Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (76 page)

‘Evidence?’ repeated Umbridge, with that horrible wide toad-like smile. ‘Have you not been listening, Dumbledore? Why do you think Miss Edgecombe is here?’

‘Oh, can she tell us about six months’ worth of meetings?’ said Dumbledore, raising his eyebrows. ‘I was under the impression that she was merely reporting a meeting tonight.’

‘Miss Edgecombe,’ said Umbridge at once, ‘tell us how long these meetings have been going on, dear. You can simply nod or shake your head, I’m sure that won’t make the spots worse. Have they been happening regularly over the last six months?’

Harry felt a horrible plummeting in his stomach. This was it, they had hit a dead end of solid evidence that not even Dumbledore would be able to shift aside.

‘Just nod or shake your head, dear,’ Umbridge said coaxingly to Marietta, ‘come on, now, that won’t re-activate the jinx.’

Everyone in the room was gazing at the top of Marietta’s face. Only her eyes were visible between the pulled-up robes and her curly fringe. Perhaps it was a trick of the firelight, but her eyes looked oddly blank. And then – to Harry’s utter amazement – Marietta shook her head.

Umbridge looked quickly at Fudge, then back at Marietta.

‘I don’t think you understood the question, did you, dear? I’m asking whether you’ve been going to these meetings for the past six months? You have, haven’t you?’

Again, Marietta shook her head.

‘What do you mean by shaking your head, dear?’ said Umbridge in a testy voice.

‘I would have thought her meaning was quite clear,’ said Professor McGonagall harshly, ‘there have been no secret meetings for the past six months. Is that correct, Miss Edgecombe?’

Marietta nodded.

‘But there was a meeting tonight!’ said Umbridge furiously. ‘There was a meeting, Miss Edgecombe, you told me about it, in the Room of Requirement! And Potter was the leader, was he not, Potter organised it, Potter –
why are you shaking your head, girl
?’

‘Well, usually when a person shakes their head,’ said McGonagall coldly, ‘they mean “no”. So unless Miss Edgecombe is using a form of sign-language as yet unknown to humans –’

Professor Umbridge seized Marietta, pulled her round to face her and began shaking her very hard. A split second later Dumbledore was on his feet, his wand raised; Kingsley started forwards and Umbridge leapt back from Marietta, waving her hands in the air as though they had been burned.

‘I cannot allow you to manhandle my students, Dolores,’ said Dumbledore and, for the first time, he looked angry.

‘You want to calm yourself, Madam Umbridge,’ said Kingsley, in his deep, slow voice. ‘You don’t want to get yourself into trouble, now.’

‘No,’ said Umbridge breathlessly, glancing up at the towering figure of Kingsley. ‘I mean, yes – you’re right, Shacklebolt – I – I forgot myself.’

Marietta was standing exactly where Umbridge had released her. She seemed neither perturbed by Umbridge’s sudden attack, nor relieved by her release; she was still clutching her robe up to her oddly blank eyes and staring straight ahead of her.

A sudden suspicion, connected to Kingsley’s whisper and the thing he had felt shoot past him, sprang into Harry’s mind.

‘Dolores,’ said Fudge, with the air of trying to settle something once and for all, ‘the meeting tonight – the one we know definitely happened –’

‘Yes,’ said Umbridge, pulling herself together, ‘yes … well, Miss Edgecombe tipped me off and I proceeded at once to the seventh floor, accompanied by certain
trustworthy
students, so as to catch those in the meeting red-handed. It appears that they were forewarned of my arrival, however, because when we reached the seventh floor they were running in every direction. It does not matter, however. I have all their names here, Miss Parkinson ran into the Room of Requirement for me to see if they had left anything behind. We needed evidence and the room provided.’

And to Harry’s horror, she withdrew from her pocket the list of names that had been pinned upon the Room of Requirement’s wall and handed it to Fudge.

‘The moment I saw Potter’s name on the list, I knew what we were dealing with,’ she said softly.

‘Excellent,’ said Fudge, a smile spreading across his face, ‘excellent, Dolores. And … by thunder …’

He looked up at Dumbledore, who was still standing beside Marietta, his wand held loosely in his hand.

‘See what they’ve named themselves?’ said Fudge quietly. ‘
Dumbledore’s Army
.’

Dumbledore reached out and took the piece of parchment from Fudge. He gazed at the heading scribbled by Hermione months before and for a moment seemed unable to speak. Then he looked up, smiling.

‘Well, the game is up,’ he said simply. ‘Would you like a written confession from me, Cornelius – or will a statement before these witnesses suffice?’

