Chapter 1 Dudley Demented
The hottest day of the summer so far was drawing to a close and a drowsy silence lay over the large, square houses of Privet Drive. Cars that were usually gleaming stood dusty in their drives and lawns that were once emerald green lay parched and yellowing—for the use of hosepipes had been banned due to drought. Deprived of their usual car-washing and lawn-mowing pursuits, the inhabitants of Privet Drive had retreated into the shade of their cool houses, windows thrown wide in the hope of tempting in a nonexistent breeze. The only person left outdoors was a teenage boy who was lying flat on his back in a flowerbed outside number four.
He was a skinny, black-haired, bespectacled boy who had the pinched, slightly unhealthy look of someone who has grown a lot in a short space of time. His jeans were torn and dirty, his T-shirt baggy and faded, and the soles of his trainers were peeling away from the uppers. Harry Potter's appearance did not endear him to the neighbours, who were the sort of people who thought scruffiness ought to be punishable by law, but as he had hidden himself behind a large hydrangea bush this evening he was quite invisible to passers-by. In fact, the only way he would be spotted was if his Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia stuck their heads out of the living-room window and looked straight down into the flowerbed below.
On the whole, Harry thought he was to be congratulated on his idea of hiding here. He was not, perhaps, very comfortable lying on the hot, hard earth but, on the other hand, nobody was glaring at him, grinding their teeth so loudly that he could not hear the news, or shooting nasty questions at him, as had happened every time he had tried sitting down in the living room to watch television with his aunt and uncle.
Almost as though this thought had fluttered through the open window, Vernon Dursley, Harry's uncle, suddenly spoke.
‘Glad to see the boy's stopped trying to butt in. Where is he, anyway?’
‘I don't know,’ said Aunt Petunia, unconcerned. ‘Not in the house.’
Uncle Vernon grunted.
‘Watching the news...’ he said scathingly. ‘I'd like to know what he's really up to. As if a normal boy cares what's on the news— Dudley hasn't got a clue what's going on; doubt he knows who the Prime Minister is! Anyway, it's not as if there'd be anything about his lot on our news—’
‘Vernon, shh!’ said Aunt Petunia. ‘The window's open!’
‘Oh—yes— sorry, dear.’
The Dursleys fell silent. Harry listened to a jingle about Fruit ‘n’ Bran breakfast cereal while he watched Mrs. Figg, a batty cat-loving old lady from nearby Wisteria Walk, amble slowly past. She was frowning and muttering to herself. Harry was very pleased he was concealed behind the bush, as Mrs. Figg had recently taken to asking him round for tea whenever she met him in the street. She had rounded the corner and vanished from view before Uncle Vernon's voice floated out of the window again.
‘Dudders out for tea?’
‘At the Polkisses',’ said Aunt Petunia fondly. ‘He's got so many little friends, he's so popular...’
Harry suppressed a snort with difficulty. The Dursleys really were astonishingly stupid about their son, Dudley. They had swallowed all his dim-witted lies about having tea with a different member of his gang every night of the summer holidays. Harry knew perfectly well that Dudley had not been to tea anywhere; he and his gang spent every evening vandalising the play park, smoking on street corners and throwing stones at passing cars and children. Harry had seen them at it during his evening walks around Little Whinging; he had spent most of the holidays wandering the streets, scavenging newspapers from bins along the way.
The opening notes of the music that heralded the seven o'clock news reached Harry's ears and his stomach turned over. Perhaps tonight—after a month of waiting—would be the night.
‘Record numbers of stranded holidaymakers fill airports as the Spanish baggage-handlers’ strike reaches its second week—’
‘Give ‘em a lifelong siesta, I would,’ snarled Uncle Vernon over the end of the newsreader's sentence, but no matter: outside in the flowerbed, Harry's stomach seemed to unclench. If anything had happened, it would surely have been the first item on the news; death and destruction were more important than stranded holidaymakers.
He let out a long, slow breath and stared up at the brilliant blue sky. Every day this summer had been the same: the tension, the expectation, the temporary relief, and then mounting tension again ... and always, growing more insistent all the time, the question of why nothing had happened yet....
He kept listening, just in case there was some small clue, not recognised for what it really was by the Muggles—an unexplained disappearance, perhaps, or some strange accident ... but the baggage-handlers’ strike was followed by news about the drought in the Southeast ('I hope he's listening next door!’ bellowed Uncle Vernon. ‘Him with his sprinklers on at three in the morning!'), then a helicopter that had almost crashed in a field in Surrey, then a famous actress's divorce from her famous husband ('As if we're interested in their sordid affairs,’ sniffed Aunt Petunia, who had followed the case obsessively in every magazine she could lay her bony hands on).
Harry closed his eyes against the now blazing evening sky as the newsreader said, ‘—and finally, Bungy the budgie has found a novel way of keeping cool this summer. Bungy, who lives at the Five Feathers in Barnsley, has learned to water ski! Mary Dorkins went to find out more.’
Harry opened his eyes. If they had reached water-skiing budgerigars, there would be nothing else worth hearing. He rolled cautiously on to his front and raised himself on to his knees and elbows, preparing to crawl out from under the window.
