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. Sometimes, he could not prevent his imagination showing him a faceless Ministry official who was snapping his wand in two and ordering him back to the Dursleys'... but he would not go. He was determined on that. He would come back here to Grimmauld Place and live with Sirius. He felt as though a brick had dropped into his stomach when Mrs Weasley turned to him during dinner on Wednesday evening and said quietly, 'I've ironed your best clothes for tomorrow morning, Harry, and I want you to wash your hair tonight, too. Harry nodded and tried to keep eating his chop, but his mouth had become so dry he could not chew. 'How am I getting there?' he asked Mrs Weasley, trying to sound unconcerned. 'Arthur's taking you to work with him,' said Mrs Weasley gently. Mr Weasley smiled encouragingly at Harry across the table. 'You can wait in my office until it's time for the hearing,' he said. Harry looked over at Sirius, but before he could ask the question, Mrs Weasley had answered it. 'Professor Dumbledore doesn't think it's a good idea for Sirius to go with you, and I must say I - ' '- think he's quite right,' said Sirius through clenched teeth. Mrs Weasley pursed her lips. 'When did Dumbledore tell you that?' Harry said, staring at Sirius. 'He came last night, when you were in bed,' said Mr Weasley Sirius stabbed moodily at a potato with his fork. Harry lowered his own eyes to his plate. The thought that Dumbledore had been in the house on the eve of his hearing and not asked to see him made him feel, if it were possible, even worse. - CHAPTER SEVEN - The Ministry of Magic Harry awoke at half past five the next morning as abruptly and completely as if somebody had yelled in his ear. For a few moments he lay immobile as the prospect of the disciplinary hearing filled every tiny particle of his brain, then, unable to bear it, he leapt out of bed and put on his glass

Sometimes, he could not prevent his imagination showing him a faceless Ministry official who was snapping his wand in two and ordering him back to the Dursleys'... but he would not go. He was determined on that. He would come back here to Grimmauld Place and live with Sirius. He felt as though a brick had dropped into his stomach when Mrs Weasley turned to him during dinner on Wednesday evening and said quietly, 'I've ironed your best clothes for tomorrow morning, Harry, and I want you to wash your hair tonight, too. Harry nodded and tried to keep eating his chop, but his mouth had become so dry he could not chew. 'How am I getting there?' he asked Mrs Weasley, trying to sound unconcerned. 'Arthur's taking you to work with him,' said Mrs Weasley gently. Mr Weasley smiled encouragingly at Harry across the table. 'You can wait in my office until it's time for the hearing,' he said. Harry looked over at Sirius, but before he could ask the question, Mrs Weasley had answered it. 'Professor Dumbledore doesn't think it's a good idea for Sirius to go with you, and I must say I - ' '- think he's quite right,' said Sirius through clenched teeth. Mrs Weasley pursed her lips. 'When did Dumbledore tell you that?' Harry said, staring at Sirius. 'He came last night, when you were in bed,' said Mr Weasley Sirius stabbed moodily at a potato with his fork. Harry lowered his own eyes to his plate. The thought that Dumbledore had been in the house on the eve of his hearing and not asked to see him made him feel, if it were possible, even worse. - CHAPTER SEVEN - The Ministry of Magic Harry awoke at half past five the next morning as abruptly and completely as if somebody had yelled in his ear. For a few moments he lay immobile as the prospect of the disciplinary hearing filled every tiny particle of his brain, then, unable to bear it, he leapt out of bed and put on his glass

es. Mrs Weasley had laid out his freshly laundered jeans and T-shirt at the foot of his bed. Harry scrambled into them. The blank picture on the wall sniggered. He did not stir as Harry crossed the room, stepped out on to the landing and closed the door softly behind him. He had expected it to be empty, but when he reached the door he heard the soft rumble of voices on the other side. He pushed it open and saw Mr and Mrs Weasley, Sirius, Lupin and Tonks sitting there almost as though they were waiting for him. All were fully dressed except Mrs Weasley, who was wearing a quilted purple dressing gown. She leapt to her feet the moment Harry entered. 'Breakfast,' she said as she pulled out her wand and hurried over to the fire. 'M - m - morning, Harry,' yawned Tonks. Her hair was blonde and curly this morning. 'Sleep all right?' 'Yeah,' said Harry. 'I've b - b - been up all night,' she said, with another shuddering yawn. 'Come and sit down...' She drew out a chair, knocking over the one beside it ir the process. 'What do you want, Harry?' Mrs Weasley called. 'Porridge? Muffins? Kippers? Bacon and eggs? Toast?' 'Just - just toast, thanks,' said Harry. Lupin glanced at Harry, then said to Tonks, 'What were you saying about Scrimgeour?' 'Oh... yeah... well, we need to be a bit more careful, he's been asking Kingsley and me funny questions...' Harry felt vaguely grateful that he was not required to join in the conversation. His insides were squirming. Mrs Weasley placed a couple of pieces of toast and marmalade in front of him; he tried to eat, but it was like chewing carpet. Mrs Weasley sat down on his other side and started fussing with his T-shirt, tucking in the label and smoothing out the creases across his shoulders. He wished she wouldn't. '..

. Mrs Weasley had laid out his freshly laundered jeans and T-shirt at the foot of his bed. Harry scrambled into them. The blank picture on the wall sniggered. He did not stir as Harry crossed the room, stepped out on to the landing and closed the door softly behind him. He had expected it to be empty, but when he reached the door he heard the soft rumble of voices on the other side. He pushed it open and saw Mr and Mrs Weasley, Sirius, Lupin and Tonks sitting there almost as though they were waiting for him. All were fully dressed except Mrs Weasley, who was wearing a quilted purple dressing gown. She leapt to her feet the moment Harry entered. 'Breakfast,' she said as she pulled out her wand and hurried over to the fire. 'M - m - morning, Harry,' yawned Tonks. Her hair was blonde and curly this morning. 'Sleep all right?' 'Yeah,' said Harry. 'I've b - b - been up all night,' she said, with another shuddering yawn. 'Come and sit down...' She drew out a chair, knocking over the one beside it ir the process. 'What do you want, Harry?' Mrs Weasley called. 'Porridge? Muffins? Kippers? Bacon and eggs? Toast?' 'Just - just toast, thanks,' said Harry. Lupin glanced at Harry, then said to Tonks, 'What were you saying about Scrimgeour?' 'Oh... yeah... well, we need to be a bit more careful, he's been asking Kingsley and me funny questions...' Harry felt vaguely grateful that he was not required to join in the conversation. His insides were squirming. Mrs Weasley placed a couple of pieces of toast and marmalade in front of him; he tried to eat, but it was like chewing carpet. Mrs Weasley sat down on his other side and started fussing with his T-shirt, tucking in the label and smoothing out the creases across his shoulders. He wished she wouldn't. '..

. and I'll have to tell Dumbledore I can't do night duty tomorrow, I'm just t - t - too tired,' Tonks finished, yawning hugely again. 'Ill cover for you,' said Mr Weasley. 'I'm OK, I've got a report to finish anyway Mr Weasley was not wearing wizards' robes but a pair of pinstriped trousers and an old bomber jacket. He turned from Tonks to Harry. 'How are you feeling?' Harry shrugged. 'It'll all be over soon,' Mr Weasley said bracingly. 'In a few hours' time you'll be cleared.' Harry said nothing. The hearings on my floor, in Amelia Bones's office. She's Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and the one who'll be questioning you.' 'Amelia Bones is OK, Harry,' said Tonks earnestly. 'She's fair, she'll hear you out.' Harry nodded, still unable to think of anything to say. 'Don't lose your temper,' said Sirius abruptly. 'Be polite and stick to the facts.' Harry nodded again. The law's on your side,' said Lupin quietly. 'Even underage wizards are allowed to use magic in life-threatening situations.' Something very cold trickled down the back of Harry's neck; for a moment he thought someone was putting a Disillusionment Charm on him, then he realised that Mrs Weasley was attacking his hair with a wet comb. She pressed hard on the top of his head. 'Doesn't it ever lie flat?' she said desperately. Harry shook his head. Mr Weasley checked his watch and looked up at Harry. I think we'll go now,' he said. 'We're a bit early, but I think you 11 be better off at the Ministry than hanging around here.' 'OK,' said Harry automatically, dropping his toast and getting to his feet. 'You'll be all right, Harry,' said Tonks, palling him on the arm. 'Good luck

and I'll have to tell Dumbledore I can't do night duty tomorrow, I'm just t - t - too tired,' Tonks finished, yawning hugely again. 'Ill cover for you,' said Mr Weasley. 'I'm OK, I've got a report to finish anyway Mr Weasley was not wearing wizards' robes but a pair of pinstriped trousers and an old bomber jacket. He turned from Tonks to Harry. 'How are you feeling?' Harry shrugged. 'It'll all be over soon,' Mr Weasley said bracingly. 'In a few hours' time you'll be cleared.' Harry said nothing. The hearings on my floor, in Amelia Bones's office. She's Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and the one who'll be questioning you.' 'Amelia Bones is OK, Harry,' said Tonks earnestly. 'She's fair, she'll hear you out.' Harry nodded, still unable to think of anything to say. 'Don't lose your temper,' said Sirius abruptly. 'Be polite and stick to the facts.' Harry nodded again. The law's on your side,' said Lupin quietly. 'Even underage wizards are allowed to use magic in life-threatening situations.' Something very cold trickled down the back of Harry's neck; for a moment he thought someone was putting a Disillusionment Charm on him, then he realised that Mrs Weasley was attacking his hair with a wet comb. She pressed hard on the top of his head. 'Doesn't it ever lie flat?' she said desperately. Harry shook his head. Mr Weasley checked his watch and looked up at Harry. I think we'll go now,' he said. 'We're a bit early, but I think you 11 be better off at the Ministry than hanging around here.' 'OK,' said Harry automatically, dropping his toast and getting to his feet. 'You'll be all right, Harry,' said Tonks, palling him on the arm. 'Good luck

,' said Lupin. 'I'm sure it will be fine.' 'And if it's not,' said Sirius grimly, 'I'll see to Amelia Bones for you...' Harry smiled weakly. Mrs Weasley hugged him. 'We've all got our fingers crossed,' she said. 'Right,' said Harry. 'Well... see you later then.' He followed Mr Weasley upstairs and along the hall. He could hear Sirius's mother grunting in her sleep behind her curtains. Mr Weasley unbolted the door and they stepped out into the cold, grey dawn. 'You don't normally walk to work, do you?' Harry asked him, as they set off briskly around the square. 'No, I usually Apparate,' said Mr Weasley, 'but obviously you can't, and I think it's best we arrive in a thoroughly non-magical fashion... makes a better impression, given what you're being disciplined for...' Mr Weasley kept his hand inside his jacket as they walked. Harry knew it was clenched around his wand. The run-down streets were al most deserted, but when they arrived at the miserable little underground station they found it already lull of early-morning commuters. As ever when he found himself in close proximity to Muggles going about their daily business, Mr Weasley was hard put to contain his enthusiasm. 'Simply fabulous,' he whispered, indicating the automatic ticket machines. 'Wonderfully ingenious.' They're out of order,' said Harry, pointing at the sign. 'Yes, but even so...' said Mr Weasley, beaming at them fondly. They bought their tickets instead from a sleepy-looking guard (Harry handled the transaction, as Mr Weasley was not very good with Muggle money) and five minutes later they were boarding an underground train that rattled them off towards the centre of London. Mr Weasley kept anxiously checking and re-checking the Underground Map above the windows. 'Four more stops, Harry... Three stops led now... Two stops to

said Lupin. 'I'm sure it will be fine.' 'And if it's not,' said Sirius grimly, 'I'll see to Amelia Bones for you...' Harry smiled weakly. Mrs Weasley hugged him. 'We've all got our fingers crossed,' she said. 'Right,' said Harry. 'Well... see you later then.' He followed Mr Weasley upstairs and along the hall. He could hear Sirius's mother grunting in her sleep behind her curtains. Mr Weasley unbolted the door and they stepped out into the cold, grey dawn. 'You don't normally walk to work, do you?' Harry asked him, as they set off briskly around the square. 'No, I usually Apparate,' said Mr Weasley, 'but obviously you can't, and I think it's best we arrive in a thoroughly non-magical fashion... makes a better impression, given what you're being disciplined for...' Mr Weasley kept his hand inside his jacket as they walked. Harry knew it was clenched around his wand. The run-down streets were al most deserted, but when they arrived at the miserable little underground station they found it already lull of early-morning commuters. As ever when he found himself in close proximity to Muggles going about their daily business, Mr Weasley was hard put to contain his enthusiasm. 'Simply fabulous,' he whispered, indicating the automatic ticket machines. 'Wonderfully ingenious.' They're out of order,' said Harry, pointing at the sign. 'Yes, but even so...' said Mr Weasley, beaming at them fondly. They bought their tickets instead from a sleepy-looking guard (Harry handled the transaction, as Mr Weasley was not very good with Muggle money) and five minutes later they were boarding an underground train that rattled them off towards the centre of London. Mr Weasley kept anxiously checking and re-checking the Underground Map above the windows. 'Four more stops, Harry... Three stops led now... Two stops to

go, Harry...' They got off at a station in the very heart of London, and were swept from the train in a tide of besuited men and women carrying briefcases. Up the escalator they went, through the ticket barrier (Mr Weasley delighted with the way the stile swallowed his ticket), and emerged on to a broad street lined with imposing-looking buildings and already full of traffic. 'Where are we?' said Mr Weasley blankly, and for one heart-stopping moment Harry thought they had got off at the wrong station despite Mr Weasley's continual references to the map; but a second later he said, 'Ah yes... this way, Harry,' and led him down a side road. 'Sorry,' he said, 'but I never come by train and it all looks rather different from a Muggle perspective. As a matter of fact, I've never even used the visitors' entrance before.' The further they walked, the smaller and less imposing the buildings became, until finally they reached a street that contained several rather shabby-looking offices, a pub and an overflowing skip. Harry had expected a rather more impressive location for the Ministry of Magic. 'Here we are,' said Mr Weasley brightly, pointing at an old red telephone box, which was missing several panes of glass and stood before a heavily graffitied wall. 'After you, Harry.' He opened the telephone-box door. Harry stepped inside, wondering what on earth this was about. Mr Weasley folded himself in beside Harry and closed the door. It was a tight fit; Harry was jammed against the telephone apparatus, which was hanging crookedly from the wall as though a vandal had tried to rip it off. Mr Weasley reached past Harry for the receiver. 'Mr Weasley, I think this might be out of order, too,' Harry said. 'No, no, I'm sure its fine,' said Mr Weasley, holding the receiver above his head and peering at the dial. 'Let's see... six...' he dialled the number, 'two... four... and another four... and another two...' As the dial wh

, Harry...' They got off at a station in the very heart of London, and were swept from the train in a tide of besuited men and women carrying briefcases. Up the escalator they went, through the ticket barrier (Mr Weasley delighted with the way the stile swallowed his ticket), and emerged on to a broad street lined with imposing-looking buildings and already full of traffic. 'Where are we?' said Mr Weasley blankly, and for one heart-stopping moment Harry thought they had got off at the wrong station despite Mr Weasley's continual references to the map; but a second later he said, 'Ah yes... this way, Harry,' and led him down a side road. 'Sorry,' he said, 'but I never come by train and it all looks rather different from a Muggle perspective. As a matter of fact, I've never even used the visitors' entrance before.' The further they walked, the smaller and less imposing the buildings became, until finally they reached a street that contained several rather shabby-looking offices, a pub and an overflowing skip. Harry had expected a rather more impressive location for the Ministry of Magic. 'Here we are,' said Mr Weasley brightly, pointing at an old red telephone box, which was missing several panes of glass and stood before a heavily graffitied wall. 'After you, Harry.' He opened the telephone-box door. Harry stepped inside, wondering what on earth this was about. Mr Weasley folded himself in beside Harry and closed the door. It was a tight fit; Harry was jammed against the telephone apparatus, which was hanging crookedly from the wall as though a vandal had tried to rip it off. Mr Weasley reached past Harry for the receiver. 'Mr Weasley, I think this might be out of order, too,' Harry said. 'No, no, I'm sure its fine,' said Mr Weasley, holding the receiver above his head and peering at the dial. 'Let's see... six...' he dialled the number, 'two... four... and another four... and another two...' As the dial wh

irred smoothly back into place, a cool female voice sounded inside the telephone box, not from the receiver in Mr Weasley's hand, but as loudly and plainly as though an invisible woman were standing right beside them. 'Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business.' 'Er...' said Mr Weasley, clearly uncertain whether or not he should talk into the receiver. He compromised by holding the mouthpiece to his ear, 'Arthur Weasley, Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, here to escort Harry Potter, who has been asked to attend a disciplinary hearing...' 'Thank you,' said the cool female voice. 'Visitor, please take the badge and attach it to the front of your robes.' There was a click and a rattle, and Harry saw something slide out of the metal chute where returned coins usually appeared. He picked it up: it was a square silver badge with Harry Potter, Disciplinary Hearing on it. He pinned it to the front of his T-shirt as the female voice spoke again. 'Visitor to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium ' The floor of the telephone box shuddered. They were sinking slowly into the ground. Harry watched apprehensively as the pavement seemed to rise up past the glass windows of the telephone box until darkness closed over their heads. Then he could see nothing at all; he could hear only a dull grinding noise as the telephone box made its way down through the earth. After about a minute, though it felt much longer to Harry, a chink of golden light illuminated his feet and, widening, rose up his body, until it hit him in the face and he had to blink to stop his eyes watering. 'The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day,' said the woman's voice. The door of the telephone box sprang open and Mr Weasley stepped out of it, followed by Harry, whose mouth had fallen open. They were standing at one end of a very long and splendid hall with a highly polished, dark wood floor. The peacock blue

red smoothly back into place, a cool female voice sounded inside the telephone box, not from the receiver in Mr Weasley's hand, but as loudly and plainly as though an invisible woman were standing right beside them. 'Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business.' 'Er...' said Mr Weasley, clearly uncertain whether or not he should talk into the receiver. He compromised by holding the mouthpiece to his ear, 'Arthur Weasley, Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, here to escort Harry Potter, who has been asked to attend a disciplinary hearing...' 'Thank you,' said the cool female voice. 'Visitor, please take the badge and attach it to the front of your robes.' There was a click and a rattle, and Harry saw something slide out of the metal chute where returned coins usually appeared. He picked it up: it was a square silver badge with Harry Potter, Disciplinary Hearing on it. He pinned it to the front of his T-shirt as the female voice spoke again. 'Visitor to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium ' The floor of the telephone box shuddered. They were sinking slowly into the ground. Harry watched apprehensively as the pavement seemed to rise up past the glass windows of the telephone box until darkness closed over their heads. Then he could see nothing at all; he could hear only a dull grinding noise as the telephone box made its way down through the earth. After about a minute, though it felt much longer to Harry, a chink of golden light illuminated his feet and, widening, rose up his body, until it hit him in the face and he had to blink to stop his eyes watering. 'The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day,' said the woman's voice. The door of the telephone box sprang open and Mr Weasley stepped out of it, followed by Harry, whose mouth had fallen open. They were standing at one end of a very long and splendid hall with a highly polished, dark wood floor. The peacock blue

ceiling was inlaid with gleaming golden symbols that kept moving and changing like some enormous heavenly noticeboard. The wall's on each side were panelled in shiny dark wood and had many gilded fireplaces set into them. Every few seconds a witch or wizard would emerge from one of the left-hand fireplaces with a soft whoosh. On the right-hand side, short queues were forming before each fireplace, waiting to depart. Halfway down the hall was a fountain. A group of golden statues, larger than life-size, stood in the middle of a circular pool. Tallest of them all was a noble-looking wizard with his wand pointing straight up in the air. Grouped around him were a beautiful witch, a centaur, a goblin and a house-elf. The last three were all locking adoringly up at the witch and wizard. Glittering jets of water were flying from the ends of their wands, the point of the centaurs a tow, the tip of the goblin's hat and each of the house-elf's ears, so that the tinkling hiss of falling water was added to the pops and cracks of the Apparators and the clatter of footsteps as hundreds of witches and wizards, most of whom were wearing glum, early-morning looks, strode towards a set of golden gates at the far end of the hall 'This way,' said Mr Weasley. They joined the throng, wending their way between the Ministry workers, some of whom were carrying tottering piles of parchment, others battered briefcases; still others were reading the Daily Prophet while they walked. As they passed the fountain Harry saw silver Sickles and bronze Knuts glinting up at him from the bottom of the pool. A small smudged sign beside it read: ALL PROCEEDS FROM THE FOUNTAIN OF MAGICAL BRETHREN WILL BE GIVEN TO ST MUNGO'S HOSPITAL FOR MAGICAL MALADIES AND INJURIES. If I'm not expelled from Hogwarts, I'll put in ten Galleons, Harry found himself thinking desperately. '

iling was inlaid with gleaming golden symbols that kept moving and changing like some enormous heavenly noticeboard. The wall's on each side were panelled in shiny dark wood and had many gilded fireplaces set into them. Every few seconds a witch or wizard would emerge from one of the left-hand fireplaces with a soft whoosh. On the right-hand side, short queues were forming before each fireplace, waiting to depart. Halfway down the hall was a fountain. A group of golden statues, larger than life-size, stood in the middle of a circular pool. Tallest of them all was a noble-looking wizard with his wand pointing straight up in the air. Grouped around him were a beautiful witch, a centaur, a goblin and a house-elf. The last three were all locking adoringly up at the witch and wizard. Glittering jets of water were flying from the ends of their wands, the point of the centaurs a tow, the tip of the goblin's hat and each of the house-elf's ears, so that the tinkling hiss of falling water was added to the pops and cracks of the Apparators and the clatter of footsteps as hundreds of witches and wizards, most of whom were wearing glum, early-morning looks, strode towards a set of golden gates at the far end of the hall 'This way,' said Mr Weasley. They joined the throng, wending their way between the Ministry workers, some of whom were carrying tottering piles of parchment, others battered briefcases; still others were reading the Daily Prophet while they walked. As they passed the fountain Harry saw silver Sickles and bronze Knuts glinting up at him from the bottom of the pool. A small smudged sign beside it read: ALL PROCEEDS FROM THE FOUNTAIN OF MAGICAL BRETHREN WILL BE GIVEN TO ST MUNGO'S HOSPITAL FOR MAGICAL MALADIES AND INJURIES. If I'm not expelled from Hogwarts, I'll put in ten Galleons, Harry found himself thinking desperately. '

Over here, Harry,' said Mr Weasley, and they stepped out of the stream of Ministry employees heading for the golden gates. Seated at a desk to the left, beneath a sign saying Security, a badly-shaven wizard in peacock blue robes looked up as they approached and put down his Daily Prophet. 'I'm escorting a visitor,' said Mr Weasley, gesturing towards Harry. 'Step over here,' said the wizard in a bored voice. Harry walked closer to him and the wizard held up a long golden rod, thin and flexible as a car aerial, and passed it up and down Harry's front and back. 'Wand,' grunted the security wizard at Harry, putting down the golden instrument and holding out his hand. Harry produced his wand. The wizard dropped it on to a strange brass instrument, which looked something like a set of scales with only one dish. It began to vibrate. A narrow strip of parchment came speeding out of a slit in the base. The wizard tore this off and read the writing on it. 'Eleven inches, phoenix-feather core, been in use four years. That correct?' 'Yes,' said Harry nervously. 'I keep this,' said the wizard, impaling the slip of parchment on a small brass spike. 'You get this back,' he added, thrusting the wand at Harry. Thank you.' 'Hang on...' said the wizard slowly. His eyes had darted from the silver visitor's badge on Harry's chest to his forehead. Thank you, Eric,' said Mr Weasley firmly, and grasping Harry by the shoulder he steered him away from the desk and back into the stream of wizards and witches walking through the golden gates. Jostled slightly by the crowd, Harry followed Mr Weasley through the gates into the smaller hall beyond, where at least twenty lifts stood behind wrought golden grilles. Harry and Mr Weasley joined the crowd around one of them. Nearby, stood a big bearded wizard holding a large cardboard box which was emitting rasping noises. 'All right, Arthur?' said the wizard, nodding at

here, Harry,' said Mr Weasley, and they stepped out of the stream of Ministry employees heading for the golden gates. Seated at a desk to the left, beneath a sign saying Security, a badly-shaven wizard in peacock blue robes looked up as they approached and put down his Daily Prophet. 'I'm escorting a visitor,' said Mr Weasley, gesturing towards Harry. 'Step over here,' said the wizard in a bored voice. Harry walked closer to him and the wizard held up a long golden rod, thin and flexible as a car aerial, and passed it up and down Harry's front and back. 'Wand,' grunted the security wizard at Harry, putting down the golden instrument and holding out his hand. Harry produced his wand. The wizard dropped it on to a strange brass instrument, which looked something like a set of scales with only one dish. It began to vibrate. A narrow strip of parchment came speeding out of a slit in the base. The wizard tore this off and read the writing on it. 'Eleven inches, phoenix-feather core, been in use four years. That correct?' 'Yes,' said Harry nervously. 'I keep this,' said the wizard, impaling the slip of parchment on a small brass spike. 'You get this back,' he added, thrusting the wand at Harry. Thank you.' 'Hang on...' said the wizard slowly. His eyes had darted from the silver visitor's badge on Harry's chest to his forehead. Thank you, Eric,' said Mr Weasley firmly, and grasping Harry by the shoulder he steered him away from the desk and back into the stream of wizards and witches walking through the golden gates. Jostled slightly by the crowd, Harry followed Mr Weasley through the gates into the smaller hall beyond, where at least twenty lifts stood behind wrought golden grilles. Harry and Mr Weasley joined the crowd around one of them. Nearby, stood a big bearded wizard holding a large cardboard box which was emitting rasping noises. 'All right, Arthur?' said the wizard, nodding at

Mr Weasley. What've you got there, Bob?' asked Mr Weasley, looking at the box. 'We're not sure,' said the wizard seriously. 'We thought it was a bog-standard chicken until it started breathing fire. Looks like a serious breach of the Ban on Experimental Breeding to me.' With a great jangling and clattering a lift descended in front of them; the golden grille slid back and Harry and Mr Weasley stepped into the lift with the rest of the crowd and Harry found himself jammed against the back wall. Several witches and wizards were looking at him curiously; he stared at his feet to avoid catching anyone's eye, flattening his fringe as he did so. The grilles slid shut with a crash and the lift ascended slowly, chains rattling, while the same cool female voice Harry had heard in the telephone box rang out again. 'Level Seven, Department of Magical Games and Sports, incorporating the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters, Official Gobstones Club and Ludicrous Patents Office.' The lift doors opened. Harry glimpsed an untidy-looking corridor, with various posters of Quidditch teams tacked lopsidedly on the walls. One of the wizards in the lift, who was carrying an armful of broomsticks, extricated himself with difficulty and disappeared down the corridor. The doors closed, the lift juddered upwards again and the woman's voice announced: 'Level Six, Department of Magical Transportation, incorporating the Floo Network Authority, Broom Regulatory Control, Portkey Office and Apparation Test Centre.' Once again the lift doors opened and four or five witches and wizards got out; at the same time, several paper aeroplanes swooped into the lift. Harry stared up at them as they flapped idly around above his head; they were a pale violet colour and he could see Ministry of Magic stamped along the edge of their wings. 'Just inter-departmental memos,' Mr Weasley muttered to him. 'We used to use owls, but the mess was unbelievable... droppings a I over the

Weasley. What've you got there, Bob?' asked Mr Weasley, looking at the box. 'We're not sure,' said the wizard seriously. 'We thought it was a bog-standard chicken until it started breathing fire. Looks like a serious breach of the Ban on Experimental Breeding to me.' With a great jangling and clattering a lift descended in front of them; the golden grille slid back and Harry and Mr Weasley stepped into the lift with the rest of the crowd and Harry found himself jammed against the back wall. Several witches and wizards were looking at him curiously; he stared at his feet to avoid catching anyone's eye, flattening his fringe as he did so. The grilles slid shut with a crash and the lift ascended slowly, chains rattling, while the same cool female voice Harry had heard in the telephone box rang out again. 'Level Seven, Department of Magical Games and Sports, incorporating the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters, Official Gobstones Club and Ludicrous Patents Office.' The lift doors opened. Harry glimpsed an untidy-looking corridor, with various posters of Quidditch teams tacked lopsidedly on the walls. One of the wizards in the lift, who was carrying an armful of broomsticks, extricated himself with difficulty and disappeared down the corridor. The doors closed, the lift juddered upwards again and the woman's voice announced: 'Level Six, Department of Magical Transportation, incorporating the Floo Network Authority, Broom Regulatory Control, Portkey Office and Apparation Test Centre.' Once again the lift doors opened and four or five witches and wizards got out; at the same time, several paper aeroplanes swooped into the lift. Harry stared up at them as they flapped idly around above his head; they were a pale violet colour and he could see Ministry of Magic stamped along the edge of their wings. 'Just inter-departmental memos,' Mr Weasley muttered to him. 'We used to use owls, but the mess was unbelievable... droppings a I over the

desks As they clattered upwards again the memos flapped around the lamp swaying from the lift's ceiling. 'Level Five, Department of International Magical Co-operation, incorporating the International Magical Trading Standards Body, the International Magical Office of Law and the International Confederation of Wizards, British Seats.' When the doors opened, two of the memos zoomed out with a few more of the witches and wizards, but several more memos zoomed in, so that the light from the lamp flickered and flashed overhead as they darted around it. 'Level Four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating Beast, Being and Spirit Divisions, Goblin Liaison Office and Pest Advisory Bureau. ''S'cuse,' said the wizard carrying the fire-breathing chicken and he left the lift pursued by a little flock of memos. The doors clanged shut yet again. 'Level Three, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, including the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, Obliviator Headquarters and Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee.' Everybody left the lift on this floor except Mr Weasley, Harry and a witch who was reading an extremely long piece of parchment that was trailing on the floor. The remaining memos continued to soar around the lamp as the lift juddered upwards again, then the doors opened and the voice made its announcement. 'Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters and Wizengamot Administration Services.' 'This is us, Harry,' said Mr Weasley, and they followed the witch out of the lift into a corridor lined with doors. 'My office is on the other side of the floor.' 'Mr Weasley,' said Harry, as they passed a window through which sunlight was streaming, 'aren't we still underground?' 'Yes, we are,' said Mr Weasley. Those are enchanted windows. Magical Maintenance decide what weather we'll get every day. We had two months of hurricanes last time they were ang

ks As they clattered upwards again the memos flapped around the lamp swaying from the lift's ceiling. 'Level Five, Department of International Magical Co-operation, incorporating the International Magical Trading Standards Body, the International Magical Office of Law and the International Confederation of Wizards, British Seats.' When the doors opened, two of the memos zoomed out with a few more of the witches and wizards, but several more memos zoomed in, so that the light from the lamp flickered and flashed overhead as they darted around it. 'Level Four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating Beast, Being and Spirit Divisions, Goblin Liaison Office and Pest Advisory Bureau. ''S'cuse,' said the wizard carrying the fire-breathing chicken and he left the lift pursued by a little flock of memos. The doors clanged shut yet again. 'Level Three, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, including the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, Obliviator Headquarters and Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee.' Everybody left the lift on this floor except Mr Weasley, Harry and a witch who was reading an extremely long piece of parchment that was trailing on the floor. The remaining memos continued to soar around the lamp as the lift juddered upwards again, then the doors opened and the voice made its announcement. 'Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters and Wizengamot Administration Services.' 'This is us, Harry,' said Mr Weasley, and they followed the witch out of the lift into a corridor lined with doors. 'My office is on the other side of the floor.' 'Mr Weasley,' said Harry, as they passed a window through which sunlight was streaming, 'aren't we still underground?' 'Yes, we are,' said Mr Weasley. Those are enchanted windows. Magical Maintenance decide what weather we'll get every day. We had two months of hurricanes last time they were ang

ling for a pay rise... Just round here, Harry.' They turned a corner, walked through a pair of heavy oak doors and emerged in a cluttered open area divided into cubicles, which was buzzing with talk and laughter. Memos were zooming in and out of cubicles like miniature rockets. A lopsided sign on the nearest cubicle read: Auror Headquarters. Harry looked surreptitiously through the doorways as they passed. The Aurors had covered their cubicle walls with everything From pictures of wanted wizards and photographs of their families, to posters of their favourite Quidditch teams and articles from the Daily Prophet. A scarlet-robed man with a ponytail longer than Bill's was sitting with his boots up on his desk, dictating a report to his quill. A little further along, a witch with a patch over one eye was talking over the top of her cubicle wall to Kingsley Shacklebolt. 'Morning, Weasley,' said Kingsley carelessly, as they drew nearer. I've been wanting a word with you, have you got a second?' 'Yes, if it really is a second,' said Mr Weasley, 'I'm in rather a hurry.' They were talking as though they hardly knew each other and when Harry opened his mouth to say hello to Kingsley, Mr We ashy stood on his foot. They followed Kingsley along the row and into the very last cubicle. Harry received a slight shock; blinking down at him from every direction was Sirius's face. Newspaper cuttings and old photographs - even the one of Sirius being best man at the Potters' wedding - 'papered the walls. The only Sirius-free space was a map of the world in which little red pins were glowing like jewels. 'Here,' said Kingsley brusquely to Mr Weasley, shoving a sheaf of parchment into his hand. 'I need as much information as possible on flying Muggle vehicles sighted in the last twelve months. We've received information that Black might still be using his old motorcycle.' Kingsley tipped Harry an enormous wink and added, in a whisper, 'Give

for a pay rise... Just round here, Harry.' They turned a corner, walked through a pair of heavy oak doors and emerged in a cluttered open area divided into cubicles, which was buzzing with talk and laughter. Memos were zooming in and out of cubicles like miniature rockets. A lopsided sign on the nearest cubicle read: Auror Headquarters. Harry looked surreptitiously through the doorways as they passed. The Aurors had covered their cubicle walls with everything From pictures of wanted wizards and photographs of their families, to posters of their favourite Quidditch teams and articles from the Daily Prophet. A scarlet-robed man with a ponytail longer than Bill's was sitting with his boots up on his desk, dictating a report to his quill. A little further along, a witch with a patch over one eye was talking over the top of her cubicle wall to Kingsley Shacklebolt. 'Morning, Weasley,' said Kingsley carelessly, as they drew nearer. I've been wanting a word with you, have you got a second?' 'Yes, if it really is a second,' said Mr Weasley, 'I'm in rather a hurry.' They were talking as though they hardly knew each other and when Harry opened his mouth to say hello to Kingsley, Mr We ashy stood on his foot. They followed Kingsley along the row and into the very last cubicle. Harry received a slight shock; blinking down at him from every direction was Sirius's face. Newspaper cuttings and old photographs - even the one of Sirius being best man at the Potters' wedding - 'papered the walls. The only Sirius-free space was a map of the world in which little red pins were glowing like jewels. 'Here,' said Kingsley brusquely to Mr Weasley, shoving a sheaf of parchment into his hand. 'I need as much information as possible on flying Muggle vehicles sighted in the last twelve months. We've received information that Black might still be using his old motorcycle.' Kingsley tipped Harry an enormous wink and added, in a whisper, 'Give

him the magazine, he might find it interesting.' Then he said in normal tones, 'And don't take too long, Weasley, the delay on that firelegs report held our investigation up for a month.' 'If you had read my report you would know that the term is firearms,' said Mr Weasley coolly. 'And I'm afraid you'll have to wait for information on motorcycles; we're extremely busy at the moment.' He dropped his voice and said, 'If you can get away before seven, Molly's making meatballs.' He beckoned to Harry and led him out of Kingsley's cubicle, through a second set of oak doors, into another passage, turned left, marched along another corridor, turned right into a dimly lit and distinctly shabby corridor, and finally reached a dead end, where a door on the left stood ajar, revealing a broom cupboard, and a door on the right bore a tarnished brass plaque reading: Misuse of Muggle Artefacts. Mr Weasley's dingy office seemed to be slightly smaller than the broom cupboard. Two desks had been crammed inside it and there was barely space to move around them because of all the overflowing filing cabinets lining the walls, on top of which were tottering piles of files. The little wall space available bore witness to Mr Weasley's obsessions: several posters of cars, including one of a dismantled engine; two illustrations of postboxes he seemed to have cut out of Muggle children's books; and a diagram showing how to wire a plug. Sitting on top of Mr Weasley's overflowing in-tray was an old toaster that was hiccoughing in a disconsolate way and a pair of empty leather gloves that were twiddling their thumbs. A photograph of the Weasley family stood beside the in-tray. Harry noticed that Percy appeared to have walked out of it. 'We haven't got a window,' said Mr Weasley apologetically, taking off his bomber jacket and placing it on the back of his chair. 'We've asked, but they don't seem to think we need

the magazine, he might find it interesting.' Then he said in normal tones, 'And don't take too long, Weasley, the delay on that firelegs report held our investigation up for a month.' 'If you had read my report you would know that the term is firearms,' said Mr Weasley coolly. 'And I'm afraid you'll have to wait for information on motorcycles; we're extremely busy at the moment.' He dropped his voice and said, 'If you can get away before seven, Molly's making meatballs.' He beckoned to Harry and led him out of Kingsley's cubicle, through a second set of oak doors, into another passage, turned left, marched along another corridor, turned right into a dimly lit and distinctly shabby corridor, and finally reached a dead end, where a door on the left stood ajar, revealing a broom cupboard, and a door on the right bore a tarnished brass plaque reading: Misuse of Muggle Artefacts. Mr Weasley's dingy office seemed to be slightly smaller than the broom cupboard. Two desks had been crammed inside it and there was barely space to move around them because of all the overflowing filing cabinets lining the walls, on top of which were tottering piles of files. The little wall space available bore witness to Mr Weasley's obsessions: several posters of cars, including one of a dismantled engine; two illustrations of postboxes he seemed to have cut out of Muggle children's books; and a diagram showing how to wire a plug. Sitting on top of Mr Weasley's overflowing in-tray was an old toaster that was hiccoughing in a disconsolate way and a pair of empty leather gloves that were twiddling their thumbs. A photograph of the Weasley family stood beside the in-tray. Harry noticed that Percy appeared to have walked out of it. 'We haven't got a window,' said Mr Weasley apologetically, taking off his bomber jacket and placing it on the back of his chair. 'We've asked, but they don't seem to think we need

one. Have a seat, Harry, doesn't look as if Perkins is in yet.' Harry squeezed himself into the chair behind Perkins's desk while Mr Weasley riffled through the sheaf of parchment Kingsley Shacklebolt had given him. 'Ah,' he said, grinning, as he extracted a copy of a magazine entitled The Quibbler from its midst, 'yes...' He flicked through it. 'Yes, he's right, I'm sure Sirius will find that very amusing - oh dear, what's this now?' A memo had just zoomed in through the open door and fluttered to rest on top of the hiccoughing toaster. Mr Weasley unfolded it and read it aloud. "Third regurgitating public toilet reported in Bethnal Green, kindly investigate immediately." This is getting ridiculous...' 'A regurgitating toilet?' 'Anti-Muggle pranksters,' said Mr Weasley, frowning. 'We had two last week, one in Wimbledon, one in Elephant and Castle. Muggles are pulling the flush and instead of everything disappearing - well, you can imagine. The poor things keep calling in those - pumbles, I think they're called - you know, the ones who mend pipes and things.' 'Plumbers?' 'Exactly, yes, but of course they're flummoxed, f only hope we can catch whoever's doing it.' 'Will it be Aurors who catch them?' 'Oh no, this is too trivial for Aurors, it'll be the ordinary Magical Law Enforcement Patrol - ah, Harry, this is Perkins.' A stooped, timid-looking old wizard with fluffy white hair had just entered the room, panting. 'Oh, Arthur!' he said desperately, without looking at Harry. Thank goodness, I didn't know what to do for the best, whether to wait here for you or not. I've just sent an owl to your home but you've obviously missed it - an urgent message came ten minutes ago - '

