--had taken most of her beauty.

Bellatrix Lestrange, convicted of the torture and permanent incapacitation of Frank and Alice Longbottom.

Hermione nudged Harry and pointed at the headline over the pictures, which Harry, concentrating on Bellatrix, had not yet read.

MASS BREAKOUT FROM AZKABAN

MINISTRY FEARS BLACK IS 'RALLYING POINT'

FOR OLD DEATH EATERS

'Black?' said Harry loudly. 'Not--?'

'Shhh!' whispered Hermione desperately. 'Not so loud--just read it!'

The Ministry of Magic announced late last night that there has been a mass breakout from Azkaban.

Speaking to reporters in his private office, Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, confirmed that ten high-security prisoners escaped in the early hours of yesterday evening and that he has already informed the Muggle Prime Minister of the dangerous nature of these individuals.

'We find ourselves, most unfortunately, in the same position we were two and a half years ago when the murderer Sirius Black escaped,'said Fudge last night.'Nor do we think the two breakouts are unrelated. An escape of this magnitude suggests outside help, and we must remember that Black, as the first person ever to break out of Azkaban, would be ideally placed to help others follow in his footsteps. We think it likely that these individuals, who include Black's cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange, have rallied around Black as their leader. We are, however, doing all we can to round up the criminals, and we beg the magical community to remain alert and cautious. On no account should any of these individuals be approached.'

'There you are, Harry,' said Ron, looking awestruck. 'That's why he was happy last night.'

'I don't believe this,' snarled Harry, 'Fudge is blaming the breakout on Sirius?'

'What other options does he have?' said Hermione bitterly. 'He can hardly say, "Sorry, everyone, Dumbledore warned me this might happen, the Azkaban guards have joined Lord Voldemort"--stop whimpering,Ron--"and now Voldemort's worst supporters have broken out, too." I mean, he's spent a good six months telling everyone you and Dumbledore are liars, hasn't he?'

Hermione ripped open the newspaper and began to read the report inside while Harry looked around the Great Hall. He could not understand why his fellow students were not looking scared or at least discussing the terrible piece of news on the front page, but very few of them took the newspaper every day like Hermione. There they all were, talking about homework and Quidditch and who knew what other rubbish, when outside these walls ten more Death Eaters had swollen Voldemort's ranks.

He glanced up at the staff table. It was a different story there: Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall were deep in conversation, both looking extremely grave. Professor Sprout had the Prophet propped against a bottle of ketchup and was reading the front page with such concentration that she was not noticing the gentle drip of egg yolk falling into her lap from her stationary spoon. Meanwhile, at the far end of the table, Professor Umbridge was tucking into a bowl of porridge. For once her pouchy toad's eyes were not sweeping the Great Hall looking for misbehaving students. She scowled as she gulped down her food and every now and then she shot a malevolent glance up the table to where Dumbledore and McGonagall were talking so intently.

'Oh my--' said Hermione wonderingly, still staring at the newspaper.

'What now?' said Harry quickly; he was feeling jumpy.

'It's ... horrible,' said Hermione, looking shaken. She folded back page ten of the newspaper and handed it to Harry and Ron.

TRAGIC DEMISE OF MINISTRY OF MAGIC WORKER
St. Mungo's Hospital promised a full inquiry last night after Ministry of Magic worker Broderich Bode, 49, was discovered dead in his bed, strangled by a pot plant. Healers called to the scene were unable to revive Mr. Bode, who had been injured in a workplace accident some weeks prior to his death.

Healer Miriam Strout, who was in charge of Mr. Bode's ward at the time of the incident, has been suspended on full pay and was unavailable for comment yesterday, but a spokeswizard for the hospital said in a statement:

'St. Mungo's deeply regrets the death of Mr. Bode, whose health was improving steadily prior to this tragic accident.

'We have strict guidelines on the decorations permitted on our wards but it appears that Healer Strout, busy over the Christmas period, overlooked the dangers of the plant on Mr. Bode's bedside table. As his speech and mobility improved, Healer Strout encouraged Mr. Bode to look after the plant himself, unaware that it was not an innocent Flitterbloom, but a cutting of Devil's Snare which, when touched by the convalescent Mr. Bode, throttled him instantly.

'St. Mungo's is as yet unable to account for the presence of the plant on the ward and asks any witch or wizard with information to come forward.'

'Bode ...' said Ron. 'Bode.It rings a bell ...'

'We saw him,' Hermione whispered. 'In St. Mungo's, remember? He was in the bed opposite Lockhart's, just lying there, staring at the ceiling. And we saw the Devil's Snare arrive. She--the Healer--said it was a Christmas present.'

Harry looked back at the story. A feeling of horror was rising like bile in his throat.

'How come we didn't recognise Devil's Snare? We've seen it before ... we could've stopped this from happening.'

'Who expects Devil's Snare to turn up in a hospital disguised as a pot plant?' said Ron sharply. 'It's not our fault, whoever sent it to the bloke is to blame! They must be a real prat, why didn't they check what they were buying?'

'Oh, come on, Ron!' said Hermione shakily. 'I don't think anyone could put Devil's Snare in a pot and not realise it tries to kill whoever touches it? This--this was murder ... a clever murder, as well ... if the plant was sent anonymously, how's anyone ever going to find out who did it?'

Harry was not thinking about Devil's Snare. He was remembering taking the lift down to the ninth level of the Ministry on the day of his hearing and the sallow-faced man who had got in on the Atrium level.

'I met Bode,' he said slowly. 'I saw him at the Ministry with your dad.'

Ron's mouth fell open.

'I've heard Dad talk about him at home! He was an Unspeakable--he worked in the Department of Mysteries!'

They looked at each other for a moment, then Hermione pulled the newspaper back towards her, closed it, glared for a moment at the pictures of the ten escaped Death Eaters on the front, then leapt to her feet.

'Where are you going?' said Ron, startled.

'To send a letter,' said Hermione, swinging her bag on to her shoulder. 'It ... well, I don't know whether ... but it's worth trying ... and I'm the only one who can.'

'I hate it when she does that,' grumbled Ron, as he and Harry got up from the table and made their own, slower way out of the Great Hall. 'Would it kill her to tell us what she's up to for once? It'd take her about ten more seconds--hey, Hagrid!'

Hagrid was standing beside the doors into the Entrance Hall, waiting for a crowd of Ravenclaws to pass. He was still as heavily bruised as he had been on the day he had come back from his mission to the giants and there was a new cut right across the bridge of his nose.

'All righ', you two?' he said, trying to muster a smile but managing only a kind of pained grimace.

'Are you OK, Hagrid?' asked Harry, following him as he lumbered after the Ravenclaws.

'Fine, fine,' said Hagrid with a feeble assumption of airiness; he waved a hand and narrowly missed concussing a frightened-looking Professor Vector, who was passing. 'Jus' busy, yeh know, usual stuff--lessons ter prepare-- couple o' salamanders got scale rot--an' I'm on probation,' he mumbled.

'You're on probation?' said Ron very loudly, so that many of the passing students looked around curiously. 'Sorry--I mean--you're on probation?' he whispered.

'Yeah,' said Hagrid. ' 'S'no more'n I expected, ter tell yer the truth. Yeh migh' not've picked up on it, bu' that inspection didn' go too well, yeh know ... anyway,' he sighed deeply. 'Bes' go an' rub a bit more chilli powder on them salamanders or their tails'll be hangin' off 'em next. See yeh, Harry ... Ron ...'

He trudged away, out of the front doors and down the stone steps into the damp grounds. Harry watched him go, wondering how much more bad news he could stand.

The fact that Hagrid was now on probation became common knowledge within the school over the next few days, but to Harry's indignation, hardly anybody appeared to be upset about it; indeed, some people, Draco Malfoy prominent among them, seemed positively gleeful. As for the freakish death of an obscure Department of Mysteries employee in St. Mungo's, Harry, Ron and Hermione seemed to be the only people who knew or cared. There was only one topic of conversation in the corridors now: the ten escaped Death Eaters, whose story had finally filtered through the school from those few people who read the newspapers. Rumours were flying that some of the convicts had been spotted in Hogsmeade, that they were supposed to be hiding out in the Shrieking Shack and that they were going to break into Hogwarts, just as Sirius Black had once done.

Those who came from wizarding families had grown up hearing the names of these Death Eaters spoken with almost as much fear as Voldemorts; the crimes they had committed during the days of Voldemort's reign of terror were legendary. There were relatives of their victims among the Hogwarts students, who now found themselves the unwilling objects of a gruesome sort of reflected fame as they walked the corridors: Susan Bones, whose uncle, aunt and cousins had all died at the hands of one of the ten, said miserably during Herbology that she now had a good idea what it felt like to be Harry.

'And I don't know how you stand it--it's horrible,' she said bluntly, dumping far too much dragon manure on her tray of Screechsnap seedlings, causing them to wriggle and squeak in discomfort.

It was true that Harry was the subject of much renewed muttering and pointing in the corridors these days, yet he thought he detected a slight difference in the tone of the whisperers' voices. They sounded curious rather than hostile now, and once or twice he was sure he overheard snatches of conversation that, suggested that the speakers were not satisfied with the Prophet's version of how and why ten Death Eaters had managed to break out of the Azkaban fortress. In their confusion and fear, these doubters now seemed to be turning to the only other explanation available to them: the one that Harry and Dumbledore had been expounding since the previous year.

It was not only the students' mood that had changed. It was now quite common to come across two or three teachers conversing in low, urgent whispers in the corridors, breaking off their conversations the moment they saw students approaching.

'They obviously can't talk freely in the staff room any more,' said Hermione in a low voice, as she, Harry and Ron passed Professors McGonagall, Flitwick and Sprout huddled together outside the Charms classroom one day. 'Not with Umbridge there.'

'Reckon they know anything new?' said Ron, gazing back over his shoulder at the three teachers.

'If they do, we're not going to hear about it, are we?' said Harry angrily. 'Not after Decree ... what number are we on now?' For new notices had appeared on the house noticeboards the morning after news of the Azkaban breakout:

BY ORDER OF THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS



Teachers are hereby banned from giving students any information

that is not strictly related to the subjects they are paid to teach.



The above is in accordance with Educational Decree

Number Twenty-six.



Signed: Dolores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor

This latest Decree had been the subject of a great number of jokes among the students. Lee Jordan had pointed out to Umbridge that by the terms of the new rule she was not allowed to tell Fred and George off for playing Exploding Snap in the back of the class.

'Exploding Snap's got nothing to do with Defence Against the Dark Arts, Professor! That's not information relating to your subject!'

When Harry next saw Lee, the back of his hand was bleeding rather badly. Harry recommended essence of Murtlap.

Harry had thought the breakout from Azkaban might have humbled Umbridge a little, that she might have been abashed at the catastrophe that had occurred right under the nose of her beloved Fudge. It seemed, however, to have only intensified her furious desire to bring every aspect of life at Hogwarts under her personal control. She seemed determined at the very least to achieve a sacking before long, and the only question was whether it would be Professor Trelawney or Hagrid who went first.

Every single Divination and Care of Magical Creatures lesson was now conducted in the presence of Umbridge and her clipboard. She lurked by the fire in the heavily perfumed tower room, interrupting Professor Trelawney's increasingly hysterical talks with difficult questions about ornithomancy and heptomology, insisting that she predicted students' answers before they gave them and demanding that she demonstrate her skill at the crystal ball, the tea leaves and the rune stones in turn. Harry thought Professor Trelawney might soon crack under the strain. Several times he passed her in the corridors--in itself a very unusual occurrence as she generally remained in her tower room--muttering wildly to herself, wringing her hands and shooting terrified glances over her shoulder, and all the while giving off a powerful smell of cooking sherry. If he had not been so worried about Hagrid, he would have felt sorry for her--but if one of them was to be ousted from their job, there could be only one choice for Harry as to who should remain.

Unfortunately, Harry could not see that Hagrid was putting up a better show than Trelawney. Though he seemed to be following Hermione's advice and had shown them nothing more frightening than a Crup--a creature indistinguishable from a Jack Russell terrier except for its forked tail--since before Christmas, he too seemed to have lost his nerve. He was oddly distracted and jumpy during lessons, losing the thread of what he was saying to the class, answering questions wrongly, and all the time glancing anxiously at Umbridge. He was also more distant with Harry, Ron and Hermione than he had ever been before, and had expressly forbidden them to visit him after dark.

'If she catches yeh, it'll be all of our necks on the line,' he told them flatly, and with no desire to do anything that might jeopardise his job further they abstained from walking down to his hut in the evenings.

It seemed to Harry that Umbridge was steadily depriving him of everything that made his life at Hogwarts worth living: visits to Hagrid's house, letters from Sirius, his Firebolt and Quidditch. He took his revenge the only way he could--by redoubling his efforts for the DA.

Harry was pleased to see that all of them, even Zacharias Smith, had been spurred on to work harder than ever by the news that ten more Death Eaters were now on the loose, but in nobody was this improvement more pronounced than in Neville. The news of his parents' attackers' escape had wrought a strange and even slightly alarming change in him. He had not once mentioned his meeting with Harry, Ron and Hermione on the closed ward in St. Mungo's and, taking their lead from him, they had kept quiet about it too. Nor had he said anything on the subject of Bellatrix and her fellow torturers' escape. In fact, Neville barely spoke during the DA meetings any more, but worked relentlessly on every new jinx and counter-curse Harry taught them, his plump face screwed up in concentration, apparently indifferent to injuries or accidents and working harder than anyone else in the room. He was improving so fast it was quite unnerving and when Harry taught them, the Shield Charm--a means of deflecting minor jinxes so that they rebounded upon the attacker--only Hermione mastered the charm faster than Neville.

Harry would have given a great deal to be making as much progress at Occlumency as Neville was making during the DA meetings. Harry's sessions with Snape, which had started badly enough, were not improving. On the contrary, Harry felt he was getting worse with every lesson.

Before he had started studying Occlumency, his scar had prickled occasionally, usually during the night, or else following one of those strange flashes of Voldemort's thoughts or mood that he experienced every now and then. Nowadays, however, his scar hardly ever stopped prickling, and he often felt lurches of annoyance or cheerfulness that were unrelated to what was happening to him at the time, which were always accompanied by a particularly painful twinge from his scar. He had the horrible impression that he was slowly turning into a kind of aerial that was tuned in to tiny fluctuations in Voldemort's mood, and he was sure he could date this increased sensitivity firmly from his first Occlumency lesson with Snape. What was more, he was now dreaming about walking down the corridor towards the entrance to the Department of Mysteries almost every night, dreams which always culminated in him standing longingly in front of the plain black door.

'Maybe it's a bit like an illness,' said Hermione, looking concerned when Harry confided in her and Ron. 'A fever or something. It has to get worse before it gets better.'

'The lessons with Snape are making it worse,' said Harry flatly 'I'm getting sick of my scar hurting and I'm getting bored with walking down that corridor every night.' He rubbed his forehead angrily. 'I just wish the door would open, I'm sick of standing staring at it--'

'That's not funny,' said Hermione sharply. 'Dumbledore doesn't want you to have dreams about that corridor at all, or he wouldn't have asked Snape to teach you Occlumency. You're just going to have to work a bit harder in your lessons.'

'I am working!' said Harry, nettled. 'You try it some time--Snape: trying to get inside your head--it's not a bundle of laughs, you know!'

'Maybe ...' said Ron slowly.

'Maybe what?' said Hermione, rather snappishly.

'Maybe it's not Harry's fault he can't close his mind,' said Ron darkly.

'What do you mean?' said Hermione.

'Well, maybe Snape isn't really trying to help Harry ...'

Harry and Hermione stared at him. Ron looked darkly and meaningfully from one to the other.

'Maybe,' he said again, in a lower voice, 'he's actually trying to open Harry's mind a bit wider ... make it easier for You-Know--

'Shut up, Ron,' said Hermione angrily. 'How many times have you suspected Snape, and when have you ever been right? Dumbledore trusts him, he works for the Order, that ought to be enough.'

'He used to be a Death Eater,' said Ron stubbornly. 'And we've never seen proof that he really swapped sides.'

'Dumbledore trusts him,' Hermione repeated. 'And if we can't trust Dumbledore, we can't trust anyone.'

With so much to worry about and so much to do-- startling amounts of homework that frequently kept the fifth-years working until past midnight, secret DA sessions and regular classes with Snape-- January seemed to be passing alarmingly fast. Before Harry knew it, February had arrived, bringing with it wetter and warmer weather and the prospect of the second Hogsmeade visit of the year. Harry had had very little time to spare for conversations with Cho since they had agreed to visit the village together, but suddenly found himself facing a Valentine's Day spent entirely in her company.

On the morning of the fourteenth he dressed particularly carefully. He and Ron arrived at breakfast just in time for the arrival of the post owls, Hedwig was not there-- not that Harry had expected her--but Hermione was tugging a letter from the beak of an unfamiliar brown owl as they sat down.

'And about time! If it hadn't come today ...' she said, eagerly tearing open the envelope and pulling out a small piece of parchment. Her eyes sped from left to right as she read through the message and a grimly pleased expression spread across her face.

'Listen, Harry,' she said, looking up at him, 'this is really important. Do you think you could meet me in the Three Broomsticks around midday?'

'Well ... I dunno,' said Harry uncertainly. 'Cho might be expecting me to spend the whole day with her. We never said what we were going to do.'

'Well, bring her along if you must,' said Hermione urgently. 'But will you come?'

'Well ... all right, but why?'

'I haven't got time to tell you now, I've got to answer this quickly.'

And she hurried out of the Great Hall, the letter clutched in one hand and a piece of toast in the other.

'Are you coming?' Harry asked Ron, but he shook his head, looking glum.

'I can't come into Hogsmeade at all; Angelina wants a full day's training. Like it's going to help; we're the worst team I've ever seen. You should see Sloper and Kirke, they're pathetic, even worse than I am.' He heaved a great sigh. 'I dunno why Angelina won't just let me resign.'

It's because you're good when you're on form, that's why,' said Harry irritably.

He found it very hard to be sympathetic to Ron's plight, when he himself would have given almost anything to be playing in the forthcoming match against Hufflepuff. Ron seemed to have noticed Harry's tone, because he did not mention Quidditch again during breakfast, and there was a slight frostiness in the way they said goodbye to each other shortly afterwards. Ron departed for the Quidditch pitch and Harry, after attempting to flatten his hair while staring at his reflection in the back of a teaspoon, proceeded alone to the Entrance Hall to meet Cho, feeling very apprehensive and wondering what on earth they were going to talk about.

She was waiting for him a little to the side of the oak front doors, looking very pretty with her hair tied back in a long pony-tail. Harry's feet seemed to be too big for his body as he walked towards her and he was suddenly horribly aware of his arms and how stupid they must look swinging at his sides.

'Hi,' said Cho slightly breathlessly.

'Hi,' said Harry.

They stared at each other for a moment, then Harry said, 'Well--er--shall we go, then?'

'Oh--yes ...'

They joined the queue of people being signed out by Filch, occasionally catching each other's eye and grinning shiftily, but not talking to each other. Harry was relieved when they reached the fresh air, finding it easier to walk along in silence than just stand about looking awkward. It was a fresh, breezy sort of a day and as they passed the Quidditch stadium Harry glimpsed Ron and Ginny skimming along over the stands and felt a horrible pang that he was not up there with them.

'You really miss it, don't you?' said Cho.

He looked round and saw her watching him.

'Yeah,' sighed Harry. 'I do.'

'Remember the first time we played against each other, in the third year?' she asked him.

'Yeah,' said Harry, grinning. 'You kept blocking me.'

'And Wood told you not to be a gentleman and knock me off my broom if you had to,' said Cho, smiling reminiscently. 'I heard he got taken on by Pride of Portree, is that right?'

'Nah, it was Puddlemere United; I saw him at the World Cup last year.'

'Oh, I saw you there, too, remember? We were on the same campsite. It was really good, wasn't it?'

The subject of the Quidditch World Cup carried them all the way down the drive and out through the gates. Harry could hardly believe how easy it was to talk to her--no more difficult, in fact, than talking to Ron and Hermione--and he was just starting to feel confident and cheerful when a large gang of Slytherin girls passed them, including Pansy Parkinson.

'Potter and Chang!' screeched Pansy, to a chorus of snide giggles. 'Urgh, Chang, I don't think much of your taste ... at least Diggory was good-looking!'

The girls sped up, talking and shrieking in a pointed fashion with many exaggerated glances back at Harry and Cho, leaving an embarrassed silence in their wake. Harry could think of nothing else to say about Quidditch, and Cho, slightly flushed, was watching her feet.

'So ... where d'you want to go?' Harry asked as they entered Hogsmeade. The High Street was full of students ambling up and down, peering into the shop windows and messing about together on the pavements.

'Oh ... I don't mind,' said Cho, shrugging. 'Um ... shall we just have a look in the shops or something?'

They wandered towards Dervish and Banges. A large poster had been stuck up in the window and a few Hogsmeaders were looking at it. They moved aside when Harry and Cho approached and Harry found himself staring once more at the pictures of the ten escaped Death Eaters. The poster, 'By Order of the Ministry of Magic', offered a thousand-Galleon reward to any witch or wizard with information leading to the recapture of any of the convicts pictured.

'It's funny, isn't it,' said Cho in a low voice, gazing up at the pictures of the Death Eaters, 'remember when that Sirius Black escaped, and there were dementors all over Hogsmeade looking for him? And now ten Death Eaters are on the loose and there are no dementors anywhere ...'

'Yeah,' said Harry, tearing his eyes away from Bellatrix Lestrange's face to glance up and down the High Street. 'Yeah, that is weird.'

He wasn't sorry that there were no dementors nearby, but now he came to think of it, their absence was highly significant. They had not only let the Death Eaters escape, they weren't bothering to look for them ... it looked as though they really were outside Ministry control now.

The ten escaped Death Eaters were staring out of every shop window he and Cho passed. It started to rain as they passed Scrivenshaft's; cold, heavy drops of water kept hitting Harry's face and the back of his neck.

'Um ... d'you want to get a coffee?' said Cho tentatively, as the rain began to fall more heavily.

'Yeah, all right,' said Harry, looking around. 'Where?'

'Oh, there's a really nice place just up here; haven't you ever been to Madam Puddifoot's?' she said brightly, leading him up a side road and into a small teashop that Harry had never noticed before. It was a cramped, steamy little place where everything seemed to have been decorated with frills or bows. Harry was reminded unpleasantly of Umbridge's office.

