Untitled Part 13
Dinner in the Great Hall that night was not a pleasantexperience for Harry. The news about his shouting matchwith Umbridge seemed to have traveled exceptionally fasteven by Hogwarts standards. He heard whispers all aroundhim as he sat eating between Ron and Hermione. The funnything was that none of the whisperers seemed to mind himoverhearing what they were saying about him — on thecontrary, it was as though they were hoping he would getangry and start shouting again, so that they could hear hisstory firsthand.
"He says he saw Cedric Diggory murdered. ..."
"He reckons he dueled 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, layingdown his knife and fork (his hands were trembling too muchto hold them steady), "is why they all believed the story twomonths ago when Dumbledore told them. ..."
"The thing is, Harry, I'm not sure they did," said Hermionegrimly. "Oh, let's get out of here."
She slammed down her own knife and fork; Ron lookedsadly at his half-finished apple pie but followed suit. Peoplestared at them all the way out of the Hall.
"What d'you mean, you're not sure they believedDumbledore?" Harry asked Hermione when they reachedthe first-floor landing.
"Look, you don't understand what it was like after ithappened," said Hermione quietly. "You arrived back in themiddle of the lawn clutching Cedric's dead body. ... None ofus saw what happened in the maze. ... We just hadDumbledore's word for it that You-Know-Who had comeback 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 headoff?" said Hermione wearily. "It's just that before the truthcould sink in, everyone went home for the summer, wherethey spent two months reading about how you're a nutcaseand Dumbledore's going senile!"
Rain pounded on the windowpanes as they strode alongthe empty corridors back to Gryffindor Tower. Harry felt asthough his first day had lasted a week, but he still had amountain of homework to do before bed. A dull poundingpain was developing over his right eye. He glanced out of arain-washed window at the dark grounds as they turnedinto the Fat Lady's corridor. There was still no light inHagrid's cabin.
"Mimbulus mimbletonia," said Hermione, before the FatLady could ask. The portrait swung open to reveal the holebehind and the three of them scrambled back through it.
The common room was almost empty; nearly everyonewas still down at dinner. Crookshanks uncoiled himself froman armchair and trotted to meet them, purring loudly, andwhen Harry, Ron, and Hermione took their three favoritechairs at the fireside he leapt lightly into Hermione's lapand curled up there like a furry ginger cushion. Harrygazed into the flames, feeling drained and exhausted.
"How can Dumbledore have let this happen?" Hermionecried suddenly, making Harry and Ron jump; Crookshanksleapt off her, looking affronted. She pounded the arms ofher chair in fury, so that bits of stuffing leaked out of theholes. "How can he let that terrible woman teach us? And inour O.W.L. year too!"
"Well, we've never had great Defense Against the DarkArts teachers, have we?" said Harry. "You know what it'slike, Hagrid told us, nobody wants the job, they say it'sjinxed."
"Yes, but to employ someone who's actually refusing to letus do magic! What's Dumbledore playing at?"
"And she's trying to get people to spy for her," said Rondarkly. "Remember when she said she wanted us to comeand tell her if we hear anyone saying You-Know-Who'sback?"
"Of course she's here to spy on us all, that's obvious, whyelse would Fudge have wanted her to come?" snappedHermione.
"Don't start arguing again," said Harry wearily, as Ronopened his mouth to retaliate. "Can't we just ... Let's just dothat homework, get it out of the way. ..."
They collected their schoolbags from a corner andreturned to the chairs by the fire. People were coming backfrom dinner now. Harry kept his face averted from theportrait hole, but could still sense the stares he wasattracting.
"Shall we do Snape's stuff first?" said Ron, dipping hisquill into his ink. " 'The properties ... of moonstone ... andits uses ... in potion-making ...' " he muttered, writing thewords across the top of his parchment as he spoke them."There." He underlined the title, then looked up expectantlyat Hermione.
"So what are the properties of moonstone and its uses inpotion-making?"
But Hermione was not listening; she was squinting overinto the far corner of the room, where Fred, George, andLee Jordan were now sitting at the center of a knot ofinnocent-looking first years, all of whom were chewingsomething that seemed to have come out of a large paperbag that Fred was holding.
"No, I'm sorry, they've gone too far," she said, standing upand 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 outsweets. ..."
"You know perfectly well that those are bits of NosebleedNougat or — or Puking Pastilles or —"
"Fainting Fancies?" Harry suggested quietly.
One by one, as though hit over the heads with invisiblemallets, the first years were slumping unconscious in theirseats; some slid right onto the floor, others merely hungover the arms of their chairs, their tongues lolling out. Mostof the people watching were laughing; Hermione, however,squared her shoulders and marched directly over to whereFred and George now stood with clipboards, closelyobserving the unconscious first years. Ron rose halfway outof his chair, hovered uncertainly for a moment or two, thenmuttered to Harry, "She's got it under control," beforesinking as low in his chair as his lanky frame permitted.
"That's enough!" Hermione said forcefully to Fred andGeorge, both of whom looked up in mild surprise.
"Yeah, you're right," said George, nodding, "this dosagelooks strong enough, doesn't it?""I told you this morning, you can't test your rubbish onstudents!"
"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 Leereassuringly 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. Severallooked so shocked to find themselves lying on the floor, ordangling off their chairs, that Harry was sure Fred andGeorge had not warned them what the sweets were goingto do.