. Have a seat, Harry, doesn't look as if Perkins is in yet.' Harry squeezed himself into the chair behind Perkins's desk while Mr Weasley riffled through the sheaf of parchment Kingsley Shacklebolt had given him. 'Ah,' he said, grinning, as he extracted a copy of a magazine entitled The Quibbler from its midst, 'yes...' He flicked through it. 'Yes, he's right, I'm sure Sirius will find that very amusing - oh dear, what's this now?' A memo had just zoomed in through the open door and fluttered to rest on top of the hiccoughing toaster. Mr Weasley unfolded it and read it aloud. "Third regurgitating public toilet reported in Bethnal Green, kindly investigate immediately." This is getting ridiculous...' 'A regurgitating toilet?' 'Anti-Muggle pranksters,' said Mr Weasley, frowning. 'We had two last week, one in Wimbledon, one in Elephant and Castle. Muggles are pulling the flush and instead of everything disappearing - well, you can imagine. The poor things keep calling in those - pumbles, I think they're called - you know, the ones who mend pipes and things.' 'Plumbers?' 'Exactly, yes, but of course they're flummoxed, f only hope we can catch whoever's doing it.' 'Will it be Aurors who catch them?' 'Oh no, this is too trivial for Aurors, it'll be the ordinary Magical Law Enforcement Patrol - ah, Harry, this is Perkins.' A stooped, timid-looking old wizard with fluffy white hair had just entered the room, panting. 'Oh, Arthur!' he said desperately, without looking at Harry. Thank goodness, I didn't know what to do for the best, whether to wait here for you or not. I've just sent an owl to your home but you've obviously missed it - an urgent message came ten minutes ago - '

'I know about the regurgitating toilet,' said Mr Weasley. 'No, no, it's not the toilet, it's the Potter boy's hearing - they've changed the time and venue - it starts at eight o'clock now and it's down in old Courtroom Ten - ' 'Down in old - but they told me - Merlin's beard!' Mr Weasley looked at his watch, let out a yelp and leapt from his chair. 'Quick, Harry, we should have been there five minutes ago!' Perkins flattened himself against the filing cabinets as Mr Weasley left the office at a run, Harry close on his heels. 'Why have they changed the time?' Harry said breathlessly, as they hurtled past the Auror cubicles; people poked out their heads and stared as they streaked past. Harry felt as though he'd felt all his insides back at Perkins's desk. 'I've no idea, but thank goodness we got here so early, if you'd missed it, it would have been catastrophic!' Mr Weasley skidded to a halt beside the lifts and jabbed impatiently at the 'down' button. 'Come ON!' The lift clattered into view and they hurried inside. Every time it stopped Mr Weasley cursed furiously and pummelled the number nine button. 'Those courtrooms haven't been used in years,' said Mr Weasley angrily. 'I can't think why they're doing it down there - unless - but no - ' A plump witch carrying a smoking goblet entered the lift at that moment, and Mr Weasley did not elaborate. 'The Atrium,' said the cool female voice and the golden grilles slid open, showing Harry a distant glimpse of the golden statues in the fountain. The plump witch got out and a sallow-skinned wizard with a very mournful face got in. 'Morning, Arthur,' he said in a sepulchral voice as the lift began to descend. 'Don't often see you down here.' 'U

'I know about the regurgitating toilet,' said Mr Weasley. 'No, no, it's not the toilet, it's the Potter boy's hearing - they've changed the time and venue - it starts at eight o'clock now and it's down in old Courtroom Ten - ' 'Down in old - but they told me - Merlin's beard!' Mr Weasley looked at his watch, let out a yelp and leapt from his chair. 'Quick, Harry, we should have been there five minutes ago!' Perkins flattened himself against the filing cabinets as Mr Weasley left the office at a run, Harry close on his heels. 'Why have they changed the time?' Harry said breathlessly, as they hurtled past the Auror cubicles; people poked out their heads and stared as they streaked past. Harry felt as though he'd felt all his insides back at Perkins's desk. 'I've no idea, but thank goodness we got here so early, if you'd missed it, it would have been catastrophic!' Mr Weasley skidded to a halt beside the lifts and jabbed impatiently at the 'down' button. 'Come ON!' The lift clattered into view and they hurried inside. Every time it stopped Mr Weasley cursed furiously and pummelled the number nine button. 'Those courtrooms haven't been used in years,' said Mr Weasley angrily. 'I can't think why they're doing it down there - unless - but no - ' A plump witch carrying a smoking goblet entered the lift at that moment, and Mr Weasley did not elaborate. 'The Atrium,' said the cool female voice and the golden grilles slid open, showing Harry a distant glimpse of the golden statues in the fountain. The plump witch got out and a sallow-skinned wizard with a very mournful face got in. 'Morning, Arthur,' he said in a sepulchral voice as the lift began to descend. 'Don't often see you down here.' 'U

rgent business, Bode,' said Mr Weasley, who was bouncing on the balls of his feet and throwing anxious looks over at Harry. 'Ah, yes,' said Bode, surveying Harry unblinkingly. 'Of course.' Harry barely had emotion to spare for Bode, but his unfaltering gaze did not make him feel any more comfortable. 'Department of Mysteries,' said the cool female voice, and left it at that. 'Quick, Harry,' said Mr Weasley as the lift doors rattled open, and they sped up a corridor that was quite different from those above. The walls were bare; there were no windows and no doors apart from a plain black one set at the very end of the corridor. Harry expected them to go through it, but instead Mr Weasley seized him by the arm and dragged him to the left, where there was an opening leading to a flight of steps. 'Down here, down here,' panted Mr Weasley, taking two steps at a time. The lift doesn't even come down this far... why they're doing it down there I,..' They reached the bottom of the steps and ran along yet another corridor, which bore a great resemblance to the one that led to Snape's dungeon at Hogwarts, with rough stone walls and torches in brackets. The doors they passed here were heavy wooden ones with iron bolts and keyholes. 'Courtroom... Ten... I think... we're nearly... yes.' Mr Weasley stumbled to a halt outside a grimy dark door with an immense iron lock and slumped against the wall, clutching at a stitch in his chest. 'Go on,' he panted, pointing his thumb at the door. 'Get in there.' 'Aren't - aren't you coming with -?' 'No, no, I'm not allowed. Good luck!' Harry's heart was beating a violent tattoo against his Adams apple. He swallowed hard, turned the heavy iron door handle and stepped inside the courtroom. - CHAPTER EIGHT - The Hearing Harry gasped; he could not help

gent business, Bode,' said Mr Weasley, who was bouncing on the balls of his feet and throwing anxious looks over at Harry. 'Ah, yes,' said Bode, surveying Harry unblinkingly. 'Of course.' Harry barely had emotion to spare for Bode, but his unfaltering gaze did not make him feel any more comfortable. 'Department of Mysteries,' said the cool female voice, and left it at that. 'Quick, Harry,' said Mr Weasley as the lift doors rattled open, and they sped up a corridor that was quite different from those above. The walls were bare; there were no windows and no doors apart from a plain black one set at the very end of the corridor. Harry expected them to go through it, but instead Mr Weasley seized him by the arm and dragged him to the left, where there was an opening leading to a flight of steps. 'Down here, down here,' panted Mr Weasley, taking two steps at a time. The lift doesn't even come down this far... why they're doing it down there I,..' They reached the bottom of the steps and ran along yet another corridor, which bore a great resemblance to the one that led to Snape's dungeon at Hogwarts, with rough stone walls and torches in brackets. The doors they passed here were heavy wooden ones with iron bolts and keyholes. 'Courtroom... Ten... I think... we're nearly... yes.' Mr Weasley stumbled to a halt outside a grimy dark door with an immense iron lock and slumped against the wall, clutching at a stitch in his chest. 'Go on,' he panted, pointing his thumb at the door. 'Get in there.' 'Aren't - aren't you coming with -?' 'No, no, I'm not allowed. Good luck!' Harry's heart was beating a violent tattoo against his Adams apple. He swallowed hard, turned the heavy iron door handle and stepped inside the courtroom. - CHAPTER EIGHT - The Hearing Harry gasped; he could not help

himself. The large dungeon he had entered was horribly familiar. He had not only seen it before, he had been here before. This was the place he had visited inside Dumbledore's Pensieve, the place where he had watched the Lestranges sentenced to life imprisonment in Azkaban. The walls were made of dark stone, dimly lit by torches. Empty benches rose on either side of him, but ahead, in the highest benches of all, were many shadowy figures. They had been talking in low voices, but as the heavy door swung closed behind Harry an ominous silence fell. A cold male voice rang across the courtroom. 'You're late.' 'Sorry,' said Harry nervously. 'I - I didn't know the time had been changed.' 'That is not the Wizengamot's fault,' said the voice. 'An owl was sent to you this morning. Take your seat.' Harry dropped his gaze to the chair in the centre of the room, the arms of which were covered in chains. He had seen those chains spring to life and bind whoever sat between them. His footsteps echoed loudly as he walked across the stone floor. When he sat gingerly on the edge of the chair the chains clinked threateningly, but did not bind him. Feeling rather sick, he looked up at the people seated at the bench above. There were about fifty of them, all, as far as he could see, wearing plum-coloured robes with an elaborately worked silver 'W' on the left-hand side of the chest and all staring down their noses at him, some with very austere expressions, others looks of frank curiosity. In the very middle of the front row sat Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic. Fudge was a portly man who often sported a lime-green bowler hat, though today he had dispensed with it; he had dispensed, too, with the indulgent smile he had once worn when he spoke to Harry. A broad, square-jawed witch with very short grey hair sat on Fudges left; she wore a monocle and looked forbidding. On Fudges right was another witch, but she was sitting

. The large dungeon he had entered was horribly familiar. He had not only seen it before, he had been here before. This was the place he had visited inside Dumbledore's Pensieve, the place where he had watched the Lestranges sentenced to life imprisonment in Azkaban. The walls were made of dark stone, dimly lit by torches. Empty benches rose on either side of him, but ahead, in the highest benches of all, were many shadowy figures. They had been talking in low voices, but as the heavy door swung closed behind Harry an ominous silence fell. A cold male voice rang across the courtroom. 'You're late.' 'Sorry,' said Harry nervously. 'I - I didn't know the time had been changed.' 'That is not the Wizengamot's fault,' said the voice. 'An owl was sent to you this morning. Take your seat.' Harry dropped his gaze to the chair in the centre of the room, the arms of which were covered in chains. He had seen those chains spring to life and bind whoever sat between them. His footsteps echoed loudly as he walked across the stone floor. When he sat gingerly on the edge of the chair the chains clinked threateningly, but did not bind him. Feeling rather sick, he looked up at the people seated at the bench above. There were about fifty of them, all, as far as he could see, wearing plum-coloured robes with an elaborately worked silver 'W' on the left-hand side of the chest and all staring down their noses at him, some with very austere expressions, others looks of frank curiosity. In the very middle of the front row sat Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic. Fudge was a portly man who often sported a lime-green bowler hat, though today he had dispensed with it; he had dispensed, too, with the indulgent smile he had once worn when he spoke to Harry. A broad, square-jawed witch with very short grey hair sat on Fudges left; she wore a monocle and looked forbidding. On Fudges right was another witch, but she was sitting

so far back on the bench that her face was in shadow. 'Very well,' said Fudge. 'The accused being present - finally - let us begin. Are you ready?' he called down the row. 'Yes, sir,' said an eager voice Harry knew. Harry looked at Percy, expecting some sign of recognition from him, but none came. Percy's eyes, behind his horn-rimmed glasses, were fixed on his parchment, a quill poised in his hand. 'Disciplinary hearing of the twelfth of August,' said Fudge in a ringing voice, and Percy began taking notes at once, 'into offences committed under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and the International Statute of Secrecy by Harry-James Potter, resident at number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. 'Interrogators: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister for Magic; Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister. Court Scribe, Percy Ignatius Weasley - ' 'Witness for the defence, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore,' said a quiet voice from behind Harry, who turned his head so fast he cricked his neck. Dumbledore was striding serenely across the room wearing long midnight-blue robes and a perfectly calm expression. His long silver beard and hair gleamed in the torchlight as he drew level with Harry and looked up at Fudge through the half-moon spectacles that rested halfway down his very crooked nose. The members of the Wizengamot were muttering. All eyes were now on Dumbledore. Some looked annoyed, others slightly frightened; two elderly witches in the back row, however, raised their hands and waved in welcome. A powerful emotion had risen in Harry's chest at the sight of Dumbledore, a fortified, hopeful feeling rather like that which phoenix song gave him. He wanted to catch Dumbledore's eye, but Dumbledore was not looking his way; he was continuing to look up at the obviously fluster

far back on the bench that her face was in shadow. 'Very well,' said Fudge. 'The accused being present - finally - let us begin. Are you ready?' he called down the row. 'Yes, sir,' said an eager voice Harry knew. Harry looked at Percy, expecting some sign of recognition from him, but none came. Percy's eyes, behind his horn-rimmed glasses, were fixed on his parchment, a quill poised in his hand. 'Disciplinary hearing of the twelfth of August,' said Fudge in a ringing voice, and Percy began taking notes at once, 'into offences committed under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and the International Statute of Secrecy by Harry-James Potter, resident at number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. 'Interrogators: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister for Magic; Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister. Court Scribe, Percy Ignatius Weasley - ' 'Witness for the defence, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore,' said a quiet voice from behind Harry, who turned his head so fast he cricked his neck. Dumbledore was striding serenely across the room wearing long midnight-blue robes and a perfectly calm expression. His long silver beard and hair gleamed in the torchlight as he drew level with Harry and looked up at Fudge through the half-moon spectacles that rested halfway down his very crooked nose. The members of the Wizengamot were muttering. All eyes were now on Dumbledore. Some looked annoyed, others slightly frightened; two elderly witches in the back row, however, raised their hands and waved in welcome. A powerful emotion had risen in Harry's chest at the sight of Dumbledore, a fortified, hopeful feeling rather like that which phoenix song gave him. He wanted to catch Dumbledore's eye, but Dumbledore was not looking his way; he was continuing to look up at the obviously fluster

ed Fudge. 'Ah,' said Fudge, who looked thoroughly disconcerted. 'Dumbledore. Yes. You - er - got our - er - message that the time and - er - place of the hearing had been changed, then?' 'I must have missed it,' said Dumbledore cheerfully. 'However, due to a lucky mistake I arrived at the Ministry three hours early, so no harm done.' 'Yes - well - I suppose we'll need another chair - I - Weasley, could you -?' 'Not to worry, not to worry,' said Dumbledore pleasantly; he took out his wand, gave it a little flick, and a squashy chintz armchair appeared out of nowhere next to Harry. Dumbledore sat down, out the tips of his long fingers together and surveyed Fudge over them with an expression of polite interest. The Wizengamot was still muttering and fidgeting restlessly; only when Fudge spoke again did they settle down. 'Yes,' said Fudge again, shuffling his notes. 'Well, then. So. The charges. Yes.' He extricated a piece of parchment from the pile before him, took a deep breath, and read out, The charges against the accused are as follows: That he did knowingly, deliberately and in full awareness of the illegality of his actions, having received a previous written warning from the Ministry of Magic on a similar charge, produce a Patronus Charm in a Muggle-inhabited area, in the presence of a Muggle, on the second of August at twenty-three minutes past nine, which constitutes an offence under Paragraph C of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, and also under Section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy. 'You are Harry James Potter, of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey?' Fudge said, glaring at Harry over the top of his parchment. 'Yes,' Harry said. 'You received an official warning from the Ministry for using illegal magic three years ago, did you not?'

Fudge. 'Ah,' said Fudge, who looked thoroughly disconcerted. 'Dumbledore. Yes. You - er - got our - er - message that the time and - er - place of the hearing had been changed, then?' 'I must have missed it,' said Dumbledore cheerfully. 'However, due to a lucky mistake I arrived at the Ministry three hours early, so no harm done.' 'Yes - well - I suppose we'll need another chair - I - Weasley, could you -?' 'Not to worry, not to worry,' said Dumbledore pleasantly; he took out his wand, gave it a little flick, and a squashy chintz armchair appeared out of nowhere next to Harry. Dumbledore sat down, out the tips of his long fingers together and surveyed Fudge over them with an expression of polite interest. The Wizengamot was still muttering and fidgeting restlessly; only when Fudge spoke again did they settle down. 'Yes,' said Fudge again, shuffling his notes. 'Well, then. So. The charges. Yes.' He extricated a piece of parchment from the pile before him, took a deep breath, and read out, The charges against the accused are as follows: That he did knowingly, deliberately and in full awareness of the illegality of his actions, having received a previous written warning from the Ministry of Magic on a similar charge, produce a Patronus Charm in a Muggle-inhabited area, in the presence of a Muggle, on the second of August at twenty-three minutes past nine, which constitutes an offence under Paragraph C of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, and also under Section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy. 'You are Harry James Potter, of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey?' Fudge said, glaring at Harry over the top of his parchment. 'Yes,' Harry said. 'You received an official warning from the Ministry for using illegal magic three years ago, did you not?'

'Yes, but - ' 'And yet you conjured a Patronus on the night of the second of August?' said Fudge. 'Yes,' said Harry, 'but - ' 'Knowing that you are not permitted to use magic outside school while you are under the age of seventeen?' 'Yes, but - ' 'Knowing that you were in an area full of Muggles?' 'Yes, but - ' 'Fully aware that you were in close proximity to a Muggle at the time?' 'Yes,' said Harry angrily, 'but I only used it because we were - ' The witch with the monocle cut across him in a booming voice. 'You produced a fully-fledged Patronus?' 'Yes,' said Harry, 'because - ' 'A corporeal Patronus?' 'A - what?' said Harry. 'Your Patronus had a clearly defined form? I mean to say, it was more than vapour or smoke?' 'Yes,' said Harry, feeling both impatient and slightly desperate, 'it's a stag, it's always a stag.' 'Always?' boomed Madam Bones. 'You have produced a Patronus before now?' 'Yes,' said Harry, 'I've been doing it for over a year.' 'And you are fifteen years old?' 'Yes, and - ' 'You learned this at school?' 'Yes, Professor Lupin taught me in my third year, because of the - ' 'Impressive,' said Madam Bones, staring down at him, 'a true Patronus at his age... very impressive indeed.' Some of the wizards and witches around her were muttering again; a few nodded, but others were frowning and shaking their heads. 'It's not a question of how impressive the magic was,' said Fudge in a testy voice, 'in fact, the more impressive the worse it is, I would have thought, given that the boy did it in plain view of a Muggle!' Those who had been frowning now murmured in

'Yes, but - ' 'And yet you conjured a Patronus on the night of the second of August?' said Fudge. 'Yes,' said Harry, 'but - ' 'Knowing that you are not permitted to use magic outside school while you are under the age of seventeen?' 'Yes, but - ' 'Knowing that you were in an area full of Muggles?' 'Yes, but - ' 'Fully aware that you were in close proximity to a Muggle at the time?' 'Yes,' said Harry angrily, 'but I only used it because we were - ' The witch with the monocle cut across him in a booming voice. 'You produced a fully-fledged Patronus?' 'Yes,' said Harry, 'because - ' 'A corporeal Patronus?' 'A - what?' said Harry. 'Your Patronus had a clearly defined form? I mean to say, it was more than vapour or smoke?' 'Yes,' said Harry, feeling both impatient and slightly desperate, 'it's a stag, it's always a stag.' 'Always?' boomed Madam Bones. 'You have produced a Patronus before now?' 'Yes,' said Harry, 'I've been doing it for over a year.' 'And you are fifteen years old?' 'Yes, and - ' 'You learned this at school?' 'Yes, Professor Lupin taught me in my third year, because of the - ' 'Impressive,' said Madam Bones, staring down at him, 'a true Patronus at his age... very impressive indeed.' Some of the wizards and witches around her were muttering again; a few nodded, but others were frowning and shaking their heads. 'It's not a question of how impressive the magic was,' said Fudge in a testy voice, 'in fact, the more impressive the worse it is, I would have thought, given that the boy did it in plain view of a Muggle!' Those who had been frowning now murmured in

agreement, but it was the sight of Percy's sanctimonious little nod that goaded Harry into speech. 'I did it because of the Dementors!' he said loudly, before anyone could interrupt him again. He had expected more muttering, but the silence that fell seemed to be somehow denser than before. 'Dementors?' said Madam Bones after a moment, her thick eyebrows rising until her monocle looked in danger of falling out. 'What do you mean, boy?' 'I mean there were two Dementors down that alleyway and they went for me and my cousin!' 'Ah,' said Fudge again, smirking unpleasantly as he looked around at the Wizengamot, as though inviting them to share the joke. 'Yes. Yes, I thought we'd be hearing something like this.' 'Dementors in Little Whinging?' Madam Bones said, in a tone of great surprise. 'I don't understand - ' 'Don't you, Amelia?' said Fudge, still smirking. 'Let me explain. He's been thinking it through and decided Dementors would make a very nice little cover story very nice indeed. Muggles can't see Dementors, can they, boy? Highly convenient, highly convenient... so it's just your word and no witnesses...' 'I'm not lying!' said Harry loudly, over another outbreak of muttering from the court. There were two of them, coming from opposite ends of the alley everything went dark and cold and my cousin felt them and ran for it - ' 'Enough, enough!' said Fudge, with a very supercilious look on his face. 'I'm sorry to interrupt what I'm sure would have been a very well-rehearsed story - ' Dumbledore cleared his throat. The Wizengamot fell silent again. 'We do, in fact, have a witness to the presence of Dementors in that alleyway,' he said, 'other than Dudley Dursley, I mean.' Fudges plump face seemed to slacken, as though somebody had let air out of it. He st

, but it was the sight of Percy's sanctimonious little nod that goaded Harry into speech. 'I did it because of the Dementors!' he said loudly, before anyone could interrupt him again. He had expected more muttering, but the silence that fell seemed to be somehow denser than before. 'Dementors?' said Madam Bones after a moment, her thick eyebrows rising until her monocle looked in danger of falling out. 'What do you mean, boy?' 'I mean there were two Dementors down that alleyway and they went for me and my cousin!' 'Ah,' said Fudge again, smirking unpleasantly as he looked around at the Wizengamot, as though inviting them to share the joke. 'Yes. Yes, I thought we'd be hearing something like this.' 'Dementors in Little Whinging?' Madam Bones said, in a tone of great surprise. 'I don't understand - ' 'Don't you, Amelia?' said Fudge, still smirking. 'Let me explain. He's been thinking it through and decided Dementors would make a very nice little cover story very nice indeed. Muggles can't see Dementors, can they, boy? Highly convenient, highly convenient... so it's just your word and no witnesses...' 'I'm not lying!' said Harry loudly, over another outbreak of muttering from the court. There were two of them, coming from opposite ends of the alley everything went dark and cold and my cousin felt them and ran for it - ' 'Enough, enough!' said Fudge, with a very supercilious look on his face. 'I'm sorry to interrupt what I'm sure would have been a very well-rehearsed story - ' Dumbledore cleared his throat. The Wizengamot fell silent again. 'We do, in fact, have a witness to the presence of Dementors in that alleyway,' he said, 'other than Dudley Dursley, I mean.' Fudges plump face seemed to slacken, as though somebody had let air out of it. He st

ared down at Dumbledore for a moment or two, then, with the appearance of a man pulling himself back together, said, 'We haven't got time to listen to more tarradiddles, I'm afraid, Dumbledore. I want this dealt with quickly - ' 'I may be wrong,' said Dumbledore pleasantly, 'but I am sure that under the Wizengamot Charter of Rights, the accused has the right to present witnesses for his or her case? Isn't that the policy of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Madam Bones?' he continued, addressing the witch in the monocle. 'True,' said Madam Bones. 'Perfectly true.' 'Oh, very well, very well,' snapped Fudge. 'Where is this person?' 'I brought her with me,' said Dumbledore. 'She's just outside the door. Should I -?' 'No - Weasley, you go,' Fudge barked at Percy, who got up at once, ran down the stone steps from the judge's balcony and hurried past Dumbledore and Harry without glancing at them. A moment later, Percy returned, followed by Mrs Figg. She looked scared and more batty than ever. Harry wished she had thought to change out of her carpet slippers. Dumbledore stood up and gave Mrs Figg his chair, conjuring a second one for himself. 'Full name?' said Fudge loudly, when Mrs Figg had perched herself nervously on the very edge of her seat. 'Arabella Doreen Figg,' said Mrs Figg in her quavery voice. 'And who exactly are you?' said Fudge, in a bored and lofty voice 'I'm a resident of Little Whinging, close to where Harry Potter lives,' said Mrs Figg. 'We have no record of any witch or wizard living in Little Whinging, other than Harry Potter,' said Madam Bones at once 'That situation has always been closely monitored, given... given past events.' 'I'm a Squib,' said Mrs Figg. 'So you wouldn't have me registered, would you?'

down at Dumbledore for a moment or two, then, with the appearance of a man pulling himself back together, said, 'We haven't got time to listen to more tarradiddles, I'm afraid, Dumbledore. I want this dealt with quickly - ' 'I may be wrong,' said Dumbledore pleasantly, 'but I am sure that under the Wizengamot Charter of Rights, the accused has the right to present witnesses for his or her case? Isn't that the policy of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Madam Bones?' he continued, addressing the witch in the monocle. 'True,' said Madam Bones. 'Perfectly true.' 'Oh, very well, very well,' snapped Fudge. 'Where is this person?' 'I brought her with me,' said Dumbledore. 'She's just outside the door. Should I -?' 'No - Weasley, you go,' Fudge barked at Percy, who got up at once, ran down the stone steps from the judge's balcony and hurried past Dumbledore and Harry without glancing at them. A moment later, Percy returned, followed by Mrs Figg. She looked scared and more batty than ever. Harry wished she had thought to change out of her carpet slippers. Dumbledore stood up and gave Mrs Figg his chair, conjuring a second one for himself. 'Full name?' said Fudge loudly, when Mrs Figg had perched herself nervously on the very edge of her seat. 'Arabella Doreen Figg,' said Mrs Figg in her quavery voice. 'And who exactly are you?' said Fudge, in a bored and lofty voice 'I'm a resident of Little Whinging, close to where Harry Potter lives,' said Mrs Figg. 'We have no record of any witch or wizard living in Little Whinging, other than Harry Potter,' said Madam Bones at once 'That situation has always been closely monitored, given... given past events.' 'I'm a Squib,' said Mrs Figg. 'So you wouldn't have me registered, would you?'

'A Squib, eh?' said Fudge, eyeing her closely. 'We'll be checking that. You'll leave details of your parentage with my assistant Weasley. Incidentally, can Squibs see Dementors?' he added, looking left and right along the bench. "Yes, we can!' said Mrs Figg indignantly. Fudge looked back down at her, his eyebrows raised. 'Very well,' he said aloofly. 'What is your story?' 'I had gone out to buy cat food from the corner shop at the end of Wisteria Walk, around about nine o'clock, on the evening of the second of August,' gabbled Mrs Figg at once, as though she had learned what she was saying by heart, 'when I heard a disturbance down the alleyway between Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk. On approaching the mouth of the alleyway I saw Dementors running - ' 'Running?' said Madam Bones sharply. 'Dementors don't run, they glide.' 'That's what I meant to say,' said Mrs Figg quickly, patches of pink appearing in her withered cheeks. 'Gliding along the alley towards what looked like two boys.' 'What did they look like?' said Madam Bones, narrowing her eyes so that the edge of the monocle disappeared into her flesh. 'Well, one was very large and the other one rather skinny - ' 'No, no,' said Madam Bones impatiently. 'The Dementors... describe them.' 'Oh,' said Mrs Figg, the pink flush creeping up her neck now. They were big. Big and wearing cloaks. Harry felt a horrible sinking in the pit of his stomach. Whatever Mrs Figg might say, it sounded to him as though the most she had ever seen was a picture of a Dementor, and a picture could never convey the truth of what these beings were like: the eerie way they moved, hovering inches over the ground; or the rotting smell of them; or that terrible rattling noise they made as they sucked on the surrounding air...

'A Squib, eh?' said Fudge, eyeing her closely. 'We'll be checking that. You'll leave details of your parentage with my assistant Weasley. Incidentally, can Squibs see Dementors?' he added, looking left and right along the bench. "Yes, we can!' said Mrs Figg indignantly. Fudge looked back down at her, his eyebrows raised. 'Very well,' he said aloofly. 'What is your story?' 'I had gone out to buy cat food from the corner shop at the end of Wisteria Walk, around about nine o'clock, on the evening of the second of August,' gabbled Mrs Figg at once, as though she had learned what she was saying by heart, 'when I heard a disturbance down the alleyway between Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk. On approaching the mouth of the alleyway I saw Dementors running - ' 'Running?' said Madam Bones sharply. 'Dementors don't run, they glide.' 'That's what I meant to say,' said Mrs Figg quickly, patches of pink appearing in her withered cheeks. 'Gliding along the alley towards what looked like two boys.' 'What did they look like?' said Madam Bones, narrowing her eyes so that the edge of the monocle disappeared into her flesh. 'Well, one was very large and the other one rather skinny - ' 'No, no,' said Madam Bones impatiently. 'The Dementors... describe them.' 'Oh,' said Mrs Figg, the pink flush creeping up her neck now. They were big. Big and wearing cloaks. Harry felt a horrible sinking in the pit of his stomach. Whatever Mrs Figg might say, it sounded to him as though the most she had ever seen was a picture of a Dementor, and a picture could never convey the truth of what these beings were like: the eerie way they moved, hovering inches over the ground; or the rotting smell of them; or that terrible rattling noise they made as they sucked on the surrounding air...

In the second row, a dumpy wizard with a large black moustache leaned close to whisper in the ear of his neighbour, a frizzy-haired witch. She smirked and nodded. 'Big and wearing cloaks,' repeated Madam Bones coolly, while Fudge snorted derisively. 'I see. Anything else?' 'Yes,' said Mrs Figg. 'I felt them. Everything went cold, and this was a very warm summer's night, mark you. And I felt... as though all happiness had gone from the world... and I remembered... dreadful things...' Her voice shook and died. Madam Bones's eyes widened slightly. Harry could see red marks under her eyebrow where the monocle had dug into it. 'What did the Dementors do?' she asked, and Harry felt a rush of hope. They went for the boys,' said Mrs Figg, her voice stronger and more confident now, the pink flush ebbing away from her face. 'One of them had fallen. The other was backing away, trying to repel the Dementor. That was Harry. He tried twice and produced only silver vapour. On the third attempt, he produced a Patronus, which charged down the first Dementor and then, with his encouragement, chased the second one away from his cousin. And that... that is what happened,' Mrs Figg finished, somewhat lamely. Madam Bones looked down at Mrs Figg in silence. Fudge was not looking at her at all, but fidgeting with his papers. Finally, he raised his eyes and said, rather aggressively, That's what you saw, is it?' That is what happened,' Mrs Figg repeated. 'Very well,' said Fudge. 'You may go.' Mrs Figg cast a frightened look from Fudge to Dumbledore, then got up and shuffled off towards the door. Harry heard it thud shut behind her. 'Not a very convincing witness,' said Fudge loftily. 'Oh, I don't know,' said Madam Bones, in her booming voice. 'She certainly described the effects of

In the second row, a dumpy wizard with a large black moustache leaned close to whisper in the ear of his neighbour, a frizzy-haired witch. She smirked and nodded. 'Big and wearing cloaks,' repeated Madam Bones coolly, while Fudge snorted derisively. 'I see. Anything else?' 'Yes,' said Mrs Figg. 'I felt them. Everything went cold, and this was a very warm summer's night, mark you. And I felt... as though all happiness had gone from the world... and I remembered... dreadful things...' Her voice shook and died. Madam Bones's eyes widened slightly. Harry could see red marks under her eyebrow where the monocle had dug into it. 'What did the Dementors do?' she asked, and Harry felt a rush of hope. They went for the boys,' said Mrs Figg, her voice stronger and more confident now, the pink flush ebbing away from her face. 'One of them had fallen. The other was backing away, trying to repel the Dementor. That was Harry. He tried twice and produced only silver vapour. On the third attempt, he produced a Patronus, which charged down the first Dementor and then, with his encouragement, chased the second one away from his cousin. And that... that is what happened,' Mrs Figg finished, somewhat lamely. Madam Bones looked down at Mrs Figg in silence. Fudge was not looking at her at all, but fidgeting with his papers. Finally, he raised his eyes and said, rather aggressively, That's what you saw, is it?' That is what happened,' Mrs Figg repeated. 'Very well,' said Fudge. 'You may go.' Mrs Figg cast a frightened look from Fudge to Dumbledore, then got up and shuffled off towards the door. Harry heard it thud shut behind her. 'Not a very convincing witness,' said Fudge loftily. 'Oh, I don't know,' said Madam Bones, in her booming voice. 'She certainly described the effects of

a Dementor attack very accurately. And I can't imagine why she would say they were there if they weren't.' 'But Dementors wandering into a Muggle suburb and just happening to come across a wizard?' snorted Fudge. The odds on that must be very, very long. Even Bagman wouldn't have bet - ' 'Oh, I don't think any of us believe the Dementors were there by coincidence,' said Dumbledore lightly. The witch sitting to the right of Fudge, with her face in shade w, moved slightly but everyone else was quite still and silent. 'And what is that supposed to mean?' Fudge asked icily. 'It means that I think they were ordered there,' said Dumbledore. 'I think we might have a record of it if someone had ordered a pair of Dementors to go strolling through Little Whinging!' barked Fudge. 'Not if the Dementors are taking orders from someone other than the Ministry of Magic these days,' said Dumbledore calmly. 'I have already given you my views on this matter, Cornelius.' 'Yes, you have,' said Fudge forcefully, 'and I have no reason to believe that your views are anything other than bilge, Dumbledore. The Dementors remain in place in Azkaban and are doing everything we ask them to.' Then,' said Dumbledore, quietly but clearly, 'we must ask ourselves why somebody within the Ministry ordered a pair of Dementors into that alleyway on the second of August.' In the complete silence that greeted these words, the witch to the right of Fudge leaned forwards so that Harry saw her for the first time. He thought she looked just like a large, pale toad. She was rather squat with a broad, flabby face, as little neck as Uncle Vernon and a very wide, slack mouth. Her eyes were large, round and slightly bulging. Even the little black velvet bow perched on top of her short curly hair put him in mind of a large fly she was about to catch on a long sticky tongue. The Chair recognises Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister,' said Fud

Dementor attack very accurately. And I can't imagine why she would say they were there if they weren't.' 'But Dementors wandering into a Muggle suburb and just happening to come across a wizard?' snorted Fudge. The odds on that must be very, very long. Even Bagman wouldn't have bet - ' 'Oh, I don't think any of us believe the Dementors were there by coincidence,' said Dumbledore lightly. The witch sitting to the right of Fudge, with her face in shade w, moved slightly but everyone else was quite still and silent. 'And what is that supposed to mean?' Fudge asked icily. 'It means that I think they were ordered there,' said Dumbledore. 'I think we might have a record of it if someone had ordered a pair of Dementors to go strolling through Little Whinging!' barked Fudge. 'Not if the Dementors are taking orders from someone other than the Ministry of Magic these days,' said Dumbledore calmly. 'I have already given you my views on this matter, Cornelius.' 'Yes, you have,' said Fudge forcefully, 'and I have no reason to believe that your views are anything other than bilge, Dumbledore. The Dementors remain in place in Azkaban and are doing everything we ask them to.' Then,' said Dumbledore, quietly but clearly, 'we must ask ourselves why somebody within the Ministry ordered a pair of Dementors into that alleyway on the second of August.' In the complete silence that greeted these words, the witch to the right of Fudge leaned forwards so that Harry saw her for the first time. He thought she looked just like a large, pale toad. She was rather squat with a broad, flabby face, as little neck as Uncle Vernon and a very wide, slack mouth. Her eyes were large, round and slightly bulging. Even the little black velvet bow perched on top of her short curly hair put him in mind of a large fly she was about to catch on a long sticky tongue. The Chair recognises Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister,' said Fud

ge. The witch spoke in a fluttery, girlish, high-pitched voice that took Harry aback; he had been expecting a croak. 'I'm sure I must have misunderstood you, Professor Dumbledore,' she said, with a simper that felt her big, round eyes as cold as ever. 'So silly of me. But it sounded for a teensy moment as though you were suggesting that the Ministry of Magic had ordered an attack on this boy!' She gave a silvery laugh that made the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stand up. A few other members of the Wizengamot laughed with her. It could not have been plainer that not one of them was really amused. 'If it is true that the Dementors are taking orders only from the Ministry of Magic, and it is also true that two Dementors attacked Harry and his cousin a week ago, then it follows logically that somebody at the Ministry might have ordered the attacks,' said Dumbledore politely. 'Of course, these particular Dementors may have been outside Ministry control - ' 'There are no Dementors outside Ministry control! snapped Fudge, who had turned brick red. Dumbledore inclined his head in a little bow. 'Then undoubtedly the Ministry will be making a full inquiry into why two Dementors were so very far from Azkaban and why they attacked without authorisation.' 'It is not for you to decide what the Ministry of Magic does or does not do, Dumbledore!' snapped Fudge, now a shade of magenta of which Uncle Vernon would have been proud. 'Of course it isn't,' said Dumbledore mildly. 'I was merely expressing my confidence that this matter will not go uninvestigated.' He glanced at Madam Bones, who readjusted her monocle and stared back at him, frowning slightly. 'I would remind everybody that the behaviour of these Dementors, if indeed they are not figments of this boy's imagination, is not the subject of this hearing!' said Fudge. 'We are here to examine Harry Potter's offences under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery!' 'Of course

. The witch spoke in a fluttery, girlish, high-pitched voice that took Harry aback; he had been expecting a croak. 'I'm sure I must have misunderstood you, Professor Dumbledore,' she said, with a simper that felt her big, round eyes as cold as ever. 'So silly of me. But it sounded for a teensy moment as though you were suggesting that the Ministry of Magic had ordered an attack on this boy!' She gave a silvery laugh that made the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stand up. A few other members of the Wizengamot laughed with her. It could not have been plainer that not one of them was really amused. 'If it is true that the Dementors are taking orders only from the Ministry of Magic, and it is also true that two Dementors attacked Harry and his cousin a week ago, then it follows logically that somebody at the Ministry might have ordered the attacks,' said Dumbledore politely. 'Of course, these particular Dementors may have been outside Ministry control - ' 'There are no Dementors outside Ministry control! snapped Fudge, who had turned brick red. Dumbledore inclined his head in a little bow. 'Then undoubtedly the Ministry will be making a full inquiry into why two Dementors were so very far from Azkaban and why they attacked without authorisation.' 'It is not for you to decide what the Ministry of Magic does or does not do, Dumbledore!' snapped Fudge, now a shade of magenta of which Uncle Vernon would have been proud. 'Of course it isn't,' said Dumbledore mildly. 'I was merely expressing my confidence that this matter will not go uninvestigated.' He glanced at Madam Bones, who readjusted her monocle and stared back at him, frowning slightly. 'I would remind everybody that the behaviour of these Dementors, if indeed they are not figments of this boy's imagination, is not the subject of this hearing!' said Fudge. 'We are here to examine Harry Potter's offences under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery!' 'Of course

we are,' said Dumbledore, 'but the presence of Dementors in that alleyway is highly relevant. Clause Seven of the Decree states that magic may be used before Muggles in exceptional circumstances, and as those exceptional circumstances include situations which threaten the life of the wizard or witch him- or herself, or any witches, wizards or Muggles present at the time of the - ' 'We are familiar with Clause Seven, thank you very much!' snarled Fudge. 'Of course you are,' said Dumbledore courteously. Then we are in agreement that Harry's use of the Patronus Charm in these circumstances falls precisely into the category of exceptional circumstances the clause describes?' 'If there were Dementors, which I doubt.' 'You have heard it from an eyewitness,' Dumbledore interrupted. 'If you still doubt her truthfulness, call her back, question her again. I am sure she would not object.' 'I - that - not -' blustered Fudge, fiddling with the papers before him. 'It's - I want this over with today, Dumbledore!' 'But naturally, you would not care how many times you heard from a witness, if the alternative was a serious miscarriage of justice,' said Dumbledore. 'Serious miscarriage, my hat!' said Fudge at the top of his voice. 'Have you ever bothered to tot up the number of cock-and-bull stories this boy has come out with, Dumbledore, while trying to cover up his flagrant misuse of magic out of school? I suppose you've forgotten the Hover Charm he used three years ago - ' 'That wasn't me, it was a house-elf!' said Harry. 'YOU SEE?' roared Fudge, gesturing flamboyantly in Harry's direction. 'A house-elf! In a Muggle house! I ask you.' The house-elf in question is currently in the employ of Hogwarts School,' said Dumbledore. 'I can summon him here in an instant to give evidence if you wish.' 'I - not - I haven't got time to listen to house-elves!

are,' said Dumbledore, 'but the presence of Dementors in that alleyway is highly relevant. Clause Seven of the Decree states that magic may be used before Muggles in exceptional circumstances, and as those exceptional circumstances include situations which threaten the life of the wizard or witch him- or herself, or any witches, wizards or Muggles present at the time of the - ' 'We are familiar with Clause Seven, thank you very much!' snarled Fudge. 'Of course you are,' said Dumbledore courteously. Then we are in agreement that Harry's use of the Patronus Charm in these circumstances falls precisely into the category of exceptional circumstances the clause describes?' 'If there were Dementors, which I doubt.' 'You have heard it from an eyewitness,' Dumbledore interrupted. 'If you still doubt her truthfulness, call her back, question her again. I am sure she would not object.' 'I - that - not -' blustered Fudge, fiddling with the papers before him. 'It's - I want this over with today, Dumbledore!' 'But naturally, you would not care how many times you heard from a witness, if the alternative was a serious miscarriage of justice,' said Dumbledore. 'Serious miscarriage, my hat!' said Fudge at the top of his voice. 'Have you ever bothered to tot up the number of cock-and-bull stories this boy has come out with, Dumbledore, while trying to cover up his flagrant misuse of magic out of school? I suppose you've forgotten the Hover Charm he used three years ago - ' 'That wasn't me, it was a house-elf!' said Harry. 'YOU SEE?' roared Fudge, gesturing flamboyantly in Harry's direction. 'A house-elf! In a Muggle house! I ask you.' The house-elf in question is currently in the employ of Hogwarts School,' said Dumbledore. 'I can summon him here in an instant to give evidence if you wish.' 'I - not - I haven't got time to listen to house-elves!