'Cute, isn't it?' said Cho happily.

'Er ... yeah,' said Harry untruthfully.

'Look, she's decorated it for Valentine's Day!' said Cho, indicating a number of golden cherubs that were hovering over each of the small, circular tables, occasionally throwing pink confetti over the occupants.

'Aaah ...'

They sat down at the last remaining table, which was over by the steamy window. Roger Davies, the Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain, was sitting about a foot and a half away with a pretty blonde girl. They were holding hands. The sight made Harry feel uncomfortable, particularly when, looking around the teashop, he saw that it was full of nothing but couples, all of them holding hands. Perhaps Cho would expect him to hold her hand.

'What can I get you, m'dears?' said Madam Puddifoot, a very stout woman with a shiny black bun, squeezing between their table and Roger Davies's with great difficulty.

'Two coffees, please,' said Cho.

In the time it took for their coffees to arrive, Roger Davies and his girlfriend had started kissing over their sugar bowl. Harry wished they wouldn't; he felt that Davies was setting a standard with which Cho would soon expect him to compete. He felt his face growing hot and tried staring out of the window, but it was so steamed up he couldn't see the street outside. To postpone the moment when he would have to look at Cho, he stared up at the ceiling as though examining the paintwork and received a handful of confetti in the face from their hovering cherub.

After a few more painful minutes, Cho mentioned Umbridge. Harry seized on the subject with relief and they passed a few happy moments abusing her, but the subject had already been so thoroughly canvassed during DA meetings it did not last very long. Silence fell again. Harry was very conscious of the slurping noises coming from the table next door and cast wildly around for something else to say.

'Er ... listen, d'you want to come with me to the Three Broomsticks at lunchtime? I'm meeting Hermione Granger there.'

Cho raised her eyebrows.

'You're meeting Hermione Granger? Today?'

'Yeah. Well, she asked me to, so I thought I would. D'you want to come with me? She said it wouldn't matter if you did.'

'Oh ... well ... that was nice of her.'

But Cho did not sound as though she thought it was nice at all. On the contrary, her tone was cold and all of a sudden she looked rather forbidding.

A few more minutes passed in total silence, Harry drinking his coffee so fast that he would soon need a fresh cup. Beside them, Roger Davies and his girlfriend seemed glued together at the tips.

Cho's hand was lying on the table beside her coffee and Harry was feeling a mounting pressure to take hold of it. Just do it, he told himself, as a fount of mingled panic and excitement surged up inside his chest, just reach out and grab it. Amazing, how much more difficult it was to extend his arm twelve inches and touch her hand than it was to snatch a speeding Snitch from midair ...

But just as he moved his hand forwards, Cho took hers off the table. She was now watching Roger Davies kissing his girlfriend with a mildly interested expression.

'He asked me out, you know,' she said in a quiet voice. 'A couple of weeks ago. Roger. I turned him down, though.'

Harry, who had grabbed the sugar bowl to excuse his sudden lunging movement across the table, could not think why she was telling him this. If she wished she were sitting at the next table being heartily kissed by Roger Davies, why had she agreed to come: out with him?

He said nothing. Their cherub threw another handful of confetti over them; some of it landed in the last cold dregs of coffee Harry had been about to drink.

'I came in here with Cedric last year,' said Cho.

In the second or so it took for him to take in what she had said, Harry's insides had become glacial. He could not believe she wanted to talk about Cedric now, while kissing couples surrounded them and a cherub floated over their heads.

Cho's voice was rather higher when she spoke again.

'I've been meaning to ask you for ages ... did Cedric--did he--m--m--mention me at all before he died?'

This was the very last subject on earth Harry wanted to discuss, and least of all with Cho.

'Well--no--' he said quietly. 'There--there wasn't time for him to say anything. Erm ... so ... d'you ... d'you get to see a lot of Quidditch in the holidays? You support the Tornados, right?'

His voice sounded falsely bright and cheery. To his horror, he saw that her eyes were swimming with tears again, just as they had been after the last DA meeting before Christmas.

'Look,' he said desperately, leaning in so that nobody else could overhear, 'let's not talk about Cedric right now ... let's talk about something else ...'

But this, apparently, was quite the wrong thing to say.

'I thought,' she said, tears spattering down on to the table, 'I thought you'd u-- u--understand! I need to talk about it! Surely you n--need to talk about it t--too! I mean, you saw it happen, d--didn't you?'

Everything was going nightmarishly wrong; Roger Davies's girlfriend had even unglued herself to look round at Cho crying.

'Well--I have talked about it,' Harry said in a whisper, 'to Ron and Hermione, but--'

'Oh, you'll talk to Hermione Granger!' she said shrilly, her face now shining with tears. Several more kissing couples broke apart to stare. 'But you won't talk to me! P --perhaps it would be best if we just ... just p--paid and you went and met up with Hermione G--Granger, like you obviously want to!'

Harry stared at her, utterly bewildered, as she seized a frilly napkin and dabbed at her shining face with it.

'Cho?' he said weakly, wishing Roger would seize his girlfriend and start kissing her again to stop her goggling at him and Cho.

'Go on, leave!' she said, now crying into the napkin. 'I don't know why you asked me out in the first place if you're going to make arrangements to meet other girls right after me ... how many are you meeting after Hermione?'

'It's not like that!' said Harry, and he was so relieved at finally understanding what she was annoyed about that he laughed, which he realised a split second too late was also a mistake.

Cho sprang to her feet. The whole tearoom was quiet and everybody was watching them now.

'I'll see you around, Harry,' she said dramatically, and hiccoughing slightly she dashed to the door, wrenched it open and hurried off into the pouring rain.

'Cho!' Harry called after her, but the door had already swung shut behind her with a tuneful tinkle.

There was total silence within the teashop. Every eye was on Harry. He threw a Galleon down on to the table, shook pink confetti out of his hair, and followed Cho out of the door.

It was raining hard now and she was nowhere to be seen, he simply did not understand what had happened; half an hour ago they had been getting along fine.

'Women!' he muttered angrily, sloshing down the rain-washed street with his hands in his pockets. 'What did she want to talk about Cedric for, anyway? Why does she always want to drag up a subject that makes her act like a human hosepipe?'

He turned right and broke into a splashy run, and within minutes he was turning into the doorway of the Three Broomsticks. He knew he was too early to meet Hermione, but he thought it likely there would be someone in here with whom he could spend the intervening time. He shook his wet hair out of his eyes and looked around. Hagrid was sitting alone in a corner, looking morose.

'Hi, Hagrid!' he said, when he had squeezed through the crammed tables and pulled up a chair beside him.

Hagrid jumped and looked down at Harry as though he barely recognised him. Harry saw that he had two fresh cuts on his face and several new bruises.

'Oh, it's yeh, Harry,' said Hagrid. 'Yeh all righ?'

'Yeah, I'm fine,' lied Harry; but, next to this battered and mournful-looking Hagrid, he felt he didn't really have much to complain about. 'Er--are you OK?'

'Me?' said Hagrid. 'Oh yeah, I'm grand, Harry, grand.'

He gazed into the depths of his pewter tankard, which was the size of a large bucket, and sighed. Harry didn't know what to say to him. They sat side by side in silence for a moment. Then Hagrid said abruptly, 'In the same boat, yeh an' me, aren' we, 'Arry?'

'Er--' said Harry.

'Yeah ... I've said it before ... both outsiders, like,' said Hagrid, nodding wisely. 'An' both orphans. Yeah ... both orphans.'

He took a great swig from his tankard.

'Makes a diff'rence, havin' a decent family,' he said. 'Me dad was decent. An' your mum an' dad were decent. If they'd lived, life woulda bin diff'rent, eh?'

'Yeah ... I s'pose,' said Harry cautiously. Hagrid seemed to be in a very strange mood.

'Family,' said Hagrid gloomily. 'Whatever yeh say, blood's important ...'

And he wiped a trickle of it out of his eye.

'Hagrid,' said Harry, unable to stop himself, 'where are you getting all these injuries?'

'Eh?' said Hagrid, looking startled. 'Wha' injuries?'

'All those!' said Harry, pointing at Hagrid's face.

'Oh ... tha's jus' normal bumps an' bruises, Harry,' said Hagrid dismissively 'I got a rough job.'

He drained his tankard, set it back on the table and got to his feet.

'I'll be seein' yeh, Harry ... take care now.'

And he lumbered out of the pub looking wretched, and disappeared into the torrential rain. Harry watched him go, feeling miserable. Hagrid was unhappy and he was hiding something, but he seemed determined not to accept help. What was going on? But before Harry could think about it any further, he heard a voice calling his name.

'Harry! Harry, over here!'

Hermione was waving at him from the other side of the room. He got up and made his way towards her through the crowded pub. He was still a few tables away when he realised that Hermione was not alone. She was sitting at a table with the unlikeliest pair of drinking mates he could ever have imagined: Luna Lovegood and none other than Rita Skeeter, ex-journalist on the Daily Prophet and one of Hermione's least favourite people in the world.

'You're early!' said Hermione, moving along to give him room to sit down. 'I thought you were with Cho, I wasn't expecting you for another hour at least!'

'Cho?' said Rita at once, twisting round in her seat to stare avidly at Harry. 'A girl?'

She snatched up her crocodile-skin handbag and groped within it.

'Its none of your business if Harry's been with a hundred girls,' Hermione told Rita coolly. 'So you can put that away right now.'

Rita had been on the point of withdrawing an acid-green quill from her bag. Looking as though she had been forced to swallow Stinksap, she snapped her bag shut again.

'What are you up to?' Harry asked, sitting down and staring from Rita to Luna to Hermione.

'Little Miss Perfect was just about to tell me when you arrived.' said Rita, taking a large slurp of her drink. 'I suppose I'm allowed to talk to him, am I?' she shot at Hermione.

'Yes, I suppose you are,' said Hermione coldly.

Unemployment did not suit Rita. The hair that had once been set in elaborate curls now hung lank and unkempt around her face. The scarlet paint on her two-inch talons was chipped and there were a couple of false jewels missing from her winged glasses. She took another great gulp of her drink and said out of the corner of her mouth, 'Pretty girl, is she, Harry?'

'One more word about Harry's love life and the deal's off and that's a promise,' said Hermione irritably.

'What deal?' said Rita, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. 'You haven't mentioned a deal yet, Miss Prissy you just told me to turn up. Oh, one of these days ...' She took a deep shuddering breath.

'Yes, yes, one of these days you'll write more horrible stories about Harry and me,' said Hermione indifferently. 'Find someone who cares, why don't you?'

'They've run plenty of horrible stories about Harry this year without my help,' said Rita, shooting a sideways look at him over the top of her glass and adding in a rough whisper, 'How has that made you feel, Harry? Betrayed? Distraught? Misunderstood?'

'He feels angry, of course,' said Hermione in a hard, clear voice. 'Because he's told the Minister for Magic the truth and the Minister's too much of an idiot to believe him.'

'So you actually stick to it, do you, that He Who Must Not Be Named is back?' said Rita, lowering her glass and subjecting Harry to a piercing stare while her finger strayed longingly to the clasp of the crocodile bag. 'You stand by all this garbage Dumbledore's been telling everybody about You-Know-Who returning and you being the sole witness?'

'I wasn't the sole witness,' snarled Harry. 'There were a dozen-odd Death Eaters there as well. Want their names?'

'I'd love them,' breathed Rita, now fumbling in her bag once more and gazing at him as though he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. 'A great bold headline: "Potter Accuses ..." A sub-heading, "Harry Potter Names Death Eaters Still Among Us". And then, beneath a nice big photograph of you, "Disturbed teenage survivor of You-Know-Who's attack, Harry Potter, 15, caused outrage yesterday by accusing respectable and prominent members of the wizarding community of being Death Eaters ..." '

The Quick-Quotes Quill was actually in her hand and halfway to her mouth when the rapturous expression on her face died.

'But of course,' she said, lowering the quill and looking daggers at Hermione, 'Little Miss Perfect wouldn't want that story out there, would she?'

'As a matter of fact,' said Hermione sweetly, 'that's exactly what Little Miss Perfect does want.'

Rita stared at her. So did Harry. Luna, on the other hand, sang 'Weasley is our King' dreamily under her breath and stirred her drink with a cocktail onion on a stick.

'You want me to report what he says about He Who Must Not Be Named?' Rita asked Hermione in a hushed voice.

'Yes, I do,' said Hermione. 'The true story. All the facts. Exactly as Harry reports them. He'll give you all the details, he'll tell you the names of the undiscovered Death Eaters he saw there, he'll tell you what Voldemort looks like now--oh, get a grip on yourself,' she added contemptuously, throwing a napkin across the table, for, at the sound of Voldemort's name, Rita had jumped so badly she had slopped half her glass of Firewhisky down herself.

Rita blotted the front of her grubby raincoat, still staring at Hermione. Then she said baldly, 'The Prophet wouldn't print it. In case you haven't noticed, nobody believes his cock-and-bull story. Everyone thinks he's delusional. Now, if you let me write the story from that angle--'

'We don't need another story about how Harry's lost his marbles!' said Hermione angrily. 'We've had plenty of those already, thank you! I want him given the opportunity to tell the truth!'

'There's no market for a story like that,' said Rita coldly.

'You mean the Prophet won't print it because Fudge won't let them,' said Hermione irritably.

Rita gave Hermione a long, hard look. Then, leaning forwards across the table towards her, she said in a businesslike tone, 'All right, Fudge is leaning on the Prophet, but it comes to the same thing. They won't print a story that shows Harry in a good light. Nobody wants to read it. It's against the public mood. This last Azkaban breakout has got people quite worried enough. People just don't want to believe You-Know-Who's back.'

'So the Daily Prophet exists to tell people what they want to hear, does it?' said Hermione scathingly.

Rita sat up straight again, her eyebrows raised, and drained her glass of Firewhisky,

'The Prophet exists to sell itself, you silly girl,' she said coldly.

'My dad thinks it's an awful paper,' said Luna, chipping into the conversation unexpectedly. Sucking on her cocktail onion, she gazed at Rita with her enormous, protuberant, slightly mad eye. 'He publishes important stories he thinks the public needs to know. He doesn't care about making money.'

Rita looked disparagingly at Luna.

'I'm guessing your father runs some stupid little village newsletter?' she said. 'Probably, Twenty-five Ways to Mingle With Muggles and the dates of the next Bring and Fly Sale?'

'No,' said Luna, dipping her onion back into her Gillywater, 'he's the editor of The Quibbler.'

Rita snorted so loudly that people at a nearby table looked round in alarm.

'"Important stories he thinks the public needs to know", eh?' she said witheringly. 'I could manure my garden with the contends of that rag.'

'Well, this is your chance to raise the tone of it a bit, isn't it?' said Hermione pleasantly. 'Luna says her father's quite happy to take Harry's interview. That's who'll be publishing it.'

Rita stared at them both for a moment, then let out a great whoop of laughter.

'The Quibbler!' she said, cackling. 'You think people will take him seriously if he's published in The Quibbler!'

'Some people won't,' said Hermione in a level voice. 'But the Daily Prophet's version of the Azkaban breakout had some gaping holes in it. I think a lot of people will be wondering whether there isn't a better explanation of what happened, and if there's an alternative story available, even if it is published in a--' she glanced sideways at Luna, 'in a--well, an unusual magazine--I think they might be rather keen to read it.'

Rita didn't say anything for a while, but eyed Hermione shrewdly, her head a little to one side.

'All right, let's say for a moment I'll do it,' she said abruptly. 'What kind of fee am I going to get?'

'I don't think Daddy exactly pays people to write for the magazine,' said Luna dreamily. 'They do it because it's an honour and, of course, to see their names in print.'

Rita Skeeter looked as though the taste of Stinksap was strong in her mouth again as she rounded on Hermione.

'I'm supposed to do this for free?'

'Well, yes,' said Hermione calmly, taking a sip of her drink. 'Otherwise, as you very well know, I will inform the authorities that you are an unregistered Animagus. Of course, the Prophet might give you rather a lot for an insider's account of life in Azkaban.'

Rita looked as though she would have liked nothing better than to seize the paper umbrella sticking out of Hermione's drink and thrust it up her nose.

'I don't suppose I've got any choice, have I?' said Rita, her voice shaking slightly. She opened her crocodile bag once more, withdrew a piece of parchment, and raised her Quick-Quotes Quill.

'Daddy will be pleased,' said Luna brightly. A muscle twitched in Rita's jaw.

'OK, Harry?' said Hermione, turning to him. 'Ready to tell the public the truth?'

'I suppose,' said Harry, watching Rita balancing the Quick-Quotes Quill at the ready on the parchment between them.

'Fire away, then, Rita,' said Hermione serenely, fishing a cherry out from the bottom of her glass.

Chapter 26 Seen and Unforseen

Luna said vaguely that she did not know how soon Rita's interview with Harry would appear in The Quibbler, that her father was expecting a lovely long article on recent sightings of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, '--and of course, that'll be a very important story, so Harry's might have to wait for the following issue,' said Luna.

Harry had not found it an easy experience to talk about the night when Voldemort had returned. Rita had pressed him for every little detail and he had given her everything he could remember, knowing that this was his one big opportunity to tell the world the truth. He wondered how people would react to the story. He guessed that it would confirm a lot of people in the view that he was completely insane, not least because his story would be appearing alongside utter rubbish about Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. But the breakout of Bellatrix Lestrange and her fellow Death Eaters had given Harry a burning desire to do something, whether or not it worked ...

'Can't wait to see what Umbridge thinks of you going public,' said Dean, sounding awestruck at dinner on Monday night. Seamus was shovelling down large amounts of chicken and ham pie on Dean's other side, but Harry knew he was listening.

'It's the right thing to do, Harry,' said Neville, who was sitting opposite him. He was rather pale, but went on in a low voice, 'It must have been ... tough ... talking about it ... was it?'

'Yeah,' mumbled Harry, 'but people have got to know what Voldemort's capable of, haven't they?'

'That's right,' said Neville, nodding, 'and his Death Eaters, too ... people should know ...'

Neville left his sentence hanging and returned to his baked potato. Seamus looked up, but when he caught Harry's eye he looked quickly back at his plate again. After a while, Dean, Seamus and Neville departed for the common room, leaving Harry and Hermione at the table waiting for Ron, who had not yet had dinner because of Quidditch practice.

Cho Chang walked into the Hall with her friend Marietta. Harry's stomach gave an unpleasant lurch, but she did not look over at the Gryffindor table, and sat down with her back to him.

'Oh, I forgot to ask you,' said Hermione brightly, glancing over at the Ravenclaw table, 'what happened on your date with Cho? How come you were back so early?'

'Er ... well, it was ...' said Harry, pulling a dish of rhubarb crumble towards him and helping himself to seconds, 'a complete fiasco, now you mention it.'

And he told her what had happened in Madam Puddifoot's teashop.

'... so then,' he finished several minutes later, as the final bit of crumble disappeared, 'she jumps up, right, and says, "I'll see you around, Harry," and runs out of the place!' He put down his spoon and looked at Hermione. 'I mean, what was all that about? What was going on?'

Hermione glanced over at the back of Cho's head and sighed.

'Oh, Harry,' she said sadly. 'Well, I'm sorry but you were a bit tactless.'

'Me, tactless?' said Harry, outraged. 'One minute we were getting on fine, next minute she was telling me that Roger Davies asked her out and how she used to go and snog Cedric in that stupid teashop--how was I supposed to feel about that?'

'Well, you see,' said Hermione, with the patient air of someone explaining that one plus one equals two to an over-emotional toddler, 'you shouldn't have told her that you wanted to meet me halfway through your date.'

'But, but,' spluttered Harry, 'but--you told me to meet you at twelve and to bring her along, how was I supposed to do that without telling her?'

'You should have told her differently,' said Hermione, still with that maddeningly patient air. 'You should have said it was really annoying, but I'd made you promise to come along to the Three Broomsticks, and you really didn't want to go, you'd much rather spend the whole day with her, but unfortunately you thought you really ought to meet me and would she please, please come along with you and hopefully you'd be able to get away more quickly. And it might have been a good idea to mention how ugly you think I am, too,' Hermione added as an afterthought.

'But I don't think you're ugly,' said Harry, bemused.

Hermione laughed.

'Harry, you're worse than Ron ... well, no, you're not,' she sighed, as Ron himself came stumping into the Hall splattered with mud and looking grumpy. 'Look--you upset Cho when you said you were going to meet me, so she tried to make you jealous. It was her way of trying to find out how much you liked her.'

'Is that what she was doing?' said Harry, as Ron dropped onto the bench opposite them and pulled every dish within reach towards him. 'Well, wouldn't it have been easier if she'd just asked me whether I liked her better than you?'

'Girls don't often ask questions like that,' said Hermione.

'Well, they should!' said Harry forcefully. 'Then I could've just told her I fancy her, and she wouldn't have had to get herself all worked up again about Cedric dying!'

'I'm not saying what she did was sensible,' said Hermione, as Ginny joined them, just as muddy as Ron and looking equally disgruntled. 'I'm just trying to make you see how she was feeling at the time.'

'You should write a book,' Ron told Hermione as he cut up his potatoes, 'translating mad things girls do so boys can understand them.'

'Yeah,' said Harry fervently, looking over at the Ravenclaw table. Cho had just got up, and, still not looking at him, she left the Great Hall. Feeling rather depressed, he looked back at Ron and Ginny. 'So, how was Quidditch practice?'

'It was a nightmare,' said Ron in a surly voice.

'Oh come on,' said Hermione, looking at Ginny, 'I'm sure it wasn't that--'

'Yes, it was,' said Ginny. 'It was appalling. Angelina was nearly in tears by the end of it.'

Ron and Ginny went off for baths after dinner; Harry and Hermione returned to the busy Gryffindor common room and their usual pile of homework. Harry had been struggling with a new star-chart for Astronomy for half an hour when Fred and George turned up.

'Ron and Ginny not here?' asked Fred, looking around as he pulled up a chair, and when Harry shook his head, he said, 'Good. We were watching their practice. They're going to be slaughtered. They're complete rubbish without us.'

'Come on, Ginny's not bad,' said George fairly, sitting down next to Fred. 'Actually, I dunno how she got so good, seeing how we never let her play with us.'

'She's been breaking into your broom shed in the garden since the age of six and taking each of your brooms out in turn when you weren't looking,' said Hermione from behind her tottering pile of Ancient Rune books.

