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parchment on the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion-making, to be handed in on Thursday.' While everyone around him filled their flagons, Harry cleared away his things, seething. His potion had been no worse than Ron's, which was now giving off a foul odour of bad eggs; or Neville's, which had achieved the consistency of just-mixed cement and which Neville was now having to gouge out of his cauldron; yet it was he, Harry, who would be receiving zero marks for the day's work. He stuffed his wand back into his bag and slumped down on to his seat, watching everyone else march up to Snape's desk with filled and corked flagons. When at long last the bell rang, Harry was first out of the dungeon and had already started his lunch by the time Ron joined him in the Great Hall. 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 '... now he's in the Order and everything.' 'Poisonous toadstools don't change their spots,' said Ron sagely. 'Anyway, I've always thought Dumbledore was cracked to trust Snape. 'Oh, shut up, the pair of you,' said Harry heavily, as Ron opened his mouth to argue back. Ron both froze, looking angry and offended. 'Can't you give it a rest?' said Harry. 'You're always having a go at each other, it's driving me mad.' And abandoning his shepherd

chment on the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion-making, to be handed in on Thursday.' While everyone around him filled their flagons, Harry cleared away his things, seething. His potion had been no worse than Ron's, which was now giving off a foul odour of bad eggs; or Neville's, which had achieved the consistency of just-mixed cement and which Neville was now having to gouge out of his cauldron; yet it was he, Harry, who would be receiving zero marks for the day's work. He stuffed his wand back into his bag and slumped down on to his seat, watching everyone else march up to Snape's desk with filled and corked flagons. When at long last the bell rang, Harry was first out of the dungeon and had already started his lunch by the time Ron joined him in the Great Hall. 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 '... now he's in the Order and everything.' 'Poisonous toadstools don't change their spots,' said Ron sagely. 'Anyway, I've always thought Dumbledore was cracked to trust Snape. 'Oh, shut up, the pair of you,' said Harry heavily, as Ron opened his mouth to argue back. Ron both froze, looking angry and offended. 'Can't you give it a rest?' said Harry. 'You're always having a go at each other, it's driving me mad.' And abandoning his shepherd

's pie, he swung his schoolbag back over his shoulder and left them sitting there. He walked up the marble staircase two steps at a time, past the many students hurrying towards lunch. The anger that had just flared so unexpectedly still blazed inside him, and the vision of Ron's shocked faces afforded him a sense of deep satisfaction. Serve them right, he thought, why can't they give it a rest... bickering all the time... it's enough to drive anyone up the wall... He passed the large picture of Sir Cadogan the knight on a landing; Sir Cadogan drew his sword and brandished it fiercely at Harry, who ignored him. 'Come back, you scurvy dog! Stand fast and fight!' yelled Sir Cadogan in a muffled voice from behind his visor, but Harry merely walked on and when Sir Cadogan attempted to follow him by running into a neighbouring picture, he was rebuffed by its inhabitant, a large and angry-looking wolfhound. Harry spent the rest of the lunch hour sitting alone underneath the trapdoor at the top of North Tower. Consequently, he was the first to ascend the silver ladder that led to Sybill Trelawney's classroom when the bell rang. After Potions, Divination was Harry's least favourite class, which was due mainly to Professor Trelawney's habit of predicting his premature death every few lessons. A thin woman, heavily draped in shawls and glittering with strings of beads, she always reminded Harry of some kind of insect, with her glasses hugely magnifying her eyes. She was busy putting copies of battered leather-bound books on each of the spindly little tables with which her room was littered when Harry entered the room, but the light cast by the lamps covered by scarves and the low-burning, sickly-scented fire was so dim she appeared not to notice him as he took a seat in the shadows. The rest of the class arrived over the next five minutes. Ron emerged from the trapdoor, looked around carefully, spotted Harry and made directly for him, or as directly as he could while having to wend his way between

s pie, he swung his schoolbag back over his shoulder and left them sitting there. He walked up the marble staircase two steps at a time, past the many students hurrying towards lunch. The anger that had just flared so unexpectedly still blazed inside him, and the vision of Ron's shocked faces afforded him a sense of deep satisfaction. Serve them right, he thought, why can't they give it a rest... bickering all the time... it's enough to drive anyone up the wall... He passed the large picture of Sir Cadogan the knight on a landing; Sir Cadogan drew his sword and brandished it fiercely at Harry, who ignored him. 'Come back, you scurvy dog! Stand fast and fight!' yelled Sir Cadogan in a muffled voice from behind his visor, but Harry merely walked on and when Sir Cadogan attempted to follow him by running into a neighbouring picture, he was rebuffed by its inhabitant, a large and angry-looking wolfhound. Harry spent the rest of the lunch hour sitting alone underneath the trapdoor at the top of North Tower. Consequently, he was the first to ascend the silver ladder that led to Sybill Trelawney's classroom when the bell rang. After Potions, Divination was Harry's least favourite class, which was due mainly to Professor Trelawney's habit of predicting his premature death every few lessons. A thin woman, heavily draped in shawls and glittering with strings of beads, she always reminded Harry of some kind of insect, with her glasses hugely magnifying her eyes. She was busy putting copies of battered leather-bound books on each of the spindly little tables with which her room was littered when Harry entered the room, but the light cast by the lamps covered by scarves and the low-burning, sickly-scented fire was so dim she appeared not to notice him as he took a seat in the shadows. The rest of the class arrived over the next five minutes. Ron emerged from the trapdoor, looked around carefully, spotted Harry and made directly for him, or as directly as he could while having to wend his way between

tables, chairs and overstuffed pouffes. 'Good,' grunted Harry. 'I'm not - ' 'I'm just passing on the message,' said Ron, talking over him. 'But I reckon she's right. It's not our fault how Seamus and Snape treat you.' 'I never said it - ' 'Good-day,' said Professor Trelawney in her usual misty, dreamy voice, and Harry broke off, again feeling both annoyed and slightly ashamed of himself. 'And welcome back to Divination. I have, of course, been following your fortunes most carefully over the holidays, and am delighted to see that you have all returned to Hogwarts safely - as, of course, I knew you would. 'You will find on the tables before you copies of The Dream Oracle, by Inigo Imago. Dream interpretation is a most important means of divining the future and one that may very probably be tested in your OWL. Not, of course, that I believe examination passes or failures are of the remotest importance when it comes to the sacred art of divination. If you have the Seeing Eye, certificates and grades matter very little. However, the Headmaster likes you to sit the examination, so...' Her voice trailed away delicately, leaving them all in no doubt that Professor Trelawney considered her subject above such sordid matters as examinations. Turn, please, to the introduction and read what Imago has to say on the matter of dream interpretation. Then, divide into pairs. Use The Dream Oracle to interpret each other's most recent dreams. Carry on.' The one good thing to be said for this lesson was that it was not a double period. By the time they had all finished reading the introduction of the book, they had barely ten minutes left for dream interpretation. At the table next to Harry and Ron, Dean had paired up with Neville, who immediately embarked on a long-winded explanation of a nightmare involving a pair of giant scissors wearing his grandmother's best hat; Harry and Ron merely looked at each other glumly. 'I never remember my dreams,' said Ron, 'you say one.' 'You

, chairs and overstuffed pouffes. 'Good,' grunted Harry. 'I'm not - ' 'I'm just passing on the message,' said Ron, talking over him. 'But I reckon she's right. It's not our fault how Seamus and Snape treat you.' 'I never said it - ' 'Good-day,' said Professor Trelawney in her usual misty, dreamy voice, and Harry broke off, again feeling both annoyed and slightly ashamed of himself. 'And welcome back to Divination. I have, of course, been following your fortunes most carefully over the holidays, and am delighted to see that you have all returned to Hogwarts safely - as, of course, I knew you would. 'You will find on the tables before you copies of The Dream Oracle, by Inigo Imago. Dream interpretation is a most important means of divining the future and one that may very probably be tested in your OWL. Not, of course, that I believe examination passes or failures are of the remotest importance when it comes to the sacred art of divination. If you have the Seeing Eye, certificates and grades matter very little. However, the Headmaster likes you to sit the examination, so...' Her voice trailed away delicately, leaving them all in no doubt that Professor Trelawney considered her subject above such sordid matters as examinations. Turn, please, to the introduction and read what Imago has to say on the matter of dream interpretation. Then, divide into pairs. Use The Dream Oracle to interpret each other's most recent dreams. Carry on.' The one good thing to be said for this lesson was that it was not a double period. By the time they had all finished reading the introduction of the book, they had barely ten minutes left for dream interpretation. At the table next to Harry and Ron, Dean had paired up with Neville, who immediately embarked on a long-winded explanation of a nightmare involving a pair of giant scissors wearing his grandmother's best hat; Harry and Ron merely looked at each other glumly. 'I never remember my dreams,' said Ron, 'you say one.' 'You

must remember one of them,' said Harry impatiently. He was not going to share his dreams with anyone. He knew perfectly well what his regular nightmare about a graveyard meant, he did not need Ron or Proiessor Trelawney or the stupid Dream Oracle to tell him. 'Well, I dreamed I was playing Quidditch the other night,' said Ron, screwing up his face in an effort to remember. 'What d'you reckon that means?' 'Probably that you're going to be eaten by a giant marshmallow or something,' said Harry, turning the pages of The Dream Oracle without interest. It was very dull work looking up bits of dreams in the Oracle and Harry was not cheered up when Professor Trelawney set them the task of keeping a dream diary for a month as homework. When the bell went, he and Ron led the way back down the ladder, Ron grumbling loudly. 'D'you realise how much homework we've got already? Binns set us a foot-and-a-half-long essay on giant wars, Snape wants a foot on the use of moonstones, and now we've got a month's dream diary from Trelawney! Fred and George weren't wrong about OWL year, were they? That Umbridge woman had better not give us any...' When they entered the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom they found Professor Umbridge already seated at the teachers desk, wearing the fluffy pink cardigan of the night before and the black velvet bow on top of her head. Harry was again reminded forcibly of a large fly perched unwisely on top of an even larger toad. The class was quiet as it entered the room; Professor Umbridge was, as yet, an unknown quantity and nobody knew how strict a disciplinarian she was likely to be. 'Well, good afternoon!' she said, when finally the whole class had sat down. A few people mumbled 'good afternoon' in reply. 'Tut, tut,' said Professor Umbridge. 'That won't do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply "Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge". One more time, please. Good afternoon

remember one of them,' said Harry impatiently. He was not going to share his dreams with anyone. He knew perfectly well what his regular nightmare about a graveyard meant, he did not need Ron or Proiessor Trelawney or the stupid Dream Oracle to tell him. 'Well, I dreamed I was playing Quidditch the other night,' said Ron, screwing up his face in an effort to remember. 'What d'you reckon that means?' 'Probably that you're going to be eaten by a giant marshmallow or something,' said Harry, turning the pages of The Dream Oracle without interest. It was very dull work looking up bits of dreams in the Oracle and Harry was not cheered up when Professor Trelawney set them the task of keeping a dream diary for a month as homework. When the bell went, he and Ron led the way back down the ladder, Ron grumbling loudly. 'D'you realise how much homework we've got already? Binns set us a foot-and-a-half-long essay on giant wars, Snape wants a foot on the use of moonstones, and now we've got a month's dream diary from Trelawney! Fred and George weren't wrong about OWL year, were they? That Umbridge woman had better not give us any...' When they entered the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom they found Professor Umbridge already seated at the teachers desk, wearing the fluffy pink cardigan of the night before and the black velvet bow on top of her head. Harry was again reminded forcibly of a large fly perched unwisely on top of an even larger toad. The class was quiet as it entered the room; Professor Umbridge was, as yet, an unknown quantity and nobody knew how strict a disciplinarian she was likely to be. 'Well, good afternoon!' she said, when finally the whole class had sat down. A few people mumbled 'good afternoon' in reply. 'Tut, tut,' said Professor Umbridge. 'That won't do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply "Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge". One more time, please. Good afternoon

, class!' 'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge,' they chanted back at her. There, now,' said Professor Umbridge sweetly. That wasn't too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please.' Many of the class exchanged gloomy looks; the order 'wands away' had never yet been followed by a lesson they had found interesting. Harry shoved his wand back inside his bag and pulled cut quill, ink and parchment. Professor Umbridge opened her handbag, extracted her own wand, which was an unusually short one, and tapped the blackboard sharply with it; words appeared on the board at once: Defence Against the Dark Arts A Return to Basic Principles 'Well now, your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn't it?' stated Professor Umbridge, turning to face the class with her hands clasped neatly in front of her. The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your OWL year. 'You will be pleased to know, however, that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory-centred, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year. Copy down the following, please.' She rapped the blackboard again; the first message vanished and was replaced by 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

class!' 'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge,' they chanted back at her. There, now,' said Professor Umbridge sweetly. That wasn't too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please.' Many of the class exchanged gloomy looks; the order 'wands away' had never yet been followed by a lesson they had found interesting. Harry shoved his wand back inside his bag and pulled cut quill, ink and parchment. Professor Umbridge opened her handbag, extracted her own wand, which was an unusually short one, and tapped the blackboard sharply with it; words appeared on the board at once: Defence Against the Dark Arts A Return to Basic Principles 'Well now, your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn't it?' stated Professor Umbridge, turning to face the class with her hands clasped neatly in front of her. The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your OWL year. 'You will be pleased to know, however, that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory-centred, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year. Copy down the following, please.' She rapped the blackboard again; the first message vanished and was replaced by the 'Course Aims'. 1. Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic. 2. Learning to recognise situations in which defensive magic can legally he used 3. Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use. For a couple of minutes the room was full of the sound of scratching quills on parchment. When everyone had copied down Professor Umbridge's three course aims she asked, 'Has everybody got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?' There was a dull murmur of assent throughout the class. 'I think we'll try that again,' said Professor Umbridge. 'When I ask you a question, I should like you to reply, "Yes, Professor Umbridge", or "No, Professor Umbridge'. So: has everyone got a copy of

Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?' 'Yes, Professor Umbridge,' rang through the room. 'Good,' said Professor Umbridge. I should like you to turn to page five and read "Chapter One, Basics for Beginners". There will be no need to talk.' Professor Umbridge left the blackboard and settled herself in the chair behind the teacher's desk, observing them all closely with those pouchy toad's eyes. Harry turned to page five of his copy of Defensive Magical Theory and started to read. It was desperately dull, quite as bad as listening to Professor Binns. He felt his concentration sliding away from him; he had soon read the same line half a dozen times without taking in more than the first few words. Several silent minutes passed. Next to him, Ron was absent-mindedly turning his quill over and over in his fingers, staring at the same spot on the page. Harry looked right and received a surprise to shake him out of his torpor. 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. 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. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class?' 'We're not going to use magic?' Ron exclaimed loudly. 'Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr -?' 'Weasley,' said Ron, thrusting his hand into the air. Professor Umbridge, smiling still more widely, turned her back or. him. Professor Umbridge's pouchy eyes lingerec. 'No, but - ' 'Well then, I'm afraid you are not qualified to decide what the "

ensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?' 'Yes, Professor Umbridge,' rang through the room. 'Good,' said Professor Umbridge. I should like you to turn to page five and read "Chapter One, Basics for Beginners". There will be no need to talk.' Professor Umbridge left the blackboard and settled herself in the chair behind the teacher's desk, observing them all closely with those pouchy toad's eyes. Harry turned to page five of his copy of Defensive Magical Theory and started to read. It was desperately dull, quite as bad as listening to Professor Binns. He felt his concentration sliding away from him; he had soon read the same line half a dozen times without taking in more than the first few words. Several silent minutes passed. Next to him, Ron was absent-mindedly turning his quill over and over in his fingers, staring at the same spot on the page. Harry looked right and received a surprise to shake him out of his torpor. 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. 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. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class?' 'We're not going to use magic?' Ron exclaimed loudly. 'Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr -?' 'Weasley,' said Ron, thrusting his hand into the air. Professor Umbridge, smiling still more widely, turned her back or. him. Professor Umbridge's pouchy eyes lingerec. '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

le 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... Lord Voldemort?' Ron gasped; Lavender Brown uttered a little scream; Neville slipped sideways off his stool. Professor Umbridge, however, did not flinch. She was staring at Harry with a grimly satisfied expression on her face. 'Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr Potter.' The classroom was silent and still. Everyone was staring at either Umbridge or Harry. 'Now, let me make a few things quite plain.' Professor Umbridge stood up and leaned towards them, her stubby-fingered hands splayed on her desk. 'You have been told that

school is all about. And your name is?' she added, staring at Parvati, whose hand had just shot up. 'Parvati Patil, and isn't there a practical bit in our Defence Against the Dark Arts OWL? Aren't we supposed to show that we can actually do the counter-curses and things?' As long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there is no reason why you should not be able to perform the spells under carefully controlled examination conditions,' said Professor Umbridge dismissively. 'Without ever practising them beforehand?' said Parvati incredulously. Are you telling us that the first time we'll get to do the spells will be during our exam?' 'I repeat, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough - ' And what good's theory going to be in the real world?' said Harry loudly, his fist in the air again. Professor Umbridge looked up. 'This is school, Mr Potter, not the real world,' she said softly. 'So we're not supposed to be prepared for what's waiting for us out there?' 'There is nothing waiting out there, Mr Potter.' 'Oh, yeah?' said Harry. His temper, which seemed to have been bubbling just beneath the surface all day, was reaching boiling point. 'Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?' enquired Professor Umbridge in a horribly honeyed voice. 'Hmm, let's think...' said Harry in a mock thoughtful voice. 'Maybe... Lord Voldemort?' Ron gasped; Lavender Brown uttered a little scream; Neville slipped sideways off his stool. Professor Umbridge, however, did not flinch. She was staring at Harry with a grimly satisfied expression on her face. 'Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr Potter.' The classroom was silent and still. Everyone was staring at either Umbridge or Harry. 'Now, let me make a few things quite plain.' Professor Umbridge stood up and leaned towards them, her stubby-fingered hands splayed on her desk. 'You have been told that

a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead - ' 'He wasn't dead,' said Harry angrily, 'but yeah, he's returned!' 'Mr-Potter-you-have-already-lost-your-house-ten-points-do-not-make-matters-worse-for-yourself,' said Professor Umbridge in one breath without looking at him. 'As I was saying, you have been informed that a certain Dark wizard is at large once again. This is a lie.' 'It is NOT a lie!' said Harry. 'I saw him, I fought him!' 'Detention, Mr Potter!' said Professor Umbridge triumphantly. Tomorrow evening. Five o'clock. My office. I repeat, this is a lie. The Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard. If you are still worried, by all means come and see me outside class hours. If someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn Dark wizards, I would like to hear about it. I am here to help. I am your friend. And now, you will kindly continue your reading. Page five, "Basics for Beginners".' Professor Umbridge sat down behind her desk. Harry, however, stood up. Everyone was staring at him; Seamus looked half-scared, half-fascinated. 'So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?' Harry asked, his voice shaking. There was a collective intake of breath from the class, for none of them, apart from Ron, had ever heard Harry talk about what had happened on the night Cedric had died. They stared avidly from Harry to Professor Umbridge, who had raised her eyes and was staring at him without a trace of a fake smile on her face. 'Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident,' she said coldly. 'It was murder,' said Harry. He could feel himself shaking. He had hardly spoken to anyone about this, least of all thirty eagerly listening classmates. 'Voldemort killed him and you know it.' Professor Umbridge's face was quite blank. For a moment, Harry thought she was going to sc

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. There was a collective intake of breath from the class, for none of them, apart from Ron, had ever heard Harry talk about what had happened on the night Cedric had died. They stared avidly from Harry to Professor Umbridge, who had raised her eyes and was staring at him without a trace of a fake smile on her face. 'Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident,' she said coldly. 'It was murder,' said Harry. He could feel himself shaking. He had hardly spoken to anyone about this, least of all thirty eagerly listening classmates. 'Voldemort killed him and you know it.' Professor Umbridge's face was quite blank. For a moment, Harry thought she was going to sc

ream at him. Then she said, in her softest, most sweetly girlish voice, 'Come here, Mr Potter, dear.' He kicked his chair aside, strode around Ron and up to the teacher's desk. He could feel the rest of the class holding its breath. He felt so angry he did not care what happened next. Professor Umbridge pulled a small roll of pink parchment out of her handbag, stretched it out on the desk, dipped her quill into a bottle of ink and started scribbling, hunched over so that Harry could not see what she was writing. Nobody spoke. After a minute or so she rolled up the parchment and tapped it with her wand; it sealed itself seamlessly so that he could not open it. Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear,' said Professor Umbridge, holding out the note to him. He took it from her without saying a word, turned on his heel and left the room, not even looking back at Ron, slamming the classroom door shut behind him. He walked very fast along the corridor, the note to McGonagall clutched tight in his hand, and turning a corner walked slap into Peeves the poltergeist, a wide-mouthed little man floating on his back in midair, juggling several inkwells. 'Why, it's Potty Wee Potter!' cackled Peeves, allowing two of the inkwells to fall to the ground where they smashed and spattered the walls with ink; Harry jumped backwards out of the way with a snarl. 'Get out of it, Peeves.' 'Oooh, Crackpot's feeling cranky,' said Peeves, pursuing Harry along the corridor, leering as he zoomed along above him. 'What is; it this time, my fine Potty friend? Hearing voices? Seeing visions? Speaking in -'Peeves blew a gigantic raspberry '- tongues?' 'I said, leave me ALONE!' Harry shouted, running down the nearest flight of stairs, but Peeves merely slid down the banister on his back beside him. 'Oh, most think

at him. Then she said, in her softest, most sweetly girlish voice, 'Come here, Mr Potter, dear.' He kicked his chair aside, strode around Ron and up to the teacher's desk. He could feel the rest of the class holding its breath. He felt so angry he did not care what happened next. Professor Umbridge pulled a small roll of pink parchment out of her handbag, stretched it out on the desk, dipped her quill into a bottle of ink and started scribbling, hunched over so that Harry could not see what she was writing. Nobody spoke. After a minute or so she rolled up the parchment and tapped it with her wand; it sealed itself seamlessly so that he could not open it. Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear,' said Professor Umbridge, holding out the note to him. He took it from her without saying a word, turned on his heel and left the room, not even looking back at Ron, slamming the classroom door shut behind him. He walked very fast along the corridor, the note to McGonagall clutched tight in his hand, and turning a corner walked slap into Peeves the poltergeist, a wide-mouthed little man floating on his back in midair, juggling several inkwells. 'Why, it's Potty Wee Potter!' cackled Peeves, allowing two of the inkwells to fall to the ground where they smashed and spattered the walls with ink; Harry jumped backwards out of the way with a snarl. 'Get out of it, Peeves.' 'Oooh, Crackpot's feeling cranky,' said Peeves, pursuing Harry along the corridor, leering as he zoomed along above him. 'What is; it this time, my fine Potty friend? Hearing voices? Seeing visions? Speaking in -'Peeves blew a gigantic raspberry '- tongues?' 'I said, leave me ALONE!' Harry shouted, running down the nearest flight of stairs, but Peeves merely slid down the banister on his back beside him. 'Oh, most think

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

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

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

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

'No, thanks,' said Harry coldly. 'Don't be ridiculous,' she snapped. He took one. Thanks,' he said grudgingly. 'Didn't you listen to Dolores Umbridge's speech at the start-of-term feast, Potter?' 'Yeah,' said Harry. 'Yeah... she said... progress will be prohibited or... well, it meant that... that the Ministry of Magic is trying to interfere at Hogwarts.' Professor McGonagall eyed him closely for a moment, then sniffed, walked around her desk and held open the door for him. - 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. He heard whispers all around him as he sat eating between Ron. 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.. 'Oh, let's get out of here.' She slammed down her own knife and fork; Ron looked longingly at his half-finished apple pie but followed suit. People stared 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

'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. He heard whispers all around him as he sat eating between Ron. 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.. 'Oh, let's get out of here.' She slammed down her own knife and fork; Ron looked longingly at his half-finished apple pie but followed suit. People stared 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 windowpanes as they strode along the empty corridors back to Gryffindor Tower. Harry felt as though his first day had lasted a week, but he still had a mountain of homework to do before bed. A dull pounding pain was developing over his right eye. He glanced out of a rain-washed window at the dark grounds as they turned into the Fat Lady's corridor. There was still no light in Hagrid's cabin. 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! What's Dumbledore playing at?' 'And she's trying to get people to spy for her,' said Ron darkly. 'Don't start arguing again,' said Harry wearily, as Ron opened his mouth to retaliate. 'Can't we just... let's just do that homework, get it out of the way...' They collected their schoolbags from a corner and returned to the chairs by the fire. People were coming back from dinner now. Harry kept his face averted from the portrait hole, but could still sense the stares he was attracting. 'Shall we do

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 windowpanes as they strode along the empty corridors back to Gryffindor Tower. Harry felt as though his first day had lasted a week, but he still had a mountain of homework to do before bed. A dull pounding pain was developing over his right eye. He glanced out of a rain-washed window at the dark grounds as they turned into the Fat Lady's corridor. There was still no light in Hagrid's cabin. 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! What's Dumbledore playing at?' 'And she's trying to get people to spy for her,' said Ron darkly. 'Don't start arguing again,' said Harry wearily, as Ron opened his mouth to retaliate. 'Can't we just... let's just do that homework, get it out of the way...' They collected their schoolbags from a corner and returned to the chairs by the fire. People were coming back from dinner now. Harry kept his face averted from the portrait hole, but could still sense the stares he was attracting. 'Shall we do

Snape's stuff first?' said Ron, dipping his quill into his ink. "The properties... of moonstone... and its uses... in potion-making..."' he muttered, writing the words across the top of his parchment as he spoke them. 'No, I'm sorry, they've gone too far,' she said, standing up and looking positively furious. 'Come on, Ron.' 'I - what?' said Ron, plainly playing for time. 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. Ron rose halfway out of his chair, hovered uncertainly for a moment or two, then muttered to Harry, 'She's got it under control,' before sinking as low in his chair as his lanky frame permitted. '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

nape's stuff first?' said Ron, dipping his quill into his ink. "The properties... of moonstone... and its uses... in potion-making..."' he muttered, writing the words across the top of his parchment as he spoke them. 'No, I'm sorry, they've gone too far,' she said, standing up and looking positively furious. 'Come on, Ron.' 'I - what?' said Ron, plainly playing for time. 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. Ron rose halfway out of his chair, hovered uncertainly for a moment or two, then muttered to Harry, 'She's got it under control,' before sinking as low in his chair as his lanky frame permitted. '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. Ron was now so low in his seat that his nose was roughly level with his knees. 'You handled it fine by yourself,' Ron mumbled. I'm going to bed.' She wrenched her bag open; Harry thought she was about to put her books away, but instead she pulled out two misshapen woolly objects, placed them carefully on a table by the fireplace, covered them with a few screwed-up bits of parchment and a broken quill and stood back to admire the effect. 'What in the name of Merlin are you doing?' said Ron, watching her as though fearful for her sanity. They're hats for house-elves,' she said briskly now stuffing her books back into her bag. 'I did them over the summer. I'm a really slow knitter without magic but now I'm back at school I should be able to make lots more.' 'You're leaving out hats for the house-elves?' said Ron slowly. That's not on,' said Ron angrily. 'You're trying to trick them into picking up the hats. 'Don't you dare touch those hats, Ron!' She turned on her heel and left. Ron waited until she had disappeared through the door to the girls' dormitories, then cleared the rubb

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. Ron was now so low in his seat that his nose was roughly level with his knees. 'You handled it fine by yourself,' Ron mumbled. I'm going to bed.' She wrenched her bag open; Harry thought she was about to put her books away, but instead she pulled out two misshapen woolly objects, placed them carefully on a table by the fireplace, covered them with a few screwed-up bits of parchment and a broken quill and stood back to admire the effect. 'What in the name of Merlin are you doing?' said Ron, watching her as though fearful for her sanity. They're hats for house-elves,' she said briskly now stuffing her books back into her bag. 'I did them over the summer. I'm a really slow knitter without magic but now I'm back at school I should be able to make lots more.' 'You're leaving out hats for the house-elves?' said Ron slowly. That's not on,' said Ron angrily. 'You're trying to trick them into picking up the hats. 'Don't you dare touch those hats, Ron!' She turned on her heel and left. Ron waited until she had disappeared through the door to the girls' dormitories, then cleared the rubb

ish off the woolly 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. 'But on the plus side, no Snape today,' said Ron bracingly. She looked mildly pleased about something, and when Ron asked her what she had to be so happy about, she simply said, The hats have gone. Seems the house-elves do want freedom after all.' 'I wouldn't bet on it,' Ron told her cuttingly. They might not count as clothes. 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

off the woolly 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. 'But on the plus side, no Snape today,' said Ron bracingly. She looked mildly pleased about something, and when Ron asked her what she had to be so happy about, she simply said, The hats have gone. Seems the house-elves do want freedom after all.' 'I wouldn't bet on it,' Ron told her cuttingly. They might not count as clothes. 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. By the end of a double period, neither he nor Ron had managed to vanish the snails on which they were practising, though Ron said hopefully he thought his looked a bit paler. She was the only person not given homework; everybody else was told to practise the spell overnight, ready for a fresh attempt on their snails the following afternoon. Now panicking slightly about the amount of homework they had to do, Harry and Ron spent their lunch hour in the library looking up the uses of moonstones in potion-making. By the time they reached Care of Magical Creatures in the afternoon, Harry's head was aching again. The day had become cool and breezy, and as they walked down the sloping lawn towards Hagrid's cabin on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, they felt the occasional drop of rain on their faces. Professor Grubbly-Plank stood waiting for the class some ten yards from Hagrid's front door, a long trestle table in front of her laden with twigs. As Harry and Ron reached her, a loud shout of laughter sounded behind them; turning, they saw Draco Malfoy striding towards them, surrounded by his usual gang of Slytherin cronies. He had clearly just said something highly amusing, because Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy Parkinson and the rest continued to snigger heartily as they gathered around the trestle table and, judging by the way they all kept looking over at Harry, he was able to guess

'You cannot pass an OWL,' said Professor McGonagall grimly, 'without serious application, practice and study. I see no reason why everybody in this class should not achieve an OWL in Transfiguration as long as they put in the work.' Neville made a sad little disbelieving noise. 'Yes, you too, Longbottom,' said Professor McGonagall. There's nothing wrong with your work except lack of confidence. So... today we are starting Vanishing Spells. These are easier than Conjuring Spells, which you would not usually attempt until NEWT level, but they are still among the most difficult magic you will be tested on in your OWL.' She was quite right; Harry found the Vanishing Spells horribly difficult. By the end of a double period, neither he nor Ron had managed to vanish the snails on which they were practising, though Ron said hopefully he thought his looked a bit paler. She was the only person not given homework; everybody else was told to practise the spell overnight, ready for a fresh attempt on their snails the following afternoon. Now panicking slightly about the amount of homework they had to do, Harry and Ron spent their lunch hour in the library looking up the uses of moonstones in potion-making. By the time they reached Care of Magical Creatures in the afternoon, Harry's head was aching again. The day had become cool and breezy, and as they walked down the sloping lawn towards Hagrid's cabin on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, they felt the occasional drop of rain on their faces. Professor Grubbly-Plank stood waiting for the class some ten yards from Hagrid's front door, a long trestle table in front of her laden with twigs. As Harry and Ron reached her, a loud shout of laughter sounded behind them; turning, they saw Draco Malfoy striding towards them, surrounded by his usual gang of Slytherin cronies. He had clearly just said something highly amusing, because Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy Parkinson and the rest continued to snigger heartily as they gathered around the trestle table and, judging by the way they all kept looking over at Harry, he was able to guess

the subject of the joke without too much difficulty. 'Everyone here?' barked Professor Grubbly-Plank, once all the Slytherins and Gryffindors had arrived. 'Let's crack on then. Who can tell me what these things are called?' She indicated the heap of twigs in front of her. 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. '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

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. 'But fairy eggs if they can get them.' 'Good girl, take another five points.. So, whenever you need leaves or wood from a tree in which a Bowtruckle lodges, it is wise to have a gift of woodlice ready to distract or placate it. They may not look dangerous, but if angered they will try to gouge at human eyes with their fingers, which, as you can see, are very sharp and not at all desirable near the eyeballs. So if you'd

like to gather closer, take a few woodlice and a Bowtruckle - I have enough here for one between three - you can study them more closely. I want a sketch from each of you with all body-parts labelled by the end of the lesson.' The class surged forwards around the trestle table. Harry deliberately circled around the back so that he ended up right next to Professor Grubbly-Plank. 'Where's Hagrid?' he asked her, while everyone else was choosing Bowtruckles. 'Never you mind,' said Professor Grubbly-Plank repressively, which had been her attitude last time Hagrid had failed to turn up for a class, too. Smirking all over his pointed face, Draco Malfoy leaned across Harry and seized the largest Bowtruckle. 'Maybe,' said Malfoy in an undertone, so that only Harry could hear him, 'the stupid great oaf's got himself badly injured.' 'Maybe you will if you don't shut up,' said Harry out of the side of his mouth. 'Maybe he's been messing with stuff that's too big for him, if you get my drift.' Malfoy walked away, smirking over his shoulder at Harry, who felt suddenly sick. Did Malfoy know something? His father was a Death Eater after all; what if he had information about Hagrid's fate that had not yet reached the ears of the Order? He hurried back around the table to Ron who were squatting on the grass some distance away and attempting to persuade a Bowtruckle to remain still long enough for them to draw it. Harry pulled out parchment and quill, crouched down beside the others and related in a whisper what Malfoy had just said. 'It's just playing into Malfoy's hands to look worried; it tells him we don't know exactly what's going on. We've got to ignore him, Harry. Here, hold the Bowtruckle for a moment, just so I can draw its face...' 'Yes,' came Malfoy's clear drawl from the group nearest them, 'Father was talking to the Minister just a couple of days ago, you know, and it sounds as though

to gather closer, take a few woodlice and a Bowtruckle - I have enough here for one between three - you can study them more closely. I want a sketch from each of you with all body-parts labelled by the end of the lesson.' The class surged forwards around the trestle table. Harry deliberately circled around the back so that he ended up right next to Professor Grubbly-Plank. 'Where's Hagrid?' he asked her, while everyone else was choosing Bowtruckles. 'Never you mind,' said Professor Grubbly-Plank repressively, which had been her attitude last time Hagrid had failed to turn up for a class, too. Smirking all over his pointed face, Draco Malfoy leaned across Harry and seized the largest Bowtruckle. 'Maybe,' said Malfoy in an undertone, so that only Harry could hear him, 'the stupid great oaf's got himself badly injured.' 'Maybe you will if you don't shut up,' said Harry out of the side of his mouth. 'Maybe he's been messing with stuff that's too big for him, if you get my drift.' Malfoy walked away, smirking over his shoulder at Harry, who felt suddenly sick. Did Malfoy know something? His father was a Death Eater after all; what if he had information about Hagrid's fate that had not yet reached the ears of the Order? He hurried back around the table to Ron who were squatting on the grass some distance away and attempting to persuade a Bowtruckle to remain still long enough for them to draw it. Harry pulled out parchment and quill, crouched down beside the others and related in a whisper what Malfoy had just said. 'It's just playing into Malfoy's hands to look worried; it tells him we don't know exactly what's going on. We've got to ignore him, Harry. Here, hold the Bowtruckle for a moment, just so I can draw its face...' 'Yes,' came Malfoy's clear drawl from the group nearest them, 'Father was talking to the Minister just a couple of days ago, you know, and it sounds as though

the Ministry's really determined to crack down on sub-standard teaching in this place. So even if that overgrown moron does show up again, he'll probably be sent packing straightaway.' 'OUCH!' Harry had gripped the Bowtruckle so hard that it had almost snapped, and it had just taken a great retaliatory swipe at his hand with its sharp fingers, leaving two long deep cuts there. Harry dropped it. Crabbe and Goyle, who had already been guffawing at the idea of Hagrid being sacked, laughed still harder as the Bowtruckle set off at full tilt towards the Forest, a little moving stick-man soon swallowed up among the tree roots. 'If he calls Hagrid a moron one more time...' said Harry through gritted teeth. 'Harry, don't go picking a row with Malfoy, don't forget, he's a prefect now, he could make life difficult for you...' 'Wow, I wonder what it'd be like to have a difficult life?' said Harry sarcastically. Together, they traipsed across the vegetable patch. The sky still appeared unable to make up its mind whether it wanted to rain or not. 'I just wish Hagrid would hurry up and get back, that's all,' said Harry in a low voice, as they reached the greenhouses. 'And don't say that Grubbly-Plank woman's a better teacher!' he added threateningly. 'Because she'll never be as good as Hagrid,' said Harry firmly, fully aware that he had just experienced an exemplary Care of Magical Creatures lesson and was thoroughly annoyed about it. The door of the nearest greenhouse opened and some fourth-years spilled out of it, including Ginny. 'Hi,' she said brightly as she passed. A few seconds later, Luna Lovegood emerged, trailing behind the rest of the class, a smudge of earth on her nose, and her hair tied in a knot on the top of her head. When she saw Harry, her prominent eyes seemed to bulge excitedly and she made a beeline straight for him. Many of his classmates turned curious