Anyway, that's not the only - he blew up his aunt, for Gods sake!' Fudge shouted, banging his fist on the judge's bench and upsetting a bottle of ink. 'And you very kindly did not press charges on that occasion, accepting, I presume, that even the best wizards cannot always control their emotions,' said Dumbledore calmly, as Fudge attempted to scrub the ink off his notes. 'And I haven't even started on what he gets up to at school.' 'But, as the Ministry has no authority to punish Hogwarts students for misdemeanours at school, Harry's behaviour there is not relevant to this hearing,' said Dumbledore, as politely as ever, but now with a suggestion of coolness behind his words. 'Oho!' said Fudge. 'Not our business what he does at school, eh? You think so?' The Ministry does not have the power to expel Hogwarts students, Cornelius, as I reminded you on the night of the second of August,' said Dumbledore. 'Nor does it have the right to confiscate wands until charges have been successfully proven; again, as I reminded you on the night of the second of August, in your admirable haste to ensure that the law is upheld, you appear, inadvertently I am sure, to have overlooked a few laws yourself.' 'Laws can be changed,' said Fudge savagely. 'Of course they can,' said Dumbledore, inclining his head. 'And you certainly seem to be making many changes, Cornelius. Why, in the few short weeks since I was asked to leave the Wizengamot, it has already become the practice to hold a full criminal trial to deal with a simple matter of underage magic!' A few of the wizards above them shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Fudge turned a slightly deeper shade of puce. The toadlike witch on his right, however, merely gazed at Dumbledore, her face quite expressionless. 'As far as I am aware,' Dumbledore continued, 'there is no law yet in place that says this court's job is

, that's not the only - he blew up his aunt, for Gods sake!' Fudge shouted, banging his fist on the judge's bench and upsetting a bottle of ink. 'And you very kindly did not press charges on that occasion, accepting, I presume, that even the best wizards cannot always control their emotions,' said Dumbledore calmly, as Fudge attempted to scrub the ink off his notes. 'And I haven't even started on what he gets up to at school.' 'But, as the Ministry has no authority to punish Hogwarts students for misdemeanours at school, Harry's behaviour there is not relevant to this hearing,' said Dumbledore, as politely as ever, but now with a suggestion of coolness behind his words. 'Oho!' said Fudge. 'Not our business what he does at school, eh? You think so?' The Ministry does not have the power to expel Hogwarts students, Cornelius, as I reminded you on the night of the second of August,' said Dumbledore. 'Nor does it have the right to confiscate wands until charges have been successfully proven; again, as I reminded you on the night of the second of August, in your admirable haste to ensure that the law is upheld, you appear, inadvertently I am sure, to have overlooked a few laws yourself.' 'Laws can be changed,' said Fudge savagely. 'Of course they can,' said Dumbledore, inclining his head. 'And you certainly seem to be making many changes, Cornelius. Why, in the few short weeks since I was asked to leave the Wizengamot, it has already become the practice to hold a full criminal trial to deal with a simple matter of underage magic!' A few of the wizards above them shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Fudge turned a slightly deeper shade of puce. The toadlike witch on his right, however, merely gazed at Dumbledore, her face quite expressionless. 'As far as I am aware,' Dumbledore continued, 'there is no law yet in place that says this court's job is

to punish Harry for every bit of magic he has ever performed. He has been charged with a specific offence and he has presented his defence. All he and I can do now is to await your verdict.' Dumbledore put his fingertips together again and said no more. Fudge glared at him, evidently incensed. Harry glanced sideways at Dumbledore, seeking reassurance; he was not at all sure that Dumbledore was right in telling the Wizengamot, in effect, that it was about time they made a decision. Again, however, Dumbledore seemed oblivious to Harry's attempt to catch his eye. He continued to look up at the benches where the entire Wizengamot had fallen into urgent, whispered conversations. Harry looked at his feet. His heart, which seemed to have swollen to an unnatural size, was thumping loudly under his ribs. He had expected the hearing to last longer than this. He was not at all sure that he had made a good impression. He had not really said very much. He ought to have explained more fully about the Dementors, about how he had fallen over, about how both he and Dudley had nearly been kissed... Twice he looked up at Fudge and opened his mouth to speak, but his swollen heart was now constricting his air passages and both times he merely took a deep breath and looked back down at his shoes. Then the whispering stopped. Harry wanted to look up at the judges, but found that it was really much, much easier to keep examining his laces. 'Those in favour of clearing the witness of all charges?' said Madam Boness booming voice. Harry's head jerked upwards. There were hands in the air, many of them... more than half! Breathing very fast, he tried to count, but before he could finish, Madam Bones had said, 'And those in favour of conviction?' Fudge raised his hand; so did half a dozen others, including the witch on his right and the heavily-moustached wizard and the frizzy-haired witch in the second row. Fudge glanced around at them all, looking as though there was something large stuck

punish Harry for every bit of magic he has ever performed. He has been charged with a specific offence and he has presented his defence. All he and I can do now is to await your verdict.' Dumbledore put his fingertips together again and said no more. Fudge glared at him, evidently incensed. Harry glanced sideways at Dumbledore, seeking reassurance; he was not at all sure that Dumbledore was right in telling the Wizengamot, in effect, that it was about time they made a decision. Again, however, Dumbledore seemed oblivious to Harry's attempt to catch his eye. He continued to look up at the benches where the entire Wizengamot had fallen into urgent, whispered conversations. Harry looked at his feet. His heart, which seemed to have swollen to an unnatural size, was thumping loudly under his ribs. He had expected the hearing to last longer than this. He was not at all sure that he had made a good impression. He had not really said very much. He ought to have explained more fully about the Dementors, about how he had fallen over, about how both he and Dudley had nearly been kissed... Twice he looked up at Fudge and opened his mouth to speak, but his swollen heart was now constricting his air passages and both times he merely took a deep breath and looked back down at his shoes. Then the whispering stopped. Harry wanted to look up at the judges, but found that it was really much, much easier to keep examining his laces. 'Those in favour of clearing the witness of all charges?' said Madam Boness booming voice. Harry's head jerked upwards. There were hands in the air, many of them... more than half! Breathing very fast, he tried to count, but before he could finish, Madam Bones had said, 'And those in favour of conviction?' Fudge raised his hand; so did half a dozen others, including the witch on his right and the heavily-moustached wizard and the frizzy-haired witch in the second row. Fudge glanced around at them all, looking as though there was something large stuck

in his throat, then lowered his own hand. He took two deep breaths and said, in a voice distorted by suppressed rage, 'Very well, very well... cleared of all charges.' 'Excellent,' said Dumbledore briskly, springing to his feel, pulling out his wand and causing the two chintz armchairs to vanish. 'Well, I must be getting along. Good-day to you all.' And without looking once at Harry, he swept from the dungeon. - CHAPTER NINE - The Woes of Mrs Weasley Dumbledore's abrupt departure took Harry completely by surprise. He remained sitting where he was in the chained chair, struggling with his feelings of shock and relief. The Wizengamot were all getting to their feet, talking, gathering up their papers and packing them away. Harry stood up. Nobody seemed to be paying him the slightest bit of attention, except the toadlike witch on Fudge's right, who was now gazing down at him instead of at Dumbledore. Ignoring her, he tried to catch Fudge's eye, or Madam Bones's, wanting to ask whether he was free to go, but Fudge seemed quite determined not to notice Harry, and Madam Bones was busy with her briefcase, so he took a lew tentative steps towards the exit and, when nobody called him back, broke into a very fast walk. He took the last lew steps at a run, wrenched open the door and almost collided with Mr Weasley, who was standing right outside, looking pale and apprehensive. 'Dumbledore didn't say - ' 'Cleared,' Harry said, pulling the door closed behind him, 'of all charges!' Beaming, Mr Weasley seized Harry by the shoulders. 'Harry, that's wonderful! Well, of course, they couldn't have found you guilty, not on the evidence, but even so, I can't pretend I wasn't - ' But Mr Weasley broke off, because the courtroom door had ust opened again. The Wizengamot were filing out. 'Merlin's beard!' exclaimed Mr Weasley wonderingly,

his throat, then lowered his own hand. He took two deep breaths and said, in a voice distorted by suppressed rage, 'Very well, very well... cleared of all charges.' 'Excellent,' said Dumbledore briskly, springing to his feel, pulling out his wand and causing the two chintz armchairs to vanish. 'Well, I must be getting along. Good-day to you all.' And without looking once at Harry, he swept from the dungeon. - CHAPTER NINE - The Woes of Mrs Weasley Dumbledore's abrupt departure took Harry completely by surprise. He remained sitting where he was in the chained chair, struggling with his feelings of shock and relief. The Wizengamot were all getting to their feet, talking, gathering up their papers and packing them away. Harry stood up. Nobody seemed to be paying him the slightest bit of attention, except the toadlike witch on Fudge's right, who was now gazing down at him instead of at Dumbledore. Ignoring her, he tried to catch Fudge's eye, or Madam Bones's, wanting to ask whether he was free to go, but Fudge seemed quite determined not to notice Harry, and Madam Bones was busy with her briefcase, so he took a lew tentative steps towards the exit and, when nobody called him back, broke into a very fast walk. He took the last lew steps at a run, wrenched open the door and almost collided with Mr Weasley, who was standing right outside, looking pale and apprehensive. 'Dumbledore didn't say - ' 'Cleared,' Harry said, pulling the door closed behind him, 'of all charges!' Beaming, Mr Weasley seized Harry by the shoulders. 'Harry, that's wonderful! Well, of course, they couldn't have found you guilty, not on the evidence, but even so, I can't pretend I wasn't - ' But Mr Weasley broke off, because the courtroom door had ust opened again. The Wizengamot were filing out. 'Merlin's beard!' exclaimed Mr Weasley wonderingly,

pulling Harry aside to let them all pass. 'You were tried by the lull court?' 'I think so,' said Harry quietly. One or two of the wizards nodded to Harry as they passed and a few, including Madam Bones, said, 'Morning, Arthur,' to Mr Weasley, but most averted their eyes. Cornelius Fudge and the toadlike witch were almost the last to leave the dungeon. Fudge acted as though Mr Weasley and Harry were part of the wall, hut again, the witch looked almost appraisingly at Harry as she passed. Last of all to pass was Percy. Like Fudge, he completely ignored his father and Harry; he marched past clutching a large roll of parchment and a handful of spare quills, his back rigid and his nose in the air. The lines around Mr Weasley's mouth tightened slightly, but other than this he gave no sign that he had seen his third son. 'I'm going to take you straight back so you can tell the others the good news,' he said, beckoning Harry forwards as Percy's heels disappeared up the steps to Level Nine. 'I'll drop you off on the way to that toilet in Bethnal Green. Come on...' 'So, what will you have to do about the toilet?' Harry asked, grinning. Everything suddenly seemed five times funnier than usual. It was starting to sink in: he was cleared, he was going back to Hogwarts. 'Oh, it's a simple enough anti-jinx,' said Mr Weasley as they mounted the stairs, 'but it's not so much having to repair the damage, it's more the attitude behind the vandalism, Harry. Muggle-baiting might strike some wizards as funny, but it's an expression of something much deeper and nastier, and I for one - ' Mr Weasley broke off in mid-sentence. They had just reached the ninth-level corridor and Cornelius Fudge was standing a few feet away from them, talking quietly to a tall man with sleek blond hair and a pointed, pale face. The second man turned at the sound

Harry aside to let them all pass. 'You were tried by the lull court?' 'I think so,' said Harry quietly. One or two of the wizards nodded to Harry as they passed and a few, including Madam Bones, said, 'Morning, Arthur,' to Mr Weasley, but most averted their eyes. Cornelius Fudge and the toadlike witch were almost the last to leave the dungeon. Fudge acted as though Mr Weasley and Harry were part of the wall, hut again, the witch looked almost appraisingly at Harry as she passed. Last of all to pass was Percy. Like Fudge, he completely ignored his father and Harry; he marched past clutching a large roll of parchment and a handful of spare quills, his back rigid and his nose in the air. The lines around Mr Weasley's mouth tightened slightly, but other than this he gave no sign that he had seen his third son. 'I'm going to take you straight back so you can tell the others the good news,' he said, beckoning Harry forwards as Percy's heels disappeared up the steps to Level Nine. 'I'll drop you off on the way to that toilet in Bethnal Green. Come on...' 'So, what will you have to do about the toilet?' Harry asked, grinning. Everything suddenly seemed five times funnier than usual. It was starting to sink in: he was cleared, he was going back to Hogwarts. 'Oh, it's a simple enough anti-jinx,' said Mr Weasley as they mounted the stairs, 'but it's not so much having to repair the damage, it's more the attitude behind the vandalism, Harry. Muggle-baiting might strike some wizards as funny, but it's an expression of something much deeper and nastier, and I for one - ' Mr Weasley broke off in mid-sentence. They had just reached the ninth-level corridor and Cornelius Fudge was standing a few feet away from them, talking quietly to a tall man with sleek blond hair and a pointed, pale face. The second man turned at the sound

of their footsteps. He, too, broke off in mid-conversation, his cold grey eyes narrowed and fixed upon Harry's face. 'Well, well, well... Patronus Potter,' said Lucius Malfoy coolly. Harry felt winded, as though he had just walked into something solid. He had last seen those cold grey eyes through slits in a Death Hater's hood, and last heard that man's voice jeering in a dark graveyard while Lord Voldemort tortured him. Harry could not believe that Lucius Malfoy dared look him in the face; he could not believe that he was here, in the Ministry of Magic, or that Cornelius Fudge was talking to him, when Harry had told Fudge mere weeks ago that Malfoy was a Death Eater. The Minister was just telling me about your lucky escape, Potter,' drawled Mr Malfoy. 'Quite astonishing, the way you continue to wriggle out of very tight holes... snakelike, in fact.' Mr Weasley gripped Harry's shoulder in warning. 'Yeah,' said Harry, 'yeah, I'm good at escaping.' Lucius Malfoy raised his eyes to Mr Weasley's face. 'And Arthur Weasley too! What are you doing here, Arthur?' 'I work here,' said Mr Weasley curtly. 'Not here, surely?' said Mr Malfoy, raising his eyebrows and glancing towards the door over Mr Weasley's shoulder. 'I thought you were up on the second floor... don't you do something that involves sneaking Muggle artefacts home and bewitching them?' 'No,' Mr Weasley snapped, his fingers now biting into Harry's shoulder. 'What are you doing here, anyway?' Harry asked Lucius Malfoy. 'I don't think private matters between myself and the Minister are any concern of yours, Potter,' said Malfoy, smoothing the front of his robes. Harry distinctly heard the gentle clinking of what sounded like a full pocket of gold. 'Really, just because you are Dumbledore's favourite boy

their footsteps. He, too, broke off in mid-conversation, his cold grey eyes narrowed and fixed upon Harry's face. 'Well, well, well... Patronus Potter,' said Lucius Malfoy coolly. Harry felt winded, as though he had just walked into something solid. He had last seen those cold grey eyes through slits in a Death Hater's hood, and last heard that man's voice jeering in a dark graveyard while Lord Voldemort tortured him. Harry could not believe that Lucius Malfoy dared look him in the face; he could not believe that he was here, in the Ministry of Magic, or that Cornelius Fudge was talking to him, when Harry had told Fudge mere weeks ago that Malfoy was a Death Eater. The Minister was just telling me about your lucky escape, Potter,' drawled Mr Malfoy. 'Quite astonishing, the way you continue to wriggle out of very tight holes... snakelike, in fact.' Mr Weasley gripped Harry's shoulder in warning. 'Yeah,' said Harry, 'yeah, I'm good at escaping.' Lucius Malfoy raised his eyes to Mr Weasley's face. 'And Arthur Weasley too! What are you doing here, Arthur?' 'I work here,' said Mr Weasley curtly. 'Not here, surely?' said Mr Malfoy, raising his eyebrows and glancing towards the door over Mr Weasley's shoulder. 'I thought you were up on the second floor... don't you do something that involves sneaking Muggle artefacts home and bewitching them?' 'No,' Mr Weasley snapped, his fingers now biting into Harry's shoulder. 'What are you doing here, anyway?' Harry asked Lucius Malfoy. 'I don't think private matters between myself and the Minister are any concern of yours, Potter,' said Malfoy, smoothing the front of his robes. Harry distinctly heard the gentle clinking of what sounded like a full pocket of gold. 'Really, just because you are Dumbledore's favourite boy

, you must not expect the same indulgence from the rest of us... shall we go up to your office, then, Minister?' 'Certainly,' said Fudge, turning his back on Harry and Mr Weasley. This way, Lucius.' They strode off together, talking in low voices. Mr Weasley did not let go of Harry's shoulder until they had disappeared into the lift. 'Why wasn't he waiting outside Fudge's office if they've got business to do together?' Harry burst out furiously. What was he doing down here?' 'Trying to sneak down to the courtroom, if you ask me,' said Mr Weasley, looking extremely agitated and glancing over his shoulder as though making sure they could not be overheard. Trying to find out whether you'd been expelled or not. I'll leave a note for Dumbledore when I drop you off, he ought to know Malfoy's been talking to Fudge again.' 'What private business have they got together, anyway?' 'Gold, I expect,' said Mr Weasley angrily. 'Malfoy's been giving generously to all sorts of things for years... gets him in with the right people... then he can ask favours... delay laws he doesn't want passed... oh, he's very well-connected, Lucius Malfoy.' The lift arrived; it was empty except for a flock of memos that flapped around Mr Weasley's head as he pressed the button for the Atrium and the doors clanged shut. He waved them away irritably. 'Mr Weasley,' said Harry slowly, 'if Fudge is meeting Death Eaters like Malfoy, if he's seeing them alone, how do we know they haven't put the Imperius Curse on him?' 'Don't think it hasn't occurred to us, Harry,' said Mr Weasley quietly. 'But Dumbledore thinks Fudge is acting of his own accord at the moment - which, as Dumbledore says, is not a lot of comfort. Best not talk about it any more just now, Harry.' The doors slid open and they stepped out into the now almost-

you must not expect the same indulgence from the rest of us... shall we go up to your office, then, Minister?' 'Certainly,' said Fudge, turning his back on Harry and Mr Weasley. This way, Lucius.' They strode off together, talking in low voices. Mr Weasley did not let go of Harry's shoulder until they had disappeared into the lift. 'Why wasn't he waiting outside Fudge's office if they've got business to do together?' Harry burst out furiously. What was he doing down here?' 'Trying to sneak down to the courtroom, if you ask me,' said Mr Weasley, looking extremely agitated and glancing over his shoulder as though making sure they could not be overheard. Trying to find out whether you'd been expelled or not. I'll leave a note for Dumbledore when I drop you off, he ought to know Malfoy's been talking to Fudge again.' 'What private business have they got together, anyway?' 'Gold, I expect,' said Mr Weasley angrily. 'Malfoy's been giving generously to all sorts of things for years... gets him in with the right people... then he can ask favours... delay laws he doesn't want passed... oh, he's very well-connected, Lucius Malfoy.' The lift arrived; it was empty except for a flock of memos that flapped around Mr Weasley's head as he pressed the button for the Atrium and the doors clanged shut. He waved them away irritably. 'Mr Weasley,' said Harry slowly, 'if Fudge is meeting Death Eaters like Malfoy, if he's seeing them alone, how do we know they haven't put the Imperius Curse on him?' 'Don't think it hasn't occurred to us, Harry,' said Mr Weasley quietly. 'But Dumbledore thinks Fudge is acting of his own accord at the moment - which, as Dumbledore says, is not a lot of comfort. Best not talk about it any more just now, Harry.' The doors slid open and they stepped out into the now almost-

deserted Atrium. Eric the watchwizard was hidden behind his Daily Prophet again. They had walked straight past the golden fountain before Harry remembered. 'Wait...' he told Mr Weasley, and, pulling his moneybag from his pocket, he turned back to the fountain. He looked up into the handsome wizard's face, but close-to Harry thought he looked rather weak and foolish. The witch was wearing a vapid smile like a beauty contestant, and from what Harry knew of goblins and centaurs, they were most unlikely to be caught staring so soppily at humans of any description. Only the house-elf's attitude of creeping servility looked convincing. Mrs Weasley was wiping her face on her apron, and Fred, George and Ginny were doing a kind of war dance to a chant that went: 'He got off, he got off, he got off...' That's enough! Settle down!' shouted Mr Weasley, though he too was smiling. 'Listen, Sirius, Lucius Malfoy was at the Ministry - ' 'What?' said Sirius sharply. 'He got off, he got off, he got off...' 'Be quiet, you three! Yes, we saw him talking to Fudge on Level Nine, then they went up to Fudge's office together. Dumbledore ought to know.' 'Absolutely,' said Sirius. 'We'll tell him, don't worry.' 'Well, I'd better get going, there's a vomiting toilet waiting for me in Bethnal Green. Molly, I'll be late, I'm covering for Tonks, but Kingsley might be dropping in for dinner - ' 'He got off, he got off, he got off...' That's enough - Fred - George - Ginny!' said Mrs Weasley, as Mr Weasley left the kitchen. The gloomy house seemed warmer and more welcoming all of a sudden; even Kreacher looked less ugly as he poked his snoutlike nose into the kitchen to investigate the source of all the noise. 'Ye

erted Atrium. Eric the watchwizard was hidden behind his Daily Prophet again. They had walked straight past the golden fountain before Harry remembered. 'Wait...' he told Mr Weasley, and, pulling his moneybag from his pocket, he turned back to the fountain. He looked up into the handsome wizard's face, but close-to Harry thought he looked rather weak and foolish. The witch was wearing a vapid smile like a beauty contestant, and from what Harry knew of goblins and centaurs, they were most unlikely to be caught staring so soppily at humans of any description. Only the house-elf's attitude of creeping servility looked convincing. Mrs Weasley was wiping her face on her apron, and Fred, George and Ginny were doing a kind of war dance to a chant that went: 'He got off, he got off, he got off...' That's enough! Settle down!' shouted Mr Weasley, though he too was smiling. 'Listen, Sirius, Lucius Malfoy was at the Ministry - ' 'What?' said Sirius sharply. 'He got off, he got off, he got off...' 'Be quiet, you three! Yes, we saw him talking to Fudge on Level Nine, then they went up to Fudge's office together. Dumbledore ought to know.' 'Absolutely,' said Sirius. 'We'll tell him, don't worry.' 'Well, I'd better get going, there's a vomiting toilet waiting for me in Bethnal Green. Molly, I'll be late, I'm covering for Tonks, but Kingsley might be dropping in for dinner - ' 'He got off, he got off, he got off...' That's enough - Fred - George - Ginny!' said Mrs Weasley, as Mr Weasley left the kitchen. The gloomy house seemed warmer and more welcoming all of a sudden; even Kreacher looked less ugly as he poked his snoutlike nose into the kitchen to investigate the source of all the noise. 'Ye

ah, he swung it for me,' said Harry. He felt it would sound highly ungrateful, not to mention childish, to say, 'I wish he'd talked to me, though. Or even looked at me.' And as he thought this, the scar on his forehead burned so badlyt:hat he clapped his hand to it.. 'Scar,' Harry mumbled. 'But it's nothing... it happens all the time now...' None of the others had noticed a thing; all of them were now helping themselves to food while gloating over Harry's narrow escape; Fred, George and Ginny were still singing. 'He's really very busy at the moment.' 'HE GOT OFF, HE GOT OFF. HE GOT OFF' 'SHUT UP!' roared Mrs Weasley. * Over the next few days Harry could not help noticing that there was one person within number twelve, Grimmauld Place, who did not seem wholly overjoyed that he would be returning to Hogwarts. Sirius had put up a very good show of happiness on first hearing the news, wringing Harry's hand and beaming just like the rest of them. Soon, however, he was moodier and surlier than before, talking less to everybody, even Harry, and spending increasing amounts of time shut up in his mother's room with Buckbeak. 'You belong at Hogwarts and Sirius knows it. 'It's Headquarters to the Order of the Phoenix, isn't it? He just got his hopes up that Harry would be coming to live here with him.' 'I don't think that's true,' said Harry, wringing out his cloth. 'And he probably felt a bit guilty himself, because I think a part of him was really hoping you'd be expelled. 'Suit yourselves. At this point, Mrs Weasley entered the bedroom behind them. 'Still not finished?' she said, poking her head into the cupboard. * Harry found himself daydreaming about Hogwarts more and more as the end of the holidays approached; he could not wait to see Hagrid again, to play Quidditch, even to stroll across the vegetable

, he swung it for me,' said Harry. He felt it would sound highly ungrateful, not to mention childish, to say, 'I wish he'd talked to me, though. Or even looked at me.' And as he thought this, the scar on his forehead burned so badlyt:hat he clapped his hand to it.. 'Scar,' Harry mumbled. 'But it's nothing... it happens all the time now...' None of the others had noticed a thing; all of them were now helping themselves to food while gloating over Harry's narrow escape; Fred, George and Ginny were still singing. 'He's really very busy at the moment.' 'HE GOT OFF, HE GOT OFF. HE GOT OFF' 'SHUT UP!' roared Mrs Weasley. * Over the next few days Harry could not help noticing that there was one person within number twelve, Grimmauld Place, who did not seem wholly overjoyed that he would be returning to Hogwarts. Sirius had put up a very good show of happiness on first hearing the news, wringing Harry's hand and beaming just like the rest of them. Soon, however, he was moodier and surlier than before, talking less to everybody, even Harry, and spending increasing amounts of time shut up in his mother's room with Buckbeak. 'You belong at Hogwarts and Sirius knows it. 'It's Headquarters to the Order of the Phoenix, isn't it? He just got his hopes up that Harry would be coming to live here with him.' 'I don't think that's true,' said Harry, wringing out his cloth. 'And he probably felt a bit guilty himself, because I think a part of him was really hoping you'd be expelled. 'Suit yourselves. At this point, Mrs Weasley entered the bedroom behind them. 'Still not finished?' she said, poking her head into the cupboard. * Harry found himself daydreaming about Hogwarts more and more as the end of the holidays approached; he could not wait to see Hagrid again, to play Quidditch, even to stroll across the vegetable

patches to the Herbology greenhouses; it would be a treat just to leave this dusty, musty house, where half of the cupboards were still bolted shut and Kreacher wheezed insults out of the shadows as you passed, though Harry was careful not to say any of this within earshot of Sirius. The fact as that living at the Headquarters of the anti-Voldemort movement was not nearly as interesting or exciting as Harry would have expected before he'd experienced it. Though members of the Order of the Phoenix came and went regularly, sometimes staying for meals, sometimes only for a few minutes of whispered conversation, Mrs Weasley made sure that Harry and the others were kept well out of earshot (whether Extendable or normal) and nobody, not even Sirius, seemed to feel that Harry needed to know anything more than he had heard on the night of his arrival. 'Booklists have arrived,' he said, throwing one of the envelopes up to Harry, who was standing on a chair. 'About time, I thought they'd forgotten, they usually come much earlier than this.. He then opened his letter. It contained two pieces of parchment: one the usual reminder that term started on the first of September; the other telling him which books he would need for the coming year. 'Only two new ones,' he said, reading the list, The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5, by Miranda Goshawk, and Defensive Magical Theory, by Wilbert Slinkhard.' Crack. Fred and George Apparated right beside Harry. He was so used to them doing this by now that he didn't even fall off his chair. 'We were just wondering who set the Slinkhard book,' said Fred conversationally 'Because it means Dumbledore's found a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher,' said George. 'And about time too,' said Fred. 'What d'you mean?' Harry asked, jumping down beside them. Well, we overheard Mum and Dad talking on the Extendable Ears a few weeks back,' Fred told Harry, 'and from what they were saying, Dumbledore was having real trouble finding anyone to do the job this year.' 'Not surprising, is it, when you look at

es to the Herbology greenhouses; it would be a treat just to leave this dusty, musty house, where half of the cupboards were still bolted shut and Kreacher wheezed insults out of the shadows as you passed, though Harry was careful not to say any of this within earshot of Sirius. The fact as that living at the Headquarters of the anti-Voldemort movement was not nearly as interesting or exciting as Harry would have expected before he'd experienced it. Though members of the Order of the Phoenix came and went regularly, sometimes staying for meals, sometimes only for a few minutes of whispered conversation, Mrs Weasley made sure that Harry and the others were kept well out of earshot (whether Extendable or normal) and nobody, not even Sirius, seemed to feel that Harry needed to know anything more than he had heard on the night of his arrival. 'Booklists have arrived,' he said, throwing one of the envelopes up to Harry, who was standing on a chair. 'About time, I thought they'd forgotten, they usually come much earlier than this.. He then opened his letter. It contained two pieces of parchment: one the usual reminder that term started on the first of September; the other telling him which books he would need for the coming year. 'Only two new ones,' he said, reading the list, The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5, by Miranda Goshawk, and Defensive Magical Theory, by Wilbert Slinkhard.' Crack. Fred and George Apparated right beside Harry. He was so used to them doing this by now that he didn't even fall off his chair. 'We were just wondering who set the Slinkhard book,' said Fred conversationally 'Because it means Dumbledore's found a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher,' said George. 'And about time too,' said Fred. 'What d'you mean?' Harry asked, jumping down beside them. Well, we overheard Mum and Dad talking on the Extendable Ears a few weeks back,' Fred told Harry, 'and from what they were saying, Dumbledore was having real trouble finding anyone to do the job this year.' 'Not surprising, is it, when you look at

what's happened to the last four?' said George. 'One sacked, one dead, one's memory removed and one locked in a trunk for nine months,' said Harry, counting them off on his fingers. Harry looked round. Fred's mouth fell open, too. 'Prefect?' he said, staring incredulously at the letter. Harry saw something scarlet and gold fall into George's palm. 'No way,' said George in a hushed voice. 'We thought you were a cert!' said Fred, in a tone that suggested Harry had tricked them in some way. 'We thought Dumbledore was bound to pick you!' said George indignantly. 'Winning the Triwizard and everything!' said Fred. 'I suppose all the mad stuff must've counted against him,' said George to Fred. 'Yeah,' said Fred slowly. 'Yeah, you've caused too much trouble, mate. 'Prefect... Harry took it. A large 'P' was superimposed on the Gryffindor lion. He had seen a badge just like this on Percy's chest on his very first day at Hogwarts. The door banged open. There was an envelope in her hand. 'Did you - did you get -?' She spotted the badge in Harry's hand and let out a shriek. 'I knew it!' she said excitedly, brandishing her letter. 'But... are you sure? 'It's my name on the letter,' he said. 'I.. 'I... well... wow! That's really - ' 'Unexpected,' said George, nodding..... he's really...' The door behind her opened a little wider and Mrs Weasley bucked into the room carrying a pile of freshly laundered robes. 'Ginny said the booklists had come at last,' she said, glancing around at all the envelopes as she made her way over to the bed and started sorting the robes into two piles. 'If you give them to me I'll take them over to Diagon Alley this afternoon and get your books while you're

's happened to the last four?' said George. 'One sacked, one dead, one's memory removed and one locked in a trunk for nine months,' said Harry, counting them off on his fingers. Harry looked round. Fred's mouth fell open, too. 'Prefect?' he said, staring incredulously at the letter. Harry saw something scarlet and gold fall into George's palm. 'No way,' said George in a hushed voice. 'We thought you were a cert!' said Fred, in a tone that suggested Harry had tricked them in some way. 'We thought Dumbledore was bound to pick you!' said George indignantly. 'Winning the Triwizard and everything!' said Fred. 'I suppose all the mad stuff must've counted against him,' said George to Fred. 'Yeah,' said Fred slowly. 'Yeah, you've caused too much trouble, mate. 'Prefect... Harry took it. A large 'P' was superimposed on the Gryffindor lion. He had seen a badge just like this on Percy's chest on his very first day at Hogwarts. The door banged open. There was an envelope in her hand. 'Did you - did you get -?' She spotted the badge in Harry's hand and let out a shriek. 'I knew it!' she said excitedly, brandishing her letter. 'But... are you sure? 'It's my name on the letter,' he said. 'I.. 'I... well... wow! That's really - ' 'Unexpected,' said George, nodding..... he's really...' The door behind her opened a little wider and Mrs Weasley bucked into the room carrying a pile of freshly laundered robes. 'Ginny said the booklists had come at last,' she said, glancing around at all the envelopes as she made her way over to the bed and started sorting the robes into two piles. 'If you give them to me I'll take them over to Diagon Alley this afternoon and get your books while you're

packing... what colour would you like?' 'Get him red and gold to match his badge,' said George, smirking. 'His badge,' said Fred, with the air of getting the worst over quickly. 'His lovely shiny new prefect's badge.' Fred's words took a moment to penetrate Mrs Weasley's preoccupation with pyjamas. 'His... but.... 'I don't believe it! I don't believe it! A prefect! That's everyone in the family!' 'What are Fred and I, next-door neighbours?' said George indignantly, as his mother pushed him aside and flung her arms around her youngest son. 'Wait until your father hears! 'Mum... don't... Mum, get a grip...' he muttered, trying to push her away. She let go of him and said breathlessly, 'Well, what will it be? 'You've got to have a reward for this!' said Mrs Weasley fondly. 'How about a nice new set of dress robes?' 'We've already bought him some,' said Fred sourly, who looked as though he sincerely regretted this generosity. 'Just - just a new one for a change,..' Mrs Weasley hesitated, then smiled. 'Of course you can... well, I'd better get going if I've got a broom to buy too. I'll see you all later... little Ronnie, a prefect! And don't forget to pack your trunks... a prefect... Fred and George exchanged looks. 'We could curtsey, if you like,' said George. 'Or what?' said Fred, an evil grin spreading across his face. 'Going to put us in detention?' 'I'd love to see him try' sniggered George...' 'Yeah, it looks like our law-breaking days are finally over,' said Cieorge, shaking his head. And with another loud crack, the twins Disapparated. They've always

ing... what colour would you like?' 'Get him red and gold to match his badge,' said George, smirking. 'His badge,' said Fred, with the air of getting the worst over quickly. 'His lovely shiny new prefect's badge.' Fred's words took a moment to penetrate Mrs Weasley's preoccupation with pyjamas. 'His... but.... 'I don't believe it! I don't believe it! A prefect! That's everyone in the family!' 'What are Fred and I, next-door neighbours?' said George indignantly, as his mother pushed him aside and flung her arms around her youngest son. 'Wait until your father hears! 'Mum... don't... Mum, get a grip...' he muttered, trying to push her away. She let go of him and said breathlessly, 'Well, what will it be? 'You've got to have a reward for this!' said Mrs Weasley fondly. 'How about a nice new set of dress robes?' 'We've already bought him some,' said Fred sourly, who looked as though he sincerely regretted this generosity. 'Just - just a new one for a change,..' Mrs Weasley hesitated, then smiled. 'Of course you can... well, I'd better get going if I've got a broom to buy too. I'll see you all later... little Ronnie, a prefect! And don't forget to pack your trunks... a prefect... Fred and George exchanged looks. 'We could curtsey, if you like,' said George. 'Or what?' said Fred, an evil grin spreading across his face. 'Going to put us in detention?' 'I'd love to see him try' sniggered George...' 'Yeah, it looks like our law-breaking days are finally over,' said Cieorge, shaking his head. And with another loud crack, the twins Disapparated. They've always

said only prats become prefects... still,' he added on a happier note, 'they've never had new brooms! I wish I could go with Mum and choose... she'll never be able to afford a Nimbus, but there's the new Cleansweep out, that'd be great... yeah, I think I'll go and tell her I like the Cleansweep, just so she knows.. He turned to his bed, picked up the pile of clean robes Mrs Weasley had laid on it and crossed the room to his trunk. Prefect. 'Erm - Harry - could I borrow Hedwig so I can tell Mum and Dad? They'll be really pleased - I mean prefect is something they can understand.' 'Yeah, no problem,' said Harry, still in the horrible hearty voice that did not belong to him. A few moments passed; Harry heard the door close but remained bent double, listening; the only sounds he could hear were the blank picture on the wall sniggering again and the wastepaper basket in the corner coughing up the owl droppings. He straightened up and looked behind him. Harry hurried across the room, closed the door, then returned slowly to his bed and sank on to it, gazing unseeingly at the foot of the wardrobe. He had forgotten completely about prefects being chosen in the fifth year. He had been too anxious about the possibility of being expelled to spare a thought for the fact that badges must be winging their way towards certain people. But if he had remembered... if he had thought about it... what would he have expected? Not this, said a small and truthful voice inside his head. Harry screwed up his face and buried it in his hands. Did this make him as arrogant as Draco Malfoy? Did he think himself superior to everyone else? No, said the small voice defiantly. Was that true? Harry wondered, anxiously probing his own feelings. I'm better at Quidditch, said the voice. But I'm not better at anything else. But what about outside lessons? Not all the time, though, Harry argued with himself. They didn't fight Quirrell with me.

only prats become prefects... still,' he added on a happier note, 'they've never had new brooms! I wish I could go with Mum and choose... she'll never be able to afford a Nimbus, but there's the new Cleansweep out, that'd be great... yeah, I think I'll go and tell her I like the Cleansweep, just so she knows.. He turned to his bed, picked up the pile of clean robes Mrs Weasley had laid on it and crossed the room to his trunk. Prefect. 'Erm - Harry - could I borrow Hedwig so I can tell Mum and Dad? They'll be really pleased - I mean prefect is something they can understand.' 'Yeah, no problem,' said Harry, still in the horrible hearty voice that did not belong to him. A few moments passed; Harry heard the door close but remained bent double, listening; the only sounds he could hear were the blank picture on the wall sniggering again and the wastepaper basket in the corner coughing up the owl droppings. He straightened up and looked behind him. Harry hurried across the room, closed the door, then returned slowly to his bed and sank on to it, gazing unseeingly at the foot of the wardrobe. He had forgotten completely about prefects being chosen in the fifth year. He had been too anxious about the possibility of being expelled to spare a thought for the fact that badges must be winging their way towards certain people. But if he had remembered... if he had thought about it... what would he have expected? Not this, said a small and truthful voice inside his head. Harry screwed up his face and buried it in his hands. Did this make him as arrogant as Draco Malfoy? Did he think himself superior to everyone else? No, said the small voice defiantly. Was that true? Harry wondered, anxiously probing his own feelings. I'm better at Quidditch, said the voice. But I'm not better at anything else. But what about outside lessons? Not all the time, though, Harry argued with himself. They didn't fight Quirrell with me.