'Oh,' said George, looking mildly impressed. 'Well--that'd explain it.'

'Has Ron saved a goal yet?' asked Hermione, peering over the top of Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms.

'Well, he can do it if he doesn't think anyone's watching him,' said Fred, rolling his eyes. 'So all we have to do is ask the crowd to turn their backs and talk among themselves every time the Quaffle goes up his end on Saturday.'

He got up again and moved restlessly to the window, staring out across the dark grounds.

'You know, Quidditch was about the only thing in this place worth staying for.'

Hermione cast him a stern look.

'You've got exams coming!'

'Told you already, we're not fussed about NEWTs,' said Fred. 'The Snackboxes are ready to roll, we found out how to get rid of those boils, just a couple of drops of Murtlap essence sorts them, Lee put us on to it.'

George yawned widely and looked out disconsolately at the cloudy night sky.

'I dunno if I even want to watch this match. If Zacharias Smith beats us I might have to kill myself.'

'Kill him, more like,' said Fred firmly.

'That's the trouble with Quidditch,' said Hermione absent-mindedly, once again bent over her Runes translation, 'it creates all this bad feeling and tension between the houses.'

She looked up to find her copy of Spellman's Syllabary, and caught Fred, George and Harry all staring at her with expressions of mingled disgust and incredulity on their faces.

'Well, it does!' she said impatiently. 'It's only a game, isn't it?'

'Hermione,' said Harry, shaking his head, 'you're good on feelings and stuff, but you just don't understand about Quidditch.'

'Maybe not,' she said darkly, returning to her translation, 'but at least my happiness doesn't depend on Ron's goalkeeping ability.'

And though Harry would rather have jumped off the Astronomy Tower than admit it to her, by the time he had watched the game the following Saturday he would have given any number of Galleons not to care about Quidditch either.

The very best thing you could say about the match was that it was short; the Gryffindor spectators had to endure only twenty-two minutes of agony. It was hard to say what the worst thing was: Harry thought it was a close-run contest between Ron's fourteenth failed save, Sloper missing the Bludger but hitting Angelina in the mouth with his bat, and Kirke shrieking and falling backwards off his broom when Zacharias Smith zoomed at him carrying the Quaffle. The miracle was that Gryffindor only lost by ten points: Ginny managed to snatch the Snitch from right under Hufflepuff Seeker Summerby's nose, so that the final score was two hundred and forty versus two hundred and thirty.

'Good catch,' Harry told Ginny back in the common room, where the atmosphere resembled that of a particularly dismal funeral.

'I was lucky,' she shrugged. 'It wasn't a very fast Snitch and Summerby's got a cold, he sneezed and closed his eyes at exactly the wrong moment. Anyway, once you're back on the team--'

'Ginny, I've got a lifelong ban.'

'You're banned as long as Umbridge is in the school,' Ginny corrected him. 'There's a difference. Anyway, once you're back, I think I'll, try out for Chaser. Angelina and Alicia are both leaving next year and I prefer goal-scoring to Seeking anyway'

Harry looked over at Ron, who was hunched in a corner, staring at his knees, a bottle of Butlerbeer clutched in his hand.

'Angelina still won't let him resign,' Ginny said, as though reading Harry's mind. 'She says she knows he's got it in him.'

Harry liked Angelina for the faith she was showing in Ron, but at the same time thought it would really be kinder to let him leave the team. Ron had left the pitch to another booming chorus of 'Weasley is our King' sung with great gusto by the Slytherins, who were now favourites to win the Quidditch Cup.

Fred and George wandered over.

'I haven't even got the heart to take the mickey out of him,' said Fred, looking over at Ron's crumpled figure. 'Mind you ... when he missed the fourteenth--'

He made wild motions with his arms as though doing an upright doggy-paddle.

'--well, I'll save it for parties, eh?'

Ron dragged himself up to bed shortly after this. Out of respect for his feelings, Harry waited a while before going up to the dormitory himself, so that Ron could pretend to be asleep if he wanted to. Sure enough, when Harry finally entered the room Ron was snoring a little too loudly to be entirely plausible.

Harry got into bed, thinking about the match. It had been immensely frustrating watching from the sidelines. He was quite impressed by Ginny's performance but he knew if he had been playing he could have caught the Snitch sooner ... there had been a moment when it had been fluttering near Kirke's ankle; if Ginny hadn't hesitated, she might have been able to scrape a win for Gryffindor.

Umbridge had been sitting a few rows below Harry and Hermione. Once or twice she had turned squatly in her seat to look at him, her wide toad's mouth stretched in what he thought had been a gloating smile. The memory of it made him feel hot with anger as he lay there in the dark. After a few minutes, however, he remembered that he was supposed to be emptying his mind of all emotion before he slept, as Snape kept instructing him at the end of every Occlumency lesson.

He tried for a moment or two, but the thought of Snape on top of memories of Umbridge merely increased his sense of grumbling resentment and he found himself focusing instead on how much he loathed the pair of them. Slowly, Ron's snores died away to be replaced by the sound of deep, slow breathing. It took Harry much longer to get to sleep; his body was tired, but it took his brain a long time to close down.

He dreamed that Neville and Professor Sprout were waltzing around the Room of Requirement while Professor McGonagall played the bagpipes. He watched them happily for a while, then decided to go and find the other members of the DA.

But when he left the room he found himself facing, not the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, but a torch burning in its bracket on a stone wall. He turned his head slowly to the left. There, at the far end of the windowless passage, was a plain, black door.

He walked towards it with a sense of mounting excitement. He had the strangest feeling that this time he was going to get lucky at last, and find the way to open it ... he was feet from it, and saw with a leap of excitement that there was a glowing strip of faint blue light down the right-hand side ... the door was ajar ... he stretched out his hand to push it wide and--

Ron gave a loud, rasping, genuine snore and Harry awoke abruptly with his right hand stretched in front of him in the darkness, to open a door that was hundreds of miles away. He let it fall with a feeling of mingled disappointment and guilt. He knew he should not have seen the door, but at the same time felt so consumed with curiosity about what was behind it that he could not help feeling annoyed with Ron ... if only he could have saved his snore for just another minute.

They entered the Great Hall for breakfast at exactly the same moment as the post owls on Monday morning. Hermione was not the only person eagerly awaiting her Daily Prophet: nearly everyone was eager for more news about the escaped Death Eaters, who, despite many reported sightings, had still not been caught. She gave the delivery owl a Knut and unfolded the newspaper eagerly while Harry helped himself to orange juice; as he had only received one note during the entire year, he was sure, when the first owl landed with a thud in front of him, that it had made a mistake.

'Who're you after?' he asked it, languidly removing his orange juice from underneath its beak and leaning forwards to see the recipient's name and address:

Harry Potter

Great Hall

Hogwarts School

Frowning, he made to take the letter from the owl, but before he could do so, three, four, five more owls had fluttered down beside it and were jockeying for position, treading in the butter and knocking over the salt as each one attempted to give him their letter first.

'What's going on?' Ron asked in amazement, as the whole of Gryffindor table leaned forwards to watch and another seven owls landed amongst the first ones, screeching, hooting and flapping their wings.

'Harry!' said Hermione breathlessly, plunging her hands into the feathery mass and pulling out a screech owl bearing a long, cylindrical package. 'I think I know what this means--open this one first!'

Harry ripped off the brown packaging. Out rolled a tightly furled copy of the March edition of The Quibbler.He unrolled it to see his own face grinning sheepishly at him from the front cover. In large red letters across this picture were the words:

HARRY POTTER SPEAKS OUT AT LAST:

THE TRUTH ABOUT HE WHO MUST NOT BE NAMED

AND THE NIGHT I SAW HIM RETURN

'It's good, isn't it?' said Luna, who had drifted over to the Gryffindor table and now squeezed herself on to the bench between Fred and Ron. 'It came out yesterday, I asked Dad to send you a free copy. I expect all these,' she waved a hand at the assembled owls still scrabbling around on the table in front of Harry, 'are letters from readers.'

'That's what I thought,' said Hermione eagerly. 'Harry, d'you mind if we--?'

'Help yourself,' said Harry, feeling slightly bemused.

Ron and Hermione both started ripping open envelopes.

'This one's from a bloke who thinks you're off your rocker,' said Ron, glancing down his letter. 'Ah well ...'

'This woman recommends you try a good course of Shock Spells at St. Mungo's,' said Hermione, looking disappointed and crumpling up a second.

'This one looks OK, though,' said Harry slowly scanning a long letter from a witch in Paisley. 'Hey she says she believes me!'

'This one's in two minds,' said Fred, who had joined in the letter-opening with enthusiasm. 'Says you don't come across as a mad person, but he really doesn't want to believe You-Know-Who's back so he doesn't know what to think now. Blimey, what a waste of parchment.'

'Here's another one you've convinced, Harry!' said Hermione excitedly. 'Having read your side of the story, I am forced to the conclusion that the Daily Prophet has treated you very unfairly ... little though I want to think that He Who Must Not Be Named has returned, I am forced to accept that you are telling the truth ...Oh, this is wonderful!'

'Another one who thinks you're barking,' said Ron, throwing a crumpled letter over his shoulder '... but this one says you've got her converted and she now thinks you're a real hero--she's put in a photograph, too--wow!'

'What is going on here?' said a falsely sweet, girlish voice.

Harry looked up with his hands full of envelopes. Professor Umbridge was standing behind Fred and Luna, her bulging toad's eyes scanning the mess of owls and letters on the table in front of Harry. Behind her he saw many of the students watching them avidly.

'Why have you got all these letters, Mr. Potter?' she asked slowly.

'Is that a crime now?' said Fred loudly. 'Getting mail?'

'Be careful, Mr Weasley or I shall have to put you in detention,' said Umbridge. 'Well, Mr Potter?'

Harry hesitated, but he did not see how he could keep what he had done quiet; it was surely only a matter of time before a copy of The Quibbler came to Umbridge's attention.

'People have written to me because I gave an interview,' said Harry. 'About what happened to me last June.'

For some reason he glanced up at the staff table as he said this. Harry had the strangest feeling that Dumbledore had been watching him a second before, but when he looked towards the Headmaster he seemed to be absorbed in conversation with Professor Flitwick.

'An interview?' repeated Umbridge, her voice thinner and higher than ever. 'What do you mean?'

'I mean a reporter asked me questions and I answered them,' said Harry. 'Here--'

And he threw the copy of The Quibbler to her. She caught it and stared down at the cover. Her pale, doughy face turned an ugly, patchy violet.

'When did you do this?' she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

'Last Hogsmeade weekend,' said Harry.

She looked up at him, incandescent with rage, the magazine shaking in her stubby fingers.

'There will be no more Hogsmeade trips for you, Mr. Potter,' she whispered. 'How you dare ... how you could ...' She took a deep breath. 'I have tried again and again to teach you not to tell lies. The message, apparently, has still not sunk in. Fifty points from Gryffindor and another week's worth of detentions.'

She stalked away, clutching The Quibbler to her chest, the eyes of many students following her.

By mid-morning enormous signs had been put up all over the school, not just on house noticeboards, but in the corridors and classrooms too.

BY ORDER OF THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS



Any student found in possession of the magazine

The Quibblerwill be expelled.



The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-seven.



Signed: Dolores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor

For some reason, every time Hermione caught sight of one of these signs she beamed with pleasure.

'What exactly are you so happy about?' Harry asked her.

'Oh, Harry, don't you see?' Hermione breathed. 'If she could have done one thing to make absolutely sure that every single person in this school will read your interview, it was banning it!'

And it seemed that Hermione was quite right. By the end of the day, though Harry had not seen so much as a corner of The Quibbler anywhere in the school, the whole place seemed to be quoting the interview to each other. Harry heard them whispering about it as they queued up outside classes, discussing it over lunch and in the back of lessons, while Hermione even reported that every occupant of the cubicles in the girls' toilets had been talking about it when she nipped in there before Ancient Runes.

'Then they spotted me, and obviously they know I know you, so they bombarded me with questions,' Hermione told Harry, her eyes shining, 'and Harry, I think they believe you, I really do. I think you've finally got them convinced!'

Meanwhile, Professor Umbridge was stalking the school, stopping students at random and demanding that they turn out their books and pockets: Harry knew she was looking for copies of The Quibbler, but the students were several steps ahead of her. The pages carrying Harry's interview had been bewitched to resemble extracts from textbooks if anyone but themselves read it, or else wiped magically blank until they wanted to peruse it again. Soon it seemed that every single person in the school had read it.

The teachers were of course forbidden from mentioning the interview by Educational Decree Number Twenty-six, but they found ways to express their feelings about it all the same. Professor Sprout awarded Gryffindor twenty points when Harry passed her a watering can; a beaming Professor Flitwick pressed a box of squeaking sugar mice on him at the end of Charms, said, 'Shh!' and hurried away; and Professor Trelawney broke into hysterical sobs during Divination and announced to the startled class, and a very disapproving Umbridge, that Harry was not going to suffer an early death after all, but would live to a ripe old age, become Minister for Magic and have twelve children.

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

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

'I just wanted to say,' he mumbled, squinting at Harry's left knee, 'I believe you. And I've sent a copy of that magazine to me mam.'

If anything more was needed to complete Harry's happiness, it was the reaction he got from Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle. He saw them with their heads together later that afternoon in the library; they were with a weedy-looking boy Hermione whispered was called Theodore Nott. They looked round at Harry as he browsed the shelves for the book he needed on Partial Vanishment. Goyle cracked his knuckles threateningly and Malfoy whispered something undoubtedly malevolent to Crabbe. Harry knew perfectly well why they were acting like this: he had named all of their fathers as Death Eaters.

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

To cap it all, Luna told him over dinner that no issue of The Quibbler had ever sold out faster.

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

Harry was a hero in the Gryffindor common room that night. Daringly, Fred and George had put an Enlargement Charm on the front cover of The Quibbler and hung it on the wall, so that Harry's giant head gazed down upon the proceedings, occasionally saying things like 'THE MINISTRY ARE MORONS' and 'EAT DUNG, UMBRIDGE' in a booming voice. Hermione did not find this very amusing; she said it interfered with her concentration, and she ended up going to bed early out of irritation. Harry had to admit that the poster was not quite as funny after an hour or two, especially when the talking spell had started to wear off, so that it merely shouted disconnected words like 'DUNG' and 'UMBRIDGE' at more and more frequent intervals in a progressively higher voice. In fact, it started to make his head ache and his scar began prickling uncomfortably again. To disappointed moans from the many people who were sitting around him, asking him to relive his interview for the umpteenth time, he announced that he too needed an early night.

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

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

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

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

'Master, I crave your pardon,' croaked the man kneeling on the floor. The back of his head glimmered in the candlelight. He seemed to be trembling.

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

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

'You are sure of your facts, Rookwood?' asked Harry.

'Yes, My Lord, yes ... I used to work in the Department aftet--after all ...'

'Avery told me Bode would be able to remove it.'

'Bode could never have taken it, Master ... Bode would have known he could not ... undoubtedly, that is why he fought so hard against Malfoy's Imperius Curse ...'

'Stand up, Rookwood,' whispered Harry.

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

'You have done well to tell me this,' said Harry. 'Very well ... I have wasted months on fruitless schemes, it seems ... but no matter ... we begin again, from now. You have Lord Voldemort's gratitude, Rookwood ...'

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

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

'Of course, My Lord, of course ... anything ...'

'Very well ... you may go. Send Avery to me.'

Rookwood scurried backwards, bowing, and disappeared through a door.

Left alone in the dark room, Harry turned towards the wall. A cracked, age-spotted mirror hung on the wall in the shadows. Harry moved towards it. His reflection grew larger and clearer in the darkness ... a face whiter than a skull ... red eyes with slits for pupils ...

'NOOOOOOOOO!'

'What?' yelled a voice nearby.

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

'Will you stop acting like a maniac so I can get you out of here!'

Ron wrenched the hangings apart and Harry stared up at him in the moonlight, flat on his back, his scar searing with pain. Ron looked as though he had just been getting ready for bed; one arm was out of his robes.

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

'No--everyone's fine--' gasped Harry, whose forehead felt as though it were on fire. 'Well ... Avery isn't ... he's in trouble ... he gave him the wrong information ... Voldemort's really angry ...'

Harry groaned and sank, shaking, on to his bed, rubbing his scar.

'But Rookwood's going to help him now ... he's on the right track again ...'

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

'I was You-Know-Who,' said Harry, and he stretched out his hands in the darkness and held them up to his face, to check that they were no longer deathly white and long-fingered. 'He was with Rookwood, he's one of the Death Eaters who escaped from Azkaban, remember? Rookwood's just told him Bode couldn't have done it.'

'Done what?'

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

'Bode was bewitched to remove something?' Ron said. 'But--Harry, that's got to be--'

'The weapon,' Harry finished the sentence for him. 'I know.'

The dormitory door opened; Dean and Seamus came in. Harry swung his legs back into bed. He did not want to look as though anything odd had just happened, seeing as Seamus had only just stopped thinking Harry was a nutter.

'Did you say,' murmured Ron, putting his head close to Harry's on the pretence of helping himself to water from the jug on his bedside table, 'that you were You-Know-Who?'

'Yeah,' said Harry quietly.

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

'Harry,' he said, as Dean and Seamus clattered around noisily, pulling off their robes and talking, 'you've got to tell--'

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

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

Harry and Ron waited until break next morning to tell Hermione exactly what had happened; they wanted to be absolutely sure they could not be overheard. Standing in their usual corner of the cool and breezy courtyard, Harry told her every detail of the dream he could remember. When he had finished, she said nothing at all for a few moments, but stared with a kind of painful intensity at Fred and George, who were both headless and selling their magical hats from under their cloaks on the other side of the yard.

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

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

'Sturgis!' gasped Hermione, looking thunderstruck.

'Sorry?' said Ron, looking bewildered.

'Sturgis Podmore --' said Hermione breathlessly, 'arrested for trying to get through a door! Lucius Malfoy must have got him too! I bet he did it the day you saw him there, Harry. Sturgis had Moody's Invisibility Cloak, right? So, what if he was standing guard by the door, invisible, and Malfoy heard him move--or guessed someone was there--or just did the Imperius Curse on the off-chance there'd be a guard there? So, when Sturgis next had an opportunity--probably when it was his turn on guard duty again--he tried to get into the Department to steal the weapon for Voldemort--Ron, be quiet--but he got caught and sent to Azkaban ...'

She gazed at Harry.

'And now Rookwood's told Voldemort how to get the weapon?'

'I didn't hear all the conversation, but that's what it sounded like,' said Harry. 'Rookwood used to work there ... maybe Voldemort'll send Rookwood to do it?'

Hermione nodded, apparently still lost in thought. Then, quite abruptly, she said, 'But you shouldn't have seen this at all, Harry.'

'What?' he said, taken aback.

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

'I know I am,' said Harry. 'But--'

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

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

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

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

'Get up, Potter.'

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

'That last memory,' said Snape. 'What was it?'

'I don't know,' said Harry, getting wearily to his feet. He was finding it increasingly difficult to disentangle separate memories from the rush of images and sound that Snape kept calling forth. 'You mean the one where my cousin tried to make me stand in the toilet?'

'No,' said Snape softly. 'I mean the one with a man kneeling in the middle of a darkened room ...'

'It's ... nothing,' said Harry.

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

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

'It--' said Harry, looking everywhere but at Snape, 'it was--just a dream I had.'

'A dream?' repeated Snape.

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

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

'Yes,' said Harry stiffly.

'Remind me why we are here, Potter.'

'So I can learn Occlumency, said Harry, now glaring at a dead eel.

'Correct, Potter. And dim though you may be--' Harry looked back at Snape, hating him '--I would have thought that after over two months of lessons you might have made some progress. How many other dreams about the Dark Lord have you had?'

'Just that one,' lied Harry.

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

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

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

'No--that's your job, isn't it?' Harry shot at him.

He had not meant to say it; it had burst out of him in temper. For a long moment they stared at each other, Harry convinced he had gone too far. But there was a curious, almost satisfied expression on Snape's face when he answered.

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

He raised his wand: 'One--two--three--Legilimens!'

A hundred dementors were swooping towards Harry across the lake in the grounds ... he screwed up his face in concentration ... they were coming closer ... he could see the dark holes beneath their hoods ... yet he could also see Snape standing in front of him, his eyes fixed on Harry's face, muttering under his breath ... and somehow, Snape was growing clearer, and the dementors were growing fainter ...

Harry raised his own wand.

'Protego!'

Snape staggered-- his wand flew upwards, away from Harry--and suddenly Harry's mind was teeming with memories that were not his: a hook-nosed man was shouting at a cowering woman, while a small dark-haired boy cried in a corner ... a greasy-haired teenager sat alone in a dark bedroom, pointing his wand at the ceiling, shooting down flies ... a girl was laughing as a scrawny boy tried to mount a bucking broomstick--

'ENOUGH!'

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

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

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

Harry did not speak; he felt that to say anything might be dangerous. He was sure he had just broken into Snape's memories, that he had just seen scenes from Snape's childhood. It was unnerving to think that the little boy who had been crying as he watched his parents shouting was actually standing in front of him with such loathing in his eyes.

'Let's try again, shall we?' said Snape.

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

'On the count of three, then,' said Snape, raising his wand once more. 'One--two--'

Harry did not have time to gather himself together and attempt to clear his mind before Snape cried, 'Legilimens!'

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

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

'P OTTER!'

Harry opened his eyes. He was flat on his back again with no memory of having got there; he was also panting as though his really had run the length of the Department of Mysteries corridor, really had sprinted through the black door and found the circular room.

'Explain yourself!' said Snape, who was standing over him, looking furious.

'I ... dunno what happened,' said Harry truthfully, standing up. There was a lump on the back of his head from where he had hit the ground and he felt feverish. 'I've never seen that before. I mean, I told you, I've dreamed about the door ... but it's never opened before ...'

'You are not working hard enough!'

For some reason, Snape seemed even angrier than he had done two minutes before, when Harry had seen into his teacher's memories.

'You are lazy and sloppy, Potter, it is small wonder that the Dark Lord--'

'Can you tell me something, sir?' said Harry, firing up again. 'Why do you call Voldemort the Dark Lord? I've only ever heard Death Eaters call him that.'

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

Snape's head jerked upwards; he was gazing at the ceiling.

'What the--?' he muttered.

Harry could hear a muffled commotion coming from what he thought might be the Entrance Hall. Snape looked round at him, frowning.