"Feel all right?" said George kindly to a small dark-hairedgirl lying at his feet.
"I-I think so," she said shakily.
"Excellent," said Fred happily, but the next secondHermione had snatched both his clipboard and the paperbag of Fainting Fancies from his hands.
"It is NOT excellent!"
" 'Course it is, they're alive, aren't they?" said Fredangrily.
"You can't do this, what if you made one of them reallyill?"
"We're not going to make them ill, we've already testedthem all on ourselves, this is just to see if everyone reactsthe 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-youtry-it voice.
"Make us write lines?" said George, smirking.
Onlookers all over the room were laughing. Hermionedrew herself up to her full height; her eyes were narrowedand her bushy hair seemed to crackle with electricity.
"No," she said, her voice quivering with anger, "but I willwrite to your mother."
"You wouldn't," said George, horrified, taking a step backfrom her.
"Oh, yes, I would," said Hermione grimly. "I can't stop youeating the stupid things yourselves, but you're not givingthem to first years."
Fred and George looked thunderstruck. It was clear thatas far as they were concerned, Hermione's threat was waybelow the belt. With a last threatening look at them, shethrust Fred's clipboard and the bag of Fancies back into hisarms and stalked back to her chair by the fire.
Ron was now so low in his seat that his nose was roughlylevel 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 parchmentfor a few seconds, then said edgily, "Oh, it's no good, I can'tconcentrate now. I'm going to bed."
She wrenched her bag open; Harry thought she wasabout to put her books away, but instead she pulled out twomisshapen woolly objects, placed them carefully on a tableby the fireplace, covered them with a few screwed-up bitsof parchment and a broken quill, and stood back to admirethe 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, nowstuffing her books back into her bag. "I did them over thesummer. I'm a really slow knitter without magic, but nowI'm back at school I should be able to make lots more."
"You're leaving out hats for the house-elves?" said Ronslowly. "And you're covering them up with rubbish first?"
"Yes," said Hermione defiantly, swinging her bag onto herback.
"That's not on," said Ron angrily. "You're trying to trickthem into picking up the hats. You're setting them freewhen they might not want to be free."
"Of course they want to be free!" said Hermione at once,though her face was turning pink. "Don't you dare touchthose hats, Ron!"
She left. Ron waited until she had disappeared throughthe door to the girls' dormitories, then cleared the rubbishoff the woolly hats.
"They should at least see what they're picking up," hesaid firmly. "Anyway ..." He rolled up the parchment onwhich he had written the title of Snape's essay. "There's nopoint trying to finish this now, I can't do it withoutHermione, I haven't got a clue what you're supposed to dowith moonstones, have you?"
Harry shook his head, noticing as he did so that the achein his right temple was getting worse. He thought of thelong essay on giant wars and the pain stabbed at himsharply. Knowing perfectly well that he would regret notfinishing his homework tonight when the morning came, hepiled his books back into his bag.
"I'm going to bed too."
He passed Seamus on the way to the door leading to thedormitories, but did not look at him. Harry had a fleetingimpression that Seamus had opened his mouth to speak,but sped up, and reached the soothing peace of the stonespiral staircase without having to endure any moreprovocation.
The following day dawned just as leaden and rainy as theprevious one. Hagrid was still absent from the staff table atbreakfast.
"But on the plus side, no Snape today," said Ron bracingly.Hermione yawned widely and poured herself some coffee.She looked mildly pleased about something, and when Ronasked her what she had to be so happy about, she simplysaid, "The hats have gone. Seems the house-elves do wantfreedom after all."
"I wouldn't bet on it," Ron told her cuttingly. "They mightnot count as clothes. They didn't look anything like hats tome, more like woolly bladders."
Hermione did not speak to him all morning.
Double Charms was succeeded by double Transfiguration.Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall both spent thefirst fifteen minutes of their lessons lecturing the class onthe importance of O.W.L.s.
"What you must remember," said little Professor Flitwicksqueakily, perched as ever on a pile of books so that hecould see over the top of his desk, "is that theseexaminations may influence your futures for many years tocome! If you have not already given serious thought to yourcareers, now is the time to do so. And in the meantime, I'mafraid, we shall be working harder than ever to ensure thatyou all do yourselves justice!"
They then spent more than an hour reviewingSummoning Charms, which according to Professor Flitwickwere bound to come up in their O.W.L., and he rounded offthe lesson by setting them their largest amount of Charmshomework ever.
It was the same, if not worse, in Transfiguration.
"You cannot pass an O.W.L.," said Professor McGonagallgrimly, "without serious application, practice, and study. Isee no reason why everybody in this class should notachieve an O.W.L. in Transfiguration as long as they put inthe work." Neville made a sad little disbelieving noise. "Yes,you too, Longbottom," said Professor McGonagall. "There'snothing wrong with your work except lack of confidence. So... today we are starting Vanishing Spells. These are easierthan Conjuring Spells, which you would not usually attemptuntil N.E.W.T. level, but they are still among the mostdifficult magic you will be tested on in your O.W.L."