They didn't take on Riddle and the Basilisk. They didn't get rid of all those Dementors the night Sirius escaped. They weren't in that graveyard with me, the night Voldemort returned... And the same feeling of ill-usage that had overwhelmed him on the night he had arrived rose again. I've definitely done more, Harry thought indignantly. I've done more than either of them! But maybe, said the small voice fairly, maybe Dumbledore doesn't choose prefects because they've got themselves into a load of dangerous situations... maybe he chooses them for other reasons..... Harry opened his eyes and stared through his fingers at the wardrobe's clawed feet, remembering what...' Harry gave a small snort of laughter. A second later he felt sickened with himself. 'Just caught her!' he said happily. 'She says she'll get the Cleansweep if she can.' 'Cool,' Harry said, and he was relieved to hear that his voice had stopped sounding hearty. 'I never thought it would be me!' he said, shaking his head. 'I thought it would be you!' 'Nah, I've caused too much trouble,' Harry said, echoing Fred... well, we'd better get our trunks packed, hadn't we?' It was odd how widely their possessions seemed to have scattered themselves since they had arrived. It took them most of the afternoon to retrieve their books and belongings from all over the house and stow them back inside their school trunks. Only when Fred and George dropped in and offered to attach it to his forehead with a Permanent Sticking Charm did he wrap it tenderly in his maroon socks and lock it in his trunk. I've sent them both owls and they're thrilled,' she added, beaming. Fred rolled his eyes. Sirius, Lupin, Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt were already there and Mad-Eye Moody stumped in shortly after Harry had got himself a Butterbeer. 'Oh, Alastor, I am glad you're here,' said Mrs

didn't take on Riddle and the Basilisk. They didn't get rid of all those Dementors the night Sirius escaped. They weren't in that graveyard with me, the night Voldemort returned... And the same feeling of ill-usage that had overwhelmed him on the night he had arrived rose again. I've definitely done more, Harry thought indignantly. I've done more than either of them! But maybe, said the small voice fairly, maybe Dumbledore doesn't choose prefects because they've got themselves into a load of dangerous situations... maybe he chooses them for other reasons..... Harry opened his eyes and stared through his fingers at the wardrobe's clawed feet, remembering what...' Harry gave a small snort of laughter. A second later he felt sickened with himself. 'Just caught her!' he said happily. 'She says she'll get the Cleansweep if she can.' 'Cool,' Harry said, and he was relieved to hear that his voice had stopped sounding hearty. 'I never thought it would be me!' he said, shaking his head. 'I thought it would be you!' 'Nah, I've caused too much trouble,' Harry said, echoing Fred... well, we'd better get our trunks packed, hadn't we?' It was odd how widely their possessions seemed to have scattered themselves since they had arrived. It took them most of the afternoon to retrieve their books and belongings from all over the house and stow them back inside their school trunks. Only when Fred and George dropped in and offered to attach it to his forehead with a Permanent Sticking Charm did he wrap it tenderly in his maroon socks and lock it in his trunk. I've sent them both owls and they're thrilled,' she added, beaming. Fred rolled his eyes. Sirius, Lupin, Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt were already there and Mad-Eye Moody stumped in shortly after Harry had got himself a Butterbeer. 'Oh, Alastor, I am glad you're here,' said Mrs

Weasley brightly, as Mad-Eye shrugged off his travelling cloak. 'We've been wanting to ask you for ages - could you have a look in the writing desk in the drawing room and tell us what's inside it? We haven't wanted to open it. just in case it's something really nasty.' 'No problem, Molly...' Moody's electric-blue eye swivelled upwards and stared fixedly through the ceiling of the kitchen. Drawing room...' he growled, as the pupil contracted. 'Desk in the corner? Yeah, I see it... yeah, it's a Boggart... want me to go up and get rid of it, Molly?' No, no, I'll do it myself later,' beamed Mrs Weasley, 'you have your drink. We're having a little bit of a celebration, actually...' She gestured at the scarlet banner. Harry had the very uncomfortable feeling it was looking at him and moved away towards Sirius and Lupin.. Mrs Weasley was in such a good mood she did not even complain that they had brought Mundungus with them; he was wearing a long overcoat that seemed oddly lumpy in unlikely places and declined the offer to remove it and put it with Moody's travelling cloak. 'Well, I think a toast is in order,' said Mr Weasley, when everyone had a drink. He raised his goblet. 'I was never a prefect myself,' said Tonks brightly from behind Harry as everybody moved towards the table to help themselves to food. Her hair was tomato red and waist-length today; she looked like Ginny's older sister. 'My Head of House said I lacked certain necessary qualities.' 'Like what?' said Ginny, who was choosing a baked potato. 'Like the ability to behave myself,' said Tonks. Sirius, who was right beside Harry, let out his usual bark-like laugh. 'No one would have made me a prefect, I spent too much time in detention with James. Lupin was the good boy, he got the

asley brightly, as Mad-Eye shrugged off his travelling cloak. 'We've been wanting to ask you for ages - could you have a look in the writing desk in the drawing room and tell us what's inside it? We haven't wanted to open it. just in case it's something really nasty.' 'No problem, Molly...' Moody's electric-blue eye swivelled upwards and stared fixedly through the ceiling of the kitchen. Drawing room...' he growled, as the pupil contracted. 'Desk in the corner? Yeah, I see it... yeah, it's a Boggart... want me to go up and get rid of it, Molly?' No, no, I'll do it myself later,' beamed Mrs Weasley, 'you have your drink. We're having a little bit of a celebration, actually...' She gestured at the scarlet banner. Harry had the very uncomfortable feeling it was looking at him and moved away towards Sirius and Lupin.. Mrs Weasley was in such a good mood she did not even complain that they had brought Mundungus with them; he was wearing a long overcoat that seemed oddly lumpy in unlikely places and declined the offer to remove it and put it with Moody's travelling cloak. 'Well, I think a toast is in order,' said Mr Weasley, when everyone had a drink. He raised his goblet. 'I was never a prefect myself,' said Tonks brightly from behind Harry as everybody moved towards the table to help themselves to food. Her hair was tomato red and waist-length today; she looked like Ginny's older sister. 'My Head of House said I lacked certain necessary qualities.' 'Like what?' said Ginny, who was choosing a baked potato. 'Like the ability to behave myself,' said Tonks. Sirius, who was right beside Harry, let out his usual bark-like laugh. 'No one would have made me a prefect, I spent too much time in detention with James. Lupin was the good boy, he got the

badge.' 'I think Dumbledore might have hoped I would be able to exercise some control over my best friends,' said Lupin. 'I need scarcely say that I failed dismally.' Harry's mood suddenly lifted. His father had not been a prefect either. All at once the party seemed much more enjoyable; he loaded up his plate, feeling doubly fond of everyone in the room. '... nought to seventy in ten seconds, not bad, is it? 'I mean, it's the same kind of nonsense as werewolf segregation, isn't it? It all stems from this horrible thing wizards have of thinking they're superior to other creatures...' Mrs Weasley and Bill were having their usual argument about Bill's hair. '... getting really out of hand, and you're so good-looking, it would look much better shorter, wouldn't it, Harry?' Oh - I dunno -'said Harry, slightly alarmed at being asked his opinion; he slid away from them in the direction of Fred and George, who were huddled in a corner with Mundungus. Mundungus stopped talking when he saw Harry, but Fred winked and beckoned Harry closer. 'It's OK,' he told Mundungus, 'we can trust Harry, he's our financial backer.' 'Look what Dung's got us,' said George, holding out his hand to Harry. It was full of what looked like shrivelled black pods. A faint rattling noise was coming from them, even though they were completely stationary. 'Venomous Tentacula seeds,' said George. 'We need them for the Skiving Snackboxes but they're a Class C Non-Tradeable Substance so we've been having a bit of trouble getting hold of them.' 'Ten Galleons the lot, then, Dung?' said Fred. 'Wiv all the trouble I went to to get 'em?' said Mundungus, his saggy, bloodshot eyes stretching even wider. 'I'm sorry, lads, but I'm not taking a Knut under twenty.' 'D

ge.' 'I think Dumbledore might have hoped I would be able to exercise some control over my best friends,' said Lupin. 'I need scarcely say that I failed dismally.' Harry's mood suddenly lifted. His father had not been a prefect either. All at once the party seemed much more enjoyable; he loaded up his plate, feeling doubly fond of everyone in the room. '... nought to seventy in ten seconds, not bad, is it? 'I mean, it's the same kind of nonsense as werewolf segregation, isn't it? It all stems from this horrible thing wizards have of thinking they're superior to other creatures...' Mrs Weasley and Bill were having their usual argument about Bill's hair. '... getting really out of hand, and you're so good-looking, it would look much better shorter, wouldn't it, Harry?' Oh - I dunno -'said Harry, slightly alarmed at being asked his opinion; he slid away from them in the direction of Fred and George, who were huddled in a corner with Mundungus. Mundungus stopped talking when he saw Harry, but Fred winked and beckoned Harry closer. 'It's OK,' he told Mundungus, 'we can trust Harry, he's our financial backer.' 'Look what Dung's got us,' said George, holding out his hand to Harry. It was full of what looked like shrivelled black pods. A faint rattling noise was coming from them, even though they were completely stationary. 'Venomous Tentacula seeds,' said George. 'We need them for the Skiving Snackboxes but they're a Class C Non-Tradeable Substance so we've been having a bit of trouble getting hold of them.' 'Ten Galleons the lot, then, Dung?' said Fred. 'Wiv all the trouble I went to to get 'em?' said Mundungus, his saggy, bloodshot eyes stretching even wider. 'I'm sorry, lads, but I'm not taking a Knut under twenty.' 'D

ung likes his little joke,' Fred said to Harry. 'Yeah, his best one so far has been six Sickles for a bag of Knarl quills,' said George. 'Be careful,' Harry warned them quietly. 'What?' said Fred. Mundungus looked nervously over his shoulder. 'Good point, that,' he grunted. 'All right, lads, ten it is, if you'll take 'em quick.' 'Cheers, Harry!' said Fred delightedly, when Mundungus had emptied his pockets into the twins' outstretched hands and scuttled off towards the food. 'We'd better get these upstairs...' Harry watched them go, feeling slightly uneasy. It had just occurred to him that Mr and Mrs Weasley would want to know how Fred and George were financing their joke shop business when, as was inevitable, they finally found out about it. Giving the twins his Triwizard winnings had seemed a simple thing to do at the time, but what if it led to another family row and a Percy-like estrangement? Would Mrs Weasley still feel that Harry was as good as her son if she found out he had made it possible for Fred and George to start a career she thought quite unsuitable? Standing where the twins had left him, with nothing but a guilty weight in the pit of his stomach for company, Harry caught the sound of his own name. Kingsley Shacklebolts deep voice was audible even over the surrounding chatter. '... why Dumbledore didn't make Potter a prefect?' said Kingsley. 'He'll have had his reasons,' replied Lupin. 'But it would've shown confidence in him. It's what I'd've done,' persisted Kingsley,''specially with the Daily Prophet having a go at him every few days...' Harry did not look round; he did not want Lupin or Kingsley to know he had heard. Though not remotely hungry, he followed Mundungus back towards the table. His pleasure in the party had evaporated as quickly as it had come; he wished he were upstairs in bed.

likes his little joke,' Fred said to Harry. 'Yeah, his best one so far has been six Sickles for a bag of Knarl quills,' said George. 'Be careful,' Harry warned them quietly. 'What?' said Fred. Mundungus looked nervously over his shoulder. 'Good point, that,' he grunted. 'All right, lads, ten it is, if you'll take 'em quick.' 'Cheers, Harry!' said Fred delightedly, when Mundungus had emptied his pockets into the twins' outstretched hands and scuttled off towards the food. 'We'd better get these upstairs...' Harry watched them go, feeling slightly uneasy. It had just occurred to him that Mr and Mrs Weasley would want to know how Fred and George were financing their joke shop business when, as was inevitable, they finally found out about it. Giving the twins his Triwizard winnings had seemed a simple thing to do at the time, but what if it led to another family row and a Percy-like estrangement? Would Mrs Weasley still feel that Harry was as good as her son if she found out he had made it possible for Fred and George to start a career she thought quite unsuitable? Standing where the twins had left him, with nothing but a guilty weight in the pit of his stomach for company, Harry caught the sound of his own name. Kingsley Shacklebolts deep voice was audible even over the surrounding chatter. '... why Dumbledore didn't make Potter a prefect?' said Kingsley. 'He'll have had his reasons,' replied Lupin. 'But it would've shown confidence in him. It's what I'd've done,' persisted Kingsley,''specially with the Daily Prophet having a go at him every few days...' Harry did not look round; he did not want Lupin or Kingsley to know he had heard. Though not remotely hungry, he followed Mundungus back towards the table. His pleasure in the party had evaporated as quickly as it had come; he wished he were upstairs in bed.

Mad-Eye Moody was sniffing at a chicken-leg with what remained of his nose; evidently he could not detect any trace of poison, because he then tore a strip off it with his teeth. '... Mrs Weasley yawned widely. 'Well, I think I'll sort out that Boggart before I turn in... Arthur, I don't want this lot up too late, all right? Night, Harry, dear.' She left the kitchen. Harry set down his plate and wondered whether he could follow her without attracting attention. 'You all right, Potter?' grunted Moody. 'Yeah, fine,' lied Harry. Moody took a swig from his hipflask, his electric-blue eye staring sideways at Harry. 'Come here, I've got something that might interest you,' he said. From an inner pocket of his robes Moody pulled a very tattered old wizarding photograph. 'Original Order of the Phoenix,' growled Moody. 'Found it last night when I was looking for my spare Invisibility Cloak, seeing as Podmore hasn't had the manners to return my best one... thought people might like to see it.' Harry took the photograph. A small crowd of people, some waving at him, others lifting their glasses, looked back up at him. 'There's me,' said Moody, unnecessarily pointing at himself. The Moody in the picture was unmistakeable, though his hair was slightly less grey and his nose was intact. 'And there's Dumbledore beside me, Dedalus Diggle on the other side... that's Marlene McKinnon, she was killed two weeks after this was taken, they got her whole family. That's Frank and Alice Longbottom - ' Harry's stomach, already uncomfortable, clenched as he looked at Alice Longbottom; he knew her round, friendly face very well, even though he had never met her, because she was the image of her son, Neville. '- poor devils,' growled Moody. 'Better dead than what happened to them... and that's Emmeline Vance, you've met her, and that there

Mad-Eye Moody was sniffing at a chicken-leg with what remained of his nose; evidently he could not detect any trace of poison, because he then tore a strip off it with his teeth. '... Mrs Weasley yawned widely. 'Well, I think I'll sort out that Boggart before I turn in... Arthur, I don't want this lot up too late, all right? Night, Harry, dear.' She left the kitchen. Harry set down his plate and wondered whether he could follow her without attracting attention. 'You all right, Potter?' grunted Moody. 'Yeah, fine,' lied Harry. Moody took a swig from his hipflask, his electric-blue eye staring sideways at Harry. 'Come here, I've got something that might interest you,' he said. From an inner pocket of his robes Moody pulled a very tattered old wizarding photograph. 'Original Order of the Phoenix,' growled Moody. 'Found it last night when I was looking for my spare Invisibility Cloak, seeing as Podmore hasn't had the manners to return my best one... thought people might like to see it.' Harry took the photograph. A small crowd of people, some waving at him, others lifting their glasses, looked back up at him. 'There's me,' said Moody, unnecessarily pointing at himself. The Moody in the picture was unmistakeable, though his hair was slightly less grey and his nose was intact. 'And there's Dumbledore beside me, Dedalus Diggle on the other side... that's Marlene McKinnon, she was killed two weeks after this was taken, they got her whole family. That's Frank and Alice Longbottom - ' Harry's stomach, already uncomfortable, clenched as he looked at Alice Longbottom; he knew her round, friendly face very well, even though he had never met her, because she was the image of her son, Neville. '- poor devils,' growled Moody. 'Better dead than what happened to them... and that's Emmeline Vance, you've met her, and that there

's Lupin, obviously... Benjy Fenwick, he copped it too, we only ever found bits of him... shift aside there,' he added, poking the picture, and the little photographic people edged sideways, so that those who were partially obscured could move to the front. 'That's Edgar Bones... brother of Amelia Bones, they got him and his family, too, he was a great wizard... Sturgis Podmore, blimey, he looks young... Caradoc Dearborn, vanished six months after this, we never found his body... Hagrid, of course, looks exactly the same as ever... Elphias Doge, you've met him, I'd forgotten he used to wear that stupid hat... Gideon Prewett, it took five Death Eaters to kill him and his brother Fabian, they fought like heroes... budge along, budge along...' The little people in the photograph jostled among themselves and those hidden right at the back appeared at the forefront of the picture. That's Dumbledore's brother Aberforth, only time I ever met him, strange bloke... that's Dorcas Meadowes, Voldemort killed her personally... Sirius, when he still had short hair... and... there you go, thought that would interest you!' Harry's heart turned over. His mother and father were beaming up at him, sitting on either side of a small, watery-eyed man whom Harry recognised at once as Wormtail, the one who had betrayed his parents' whereabouts to Voldemort and so helped to bring about their deaths. 'Eh?' said Moody. Harry looked up into Moody s heavily scarred and pitted face. Evidently Moody was under the impression he had just given Harry a bit of a treat. 'Yeah,' said Harry, once again attempting to grin. 'Er... listen, I've just remembered, I haven't packed my...' He was spared the trouble of inventing an object he had not packed. Sirius had just said, '

s Lupin, obviously... Benjy Fenwick, he copped it too, we only ever found bits of him... shift aside there,' he added, poking the picture, and the little photographic people edged sideways, so that those who were partially obscured could move to the front. 'That's Edgar Bones... brother of Amelia Bones, they got him and his family, too, he was a great wizard... Sturgis Podmore, blimey, he looks young... Caradoc Dearborn, vanished six months after this, we never found his body... Hagrid, of course, looks exactly the same as ever... Elphias Doge, you've met him, I'd forgotten he used to wear that stupid hat... Gideon Prewett, it took five Death Eaters to kill him and his brother Fabian, they fought like heroes... budge along, budge along...' The little people in the photograph jostled among themselves and those hidden right at the back appeared at the forefront of the picture. That's Dumbledore's brother Aberforth, only time I ever met him, strange bloke... that's Dorcas Meadowes, Voldemort killed her personally... Sirius, when he still had short hair... and... there you go, thought that would interest you!' Harry's heart turned over. His mother and father were beaming up at him, sitting on either side of a small, watery-eyed man whom Harry recognised at once as Wormtail, the one who had betrayed his parents' whereabouts to Voldemort and so helped to bring about their deaths. 'Eh?' said Moody. Harry looked up into Moody s heavily scarred and pitted face. Evidently Moody was under the impression he had just given Harry a bit of a treat. 'Yeah,' said Harry, once again attempting to grin. 'Er... listen, I've just remembered, I haven't packed my...' He was spared the trouble of inventing an object he had not packed. Sirius had just said, '

What's that you've got there, Mad-Eye?' and Moody had turned towards him. Harry crossed the kitchen, slipped through the door and up the stairs before anyone could call him back. He did not know why it had been such a shock; he had seen pictures of his parents before, after all, and he had met Wormtail... but to have them sprung on him like that, when he was least expecting it... no one would like that, he thought angrily... And then, to see them surrounded by all those other happy faces... Benjy Fenwick, who had been found in bits, and Gideon Prewett, who had died like a hero, and the Longbottoms, who had been tortured into madness... all waving happily out of the photograph forever more, not knowing that they were doomed... well, Moody might find that interesting... he, Harry, found it disturbing... Harry tiptoed up the stairs in the hall past the stuffed elf-heads, glad to be on his own again, but as he approached the first landing he heard noises. Someone was sobbing in the drawing room. 'Hello?' Harry said. There was no answer but the sobbing continued. He climbed the remaining stairs two at a time, walked across the landing and opened the drawing-room door. Someone was cowering against the dark wall, her wand in her hand, her whole body shaking with sobs. Mrs Weasley sobbed harder than ever. 'R - riddikulus!' she sobbed again. Crack. Mr Weasley's body replaced Bill's, his glasses askew, a trickle of blood running down his face. 'No!' Mrs Weasley moaned. 'No... riddikulus! Riddikulus! RID-DIKULUS!' Crack. Dead twins. Crack. Dead Percy. Crack. Dead Harry... 'Mrs Weasley, just get out of here!' shouted Harry, staring down at his own dead body on the floor. 'Let someone else - ' 'What's going on?' Lupin

's that you've got there, Mad-Eye?' and Moody had turned towards him. Harry crossed the kitchen, slipped through the door and up the stairs before anyone could call him back. He did not know why it had been such a shock; he had seen pictures of his parents before, after all, and he had met Wormtail... but to have them sprung on him like that, when he was least expecting it... no one would like that, he thought angrily... And then, to see them surrounded by all those other happy faces... Benjy Fenwick, who had been found in bits, and Gideon Prewett, who had died like a hero, and the Longbottoms, who had been tortured into madness... all waving happily out of the photograph forever more, not knowing that they were doomed... well, Moody might find that interesting... he, Harry, found it disturbing... Harry tiptoed up the stairs in the hall past the stuffed elf-heads, glad to be on his own again, but as he approached the first landing he heard noises. Someone was sobbing in the drawing room. 'Hello?' Harry said. There was no answer but the sobbing continued. He climbed the remaining stairs two at a time, walked across the landing and opened the drawing-room door. Someone was cowering against the dark wall, her wand in her hand, her whole body shaking with sobs. Mrs Weasley sobbed harder than ever. 'R - riddikulus!' she sobbed again. Crack. Mr Weasley's body replaced Bill's, his glasses askew, a trickle of blood running down his face. 'No!' Mrs Weasley moaned. 'No... riddikulus! Riddikulus! RID-DIKULUS!' Crack. Dead twins. Crack. Dead Percy. Crack. Dead Harry... 'Mrs Weasley, just get out of here!' shouted Harry, staring down at his own dead body on the floor. 'Let someone else - ' 'What's going on?' Lupin

had come running into the room, closely followed by Sirius, with Moody stumping along behind them. Lupin looked from Mrs Weasley to the dead Harry on the floor and seemed to understand in an instant. Pulling out his own wand, he said, very firmly and clearly: 'Riddikulus!' Harry's body vanished. A silvery orb hung in the air over the spot where it had lain. Lupin waved his wand once more and the orb vanished in a puff of smoke. 'Oh - oh - oh!' gulped Mrs Weasley, and she broke into a storm of crying, her face in her hands. 'Molly' said Lupin bleakly, walking over to her. 'Molly don't...' Next second, she was sobbing her heart out on Lupin's shoulder. 'Molly it was just a Boggart,' he said soothingly, patting her on the head. 'Just a stupid Boggart.,.' 'I see them d - d - dead all the time!' Mrs Weasley moaned into his shoulder. 'All the t - t - time! I d - d - dream about it...' Sirius was staring at the patch of carpet where the Boggart, pretending to be Harry's body, had lain. Moody was looking at Harry, who avoided his gaze. He had a funny feeling Moody's magical eye had followed him all the way out of the kitchen. 'D - d - don't tell Arthur,' Mrs Weasley was gulping now, mopping her eyes frantically with her cuffs. 'I d - d - don't want him to know... being silly...' Lupin handed her a handkerchief and she blew her nose. 'Harry, I'm so sorry. What must you think of me?' she said shakily. 'Not even able to get rid of a Boggart...' 'Don't be stupid,' said Harry, trying to smile. 'I'm just s - s - so worried,' she said, tears spilling out of her eyes again. 'Half the

come running into the room, closely followed by Sirius, with Moody stumping along behind them. Lupin looked from Mrs Weasley to the dead Harry on the floor and seemed to understand in an instant. Pulling out his own wand, he said, very firmly and clearly: 'Riddikulus!' Harry's body vanished. A silvery orb hung in the air over the spot where it had lain. Lupin waved his wand once more and the orb vanished in a puff of smoke. 'Oh - oh - oh!' gulped Mrs Weasley, and she broke into a storm of crying, her face in her hands. 'Molly' said Lupin bleakly, walking over to her. 'Molly don't...' Next second, she was sobbing her heart out on Lupin's shoulder. 'Molly it was just a Boggart,' he said soothingly, patting her on the head. 'Just a stupid Boggart.,.' 'I see them d - d - dead all the time!' Mrs Weasley moaned into his shoulder. 'All the t - t - time! I d - d - dream about it...' Sirius was staring at the patch of carpet where the Boggart, pretending to be Harry's body, had lain. Moody was looking at Harry, who avoided his gaze. He had a funny feeling Moody's magical eye had followed him all the way out of the kitchen. 'D - d - don't tell Arthur,' Mrs Weasley was gulping now, mopping her eyes frantically with her cuffs. 'I d - d - don't want him to know... being silly...' Lupin handed her a handkerchief and she blew her nose. 'Harry, I'm so sorry. What must you think of me?' she said shakily. 'Not even able to get rid of a Boggart...' 'Don't be stupid,' said Harry, trying to smile. 'I'm just s - s - so worried,' she said, tears spilling out of her eyes again. 'Half the

f - f - family's in the Order, it'll b - b - be a miracle if we all come through this... and P - P - Percy's not talking to us... what if something d-d - dreadful happens and we've never m - m - made it up with him? This isn't like last time. The Order are better prepared, we've got a head start, we know what Voldemort's up to - ' Mrs Weasley gave a little squeak of fright at the sound of the name. 'Oh, Molly, come on, it's about time you got used to hearing his name - look, I can't promise no one's going to get hurt, nobody can promise that, but we're much better off than we were last time. You weren't in the Order then, you don't understand. Last time we were outnumbered twenty to one by the Death Eaters and they were picking us off one by one...' Harry thought of the photograph again, of his parents' beaming faces. He knew Moody was still watching him. 'Don't worry about Percy,' said Sirius abruptly. 'He'll come round. It's only a matter of time before Voldemort moves into the open; once he does, the whole Ministry's going to be begging us to forgive them. And I'm not sure I'll be accepting their apology,' he added bitterly. 'Being silly,' she muttered again, mopping her eyes. But Harry, closing his bedroom door behind him some ten minutes later, could not think Mrs Weasley silly. He could still see his parents beaming up at him from the battered old photograph, unaware that their lives, like so many of those around them, were drawing to a close. The image of the Boggart posing as the corpse of each member of Mrs Weasley's family in turn kept flashing before his eyes. Without warning, the scar on his forehead seared with pain again and his stomach churned horribly. 'Cut it out,' he said firmly, rubbing the scar as the pain receded. 'First sign of madness, talking to your own head,'

- f - family's in the Order, it'll b - b - be a miracle if we all come through this... and P - P - Percy's not talking to us... what if something d-d - dreadful happens and we've never m - m - made it up with him? This isn't like last time. The Order are better prepared, we've got a head start, we know what Voldemort's up to - ' Mrs Weasley gave a little squeak of fright at the sound of the name. 'Oh, Molly, come on, it's about time you got used to hearing his name - look, I can't promise no one's going to get hurt, nobody can promise that, but we're much better off than we were last time. You weren't in the Order then, you don't understand. Last time we were outnumbered twenty to one by the Death Eaters and they were picking us off one by one...' Harry thought of the photograph again, of his parents' beaming faces. He knew Moody was still watching him. 'Don't worry about Percy,' said Sirius abruptly. 'He'll come round. It's only a matter of time before Voldemort moves into the open; once he does, the whole Ministry's going to be begging us to forgive them. And I'm not sure I'll be accepting their apology,' he added bitterly. 'Being silly,' she muttered again, mopping her eyes. But Harry, closing his bedroom door behind him some ten minutes later, could not think Mrs Weasley silly. He could still see his parents beaming up at him from the battered old photograph, unaware that their lives, like so many of those around them, were drawing to a close. The image of the Boggart posing as the corpse of each member of Mrs Weasley's family in turn kept flashing before his eyes. Without warning, the scar on his forehead seared with pain again and his stomach churned horribly. 'Cut it out,' he said firmly, rubbing the scar as the pain receded. 'First sign of madness, talking to your own head,'

said a sly voice from the empty picture on the wall. Harry ignored it. He felt older than he had ever felt in his life and it seemed extraordinary to him that barely an hour ago he had been worried about a joke shop and who had got a prefects badge. - CHAPTER TEN - Luna Lovegood Harry had a troubled nights sleep. '... better hurry up, Mums going ballistic, she says we're going to miss the train...' There was a lot of commotion in the house. From what he heard as he dressed at top speed, Harry gathered that Fred and George had bewitched their trunks to fly downstairs to save the bother of carrying them, with the result that they had hurtled straight into Ginny and knocked her down two flights of stairs into the hall; Mrs Black and Mrs Weasley were both screaming at the top of their voices. Hedwig was swaying or her shoulder, and she was carrying a squirming Crookshanks in her arms. 'Mum and Dad just sent Hedwig back.' The owl fluttered obligingly over and perched on top of her cage. Are you ready yet?' 'Nearly. Is Ginny all right?' Harry asked, shoving on his glasses. 'But now Mad-Eye's complaining that we can't leave unless Sturgis Podmore's here, otherwise the guard will be one short.' 'Guard?' said Harry. 'Why?' said Harry irritably.. Mrs Black's portrait was howling with rage but nobody was bothering to close the curtains over her; all the noise in the hall was bound to rouse her again, anyway. 'Harry, you're to come with me and Tonks,' shouted Mrs Weasley over the repeated screeches of 'MUDBLOODS! SCUM! CREATURES OF DIRT!' - 'Leave your trunk and your owl, Alastor's going to deal with the luggage... oh, for heavens sake, Sirius, Dumbledore said no!' A bear-like black dog had appeared at Harry's side as he was clambering over the

a sly voice from the empty picture on the wall. Harry ignored it. He felt older than he had ever felt in his life and it seemed extraordinary to him that barely an hour ago he had been worried about a joke shop and who had got a prefects badge. - CHAPTER TEN - Luna Lovegood Harry had a troubled nights sleep. '... better hurry up, Mums going ballistic, she says we're going to miss the train...' There was a lot of commotion in the house. From what he heard as he dressed at top speed, Harry gathered that Fred and George had bewitched their trunks to fly downstairs to save the bother of carrying them, with the result that they had hurtled straight into Ginny and knocked her down two flights of stairs into the hall; Mrs Black and Mrs Weasley were both screaming at the top of their voices. Hedwig was swaying or her shoulder, and she was carrying a squirming Crookshanks in her arms. 'Mum and Dad just sent Hedwig back.' The owl fluttered obligingly over and perched on top of her cage. Are you ready yet?' 'Nearly. Is Ginny all right?' Harry asked, shoving on his glasses. 'But now Mad-Eye's complaining that we can't leave unless Sturgis Podmore's here, otherwise the guard will be one short.' 'Guard?' said Harry. 'Why?' said Harry irritably.. Mrs Black's portrait was howling with rage but nobody was bothering to close the curtains over her; all the noise in the hall was bound to rouse her again, anyway. 'Harry, you're to come with me and Tonks,' shouted Mrs Weasley over the repeated screeches of 'MUDBLOODS! SCUM! CREATURES OF DIRT!' - 'Leave your trunk and your owl, Alastor's going to deal with the luggage... oh, for heavens sake, Sirius, Dumbledore said no!' A bear-like black dog had appeared at Harry's side as he was clambering over the

various trunks cluttering the hall to get to Mrs Weasley. 'Oh honestly...' said Mrs Weasley despairingly. 'Well, on your own head be it!' She wrenched open the front door and stepped out into the weak September sunlight. Harry and the dog followed her. The door slammed behind them and Mrs Black's screeches were cut off instantly. 'Where's Tonks?' Harry said, looking round as they went down the stone steps of number twelve, which vanished the moment they reached the pavement. 'She's waiting for us just up here,' said Mrs Weasley stiffly, averting her eyes from the lolloping black dog beside Harry. An old woman greeted them on the corner. She had tightly curled grey hair and wore a purple hat shaped like a pork pie. 'Wotcher, Harry,' she said, winking. 'Better hurry up, hadn't we, Molly?' she added, checking her watch. 'I know, I know,' moaned Mrs Weasley, lengthening her stride, 'but Mad-Eye wanted to wait for Sturgis... if only Arthur could have got us cars from the Ministry again... but Fudge won't let him borrow so much as an empty ink bottle these days... how Muggles can stand travelling without magic...' But the great black dog gave a joyful bark and gambolled around them, snapping at pigeons and chasing its own tail. Harry couldn't help laughing. Sirius had been trapped inside for a very long time. Mrs Weasley pursed her lips in an almost Aunt Petunia-ish way. It took them twenty minutes to reach King's Cross on foot and nothing more eventful happened during that time than Sirius scaring a couple of cats for Harry's entertainment. Once inside the station they lingered casually beside the barrier between platforms nine and ten until the coast was clear, then each of them leaned against it in turn and fell easily through on to platform nine and three-quarters, where the Hogwarts Express stood belching sooty steam over a platform packed with departing students and their families

trunks cluttering the hall to get to Mrs Weasley. 'Oh honestly...' said Mrs Weasley despairingly. 'Well, on your own head be it!' She wrenched open the front door and stepped out into the weak September sunlight. Harry and the dog followed her. The door slammed behind them and Mrs Black's screeches were cut off instantly. 'Where's Tonks?' Harry said, looking round as they went down the stone steps of number twelve, which vanished the moment they reached the pavement. 'She's waiting for us just up here,' said Mrs Weasley stiffly, averting her eyes from the lolloping black dog beside Harry. An old woman greeted them on the corner. She had tightly curled grey hair and wore a purple hat shaped like a pork pie. 'Wotcher, Harry,' she said, winking. 'Better hurry up, hadn't we, Molly?' she added, checking her watch. 'I know, I know,' moaned Mrs Weasley, lengthening her stride, 'but Mad-Eye wanted to wait for Sturgis... if only Arthur could have got us cars from the Ministry again... but Fudge won't let him borrow so much as an empty ink bottle these days... how Muggles can stand travelling without magic...' But the great black dog gave a joyful bark and gambolled around them, snapping at pigeons and chasing its own tail. Harry couldn't help laughing. Sirius had been trapped inside for a very long time. Mrs Weasley pursed her lips in an almost Aunt Petunia-ish way. It took them twenty minutes to reach King's Cross on foot and nothing more eventful happened during that time than Sirius scaring a couple of cats for Harry's entertainment. Once inside the station they lingered casually beside the barrier between platforms nine and ten until the coast was clear, then each of them leaned against it in turn and fell easily through on to platform nine and three-quarters, where the Hogwarts Express stood belching sooty steam over a platform packed with departing students and their families

. Harry inhaled the familiar smell and felt his spirits soar... he was really going back... 'I hope the others make it in time,' said Mrs Weasley anxiously, staring behind her at the wrought-iron arch spanning the platform, through which new arrivals would come. 'Nice dog, Harry!' called a tall boy with dreadlocks. Thanks, Lee,' said Harry, grinning, as Sirius wagged his tail frantically. 'Oh good,' said Mrs Weasley, sounding relieved, 'here's Alastor with the luggage, look...' A porter's cap pulled low over his mismatched eyes, Moody came limping through the archway pushing a trolley loaded with their trunks. 'All OK,' he muttered to Mrs Weasley and Tonks, 'don't think we were followed.. They had almost unloaded Moody's luggage trolley when Fred, George and Ginny turned up with Lupin. 'No trouble?' growled Moody. 'Nothing,' said Lupin. 'I'll still be reporting Sturgis to Dumbledore,' said Moody, 'that's the second time he's not turned up in a week. Getting as unreliable as Mundungus.' 'Well, look after yourselves,' said Lupin, shaking hands all round. He reached Harry last and gave him a clap on the shoulder. 'You too, Harry. Be careful.' 'Yeah, keep your head down and your eyes peeled,' said Moody, shaking Harry's hand too. 'And don't forget, all of you - careful what you put in writing. 'We'll see you soon, I expect.' A warning whistle sounded; the students still on the platform started hurrying on to the train. 'Quick, quick,' said Mrs Weasley distractedly, hugging them at random and catching Harry twice, 'Write... be good... if you've forgotten anything we'll send it on... on to the train, now, hurry.. The figures of Tonks, Lupin, Moody and