'Did you see anything unusual on your way down here, Potter?'

Harry shook his head. Somewhere above them, the woman screamed again. Snape strode to his office door, his wand still held at the ready, and swept out of sight. Harry hesitated for a moment, then followed.

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

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

'No!' she shrieked. 'NO! This cannot be happening ... it cannot ... I retuse to accept it!'

'You didn't realise this was coming?' said a high girlish voice, sounding callously amused, and Harry, moving slightly to his right, saw that Trelawney's terrifying vision was nothing other than Professor Umbridge. 'Incapable though you are of predicting even tomorrows weather, you must surely have realised that your pitiful performance during my inspections, and lack of any improvement, would make it inevitable that you would be sacked?'

'You c--can't!' howled Professor Trelawney, tears streaming down her face from behind her enormous lenses, 'you c--can't sack me! I've b--been here sixteen years! H-- Hogwarts is m--my h--home!'

'It was your home,' said Professor Umbridge, and Harry was revolted to see the enjoyment stretching her toadlike face as she watched Professor Trelawney sink, sobbing uncontrollably, on to one of her trunks, 'until an hour ago, when the Minister for Magic countersigned your Order of Dismissal. Now kindly remove yourself from this Hall. You are embarrassing us.'

But she stood and watched, with an expression of gloating enjoyment, as Professor Trelawney shuddered and moaned, rocking backwards and forwards on her trunk in paroxysms of grief. Harry heard a muffled sob to his left and looked around. Lavender and Parvati were both crying quietly, their arms round each other. Then he heard footsteps. Professor McGonagall had broken away from the spectators, marched straight up to Professor Trelawney and was patting her firmly on the back while withdrawing a large handkerchief from within her robes.

'There, there, Sybill ... calm down ... blow your nose on this ... it's not as bad as you think, now ... you are not going to have to leave Hogwarts ...'

'Oh really, Professor McGonagall?' said Umbridge in a deadly voice, taking a few steps forward. 'And your authority for that statement is ... ?'

'That would be mine,' said a deep voice.

The oaken front doors had swung open. Students beside them scuttled out of the way as Dumbledore appeared in the entrance. What he had been doing out in the grounds Harry could not imagine, but there was something impressive about the sight of him framed in the doorway against an oddly misty night. Leaving the doors wide open behind him he strode forwards through the circle of onlookers towards Professor Trelawney, tear-stained and trembling, on her trunk, Professor McGonagall alongside her.

'Yours, Professor Dumbledore?' said Umbridge, with a singularly unpleasant little laugh. 'I'm afraid you do not understand the position. I have here--' she pulled a parchment scroll from within her robes '--an Order of Dismissal signed by myself and the Minister for Magic. Under the terms of Educational Decree Number Twenty-three, the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts has the power to inspect, place upon probation and sack any teacher she--that is to say, I--feel is not performing to the standards required by the Ministry of Magic. I have decided that Professor Trelawney is not up to scratch. I have dismissed her.'

To Harry's very great surprise, Dumbledore continued to smile. He looked down at Professor Trelawney, who was still sobbing and choking on her trunk, and said, 'You are quite right, of course, Professor Umbridge. As High Inquisitor you have every right to dismiss my teachers. You do not, however, have the authority to send them away from the castle. I am afraid,' he went on, with a courteous little bow, 'that the power to do that still resides with the Headmaster, and it is my wish that Professor Trelawney continue to live at Hogwarts.'

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

'No--no, I'll g --go, Dumbledore! I sh--shall--leave Hogwarts and s--seek my fortune elsewhere--'

'No,' said Dumbledore sharply. 'It is my wish that you remain, Sybill.'

He turned to Professor McGonagall.

'Might I ask you to escort Sybill back upstairs, Professor McGonagall?'

'Of course,' said McGonagall. 'Up you get, Sybill ...'

Professor Sprout came hurrying forwards out of the crowd and grabbed Professor Trelawney's other arm. Together, they guided her past Umbridge and up the marble stairs. Professor Flitwick went scurrying after them, his wand held out before him; he squeaked 'Locomotor trunks!' and Professor Trelawney's luggage rose into the air and proceeded up the staircase after her, Professor Flitwick bringing up the rear.

Professor Umbridge was standing stock still, staring at Dumbledore, who continued to smile benignly.

'And what,' she said, in a whisper that carried all around the Eintrance Hall, 'are you going to do with her once I appoint a new Divination teacher who needs her lodgings?'

'Oh, that won't be a problem,' said Dumbledore pleasantly. 'You see, I have already found us a new Divination teacher, and he will prefer lodgings on the ground floor.'

'You've found-- ?' said Umbridge shrilly. 'You've found? Might I remind you, Dumbledore, that under Educational Decree Number Twenty-two--'

'The Ministry has the right to appoint a suitable candidate if--and only if--the Headmaster is unable to find one,' said Dumbledore. 'And I am happy to say that on this occasion I have succeeded. May I introduce you?'

He turned to face the open front doors, through which night mist was now drifting. Harry heard hooves. There was a shocked murmur around the Hall and those nearest the doors hastily moved even further backwards, some of them tripping over in their haste to clear a path for the newcomer.

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

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

Chapter 27 The Centaur and the Sneak

'I'll bet you wish you hadn't given up Divination now, don't you, Hermione?' asked Parvati, smirking.

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

'Not really,' said Hermione indifferently, who was reading the Daily Prophet.'I've never really liked horses.'

She turned a page of the newspaper and scanned its columns.

'He's not a horse, he's a centaur!' said Lavender, sounding shocked.

'A gorgeous centaur ...' sighed Parvati.

'Either way, he's still got four legs,' said Hermione coolly. 'Anyway, I thought you two were all upset that Trelawney had gone?'

'We are!' Lavender assured her. 'We went up to her office to see her; we took her some daffodils --not the honking ones that Sprout's got, nice ones.'

'How is she?' asked Harry.

'Not very good, poor thing,' said Lavender sympathetically. 'She was crying and saying she'd rather leave the castle for ever than stay here where Umbridge is, and I don't blame her, Umbridge was horrible to her, wasn't she?'

'I've got a feeling Umbridge has only just started being horrible,' said Hermione darkly.

'Impossible,' said Ron, who was tucking into a large plate of eggs and bacon. 'She can't get any worse than she's been already.'

'You mark my words, she's going to want revenge on Dumbledore for appointing a new teacher without consulting her,' said Hermione, closing the newspaper. 'Especially another part-human. You saw the look on her face when she saw Firenze.'

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

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

Parvati looked at him scornfully over her shoulder.

'How d'you expect Firenze to climb that ladder? We're in classroom eleven now, it was on the noticeboard yesterday.'

Classroom eleven was on the ground floor along the corridor leading off the Entrance Hall from the opposite side to the Great Hall. Harry knew it was one of those classrooms that were never used regularly, and therefore had the slightly neglected feeling of a cupboard or storeroom. When he entered it right behind Ron, and found himself in the middle of a forest clearing, he was therefore momentarily stunned.

'What the--?'

The classroom floor had become springily mossy and trees were growing out of it; their leafy branches fanned across the ceiling and windows, so that the room was full of slanting shafts of soft, dappled, green light. The students who had already arrived were sitting on the earthy floor with their backs resting against tree trunks or boulders, arms wrapped around their knees or folded tightly across their chests, and all looking rather nervous. In the middle of the clearing, where there were no trees, stood Firenze.

'Harry Potter,' he said, holding out a hand when Harry entered.

'Er--hi,' said Harry, shaking hands with the centaur, who surveyed him unblinkingly through those astonishingly blue eyes but did not smile. 'Er--good to see you,'

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

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

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

'Professor Dumbledore has kindly arranged this classroom for us,' said Firenze, when everyone had settled down, 'in imitation of my natural habitat. I would have preferred to teach you in the Forbidden Forest, which was--until Monday--my home ... but that is no longer possible.'

'Please--er-- sir--' said Parvati breathlessly, raising her hand,--why not? We've been in there with Hagrid, we're not frightened!'

'It is not a question of your bravery,' said Firenze, 'but of my position. I cannot return to the Forest. My herd has banished me.'

'Herd?' said Lavender in a confused voice, and Harry knew she was thinking of cows. 'What-- oh!'

Comprehension dawned on her face. 'There are more of you?' she said, stunned.

'Did Hagrid breed you, like the Thestrals?' asked Dean eagerly.

Firenze turned his head very slowly to face Dean, who seemed to realise at once that he had said something very offensive.

'I didn't--I meant--sorry,' he finished in a hushed voice.

'Centaurs are not the servants or playthings of humans,' said Firenze quietly. There was a pause, then Parvati raised her hand again.

'Please, sir ... why have the other centaurs banished you?'

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

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

'Let us begin,' said Firenze. He swished his long palomino tail, raised his hand towards the leafy canopy overhead, then lowered it slowly, and as he did so, the light in the room dimmed, so that they now seemed to be sitting in a forest clearing by twilight, and stars appeared on the ceiling. There were oohs and gasps and Ron said audibly, 'Blimey!'

'Lie back on the floor,' said Firenze in his calm voice, 'and observe the heavens. Here is written, for those who can see, the fortune of our races.'

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

'I know that you have learned the names of the planets and their moons in Astronomy,' said Firenze's calm voice, 'and that you have mapped the stars' progress through the heavens. Centaurs have unravelled the mysteries of these movements over centuries. Our findings teach us that the future may be glimpsed in the sky above us--'

'Professor Trelawney did astrology with us!' said Parvati excitedly, raising her hand in front of her so that it stuck up in the air as she lay on her back. 'Mars causes accidents and burns and things like that, and when it makes an angle to Saturn, like now--' she drew a right-angle in the air above her '--that means people need to be extra careful when handling hot things--'

'That,' said Firenze calmly, 'is human nonsense.'

Parvati's hand fell limply to her side.

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

'Professor Trelawney--' began Parvati, in a hurt and indignant voice.

'--is a human,' said Firenze simply. 'And is therefore blinkered and fettered by the limitations of your kind.'

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

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

Firenze pointed to the red star directly above Harry.

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

It was the most unusual lesson Harry had ever attended. They did indeed burn sage and mallowsweet there on the classroom floor, and Firenze told them to look for certain shapes and symbols in the pungent fumes, but he seemed perfectly unconcerned that not one of them could see any of the signs he described, telling them that humans were hardly ever good at this, that it took centaurs years and years to become competent, and finished by telling them that it was foolish to put too much faith in such things, anyway, because even centaurs sometimes read them wrongly. He was nothing like any human teacher Harry had ever had. His priority did not seem to be to teach them what he knew, but rather to impress upon them that nothing, not even centaurs' knowledge, was foolproof.

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

The bell rang right outside the classroom door and everyone jumped; Harry had completely forgotten they were still inside the castle, and quite convinced that he was really in the Forest. The class filed out, looking slightly perplexed.

Harry and Ron were on the point of following them when Firenze called, 'Harry Potter, a word, please.'

Harry turned. The centaur advanced a little towards him. Ron hesitated.

'You may stay,' Firenze told him. 'But close the door, please.'

Ron hastened to obey.

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

'Yes,' said Harry.

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

'His attempt is not working?' Harry repeated blankly.

'And he would do better to abandon it,' said Firenze, nodding. 'I would warn Hagrid myself, but I am banished--it would be unwise for me to go too near the Forest now-- Hagrid has troubles enough, without a centaurs' battle.'

'But--what's Hagrid attempting to do?' said Harry nervously.

Firenze surveyed Harry impassively.

'Hagrid has recently rendered me a great service,' said Firenze, 'and he has long since earned my respect for the care he shows all living creatures. I shall not betray his secret. But he must be brought to his senses. The attempt is not working. Tell him, Harry Potter. Good-day to you.'

The happiness Harry had felt in the aftermath of The Quibbler interview had long since evaporated. As a dull March blurred into a squally April, his life seemed to have become one long series of worries and problems again.

Umbridge had continued attending all Care of Magical Creatures lessons, so it had been very difficult to deliver Firenze's warning to Hagrid. At last, Harry had managed it by pretending he'd lost his copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, and doubling back after class one day. When he'd repeated Firenze's words, Hagrid gazed at him for a moment through his puffy, blackened eyes, apparently taken aback. Then he seemed to pull himself together.

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

'Hagrid, what're you up to?' asked Harry seriously. 'Because you've got to be careful, Umbridge has already sacked Trelawney and, if you ask me, she's on a roll. If you're doing anything you shouldn't be, you'll be--'

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

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

Meanwhile, as the teachers and Hermione persisted in reminding them, the OWLs were drawing ever nearer. All the fifth-years were suffering from stress to some degree, but Hannah Abbott became the first to receive a Calming Draught from Madam Pomfrey after she burst into tears during Herbology and sobbed that she was too stupid to take exams and wanted to leave school now.

If it had not been for the DA lessons, Harry thought he would have been extremely unhappy. He sometimes felt he was living for the hours he spent in the Room of Requirement, working hard but thoroughly enjoying himself at the same time, swelling with pride as he looked around at his fellow DA members and saw how far they had come. Indeed, Harry sometimes wondered how Umbridge was going to react when all the members of the DA received 'Outstanding' in their Defence Against the Dark Arts OWLs.

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

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

'They're not supposed to be pretty, they're supposed to protect you,' said Harry patiently. 'What we really need is a boggart or something; that's how I learned, I had to conjure a Patronus while the boggart was pretending to be a Dementor--'

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

Neville was having trouble, too. His face was screwed up in concentration, but only feeble wisps of silver smoke issued from his wand tip.

'You've got to think of something happy,' Harry reminded him.

'I'm trying,' said Neville miserably, who was trying so hard his round face was actually shining with sweat.

'Harry, I think I'm doing it!' yelled Seamus, who had been brought along to his first ever DA meeting by Dean. 'Look--ah--it's gone ... but it was definitely something hairy, Harry!'

Hermione's Patronus, a shining silver otter, was gambolling around her.

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

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

'Hi, Dobby!' he said. 'What are you--What's wrong?'

The elf's eyes were wide with terror and he was shaking. The members of the DA closest to Harry had fallen silent; everybody in the room was watching Dobby. The few Patronuses people had managed to conjure faded away into silver mist, leaving the room looking much darker than before.

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

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

'What's happened, Dobby?' Harry asked, grabbing the elf's tiny arm and holding him away from anything with which he might seek to hurt himself.

'Harry Potter ... she ... she ...'

Dobby hit himself hard on the nose with his free fist. Harry seized that, too.

'Who's "she", Dobby?'

But he thought he knew; surely only one 'she' could induce such fear in Dobby? The elf looked up at him, slightly cross-eyed, and mouthed wordlessly.

'Umbridge?' asked Harry, horrified.

Dobby nodded, then tried to bang his head on Harry's knees. Harry held him at arm's length.

'What about her? Dobby--she hasn't found out about this--about us--about the DA?'

He read the answer in the elf's stricken face. His hands held fast by Harry, the elf tried to kick himself and fell to the floor.

'Is she coming?' Harry asked quietly.

Dobby let out a howl, and began beating his bare feet hard on the floor.

'Yes, Harry Potter, yes!'

Harry straightened up and looked around at the motionless, terrified people gazing at the thrashing elf.

'WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?' Harry bellowed. 'RUN!'

They all pelted towards the exit at once, forming a scrum at the door, then people burst through. Harry could hear them sprinting along the corridors and hoped they had the sense not to try and make it all the way to their dormitories. It was only ten to nine; if they just took refuge in the library or the Owlery, which were both nearer--

'Harry, come on!' shrieked Hermione from the centre of the knot of people now fighting to get out.

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

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

'Thank you, Harry Potter!' squeaked Dobby, and he streaked off. Harry glanced left and right, the others were all moving so fast he caught only glimpses of flying heels at either end of the corridor before they vanished; he started to run right; there was a boys' bathroom up ahead, he could pretend he'd been in there all the time if he could just reach it--

'AAARGH!

Something caught him around the ankles and he fell spectacularly, skidding along on his front for six feet before coming to a halt. Someone behind him was laughing. He rolled over on to his, back and saw Malfoy concealed in a niche beneath an ugly dragon-shaped vase.

'Trip Jinx, Potter!' he said. 'Hey, Professor--PROFESSOR! I've got one!'

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

'It's him!' she said jubilantly at the sight of Harry on the floor, 'Excellent, Draco, excellent, oh, very good--fifty points to Slytherin! I'll take him from here ... stand up, Potter!'

Harry got to his feet, glaring at the pair of them. He had never seen Umbridge looking so happy. She seized his arm in a vice-like grip and turned, beaming broadly, to Malfoy.

'You hop along and see if you can round up any more of them, Draco,' she said. 'Tell the others to look in the library--anybody out of breath--check the bathrooms, Miss Parkinson can do the girls' ones--off you go--and you,' she added in her softest, most dangerous voice, as Malfoy walked away, 'you can come with me to the Headmaster's office, Potter.'

They were at the stone gargoyle within minutes. Harry wondered how many of the others had been caught. He thought of Ron--Mrs. Weasley would kill him--and of how Hermione would feel if she was expelled before she could take her OWLs. And it had been Seamus's very first meeting ... and Neville had been getting so good ...

'Fizzing Whizzbee,' sang Umbridge; the stone gargoyle jumped aside, the wall behind split open, and they ascended the moving stone staircase. They reached the polished door with the griffin knocker, but Umbridge did not bother to knock, she strode straight inside, still holding tight to Harry.

The office was full of people. Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, his expression serene, the tips of his long fingers together. Professor McGonagall stood rigidly beside him, her face extremely tense. Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, was rocking backwards and forwards on his toes beside the fire, apparently immensely pleased with the situation; Kingsley Shacklebolt and a tough-looking wizard with very short wiry hair whom Harry did not recognise, were positioned either side of the door like guards, and the freckled, bespectacled form of Percy Weasley hovered excitedly beside the wall, a quill and a heavy scroll of parchment in his hands, apparently poised to take notes.

The portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses were not shamming sleep tonight. All of them were alert and serious, watching what was happening below them. As Harry entered, a few flitted into neighbouring frames and whispered urgently into their neighbour's ear.

Harry pulled himself free of Umbridge's grasp as the door swung shut behind them. Cornelius Fudge was glaring at him with a kind of vicious satisfaction on his face.

'Well,' he said. 'Well, well, well ...'

Harry replied with the dirtiest look he could muster. His heart drummed madly inside him, but his brain was oddly cool and clear.

'He was heading back to Gryffindor Tower,' said Umbridge. There was an indecent excitement in her voice, the same callous pleasure Harry had heard as she watched Professor Trelawney dissolving with misery in the Entrance Hall. 'The Malfoy boy cornered him.'

'Did he, did he?' said Fudge appreciatively. 'I must remember to tell Lucius. Well, Potter ... I expect you know why you are here?'

Harry fully intended to respond with a defiant 'yes': his mouth had opened and the word was half-formed when he caught sight of Dumbledore's face. Dumbledore was not looking directly at Harry--his eyes were fixed on a point just over his shoulder--but as Harry stared at him, he shook his head a fraction of an inch to each side.

Harry changed direction mid-word.

'Ye--no.'

'I beg your pardon?' said Fudge.

'No,' said Harry, firmly.

'You don't know why you are here?'

'No, I don't,' said Harry.

Fudge looked incredulously from Harry to Professor Umbridge. Harry took advantage of his momentary inattention to steal another quick look at Dumbledore, who gave the carpet the tiniest of nods and the shadow of a wink.

'So you have no idea,' said Fudge, in a voice positively sagging with sarcasm, 'why Professor Umbridge has brought you to this office? You are not aware that you have broken any school rules?'

'School rules?' said Harry. 'No.'

'Or Ministry Decrees?' amended Fudge angrily.

'Not that I'm aware of,' said Harry blandly.

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

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

'Yes, it is,' said Harry, hoisting an unconvincing look of innocent surprise on to his face.

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

'Yes, yes, do,' said Fudge, nodding, and he glanced maliciously at Dumbledore as Umbridge left the room. 'There's nothing like a good witness, is there, Dumbledore?'

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

There was a wait of several minutes, in which nobody looked at each other, then Harry heard the door open behind him. Umbridge moved past him into the room, gripping by the shoulder Cho's curly-haired friend, Marietta, who was hiding her face in her hands.

'Don't be scared, dear, don't be frightened,' said Professor Umbridge softly, patting her on the back, 'it's quite all right, now. You have done the right thing. The Minister is very pleased with you. He'll be telling your mother what a good girl you've been. Marietta's mother, Minister,' she added, looking up at Fudge, 'is Madam Edgecombe from the Department of Magical Transportation, Floo Network office-- she's been helping us police the Hogwart's fires, you know.'

'Jolly good, jolly good!' said Fudge heartily. 'Like mother, like daughter, eh? Well, come on, now, dear, look up, don't be shy, let's hear what you've got to--galloping gargoyles!'

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

'Never mind the spots now, dear,' said Umbridge impatiently, 'just take your robes away from your mouth and tell the Minister--'

But Marietta gave another muffled wail and shook her head frantically.

'Oh, very well, you silly girl, I'll tell him,' snapped Umbridge. She hitched her sickly smile back on to her face and said, 'Well, Minister, Miss Edgecombe here came to my office shortly after dinner this evening and told me she had something she wanted to tell me. She said that if I proceeded to a secret room on the seventh floor, sometimes known as the Room of Requirement, I would find out something to my advantage. I questioned her a little further and she admitted that there was to be some kind of meeting there. Unfortunately, at that point this hex,' she waved impatiently at Marietta's concealed face, 'came into operation and upon catching sight of her face in my mirror the girl became too distressed to tell me any more.'

'Well, now,' said Fudge, fixing Marietta with what he evidently imagined was a kind and fatherly look, 'it is very brave of you, my dear, coming to tell Professor Umbridge. You did exactly the right thing. Now, will you tell me what happened at this meeting? What was its purpose? Who was there?'

But Marietta would not speak; she merely shook her head again, her eyes wide and fearful.

'Haven't we got a counter-jinx for this?' Fudge asked Umbridge impatiently, gesturing at Marietta's face. 'So she can speak freely?'

'I have not yet managed to find one,' Umbridge admitted grudgingly, and Harry felt a surge of pride in Hermione's jinxing ability 'But it doesn't matter if she won't speak, I can take up the story from here.

'You will remember, Minister, that I sent you a report back in October that Potter had met a number of fellow students in the Hog's Head in Hogsmeade--'

'And what is your evidence for that?' cut in Professor McGonagall.