Harry saw McGonagall and Kingsley look at each other. There was fear in both faces. He did not understand what was going on, and nor, apparently, did Fudge.

‘Statement?’ said Fudge slowly. ‘What – I don’t –?’

‘Dumbledore’s Army, Cornelius,’ said Dumbledore, still smiling as he waved the list of names before Fudge’s face. ‘Not Potter’s Army.
Dumbledore’s Army.
’

‘But – but –’

Understanding blazed suddenly in Fudge’s face. He took a horrified step backwards, yelped, and jumped out of the fire again.

‘You?’ he whispered, stamping again on his smouldering cloak.

‘That’s right,’ said Dumbledore pleasantly.

‘You organised this?’

‘I did,’ said Dumbledore.

‘You recruited these students for – for your army?’

‘Tonight was supposed to be the first meeting,’ said Dumbledore, nodding. ‘Merely to see whether they would be interested in joining me. I see now that it was a mistake to invite Miss Edgecombe, of course.’

Marietta nodded. Fudge looked from her to Dumbledore, his chest swelling.

‘Then you
have
been plotting against me!’ he yelled.

‘That’s right,’ said Dumbledore cheerfully.

‘NO!’ shouted Harry.

Kingsley flashed a look of warning at him, McGonagall widened her eyes threateningly, but it had suddenly dawned on Harry what Dumbledore was about to do, and he could not let it happen.

‘No – Professor Dumbledore –!’

‘Be quiet, Harry, or I am afraid you will have to leave my office,’ said Dumbledore calmly.

‘Yes, shut up, Potter!’ barked Fudge, who was still ogling Dumbledore with a kind of horrified delight. ‘Well, well, well – I came here tonight expecting to expel Potter and instead –’

‘Instead you get to arrest me,’ said Dumbledore, smiling. ‘It’s like losing a Knut and finding a Galleon, isn’t it?’

‘Weasley!’ cried Fudge, now positively quivering with delight, ‘Weasley, have you written it all down, everything he’s said, his confession, have you got it?’

‘Yes, sir, I think so, sir!’ said Percy eagerly, whose nose was splattered with ink from the speed of his note-taking.

‘The bit about how he’s been trying to build up an army against the Ministry, how he’s been working to destabilise me?’

‘Yes, sir, I’ve got it, yes!’ said Percy, scanning his notes joyfully.

‘Very well, then,’ said Fudge, now radiant with glee, ‘duplicate your notes, Weasley, and send a copy to the
Daily Prophet
at once. If we send a fast owl we should make the morning edition!’ Percy dashed from the room, slamming the door behind him, and Fudge turned back to Dumbledore. ‘You will now be escorted back to the Ministry, where you will be formally charged, then sent to Azkaban to await trial!’

‘Ah,’ said Dumbledore gently, ‘yes. Yes, I thought we might hit that little snag.’

‘Snag?’ said Fudge, his voice still vibrating with joy. ‘I see no snag, Dumbledore!’

‘Well,’ said Dumbledore apologetically, ‘I’m afraid I do.’

‘Oh, really?’

‘Well – it’s just that you seem to be labouring under the delusion that I am going to – what is the phrase? –
come quietly
. I am afraid I am not going to come quietly at all, Cornelius. I have absolutely no intention of being sent to Azkaban. I could break out, of course – but what a waste of time, and frankly, I can think of a whole host of things I would rather be doing.’

Umbridge’s face was growing steadily redder; she looked as though she was being filled with boiling water. Fudge stared at Dumbledore with a very silly expression on his face, as though he had just been stunned by a sudden blow and could not quite believe it had happened. He made a small choking noise, then looked round at Kingsley and the man with short grey hair, who alone of everyone in the room had remained entirely silent so far. The latter gave Fudge a reassuring nod and moved forwards a little, away from the wall. Harry saw his hand drift, almost casually, towards his pocket.

‘Don’t be silly, Dawlish,’ said Dumbledore kindly. ‘I’m sure you are an excellent Auror – I seem to remember that you achieved “Outstanding” in all your N.E.W.T.s – but if you attempt to – er –
bring me in
by force, I will have to hurt you.’

The man called Dawlish blinked rather foolishly. He looked towards Fudge again, but this time seemed to be hoping for a clue as to what to do next.

‘So,’ sneered Fudge, recovering himself, ‘you intend to take on Dawlish, Shacklebolt, Dolores and myself single-handed, do you, Dumbledore?’

‘Merlin’s beard, no,’ said Dumbledore, smiling, ‘not unless you are foolish enough to force me to.’

