Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (31 page)

‘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, frowning at Harry. Then she said, ‘Have a biscuit, Potter.’

‘Have – what?’

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

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

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

‘Potter, you need to be careful.’

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

‘Misbehaviour in Dolores Umbridge’s class could cost you much more than house points and a detention.’

‘What do you –?’

‘Potter, use your common sense,’ snapped Professor McGonagall, with an abrupt return to her usual manner. ‘You know where she comes from, you must know to whom she is reporting.’

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

‘It says here she’s given you detention every evening this week, starting tomorrow,’ Professor McGonagall said, looking down at Umbridge’s note again.

‘Every evening this week!’ Harry repeated, horrified. ‘But, Professor, couldn’t you –?’

‘No, I couldn’t,’ said Professor McGonagall flatly.

‘But –’

‘She is your teacher and has every right to give you detention. You will go to her room at five o’clock tomorrow for the first one. Just remember: tread carefully around Dolores Umbridge.’

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

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

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

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

‘No, thanks,’ said Harry coldly.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she snapped.

He took one.

‘Thanks,’ he said grudgingly.

‘Didn’t you listen to Dolores Umbridge’s speech at the start-ofterm 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 for a moment, then sniffed, walked around her desk and held open the door for him.

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

Dinner in the Great Hall that night was not a pleasant experience for Harry. The news about his shouting match with Umbridge had travelled exceptionally fast even by Hogwarts’ standards. He heard whispers all around him as he sat eating between Ron and Hermione. The funny thing was that none of the whisperers seemed to mind him overhearing what they were saying about him. On the contrary, it was as though they were hoping he would get angry and start shouting again, so that they could hear his story firsthand.

‘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 in a shaking voice, laying down his knife and fork (his hands were trembling too much to hold them steady), ‘is why they all believed the story two months ago when Dumbledore told them …’

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

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

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

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

‘Which is the truth!’ said Harry loudly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘And she’s trying to get people to spy for her,’ said Ron darkly. ‘Remember when she said she wanted us to come and tell her if we hear anyone saying You-Know-Who’s back?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘You know perfectly well that those are bits of Nosebleed Nougat or – or Puking Pastilles or –’

‘Fainting Fancies?’ Harry suggested quietly.

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

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

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

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

‘We’re paying them!’ said Fred indignantly.

‘I don’t care, it could be dangerous!’

‘Rubbish,’ said Fred.

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

‘Yeah, look, they’re coming round now,’ said George.

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

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

‘I – I think so,’ she said shakily.

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

‘It is NOT excellent!’

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

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

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

‘If you don’t stop doing it, I’m going to –’

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

‘Make us write lines?’ said George, smirking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Thank you for your support, Ron,’ Hermione said acidly.

‘You handled it fine by yourself,’ Ron mumbled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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