'I have testimony from Willy Widdershins, Minerva, who happened to be in the bar at the time. He was heavily bandaged, it is true, but his hearing was quite unimpaired,' said Umbridge smugly. 'He heard every word Potter said and hastened straight to the school to report to me--'

'Oh, so that's why he wasn't prosecuted for setting up all those regurgitating toilets!' said Professor McGonagall, raising her eyebrows. 'What an interesting insight into our justice system!'

'Blatant corruption!' roared the portrait of the corpulent, red-nosed wizard on the wall behind Dumbledore's desk. 'The Ministry did not cut deals with petty criminals in my day, no sir, they did not!'

'Thank you, Fortescue, that will do,' said Dumbledore softly.

'The purpose of Potter's meeting with these students,' continued Professor Umbridge, 'was to persuade them to join an illegal society, whose aim was to learn spells and curses the Ministry has decided are inappropriate for school-age--'

'I think you'll find you're wrong there, Dolores,' said Dumbledore quietly, peering at her over the half-moon spectacles perched halfway down his crooked nose.

Harry stared at him. He could not see how Dumbledore was going to talk him out of this one; if Willy Widdershins had indeed heard every word he had said in the Hog's Head there was simply no escaping it.

'Oho!' said Fudge, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet again. 'Yes, do let's hear the latest cock-and-bull story designed to pull Potter out of trouble! Go on, then, Dumbledore, go on--'

'Willy Widdershins was lying, was he? Or was it Potter's identical twin in the Hog's Head that day? Or is there the usual simple explanation involving a reversal of time, a dead man coming back to life and a couple of invisible dementors?'

Percy Weasley let out a hearty laugh.

'Oh, very good, Minister, very good!'

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

'Cornelius, I do not deny--and nor, I am sure, does Harry--that he was in the Hog's Head that day, nor that he was trying to recruit students to a Defence Against the Dark Arts group. I am merely pointing out that Dolores is quite wrong to suggest that such a group was, at that time, illegal. If you remember, the Ministry Decree banning all student societies was not put into effect until two days after Harry's Hogsmeade meeting, so he was not breaking any rules at all in the Hog's Head.'

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

Umbridge recovered first.

'That's all very fine, Headmaster,' she said, smiling sweetly, 'but we are now nearly six months on from the introduction of Educational Decree Number Twenty-four. If the first meeting was not illegal, all those that have happened since most certainly are.'

'Well,' said Dumbledore, surveying her with polite interest over the top of his interlocked fingers, 'they certainly would be, if they had continued after the Decree came into effect. Do you have any evidence that any such meetings continued?'

As Dumbledore spoke, Harry heard a rustle behind him and rather thought Kingsley whispered something. He could have sworn, too, that he felt something brush against his side, a gentle something like a draught or bird wings, but looking down he saw nothing there.

'Evidence?' repeated Umbridge, with that horrible wide toad-like smile. 'Have you not been listening, Dumbledore? Why do you think Miss Edgecombe is here?'

'Oh, can she tell us about six months' worth of meetings?' said Dumbledore, raising his eyebrows. 'I was under the impression that she was merely reporting a meeting tonight.'

'Miss Edgecombe,' said Umbridge at once, 'tell us how long these meetings have been going on, dear. You can simply nod or shake your head, I'm sure that won't make the spots worse. Have they been happening regularly over the last six months?'

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

'Just nod or shake your head, dear,' Umbridge said coaxingly to Marietta, 'come on, now, that won't re-activate the jinx.'

Everyone in the room was gazing at the top of Marietta's face. Only her eyes were visible between the pulled-up robes and her curly fringe. Perhaps it was a trick of the firelight, but her eyes looked oddly blank. And then--to Harry's utter amazement--Marietta shook her head.

Umbridge looked quickly at Fudge, then back at Marietta.

'I don't think you understood the question, did you, dear? I'm asking whether you've been going to these meetings for the past six months? You have, haven't you?'

Again, Marietta shook her head.

'What do you mean by shaking your head, dear?' said Umbridge in a testy voice.

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

Marietta nodded.

'But there was a meeting tonight!' said Umbridge furiously. 'There was a meeting, Miss Edgecombe, you told me about it, in the Room of Requirement! And Potter was the leader, was he not, Potter organised it, Potter--why are you shaking your head, girl?'

'Well, usually when a person shakes their head,' said McGonagall coldly, 'they mean "no". So unless Miss Edgecombe is using a form of sign-language as yet unknown to humans--'

Professor Umbridge seized Marietta, pulled her round to face her and began shaking her very hard. A split second later Dumbledore was on his feet, his wand raised; Kingsley started forwards and Umbridge leapt back from Marietta, waving her hands in the air as though they had been burned.

'I cannot allow you to manhandle my students, Dolores,' said Dumbledore and, for the first time, he looked angry.

'You want to calm yourself, Madam Umbridge,' said Kingsley, in his deep, slow voice. 'You don't want to get yourself into trouble, now.'

'No,' said Umbridge breathlessly, glancing up at the towering figure of Kingsley. 'I mean, yes--you're right, Shacklebolt--I--I forgot myself.'

Marietta was standing exactly where Umbridge had released her. She seemed neither perturbed by Umbridge's sudden attack, nor relieved by her release; she was still clutching her robe up to her oddly blank eyes and staring straight ahead of her.

A sudden suspicion, connected to Kingsley's whisper and the thing he had felt shoot past him, sprang into Harry's mind.

'Dolores,' said Fudge, with the air of trying to settle something once and for all, 'the meeting tonight--the one we know definitely happened--'

'Yes,' said Umbridge, pulling herself together, 'yes ... well, Miss Edgecombe tipped me off and I proceeded at once to the seventh floor, accompanied by certain trustworthy students, so as to catch those in the meeting red-handed. It appears that they were forewarned of my arrival, however, because when we reached the seventh floor they were running in every direction. It does not matter, however. I have all their names here, Miss Parkinson ran into the Room of Requirement for me to see if they had left anything behind. We needed evidence and the room provided.'

And to Harry's horror, she withdrew from her pocket the list of names that had been pinned upon the Room of Requirement's wall and handed it to Fudge.

'The moment I saw Potter's name on the list, I knew what we were dealing with,' she said softly.

'Excellent,' said Fudge, a smile spreading across his face, 'excellent, Dolores. And ... by thunder ...'

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

'See what they've named themselves?' said Fudge quietly. 'Dumbledore's Army.'

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

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

Harry saw McGonagall and Kingsley look at each other. There was fear in both faces. He did not understand what was going on, and nor, apparently, did Fudge.

'Statement?' said Fudge slowly. 'What--I don't--?'

'Dumbledore's Army, Cornelius,' said Dumbledore, still smiling as he waved the list of names before Fudge's face. 'Not Potter's Army. Dumbledore's Army.'

'But--but--'

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

'You?' he whispered, stamping again on his smouldering cloak.

'That's right,' said Dumbledore pleasantly.

'You organised this?'

'I did,' said Dumbledore.

'You recruited these students for--for your army?'

'Tonight was supposed to be the first meeting,' said Dumbledore, nodding. 'Merely to see whether they would be interested in joining me. I see now that it was a mistake to invite Miss Edgecombe, of course.'

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

'Then you have been plotting against me!' he yelled.

'That's right,' said Dumbledore cheerfully.

'NO!' shouted Harry.

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

'No--Professor Dumbledore--!'

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

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

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

'Weasley!' cried Fudge, now positively quivering with delight, 'Weasley, have you written it all down, everything he's said, his confession, have you got it?'

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

'The bit about how he's been trying to build up an army against the Ministry, how he's been working to destabilise me?'

'Yes, sir, I've got it, yes!' said Percy, scanning his notes joyfully.

'Very well, then,' said Fudge, now radiant with glee, 'duplicate your notes, Weasley, and send a copy to the Daily Prophet at once. If we send a fast owl we should make the morning edition!' Percy dashed from the room, slamming the door behind him, and Fudge turned back to Dumbledore. 'You will now be escorted back to the Ministry, where you will be formally charged, then sent to Azkaban to await trial!'

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

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

Well,' said Dumbledore apologetically, 'I'm afraid I do.'

'Oh, really?'

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

Umbridge's face was growing steadily redder; she looked as though she was being filled with boiling water. Fudge stared at Dumbledore with a very silly expression on his face, as though he had just been stunned by a sudden blow and could not quite believe it had happened. He made a small choking noise, then looked round at Kingsley and the man with short grey hair, who alone of everyone in the room had remained entirely silent so far. The latter gave Fudge a reassuring nod and moved forwards a little, away from the wall. Harry saw his hand drift, almost casually, towards his pocket.

'Don't be silly, Dawlish,' said Dumbledore kindly. 'I'm sure you are an excellent Auror--I seem to remember that you achieved "Outstanding" in all your NEWTs--but if you attempt to--er--bring me in by force, I will have to hurt you.'

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

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

'Merlin's beard, no,' said Dumbledore, smiling, 'not unless you are foolish enough to force me to.'

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

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

'Enough of this rubbish!' said Fudge, pulling out his own wand. 'Dawlish! Shacklebolt! Take him!'

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

Harry struggled around to see who was half-strangling him and saw Professor McGonagall crouched beside him; she had forced both him and Marietta out of harm's way. Dust was still floating gently down through the air on to them. Panting slightly, Harry saw a very tall figure moving towards them.

'Are you all right?' Dumbledore asked.

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

The dust was clearing. The wreckage of the office loomed into view: Dumbledore's desk had been overturned, all of the spindly tables had been knocked to the floor, their silver instruments in pieces. Fudge, Umbridge, Kingsley and Dawlish lay motionless on the floor. Fawkes the phoenix soared in wide circles above them, singing softly.

'Unfortunately, I had to hex Kingsley too, or it would have looked very suspicious,' said Dumbledore in a low voice. 'He was remarkably quick on the uptake, modifying Miss Edgecombe's memory like that while everyone was looking the other way-- thank him, for me, won't you, Minerva?

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

'Where will you go, Dumbledore?' whispered Professor McGonagall. 'Grimmauld Place?'

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

'Professor Dumbledore ...' Harry began.

He did not know what to say first: how sorry he was that he had started the DA in the first place and caused all this trouble, or how terrible he felt that Dumbledore was leaving to save him from expulsion? But Dumbledore cut him off before he could say another word.

'Listen to me, Harry,' he said urgently. 'You must study Occlumency as hard as you can, do you understand me? Do everything Professor Snape tells you and practise it particularly every night before sleeping so that you can close your mind to bad dreams--you will understand why soon enough, but you must promise me--'

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

'Remember--close your mind--'

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

'--you will understand,' whispered Dumbledore.

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

'Where is he?' yelled Fudge, pushing himself up from the floor. 'Where is he?'

'I don't know!' shouted Kingsley, also leaping to his feet.

'Well, he can't have Disapparated!' cried Umbridge. 'You can't do it from inside this school-- '

'The stairs!' cried Dawlish, and he flung himself upon the door, wrenched it open and disappeared, followed closely by Kingsley and Umbridge. Fudge hesitated, then got slowly to his feet, brushing dust from his front. There was a long and painful silence.

'Well, Minerva,' said Fudge nastily, straightening his torn shirtsleeve, 'I'm afraid this is the end of your friend Dumbledore.'

'You think so, do you?' said Professor McGonagall scornfully.

Fudge seemed not to hear her. He was looking around at the wrecked office. A few of the portraits hissed at him; one or two even made rude hand gestures.

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

Professor McGonagall said nothing, but marched Harry and Marietta to the door. As it swung closed behind them, Harry heard Phineas Nigellus's voice.

'You know, Minister, I disagree with Dumbledore on many counts ... but you cannot deny he's got style ...'

Chapter 28 Snape's Worst Memory

BY ORDER OF THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC

Dolores Jane Umbridge (High Inquisitor) has replaced

Albus Dumbledore as Head of Hogwarts School of

Witchcraft and Wizardry.

The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-eight.

Signed: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister for Magic

The notices had gone up all around the school overnight, but they did not explain how every single person within the castle seemed to know that Dumbledore had overcome two Aurors, the High Inquisitor, the Minister for Magic and his Junior Assistant to escape. No matter where Harry went within the castle, the sole topic of conversation was Dumbledore's flight, and though some of the details may have gone awry in the retelling (Harry overheard one second-year girl assuring another that Fudge was now lying in St. Mungo's with a pumpkin for a head) it was surprising how accurate the rest of their information was. Everybody knew, for instance, that Harry and Marietta were the only students to have witnessed the scene in Dumbledore's office and, as Marietta was now in the hospital wing, Harry found himself besieged with requests to give a first-hand account.

'Dumbledore will be back before long,' said Ernie Macmillan confidently on the way back from Herbology, after listening intently to Harry's story. 'They couldn't keep him away in our second year and they won't be able to this time. The Fat Friar told me--' he dropped his voice conspiratorially, so that Harry, Ron and Hermione had to lean closer to him to hear '--that Umbridge tried to get back into his office last night after they'd searched the castle and grounds for him. Couldn't get past the gargoyle. The Head's office has sealed itself against her.' Ernie smirked. 'Apparently, she had a right little tantrum.'

'Oh, I expect she really fancied herself sitting up there in the Head's office,' said Hermione viciously, as they walked up the stone steps into the Entrance Hall. 'Lording it over all the other teachers, the stupid puffed-up, power-crazy old--'

'Now, do you really want to finish that sentence, Granger?'

Draco Malfoy had slid out from behind the door, closely followed by Crabbe and Goyle. His pale, pointed face was alight w th malice.

'Afraid I'm going to have to dock a few points from Gryffincor and Hufflepuff,' he drawled.

'It's only teachers who can dock points from houses, Malfoy,' said Ernie at once.

'Yeah, we're prefects, too, remember?' snarled Ron.

'I know prefects can't dock points, Weasel King,' sneered Maltby. Crabbe and Goyle sniggered. 'But members of the Inquisitorial Squad--'

'The what?' said Hermione sharply.

'The Inquisitorial Squad, Granger,' said Malfoy, pointing towards a tiny silver 'I' on his robes just beneath his prefect's badge. 'A select group of students who are supportive of the Ministry of Magic, hand-picked by Professor Umbridge. Anyway, members of the Inquisitorial Squad do have the power to dock points ... so, Granger, I'll have five from you for being rude about our new Headmistress. Macmillan, five for contradicting me. Five because I don't like you, Potter. Weasley, your shirt's untucked, so I'll have another five for that. Oh yeah, I forgot, you're a Mudblood, Granger, so ten off for that.'

Ron pulled out his wand, but Hermione pushed it away, whispering, 'Don't!'

'Wise move, Granger,' breathed Malfoy. 'New Head, new times ... be good now, Potty ... Weasel King ...'

Laughing heartily, he strode away with Crabbe and Goyle.

'He was bluffing,' said Ernie, looking appalled. 'He can't be allowed to dock points ... that would be ridiculous ... it would completely undermine the prefect system.'

But Harry, Ron and Hermione had turned automatically towards the giant hour-glasses set in niches along the wall behind them, which recorded the house-points. Gryffindor and Ravenclaw had been neck and neck in the lead that morning. Even as they watched, stones flew upwards, reducing the amounts in the lower bulbs. In fact, the only glass that seemed unchanged was the emerald-filled one of Slytherin.

'Noticed, have you?' said Fred's voice.

He and George had just come down the marble staircase and joined Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ernie in front of the hour-glasses.

'Malfoy just docked us all about fifty points,' said Harry furiously, as they watched several more stones fly upwards from the Gryffindor hour-glass.

'Yeah, Montague tried to do us during break,' said George.

'What do you mean, "tried"?' said Ron quickly.

'He never managed to get all the words out,' said Fred, 'due to the fact that we forced him head-first into that Vanishing Cabinet on the first floor.'

Hermione looked very shocked.

'But you'll get into terrible trouble!'

'Not until Montague reappears, and that could take weeks, I dunno where we sent him,' said Fred coolly. 'Anyway ... we've decided we don't care about getting into trouble any more.'

'Have you ever?' asked Hermione.

'Course we have,' said George. 'Never been expelled, have we?'

'We've always known where to draw the line,' said Fred.

'We might have put a toe across it occasionally,' said George.

'But we've always stopped short of causing real mayhem,' said Fred.

'But now?' said Ron tentatively.

'Well, now--' said George.

'--what with Dumbledore gone--' said Fred.

'--we reckon a bit of mayhem--' said George.

'--is exactly what our dear new Head deserves,' said Fred.

'You mustn't!' whispered Hermione. 'You really mustn't! She'd love a reason to expel you!'

'You don't get it, Hermione, do you?' said Fred, smiling at her. 'We don't care about staying any more. We'd walk out right now if we weren't determined to do our bit for Dumbledore first. So, anyway,' he checked his watch, 'phase one is about to begin. I'd get in the Great Hall for lunch, if I were you, that way the teachers will see you can't have had anything to do with it.'

'Anything to do with what?' said Hermione anxiously.

'You'll see,' said George. 'Run along, now.'

Fred and George turned away and disappeared into the swelling crowd descending the stairs towards lunch. Looking highly disconcerted, Ernie muttered something about unfinished Transfiguration homework and scurried away.

'I think we should get out of here, you know,' said Hermione nervously. 'Just in case ...'

'Yeah, all right,' said Ron, and the three of them moved towards the doors to the Great Hall, but Harry had barely glimpsed the day's ceiling of scudding white clouds when somebody tapped him on the shoulder and, turning, he found himself almost nose-to-nose with Filch the caretaker. He took several hasty steps backwards; Filch was best viewed at a distance.

'The Headmistress would like to see you, Potter,' he leered.

'I didn't do it,' said Harry stupidly, thinking of whatever Fred and George were planning. Filch's jowls wobbled with silent laughter.

'Guilty conscience, eh?' he wheezed. 'Follow me.'

Harry glanced back at Ron and Hermione, who were both looking worried. He shrugged, and followed Filch back into the Entrance Hall, against the tide of hungry students.

Filch seemed to be in an extremely good mood; he hummed creakily under his breath as they climbed the marble staircase. As they reached the first landing he said, 'Things are changing around here, Potter.'

'I've noticed,' said Harry coldly.

'Yerse ... I've been telling Dumbledore for years and years he's too soft with you all,' said Filch, chuckling nastily. 'You filthy little beasts would never have dropped Stink Pellets if you'd known I had it in my power to whip you raw, would you, now? Nobody would have thought of throwing Fanged Frisbees down the corridors if I could've strung you up by the ankles in my office, would they? But when Educational Decree Number Twenty-nine comes in, Potter, I'll be allowed to do them things ... and she's asked the Minister to sign an order for the expulsion of Peeves ... oh, things are going to be very different around here with her in charge ...'

Umbridge had obviously gone to some lengths to get Filch on her side, Harry thought, and the worst of it was that he would probably prove an important weapon; his knowledge of the school's secret passageways and hiding places was probably second only to that of the Weasley twins.

'Here we are,' he said, leering down at Harry as he rapped three times on Professor Umbridge's door and pushed it open. 'The Potter boy to see you, Ma'am.'

Umbridge's office, so very familiar to Harry from his many detentions, was the same as usual except for the large wooden block lying across the front of her desk on which golden letters spelled the word: HEADMISTRESS. Also, his Firebolt and Fred and George's Cleansweeps, which he saw with a pang, were chained and padlocked to a stout iron peg in the wall behind the desk.

Umbridge was sitting behind the desk, busily scribbling on some of her pink parchment, but she looked up and smiled widely at their entrance.

'Thank you, Argus,' she said sweetly.

'Not at all, Ma'am, not at all,' said Filch, bowing as low as his rheumatism would permit, and exiting backwards.

'Sit,' said Umbridge curtly, pointing towards a chair. Harry sat. She continued to scribble for a few moments. He watched some of the foul kittens gambolling around the plates over her head, wondering what fresh horror she had in store for him.

'Well, now,' she said finally, setting down her quill and surveying him complacently, like a toad about to swallow a particularly juicy fly. 'What would you like to drink?'

'What? said Harry, quite sure he had misheard her.

'To drink, Mr Potter,' she said, smiling still more widely. Tea? Coffee? Pumpkin juice?'

As she named each drink, she gave her short wand a wave, and a cup or glass of it appeared on her desk.

'Nothing, thank you,' said Harry.

'I wish you to have a drink with me,' she said, her voice becoming dangerously sweet. 'Choose one.'

'Fine ... tea then,' said Harry shrugging.

She got up and made quite a performance of adding milk with her back to him. She then bustled around the desk with it, smiling in a sinisterly sweet fashion.

'There,' she said, handing it to him. 'Drink it before it gets cold, won't you? Well, now, Mr Potter ... I thought we ought to have a little chat, after the distressing events of last night.'

He said nothing. She settled herself back into her seat and waited. When several long moments had passed in silence, she said gaily, 'You're not drinking up!'

He raised the cup to his lips and then, just as suddenly, lowered it. One of the horrible painted kittens behind Umbridge had great round blue eyes just like Mad-Eye Moody's magical one and it had just occurred to Harry what Mad-Eye would say if he ever heard that Harry had drunk anything offered by a known enemy.

'What's the matter?' said Umbridge, who was still watching him closely. 'Do you want sugar?'

'No,' said Harry.

He raised the cup to his lips again and pretended to take a sip, though keeping his mouth tightly closed. Umbridge's smile widened.

'Good,' she whispered. 'Very good. Now then ...' She leaned forwards a little. 'Where is Albus Dumbledore?'

'No idea,' said Harry promptly.

'Drink up, drink up,' she said, still smiling. 'Now, Mr. Potter, let us not play childish games. I know that you know where he has gone. You and Dumbledore have been in this together from the beginning. Consider your position, Mr. Potter ...'

'I don't know where he is,' Harry repeated.

He pretended to drink again. She was watching him very closely.

'Very well,' she said, though she looked displeased. 'In that case, you will kindly tell me the whereabouts of Sirius Black.'

Harry's stomach turned over and his hand holding the teacup shook so that it rattled in its saucer. He tilted the cup to his mouth with his lips pressed together, so that some of the hot liquid trickled down on to his robes.

'I don't know,' he said, a little too quickly.

'Mr. Potter,' said Umbridge, 'let me remind you that it was I who almost caught the criminal Black in the Gryffindor fire in October. I know perfectly well it was you he was meeting and if I had had any proof neither of you would be at large today, I promise you. I repeat, Mr. Potter ... where is Sirius Black?'