‘He will not be single-handed!’ said Professor McGonagall loudly, plunging her hand inside her robes.

‘Oh yes he will, Minerva!’ said Dumbledore sharply. ‘Hogwarts needs you!’

‘Enough of this rubbish!’ said Fudge, pulling out his own wand. ‘Dawlish! Shacklebolt!
Take him!
’

A streak of silver light flashed around the room; there was a bang like a gunshot and the floor trembled; a hand grabbed the scruff of Harry’s neck and forced him down on the floor as a second silver flash went off; several of the portraits yelled, Fawkes screeched and a cloud of dust filled the air. Coughing in the dust, Harry saw a dark figure fall to the ground with a crash in front of him; there was a shriek and a thud and somebody cried, ‘No!’; then there was the sound of breaking glass, frantically scuffling footsteps, a groan … and silence.

Harry struggled around to see who was half-strangling him and saw Professor McGonagall crouched beside him; she had forced both him and Marietta out of harm’s way. Dust was still floating gently down through the air on to them. Panting slightly, Harry saw a very tall figure moving towards them.

‘Are you all right?’ Dumbledore asked.

‘Yes!’ said Professor McGonagall, getting up and dragging Harry and Marietta with her.

The dust was clearing. The wreckage of the office loomed into view: Dumbledore’s desk had been overturned, all of the spindly tables had been knocked to the floor, their silver instruments in pieces. Fudge, Umbridge, Kingsley and Dawlish lay motionless on the floor. Fawkes the phoenix soared in wide circles above them, singing softly.

‘Unfortunately, I had to hex Kingsley too, or it would have looked very suspicious,’ said Dumbledore in a low voice. ‘He was remarkably quick on the uptake, modifying Miss Edgecombe’s memory like that while everyone was looking the other way – thank him, for me, won’t you, Minerva?

‘Now, they will all awake very soon and it will be best if they do not know that we had time to communicate – you must act as though no time has passed, as though they were merely knocked to the ground, they will not remember –’

‘Where will you go, Dumbledore?’ whispered Professor McGonagall. ‘Grimmauld Place?’

‘Oh no,’ said Dumbledore, with a grim smile, ‘I am not leaving to go into hiding. Fudge will soon wish he’d never dislodged me from Hogwarts, I promise you.’

‘Professor Dumbledore …’ Harry began.

He did not know what to say first: how sorry he was that he had started the DA in the first place and caused all this trouble, or how terrible he felt that Dumbledore was leaving to save him from expulsion? But Dumbledore cut him off before he could say another word.

‘Listen to me, Harry,’ he said urgently. ‘You must study Occlumency as hard as you can, do you understand me? Do everything Professor Snape tells you and practise it particularly every night before sleeping so that you can close your mind to bad dreams – you will understand why soon enough, but you must promise me –’

The man called Dawlish was stirring. Dumbledore seized Harry’s wrist.

‘Remember – close your mind –’

But as Dumbledore’s fingers closed over Harry’s skin, a pain shot through the scar on his forehead and he felt again that terrible, snakelike longing to strike Dumbledore, to bite him, to hurt him –

‘– you will understand,’ whispered Dumbledore.

Fawkes circled the office and swooped low over him. Dumbledore released Harry, raised his hand and grasped the phoenix’s long golden tail. There was a flash of fire and the pair of them were gone.

‘Where is he?’ yelled Fudge, pushing himself up from the floor.
‘Where is he?’

‘I don’t know!’ shouted Kingsley, also leaping to his feet.

‘Well, he can’t have Disapparated!’ cried Umbridge. ‘You can’t do it from inside this school –’

‘The stairs!’ cried Dawlish, and he flung himself upon the door, wrenched it open and disappeared, followed closely by Kingsley and Umbridge. Fudge hesitated, then got slowly to his feet, brushing dust from his front. There was a long and painful silence.

‘Well, Minerva,’ said Fudge nastily, straightening his torn shirtsleeve, ‘I’m afraid this is the end of your friend Dumbledore.’

‘You think so, do you?’ said Professor McGonagall scornfully.

Fudge seemed not to hear her. He was looking around at the wrecked office. A few of the portraits hissed at him; one or two even made rude hand gestures.

‘You’d better get those two off to bed,’ said Fudge, looking back at Professor McGonagall with a dismissive nod towards Harry and Marietta.

Professor McGonagall said nothing, but marched Harry and Marietta to the door. As it swung closed behind them, Harry heard Phineas Nigellus’s voice.

‘You know, Minister, I disagree with Dumbledore on many counts … but you cannot deny he’s got style …’