She was quite right; Harry found the Vanishing Spellshorribly difficult. By the end of a double period, neither henor Ron had managed to vanish the snails on which theywere practicing, though Ron said hopefully that he thoughthis looked a bit paler. Hermione, on the other hand,successfully vanished her snail on the third attempt,earning her a ten-point bonus for Gryffindor from ProfessorMcGonagall. She was the only person not given homework;everybody else was told to practice the spell overnight,ready for a fresh attempt on their snails the followingafternoon.
Now panicking slightly about the amount of homeworkthey had to do, Harry and Ron spent their lunch hour in thelibrary looking up the uses of moonstones in potion-making.Still angry about Ron's slur on her woolly hats, Hermionedid not join them. By the time they reached Care of MagicalCreatures in the afternoon, Harry's head was aching again.
The day had become cool and breezy, and, as they walkeddown the sloping lawn toward Hagrid's cabin on the edge ofthe Forbidden Forest, they felt the occasional drop of rainon their faces. Professor Grubbly-Plank stood waiting forthe class some ten yards from Hagrid's front door, a longtrestle table in front of her laden with many twigs. As Harryand Ron reached her, a loud shout of laughter soundedbehind them; turning, they saw Draco Malfoy stridingtoward them, surrounded by his usual gang of Slytherincronies. He had clearly just said something highly amusing,because Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy Parkinson, and the restcontinued to snigger heartily as they gathered around thetrestle table. Judging by the fact that all of them keptlooking over at Harry, he was able to guess the subject ofthe joke without too much difficulty.
"Everyone here?" barked Professor Grubbly-Plank, onceall the Slytherins and Gryffindors had arrived. "Let's crackon then — who can tell me what these things are called?"
She indicated the heap of twigs in front of her.Hermione's hand shot into the air. Behind her back, Malfoydid a buck-toothed imitation of her jumping up and down ineagerness to answer a question. Pansy Parkinson gave ashriek of laughter that turned almost at once into a scream,as the twigs on the table leapt into the air and revealedthemselves to be what looked like tiny pixieish creaturesmade of wood, each with knobbly brown arms and legs, twotwiglike 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, thoroughlyirritating Harry: Anyone would have thought that Hagridnever showed them impressive creatures; admittedly theflobberworms had been a bit dull, but the salamanders andhippogriffs had been interesting enough, and the BlastEnded Skrewts perhaps too much so.
"Kindly keep your voices down, girls!" said ProfessorGrubbly-Plank sharply, scattering a handful of what lookedlike brown rice among the stick-creatures, who immediatelyfell upon the food. "So — anyone know the names of thesecreatures? Miss Granger?"
"Bowtruckles," said Hermione. "They're tree-guardians,usually live in wand-trees."
"Five points for Gryffindor," said Professor Grubbly-Plank."Yes, these are bowtruckles and, as Miss Granger rightlysays, they generally live in trees whose wood is of wandquality. Anybody know what they eat?"
"Wood lice," said Hermione promptly, which explainedwhy what Harry had taken for grains of brown rice weremoving. "But fairy eggs if they can get them."
"Good girl, take another five points. So whenever youneed leaves or wood from a tree in which a bowtrucklelodges, it is wise to have a gift of wood lice ready to distractor placate it. They may not look dangerous, but if angeredthey will gouge out human eyes with their fingers, which, asyou can see, are very sharp and not at all desirable near theeyeballs. So if you'd like to gather closer, take a few woodlice and a bowtruckle — I have enough here for onebetween three — you can study them more closely. I want asketch from each of you with all body parts labeled by theend of the lesson."
The class surged forward around the trestle table. Harrydeliberately circled around the back so that he ended upright next to Professor Grubbly-Plank.
"Where's Hagrid?" he asked her, while everyone else waschoosing bowtruckles.
"Never you mind," said Professor Grubbly-Plankrepressively, which had been her attitude last time Hagridhad failed to turn up for a class too. Smirking all over hispointed face, Draco Malfoy leaned across Harry and seizedthe largest bowtruckle.
"Maybe," said Malfoy in an undertone, so that only Harrycould hear him, "the stupid great oaf's got himself badlyinjured."
"Maybe you will if you don't shut up," said Harry out ofthe side of his mouth.
"Maybe he's been messing with stuff that's too big forhim, if you get my drift."
Malfoy walked away, smirking over his shoulder at Harry,who suddenly felt sick. Did Malfoy know something? Hisfather was a Death Eater, after all; what if he hadinformation about Hagrid's fate that had not yet reachedthe Order's ears? He hurried back around the table to Ronand Hermione, who were squatting on the grass somedistance away and attempting to persuade a bowtruckle toremain still long enough to draw it. Harry pulled outparchment and quill, crouched down beside the others, andrelated in a whisper what Malfoy had just said.
"Dumbledore would know if something had happened toHagrid," said Hermione at once. "It's just playing intoMalfoy's hands to look worried, it tells him we don't knowexactly what's going on. We've got to ignore him, Harry.Here, hold the bowtruckle for a moment, just so I can drawits face. ..."
"Yes," came Malfoy's clear drawl from the group nearestthem, "Father was talking to the Minister just a couple ofdays ago, you know, and it sounds as though the Ministry'sreally determined to crack down on substandard teachingin this place. So even if that overgrown moron does showup again, he'll probably be sent packing straight away."
"OUCH!"