Harry inhaled the familiar smell and felt his spirits soar... he was really going back... 'I hope the others make it in time,' said Mrs Weasley anxiously, staring behind her at the wrought-iron arch spanning the platform, through which new arrivals would come. 'Nice dog, Harry!' called a tall boy with dreadlocks. Thanks, Lee,' said Harry, grinning, as Sirius wagged his tail frantically. 'Oh good,' said Mrs Weasley, sounding relieved, 'here's Alastor with the luggage, look...' A porter's cap pulled low over his mismatched eyes, Moody came limping through the archway pushing a trolley loaded with their trunks. 'All OK,' he muttered to Mrs Weasley and Tonks, 'don't think we were followed.. They had almost unloaded Moody's luggage trolley when Fred, George and Ginny turned up with Lupin. 'No trouble?' growled Moody. 'Nothing,' said Lupin. 'I'll still be reporting Sturgis to Dumbledore,' said Moody, 'that's the second time he's not turned up in a week. Getting as unreliable as Mundungus.' 'Well, look after yourselves,' said Lupin, shaking hands all round. He reached Harry last and gave him a clap on the shoulder. 'You too, Harry. Be careful.' 'Yeah, keep your head down and your eyes peeled,' said Moody, shaking Harry's hand too. 'And don't forget, all of you - careful what you put in writing. 'We'll see you soon, I expect.' A warning whistle sounded; the students still on the platform started hurrying on to the train. 'Quick, quick,' said Mrs Weasley distractedly, hugging them at random and catching Harry twice, 'Write... be good... if you've forgotten anything we'll send it on... on to the train, now, hurry.. The figures of Tonks, Lupin, Moody and

Mr and Mrs Weasley shrank rapidly but the black dog was bounding alongside the window, wagging its tail; blurred people on the platform were laughing to see it chasing the train, then they rounded a bend, and Sirius was gone. See you later,' and he and George disappeared down the corridor to the right. The train was gathering still more speed, so that the houses outside the window flashed past, and they swayed where they stood. 'Shall we go and find a compartment, then?' Harry asked. 'Oh,' said Harry. 'Right. 'Our letters said we just get instructions from the Head Boy and Girl and then patrol the corridors from time to time.' 'Fine,' said Harry again. 'It's a pain having to go down there, I'd rather - but we have to - 'I mean, I'm not enjoying it, I'm not Percy,' he finished defiantly. 'I know you're not,' said Harry and he grinned. 'Come on,' Ginny told him, 'if we get a move on we'll be able to save them places.' 'Right,' said Harry, picking up Hedwig's cage in one hand and the handle of his trunk in the other. They struggled off down the corridor, peering through the glass-panelled doors into the compartments they passed, which were already full. Harry could not help noticing that a lot of people stared back at him with great interest and that several of them nudged their neighbours and pointed him out. After he had met this behaviour in five consecutive carriages he remembered that the Daily Prophet had been telling its readers all summer what a lying show-off he was. He wondered dully whether the people now staring and whispering believed the stories. In the very last carriage they met Neville Longbottom, Harry's fellow fifth-year Gryffindor, his round face shining with the effort of pulling his trunk along and maintaining a one-handed grip on his struggling toad, Trevor. 'Hi, Harry,' he panted. 'Hi, Ginny... everywhere's full... I can't find a seat... ' '

and Mrs Weasley shrank rapidly but the black dog was bounding alongside the window, wagging its tail; blurred people on the platform were laughing to see it chasing the train, then they rounded a bend, and Sirius was gone. See you later,' and he and George disappeared down the corridor to the right. The train was gathering still more speed, so that the houses outside the window flashed past, and they swayed where they stood. 'Shall we go and find a compartment, then?' Harry asked. 'Oh,' said Harry. 'Right. 'Our letters said we just get instructions from the Head Boy and Girl and then patrol the corridors from time to time.' 'Fine,' said Harry again. 'It's a pain having to go down there, I'd rather - but we have to - 'I mean, I'm not enjoying it, I'm not Percy,' he finished defiantly. 'I know you're not,' said Harry and he grinned. 'Come on,' Ginny told him, 'if we get a move on we'll be able to save them places.' 'Right,' said Harry, picking up Hedwig's cage in one hand and the handle of his trunk in the other. They struggled off down the corridor, peering through the glass-panelled doors into the compartments they passed, which were already full. Harry could not help noticing that a lot of people stared back at him with great interest and that several of them nudged their neighbours and pointed him out. After he had met this behaviour in five consecutive carriages he remembered that the Daily Prophet had been telling its readers all summer what a lying show-off he was. He wondered dully whether the people now staring and whispering believed the stories. In the very last carriage they met Neville Longbottom, Harry's fellow fifth-year Gryffindor, his round face shining with the effort of pulling his trunk along and maintaining a one-handed grip on his struggling toad, Trevor. 'Hi, Harry,' he panted. 'Hi, Ginny... everywhere's full... I can't find a seat... ' '

What are you talking about?' said Ginny, who had squeezed past Neville to peer into the compartment behind him. There's room in this one, there's only Loony Lovegood in here - ' Neville mumbled something about not wanting to disturb anyone. 'Don't be silly,' said Ginny, laughing,'she's all right.' She slid the door open and pulled her trunk inside. Harry and Neville followed. 'Hi, Luna.' said Ginny, 'is it OK if we take these seats?' The girl beside the window looked up. She had straggly, waist-length, dirty blonde hair, very pale eyebrows and protuberant eyes that gave her a permanently surprised look. Harry knew at once why Neville had chosen to pass this compartment by. The girl gave oil an aura of distinct dottiness. Perhaps it was the fact that she had stuck her wand behind her left ear for safekeeping, or that she had chosen to wear a necklace of Butterbeer corks, or that she was reading a magazine upside-down. Her eyes ranged over Neville and came to rest on Harry. She nodded. Thanks,' said Ginny, smiling at her. Harry and Neville stowed the three trunks and Hedwig's cage in the luggage rack and sat down. Luna watched them over her upside-down magazine, which was called The Quibbler. She did not seem to need to blink as much as normal humans. She stared and stared at Harry, who had taken the seat opposite her and now wished he hadn't. 'Had a good summer, Luna?' Ginny asked. 'Yes,' said Luna dreamily, without taking her eyes off Harry. 'Yes, it was quite enjoyable, you know. You're Harry Potter,' she added. 'I know I am,' said Harry. Neville chuckled. Luna turned her pale eyes on him instead. 'And I don't know who you are.' 'I'm nobody,' said Neville hurriedly. 'No you're not,' said Ginny sharply. 'Neville Longbottom - Luna Lovegood. Luna

are you talking about?' said Ginny, who had squeezed past Neville to peer into the compartment behind him. There's room in this one, there's only Loony Lovegood in here - ' Neville mumbled something about not wanting to disturb anyone. 'Don't be silly,' said Ginny, laughing,'she's all right.' She slid the door open and pulled her trunk inside. Harry and Neville followed. 'Hi, Luna.' said Ginny, 'is it OK if we take these seats?' The girl beside the window looked up. She had straggly, waist-length, dirty blonde hair, very pale eyebrows and protuberant eyes that gave her a permanently surprised look. Harry knew at once why Neville had chosen to pass this compartment by. The girl gave oil an aura of distinct dottiness. Perhaps it was the fact that she had stuck her wand behind her left ear for safekeeping, or that she had chosen to wear a necklace of Butterbeer corks, or that she was reading a magazine upside-down. Her eyes ranged over Neville and came to rest on Harry. She nodded. Thanks,' said Ginny, smiling at her. Harry and Neville stowed the three trunks and Hedwig's cage in the luggage rack and sat down. Luna watched them over her upside-down magazine, which was called The Quibbler. She did not seem to need to blink as much as normal humans. She stared and stared at Harry, who had taken the seat opposite her and now wished he hadn't. 'Had a good summer, Luna?' Ginny asked. 'Yes,' said Luna dreamily, without taking her eyes off Harry. 'Yes, it was quite enjoyable, you know. You're Harry Potter,' she added. 'I know I am,' said Harry. Neville chuckled. Luna turned her pale eyes on him instead. 'And I don't know who you are.' 'I'm nobody,' said Neville hurriedly. 'No you're not,' said Ginny sharply. 'Neville Longbottom - Luna Lovegood. Luna

's in my year, but in Ravenclaw.' 'Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure,' said Luna in a singsong voice. She raised her upside-down magazine high enough to hide her face and fell silent. Harry and Neville looked at each other with their eyebrows raised. Ginny suppressed a giggle. The train rattled onwards, speeding them out into open country. It was an odd, unsettled sort of day; one moment the carriage was full of sunlight and the next they were passing beneath ominously grey clouds. 'Guess what I got for my birthday?' said Neville. 'Another Remembrall?' said Harry, remembering the marble-like device Neville's grandmother had sent him in an effort to improve his abysmal memory. 'No,' said Neville. 'I could do with one, though, I lost the old one ages ago... no, look at this...' He dug the hand that was not keeping a firm grip on Trevor into his schoolbag and after a little bit of rummaging pulled out what appeared to be a small grey cactus in a pot, except that it was covered with what looked like boils rather than spines. 'Mimbulus mimbletonia,' he said proudly. Harry stared at the thing. It was pulsating slightly, giving it the rather sinister look of some diseased internal organ. 'It's really, really rare,' said Neville, beaming. 'I don't know if there's one in the greenhouse at Hogwarts, even. I can't wait to show it to Professor Sprout. My Great Uncle Algie got it for me in Assyria. I'm going to see if I can breed from it.' Harry knew that Neville's favourite subject was Herbology but for the life of him he could not see what he would want with this stunted little plant. 'Does it - er - do anything?' he asked. 'Loads of stuff!' said Neville proudly. 'It's got an amazing defensive mechanism. Here, hold Trevor for me...' He dumped the toad into Harry'

s in my year, but in Ravenclaw.' 'Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure,' said Luna in a singsong voice. She raised her upside-down magazine high enough to hide her face and fell silent. Harry and Neville looked at each other with their eyebrows raised. Ginny suppressed a giggle. The train rattled onwards, speeding them out into open country. It was an odd, unsettled sort of day; one moment the carriage was full of sunlight and the next they were passing beneath ominously grey clouds. 'Guess what I got for my birthday?' said Neville. 'Another Remembrall?' said Harry, remembering the marble-like device Neville's grandmother had sent him in an effort to improve his abysmal memory. 'No,' said Neville. 'I could do with one, though, I lost the old one ages ago... no, look at this...' He dug the hand that was not keeping a firm grip on Trevor into his schoolbag and after a little bit of rummaging pulled out what appeared to be a small grey cactus in a pot, except that it was covered with what looked like boils rather than spines. 'Mimbulus mimbletonia,' he said proudly. Harry stared at the thing. It was pulsating slightly, giving it the rather sinister look of some diseased internal organ. 'It's really, really rare,' said Neville, beaming. 'I don't know if there's one in the greenhouse at Hogwarts, even. I can't wait to show it to Professor Sprout. My Great Uncle Algie got it for me in Assyria. I'm going to see if I can breed from it.' Harry knew that Neville's favourite subject was Herbology but for the life of him he could not see what he would want with this stunted little plant. 'Does it - er - do anything?' he asked. 'Loads of stuff!' said Neville proudly. 'It's got an amazing defensive mechanism. Here, hold Trevor for me...' He dumped the toad into Harry'

s lap and took a quill from his schoolbag. Luna Lovegood's popping eyes appeared over the top of her upside-down magazine again, to watch what Neville was doing. Neville held the Mimbulus mimblctonia up to his eyes, his tongue between his teeth, chose his spot, and gave the plant a sharp prod with the tip of his quill. Liquid squirted from every boil on the plant; thick, stinking, dark green jets of it. They hit the ceiling, the windows, and spattered Luna Lovegood's magazine; Ginny, who had flung her arms up in front of her face just in time, merely looked as though she was wearing a slimy green hat, but Harry, whose hands had been busy preventing Trevor's escape, received a faceful. It smelled like rancid manure. Neville, whose face and torso were also drenched, shook his head to get the worst out of his eyes. 'S - sorry,' he gasped. 'I haven't tried that before... didn't realise it would be quite so... don't worry, though, Stinksap's not poisonous,' he added nervously, as Harry spat a mouthful on to the floor. At that precise moment the door of their compartment slid open. 'Oh... hello, Harry,' said a nervous voice. 'Urn... bad time?' Harry wiped the lenses of his glasses with his Trevor-free hand. A very pretty girl with long, shiny black hair was standing in the doorway smiling at him: Cho Chang, the Seeker on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. 'Oh... hi,' said Harry blankly. 'Um...' said Cho. 'Well... just thought I'd say hello... bye then.' Rather pink in the face, she closed the door and departed. Harry slumped back in his seat and groaned. He would have liked Cho to discover him sitting with a group of very cool people laughing their heads off at a joke he had just told; he would not have chosen to be sitting with Ne

lap and took a quill from his schoolbag. Luna Lovegood's popping eyes appeared over the top of her upside-down magazine again, to watch what Neville was doing. Neville held the Mimbulus mimblctonia up to his eyes, his tongue between his teeth, chose his spot, and gave the plant a sharp prod with the tip of his quill. Liquid squirted from every boil on the plant; thick, stinking, dark green jets of it. They hit the ceiling, the windows, and spattered Luna Lovegood's magazine; Ginny, who had flung her arms up in front of her face just in time, merely looked as though she was wearing a slimy green hat, but Harry, whose hands had been busy preventing Trevor's escape, received a faceful. It smelled like rancid manure. Neville, whose face and torso were also drenched, shook his head to get the worst out of his eyes. 'S - sorry,' he gasped. 'I haven't tried that before... didn't realise it would be quite so... don't worry, though, Stinksap's not poisonous,' he added nervously, as Harry spat a mouthful on to the floor. At that precise moment the door of their compartment slid open. 'Oh... hello, Harry,' said a nervous voice. 'Urn... bad time?' Harry wiped the lenses of his glasses with his Trevor-free hand. A very pretty girl with long, shiny black hair was standing in the doorway smiling at him: Cho Chang, the Seeker on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. 'Oh... hi,' said Harry blankly. 'Um...' said Cho. 'Well... just thought I'd say hello... bye then.' Rather pink in the face, she closed the door and departed. Harry slumped back in his seat and groaned. He would have liked Cho to discover him sitting with a group of very cool people laughing their heads off at a joke he had just told; he would not have chosen to be sitting with Ne

ville and Loony Lovegood, clutching a toad and dripping in Stinksap. 'Never mind,' said Ginny bracingly. 'Look, we can easily get rid of all this.' She pulled out her wand. 'Scourgify!' The Stinksap vanished. 'Sorry.' said Neville again, in a small voice. Harry, Ginny and Neville had finished their pumpkin pasties and were busy swapping Chocolate Frog Cards when the compartment door slid open and they walked in, accompanied by Crookshanks and a shrilly hooting Pigwidgeon in his cage. He ripped open the wrapper, bit off the frog's head and leaned back with his eyes closed as though he had had a very exhausting morning. 'Malfoy,' replied Harry at once, certain his worst fear would be confirmed. 'How she got to be a prefect when she's thicker than a concussed troll... 'Who are Hufflepuff's?' Harry asked. 'You went to the Yule Ball with Padma Patil,' said a vague voice. He swallowed his mouthful of Frog. 'Yeah, I know I did,' he said, looking mildly surprised. 'She didn't enjoy it very much,' Luna informed him. 'She doesn't think you treated her very well, because you wouldn't dance with her. I don't think I'd have minded,' she added thoughtfully, 'I don't like dancing very much.' She retreated behind The Quibbler again. 'We're supposed to patrol the corridors every so often,' he told Harry and Neville, 'and we can give out punishments if people are misbehaving. I can't wait to get Crabbe and Goyle for something... He lowered his voice to Goyle's low grunt and, screwing up his face in a look of pained concentration, mimed writing in midair. 'I... must... not... look...like... a... baboon's... backside.' Everyone laughed, but nobody laughed harder than L

and Loony Lovegood, clutching a toad and dripping in Stinksap. 'Never mind,' said Ginny bracingly. 'Look, we can easily get rid of all this.' She pulled out her wand. 'Scourgify!' The Stinksap vanished. 'Sorry.' said Neville again, in a small voice. Harry, Ginny and Neville had finished their pumpkin pasties and were busy swapping Chocolate Frog Cards when the compartment door slid open and they walked in, accompanied by Crookshanks and a shrilly hooting Pigwidgeon in his cage. He ripped open the wrapper, bit off the frog's head and leaned back with his eyes closed as though he had had a very exhausting morning. 'Malfoy,' replied Harry at once, certain his worst fear would be confirmed. 'How she got to be a prefect when she's thicker than a concussed troll... 'Who are Hufflepuff's?' Harry asked. 'You went to the Yule Ball with Padma Patil,' said a vague voice. He swallowed his mouthful of Frog. 'Yeah, I know I did,' he said, looking mildly surprised. 'She didn't enjoy it very much,' Luna informed him. 'She doesn't think you treated her very well, because you wouldn't dance with her. I don't think I'd have minded,' she added thoughtfully, 'I don't like dancing very much.' She retreated behind The Quibbler again. 'We're supposed to patrol the corridors every so often,' he told Harry and Neville, 'and we can give out punishments if people are misbehaving. I can't wait to get Crabbe and Goyle for something... He lowered his voice to Goyle's low grunt and, screwing up his face in a look of pained concentration, mimed writing in midair. 'I... must... not... look...like... a... baboon's... backside.' Everyone laughed, but nobody laughed harder than L

una Lovegood. She let out a scream of mirth that caused Hedwig to wake up and flap her wings indignantly and Crookshanks to leap up into the luggage rack, hissing. Luna laughed so hard her magazine slipped out of her grasp, slid down her legs and on to the floor. 'Baboon's... backside!' she choked, holding her ribs. Everyone else was watching Luna laughing, but Harry, glancing at the magazine on the floor, noticed something that made him dive for it. Upside-down it had been hard to tell what the picture on the front was, but Harry now realised i! was a fairly bad cartoon of Cornelius Fudge; Harry only recognised him because of the lime-green bowler hat. One of Fudges hands was clenched around a bag of gold; the other hand was throttling a goblin. The cartoon was captioned: How Far Will Fudge Go to Gain Gringotts? Beneath this were listed the titles of other articles inside the magazine. Corruption in the Quidditch League: How the Tornados are Taking Control Secrets of the Ancient Runes Revealed Sirius Black: Villain or Victim? 'Can I have a look at this?' Harry asked Luna eagerly. Harry opened the magazine and scanned the index. Until this moment he had completely forgotten the magazine Kingsley had handed Mr Weasley to give to Sirius, but it must have been this edition of The Quibbler. He found the page, and turned excitedly to the article. This, too, was illustrated by a rather bad cartoon; in fact, Harry would not have known it was supposed to be Sirius if it hadn't been captioned. Sirius was standing on a pile of human bones with his wand out. The headline on the article said: SIRIUS - BLACK AS HE'S PAINTED? Notorious mass murderer or innocent singing sensation? Harry had to read this first sentence several times before he was convinced that he had not misunderstood it. Since when had Sirius been a singing sensation? For fourteen years Sirius Black has been believed

Lovegood. She let out a scream of mirth that caused Hedwig to wake up and flap her wings indignantly and Crookshanks to leap up into the luggage rack, hissing. Luna laughed so hard her magazine slipped out of her grasp, slid down her legs and on to the floor. 'Baboon's... backside!' she choked, holding her ribs. Everyone else was watching Luna laughing, but Harry, glancing at the magazine on the floor, noticed something that made him dive for it. Upside-down it had been hard to tell what the picture on the front was, but Harry now realised i! was a fairly bad cartoon of Cornelius Fudge; Harry only recognised him because of the lime-green bowler hat. One of Fudges hands was clenched around a bag of gold; the other hand was throttling a goblin. The cartoon was captioned: How Far Will Fudge Go to Gain Gringotts? Beneath this were listed the titles of other articles inside the magazine. Corruption in the Quidditch League: How the Tornados are Taking Control Secrets of the Ancient Runes Revealed Sirius Black: Villain or Victim? 'Can I have a look at this?' Harry asked Luna eagerly. Harry opened the magazine and scanned the index. Until this moment he had completely forgotten the magazine Kingsley had handed Mr Weasley to give to Sirius, but it must have been this edition of The Quibbler. He found the page, and turned excitedly to the article. This, too, was illustrated by a rather bad cartoon; in fact, Harry would not have known it was supposed to be Sirius if it hadn't been captioned. Sirius was standing on a pile of human bones with his wand out. The headline on the article said: SIRIUS - BLACK AS HE'S PAINTED? Notorious mass murderer or innocent singing sensation? Harry had to read this first sentence several times before he was convinced that he had not misunderstood it. Since when had Sirius been a singing sensation? For fourteen years Sirius Black has been believed

guilty of the mass murder of twelve innocent Muggles and one wizard. Black's audacious escape from Azkaban two years ago has led to the widest manhunt ever conducted by the Ministry of Magic. None of us has ever questioned that he deserves to be recaptured and handed back to the Dementors. BUT DOES HE? Startling new evidence has recently come to light that Sirius Black may not have committed the crimes for which he was sent to Azhaban. In fact, says Doris Purkiss, of 18 Acanthia Way, Little Norton, Black may not even have been present at the killings. 'What people don't realise is that Sirius Black is a false name,' says Mrs Purkiss. 'The man people believe to be Sirius Black is actually Stubby Boardman, lead singer of popular singing group The Hobgoblins, who retired from public life after being struck on the ear by a turnip at a concert in Little Norton Church Hall nearly fifteen years ago. I recognised him the moment I saw his picture in the paper. Now, Stubby couldn't possibly have committed those crimes, because on the day in question he happened to be enjoying a romantic candlelit dinner with me. I have written to the Minister for Magic and am expecting him to give Stubby, alias Sirius, a full pardon any day now.' Harry finished reading and stared at the page in disbelief. Perhaps it was a joke, he thought, perhaps the magazine often printed spoof items. He flicked back a few pages and found the piece on Fudge. Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic, denied that he had any plans to take over the running of the Wizarding Bank, Gringotts, when he was elected Minister for Magic jive years ago. Fudge has always insisted that he wants nothing more than to 'co-operate peacefully' with the guardians of our gold. BUT DOES HE? Sources close to the Minister have recently disclosed that Fudge's dearest ambition is to seize control of the goblin gold supplies and that he will not hesitate to use force if need be. 'It wouldn't be the first time, either

of the mass murder of twelve innocent Muggles and one wizard. Black's audacious escape from Azkaban two years ago has led to the widest manhunt ever conducted by the Ministry of Magic. None of us has ever questioned that he deserves to be recaptured and handed back to the Dementors. BUT DOES HE? Startling new evidence has recently come to light that Sirius Black may not have committed the crimes for which he was sent to Azhaban. In fact, says Doris Purkiss, of 18 Acanthia Way, Little Norton, Black may not even have been present at the killings. 'What people don't realise is that Sirius Black is a false name,' says Mrs Purkiss. 'The man people believe to be Sirius Black is actually Stubby Boardman, lead singer of popular singing group The Hobgoblins, who retired from public life after being struck on the ear by a turnip at a concert in Little Norton Church Hall nearly fifteen years ago. I recognised him the moment I saw his picture in the paper. Now, Stubby couldn't possibly have committed those crimes, because on the day in question he happened to be enjoying a romantic candlelit dinner with me. I have written to the Minister for Magic and am expecting him to give Stubby, alias Sirius, a full pardon any day now.' Harry finished reading and stared at the page in disbelief. Perhaps it was a joke, he thought, perhaps the magazine often printed spoof items. He flicked back a few pages and found the piece on Fudge. Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic, denied that he had any plans to take over the running of the Wizarding Bank, Gringotts, when he was elected Minister for Magic jive years ago. Fudge has always insisted that he wants nothing more than to 'co-operate peacefully' with the guardians of our gold. BUT DOES HE? Sources close to the Minister have recently disclosed that Fudge's dearest ambition is to seize control of the goblin gold supplies and that he will not hesitate to use force if need be. 'It wouldn't be the first time, either

,' said a Ministry insider. 'Cornelius "Goblin-Crusher" Fudge, that's what his friends call him. If you could hear him when he thinks no one's listening, oh, he's always talking about the goblins he's had done in; he's had them drowned, he's had them dropped off buildings, he's had them poisoned, he's had them cooked in pies...' Harry did not read any further. Fudge might have many faults but Harry found it extremely hard to imagine him ordering goblins to be cooked in pies. He flicked through the rest of the magazine. Pausing every few pages, he read: an accusation that the Tutshill Tornados were winning the Quidditch League by a combination of blackmail, illegal broom-tampering and torture; an interview with a wizard who claimed to have flown to the moon on a Cleansweep Six and brought back a bag of moon frogs to prove it; and an article on ancient runes which at least explained why Luna had been reading The Quibbler upside-down. According to the magazine, if you turned the runes on their heads they revealed a spell to make your enemy's ears turn into kumquats. In fact, compared to the rest of the articles in The Quibbler, the suggestion that Sirius might really be the lead singer of The Hobgoblins was quite sensible. The Quibbler's rubbish, everyone knows that.' 'Excuse me,' said Luna; her voice had suddenly lost its dreamy quality. 'Well... it's got some interesting... I mean, it's quite 'I'll have it back, thank you,' said Luna coldly, and leaning forwards she snatched it out of Harry's hands. Riffling through it to page fifty-seven, she turned it resolutely upside-down again and disappeared behind it, just as the compartment door opened for the third time. Harry looked around; he had expected this, but that did not make the sight of Draco Malfoy smirking at him from between his cronies Crabbe and

said a Ministry insider. 'Cornelius "Goblin-Crusher" Fudge, that's what his friends call him. If you could hear him when he thinks no one's listening, oh, he's always talking about the goblins he's had done in; he's had them drowned, he's had them dropped off buildings, he's had them poisoned, he's had them cooked in pies...' Harry did not read any further. Fudge might have many faults but Harry found it extremely hard to imagine him ordering goblins to be cooked in pies. He flicked through the rest of the magazine. Pausing every few pages, he read: an accusation that the Tutshill Tornados were winning the Quidditch League by a combination of blackmail, illegal broom-tampering and torture; an interview with a wizard who claimed to have flown to the moon on a Cleansweep Six and brought back a bag of moon frogs to prove it; and an article on ancient runes which at least explained why Luna had been reading The Quibbler upside-down. According to the magazine, if you turned the runes on their heads they revealed a spell to make your enemy's ears turn into kumquats. In fact, compared to the rest of the articles in The Quibbler, the suggestion that Sirius might really be the lead singer of The Hobgoblins was quite sensible. The Quibbler's rubbish, everyone knows that.' 'Excuse me,' said Luna; her voice had suddenly lost its dreamy quality. 'Well... it's got some interesting... I mean, it's quite 'I'll have it back, thank you,' said Luna coldly, and leaning forwards she snatched it out of Harry's hands. Riffling through it to page fifty-seven, she turned it resolutely upside-down again and disappeared behind it, just as the compartment door opened for the third time. Harry looked around; he had expected this, but that did not make the sight of Draco Malfoy smirking at him from between his cronies Crabbe and

Goyle any more enjoyable. 'What?' he said aggressively, before Malfoy could open his mouth. 'Manners, Potter, or I'll have to give you a detention,' drawled Malfoy, whose sleek blond hair and pointed chin were just like his father's. Malfoy's lip curled. 'Tell me, how does it feel being second-best to Weasley, Potter?' he asked. 'I seem to have touched a nerve,' said Malfoy, smirking. Sniggering, Malfoy gave Harry a last malicious look and departed, with Crabbe and Goyle lumbering along in his wake. Harry could not talk freely in front of Neville and Luna. He had thought Sirius coming with him to the station was a bit of a laugh, but suddenly it seemed reckless, if not downright dangerous..... Sirius should not have come. What if Mr Malfoy had noticed the black dog and told Draco? What if he had deduced that the Weasleys, Lupin, Tonks and Moody knew where Sirius was hiding? Or had Malfoy's use of the word 'dogging' been a coincidence? The weather remained undecided as they travelled further and farther north. Rain spattered the windows in a half-hearted way, then the sun put in a feeble appearance before clouds drifted over it once more. When darkness fell and lamps came on inside the carriages, Luna rolled up The Quibbler, put it carefully away ii her bag and took to staring at everyone in the compartment instead. Harry was sitting with his forehead pressed against the train window, trying to get a first distant glimpse of Hogwarts, but it was a moonless night and the rain-streaked window was grimy. At last, the train began to slow down and they heard the usual racket up and down it as everybody scrambled to get their luggage and pets assembled, ready to get on. 'I'll carry that owl, if you like,' said Luna to Harry, reaching out for Pigwidgeon as Neville stowed Trevor carefully in an inside pocket. '

yle any more enjoyable. 'What?' he said aggressively, before Malfoy could open his mouth. 'Manners, Potter, or I'll have to give you a detention,' drawled Malfoy, whose sleek blond hair and pointed chin were just like his father's. Malfoy's lip curled. 'Tell me, how does it feel being second-best to Weasley, Potter?' he asked. 'I seem to have touched a nerve,' said Malfoy, smirking. Sniggering, Malfoy gave Harry a last malicious look and departed, with Crabbe and Goyle lumbering along in his wake. Harry could not talk freely in front of Neville and Luna. He had thought Sirius coming with him to the station was a bit of a laugh, but suddenly it seemed reckless, if not downright dangerous..... Sirius should not have come. What if Mr Malfoy had noticed the black dog and told Draco? What if he had deduced that the Weasleys, Lupin, Tonks and Moody knew where Sirius was hiding? Or had Malfoy's use of the word 'dogging' been a coincidence? The weather remained undecided as they travelled further and farther north. Rain spattered the windows in a half-hearted way, then the sun put in a feeble appearance before clouds drifted over it once more. When darkness fell and lamps came on inside the carriages, Luna rolled up The Quibbler, put it carefully away ii her bag and took to staring at everyone in the compartment instead. Harry was sitting with his forehead pressed against the train window, trying to get a first distant glimpse of Hogwarts, but it was a moonless night and the rain-streaked window was grimy. At last, the train began to slow down and they heard the usual racket up and down it as everybody scrambled to get their luggage and pets assembled, ready to get on. 'I'll carry that owl, if you like,' said Luna to Harry, reaching out for Pigwidgeon as Neville stowed Trevor carefully in an inside pocket. '

Oh - er - thanks,' said Harry, handing her the cage and hoisting Hedwig's more securely into his arms. They shuffled out of the compartment feeling the first sting of the night air on their faces as they joined the crowd in the corridor. Slowly, they moved towards the doors. Harry could smell the pine trees that lined the path down to the lake. He stepped down on to the platform and looked around, listening for the familiar call of 'firs'-years over 'ere... firs'-years...' But it did not come. Instead, a quite different voice, a brisk female one, was calling out, 'First-years line up over here, please! All first-years to me!' A lantern came swinging towards Harry and by its light he saw the prominent chin and severe haircut of Professor Grubbly-Plank, the witch who had taken over Hagrid's Care of Magical Creatures lessons for a while the previous year. 'Where's Hagrid?' he said out loud. 'I don't know,' said Ginny, 'but we'd better get out of the way, we're blocking the door.' 'Oh, yeah...' Harry and Ginny became separated as they moved off along the platform and out through the station. Jostled by the crowd, Harry squinted through the darkness for a glimpse of Hagrid; he had to be here, Harry had been relying on it - seeing Hagrid again was one of the things he'd been looking forward to most. But there was no sign of him. He can't have left, Harry told himself as he shuffled slowly through a narrow doorway on to the road outside with the rest of the crowd. He's just got a cold or something... Here stood the hundred or so horseless stagecoaches that always took the students above first year up to the castle. The coaches were no longer horseless. There were creatures standing between the carriage shafts. If he had had to give them a name, he supposed he would have called them horses, though there was something reptilian about them, too. They were completely fleshless, their black coats

- er - thanks,' said Harry, handing her the cage and hoisting Hedwig's more securely into his arms. They shuffled out of the compartment feeling the first sting of the night air on their faces as they joined the crowd in the corridor. Slowly, they moved towards the doors. Harry could smell the pine trees that lined the path down to the lake. He stepped down on to the platform and looked around, listening for the familiar call of 'firs'-years over 'ere... firs'-years...' But it did not come. Instead, a quite different voice, a brisk female one, was calling out, 'First-years line up over here, please! All first-years to me!' A lantern came swinging towards Harry and by its light he saw the prominent chin and severe haircut of Professor Grubbly-Plank, the witch who had taken over Hagrid's Care of Magical Creatures lessons for a while the previous year. 'Where's Hagrid?' he said out loud. 'I don't know,' said Ginny, 'but we'd better get out of the way, we're blocking the door.' 'Oh, yeah...' Harry and Ginny became separated as they moved off along the platform and out through the station. Jostled by the crowd, Harry squinted through the darkness for a glimpse of Hagrid; he had to be here, Harry had been relying on it - seeing Hagrid again was one of the things he'd been looking forward to most. But there was no sign of him. He can't have left, Harry told himself as he shuffled slowly through a narrow doorway on to the road outside with the rest of the crowd. He's just got a cold or something... Here stood the hundred or so horseless stagecoaches that always took the students above first year up to the castle. The coaches were no longer horseless. There were creatures standing between the carriage shafts. If he had had to give them a name, he supposed he would have called them horses, though there was something reptilian about them, too. They were completely fleshless, their black coats

clinging to their skeletons, of which every bone was visible. Their heads were dragonish, and their pupil-less eyes white and staring. Wings sprouted from each wither - vast, black leathery wings that looked as though they ought to belong to giant bats. Standing still and quiet in the gathering gloom, the creatures looked eerie and sinister. Harry could not understand why the coaches were being pulled by these horrible horses when they v/ere quite capable of moving along by themselves. 'Where d'you reckon - ' '- Hagrid is? 'He'd better be OK...' A short distance away, Draco Malfoy, followed by a small gang of cronies including Crabbe, Goyle and Pansy Parkinson, was pushing some timid-looking second-years out of the way so that he and his friends could get a coach to themselves. 'Malfoy was being absolutely foul to a first-year back there. I swear I'm going to report him, he's only had his badge three minutes and he's using it to bully people worse than ever... where's Crookshanks?' 'Ginny's got him,' said Harry. There she is.. 'Come on, let's get a carriage together before they all fill up.. 'What things?' 'Those horse - ' Luna appeared holding Pigwidgeon's cage in her arms; the tiny owl was twittering excitedly as usual. 'Here you are,' she said. 'He's a sweet little owl, isn't he?' 'Er... yeah... 'Well, come on then, let's get in... 'What horse things?' 'The horse things pulling the carriages!' said Harry impatiently. They were, after all, about three feet from the nearest one; it was watching them with empty white eyes. 'What am I supposed to be looking at?' 'At the - there, between the shafts! Harnessed to the coach! 'Can't... 'Are you feeling all right, Harry?' 'I... yeah...

inging to their skeletons, of which every bone was visible. Their heads were dragonish, and their pupil-less eyes white and staring. Wings sprouted from each wither - vast, black leathery wings that looked as though they ought to belong to giant bats. Standing still and quiet in the gathering gloom, the creatures looked eerie and sinister. Harry could not understand why the coaches were being pulled by these horrible horses when they v/ere quite capable of moving along by themselves. 'Where d'you reckon - ' '- Hagrid is? 'He'd better be OK...' A short distance away, Draco Malfoy, followed by a small gang of cronies including Crabbe, Goyle and Pansy Parkinson, was pushing some timid-looking second-years out of the way so that he and his friends could get a coach to themselves. 'Malfoy was being absolutely foul to a first-year back there. I swear I'm going to report him, he's only had his badge three minutes and he's using it to bully people worse than ever... where's Crookshanks?' 'Ginny's got him,' said Harry. There she is.. 'Come on, let's get a carriage together before they all fill up.. 'What things?' 'Those horse - ' Luna appeared holding Pigwidgeon's cage in her arms; the tiny owl was twittering excitedly as usual. 'Here you are,' she said. 'He's a sweet little owl, isn't he?' 'Er... yeah... 'Well, come on then, let's get in... 'What horse things?' 'The horse things pulling the carriages!' said Harry impatiently. They were, after all, about three feet from the nearest one; it was watching them with empty white eyes. 'What am I supposed to be looking at?' 'At the - there, between the shafts! Harnessed to the coach! 'Can't... 'Are you feeling all right, Harry?' 'I... yeah...