Ministry's really determined to crack down on sub-standard teaching in this place. So even if that overgrown moron does show up again, he'll probably be sent packing straightaway.' 'OUCH!' Harry had gripped the Bowtruckle so hard that it had almost snapped, and it had just taken a great retaliatory swipe at his hand with its sharp fingers, leaving two long deep cuts there. Harry dropped it. Crabbe and Goyle, who had already been guffawing at the idea of Hagrid being sacked, laughed still harder as the Bowtruckle set off at full tilt towards the Forest, a little moving stick-man soon swallowed up among the tree roots. 'If he calls Hagrid a moron one more time...' said Harry through gritted teeth. 'Harry, don't go picking a row with Malfoy, don't forget, he's a prefect now, he could make life difficult for you...' 'Wow, I wonder what it'd be like to have a difficult life?' said Harry sarcastically. Together, they traipsed across the vegetable patch. The sky still appeared unable to make up its mind whether it wanted to rain or not. 'I just wish Hagrid would hurry up and get back, that's all,' said Harry in a low voice, as they reached the greenhouses. 'And don't say that Grubbly-Plank woman's a better teacher!' he added threateningly. 'Because she'll never be as good as Hagrid,' said Harry firmly, fully aware that he had just experienced an exemplary Care of Magical Creatures lesson and was thoroughly annoyed about it. The door of the nearest greenhouse opened and some fourth-years spilled out of it, including Ginny. 'Hi,' she said brightly as she passed. A few seconds later, Luna Lovegood emerged, trailing behind the rest of the class, a smudge of earth on her nose, and her hair tied in a knot on the top of her head. When she saw Harry, her prominent eyes seemed to bulge excitedly and she made a beeline straight for him. Many of his classmates turned curious

ly to watch. Luna took a great breath and then said, without so much as a preliminary hello, 'I believe He Who Must Not Be Named is back and I believe you fought him and escaped from him.' 'Er - right,' said Harry awkwardly. Luna was wearing what looked like a pair of orange radishes for earrings, a fact that Parvati and Lavender seemed to have noticed, as they were both giggling and pointing at her earlobes. There weren't any such things as the Blibbering Humdinger or the Crumple-Horned Snorkack.' Luna gave her a withering look and flounced away, radishes swinging madly. Parvati and Lavender were not the only ones hooting with laughter now. 'Ginny's told me all about her; apparently, she'll only believe in things as long as there's no proof at all. Well, I wouldn't expect anything else from someone whose father runs The Quibbler.' Harry thought of the sinister winged horses he had seen on the night he had arrived and how Luna had said she could see them too. His spirits sank slightly. Had she been lying? But before he could devote much more thought to the matter, Ernie Macmillan had stepped up to him. 'I want you to know, Potter,' he said in a loud, carrying voice, 'that it's not only weirdos who support you. I personally believe you one hundred per cent. My family have always stood firm behind Dumbledore, and so do I.' 'Er - thanks very much, Ernie,' said Harry, taken aback but pleased. Ernie might be pompous on occasions like this, but Harry was in a mood to deeply appreciate a vote of confidence from somebody who did not have radishes dangling from their ears. Ernie's words had certainly wiped the smile from Lavender Browns face and as he turned to talk to Ron, Harry caught Seamus's expression, which looked both confused and defiant. To nobody's surprise, Professor Sprout started their lesson by lecturing them about the importance of OWLs. Harry wished all the teachers would stop doing this; he was starting to get an anxious, twisted feeling in

to watch. Luna took a great breath and then said, without so much as a preliminary hello, 'I believe He Who Must Not Be Named is back and I believe you fought him and escaped from him.' 'Er - right,' said Harry awkwardly. Luna was wearing what looked like a pair of orange radishes for earrings, a fact that Parvati and Lavender seemed to have noticed, as they were both giggling and pointing at her earlobes. There weren't any such things as the Blibbering Humdinger or the Crumple-Horned Snorkack.' Luna gave her a withering look and flounced away, radishes swinging madly. Parvati and Lavender were not the only ones hooting with laughter now. 'Ginny's told me all about her; apparently, she'll only believe in things as long as there's no proof at all. Well, I wouldn't expect anything else from someone whose father runs The Quibbler.' Harry thought of the sinister winged horses he had seen on the night he had arrived and how Luna had said she could see them too. His spirits sank slightly. Had she been lying? But before he could devote much more thought to the matter, Ernie Macmillan had stepped up to him. 'I want you to know, Potter,' he said in a loud, carrying voice, 'that it's not only weirdos who support you. I personally believe you one hundred per cent. My family have always stood firm behind Dumbledore, and so do I.' 'Er - thanks very much, Ernie,' said Harry, taken aback but pleased. Ernie might be pompous on occasions like this, but Harry was in a mood to deeply appreciate a vote of confidence from somebody who did not have radishes dangling from their ears. Ernie's words had certainly wiped the smile from Lavender Browns face and as he turned to talk to Ron, Harry caught Seamus's expression, which looked both confused and defiant. To nobody's surprise, Professor Sprout started their lesson by lecturing them about the importance of OWLs. Harry wished all the teachers would stop doing this; he was starting to get an anxious, twisted feeling in

his stomach every time he remembered how much homework he had to do, a feeling that worsened dramatically when Professor Sprout gave them yet another essay at the end of class. Tired and smelling strongly of dragon dung, Professor Sprouts preferred type of fertiliser, the Gryffindors trooped back up to the castle an hour and a half later, none of them talking very much; it had been another long day. As Harry was starving, and he had his first detention with Umbridge at five o'clock, he headed straight for dinner without dropping off his bag in Gryffindor Tower so that he could bolt something down before facing whatever she had in store for him. He had barely reached the entrance of the Great Hall, however, when a loud and angry voice yelled, 'Oi, Potter!' 'What now?' he muttered wearily, turning to face Angelina Johnson, who looked as though she was in a towering temper. 'I'll tell you what now,' she said, marching straight up to him and poking him hard in the chest with her finger. 'How come you've landed yourself in detention for five o'clock on Friday?' 'What?' said Harry. 'Why... oh yeah, Keeper tryouts!' 'Now he remembers!' snarled Angelina. 'Didn't I tell you I wanted to do a tryout with the whole team, and find someone who fitted in with everyone? Didn't I tell you I'd booked the Quidditch pitch specially? And now you've decided you're not going to be there!' 'I didn't decide not to be there!' said Harry, stung by the injustice of these words. 'I got detention from that Umbridge woman, just because I told her the truth about You-Know-Who.' 'Well, you can just go straight to her and ask her to let you off en Friday,' said Angelina fiercely, 'and I don't care how you do it. Tell her You-Know-Who's a figment of your imagination if you like, just make sure you're there!' She turned on her heel and stormed away. 'You know what.?'

stomach every time he remembered how much homework he had to do, a feeling that worsened dramatically when Professor Sprout gave them yet another essay at the end of class. Tired and smelling strongly of dragon dung, Professor Sprouts preferred type of fertiliser, the Gryffindors trooped back up to the castle an hour and a half later, none of them talking very much; it had been another long day. As Harry was starving, and he had his first detention with Umbridge at five o'clock, he headed straight for dinner without dropping off his bag in Gryffindor Tower so that he could bolt something down before facing whatever she had in store for him. He had barely reached the entrance of the Great Hall, however, when a loud and angry voice yelled, 'Oi, Potter!' 'What now?' he muttered wearily, turning to face Angelina Johnson, who looked as though she was in a towering temper. 'I'll tell you what now,' she said, marching straight up to him and poking him hard in the chest with her finger. 'How come you've landed yourself in detention for five o'clock on Friday?' 'What?' said Harry. 'Why... oh yeah, Keeper tryouts!' 'Now he remembers!' snarled Angelina. 'Didn't I tell you I wanted to do a tryout with the whole team, and find someone who fitted in with everyone? Didn't I tell you I'd booked the Quidditch pitch specially? And now you've decided you're not going to be there!' 'I didn't decide not to be there!' said Harry, stung by the injustice of these words. 'I got detention from that Umbridge woman, just because I told her the truth about You-Know-Who.' 'Well, you can just go straight to her and ask her to let you off en Friday,' said Angelina fiercely, 'and I don't care how you do it. Tell her You-Know-Who's a figment of your imagination if you like, just make sure you're there!' She turned on her heel and stormed away. 'You know what.?'

Harry said to Ron as they entered the Great Hall. 'I think we'd better check with Puddlemere United whether Oliver Wood's been killed during a training session, because Angelina seems to be channelling his spirit.' 'What d'you reckon are the odds of Umbridge letting you off on Friday?' said Ron sceptically, as they sat down at the Gryffindor table. 'Less than zero,' said Harry glumly, tipping lamb chops on to his plate and starting to eat. 'Better try, though, hadn't I? I'll offer to do two more detentions or something, I dunno...' He swallowed a mouthful of potato and added, 'I hope she doesn't keep me too long this evening. You realise we've got to write three essays, practise Vanishing Spells for McGonagall, work out a counter-charm for Flitwick, finish the Bowtruckle drawing and start that stupid dream diary for Trelawney?' Ron moaned and for some reason glanced up at the ceiling. 'Nothing,' said Ron at once, his ears reddening. At five to five Harry bade the other two goodbye and set off for Umbridge's office on the third floor. When he knocked on the door she called, 'Come in,' in a sugary voice. He entered cautiously, looking around. He had known this office under three of its previous occupants. In the days when Gilderoy Lockhart had lived here it had been plastered in beaming portraits of himself. When Lupin had occupied it, it was likely you would meet some fascinating Dark creature in a cage or tank if you came to call. In the impostor Moody's days it had been packed with various instruments and artefacts for the detection of wrongdoing and concealment. Now, however, it looked totally unrecognisable. The surfaces had all been draped in lacy covers and cloths. There were several vases full of dried flowers, each one residing on its own doily, and on one of the walls was a collection of ornamental plates, each decorated with a large technicolour kitten wearing a different

said to Ron as they entered the Great Hall. 'I think we'd better check with Puddlemere United whether Oliver Wood's been killed during a training session, because Angelina seems to be channelling his spirit.' 'What d'you reckon are the odds of Umbridge letting you off on Friday?' said Ron sceptically, as they sat down at the Gryffindor table. 'Less than zero,' said Harry glumly, tipping lamb chops on to his plate and starting to eat. 'Better try, though, hadn't I? I'll offer to do two more detentions or something, I dunno...' He swallowed a mouthful of potato and added, 'I hope she doesn't keep me too long this evening. You realise we've got to write three essays, practise Vanishing Spells for McGonagall, work out a counter-charm for Flitwick, finish the Bowtruckle drawing and start that stupid dream diary for Trelawney?' Ron moaned and for some reason glanced up at the ceiling. 'Nothing,' said Ron at once, his ears reddening. At five to five Harry bade the other two goodbye and set off for Umbridge's office on the third floor. When he knocked on the door she called, 'Come in,' in a sugary voice. He entered cautiously, looking around. He had known this office under three of its previous occupants. In the days when Gilderoy Lockhart had lived here it had been plastered in beaming portraits of himself. When Lupin had occupied it, it was likely you would meet some fascinating Dark creature in a cage or tank if you came to call. In the impostor Moody's days it had been packed with various instruments and artefacts for the detection of wrongdoing and concealment. Now, however, it looked totally unrecognisable. The surfaces had all been draped in lacy covers and cloths. There were several vases full of dried flowers, each one residing on its own doily, and on one of the walls was a collection of ornamental plates, each decorated with a large technicolour kitten wearing a different

bow around its neck. These were so foul that Harry stared at them, transfixed, until Professor Umbridge spoke again. 'Good evening, Mr Potter.' Harry started and looked around. He had not noticed her at first because she was wearing a luridly flowered set of robes that blended only too well with the tablecloth on the desk behind her. 'Evening, Professor Umbridge,' Harry said stiffly. 'Well, sit down,' she said, pointing towards a small table draped in lace beside which she had drawn up a straight-backed chair. A piece of blank parchment lay on the table, apparently waiting for him. 'Er,' said Harry, without moving. 'Professor Umbridge. Er - before we start, I - I wanted to ask you a... a favour.' Her bulging eyes narrowed. 'Oh, yes?' 'Well, I'm... I'm in the Gryffindor Quidditch team. And I was supposed to be at the tryouts for the new Keeper at five o'clock on Friday and I was - was wondering whether I could skip detention that night and do it - do it another night... instead...' He knew long before he reached the end of his sentence that it was no good. 'Oh, no,' said Umbridge, smiling so widely that she looked as though she had just swallowed a particularly juicy fly. 'Oh, no, no, no. This is your punishment for spreading evil, nasty, attention-seeking stories, Mr Potter, and punishments certainly cannot be adjusted to suit the guilty one's convenience. No, you will come here at five o'clock tomorrow, and the next day, and on Friday too, and you will do your detentions as planned. I think it rather a good thing that you are missing something you really want to do. It ought to reinforce the lesson I am trying to teach you.' Harry felt the blood surge to his head and heard a thumping noise in his ears. So he told 'evil, nasty, attention-seeking stones', did he? She was watching him with her head slightly to one side, still smiling widely, as

around its neck. These were so foul that Harry stared at them, transfixed, until Professor Umbridge spoke again. 'Good evening, Mr Potter.' Harry started and looked around. He had not noticed her at first because she was wearing a luridly flowered set of robes that blended only too well with the tablecloth on the desk behind her. 'Evening, Professor Umbridge,' Harry said stiffly. 'Well, sit down,' she said, pointing towards a small table draped in lace beside which she had drawn up a straight-backed chair. A piece of blank parchment lay on the table, apparently waiting for him. 'Er,' said Harry, without moving. 'Professor Umbridge. Er - before we start, I - I wanted to ask you a... a favour.' Her bulging eyes narrowed. 'Oh, yes?' 'Well, I'm... I'm in the Gryffindor Quidditch team. And I was supposed to be at the tryouts for the new Keeper at five o'clock on Friday and I was - was wondering whether I could skip detention that night and do it - do it another night... instead...' He knew long before he reached the end of his sentence that it was no good. 'Oh, no,' said Umbridge, smiling so widely that she looked as though she had just swallowed a particularly juicy fly. 'Oh, no, no, no. This is your punishment for spreading evil, nasty, attention-seeking stories, Mr Potter, and punishments certainly cannot be adjusted to suit the guilty one's convenience. No, you will come here at five o'clock tomorrow, and the next day, and on Friday too, and you will do your detentions as planned. I think it rather a good thing that you are missing something you really want to do. It ought to reinforce the lesson I am trying to teach you.' Harry felt the blood surge to his head and heard a thumping noise in his ears. So he told 'evil, nasty, attention-seeking stones', did he? She was watching him with her head slightly to one side, still smiling widely, as

though she knew exactly what he was thinking and was waiting to see whether he would start shouting again. With a massive effort, Harry looked away from her, dropped his schoolbag beside the straight-backed chair and sat down. 'There,' said Umbridge sweetly, 'we're getting better at controlling our temper already, aren't we? Now, you are going to be doing some lines for me, Mr Potter. No, not with your quill,' she added, as Harry bent down to open his bag. 'You're going to be using a rather special one of mine. Here you are.' She handed him a long, thin black quill with an unusually sharp point. 'I want you to write, I must not tell lies,' she told him softly. 'How many times?' Harry asked, with a creditable imitation of politeness. 'Oh, as long as it takes for the message to sink in,' said Umbridge sweetly. 'Off you go.' She moved over to her desk, sat down and bent over a stack of parchment that looked like essays for marking. Harry raised the sharp black quill, then realised what was missing. 'You haven't given me any ink,' he said. 'Oh, you won't need ink,' said Professor Umbridge, with the merest suggestion of a laugh in her voice. Harry placed the point of the quill on the paper and wrote: I must not tell lies. He let out a gasp of pain. The words had appeared on the parchment in what appeared to be shining red ink. At the same time, the words had appeared on the back of Harry's right hand, cut into his skin as though traced there by a scalpel - yet even as he stared at the shining cut, the skin healed over again, leaving the place where it had been slightly redder than before but quite smooth. Harry looked round at Umbridge. She was watching him, her wide, toadlike mouth stretched in a smile. 'Yes?' 'Nothing,' said Harry quietly. He looked back at the parchment, placed the quill on it once more, wrote I must not tell lies, and felt the searing pain on the back of his hand for a second time; once again, the words had

she knew exactly what he was thinking and was waiting to see whether he would start shouting again. With a massive effort, Harry looked away from her, dropped his schoolbag beside the straight-backed chair and sat down. 'There,' said Umbridge sweetly, 'we're getting better at controlling our temper already, aren't we? Now, you are going to be doing some lines for me, Mr Potter. No, not with your quill,' she added, as Harry bent down to open his bag. 'You're going to be using a rather special one of mine. Here you are.' She handed him a long, thin black quill with an unusually sharp point. 'I want you to write, I must not tell lies,' she told him softly. 'How many times?' Harry asked, with a creditable imitation of politeness. 'Oh, as long as it takes for the message to sink in,' said Umbridge sweetly. 'Off you go.' She moved over to her desk, sat down and bent over a stack of parchment that looked like essays for marking. Harry raised the sharp black quill, then realised what was missing. 'You haven't given me any ink,' he said. 'Oh, you won't need ink,' said Professor Umbridge, with the merest suggestion of a laugh in her voice. Harry placed the point of the quill on the paper and wrote: I must not tell lies. He let out a gasp of pain. The words had appeared on the parchment in what appeared to be shining red ink. At the same time, the words had appeared on the back of Harry's right hand, cut into his skin as though traced there by a scalpel - yet even as he stared at the shining cut, the skin healed over again, leaving the place where it had been slightly redder than before but quite smooth. Harry looked round at Umbridge. She was watching him, her wide, toadlike mouth stretched in a smile. 'Yes?' 'Nothing,' said Harry quietly. He looked back at the parchment, placed the quill on it once more, wrote I must not tell lies, and felt the searing pain on the back of his hand for a second time; once again, the words had

been cut into his skin; once again, they healed over seconds later. And on it went. Again and again Harry wrote the words on the parchment in what he soon came to realise was not ink, but his own blood. And, again and again, the words were cut into the back of his hand, healed, and reappeared the next time he set quill to parchment. Darkness fell outside Umbridge's window. Harry did not ask when he would be allowed to stop. He did not even check his watch. He knew she was watching him for signs of weakness and he was not going to show any, not even if he had to sit there all night, cutting open his own hand with this quill... 'Come here,' she said, after what seemed hours. He stood up. His hand was stinging painfully. When he looked down at it he saw that the cut had healed, but that the skin there was red raw. 'Hand,' she said. He extended it. She took it in her own. Harry repressed a shudder as she touched him with her thick, stubby fingers on which she wore a number of ugly old rings. 'Tut, tut, I don't seem to have made much of an impression yet,' she said, smiling. 'Well, we'll just have to try again tomorrow evening, won't we? You may go.' Harry left her office without a word. The school was quite deserted; it was surely past midnight. He walked slowly up the corridor, then, when he had turned the corner and was sure she would not hear him, broke into a run. * He had not had time to practise Vanishing Spells, had not written a single dream in his dream diary and had not finished the drawing of the Bowtruckle, nor had he written his essays. He skipped breakfast next morning to scribble down a couple of made-up dreams for Divination, their first lesson, and was surprised to find a dishevelled Ron keeping him company. 'How come you didn't do it last night?' Harry asked, as Ron stared wildly around the common room for inspiration. Ron, who had been fast asleep when Harry got back to the dormitory, muttered something about 'doing

cut into his skin; once again, they healed over seconds later. And on it went. Again and again Harry wrote the words on the parchment in what he soon came to realise was not ink, but his own blood. And, again and again, the words were cut into the back of his hand, healed, and reappeared the next time he set quill to parchment. Darkness fell outside Umbridge's window. Harry did not ask when he would be allowed to stop. He did not even check his watch. He knew she was watching him for signs of weakness and he was not going to show any, not even if he had to sit there all night, cutting open his own hand with this quill... 'Come here,' she said, after what seemed hours. He stood up. His hand was stinging painfully. When he looked down at it he saw that the cut had healed, but that the skin there was red raw. 'Hand,' she said. He extended it. She took it in her own. Harry repressed a shudder as she touched him with her thick, stubby fingers on which she wore a number of ugly old rings. 'Tut, tut, I don't seem to have made much of an impression yet,' she said, smiling. 'Well, we'll just have to try again tomorrow evening, won't we? You may go.' Harry left her office without a word. The school was quite deserted; it was surely past midnight. He walked slowly up the corridor, then, when he had turned the corner and was sure she would not hear him, broke into a run. * He had not had time to practise Vanishing Spells, had not written a single dream in his dream diary and had not finished the drawing of the Bowtruckle, nor had he written his essays. He skipped breakfast next morning to scribble down a couple of made-up dreams for Divination, their first lesson, and was surprised to find a dishevelled Ron keeping him company. 'How come you didn't do it last night?' Harry asked, as Ron stared wildly around the common room for inspiration. Ron, who had been fast asleep when Harry got back to the dormitory, muttered something about 'doing

other stuff, bent low over his parchment and scrawled a few words. 'That'll have to do,' he said, slamming the diary shut. 'I've said I dreamed I was buying a new pair of shoes, she can't make anything weird out of that, can she?' They hurried off to North Tower together. 'How was detention with Umbridge, anyway? What did she make you do?' Harry hesitated for a fraction of a second, then said, 'Lines.' That's not too bad, then, eh?' said Ron. 'Nope,' said Harry. 'Hey - I forgot - did she let you off for Friday?' 'No,' said Harry. Ron groaned sympathetically. It was another bad day for Harry; he was one of the worst in Transfiguration, not having practised Vanishing Spells at all. He had to give up his lunch hour to complete the picture of the Bowtruckle and, meanwhile, Professors McGonagall, Grubbly-Plank and Sinistra gave them yet more homework, which he had no prospect of finishing that evening because of his second detention with Umbridge. To cap it all, Angelina Johnson tracked him down at dinner again and, on learning that he would not be able to attend Friday's Keeper tryouts, told him she was not at all impressed by his attitude and that she expected players who wished to remain on the team to put training before their other commitments. 'I'm in detention!' Harry yelled after her as she stalked away. 'It's not as it it's a dreadful punishment, really...' Harry opened his mouth, closed it again and nodded. He was not really sure why he was not telling Ron exactly what was happening in Umbridge's room: he only knew that he did not want to see their looks of horror; that would make the whole thing seem worse and therefore more difficult to face. He also felt dimly that this was between himself and Umbridge, a private battle of wills, and he was not going to give her the satisfaction of hearing that he had complained about it. 'I can't believe how much homework we've got,' said Ron miser

stuff, bent low over his parchment and scrawled a few words. 'That'll have to do,' he said, slamming the diary shut. 'I've said I dreamed I was buying a new pair of shoes, she can't make anything weird out of that, can she?' They hurried off to North Tower together. 'How was detention with Umbridge, anyway? What did she make you do?' Harry hesitated for a fraction of a second, then said, 'Lines.' That's not too bad, then, eh?' said Ron. 'Nope,' said Harry. 'Hey - I forgot - did she let you off for Friday?' 'No,' said Harry. Ron groaned sympathetically. It was another bad day for Harry; he was one of the worst in Transfiguration, not having practised Vanishing Spells at all. He had to give up his lunch hour to complete the picture of the Bowtruckle and, meanwhile, Professors McGonagall, Grubbly-Plank and Sinistra gave them yet more homework, which he had no prospect of finishing that evening because of his second detention with Umbridge. To cap it all, Angelina Johnson tracked him down at dinner again and, on learning that he would not be able to attend Friday's Keeper tryouts, told him she was not at all impressed by his attitude and that she expected players who wished to remain on the team to put training before their other commitments. 'I'm in detention!' Harry yelled after her as she stalked away. 'It's not as it it's a dreadful punishment, really...' Harry opened his mouth, closed it again and nodded. He was not really sure why he was not telling Ron exactly what was happening in Umbridge's room: he only knew that he did not want to see their looks of horror; that would make the whole thing seem worse and therefore more difficult to face. He also felt dimly that this was between himself and Umbridge, a private battle of wills, and he was not going to give her the satisfaction of hearing that he had complained about it. 'I can't believe how much homework we've got,' said Ron miser

ably. 'Where were you, anyway?' 'I was... I fancied a walk,' said Ron shiftily. Harry had the distinct impression that he was not alone in concealing things at the moment. * The second detention was just as bad as the previous one. The skin on the back of Harry's hand became irritated more quickly now and was soon red and inflamed. Harry thought it unlikely that it would keep healing as effectively for long. Soon the cut would remain etched into his hand and Umbridge would, perhaps, be satisfied. He let no gasp of pain escape him, however, and from the moment of entering the room to the moment of his dismissal, again past midnight, he said nothing but 'good evening' and 'goodnight'. His homework situation, however, was now desperate, and when he returned to the Gryffindor common room he did not, though exhausted, go to bed, but opened his books and began Snape's moonstone essay. It was half past two by the time he had finished it. He knew he had done a poor job, but there was no help for it; unless he had something to give in he would be in detention with Snape next. He then dashed off answers to the questions Professor McGonagall had set them, cobbled together something on the proper handling of Bowtruckles for Professor Grubbly-Plank, and staggered up to bed, where he fell fully clothed on top of the covers and fell asleep immediately. * Thursday passed in a haze of tiredness. Ron seemed very sleepy too, though Harry could not see why he should be. Harry's third detention passed in the same way as the previous two, except that after two hours the words 'I must not tell lies' did not fade from the back of Harry's hand, but remained scratched there, oozing droplets of blood. The pause in the pointed quills scratching made Professor Umbridge look up. 'Ah,' she said softly, moving around her desk to examine his hand herself. 'Good. That ought to serve as a reminder to you, oughtn't it? You may leave for tonight.' 'Do I still have to come back tomorrow?' said Harry, picking up his

. 'Where were you, anyway?' 'I was... I fancied a walk,' said Ron shiftily. Harry had the distinct impression that he was not alone in concealing things at the moment. * The second detention was just as bad as the previous one. The skin on the back of Harry's hand became irritated more quickly now and was soon red and inflamed. Harry thought it unlikely that it would keep healing as effectively for long. Soon the cut would remain etched into his hand and Umbridge would, perhaps, be satisfied. He let no gasp of pain escape him, however, and from the moment of entering the room to the moment of his dismissal, again past midnight, he said nothing but 'good evening' and 'goodnight'. His homework situation, however, was now desperate, and when he returned to the Gryffindor common room he did not, though exhausted, go to bed, but opened his books and began Snape's moonstone essay. It was half past two by the time he had finished it. He knew he had done a poor job, but there was no help for it; unless he had something to give in he would be in detention with Snape next. He then dashed off answers to the questions Professor McGonagall had set them, cobbled together something on the proper handling of Bowtruckles for Professor Grubbly-Plank, and staggered up to bed, where he fell fully clothed on top of the covers and fell asleep immediately. * Thursday passed in a haze of tiredness. Ron seemed very sleepy too, though Harry could not see why he should be. Harry's third detention passed in the same way as the previous two, except that after two hours the words 'I must not tell lies' did not fade from the back of Harry's hand, but remained scratched there, oozing droplets of blood. The pause in the pointed quills scratching made Professor Umbridge look up. 'Ah,' she said softly, moving around her desk to examine his hand herself. 'Good. That ought to serve as a reminder to you, oughtn't it? You may leave for tonight.' 'Do I still have to come back tomorrow?' said Harry, picking up his

schoolbag with his left hand rather than his smarting right one. 'Oh yes,' said Professor Umbridge, smiling as widely as before. 'Yes, I think we can etch the message a little deeper with another evenings work.' Harry had never before considered the possibility that there might be another teacher in the world he hated more than Snape, but as he walked back towards Gryffindor Tower he had to admit he had found a strong contender. She's evil, he thought, as he climbed a staircase to the seventh floor, she's an evil, twisted, mad old- 'Ron?' He had reached the top of the stairs, turned right and almost walked into Ron, who was lurking behind a statue of Lachlan the Lanky, clutching his broomstick. He gave a great leap of surprise when he saw Harry and attempted to hide his new Cleansweep Eleven behind his back. 'What are you doing?' 'Er - nothing. What are you doing?' Harry frowned at him. 'Come on, you can tell me! What are you hiding here for?' 'I'm - I'm hiding from Fred and George, if you must know,' said Ron. 'But what have you got your broom for, you haven't been flying, have you?' Harry asked. 'I - well - well, OK, I'll tell you, but don't laugh, all right?' Ron said defensively, turning redder with every second. 'I - I thought I'd try out for Gryffindor Keeper now I've got a decent broom. There. Go on. Laugh.' 'I'm not laughing,' said Harry. Ron blinked. 'It's a brilliant idea! It'd be really cool if you got on the team! I've never seen you play Keeper, are you good?' 'I'm not bad,' said Ron, who looked immensely relieved at Harry's reaction. 'Charlie, Fred and George always made me keep for them when they were training during the holidays.' 'So you've been practising tonight?' 'Every evening since Tuesday...

bag with his left hand rather than his smarting right one. 'Oh yes,' said Professor Umbridge, smiling as widely as before. 'Yes, I think we can etch the message a little deeper with another evenings work.' Harry had never before considered the possibility that there might be another teacher in the world he hated more than Snape, but as he walked back towards Gryffindor Tower he had to admit he had found a strong contender. She's evil, he thought, as he climbed a staircase to the seventh floor, she's an evil, twisted, mad old- 'Ron?' He had reached the top of the stairs, turned right and almost walked into Ron, who was lurking behind a statue of Lachlan the Lanky, clutching his broomstick. He gave a great leap of surprise when he saw Harry and attempted to hide his new Cleansweep Eleven behind his back. 'What are you doing?' 'Er - nothing. What are you doing?' Harry frowned at him. 'Come on, you can tell me! What are you hiding here for?' 'I'm - I'm hiding from Fred and George, if you must know,' said Ron. 'But what have you got your broom for, you haven't been flying, have you?' Harry asked. 'I - well - well, OK, I'll tell you, but don't laugh, all right?' Ron said defensively, turning redder with every second. 'I - I thought I'd try out for Gryffindor Keeper now I've got a decent broom. There. Go on. Laugh.' 'I'm not laughing,' said Harry. Ron blinked. 'It's a brilliant idea! It'd be really cool if you got on the team! I've never seen you play Keeper, are you good?' 'I'm not bad,' said Ron, who looked immensely relieved at Harry's reaction. 'Charlie, Fred and George always made me keep for them when they were training during the holidays.' 'So you've been practising tonight?' 'Every evening since Tuesday...

just on my own, though. I've been trying to bewitch Quaffles to fly at me, but it hasn't been easy and I don't know how much use it'll be.' Ron looked nervous and anxious. 'Fred and George are going to laugh themselves stupid when I turn up for the tryouts. They haven't stopped taking the mickey out of me since I got made a prefect.' 'I wish I was going to be there,' said Harry bitterly, as they set off together towards the common room. 'Yeah, so do - Harry, what's that on the back of your hand?' Harry, who had just scratched his nose with his free right hand, tried to hide it, but had as much success as Ron with his Cleansweep. 'It's just a cut - it's nothing - it's - ' But Ron had grabbed Harry's forearm and pulled the back of Harry's hand up level with his eyes. There was a pause, during which he stared at the words carved into the skin, then, looking sick, he released Harry 'I thought you said she was just giving you lines?' Harry hesitated, but after all, Ron had been honest with him, so he told Ron the truth about the hours he had been spending in Umbridge's office. The old hag!' Ron said in a revolted whisper as they came to a halt in front of the Fat Lady, who was dozing peacefully with her head against her frame. 'She's sick! Go to McGonagall, say something!' 'No,' said Harry at once. 'I'm not giving her the satisfaction of knowing she's got to me.' 'Got to you? You can't let her get away with this!' 'I don't know how much power McGonagall's got over her,' said Harry. 'Dumbledore, then, tell Dumbledore!' 'No,' said Harry flatly. 'Why not?' 'He's got enough on his mind,' said Harry, but that was not the true reason. He was not going to go to Dumbledore for help when Dumbledore had not spoken to him once since June. 'Well, I reck

on my own, though. I've been trying to bewitch Quaffles to fly at me, but it hasn't been easy and I don't know how much use it'll be.' Ron looked nervous and anxious. 'Fred and George are going to laugh themselves stupid when I turn up for the tryouts. They haven't stopped taking the mickey out of me since I got made a prefect.' 'I wish I was going to be there,' said Harry bitterly, as they set off together towards the common room. 'Yeah, so do - Harry, what's that on the back of your hand?' Harry, who had just scratched his nose with his free right hand, tried to hide it, but had as much success as Ron with his Cleansweep. 'It's just a cut - it's nothing - it's - ' But Ron had grabbed Harry's forearm and pulled the back of Harry's hand up level with his eyes. There was a pause, during which he stared at the words carved into the skin, then, looking sick, he released Harry 'I thought you said she was just giving you lines?' Harry hesitated, but after all, Ron had been honest with him, so he told Ron the truth about the hours he had been spending in Umbridge's office. The old hag!' Ron said in a revolted whisper as they came to a halt in front of the Fat Lady, who was dozing peacefully with her head against her frame. 'She's sick! Go to McGonagall, say something!' 'No,' said Harry at once. 'I'm not giving her the satisfaction of knowing she's got to me.' 'Got to you? You can't let her get away with this!' 'I don't know how much power McGonagall's got over her,' said Harry. 'Dumbledore, then, tell Dumbledore!' 'No,' said Harry flatly. 'Why not?' 'He's got enough on his mind,' said Harry, but that was not the true reason. He was not going to go to Dumbledore for help when Dumbledore had not spoken to him once since June. 'Well, I reck

on you should -'Ron began, but he was interrupted by the Fat Lady, who had been watching them sleepily and now burst out, 'Are you going to give me the password or will I have to stay awake all night waiting for you to finish your conversation?' * Friday dawned sullen and sodden as the rest of the week. Though Harry automatically glanced towards the staff table when he entered the Great Hall, it was without any real hope of seeing Hagrid, and he turned his mind immediately to his more pressing problems, such as the mountainous pile of homework he had to do and the prospect of yet another detention with Umbridge. Two things sustained Harry that day. One was the thought that it was almost the weekend; the other was that, dreadful though his final detention with Umbridge was sure to be, he had a distant view of the Quidditch pitch from her window and might, with luck, be able to see something of Ron's tryout. These were rather feeble rays of light, it was true, but Harry was grateful for anything that might lighten his present darkness; he had never had a worse first week of term at Hogwarts. At five o'clock that evening he knocked on Professor Umbridge's office door for what he sincerely hoped would be the final time, and was told to enter. The blank parchment lay ready for him on the lace-covered table, the pointed black quill beside it. 'You know what to do, Mr Potter,' said Umbridge, smiling sweetly at him. Harry picked up the quill and glanced through the window. If he just shifted his chair an inch or so to the right... on the pretext of shifting himself closer to the table, he managed it. He now had a distant view of the Gryffindor Quidditch team soaring up and down the pitch, while half a dozen black figures stood at the foot of the three high goalposts, apparently awaiting their turn to Keep. It was impossible to tell which one was Ron at this distance. I must not tell lies, Harry wrote. The cut in the back of his right hand opened and began to bleed afresh. I must not tell lies. The cut dug deeper, stinging and smarting. I must not tell lies

you should -'Ron began, but he was interrupted by the Fat Lady, who had been watching them sleepily and now burst out, 'Are you going to give me the password or will I have to stay awake all night waiting for you to finish your conversation?' * Friday dawned sullen and sodden as the rest of the week. Though Harry automatically glanced towards the staff table when he entered the Great Hall, it was without any real hope of seeing Hagrid, and he turned his mind immediately to his more pressing problems, such as the mountainous pile of homework he had to do and the prospect of yet another detention with Umbridge. Two things sustained Harry that day. One was the thought that it was almost the weekend; the other was that, dreadful though his final detention with Umbridge was sure to be, he had a distant view of the Quidditch pitch from her window and might, with luck, be able to see something of Ron's tryout. These were rather feeble rays of light, it was true, but Harry was grateful for anything that might lighten his present darkness; he had never had a worse first week of term at Hogwarts. At five o'clock that evening he knocked on Professor Umbridge's office door for what he sincerely hoped would be the final time, and was told to enter. The blank parchment lay ready for him on the lace-covered table, the pointed black quill beside it. 'You know what to do, Mr Potter,' said Umbridge, smiling sweetly at him. Harry picked up the quill and glanced through the window. If he just shifted his chair an inch or so to the right... on the pretext of shifting himself closer to the table, he managed it. He now had a distant view of the Gryffindor Quidditch team soaring up and down the pitch, while half a dozen black figures stood at the foot of the three high goalposts, apparently awaiting their turn to Keep. It was impossible to tell which one was Ron at this distance. I must not tell lies, Harry wrote. The cut in the back of his right hand opened and began to bleed afresh. I must not tell lies. The cut dug deeper, stinging and smarting. I must not tell lies

. Blood trickled down his wrist. He chanced another glance out of the window. Whoever was defending the goalposts now was doing a very poor job indeed. Katie Bell scored twice in the few seconds Harry dared to watch. Hoping very much that the Keeper wasn't Ron, he dropped his eyes back to the parchment shining with blood. I must not tell lies. I must not tell lies. He looked up whenever he thought he could risk it; when he could hear the scratching of Umbridge's quill or the opening of a desk drawer. The third person to try out was pretty good, the fourth was terrible, the fifth dodged a Bludger exceptionally well but then fumbled an easy save. The sky was darkening, and Harry doubted he would be able to see the sixth and seventh people at all. I must not tell lies. I must not tell lies. The parchment was now dotted with drops of blood from the back of his hand, which was searing with pain. When he next looked up, night had fallen and the Quidditch pitch was no longer visible. 'Lets see if you've got the message yet, shall we?' said Umbridge's soft voice half an hour later. She moved towards him, stretching out her short ringed fingers for his arm. And then, as she took hold of him to examine the words now cut into his skin, pain seared, not across the back of his hand, but across the scar on his forehead. At the same time, he had a most peculiar sensation somewhere around his midriff. He wrenched his arm out of her grip and leapt to his feet, staring at her. She looked back at him, a smile stretching her wide, slack mouth. 'Yes, it hurts, doesn't it?' she said softly. He did not answer. His heart was thumping very hard and fast. Was she talking about his hand or did she know what he had just felt in his forehead? 'Well, I think I've made my point, Mr Potter. You may go.' He caught up his schoolbag and left the room as quickly as he could. Stay calm, he told himself, as he sprinted up the stairs.