'No idea,' said Harry loudly. 'Haven't got a clue.'

They stared at each other so long that Harry felt his eyes watering. Then Umbridge stood up.

'Very well, Potter, I will take your word for it this time, but be warned: the might of the Ministry stands behind me. All channels of communication in and out of this school are being monitored. A Floo Network Regulator is keeping watch over every fire in Hogwarts--except my own, of course. My Inquisitorial Squad is opening and reading all owl post entering and leaving the castle. And Mr. Filch is observing all secret passages in and out of the castle. If I find a shred of evidence ...'

BOOM!

The very floor of the office shook. Umbridge slipped sideways, clutching her desk for support, and looking shocked.

'What was--?'

She was gazing towards the door. Harry took the opportunity to empty his almost-full cup of tea into the nearest vase of dried flowers. He could hear people running and screaming several floors below.

'Back to lunch you go, Potter!' cried Umbridge, raising her wand and dashing out of the office. Harry gave her a few seconds' start, then hurried after her to see what the source of all the uproar was.

It was not difficult to find. One floor down, pandemonium reigned. Somebody (and Harry had a very shrewd idea who) had set off what seemed to be an enormous crate of enchanted fireworks.

Dragons comprised entirely of green and gold sparks were soaring up and down the corridors, emitting loud fiery blasts and bangs as they went; shocking-pink Catherine wheels five feet in diameter were whizzing lethally through the air like so many flying saucers; rockets with long tails of brilliant silver stars were ricocheting off the walls; sparklers were writing swear words in midair of their own accord; firecrackers were exploding like mines everywhere Harry looked, and instead of burning themselves out, fading from sight or fizzling to a halt, these pyrotechnical miracles seemed to be gaining in energy and momentum the longer he watched.

Filch and Umbridge were standing, apparently transfixed in horror, halfway down the stairs. As Harry watched, one of the larger Catherine wheels seemed to decide that what it needed was more room to manoeuvre; it whirled towards Umbridge and Filch with a sinister 'wheeeeeeeeee'. They both yelled with fright and ducked, and it soared straight out of the window behind them and off across the grounds. Meanwhile, several of the dragons and a large purple bat that was smoking ominously took advantage of the open door at the end of the corridor to escape towards the second floor.

'Hurry, Filch, hurry!' shrieked Umbridge, 'they'll be all over the school unless we do something--Stupefy!'

A jet of red light shot out of the end of her wand and hit one of the rockets. Instead of freezing in midair, it exploded with such force that it blasted a hole in a painting of a soppy-looking witch in the middle of a meadow; she ran for it just in time, reappearing seconds later squashed into the next painting, where a couple of wizards playing cards stood up hastily to make room for her.

'Don't Stun them, Filch!' shouted Umbridge angrily, for all the world as though it had been his incantation.

'Right you are, Headmistress!' wheezed Filch, who as a Squib could no more have Stunned the fireworks than swallowed them. He dashed to a nearby cupboard, pulled out a broom and began swatting at the fireworks in midair; within seconds the head of the broom was ablaze.

Harry had seen enough; laughing, he ducked down low, ran to a door he knew was concealed behind a tapestry a little way along the corridor and slipped through it to find Fred and George hiding just behind it, listening to Umbridge and Filch's yells and quaking with suppressed mirth.

'Impressive,' Harry said quietly, grinning. 'Very impressive ... you'll put Dr. Filibuster out of business, no problem ...'

'Cheers,' whispered George, wiping tears of laughter from his face. 'Oh, I hope she tries Vanishing them next ... they multiply by ten every time you try.'

The fireworks continued to burn and to spread all over the school that afternoon. Though they caused plenty of disruption, particularly the firecrackers, the other teachers didn't seem to mind them very much.

'Dear, dear,' said Professor McGonagall sardonically, as one of the dragons soared around her classroom, emitting loud bangs and exhaling flame. 'Miss Brown, would you mind running along to the Headmistress and informing her that we have an escaped firework in our classroom?'

The upshot of it all was that Professor Umbridge spent her first afternoon as Headmistress running all over the school answering the summonses of the other teachers, none of whom seemed able to rid their rooms of the fireworks without her. When the final bell rang and they were heading back to Gryffindor Tower with their bags, Harry saw, with immense satisfaction, a dishevelled and soot-blackened Umbridge tottering sweaty-faced from Professor Flitwick's classroom.

'Thank you so much, Professor!' said Professor Flitwick in his squeaky little voice. 'I could have got rid of the sparklers myself, of course, but I wasn't sure whether or not I had the authority.'

Beaming, he closed his classroom door in her snarling face.

Fred and George were heroes that night in the Gryffindor common room. Even Hermione fought her way through the excited crowd to congratulate them.

'They were wonderful fireworks,' she said admiringly.

'Thanks,' said George, looking both surprised and pleased. 'Weasleys' Wildfire Whiz-bangs. Only thing is, we used our whole stock; we're going to have to start again from scratch now.'

'It was worth it, though,' said Fred, who was taking orders from clamouring Gryffindors. 'If you want to add your name to the waiting list, Hermione, it's five Galleons for your Basic Blaze box and twenty for the Deflagration Deluxe ...'

Hermione returned to the table where Harry and Ron were sitting staring at their schoolbags as though hoping their homework would spring out and start doing itself.

'Oh, why don't we have a night off?' said Hermione brightly, as a silver-tailed Weasley rocket zoomed past the window. 'After all, the Easter holidays start on Friday, we'll have plenty of time then.'

'Are you feeling all right?' Ron asked, staring at her in disbelief.

'Now you mention it,' said Hermione happily, 'd'you know ... I think I'm feeling a bit ... rebellious.'

Harry could still hear the distant bangs of escaped firecrackers when he and Ron went up to bed an hour later; and as he got undressed a sparkler floated past the tower, still resolutely spelling out the word 'POO'.

He got into bed, yawning. With his glasses off, the occasional firework passing the window had become blurred, looking like sparkling clouds, beautiful and mysterious against the black sky. He turned on to his side, wondering how Umbridge was feeling about her first day in Dumbledore's job, and how Fudge would react when he heard that the school had spent most of the day in a state of advanced disruption. Smiling to himself, Harry closed his eyes ...

The whizzes and bangs of escaped fireworks in the grounds seemed to be growing more distant ... or perhaps he was simply speeding away from them ...

He had fallen right into the corridor leading to the Department of Mysteries. He was speeding towards the plain black door ... let it open ... let it open ...

It did. He was inside the circular room lined with doors ... he crossed it, placed his hand on an identical door and it swung inwards ...

Now he was in a long, rectangular room full of an odd mechanical clicking. There were dancing flecks of light on the walls but he did not pause to investigate ... he had to go on ...

There was a door at the far end ... it, too, opened at his touch ...

And now he was in a dimly lit room as high and wide as a church, full of nothing but rows and rows of towering shelves, each laden with small, dusty, spun-glass spheres ... now Harry's heart was beating fast with excitement ... he knew where to go ... he ran forwards, but his footsteps made no noise in the enormous, deserted room ...

There was something in this room he wanted very, very much ...

Something he wanted ... or somebody else wanted ...

His scar was hurting ...

BANG!

Harry awoke instantly, confused and angry. The dark dormitory was full of the sound of laughter.

'Cool!' said Seamus, who was silhouetted against the window. 'I think one of those Catherine wheels hit a rocket and it's like they mated, come and see!'

Harry heard Ron and Dean scramble out of bed for a better look. He lay quite still and silent while the pain in his scar subsided and disappointment washed over him. He felt as though a wonderful treat had been snatched from him at the very last moment ... he had got so close that time.

Glittering pink and silver winged piglets were now soaring past the windows of Gryffindor Tower. Harry lay and listened to the appreciative whoops of Gryffindors in the dormitories below them. His stomach gave a sickening jolt as he remembered that he had Occlumency the following evening.

Harry spent the whole of the next day dreading what Snape was going to say if he found out how much further into the Department of Mysteries Harry had penetrated during his last dream. With a surge of guilt he realised that he had not practised Occlumency once since their last lesson: there had been too much going on since Dumbledore had left; he was sure he would not have been able to empty his mind even if he had tried. He doubted, however, whether Snape would accept that excuse.

He attempted a little last-minute practice during classes that day, but it was no good. Hermione kept asking him what was wrong whenever he fell silent trying to rid himself of all thought and emotion and, after all, the best moment to empty his brain was not while teachers were firing revision questions at the class.

Resigned to the worst, he set off for Snape's office after dinner. Halfway across the Entrance Hall, however, Cho came hurrying up to him.

'Over here,' said Harry, glad of a reason to postpone his meeting with Snape, and beckoning her across to the corner of the Entrance Hall where the giant hour-glasses stood. Gryffindor's was now almost empty. 'Are you OK? Umbridge hasn't been asking you about the DA, has she?'

'Oh, no,' said Cho hurriedly. 'No, it was only ... well, I just wanted to say ... Harry, I never dreamed Marietta would tell . .'

'Yeah, well,' said Harry moodily. He did feel Cho might have chosen her friends a bit more carefully; it was small consolation that the last he had heard, Marietta was still up in the hospital wing and Madam Pomfrey had not been able to make the slightest improvement to her pimples.

'She's a lovely person really,' said Cho. 'She just made a mistake--'

Harry looked at her incredulously.

'A lovely person who made a mistake?She sold us all out, including you!'

'Well ... we all got away, didn't we?' said Cho pleadingly. 'You know, her mum works for the Ministry, it's really difficult for her--'

'Ron's dad works for the Ministry too!' Harry said furiously. 'And in case you hadn't noticed, he hasn't got sneak written across his face--'

'That was a really horrible trick of Hermione Granger's,' said Cho fiercely. 'She should have told us she'd jinxed that list--'

'I think it was a brilliant idea,' said Harry coldly. Cho flushed and her eyes grew brighter.

'Oh yes, I forgot --of course, if it was darling Hermione's idea--'

'Don't start crying again,' said Harry warningly.

'I wasn't going to!' she shouted.

'Yeah ... well ... good,' he said. 'I've got enough to cope with at the moment.'

'Go and cope with it then!' Cho said furiously, turning on her heel and stalking off.

Fuming, Harry descended the stairs to Snape's dungeon and, though he knew from experience how much easier it would be for Snape to penetrate his mind if he arrived angry and resentful, he succeeded in nothing but thinking of a few more things he should have said to Cho about Marietta before reaching the dungeon door.

'You're late, Potter,' said Snape coldly, as Harry closed the door behind him.

Snape was standing with his back to Harry, removing, as usual, certain of his thoughts and placing them carefully in Dumbledore's Pensieve. He dropped the last silvery strand into the stone basin and turned to face Harry.

'So,' he said. 'Have you been practising?'

'Yes,' Harry lied, looking carefully at one of the legs of Snape's desk.

'Well, we'll soon find out, won't we?' said Snape smoothly. 'Wand out, Potter.'

Harry moved into his usual position, facing Snape with the desk between them. His heart was pumping last with anger at Cho and anxiety about how much Snape was about to extract from his mind.

'On the count of three then,' said Snape lazily. 'One--two--'

Snape's office door banged open and Draco Malfoy sped in.

'Professor Snape, sir--oh--sorry--'

Malfoy was looking at Snape and Harry in some surprise.

'It's all right, Draco,' said Snape, lowering his wand. 'Potter is here for a little remedial Potions.'

Harry had not seen Malfoy look so gleeful since Umbridge had turned up to inspect Hagrid.

'I didn't know,' he said, leering at Harry, who knew his face was burning. He would have given a great deal to be able to shout the truth at Malfoy--or, even better, to hit him with a good curse.

'Well, Draco, what is it?' asked Snape.

'It's Professor Umbridge, sir--she needs your help,' said Malfoy.

'They've found Montague, sir, he's turned up jammed inside a toilet on the fourth floor.'

'How did he get in there?' demanded Snape.

'I don't know, sir, he's a bit confused.'

'Very well, very well. Potter,' said Snape, 'we shall resume this lesson tomorrow evening.'

He turned and swept from his office. Malfoy mouthed, 'Remedial Potions?' at Harry behind Snape's back before following him.

Seething, Harry replaced his wand inside his robes and made to leave the room. At least he had twenty-four more hours in which to practise; he knew he ought to feel grateful for the narrow escape, though it was hard that it came at the expense of Malfoy telling the whole school that he needed remedial Potions.

He was at the office door when he saw it: a patch of shivering light dancing on the doorframe. He stopped, and stood looking at it, reminded of something ... then he remembered: it was a little like the lights he had seen in his dream last night, the lights in the second room he had walked through on his journey through the Department of Mysteries.

He turned around. The light was coming from the Pensieve sitting on Snape's desk. The silver-white contents were ebbing and swirling within. Snape's thoughts ... things he did not want Harry to see if he broke through Snape's defences accidentally ...

Harry gazed at the Pensieve, curiosity welling inside him ... what was it that Snape was so keen to hide from Harry?

The silvery lights shivered on the wall ... Harry took two steps towards the desk, thinking hard. Could it possibly be information about the Department of Mysteries that Snape was determined to keep from him?

Harry looked over his shoulder, his heart now pumping harder and faster than ever. How long would it take Snape to release Montague from the toilet? Would he come straight back to his office afterwards, or accompany Montague to the hospital wing? Surely the latter ... Montague was Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, Snape would want to make sure he was all right.

Harry walked the remaining few feet to the Pensieve and stood over it, gazing into its depths. He hesitated, listening, then pulled out his wand again. The office and the corridor beyond were completely silent. He gave the contents of the Pensieve a small prod with the end of his wand.

The silvery stuff within began to swirl very fast. Harry leaned forwards over it and saw that it had become transparent. He was, once again, looking down into a room as though through a circular window in the ceiling ... in fact, unless he was much mistaken, he was looking down into the Great Hall.

His breath was actually fogging the surface of Snape's thoughts ... his brain seemed to be in limbo ... it would be insane to do the thing he was so strongly tempted to do ... he was trembling ... Snape could be back at any moment ... but Harry thought of Cho's anger, of Malfoy's jeering face, and a reckless daring seized him.

He took a great gulp of breath, and plunged his face into the surface of Snape's thoughts. At once, the floor of the office lurched, tipping Harry head-first into the Pensieve ...

He was falling through cold blackness, spinning furiously as he went, and then--'

He was standing in the middle of the Great Hall, but the four house tables were gone. Instead, there were more than a hundred smaller tables, all facing the same way, at each of which sat a student, head bent low, scribbling on a roll of parchment. The only sound was the scratching of quills and the occasional rustle as somebody adjusted their parchment. It was clearly exam time.

Sunshine was streaming through the high windows on to the bent heads, which shone chestnut and copper and gold in the bright light. Harry looked around carefully. Snape had to be here somewhere ... this was his memory ...

And there he was, at a table right behind Harry. Harry stared. Snape-the-teenager had a stringy, pallid look about him, like a plant kept in the dark. His hair was lank and greasy and was flopping on to the table, his hooked nose barely half an inch from the surface of the parchment as he scribbled. Harry moved around behind Snape and read the heading of the examination paper: DEFENCE AGAINST THE DARK ARTS--ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVEL.

So Snape had to be fifteen or sixteen, around Harry's own age. His hand was flying across the parchment; he had written at least a foot more than his closest neighbours, and yet his writing was minuscule and cramped.

'Five more minutes!'

The voice made Harry jump. Turning, he saw the top of Professor Flitwick's head moving between the desks a short distance away. Professor Flitwick was walking past a boy with untidy black hair ... very untidy black hair ...

Harry moved so quickly that, had he been solid, he would have knocked desks flying. Instead he seemed to slide, dreamlike, across two aisles and up a third. The back of the black-haired boy's head drew nearer and ... he was straightening up now, putting down his quill, pulling his roll of parchment towards him so as to reread what he had written ...

Harry stopped in front of the desk and gazed down at his fifteen-year-old father.

Excitement exploded in the pit of his stomach: it was as though he was looking at himself but with deliberate mistakes. James's eyes were hazel, his nose was slightly longer than Harry's and there was no scar on his forehead, but they had the same thin face, same mouth, same eyebrows; James's hair stuck up at the back exactly as Harry's did, his hands could have been Harry's and Harry could tell that, when James stood up, they would be within an inch of each other in height.

James yawned hugely and rumpled up his hair, making it even messier than it had been. Then, with a glance towards Professor Flitwick, he turned in his seat and grinned at a boy sitting four seats behind him.

With another shock of excitement, Harry saw Sirius give James the thumbs-up. Sirius was lounging in his chair at his ease, tilting it back on two legs. He was very good-looking; his dark hair fell into his eyes with a sort of casual elegance neither James's nor Harry's could ever have achieved, and a girl sitting behind him was eyeing him hopefully, though he didn't seem to have noticed. And two seats along from this girl--Harry's stomach gave another pleasurable squirm-- was Remus Lupin. He looked rather pale and peaky (was the full moon approaching?) and was absorbed in the exam: as he reread his answers, he scratched his chin with the end of his quill, frowning slightly.

So that meant Wormtail had to be around here somewhere, too ... and sure enough, Harry spotted him within seconds: a small, mousy-haired boy with a pointed nose. Wormtail looked anxious; he was chewing his fingernails, staring down at his paper, scuffing the ground with his toes. Every now and then he glanced hopefully at his neighbour's paper. Harry stared at Wormtail for a moment, then back at James, who was now doodling on a bit of scrap parchment. He had drawn a Snitch and was now tracing the letters 'L.E.'. What did they stand for?

'Quills down, please!' squeaked Professor Flitwick. 'That means you too, Stebbins! Please remain seated while I collect your parchment! Accio!'

Over a hundred rolls of parchment zoomed into the air and into Professor Flitwick's outstretched arms, knocking him backwards off his feet. Several people laughed. A couple of students at the front desks got up, took hold of Professor Flitwick beneath the elbows and lifted him back on to his feet.

'Thank you ... thank you,' panted Professor Flitwick. 'Very well, everybody, you're free to go!'

Harry looked down at his father, who had hastily crossed out the 'L.E.' he had been embellishing, jumped to his feet, stuffed his quill and the exam paper into his bag, which he slung over his back, and stood waiting for Sirius to join him.

Harry looked around and glimpsed Snape a short way away, moving between the tables towards the doors to the Entrance Hall, still absorbed in his own exam paper. Round-shouldered yet angular, he walked in a twitchy manner that recalled a spider, and his oily hair was jumping about his face.

A gang of chattering girls separated Snape from James, Sirius and Lupin, and by planting himself in their midst, Harry managed to keep Snape in sight while straining his ears to catch the voices of James and his friends.

'Did you like question ten, Moony?' asked Sirius as they emerged into the Entrance Hall.

'Loved it, said Lupin briskly. 'Give five signs that identify the werewolf.Excellent question.'

'D'you think you managed to get all the signs?' said James in tones of mock concern.

'Think I did,' said Lupin seriously, as they joined the crowd thronging around the front doors eager to get out into the sunlit grounds. 'One: he's sitting on my chair. Two: he's wearing my clothes. Three: his name's Remus Lupin.'

Wormtail was the only one who didn't laugh.

'I got the snout shape, the pupils of the eyes and the tufted tail,' he said anxiously, 'but I couldn't think what else--'

'How thick are you, Wormtail?' said James impatiently. 'You run round with a werewolf once a month--'

'Keep your voice down,' implored Lupin.

Harry looked anxiously behind him again. Snape remained close by, still buried in his exam questions--but this was Snape's memory and Harry was sure that if Snape chose to wander off in a different direction once outside in the grounds, he, Harry, would not be able to follow James any further. To his intense relief, however, when James and his three friends strode off down the lawn towards the lake, Snape followed, still poring over the exam paper and apparently with no fixed idea of where he was going. By keeping a little ahead of him, Harry managed to maintain a close watch on James and the others.

'Well, I thought that paper was a piece of cake,' he heard Sirius say. 'I'll be surprised if I don't get "Outstanding" on it at least.'

'Me too,' said James. He put his hand in his pocket and took out a struggling Golden Snitch.

'Where'd you get that?'

'Nicked it,' said James casually. He started playing with the Snitch, allowing it to fly as much as a foot away before seizing it again; his reflexes were excellent. Wormtail watched him in awe.

They stopped in the shade of the very same beech tree on the edge of the lake where Harry, Ron and Hermione had once spent a Sunday finishing their homework, and threw themselves down on the grass. Harry looked over his shoulder yet again and saw, to his delight, that Snape had settled himself on the grass in the dense shadow of a clump of bushes. He was as deeply immersed in the OWL paper as ever, which left Harry free to sit down on the grass between the beech and the bushes and watch the foursome under the tree. The sunlight was dazzling on the smooth surface of the lake, on the bank of which the group of laughing girls who had just left the Great Hall were sitting, with their shoes and socks off, cooling their feet in the water.

Lupin had pulled out a book and was reading. Sirius stared around at the students milling over the grass, looking rather haughty and bored, but very handsomely so. James was still playing with the Snitch, letting it zoom further and further away, almost escaping but always grabbed at the last second. Wormtail was watching him with his mouth open. Every time James made a particularly difficult catch, Wormtail gasped and applauded. After five minutes of this, Harry wondered why James didn't tell Wormtail to get a grip on himself, but James seemed to be enjoying the attention. Harry noticed that his father had a habit of rumpling up his hair as though to keep it from getting too tidy, and he also kept looking over at the girls by the water's edge.

'Put that away, will you,' said Sirius finally, as James made a fine catch and Wormtail let out a cheer, 'before Wormtail wets himself with excitement.'

Wormtail turned slightly pink, but James grinned.

'If it bothers you,' he said, stuffing the Snitch back in his pocket. Harry had the distinct impression that Sirius was the only one for whom James would have stopped showing off.

'I'm bored,' said Sirius. 'Wish it was full moon.'

'You might,' said Lupin darkly from behind his book. 'We've still got Transfiguration, if you're bored you could test me. Here ...' and he held out his book.

But Sirius snorted. 'I don't need to look at that rubbish, I know it all.'

'This'll liven you up, Padfoot,' said James quietly. 'Look who it is.' Sirius's head turned. He became very still, like a dog that has scented a rabbit.

'Excellent,' he said softly. 'Snivellus.'

Harry turned to see what Sirius was looking at.

Snape was on his feet again, and was stowing the OWL paper in his bag. As he left the shadows of the bushes and set off across the grass, Sirius and James stood up.