' Harry felt utterly bewildered. The horse was there in front of him, gleaming solidly in the dim light issuing from the station windows behind them, vapour rising from its nostrils in the chilly night air. 'Yeah,' said Harry. 'Yeah, go on.. 'You're not going mad or anything. I can see them, too.' 'Can you?' said Harry desperately, turning to Luna. He could see the bat-winged horses reflected in her wide silvery eyes. 'Oh, yes,' said Luna, 'I've been able to see them ever since my first day here. They've always pulled the carriages. Don't worry. Not altogether reassured, Harry followed her. - CHAPTER ELEVEN - The Sorting Hat's New Song Harry did not want to tell the others that he and Luna were having the same hallucination, if that was what it was, so he said nothing more about the horses as he sat down inside the carriage and slammed the door behind him. Nevertheless, he could not help watching the silhouettes of the horses moving beyond the window. 'Did everyone see that Grubbly-Plank woman?' asked Ginny. 'What's she doing back here? She cleared her throat and quickly said, 'Erm... yes... he's very good.' 'Well, we in Ravenclaw think he's a bit of a joke,' said Luna, unfazed. Rattling and swaying, the carriages moved in convoy up the road. When they passed between the tall stone pillars topped with winged boars on either side of the gates to the school grounds, Harry leaned forwards to try and see whether there were any lights on in Hagrid's cabin by the Forbidden Forest, but the grounds were in complete darkness. Hogwarts Castle, however, loomed ever closer: a towering mass of turrets, jet black against the dark sky, here and there a window blazing fiery bright above them. The carriages jingled to a halt near the stone steps leading up to the oak front doors and Harry got out of the carriage first. He turned again to look for lit windows down by

Harry felt utterly bewildered. The horse was there in front of him, gleaming solidly in the dim light issuing from the station windows behind them, vapour rising from its nostrils in the chilly night air. 'Yeah,' said Harry. 'Yeah, go on.. 'You're not going mad or anything. I can see them, too.' 'Can you?' said Harry desperately, turning to Luna. He could see the bat-winged horses reflected in her wide silvery eyes. 'Oh, yes,' said Luna, 'I've been able to see them ever since my first day here. They've always pulled the carriages. Don't worry. Not altogether reassured, Harry followed her. - CHAPTER ELEVEN - The Sorting Hat's New Song Harry did not want to tell the others that he and Luna were having the same hallucination, if that was what it was, so he said nothing more about the horses as he sat down inside the carriage and slammed the door behind him. Nevertheless, he could not help watching the silhouettes of the horses moving beyond the window. 'Did everyone see that Grubbly-Plank woman?' asked Ginny. 'What's she doing back here? She cleared her throat and quickly said, 'Erm... yes... he's very good.' 'Well, we in Ravenclaw think he's a bit of a joke,' said Luna, unfazed. Rattling and swaying, the carriages moved in convoy up the road. When they passed between the tall stone pillars topped with winged boars on either side of the gates to the school grounds, Harry leaned forwards to try and see whether there were any lights on in Hagrid's cabin by the Forbidden Forest, but the grounds were in complete darkness. Hogwarts Castle, however, loomed ever closer: a towering mass of turrets, jet black against the dark sky, here and there a window blazing fiery bright above them. The carriages jingled to a halt near the stone steps leading up to the oak front doors and Harry got out of the carriage first. He turned again to look for lit windows down by

the Forest, but there was definitely no sign of life within Hagrid's cabin. Unwillingly, because he had half-hoped they would have vanished, he turned his eyes instead upon the strange, skeletal creatures standing quietly in the chill night air, their blank white eyes gleaming. If Luna was to be believed, the beasts had always been there but invisible. 'Oh... yeah,' said Harry quickly and they joined the crowd hurrying up the stone steps into the castle. The Entrance Hall was ablaze with torches and echoing with footsteps as the students crossed the flagged stone floor for the double doors to the right, leading to the Great Hall and the start-of-term feast. The four long house tables in the Great Hall were filling up under the starless black ceiling, which was just like the sky they could glimpse through the high windows. Candles floated in midair all along the tables, illuminating the silvery ghosts who were dotted about the Hall and the faces of the students talking eagerly, exchanging summer news, shouting greetings at friends from other houses, eyeing one another's new haircuts and robes. Again, Harry noticed people putting their heads together to whisper as he passed; he gritted his teeth and tried to act as though he neither noticed nor cared. Luna drifted away from them at the Ravenclaw table. He had more important things to worry about, however: he was looking over the students' heads to the staff table that ran along the top wall of the Hall. 'Of course he hasn't,' said Harry firmly. 'You don't think he's... 'No,' said Harry at once. 'But where is he, then?' There was a pause, then Harry said very quietly, so that Neville, Parvati and Lavender could not hear, 'Maybe he's not back yet. You know - from his mission - the thing he was doing over the summer for Dumbledore.' 'Yeah... 'Who's that?' she said sharply, pointing towards the middle of the staff table. Harry's eyes followed hers. They lit first upon Professor Dumbledore, sitting in his high-backed golden chair at

Forest, but there was definitely no sign of life within Hagrid's cabin. Unwillingly, because he had half-hoped they would have vanished, he turned his eyes instead upon the strange, skeletal creatures standing quietly in the chill night air, their blank white eyes gleaming. If Luna was to be believed, the beasts had always been there but invisible. 'Oh... yeah,' said Harry quickly and they joined the crowd hurrying up the stone steps into the castle. The Entrance Hall was ablaze with torches and echoing with footsteps as the students crossed the flagged stone floor for the double doors to the right, leading to the Great Hall and the start-of-term feast. The four long house tables in the Great Hall were filling up under the starless black ceiling, which was just like the sky they could glimpse through the high windows. Candles floated in midair all along the tables, illuminating the silvery ghosts who were dotted about the Hall and the faces of the students talking eagerly, exchanging summer news, shouting greetings at friends from other houses, eyeing one another's new haircuts and robes. Again, Harry noticed people putting their heads together to whisper as he passed; he gritted his teeth and tried to act as though he neither noticed nor cared. Luna drifted away from them at the Ravenclaw table. He had more important things to worry about, however: he was looking over the students' heads to the staff table that ran along the top wall of the Hall. 'Of course he hasn't,' said Harry firmly. 'You don't think he's... 'No,' said Harry at once. 'But where is he, then?' There was a pause, then Harry said very quietly, so that Neville, Parvati and Lavender could not hear, 'Maybe he's not back yet. You know - from his mission - the thing he was doing over the summer for Dumbledore.' 'Yeah... 'Who's that?' she said sharply, pointing towards the middle of the staff table. Harry's eyes followed hers. They lit first upon Professor Dumbledore, sitting in his high-backed golden chair at

the centre of the long staff table, wearing deep-purple robes scattered with silvery stars and a matching hat. Dumbledore's head was inclined towards the woman sitting next to him, who was talking into his ear. She looked, Harry thought, like somebody's maiden aunt: squat, with short, curly, mouse-brown hair in which she had placed a horrible pink Alice band that matched the fluffy pink cardigan she wore over her robes. Then she turned her face slightly to take a sip from her goblet and he saw, with a shock of recognition, a pallid, toadlike face and a pair of prominent, pouchy eyes. 'What on earth's she doing here, then?' 'Dunno.. 'No,' she muttered, 'no, surely not...' Harry did not understand what she was talking about but did not ask; his attention had been caught by Professor Grubbly-Plank who had just appeared behind the staff table; she worked her way along to the very end and took the seat that ought to have been Hagrid's. That meant the first-years must have crossed the lake and reached the castle, and sure enough, a few seconds later, the doors from the Entrance Hall opened. A long line of scared-looking first-years entered, led by Professor McGonagall, who was carrying a stool on which sat an ancient wizards hat, heavily patched and darned with a wide rip near the frayed brim. The buzz of talk in the Great Hall faded away. The first-years lined up in front of the staff table facing the rest of the students, and Professor McGonagall placed the stool carefully in front of them, then stood back. The first-years' faces glowed palely in the candlelight. A small boy right in the middle of the row looked as though he was trembling. Harry recalled, fleetingly, how terrified he had felt when he had stood there, waiting for the unknown test that would determine to which house he belonged. The whole school waited with bated breath. Then the rip near the hat's brim opened wide like a mouth and the Sorting Hat burst into song: In times of old when

centre of the long staff table, wearing deep-purple robes scattered with silvery stars and a matching hat. Dumbledore's head was inclined towards the woman sitting next to him, who was talking into his ear. She looked, Harry thought, like somebody's maiden aunt: squat, with short, curly, mouse-brown hair in which she had placed a horrible pink Alice band that matched the fluffy pink cardigan she wore over her robes. Then she turned her face slightly to take a sip from her goblet and he saw, with a shock of recognition, a pallid, toadlike face and a pair of prominent, pouchy eyes. 'What on earth's she doing here, then?' 'Dunno.. 'No,' she muttered, 'no, surely not...' Harry did not understand what she was talking about but did not ask; his attention had been caught by Professor Grubbly-Plank who had just appeared behind the staff table; she worked her way along to the very end and took the seat that ought to have been Hagrid's. That meant the first-years must have crossed the lake and reached the castle, and sure enough, a few seconds later, the doors from the Entrance Hall opened. A long line of scared-looking first-years entered, led by Professor McGonagall, who was carrying a stool on which sat an ancient wizards hat, heavily patched and darned with a wide rip near the frayed brim. The buzz of talk in the Great Hall faded away. The first-years lined up in front of the staff table facing the rest of the students, and Professor McGonagall placed the stool carefully in front of them, then stood back. The first-years' faces glowed palely in the candlelight. A small boy right in the middle of the row looked as though he was trembling. Harry recalled, fleetingly, how terrified he had felt when he had stood there, waiting for the unknown test that would determine to which house he belonged. The whole school waited with bated breath. Then the rip near the hat's brim opened wide like a mouth and the Sorting Hat burst into song: In times of old when

I was new And Hogwarts barely started The founders of our noble school Thought never to be parted: United by a common goal, They had the selfsame yearning, To make the world's best magic school And pass along their learning. 'Together we will build and teach!' The four good friends decided And never did they dream that they Might some day be divided, For were there such friends anywhere As Slytherin and Gryffindor? Unless it was the second pair Of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw? So how could it have gone so wrong? How could such friendships fail? Why, I was there and so can tell The whole sad, sorry tale. Said Slytherin, 'We'll teach just those Whose ancestry is purest.' Said Ravenclaw, 'We'll teach those whose Intelligence is surest.' Said Gryffindor, 'We'll teach all those With brave deeds to their name,' Said Hufflepuff, 'I'll teach the lot, And treat them just the same.' These differences caused little strife When first they came to light, For each of the four founders had A house in which they might Take only those they wanted, so, For instance, Slytherin Took only pure-blood wizards Of great cunning, just like him, And only those of sharpest mind Were taught by Ravenclaw While the bravest and the boldest Went to daring Gryffindor. Good Hufflepuff, she took the rest, And taught them all she knew, Thus the houses and their founders Retained friendships firm and true. So Hogwarts worked in harmony For several happy years, But then discord crept among us Feeding on our faults and fears. The houses that, like pillars four, Had once held up our school, Now turned upon each other and, Divided, sought to rule. And for a while it seemed the school Must meet an early end, What with duelling and with fighting And the clash of friend on friend And at last there came c

was new And Hogwarts barely started The founders of our noble school Thought never to be parted: United by a common goal, They had the selfsame yearning, To make the world's best magic school And pass along their learning. 'Together we will build and teach!' The four good friends decided And never did they dream that they Might some day be divided, For were there such friends anywhere As Slytherin and Gryffindor? Unless it was the second pair Of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw? So how could it have gone so wrong? How could such friendships fail? Why, I was there and so can tell The whole sad, sorry tale. Said Slytherin, 'We'll teach just those Whose ancestry is purest.' Said Ravenclaw, 'We'll teach those whose Intelligence is surest.' Said Gryffindor, 'We'll teach all those With brave deeds to their name,' Said Hufflepuff, 'I'll teach the lot, And treat them just the same.' These differences caused little strife When first they came to light, For each of the four founders had A house in which they might Take only those they wanted, so, For instance, Slytherin Took only pure-blood wizards Of great cunning, just like him, And only those of sharpest mind Were taught by Ravenclaw While the bravest and the boldest Went to daring Gryffindor. Good Hufflepuff, she took the rest, And taught them all she knew, Thus the houses and their founders Retained friendships firm and true. So Hogwarts worked in harmony For several happy years, But then discord crept among us Feeding on our faults and fears. The houses that, like pillars four, Had once held up our school, Now turned upon each other and, Divided, sought to rule. And for a while it seemed the school Must meet an early end, What with duelling and with fighting And the clash of friend on friend And at last there came c

morning When old Slytherin departed And though the fighting then died out He left us quite downhearted. And never since the founders four Were whittled down to three Have the houses been united As they once were meant to be. And now the Sorting Hat is here And you all know the score: I sort you into houses Because that is what I'm for, But this year I'll go further, Listen closely to my song: Though condemned I am to split you Still I worry that it's wrong, Though I must fulfil my duty And must quarter every year Still I wonder whether Sorting May not bring the end I fear. Oh, know the perils, read the signs, The warning history shows, For our Hogwarts is in danger From external, deadly foes And we must unite inside her Or we'll crumble from within I have told you, I have warned you... Let the Sorting now begin. The Hat became motionless once more; applause broke out, though it was punctured, for the first time in Harry's memory, with muttering and whispers. All across the Great Hall students were exchanging remarks with their neighbours, and Harry, clapping along with everyone else, knew exactly what they were talking about. Too right it has,' said Harry. The Sorting Hat usually confined itself to describing the different qualities looked for by each of the four Hogwarts houses and its own role in Sorting them. Harry could not remember it ever trying to give the school advice before. 'Yes, indeed,' said Nearly Headless Nick knowledgeably, leaning across Neville towards her (Neville winced; it was very uncomfortable to have a ghost lean through you). The Hat feels itself honour-bound to give the school due warning whenever it feels - ' But Professor McGonagall, who was waiting to read out the list of first-years' names, was giving the whispering students the sort of look that scorches. Nearly Headless Nick placed a see-through finger to his lips and sat primly upright again as the muttering came to an abrupt end. With a last frowning look that swe

When old Slytherin departed And though the fighting then died out He left us quite downhearted. And never since the founders four Were whittled down to three Have the houses been united As they once were meant to be. And now the Sorting Hat is here And you all know the score: I sort you into houses Because that is what I'm for, But this year I'll go further, Listen closely to my song: Though condemned I am to split you Still I worry that it's wrong, Though I must fulfil my duty And must quarter every year Still I wonder whether Sorting May not bring the end I fear. Oh, know the perils, read the signs, The warning history shows, For our Hogwarts is in danger From external, deadly foes And we must unite inside her Or we'll crumble from within I have told you, I have warned you... Let the Sorting now begin. The Hat became motionless once more; applause broke out, though it was punctured, for the first time in Harry's memory, with muttering and whispers. All across the Great Hall students were exchanging remarks with their neighbours, and Harry, clapping along with everyone else, knew exactly what they were talking about. Too right it has,' said Harry. The Sorting Hat usually confined itself to describing the different qualities looked for by each of the four Hogwarts houses and its own role in Sorting them. Harry could not remember it ever trying to give the school advice before. 'Yes, indeed,' said Nearly Headless Nick knowledgeably, leaning across Neville towards her (Neville winced; it was very uncomfortable to have a ghost lean through you). The Hat feels itself honour-bound to give the school due warning whenever it feels - ' But Professor McGonagall, who was waiting to read out the list of first-years' names, was giving the whispering students the sort of look that scorches. Nearly Headless Nick placed a see-through finger to his lips and sat primly upright again as the muttering came to an abrupt end. With a last frowning look that swe

pt the lour house tables, Professor McGonagall lowered her eyes to her long piece of parchment and called out the first name. 'Abercrombie, Euan.' The terrified-looking boy Harry had noticed earlier stumbled forwards and put the Hat on his head; it was only prevented from falling right down to his shoulders by his very prominent ears. The Hat considered for a moment, then the rip near the brim opened again and shouted: 'Gryffindor!' Harry clapped loudly with the rest of Gryffindor house as Euan Abercrombie staggered to their table and sat down, looking as though he would like very much to sink through the floor and never be looked at again. Slowly, the long line of first-years thinned. Finally, 'Zeller, Rose' was Sorted into Hufflepuff, and Professor McGonagall picked up the Hat and stool and marched them away as Professor Dumbledore rose to his feet. Whatever his recent bitter feelings had been towards his Headmaster, Harry was somehow soothed to see Dumbledore standing before them all. Between the absence of Hagrid and the presence of those dragonish horses, he had felt that his return to Hogwarts, so long anticipated, was full of unexpected surprises, like jarring notes in a familiar song. But this, at least, was how it was supposed to be: their Headmaster rising to greet them all before the start-of-term feast. 'To our newcomers,' said Dumbledore in a ringing voice, his arms stretched wide and a beaming smile on his lips, 'welcome! To our old hands - welcome back! There is a time for speech-making, but this is not it. Tuck in!' There was an appreciative laugh and an outbreak of applause as Dumbledore sat down neatly and threw his long beard over his shoulder so as to keep it out of the way of his plate - for food had appeared out of nowhere, so that the five long tables were groaning under joints and pies and dishes of vegetables, bread and sauces and flagons of pumpkin juice. 'Yes, I have heard the Hat give several warnings before, always at times

the lour house tables, Professor McGonagall lowered her eyes to her long piece of parchment and called out the first name. 'Abercrombie, Euan.' The terrified-looking boy Harry had noticed earlier stumbled forwards and put the Hat on his head; it was only prevented from falling right down to his shoulders by his very prominent ears. The Hat considered for a moment, then the rip near the brim opened again and shouted: 'Gryffindor!' Harry clapped loudly with the rest of Gryffindor house as Euan Abercrombie staggered to their table and sat down, looking as though he would like very much to sink through the floor and never be looked at again. Slowly, the long line of first-years thinned. Finally, 'Zeller, Rose' was Sorted into Hufflepuff, and Professor McGonagall picked up the Hat and stool and marched them away as Professor Dumbledore rose to his feet. Whatever his recent bitter feelings had been towards his Headmaster, Harry was somehow soothed to see Dumbledore standing before them all. Between the absence of Hagrid and the presence of those dragonish horses, he had felt that his return to Hogwarts, so long anticipated, was full of unexpected surprises, like jarring notes in a familiar song. But this, at least, was how it was supposed to be: their Headmaster rising to greet them all before the start-of-term feast. 'To our newcomers,' said Dumbledore in a ringing voice, his arms stretched wide and a beaming smile on his lips, 'welcome! To our old hands - welcome back! There is a time for speech-making, but this is not it. Tuck in!' There was an appreciative laugh and an outbreak of applause as Dumbledore sat down neatly and threw his long beard over his shoulder so as to keep it out of the way of his plate - for food had appeared out of nowhere, so that the five long tables were groaning under joints and pies and dishes of vegetables, bread and sauces and flagons of pumpkin juice. 'Yes, I have heard the Hat give several warnings before, always at times

when it detects periods of great danger for the school. His mouth was so full Harry thought it was quite an achievement for him to make any noise at all. 'Of course, it lives in Dumbledore's office, so I daresay it picks things up there.' 'And it wants all the houses to be friends?' said Harry, looking over at the Slytherin table, where Draco Malfoy was holding court. 'Fat chance.' 'Well, now, you shouldn't take that attitude,' said Nick reprovingly. 'Peaceful co-operation, that's the key. We ghosts, though we belong to separate houses, maintain links of friendship. Nearly Headless Nick looked highly affronted. Terrified? I hope I, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, have never been guilty of cowardice in my life! 'Surely you haven't still got -?' 'It's a figure of speech!' said Nearly Headless Nick, now so annoyed his head was trembling ominously on his partially severed neck. 'I assume I am still allowed to enjoy the use of whichever words I like, even if the pleasures of eating and drinking are denied me! Rising into the air, he straightened his feathered hat and swept away from them to the other end of the table, coming to rest between the Creevey brothers, Colin and Dennis. Harry was too used to their bickering to bother trying to reconcile them; he felt it was a better use of his time to eat his way steadily through his steak and kidney pie, then a large plateful of his favourite treacle tart. When all the students had finished eating and the noise level in the Hall was starting to creep upwards again, Dumbledore got to his feet once more. Talking ceased immediately as all turned to face the Headmaster. Harry was feeling pleasantly drowsy now. His four-poster bed was waiting somewhere above, wonderfully warm and soft... 'Well, now that we are all digesting another magnificent feast, I beg a few moments of your attention for the usual start-of-term notices,' said Dumbledore. 'We have had two changes in staffing this

it detects periods of great danger for the school. His mouth was so full Harry thought it was quite an achievement for him to make any noise at all. 'Of course, it lives in Dumbledore's office, so I daresay it picks things up there.' 'And it wants all the houses to be friends?' said Harry, looking over at the Slytherin table, where Draco Malfoy was holding court. 'Fat chance.' 'Well, now, you shouldn't take that attitude,' said Nick reprovingly. 'Peaceful co-operation, that's the key. We ghosts, though we belong to separate houses, maintain links of friendship. Nearly Headless Nick looked highly affronted. Terrified? I hope I, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, have never been guilty of cowardice in my life! 'Surely you haven't still got -?' 'It's a figure of speech!' said Nearly Headless Nick, now so annoyed his head was trembling ominously on his partially severed neck. 'I assume I am still allowed to enjoy the use of whichever words I like, even if the pleasures of eating and drinking are denied me! Rising into the air, he straightened his feathered hat and swept away from them to the other end of the table, coming to rest between the Creevey brothers, Colin and Dennis. Harry was too used to their bickering to bother trying to reconcile them; he felt it was a better use of his time to eat his way steadily through his steak and kidney pie, then a large plateful of his favourite treacle tart. When all the students had finished eating and the noise level in the Hall was starting to creep upwards again, Dumbledore got to his feet once more. Talking ceased immediately as all turned to face the Headmaster. Harry was feeling pleasantly drowsy now. His four-poster bed was waiting somewhere above, wonderfully warm and soft... 'Well, now that we are all digesting another magnificent feast, I beg a few moments of your attention for the usual start-of-term notices,' said Dumbledore. 'We have had two changes in staffing this

year. Dumbledore continued, 'Tryouts for the house Quidditch teams will take place on the - ' He broke off, looking enquiringly at Professor Umbridge. As she was not much taller standing than sitting, there was a moment when nobody understood why Dumbledore had stopped talking, but then Professor Umbridge cleared her throat, 'Hem, hem,' and it became clear that she had got to her feet and was intending to make a speech. Dumbledore only looked taken aback for a moment, then he sat down smartly and looked alertly at Professor Umbridge as though he desired nothing better than to listen to her talk. Other members of staff were not as adept at hiding their surprise. Professor Sprout's eyebrows had disappeared into her flyaway hair and Professor McGonagall's mouth was as thin as Harry had ever seen it. No new teacher had ever interrupted Dumbledore before. Many of the students were smirking; this woman obviously did not know how things were done at Hogwarts. Thank you, Headmaster,' Professor Umbridge simpered, 'for those kind words of welcome.' Her voice was high-pitched, breathy and little-girlish and, again, Harry felt a powerful rush of dislike that he could not explain to himself; all he knew was that he loathed everything about her, from her stupid voice to her fluffy pink cardigan. She gave another little throat-clearing cough ('hem, hem') and continued. 'Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say!' She smiled, revealing very pointed teeth. 'And to see such happy little faces looking up at me!' Harry glanced around. None of the faces he could see looked happy. On the contrary, they all looked rather taken-aback at being addressed as though they were five years old. 'I am very much looking forward to getting to know you all and I'm sure we'll be very good friends!' Students exchanged looks at this; some of them were barely concealing grins. 'I'll be her friend as long as I don't have to borrow that cardigan,' Parvati whispered to Lavender, and both of them lapsed into silent giggles. Professor Umbridge cleared

. Dumbledore continued, 'Tryouts for the house Quidditch teams will take place on the - ' He broke off, looking enquiringly at Professor Umbridge. As she was not much taller standing than sitting, there was a moment when nobody understood why Dumbledore had stopped talking, but then Professor Umbridge cleared her throat, 'Hem, hem,' and it became clear that she had got to her feet and was intending to make a speech. Dumbledore only looked taken aback for a moment, then he sat down smartly and looked alertly at Professor Umbridge as though he desired nothing better than to listen to her talk. Other members of staff were not as adept at hiding their surprise. Professor Sprout's eyebrows had disappeared into her flyaway hair and Professor McGonagall's mouth was as thin as Harry had ever seen it. No new teacher had ever interrupted Dumbledore before. Many of the students were smirking; this woman obviously did not know how things were done at Hogwarts. Thank you, Headmaster,' Professor Umbridge simpered, 'for those kind words of welcome.' Her voice was high-pitched, breathy and little-girlish and, again, Harry felt a powerful rush of dislike that he could not explain to himself; all he knew was that he loathed everything about her, from her stupid voice to her fluffy pink cardigan. She gave another little throat-clearing cough ('hem, hem') and continued. 'Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say!' She smiled, revealing very pointed teeth. 'And to see such happy little faces looking up at me!' Harry glanced around. None of the faces he could see looked happy. On the contrary, they all looked rather taken-aback at being addressed as though they were five years old. 'I am very much looking forward to getting to know you all and I'm sure we'll be very good friends!' Students exchanged looks at this; some of them were barely concealing grins. 'I'll be her friend as long as I don't have to borrow that cardigan,' Parvati whispered to Lavender, and both of them lapsed into silent giggles. Professor Umbridge cleared

her throat again ('hem, hem'), but when she continued, some of the breathiness had vanished from her voice. She sounded much more businesslike and now her words had a dull learned-by-heart sound to them. The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance. The rare gifts with which you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction. The ancient skills unique to the wizarding community must be passed down the generations lest we lose them for ever. The treasure trove of magical knowledge amassed by our ancestors must be guarded, replenished and polished by those who have been called to the noble profession of teaching.' Professor Umbridge paused here and made a little bow to her fellow staff members, none of whom bowed back to her. Professor McGonagall's dark eyebrows had contracted so that she looked positively hawklike, and Harry distinctly saw her exchange a significant glance with Professor Sprout as Umbridge gave another little 'hem, hem' and went on with her speech. 'Every headmaster and headmistress of Hogwarts has brought something new to the weighty task of governing this historic school, and that is as it should be, for without progress there will be stagnation and decay. There again, progress for progress's sake must be discouraged, for our tried and tested traditions often require no tinkering. A balance, then, between old and new, between permanence and change, between tradition and innovation...' Harry found his attentiveness ebbing, as though his brain was slipping in and out of tune. The quiet that always filled the Hall when Dumbledore was speaking was breaking up as students put t heir heads together, whispering and giggling. Over on the Ravenclaw table Cho Chang was chatting animatedly with her friends. A few seats along from Cho, Luna Lovegood had got out The Quibbler again. Meanwhile, at the Hufflepuff table Ernie Macmillan was one of the few still staring at Professor Umbridge, but he was glassy-eyed and Harry was sure he was only pretending to listen in an attempt to live up to the new prefect

throat again ('hem, hem'), but when she continued, some of the breathiness had vanished from her voice. She sounded much more businesslike and now her words had a dull learned-by-heart sound to them. The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance. The rare gifts with which you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction. The ancient skills unique to the wizarding community must be passed down the generations lest we lose them for ever. The treasure trove of magical knowledge amassed by our ancestors must be guarded, replenished and polished by those who have been called to the noble profession of teaching.' Professor Umbridge paused here and made a little bow to her fellow staff members, none of whom bowed back to her. Professor McGonagall's dark eyebrows had contracted so that she looked positively hawklike, and Harry distinctly saw her exchange a significant glance with Professor Sprout as Umbridge gave another little 'hem, hem' and went on with her speech. 'Every headmaster and headmistress of Hogwarts has brought something new to the weighty task of governing this historic school, and that is as it should be, for without progress there will be stagnation and decay. There again, progress for progress's sake must be discouraged, for our tried and tested traditions often require no tinkering. A balance, then, between old and new, between permanence and change, between tradition and innovation...' Harry found his attentiveness ebbing, as though his brain was slipping in and out of tune. The quiet that always filled the Hall when Dumbledore was speaking was breaking up as students put t heir heads together, whispering and giggling. Over on the Ravenclaw table Cho Chang was chatting animatedly with her friends. A few seats along from Cho, Luna Lovegood had got out The Quibbler again. Meanwhile, at the Hufflepuff table Ernie Macmillan was one of the few still staring at Professor Umbridge, but he was glassy-eyed and Harry was sure he was only pretending to listen in an attempt to live up to the new prefect

's badge gleaming on his chest. Professor Umbridge did not seem to notice the restlessness of her audience. Harry had the impression that a full-scale riot could have broken out under her nose and she would have ploughed on with her speech. '... because some changes will be for the better, while others will come, in the fullness of time, to be recognised as errors of judgement. Meanwhile, some old habits will be retained, and rightly so, whereas others, outmoded and outworn, must be abandoned. Let us move forward, then, into a new era of openness, effectiveness and accountability, intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited.' She sat down. Dumbledore clapped. The staff followed his lead, though Harry noticed that several of them brought their hands together only once or twice before stopping. A few students joined in, but most had been taken unawares by the end of the speech, not having listened to more than a few words of it, and before they could start applauding properly, Dumbledore had stood up again. Thank you very much, Professor Umbridge, that was most illuminating,' he said, bowing to her. 'Now, as I was saying, Quidditch tryouts will be held.. 'It explained a lot.' 'Did it?' said Harry in surprise. 'How about: "progress for progress's sake must be discouraged"? 'It means the Ministry's interfering at Hogwarts.' There was a great clattering and banging all around them; Dumbledore had obviously just dismissed the school, because everyone was standing up ready to leave the Hall. 'Hey - hey, you lot!..' 'I know, but you can't call them midgets! 'This way, please!' A group of new students walked shyly up the gap between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables, all of them trying hard not to lead the group. They did indeed seem very small; Harry was sure he had not appeared that young when he had arrived here. He grinned at them. A blond boy next to Euan Abercrom

s badge gleaming on his chest. Professor Umbridge did not seem to notice the restlessness of her audience. Harry had the impression that a full-scale riot could have broken out under her nose and she would have ploughed on with her speech. '... because some changes will be for the better, while others will come, in the fullness of time, to be recognised as errors of judgement. Meanwhile, some old habits will be retained, and rightly so, whereas others, outmoded and outworn, must be abandoned. Let us move forward, then, into a new era of openness, effectiveness and accountability, intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited.' She sat down. Dumbledore clapped. The staff followed his lead, though Harry noticed that several of them brought their hands together only once or twice before stopping. A few students joined in, but most had been taken unawares by the end of the speech, not having listened to more than a few words of it, and before they could start applauding properly, Dumbledore had stood up again. Thank you very much, Professor Umbridge, that was most illuminating,' he said, bowing to her. 'Now, as I was saying, Quidditch tryouts will be held.. 'It explained a lot.' 'Did it?' said Harry in surprise. 'How about: "progress for progress's sake must be discouraged"? 'It means the Ministry's interfering at Hogwarts.' There was a great clattering and banging all around them; Dumbledore had obviously just dismissed the school, because everyone was standing up ready to leave the Hall. 'Hey - hey, you lot!..' 'I know, but you can't call them midgets! 'This way, please!' A group of new students walked shyly up the gap between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables, all of them trying hard not to lead the group. They did indeed seem very small; Harry was sure he had not appeared that young when he had arrived here. He grinned at them. A blond boy next to Euan Abercrom

bie looked petrified; he nudged Euan and whispered something in his ear. Euan Abercrombie looked equally frightened and stole a horrified look at Harry, who felt the grin slide off his face like Stinksap. He kept his eyes fixed ahead as he wove his way through the crowd in the Entrance Hall, then he hurried up the marble staircase, took a couple of concealed short cuts and had soon left most of the crowds behind. He had been stupid not to expect this, he thought angrily as he walked through the much emptier upstairs corridors. Of course everyone was staring at him; he had emerged from the Triwizard maze two months previously clutching the dead body of a fellow student and claiming to have seen Lord Voldemort return to power. There had not been time last term to explain himself before they'd all had to go home - even if he had felt up to giving the whole school a detailed account of the terrible events in that graveyard. Harry had reached the end of the corridor to the Gryffindor common room and come to a halt in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady before he realised that he did not know the new password. 'Er...' he said glumly, staring up at the Fat Lady, who smoothed the folds of her pink satin dress and looked sternly back at him. 'No password, no entrance,' she said loftily. 'Harry, I know it!' Someone panted up behind him and he turned to see Neville jogging towards him. 'Guess what it is? I'm actually going to be able to remember it for once -'He waved the stunted little cactus he had shown them on the train. 'Mimbuius mimbletonia!' 'Correct,' said the Fat Lady, and her portrait swung open towards them like a door, revealing a circular hole in the wall behind, through which Harry and Neville now climbed. The Gryffindor common room looked as welcoming as ever, a cosy circular tower room full of dilapidated squashy armchairs and rickety old tables. A fire was crackling merrily in the grate and

looked petrified; he nudged Euan and whispered something in his ear. Euan Abercrombie looked equally frightened and stole a horrified look at Harry, who felt the grin slide off his face like Stinksap. He kept his eyes fixed ahead as he wove his way through the crowd in the Entrance Hall, then he hurried up the marble staircase, took a couple of concealed short cuts and had soon left most of the crowds behind. He had been stupid not to expect this, he thought angrily as he walked through the much emptier upstairs corridors. Of course everyone was staring at him; he had emerged from the Triwizard maze two months previously clutching the dead body of a fellow student and claiming to have seen Lord Voldemort return to power. There had not been time last term to explain himself before they'd all had to go home - even if he had felt up to giving the whole school a detailed account of the terrible events in that graveyard. Harry had reached the end of the corridor to the Gryffindor common room and come to a halt in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady before he realised that he did not know the new password. 'Er...' he said glumly, staring up at the Fat Lady, who smoothed the folds of her pink satin dress and looked sternly back at him. 'No password, no entrance,' she said loftily. 'Harry, I know it!' Someone panted up behind him and he turned to see Neville jogging towards him. 'Guess what it is? I'm actually going to be able to remember it for once -'He waved the stunted little cactus he had shown them on the train. 'Mimbuius mimbletonia!' 'Correct,' said the Fat Lady, and her portrait swung open towards them like a door, revealing a circular hole in the wall behind, through which Harry and Neville now climbed. The Gryffindor common room looked as welcoming as ever, a cosy circular tower room full of dilapidated squashy armchairs and rickety old tables. A fire was crackling merrily in the grate and

a few people were warming their hands by it before going up to their dormitories; on the other side of the room Fred and George Weasley were pinning something up on the noticeboard. Harry waved goodnight to them and headed straight for the door to the boys' dormitories; he was not in much of a mood for talking at the moment. Neville followed him. Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan had reached the dormitory first and were in the process of covering the walls beside their beds with posters and photographs. They had been talking as Harry pushed open the door but stopped abruptly the moment they saw him. Harry wondered whether they had been talking about him, then whether he was being paranoid. 'Hi,' he said, moving across to his own trunk and opening it. 'Hey, Harry,' said Dean, who was putting on a pair of pyjamas in the West Ham colours. 'Good holiday?' 'Not bad,' muttered Harry, as a true account of his holiday would have taken most of the night to relate and he could not face it. 'You?' 'Yeah, it was OK,' chuckled Dean. 'Better than Seamus's, anyway, he was just telling me.' 'Why, what happened, Seamus?' Neville asked as he placed his Mimbuius mimbletonia tenderly on his bedside cabinet. Seamus did not answer immediately; he was making rather a meal of ensuring that his poster of the Kenmare Kestrels Quidditch team was quite straight. Then he said, with his back still turned to Harry, 'Me mam didn't want me to come back.' 'What?' said Harry, pausing in the act of pulling off his robes. 'She didn't want me to come back to Hogwarts.' Seamus turned away from his poster and pulled his own pyjamas out of his trunk, still not looking at Harry. 'But - why?' said Harry, astonished. He knew that Seamus's mother was a witch and could not understand, therefore, why she should have come over so Dursleyish. Seamus did not answer until he had finished buttoning his pyjamas.

few people were warming their hands by it before going up to their dormitories; on the other side of the room Fred and George Weasley were pinning something up on the noticeboard. Harry waved goodnight to them and headed straight for the door to the boys' dormitories; he was not in much of a mood for talking at the moment. Neville followed him. Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan had reached the dormitory first and were in the process of covering the walls beside their beds with posters and photographs. They had been talking as Harry pushed open the door but stopped abruptly the moment they saw him. Harry wondered whether they had been talking about him, then whether he was being paranoid. 'Hi,' he said, moving across to his own trunk and opening it. 'Hey, Harry,' said Dean, who was putting on a pair of pyjamas in the West Ham colours. 'Good holiday?' 'Not bad,' muttered Harry, as a true account of his holiday would have taken most of the night to relate and he could not face it. 'You?' 'Yeah, it was OK,' chuckled Dean. 'Better than Seamus's, anyway, he was just telling me.' 'Why, what happened, Seamus?' Neville asked as he placed his Mimbuius mimbletonia tenderly on his bedside cabinet. Seamus did not answer immediately; he was making rather a meal of ensuring that his poster of the Kenmare Kestrels Quidditch team was quite straight. Then he said, with his back still turned to Harry, 'Me mam didn't want me to come back.' 'What?' said Harry, pausing in the act of pulling off his robes. 'She didn't want me to come back to Hogwarts.' Seamus turned away from his poster and pulled his own pyjamas out of his trunk, still not looking at Harry. 'But - why?' said Harry, astonished. He knew that Seamus's mother was a witch and could not understand, therefore, why she should have come over so Dursleyish. Seamus did not answer until he had finished buttoning his pyjamas.