Blood trickled down his wrist. He chanced another glance out of the window. Whoever was defending the goalposts now was doing a very poor job indeed. Katie Bell scored twice in the few seconds Harry dared to watch. Hoping very much that the Keeper wasn't Ron, he dropped his eyes back to the parchment shining with blood. I must not tell lies. I must not tell lies. He looked up whenever he thought he could risk it; when he could hear the scratching of Umbridge's quill or the opening of a desk drawer. The third person to try out was pretty good, the fourth was terrible, the fifth dodged a Bludger exceptionally well but then fumbled an easy save. The sky was darkening, and Harry doubted he would be able to see the sixth and seventh people at all. I must not tell lies. I must not tell lies. The parchment was now dotted with drops of blood from the back of his hand, which was searing with pain. When he next looked up, night had fallen and the Quidditch pitch was no longer visible. 'Lets see if you've got the message yet, shall we?' said Umbridge's soft voice half an hour later. She moved towards him, stretching out her short ringed fingers for his arm. And then, as she took hold of him to examine the words now cut into his skin, pain seared, not across the back of his hand, but across the scar on his forehead. At the same time, he had a most peculiar sensation somewhere around his midriff. He wrenched his arm out of her grip and leapt to his feet, staring at her. She looked back at him, a smile stretching her wide, slack mouth. 'Yes, it hurts, doesn't it?' she said softly. He did not answer. His heart was thumping very hard and fast. Was she talking about his hand or did she know what he had just felt in his forehead? 'Well, I think I've made my point, Mr Potter. You may go.' He caught up his schoolbag and left the room as quickly as he could. Stay calm, he told himself, as he sprinted up the stairs.

Stay calm, it doesn't necessarily mean what you think it means... 'Mimbulus mimbletonia!' he gasped at the Fat Lady, who swung forwards once more. A roar of sound greeted him. Ron came running towards him, beaming all over his face and slopping Butterbeer down his front from the goblet he was clutching. 'Harry, I did it, I'm in, I'm Keeper!' 'What? Oh - brilliant!' said Harry, trying to smile naturally, while his heart continued to race and his hand throbbed and bled. 'Have a Butterbeer.' Ron pressed a bottle on him. 'Well, she said she was pleased when I told her,' said Ron, looking slightly put out. 'Let her sleep,' said George hastily. It was a few moments before Harry noticed that several of the first-years gathered around them bore unmistakeable signs of recent nosebleeds. Come here, Ron, and see if Oliver's old robes fit you,' called Kade Bell, 'we can take off his name and put yours on instead...' As Ron moved away, Angelina came striding up to Harry. Sorry I was a bit short with you earlier, Potter,' she said abruptly. 'It's stressful this managing lark, you know, I'm starting to think I was a bit hard on Wood sometimes.' She was watching Ron over the rim of her goblet with a slight frown on her face. 'Look, I know he's your best mate, but he's not fabulous,' she said bluntly. 'I think with a bit of training he'll be all right, though. He comes from a family of good Quidditch players. I'm banking on him turning out to have a bit more talent than he showed today, to be honest. Vicky Frobisher and Geoffrey Hooper both flew better this evening, but Hooper's a real whiner, he's always moaning about something or other, and Vicky's involved in all sorts of societies. She admitted herself that if training clashed with her Charms Club she'd put Charms first. Anyway, we'

ay calm, it doesn't necessarily mean what you think it means... 'Mimbulus mimbletonia!' he gasped at the Fat Lady, who swung forwards once more. A roar of sound greeted him. Ron came running towards him, beaming all over his face and slopping Butterbeer down his front from the goblet he was clutching. 'Harry, I did it, I'm in, I'm Keeper!' 'What? Oh - brilliant!' said Harry, trying to smile naturally, while his heart continued to race and his hand throbbed and bled. 'Have a Butterbeer.' Ron pressed a bottle on him. 'Well, she said she was pleased when I told her,' said Ron, looking slightly put out. 'Let her sleep,' said George hastily. It was a few moments before Harry noticed that several of the first-years gathered around them bore unmistakeable signs of recent nosebleeds. Come here, Ron, and see if Oliver's old robes fit you,' called Kade Bell, 'we can take off his name and put yours on instead...' As Ron moved away, Angelina came striding up to Harry. Sorry I was a bit short with you earlier, Potter,' she said abruptly. 'It's stressful this managing lark, you know, I'm starting to think I was a bit hard on Wood sometimes.' She was watching Ron over the rim of her goblet with a slight frown on her face. 'Look, I know he's your best mate, but he's not fabulous,' she said bluntly. 'I think with a bit of training he'll be all right, though. He comes from a family of good Quidditch players. I'm banking on him turning out to have a bit more talent than he showed today, to be honest. Vicky Frobisher and Geoffrey Hooper both flew better this evening, but Hooper's a real whiner, he's always moaning about something or other, and Vicky's involved in all sorts of societies. She admitted herself that if training clashed with her Charms Club she'd put Charms first. Anyway, we'

re having a practice session at two o'clock tomorrow, so just make sure you're there this time. And do me a favour and help Ron as much as you can, OK?' He nodded, and Angelina strolled back to Alicia Spinnet. 'Oh, Harry, it's you... good about Ron, isn't it?' she said blearily. 'I'm just so - so - so tired,' she yawned. 'I was up until one o'clock making more hats. They're disappearing like mad!' And sure enough, now that he looked, Harry saw that there were woolly hats concealed all around the room where unwary elves might accidentally pick them up. 'Great,' said Harry distractedly; if he did not tell somebody soon, he would burst.. 'But I don't think he can be possessing her the way he possessed Quirrell, I mean, he's properly alive again now, isn't he, he's got his own body, he wouldn't need to share someone else's. He could have her under the Imperius Curse, I suppose...' Harry watched Fred, George and Lee Jordan juggling empty Butterbeer bottles for a moment. I mean, maybe this hasn't got anything to do with Umbridge at all, maybe it's just coincidence it happened while you were with her?' 'She's evil,' said Harry flatly. Twisted.' 'She's horrible, yes, but... 'I'm not bothering him with this. Like you just said, it's not a big deal. 'Don't you remember, Moody told us to be careful what we put in writing! We just can't guarantee owls aren't being intercepted any more!' 'All right, all right, I won't tell him, then!' said Harry irritably. He got to his feet. 'I'm going to bed. I'm absolutely exhausted and I want to make some more hats tomorrow. Listen, you can help me if you like, it's quite fun, I'm getting better, I can do patterns and bobbles and all sorts of things now.'

having a practice session at two o'clock tomorrow, so just make sure you're there this time. And do me a favour and help Ron as much as you can, OK?' He nodded, and Angelina strolled back to Alicia Spinnet. 'Oh, Harry, it's you... good about Ron, isn't it?' she said blearily. 'I'm just so - so - so tired,' she yawned. 'I was up until one o'clock making more hats. They're disappearing like mad!' And sure enough, now that he looked, Harry saw that there were woolly hats concealed all around the room where unwary elves might accidentally pick them up. 'Great,' said Harry distractedly; if he did not tell somebody soon, he would burst.. 'But I don't think he can be possessing her the way he possessed Quirrell, I mean, he's properly alive again now, isn't he, he's got his own body, he wouldn't need to share someone else's. He could have her under the Imperius Curse, I suppose...' Harry watched Fred, George and Lee Jordan juggling empty Butterbeer bottles for a moment. I mean, maybe this hasn't got anything to do with Umbridge at all, maybe it's just coincidence it happened while you were with her?' 'She's evil,' said Harry flatly. Twisted.' 'She's horrible, yes, but... 'I'm not bothering him with this. Like you just said, it's not a big deal. 'Don't you remember, Moody told us to be careful what we put in writing! We just can't guarantee owls aren't being intercepted any more!' 'All right, all right, I won't tell him, then!' said Harry irritably. He got to his feet. 'I'm going to bed. I'm absolutely exhausted and I want to make some more hats tomorrow. Listen, you can help me if you like, it's quite fun, I'm getting better, I can do patterns and bobbles and all sorts of things now.'

Harry looked into her face, which was shining with glee, and tried to look as though he was vaguely tempted by this offer. 'Er... no, I don't think I will, thanks,' he said. 'Er - not tomorrow. I've got loads of homework to do...' And he traipsed off to the boys' stairs, leaving her looking slightly disappointed. - CHAPTER FOURTEEN - Percy and Padfoot Harry was first to wake up in his dormitory next morning. He lay for a moment watching dust swirl in the ray of sunlight coming through the gap in his four-poster's hangings, and savoured the thought that it was Saturday. The first week of term seemed to have dragged on for ever, like one gigantic History of Magic lesson. Judging by the sleepy silence and the freshly minted look of that beam of sunlight, it was just after daybreak. He pulled open the curtains around his bed, got up and started to dress. The only sound apart from the distant twittering of birds was the slow, deep breathing of his fellow Gryffindors. He opened his schoolbag carefully, pulled out parchment and quill and headed out of the dormitory for the common room. Making straight for his favourite squashy old armchair beside the now extinct fire, Harry settled himself down comfortably and unrolled his parchment while looking around the room. Wondering vaguely how many elves had now been set free whether they wanted to be or not, Harry uncorked his ink bottle, dipped his quill into it, then held it suspended an inch above the smooth yellowish surface of his parchment, thinking hard... but after a minute or so he found himself staring into the empty grate, at a complete loss for what to say. He could now appreciate how hard it had been for Ron to write him letters over the summer. How was he supposed to tell Sirius everything that had happened over the past week and pose all the questions he was burning to ask without giving potential letter-thieves a lot of information he did not want them to have? He sat quite motionless for a while, gazing into the fireplace, then, finally coming

looked into her face, which was shining with glee, and tried to look as though he was vaguely tempted by this offer. 'Er... no, I don't think I will, thanks,' he said. 'Er - not tomorrow. I've got loads of homework to do...' And he traipsed off to the boys' stairs, leaving her looking slightly disappointed. - CHAPTER FOURTEEN - Percy and Padfoot Harry was first to wake up in his dormitory next morning. He lay for a moment watching dust swirl in the ray of sunlight coming through the gap in his four-poster's hangings, and savoured the thought that it was Saturday. The first week of term seemed to have dragged on for ever, like one gigantic History of Magic lesson. Judging by the sleepy silence and the freshly minted look of that beam of sunlight, it was just after daybreak. He pulled open the curtains around his bed, got up and started to dress. The only sound apart from the distant twittering of birds was the slow, deep breathing of his fellow Gryffindors. He opened his schoolbag carefully, pulled out parchment and quill and headed out of the dormitory for the common room. Making straight for his favourite squashy old armchair beside the now extinct fire, Harry settled himself down comfortably and unrolled his parchment while looking around the room. Wondering vaguely how many elves had now been set free whether they wanted to be or not, Harry uncorked his ink bottle, dipped his quill into it, then held it suspended an inch above the smooth yellowish surface of his parchment, thinking hard... but after a minute or so he found himself staring into the empty grate, at a complete loss for what to say. He could now appreciate how hard it had been for Ron to write him letters over the summer. How was he supposed to tell Sirius everything that had happened over the past week and pose all the questions he was burning to ask without giving potential letter-thieves a lot of information he did not want them to have? He sat quite motionless for a while, gazing into the fireplace, then, finally coming

to a decision, he dipped his quill into the ink bottle once more and set it resolutely on the parchment. Dear Snuffles, Hope you're OK, the first week back here's been terrible, I'm really glad it's the weekend. We've got a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Umbridge. She's nearly as nice as your mum. I'm writing because that thing I wrote to you about last summer happened again last night when I was doing a detention with Umbridge. We're all missing our biggest friend, we hope he'll be back soon. Please write back quickly. Best, Harry Harry reread the letter several times, trying to see it from the point of view of an outsider. He could not see how they would know what he was talking about - or who he was talking to - just from reading this letter. He did hope Sirius would pick up the hint about Hagrid and tell them when he might be back. Harry did not want to ask directly in case it drew too much attention to what Hagrid might be up to while he was not at Hogwarts. Considering it was a very short letter, it had taken a long time to write; sunlight had crept halfway across the room while he had been working on it and he could now hear distant sounds of movement from the dormitories above. Sealing the parchment carefully, he climbed through the portrait hole and headed off for the Owlery. 'I would not go that way if I were you,' said Nearly Headless Nick, drifting disconcertingly through a wall just ahead of Harry as he walked down the passage. 'Peeves is planning an amusing. joke on the next person to pass the bust of Paracelsus halfway down the corridor.' 'Does it involve Paracelsus falling on top of the persons head?' asked Harry. 'Funnily enough, it does,' said Nearly Headless Nick in a bored voice. 'Subtlety has never been Peeves's strong point. I'm off to try and find the Bloody Baron... he might be able to put a stop to it... see you, Harry...'

a decision, he dipped his quill into the ink bottle once more and set it resolutely on the parchment. Dear Snuffles, Hope you're OK, the first week back here's been terrible, I'm really glad it's the weekend. We've got a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Umbridge. She's nearly as nice as your mum. I'm writing because that thing I wrote to you about last summer happened again last night when I was doing a detention with Umbridge. We're all missing our biggest friend, we hope he'll be back soon. Please write back quickly. Best, Harry Harry reread the letter several times, trying to see it from the point of view of an outsider. He could not see how they would know what he was talking about - or who he was talking to - just from reading this letter. He did hope Sirius would pick up the hint about Hagrid and tell them when he might be back. Harry did not want to ask directly in case it drew too much attention to what Hagrid might be up to while he was not at Hogwarts. Considering it was a very short letter, it had taken a long time to write; sunlight had crept halfway across the room while he had been working on it and he could now hear distant sounds of movement from the dormitories above. Sealing the parchment carefully, he climbed through the portrait hole and headed off for the Owlery. 'I would not go that way if I were you,' said Nearly Headless Nick, drifting disconcertingly through a wall just ahead of Harry as he walked down the passage. 'Peeves is planning an amusing. joke on the next person to pass the bust of Paracelsus halfway down the corridor.' 'Does it involve Paracelsus falling on top of the persons head?' asked Harry. 'Funnily enough, it does,' said Nearly Headless Nick in a bored voice. 'Subtlety has never been Peeves's strong point. I'm off to try and find the Bloody Baron... he might be able to put a stop to it... see you, Harry...'

'Yeah, bye,' said Harry and instead of turning right, he turned left, taking a longer but safer route up to the Owlery. His spirits rose as he walked past window after window showing brilliantly blue sky; he had training later, he would be back on the Quidditch pitch at last. Something brushed his ankles. He looked down and saw the caretaker's skeletal grey cat, Mrs Norris, slinking past him. She turned lamplike yellow eyes on him for a moment before disappearing behind a statue of Wilfred the Wistful. 'I'm not doing anything wrong,' Harry called after her. She had the unmistakeable air of a cat that was off to report to her boss, yet Harry could not see why; he was perfectly entitled to walk up to the Owlery on a Saturday morning. The sun was high in the sky now and when Harry entered the Owlery the glassless windows dazzled his eyes; thick silvery beams of sunlight crisscrossed the circular room in which hundreds of owls nestled on rafters, a little restless in the early-morning light, some clearly just returned from hunting. The straw-covered floor crunched a little as he stepped across tiny animal bones, craning his neck for a sight of Hedwig. There you are,' he said, spotting her somewhere near the very top of the vaulted ceiling. 'Get down here, I've got a letter for you.' With a low hoot she stretched her great white wings and soared down on to his shoulder. 'Right, I know this says Snuffles on the outside,' he told her, giving her the letter to clasp in her beak and, without knowing exactly why, whispering, 'but it's for Sirius, OK?' She blinked her amber eyes once and he took that to mean that she understood. 'Safe flight, then,' said Harry and he carried her to one of the windows; with a moments pressure on his arm, Hedwig took off into the blindingly bright sky. He watched her until she became a tiny black speck and vanished, then switched his gaze to Hagrid's hut, clearly visible from this window, and

'Yeah, bye,' said Harry and instead of turning right, he turned left, taking a longer but safer route up to the Owlery. His spirits rose as he walked past window after window showing brilliantly blue sky; he had training later, he would be back on the Quidditch pitch at last. Something brushed his ankles. He looked down and saw the caretaker's skeletal grey cat, Mrs Norris, slinking past him. She turned lamplike yellow eyes on him for a moment before disappearing behind a statue of Wilfred the Wistful. 'I'm not doing anything wrong,' Harry called after her. She had the unmistakeable air of a cat that was off to report to her boss, yet Harry could not see why; he was perfectly entitled to walk up to the Owlery on a Saturday morning. The sun was high in the sky now and when Harry entered the Owlery the glassless windows dazzled his eyes; thick silvery beams of sunlight crisscrossed the circular room in which hundreds of owls nestled on rafters, a little restless in the early-morning light, some clearly just returned from hunting. The straw-covered floor crunched a little as he stepped across tiny animal bones, craning his neck for a sight of Hedwig. There you are,' he said, spotting her somewhere near the very top of the vaulted ceiling. 'Get down here, I've got a letter for you.' With a low hoot she stretched her great white wings and soared down on to his shoulder. 'Right, I know this says Snuffles on the outside,' he told her, giving her the letter to clasp in her beak and, without knowing exactly why, whispering, 'but it's for Sirius, OK?' She blinked her amber eyes once and he took that to mean that she understood. 'Safe flight, then,' said Harry and he carried her to one of the windows; with a moments pressure on his arm, Hedwig took off into the blindingly bright sky. He watched her until she became a tiny black speck and vanished, then switched his gaze to Hagrid's hut, clearly visible from this window, and

just as clearly uninhabited, the chimney smokeless, the curtains drawn. The treetops of the Forbidden Forest swayed in a light breeze. Harry watched them, savouring the fresh air on his face, thinking about Quidditch later... then he saw it. A great, reptilian winged hcrse, just like the ones pulling the Hogwarts carriages, with leahery black wings spread wide like a pterodactyl's, rose up out of the trees like a grotesque, giant bird. It soared in a great circle, then plunged back into the trees. The whole thing had happened so quickly, Harry could hardly believe what he had seen, except that his heart was hammering madly. The Owlery door opened behind him. He leapt in shock and, turning quickly, saw Cho Chang holding a letter and a parcel in his hands. 'Hi,' said Harry automatically. 'Oh... hi,' she said breathlessly. 'I didn't think anyone would be up here this early... I only remembered five minutes ago, it's my mum's birthday' She held up the parcel. Right,' said Harry. His brain seemed to have jammed. He wanted to say something funny and interesting, but the memory of that terrible winged horse was fresh in his mind. Nice day,' he said, gesturing to the windows. His insides seemed to shrivel with embarrassment. The weather. He was talking about the weather... 'Yeah,' said Cho, looking around for a suitable owl. 'Good Quidditch conditions. I haven't been out all week, have you?' 'No,' said Harry. Cho had selected one of the school barn owls. She coaxed it down on to her arm where it held out an obliging leg so that she could attach the parcel. 'Hey has Gryffindor got a new Keeper yet?' she asked. 'Yeah,' said Harry. 'It's my friend Ron Weasley, d'you know him?' 'The Tornados-hater?' said Cho rather coolly. 'Is he any good?' 'Yeah,' said Harry

as clearly uninhabited, the chimney smokeless, the curtains drawn. The treetops of the Forbidden Forest swayed in a light breeze. Harry watched them, savouring the fresh air on his face, thinking about Quidditch later... then he saw it. A great, reptilian winged hcrse, just like the ones pulling the Hogwarts carriages, with leahery black wings spread wide like a pterodactyl's, rose up out of the trees like a grotesque, giant bird. It soared in a great circle, then plunged back into the trees. The whole thing had happened so quickly, Harry could hardly believe what he had seen, except that his heart was hammering madly. The Owlery door opened behind him. He leapt in shock and, turning quickly, saw Cho Chang holding a letter and a parcel in his hands. 'Hi,' said Harry automatically. 'Oh... hi,' she said breathlessly. 'I didn't think anyone would be up here this early... I only remembered five minutes ago, it's my mum's birthday' She held up the parcel. Right,' said Harry. His brain seemed to have jammed. He wanted to say something funny and interesting, but the memory of that terrible winged horse was fresh in his mind. Nice day,' he said, gesturing to the windows. His insides seemed to shrivel with embarrassment. The weather. He was talking about the weather... 'Yeah,' said Cho, looking around for a suitable owl. 'Good Quidditch conditions. I haven't been out all week, have you?' 'No,' said Harry. Cho had selected one of the school barn owls. She coaxed it down on to her arm where it held out an obliging leg so that she could attach the parcel. 'Hey has Gryffindor got a new Keeper yet?' she asked. 'Yeah,' said Harry. 'It's my friend Ron Weasley, d'you know him?' 'The Tornados-hater?' said Cho rather coolly. 'Is he any good?' 'Yeah,' said Harry

, 'I think so. I didn't see his tryout, though, I was in detention.' Cho looked up, the parcel only half-attached to the owls legs. That Umbridge woman's foul,' she said in a low voice. 'Putting you in detention just because you told the truth about how - how - how he died. Everyone heard about it, it was all over the school. You were really brave standing up to her like that.' Harry's insides re-inflated so rapidly he felt as though he might actually float a few inches off the dropping-strewn floor. Who cared about a stupid flying horse; Cho thought he had been really brave. For a moment, he considered accidentally-on-purpose showing her his cut hand as he helped her tie her parcel on to her owl... but the very instant this thrilling thought occurred, the Owlery door opened again. Filch the caretaker came wheezing into the room. There were purple patches on his sunken, veined cheeks, his jowls were aquiver and his thin grey hair dishevelled; he had obviously run here. Mrs Norris came trotting at his heels, gazing up at the owls overhead and mewing hungrily. There was a restless shifting of wings from above and a large brown owl snapped his beak in a menacing fashion. 'Aha!' said Filch, taking a flat-footed step towards Harry, his pouchy cheeks trembling with anger. Tve had a tip-off that you are intending to place a massive order for Dungbombs!' Harry folded his arms and stared at the caretaker. 'Who told you I was ordering Dungbombs?' Cho was looking from Harry to Filch, also frowning; the barn owl on her arm, tired of standing on one leg, gave an admonitory hoot but she ignored it. 'I have my sources.' said Filch in a self-satisfied hiss. 'Now hand over whatever it is you're sending.' Feeling immensely thankful that he had not dawdled in posting off the letter, Harry said, 'I can't, it's

'I think so. I didn't see his tryout, though, I was in detention.' Cho looked up, the parcel only half-attached to the owls legs. That Umbridge woman's foul,' she said in a low voice. 'Putting you in detention just because you told the truth about how - how - how he died. Everyone heard about it, it was all over the school. You were really brave standing up to her like that.' Harry's insides re-inflated so rapidly he felt as though he might actually float a few inches off the dropping-strewn floor. Who cared about a stupid flying horse; Cho thought he had been really brave. For a moment, he considered accidentally-on-purpose showing her his cut hand as he helped her tie her parcel on to her owl... but the very instant this thrilling thought occurred, the Owlery door opened again. Filch the caretaker came wheezing into the room. There were purple patches on his sunken, veined cheeks, his jowls were aquiver and his thin grey hair dishevelled; he had obviously run here. Mrs Norris came trotting at his heels, gazing up at the owls overhead and mewing hungrily. There was a restless shifting of wings from above and a large brown owl snapped his beak in a menacing fashion. 'Aha!' said Filch, taking a flat-footed step towards Harry, his pouchy cheeks trembling with anger. Tve had a tip-off that you are intending to place a massive order for Dungbombs!' Harry folded his arms and stared at the caretaker. 'Who told you I was ordering Dungbombs?' Cho was looking from Harry to Filch, also frowning; the barn owl on her arm, tired of standing on one leg, gave an admonitory hoot but she ignored it. 'I have my sources.' said Filch in a self-satisfied hiss. 'Now hand over whatever it is you're sending.' Feeling immensely thankful that he had not dawdled in posting off the letter, Harry said, 'I can't, it's

gone.' 'Gone?' said Filch, his face contorting with rage. 'Gone,' said Harry calmly. Filch opened his mouth furiously, mouthed for a few seconds, then raked Harry's robes with his eyes. 'How do I know you haven't got it in your pocket?' 'Because - ' 'I saw him send it,' said Cho angrily. Filch rounded on her. 'You saw him -?' That's right, I saw him,' she said fiercely. There was a moment's pause in which Filch glared at Cho and Cho glared right back, then the caretaker turned on his heel and shuffled back towards the door. He stopped with his hand on the handle and looked back at Harry. 'If I get so much as a whiff of a Dungbomb...' He stumped off down the stairs. Mrs Norris cast a last longing look at the owls and followed him. Harry and Cho looked at each other. Thanks,' Harry said. No problem,' said Cho, finally fixing the parcel to the barn owl's other leg, her face slightly pink. 'You weren't ordering Dungbombs, were you?' 'No,' said Harry. 'I wonder why he thought you were, then?' she said as she carried the owl to the window. Harry shrugged. He was quite as mystified by that as she was, though oddly it was not bothering him very much at the moment. They left the Owlery together. At the entrance of a corridor that led towards the west wing of the castle, Cho said, 'I'm going this way. Well, I'll... I'll see you around, Harry.' 'Yeah... see you.' She smiled at him and departed. Harry walked on, feeling quietly elated. He had managed to have an entire conversation with her and not embarrassed himself once... you were really brave standing up to her like that... Cho had called him brave... she did not hate him for being alive... Of course, she had preferred Cedric, he

.' 'Gone?' said Filch, his face contorting with rage. 'Gone,' said Harry calmly. Filch opened his mouth furiously, mouthed for a few seconds, then raked Harry's robes with his eyes. 'How do I know you haven't got it in your pocket?' 'Because - ' 'I saw him send it,' said Cho angrily. Filch rounded on her. 'You saw him -?' That's right, I saw him,' she said fiercely. There was a moment's pause in which Filch glared at Cho and Cho glared right back, then the caretaker turned on his heel and shuffled back towards the door. He stopped with his hand on the handle and looked back at Harry. 'If I get so much as a whiff of a Dungbomb...' He stumped off down the stairs. Mrs Norris cast a last longing look at the owls and followed him. Harry and Cho looked at each other. Thanks,' Harry said. No problem,' said Cho, finally fixing the parcel to the barn owl's other leg, her face slightly pink. 'You weren't ordering Dungbombs, were you?' 'No,' said Harry. 'I wonder why he thought you were, then?' she said as she carried the owl to the window. Harry shrugged. He was quite as mystified by that as she was, though oddly it was not bothering him very much at the moment. They left the Owlery together. At the entrance of a corridor that led towards the west wing of the castle, Cho said, 'I'm going this way. Well, I'll... I'll see you around, Harry.' 'Yeah... see you.' She smiled at him and departed. Harry walked on, feeling quietly elated. He had managed to have an entire conversation with her and not embarrassed himself once... you were really brave standing up to her like that... Cho had called him brave... she did not hate him for being alive... Of course, she had preferred Cedric, he

knew that... though if he'd only asked her to the Ball before Cedric had, things might have turned out differently... she had seemed sincerely sorry that she'd had to refuse when Harry asked her... 'Morning,' Harry said brightly to Ron as he joined them at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. 'What are you looking so pleased about?' said Ron, eyeing Harry in surprise. 'Erm... Quidditch later,' said Harry happily, pulling a large platter of bacon and eggs towards him. 'Oh... yeah...' said Ron. He put down the piece of toast he was eating and took a large swig of pumpkin juice. Then he said, 'Listen... you don't fancy going out a bit earlier with me, do you? Just to - er - give me some practice before training? So I can, you know, get my eye in a bit.' 'Yeah, OK,' said Harry. 'You're both really behind on homework as it - ' But she broke off; the morning post was arriving and, as usual, the Daily Prophet was soaring towards her in the beak of a screech owl, which landed perilously close to the sugar bowl and held out a leg. 'Anything interesting?' said Ron. Harry grinned, knowing Ron was keen to keep her off the subject of homework. Harry devoted himself to another helping of eggs and bacon. Ron was staring up at the high windows, looking slightly preoccupied. 'Oh no... '"The Ministry of Magic has received a tip-off from a reliable source that Sirius Black, notorious mass murderer... blah blah blah.. 'Lucius Malfoy, I'll bet anything,' said Harry in a low, furious voice. 'He did recognise Sirius on the platform...' What?' said Ron, looking alarmed. 'You didn't say - ' 'Shh!' said the other two. '... "Ministry warns wizarding community that Black is very dangerous... killed thirteen people... broke out of Azkaban.. 'Well, he

that... though if he'd only asked her to the Ball before Cedric had, things might have turned out differently... she had seemed sincerely sorry that she'd had to refuse when Harry asked her... 'Morning,' Harry said brightly to Ron as he joined them at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. 'What are you looking so pleased about?' said Ron, eyeing Harry in surprise. 'Erm... Quidditch later,' said Harry happily, pulling a large platter of bacon and eggs towards him. 'Oh... yeah...' said Ron. He put down the piece of toast he was eating and took a large swig of pumpkin juice. Then he said, 'Listen... you don't fancy going out a bit earlier with me, do you? Just to - er - give me some practice before training? So I can, you know, get my eye in a bit.' 'Yeah, OK,' said Harry. 'You're both really behind on homework as it - ' But she broke off; the morning post was arriving and, as usual, the Daily Prophet was soaring towards her in the beak of a screech owl, which landed perilously close to the sugar bowl and held out a leg. 'Anything interesting?' said Ron. Harry grinned, knowing Ron was keen to keep her off the subject of homework. Harry devoted himself to another helping of eggs and bacon. Ron was staring up at the high windows, looking slightly preoccupied. 'Oh no... '"The Ministry of Magic has received a tip-off from a reliable source that Sirius Black, notorious mass murderer... blah blah blah.. 'Lucius Malfoy, I'll bet anything,' said Harry in a low, furious voice. 'He did recognise Sirius on the platform...' What?' said Ron, looking alarmed. 'You didn't say - ' 'Shh!' said the other two. '... "Ministry warns wizarding community that Black is very dangerous... killed thirteen people... broke out of Azkaban.. 'Well, he

just won't be able to leave the house again, that's all,' she whispered. 'Dumbledore did warn him not to.' Harry looked down glumly at the bit of the Prophet he had torn off. Most of the page was devoted to an advertisement for Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, which was apparently having a sale. 'Hey!' he said, flattening it down so Ron could see it. 'Look at this!' 'I've got all the robes I want,' said Ron 'No,' said Harry. 'Look... this little piece here..." Ron bent closer to read it; the item was barely an inch long and placed right at the bottom of a column. It was headlined: TRESPASS AT MINISTRY Sturgis Podmore, 38, of number two, Laburnum Gardens, Clapham, has appeared in front of the Wizcngamot charged with trespass and attempted robbery at the Ministry of Magic on 31" August. Podmore was arrested by Ministry of Magic watchwizard Eric Munch, who found him attempting to force his way through a top-security door at one o'clock in the morning. Podmore, who refused to speak, in his own defence, was convicted on both charges and sentenced to six months in Azkaban. 'Sturgis Podmore?' said Ron slowly. 'He's that bloke who looks like his head's been thatched, isn't he? 'Six months in Azkaban!' whispered Harry, shocked. 'Just for trying to get through a door!' 'Don't be silly, it wasn't just for trying to get through a door. D'you reckon he was doing something for the Order?' Ron muttered. 'Wait a moment...' said Harry slowly. 'Sturgis was supposed to come and see us off, remember?' The other two looked at him. 'Yeah, he was supposed to be part of our guard going to King's Cross, remember? 'It could be a frame-up!' Ron exclaimed excitedly. The Ministry suspects he's one of Dumbledore's lot so - I dunno - they

won't be able to leave the house again, that's all,' she whispered. 'Dumbledore did warn him not to.' Harry looked down glumly at the bit of the Prophet he had torn off. Most of the page was devoted to an advertisement for Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, which was apparently having a sale. 'Hey!' he said, flattening it down so Ron could see it. 'Look at this!' 'I've got all the robes I want,' said Ron 'No,' said Harry. 'Look... this little piece here..." Ron bent closer to read it; the item was barely an inch long and placed right at the bottom of a column. It was headlined: TRESPASS AT MINISTRY Sturgis Podmore, 38, of number two, Laburnum Gardens, Clapham, has appeared in front of the Wizcngamot charged with trespass and attempted robbery at the Ministry of Magic on 31" August. Podmore was arrested by Ministry of Magic watchwizard Eric Munch, who found him attempting to force his way through a top-security door at one o'clock in the morning. Podmore, who refused to speak, in his own defence, was convicted on both charges and sentenced to six months in Azkaban. 'Sturgis Podmore?' said Ron slowly. 'He's that bloke who looks like his head's been thatched, isn't he? 'Six months in Azkaban!' whispered Harry, shocked. 'Just for trying to get through a door!' 'Don't be silly, it wasn't just for trying to get through a door. D'you reckon he was doing something for the Order?' Ron muttered. 'Wait a moment...' said Harry slowly. 'Sturgis was supposed to come and see us off, remember?' The other two looked at him. 'Yeah, he was supposed to be part of our guard going to King's Cross, remember? 'It could be a frame-up!' Ron exclaimed excitedly. The Ministry suspects he's one of Dumbledore's lot so - I dunno - they

lured him to the Ministry, and he wasn't trying to get through a door at all! Harry thought it seemed far-fetched. 'Do you know, I wouldn't be at all surprised if that were true.' She folded up her half of the newspaper thoughtfully. As Harry laid down his knife and fork, she seemed to come out of a reverie. 'Right, well, I think we should tackle that essay for Sprout on self-fertilising shrubs first and if we're lucky we'll be able to start McGonagall's Inanimatus Conjurus Spell before lunch...' Harry felt a small twinge of guilt at the thought of the pile of homework awaiting him upstairs, but the sky was a clear, exhilarating blue, and he had not been on his Firebolt for a week... 'And we've got tomorrow. She gets too worked up about work, that's her trouble...' There was a pause and he added, in a slightly more anxious tone, 'D'you think she meant it when she said we weren't copying from her?' 'Yeah, I do,' said Harry. 'Still, this is important, too, we've got to practise if we want to stay on the Quidditch team...' 'Yeah, that's right,' said Ron, in a heartened tone. 'And we have got plenty of time to do it all...' As they approached the Quidditch pitch, Harry glanced over to his right to where the trees of the Forbidden Forest were swaying darkly. Nothing flew out of them; the sky was empty but for a few distant owls fluttering around the Owlery tower. He had enough to worry about; the flying horse wasn't doing him any harm; he pushed it out of his mind. They collected balls from the cupboard in the changing room and set to work, Ron guarding the three tall goalposts, Harry playing Chaser and trying to get the Quaffle past Ron. Harry thought Ron was pretty good; he blocked three-quarters of the goals Harry attempted to put past him and played better the longer they practised. All their teammates but Angel