Harry had gripped the bowtruckle so hard that it hadalmost snapped; it had just taken a great retaliatory swipeat his hand with its sharp fingers, leaving two long deepcuts there. Harry dropped it; Crabbe and Goyle, who hadalready been guffawing at the idea of Hagrid being sacked,laughed still harder as the bowtruckle set off at full tilttoward the forest, a little, moving stickman soon swallowedup by the tree roots. When the bell echoed distantly overthe grounds Harry rolled up his bloodstained bowtrucklepicture and marched off to Herbology with his handwrapped in a handkerchief of Hermione's and Malfoy'sderisive laughter still ringing in his ears.
"If he calls Hagrid a moron one more time ..." snarledHarry.
"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. Ron laughed, but Hermionefrowned. Together they traipsed across the vegetablepatch. The sky still appeared unable to make up its mindwhether it wanted to rain or not.
"I just wish Hagrid would hurry up and get back, that'sall," said Harry in a low voice, as they reached thegreenhouses. "And don't say that Grubbly-Plank woman's abetter teacher!" he added threateningly.
"I wasn't going to," said Hermione calmly.
"Because she'll never be as good as Hagrid," said Harryfirmly, fully aware that he had just experienced anexemplary Care of Magical Creatures lesson and wasthoroughly annoyed about it.
The door of the nearest greenhouse opened and somefourth 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 theclass, a smudge of earth on her nose and her hair tied in aknot on the top of her head. When she saw Harry, herprominent eyes seemed to bulge excitedly and she made abeeline straight for him. Many of his classmates turnedcuriously to watch. Luna took a great breath and then said,without so much as a preliminary hello: "I believe He-WhoMust-Not-Be-Named is back, and I believe you fought himand escaped from him."
"Er — right," said Harry awkwardly. Luna was wearingwhat looked like a pair of orange radishes for earrings, afact that Parvati and Lavender seemed to have noticed, asthey were both giggling and pointing at her earlobes.
"You can laugh!" Luna said, her voice rising, apparentlyunder the impression that Parvati and Lavender werelaughing at what she had said rather than what she waswearing. "But people used to believe there were no suchthings as the Blibbering Humdinger or the Crumple-HornedSnorkack!"
"Well, they were right, weren't they?" said Hermioneimpatiently. "There weren't any such things as theBlibbering Humdinger or the Crumple-Horned Snorkack."
Luna gave her a withering look and flounced away,radishes swinging madly. Parvati and Lavender were notthe only ones hooting with laughter now.
"D'you mind not offending the only people who believeme?" Harry asked Hermione as they made their way intoclass.
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Harry, you can do better thanher," said Hermione. "Ginny's told me all about her,apparently she'll only believe in things as long as there's noproof at all. Well, I wouldn't expect anything else fromsomeone whose father runs The Quibbler."
Harry thought of the sinister winged horses he had seenon the night he had arrived and how Luna had said shecould see them too. His spirits sank slightly. Had she beenlying? But before he could devote much more thought tothe matter, Ernie Macmillan had stepped up to him.
"I want you to know, Potter," he said in a loud, carryingvoice, "that it's not only weirdos who support you. Ipersonally believe you one hundred percent. My family havealways stood firm behind Dumbledore, and so do I."
"Er — thanks very much, Ernie," said Harry, taken abackbut pleased. Ernie might be pompous on occasions likethese, but Harry was in a mood to deeply appreciate a voteof confidence from somebody who was not wearing radishesin their ears. Ernie's words had certainly wiped the smilefrom Lavender Brown's face and, as he turned to talk toRon and Hermione, Harry caught Seamus's expression,which looked both confused and defiant.
To nobody's surprise, Professor Sprout started theirlesson by lecturing them about the importance of O.W.L.s.Harry wished all the teachers would stop doing this; he wasstarting to get an anxious, twisted feeling in his stomachevery time he remembered how much homework he had todo, a feeling that worsened dramatically when ProfessorSprout gave them yet another essay at the end of class.Tired and smelling strongly of dragon dung, ProfessorSprout's preferred brand of fertilizer, the Gryffindorstrooped back up to the castle an hour and a half later, noneof them talking very much; it had been another long day.
As Harry was starving, and he had his first detention withUmbridge at five o'clock, he headed straight for dinnerwithout dropping off his bag in Gryffindor Tower so that hecould bolt something down before facing whatever she hadin store for him. He had barely reached the entrance of theGreat Hall, however, when a loud and angry voice said, "Oy,Potter!"
"What now?" he muttered wearily, turning to faceAngelina Johnson, who looked as though she was in atowering temper.
"I'll tell you what now," she said, marching straight up tohim and poking him hard in the chest with her finger. "Howcome you've landed yourself in detention for five o'clock onFriday?"
"What?" said Harry. "Why ... oh yeah, Keeper tryouts!"
"Now he remembers!" snarled Angelina. "Didn't I tell youI wanted to do a tryout with the whole team, and findsomeone who fitted in with everyone? Didn't I tell you I'dbooked the Quidditch pitch specially? And now you'vedecided you're not going to be there!"
"I didn't decide not to be there!" said Harry, stung by theinjustice of these words. "I got detention from thatUmbridge woman, just because I told her the truth aboutYou-Know-Who —"
"Well, you can just go straight to her and ask her to letyou off on Friday," said Angelina fiercely, "and I don't carehow you do it, tell her You-Know-Who's a figment of yourimagination if you like, just make sure you're there!"
