Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (87 page)

‘Well, you’re just going to have to break your promise, that’s all,’ said Ron firmly. ‘I mean, come on … we’ve got exams and we’re about that far –’ he held up his hand to show thumb and forefinger almost touching ‘– from being chucked out as it is. And anyway … remember Norbert? Remember Aragog? Have we ever come off better for mixing with any of Hagrid’s monster mates?’

‘I know, it’s just that – we promised,’ said Hermione in a small voice.

Ron smoothed his hair flat again, looking preoccupied.

‘Well,’ he sighed, ‘Hagrid hasn’t been sacked yet, has he? He’s hung on this long, maybe he’ll hang on till the end of term and we won’t have to go near Grawp at all.’

*

The castle grounds were gleaming in the sunlight as though freshly painted; the cloudless sky smiled at itself in the smoothly sparkling lake; the satin green lawns rippled occasionally in a gentle breeze. June had arrived, but to the fifth-years this meant only one thing: their O.W.L.s were upon them at last.

Their teachers were no longer setting them homework; lessons were devoted to revising those topics the teachers thought most likely to come up in the exams. The purposeful, feverish atmosphere drove nearly everything but the O.W.L.s from Harry’s mind, though he did wonder occasionally during Potions lessons whether Lupin had ever told Snape that he must continue giving Harry Occlumency tuition. If he had, then Snape had ignored Lupin as thoroughly as he was now ignoring Harry. This suited Harry very well; he was quite busy and tense enough without extra classes with Snape, and to his relief Hermione was much too preoccupied these days to badger him about Occlumency; she was spending a lot of time muttering to herself, and had not laid out any elf clothes for days.

She was not the only person acting oddly as the O.W.L.s drew steadily nearer. Ernie Macmillan had developed an irritating habit of interrogating people about their revision practices.

‘How many hours d’you think you’re doing a day?’ he demanded of Harry and Ron as they queued outside Herbology, a manic gleam in his eyes.

‘I dunno,’ said Ron. ‘A few.’

‘More or less than eight?’

‘Less, I s’pose,’ said Ron, looking slightly alarmed.

‘I’m doing eight,’ said Ernie, puffing out his chest. ‘Eight or nine. I’m getting an hour in before breakfast every day. Eight’s my average. I can do ten on a good weekend day. I did nine and a half on Monday. Not so good on Tuesday – only seven and a quarter. Then on Wednesday –’

Harry was deeply thankful that Professor Sprout ushered them into greenhouse three at that point, forcing Ernie to abandon his recital.

Meanwhile, Draco Malfoy had found a different way to induce panic.

‘Of course, it’s not what you know,’ he was heard to tell Crabbe and Goyle loudly outside Potions a few days before the exams were to start, ‘it’s who you know. Now, Father’s been friendly with the head of the Wizarding Examinations Authority for years – old Griselda Marchbanks – we’ve had her round for dinner and everything …’

‘Do you think that’s true?’ Hermione whispered in alarm to Harry and Ron.

‘Nothing we can do about it if it is,’ said Ron gloomily.

‘I don’t think it’s true,’ said Neville quietly from behind them. ‘Because Griselda Marchbanks is a friend of my gran’s, and she’s never mentioned the Malfoys.’

‘What’s she like, Neville?’ asked Hermione at once. ‘Is she strict?’

‘Bit like Gran, really,’ said Neville in a subdued voice.

‘Knowing her won’t hurt your chances, though, will it?’ Ron told him encouragingly.

‘Oh, I don’t think it will make any difference,’ said Neville, still more miserably. ‘Gran’s always telling Professor Marchbanks I’m not as good as my dad … well … you saw what she’s like at St Mungo’s …’

Neville looked fixedly at the floor. Harry, Ron and Hermione glanced at each other, but didn’t know what to say. It was the first time Neville had acknowledged that they had met at the wizarding hospital.

Meanwhile, a flourishing black-market trade in aids to concentration, mental agility and wakefulness had sprung up among the fifth- and seventh-years. Harry and Ron were much tempted by the bottle of Baruffio’s Brain Elixir offered to them by Ravenclaw sixth-year Eddie Carmichael, who swore it was solely responsible for the nine ‘Outstanding’ O.W.L.s he had gained the previous summer and was offering a whole pint for a mere twelve Galleons. Ron assured Harry he would reimburse him for his half the moment he left Hogwarts and got a job, but before they could close the deal, Hermione had confiscated the bottle from Carmichael and poured the contents down a toilet.