ured him to the Ministry, and he wasn't trying to get through a door at all! Harry thought it seemed far-fetched. 'Do you know, I wouldn't be at all surprised if that were true.' She folded up her half of the newspaper thoughtfully. As Harry laid down his knife and fork, she seemed to come out of a reverie. 'Right, well, I think we should tackle that essay for Sprout on self-fertilising shrubs first and if we're lucky we'll be able to start McGonagall's Inanimatus Conjurus Spell before lunch...' Harry felt a small twinge of guilt at the thought of the pile of homework awaiting him upstairs, but the sky was a clear, exhilarating blue, and he had not been on his Firebolt for a week... 'And we've got tomorrow. She gets too worked up about work, that's her trouble...' There was a pause and he added, in a slightly more anxious tone, 'D'you think she meant it when she said we weren't copying from her?' 'Yeah, I do,' said Harry. 'Still, this is important, too, we've got to practise if we want to stay on the Quidditch team...' 'Yeah, that's right,' said Ron, in a heartened tone. 'And we have got plenty of time to do it all...' As they approached the Quidditch pitch, Harry glanced over to his right to where the trees of the Forbidden Forest were swaying darkly. Nothing flew out of them; the sky was empty but for a few distant owls fluttering around the Owlery tower. He had enough to worry about; the flying horse wasn't doing him any harm; he pushed it out of his mind. They collected balls from the cupboard in the changing room and set to work, Ron guarding the three tall goalposts, Harry playing Chaser and trying to get the Quaffle past Ron. Harry thought Ron was pretty good; he blocked three-quarters of the goals Harry attempted to put past him and played better the longer they practised. All their teammates but Angel

ina were already in the changing room when they entered. All right, Ron?' said George, winking at him. Yeah,' said Ron, who had become quieter and quieter all the way down to the pitch. 'Ready to show us all up, Ickle Prefect?' said Fred, emerging tousle-haired from the neck of his Quidditch robes, a slightly malicious grin on his face. 'Shut up,' said Ron, stony-faced, pulling on his own team robes for the first time. They fitted him well considering they had been Oliver Wood's, who was rather broader in the shoulder. 'OK, everyone,' said Angelina, entering from the Captain's office, already changed. 'Let's gel to it; Alicia and Fred, if you can jus: bring out the ball crate for us. Oh, and there are a couple of people out there watching but I want you to just ignore them, all right?' Something in her would-be casual voice made Harry think he might know who the uninvited spectators were, and sure enough, when they left the changing room for the bright sunlight of the pitch it was to a storm of catcalls and jeers from the Slytherin Quidditch team and assorted hangers-on, who were grouped halfway up the empty stands and whose voices echoed loudly around the stadium. 'What's that Weasley's riding?' Malfoy called in his sneering drawl. 'Why would anyone put a flying charm on a mouldy old log like that?' Crabbe, Goyle and Pansy Parkinson guffawed and shrieked with laughter. Ron mounted his broom and kicked off from the ground and Harry followed him, watching his ears turn red from behind. 'Ignore them,' he said, accelerating to catch up with Ron, 'we'll see who's laughing after we play them...' 'Exactly the attitude I want, Harry' said Angelina approvingly soaring around them with the Quaffle under her arm and slowing to hover on the spot in front of her airborne team. 'OK, everyone, we're going to start with some passes just to warm up, the whole team please - '

were already in the changing room when they entered. All right, Ron?' said George, winking at him. Yeah,' said Ron, who had become quieter and quieter all the way down to the pitch. 'Ready to show us all up, Ickle Prefect?' said Fred, emerging tousle-haired from the neck of his Quidditch robes, a slightly malicious grin on his face. 'Shut up,' said Ron, stony-faced, pulling on his own team robes for the first time. They fitted him well considering they had been Oliver Wood's, who was rather broader in the shoulder. 'OK, everyone,' said Angelina, entering from the Captain's office, already changed. 'Let's gel to it; Alicia and Fred, if you can jus: bring out the ball crate for us. Oh, and there are a couple of people out there watching but I want you to just ignore them, all right?' Something in her would-be casual voice made Harry think he might know who the uninvited spectators were, and sure enough, when they left the changing room for the bright sunlight of the pitch it was to a storm of catcalls and jeers from the Slytherin Quidditch team and assorted hangers-on, who were grouped halfway up the empty stands and whose voices echoed loudly around the stadium. 'What's that Weasley's riding?' Malfoy called in his sneering drawl. 'Why would anyone put a flying charm on a mouldy old log like that?' Crabbe, Goyle and Pansy Parkinson guffawed and shrieked with laughter. Ron mounted his broom and kicked off from the ground and Harry followed him, watching his ears turn red from behind. 'Ignore them,' he said, accelerating to catch up with Ron, 'we'll see who's laughing after we play them...' 'Exactly the attitude I want, Harry' said Angelina approvingly soaring around them with the Quaffle under her arm and slowing to hover on the spot in front of her airborne team. 'OK, everyone, we're going to start with some passes just to warm up, the whole team please - '

'Hey, Johnson, what's with that hairstyle, anyway?' shrieked Pansy Parkinson from below. 'Why would anyone want to look like they've got worms coming out of their head?' Angelina swept her long braided hair out of her face and continued calmly, 'Spread out, then, and let's see what we can do...' Harry reversed away from the others to the far side of the pitch. Ron fell back towards the opposite goal. Angelina raised the Quaffle with one hand and threw it hard to Fred, who passed to George, who passed to Harry, who passed to Ron, who dropped it. The Slytherins, led by Malfoy, roared and screamed with laughter. Ron, who had pelted towards the ground to catch the Quaffle before it landed, pulled out of the dive untidily, so that he slipped sideways on his broom, and returned to playing height, blushing. Harry saw Fred and George exchange looks, but uncharacteristically neither of them said anything, for which he was grateful. 'Pass it on, Ron,' called Angelina, as though nothing had happened. Ron threw the Quaffle to Alicia, who passed back to Harry, who passed to George... 'Hey, Potter, how's your scar feeling?' called Malfoy. 'Sure you don't need a lie down? It must be, what, a whole week since you were in the hospital wing, that's a record for you, isn't it?' George passed to Angelina; she reverse-passed to Harry, who had not been expecting it, but caught it in the very tips of his fingers and passed it quickly to Ron, who lunged for it and missed by inches. 'Come on now, Ron,' said Angelina crossly, as he dived for the ground again, chasing the Quaffle. 'Pay attention.' It would have been hard to say whether Ron's face or the Quaffle was a deeper scarlet when he again returned to playing height. Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherin team were howling with laughter. On his third attempt, Ron caught the Quaffle; perhaps out of relief he passed

'Hey, Johnson, what's with that hairstyle, anyway?' shrieked Pansy Parkinson from below. 'Why would anyone want to look like they've got worms coming out of their head?' Angelina swept her long braided hair out of her face and continued calmly, 'Spread out, then, and let's see what we can do...' Harry reversed away from the others to the far side of the pitch. Ron fell back towards the opposite goal. Angelina raised the Quaffle with one hand and threw it hard to Fred, who passed to George, who passed to Harry, who passed to Ron, who dropped it. The Slytherins, led by Malfoy, roared and screamed with laughter. Ron, who had pelted towards the ground to catch the Quaffle before it landed, pulled out of the dive untidily, so that he slipped sideways on his broom, and returned to playing height, blushing. Harry saw Fred and George exchange looks, but uncharacteristically neither of them said anything, for which he was grateful. 'Pass it on, Ron,' called Angelina, as though nothing had happened. Ron threw the Quaffle to Alicia, who passed back to Harry, who passed to George... 'Hey, Potter, how's your scar feeling?' called Malfoy. 'Sure you don't need a lie down? It must be, what, a whole week since you were in the hospital wing, that's a record for you, isn't it?' George passed to Angelina; she reverse-passed to Harry, who had not been expecting it, but caught it in the very tips of his fingers and passed it quickly to Ron, who lunged for it and missed by inches. 'Come on now, Ron,' said Angelina crossly, as he dived for the ground again, chasing the Quaffle. 'Pay attention.' It would have been hard to say whether Ron's face or the Quaffle was a deeper scarlet when he again returned to playing height. Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherin team were howling with laughter. On his third attempt, Ron caught the Quaffle; perhaps out of relief he passed

it on so enthusiastically that it soared straight though Katie's outstretched hands and hit her hard in the face. 'Sorry!' Ron groaned, zooming forwards to see whether he had done any damage. 'Get back in position, she's fine!' barked Angelina. 'But as you're passing to a teammate, do try not to knock her off her broom, won't you? We've got Bludgers for that!' Katie's nose was bleeding. Down below, the Slytherins were stamping their feet and jeering. Fred and George converged on Katie. 'Here, take this,' Fred told her, handing her something small anc purple from out of his pocket, 'it'll clear it up in no time.' 'All right,' called Angelina, 'Fred, George, go and get your bats and a Bludger. Ron, get up to the goalposts. Harry, release the Snitch when I say so. We're going to aim for Ron's goal, obviously.' Harry zoomed off after the twins to fetch the Snitch. 'Ron's making a right pig's ear of things, isn't he?' muttered George, as the three of them landed at the crate containing the balls and opened it to extract one of the Bludgers and the Snitch. 'He's just nervous,' said Harry, 'he was fine when I was practising with him this morning.' 'Yeah, well, I hope he hasn't peaked too soon,' said Fred gloomily. They returned to the air. When Angelina blew her whistle, Harry released the Snitch and Fred and George let fly the Bludger. From that moment on, Harry was barely aware of what the others were doing. It was his job to recapture the tiny fluttering golden ball that was worth a hundred and fifty points to the Seeker's team and doing so required enormous speed and skill. He accelerated, rolling and swerving in and out of the Chasers, the warm autumn air whipping his face, and the distant yells of the Slytherins so much meaningless roaring in his ears... but too soon,

on so enthusiastically that it soared straight though Katie's outstretched hands and hit her hard in the face. 'Sorry!' Ron groaned, zooming forwards to see whether he had done any damage. 'Get back in position, she's fine!' barked Angelina. 'But as you're passing to a teammate, do try not to knock her off her broom, won't you? We've got Bludgers for that!' Katie's nose was bleeding. Down below, the Slytherins were stamping their feet and jeering. Fred and George converged on Katie. 'Here, take this,' Fred told her, handing her something small anc purple from out of his pocket, 'it'll clear it up in no time.' 'All right,' called Angelina, 'Fred, George, go and get your bats and a Bludger. Ron, get up to the goalposts. Harry, release the Snitch when I say so. We're going to aim for Ron's goal, obviously.' Harry zoomed off after the twins to fetch the Snitch. 'Ron's making a right pig's ear of things, isn't he?' muttered George, as the three of them landed at the crate containing the balls and opened it to extract one of the Bludgers and the Snitch. 'He's just nervous,' said Harry, 'he was fine when I was practising with him this morning.' 'Yeah, well, I hope he hasn't peaked too soon,' said Fred gloomily. They returned to the air. When Angelina blew her whistle, Harry released the Snitch and Fred and George let fly the Bludger. From that moment on, Harry was barely aware of what the others were doing. It was his job to recapture the tiny fluttering golden ball that was worth a hundred and fifty points to the Seeker's team and doing so required enormous speed and skill. He accelerated, rolling and swerving in and out of the Chasers, the warm autumn air whipping his face, and the distant yells of the Slytherins so much meaningless roaring in his ears... but too soon,

the whistle brought him to a halt again. 'Stop - stop - STOP!' screamed Angelina. 'Ron - you're not covering your middle post!' Harry looked round at Ron, who was hovering in front of the left-hand hoop, leaving the other two completely unprotected. 'Oh... sorry...' 'You keep shifting around while you're watching the Chasers!' said Angelina. 'Either stay in centre position until you have to move to defend a hoop, or else circle the hoops, but don't drift vaguely off to one side, that's how you let in the last three goals!' 'Sorry...' Ron repeated, his red face shining like a beacon against the bright blue sky. 'And Katie, can't you do something about that nosebleed?' 'It's just getting worse!' said Katie thickly, attempting to stem the flow with her sleeve. Harry glanced round at Fred, who was looking anxious and checking his pockets. He saw Fred pull out something purple, examine it for a second and then look round at Katie, evidently horror-struck. 'Well, let's try again,' said Angelina. She was ignoring the Slytherins, who had now set up a chant of 'Gryffindor are losers, Gryffindor are losers,' but there was a certain rigidity about her seat on the broom nevertheless. This time they had been flying for barely three minutes when Angelinas whistle sounded. Harry, who had just sighted the Snitch circling the opposite goalpost, pulled up feeling distinctly aggrieved. 'What now?' he said impatiently to Alicia, who was nearest. 'Katie,' she said shortly. Harry turned and saw Angelina, Fred and George all flying as fast as they could towards Katie. Harry and Alicia sped towards her, too. It was plain that Angelina had stopped training just in time; Katie was now chalk white and covered in blood. 'She needs the hospital wing,' said Angelina. 'We'll take her,' said Fred. 'She - er - might have swallowed a Blood Blisterpod

whistle brought him to a halt again. 'Stop - stop - STOP!' screamed Angelina. 'Ron - you're not covering your middle post!' Harry looked round at Ron, who was hovering in front of the left-hand hoop, leaving the other two completely unprotected. 'Oh... sorry...' 'You keep shifting around while you're watching the Chasers!' said Angelina. 'Either stay in centre position until you have to move to defend a hoop, or else circle the hoops, but don't drift vaguely off to one side, that's how you let in the last three goals!' 'Sorry...' Ron repeated, his red face shining like a beacon against the bright blue sky. 'And Katie, can't you do something about that nosebleed?' 'It's just getting worse!' said Katie thickly, attempting to stem the flow with her sleeve. Harry glanced round at Fred, who was looking anxious and checking his pockets. He saw Fred pull out something purple, examine it for a second and then look round at Katie, evidently horror-struck. 'Well, let's try again,' said Angelina. She was ignoring the Slytherins, who had now set up a chant of 'Gryffindor are losers, Gryffindor are losers,' but there was a certain rigidity about her seat on the broom nevertheless. This time they had been flying for barely three minutes when Angelinas whistle sounded. Harry, who had just sighted the Snitch circling the opposite goalpost, pulled up feeling distinctly aggrieved. 'What now?' he said impatiently to Alicia, who was nearest. 'Katie,' she said shortly. Harry turned and saw Angelina, Fred and George all flying as fast as they could towards Katie. Harry and Alicia sped towards her, too. It was plain that Angelina had stopped training just in time; Katie was now chalk white and covered in blood. 'She needs the hospital wing,' said Angelina. 'We'll take her,' said Fred. 'She - er - might have swallowed a Blood Blisterpod

by mistake - ' 'Well, there's no point continuing with no Beaters and a Chaser gone,' said Angelina glumly as Fred and George zoomed off towards the castle supporting Katie between them. 'Come on, let's go and get changed.' The Slytherins continued to chant as they trailed back into the changing rooms. 'It was -'Harry began. She looked up at Ron and her frost mess seemed to melt. 'Well, it was only your first one,' she said consolingly, 'it's bound to take time to - ' 'Who said it was me who made it lousy?' snapped Ron. Look, you said it was lousy so I just - ' 'I'm going to get started on some homework,' said Ron angrily and stomped off to the staircase to the boys' dormitories and vanished from sight. 'Was he lousy?' No,' said Harry loyally. 'Well, I suppose he could've played better,' Harry muttered, 'but it was only the first training session, like you said...' Neither Harry nor Ron seemed to make much headway with their homework that night. Harry knew Ron was too preoccupied with how badly he had performed at Quidditch practice and he himself was having difficulty in getting the 'Gryffindor are losers' chant out of his head. They spent the whole of Sunday in the common room, buried in! heir books while the room around them filled up, then emptied. It was another clear, fine day and most of their fellow Gryffindors spent the day out in the grounds, enjoying what might well be some of the last sunshine that year. By the evening, Harry felt as though somebody had been beating his brain against the inside of his skull. 'You know, we probably should try and get more homework done during the week, Harry muttered to Ron, as they finally laid aside Professor McGonagall's long essay on the Inanimatus Conjurus Spell and turned miserably to Professor Sinistra's equally long and difficult essay about Jupiter's many moons. 'Yeah,' said Ron, rubbing slightly bloodshot eyes and throwing

mistake - ' 'Well, there's no point continuing with no Beaters and a Chaser gone,' said Angelina glumly as Fred and George zoomed off towards the castle supporting Katie between them. 'Come on, let's go and get changed.' The Slytherins continued to chant as they trailed back into the changing rooms. 'It was -'Harry began. She looked up at Ron and her frost mess seemed to melt. 'Well, it was only your first one,' she said consolingly, 'it's bound to take time to - ' 'Who said it was me who made it lousy?' snapped Ron. Look, you said it was lousy so I just - ' 'I'm going to get started on some homework,' said Ron angrily and stomped off to the staircase to the boys' dormitories and vanished from sight. 'Was he lousy?' No,' said Harry loyally. 'Well, I suppose he could've played better,' Harry muttered, 'but it was only the first training session, like you said...' Neither Harry nor Ron seemed to make much headway with their homework that night. Harry knew Ron was too preoccupied with how badly he had performed at Quidditch practice and he himself was having difficulty in getting the 'Gryffindor are losers' chant out of his head. They spent the whole of Sunday in the common room, buried in! heir books while the room around them filled up, then emptied. It was another clear, fine day and most of their fellow Gryffindors spent the day out in the grounds, enjoying what might well be some of the last sunshine that year. By the evening, Harry felt as though somebody had been beating his brain against the inside of his skull. 'You know, we probably should try and get more homework done during the week, Harry muttered to Ron, as they finally laid aside Professor McGonagall's long essay on the Inanimatus Conjurus Spell and turned miserably to Professor Sinistra's equally long and difficult essay about Jupiter's many moons. 'Yeah,' said Ron, rubbing slightly bloodshot eyes and throwing

his fifth spoiled bit of parchment into the fire beside them. 'Listen... 'No,' he said heavily, 'you know she won't let us.' And so they worked on while the sky outside the windows became steadily darker. Slowly, the crowd in the common room began to thin again. 'Nearly done?' 'No,' said Ron shortly. 'Jupiter's biggest moon is Ganymede, not Callisto,' she said, pointing over Ron's shoulder at a line in his Astronomy essay, 'and it's lo that's got the volcanoes.' Thanks,' snarled Ron, scratching out the offending sentences. Harry and Ron both looked over. A handsome screech owl was standing on the windowsill, gazing into the room at Ron. 'Blimey, it is!' said Ron quietly, throwing down his quill and getting to his feet. 'What's Percy writing to me for?' He crossed to the window and opened it; Hermes flew inside, landed on Ron's essay and held out a leg to which a letter was attached. Ron took the letter off it and the owl departed at once, leaving inky footprints across Ron's drawing of the moon Io. That's definitely Percy's handwriting,' said Ron, sinking back into his chair and staring at the words on the outside of the scroll: Ronald Weasley, Gryffindor House, Hogwarts. He looked up at the other two. Ron unrolled the scroll and began to read. The further clown the parchment his eyes travelled, the more pronounced became his scowl. When he had finished reading, he looked disgusted. I was most pleasantly surprised when f heard this news and must firstly offer my congratulations. I must admit that I have always been afraid that you would take what we might call the 'Fred and George' route, rather than following in my footsteps, so you can imagine my feelings on hearing you have stopped flouting authority and have decided to shoulder some real responsibility. But I want to give you more than congratulations, Ron, I want to give you some advice, which is why I am sending this at

fifth spoiled bit of parchment into the fire beside them. 'Listen... 'No,' he said heavily, 'you know she won't let us.' And so they worked on while the sky outside the windows became steadily darker. Slowly, the crowd in the common room began to thin again. 'Nearly done?' 'No,' said Ron shortly. 'Jupiter's biggest moon is Ganymede, not Callisto,' she said, pointing over Ron's shoulder at a line in his Astronomy essay, 'and it's lo that's got the volcanoes.' Thanks,' snarled Ron, scratching out the offending sentences. Harry and Ron both looked over. A handsome screech owl was standing on the windowsill, gazing into the room at Ron. 'Blimey, it is!' said Ron quietly, throwing down his quill and getting to his feet. 'What's Percy writing to me for?' He crossed to the window and opened it; Hermes flew inside, landed on Ron's essay and held out a leg to which a letter was attached. Ron took the letter off it and the owl departed at once, leaving inky footprints across Ron's drawing of the moon Io. That's definitely Percy's handwriting,' said Ron, sinking back into his chair and staring at the words on the outside of the scroll: Ronald Weasley, Gryffindor House, Hogwarts. He looked up at the other two. Ron unrolled the scroll and began to read. The further clown the parchment his eyes travelled, the more pronounced became his scowl. When he had finished reading, he looked disgusted. I was most pleasantly surprised when f heard this news and must firstly offer my congratulations. I must admit that I have always been afraid that you would take what we might call the 'Fred and George' route, rather than following in my footsteps, so you can imagine my feelings on hearing you have stopped flouting authority and have decided to shoulder some real responsibility. But I want to give you more than congratulations, Ron, I want to give you some advice, which is why I am sending this at

night rather than by the usual morning post. Hopefully, you will be able 'o read this away from prying eyes and avoid awkward questions. From something the Minister let slip when telling me you are now a prefect, I gather that you are still seeing a lot of Harry Potter. I must tell you, Ron, that nothing could put you in danger of losing your badge more than continued fraternisation with that boy. Yes, I am sure you are surprised to hear this - no doubt you will say that Potter has always been Dumbledore's favourite - but I feel bound to tell you that Dumbledore may not be in charge at Hogwarts much longer and the people who count have a very different - and probably more accurate - view of Potter's behaviour. I shall say no more here, but if you look at the Daily Prophet tomorrow you will get a good idea of the way the wind is blowing - and see if you can spot yours truly! Seriously, Ron, you do not want to be tarred with the same brush as Potter, it could be very damaging to your future prospects, and I am talking here about life after school, too. As you must be aware, given that our father escorted him to court, Potter had a disciplinary hearing this summer in front of the whole Wizengamot and he did not come out of it looking too good. He got off on a mere technicality, if you ask me, and many of the people I've spoken to remain convinced of his guilt. It may be that you are afraid to sever ties with Potter - I know that he can be unbalanced and, for all I know, violent - but if you have any worries about this, or have spotted anything else in Potter's behaviour that is troubling you, I urge you to speak to Dolores Umbridge, a truly delightful woman who I know will be only too happy to advise you. This leads me to my other bit of advice. As I have hinted above, Dumbledore's regime at Hogwarts may soon be over. Your loyalty, Ron, should be not to him, but to the school and the Ministry. I am very sorry to hear that, so far, Professor Umbridge is encountering very little co-operation from staff as she strives to make those

rather than by the usual morning post. Hopefully, you will be able 'o read this away from prying eyes and avoid awkward questions. From something the Minister let slip when telling me you are now a prefect, I gather that you are still seeing a lot of Harry Potter. I must tell you, Ron, that nothing could put you in danger of losing your badge more than continued fraternisation with that boy. Yes, I am sure you are surprised to hear this - no doubt you will say that Potter has always been Dumbledore's favourite - but I feel bound to tell you that Dumbledore may not be in charge at Hogwarts much longer and the people who count have a very different - and probably more accurate - view of Potter's behaviour. I shall say no more here, but if you look at the Daily Prophet tomorrow you will get a good idea of the way the wind is blowing - and see if you can spot yours truly! Seriously, Ron, you do not want to be tarred with the same brush as Potter, it could be very damaging to your future prospects, and I am talking here about life after school, too. As you must be aware, given that our father escorted him to court, Potter had a disciplinary hearing this summer in front of the whole Wizengamot and he did not come out of it looking too good. He got off on a mere technicality, if you ask me, and many of the people I've spoken to remain convinced of his guilt. It may be that you are afraid to sever ties with Potter - I know that he can be unbalanced and, for all I know, violent - but if you have any worries about this, or have spotted anything else in Potter's behaviour that is troubling you, I urge you to speak to Dolores Umbridge, a truly delightful woman who I know will be only too happy to advise you. This leads me to my other bit of advice. As I have hinted above, Dumbledore's regime at Hogwarts may soon be over. Your loyalty, Ron, should be not to him, but to the school and the Ministry. I am very sorry to hear that, so far, Professor Umbridge is encountering very little co-operation from staff as she strives to make those

necessary changes within Hogwarts that the Ministry so ardently desires (although she should find this easier from next week - again, see the Daily Prophet tomorrow!). I shall say only this - a student who shows himself willing to help Professor Umbridge now may be very well-placed for Head Boy ship in a couple of years! I am sorry that I was unable to see more of you over the summer. It pains me to criticise our parents, but I am afraid I can no longer live under their roof while they remain mixed up with the dangerous crowd around Dumbledore. (If you are writing to Mother at any point, you might tell her that a certain Sturgis Podmore, who is a great friend of Dumbledore's, has recently been sent to Azkaban for trespass at the Ministry. Perhaps that will open their eyes to the kind of petty criminals with whom they are currently rubbing shoulders.) I count myself very lucky to have escaped the stigma of association with such people - the Minister really could not be more gracious to me - and I do hope, Ron, that you will not allow family ties to blind you to the misguided nature of our parents' beliefs and actions, either. I sincerely hope that, in time, they will realise how mistaken they were and I shall, of course, be ready to accept a full apology when that day comes. Please think over what I have said most carefully, particularly the bit about Harry Potter, and congratulations again on becoming prefect. Your brother, Percy Harry looked up at Ron. 'Well,' he said, trying to sound as though he found the whole thing a joke, 'if you want to - er - what is it?' - he checked Percy's letter - 'Oh yeah - "sever ties" with me, I swear I won't get violent.' 'Give it back,' said Ron, holding out his hand. 'He is -'Ron said jerkily, tearing Percy's letter in half 'the world's -'he tore it into quarters 'biggest -'he tore it into eighths 'git.' He threw the pieces into the fire. 'Come on, we've got to get this finished sometime before dawn,' he said briskly to

changes within Hogwarts that the Ministry so ardently desires (although she should find this easier from next week - again, see the Daily Prophet tomorrow!). I shall say only this - a student who shows himself willing to help Professor Umbridge now may be very well-placed for Head Boy ship in a couple of years! I am sorry that I was unable to see more of you over the summer. It pains me to criticise our parents, but I am afraid I can no longer live under their roof while they remain mixed up with the dangerous crowd around Dumbledore. (If you are writing to Mother at any point, you might tell her that a certain Sturgis Podmore, who is a great friend of Dumbledore's, has recently been sent to Azkaban for trespass at the Ministry. Perhaps that will open their eyes to the kind of petty criminals with whom they are currently rubbing shoulders.) I count myself very lucky to have escaped the stigma of association with such people - the Minister really could not be more gracious to me - and I do hope, Ron, that you will not allow family ties to blind you to the misguided nature of our parents' beliefs and actions, either. I sincerely hope that, in time, they will realise how mistaken they were and I shall, of course, be ready to accept a full apology when that day comes. Please think over what I have said most carefully, particularly the bit about Harry Potter, and congratulations again on becoming prefect. Your brother, Percy Harry looked up at Ron. 'Well,' he said, trying to sound as though he found the whole thing a joke, 'if you want to - er - what is it?' - he checked Percy's letter - 'Oh yeah - "sever ties" with me, I swear I won't get violent.' 'Give it back,' said Ron, holding out his hand. 'He is -'Ron said jerkily, tearing Percy's letter in half 'the world's -'he tore it into quarters 'biggest -'he tore it into eighths 'git.' He threw the pieces into the fire. 'Come on, we've got to get this finished sometime before dawn,' he said briskly to

Harry, pulling Professor Sinistra's essay back towards him. 'Oh, give them here,' she said abruptly. 'What?' said Ron. 'Give them to me, I'll look through them and correct them,' she said. 'Are you serious? It was now past midnight and the common room was deserted but for the three of them and Crookshanks. Harry was exhausted. He also felt an odd, sick, empty feeling in his stomach that had nothing to do with tiredness and everything to do with the letter now curling blackly in the heart of the fire. He knew that half the people inside Hogwarts thought him strange, even mad; he knew that the Daily Prophet had been making snide allusions to him for months, but there was something about seeing it written down like that in Percy's writing, about knowing that Percy was advising Ron to drop him and even to tell tales about him to Umbridge, that made his situation real to him as nothing else had. He had known Percy for four years, had stayed in his house during the summer holidays, shared a tent with him during the Quidditch World Cup, had even been awarded full marks by him in the second task of the Triwizard Tournament last year, yet now, Percy thought him unbalanced and possibly violent. And with a surge of sympathy for his godfather, Harry thought Sirius was probably the only person he knew who could really understand how he felt at the moment, because Sirius was in the same situation. Nearly everyone in the wizarding world thought Sirius a dangerous murderer and a great Voldemort supporter and he had had to live with that knowledge for fourteen years... Harry blinked. He had just seen something in the fire that could not have been there. It had flashed into sight and vanished immediately. No... it could not have been... he had imagined it because he had been thinking about Sirius... 'Harry, yours is OK except for this bit at the end, I think you must have misheard Professor Sinistra, Europa's covered in ice, not mice - 'Harry?' Harry had slid off his chair on to his knees and was now crouching on the singed and thread

, pulling Professor Sinistra's essay back towards him. 'Oh, give them here,' she said abruptly. 'What?' said Ron. 'Give them to me, I'll look through them and correct them,' she said. 'Are you serious? It was now past midnight and the common room was deserted but for the three of them and Crookshanks. Harry was exhausted. He also felt an odd, sick, empty feeling in his stomach that had nothing to do with tiredness and everything to do with the letter now curling blackly in the heart of the fire. He knew that half the people inside Hogwarts thought him strange, even mad; he knew that the Daily Prophet had been making snide allusions to him for months, but there was something about seeing it written down like that in Percy's writing, about knowing that Percy was advising Ron to drop him and even to tell tales about him to Umbridge, that made his situation real to him as nothing else had. He had known Percy for four years, had stayed in his house during the summer holidays, shared a tent with him during the Quidditch World Cup, had even been awarded full marks by him in the second task of the Triwizard Tournament last year, yet now, Percy thought him unbalanced and possibly violent. And with a surge of sympathy for his godfather, Harry thought Sirius was probably the only person he knew who could really understand how he felt at the moment, because Sirius was in the same situation. Nearly everyone in the wizarding world thought Sirius a dangerous murderer and a great Voldemort supporter and he had had to live with that knowledge for fourteen years... Harry blinked. He had just seen something in the fire that could not have been there. It had flashed into sight and vanished immediately. No... it could not have been... he had imagined it because he had been thinking about Sirius... 'Harry, yours is OK except for this bit at the end, I think you must have misheard Professor Sinistra, Europa's covered in ice, not mice - 'Harry?' Harry had slid off his chair on to his knees and was now crouching on the singed and thread

bare hearthrug, gazing into the flames. 'Er - Harry?' said Ron uncertainly. 'Why are you down there?' 'Because I've just seen Sirius's head in the fire,' said Harry. He spoke quite calmly; after all, he had seen Sirius's head in this very fire the previous year and talked to it, too; nevertheless, he could not be sure that he had really seen it this time... it had vanished so quickly... 'You mean like when he wanted to talk to you during the Triwizard Tournament? But he wouldn't do that now, it would be too - Sirius!' She gasped, gazing at the fire; Ron dropped his quill. There in the middle of the dancing flames sat Sirius's head, long dark hair failing around his grinning face. 'I was starting to think you'd go to bed before everyone else had disappeared,' he said. 'I've been checking every hour.' 'You've been popping into the fire every hour?' Harry said, half-laughing. 'You sound like Molly,' said Sirius. This was the only way I could come up with of answering Harry's letter without resorting to a code - and codes are breakable.' At the mention of Harry's letter, Ron both turned to stare at him. 'You didn't say you'd written to Sirius! 'I forgot,' said Harry, which was perfectly true; his meeting with Cho in the Owlery had driven everything before it out of his mind. 'We'll tell you afterwards. Go on, Sirius.' 'Well, I know it can't be fun when it hurts, but we don't think its anything to really worry about. It kept aching all last year, didn't it?' 'Yeah, and Dumbledore said it happened whenever Voldemort was feeling a powerful emotion,' said Harry, ignoring, as usual, Ron's winces. 'So maybe he was just, I dunno, really angry or something the night I had that detention.' 'Well, now he's back it's bound to hurt more often,' said Sirius.

hearthrug, gazing into the flames. 'Er - Harry?' said Ron uncertainly. 'Why are you down there?' 'Because I've just seen Sirius's head in the fire,' said Harry. He spoke quite calmly; after all, he had seen Sirius's head in this very fire the previous year and talked to it, too; nevertheless, he could not be sure that he had really seen it this time... it had vanished so quickly... 'You mean like when he wanted to talk to you during the Triwizard Tournament? But he wouldn't do that now, it would be too - Sirius!' She gasped, gazing at the fire; Ron dropped his quill. There in the middle of the dancing flames sat Sirius's head, long dark hair failing around his grinning face. 'I was starting to think you'd go to bed before everyone else had disappeared,' he said. 'I've been checking every hour.' 'You've been popping into the fire every hour?' Harry said, half-laughing. 'You sound like Molly,' said Sirius. This was the only way I could come up with of answering Harry's letter without resorting to a code - and codes are breakable.' At the mention of Harry's letter, Ron both turned to stare at him. 'You didn't say you'd written to Sirius! 'I forgot,' said Harry, which was perfectly true; his meeting with Cho in the Owlery had driven everything before it out of his mind. 'We'll tell you afterwards. Go on, Sirius.' 'Well, I know it can't be fun when it hurts, but we don't think its anything to really worry about. It kept aching all last year, didn't it?' 'Yeah, and Dumbledore said it happened whenever Voldemort was feeling a powerful emotion,' said Harry, ignoring, as usual, Ron's winces. 'So maybe he was just, I dunno, really angry or something the night I had that detention.' 'Well, now he's back it's bound to hurt more often,' said Sirius.