Lupin and Wormtail remained sitting: Lupin was still staring down at his book, though his eyes were not moving and a faint frown line had appeared between his eyebrows; Wormtail was looking from Sirius and James to Snape with a look of avid anticipation on his face.

'All right, Snivellus?' said James loudly.

Snape reacted so fast it was as though he had been expecting an attack: dropping his bag, he plunged his hand inside his robes and his wand was halfway into the air when James shouted, 'Expelliarmus!'

Snape's wand flew twelve feet into the air and fell with a little thud in the grass behind him. Sirius let out a bark of laughter.

'Impedimenta!' he said, pointing his wand at Snape, who was knocked off his feet halfway through a dive towards his own fallen wand.

Students all around had turned to watch. Some of them had got to their feet and were edging nearer. Some looked apprehensive, others entertained.

Snape lay panting on the ground. James and Sirius advanced on him, wands raised, James glancing over his shoulder at the girls at the water's edge as he went. Wormtail was on his feet now, watching hungrily, edging around Lupin to get a clearer view.

'How'd the exam go, Snivelly?' said James.

'I was watching him, his nose was touching the parchment,' said Sirius viciously. 'There'll be great grease marks all over it, they won't be able to read a word.'

Several people watching laughed; Snape was clearly unpopular. Wormtail sniggered shrilly. Snape was trying to get up, but the jinx was still operating on him; he was struggling, as though bound by invisible ropes.

'You--wait,' he panted, staring up at James with an expression of purest loathing, 'you-- wait!'

'Wait for what?' said Sirius coolly. 'What're you going to do, Snivelly, wipe your nose on us?'

Snape let out a stream of mixed swear words and hexes, but with his wand ten feet away nothing happened.

'Wash out your mouth,' said James coldly. 'Scourgify!'

Pink soap bubbles streamed from Snape's mouth at once; the froth was covering his lips, making him gag, choking him--'

'Leave him ALONE!'

James and Sirius looked round. James's free hand immediately jumped to his hair.

It was one of the girls from the lake edge. She had thick, dark red hair that fell to her shoulders, and startlingly green almond-shaped eyes--Harry's eyes.

Harry's mother.

'All right, Evans?' said James, and the tone of his voice was suddenly pleasant, deeper, more mature.

'Leave him alone,' Lily repeated. She was looking at James with every sign of great dislike. 'What's he done to you?'

'Well,' said James, appearing to deliberate the point, 'it's more the fact that he exists, if you know what I mean ...'

Many of the surrounding students laughed, Sirius and Wormtail included, but Lupin, still apparently intent on his book, didn't, and nor did Lily.

'You think you're funny,' she said coldly. 'But you're just an arrogant, bullying toerag, Potter. Leave him alone.'

'I will if you go out with me, Evans,' said James quickly. 'Go on ... go out with me and I'll never lay a wand on old Snivelly again.'

Behind him, the Impediment Jinx was wearing off. Snape was beginning to inch towards his fallen wand, spitting out soapsuds as he crawled.

'I wouldn't go out with you if it was a choice between you and the giant squid,' said Lily.

'Bad luck, Prongs,' said Sirius briskly, and turned back to Snape. 'OI!'

But too late; Snape had directed his wand straight at James; there was a flash of light and a gash appeared on the side of James's face, spattering his robes with blood. James whirled about: a second flash of light later, Snape was hanging upside-down in the air, his robes falling over his head to reveal skinny, pallid legs and a pair of greying underpants.

Many people in the small crowd cheered; Sirius, James and Wormtail roared with laughter.

Lily, whose furious expression had twitched for an instant as though she was going to smile, said, 'Let him down!'

'Certainly,' said James and he jerked his wand upwards; Snape fell into a crumpled heap on the ground. Disentangling himself from his robes he got quickly to his feet, wand up, but Sirius said, 'Petrificus Totalus!' and Snape keeled over again, rigid as a board.

'LEAVE HIM ALONE!' Lily shouted. She had her own wand out now. James and Sirius eyed it warily.

'Ah, Evans, don't make me hex you,' said James earnestly.

'Take the curse off him, then!'

James sighed deeply, then turned to Snape and muttered the counter-curse.

'There you go,' he said, as Snape struggled to his feet. 'You're lucky Evans was here, Snivellus-- '

'I don't need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!'

Lily blinked.

'Fine,' she said coolly. 'I won't bother in future. And I'd wash your pants if I were you, Snivellus.'

'Apologise to Evans!' James roared at Snape, his wand pointed threateningly at him.

'I don't want you to make him apologise,' Lily shouted, rounding on James. 'You're as bad as he is.'

'What?' yelped James. 'I'd NEVER call you a--you-know-what!'

'Messing up your hair because you think it looks cool to look like you've just got off your broomstick, showing off with that stupid Snitch, walking down corridors and hexing anyone who annoys you just because you can--I'm surprised your broomstick can get off the ground with that fat head on it. You make me SICK.'

She turned on her heel and hurried away.

'Evans!' James shouted after her. 'Hey, EVANS!'

But she didn't look back.

'What is it with her?' said James, trying and failing to look as though this was a throwaway question of no real importance to him.

'Reading between the lines, I'd say she thinks you're a bit conceited, mate,' said Sirius.

'Right,' said James, who looked furious now, 'right--'

There was another flash of light, and Snape was once again hanging upside-down in the air.

'Who wants to see me take off Snivelly's pants?'

But whether James really did take off Snape's pants, Harry never found out. A hand had closed tight over his upper arm, closed with a pincer-like grip. Wincing, Harry looked round to see who had hold of him, and saw, with a thrill of horror, a fully grown, adult-sized Snape standing right beside him, white with rage.

'Having fun?'

Harry felt himself rising into the air; the summer's day evaporated around him; he was floating upwards through icy blackness, Snape's hand still tight upon his upper arm. Then, with a swooping feeling as though he had turned head-over-heels in midair, his feet hit the stone floor of Snape's dungeon and he was standing again beside the Pensieve on Snape's desk in the shadowy, present-day Potion master's study.

'So,' said Snape, gripping Harry's arm so tightly Harry's hand was starting to feel numb. 'So ... been enjoying yourself, Potter?'

'N-no,' said Harry, trying to free his arm.

It was scary: Snape's lips were shaking, his face was white, his teeth were bared.

'Amusing man, your father, wasn't he?' said Snape, shaking Harry so hard his glasses slipped down his nose.

'I--didn't--'

Snape threw Harry from him with all his might. Harry fell hard on to the dungeon floor.

'You will not repeat what you saw to anybody!' Snape bellowed.

'No,' said Harry, getting to his feet as far from Snape as he could. 'No, of course I w--'

'Get out, get out, I don't want to see you in this office ever again!'

And as Harry hurtled towards the door, a jar of dead cockroaches exploded over his head. He wrenched the door open and Hew along the corridor, stopping only when he had put three floors between himself and Snape. There he leaned against the wall, panting, and rubbing his bruised arm.

He had no desire at all to return to Gryffindor Tower so early, nor to tell Ron and Hermione what he had just seen. What was making Harry feel so horrified and unhappy was not being shouted at or having jars thrown at him; it was that he knew how it felt to be humiliated in the middle of a circle of onlookers, knew exactly how Snape had felt as his father had taunted him, and that judging from what he had just seen, his father had been every bit as arrogant as Snape had always told him.

Chapter 29 Careers Advice

'But why haven't you got Occlumency lessons any more?' said Hermione, frowning.

'I've told you,' Harry muttered. 'Snape reckons I can carry on by myself now I've got the basics.'

'So you've stopped having funny dreams?' said Hermione sceptically.

'Pretty much,' said Harry, not looking at her.

'Well, I don't think Snape should stop until you're absolutely sure you can control them!' said Hermione indignantly. 'Harry, I think you should go back to him and ask-- '

'No,' said Harry forcefully. 'Just drop it, Hermione, OK?'

It was the first day of the Easter holidays and Hermione, as was her custom, had spent a large part of the day drawing up revision timetables for the three of them. Harry and Ron had let her do it; it was easier than arguing with her and, in any case, they might come in useful.

Ron had been startled to discover there were only six weeks left until their exams.

'How can that come as a shock?' Hermione demanded, as she tapped each little square on Ron's timetable with her wand so that it flashed a different colour according to its subject.

'I dunno,' said Ron, 'there's been a lot going on.'

'Well, there you are,' she said, handing him his timetable, 'if you follow that you should do fine.'

Ron looked down it gloomily, but then brightened.

'You've given me an evening off every week!'

'That's for Quidditch practice,' said Hermione.

The smile faded from Ron's face.

'What's the point?' he said dully. 'We've got about as much chance of winning the Quidditch Cup this year as Dad's got of becoming Minister for Magic.'

Hermione said nothing; she was looking at Harry, who was staring blankly at the opposite wall of the common room while Crookshanks pawed at his hand, trying to get his ears scratched.

'What's wrong, Harry?'

'What?' he said quickly. 'Nothing.'

He seized his copy of Defensive Magical Theory and pretended to be looking something up in the index. Crookshanks gave him up as a bad job and slunk away under Hermione's chair.

'I saw Cho earlier,' said Hermione tentatively. 'She looked really miserable, too ... have you two had a row again?'

'Wha--oh, yeah, we have,' said Harry, seizing gratefully on the excuse.

'What about?'

'That sneak friend of hers, Marietta,' said Harry.

'Yeah, well, I don't blame you!' said Ron angrily, setting down his revision timetable. 'If it hadn't been for her ...'

Ron went into a rant about Marietta Edgecombe, which Harry found helpful; all he had to do was look angry, nod and say 'Yeah' and That's right' whenever Ron drew breath, leaving his mind free to dwell, ever more miserably, on what he had seen in the Pensieve.

He felt as though the memory of it was eating him from inside. He had been so sure his parents were wonderful people that he had never had the slightest difficulty in disbelieving the aspersions Snape cast on his father's character. Hadn't people like Hagrid and Sirius told Harry how wonderful his father had been? (Yeah, well, look what Sirius was like himself, said a nagging voice inside Harry's head ... he was as bad, wasn't he?) Yes, he had once overheard Professor McGonagall saying that his father and Sirius had been troublemakers at school, but she had described them as forerunners of the Weasley twins, and Harry could not imagine Fred and George dangling someone upside-down for the fun of it ... not unless they really loathed them ... perhaps Malfoy or somebody who really deserved it .

Harry tried to make a case for Snape having deserved what he had suffered at James's hands: but hadn't Lily asked, 'What's he done to you?' And hadn't James replied, 'It's more the fact that he exists, if you know what I mean.' Hadn't James started it all simply because Sirius had said he was bored? Harry remembered Lupin saying back in Grimmauld Place that Dumbledore had made him prefect in the hope that he would be able to exercise some control over James and Sirius ... but in the Pensieve, he had sat there and let it all happen ...

Harry kept reminding himself that Lily had intervened; his mother had been decent. Yet, the memory of the look on her face as she had shouted at James disturbed him quite as much as anything else; she had clearly loathed James, and Harry simply could not understand how they could have ended up married. Once or twice he even wondered whether James had forced her into it ...

For nearly five years the thought of his father had been a source of comfort, of inspiration. Whenever someone had told him he was like James, he had glowed with pride inside. And now ... now he felt cold and miserable at the thought of him.

The weather grew breezier, brighter and warmer as the Easter holidays passed, but Harry, along with the rest of the fifth- and seventh-years, was trapped inside, revising, traipsing back and forth to the library. Harry pretended his bad mood had no other cause but the approaching exams, and as his fellow Gryffindors were sick of studying themselves, his excuse went unchallenged.

'Harry, I'm talking to you, can you hear me?'

'Huh?'

He looked round. Ginny Weasley, looking very windswept, had joined him at the library table where he had been sitting alone. It was late on Sunday evening: Hermione had gone back to Gryffindor Tower to revise Ancient Runes, and Ron had Quidditch practice.

'Oh, hi,' said Harry, pulling his books towards him. 'How come you're not at practice?'

'It's over,' said Ginny. 'Ron had to take Jack Sloper up to the hospital wing.'

'Why?'

'Well, we're not sure, but we think he knocked himself out with his own bat.' She sighed heavily. 'Anyway ... a package just arrived, it's only just got through Umbridge's new screening process.'

She hoisted a box wrapped in brown paper on to the table; it had clearly been unwrapped and carelessly re-wrapped. There was a scribbled note across it in red ink, reading: Inspected and Passed by the Hogwarts High Inquisitor.

'It's Easter eggs from Mum,' said Ginny. 'There's one for you ... there you go.'

She handed him a handsome chocolate egg decorated with small, iced Snitches and, according to the packaging, containing a bag of Fizzing Whizzbees. Harry looked at it for a moment, then, to his horror, felt a lump rise in his throat.

'Are you OK, Harry?' Ginny asked quietly.

'Yeah, I'm fine,' said Harry gruffly. The lump in his throat was painful. He did not understand why an Easter egg should have made him feel like this.

'You seem really down lately,' Ginny persisted. 'You know, I'm sure if you just talked to Cho ...'

'It's not Cho I want to talk to,' said Harry brusquely.

'Who is it, then?' asked Ginny, watching him closely.

'I ...'

He glanced around to make quite sure nobody was listening. Madam Pince was several shelves away, stamping out a pile cf books for a frantic-looking Hannah Abbott.

'I wish I could talk to Sirius,' he muttered. 'But I know I can't.'

Ginny continued to watch him thoughtfully. More to give himself something to do than because he really wanted any, Harry unwrapped his Easter egg, broke off a large bit and put it into his mouth.

'Well,' said Ginny slowly, helping herself to a bit of egg, too, 'if you really want to talk to Sirius, I expect we could think of a way to do it.'

'Come on,' said Harry dully. 'With Umbridge policing the fires and reading all our mail?'

'The thing about growing up with Fred and George,' said Ginny thoughtfully, 'is that you sort of start thinking anything's possible if you've got enough nerve.'

Harry looked at her. Perhaps it was the effect of the chocolate--Lupin had always advised eating some after encounters with dementors--or simply because he had finally spoken aloud the wish that had been burning inside him for a week, but he felt a bit more hopeful.

'WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?'

'Oh damn,' whispered Ginny, jumping to her feet. 'I forgot--'

Madam Pince was swooping down on them, her shrivelled face contorted with rage.

'Chocolate in the library!' she screamed. 'Out--out--OUT!' And whipping out her wand, she caused Harry's books, bag and ink bottle to chase him and Ginny from the library, whacking them repeatedly over the head as they ran.

As though to underline the importance of their upcoming examinations, a batch of pamphlets, leaflets and notices concerning various wizarding careers appeared on the tables in Gryffindor Tower shortly before the end of the holidays, along with yet another notice on the board, which read:

CAREERS ADVICE

All fifth-years are required to attend a short meeting with their

Head of House during the first week of the summer term to discuss

their future careers. Times of individual appointments are listed below.

Harry looked down the list and found that he was expected in Professor McGonagall's office at half past two on Monday, which would mean missing most of Divination. He and the other fifth-years spent a considerable part of the final weekend of the Easter break reading all the careers information that had been left there for their perusal.

'Well, I don't fancy Healing,' said Ron on the last evening of the holidays. He was immersed in a leaflet that carried the crossed bone-and-wand emblem of St. Mungo's on its front. 'It says here you need at least "E" at NEWT level in Potions, Herbology, Transfiguration, Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts. I mean ... blimey ... don't want much, do they?'

'Well, it's a very responsible job, isn't it?' said Hermione absently.

She was poring over a bright pink and orange leaflet, that was headed, 'SO YOU THINK YOU'D LIKE TO WORK IN MUGGLE RELATIONS?' 'You don't seem to need many qualifications to liaise with Muggles; all they want is an OWL in Muggle Studies: Much more important is your enthusiasm, patience and a good sense of fun!'

'You'd need more than a good sense of fun to liaise with my uncle,' said Harry darkly. 'Good sense of when to duck, more like.' He was halfway through a pamphlet on wizard banking. 'Listen to this: Are you seeking a challenging career involving travel, adventure and substantial, danger-related treasure bonuses? Then consider a position with Gringotts Wizarding Bank, who are currently recruiting Curse-Breakers for thrilling opportunities abroad ...They want Arithmancy, though; you could do it, Hermione!'

'I don't much fancy banking,' said Hermione vaguely, now immersed in: 'HAVE YOU GOT WHAT IT TAKES TO TRAIN SECURITY TROLLS?'

'Hey,' said a voice in Harry's ear. He looked round; Fred and George had come to join them. 'Ginny's had a word with us about you,' said Fred, stretching out his legs on the table in front of them and causing several booklets on careers with the Ministry of Magic to slide off on to the floor. 'She says you need to talk to Sirius?'

'What?' said Hermione sharply, freezing with her hand halfway towards picking up 'MAKE A BANG AT THE DEPARTMENT OF MAGICAL ACCIDENTS AND CATASTROPHES'.

'Yeah ...' said Harry, trying to sound casual, 'yeah, I thought I'd like--'

'Don't be so ridiculous,' said Hermione, straightening up and looking at him as though she could not believe her eyes. 'With Umbridge groping around in the fires and frisking all the owls?'

'Well, we think we can find a way around that,' said George, stretching and smiling. 'It's a simple matter of causing a diversion. Now, you might have noticed that we have been rather quiet on the mayhem front during the Easter holidays?'

'What was the point, we asked ourselves, of disrupting leisure time?' continued Fred. 'No point at all, we answered ourselves. And of course, we'd have messed up people's revision, too, which would be the very last thing we'd want to do.'

He gave Hermione a sanctimonious little nod. She looked rather taken aback by this thoughtfulness.

'But it's business as usual from tomorrow,' Fred continued briskly. 'And if we're going to be causing a bit of uproar, why not do it so that Harry can have his chat with Sirius?'

'Yes, but still,' said Hermione, with an air of explaining something very simple to somebody very obtuse, 'even if you do cause a diversion, how is Harry supposed to talk to him?'

'Umbridge's office,' said Harry quietly.

He had been thinking about it for a fortnight and could come up with no alternative. Umbridge herself had told him that the only fire that was not being watched was her own.

'Are--you-- insane?' said Hermione in a hushed voice.

Ron had lowered his leaflet on jobs in the Cultivated Fungus Trade and was watching the conversation warily.

'I don't think so,' said Harry, shrugging.

'And how are you going to get in there in the first place?'

Harry was ready for this question.

'Sirius's knife,' he said.

'Excuse me?'

'Christmas before last Sirius gave me a knife that'll open any lock,' said Harry. 'So even if she's bewitched the door so Alahomora won't work, which I bet she has-- '

'What do you think about this?' Hermione demanded of Ron, and Harry was reminded irresistibly of Mrs. Weasley appealing to her husband during Harry's first dinner in Grimmauld Place.

'I dunno,' said Ron, looking alarmed at being asked to give an opinion. 'If Harry wants to do it, it's up to him, isn't it?'

'Spoken like a true friend and Weasley,' said Fred, clapping Ron hard on the back. 'Right, then. We're thinking of doing it tomorrow, just after lessons, because it should cause maximum impact in everybody's in the corridors--Harry, we'll set it off in the east wing somewhere, draw her right away from her own office--I reckon we should be able to guarantee you, what, twenty minutes?' he said, looking at George.

'Easy,' said George.

'What sort of diversion is it?' asked Ron.

'You'll see, little bro', said Fred, as he and George got up again. 'At least, you will if you trot along to Gregory the Smarmy's corridor round about five o'clock tomorrow.'

Harry awoke very early the next day, feeling almost as anxious as he had done on the morning of his disciplinary hearing at the Ministry of Magic. It was not only the prospect of breaking into Umbridge's office and using her fire to speak to Sirius that was making him feel nervous, though that was certainly bad enough; today also happened to be the first time Harry would be in close proximity to Snape since Snape had thrown him out of his office.

After lying in bed for a while thinking about the day ahead, Harry got up very quietly and moved across to the window beside Neville's bed, and stared out on a truly glorious morning. The sky was a clear, misty, opalescent blue. Directly ahead of him, Harry could see the towering beech tree below which his father had once tormented Snape. He was not sure what Sirius could possibly say to him that would make up for what he had seen in the Pensieve, but he was desperate to hear Sirius's own account of what had happened, to know of any mitigating factors there might have been, any excuse at all for his father's behaviour ...

Something caught Harry's attention: movement on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Harry squinted into the sun and saw Hagrid emerging from between the trees. He seemed to be limping. As Harry watched, Hagrid staggered to the door of his cabin and disappeared inside it. Harry watched the cabin for several minutes. Hagrid did not emerge again, but smoke furled from the chimney, so Hagrid could not be so badly injured that he was unequal to stoking the fire.

Harry turned away from the window, headed back to his trunk and started to dress.

With the prospect of forcing entry into Umbridge's office ahead. Harry had never expected the day to be a restful one, but he had not reckoned on Hermione's almost continual attempts to dissuade him from what he was planning to do at five o'clock. For the first time ever, she was at least as inattentive to Professor Binns in History of Magic as Harry and Ron were, keeping up a stream of whispered admonitions that Harry tried very hard to ignore.

'... and if she does catch you there, apart from being expelled, she'll be able to guess you've been talking to Snuffles and this time I expect she'll force you to drink Veritaserum and answer her questions ...'

'Hermione,' said Ron in a low and indignant voice, 'are you going to stop telling Harry off and listen to Binns, or am I going to have to take my own notes?'

'You take notes for a change, it won't kill you!'

By the time they reached the dungeons, neither Harry nor Ron was speaking to Hermione. Undeterred, she took advantage of their silence to maintain an uninterrupted flow of dire warnings, all uttered under her breath in a vehement hiss that caused Seamus to waste five whole minutes checking his cauldron for leaks.

Snape, meanwhile, seemed to have decided to act as though Harry were invisible. Harry was, of course, well-used to this tactic, as it was one of Uncle Vernon's favourites, and on the whole was grateful he had to suffer nothing worse. In fact, compared to what he usually had to endure from Snape in the way of taunts and snide remarks, he found the new approach something of an improvement, and was pleased to find that when left well alone, he was able to concoct an Invigoration Draught quite easily. At the end of the lesson he scooped some of the potion into a flask, corked it and took it up to Snape's desk for marking, feeling that he might at last have scraped an 'E'.

He had just turned away when he heard a smashing noise. Malfoy gave a gleeful yell of laughter. Harry whipped around. His potion sample lay in pieces on the floor and Snape was surveying him with a look of gloating pleasure.