She stormed away.
"You know what?" Harry said to Ron and Hermione asthey entered the Great Hall. "I think we'd better check withPuddlemere United whether Oliver Wood's been killedduring a training session, because she seems to bechanneling his spirit."
"What d'you reckon are the odds of Umbridge letting youoff on Friday?" said Ron skeptically, as they sat down at theGryffindor table.
"Less than zero," said Harry glumly, tipping lamb chopsonto his plate and starting to eat. "Better try, though,hadn't I? I'll offer to do two more detentions or something, Idunno. ..." He swallowed a mouthful of potato and added, "Ihope she doesn't keep me too long this evening. You realizewe've got to write three essays, practice Vanishing Spellsfor McGonagall, work out a countercharm for Flitwick,finish the bowtruckle drawing, and start that stupid dreamdiary for Trelawney?"
Ron moaned and for some reason glanced up at theceiling.
"And it looks like it's going to rain."
"What's that got to do with our homework?" saidHermione, her eyebrows raised.
"Nothing," said Ron at once, his ears reddening.
At five to five Harry bade the other two good-bye and setoff for Umbridge's office on the third floor. When heknocked on the door she said, "Come in," in a sugary voice.He entered cautiously, looking around.
He had known this office under three of its previousoccupants. In the days when Gilderoy Lockhart had livedhere it had been plastered in beaming portraits of itsowner. When Lupin had occupied it, it was likely you wouldmeet some fascinating Dark creature in a cage or tank ifyou came to call. In the impostor Moody's days it had beenpacked with various instruments and artifacts for thedetection of wrongdoing and concealment.
Now, however, it looked totally unrecognizable. Thesurfaces had all been draped in lacy covers and cloths.There were several vases full of dried flowers, each residingon its own doily, and on one of the walls was a collection ofornamental plates, each decorated with a large technicolorkitten wearing a different bow around its neck. These wereso foul that Harry stared at them, transfixed, until ProfessorUmbridge spoke again.
"Good evening, Mr. Potter."
Harry started and looked around. He had not noticed herat first because she was wearing a luridly flowered set ofrobes that blended only too well with the tablecloth on thedesk behind her.
"Evening," Harry said stiffly.
"Well, sit down," she said, pointing toward a small tabledraped in lace beside which she had drawn up a straightbacked 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 favor."
Her bulging eyes narrowed.
"Oh yes?"
"Well I'm ... I'm on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. And Iwas supposed to be at the tryouts for the new Keeper at fiveo'clock on Friday and I was — was wondering whether Icould skip detention that night and do it — do it anothernight ... instead ..."
He knew long before he reached the end of his sentencethat it was no good.
"Oh no," said Umbridge, smiling so widely that she lookedas 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, andpunishments certainly cannot be adjusted to suit the guiltyone's convenience. No, you will come here at five o'clocktomorrow, and the next day, and on Friday too, and you willdo your detentions as planned. I think it rather a good thingthat you are missing something you really want to do. Itought to reinforce the lesson I am trying to teach you."
Harry felt the blood surge to his head and heard athumping noise in his ears. So he told evil, nasty, attentionseeking stories, did he?
She was watching him with her head slightly to one side,still smiling widely, as though she knew exactly what he wasthinking and was waiting to see whether he would startshouting again. With a massive effort Harry looked awayfrom her, dropped his schoolbag beside the straight-backedchair, and sat down.
"There," said Umbridge sweetly, "we're getting better atcontrolling our temper already, aren't we? Now, you aregoing to be doing some lines for me, Mr. Potter. No, not withyour quill," she added, as Harry bent down to open his bag."You're going to be using a rather special one of mine. Hereyou are."
She handed him a long, thin black quill with an unusuallysharp point.
"I want you to write 'I must not tell lies,' " she told himsoftly.
"How many times?" Harry asked, with a creditableimitation of politeness.
"Oh, as long as it takes for the message to sink in," saidUmbridge sweetly. "Off you go."
She moved over to her desk, sat down, and bent over astack of parchment that looked like essays for marking.Harry raised the sharp black quill and then realized whatwas missing.
"You haven't given me any ink," he said.
"Oh, you won't need ink," said Professor Umbridge withthe merest suggestion of a laugh in her voice.
Harry placed the point of the quill on the paper andwrote: I must not tell lies.
He let out a gasp of pain. The words had appeared on theparchment in what appeared to be shining red ink. At thesame time, the words had appeared on the back of Harry'sright hand, cut into his skin as though traced there by ascalpel — yet even as he stared at the shining cut, the skinhealed over again, leaving the place where it had beenslightly redder than before but quite smooth.
Harry looked around at Umbridge. She was watchinghim, her wide, toadlike mouth stretched in a smile.
"Yes?"
"Nothing," said Harry quietly.
He looked back at the parchment, placed the quill upon itonce more, wrote I must not tell lies, and felt the searingpain on the back of his hand for a second time; once againthe words had been cut into his skin, once again theyhealed over seconds later.
And on it went. Again and again Harry wrote the wordson the parchment in what he soon came to realize was notink, but his own blood. And again and again the words werecut into the back of his hand, healed, and then reappearedthe next time he set quill to parchment.