'So you don't think it had anything to do with Umbridge touching me when I was in detention with her?' Harry asked. 'I doubt it,' said Sirius. 'I know her by reputation and I'm sure she's no Death Eater - ' 'She's foul enough to be one,' said Harry darkly, and Ron nodded vigorously in agreement. 'Yes, but the world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters,' said Sirius with a wry smile. 'I know she's a nasty piece of work, though - you should hear Remus talk about her.' 'Does Lupin know her?' asked Harry quickly, remembering Umbridge's comments about dangerous half-breeds during her first lesson. 'No,' said Sirius, 'but she drafted a bit of anti-werewolf legislation two years ago thai makes it almost impossible for him to get a job.' Harry remembered how much shabbier Lupin looked these days and his dislike of Umbridge deepened even further. 'Scared of them, I expect,' said Sirius, smiling at her indignation. 'Apparently, she loathes part-humans; she campaigned to have merpeople rounded up and tagged last year, too. 'Sirius!' she said reproachfully. 'Honestly, if you made a bit of an effort with Kreacher, I'm sure he'd respond. After all, you are the only member of his family he's got left, and Professor Dumbledore said - ' 'So, what are Umbridge's lessons like?' Sirius interrupted. 'She's not letting us use magic at all!' 'All we do is read the stupid textbook,' said Ron. 'Ah, well, that figures,' said Sirius. 'Our information from inside the Ministry is that Fudge doesn't want you trained in combat.' 'Trained in combat!' repeated Harry incredulously. 'Yep,' said Sirius. 'Fudge thinks Dumbledore will stop at nothing to seize power. He's getting more paranoid about Dumbledore by the day. It's a matter of time before he has D

So you don't think it had anything to do with Umbridge touching me when I was in detention with her?' Harry asked. 'I doubt it,' said Sirius. 'I know her by reputation and I'm sure she's no Death Eater - ' 'She's foul enough to be one,' said Harry darkly, and Ron nodded vigorously in agreement. 'Yes, but the world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters,' said Sirius with a wry smile. 'I know she's a nasty piece of work, though - you should hear Remus talk about her.' 'Does Lupin know her?' asked Harry quickly, remembering Umbridge's comments about dangerous half-breeds during her first lesson. 'No,' said Sirius, 'but she drafted a bit of anti-werewolf legislation two years ago thai makes it almost impossible for him to get a job.' Harry remembered how much shabbier Lupin looked these days and his dislike of Umbridge deepened even further. 'Scared of them, I expect,' said Sirius, smiling at her indignation. 'Apparently, she loathes part-humans; she campaigned to have merpeople rounded up and tagged last year, too. 'Sirius!' she said reproachfully. 'Honestly, if you made a bit of an effort with Kreacher, I'm sure he'd respond. After all, you are the only member of his family he's got left, and Professor Dumbledore said - ' 'So, what are Umbridge's lessons like?' Sirius interrupted. 'She's not letting us use magic at all!' 'All we do is read the stupid textbook,' said Ron. 'Ah, well, that figures,' said Sirius. 'Our information from inside the Ministry is that Fudge doesn't want you trained in combat.' 'Trained in combat!' repeated Harry incredulously. 'Yep,' said Sirius. 'Fudge thinks Dumbledore will stop at nothing to seize power. He's getting more paranoid about Dumbledore by the day. It's a matter of time before he has D

umbledore arrested on some trumped-up charge.' This reminded Harry of Percy's letter. 'D'you know if there's going to be anything about Dumbledore in the Daily Prophet tomorrow? Ron's brother Percy reckons there will be - ' 'I don't know,' said Sirius, 'I haven't seer, anyone from the Order all weekend, they're all busy. It's just been Kreacher and me here There was a definite note of bitterness in Sirius's voice. 'So you haven't had any news about Hagrid, either?' 'Ah...' said Sirius, 'well, he was supposed to be back by now, no one's sure what's happened to him.' Then, seeing their stricken faces, he added quickly, 'But Dumbledore's not worried, so don't you three get yourselves in a state; I'm sure Hagrid's fine.' 'But if he was supposed to be back by now.. 'Madame Maxime was with him, we've been in touch with her and she says they got separated on the journey home - but there's nothing to suggest he's hurt or - well, nothing to suggest he's not perfectly OK.' Unconvinced, Harry, Ron exchanged worried looks. 'Listen, don't go asking too many questions about Hagrid,' said Sirius hastily, 'it'll just draw even more attention to the fact that he's not back and I know Dumbledore doesn't want that. Hagrid's tough, he'll be OK.' And when they did not appear cheered by this, Sirius added, 'When's your next Hogsmeade weekend, anyway? I was thinking, we got away with the dog disguise at the station, didn't we? 'Oh, that,' said Sirius, grinning, 'they're always guessing where I am, they haven't really got a clue - ' 'Yeah, but we think this time they have,' said Harry. 'Something Malfoy said on the train made us think he knew it was you, and his

ore arrested on some trumped-up charge.' This reminded Harry of Percy's letter. 'D'you know if there's going to be anything about Dumbledore in the Daily Prophet tomorrow? Ron's brother Percy reckons there will be - ' 'I don't know,' said Sirius, 'I haven't seer, anyone from the Order all weekend, they're all busy. It's just been Kreacher and me here There was a definite note of bitterness in Sirius's voice. 'So you haven't had any news about Hagrid, either?' 'Ah...' said Sirius, 'well, he was supposed to be back by now, no one's sure what's happened to him.' Then, seeing their stricken faces, he added quickly, 'But Dumbledore's not worried, so don't you three get yourselves in a state; I'm sure Hagrid's fine.' 'But if he was supposed to be back by now.. 'Madame Maxime was with him, we've been in touch with her and she says they got separated on the journey home - but there's nothing to suggest he's hurt or - well, nothing to suggest he's not perfectly OK.' Unconvinced, Harry, Ron exchanged worried looks. 'Listen, don't go asking too many questions about Hagrid,' said Sirius hastily, 'it'll just draw even more attention to the fact that he's not back and I know Dumbledore doesn't want that. Hagrid's tough, he'll be OK.' And when they did not appear cheered by this, Sirius added, 'When's your next Hogsmeade weekend, anyway? I was thinking, we got away with the dog disguise at the station, didn't we? 'Oh, that,' said Sirius, grinning, 'they're always guessing where I am, they haven't really got a clue - ' 'Yeah, but we think this time they have,' said Harry. 'Something Malfoy said on the train made us think he knew it was you, and his

father was on the platform, Sirius - you know, Lucius Malfoy - so don't come up here, whatever you do. If Malfoy recognises you again - ' 'All right, all right, I've got the point,' said Sirius. He looked most displeased. 'Just an idea, thought you might like to get together.' 'I would, I just don't want you chucked back in Azkaban!' said Harry. There was a pause in which Sirius looked out of the fire at Harry, a crease between his sunken eyes. 'You're less like your father than I thought,' he said finally, a definite coolness in his voice. 'The risk would've been what made it fun for James.' 'Look - ' 'Well, I'd better get going, I can hear Kreacher coming down the stairs,' said Sirius, but Harry was sure he was lying. 'I'll write to tell you a time I can make it back into the fire, then, shall I? If you can stand to risk it?' There was a tiny pop, and the place where Sirius's head had been was flickering flame once more. MINISTRY SEEKS EDUCATIONAL REFORM DOLORES UMBRIDGE APPOINTED FIRST EVER HIGH INQUISITOR 'Umbridge - "High Inquisitor"?' said Harry darkly, his half-eaten piece of toast slipping from his fingers. '"The Minister has been growing uneasy about goings-on at Hogwarts for some time," said Junior Assistant to the Minister, Percy Weasley. "He is now responding to concerns, voiced by anxious parents, who feel the school may be moving in a direction they do not approve of." 'This is not the first time in recent weeks that the Minister, Cornelius Fudge, has used new laws to effect improvements at the wizarding school. As recently as 30th August, Educational Decree Number Twenty-two was passed, to ensure that, in the event of the current Headmaster being unable to provide a candidate for a teaching post, the Ministry should select an appropriate person. '

was on the platform, Sirius - you know, Lucius Malfoy - so don't come up here, whatever you do. If Malfoy recognises you again - ' 'All right, all right, I've got the point,' said Sirius. He looked most displeased. 'Just an idea, thought you might like to get together.' 'I would, I just don't want you chucked back in Azkaban!' said Harry. There was a pause in which Sirius looked out of the fire at Harry, a crease between his sunken eyes. 'You're less like your father than I thought,' he said finally, a definite coolness in his voice. 'The risk would've been what made it fun for James.' 'Look - ' 'Well, I'd better get going, I can hear Kreacher coming down the stairs,' said Sirius, but Harry was sure he was lying. 'I'll write to tell you a time I can make it back into the fire, then, shall I? If you can stand to risk it?' There was a tiny pop, and the place where Sirius's head had been was flickering flame once more. MINISTRY SEEKS EDUCATIONAL REFORM DOLORES UMBRIDGE APPOINTED FIRST EVER HIGH INQUISITOR 'Umbridge - "High Inquisitor"?' said Harry darkly, his half-eaten piece of toast slipping from his fingers. '"The Minister has been growing uneasy about goings-on at Hogwarts for some time," said Junior Assistant to the Minister, Percy Weasley. "He is now responding to concerns, voiced by anxious parents, who feel the school may be moving in a direction they do not approve of." 'This is not the first time in recent weeks that the Minister, Cornelius Fudge, has used new laws to effect improvements at the wizarding school. As recently as 30th August, Educational Decree Number Twenty-two was passed, to ensure that, in the event of the current Headmaster being unable to provide a candidate for a teaching post, the Ministry should select an appropriate person. '

"That's how Dolores Umbridge came to be appointed to the teaching staff at Hogwarts," said Weasley last night. "Dumbledore couldn't find anyone so the Minister put in Umbridge, and of course, she's been an immediate success - " ' 'She's been a WHAT?' said Harry loudly.'"- an immediate success, totally revolutionising the teaching of Defence Against the Dark Arts and providing the Minister with on-the-ground feedback about what's really happening at Hogwarts." 'It is this last function that the Ministry has now formalised with the passing of Educational Decree Number Twenty-three, which creates the new position of Hogwarts High Inquisitor. '"This is an exciting new phase in the Minister's plan to get to grips with what some are calling the falling standards at Hogwarts," said Weasley. "The Inquisitor will have powers to inspect her fellow educators and make sure that they are coming up to scratch. Professor Umbridge has been offered this position in addition to her own teaching post and we are delighted to say that she has accepted." 'The Ministry's new moves have received enthusiastic support from parents of students at Hogwarts. '"I feel much easier in my mind now that I know Dumbledore is being subjected to fair and objective evaluation," said Mr Lucius Malfoy, 41, speaking from his Wiltshire mansion last night. "Many of us with our children's best interests at heart have been concerned about some of Dumbledore's eccentric decisions in the last few years and are glad to know that the Ministry is keeping an eye on the situation." 'Among those eccentric decisions are undoubtedly the controversial staff appointments previously described in this newspaper, which have included the employment of werewolf Remus Lupin, half-giant Rubeus Hagrid and delusional ex-Auror, "Mad-Eye" Moody. 'Rumours abound, of course, that Albus Dumbledore, once Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, is no longer up to the task of managing the prestigious school of Hogw

That's how Dolores Umbridge came to be appointed to the teaching staff at Hogwarts," said Weasley last night. "Dumbledore couldn't find anyone so the Minister put in Umbridge, and of course, she's been an immediate success - " ' 'She's been a WHAT?' said Harry loudly.'"- an immediate success, totally revolutionising the teaching of Defence Against the Dark Arts and providing the Minister with on-the-ground feedback about what's really happening at Hogwarts." 'It is this last function that the Ministry has now formalised with the passing of Educational Decree Number Twenty-three, which creates the new position of Hogwarts High Inquisitor. '"This is an exciting new phase in the Minister's plan to get to grips with what some are calling the falling standards at Hogwarts," said Weasley. "The Inquisitor will have powers to inspect her fellow educators and make sure that they are coming up to scratch. Professor Umbridge has been offered this position in addition to her own teaching post and we are delighted to say that she has accepted." 'The Ministry's new moves have received enthusiastic support from parents of students at Hogwarts. '"I feel much easier in my mind now that I know Dumbledore is being subjected to fair and objective evaluation," said Mr Lucius Malfoy, 41, speaking from his Wiltshire mansion last night. "Many of us with our children's best interests at heart have been concerned about some of Dumbledore's eccentric decisions in the last few years and are glad to know that the Ministry is keeping an eye on the situation." 'Among those eccentric decisions are undoubtedly the controversial staff appointments previously described in this newspaper, which have included the employment of werewolf Remus Lupin, half-giant Rubeus Hagrid and delusional ex-Auror, "Mad-Eye" Moody. 'Rumours abound, of course, that Albus Dumbledore, once Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, is no longer up to the task of managing the prestigious school of Hogw

arts. '"I think the appointment of the Inquisitor is a first step towards ensuring that Hogwarts has a headmaster in whom we can all repose our confidence," said a Ministry insider last night. 'Wizengamot elders Griselda Marchbanks and Tiberius Ogden have resigned in protest at the introduction of the post of Inquisitor to Hogwarts. '"Hogwarts is a school, not an outpost of Cornelius Fudge's office," said Madam Marchbanks. 'So now we know how we ended up with Umbridge! Fudge passed this "Educational Decree" and forced her on us! 'I can't believe this. It's outrageous!' 'I know it is,' said Harry. He looked down at his right hand, clenched on the table-top, and saw the faint white outline of the words Umbridge had forced him to cut into his skin. But a grin was unfurling on Ron's face. 'Oh, I can't wait to see McGonagall inspected,' said Ron happily...' But Professor Umbridge was not inspecting their History of Magic lesson, which was just as dull as the previous Monday, nor was she in Snape's dungeon when they arrived for double Potions, where Harry's moonstone essay was handed back to him with a large, spiky black 'D' scrawled in an upper corner. 'I have awarded you the grades you would have received if you presented this work in your OWL,' said Snape with a smirk, as he swept among them, passing back their homework. 'This should give you a realistic idea of what to expect in the examination.' Snape reached the front of the class and turned on his heel to face them. The general standard of this homework was abysmal. Most of you would have failed had this been your examination. I expect to see a great deal more effort for this week's essay on the various varieties of venom antidotes, or I shall have to start handing out detentions to those dunces who get a "D".' He smirked as Malfoy

. '"I think the appointment of the Inquisitor is a first step towards ensuring that Hogwarts has a headmaster in whom we can all repose our confidence," said a Ministry insider last night. 'Wizengamot elders Griselda Marchbanks and Tiberius Ogden have resigned in protest at the introduction of the post of Inquisitor to Hogwarts. '"Hogwarts is a school, not an outpost of Cornelius Fudge's office," said Madam Marchbanks. 'So now we know how we ended up with Umbridge! Fudge passed this "Educational Decree" and forced her on us! 'I can't believe this. It's outrageous!' 'I know it is,' said Harry. He looked down at his right hand, clenched on the table-top, and saw the faint white outline of the words Umbridge had forced him to cut into his skin. But a grin was unfurling on Ron's face. 'Oh, I can't wait to see McGonagall inspected,' said Ron happily...' But Professor Umbridge was not inspecting their History of Magic lesson, which was just as dull as the previous Monday, nor was she in Snape's dungeon when they arrived for double Potions, where Harry's moonstone essay was handed back to him with a large, spiky black 'D' scrawled in an upper corner. 'I have awarded you the grades you would have received if you presented this work in your OWL,' said Snape with a smirk, as he swept among them, passing back their homework. 'This should give you a realistic idea of what to expect in the examination.' Snape reached the front of the class and turned on his heel to face them. The general standard of this homework was abysmal. Most of you would have failed had this been your examination. I expect to see a great deal more effort for this week's essay on the various varieties of venom antidotes, or I shall have to start handing out detentions to those dunces who get a "D".' He smirked as Malfoy

sniggered and said in a carrying whisper, 'Some people got a "D"? Determined not to give Snape an excuse to tail him this lesson, Harry read and reread every line of instructions on the blackboard at least three times before acting on them. 'And the homework didn't go too badly, either, did it?' When neither Ron nor Harry answered, she pressed on, 'I mean, all right, I didn't expect the top grade, not if he's marking to OWL standard, but a pass is quite encouraging at this stage, wouldn't you say?' Harry made a non-committal noise in his throat. 'Of course, a lot can happen between now and the exam, we've got plenty of time to improve, but the grades we're getting now are a sort of baseline, aren't they? Something we can build on...' They sat down together at the Gryffindor table. 'Happy?' 'Well, that's nothing to be ashamed of,' said Fred, who had just arrived at the table with George and Lee Jordan and was sitting down on Harry's right...' '"Poor", yeah,' said Lee Jordan. 'Still, better than "D", isn't it? 'Dreadful"?' Harry felt his face grow warm and faked a small coughing fit over his roll. 'So top grade's "O" for "Outstanding",' she was saying, 'and then there's "A" - ' 'No, "E",' George corrected her, '"E" for "Exceeds Expectations". 'Then you get "P" for "Poor"-'Ron raised both his arms in mock celebration - 'and "D" for "Dreadful". 'And then "T",' George reminded her. 'Even lower than a "D"? What on earth does "T" stand for?' '"Troll",' said George promptly. Harry laughed again, though he was not sure whether or not George was joking. 'You lot had an inspected lesson yet?' Fred asked them. 'Have you?' 'Just now, before lunch,' said George.

iggered and said in a carrying whisper, 'Some people got a "D"? Determined not to give Snape an excuse to tail him this lesson, Harry read and reread every line of instructions on the blackboard at least three times before acting on them. 'And the homework didn't go too badly, either, did it?' When neither Ron nor Harry answered, she pressed on, 'I mean, all right, I didn't expect the top grade, not if he's marking to OWL standard, but a pass is quite encouraging at this stage, wouldn't you say?' Harry made a non-committal noise in his throat. 'Of course, a lot can happen between now and the exam, we've got plenty of time to improve, but the grades we're getting now are a sort of baseline, aren't they? Something we can build on...' They sat down together at the Gryffindor table. 'Happy?' 'Well, that's nothing to be ashamed of,' said Fred, who had just arrived at the table with George and Lee Jordan and was sitting down on Harry's right...' '"Poor", yeah,' said Lee Jordan. 'Still, better than "D", isn't it? 'Dreadful"?' Harry felt his face grow warm and faked a small coughing fit over his roll. 'So top grade's "O" for "Outstanding",' she was saying, 'and then there's "A" - ' 'No, "E",' George corrected her, '"E" for "Exceeds Expectations". 'Then you get "P" for "Poor"-'Ron raised both his arms in mock celebration - 'and "D" for "Dreadful". 'And then "T",' George reminded her. 'Even lower than a "D"? What on earth does "T" stand for?' '"Troll",' said George promptly. Harry laughed again, though he was not sure whether or not George was joking. 'You lot had an inspected lesson yet?' Fred asked them. 'Have you?' 'Just now, before lunch,' said George.

Fred shrugged. 'Not that bad. Umbridge just lurked in the corner making notes on a clipboard. You know what Flitwick's like, he treated her like a guest, didn't seem to bother him at all. She didn't say much. Asked Alicia a couple of questions about what the classes are normally like, Alicia told her they were really good, that was it.' 'I can't see old Flitwick getting marked down,' said George, 'he usually gets everyone through their exams all right.' 'Who've you got this afternoon?' Fred asked Harry. Trelawney - ' 'A "T" if ever I saw one.' '- and Umbridge herself.' 'Well, be a good boy and keep your temper with Umbridge today,' said George. 'Angelina'll do her nut if you miss any more Quidditch practices.' But Harry did not have to wait for Defence Against the Dark Arts to meet Professor Umbridge. He was pulling out his dream diary in a seat at the very back of the shadowy Divination room when Ron elbowed him in the ribs and, looking round, he saw Professor Umbridge emerging through the trapdoor in the floor. The class, which had been talking cheerily, fell silent at once. The abrupt fall in the noise level made Professor Trelawney, who had been wafting about handing out copies of The Dream Oracle, look round. 'Good afternoon, Professor Trelawney,' said Professor Umbridge with her wide smile. "You received my note, I trust? Giving the time and date of your inspection?' Professor Trelawney nodded curtly and, looking very disgruntled, turned her back on Professor Umbridge and continued to give out books. Still smiling, Professor Umbridge grasped the back of the nearest armchair and pulled it to the front of the class so that it was a few inches behind Professor Trelawney's seat. She then sat down, took her clipboard from her flowery bag and looked up expectantly, waiting for the class to begin. Professor Trelawney pulled her shawls tight about her with slightly trembling hands and surveyed the class through her hugely magnifying lenses. 'We shall be continuing

shrugged. 'Not that bad. Umbridge just lurked in the corner making notes on a clipboard. You know what Flitwick's like, he treated her like a guest, didn't seem to bother him at all. She didn't say much. Asked Alicia a couple of questions about what the classes are normally like, Alicia told her they were really good, that was it.' 'I can't see old Flitwick getting marked down,' said George, 'he usually gets everyone through their exams all right.' 'Who've you got this afternoon?' Fred asked Harry. Trelawney - ' 'A "T" if ever I saw one.' '- and Umbridge herself.' 'Well, be a good boy and keep your temper with Umbridge today,' said George. 'Angelina'll do her nut if you miss any more Quidditch practices.' But Harry did not have to wait for Defence Against the Dark Arts to meet Professor Umbridge. He was pulling out his dream diary in a seat at the very back of the shadowy Divination room when Ron elbowed him in the ribs and, looking round, he saw Professor Umbridge emerging through the trapdoor in the floor. The class, which had been talking cheerily, fell silent at once. The abrupt fall in the noise level made Professor Trelawney, who had been wafting about handing out copies of The Dream Oracle, look round. 'Good afternoon, Professor Trelawney,' said Professor Umbridge with her wide smile. "You received my note, I trust? Giving the time and date of your inspection?' Professor Trelawney nodded curtly and, looking very disgruntled, turned her back on Professor Umbridge and continued to give out books. Still smiling, Professor Umbridge grasped the back of the nearest armchair and pulled it to the front of the class so that it was a few inches behind Professor Trelawney's seat. She then sat down, took her clipboard from her flowery bag and looked up expectantly, waiting for the class to begin. Professor Trelawney pulled her shawls tight about her with slightly trembling hands and surveyed the class through her hugely magnifying lenses. 'We shall be continuing

our study of prophetic dreams today,' she said in a brave attempt at her usual mystic tones, though her voice shook slightly. 'Divide into pairs, please, and interpret each others latest night-time visions with the aid of the Oracle.' She made as though to sweep back to her seat, saw Professor Umbridge sitting right beside it, and immediately veered left towards Parvati and Lavender, who were already deep in discussion about Parvati's most recent dream. Harry opened his copy of The Dream Oracle, watching Umbridge covertly. She was already making notes on her clipboard. After a few minutes she got to her feet and began to pace the room in "Trelawney's wake, listening to her conversations with students and posing questions here and there. Harry bent his head hurriedly over his book. Think of a dream, quick,' he told Ron, 'in case the old toad comes our way.' 'I did it last time,' Ron protested, 'it's your turn, you tell me one.' 'Oh, I dunno...' said Harry desperately, who could not remember dreaming anything at all over the last few days. 'Let's say I dreamed I was... drowning Snape in my cauldron. Yeah, that'll do...' Ron chortled as he opened his Dream Oracle. 'OK, we've got to add your age to the date you had the dream, the number of letters in the subject... would that be "drowning" or "cauldron" or "Snape"?' 'It doesn't matter, pick any of them.' said Harry, chancing a glance behind him. Professor Umbridge was now standing at Professor Trelawney's shoulder making notes while the Divination teacher questioned Neville about his dream diary. 'What night did you dream this again?' Ron said, immersed in calculations. 'I dunno, last night, whenever you like,' Harry told him, trying to listen to what Umbridge was saying to Professor Trelawney. They were only a table away from him and Ron now. Professor Umbridge was making another note on her clipboard and Professor Trelawney was looking extremely put out. 'Now,' said Um

study of prophetic dreams today,' she said in a brave attempt at her usual mystic tones, though her voice shook slightly. 'Divide into pairs, please, and interpret each others latest night-time visions with the aid of the Oracle.' She made as though to sweep back to her seat, saw Professor Umbridge sitting right beside it, and immediately veered left towards Parvati and Lavender, who were already deep in discussion about Parvati's most recent dream. Harry opened his copy of The Dream Oracle, watching Umbridge covertly. She was already making notes on her clipboard. After a few minutes she got to her feet and began to pace the room in "Trelawney's wake, listening to her conversations with students and posing questions here and there. Harry bent his head hurriedly over his book. Think of a dream, quick,' he told Ron, 'in case the old toad comes our way.' 'I did it last time,' Ron protested, 'it's your turn, you tell me one.' 'Oh, I dunno...' said Harry desperately, who could not remember dreaming anything at all over the last few days. 'Let's say I dreamed I was... drowning Snape in my cauldron. Yeah, that'll do...' Ron chortled as he opened his Dream Oracle. 'OK, we've got to add your age to the date you had the dream, the number of letters in the subject... would that be "drowning" or "cauldron" or "Snape"?' 'It doesn't matter, pick any of them.' said Harry, chancing a glance behind him. Professor Umbridge was now standing at Professor Trelawney's shoulder making notes while the Divination teacher questioned Neville about his dream diary. 'What night did you dream this again?' Ron said, immersed in calculations. 'I dunno, last night, whenever you like,' Harry told him, trying to listen to what Umbridge was saying to Professor Trelawney. They were only a table away from him and Ron now. Professor Umbridge was making another note on her clipboard and Professor Trelawney was looking extremely put out. 'Now,' said Um

bridge, looking up at Trelawney, 'you've been in this post how long, exactly?' Professor Trelawney scowled at her, arms crossed and shoulders hunched as though wishing to protect herself as much as possible from the indignity of the inspection. After a slight pause in which she seemed to decide that the question was not so offensive that she could reasonably ignore it, she said in a deeply resentful tone, 'Nearly sixteen years.' 'Quite a period,' said Professor Umbridge, making a note on her clipboard. 'So it was Professor Dumbledore who appointed you?' That's right,' said Professor Trelawney shortly. Professor Umbridge made another note. 'And you are a great-great-granddaughter of the celebrated Seer Cassandra Trelawney?' 'Yes,' said Professor Trelawney, holding her head a little higher. Another note on the clipboard. 'But I think - correct me if I am mistaken - that you are the first in your family since Cassandra to be possessed of Second Sight?' These things often skip - er - three generations,' said Professor Trelawney. Professor Umbridge's toadlike smile widened. 'Of course,' she said sweetly, making yet another note. 'Well, if you could just predict something for me, then?' And she looked up enquiringly, still smiling. Professor Trelawney stiffened as though unable to believe her ears. 'I don't understand you,' she said, clutching convulsively at the shawl around her scrawny neck. 'I'd like you to make a prediction for me,' said Professor Umbridge very clearly. Harry and Ron were not the only people now watching and listening sneakily from behind their books. Most of the class were staring transfixed at Professor Trelawney as she drew herself up to her lull height, her beads and bangles clinking. The Inner Eye does not See upon command!' she said in scandalised tones. 'I see,' said Professor Umbridge softly, making yet another note on her clipboard. 'I - but - but... wait!' said Professor Trelawney suddenly, in an attempt at her usual ethereal voice,

, looking up at Trelawney, 'you've been in this post how long, exactly?' Professor Trelawney scowled at her, arms crossed and shoulders hunched as though wishing to protect herself as much as possible from the indignity of the inspection. After a slight pause in which she seemed to decide that the question was not so offensive that she could reasonably ignore it, she said in a deeply resentful tone, 'Nearly sixteen years.' 'Quite a period,' said Professor Umbridge, making a note on her clipboard. 'So it was Professor Dumbledore who appointed you?' That's right,' said Professor Trelawney shortly. Professor Umbridge made another note. 'And you are a great-great-granddaughter of the celebrated Seer Cassandra Trelawney?' 'Yes,' said Professor Trelawney, holding her head a little higher. Another note on the clipboard. 'But I think - correct me if I am mistaken - that you are the first in your family since Cassandra to be possessed of Second Sight?' These things often skip - er - three generations,' said Professor Trelawney. Professor Umbridge's toadlike smile widened. 'Of course,' she said sweetly, making yet another note. 'Well, if you could just predict something for me, then?' And she looked up enquiringly, still smiling. Professor Trelawney stiffened as though unable to believe her ears. 'I don't understand you,' she said, clutching convulsively at the shawl around her scrawny neck. 'I'd like you to make a prediction for me,' said Professor Umbridge very clearly. Harry and Ron were not the only people now watching and listening sneakily from behind their books. Most of the class were staring transfixed at Professor Trelawney as she drew herself up to her lull height, her beads and bangles clinking. The Inner Eye does not See upon command!' she said in scandalised tones. 'I see,' said Professor Umbridge softly, making yet another note on her clipboard. 'I - but - but... wait!' said Professor Trelawney suddenly, in an attempt at her usual ethereal voice,

though the mystical effect was ruined somewhat by the way it was shaking with anger. 'I... I think I do see something... something that concerns you... why, I sense something... something dark... some grave peril...' Professor Trelawney pointed a shaking finger at Professor Umbridge who continued to smile blandly at her, eyebrows raised. 'I am afraid... I am afraid that you are in grave danger!' Professor Trelawney finished dramatically. There was a pause. Professor Umbridge surveyed Professor Trelawney. 'Right,' she said softly, scribbling on her clipboard once more. 'Well, if that's really the best you can do...' She turned away, leaving Professor Trelawney standing rooted to the spot, her chest heaving. Harry caught Ron's eye and knew that Ron was thinking exactly the same as he was: they both knew that Professor Trelawney was an old fraud, but on the other hand, they loathed Umbridge so much that they felt very much on Trelawney's side - until she swooped down on them a few seconds later, that is. 'Well?' she said, snapping her long fingers under Harry's nose, uncharacteristically brisk. 'Let me see the start you've made on your dream diary, please.' And by the time she had interpreted Harry's dreams at the top of her voice (all of which, even the ones that involved eating porridge, apparently foretold a gruesome and early death), he was feeling much less sympathetic towards her. All the while, Professor Umbridge stood a few feet away, making notes on that clipboard, and when the bell rang she descended the silver ladder first and was waiting for them all when they reached their Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson ten minutes later. She was humming and smiling to herself when they entered the room. 'Wands away,' she instructed them all with a smile, and those people who had been hopeful enough to take them out, sadly returned them to their bags. 'As we finished Chapter One last lesson, I would like you all to turn to page nineteen today and commence "Chapter Two, Common Defensive Theories and

the mystical effect was ruined somewhat by the way it was shaking with anger. 'I... I think I do see something... something that concerns you... why, I sense something... something dark... some grave peril...' Professor Trelawney pointed a shaking finger at Professor Umbridge who continued to smile blandly at her, eyebrows raised. 'I am afraid... I am afraid that you are in grave danger!' Professor Trelawney finished dramatically. There was a pause. Professor Umbridge surveyed Professor Trelawney. 'Right,' she said softly, scribbling on her clipboard once more. 'Well, if that's really the best you can do...' She turned away, leaving Professor Trelawney standing rooted to the spot, her chest heaving. Harry caught Ron's eye and knew that Ron was thinking exactly the same as he was: they both knew that Professor Trelawney was an old fraud, but on the other hand, they loathed Umbridge so much that they felt very much on Trelawney's side - until she swooped down on them a few seconds later, that is. 'Well?' she said, snapping her long fingers under Harry's nose, uncharacteristically brisk. 'Let me see the start you've made on your dream diary, please.' And by the time she had interpreted Harry's dreams at the top of her voice (all of which, even the ones that involved eating porridge, apparently foretold a gruesome and early death), he was feeling much less sympathetic towards her. All the while, Professor Umbridge stood a few feet away, making notes on that clipboard, and when the bell rang she descended the silver ladder first and was waiting for them all when they reached their Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson ten minutes later. She was humming and smiling to herself when they entered the room. 'Wands away,' she instructed them all with a smile, and those people who had been hopeful enough to take them out, sadly returned them to their bags. 'As we finished Chapter One last lesson, I would like you all to turn to page nineteen today and commence "Chapter Two, Common Defensive Theories and

their Derivation". There will be no need to talk.' Still smiling her wide, self-satisfied smile, she sat down at her desk. The class gave an audible sigh as it turned, as one, to page nineteen. Professor Umbridge had noticed, too, and what was more, she seemed to have worked out a strategy for just such an eventuality. 'Well then, proceed to Chapter Three.' 'I've read that too. I've read the whole book.' Professor Umbridge blinked but recovered her poise almost instantly. 'He says "counter-jinx" is just a name people give their jinxes when they want to make them sound more acceptable.' Professor Umbridge raised her eyebrows and Harry knew she was impressed, against her will. Professor Umbridge's eyebrows rose a little higher and her gaze became distinctly colder. 'You disagree?' she repeated. 'Mr Slinkhard doesn't like jinxes, does he? But I think they can be very useful when they're used defensively.' 'Oh, you do, do you?' said Professor Umbridge, forgetting to whisper and straightening up. That is enough,' said Professor Umbridge. She walked back to the front of the class and stood before them, all the jauntiness she had shown at the beginning of the lesson gone. 'What for?' said Harry angrily. 'For disrupting my class with pointless interruptions,' said Professor Umbridge smoothly. 'I am here to teach you using a Ministry-approved method that does not include inviting students to give their opinions on matters about which they understand very little. Your previous teachers in this subject may have allowed you more licence, but as none of them - with the possible exception of Professor Quirrell, who did at least appear to have restricted himself to age-appropriate subjects - would have passed a Ministry inspection - ' 'Yeah, Quirrell was a great teacher,' said Harry loudly, 'there was just that minor drawback of him having Lord Voldemort sticking out of the back of his head.' This pronouncement was followed by one of the loudest silences Harry had ever heard. Then - 'I think another

Derivation". There will be no need to talk.' Still smiling her wide, self-satisfied smile, she sat down at her desk. The class gave an audible sigh as it turned, as one, to page nineteen. Professor Umbridge had noticed, too, and what was more, she seemed to have worked out a strategy for just such an eventuality. 'Well then, proceed to Chapter Three.' 'I've read that too. I've read the whole book.' Professor Umbridge blinked but recovered her poise almost instantly. 'He says "counter-jinx" is just a name people give their jinxes when they want to make them sound more acceptable.' Professor Umbridge raised her eyebrows and Harry knew she was impressed, against her will. Professor Umbridge's eyebrows rose a little higher and her gaze became distinctly colder. 'You disagree?' she repeated. 'Mr Slinkhard doesn't like jinxes, does he? But I think they can be very useful when they're used defensively.' 'Oh, you do, do you?' said Professor Umbridge, forgetting to whisper and straightening up. That is enough,' said Professor Umbridge. She walked back to the front of the class and stood before them, all the jauntiness she had shown at the beginning of the lesson gone. 'What for?' said Harry angrily. 'For disrupting my class with pointless interruptions,' said Professor Umbridge smoothly. 'I am here to teach you using a Ministry-approved method that does not include inviting students to give their opinions on matters about which they understand very little. Your previous teachers in this subject may have allowed you more licence, but as none of them - with the possible exception of Professor Quirrell, who did at least appear to have restricted himself to age-appropriate subjects - would have passed a Ministry inspection - ' 'Yeah, Quirrell was a great teacher,' said Harry loudly, 'there was just that minor drawback of him having Lord Voldemort sticking out of the back of his head.' This pronouncement was followed by one of the loudest silences Harry had ever heard. Then - 'I think another

week's detentions would do you some good, Mr Potter,' said Umbridge sleekly. * The cut on the back of Harry's hand had barely healed and, by the following morning, it was bleeding again. He did not complain during the evening's detention; he was determined not to give Umbridge the satisfaction; over and over again he wrote I must not tell lies and not a sound escaped his lips, though the cut deepened with every letter. The very worst part of this second week's worth of detentions v/as, just as George had predicted, Angslina's reaction. She cornered him just as he arrived at the Gryffindor table for breakfast on Tuesday and shouted so loudly that Professor McGonagall came sweeping down upon the pair of them from the staff table. 'Miss Johnson, how dare you make such a racket in the Great Hall! Five points from Gryffindor!' 'But Professor - he's gone and landed himself in detention again - ' 'What's this, Potter?' said Professor McGonagall sharply, rounding on Harry. 'Detention? From whom?' 'From Professor Umbridge,' muttered Harry, not meeting Professor McGonagall's beady, square-framed eyes. 'Are you telling me,' she said, lowering her voice so that the group of curious Ravenclaws behind them could not hear, that after the warning I gave you last Monday you lost your temper in Professor Umbridge's class again?' 'Yes,' Harry muttered, speaking to the floor. 'Potter, you must get a grip on yourself! You are heading for serious trouble! Another five points from Gryffindor!' 'But - what - '? Professor, no!' Harry said, furious at this injustice, 'I'm already being punished by her, why do you have to take points as well?' 'Because detentions do not appear to have any effect on you whatsoever!' said Professor McGonagall tartly. 'No, not another word of complaint, Potter! And as for you, Miss Johnson, you will confine your shouting matches to the Quidditch pitch in future or risk losing the team captaincy

's detentions would do you some good, Mr Potter,' said Umbridge sleekly. * The cut on the back of Harry's hand had barely healed and, by the following morning, it was bleeding again. He did not complain during the evening's detention; he was determined not to give Umbridge the satisfaction; over and over again he wrote I must not tell lies and not a sound escaped his lips, though the cut deepened with every letter. The very worst part of this second week's worth of detentions v/as, just as George had predicted, Angslina's reaction. She cornered him just as he arrived at the Gryffindor table for breakfast on Tuesday and shouted so loudly that Professor McGonagall came sweeping down upon the pair of them from the staff table. 'Miss Johnson, how dare you make such a racket in the Great Hall! Five points from Gryffindor!' 'But Professor - he's gone and landed himself in detention again - ' 'What's this, Potter?' said Professor McGonagall sharply, rounding on Harry. 'Detention? From whom?' 'From Professor Umbridge,' muttered Harry, not meeting Professor McGonagall's beady, square-framed eyes. 'Are you telling me,' she said, lowering her voice so that the group of curious Ravenclaws behind them could not hear, that after the warning I gave you last Monday you lost your temper in Professor Umbridge's class again?' 'Yes,' Harry muttered, speaking to the floor. 'Potter, you must get a grip on yourself! You are heading for serious trouble! Another five points from Gryffindor!' 'But - what - '? Professor, no!' Harry said, furious at this injustice, 'I'm already being punished by her, why do you have to take points as well?' 'Because detentions do not appear to have any effect on you whatsoever!' said Professor McGonagall tartly. 'No, not another word of complaint, Potter! And as for you, Miss Johnson, you will confine your shouting matches to the Quidditch pitch in future or risk losing the team captaincy