'Whoops,' he said softly. 'Another zero, then, Potter.'

Harry was too incensed to speak. He strode back to his cauldron, intending to fill another flask and force Snape to mark it, but saw to his horror that the rest of the contents had vanished.

'I'm sorry!' said Hermione, with her hands over her mouth. 'I'm really sorry, Harry. I thought you'd finished, so I cleared up!'

Harry could not bring himself to answer. When the bell rang, he hurried out of the dungeon without a backwards glance, and made sure that he found himself a seat between Neville and Seamus for lunch so that Hermione could not start nagging him again about using Umbridge's office.

He was in such a bad mood by the time he got to Divination that he had quite forgotten his careers appointment with Professor McGonagall, remembering it only when Ron asked him why he wasn't in her office. He hurtled back upstairs and arrived out of breath, only a few minutes late.

'Sorry, Professor,' he panted, as he closed the door. 'I forgot.'

'No matter, Potter,' she said briskly, but as she spoke, somebody else sniffed from the corner. Harry looked round.

Professor Umbridge was sitting there, a clipboard on her knee, a fussy little pie-frill around her neck and a small, horribly smug smile on her face.

'Sit down, Potter,' said Professor McGonagall tersely. Her hands shook slightly as she shuffled the many pamphlets littering her desk.

Harry sat down with his back to Umbridge and did his best to pretend he could not hear the scratching of her quill on her clipboard.

'Well, Potter, this meeting is to talk over any career ideas you might have, and to help you decide which subjects you should continue into the sixth and seventh years,' said Professor McGonagall. 'Have you had any thoughts about what you would like to do after you leave Hogwarts?'

'Er--' said Harry.

He was finding the scratching noise from behind him very distracting.

'Yes?' Professor McGonagall prompted Harry.

'Well, I thought of, maybe, being an Auror,' Harry mumbled.

'You'd need top grades for that,' said Professor McGonagall, extracting a small, dark leaflet from under the mass on her desk and opening it. 'They ask for a minimum of five NEWTs, and nothing under "Exceeds Expectations" grade, I see. Then you would be required to undergo a stringent series of character and aptitude tests at the Auror office. It's a difficult career path, Potter, they only take the best. In fact, I don't think anybody has been taken on in the last three years.'

At this moment, Professor Umbridge gave a very tiny cough, as though she was trying to see how quietly she could do it. Professor McGonagall ignored her.

'You'll want to know which subjects you ought to take, I suppose?' she went on, talking a little louder than before.

'Yes,' said Harry. 'Defence Against the Dark Arts, I suppose?'

'Naturally,' said Professor McGonagall crisply. 'I would also advise--'

Professor Umbridge gave another cough, a little more audible this time. Professor McGonagall closed her eyes for a moment, opened them again, and continued as though nothing had happened.

'I would also advise Transfiguration, because Aurors frequently need to Transfigure or Untransfigure in their work. And I ought to tell you now, Potter, that I do not accept students into my NEWT classes unless they have achieved "Exceeds Expectations" or higher at Ordinary Wizarding Level. I'd say you're averaging "Acceptable" at the moment, so you'll need to put in some good hard work before the exams to stand a chance of continuing. Then you ought to do Charms, always useful, and Potions. Yes, Potter, Potions,' she added, with the merest flicker of a smile. 'Poisons and antidotes are essential study for Aurors. And I must tell you that Professor Snape absolutely refuses to take students who get anything other than "Outstanding" in their OWLs, so --'

Professor Umbridge gave her most pronounced cough yet.

'May I offer you a cough drop, Dolores?' Professor McGonagall asked curtly, without looking at Professor Umbridge.

'Oh, no, thank you very much,' said Umbridge, with that simpering laugh Harry hated so much. 'I just wondered whether I could make the teensiest interruption, Minerva?'

'I daresay you'll find you can,' said Professor McGonagall through tightly gritted teeth.

'I was just wondering whether Mr. Potter has quite the temperament for an Auror?' said Professor Umbridge sweetly.

'Were you?' said Professor McGonagall haughtily. 'Well, Potter,' she continued, as though there had been no interruption, 'if you are serious in this ambition, I would advise you to concentrate hard on bringing your Transfiguration and Potions up to scratch. I see Professor Flitwick has graded you between "Acceptable" and "Exceeds Expectations" for the last two years, so your Charmwork seems satisfactory. As for Defence Against the Dark Arts, your marks have been generally high, Professor Lupin in particular thought you--are you quite sure you wouldn't like a cough drop, Dolores?'

'Oh, no need, thank you, Minerva,' simpered Professor Umbridge, who had just coughed her loudest yet. 'I was just concerned that you might not have Harry's most recent Defence Against the Dark Arts marks in front of you. I'm quite sure I slipped in a note.'

'What, this thing?' said Professor McGonagall in a tone of revulsion, as she pulled a sheet of pink parchment from between the leaves of Harry's folder. She glanced down it, her eyebrows slightly raised, then placed it back into the folder without comment.

'Yes, as I was saying, Potter, Professor Lupin thought you showed a pronounced aptitude for the subject, and obviously for an Auror--'

'Did you not understand my note, Minerva?' asked Professor Umbndge in honeyed tones, quite forgetting to cough.

'Of course I understood it,' said Professor McGonagall, her teeth clenched so tightly the words came out a little muffled.

'Well, then, I am confused ... I'm afraid I don't quite understand how you can give Mr. Potter false hope that--'

'False hope?' repeated Professor McGonagall, still refusing to look round at Professor Umbridge. 'He has achieved high marks in all his Defence Against the Dark Arts tests--'

'I'm terribly sorry to have to contradict you, Minerva, but as you will see from my note, Harry has been achieving very poor results in his classes with me--'

'I should have made my meaning plainer,' said Professor McGonagall, turning at last to look Umbridge directly in the eyes. 'He has achieved high marks in all Defence Against the Dark Arts tests set by a competent teacher.'

Professor Umbridge's smile vanished as suddenly as a light bulb blowing. She sat back in her chair, turned a sheet on her clipboard and began scribbling very fast indeed, her bulging eyes rolling from side to side. Professor McGonagall turned back to Harry, her thin nostrils flared, her eyes burning.

'Any questions, Potter?'

'Yes,' said Harry. 'What sort of character and aptitude tests do the Ministry do on you, if you get enough NEWTs?'

'Well, you'll need to demonstrate the ability to react well to pressure and so forth,' said Professor McGonagall, 'perseverance and dedication, because Auror training takes a further three years, not to mention very high skills in practical Defence. It will mean a lot more study even after you've left school, so unless you're prepared to--'

'I think you'll also find,' said Umbridge, her voice very cold now, 'that the Ministry looks into the records of those applying to be Aurors. Their criminal records.'

'--unless you're prepared to take even more exams after Hogwarts, you should really look at another--'

'Which means that this boy has as much chance of becoming an Auror as Dumbledore has of ever returning to this school.'

'A very good chance, then,' said Professor McGonagall.

'Potter has a criminal record,' said Umbridge loudly.

'Potter has been cleared of all charges,' said McGonagall, even more loudly.

Professor Umbridge stood up. She was so short that this did not make a great deal of difference, but her fussy, simpering demeanour had given place to a hard fury that made her broad, flabby face look oddly sinister.

'Potter has no chance whatsoever of becoming an Auror!'

Professor McGonagall got to her feet, too, and in her case this was a much more impressive move: she towered over Professor Umbridge.

'Potter,' she said in ringing tones, 'I will assist you to become an Auror if it is the last thing I do! If I have to coach you nightly, I will make sure you achieve the required results!'

'The Minister for Magic will never employ Harry Potter!' said Umbridge, her voice rising furiously.

'There may well be a new Minister for Magic by the time Potter is ready to join!' shouted Professor McGonagall.

'Aha! shrieked Professor Umbridge, pointing a stubby linger at McGonagall. 'Yes! Yes, yes, yes! Of course! That's what you want, isn't it, Minerva McGonagall? You want Cornelius Fudge replaced by Albus Dumbledore! You think you'll be where I am, don't you: Senior Undersecretary to the Minister and Headmistress to boot!'

'You are raving,' said Professor McGonagall, superbly disdainful. 'Potter, that concludes our careers consultation.'

Harry swung his bag over his shoulder and hurried out of the room, not daring to look at Professor Umbridge. He could hear her and Professor McGonagall continuing to shout at each other all the way back along the corridor.

Professor Umbridge was still breathing as though she had just run a race when she strode into their Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson that afternoon.

'I hope you've thought better of what you were planning to do, Harry,' Hermione whispered, the moment they had opened their books to 'Chapter Thirty-four, Non-Retaliation and Negotiation'. 'Umbridge looks like she's in a really bad mood already ...'

Every now and then Umbridge shot glowering looks at Harry, who kept his head down, staring at Defensive Magical Theory, his eyes unfocused, thinking ...

He could just imagine Professor McGonagall's reaction if he was caught trespassing in Professor Umbridge's office mere hours after she had vouched for him ... there was nothing to stop him simply going back to Gryffindor Tower and hoping that some time during the next summer holidays he would have a chance to ask Sirius about the scene he had witnessed in the Pensieve ... nothing, except that the thought of taking this sensible course of action made him feel as though a lead weight had dropped into his stomach ... and then there was the matter of Fred and George, whose diversion was already planned, not to mention the knife Sirius had given him, which was currently residing in his schoolbag along with his father's old Invisibility Cloak.

But the fact remained that if he was caught ...

'Dumbledore sacrificed himself to keep you in school, Harry!' whispered Hermione, raising her book to hide her face from Umbridge. 'And if you get thrown out today it will all have been for nothing!'

He could abandon the plan and simply learn to live with the memory of what his father had done on a summer's day more than twenty years ago ...

And then he remembered Sirius in the fire upstairs in the Gryffindor common room ...

You're less like your father than I thought ... the risk would've been what made it fun for James ...

But did he want to be like his father any more?

'Harry, don't do it, please don't do it!' Hermione said in anguished tones as the bell rang at the end of the class.

He did not answer; he did not know what to do.

Ron seemed determined to give neither his opinion nor his advice; he would not look at Harry, though when Hermione opened her mouth to try dissuading Harry some more, he said in a low voice, 'Give it a rest, OK? He can make up his own mind.'

Harry's heart beat very fast as he left the classroom. He was halfway along the corridor outside when he heard the unmistakeable sounds of a diversion going off in the distance. There were screams and yells reverberating from somewhere above them; people exiting the classrooms all around Harry were stopping in their tracks and looking up at the ceiling fearfully--

Umbridge came pelting out of her classroom as fast as her short legs would carry her. Pulling out her wand, she hurried off in the opposite direction: it was now or never.

'Harry--please!' Hermione pleaded weakly.

But he had made up his mind; hitching his bag more securely on to his shoulder, he set off at a run, weaving in and out of students now hurrying in the opposite direction to see what all the fuss was about in the east wing.

Harry reached the corridor to Umbridge's office and found it deserted. Dashing behind a large suit of armour whose helmet creaked around to watch him, he pulled open his bag, seized Sirius's knife and donned the Invisibility Cloak. He then crept slowly and carefully back out from behind the suit of armour and along the corridor until he reached Umbridge's door.

He inserted the blade of the magical knife into the crack around it and moved it gently up and down, then withdrew it. There was a tiny click, and the door swung open. He ducked inside the office, closed the door quickly behind him and looked around.

Nothing was moving except the horrible kittens that were still frolicking on the wall plates above the confiscated broomsticks.

Harry pulled off his Cloak and, striding over to the fireplace, found what he was looking for within seconds: a small box containing glittering Floo powder.

He crouched down in front of the empty grate, his hands shaking. He had never done this before, though he thought he knew how it must work. Sticking his head into the fireplace, he took a large pinch of powder and dropped it on to the logs stacked neatly beneath him. They exploded at once into emerald green flames.

'Number twelve, Grimmauld Place!' Harry said loudly and clearly.

It was one of the most curious sensations he had ever experienced. He had travelled by Floo powder before, of course, but then it had been his entire body that had spun around and around in the flames through the network of wizarding fireplaces that stretched over the country. This time, his knees remained firm upon the cold floor of Umbridge's office, and only his head hurtled through the emerald fire ...

And then, as abruptly as it had begun, the spinning stopped. Feeling rather sick and as though he were wearing an exceptionally hot muffler around his head, Harry opened his eyes to find that he was looking up out of the kitchen fireplace at the long, wooden table, where a man sat poring over a piece of parchment.

'Sirius?'

The man jumped and looked around. It was not Sirius, but Lupin.

'Harry!' he said, looking thoroughly shocked. 'What are you--what's happened, is everything all right?'

'Yeah,' said Harry. 'I just wondered--I mean, I just fancied a--a chat with Sirius.'

'I'll call him,' said Lupin, getting to his feet, still looking perplexed, 'he went upstairs to look for Kreacher, he seems to be hiding in the attic again ...'

And Harry saw Lupin hurry out of the kitchen. Now he was left with nothing to look at but the chair and table legs. He wondered why Sirius had never mentioned how very uncomfortable it was to speak out of the fire; his knees were already objecting painfully to their prolonged contact with Umbridge's hard stone floor.

Lupin returned with Sirius at his heels moments later.

'What is it?' said Sirius urgently, sweeping his long dark hair out of his eyes and dropping to the ground in front of the fire, so that he and Harry were on a level. Lupin knelt down too, looking very concerned. 'Are you all right? Do you need help?'

'No,' said Harry, 'it's nothing like that ... I just wanted to talk ... about my dad.'

They exchanged a look of great surprise, but Harry did not have time to feel awkward or embarrassed; his knees were becoming sorer by the second and he guessed five minutes had already passed from the start of the diversion; George had only guaranteed him twenty. He therefore plunged immediately into the story of what he had seen in the Pensieve.

When he had finished, neither Sirius nor Lupin spoke for a moment. Then Lupin said quietly, 'I wouldn't like you to judge your father on what you saw there, Harry. He was only fifteen--'

'I'm fifteen,' said Harry heatedly.

'Look, Harry' said Sirius placatingly, 'James and Snape hated each other from the moment they set eyes on each other, it was just one of those things, you can understand that, can't you? I think James was everything Snape wanted to be--he was popular, he was good at Quidditch--good at pretty much everything. And Snape was just this little oddball who was up to his eyes in the Dark Arts, and James--whatever else he may have appeared to you, Harry--always hated the Dark Arts.'

'Yeah,' said Harry, 'but he just attacked Snape for no good reason, just because--well, just because you said you were bored,' he finished, with a slightly apologetic note in his voice.

'I 'm not proud of it,' said Sirius quickly.

Lupin looked sideways at Sirius, then said, 'Look, Harry, what you've got to understand is that your father and Sirius were the best in the school at whatever they did-- everyone thought they were the height of cool--if they sometimes got a bit carried away--'

'If we were sometimes arrogant little berks, you mean,' said Sirius.

Lupin smiled.

'He kept messing up his hair,' said Harry in a pained voice.

Sirius and Lupin laughed.

'I'd forgotten he used to do that,' said Sirius affectionately.

'Was he playing with the Snitch?' said Lupin eagerly.

'Yeah,' said Harry, watching uncomprehendingly as Sirius and Lupin beamed reminiscently. 'Well ... I thought he was a bit of an idiot.'

'Of course he was a bit of an idiot!' said Sirius bracingly, 'we were all idiots! Well-- not Moony so much,' he said fairly, looking at Lupin.

But Lupin shook his head. 'Did I ever tell you to lay off Snape?' he said. 'Did I ever have the guts to tell you I thought you were out of order?'

'Yeah, well,' said Sirius, 'you made us feel ashamed of ourselves sometimes ... that was something ...'

'And,' said Harry doggedly, determined to say everything that was on his mind now he was here, 'he kept looking over at the girls by the lake, hoping they were watching him!'

'Oh, well, he always made a fool of himself whenever Lily was around,' said Sirius, shrugging, 'he couldn't stop himself showing off whenever he got near her.'

'How come she married him?' Harry asked miserably. 'She hated him!'

'Nah, she didn't,' said Sirius.

'She started going out with him in seventh year,' said Lupin.

'Once James had deflated his head a bit,' said Sirius.

'And stopped hexing people just for the fun of it,' said Lupin.

'Even Snape?' said Harry.

'Well,' said Lupin slowly, 'Snape was a special case. I mean, he never lost an opportunity to curse James so you couldn't really expect James to take that lying down, could you?'

'And my mum was OK with that?'

'She didn't know too much about it, to tell you the truth,' said Sirius. 'I mean, James didn't take Snape on dates with her and jinx him in front of her, did he?'

Sirius frowned at Harry, who was still looking unconvinced.

'Look,' he said, 'your father was the best friend I ever had and he was a good person. A lot of people are idiots at the age of fifteen. He grew out of it.'

'Yeah, OK,' said Harry heavily. 'I just never thought I'd feel sorry for Snape.'

'Now you mention it,' said Lupin, a faint crease between his eyebrows, 'how did Snape react when he found you'd seen all this?'

'He told me he'd never teach me Occlumency again,' said Harry indifferently, 'like that's a big disappoint--'

'He WHAT?' shouted Sirius, causing Harry to jump and inhale a mouthful of ashes.

'Are you serious, Harry?' said Lupin quickly. 'He's stopped giving you lessons?'

'Yeah,' said Harry, surprised at what he considered a great over-reaction. 'But it's OK, I don't care, it's a bit of a relief to tell you the--'

'I'm coming up there to have a word with Snape!' said Sirius forcefully, and he actually made to stand up, but Lupin wrenched him back down again.

'If anyone's going to tell Snape it will be me!' he said firmly. 'But Harry, first of all, you're to go back to Snape and tell him that on no account is he to stop giving you lessons--when Dumbledore hears--'

'I can't tell him that, he'd kill me!' said Harry, outraged. 'You didn't see him when we got out of the Pensieve.'

'Harry there is nothing so important as you learning Occlumency!' said Lupin sternly. 'Do you understand me? Nothing!'

'OK, OK,' said Harry, thoroughly discomposed, not to mention annoyed. 'I'll ... I'll try and say something to him ... but it won't be--'

He fell silent. He could hear distant footsteps.

'Is that Kreacher coming downstairs?'

'No,' said Sirius, glancing behind him. 'It must be somebody your end.'

Harry's heart skipped several beats.

'I'd better go!' he said hastily and pulled his head backwards out of the Grimmauld Place fire. For a moment his head seemed to be revolving on his shoulders, then he found himself kneeling in front of Umbridge's fire with it firmly back on and watching the emerald flames flicker and die.

'Quickly, quickly!' he heard a wheezy voice mutter right outside the office door. 'Ah, she's left it open--'

Harry dived for the Invisibility Cloak and had just managed to pull it back over himself when Filch burst into the office. He looked absolutely delighted about something and was talking to himself feverishly as he crossed the room, pulled open a drawer in Umbridge's desk and began rifling through the papers inside it.

'Approval for Whipping ... Approval for Whipping ... I can do it at last ... they've had it coming to them for years ...'

He pulled out a piece of parchment, kissed it, then shuffled rapidly back out of the door, clutching it to his chest.

Harry leapt to his feet and, making sure he had his bag and that the Invisibility Cloak was completely covering him, he wrenched open the door and hurried out of the office after Filch, who was hobbling along faster than Harry had ever seen him go.

One landing down from Umbridge's office, Harry thought it was safe to become visible again. He pulled off the Cloak, shoved it in his bag and hurried onwards. There was a great deal of shouting and movement coming from the Entrance Hall. He ran down the marble staircase and found what looked like most of the school assembled there.

It was just like the night when Trelawney had been sacked. Students were standing all around the walls in a great ring (some of them, Harry noticed, covered in a substance that looked very like Stinksap); teachers and ghosts were also in the crowd. Prominent among the onlookers were members of the Inquisitorial Squad, who were all looking exceptionally pleased with themselves, and Peeves, who was bobbing overhead, gazed down at Fred and George who stood in the middle of the floor with the unmistakeable look of two people who had just been cornered.

'So!' said Umbridge triumphantly. Harry realised she was standing just a few stairs in front of him, once more looking down upon her prey. 'So--you think it amusing to turn a school corridor into a swamp, do you?'

'Pretty amusing, yeah,' said Fred, looking up at her without the slightest sign of fear.

Filch elbowed his way closer to Umbridge, almost crying with happiness.

'I've got the form, Headmistress,' he said hoarsely, waving the piece of parchment Harry had just seen him take from her desk. 'I've got the form and I've got the whips waiting ... oh, let me do it now ...'

'Very good, Argus,' she said. 'You two,' she went on, gazing down at Fred and George, 'are about to learn what happens to wrongdoers in my school.'

'You know what?' said Fred. 'I don't think we are.'

He turned to his twin.

'George,' said Fred, 'I think we've outgrown full-time education.'

'Yeah, I've been feeling that way myself,' said George lightly.

'Time to test our talents in the real world, d'you reckon?' asked Fred.

'Definitely,' said George.

And before Umbridge could say a word, they raised their wands and said together:

'Accio brooms!'

Harry heard a loud crash somewhere in the distance. Looking to his left, he ducked just in time. Fred and George's broomsticks, one still trailing the heavy chain and iron peg with which Umbridge had fastened them to the wall, were hurtling along the corridor towards their owners; they turned left, streaked down the stairs and stopped sharply in front of the twins, the chain clattering loudly on the flagged stone floor.

'We won't be seeing you,' Fred told Professor Umbridge, swinging his leg over his broomstick.

'Yeah, don't bother to keep in touch,' said George, mounting his own.

Fred looked around at the assembled students, at the silent, watchful crowd.

'It anyone fancies buying a Portable Swamp, as demonstrated upstairs, come to number ninety-three, Diagon Alley--Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes,' he said in a loud voice. 'Our new premises!'

'Special discounts to Hogwart's students who swear they're going to use our products to get rid of this old bat,' added George, pointing at Professor Umbridge.

'STOP THEM!' shrieked Umbridge, but it was too late. As the Inquisitorial Squad closed in, Fred and George kicked off from the floor, shooting fifteen feet into the air, the iron peg swinging dangerously below. Fred looked across the hall at the poltergeist bobbing on his level above the crowd.

'Give her hell from us, Peeves.'

And Peeves, who Harry had never seen take an order from a student before, swept his belled hat from his head and sprang to a salute as Fred and George wheeled about to tumultuous applause from the students below and sped out of the open front doors into the glorious sunset.