Darkness fell outside Umbridge's window. Harry did notask when he would be allowed to stop. He did not evencheck his watch. He knew she was watching him for signs ofweakness and he was not going to show any, not even if hehad to sit here all night, cutting open his own hand with thisquill. ...
"Come here," she said, after what seemed hours.
He stood up. His hand was stinging painfully. When helooked down at it he saw that the cut had healed, but thatthe skin there was red raw.
"Hand," she said.
He extended it. She took it in her own. Harry repressed ashudder as she touched him with her thick, stubby fingerson which she wore a number of ugly old rings.
"Tut, tut, I don't seem to have made much of animpression yet," she said, smiling. "Well, we'll just have totry again tomorrow evening, won't we? You may go."
Harry left her office without a word. The school was quitedeserted; it was surely past midnight. He walked slowly upthe corridor then, when he had turned the corner and wassure that she would not hear him, broke into a run.
He had not had time to practice Vanishing Spells, had notwritten a single dream in his dream diary, and had notfinished the drawing of the bowtruckle, nor had he writtenhis essays. He skipped breakfast next morning to scribbledown a couple of made-up dreams for Divination, their firstlesson, and was surprised to find a disheveled Ron keepinghim company.
"How come you didn't do it last night?" Harry asked, asRon stared wildly around the common room for inspiration.Ron, who had been fast asleep when Harry got back to thedormitory, 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, shecan't make anything weird out of that, can she?"
They hurried off to North Tower together.
"How was detention with Umbridge, anyway? What didshe 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 worstin Transfiguration, not having practiced Vanishing Spells atall. He had to give up his lunch hour to complete the pictureof the bowtruckle, and meanwhile, Professors McGonagall,Grubbly-Plank, and Sinistra gave them yet more homework,which he had no prospect of finishing that evening becauseof his second detention with Umbridge. To cap it all,Angelina Johnson tracked him down at dinner again and, onlearning that he would not be able to attend Friday'sKeeper tryouts, told him she was not at all impressed by hisattitude and that she expected players who wished toremain on the team to put training before their othercommitments.
"I'm in detention!" Harry yelled after her as she stalkedaway. "D'you think I'd rather be stuck in a room with thatold toad or playing Quidditch?"
"At least it's only lines," said Hermione consolingly, asHarry sank back onto his bench and looked down at hissteak-and-kidney pie, which he no longer fancied verymuch. "It's not as if it's a dreadful punishment, really. ..."
Harry opened his mouth, closed it again, and nodded. Hewas not really sure why he was not telling Ron andHermione exactly what was happening in Umbridge's room:He only knew that he did not want to see their looks ofhorror; that would make the whole thing seem worse andtherefore more difficult to face. He also felt dimly that thiswas between himself and Umbridge, a private battle ofwills, and he was not going to give her the satisfaction ofhearing that he had complained about it.
"I can't believe how much homework we've got," said Ronmiserably.
"Well, why didn't you do any last night?" Hermione askedhim. "Where were you anyway?"
"I was ... I fancied a walk," said Ron shiftily.
Harry had the distinct impression that he was not alone inconcealing 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 morequickly now, red and inflamed; Harry thought it unlikely tokeep healing as effectively for long. Soon the cut wouldremain etched in his hand and Umbridge would, perhaps,be satisfied. He let no moan of pain escape him, however,and from the moment of entering the room to the momentof his dismissal, again past midnight, he said nothing but"Good evening" and "Good night."
His homework situation, however, was now desperate,and when he returned to the Gryffindor common room hedid not, though exhausted, go to bed, but opened his booksand began Snape's moonstone essay. It was half-past two bythe time he had finished it. He knew he had done a poorjob, but there was no help for it; unless he had something togive in he would be in detention with Snape next. He thendashed off answers to the questions Professor McGonagallhad set them, cobbled together something on the properhandling of bowtruckles for Professor Grubbly-Plank, andstaggered up to bed, where he fell fully clothed on top ofthe bed covers and fell asleep immediately.
Thursday passed in a haze of tiredness. Ron seemed verysleepy too, though Harry could not see why he should be.Harry's third detention passed in the same way as theprevious two, except that after two hours the words "I mustnot tell lies" did not fade from the back of Harry's hand, butremained scratched there, oozing droplets of blood. Thepause in the pointed quill's scratching made ProfessorUmbridge look up.
"Ah," she said softly, moving around her desk to examinehis hand herself. "Good. That ought to serve as a reminderto 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 hissmarting right.
"Oh yes," said Professor Umbridge, smiling widely asbefore. "Yes, I think we can etch the message a little deeperwith another evening's work."
He had never before considered the possibility that theremight be another teacher in the world he hated more thanSnape, but as he walked back toward Gryffindor Tower hehad to admit he had found a contender. She's evil, hethought, as he climbed a staircase to the seventh floor, she'san evil, twisted, mad, old —
"Ron?"
He had reached the top of the stairs, turned right, andalmost walked into Ron, who was lurking behind a statue ofLachlan the Lanky, clutching his broomstick. He gave agreat leap of surprise when he saw Harry and attempted tohide 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 herefor?"
"I'm — I'm hiding from Fred and George, if you mustknow," said Ron. "They just went past with a bunch of firstyears, I bet they're testing stuff on them again, I mean, theycan't do it in the common room now, can they, not withHermione there."