!' Professor McGonagall strode back towards the staff table. Angelina gave Harry a look of deepest disgust and stalked away, upon which he flung himself on to the bench beside Ron, fuming. 'She's taken points off Gryffindor because I'm having my hand sliced open every night! Professor Umbridge and her clipboard were sitting in a corner and the sight of her drove the memory of breakfast right out of his head. 'Excellent,' whispered Ron, as they sat down in their usual seats. 'Let's see Umbridge get what she deserves.' Professor McGonagall marched into the room without giving the slightest indication that she knew Professor Umbridge was there. That will do,' she said and silence fell immediately. 'Mr Finnigan, kindly come here and hand back the homework - Miss Brown, please take this box of mice - don't be silly, girl, they won't hurt you - and hand one to each student - ' 'Hem, hem,' said Professor Umbridge, employing the same silly little cough she had used to interrupt Dumbledore on the first night of term. Professor McGonagall ignored her. Seamus handed back Harry's essay; Harry took it without looking at him and saw, to his relief, that he had managed an 'A'. 'Right then, everyone, listen closely - Dean Thomas, if you do that to the mouse again I shall put you in detention - most of you have now successfully Vanished your snails and even those who were left with a certain amount of shell have got the gist of the spell. Today, we shall be - ' 'Hem, hem,' said Professor Umbridge. 'Yes?' said Professor McGonagall, turning round, her eyebrows so close together they seemed to form one long, severe line. 'I was just wondering, Professor, whether you received my note telling you of the date and time of your inspec - ' 'Obviously I received it, or I would have asked you what you are doing in my classroom,' said Professor McGonagall, turning her back firmly on Professor Umbridge. Many of the students exchanged looks of glee. 'As I was saying: today, we shall be practising the altogether more

Professor McGonagall strode back towards the staff table. Angelina gave Harry a look of deepest disgust and stalked away, upon which he flung himself on to the bench beside Ron, fuming. 'She's taken points off Gryffindor because I'm having my hand sliced open every night! Professor Umbridge and her clipboard were sitting in a corner and the sight of her drove the memory of breakfast right out of his head. 'Excellent,' whispered Ron, as they sat down in their usual seats. 'Let's see Umbridge get what she deserves.' Professor McGonagall marched into the room without giving the slightest indication that she knew Professor Umbridge was there. That will do,' she said and silence fell immediately. 'Mr Finnigan, kindly come here and hand back the homework - Miss Brown, please take this box of mice - don't be silly, girl, they won't hurt you - and hand one to each student - ' 'Hem, hem,' said Professor Umbridge, employing the same silly little cough she had used to interrupt Dumbledore on the first night of term. Professor McGonagall ignored her. Seamus handed back Harry's essay; Harry took it without looking at him and saw, to his relief, that he had managed an 'A'. 'Right then, everyone, listen closely - Dean Thomas, if you do that to the mouse again I shall put you in detention - most of you have now successfully Vanished your snails and even those who were left with a certain amount of shell have got the gist of the spell. Today, we shall be - ' 'Hem, hem,' said Professor Umbridge. 'Yes?' said Professor McGonagall, turning round, her eyebrows so close together they seemed to form one long, severe line. 'I was just wondering, Professor, whether you received my note telling you of the date and time of your inspec - ' 'Obviously I received it, or I would have asked you what you are doing in my classroom,' said Professor McGonagall, turning her back firmly on Professor Umbridge. Many of the students exchanged looks of glee. 'As I was saying: today, we shall be practising the altogether more

difficult Vanishment of mice. Now, the Vanishing Spell - ' 'Hem, hem.' 'I wonder,' said Professor McGonagall in cold fury, turning on Professor Umbridge, 'how you expect to gain an idea of my usual teaching methods if you continue to interrupt me? You see, I do not generally permit people to talk when I am talking.' Professor Umbridge looked as though she had just been slapped in the face. She did not speak, but straightened the parchment on her clipboard and began scribbling furiously. Looking supremely unconcerned, Professor McGonagall addressed the class once more. 'As I was saying: the Vanishing Spell becomes more difficult with the complexity of the animal to be Vanished. The snail, as an invertebrate, does not present much of a challenge; the mouse, as a mammal, offers a. much greater one. This is not, therefore, magic you can accomplish with your mind on your dinner. So - you know the incantation, let me see what you can do...' 'How she can lecture me about not losing my temper with Umbridge!' Harry muttered to Ron under his breath, but he was grinning - his anger with Professor McGonagall had quite evaporated. Professor Umbridge did not follow Professor McGonagall around the class as she had followed Professor Trelawney; perhaps she realised Professor McGonagall would not permit it. She did, however, take many more notes while sitting in her corner, and when Professor McGonagall finally told them all to pack away, she rose with a grim expression on her face. 'Well, it's a start,' said Ron, holding up a long wriggling mouse-tail and dropping it back into the box Lavender was passing around. 'How long have you been teaching at Hogwarts? Professor Umbridge asked. Thirty-nine years this December,' said Professor McGonagall brusquely, snapping her bag shut. Professor Umbridge made a note. 'Very well,' she said, 'you will receive the results of your inspection in ten days' time. 'I can hardly wait,' said Professor McGonagall, in a coldly indifferent voice, and she strode off

Vanishment of mice. Now, the Vanishing Spell - ' 'Hem, hem.' 'I wonder,' said Professor McGonagall in cold fury, turning on Professor Umbridge, 'how you expect to gain an idea of my usual teaching methods if you continue to interrupt me? You see, I do not generally permit people to talk when I am talking.' Professor Umbridge looked as though she had just been slapped in the face. She did not speak, but straightened the parchment on her clipboard and began scribbling furiously. Looking supremely unconcerned, Professor McGonagall addressed the class once more. 'As I was saying: the Vanishing Spell becomes more difficult with the complexity of the animal to be Vanished. The snail, as an invertebrate, does not present much of a challenge; the mouse, as a mammal, offers a. much greater one. This is not, therefore, magic you can accomplish with your mind on your dinner. So - you know the incantation, let me see what you can do...' 'How she can lecture me about not losing my temper with Umbridge!' Harry muttered to Ron under his breath, but he was grinning - his anger with Professor McGonagall had quite evaporated. Professor Umbridge did not follow Professor McGonagall around the class as she had followed Professor Trelawney; perhaps she realised Professor McGonagall would not permit it. She did, however, take many more notes while sitting in her corner, and when Professor McGonagall finally told them all to pack away, she rose with a grim expression on her face. 'Well, it's a start,' said Ron, holding up a long wriggling mouse-tail and dropping it back into the box Lavender was passing around. 'How long have you been teaching at Hogwarts? Professor Umbridge asked. Thirty-nine years this December,' said Professor McGonagall brusquely, snapping her bag shut. Professor Umbridge made a note. 'Very well,' she said, 'you will receive the results of your inspection in ten days' time. 'I can hardly wait,' said Professor McGonagall, in a coldly indifferent voice, and she strode off

towards the door. 'Hurry up, you three,' she added, sweeping Harry, Ron before her. Harry could not help giving her a faint smile and could have sworn he received one in return. He had thought that the next time he would see Umbridge would be in his detention that evening, but he was wrong. When they walked down the lawns towards the Forest for Care of Magical Creatures, they found her and her clipboard waiting for them beside Professor Grubbly-Plank. 'You do not usually take this class, is that correct?' Harry heard her ask as they arrived at the trestle table where the group of captive Bowtruckles were scrabbling around for woodlice like so many living twigs. 'Quite correct,' said Professor Grubbly-Plank, hands behind her back and bouncing on the balls of her feet. 'I am a substitute teacher standing in for Professor Hagrid.' Harry exchanged uneasy looks with Ron. Malfoy was whispering with Crabbe and Goyle; he would surely love this opportunity to tell tales on Hagrid to a member of the Ministry. 'Hmm,' said Professor Umbridge, dropping her voice, though Harry could still hear her quite clearly. 'I wonder - the Headmaster seems strangely reluctant to give me any information on the matter - can you tell me what is causing Professor Hagrid's very extended leave of absence?' Harry saw Malfoy look up eagerly and watch Umbridge and Grubbly-Plank closely. ''Fraid I can't,' said Professor Grubbly-Plank breezily. 'Don't know anything more about it than you do. Got an owl from Dumbledore, would I like a couple of weeks' teaching, work. I accepted. That's as much as I know. Well... shall I get started then?' 'Yes, please do,' said Professor Umbridge, scribbling on her clipboard. Umbridge took a different tack in this class and wandered amongst the students, questioning them on magical creatures. Most people were able to answer well and Harry's spirits lifted somewhat; at least the class was not letting Hagrid down. 'Overall,' said Professor Umbridge, returning to Professor

the door. 'Hurry up, you three,' she added, sweeping Harry, Ron before her. Harry could not help giving her a faint smile and could have sworn he received one in return. He had thought that the next time he would see Umbridge would be in his detention that evening, but he was wrong. When they walked down the lawns towards the Forest for Care of Magical Creatures, they found her and her clipboard waiting for them beside Professor Grubbly-Plank. 'You do not usually take this class, is that correct?' Harry heard her ask as they arrived at the trestle table where the group of captive Bowtruckles were scrabbling around for woodlice like so many living twigs. 'Quite correct,' said Professor Grubbly-Plank, hands behind her back and bouncing on the balls of her feet. 'I am a substitute teacher standing in for Professor Hagrid.' Harry exchanged uneasy looks with Ron. Malfoy was whispering with Crabbe and Goyle; he would surely love this opportunity to tell tales on Hagrid to a member of the Ministry. 'Hmm,' said Professor Umbridge, dropping her voice, though Harry could still hear her quite clearly. 'I wonder - the Headmaster seems strangely reluctant to give me any information on the matter - can you tell me what is causing Professor Hagrid's very extended leave of absence?' Harry saw Malfoy look up eagerly and watch Umbridge and Grubbly-Plank closely. ''Fraid I can't,' said Professor Grubbly-Plank breezily. 'Don't know anything more about it than you do. Got an owl from Dumbledore, would I like a couple of weeks' teaching, work. I accepted. That's as much as I know. Well... shall I get started then?' 'Yes, please do,' said Professor Umbridge, scribbling on her clipboard. Umbridge took a different tack in this class and wandered amongst the students, questioning them on magical creatures. Most people were able to answer well and Harry's spirits lifted somewhat; at least the class was not letting Hagrid down. 'Overall,' said Professor Umbridge, returning to Professor

Grubbly-Plank's side after a lengthy interrogation of Dean Thomas, 'how do you, as a temporary member of staff- an objective outsider, I suppose you might say - how do you find Hogwarts? Do you feel you receive enough support from the school management?' 'Oh, yes, Dumbledore's excellent,' said Professor Grubbly-Plank heartily. 'Yes, I'm very happy with the way things are run, very happy indeed.' Looking politely incredulous, Umbridge made a tiny note on her clipboard and went on, 'And what are you planning to cover with this class this year - assuming, of course, that Professor Hagrid does not return?' 'Oh, I'll take them through the creatures that most often come up in OWL,' said Professor Grubbly-Plank. 'Not much left to do - they've studied unicorns and Nifflers, I thought we'd cover Porlocks and Kneazles, make sure they can recognise Crups and Knarls, you know...' 'Well, you seem to know what you're doing, at any rate,' said Professor Umbridge, making a very obvious tick on her clipboard. Harry did not like the emphasis she put on 'you' and liked it even less when she put her next question to Goyle. 'Now, I hear there have been injuries in this class?' Goyle gave a stupid grin. Malfoy hastened to answer the question. That was me,' he said. 'I was slashed by a Hippogriff.' 'A Hippogriff?' said Professor Umbridge, now scribbling frantically. 'Only because he was too stupid to listen to what Hagrid told him to do,' said Harry angrily. Both Ron groaned. Professor Umbridge turned her head slowly in Harry's direction. 'Another night's detention, I think,' she said softly. 'Well, thank you very much, Professor Grubbly-Plank, I think that's all I need here. You will be receiving the results of your inspection within ten days.' 'Jolly good,' said Professor Grubbly-Pl

ubbly-Plank's side after a lengthy interrogation of Dean Thomas, 'how do you, as a temporary member of staff- an objective outsider, I suppose you might say - how do you find Hogwarts? Do you feel you receive enough support from the school management?' 'Oh, yes, Dumbledore's excellent,' said Professor Grubbly-Plank heartily. 'Yes, I'm very happy with the way things are run, very happy indeed.' Looking politely incredulous, Umbridge made a tiny note on her clipboard and went on, 'And what are you planning to cover with this class this year - assuming, of course, that Professor Hagrid does not return?' 'Oh, I'll take them through the creatures that most often come up in OWL,' said Professor Grubbly-Plank. 'Not much left to do - they've studied unicorns and Nifflers, I thought we'd cover Porlocks and Kneazles, make sure they can recognise Crups and Knarls, you know...' 'Well, you seem to know what you're doing, at any rate,' said Professor Umbridge, making a very obvious tick on her clipboard. Harry did not like the emphasis she put on 'you' and liked it even less when she put her next question to Goyle. 'Now, I hear there have been injuries in this class?' Goyle gave a stupid grin. Malfoy hastened to answer the question. That was me,' he said. 'I was slashed by a Hippogriff.' 'A Hippogriff?' said Professor Umbridge, now scribbling frantically. 'Only because he was too stupid to listen to what Hagrid told him to do,' said Harry angrily. Both Ron groaned. Professor Umbridge turned her head slowly in Harry's direction. 'Another night's detention, I think,' she said softly. 'Well, thank you very much, Professor Grubbly-Plank, I think that's all I need here. You will be receiving the results of your inspection within ten days.' 'Jolly good,' said Professor Grubbly-Pl

ank, and Professor Umbridge set off back across the lawn to the castle. * It was nearly midnight when Harry left Umbridge's office that night, his hand now bleeding so severely that it was staining the scarf he had wrapped around it. He expected the common room to be empty when he returned, but Ron had sat up waiting for him. 'Here,' she said anxiously, pushing a small bowl of yellow liquid towards him,'soak your hand in that, it's a solution of strained and pickled Murtlap tentacles, it should help.' Harry placed his bleeding, aching hand into the bowl and experienced a wonderful feeling of relief. Crookshanks curled around his legs, purring loudly, then leapt into his lap and settled down. Thanks,' he said gratefully, scratching behind Crookshanks's ears with his left hand. 'I still reckon you should complain about this,' said Ron in a low voice. 'No,' said Harry flatly. 'McGonagall would go nuts if she knew - ' 'Yeah, she probably would,' said Harry dully. 'And how long do you reckon it'd take Umbridge to pass another decree saying anyone who complains about the High Inquisitor gets sacked immediately?' Ron opened his mouth to retort but nothing came out and, after a moment, he closed it again, defeated. 'Awful. You know, I was just saying to Ron when you came in... we've got to do something about her.' 'I suggested poison,' said Ron grimly. 'No... 'Well, what can we do about that?' said Ron, yawning. "S too late, isn't it? She's got the job, she's here to stay. 'You know, I was thinking today...' she shot a slightly nervous look at Harry and then plunged on, 'I was thinking that - maybe the time's come when we should just - just do it ourselves.' 'Do what ourselves?' said Harry suspiciously, still floating his hand in the essence of Murtlap tentacles. 'Come off it,' groaned Ron. 'You want us to do extra

, and Professor Umbridge set off back across the lawn to the castle. * It was nearly midnight when Harry left Umbridge's office that night, his hand now bleeding so severely that it was staining the scarf he had wrapped around it. He expected the common room to be empty when he returned, but Ron had sat up waiting for him. 'Here,' she said anxiously, pushing a small bowl of yellow liquid towards him,'soak your hand in that, it's a solution of strained and pickled Murtlap tentacles, it should help.' Harry placed his bleeding, aching hand into the bowl and experienced a wonderful feeling of relief. Crookshanks curled around his legs, purring loudly, then leapt into his lap and settled down. Thanks,' he said gratefully, scratching behind Crookshanks's ears with his left hand. 'I still reckon you should complain about this,' said Ron in a low voice. 'No,' said Harry flatly. 'McGonagall would go nuts if she knew - ' 'Yeah, she probably would,' said Harry dully. 'And how long do you reckon it'd take Umbridge to pass another decree saying anyone who complains about the High Inquisitor gets sacked immediately?' Ron opened his mouth to retort but nothing came out and, after a moment, he closed it again, defeated. 'Awful. You know, I was just saying to Ron when you came in... we've got to do something about her.' 'I suggested poison,' said Ron grimly. 'No... 'Well, what can we do about that?' said Ron, yawning. "S too late, isn't it? She's got the job, she's here to stay. 'You know, I was thinking today...' she shot a slightly nervous look at Harry and then plunged on, 'I was thinking that - maybe the time's come when we should just - just do it ourselves.' 'Do what ourselves?' said Harry suspiciously, still floating his hand in the essence of Murtlap tentacles. 'Come off it,' groaned Ron. 'You want us to do extra

work? Harry and Ron goggled at her. 'I didn't think there was anything in the universe more important than homework!' said Ron. 'It's about preparing ourselves, like Harry said in Umbridge's first lesson, for what's waiting for us out there. It's about making sure we really can defend ourselves. If we don't learn anything for a whole year - ' 'We can't do much by ourselves,' said Ron in a defeated voice. 'We need a teacher, a proper one, who can show us how to use the spells and correct us if we're going wrong.' 'If you're talking about Lupin...' Harry began. 'He's too busy with the Order and, anyway, the most we could see him is during Hogsmeade weekends and that's not nearly often enough.' 'Who, then?' said Harry, frowning at her. 'Isn't it obvious?' she said. 'I'm talking about you, Harry.' There was a moment's silence. A light night breeze rattled the windowpanes behind Ron, and the fire guttered. 'About me what?' said Harry. 'I'm talking about you teaching us Defence Against the Dark Arts.' Harry stared at her. To Harry's consternation, however, Ron did not look exasperated. He was frowning slightly, apparently thinking. Then he said, 'That's an idea.' 'What's an idea?' said Harry. 'You,' said Ron. Teaching us to do it.' 'But...' Harry was grinning now, sure the pair of them were pulling his leg. 'Me?' said Harry now grinning more broadly than ever. 'You beat me in our turd year - the only year we both sat the test and had a teacher who actually knew the subject. But I'm not talking about test results, Harry. He turned to Harry. 'Let's think,' he said, pulling a face like Goyle concentrating. 'Uh... first year - you saved the Philosopher's Stone from You-Know-Who.' 'But that was luck,' said Harry,

? Harry and Ron goggled at her. 'I didn't think there was anything in the universe more important than homework!' said Ron. 'It's about preparing ourselves, like Harry said in Umbridge's first lesson, for what's waiting for us out there. It's about making sure we really can defend ourselves. If we don't learn anything for a whole year - ' 'We can't do much by ourselves,' said Ron in a defeated voice. 'We need a teacher, a proper one, who can show us how to use the spells and correct us if we're going wrong.' 'If you're talking about Lupin...' Harry began. 'He's too busy with the Order and, anyway, the most we could see him is during Hogsmeade weekends and that's not nearly often enough.' 'Who, then?' said Harry, frowning at her. 'Isn't it obvious?' she said. 'I'm talking about you, Harry.' There was a moment's silence. A light night breeze rattled the windowpanes behind Ron, and the fire guttered. 'About me what?' said Harry. 'I'm talking about you teaching us Defence Against the Dark Arts.' Harry stared at her. To Harry's consternation, however, Ron did not look exasperated. He was frowning slightly, apparently thinking. Then he said, 'That's an idea.' 'What's an idea?' said Harry. 'You,' said Ron. Teaching us to do it.' 'But...' Harry was grinning now, sure the pair of them were pulling his leg. 'Me?' said Harry now grinning more broadly than ever. 'You beat me in our turd year - the only year we both sat the test and had a teacher who actually knew the subject. But I'm not talking about test results, Harry. He turned to Harry. 'Let's think,' he said, pulling a face like Goyle concentrating. 'Uh... first year - you saved the Philosopher's Stone from You-Know-Who.' 'But that was luck,' said Harry,

'it wasn't skill - ' 'Second year,' Ron interrupted, 'you killed the Basilisk and destroyed Riddle.' 'Yeah, but if Fawkes hadn't turned up, I - ' Third year,' said Ron, louder still, 'you fought off about a hundred Dementors at once - ' 'You know that was a fluke, if the Time-Turner hadn't - ' 'Last year,' Ron said, almost shouting now, 'you fought off You-know-Who again - ' 'Listen to me!' said Harry, almost angrily, because Ron were both smirking now. 'Just listen to me, all right? It sounds great when you say it like that, but all that stuff was luck - I didn't know what I was doing half the time, I didn't plan any of it, I just did whatever I could think of, and I nearly always had help - ' Ron were still smirking and Harry felt his temper rise; he wasn't even sure why he was feeling so angry. 'Don't sit there grinning like you know better than I do, I was there, wasn't I?' he said heatedly. 'I know what went on, all right? And I didn't get through any of that because I was brilliant at Defence Against the Dark Arts, I got through it all because - because help came at the right time, or because I guessed right - but I just blundered through it all, I didn't have a clue what I was doing - 'STOP LAUGHING!' The bowl of Murtlap essence fell to the floor and smashed. He became aware that he was on his feet, though he couldn't remember standing up. Crookshanks streaked away under a sofa. Ron's smiles had vanished. 'You don't know what it's like! You - neither of you - you've never had to face him, have you? You think it's just memorising a bunch of spells and throwing them at him, like you're in class or something? The whole time you're sure you know there's nothing between you and dying except your own - your own brain or guts or whatever - 'like you

it wasn't skill - ' 'Second year,' Ron interrupted, 'you killed the Basilisk and destroyed Riddle.' 'Yeah, but if Fawkes hadn't turned up, I - ' Third year,' said Ron, louder still, 'you fought off about a hundred Dementors at once - ' 'You know that was a fluke, if the Time-Turner hadn't - ' 'Last year,' Ron said, almost shouting now, 'you fought off You-know-Who again - ' 'Listen to me!' said Harry, almost angrily, because Ron were both smirking now. 'Just listen to me, all right? It sounds great when you say it like that, but all that stuff was luck - I didn't know what I was doing half the time, I didn't plan any of it, I just did whatever I could think of, and I nearly always had help - ' Ron were still smirking and Harry felt his temper rise; he wasn't even sure why he was feeling so angry. 'Don't sit there grinning like you know better than I do, I was there, wasn't I?' he said heatedly. 'I know what went on, all right? And I didn't get through any of that because I was brilliant at Defence Against the Dark Arts, I got through it all because - because help came at the right time, or because I guessed right - but I just blundered through it all, I didn't have a clue what I was doing - 'STOP LAUGHING!' The bowl of Murtlap essence fell to the floor and smashed. He became aware that he was on his feet, though he couldn't remember standing up. Crookshanks streaked away under a sofa. Ron's smiles had vanished. 'You don't know what it's like! You - neither of you - you've never had to face him, have you? You think it's just memorising a bunch of spells and throwing them at him, like you're in class or something? The whole time you're sure you know there's nothing between you and dying except your own - your own brain or guts or whatever - 'like you

can think straight when you know you're about a nanosecond from being murdered, or tortured, or watching your friends die - 'they've never taught us that in their classes, what it's like to deal with things like that - and you two sit there acting like I'm a clever little boy to be standing here, alive, like Diggory was stupid, like he messed up - you just don't get it, that could just as easily have been me, it would have been if Voldemort hadn't needed me -' 'We weren't saying anything like that, mate,' said Ron, looking aghast. 'Harry,' she said timidly, 'don't you see? This... this is exactly why we need you... we need to know what it's r-really like... facing him... facing V-Voldemort.' It was the first time she had ever said Voldemort's name and it was this, more than anything else, that calmed Harry. Still breathing hard, he sank back into his chair, becoming aware as he did so that his hand was throbbing horribly again. He wished he had not smashed the bowl of Murtlap essence 'Well... 'Please?' Harry could not think of anything to say. He was feeling ashamed of his outburst already. He nodded, hardly aware of what he was agreeing to. 'Well, I'm off to bed,' she said, in a voice that was clearly as natural as she could make it. 'Erm... night.' Ron had got to his feet, too. 'Coming?' he said awkwardly to Harry. 'Yeah,' said Harry. 'In... in a minute. I'll just clear this up.' He indicated the smashed bowl on the floor. Ron nodded and left. 'Reparo,' Harry muttered, pointing his wand at the broken pieces of china. They flew back together, good as new, but there was no returning the Murtlap essence to the bowl. He was suddenly so tired he was tempted to sink back into his armchair and sleep there, but instead he forced himself to his feet and followed

think straight when you know you're about a nanosecond from being murdered, or tortured, or watching your friends die - 'they've never taught us that in their classes, what it's like to deal with things like that - and you two sit there acting like I'm a clever little boy to be standing here, alive, like Diggory was stupid, like he messed up - you just don't get it, that could just as easily have been me, it would have been if Voldemort hadn't needed me -' 'We weren't saying anything like that, mate,' said Ron, looking aghast. 'Harry,' she said timidly, 'don't you see? This... this is exactly why we need you... we need to know what it's r-really like... facing him... facing V-Voldemort.' It was the first time she had ever said Voldemort's name and it was this, more than anything else, that calmed Harry. Still breathing hard, he sank back into his chair, becoming aware as he did so that his hand was throbbing horribly again. He wished he had not smashed the bowl of Murtlap essence 'Well... 'Please?' Harry could not think of anything to say. He was feeling ashamed of his outburst already. He nodded, hardly aware of what he was agreeing to. 'Well, I'm off to bed,' she said, in a voice that was clearly as natural as she could make it. 'Erm... night.' Ron had got to his feet, too. 'Coming?' he said awkwardly to Harry. 'Yeah,' said Harry. 'In... in a minute. I'll just clear this up.' He indicated the smashed bowl on the floor. Ron nodded and left. 'Reparo,' Harry muttered, pointing his wand at the broken pieces of china. They flew back together, good as new, but there was no returning the Murtlap essence to the bowl. He was suddenly so tired he was tempted to sink back into his armchair and sleep there, but instead he forced himself to his feet and followed

Ron upstairs. His restless night was punctuated once more by dreams of long corridors and locked doors and he awoke next day with his scar prickling again. She frowned at him, '- Oh, all right, the idea I had, then - about you teaching us.' Harry did not answer at once. He pretended to be perusing a page of Asiatic Anti-Venoms, because he did not want to say what was in his mind. He had given the matter a great deal of thought over the past fortnight... 'I dunno,' said Harry, playing for time. He looked up at Ron. 'I thought it was a good idea from the start,' said Ron, who seemed keener to join in this conversation now that he was sure Harry was not going to start shouting again. Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair. You were the only person last year who could throw off the Imperius Curse completely, you can produce a Patronus, you can do all sorts of stuff that full-grown wizards can't, Viktor always said - ' Ron looked round at her so fast he appeared to crick his neck. Rubbing it, he said, 'Yeah? 'I can have a pen-pal if I - ' 'He didn't only want to be your pen-pal,' said Ron accusingly. 'Well... now, don't fly off the handle again, Harry, please... but I really think you ought to teach anyone who wants to learn. I mean, we're talking about defending ourselves against V-Voldemort. Oh, don't be pathetic, Ron. It doesn't seem fair if we don't offer the chance to other people.' Harry considered this for a moment, then said, 'Yeah, but I doubt anyone except you two would want to be taught by me. 'Look,' she leaned towards him - Ron, who was still watching her with a frown on his face, leaned forwards to listen too - 'you know the first weekend in October's a Hogsmeade weekend? How would it be if we tell anyone who's interested to meet us in the village and we can talk it over?' 'Why do we have to do

upstairs. His restless night was punctuated once more by dreams of long corridors and locked doors and he awoke next day with his scar prickling again. She frowned at him, '- Oh, all right, the idea I had, then - about you teaching us.' Harry did not answer at once. He pretended to be perusing a page of Asiatic Anti-Venoms, because he did not want to say what was in his mind. He had given the matter a great deal of thought over the past fortnight... 'I dunno,' said Harry, playing for time. He looked up at Ron. 'I thought it was a good idea from the start,' said Ron, who seemed keener to join in this conversation now that he was sure Harry was not going to start shouting again. Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair. You were the only person last year who could throw off the Imperius Curse completely, you can produce a Patronus, you can do all sorts of stuff that full-grown wizards can't, Viktor always said - ' Ron looked round at her so fast he appeared to crick his neck. Rubbing it, he said, 'Yeah? 'I can have a pen-pal if I - ' 'He didn't only want to be your pen-pal,' said Ron accusingly. 'Well... now, don't fly off the handle again, Harry, please... but I really think you ought to teach anyone who wants to learn. I mean, we're talking about defending ourselves against V-Voldemort. Oh, don't be pathetic, Ron. It doesn't seem fair if we don't offer the chance to other people.' Harry considered this for a moment, then said, 'Yeah, but I doubt anyone except you two would want to be taught by me. 'Look,' she leaned towards him - Ron, who was still watching her with a frown on his face, leaned forwards to listen too - 'you know the first weekend in October's a Hogsmeade weekend? How would it be if we tell anyone who's interested to meet us in the village and we can talk it over?' 'Why do we have to do

it outside school?' said Ron. Sirius had maintained a stony silence since he had appeared in the fire at the beginning of September; Harry knew they had made him angry by saying they didn't want him to come - but he still worried from time to time that Sirius might throw caution to the winds and turn up anyway. What were they going to do if the great black dog came bounding up the street towards them in Hogsmeade, perhaps under the nose of Draco Malfoy? 'I mean, he's been on the run for over two years, hasn't he, and I know that can't have been a laugh, but at least he was free, wasn't he? The trouble is,' she said to Harry, 'until V-Voldemort - oh, for heaven's sake, Ron - comes out into the open, Sirius is going to have to stay hidden, isn't he? I mean, the stupid Ministry isn't going to realise Sirius is innocent until they accept that Dumbledore's been telling the truth about him all along. And once the fools start catching real Death Eaters again, it'll be obvious Sirius isn't one... I mean, he hasn't got the Mark, for one thing.' 'I don't reckon he'd be stupid enough to turn up,' said Ron bracingly. We've told them to meet us in Hogsmeade.' 'Right,' said Harry vaguely, his mind still on Sirius. 'You've got enough on your plate without Sirius, too.' She was quite right, of course, he was barely keeping up with his homework, though he was doing much better now that he was no longer spending every evening in detention with Umbridge. Ron was even further behind with his work than Harry, because while they both had Quidditch practice twice a week, Ron also had his prefect duties. Harry had to admit that she was getting better; it was now almost always possible to distinguish between the hats and the socks. The morning of the Hogsmeade visit dawned bright but windy. Alter breakfast they queued up in front of Filch, who matched their names to the long list of students who had permission from their parents or guardian to

outside school?' said Ron. Sirius had maintained a stony silence since he had appeared in the fire at the beginning of September; Harry knew they had made him angry by saying they didn't want him to come - but he still worried from time to time that Sirius might throw caution to the winds and turn up anyway. What were they going to do if the great black dog came bounding up the street towards them in Hogsmeade, perhaps under the nose of Draco Malfoy? 'I mean, he's been on the run for over two years, hasn't he, and I know that can't have been a laugh, but at least he was free, wasn't he? The trouble is,' she said to Harry, 'until V-Voldemort - oh, for heaven's sake, Ron - comes out into the open, Sirius is going to have to stay hidden, isn't he? I mean, the stupid Ministry isn't going to realise Sirius is innocent until they accept that Dumbledore's been telling the truth about him all along. And once the fools start catching real Death Eaters again, it'll be obvious Sirius isn't one... I mean, he hasn't got the Mark, for one thing.' 'I don't reckon he'd be stupid enough to turn up,' said Ron bracingly. We've told them to meet us in Hogsmeade.' 'Right,' said Harry vaguely, his mind still on Sirius. 'You've got enough on your plate without Sirius, too.' She was quite right, of course, he was barely keeping up with his homework, though he was doing much better now that he was no longer spending every evening in detention with Umbridge. Ron was even further behind with his work than Harry, because while they both had Quidditch practice twice a week, Ron also had his prefect duties. Harry had to admit that she was getting better; it was now almost always possible to distinguish between the hats and the socks. The morning of the Hogsmeade visit dawned bright but windy. Alter breakfast they queued up in front of Filch, who matched their names to the long list of students who had permission from their parents or guardian to

visit the village. With a slight pang, Harry remembered that if it hadn't been for Sirius, he would not have been going at all. When Harry reached Filch, the caretaker gave a great sniff as though trying to detect a whiff of something from Harry. Then he gave a curt nod that set his jowls aquiver again and Harry walked on, out on to the stone steps and the cold, sunlit day. 'I suppose he was checking for the smell of Dungbombs,' said Harry with a small laugh. T forgot to tell you...' And he recounted the story of sending his letter to Sirius and Filch bursting in seconds later, demanding to see the letter. 'He said he was tipped off you were ordering Dungbombs? But who tipped him off?' 'I dunno,' said Harry, shrugging. 'Maybe Malfoy he'd think it was a laugh.' They walked between the tall stone pillars topped with winged boars and turned left on to the road into the village, the wind whip-, ping their hair into their eyes. 'Well... yes... maybe...' And she remained deep in thought all the way into the outskirts of Hogsmeade. 'Where are we going, anyway?' Harry asked. I've told the others to meet us in the Hog's Head, that other pub, you know the one, it's not on the main road. I think it's a bit... you know... dodgy... but students don't normally go in there, so I don't think we'll be overheard.' They walked down the main street past Zonko's Wizarding Joke Shop, where they were not surprised to see Fred, George and Lee Jordan, past the post office, from which owls issued at regular intervals, and turned up a side-street at the top of which stood a small inn. A battered wooden sign hung from a rusty bracket over the door, with a picture on it of a wild boar's severed head, leaking blood on to the white cloth around it. The sign creaked in the wind as they approached. All three of them hes

the village. With a slight pang, Harry remembered that if it hadn't been for Sirius, he would not have been going at all. When Harry reached Filch, the caretaker gave a great sniff as though trying to detect a whiff of something from Harry. Then he gave a curt nod that set his jowls aquiver again and Harry walked on, out on to the stone steps and the cold, sunlit day. 'I suppose he was checking for the smell of Dungbombs,' said Harry with a small laugh. T forgot to tell you...' And he recounted the story of sending his letter to Sirius and Filch bursting in seconds later, demanding to see the letter. 'He said he was tipped off you were ordering Dungbombs? But who tipped him off?' 'I dunno,' said Harry, shrugging. 'Maybe Malfoy he'd think it was a laugh.' They walked between the tall stone pillars topped with winged boars and turned left on to the road into the village, the wind whip-, ping their hair into their eyes. 'Well... yes... maybe...' And she remained deep in thought all the way into the outskirts of Hogsmeade. 'Where are we going, anyway?' Harry asked. I've told the others to meet us in the Hog's Head, that other pub, you know the one, it's not on the main road. I think it's a bit... you know... dodgy... but students don't normally go in there, so I don't think we'll be overheard.' They walked down the main street past Zonko's Wizarding Joke Shop, where they were not surprised to see Fred, George and Lee Jordan, past the post office, from which owls issued at regular intervals, and turned up a side-street at the top of which stood a small inn. A battered wooden sign hung from a rusty bracket over the door, with a picture on it of a wild boar's severed head, leaking blood on to the white cloth around it. The sign creaked in the wind as they approached. All three of them hes