‘Hermione, we wanted to buy that!’ shouted Ron.

‘Don’t be stupid,’ she snarled. ‘You might as well take Harold Dingle’s powdered dragon claw and have done with it.’

‘Dingle’s got powdered dragon claw?’ said Ron eagerly.

‘Not any more,’ said Hermione. ‘I confiscated that, too. None of these things actually work, you know.’

‘Dragon claw does work!’ said Ron. ‘It’s supposed to be incredible, really gives your brain a boost, you come over all cunning for a few hours – Hermione, let me have a pinch, go on, it can’t hurt –’

‘This stuff can,’ said Hermione grimly. ‘I’ve had a look at it, and it’s actually dried Doxy droppings.’

This information took the edge off Harry and Ron’s desire for brain stimulants.

They received their examination timetables and details of the procedure for O.W.L.s during their next Transfiguration lesson.

‘As you can see,’ Professor McGonagall told the class as they copied down the dates and times of their exams from the blackboard, ‘your O.W.L.s are spread over two successive weeks. You will sit the theory papers in the mornings and the practice in the afternoons. Your practical Astronomy examination will, of course, take place at night.

‘Now, I must warn you that the most stringent anti-cheating charms have been applied to your examination papers. Auto-Answer Quills are banned from the examination hall, as are Remembralls, Detachable Cribbing Cuffs and Self-Correcting Ink. Every year, I am afraid to say, seems to harbour at least one student who thinks that he or she can get around the Wizarding Examinations Authority’s rules. I can only hope that it is nobody in Gryffindor. Our new – Headmistress –’ Professor McGonagall pronounced the word with the same look on her face that Aunt Petunia had whenever she was contemplating a particularly stubborn bit of dirt ‘– has asked the Heads of House to tell their students that cheating will be punished most severely – because, of course, your examination results will reflect upon the Headmistress’s new regime at the school –’

Professor McGonagall gave a tiny sigh; Harry saw the nostrils of her sharp nose flare.

‘– however, that is no reason not to do your very best. You have your own futures to think about.’

‘Please, Professor,’ said Hermione, her hand in the air, ‘when will we find out our results?’

‘An owl will be sent to you some time in July,’ said Professor McGonagall.

‘Excellent,’ said Dean Thomas in an audible whisper, ‘so we don’t have to worry about it till the holidays.’

Harry imagined sitting in his bedroom in Privet Drive in six weeks’ time, waiting for his O.W.L. results. Well, he thought, at least he would be sure of one bit of post that summer.

Their first examination, Theory of Charms, was scheduled for Monday morning. Harry agreed to test Hermione after lunch on Sunday, but regretted it almost at once; she was very agitated and kept snatching the book back from him to check that she had got the answer completely right, finally hitting him hard on the nose with the sharp edge of
Achievements in Charming.

‘Why don’t you just do it yourself?’ he said firmly, handing the book back to her, his eyes watering.

Meanwhile, Ron was reading two years’ worth of Charms notes with his fingers in his ears, his lips moving soundlessly; Seamus Finnigan was lying flat on his back on the floor, reciting the definition of a Substantive Charm while Dean checked it against
The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5
; and Parvati and Lavender, who were practising basic Locomotion Charms, were making their pencil-cases race each other around the edge of the table.

Dinner was a subdued affair that night. Harry and Ron did not talk much, but ate with gusto, having studied hard all day. Hermione, on the other hand, kept putting down her knife and fork and diving under the table for her bag, from which she would seize a book to check some fact or figure. Ron was just telling her that she ought to eat a decent meal or she would not sleep that night, when her fork slid from her limp fingers and landed with a loud tinkle on her plate.

‘Oh, my goodness,’ she said faintly, staring into the Entrance Hall. ‘Is that them? Is that the examiners?’

Harry and Ron whipped around on their bench. Through the doors to the Great Hall they could see Umbridge standing with a small group of ancient-looking witches and wizards. Umbridge, Harry was pleased to see, looked rather nervous.

‘Shall we go and have a closer look?’ said Ron.

Harry and Hermione nodded and they hastened towards the double doors into the Entrance Hall, slowing down as they stepped over the threshold to walk sedately past the examiners. Harry thought Professor Marchbanks must be the tiny, stooped witch with a face so lined it looked as though it had been draped in cobwebs; Umbridge was speaking to her deferentially. Professor Marchbanks seemed to be a little deaf; she was answering Professor Umbridge very loudly considering they were only a foot apart.