'Well,' he said in a measured voice, I suppose... because of you.' What d'you mean?' said Harry quickly. His heart was beating rather fast. He felt vaguely as though something was closing in on him. Well,' said Seamus again, still avoiding Harry's eye, she... er... well, it's not just you, it's Dumbledore, too...' 'She believes the Daily Prophet?' said Harry. 'She thinks I'm a liar and Dumbledore's an old fool?' Seamus looked up at him. 'Yeah, something like that.' Harry said nothing. He threw his wand down on to his bedside table, pulled off his robes, stuffed them angrily into his trunk and pulled on his pyjamas. He was sick of it: sick of being the person who is stared at and talked about all the time. If any of them knew, if any of them had the faintest idea what it felt like to be the one all these things had happened to... Mrs Finnigan had no idea, the stupid woman, he thought savagely. He got into bed and made to pull the hangings closed around him, but before he could do so, Seamus said, 'Look... what did happen that night when... you know, when... with Cedric Diggory and all?' Seamus sounded nervous and eager at the same time. Dean, who had been bending over his trunk trying to retrieve a slipper, went oddly still and Harry knew he was listening hard. 'What are you asking me for?' Harry retorted. 'Just read the Daily Prophet like your mother, why don't you? That'll tell you all you need to know.' 'Don't you have a go at my mother,' Seamus snapped. 'I'll have a go at anyone who calls me a liar,' said Harry. 'Don't talk to me like that!' 'I'll talk to you how I want,' said Harry, his temper rising so fast he snatched his wand back from his bedside table. 'If you've got a problem sharing

'Well,' he said in a measured voice, I suppose... because of you.' What d'you mean?' said Harry quickly. His heart was beating rather fast. He felt vaguely as though something was closing in on him. Well,' said Seamus again, still avoiding Harry's eye, she... er... well, it's not just you, it's Dumbledore, too...' 'She believes the Daily Prophet?' said Harry. 'She thinks I'm a liar and Dumbledore's an old fool?' Seamus looked up at him. 'Yeah, something like that.' Harry said nothing. He threw his wand down on to his bedside table, pulled off his robes, stuffed them angrily into his trunk and pulled on his pyjamas. He was sick of it: sick of being the person who is stared at and talked about all the time. If any of them knew, if any of them had the faintest idea what it felt like to be the one all these things had happened to... Mrs Finnigan had no idea, the stupid woman, he thought savagely. He got into bed and made to pull the hangings closed around him, but before he could do so, Seamus said, 'Look... what did happen that night when... you know, when... with Cedric Diggory and all?' Seamus sounded nervous and eager at the same time. Dean, who had been bending over his trunk trying to retrieve a slipper, went oddly still and Harry knew he was listening hard. 'What are you asking me for?' Harry retorted. 'Just read the Daily Prophet like your mother, why don't you? That'll tell you all you need to know.' 'Don't you have a go at my mother,' Seamus snapped. 'I'll have a go at anyone who calls me a liar,' said Harry. 'Don't talk to me like that!' 'I'll talk to you how I want,' said Harry, his temper rising so fast he snatched his wand back from his bedside table. 'If you've got a problem sharing

a dormitory with me, go and ask McGonagall if you can be moved... His wide eyes travelled from Harry, who was kneeling on his bed with his wand pointing at Seamus, to Seamus, who was standing there with his fists raised. 'He's having a go at my mother!' Seamus yelled. 'Harry wouldn't do that - we met your mother, we liked her...' 'That's before she started believing every word the stinking Daily Prophet writes about me!' said Harry at the top of his voice. 'Oh... right.' 'You know what?' said Seamus heatedly, casting Harry a venomous look. 'Then you're mad, too,' said Seamus in disgust. 'Yeah? 'So unless you want detention, watch your mouth!' Seamus looked for a few seconds as though detention would be a reasonable price to pay to say what was going through his mind; but with a noise of contempt he turned on his heel, vaulted into bed and pulled the hangings shut with such violence that they were ripped from the bed and fell in a dusty pile to the floor. 'Anyone else's parents got a problem with Harry?' he said aggressively. 'My parents are Muggles, mate,' said Dean, shrugging. They don't know nothing about no deaths at Hogwarts, because I'm not stupid enough to tell them.' 'You don't know my mother, she'd weasel anything out of anyone!' Seamus snapped at him. 'Anyway, your parents don't get the Daily Prophet. They don't know our Headmaster's been sacked from the Wizengamot and the International Confederation of Wizards because he's losing his marbles - ' 'My gran says that's rubbish,' piped up Neville. 'She says it's the Daily Prophet that's going downhill, not Dumbledore. She's cancelled our subscription. We believe Harry,' said Neville simply. He climbed into bed and pulled the covers up to his chin, looking owlishly over them at Seam

dormitory with me, go and ask McGonagall if you can be moved... His wide eyes travelled from Harry, who was kneeling on his bed with his wand pointing at Seamus, to Seamus, who was standing there with his fists raised. 'He's having a go at my mother!' Seamus yelled. 'Harry wouldn't do that - we met your mother, we liked her...' 'That's before she started believing every word the stinking Daily Prophet writes about me!' said Harry at the top of his voice. 'Oh... right.' 'You know what?' said Seamus heatedly, casting Harry a venomous look. 'Then you're mad, too,' said Seamus in disgust. 'Yeah? 'So unless you want detention, watch your mouth!' Seamus looked for a few seconds as though detention would be a reasonable price to pay to say what was going through his mind; but with a noise of contempt he turned on his heel, vaulted into bed and pulled the hangings shut with such violence that they were ripped from the bed and fell in a dusty pile to the floor. 'Anyone else's parents got a problem with Harry?' he said aggressively. 'My parents are Muggles, mate,' said Dean, shrugging. They don't know nothing about no deaths at Hogwarts, because I'm not stupid enough to tell them.' 'You don't know my mother, she'd weasel anything out of anyone!' Seamus snapped at him. 'Anyway, your parents don't get the Daily Prophet. They don't know our Headmaster's been sacked from the Wizengamot and the International Confederation of Wizards because he's losing his marbles - ' 'My gran says that's rubbish,' piped up Neville. 'She says it's the Daily Prophet that's going downhill, not Dumbledore. She's cancelled our subscription. We believe Harry,' said Neville simply. He climbed into bed and pulled the covers up to his chin, looking owlishly over them at Seam

us. 'My grans always said You-Know-Who would come back one day. She says if Dumbledore says he's back, he's back.' Harry felt a rush of gratitude towards Neville. Nobody else said anything. Seamus got out his wand, repaired the bed hangings and vanished behind them. Dean got into bed, rolled over and fell silent. Neville, who appeared to have nothing more to say either, was gazing fondly at his moonlit cactus. He fell, shaken by the argument with Seamus, whom he had always liked very much. How many more people were going to suggest that he was lying, or unhinged? Had Dumbledore suffered like this all summer, as first the Wizengamot, then the International Confederation of Wizards had thrown him from their ranks? Was it anger at Harry, perhaps, that had stopped Dumbledore getting in touch with him for months? The two of them were in this together, after all; Dumbledore had believed Harry, announced his version of events to the whole school and then to the wider wizarding community. Anyone who thought Harry was a liar had to think that Dumbledore was, too, or else that Dumbledore had been hoodwinked... But he wondered how many more attacks like Seamus's he would have to endure before that time came. - CHAPTER TWELVE - Professor Umbridge Seamus dressed at top speed next morning and left the dormitory before Harry had even put on his socks. 'Does he think he'll turn into a nutter if he stays in a room with me too long?' asked Harry loudly as the hem of Seamus's robes wnipped out of sight. 'Don't worry about it, Harry,' Dean muttered, hoisting his schoolbag on to his shoulder, 'he's just...' But apparently he was unable to say exactly what Seamus was, and after a slightly awkward pause followed him out of the room. How much more of this would he have to take? 'You look absolutely - Oh for heavens sake.' She was staring at the common-room noticeboard, where a large new sign had been put up. GALLONS OF

. 'My grans always said You-Know-Who would come back one day. She says if Dumbledore says he's back, he's back.' Harry felt a rush of gratitude towards Neville. Nobody else said anything. Seamus got out his wand, repaired the bed hangings and vanished behind them. Dean got into bed, rolled over and fell silent. Neville, who appeared to have nothing more to say either, was gazing fondly at his moonlit cactus. He fell, shaken by the argument with Seamus, whom he had always liked very much. How many more people were going to suggest that he was lying, or unhinged? Had Dumbledore suffered like this all summer, as first the Wizengamot, then the International Confederation of Wizards had thrown him from their ranks? Was it anger at Harry, perhaps, that had stopped Dumbledore getting in touch with him for months? The two of them were in this together, after all; Dumbledore had believed Harry, announced his version of events to the whole school and then to the wider wizarding community. Anyone who thought Harry was a liar had to think that Dumbledore was, too, or else that Dumbledore had been hoodwinked... But he wondered how many more attacks like Seamus's he would have to endure before that time came. - CHAPTER TWELVE - Professor Umbridge Seamus dressed at top speed next morning and left the dormitory before Harry had even put on his socks. 'Does he think he'll turn into a nutter if he stays in a room with me too long?' asked Harry loudly as the hem of Seamus's robes wnipped out of sight. 'Don't worry about it, Harry,' Dean muttered, hoisting his schoolbag on to his shoulder, 'he's just...' But apparently he was unable to say exactly what Seamus was, and after a slightly awkward pause followed him out of the room. How much more of this would he have to take? 'You look absolutely - Oh for heavens sake.' She was staring at the common-room noticeboard, where a large new sign had been put up. GALLONS OF

GALLEONS! Pocket money failing to keep pace with your outgoings? Like to earn a little extra gold? Contact Fred and George Weasley, Gryffindor common room, for simple, part-time, virtually painless jobs. 'Yes, Lavender thinks so too,' she said gloomily. 'Been having a nice little chat with her about whether or not I'm a lying, attention-seeking prat, have you?' Harry said loudly. 'I told her to keep her big fat mouth shut about you, actually. 'Sorry,' said Harry in a low voice. Then she shook her head. 'About You-Know-Who. He said his "gift for spreading discord and enmity is very great. You-Know-Who's only been back two months and we've already started fighting among ourselves. They had reached the foot of the marble staircase. A line of fourth-year Ravenclaws was crossing the Entrance Hall; they caught sight of Harry and hurried to form a tighter group, as though frightened he might attack stragglers. 'Yeah, we really ought to be trying to make friends with people like that,' said Harry sarcastically. They followed the Ravenclaws into the Great Hall, all looking instinctively at the staff table as they entered. Professor Grubbly-Plank was chatting to Professor Sinistra, the Astronomy teacher, and Hagrid was once again conspicuous only by his absence. The enchanted ceiling above them echoed Harry's mood; it was a miserable rain-cloud grey. 'Dumbledore didn't even mention how long that Grubbly-Plank woman's staying,' he said, as they made their way across to the Gryffindor table. 'Maybe.. 'Well... 'Hi, Angelina.' 'Hi,' she said briskly, 'good summer?' And without waiting for an answer, 'Listen, I've been made Gryffindor Quidditch Captain.' 'Nice one,' said Harry, grinning at her; he suspected Angelina's pep talks might not be as long-winded as Oliver Wood's had

ALLEONS! Pocket money failing to keep pace with your outgoings? Like to earn a little extra gold? Contact Fred and George Weasley, Gryffindor common room, for simple, part-time, virtually painless jobs. 'Yes, Lavender thinks so too,' she said gloomily. 'Been having a nice little chat with her about whether or not I'm a lying, attention-seeking prat, have you?' Harry said loudly. 'I told her to keep her big fat mouth shut about you, actually. 'Sorry,' said Harry in a low voice. Then she shook her head. 'About You-Know-Who. He said his "gift for spreading discord and enmity is very great. You-Know-Who's only been back two months and we've already started fighting among ourselves. They had reached the foot of the marble staircase. A line of fourth-year Ravenclaws was crossing the Entrance Hall; they caught sight of Harry and hurried to form a tighter group, as though frightened he might attack stragglers. 'Yeah, we really ought to be trying to make friends with people like that,' said Harry sarcastically. They followed the Ravenclaws into the Great Hall, all looking instinctively at the staff table as they entered. Professor Grubbly-Plank was chatting to Professor Sinistra, the Astronomy teacher, and Hagrid was once again conspicuous only by his absence. The enchanted ceiling above them echoed Harry's mood; it was a miserable rain-cloud grey. 'Dumbledore didn't even mention how long that Grubbly-Plank woman's staying,' he said, as they made their way across to the Gryffindor table. 'Maybe.. 'Well... 'Hi, Angelina.' 'Hi,' she said briskly, 'good summer?' And without waiting for an answer, 'Listen, I've been made Gryffindor Quidditch Captain.' 'Nice one,' said Harry, grinning at her; he suspected Angelina's pep talks might not be as long-winded as Oliver Wood's had

been, which could only be an improvement. 'Yeah, well, we need a new Keeper now Oliver's left. Tryouts are on Friday at five o'clock and I want the whole team there, all right? Then we can see how the new person'll fit in.' 'OK,' said Harry. Angelina smiled at him and departed. 'I suppose that will make quite a difference to the team?' 'I s'pose,' said Harry, taking the bench opposite. 'He was a good Keeper.. With a whoosh and a clatter, hundreds of owls came soaring in through the upper windows. They descended all over the Hall, bringing letters and packages to their owners and showering the breakfasters with droplets of water; it was clearly raining hard outside. Hedwig was nowhere to be seen, but Harry was hardly surprised; his only correspondent was Sirius, and he doubted Sirius would have anything new to tell him after only twenty-four hours apart. 'I'm not bothering... 'Nothing,' she said simply, rolling up the newspaper and laying it down by her plate. 'Nothing about you or Dumbledore or anything.' Professor McGonagall was now moving along the table handing out timetables. 'History of Magic, double Potions, Divination and double Defence Against the Dark Arts... Binns, Snape, Trelawney and that Umbridge woman all in one day! I wish Fred and George'd hurry up and get those Skiving Snackboxes sorted..." 'Do mine ears deceive me?' said Fred, arriving with George and squeezing on to the bench beside Harry. 'That's the worst Monday I've ever seen.' 'Fair point, little bro,' said Fred, scanning the column. 'Because you'll keep bleeding till you shrivel up, we haven't got an antidote yet,' said George, helping himself to a kipper. Fred and George sniggered. 'Fifth year's OWL year,' said George. 'So?' 'So you've got your exams coming up, haven't you? They'll be keeping your

, which could only be an improvement. 'Yeah, well, we need a new Keeper now Oliver's left. Tryouts are on Friday at five o'clock and I want the whole team there, all right? Then we can see how the new person'll fit in.' 'OK,' said Harry. Angelina smiled at him and departed. 'I suppose that will make quite a difference to the team?' 'I s'pose,' said Harry, taking the bench opposite. 'He was a good Keeper.. With a whoosh and a clatter, hundreds of owls came soaring in through the upper windows. They descended all over the Hall, bringing letters and packages to their owners and showering the breakfasters with droplets of water; it was clearly raining hard outside. Hedwig was nowhere to be seen, but Harry was hardly surprised; his only correspondent was Sirius, and he doubted Sirius would have anything new to tell him after only twenty-four hours apart. 'I'm not bothering... 'Nothing,' she said simply, rolling up the newspaper and laying it down by her plate. 'Nothing about you or Dumbledore or anything.' Professor McGonagall was now moving along the table handing out timetables. 'History of Magic, double Potions, Divination and double Defence Against the Dark Arts... Binns, Snape, Trelawney and that Umbridge woman all in one day! I wish Fred and George'd hurry up and get those Skiving Snackboxes sorted..." 'Do mine ears deceive me?' said Fred, arriving with George and squeezing on to the bench beside Harry. 'That's the worst Monday I've ever seen.' 'Fair point, little bro,' said Fred, scanning the column. 'Because you'll keep bleeding till you shrivel up, we haven't got an antidote yet,' said George, helping himself to a kipper. Fred and George sniggered. 'Fifth year's OWL year,' said George. 'So?' 'So you've got your exams coming up, haven't you? They'll be keeping your

noses so hard to that grindstone they'll be rubbed raw,' said Fred with satisfaction. 'Half our year had minor breakdowns coming up to OWLs,' said George happily. Tears and tantrums... Patricia Stimpson kept coming over faint...' 'Kenneth Towler came out in boils, d'you remember?' said Fred remmiscently. That's 'cause you put Bulbadox powder in his pyjamas,' said George. 'Oh yeah,' said Fred, grinning. 'I'd forgotten... hard to keep track sometimes, isn't it?' 'Anyway, it's a nightmare of a year, the fifth,' said George. 'If you care about exam results, anyway. Fred and I managed to keep our peckers up somehow.' 'Yeah... 'Yep,' said Fred unconcernedly. 'But we feel our futures lie outside the world of academic achievement.' 'We seriously debated whether we were going to bother coming back for our seventh year,' said George brightly, 'now that we've got- He broke off at a warning look from Harry, who knew George had been about to mention the Triwizard winnings he had given them. '- now that we've got our OWLs,' George said hastily. 'I mean, do we really need NEWTs? But we didn't think Mum could take us leaving school early not on top of Percy turning out to be the world's biggest prat.' We're not going to waste our last year here, though,' said Fred, looking affectionately around at the Great Hall. 'You're going to need all the ingredients and materials - and premises too, I suppose...' Harry did not look at the twins. His face felt hot; he deliberately dropped his fork and dived down to retrieve it. C'mon, George, if we get there early we might be able to sell a few Extendable Ears before Herbology.' Harry emerged from under the table to see Fred and George walking away, each carrying a stack of toast.'"Ask us no questions.. '

es so hard to that grindstone they'll be rubbed raw,' said Fred with satisfaction. 'Half our year had minor breakdowns coming up to OWLs,' said George happily. Tears and tantrums... Patricia Stimpson kept coming over faint...' 'Kenneth Towler came out in boils, d'you remember?' said Fred remmiscently. That's 'cause you put Bulbadox powder in his pyjamas,' said George. 'Oh yeah,' said Fred, grinning. 'I'd forgotten... hard to keep track sometimes, isn't it?' 'Anyway, it's a nightmare of a year, the fifth,' said George. 'If you care about exam results, anyway. Fred and I managed to keep our peckers up somehow.' 'Yeah... 'Yep,' said Fred unconcernedly. 'But we feel our futures lie outside the world of academic achievement.' 'We seriously debated whether we were going to bother coming back for our seventh year,' said George brightly, 'now that we've got- He broke off at a warning look from Harry, who knew George had been about to mention the Triwizard winnings he had given them. '- now that we've got our OWLs,' George said hastily. 'I mean, do we really need NEWTs? But we didn't think Mum could take us leaving school early not on top of Percy turning out to be the world's biggest prat.' We're not going to waste our last year here, though,' said Fred, looking affectionately around at the Great Hall. 'You're going to need all the ingredients and materials - and premises too, I suppose...' Harry did not look at the twins. His face felt hot; he deliberately dropped his fork and dived down to retrieve it. C'mon, George, if we get there early we might be able to sell a few Extendable Ears before Herbology.' Harry emerged from under the table to see Fred and George walking away, each carrying a stack of toast.'"Ask us no questions.. '

They bought me a new set of dress robes this summer and I couldn't understand where they got the Galleons...' Harry decided it was time to steer the conversation out of these dangerous waters. 'D'you reckon it's true this year's going to be really tough? 'Bound to be, isn't it? OWLs are really important, affect the jobs you can apply for and everything. We get career advice, too, later this year, Bill told me. So you can choose what NEWTs you want to do next year.' 'D'you know what you want to do after Hogwarts?' Harry asked the other two, as they left the Great Hall shortly afterwards and set off towards their History of Magic classroom. 'Except... well...' He looked slightly sheepish. What?' Harry urged him. 'Yeah, it would,' said Harry fervently. 'You've got to be really good. 'I think I'd like to do something really worthwhile.' 'An Aurors worthwhile!' said Harry.. History of Magic was by common consent the most boring subject ever devised by wizardkind. Professor Binns, their ghost teacher, had a wheezy, droning voice that was almost guaranteed to cause severe drowsiness within ten minutes, five in warm weather. He never varied the form of their lessons, but lectured them without pausing while they took notes, or rather, gazed sleepily into space. Today, they suffered an hour and a half's droning on the subject of giant wars...' 'Well, you'd deserve it,' she snapped. A fine misty drizzle was falling, so that the people standing in huddles around the edges of the yard looked blurred at the edges. They had got as far as agreeing that it was likely to be something extremely difficult, just to catch them off guard after a two-month holiday, when someone walked around the corner towards them. 'Hello, Harry!' It was Cho Chang and, what was more, she was on her own again. This was most unusual: Cho was almost always surrounded by a gang of giggling girls; Harry remembered the agony of trying to get her

bought me a new set of dress robes this summer and I couldn't understand where they got the Galleons...' Harry decided it was time to steer the conversation out of these dangerous waters. 'D'you reckon it's true this year's going to be really tough? 'Bound to be, isn't it? OWLs are really important, affect the jobs you can apply for and everything. We get career advice, too, later this year, Bill told me. So you can choose what NEWTs you want to do next year.' 'D'you know what you want to do after Hogwarts?' Harry asked the other two, as they left the Great Hall shortly afterwards and set off towards their History of Magic classroom. 'Except... well...' He looked slightly sheepish. What?' Harry urged him. 'Yeah, it would,' said Harry fervently. 'You've got to be really good. 'I think I'd like to do something really worthwhile.' 'An Aurors worthwhile!' said Harry.. History of Magic was by common consent the most boring subject ever devised by wizardkind. Professor Binns, their ghost teacher, had a wheezy, droning voice that was almost guaranteed to cause severe drowsiness within ten minutes, five in warm weather. He never varied the form of their lessons, but lectured them without pausing while they took notes, or rather, gazed sleepily into space. Today, they suffered an hour and a half's droning on the subject of giant wars...' 'Well, you'd deserve it,' she snapped. A fine misty drizzle was falling, so that the people standing in huddles around the edges of the yard looked blurred at the edges. They had got as far as agreeing that it was likely to be something extremely difficult, just to catch them off guard after a two-month holiday, when someone walked around the corner towards them. 'Hello, Harry!' It was Cho Chang and, what was more, she was on her own again. This was most unusual: Cho was almost always surrounded by a gang of giggling girls; Harry remembered the agony of trying to get her

by herself to ask her to the Yule Ball. 'Hi,' said Harry, feeling his face grow hot. At least you're not covered in Stinksap this time, he told himself. Cho seemed to be thinking along the same lines. 'You got that stuff off, then?' 'Yeah,' said Harry, trying to grin as though the memory of their last meeting was funny as opposed to mortifying. 'So, did you... er... have a good summer?' The moment he had said this he wished he hadn't - Cedric had been Cho's boyfriend and the memory of his death must have affected her holiday almost as badly as it had affected Harry's. Something seemed to tauten in her face, but she said, 'Oh, it was all right, you know.. 'You don't support them, do you?' 'Yeah, I do,' said Cho. 'I've supported them since I was six,' said Cho coolly. 'Anyway... see you, Harry.' She walked away. 'You are so tactless!' 'What? I only asked her if - ' 'Couldn't you tell she wanted to talk to Harry on her own?' 'So? She could've done, I wasn't stopping - ' 'Why on earth were you attacking her about her Quidditch team?' 'Attacking? And yet, he thought, as they joined the queue lining up outside Snape's classroom door, she had chosen to come and talk to him, hadn't she? She had been Cedric's girlfriend; she could easily have hated Harry for coming out of the Triwizard maze alive when Cedric had died, yet she was talking to him in a perfectly friendly way, not as though she thought him mad, or a liar, or in some horrible way responsible for Cedric's death... yes, she had definitely chosen to come and talk to him, and that made the second time in two days... and at this thought, Harry's spirits rose. Even the ominous sound of Snape's dungeon door creaking open did not puncture the small, hopeful bubble that seemed to

herself to ask her to the Yule Ball. 'Hi,' said Harry, feeling his face grow hot. At least you're not covered in Stinksap this time, he told himself. Cho seemed to be thinking along the same lines. 'You got that stuff off, then?' 'Yeah,' said Harry, trying to grin as though the memory of their last meeting was funny as opposed to mortifying. 'So, did you... er... have a good summer?' The moment he had said this he wished he hadn't - Cedric had been Cho's boyfriend and the memory of his death must have affected her holiday almost as badly as it had affected Harry's. Something seemed to tauten in her face, but she said, 'Oh, it was all right, you know.. 'You don't support them, do you?' 'Yeah, I do,' said Cho. 'I've supported them since I was six,' said Cho coolly. 'Anyway... see you, Harry.' She walked away. 'You are so tactless!' 'What? I only asked her if - ' 'Couldn't you tell she wanted to talk to Harry on her own?' 'So? She could've done, I wasn't stopping - ' 'Why on earth were you attacking her about her Quidditch team?' 'Attacking? And yet, he thought, as they joined the queue lining up outside Snape's classroom door, she had chosen to come and talk to him, hadn't she? She had been Cedric's girlfriend; she could easily have hated Harry for coming out of the Triwizard maze alive when Cedric had died, yet she was talking to him in a perfectly friendly way, not as though she thought him mad, or a liar, or in some horrible way responsible for Cedric's death... yes, she had definitely chosen to come and talk to him, and that made the second time in two days... and at this thought, Harry's spirits rose. Even the ominous sound of Snape's dungeon door creaking open did not puncture the small, hopeful bubble that seemed to

have swelled in his chest. 'Settle down,' said Snape coldly, shutting the door behind him. There was no real need for the call to order; the moment the class had heard the door close, quiet had fallen and all fidgeting stopped. Snape's mere presence was usually enough to ensure a class's silence. 'Before we begin today's lesson,' said Snape, sweeping over to his desk and staring around at them all, 'I think it appropriate to remind you that next June you will be sitting an important examination, during which you will prove how much you have learned about the composition and use of magical potions. Moronic though some of this class undoubtedly are, I expect you to scrape an "Acceptable" in your OWL, or suffer my... displeasure.' His gaze lingered this time on Neville, who gulped. 'After this year, of course, many of you will cease studying with me,' Snape went on. 'I take only the very best into my NEWT Potions class, which means that some of us will certainly be saying goodbye.' His eyes rested on Harry and his lip curled. Harry glared back, feeling a grim pleasure at the idea that he would be able to give up Potions after fifth year. 'But we have another year to go before that happy moment of farewell,' said Snape softly,'so, whether or not you are intending to attempt NEWT, I advise all of you to concentrate your efforts upon maintaining the high pass level I have come to expect from my OWL students. 'Today we will be mixing a potion that often comes up at Ordinary Wizarding Level: the Draught of Peace, a potion to calm anxiety and soothe agitation. The ingredients and method -'Snape flicked his wand'- are on the blackboard - (they appeared there)'- you will find everything you need -'he flicked his wand again'- in the store cupboard -'(the door of the said cupboard sprang open)'- you have an hour and a half... The ingredients had to be added to the cauldron in precisely the

swelled in his chest. 'Settle down,' said Snape coldly, shutting the door behind him. There was no real need for the call to order; the moment the class had heard the door close, quiet had fallen and all fidgeting stopped. Snape's mere presence was usually enough to ensure a class's silence. 'Before we begin today's lesson,' said Snape, sweeping over to his desk and staring around at them all, 'I think it appropriate to remind you that next June you will be sitting an important examination, during which you will prove how much you have learned about the composition and use of magical potions. Moronic though some of this class undoubtedly are, I expect you to scrape an "Acceptable" in your OWL, or suffer my... displeasure.' His gaze lingered this time on Neville, who gulped. 'After this year, of course, many of you will cease studying with me,' Snape went on. 'I take only the very best into my NEWT Potions class, which means that some of us will certainly be saying goodbye.' His eyes rested on Harry and his lip curled. Harry glared back, feeling a grim pleasure at the idea that he would be able to give up Potions after fifth year. 'But we have another year to go before that happy moment of farewell,' said Snape softly,'so, whether or not you are intending to attempt NEWT, I advise all of you to concentrate your efforts upon maintaining the high pass level I have come to expect from my OWL students. 'Today we will be mixing a potion that often comes up at Ordinary Wizarding Level: the Draught of Peace, a potion to calm anxiety and soothe agitation. The ingredients and method -'Snape flicked his wand'- are on the blackboard - (they appeared there)'- you will find everything you need -'he flicked his wand again'- in the store cupboard -'(the door of the said cupboard sprang open)'- you have an hour and a half... The ingredients had to be added to the cauldron in precisely the

right order and quantities; the mixture had to be stirred exactly the right number of times, firstly in clockwise, then in anti-clockwise directions; the heat of the flames on which it was simmering had to be lowered to exactly the right level for a specific number of minutes before the final ingredient was added. 'A light silver vapour should now be rising from your potion,' called Snape, with ten minutes left to go. Harry, who was sweating profusely, looked desperately around the dungeon. Seamus was feverishly prodding the flames at the base of his cauldron with the tip of his wand, as they seemed to be going out. At Harry's cauldron, however, Snape stopped, and looked down at it with a horrible smirk on his face. 'Potter, what is this supposed to be?' The Slytherins at the front of the class all looked up eagerly; they loved hearing Snape taunt Harry. 'The Draught of Peace,' said Harry tensely. 'Tell me, Potter,' said Snape softly, 'can you read?' Draco Malfoy laughed. 'Yes, I can,' said Harry, his fingers clenched tightly around his wand. 'Read the third line of the instructions for me, Potter.' Harry squinted at the blackboard; it was not easy to make out the instructions through the haze of multi-coloured steam now filling the dungeon. '"Add powdered moonstone, stir three times counter-clockwise, allow to simmer for seven minutes then add two drops of syrup of hellebore." ' His heart sank. He had not added syrup of hellebore, but had proceeded straight to the fourth line of the instructions after allowing his potion to simmer for seven minutes. 'Did you do everything on the third line, Potter?' 'No,' said Harry very quietly. 'I beg your pardon?' 'No,' said Harry, more loudly. 'I forgot the hellebore.' 'I know you did, Potter, which means that this mess is utterly worthless. Evanesce.' The contents

order and quantities; the mixture had to be stirred exactly the right number of times, firstly in clockwise, then in anti-clockwise directions; the heat of the flames on which it was simmering had to be lowered to exactly the right level for a specific number of minutes before the final ingredient was added. 'A light silver vapour should now be rising from your potion,' called Snape, with ten minutes left to go. Harry, who was sweating profusely, looked desperately around the dungeon. Seamus was feverishly prodding the flames at the base of his cauldron with the tip of his wand, as they seemed to be going out. At Harry's cauldron, however, Snape stopped, and looked down at it with a horrible smirk on his face. 'Potter, what is this supposed to be?' The Slytherins at the front of the class all looked up eagerly; they loved hearing Snape taunt Harry. 'The Draught of Peace,' said Harry tensely. 'Tell me, Potter,' said Snape softly, 'can you read?' Draco Malfoy laughed. 'Yes, I can,' said Harry, his fingers clenched tightly around his wand. 'Read the third line of the instructions for me, Potter.' Harry squinted at the blackboard; it was not easy to make out the instructions through the haze of multi-coloured steam now filling the dungeon. '"Add powdered moonstone, stir three times counter-clockwise, allow to simmer for seven minutes then add two drops of syrup of hellebore." ' His heart sank. He had not added syrup of hellebore, but had proceeded straight to the fourth line of the instructions after allowing his potion to simmer for seven minutes. 'Did you do everything on the third line, Potter?' 'No,' said Harry very quietly. 'I beg your pardon?' 'No,' said Harry, more loudly. 'I forgot the hellebore.' 'I know you did, Potter, which means that this mess is utterly worthless. Evanesce.' The contents

of Harry's potion vanished; he was left standing foolishly beside an empty cauldron. 'Those of you who have managed to read the instructions, fill one flagon with a sample of your potion, label it clearly with your name and bring it up to my desk for testing,' said Snape. 'Homework: twelve inches of parchment on the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion-making, to be handed in on Thursday.' While everyone around him filled their flagons, Harry cleared away his things, seething. He stuffed his wand back into his bag and slumped down on to his seat, watching everyone else march up to Snape's desk with filled and corked flagons. The ceiling had turned an even murkier grey during the morning. Rain was lashing the high windows. 'Your potion wasn't nearly as bad as Goyle's; when he put it in his flagon the whole thing shattered and set his robes on fire.' 'Yeah, well,' said Harry, glowering at his plate,'since when has Snape ever been fair to me?' Neither of the others answered; all three of them knew that Snape and Harry's mutual enmity had been absolute from the moment Harry had set foot in Hogwarts. 'I mean... you know...' she looked around carefully; there were half a dozen empty seats on either side of them and nobody was passing the table '... 'Anyway, I've always thought Dumbledore was cracked to trust Snape. 'Can't you give it a rest?' said Harry. 'You're always having a go at each other, it's driving me mad.' And abandoning his shepherd's pie, he swung his schoolbag back over his shoulder and left them sitting there. He walked up the marble staircase two steps at a time, past the many students hurrying towards lunch. Serve them right, he thought, why can't they give it a rest... bickering all the time... it's enough to drive anyone up the wall... He passed the large picture of Sir Cadogan the knight on a landing; Sir Cadogan

Harry's potion vanished; he was left standing foolishly beside an empty cauldron. 'Those of you who have managed to read the instructions, fill one flagon with a sample of your potion, label it clearly with your name and bring it up to my desk for testing,' said Snape. 'Homework: twelve inches of parchment on the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion-making, to be handed in on Thursday.' While everyone around him filled their flagons, Harry cleared away his things, seething. He stuffed his wand back into his bag and slumped down on to his seat, watching everyone else march up to Snape's desk with filled and corked flagons. The ceiling had turned an even murkier grey during the morning. Rain was lashing the high windows. 'Your potion wasn't nearly as bad as Goyle's; when he put it in his flagon the whole thing shattered and set his robes on fire.' 'Yeah, well,' said Harry, glowering at his plate,'since when has Snape ever been fair to me?' Neither of the others answered; all three of them knew that Snape and Harry's mutual enmity had been absolute from the moment Harry had set foot in Hogwarts. 'I mean... you know...' she looked around carefully; there were half a dozen empty seats on either side of them and nobody was passing the table '... 'Anyway, I've always thought Dumbledore was cracked to trust Snape. 'Can't you give it a rest?' said Harry. 'You're always having a go at each other, it's driving me mad.' And abandoning his shepherd's pie, he swung his schoolbag back over his shoulder and left them sitting there. He walked up the marble staircase two steps at a time, past the many students hurrying towards lunch. Serve them right, he thought, why can't they give it a rest... bickering all the time... it's enough to drive anyone up the wall... He passed the large picture of Sir Cadogan the knight on a landing; Sir Cadogan

drew his sword and brandished it fiercely at Harry, who ignored him. 'Come back, you scurvy dog! Stand fast and fight!' yelled Sir Cadogan in a muffled voice from behind his visor, but Harry merely walked on and when Sir Cadogan attempted to follow him by running into a neighbouring picture, he was rebuffed by its inhabitant, a large and angry-looking wolfhound. Harry spent the rest of the lunch hour sitting alone underneath the trapdoor at the top of North Tower. Consequently, he was the first to ascend the silver ladder that led to Sybill Trelawney's classroom when the bell rang. After Potions, Divination was Harry's least favourite class, which was due mainly to Professor Trelawney's habit of predicting his premature death every few lessons. A thin woman, heavily draped in shawls and glittering with strings of beads, she always reminded Harry of some kind of insect, with her glasses hugely magnifying her eyes. She was busy putting copies of battered leather-bound books on each of the spindly little tables with which her room was littered when Harry entered the room, but the light cast by the lamps covered by scarves and the low-burning, sickly-scented fire was so dim she appeared not to notice him as he took a seat in the shadows. The rest of the class arrived over the next five minutes. 'Good,' grunted Harry. 'But I reckon she's right. It's not our fault how Seamus and Snape treat you.' 'I never said it - ' 'Good-day,' said Professor Trelawney in her usual misty, dreamy voice, and Harry broke off, again feeling both annoyed and slightly ashamed of himself. 'And welcome back to Divination. I have, of course, been following your fortunes most carefully over the holidays, and am delighted to see that you have all returned to Hogwarts safely - as, of course, I knew you would. 'You will find on the tables before you copies of The Dream Oracle, by Inigo Imago. Dream interpretation is a most important means of divining the future and one that may very probably be tested in your

his sword and brandished it fiercely at Harry, who ignored him. 'Come back, you scurvy dog! Stand fast and fight!' yelled Sir Cadogan in a muffled voice from behind his visor, but Harry merely walked on and when Sir Cadogan attempted to follow him by running into a neighbouring picture, he was rebuffed by its inhabitant, a large and angry-looking wolfhound. Harry spent the rest of the lunch hour sitting alone underneath the trapdoor at the top of North Tower. Consequently, he was the first to ascend the silver ladder that led to Sybill Trelawney's classroom when the bell rang. After Potions, Divination was Harry's least favourite class, which was due mainly to Professor Trelawney's habit of predicting his premature death every few lessons. A thin woman, heavily draped in shawls and glittering with strings of beads, she always reminded Harry of some kind of insect, with her glasses hugely magnifying her eyes. She was busy putting copies of battered leather-bound books on each of the spindly little tables with which her room was littered when Harry entered the room, but the light cast by the lamps covered by scarves and the low-burning, sickly-scented fire was so dim she appeared not to notice him as he took a seat in the shadows. The rest of the class arrived over the next five minutes. 'Good,' grunted Harry. 'But I reckon she's right. It's not our fault how Seamus and Snape treat you.' 'I never said it - ' 'Good-day,' said Professor Trelawney in her usual misty, dreamy voice, and Harry broke off, again feeling both annoyed and slightly ashamed of himself. 'And welcome back to Divination. I have, of course, been following your fortunes most carefully over the holidays, and am delighted to see that you have all returned to Hogwarts safely - as, of course, I knew you would. 'You will find on the tables before you copies of The Dream Oracle, by Inigo Imago. Dream interpretation is a most important means of divining the future and one that may very probably be tested in your

OWL. Not, of course, that I believe examination passes or failures are of the remotest importance when it comes to the sacred art of divination. If you have the Seeing Eye, certificates and grades matter very little. However, the Headmaster likes you to sit the examination, so...' Her voice trailed away delicately, leaving them all in no doubt that Professor Trelawney considered her subject above such sordid matters as examinations. Turn, please, to the introduction and read what Imago has to say on the matter of dream interpretation. Then, divide into pairs. Use The Dream Oracle to interpret each other's most recent dreams. Carry on.' The one good thing to be said for this lesson was that it was not a double period. By the time they had all finished reading the introduction of the book, they had barely ten minutes left for dream interpretation. He was not going to share his dreams with anyone. 'What d'you reckon that means?' 'Probably that you're going to be eaten by a giant marshmallow or something,' said Harry, turning the pages of The Dream Oracle without interest. It was very dull work looking up bits of dreams in the Oracle and Harry was not cheered up when Professor Trelawney set them the task of keeping a dream diary for a month as homework. 'D'you realise how much homework we've got already? Binns set us a foot-and-a-half-long essay on giant wars, Snape wants a foot on the use of moonstones, and now we've got a month's dream diary from Trelawney! Fred and George weren't wrong about OWL year, were they? That Umbridge woman had better not give us any...' When they entered the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom they found Professor Umbridge already seated at the teachers desk, wearing the fluffy pink cardigan of the night before and the black velvet bow on top of her head. Harry was again reminded forcibly of a large fly perched unwisely on top of an even larger toad. The class was quiet as it entered the room; Professor Umbridge was, as yet, an unknown