itated outside the door. Harry led the way inside. It was not at all like the Three Broomsticks, whose large bar gave an impression of gleaming warmth and cleanliness. The Hog's Head bar comprised one small, dingy and very dirty room that smelled strongly of something that might have been goats. The bay windows were so encrusted with grime that very little daylight could permeate the room, which was lit instead with the stubs of candles sitting on rough wooden tables. The floor seemed at first glance to be compressed earth, though as Harry stepped on to it he realised that there was stone beneath what seemed to be the accumulated filth of centuries. Harry remembered Hagrid mentioning this pub in his first year: 'Yeh get a lot o' funny folk in the Hog's Head,' he had said, explaining how he had won a dragon's egg from a hooded stranger there. At the time Harry had wondered why Hagrid had not found it odd that the stranger kept his face hidden throughout their encounter; now he saw that keeping your face hidden was something of a fashion in the Hog's Head. There was a man at the bar whose whole head was wrapped in dirty grey bandages, though he was still managing to gulp endless glasses of some smoking, fiery substance through a slit over his mouth; two figures shrouded in hoods sat at a table in one of the windows; Harry might have thought them Dementors if they had not been talking in strong Yorkshire accents, and in a shadowy corner beside the fireplace sat a witch with a thick, black veil that fell to her toes. They could just see the tip of her nose because it caused the veil to protrude slightly. He was looking particularly at the heavily veiled witch. 'Umbridge is shorter than that woman,' she said quietly. 'And anyway, even if Umbridge does come in here there's nothing she can do to stop us, Harry, because I've double- and triple-checked the school rules. We're not out of bounds; I specifically asked Professor Flitwick whether students were allowed to come in the Hog's Head, and he said yes, but he advised me strongly to bring our own glasses. And I've looked up everything I can

outside the door. Harry led the way inside. It was not at all like the Three Broomsticks, whose large bar gave an impression of gleaming warmth and cleanliness. The Hog's Head bar comprised one small, dingy and very dirty room that smelled strongly of something that might have been goats. The bay windows were so encrusted with grime that very little daylight could permeate the room, which was lit instead with the stubs of candles sitting on rough wooden tables. The floor seemed at first glance to be compressed earth, though as Harry stepped on to it he realised that there was stone beneath what seemed to be the accumulated filth of centuries. Harry remembered Hagrid mentioning this pub in his first year: 'Yeh get a lot o' funny folk in the Hog's Head,' he had said, explaining how he had won a dragon's egg from a hooded stranger there. At the time Harry had wondered why Hagrid had not found it odd that the stranger kept his face hidden throughout their encounter; now he saw that keeping your face hidden was something of a fashion in the Hog's Head. There was a man at the bar whose whole head was wrapped in dirty grey bandages, though he was still managing to gulp endless glasses of some smoking, fiery substance through a slit over his mouth; two figures shrouded in hoods sat at a table in one of the windows; Harry might have thought them Dementors if they had not been talking in strong Yorkshire accents, and in a shadowy corner beside the fireplace sat a witch with a thick, black veil that fell to her toes. They could just see the tip of her nose because it caused the veil to protrude slightly. He was looking particularly at the heavily veiled witch. 'Umbridge is shorter than that woman,' she said quietly. 'And anyway, even if Umbridge does come in here there's nothing she can do to stop us, Harry, because I've double- and triple-checked the school rules. We're not out of bounds; I specifically asked Professor Flitwick whether students were allowed to come in the Hog's Head, and he said yes, but he advised me strongly to bring our own glasses. And I've looked up everything I can

think of about study groups and homework groups and they're definitely allowed. I just don't think it's a good idea if we parade what we're doing.' 'No,' said Harry drily, 'especially as it's not exactly a homework group you're planning, is it?' The barman sidled towards them out of a back room. He was a grumpy-looking old man with a great deal of long grey hair and beard. He was tall and thin and looked vaguely familiar to Harry. What? he grunted. The man reached beneath the counter and pulled up three very dusty, very dirty bottles, which he slammed on the bar. 'Six Sickles,' he said. 'I'll get them,' said Harry quickly, passing over the silver. The barman's eyes travelled over Harry, resting for a fraction of a second on his scar. Then he turned away and deposited Harry's money in an ancient wooden till whose drawer slid open automatically to receive it. Harry, Ron retreated to the furthest table from the bar and sat down, looking around. The man in the dirty grey bandages rapped the counter with his knuckles and received another smoking drink from the barman. 'You know what?' Ron murmured, looking over at the bar with enthusiasm. 'We could order anything we liked in here. I bet that bloke would sell us anything, he wouldn't care. 'Oh,' said Ron, the smile fading from his face. 'Yeah...' 'So, who did you say is supposed to be meeting us?' Harry asked, wrenching open the rusty top of his Butterbeer and taking a swig. 'I told them to be here about now and I'm sure they all know where it is - oh, look, this might be them now.' The door of the pub had opened. A thick band of dusty sunlight split the room in two for a moment and then vanished, blocked by the incoming rush of a crowd of people. First came Neville with Dean and Lavender, who were closely followed by Parvati and Padma Patil with (Harry's stomach did a back-flip) Cho and one of her usually-g

of about study groups and homework groups and they're definitely allowed. I just don't think it's a good idea if we parade what we're doing.' 'No,' said Harry drily, 'especially as it's not exactly a homework group you're planning, is it?' The barman sidled towards them out of a back room. He was a grumpy-looking old man with a great deal of long grey hair and beard. He was tall and thin and looked vaguely familiar to Harry. What? he grunted. The man reached beneath the counter and pulled up three very dusty, very dirty bottles, which he slammed on the bar. 'Six Sickles,' he said. 'I'll get them,' said Harry quickly, passing over the silver. The barman's eyes travelled over Harry, resting for a fraction of a second on his scar. Then he turned away and deposited Harry's money in an ancient wooden till whose drawer slid open automatically to receive it. Harry, Ron retreated to the furthest table from the bar and sat down, looking around. The man in the dirty grey bandages rapped the counter with his knuckles and received another smoking drink from the barman. 'You know what?' Ron murmured, looking over at the bar with enthusiasm. 'We could order anything we liked in here. I bet that bloke would sell us anything, he wouldn't care. 'Oh,' said Ron, the smile fading from his face. 'Yeah...' 'So, who did you say is supposed to be meeting us?' Harry asked, wrenching open the rusty top of his Butterbeer and taking a swig. 'I told them to be here about now and I'm sure they all know where it is - oh, look, this might be them now.' The door of the pub had opened. A thick band of dusty sunlight split the room in two for a moment and then vanished, blocked by the incoming rush of a crowd of people. First came Neville with Dean and Lavender, who were closely followed by Parvati and Padma Patil with (Harry's stomach did a back-flip) Cho and one of her usually-g

iggling girlfriends, then (on her own and looking so dreamy she might have walked in by accident) Luna Lovegood; then Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet and Angelina Johnson, Colin and Dennis Creevey Ernie Macmillan, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Hannah Abbott, a Hufflepuff girl with a long plait clown her back whose name Harry did not know; three Ravenclaw boys he was pretty sure were called Anthony Goldstein, Michael Corner and Terry Boot, Ginny, closely followed by a tall skinny blond boy with an upturned nose whom Harry recognised vaguely as being a member of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team and, bringing up the rear, Fred and George Weasley with their friend Lee Jordan, all three of whom were carrying large paper bags crammed with Zonko's merchandise. 'Ron, do you want to pull up some more chairs?' The barman had frozen in the act of wiping out a glass with a rag so filthy it looked as though it had never been washed. Possibly, he had never seen his pub so full. 'Hi,' said Fred, reaching the bar first and counting his companions quickly, 'could we have... twenty-five Butterbeers, please?' The barman glared at him for a moment, then, throwing down his rag irritably as though he had been interrupted in something very important, he started passing up dusty Butterbeers from under the bar. 'Cheers,' said Fred, handing them out. 'Cough up, everyone, I haven't got enough gold for all of these...' Harry watched numbly as the large chattering group took their beers from Fred and rummaged in their robes to find coins. 'What have you been telling people?' he said in a low voice. Harry tried to smile back, but did not speak; his mouth was exceptionally dry. Cho had just smiled at him and sat down on Ron's right. Her friend, who had curly reddish-blonde hair, did not smile, but gave Harry a thoroughly mistrustful look which plainly told him that, given her way, she would not be here at all

ling girlfriends, then (on her own and looking so dreamy she might have walked in by accident) Luna Lovegood; then Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet and Angelina Johnson, Colin and Dennis Creevey Ernie Macmillan, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Hannah Abbott, a Hufflepuff girl with a long plait clown her back whose name Harry did not know; three Ravenclaw boys he was pretty sure were called Anthony Goldstein, Michael Corner and Terry Boot, Ginny, closely followed by a tall skinny blond boy with an upturned nose whom Harry recognised vaguely as being a member of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team and, bringing up the rear, Fred and George Weasley with their friend Lee Jordan, all three of whom were carrying large paper bags crammed with Zonko's merchandise. 'Ron, do you want to pull up some more chairs?' The barman had frozen in the act of wiping out a glass with a rag so filthy it looked as though it had never been washed. Possibly, he had never seen his pub so full. 'Hi,' said Fred, reaching the bar first and counting his companions quickly, 'could we have... twenty-five Butterbeers, please?' The barman glared at him for a moment, then, throwing down his rag irritably as though he had been interrupted in something very important, he started passing up dusty Butterbeers from under the bar. 'Cheers,' said Fred, handing them out. 'Cough up, everyone, I haven't got enough gold for all of these...' Harry watched numbly as the large chattering group took their beers from Fred and rummaged in their robes to find coins. 'What have you been telling people?' he said in a low voice. Harry tried to smile back, but did not speak; his mouth was exceptionally dry. Cho had just smiled at him and sat down on Ron's right. Her friend, who had curly reddish-blonde hair, did not smile, but gave Harry a thoroughly mistrustful look which plainly told him that, given her way, she would not be here at all

. In twos and threes the new arrivals settled around Harry, Ron, some looking rather excited, others curious, Luna Lovegood gazing dreamily into space. When everybody had pulled up a chair, the chatter died out. Every eye was upon Harry. 'Well - er - hi.' The group focused its attention on her instead, though eyes continued to dart back regularly to Harry. 'Well... erm... well, you know why you're here. Erm... 'But more than that, I want to be properly trained in defence because... because...' she took a great breath and finished, 'because Lord Voldemort is back.' The reaction was immediate and predictable. Clio's friend shrieked and slopped Butterbeer down herself; Terry Boot gave a kind of involuntary twitch; Padma Patil shuddered, and Neville gave an odd yelp that he managed to turn into a cough. All of them, however, looked fixedly, even eagerly, at Harry. Well... 'If you want to join us, we need to decide how we're going to - 'Where's the proof You-Know-Who's back?' said the blond Hufflepuff player in a rather aggressive voice. 'You mean, Dumbledore believes him,' said the blond boy, nodding at Harry. 'Who are you?' said Ron, rather rudely. It had just dawned on him why there were so many people there. Some of these people - maybe even most of them - had turned up in the hopes of hearing Harry's story firsthand. 'What makes me say You-Know-Who's back?' he repeated, looking Zacharias straight in the face. 'I saw him. But Dumbledore told the whole school what happened last year, and if you didn't believe him, you won't believe me, and I'm not wasting an afternoon trying to convince anyone.' The whole group seemed to have held its breath while Harry spoke. Harry had the impression that even the barman was listening. He was wiping the same glass with the filthy rag, making it steadily dirtier. Zacharias said dismissively, 'All Dumbledore told

In twos and threes the new arrivals settled around Harry, Ron, some looking rather excited, others curious, Luna Lovegood gazing dreamily into space. When everybody had pulled up a chair, the chatter died out. Every eye was upon Harry. 'Well - er - hi.' The group focused its attention on her instead, though eyes continued to dart back regularly to Harry. 'Well... erm... well, you know why you're here. Erm... 'But more than that, I want to be properly trained in defence because... because...' she took a great breath and finished, 'because Lord Voldemort is back.' The reaction was immediate and predictable. Clio's friend shrieked and slopped Butterbeer down herself; Terry Boot gave a kind of involuntary twitch; Padma Patil shuddered, and Neville gave an odd yelp that he managed to turn into a cough. All of them, however, looked fixedly, even eagerly, at Harry. Well... 'If you want to join us, we need to decide how we're going to - 'Where's the proof You-Know-Who's back?' said the blond Hufflepuff player in a rather aggressive voice. 'You mean, Dumbledore believes him,' said the blond boy, nodding at Harry. 'Who are you?' said Ron, rather rudely. It had just dawned on him why there were so many people there. Some of these people - maybe even most of them - had turned up in the hopes of hearing Harry's story firsthand. 'What makes me say You-Know-Who's back?' he repeated, looking Zacharias straight in the face. 'I saw him. But Dumbledore told the whole school what happened last year, and if you didn't believe him, you won't believe me, and I'm not wasting an afternoon trying to convince anyone.' The whole group seemed to have held its breath while Harry spoke. Harry had the impression that even the barman was listening. He was wiping the same glass with the filthy rag, making it steadily dirtier. Zacharias said dismissively, 'All Dumbledore told

us last year was that Cedric Diggory got killed by You-Know-Who and that you brought Diggory's body back to Hogwarts. He didn't give us details, he didn't tell us exactly how Diggory got murdered, I think we'd all like to know - ' 'If you've come to hear exactly what it looks like when Voldemort murders someone I can't help you,' Harry said. His temper, always so close to the surface these days, was rising again. He did not take his eyes from Zacharias Smith's aggressive face, and was determined not to look at Cho. 'I don't want to talk about Cedric Diggory, all right? This was, he felt, all her fault; she had decided to display him like some sort of freak and of course they had all turned up to see just now wild his story was. But none of them left their seats, not even Zacharias Smith, though he continued to gaze intently at Harry. 'So... like I was saying... if you want to learn some defence, then we need to work out how we're going to do it, how often we're going to meet and where we're going to - ' 'Is it true,' interrupted the girl with the long plait down her back, looking at Harry, 'that you can produce a Patronus?' There was a murmur of interest around the group at this. 'Yeah,' said Harry slightly defensively. 'A corporeal Patronus?' The phrase stirred something in Harry's memory. 'Er - you don't know Madam Bones, do you?' he asked. The girl smiled. 'She's my auntie,' she said. 'I'm Susan Bones. She told me about your hearing. So - is it really true? You make a stag Patronus?' 'Yes,' said Harry. 'Blimey, Harry!' said Lee, looking deeply impressed. 'I never knew that!' 'Mum told Ron not to spread it around,' said Fred, grinning at Harry. 'She said you got enough attention as it was.' 'She's not wrong,' mumbled Harry, and a couple of

last year was that Cedric Diggory got killed by You-Know-Who and that you brought Diggory's body back to Hogwarts. He didn't give us details, he didn't tell us exactly how Diggory got murdered, I think we'd all like to know - ' 'If you've come to hear exactly what it looks like when Voldemort murders someone I can't help you,' Harry said. His temper, always so close to the surface these days, was rising again. He did not take his eyes from Zacharias Smith's aggressive face, and was determined not to look at Cho. 'I don't want to talk about Cedric Diggory, all right? This was, he felt, all her fault; she had decided to display him like some sort of freak and of course they had all turned up to see just now wild his story was. But none of them left their seats, not even Zacharias Smith, though he continued to gaze intently at Harry. 'So... like I was saying... if you want to learn some defence, then we need to work out how we're going to do it, how often we're going to meet and where we're going to - ' 'Is it true,' interrupted the girl with the long plait down her back, looking at Harry, 'that you can produce a Patronus?' There was a murmur of interest around the group at this. 'Yeah,' said Harry slightly defensively. 'A corporeal Patronus?' The phrase stirred something in Harry's memory. 'Er - you don't know Madam Bones, do you?' he asked. The girl smiled. 'She's my auntie,' she said. 'I'm Susan Bones. She told me about your hearing. So - is it really true? You make a stag Patronus?' 'Yes,' said Harry. 'Blimey, Harry!' said Lee, looking deeply impressed. 'I never knew that!' 'Mum told Ron not to spread it around,' said Fred, grinning at Harry. 'She said you got enough attention as it was.' 'She's not wrong,' mumbled Harry, and a couple of

people laughed. The veiled witch sitting alone shifted very slightly in her seat. 'And did you kill a Basilisk with that sword in Dumbledore's office?' demanded Terry Boot. That's what one of the portraits on the wall told me when I was in there last year...' 'Er - yeah, I did, yeah,' said Harry. Justin Finch-Fletchley whistled; the Creevey brothers exchanged awestruck looks and Lavender Brown said 'Wow!' softly. Harry was feeling slightly hot around the collar now; he was determinedly looking anywhere but at Cho. 'Yes, that - from You-Know-Who,' finished Neville. Hannah Abbotts eyes were as round as Galleons. 'And that's not to mention,' said Cho (Harry's eyes snapped across to her; she was looking at him, smiling; his stomach did another somersault) 'all the tasks he had to get through in the Triwizard Tournament last year - getting past dragons and merpeople and Acromantula and things...' There was a murmur of impressed agreement around the table. Harry's insides were squirming. He was trying to arrange his face so that he did not look too pleased with himself. The fact that Cho had just praised him made it much, much harder for him to say the thing he had sworn to himself he would tell them. 'Look,' he said, and everyone fell silent at once, 'I... I don't want to sound like I'm trying to be modest or anything, but... I had a lot of help with all that stuff...' 'Not with the dragon, you didn't,' said Michael Corner at once. 'That was a seriously cool bit of flying...' 'Yeah, well -'said Harry, feeling it would be churlish to disagree. 'And nobody helped you get rid of those Dementors this summer,' said Susan Bones. 'No,' said Harry, 'no, OK, I know I did bits of it without help, but the point I'm trying to make is - ' 'Are you trying to weasel out of showing

laughed. The veiled witch sitting alone shifted very slightly in her seat. 'And did you kill a Basilisk with that sword in Dumbledore's office?' demanded Terry Boot. That's what one of the portraits on the wall told me when I was in there last year...' 'Er - yeah, I did, yeah,' said Harry. Justin Finch-Fletchley whistled; the Creevey brothers exchanged awestruck looks and Lavender Brown said 'Wow!' softly. Harry was feeling slightly hot around the collar now; he was determinedly looking anywhere but at Cho. 'Yes, that - from You-Know-Who,' finished Neville. Hannah Abbotts eyes were as round as Galleons. 'And that's not to mention,' said Cho (Harry's eyes snapped across to her; she was looking at him, smiling; his stomach did another somersault) 'all the tasks he had to get through in the Triwizard Tournament last year - getting past dragons and merpeople and Acromantula and things...' There was a murmur of impressed agreement around the table. Harry's insides were squirming. He was trying to arrange his face so that he did not look too pleased with himself. The fact that Cho had just praised him made it much, much harder for him to say the thing he had sworn to himself he would tell them. 'Look,' he said, and everyone fell silent at once, 'I... I don't want to sound like I'm trying to be modest or anything, but... I had a lot of help with all that stuff...' 'Not with the dragon, you didn't,' said Michael Corner at once. 'That was a seriously cool bit of flying...' 'Yeah, well -'said Harry, feeling it would be churlish to disagree. 'And nobody helped you get rid of those Dementors this summer,' said Susan Bones. 'No,' said Harry, 'no, OK, I know I did bits of it without help, but the point I'm trying to make is - ' 'Are you trying to weasel out of showing

us any of this stuff?' said Zacharias Smith. 'Here's an idea,' said Ron loudly, before Harry could speak, 'why don't you shut your mouth?' Perhaps the word 'weasel' had affected Ron particularly strongly. In any case, he was now looking at Zacharias as though he would like nothing better than to thump him. Zacharias flushed. 'Well, we've all turned up to learn from him and now he's telling us he can't really do any of it,' he said. That's not what he said,' snarled Fred. 'Would you like us to clean out you: ears for you?' enquired Greorge, pulling a long and lethal-looking metal instrument from inside one of the Zonko's bags. 'Or any part of your body, really, we're not fussy where we stick this,' said Fred... the point is, are we agreed we want to take lessons from Harry?' There was a murmur of general agreement. Zacharias folded his arms and said nothing, though perhaps this was because he was too busy keeping an eye on the instrument in Fred's hand. 'Well, then, the next question is how often we do it. I really don't think there's any point in meeting less than once a week - ' 'Hang on,' said Angelina, 'we need to make sure this doesn't clash with our Quidditch practice.' 'No,' said Cho, 'nor with ours.' 'Nor ours,' added Zacharias Smith. 'Personally, I think this is really important, possibly more important than anything else we'll do this year, even with our OWLs coming up!' He looked around impressively, as though waiting for people to cry 'Surely not!' When nobody spoke, he went on, 'I, personally, am at a loss to see why the Ministry has foisted such a useless teacher on us at this critical period... some mad idea that Dumbledore could use the students in the school as a kind of private army. She thinks he'd mobilise us against the Ministry' Nearly everybody looked stunned at this news; everybody except Luna Lovegood, who piped up, 'Well, that makes sense

any of this stuff?' said Zacharias Smith. 'Here's an idea,' said Ron loudly, before Harry could speak, 'why don't you shut your mouth?' Perhaps the word 'weasel' had affected Ron particularly strongly. In any case, he was now looking at Zacharias as though he would like nothing better than to thump him. Zacharias flushed. 'Well, we've all turned up to learn from him and now he's telling us he can't really do any of it,' he said. That's not what he said,' snarled Fred. 'Would you like us to clean out you: ears for you?' enquired Greorge, pulling a long and lethal-looking metal instrument from inside one of the Zonko's bags. 'Or any part of your body, really, we're not fussy where we stick this,' said Fred... the point is, are we agreed we want to take lessons from Harry?' There was a murmur of general agreement. Zacharias folded his arms and said nothing, though perhaps this was because he was too busy keeping an eye on the instrument in Fred's hand. 'Well, then, the next question is how often we do it. I really don't think there's any point in meeting less than once a week - ' 'Hang on,' said Angelina, 'we need to make sure this doesn't clash with our Quidditch practice.' 'No,' said Cho, 'nor with ours.' 'Nor ours,' added Zacharias Smith. 'Personally, I think this is really important, possibly more important than anything else we'll do this year, even with our OWLs coming up!' He looked around impressively, as though waiting for people to cry 'Surely not!' When nobody spoke, he went on, 'I, personally, am at a loss to see why the Ministry has foisted such a useless teacher on us at this critical period... some mad idea that Dumbledore could use the students in the school as a kind of private army. She thinks he'd mobilise us against the Ministry' Nearly everybody looked stunned at this news; everybody except Luna Lovegood, who piped up, 'Well, that makes sense

. After all, Cornelius Fudge has got his own private army' 'What?' said Harry, completely thrown by this unexpected piece of information. 'Yes, he's got an army of Heliopaths,' said Luna solemnly. 'Yes, he has,' said Luna. 'What are Heliopaths?' asked Neville, looking blank. 'Oh, yes, they do!' said Luna angrily. There are plenty of eye-witness accounts. Just because you're so narrow-minded you need to have everything shoved under your nose before you - ' 'Hem, hem,' said Ginny, in such a good imitation of Professor Umbridge that several people looked around in alarm and then laughed. 'As long as -'began Angelina. 'Well, the other thing to decide is where we're going to meet...' This was rather more difficult; the whole group fell silent. 'Library?' suggested Katie Bell after a few moments. 'I can't see Madam Pince being too chuffed with us doing jinxes in the library,' said Harry. 'Maybe an unused classroom?' said Dean. 'Yeah,' said Ron, 'McGonagall might let us have hers, she did when Harry was practising for the Tri wizard.' But Harry was pretty certain that McGonagall would not be so accommodating this time. 'We'll send a message round to everybody when we've got a time and a place for the first meeting.' She rummaged in her bag and produced parchment and a quill, then hesitated, rather as though she was steeling herself to say something. 'I - I think everybody should write their name down, just so we know who was here. But I also think,' she took a deep breath, 'that we all ought to agree not to shout about what we're doing. So if you sign, you're agreeing not to tell Umbridge or anybody else what we're up to.' Fred reached out for the parchment and cheerfully wrote his signature, but Harry noticed at once that several people looked less than happy at the prospect of putting their names on the list. 'Er...' said Zacharias slowly, not

After all, Cornelius Fudge has got his own private army' 'What?' said Harry, completely thrown by this unexpected piece of information. 'Yes, he's got an army of Heliopaths,' said Luna solemnly. 'Yes, he has,' said Luna. 'What are Heliopaths?' asked Neville, looking blank. 'Oh, yes, they do!' said Luna angrily. There are plenty of eye-witness accounts. Just because you're so narrow-minded you need to have everything shoved under your nose before you - ' 'Hem, hem,' said Ginny, in such a good imitation of Professor Umbridge that several people looked around in alarm and then laughed. 'As long as -'began Angelina. 'Well, the other thing to decide is where we're going to meet...' This was rather more difficult; the whole group fell silent. 'Library?' suggested Katie Bell after a few moments. 'I can't see Madam Pince being too chuffed with us doing jinxes in the library,' said Harry. 'Maybe an unused classroom?' said Dean. 'Yeah,' said Ron, 'McGonagall might let us have hers, she did when Harry was practising for the Tri wizard.' But Harry was pretty certain that McGonagall would not be so accommodating this time. 'We'll send a message round to everybody when we've got a time and a place for the first meeting.' She rummaged in her bag and produced parchment and a quill, then hesitated, rather as though she was steeling herself to say something. 'I - I think everybody should write their name down, just so we know who was here. But I also think,' she took a deep breath, 'that we all ought to agree not to shout about what we're doing. So if you sign, you're agreeing not to tell Umbridge or anybody else what we're up to.' Fred reached out for the parchment and cheerfully wrote his signature, but Harry noticed at once that several people looked less than happy at the prospect of putting their names on the list. 'Er...' said Zacharias slowly, not

taking the parchment that George was trying to pass to him, 'well... I'm sure Ernie will tell me when the meeting is.' But Ernie was looking rather hesitant about signing, too. 'I - well, we are prefects,' Ernie burst out. 'And if this list was found... well, I mean to say... you said yourself, if Umbridge finds out - ' 'You just said this group was the most important thing you'd do this year,' Harry reminded him. 'No. No, of course not,' said Ernie, looking slightly less anxious. 'I - yes, of course I'll sign.' Nobody raised objections after Ernie, though Harry saw Cho's friend give her a rather reproachful look before adding her own name. There was an odd feeling in the group now. It was as though they had just signed some kind of contract. 'Well, time's ticking on,' said Fred briskly, getting to his feet. 'George, Lee and I have got items of a sensitive nature to purchase, we'll be seeing you all later.' In twos and threes the rest of the group took their leave, too. Cho made rather a business of fastening the catch on her bag before leaving, her long dark curtain of hair swinging forwards to hide her face, but her friend stood beside her, arms folded, clicking her tongue, so that Cho had little choice but to leave with her. As her friend ushered her through the door, Cho looked back and waved at Harry. Harry and Ron were clutching their bottles of Butterbeer. 'That Zacharias bloke's a wart,' said Ron, who was glowering after the figure of Smith, just discernible in the distance. But the more people the better really - I mean, Michael Corner and his friends wouldn't have come if he hadn't been going out with Ginny - ' Ron, who had been draining the last few drops from his Butterbeer bottle, gagged and sprayed Butterbeer down his front. 'He's WHAT?' spluttered Ron, outraged, his ears now resembling curls of raw beef. They had turned

the parchment that George was trying to pass to him, 'well... I'm sure Ernie will tell me when the meeting is.' But Ernie was looking rather hesitant about signing, too. 'I - well, we are prefects,' Ernie burst out. 'And if this list was found... well, I mean to say... you said yourself, if Umbridge finds out - ' 'You just said this group was the most important thing you'd do this year,' Harry reminded him. 'No. No, of course not,' said Ernie, looking slightly less anxious. 'I - yes, of course I'll sign.' Nobody raised objections after Ernie, though Harry saw Cho's friend give her a rather reproachful look before adding her own name. There was an odd feeling in the group now. It was as though they had just signed some kind of contract. 'Well, time's ticking on,' said Fred briskly, getting to his feet. 'George, Lee and I have got items of a sensitive nature to purchase, we'll be seeing you all later.' In twos and threes the rest of the group took their leave, too. Cho made rather a business of fastening the catch on her bag before leaving, her long dark curtain of hair swinging forwards to hide her face, but her friend stood beside her, arms folded, clicking her tongue, so that Cho had little choice but to leave with her. As her friend ushered her through the door, Cho looked back and waved at Harry. Harry and Ron were clutching their bottles of Butterbeer. 'That Zacharias bloke's a wart,' said Ron, who was glowering after the figure of Smith, just discernible in the distance. But the more people the better really - I mean, Michael Corner and his friends wouldn't have come if he hadn't been going out with Ginny - ' Ron, who had been draining the last few drops from his Butterbeer bottle, gagged and sprayed Butterbeer down his front. 'He's WHAT?' spluttered Ron, outraged, his ears now resembling curls of raw beef. They had turned

into the High Street and she paused outside Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop, where there was a handsome display of pheasant feather quills in the window. 'Hmm... I could do with a new quill.' She turned into the shop. Harry and Ron followed her. 'Which one was Michael Corner?' Ron demanded furiously. 'I didn't like him,' said Ron at once. 'Ginny used to fancy Harry, but she gave up on him months ago. Not that she doesn't like you, of course,' she added kindly to Harry while she examined a long black and gold quill. Harry, whose head was still full of Cho's parting wave, did not find this subject quite as interesting as Ron, who was positively quivering with indignation, but it did bring something home to him that until now he had not really registered. 'Yes, I think I'll have this one...' She went up to the counter and handed over fifteen Sickles and two Knuts, with Ron still breathing down her neck. 'Ron,' she said severely as she turned and trod on his feet, 'this is exactly why Ginny hasn't told you she's seeing Michael, she knew you'd take it badly. So don't harp on about it, for heaven's sake.' 'What d'you mean? Who's taking anything badly? I'm not going to harp on about anything...' Ron continued to chunter under his breath all the way down the street... what about Cho and you?' 'What d'you mean?' said Harry quickly. It was as though boiling water was rising rapidly inside him; a burning sensation that was causing his face to smart in the cold - had he been that obvious? - CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - Educational Decree Number Twenty-four Harry felt happier for the rest of the weekend than he had done all term. He and Ron spent much of Sunday catching up with all their homework again, and although this could hardly be called fun, the last burst of autumn sunshine persisted, so rather than sitting hunched over tables in the common room they took their work outside and lounged in the

the High Street and she paused outside Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop, where there was a handsome display of pheasant feather quills in the window. 'Hmm... I could do with a new quill.' She turned into the shop. Harry and Ron followed her. 'Which one was Michael Corner?' Ron demanded furiously. 'I didn't like him,' said Ron at once. 'Ginny used to fancy Harry, but she gave up on him months ago. Not that she doesn't like you, of course,' she added kindly to Harry while she examined a long black and gold quill. Harry, whose head was still full of Cho's parting wave, did not find this subject quite as interesting as Ron, who was positively quivering with indignation, but it did bring something home to him that until now he had not really registered. 'Yes, I think I'll have this one...' She went up to the counter and handed over fifteen Sickles and two Knuts, with Ron still breathing down her neck. 'Ron,' she said severely as she turned and trod on his feet, 'this is exactly why Ginny hasn't told you she's seeing Michael, she knew you'd take it badly. So don't harp on about it, for heaven's sake.' 'What d'you mean? Who's taking anything badly? I'm not going to harp on about anything...' Ron continued to chunter under his breath all the way down the street... what about Cho and you?' 'What d'you mean?' said Harry quickly. It was as though boiling water was rising rapidly inside him; a burning sensation that was causing his face to smart in the cold - had he been that obvious? - CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - Educational Decree Number Twenty-four Harry felt happier for the rest of the weekend than he had done all term. He and Ron spent much of Sunday catching up with all their homework again, and although this could hardly be called fun, the last burst of autumn sunshine persisted, so rather than sitting hunched over tables in the common room they took their work outside and lounged in the

shade of a large beech tree on the edge of the lake. Knowing they were doing something to resist Umbridge and the Ministry and that he was a key part of the rebellion, gave Harry a feeling of immense satisfaction. He kept reliving Saturdays meeting in his mind: all those people, coming to him to learn Defence Against the Dark Arts... and the looks on their faces as they had heard some of the things he had done... and Cho praising his performance in the Triwizard Tournament - knowing all those people did not think him a lying weirdo, but someone to be admired, buoyed him up so much that he was still cheerful on Monday morning, despite the imminent prospect of all his least favourite classes. He and Ron headed downstairs from their dormitory, discussing Angelina's idea that they were to work on a new move called the Sloth Grip Roll during that nights Quidditch practice, and not until they were halfway across the sunlit common room did they notice the addition to the room that had already attracted the attention of a small group of people. A large sign had been affixed to the Grffindor noticeboard, so large it covered everything else on it - the lists of secondhand spellbooks for sale, the regular reminders of school rules from Argus Filch, the Quidditch team training timetable, the offers to barter certain Chocolate Frog Cards for others, the Weasleys' latest advertisement for testers, the dates of the Hogsmeade weekends and the lost and found notices. The new sign was printed in large black letters and there was a highly official-looking seal at the bottom beside a neat and curly signature. BY ORDER OF THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS All student organisations, societies, teams, groups and clubs are henceforth disbanded. An organisation, society, team, group or club is hereby defined as a regular meeting of three or more students. Permission to re-form may be sought from the High Inquisitor (Professor Umbridge). No student organisation, society, team, group or club may exist without the knowledge and approval of the High Inquisitor. Any student found to have formed

ade of a large beech tree on the edge of the lake. Knowing they were doing something to resist Umbridge and the Ministry and that he was a key part of the rebellion, gave Harry a feeling of immense satisfaction. He kept reliving Saturdays meeting in his mind: all those people, coming to him to learn Defence Against the Dark Arts... and the looks on their faces as they had heard some of the things he had done... and Cho praising his performance in the Triwizard Tournament - knowing all those people did not think him a lying weirdo, but someone to be admired, buoyed him up so much that he was still cheerful on Monday morning, despite the imminent prospect of all his least favourite classes. He and Ron headed downstairs from their dormitory, discussing Angelina's idea that they were to work on a new move called the Sloth Grip Roll during that nights Quidditch practice, and not until they were halfway across the sunlit common room did they notice the addition to the room that had already attracted the attention of a small group of people. A large sign had been affixed to the Grffindor noticeboard, so large it covered everything else on it - the lists of secondhand spellbooks for sale, the regular reminders of school rules from Argus Filch, the Quidditch team training timetable, the offers to barter certain Chocolate Frog Cards for others, the Weasleys' latest advertisement for testers, the dates of the Hogsmeade weekends and the lost and found notices. The new sign was printed in large black letters and there was a highly official-looking seal at the bottom beside a neat and curly signature. BY ORDER OF THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS All student organisations, societies, teams, groups and clubs are henceforth disbanded. An organisation, society, team, group or club is hereby defined as a regular meeting of three or more students. Permission to re-form may be sought from the High Inquisitor (Professor Umbridge). No student organisation, society, team, group or club may exist without the knowledge and approval of the High Inquisitor. Any student found to have formed

, or to belong to, an organisation, society, team, group or club that has not been approved by the High Inquisitor will be expelled. The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-four. Signed: Dolores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor Harry and Ron read the notice over the heads of some anxious-looking second-years. 'Does this mean they're going to shut down the Gobstones Club?' one of them asked his friend. 'I reckon you'll be OK with Gobstones,' Ron said darkly, making the second-year jump. I don't think we're going to be as lucky, though, do you?' he asked Harry as the second-years hurried away. Harry was reading the notice through again. The happiness that had filled him since Saturday was gone. His insides were pulsing with rage. 'This isn't a coincidence,' he said, his hands forming fists. 'She knows.' 'She can't,' said Ron at once. There were people listening in that pub. And let's face it, we don't know how many of the people who turned up we can trust... any of them could have run off and told Umbridge...' And he had thought they believed him, thought they even admired him... 'Zacharias Smith!' said Ron at once, punching a fist into his hand. 'Let's go and tell her,' said Ron. He bounded forwards, pulled open the door and set off up the spiral staircase. He was on the sixth stair when there was a loud, wailing, klaxon-like sound and the steps melted together to make a long, smooth stone slide like a helter-skelter. There was a brief moment when Ron tried to keep running, arms working madly like windmills, then he toppled over backwards and shot down the newly created slide, coming to rest on his back at Harry's feet. 'Er - I don't think we're allowed in the girls' dormitories,' said Harry, pulling Ron to his feet and trying not to laugh. Two fourth-year girls came zooming gleefully down the stone slide.

or to belong to, an organisation, society, team, group or club that has not been approved by the High Inquisitor will be expelled. The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-four. Signed: Dolores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor Harry and Ron read the notice over the heads of some anxious-looking second-years. 'Does this mean they're going to shut down the Gobstones Club?' one of them asked his friend. 'I reckon you'll be OK with Gobstones,' Ron said darkly, making the second-year jump. I don't think we're going to be as lucky, though, do you?' he asked Harry as the second-years hurried away. Harry was reading the notice through again. The happiness that had filled him since Saturday was gone. His insides were pulsing with rage. 'This isn't a coincidence,' he said, his hands forming fists. 'She knows.' 'She can't,' said Ron at once. There were people listening in that pub. And let's face it, we don't know how many of the people who turned up we can trust... any of them could have run off and told Umbridge...' And he had thought they believed him, thought they even admired him... 'Zacharias Smith!' said Ron at once, punching a fist into his hand. 'Let's go and tell her,' said Ron. He bounded forwards, pulled open the door and set off up the spiral staircase. He was on the sixth stair when there was a loud, wailing, klaxon-like sound and the steps melted together to make a long, smooth stone slide like a helter-skelter. There was a brief moment when Ron tried to keep running, arms working madly like windmills, then he toppled over backwards and shot down the newly created slide, coming to rest on his back at Harry's feet. 'Er - I don't think we're allowed in the girls' dormitories,' said Harry, pulling Ron to his feet and trying not to laugh. Two fourth-year girls came zooming gleefully down the stone slide.