‘Journey was fine, journey was fine, we’ve made it plenty of times before!’ she said impatiently. ‘Now, I haven’t heard from Dumbledore lately!’ she added, peering around the Hall as though hopeful he might suddenly emerge from a broom cupboard. ‘No idea where he is, I suppose?’

‘None at all,’ said Umbridge, shooting a malevolent look at Harry, Ron and Hermione, who were now dawdling around the foot of the stairs as Ron pretended to do up his shoelace. ‘But I daresay the Ministry of Magic will track him down soon enough.’

‘I doubt it,’ shouted tiny Professor Marchbanks, ‘not if Dumbledore doesn’t want to be found! I should know … examined him personally in Transfiguration and Charms when he did N.E.W.T.s … did things with a wand I’d never seen before.’

‘Yes … well …’ said Professor Umbridge as Harry, Ron and Hermione dragged their feet up the marble staircase as slowly as they dared, ‘let me show you to the staff room. I daresay you’d like a cup of tea after your journey.’

It was an uncomfortable sort of an evening. Everyone was trying to do some last-minute revising but nobody seemed to be getting very far. Harry went to bed early but then lay awake for what felt like hours. He remembered his careers consultation and McGonagall’s furious declaration that she would help him become an Auror if it was the last thing she did. He wished he had expressed a more achievable ambition now that exam time was here. He knew he was not the only one lying awake, but none of the others in the dormitory spoke and finally, one by one, they fell asleep.

None of the fifth-years talked very much at breakfast next day, either: Parvati was practising incantations under her breath while the salt cellar in front of her twitched; Hermione was rereading
Achievements in Charming
so fast that her eyes appeared blurred; and Neville kept dropping his knife and fork and knocking over the marmalade.

Once breakfast was over, the fifth- and seventh-years milled around in the Entrance Hall while the other students went off to lessons; then, at half past nine, they were called forwards class by class to re-enter the Great Hall, which had been rearranged exactly as Harry had seen it in the Pensieve when his father, Sirius and Snape had been taking their O.W.L.s; the four house tables had been removed and replaced instead with many tables for one, all facing the staff-table end of the Hall where Professor McGonagall stood facing them. When they were all seated and quiet, she said, ‘You may begin,’ and turned over an enormous hour-glass on the desk beside her, on which there were also spare quills, ink bottles and rolls of parchment.

Harry turned over his paper, his heart thumping hard – three rows to his right and four seats ahead Hermione was already scribbling – and lowered his eyes to the first question:
a) Give the incantation and b) describe the wand movement required to make objects fly.

Harry had a fleeting memory of a club soaring high into the air and landing loudly on the thick skull of a troll … smiling slightly, he bent over the paper and began to write.

*

‘Well, it wasn’t too bad, was it?’ asked Hermione anxiously in the Entrance Hall two hours later, still clutching the exam paper. ‘I’m not sure I did myself justice on Cheering Charms, I just ran out of time. Did you put in the counter-charm for hiccoughs? I wasn’t sure whether I ought to, it felt like too much – and on question twenty-three –’

‘Hermione,’ said Ron sternly, ‘we’ve been through this before … we’re not going through every exam afterwards, it’s bad enough doing them once.’

The fifth-years ate lunch with the rest of the school (the four house tables had reappeared for the lunch hour), then they trooped off into the small chamber beside the Great Hall, where they were to wait until called for their practical examination. As small groups of students were called forwards in alphabetical order, those left behind muttered incantations and practised wand movements, occasionally poking each other in the back or eye by mistake.

Hermione’s name was called. Trembling, she left the chamber with Anthony Goldstein, Gregory Goyle and Daphne Greengrass. Students who had already been tested did not return afterwards, so Harry and Ron had no idea how Hermione had done.

‘She’ll be fine, remember she got a hundred and twelve per cent on one of our Charms tests?’ said Ron.

Ten minutes later, Professor Flitwick called, ‘Parkinson, Pansy – Patil, Padma – Patil, Parvati – Potter, Harry.’

‘Good luck,’ said Ron quietly. Harry walked into the Great Hall, clutching his wand so tightly his hand shook.

‘Professor Tofty is free, Potter,’ squeaked Professor Flitwick, who was standing just inside the door. He pointed Harry towards what looked like the very oldest and baldest examiner who was sitting behind a small table in a far corner, a short distance from Professor Marchbanks, who was halfway through testing Draco Malfoy.