WL. Not, of course, that I believe examination passes or failures are of the remotest importance when it comes to the sacred art of divination. If you have the Seeing Eye, certificates and grades matter very little. However, the Headmaster likes you to sit the examination, so...' Her voice trailed away delicately, leaving them all in no doubt that Professor Trelawney considered her subject above such sordid matters as examinations. Turn, please, to the introduction and read what Imago has to say on the matter of dream interpretation. Then, divide into pairs. Use The Dream Oracle to interpret each other's most recent dreams. Carry on.' The one good thing to be said for this lesson was that it was not a double period. By the time they had all finished reading the introduction of the book, they had barely ten minutes left for dream interpretation. He was not going to share his dreams with anyone. 'What d'you reckon that means?' 'Probably that you're going to be eaten by a giant marshmallow or something,' said Harry, turning the pages of The Dream Oracle without interest. It was very dull work looking up bits of dreams in the Oracle and Harry was not cheered up when Professor Trelawney set them the task of keeping a dream diary for a month as homework. 'D'you realise how much homework we've got already? Binns set us a foot-and-a-half-long essay on giant wars, Snape wants a foot on the use of moonstones, and now we've got a month's dream diary from Trelawney! Fred and George weren't wrong about OWL year, were they? That Umbridge woman had better not give us any...' When they entered the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom they found Professor Umbridge already seated at the teachers desk, wearing the fluffy pink cardigan of the night before and the black velvet bow on top of her head. Harry was again reminded forcibly of a large fly perched unwisely on top of an even larger toad. The class was quiet as it entered the room; Professor Umbridge was, as yet, an unknown

quantity and nobody knew how strict a disciplinarian she was likely to be. 'Well, good afternoon!' she said, when finally the whole class had sat down. A few people mumbled 'good afternoon' in reply. 'Tut, tut,' said Professor Umbridge. 'That won't do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply "Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge". One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!' 'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge,' they chanted back at her. There, now,' said Professor Umbridge sweetly. That wasn't too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please.' Many of the class exchanged gloomy looks; the order 'wands away' had never yet been followed by a lesson they had found interesting. Harry shoved his wand back inside his bag and pulled cut quill, ink and parchment. Professor Umbridge opened her handbag, extracted her own wand, which was an unusually short one, and tapped the blackboard sharply with it; words appeared on the board at once: Defence Against the Dark Arts A Return to Basic Principles 'Well now, your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn't it?' stated Professor Umbridge, turning to face the class with her hands clasped neatly in front of her. The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your OWL year. 'You will be pleased to know, however, that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory-centred, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year. Copy down the following, please.' She rapped the blackboard again; the first message vanished and was replaced by the 'Course Aims'. 1. Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic. 2. Learning to recognise situations in which defensive magic can legally he used 3. Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use. For a couple of minutes the room was full of the sound of scratching quills on parchment. When everyone had copied down Professor Umbridge'

and nobody knew how strict a disciplinarian she was likely to be. 'Well, good afternoon!' she said, when finally the whole class had sat down. A few people mumbled 'good afternoon' in reply. 'Tut, tut,' said Professor Umbridge. 'That won't do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply "Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge". One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!' 'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge,' they chanted back at her. There, now,' said Professor Umbridge sweetly. That wasn't too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please.' Many of the class exchanged gloomy looks; the order 'wands away' had never yet been followed by a lesson they had found interesting. Harry shoved his wand back inside his bag and pulled cut quill, ink and parchment. Professor Umbridge opened her handbag, extracted her own wand, which was an unusually short one, and tapped the blackboard sharply with it; words appeared on the board at once: Defence Against the Dark Arts A Return to Basic Principles 'Well now, your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn't it?' stated Professor Umbridge, turning to face the class with her hands clasped neatly in front of her. The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your OWL year. 'You will be pleased to know, however, that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory-centred, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year. Copy down the following, please.' She rapped the blackboard again; the first message vanished and was replaced by the 'Course Aims'. 1. Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic. 2. Learning to recognise situations in which defensive magic can legally he used 3. Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use. For a couple of minutes the room was full of the sound of scratching quills on parchment. When everyone had copied down Professor Umbridge'

s three course aims she asked, 'Has everybody got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?' There was a dull murmur of assent throughout the class. 'I think we'll try that again,' said Professor Umbridge. 'When I ask you a question, I should like you to reply, "Yes, Professor Umbridge", or "No, Professor Umbridge'. So: has everyone got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?' 'Yes, Professor Umbridge,' rang through the room. 'Good,' said Professor Umbridge. I should like you to turn to page five and read "Chapter One, Basics for Beginners". There will be no need to talk.' Professor Umbridge left the blackboard and settled herself in the chair behind the teacher's desk, observing them all closely with those pouchy toad's eyes. Harry turned to page five of his copy of Defensive Magical Theory and started to read. It was desperately dull, quite as bad as listening to Professor Binns. He felt his concentration sliding away from him; he had soon read the same line half a dozen times without taking in more than the first few words. Several silent minutes passed. Harry looked right and received a surprise to shake him out of his torpor. She was staring fixedly at Professor Umbridge with her hand in the air. He looked at her enquiringly, but she merely shook her head slightly to indicate that she was not about to answer questions, and continued to stare at Professor Umbridge, who was looking just as resolutely in another direction. 'Well, we're reading just now,' said Professor Umbridge, showing her small pointed teeth. Professor Umbridge raised her eyebrows. 'Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully' said Professor Umbridge in a voice of determined sweetness. There's nothing written up there about using defensive spells.' There was a short silence in which many members of the class turned their heads to frown at the three course aims still written on the blackboard. 'Using defensive spells?' Professor Umbridge repeated with a little laugh. 'Why, I can't imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a

three course aims she asked, 'Has everybody got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?' There was a dull murmur of assent throughout the class. 'I think we'll try that again,' said Professor Umbridge. 'When I ask you a question, I should like you to reply, "Yes, Professor Umbridge", or "No, Professor Umbridge'. So: has everyone got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?' 'Yes, Professor Umbridge,' rang through the room. 'Good,' said Professor Umbridge. I should like you to turn to page five and read "Chapter One, Basics for Beginners". There will be no need to talk.' Professor Umbridge left the blackboard and settled herself in the chair behind the teacher's desk, observing them all closely with those pouchy toad's eyes. Harry turned to page five of his copy of Defensive Magical Theory and started to read. It was desperately dull, quite as bad as listening to Professor Binns. He felt his concentration sliding away from him; he had soon read the same line half a dozen times without taking in more than the first few words. Several silent minutes passed. Harry looked right and received a surprise to shake him out of his torpor. She was staring fixedly at Professor Umbridge with her hand in the air. He looked at her enquiringly, but she merely shook her head slightly to indicate that she was not about to answer questions, and continued to stare at Professor Umbridge, who was looking just as resolutely in another direction. 'Well, we're reading just now,' said Professor Umbridge, showing her small pointed teeth. Professor Umbridge raised her eyebrows. 'Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully' said Professor Umbridge in a voice of determined sweetness. There's nothing written up there about using defensive spells.' There was a short silence in which many members of the class turned their heads to frown at the three course aims still written on the blackboard. 'Using defensive spells?' Professor Umbridge repeated with a little laugh. 'Why, I can't imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a

defensive spell, Miss Granger. Professor Umbridge, smiling still more widely, turned her back or. him. Professor Umbridge's pouchy eyes lingerec. 'Yes, Miss Granger? 'Surely the whole point of Defence Against the Dark Arts is to practise defensive spells?' 'Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?' asked Professor Umbridge, in her falsely sweet voice. 'No, but - ' 'Well then, I'm afraid you are not qualified to decide what the "whole point" of any class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised our new programme of study. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way - ' 'What use is that?' said Harry loudly. 'If we're going to be attacked, it won't be in a - ' 'Hand, Mr Potter!' sang Professor Umbridge. Harry thrust his fist in the air. Again, Professor Umbridge promptly turned away from him, but now several other people had their hands up, too. 'And your name is?' Professor Umbridge said to Dean. 'Dean Thomas.' 'Well, Mr Thomas?' 'Well, it's like Harry said, isn't it?' said Dean. 'If we're going to be attacked, it won't be risk free.' 'I repeat,' said Professor Umbridge, smiling in a very irritating fashion at Dean, 'do you expect to be attacked during my classes?' 'No, but - ' Professor Umbridge talked over him. 'I do not wish to criticise the way things have been run in this school,' she said, an unconvincing smile stretching her wide mouth, 'but you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class, very irresponsible indeed - not to mention,' she gave a nasty little laugh, 'extremely dangerous half-breeds.' 'If you mean Professor Lupin,' piped up Dean angrily, 'he was the best we ever - 'Hand, Mr Thomas! As I was saying - you have been introduced to spells that have been complex, inappropriate to your age group and

ensive spell, Miss Granger. Professor Umbridge, smiling still more widely, turned her back or. him. Professor Umbridge's pouchy eyes lingerec. 'Yes, Miss Granger? 'Surely the whole point of Defence Against the Dark Arts is to practise defensive spells?' 'Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?' asked Professor Umbridge, in her falsely sweet voice. 'No, but - ' 'Well then, I'm afraid you are not qualified to decide what the "whole point" of any class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised our new programme of study. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way - ' 'What use is that?' said Harry loudly. 'If we're going to be attacked, it won't be in a - ' 'Hand, Mr Potter!' sang Professor Umbridge. Harry thrust his fist in the air. Again, Professor Umbridge promptly turned away from him, but now several other people had their hands up, too. 'And your name is?' Professor Umbridge said to Dean. 'Dean Thomas.' 'Well, Mr Thomas?' 'Well, it's like Harry said, isn't it?' said Dean. 'If we're going to be attacked, it won't be risk free.' 'I repeat,' said Professor Umbridge, smiling in a very irritating fashion at Dean, 'do you expect to be attacked during my classes?' 'No, but - ' Professor Umbridge talked over him. 'I do not wish to criticise the way things have been run in this school,' she said, an unconvincing smile stretching her wide mouth, 'but you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class, very irresponsible indeed - not to mention,' she gave a nasty little laugh, 'extremely dangerous half-breeds.' 'If you mean Professor Lupin,' piped up Dean angrily, 'he was the best we ever - 'Hand, Mr Thomas! As I was saying - you have been introduced to spells that have been complex, inappropriate to your age group and

potentially lethal. Professor Umbridge turned away from her. 'It is my understanding that my predecessor not only performed illegal curses in front of you, he actually performed them on you.' 'Well, he turned out to be a maniac, didn't he?' said Dean hotly. 'Mind you, we still learned loads.' 'Your hand is not up, Mr Thomas!' trilled Professor Umbridge. 'Now, it is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be more than sufficient to get you through your examination, which, after all, is what school is all about. And your name is?' she added, staring at Parvati, whose hand had just shot up. 'Parvati Patil, and isn't there a practical bit in our Defence Against the Dark Arts OWL? Aren't we supposed to show that we can actually do the counter-curses and things?' As long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there is no reason why you should not be able to perform the spells under carefully controlled examination conditions,' said Professor Umbridge dismissively. 'Without ever practising them beforehand?' said Parvati incredulously. Are you telling us that the first time we'll get to do the spells will be during our exam?' 'I repeat, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough - ' And what good's theory going to be in the real world?' said Harry loudly, his fist in the air again. Professor Umbridge looked up. 'This is school, Mr Potter, not the real world,' she said softly. 'So we're not supposed to be prepared for what's waiting for us out there?' 'There is nothing waiting out there, Mr Potter.' 'Oh, yeah?' said Harry. His temper, which seemed to have been bubbling just beneath the surface all day, was reaching boiling point. 'Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?' enquired Professor Umbridge in a horribly honeyed voice. 'Hmm, let's think...' said Harry in a mock thoughtful voice. 'Maybe... Professor Umbridge, however, did not flinch. She was staring at Harry with a grim

lethal. Professor Umbridge turned away from her. 'It is my understanding that my predecessor not only performed illegal curses in front of you, he actually performed them on you.' 'Well, he turned out to be a maniac, didn't he?' said Dean hotly. 'Mind you, we still learned loads.' 'Your hand is not up, Mr Thomas!' trilled Professor Umbridge. 'Now, it is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be more than sufficient to get you through your examination, which, after all, is what school is all about. And your name is?' she added, staring at Parvati, whose hand had just shot up. 'Parvati Patil, and isn't there a practical bit in our Defence Against the Dark Arts OWL? Aren't we supposed to show that we can actually do the counter-curses and things?' As long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there is no reason why you should not be able to perform the spells under carefully controlled examination conditions,' said Professor Umbridge dismissively. 'Without ever practising them beforehand?' said Parvati incredulously. Are you telling us that the first time we'll get to do the spells will be during our exam?' 'I repeat, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough - ' And what good's theory going to be in the real world?' said Harry loudly, his fist in the air again. Professor Umbridge looked up. 'This is school, Mr Potter, not the real world,' she said softly. 'So we're not supposed to be prepared for what's waiting for us out there?' 'There is nothing waiting out there, Mr Potter.' 'Oh, yeah?' said Harry. His temper, which seemed to have been bubbling just beneath the surface all day, was reaching boiling point. 'Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?' enquired Professor Umbridge in a horribly honeyed voice. 'Hmm, let's think...' said Harry in a mock thoughtful voice. 'Maybe... Professor Umbridge, however, did not flinch. She was staring at Harry with a grim

ly satisfied expression on her face. 'Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr Potter.' The classroom was silent and still. Everyone was staring at either Umbridge or Harry. 'Now, let me make a few things quite plain.' Professor Umbridge stood up and leaned towards them, her stubby-fingered hands splayed on her desk. 'You have been told that a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead - ' 'He wasn't dead,' said Harry angrily, 'but yeah, he's returned!' 'Mr-Potter-you-have-already-lost-your-house-ten-points-do-not-make-matters-worse-for-yourself,' said Professor Umbridge in one breath without looking at him. 'As I was saying, you have been informed that a certain Dark wizard is at large once again. This is a lie.' 'It is NOT a lie!' said Harry. 'I saw him, I fought him!' 'Detention, Mr Potter!' said Professor Umbridge triumphantly. Tomorrow evening. Five o'clock. My office. I repeat, this is a lie. The Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard. If you are still worried, by all means come and see me outside class hours. If someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn Dark wizards, I would like to hear about it. I am here to help. I am your friend. And now, you will kindly continue your reading. Page five, "Basics for Beginners".' Professor Umbridge sat down behind her desk. Harry, however, stood up. Everyone was staring at him; Seamus looked half-scared, half-fascinated. 'So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?' Harry asked, his voice shaking. They stared avidly from Harry to Professor Umbridge, who had raised her eyes and was staring at him without a trace of a fake smile on her face. 'Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident,' she said coldly. 'It was murder,' said Harry. He could feel himself shaking. He

satisfied expression on her face. 'Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr Potter.' The classroom was silent and still. Everyone was staring at either Umbridge or Harry. 'Now, let me make a few things quite plain.' Professor Umbridge stood up and leaned towards them, her stubby-fingered hands splayed on her desk. 'You have been told that a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead - ' 'He wasn't dead,' said Harry angrily, 'but yeah, he's returned!' 'Mr-Potter-you-have-already-lost-your-house-ten-points-do-not-make-matters-worse-for-yourself,' said Professor Umbridge in one breath without looking at him. 'As I was saying, you have been informed that a certain Dark wizard is at large once again. This is a lie.' 'It is NOT a lie!' said Harry. 'I saw him, I fought him!' 'Detention, Mr Potter!' said Professor Umbridge triumphantly. Tomorrow evening. Five o'clock. My office. I repeat, this is a lie. The Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard. If you are still worried, by all means come and see me outside class hours. If someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn Dark wizards, I would like to hear about it. I am here to help. I am your friend. And now, you will kindly continue your reading. Page five, "Basics for Beginners".' Professor Umbridge sat down behind her desk. Harry, however, stood up. Everyone was staring at him; Seamus looked half-scared, half-fascinated. 'So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?' Harry asked, his voice shaking. They stared avidly from Harry to Professor Umbridge, who had raised her eyes and was staring at him without a trace of a fake smile on her face. 'Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident,' she said coldly. 'It was murder,' said Harry. He could feel himself shaking. He

had hardly spoken to anyone about this, least of all thirty eagerly listening classmates. 'Voldemort killed him and you know it.' Professor Umbridge's face was quite blank. For a moment, Harry thought she was going to scream at him. He could feel the rest of the class holding its breath. He felt so angry he did not care what happened next. Professor Umbridge pulled a small roll of pink parchment out of her handbag, stretched it out on the desk, dipped her quill into a bottle of ink and started scribbling, hunched over so that Harry could not see what she was writing. Nobody spoke. After a minute or so she rolled up the parchment and tapped it with her wand; it sealed itself seamlessly so that he could not open it. Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear,' said Professor Umbridge, holding out the note to him. He walked very fast along the corridor, the note to McGonagall clutched tight in his hand, and turning a corner walked slap into Peeves the poltergeist, a wide-mouthed little man floating on his back in midair, juggling several inkwells. 'Why, it's Potty Wee Potter!' cackled Peeves, allowing two of the inkwells to fall to the ground where they smashed and spattered the walls with ink; Harry jumped backwards out of the way with a snarl. 'Get out of it, Peeves.' 'Oooh, Crackpot's feeling cranky,' said Peeves, pursuing Harry along the corridor, leering as he zoomed along above him. 'What is; it this time, my fine Potty friend? Hearing voices? Seeing visions? Speaking in -'Peeves blew a gigantic raspberry '- tongues?' 'I said, leave me ALONE!' Harry shouted, running down the nearest flight of stairs, but Peeves merely slid down the banister on his back beside him. 'Oh, most think he's barking, the potty wee lad, But some are more kindly and think he's just sad, But Peevesy knows

hardly spoken to anyone about this, least of all thirty eagerly listening classmates. 'Voldemort killed him and you know it.' Professor Umbridge's face was quite blank. For a moment, Harry thought she was going to scream at him. He could feel the rest of the class holding its breath. He felt so angry he did not care what happened next. Professor Umbridge pulled a small roll of pink parchment out of her handbag, stretched it out on the desk, dipped her quill into a bottle of ink and started scribbling, hunched over so that Harry could not see what she was writing. Nobody spoke. After a minute or so she rolled up the parchment and tapped it with her wand; it sealed itself seamlessly so that he could not open it. Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear,' said Professor Umbridge, holding out the note to him. He walked very fast along the corridor, the note to McGonagall clutched tight in his hand, and turning a corner walked slap into Peeves the poltergeist, a wide-mouthed little man floating on his back in midair, juggling several inkwells. 'Why, it's Potty Wee Potter!' cackled Peeves, allowing two of the inkwells to fall to the ground where they smashed and spattered the walls with ink; Harry jumped backwards out of the way with a snarl. 'Get out of it, Peeves.' 'Oooh, Crackpot's feeling cranky,' said Peeves, pursuing Harry along the corridor, leering as he zoomed along above him. 'What is; it this time, my fine Potty friend? Hearing voices? Seeing visions? Speaking in -'Peeves blew a gigantic raspberry '- tongues?' 'I said, leave me ALONE!' Harry shouted, running down the nearest flight of stairs, but Peeves merely slid down the banister on his back beside him. 'Oh, most think he's barking, the potty wee lad, But some are more kindly and think he's just sad, But Peevesy knows

better and says that he's mad - ' 'SHUT UP!' A door to his left flew open and Professor McGonagall emerged from her office looking grim and slightly harassed. 'What on earth are you shouting about, Potter?' she snapped, as Peeves cackled gleefully and zoomed out of sight. 'Why aren't you in class?' 'I've been sent to see you,' said Harry stiffly. 'Sent? What do you mean, sent?' He held out the note from Professor Umbridge. Professor McGonagall took it from him, frowning, slit it open with a tap of her wand, stretched it out and began to read. Her eyes zoomed from side to side behind their square spectacles as she read what Umbridge had written, and with each line they became narrower. 'Come in here, Potter.' He followed her inside her study. The door closed automatically behind him. 'Well?' said Professor McGonagall, rounding on him. "Is this true?' 'Is what true?' Harry asked, rather more aggressively than he had intended. 'Professor?' he added, in an attempt to sound more polite. 'Is it true that you shouted at Professor Umbridge?' 'Yes,' said Harry. 'You called her a liar?' 'Yes.' 'You told her He Who Must Not Be Named is back?' 'Yes.' Professor McGonagall sat down behind her desk, watching Harry closely. Then she said, 'Have a biscuit, Potter.' 'Have - what?' 'Have a biscuit,' she repeated impatiently, indicating a tartan tin lying on top of one of the piles of papers on her desk. 'And sit down.' There had been a previous occasion when Harry, expecting to be caned by Professor McGonagall, had instead been appointed by her to the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He sank into a chair opposite her and helped himself to a Ginger Newt, feeling just as confused and wrong-footed as he had done on that occasion. Professor McGonagall set down Professor Umbridge's note and looked very

and says that he's mad - ' 'SHUT UP!' A door to his left flew open and Professor McGonagall emerged from her office looking grim and slightly harassed. 'What on earth are you shouting about, Potter?' she snapped, as Peeves cackled gleefully and zoomed out of sight. 'Why aren't you in class?' 'I've been sent to see you,' said Harry stiffly. 'Sent? What do you mean, sent?' He held out the note from Professor Umbridge. Professor McGonagall took it from him, frowning, slit it open with a tap of her wand, stretched it out and began to read. Her eyes zoomed from side to side behind their square spectacles as she read what Umbridge had written, and with each line they became narrower. 'Come in here, Potter.' He followed her inside her study. The door closed automatically behind him. 'Well?' said Professor McGonagall, rounding on him. "Is this true?' 'Is what true?' Harry asked, rather more aggressively than he had intended. 'Professor?' he added, in an attempt to sound more polite. 'Is it true that you shouted at Professor Umbridge?' 'Yes,' said Harry. 'You called her a liar?' 'Yes.' 'You told her He Who Must Not Be Named is back?' 'Yes.' Professor McGonagall sat down behind her desk, watching Harry closely. Then she said, 'Have a biscuit, Potter.' 'Have - what?' 'Have a biscuit,' she repeated impatiently, indicating a tartan tin lying on top of one of the piles of papers on her desk. 'And sit down.' There had been a previous occasion when Harry, expecting to be caned by Professor McGonagall, had instead been appointed by her to the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He sank into a chair opposite her and helped himself to a Ginger Newt, feeling just as confused and wrong-footed as he had done on that occasion. Professor McGonagall set down Professor Umbridge's note and looked very

seriously at Harry. 'Potter, you need to be careful.' Harry swallowed his mouthful of Ginger Newt and stared at her. Her tone of voice was not at all what he was used to; it was not brisk, crisp and stern; it was low and anxious and somehow much more human than usual. 'Misbehaviour in Dolores Umbridge's class could cost you much more than house points and a detention.' 'What do you -?' 'Potter, use your common sense,' snapped Professor McGonagall, with an abrupt return to her usual manner. 'You know where she comes from, you must know to whom she is reporting.' The bell rang for the end of the lesson. Overhead and all around came the elephantine sounds of hundreds of students on the move. 'It says here she's given you detention every evening this week, starting tomorrow,' Professor McGonagall said, looking down at Umbridge's note again. 'Every evening this week!' Harry repeated, horrified. 'But, Professor, couldn't you -?' 'No, I couldn't,' said Professor McGonagall flatly. 'But - ' 'She is your teacher and has every right to give you detention. You will go to her room at five o'clock tomorrow for the first one. Just remember: tread carefully around Dolores Umbridge.' 'But I was telling the truth!' said Harry, outraged. 'Voldemort is back, you know he is; Professor Dumbledore knows he is - ' 'For heaven's sake, Potter!' said Professor McGonagall, straightening her glasses angrily (she had winced horribly when he had used Voldemort's name). 'Do you really think this is about truth or lies? It's about keeping your head down and your temper under control!' She stood up, nostrils wide and mouth very thin, and Harry stood up, too. 'Have another biscuit,' she said irritably, thrusting the tin at him. 'No, thanks,' said Harry coldly. 'Don't be ridiculous,' she snapped. He took one. Thanks,' he said

at Harry. 'Potter, you need to be careful.' Harry swallowed his mouthful of Ginger Newt and stared at her. Her tone of voice was not at all what he was used to; it was not brisk, crisp and stern; it was low and anxious and somehow much more human than usual. 'Misbehaviour in Dolores Umbridge's class could cost you much more than house points and a detention.' 'What do you -?' 'Potter, use your common sense,' snapped Professor McGonagall, with an abrupt return to her usual manner. 'You know where she comes from, you must know to whom she is reporting.' The bell rang for the end of the lesson. Overhead and all around came the elephantine sounds of hundreds of students on the move. 'It says here she's given you detention every evening this week, starting tomorrow,' Professor McGonagall said, looking down at Umbridge's note again. 'Every evening this week!' Harry repeated, horrified. 'But, Professor, couldn't you -?' 'No, I couldn't,' said Professor McGonagall flatly. 'But - ' 'She is your teacher and has every right to give you detention. You will go to her room at five o'clock tomorrow for the first one. Just remember: tread carefully around Dolores Umbridge.' 'But I was telling the truth!' said Harry, outraged. 'Voldemort is back, you know he is; Professor Dumbledore knows he is - ' 'For heaven's sake, Potter!' said Professor McGonagall, straightening her glasses angrily (she had winced horribly when he had used Voldemort's name). 'Do you really think this is about truth or lies? It's about keeping your head down and your temper under control!' She stood up, nostrils wide and mouth very thin, and Harry stood up, too. 'Have another biscuit,' she said irritably, thrusting the tin at him. 'No, thanks,' said Harry coldly. 'Don't be ridiculous,' she snapped. He took one. Thanks,' he said

grudgingly. 'Didn't you listen to Dolores Umbridge's speech at the start-of-term feast, Potter?' 'Yeah,' said Harry. 'Yeah... she said... progress will be prohibited or... well, it meant that... that the Ministry of Magic is trying to interfere at Hogwarts.' Professor McGonagall eyed him closely for a moment, then sniffed, walked around her desk and held open the door for him. - CHAPTER THIRTEEN - Dentention with Delores Dinner in the Great Hall that night was not a pleasant experience for Harry. The news about his shouting match with Umbridge had travelled exceptionally fast even by Hogwarts' standards. The funny thing was that none of the whisperers seemed to mind him overhearing what they were saying about him. On the contrary, it was as though they were hoping he would get angry and start shouting again, so that they could hear his story first-hand. 'He says he saw Cedric Diggory murdered...' 'He reckons he duelled with You-Know-Who...' 'Come off it...' 'Who does he think he's kidding?' 'Pur-lease...' 'What I don't get,' said Harry through clenched teeth, laying down his knife and fork (his hands were shaking too much to hold them steady), 'is why they all believed the story two months ago when Dumbledore told them.. People stared s t them all the way out of the Hall. 'You arrived back in the middle of the lawn clutching Cedric's dead body... none of us saw what what happened in the maze... we just had Dumbledore's word for it that You-Know-Who had come back and killed Cedric and fought you.' 'Which is the truth!' said Harry loudly. 'It's just that before the truth could sink in, everyone went home for the summer, where they spent two months reading about how you're a nutcase and Dumbledore's going senile!' Rain pounded on the window

gingly. 'Didn't you listen to Dolores Umbridge's speech at the start-of-term feast, Potter?' 'Yeah,' said Harry. 'Yeah... she said... progress will be prohibited or... well, it meant that... that the Ministry of Magic is trying to interfere at Hogwarts.' Professor McGonagall eyed him closely for a moment, then sniffed, walked around her desk and held open the door for him. - CHAPTER THIRTEEN - Dentention with Delores Dinner in the Great Hall that night was not a pleasant experience for Harry. The news about his shouting match with Umbridge had travelled exceptionally fast even by Hogwarts' standards. The funny thing was that none of the whisperers seemed to mind him overhearing what they were saying about him. On the contrary, it was as though they were hoping he would get angry and start shouting again, so that they could hear his story first-hand. 'He says he saw Cedric Diggory murdered...' 'He reckons he duelled with You-Know-Who...' 'Come off it...' 'Who does he think he's kidding?' 'Pur-lease...' 'What I don't get,' said Harry through clenched teeth, laying down his knife and fork (his hands were shaking too much to hold them steady), 'is why they all believed the story two months ago when Dumbledore told them.. People stared s t them all the way out of the Hall. 'You arrived back in the middle of the lawn clutching Cedric's dead body... none of us saw what what happened in the maze... we just had Dumbledore's word for it that You-Know-Who had come back and killed Cedric and fought you.' 'Which is the truth!' said Harry loudly. 'It's just that before the truth could sink in, everyone went home for the summer, where they spent two months reading about how you're a nutcase and Dumbledore's going senile!' Rain pounded on the window

panes as they strode along the empty corridors back to Gryffindor Tower. Harry felt as though his first day had lasted a week, but he still had a mountain of homework to do before bed. A dull pounding pain was developing over his right eye. He glanced out of a rain-washed window at the dark grounds as they turned into the Fat Lady's corridor. There was still no light in Hagrid's cabin. The portrait swung open to reveal the hole behind it and the three of them scrambled through it. The common room was almost empty; nearly everyone was still down at dinner. Harry gazed into the flames, feeling drained and exhausted. She pounded the arms of her chair in fury, so that bits of stuffing leaked out of the holes. 'How can he let that terrible woman teach us? And in our OWL year, too!' 'Well, we've never had great Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers, have we?' said Harry. 'You know what it's like, Hagrid told us, nobody wants the job; they say it's jinxed.' 'Yes, but to employ someone who's actually refusing to let us do magic! 'Can't we just... let's just do that homework, get it out of the way...' They collected their schoolbags from a corner and returned to the chairs by the fire. People were coming back from dinner now. Harry kept his face averted from the portrait hole, but could still sense the stares he was attracting. "The properties... of moonstone... and its uses... in potion-making..."' he muttered, writing the words across the top of his parchment as he spoke them. 'No, I'm sorry, they've gone too far,' she said, standing up and looking positively furious. One by one, as though hit over the head with an invisible mallet, the first-years were slumping unconscious in their seats; some slid right on to the floor, others merely hung over the arms of their chairs, their tongues lolling out. 'Yeah, you're right,' said George,

es as they strode along the empty corridors back to Gryffindor Tower. Harry felt as though his first day had lasted a week, but he still had a mountain of homework to do before bed. A dull pounding pain was developing over his right eye. He glanced out of a rain-washed window at the dark grounds as they turned into the Fat Lady's corridor. There was still no light in Hagrid's cabin. The portrait swung open to reveal the hole behind it and the three of them scrambled through it. The common room was almost empty; nearly everyone was still down at dinner. Harry gazed into the flames, feeling drained and exhausted. She pounded the arms of her chair in fury, so that bits of stuffing leaked out of the holes. 'How can he let that terrible woman teach us? And in our OWL year, too!' 'Well, we've never had great Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers, have we?' said Harry. 'You know what it's like, Hagrid told us, nobody wants the job; they say it's jinxed.' 'Yes, but to employ someone who's actually refusing to let us do magic! 'Can't we just... let's just do that homework, get it out of the way...' They collected their schoolbags from a corner and returned to the chairs by the fire. People were coming back from dinner now. Harry kept his face averted from the portrait hole, but could still sense the stares he was attracting. "The properties... of moonstone... and its uses... in potion-making..."' he muttered, writing the words across the top of his parchment as he spoke them. 'No, I'm sorry, they've gone too far,' she said, standing up and looking positively furious. One by one, as though hit over the head with an invisible mallet, the first-years were slumping unconscious in their seats; some slid right on to the floor, others merely hung over the arms of their chairs, their tongues lolling out. 'Yeah, you're right,' said George,

nodding, 'this dosage looks strong enough, doesn't it?' 'I told you this morning, you can't test your rubbish on students!' 'We're paying them!' said Fred indignantly. 'I don't care, it could be dangerous!' 'Rubbish,' said Fred. 'Yeah, look, they're coming round now,' said George. A few of the first-years were indeed stirring. Several looked so shocked to find themselves lying on the floor, or dangling off their chairs, that Harry was sure Fred and George had not warned them what the sweets were going to do. 'Feel all right?' said George kindly to a small dark-haired girl lying at his feet. 'I - I think so,' she said shakily. 'It is NOT excellent!' 'Course it is, they're alive, aren't they?' said Fred angrily. 'You can't do this, what if you made one of them really ill?' 'We're not going to make them ill, we've already tested them all on ourselves, this is just to see if everyone reacts the same - ' 'If you don't stop doing it, I'm going to - ' 'Put us in detention?' said Fred, in an I'd-like-to-see-you-try-it voice. 'Make us write lines?' said George, smirking. Onlookers all over the room were laughing. 'No,' she said, her voice quivering with anger, 'but I will write to your mother.' 'You wouldn't,' said George, horrified, taking a step back from her. 'I can't stop you eating the stupid things yourselves, but you're not to give them to the first-years,' Fred and George looked thunderstruck. With a last threatening look at them, she thrust Fred's clipboard and the bag of Fancies back into his arms, and stalked back to her chair by the fire. I'm going to bed.' She wrenched her bag open; Harry thought she was about to put her books away, but instead she pulled out two

ding, 'this dosage looks strong enough, doesn't it?' 'I told you this morning, you can't test your rubbish on students!' 'We're paying them!' said Fred indignantly. 'I don't care, it could be dangerous!' 'Rubbish,' said Fred. 'Yeah, look, they're coming round now,' said George. A few of the first-years were indeed stirring. Several looked so shocked to find themselves lying on the floor, or dangling off their chairs, that Harry was sure Fred and George had not warned them what the sweets were going to do. 'Feel all right?' said George kindly to a small dark-haired girl lying at his feet. 'I - I think so,' she said shakily. 'It is NOT excellent!' 'Course it is, they're alive, aren't they?' said Fred angrily. 'You can't do this, what if you made one of them really ill?' 'We're not going to make them ill, we've already tested them all on ourselves, this is just to see if everyone reacts the same - ' 'If you don't stop doing it, I'm going to - ' 'Put us in detention?' said Fred, in an I'd-like-to-see-you-try-it voice. 'Make us write lines?' said George, smirking. Onlookers all over the room were laughing. 'No,' she said, her voice quivering with anger, 'but I will write to your mother.' 'You wouldn't,' said George, horrified, taking a step back from her. 'I can't stop you eating the stupid things yourselves, but you're not to give them to the first-years,' Fred and George looked thunderstruck. With a last threatening look at them, she thrust Fred's clipboard and the bag of Fancies back into his arms, and stalked back to her chair by the fire. I'm going to bed.' She wrenched her bag open; Harry thought she was about to put her books away, but instead she pulled out two

misshapen woolly objects, placed them carefully on a table by the fireplace, covered them with a few screwed-up bits of parchment and a broken quill and stood back to admire the effect. They're hats for house-elves,' she said briskly now stuffing her books back into her bag. 'I did them over the summer. 'You're trying to trick them into picking up the hats. They should at least see what they're picking up,' he said firmly. 'Anyway.. He thought of the long essay on giant wars and the pain stabbed at him sharply. Knowing perfectly well that when the morning came, he would regret not finishing his homework that night, he piled his books back into his bag. 'I'm going to bed too.' He passed Seamus on the way to the door leading to the dormitories, but did not look at him. Harry had a fleeting impression that Seamus had opened his mouth to speak, but he sped up and reached the soothing peace of the stone spiral staircase without having to endure any more provocation. * The following day dawned just as leaden and rainy as the previous one. Hagrid was still absent from the staff table at breakfast. They might not count as clothes. Double Charms was succeeded by double Transfiguration. Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall both spent the first fifteen minutes of their lessons lecturing the class on the importance of OWLs. 'What you must remember,' said little Professor Flitwick squeakily, perched as ever on a pile of books so that he could see over the top of his desk, 'is that these examinations may influence your futures for many years to come! If you have not already given serious thought to your careers, now is the time to do so. And in :he meantime, I'm afraid, we shall be working harder than ever to ensure that you all do yourselves justice!' They then spent over an hour revising Summoning Charms, which according to Professor Flitwick were bound to come up in their OWL, and he rounded off the lesson by setting them their largest ever amount of Charms homework. It was the same

hapen woolly objects, placed them carefully on a table by the fireplace, covered them with a few screwed-up bits of parchment and a broken quill and stood back to admire the effect. They're hats for house-elves,' she said briskly now stuffing her books back into her bag. 'I did them over the summer. 'You're trying to trick them into picking up the hats. They should at least see what they're picking up,' he said firmly. 'Anyway.. He thought of the long essay on giant wars and the pain stabbed at him sharply. Knowing perfectly well that when the morning came, he would regret not finishing his homework that night, he piled his books back into his bag. 'I'm going to bed too.' He passed Seamus on the way to the door leading to the dormitories, but did not look at him. Harry had a fleeting impression that Seamus had opened his mouth to speak, but he sped up and reached the soothing peace of the stone spiral staircase without having to endure any more provocation. * The following day dawned just as leaden and rainy as the previous one. Hagrid was still absent from the staff table at breakfast. They might not count as clothes. Double Charms was succeeded by double Transfiguration. Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall both spent the first fifteen minutes of their lessons lecturing the class on the importance of OWLs. 'What you must remember,' said little Professor Flitwick squeakily, perched as ever on a pile of books so that he could see over the top of his desk, 'is that these examinations may influence your futures for many years to come! If you have not already given serious thought to your careers, now is the time to do so. And in :he meantime, I'm afraid, we shall be working harder than ever to ensure that you all do yourselves justice!' They then spent over an hour revising Summoning Charms, which according to Professor Flitwick were bound to come up in their OWL, and he rounded off the lesson by setting them their largest ever amount of Charms homework. It was the same

, if not worse, in Transfiguration. 'You cannot pass an OWL,' said Professor McGonagall grimly, 'without serious application, practice and study. I see no reason why everybody in this class should not achieve an OWL in Transfiguration as long as they put in the work.' Neville made a sad little disbelieving noise. 'Yes, you too, Longbottom,' said Professor McGonagall. There's nothing wrong with your work except lack of confidence. So... today we are starting Vanishing Spells. These are easier than Conjuring Spells, which you would not usually attempt until NEWT level, but they are still among the most difficult magic you will be tested on in your OWL.' She was quite right; Harry found the Vanishing Spells horribly difficult. She was the only person not given homework; everybody else was told to practise the spell overnight, ready for a fresh attempt on their snails the following afternoon. By the time they reached Care of Magical Creatures in the afternoon, Harry's head was aching again. The day had become cool and breezy, and as they walked down the sloping lawn towards Hagrid's cabin on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, they felt the occasional drop of rain on their faces. Professor Grubbly-Plank stood waiting for the class some ten yards from Hagrid's front door, a long trestle table in front of her laden with twigs. He had clearly just said something highly amusing, because Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy Parkinson and the rest continued to snigger heartily as they gathered around the trestle table and, judging by the way they all kept looking over at Harry, he was able to guess the subject of the joke without too much difficulty. 'Everyone here?' barked Professor Grubbly-Plank, once all the Slytherins and Gryffindors had arrived. 'Let's crack on then. Who can tell me what these things are called?' She indicated the heap of twigs in front of her. Behind her back, Malfoy did a buck-toothed imitation of her jumping up and down in eagerness to answer a question. Pansy Parkinson gave a

if not worse, in Transfiguration. 'You cannot pass an OWL,' said Professor McGonagall grimly, 'without serious application, practice and study. I see no reason why everybody in this class should not achieve an OWL in Transfiguration as long as they put in the work.' Neville made a sad little disbelieving noise. 'Yes, you too, Longbottom,' said Professor McGonagall. There's nothing wrong with your work except lack of confidence. So... today we are starting Vanishing Spells. These are easier than Conjuring Spells, which you would not usually attempt until NEWT level, but they are still among the most difficult magic you will be tested on in your OWL.' She was quite right; Harry found the Vanishing Spells horribly difficult. She was the only person not given homework; everybody else was told to practise the spell overnight, ready for a fresh attempt on their snails the following afternoon. By the time they reached Care of Magical Creatures in the afternoon, Harry's head was aching again. The day had become cool and breezy, and as they walked down the sloping lawn towards Hagrid's cabin on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, they felt the occasional drop of rain on their faces. Professor Grubbly-Plank stood waiting for the class some ten yards from Hagrid's front door, a long trestle table in front of her laden with twigs. He had clearly just said something highly amusing, because Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy Parkinson and the rest continued to snigger heartily as they gathered around the trestle table and, judging by the way they all kept looking over at Harry, he was able to guess the subject of the joke without too much difficulty. 'Everyone here?' barked Professor Grubbly-Plank, once all the Slytherins and Gryffindors had arrived. 'Let's crack on then. Who can tell me what these things are called?' She indicated the heap of twigs in front of her. Behind her back, Malfoy did a buck-toothed imitation of her jumping up and down in eagerness to answer a question. Pansy Parkinson gave a

shriek of laughter that turned almost at once into a scream, as the twigs on the table leapt into the air and revealed themselves to be what looked like tiny pixie-ish creatures made of wood, each with knobbly brown arms and legs, two twiglike fingers at the end of each hand and a funny flat, barklike face in which a pair of beetle-brown eyes glittered. 'Oooooh!' said Parvati and Lavender, thoroughly irritating Harry. Anyone would have thought Hagrid had never shown them impressive creatures; admittedly, the Flobberworms had been a bit dull, but the Salamanders and Hippogriffs had been interesting enough, and the Blast-Ended Skrewts perhaps too much so. 'Kindly keep your voices down, girls!' said Professor Grubbly-Plank sharply, scattering a handful of what looked like brown rice among the stick-creatures, who immediately fell upon the food. 'So - anyone know the names of these creatures? They're tree-guardians, usually live in wand-trees.' 'Five points for Gryffindor,' said Professor Grubbly-Plank. 'Yes, these are Bowtruckles, and as Miss Granger rightly says, they generally live in trees whose wood is of wand quality. 'But fairy eggs if they can get them.' 'Good girl, take another five points.. So, whenever you need leaves or wood from a tree in which a Bowtruckle lodges, it is wise to have a gift of woodlice ready to distract or placate it. They may not look dangerous, but if angered they will try to gouge at human eyes with their fingers, which, as you can see, are very sharp and not at all desirable near the eyeballs. So if you'd like to gather closer, take a few woodlice and a Bowtruckle - I have enough here for one between three - you can study them more closely. I want a sketch from each of you with all body-parts labelled by the end of the lesson.' The class surged forwards around the trestle table. Harry deliberately circled around the back so that he ended up right next to Professor

riek of laughter that turned almost at once into a scream, as the twigs on the table leapt into the air and revealed themselves to be what looked like tiny pixie-ish creatures made of wood, each with knobbly brown arms and legs, two twiglike fingers at the end of each hand and a funny flat, barklike face in which a pair of beetle-brown eyes glittered. 'Oooooh!' said Parvati and Lavender, thoroughly irritating Harry. Anyone would have thought Hagrid had never shown them impressive creatures; admittedly, the Flobberworms had been a bit dull, but the Salamanders and Hippogriffs had been interesting enough, and the Blast-Ended Skrewts perhaps too much so. 'Kindly keep your voices down, girls!' said Professor Grubbly-Plank sharply, scattering a handful of what looked like brown rice among the stick-creatures, who immediately fell upon the food. 'So - anyone know the names of these creatures? They're tree-guardians, usually live in wand-trees.' 'Five points for Gryffindor,' said Professor Grubbly-Plank. 'Yes, these are Bowtruckles, and as Miss Granger rightly says, they generally live in trees whose wood is of wand quality. 'But fairy eggs if they can get them.' 'Good girl, take another five points.. So, whenever you need leaves or wood from a tree in which a Bowtruckle lodges, it is wise to have a gift of woodlice ready to distract or placate it. They may not look dangerous, but if angered they will try to gouge at human eyes with their fingers, which, as you can see, are very sharp and not at all desirable near the eyeballs. So if you'd like to gather closer, take a few woodlice and a Bowtruckle - I have enough here for one between three - you can study them more closely. I want a sketch from each of you with all body-parts labelled by the end of the lesson.' The class surged forwards around the trestle table. Harry deliberately circled around the back so that he ended up right next to Professor