'Oooh. who tried to get upstairs?' they giggled happily, leaping to their feet and ogling Harry and Ron. 'Me,' said Ron, who was still rather dishevelled. T didn't realise that would happen. It's not fair!' he added to Harry, as the girls headed off for the portrait hole, still giggling madly. Anyway, why were you trying to get in there?' To see you - look at this!' said Ron, dragging her over to the noticeboard. Her expression became stony. 'Someone must have blabbed to her!' Ron said angrily. 'Believe me, if anyone's run off and told Umbridge, we'll know exactly who they are and they will really regret it.' 'What'll happen to them?' said Ron eagerly. Come on, let's get down to breakfast and see what the others think... I wonder whether this has been put up in all the houses?' It was immediately apparent on entering the Great Hall that Umbridge's sign had not only appeared in Gryffindor Tower. There was a peculiar intensity about the chatter and an extra measure of movement in the Hall as people scurried up and down their tables conferring on what they had read. Harry, Ron had barely taken their seats when Neville, Dean, Fred, George and Ginny descended upon them. 'Did you see it?' 'D'you reckon she knows?' 'What are we going to do?' They were all looking at Harry. He glanced around to make sure there were no teachers near them. 'We're going to do it anyway, of course,' he said quietly. 'Knew you'd say that,' said George, beaming and thumping Harry on the arm. The prefects as well?' said Fred, looking quizzically at Ron. 'Here come Ernie and Hannah Abbott,' said Ron, looking over his shoulder. 'And those Ravenclaw blokes and Smith... 'Never mind spots, the idiots can't come over here now, it'll look really suspicious - sit down!' she mouthed to Ernie and Hannah, gesturing frantically to them to rejoin the

'Oooh. who tried to get upstairs?' they giggled happily, leaping to their feet and ogling Harry and Ron. 'Me,' said Ron, who was still rather dishevelled. T didn't realise that would happen. It's not fair!' he added to Harry, as the girls headed off for the portrait hole, still giggling madly. Anyway, why were you trying to get in there?' To see you - look at this!' said Ron, dragging her over to the noticeboard. Her expression became stony. 'Someone must have blabbed to her!' Ron said angrily. 'Believe me, if anyone's run off and told Umbridge, we'll know exactly who they are and they will really regret it.' 'What'll happen to them?' said Ron eagerly. Come on, let's get down to breakfast and see what the others think... I wonder whether this has been put up in all the houses?' It was immediately apparent on entering the Great Hall that Umbridge's sign had not only appeared in Gryffindor Tower. There was a peculiar intensity about the chatter and an extra measure of movement in the Hall as people scurried up and down their tables conferring on what they had read. Harry, Ron had barely taken their seats when Neville, Dean, Fred, George and Ginny descended upon them. 'Did you see it?' 'D'you reckon she knows?' 'What are we going to do?' They were all looking at Harry. He glanced around to make sure there were no teachers near them. 'We're going to do it anyway, of course,' he said quietly. 'Knew you'd say that,' said George, beaming and thumping Harry on the arm. The prefects as well?' said Fred, looking quizzically at Ron. 'Here come Ernie and Hannah Abbott,' said Ron, looking over his shoulder. 'And those Ravenclaw blokes and Smith... 'Never mind spots, the idiots can't come over here now, it'll look really suspicious - sit down!' she mouthed to Ernie and Hannah, gesturing frantically to them to rejoin the

Hufflepuff table. 'Later! We'll - talk - to - you - later!' 'I'll tell Michael,' said Ginny impatiently, swinging herself off her bench, 'the fool, honestly...' She hurried off towards the Ravenclaw table; Harry watched her go. Cho was sitting not far away, talking to the curly-haired friend she had brought along to the Hog's Head. Would Umbridge's notice scare her off meeting them again? But the full repercussions of the sign were not felt until they were leaving the Great Hall for History of Magic. 'Harry! Ron!' It was Angelina and she was hurrying towards them looking perfectly desperate. 'It's OK,' said Harry quietly, when she was near enough to hear him. 'We're still going to - ' 'You realise she's including Quidditch in this?' Angelina said over him. 'We have to go and ask permission to re-form the Gryffindor team!' 'What?' said Harry. 'No way,' said Ron, appalled. 'You read the sign, it mentions teams too! So listen, Harry... I am saying this for the last time... please, please don't lose your temper with Umbridge again or she might not let us play any more!' 'OK, OK,' said Harry, for Angelina looked as though she was on the verge of tears. 'Don't worry, I'll behave myself...' 'Bet Umbridge is in History of Magic,' said Ron grimly, as they set off for Binns's lesson. 'She hasn't inspected Binns yet... bet you anything she's there...' But he was wrong; the only teacher present when they entered was Professor Binns, floating an inch or so above his chair as usual and preparing to continue his monotonous drone on giant wars. 'What?' She pointed at the window. Harry looked round. Hedwig was perched on the narrow window ledge, gazing through the thick glass at him, a letter tied to her leg. Harry could not understand it; they had just had breakfast, why on earth hadn

ufflepuff table. 'Later! We'll - talk - to - you - later!' 'I'll tell Michael,' said Ginny impatiently, swinging herself off her bench, 'the fool, honestly...' She hurried off towards the Ravenclaw table; Harry watched her go. Cho was sitting not far away, talking to the curly-haired friend she had brought along to the Hog's Head. Would Umbridge's notice scare her off meeting them again? But the full repercussions of the sign were not felt until they were leaving the Great Hall for History of Magic. 'Harry! Ron!' It was Angelina and she was hurrying towards them looking perfectly desperate. 'It's OK,' said Harry quietly, when she was near enough to hear him. 'We're still going to - ' 'You realise she's including Quidditch in this?' Angelina said over him. 'We have to go and ask permission to re-form the Gryffindor team!' 'What?' said Harry. 'No way,' said Ron, appalled. 'You read the sign, it mentions teams too! So listen, Harry... I am saying this for the last time... please, please don't lose your temper with Umbridge again or she might not let us play any more!' 'OK, OK,' said Harry, for Angelina looked as though she was on the verge of tears. 'Don't worry, I'll behave myself...' 'Bet Umbridge is in History of Magic,' said Ron grimly, as they set off for Binns's lesson. 'She hasn't inspected Binns yet... bet you anything she's there...' But he was wrong; the only teacher present when they entered was Professor Binns, floating an inch or so above his chair as usual and preparing to continue his monotonous drone on giant wars. 'What?' She pointed at the window. Harry looked round. Hedwig was perched on the narrow window ledge, gazing through the thick glass at him, a letter tied to her leg. Harry could not understand it; they had just had breakfast, why on earth hadn

't she delivered the letter then, as usual? Many of his classmates were pointing out Hedwig to each other, too. 'Oh, I've always loved that owl, she's so beautiful,' Harry heard Lavender sigh to Parvati. He glanced round at Professor Binns who continued to read his notes, serenely unaware that the class's attention was even less focused upon him than usual. Harry slipped quietly off his chair, crouched down and hurried along the row to the window, where he slid the catch and opened it very slowly. He had expected Hedwig to hold out her leg so that he could remove the letter and then fly off to the Owlery, but the moment the window was open wide enough she hopped inside, hooting dolefully. He closed the window with an anxious glance at Professor Binns, crouched low again and sped back to his seat with Hedwig on his shoulder. He regained his seat, transferred Hedwig to his lap and made to remove the letter tied to her leg. Only then did he realise that Hedwig's feathers were oddly ruffled; some were bent the wrong way, and she was holding one of her wings at an odd angle. 'She's hurt!' Harry whispered, bending his head low over her. 'Look - there's something wrong with her wing - ' Hedwig was quivering; when Harry made to touch the wing she gave a little jump, all her feathers on end as though she was inflating herself, and gazed at him reproachfully. 'Professor Binns,' said Harry loudly, and everyone in the class turned to look at him. 'I'm not feeling well.' Professor Binns raised his eyes from his notes, looking amazed, as always, to find the room in front of him full of people. 'Not feeling well?' he repeated hazily. 'Not at all well,' said Harry firmly, getting to his feet with Hedwig concealed behind his back. 'I think I need to go to the hospital wing.' 'Yes,' said Professor Binns, clearly very much wrong-footed. 'Yes... yes, hospital wing... well, off you go, then, Perkins...' Once outside the room

t she delivered the letter then, as usual? Many of his classmates were pointing out Hedwig to each other, too. 'Oh, I've always loved that owl, she's so beautiful,' Harry heard Lavender sigh to Parvati. He glanced round at Professor Binns who continued to read his notes, serenely unaware that the class's attention was even less focused upon him than usual. Harry slipped quietly off his chair, crouched down and hurried along the row to the window, where he slid the catch and opened it very slowly. He had expected Hedwig to hold out her leg so that he could remove the letter and then fly off to the Owlery, but the moment the window was open wide enough she hopped inside, hooting dolefully. He closed the window with an anxious glance at Professor Binns, crouched low again and sped back to his seat with Hedwig on his shoulder. He regained his seat, transferred Hedwig to his lap and made to remove the letter tied to her leg. Only then did he realise that Hedwig's feathers were oddly ruffled; some were bent the wrong way, and she was holding one of her wings at an odd angle. 'She's hurt!' Harry whispered, bending his head low over her. 'Look - there's something wrong with her wing - ' Hedwig was quivering; when Harry made to touch the wing she gave a little jump, all her feathers on end as though she was inflating herself, and gazed at him reproachfully. 'Professor Binns,' said Harry loudly, and everyone in the class turned to look at him. 'I'm not feeling well.' Professor Binns raised his eyes from his notes, looking amazed, as always, to find the room in front of him full of people. 'Not feeling well?' he repeated hazily. 'Not at all well,' said Harry firmly, getting to his feet with Hedwig concealed behind his back. 'I think I need to go to the hospital wing.' 'Yes,' said Professor Binns, clearly very much wrong-footed. 'Yes... yes, hospital wing... well, off you go, then, Perkins...' Once outside the room

, Harry returned Hedwig to his shoulder and hurried off up the corridor, pausing to think only when he was out of sight of Binns's door. His first choice of somebody to cure Hedwig would have been Hagrid, of course, but as he had no idea where Hagrid was his only remaining option was to find Professor Grubbly-Plank and hope she would help. He peered out of a window at the blustery, overcast grounds. There was no sign of her anywhere near Hagrid's cabin; if she was not teaching, she was probably in the staff room. He set off downstairs, Hedwig hooting feebly as she swayed on his shoulder. Two stone gargoyles flanked the staff-room door. As Harry approached, one of them croaked, 'You should be in class, Sonny Jim.' This is urgent,' said Harry curtly. 'Ooooh, urgent, is it?' said the other gargoyle in a high-pitched voice. 'Well, that's put us in our place, hasn't it?' Harry knocked. He heard footsteps, then the door opened and he found himself face to face with Professor McGonagall. 'You haven't been given another detention!' she said at once, her square spectacles flashing alarmingly. 'No, Professor!' said Harry hastily. 'Well then, why are you out of class?' 'It's urgent, apparently,' said the second gargoyle snidely. 'I'm looking for Professor Grubbly-Plank,' Harry explained. 'It's my owl, she's injured.' 'Injured owl, did you say?' Professor Grubbly-Plank appeared at Professor McGonagall's shoulder, smoking a pipe and holding a copy of the Daily Prophet. 'Yes,' said Harry, lifting Hedwig carefully off his shoulder,'she turned up after the other post owls and her wing's all funny, look - ' Professor Grubbly-Plank stuck her pipe firmly between her teeth and took Hedwig from Harry while Professor McGonagall watched. 'Hmm,' said Professor Grubb

Harry returned Hedwig to his shoulder and hurried off up the corridor, pausing to think only when he was out of sight of Binns's door. His first choice of somebody to cure Hedwig would have been Hagrid, of course, but as he had no idea where Hagrid was his only remaining option was to find Professor Grubbly-Plank and hope she would help. He peered out of a window at the blustery, overcast grounds. There was no sign of her anywhere near Hagrid's cabin; if she was not teaching, she was probably in the staff room. He set off downstairs, Hedwig hooting feebly as she swayed on his shoulder. Two stone gargoyles flanked the staff-room door. As Harry approached, one of them croaked, 'You should be in class, Sonny Jim.' This is urgent,' said Harry curtly. 'Ooooh, urgent, is it?' said the other gargoyle in a high-pitched voice. 'Well, that's put us in our place, hasn't it?' Harry knocked. He heard footsteps, then the door opened and he found himself face to face with Professor McGonagall. 'You haven't been given another detention!' she said at once, her square spectacles flashing alarmingly. 'No, Professor!' said Harry hastily. 'Well then, why are you out of class?' 'It's urgent, apparently,' said the second gargoyle snidely. 'I'm looking for Professor Grubbly-Plank,' Harry explained. 'It's my owl, she's injured.' 'Injured owl, did you say?' Professor Grubbly-Plank appeared at Professor McGonagall's shoulder, smoking a pipe and holding a copy of the Daily Prophet. 'Yes,' said Harry, lifting Hedwig carefully off his shoulder,'she turned up after the other post owls and her wing's all funny, look - ' Professor Grubbly-Plank stuck her pipe firmly between her teeth and took Hedwig from Harry while Professor McGonagall watched. 'Hmm,' said Professor Grubb

ly-Plank, her pipe waggling slightly as she talked. 'Looks like something's attacked her. Can't think what would have done it, though. Thestrals will sometimes go for birds, of course, but Hagrid's got the Hogwarts Thestrals well-trained not to touch owls.' Harry neither knew nor cared what Thestrals were; he just wanted to know that Hedwig was going to be all right. Professor McGonagall, however, looked sharply at Harry and said, 'Do you know how far this owl's travelled, Potter?' 'Er,' said Harry. 'From London, I think.' He met her eyes briefly and knew, by the way her eyebrows had joined in the middle, that she understood 'London' to mean 'number twelve, Grimmauld Place'. Professor Grubbly-Plank pulled a monocle out of the inside of her robes and screwed it into her eye, to examine Hedwig's wing closely. 'I should be able to sort this out if you leave her with me, Potter,' she said,'she shouldn't be flying long distances for a few days, in any case.' 'Er - right - thanks,' said Harry, just as the bell rang for break. 'No problem,' said Professor Grubbly-Plank gruffly, turning back into the staff room. 'Just a moment, Wilhelmina!' said Professor McGonagall. 'Potter's letter!' 'Oh yeah!' said Harry, who had momentarily forgotten the scroll tied to Hedwig's leg. Professor Grubbly-Plank handed it over and then disappeared into the staff room carrying Hedwig, who was staring at Harry as though unable to believe he would give her away like this. Feeling slightly guilty, he turned to go, but Professor McGonagall called him back. 'Potter!' 'Yes, Professor?' She glanced up and down the corridor; there were students coming from both directions. 'Bear in mind,' she said quickly and quietly, her eyes on the scroll in his hand, 'that channels of communication in and out of Hogwarts may be being watched, won't you?' 'I -'said

-Plank, her pipe waggling slightly as she talked. 'Looks like something's attacked her. Can't think what would have done it, though. Thestrals will sometimes go for birds, of course, but Hagrid's got the Hogwarts Thestrals well-trained not to touch owls.' Harry neither knew nor cared what Thestrals were; he just wanted to know that Hedwig was going to be all right. Professor McGonagall, however, looked sharply at Harry and said, 'Do you know how far this owl's travelled, Potter?' 'Er,' said Harry. 'From London, I think.' He met her eyes briefly and knew, by the way her eyebrows had joined in the middle, that she understood 'London' to mean 'number twelve, Grimmauld Place'. Professor Grubbly-Plank pulled a monocle out of the inside of her robes and screwed it into her eye, to examine Hedwig's wing closely. 'I should be able to sort this out if you leave her with me, Potter,' she said,'she shouldn't be flying long distances for a few days, in any case.' 'Er - right - thanks,' said Harry, just as the bell rang for break. 'No problem,' said Professor Grubbly-Plank gruffly, turning back into the staff room. 'Just a moment, Wilhelmina!' said Professor McGonagall. 'Potter's letter!' 'Oh yeah!' said Harry, who had momentarily forgotten the scroll tied to Hedwig's leg. Professor Grubbly-Plank handed it over and then disappeared into the staff room carrying Hedwig, who was staring at Harry as though unable to believe he would give her away like this. Feeling slightly guilty, he turned to go, but Professor McGonagall called him back. 'Potter!' 'Yes, Professor?' She glanced up and down the corridor; there were students coming from both directions. 'Bear in mind,' she said quickly and quietly, her eyes on the scroll in his hand, 'that channels of communication in and out of Hogwarts may be being watched, won't you?' 'I -'said

Harry, but the flood of students rolling along the corridor was almost upon him. Professor McGonagall gave him a curt nod and retreated into the staff room, leaving Harry to be swept out into the courtyard with the crowd. He spotted Ron already standing in a sheltered corner, their cloak collars turned up against the wind. Harry slit open the scroll as he hurried towards them and found five words in Sirius's handwriting: Today, same time, same place. 'Where did you take her?' asked Ron. 'To Grubbly-Plank,' said Harry. 'And I met McGonagall... listen...' And he told them what Professor McGonagall had said. To his surprise, neither of the others looked shocked. On the contrary, they exchanged significant looks. 'Well, I was just saying to Ron... what if someone had tried to intercept Hedwig? I mean, she's never been hurt on a flight before, has she?' 'Who's the letter from, anyway?' asked Ron, taking the note from Harry. 'Snuffles,' said Harry quietly. She looked uneasy. 'I just hope nobody else has read this...' 'But it was still sealed and everything,' said Harry, trying to convince himself as much as her... and if anyone's watching the Floo Network... but I don't really see how we can warn him not to come without that being intercepted, too!' They trudged down the stone steps to the dungeons for Potions, all three of them, lost in thought, but as they reached the bottom of the steps they were recalled to themselves by the voice of Draco Malfoy, who was standing just outside Snape's classroom door, waving around an official-looking piece of parchment and talking much louder than was necessary so that they could hear every word. 'Yeah, Umbridge gave the Slytherin Quidditch team permission to continue playing straightaway, I went to ask her first thing this morning. Well, it was pretty much automatic, I mean, she knows my father really well, he's always popping in and out of the Ministry... 'It'

, but the flood of students rolling along the corridor was almost upon him. Professor McGonagall gave him a curt nod and retreated into the staff room, leaving Harry to be swept out into the courtyard with the crowd. He spotted Ron already standing in a sheltered corner, their cloak collars turned up against the wind. Harry slit open the scroll as he hurried towards them and found five words in Sirius's handwriting: Today, same time, same place. 'Where did you take her?' asked Ron. 'To Grubbly-Plank,' said Harry. 'And I met McGonagall... listen...' And he told them what Professor McGonagall had said. To his surprise, neither of the others looked shocked. On the contrary, they exchanged significant looks. 'Well, I was just saying to Ron... what if someone had tried to intercept Hedwig? I mean, she's never been hurt on a flight before, has she?' 'Who's the letter from, anyway?' asked Ron, taking the note from Harry. 'Snuffles,' said Harry quietly. She looked uneasy. 'I just hope nobody else has read this...' 'But it was still sealed and everything,' said Harry, trying to convince himself as much as her... and if anyone's watching the Floo Network... but I don't really see how we can warn him not to come without that being intercepted, too!' They trudged down the stone steps to the dungeons for Potions, all three of them, lost in thought, but as they reached the bottom of the steps they were recalled to themselves by the voice of Draco Malfoy, who was standing just outside Snape's classroom door, waving around an official-looking piece of parchment and talking much louder than was necessary so that they could hear every word. 'Yeah, Umbridge gave the Slytherin Quidditch team permission to continue playing straightaway, I went to ask her first thing this morning. Well, it was pretty much automatic, I mean, she knows my father really well, he's always popping in and out of the Ministry... 'It'

s what he wants.' 'I mean,' said Malfoy, raising his voice a little more, his grey eyes glittering malevolently in Harry and Ron's direction, 'if it's a question of influence with the Ministry, I don't think they've got much chance... from what my father says, they've been looking for an excuse to sack Arthur Weasley for years... and as for Potter... my father says it's a matter of time before the Ministry has him carted off to St Mungo's... apparently they've got a special ward for people whose brains have been addled by magic.' Malfoy made a grotesque face, his mouth sagging open and his eyes rolling. Crabbe and Goyle gave their usual grunts of laughter; Pansy Parkinson shrieked with glee. Something collided hard with Harry's shoulder, knocking him sideways. A split second later he realised that Neville had just charged past him, heading straight for Malfoy. 'Neville, no!' Harry leapt forward and seized the back of Neville's robes; Neville struggled frantically, his fists flailing, trying desperately to get at Malfoy who looked, for a moment, extremely shocked. 'Help me!' Harry flung at Ron, managing to get an arm around Neville's neck and dragging him backwards, away from the Slytherins. Crabbe and Goyle were flexing their arms as they stepped in front of Malfoy, ready for the fight. Ron seized Neville's arms, and together he and Harry succeeded in dragging Neville back into the Gryffindor line. Nevilles face was scarlet; the pressure Harry was exerting on his throat rendered him quite incomprehensible, but odd words spluttered from his mouth. 'Not... funny... don't... Mungo's... show... him...' The dungeon door opened. Snape appeared there. His black eyes swept up the Gryffindor line to the point where Harry and Ron were wrestling with Neville. 'Fighting,

what he wants.' 'I mean,' said Malfoy, raising his voice a little more, his grey eyes glittering malevolently in Harry and Ron's direction, 'if it's a question of influence with the Ministry, I don't think they've got much chance... from what my father says, they've been looking for an excuse to sack Arthur Weasley for years... and as for Potter... my father says it's a matter of time before the Ministry has him carted off to St Mungo's... apparently they've got a special ward for people whose brains have been addled by magic.' Malfoy made a grotesque face, his mouth sagging open and his eyes rolling. Crabbe and Goyle gave their usual grunts of laughter; Pansy Parkinson shrieked with glee. Something collided hard with Harry's shoulder, knocking him sideways. A split second later he realised that Neville had just charged past him, heading straight for Malfoy. 'Neville, no!' Harry leapt forward and seized the back of Neville's robes; Neville struggled frantically, his fists flailing, trying desperately to get at Malfoy who looked, for a moment, extremely shocked. 'Help me!' Harry flung at Ron, managing to get an arm around Neville's neck and dragging him backwards, away from the Slytherins. Crabbe and Goyle were flexing their arms as they stepped in front of Malfoy, ready for the fight. Ron seized Neville's arms, and together he and Harry succeeded in dragging Neville back into the Gryffindor line. Nevilles face was scarlet; the pressure Harry was exerting on his throat rendered him quite incomprehensible, but odd words spluttered from his mouth. 'Not... funny... don't... Mungo's... show... him...' The dungeon door opened. Snape appeared there. His black eyes swept up the Gryffindor line to the point where Harry and Ron were wrestling with Neville. 'Fighting,

Potter, Weasley, Longbottom?' Snape said in his cold, sneering voice. 'Ten points from Gryffindor. Release Longbottom, Potter, or it will be detention. Inside, all of you.' Harry let go of Neville, who stood panting and glaring at him. 'I had to stop you,' Harry gasped, picking up his bag. 'Crabbe and Goyle would've torn you apart.' Neville said nothing; he merely snatched up his own bag and stalked off into the dungeon. 'What in the name of Merlin,' said Ron slowly, as they followed Neville, 'was that about?' Harry did not answer. He knew exactly why the subject of people who were in St Mungo's because of magical damage to their brains was highly distressing to Neville, but he had sworn to Dumbledore that he would not tell anyone Neville's secret. Even Neville did not know Harry knew. Harry, Ron took their usual seats at the back of the class, pulled out parchment, quills and their copies of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi. The class around them was whispering about what Neville had just done, but when Snape closed the dungeon door with an echoing bang, everybody immediately fell silent. 'You will notice,' said Snape, in his low, sneering voice, 'that we have a guest with us today.' He gestured towards the dim corner of the dungeon and Harry saw Professor Umbridge sitting there, clipboard on her knee. He glanced sideways at Ron, his eyebrows raised. Snape and Umbridge, the two teachers he hated most. It was hard to decide which one he wanted to triumph over the other. 'We are continuing with our Strengthening Solution today. You will find your mixtures as you left them last lesson; it correctly made they should have matured well over the weekend - instructions -'he waved his wand again'- on the board. Carry on.' Professor Umbridge spent the first half hour of the lesson making notes in her corner. Harry was very interested in hearing her question Snape; so interested,

ter, Weasley, Longbottom?' Snape said in his cold, sneering voice. 'Ten points from Gryffindor. Release Longbottom, Potter, or it will be detention. Inside, all of you.' Harry let go of Neville, who stood panting and glaring at him. 'I had to stop you,' Harry gasped, picking up his bag. 'Crabbe and Goyle would've torn you apart.' Neville said nothing; he merely snatched up his own bag and stalked off into the dungeon. 'What in the name of Merlin,' said Ron slowly, as they followed Neville, 'was that about?' Harry did not answer. He knew exactly why the subject of people who were in St Mungo's because of magical damage to their brains was highly distressing to Neville, but he had sworn to Dumbledore that he would not tell anyone Neville's secret. Even Neville did not know Harry knew. Harry, Ron took their usual seats at the back of the class, pulled out parchment, quills and their copies of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi. The class around them was whispering about what Neville had just done, but when Snape closed the dungeon door with an echoing bang, everybody immediately fell silent. 'You will notice,' said Snape, in his low, sneering voice, 'that we have a guest with us today.' He gestured towards the dim corner of the dungeon and Harry saw Professor Umbridge sitting there, clipboard on her knee. He glanced sideways at Ron, his eyebrows raised. Snape and Umbridge, the two teachers he hated most. It was hard to decide which one he wanted to triumph over the other. 'We are continuing with our Strengthening Solution today. You will find your mixtures as you left them last lesson; it correctly made they should have matured well over the weekend - instructions -'he waved his wand again'- on the board. Carry on.' Professor Umbridge spent the first half hour of the lesson making notes in her corner. Harry was very interested in hearing her question Snape; so interested,

that he was becoming careless with his potion again. Umbridge had just got to her feet. 'Ha,' he said softly, as she strode between two lines of desks towards Snape, who was bending over Dean Thomas's cauldron. 'Well, the class seem fairly advanced for their level,' she said briskly to Snape's back. 'Though I would question whether it is advisable to teach them a potion like the Strengthening Solution. I think the Ministry would prefer it if that was removed from the syllabus.' Snape straightened up slowly and turned to look at her. 'Now... how long have you been teaching at Hogwarts?' she asked, her quill poised over her clipboard. 'Fourteen years,' Snape replied. His expression was unfathomable. Harry, watching him closely, added a few drops to his potion; it hissed menacingly and turned from turquoise to orange. 'You applied first for the Defence Against the Dark Arts post, I believe?' Professor Umbridge asked Snape. 'Yes,' said Snape quietly. 'But you were unsuccessful?' Snape's lip curled. 'Obviously.' Professor Umbridge scribbled on her clipboard. 'And you have applied regularly for the Defence Against the Dark Arts post since you first joined the school, I believe?' 'Yes,' said Snape quietly, barely moving his lips. He looked very angry. 'Do you have any idea why Dumbledore has consistently refused to appoint you?' asked Umbridge. 'I suggest you ask him,' said Snape jerkily. 'Oh, I shall,' said Professor Umbridge, with a sweet smile. 'I suppose this is relevant?' Snape asked, his black eyes narrowed. 'Oh yes,' said Professor Umbridge, 'yes, the Ministry wants a thorough understanding of teachers' - er - backgrounds.' She turned away, walked over to Pansy Parkinson and began questioning her about the lessons. Snape looked round at Harry and their eyes met for a second. Harry hastily dropped his gaze to his potion, which was now congealing foully and giving

he was becoming careless with his potion again. Umbridge had just got to her feet. 'Ha,' he said softly, as she strode between two lines of desks towards Snape, who was bending over Dean Thomas's cauldron. 'Well, the class seem fairly advanced for their level,' she said briskly to Snape's back. 'Though I would question whether it is advisable to teach them a potion like the Strengthening Solution. I think the Ministry would prefer it if that was removed from the syllabus.' Snape straightened up slowly and turned to look at her. 'Now... how long have you been teaching at Hogwarts?' she asked, her quill poised over her clipboard. 'Fourteen years,' Snape replied. His expression was unfathomable. Harry, watching him closely, added a few drops to his potion; it hissed menacingly and turned from turquoise to orange. 'You applied first for the Defence Against the Dark Arts post, I believe?' Professor Umbridge asked Snape. 'Yes,' said Snape quietly. 'But you were unsuccessful?' Snape's lip curled. 'Obviously.' Professor Umbridge scribbled on her clipboard. 'And you have applied regularly for the Defence Against the Dark Arts post since you first joined the school, I believe?' 'Yes,' said Snape quietly, barely moving his lips. He looked very angry. 'Do you have any idea why Dumbledore has consistently refused to appoint you?' asked Umbridge. 'I suggest you ask him,' said Snape jerkily. 'Oh, I shall,' said Professor Umbridge, with a sweet smile. 'I suppose this is relevant?' Snape asked, his black eyes narrowed. 'Oh yes,' said Professor Umbridge, 'yes, the Ministry wants a thorough understanding of teachers' - er - backgrounds.' She turned away, walked over to Pansy Parkinson and began questioning her about the lessons. Snape looked round at Harry and their eyes met for a second. Harry hastily dropped his gaze to his potion, which was now congealing foully and giving

off a. strong smell of burned rubber. 'No marks again, then, Potter,' said Snape maliciously, emptying Harry's cauldron with a wave of his wand. 'You will write me an essay on the correct composition of this potion, indicating how and why you went wrong, to be handed in next lesson, do you understand?' 'Yes,' said Harry furiously. Snape had already given them homework and he had Quidditch practice this evening; this would mean another couple of sleepless nights. It did not seem possible that he had awoken that morning feeling very happy. All he felt now was a fervent desire for this day to end. 'Maybe I'll skive off Divination,' he said glumly, as they stood in the courtyard after lunch, the wind whipping at the hems of robes and brims of hats. 'Hark who's talking, you walked oui of Divination, you hate Trelawney!' said Ron indignantly. 'I just think she's an absolutely appalling teacher and a real old fraud. But Harry's already missed History of Magic and I don't think he ought to miss anything else today!' There was too much truth in this to ignore, so half an hour later Harry took his seat in the hot, overperfumed atmosphere of the Divination classroom, feeling angry at everybody. Professor Trelawney was yet again handing out copies of The Dream Oracle. Harry thought he'd surely be much better employed doing Snape's punishment essay than sitting here trying to nnd meaning in a lot of made-up dreams. It seemed, however, that he was not the only person in Divination who was in a temper. Professor Trelawney slammed a copy of the Oracle down on the table between Harry and Ron and swept away, her lips pursed; she threw the next copy of the Oracle at Seamus and Dean, narrowly avoiding Seamus's head, and thrust the final one into Neville's chest with such force that he slipped off his pouffe. 'Well, carry on!' said Professor Trelawney loudly, her voice high-pitched and somewhat hysterical, 'you know what to do! Or am

a. strong smell of burned rubber. 'No marks again, then, Potter,' said Snape maliciously, emptying Harry's cauldron with a wave of his wand. 'You will write me an essay on the correct composition of this potion, indicating how and why you went wrong, to be handed in next lesson, do you understand?' 'Yes,' said Harry furiously. Snape had already given them homework and he had Quidditch practice this evening; this would mean another couple of sleepless nights. It did not seem possible that he had awoken that morning feeling very happy. All he felt now was a fervent desire for this day to end. 'Maybe I'll skive off Divination,' he said glumly, as they stood in the courtyard after lunch, the wind whipping at the hems of robes and brims of hats. 'Hark who's talking, you walked oui of Divination, you hate Trelawney!' said Ron indignantly. 'I just think she's an absolutely appalling teacher and a real old fraud. But Harry's already missed History of Magic and I don't think he ought to miss anything else today!' There was too much truth in this to ignore, so half an hour later Harry took his seat in the hot, overperfumed atmosphere of the Divination classroom, feeling angry at everybody. Professor Trelawney was yet again handing out copies of The Dream Oracle. Harry thought he'd surely be much better employed doing Snape's punishment essay than sitting here trying to nnd meaning in a lot of made-up dreams. It seemed, however, that he was not the only person in Divination who was in a temper. Professor Trelawney slammed a copy of the Oracle down on the table between Harry and Ron and swept away, her lips pursed; she threw the next copy of the Oracle at Seamus and Dean, narrowly avoiding Seamus's head, and thrust the final one into Neville's chest with such force that he slipped off his pouffe. 'Well, carry on!' said Professor Trelawney loudly, her voice high-pitched and somewhat hysterical, 'you know what to do! Or am

I such a sub-standard teacher that you have never learned how to open a book?' The class stared perplexedly at her, then at each other. Harry, however, thought he knew what was the matter. As Professor Trelawney flounced back to the high-backed teachers chair, her magnified eyes full of angry tears, he leaned his head closer to Ron's and muttered, 'I think she's got the results of her inspection back.' 'Professor?' said Parvati Patil in a hushed voice (she and Lavender had always rather admired Professor Trelawney). 'Professor, is there anything - er - wrong?' 'Wrong!' cried Professor Trelawney in a voice throbbing with emotion. 'Certainly not! I have been insulted, certainly... insinuations have been made against me... unfounded accusations levelled... but no, there is nothing wrong, certainly not!' She took a great shuddering breath and looked away from Parvati, angry tears spilling from under her glasses. 'I say nothing,' she choked, 'of sixteen years of devoted service... it has passed, apparently, unnoticed... but I shall not be insulted, no, I shall not!' 'But, Professor, who's insulting you?' asked Parvati timidly. The Establishment!' said Professor Trelawney, in a deep, dramatic, wavering voice. 'Yes, those with eyes too clouded by the mundane to See as I See, to Know as I Know... of course, we Seers have always been feared, always persecuted... it is - alas - 'our fate.' She gulped, dabbed at her wet cheeks with the end of her shawl, then she pulled a small embroidered handkerchief from her sleeve, and blew her nose very hard with a sound like Peeves blowing a raspberry. Ron sniggered. Lavender shot him a disgusted look. 'Professor,' said Parvati, 'do you mean... is it something Professor Umbridge -?' 'Do not speak to

such a sub-standard teacher that you have never learned how to open a book?' The class stared perplexedly at her, then at each other. Harry, however, thought he knew what was the matter. As Professor Trelawney flounced back to the high-backed teachers chair, her magnified eyes full of angry tears, he leaned his head closer to Ron's and muttered, 'I think she's got the results of her inspection back.' 'Professor?' said Parvati Patil in a hushed voice (she and Lavender had always rather admired Professor Trelawney). 'Professor, is there anything - er - wrong?' 'Wrong!' cried Professor Trelawney in a voice throbbing with emotion. 'Certainly not! I have been insulted, certainly... insinuations have been made against me... unfounded accusations levelled... but no, there is nothing wrong, certainly not!' She took a great shuddering breath and looked away from Parvati, angry tears spilling from under her glasses. 'I say nothing,' she choked, 'of sixteen years of devoted service... it has passed, apparently, unnoticed... but I shall not be insulted, no, I shall not!' 'But, Professor, who's insulting you?' asked Parvati timidly. The Establishment!' said Professor Trelawney, in a deep, dramatic, wavering voice. 'Yes, those with eyes too clouded by the mundane to See as I See, to Know as I Know... of course, we Seers have always been feared, always persecuted... it is - alas - 'our fate.' She gulped, dabbed at her wet cheeks with the end of her shawl, then she pulled a small embroidered handkerchief from her sleeve, and blew her nose very hard with a sound like Peeves blowing a raspberry. Ron sniggered. Lavender shot him a disgusted look. 'Professor,' said Parvati, 'do you mean... is it something Professor Umbridge -?' 'Do not speak to