He was talking in a very fast, feverish way.
"But what have you got your broom for, you haven't beenflying, have you?" Harry asked.
"I — well — well, okay, I'll tell you, but don't laugh, allright?" Ron said defensively, turning redder with everysecond. "I-I thought I'd try out for Gryffindor Keeper nowI've got a decent broom. There. Go on. Laugh."
"I'm not laughing," said Harry. Ron blinked. "It's abrilliant idea! It'd be really cool if you got on the team! I'venever seen you play Keeper, are you good?"
"I'm not bad," said Ron, who looked immensely relieved atHarry's reaction. "Charlie, Fred, and George always mademe Keep for them when they were training during theholidays."
"So you've been practicing tonight?"
"Every evening since Tuesday ... just on my own, though,I've been trying to bewitch Quaffles to fly at me, but ithasn't been easy and I don't know how much use it'll be."Ron looked nervous and anxious. "Fred and George aregoing to laugh themselves stupid when I turn up for thetryouts. They haven't stopped taking the mickey out of mesince I got made a prefect."
"I wish I was going to be there," said Harry bitterly, asthey set off together toward the common room.
"Yeah, so do — Harry, what's that on the back of yourhand?"
Harry, who had just scratched his nose with his free righthand, tried to hide it, but had as much success as Ron withhis Cleansweep.
"It's just a cut — it's nothing — it's —"
But Ron had grabbed Harry's forearm and pulled theback of Harry's hand up level with his eyes. There was apause, during which he stared at the words carved into theskin, then he released Harry, looking sick.
"I thought you said she was giving you lines?"
Harry hesitated, but after all, Ron had been honest withhim, so he told Ron the truth about the hours he had beenspending in Umbridge's office.
"The old hag!" Ron said in a revolted whisper as theycame to a halt in front of the Fat Lady, who was dozingpeacefully with her head against her frame. "She's sick! Goto McGonagall, say something!"
"No," said Harry at once. "I'm not giving her thesatisfaction 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 overher," said Harry.
"Dumbledore, then, tell Dumbledore!"
"No," said Harry flatly.
"Why not?"
"He's got enough on his mind," said Harry, but that wasnot the true reason. He was not going to go to Dumbledorefor help when Dumbledore had not spoken to him oncesince last June.
"Well, I reckon you should —" Ron began, but he wasinterrupted by the Fat Lady, who had been watching themsleepily and now burst out, "Are you going to give me thepassword or will I have to stay awake all night waiting foryou to finish your conversation?"
Friday dawned sullen and sodden as the rest of the week.Though Harry glanced toward the staff table automaticallywhen he entered the Great Hall, it was without real hope ofseeing Hagrid and he turned his mind immediately to hismore pressing problems, such as the mountainous pile ofhomework he had to do and the prospect of yet anotherdetention with Umbridge.
Two things sustained Harry that day. One was the thoughtthat it was almost the weekend; the other was that,dreadful though his final detention with Umbridge was sureto be, he had a distant view of the Quidditch pitch from herwindow and might, with luck, be able to see something ofRon's tryout. These were rather feeble rays of light, it wastrue, but Harry was grateful for anything that might lightenhis present darkness; he had never had a worse first weekof term at Hogwarts.
At five o'clock that evening he knocked on ProfessorUmbridge's office door for what he sincerely hoped wouldbe the final time, was told to enter and did so. The blankparchment lay ready for him on the lace-covered table, thepointed black quill beside it.
"You know what to do, Mr. Potter," said Umbridge, smilingsweetly over at him.
Harry picked up the quill and glanced through thewindow. If he just shifted his chair an inch or so to the right... On the pretext of shifting himself closer to the table hemanaged it. He now had a distant view of the GryffindorQuidditch team soaring up and down the pitch, while half adozen black figures stood at the foot of the three highgoalposts, apparently awaiting their turn to Keep. It wasimpossible to tell which one was Ron at this distance.
I must not tell lies, Harry wrote. The cut in the back of hisright hand opened and began to bleed afresh.
I must not tell lies. The cut dug deeper, stinging andsmarting.
I must not tell lies. Blood trickled down his wrist.
He chanced another glance out of the window. Whoeverwas defending the goalposts now was doing a very poor jobindeed. Katie Bell scored twice in the few seconds Harrydared watch. Hoping very much that the Keeper wasn'tRon, he dropped his eyes back to the parchment dottedwith blood.
I must not tell lies.
I must not tell lies.
He looked up whenever he thought he could risk it, whenhe could hear the scratching of Umbridge's quill or theopening of a desk drawer. The third person to try out waspretty good, the fourth was terrible, the fifth dodged aBludger exceptionally well but then fumbled an easy save.The sky was darkening so that Harry doubted he would beable to watch the sixth and seventh people at all.
I must not tell lies.
I must not tell lies.
The parchment was now shining with drops of blood fromthe back of his hand, which was searing with pain. When henext looked up, night had fallen and the Quidditch pitch wasno longer visible.
"Let's see if you've gotten the message yet, shall we?"said Umbridge's soft voice half an hour later.
She moved toward him, stretching out her short beringed fingers for his arm. And then, as she took hold of himto examine the words now cut into his skin, pain seared, notacross the back of his hand, but across the scar on hisforehead. At the same time, he had a most peculiarsensation 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 stretchingher wide, slack mouth.
"Yes, it hurts, doesn't it?" she said softly.
He did not answer. His heart was thumping very hard andfast. Was she talking about his hand or did she know whathe 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 quicklyas he could.
Stay calm, he told himself as he sprinted up the stairs.Stay calm, it doesn't necessarily mean what you think itmeans. ...
"Mimbulus mimbletonia!" he gasped at the Fat Lady, whoswung forward once more.
A roar of sound greeted him. Ron came running towardhim, beaming all over his face and slopping butterbeerdown 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 smilenaturally, while his heart continued to race and his handthrobbed and bled.
"Have a butterbeer." Ron pressed a bottle onto him. "Ican't believe it — where's Hermione gone?"
"She's there," said Fred, who was also swiggingbutterbeer, and pointed to an armchair by the fire.Hermione was dozing in it, her drink tipping precariously inher hand.
"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 momentsbefore Harry noticed that several of the first years gatheredaround them bore unmistakable signs of recent nosebleeds.
"Come here, Ron, and see if Oliver's old robes fit you,"called Katie Bell. "We can take off his name and put yourson instead. ..."
As Ron moved away, Angelina came striding up to Harry.
"Sorry I was a bit short with you earlier, Potter," she saidabruptly. "It's stressful, this managing lark, you know, I'mstarting to think I was a bit hard on Wood sometimes." Shewas watching Ron over the rim of her goblet with a slightfrown 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 allright, though. He comes from a family of good Quidditchplayers. I'm banking on him turning out to have a bit moretalent than he showed today, to be honest. Vicky Frobisherand Geoffrey Hooper both flew better this evening, butHooper's a real whiner, he's always moaning aboutsomething or other, and Vicky's involved in all sorts ofsocieties, she admitted herself that if training clashed withher Charm Club she'd put Charms first. Anyway, we'rehaving a practice session at two o'clock tomorrow, so justmake sure you're there this time. And do me a favor andhelp Ron as much as you can, okay?"
He nodded and Angelina strolled back to Alicia Spinnet.Harry moved over to sit next to Hermione, who awoke witha jerk as he put down his bag.
"Oh, Harry, it's you. ... Good about Ron, isn't it?" she saidblearily. "I'm just so — so — so tired," she yawned. "I was upuntil one o'clock making more hats. They're disappearinglike mad!"
And sure enough, now that he looked, Harry saw thatthere were woolly hats concealed all around the roomwhere unwary elves might accidentally pick them up.
"Great," said Harry distractedly; if he did not tellsomebody soon, he would burst. "Listen, Hermione, I wasjust up in Umbridge's office and she touched my arm ..."
Hermione listened closely. When Harry had finished shesaid slowly, "You're worried that You-Know-Who'scontrolling her like he controlled Quirrell?"
"Well," said Harry, dropping his voice, "it's a possibility,isn't it?"
"I suppose so," said Hermione, though she soundedunconvinced. "But I don't think he can be possessing herthe way he possessed Quirrell, I mean, he's properly aliveagain now, isn't he, he's got his own body, he wouldn't needto share someone else's. He could have her under theImperius Curse, I suppose. ..."
Harry watched Fred, George, and Lee Jordan jugglingempty butterbeer bottles for a moment. Then Hermionesaid, "But last year your scar hurt when nobody wastouching you, and didn't Dumbledore say it had to do withwhat You-Know-Who was feeling at the time? I mean,maybe this hasn't got anything to do with Umbridge at all,maybe it's just coincidence it happened while you were withher?"
"She's evil," said Harry flatly. "Twisted."
"She's horrible, yes, but ... Harry, I think you ought to tellDumbledore your scar hurt."
It was the second time in two days he had been advised togo to Dumbledore and his answer to Hermione was just thesame as his answer to Ron.
"I'm not bothering him with this. Like you just said, it'snot a big deal. It's been hurting on and off all summer — itwas just a bit worse tonight, that's all —"
"Harry, I'm sure Dumbledore would want to be botheredby this —"
"Yeah," said Harry, before he could stop himself, "that'sthe only bit of me Dumbledore cares about, isn't it, myscar?""Don't say that, it's not true!""I think I'll write and tell Sirius about it, see what hethinks —"
"Harry, you can't put something like that in a letter!" saidHermione, looking alarmed. "Don't you remember, Moodytold us to be careful what we put in writing! We just can'tguarantee owls aren't being intercepted anymore!"
"All right, all right, I won't tell him, then!" said Harryirritably. He got to his feet. "I'm going to bed. Tell Ron forme, will you?"
"Oh no," said Hermione, looking relieved, "if you're goingthat means I can go without being rude too, I'm absolutelyexhausted and I want to make some more hats tomorrow.Listen, you can help me if you like, it's quite fun, I'm gettingbetter, I can do patterns and bobbles and all sorts of thingsnow."
Harry looked into her face, which was shining with glee,and tried to look as though he was vaguely tempted by thisoffer.
"Er ... no, I don't think I will, thanks," he said. "Er — nottomorrow. I've got loads of homework to do. ..."
And he traipsed off to the boys' stairs, leaving her lookingslightly disappointed behind him.
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