He had moved about two inches when several things happened in very quick succession.
A loud, echoing crack broke the sleepy silence like a gunshot; a cat streaked out from under a parked car and flew out of sight; a shriek, a bellowed oath and the sound of breaking china came from the Dursleys’ living room, and as though this was the signal Harry had been waiting for he jumped to his feet, at the same time pulling from the waistband of his jeans a thin wooden wand as if he were unsheathing a sword—but before he could draw himself up to full height, the top of his head collided with the Dursleys’ open window. The resultant crash made Aunt Petunia scream even louder.
Harry felt as though his head had been split in two. Eyes streaming, he swayed, trying to focus on the street to spot the source of the noise, but he had barely staggered upright when two large purple hands reached through the open window and closed tightly around his throat.
‘Put—it—away!’ Uncle Vernon snarled into Harry's ear. ‘Now! Before—anyone—sees!’
‘Get—off—me!’ Harry gasped. For a few seconds they struggled, Harry pulling at his uncle's sausage-like fingers with his left hand, his right maintaining a firm grip on his raised wand; then, as the pain in the top of Harry's head gave a particularly nasty throb, Uncle Vernon yelped and released Harry as though he had received an electric shock. Some invisible force seemed to have surged through his nephew, making him impossible to hold.
Panting, Harry fell forwards over the hydrangea bush, straightened up and stared around. There was no sign of what had caused the loud cracking noise, but there were several faces peering through various nearby windows. Harry stuffed his wand hastily back into his jeans and tried to look innocent.
‘Lovely evening!’ shouted Uncle Vernon, waving at Mrs. Number Seven opposite, who was glaring from behind her net curtains. ‘Did you hear that car backfire just now? Gave Petunia and me quite a turn!’
He continued to grin in a horrible, manic way until all the curious neighbours had disappeared from their various windows, then the grin became a grimace of rage as he beckoned Harry back towards him.
Harry moved a few steps closer, taking care to stop just short of the point at which Uncle Vernon's outstretched hands could resume their strangling.
‘What the devil do you mean by it, boy?’ asked Uncle Vernon in a croaky voice that trembled with fury.
‘What do I mean by what?’ said Harry coldly. He kept looking left and right up the street, still hoping to see the person who had made the cracking noise.
‘Making a racket like a starting pistol right outside our—’
‘I didn't make that noise,’ said Harry firmly.
Aunt Petunia's thin, horsy face now appeared beside Uncle Vernon's wide, purple one. She looked livid.
‘Why were you lurking under our window?’
‘Yes—yes, good point, Petunia! What were you doing under our window, boy?’
‘Listening to the news,’ said Harry in a resigned voice.
His aunt and uncle exchanged looks of outrage.
‘Listening to the news! Again?’
‘Well, it changes every day, you see,’ said Harry.
‘Don't you be clever with me, boy! I want to know what you're really up to—and don't give me any more of this listening to the news tosh! You know perfectly well that your lot—’
‘Careful, Vernon!’ breathed Aunt Petunia, and Uncle Vernon lowered his voice so that Harry could barely hear him,'—that your lot don't get on our news!’
‘That's all you know,’ said Harry.
The Dursleys goggled at him for a few seconds, then Aunt Petunia said, ‘You're a nasty little liar. What are all those—’ she, too, lowered her voice so that Harry had to lip-read the next word, ‘—owls doing if they're not bringing you news?’
‘Aha!’ said Uncle Vernon in a triumphant whisper. ‘Get out of that one, boy! As if we didn't know you get all your news from those pestilential birds!’
Harry hesitated for a moment. It cost him something to tell the truth this time, even though his aunt and uncle could not possibly know how bad he felt at admitting it.
‘The owls ... aren't bringing me news,’ he said tonelessly.
‘I don't believe it,’ said Aunt Petunia at once.
‘No more do I,’ said Uncle Vernon forcefully.
‘We know you're up to something funny,’ said Aunt Petunia.
‘We're not stupid, you know,’ said Uncle Vernon.
‘Well, that's news to me,’ said Harry, his temper rising, and before the Dursleys could call him back, he had wheeled about, crossed the front lawn, stepped over the low garden wall and was striding off up the street.
He was in trouble now and he knew it. He would have to face his aunt and uncle later and pay the price for his rudeness, but he did not care very much just at the moment; he had much more pressing matters on his mind.
Harry was sure the cracking noise had been made by someone Apparating or Disapparating. It was exactly the sound Dobby the house-elf made when he vanished into thin air. Was it possible that Dobby was here in Privet Drive? Could Dobby be following him right at this very moment? As this thought occurred he wheeled around and stared back down Privet Drive, but it appeared to be completely deserted and Harry was sure that Dobby did not know how to become invisible.
He walked on, hardly aware of the route he was taking, for he had pounded these streets so often lately that his feet carried him to his favourite haunts automatically. Every few steps he glanced back over his shoulder. Someone magical had been near him as he lay among Aunt Petunia's dying begonias, he was sure of it. Why hadn't they spoken to him, why hadn't they made contact, why were they hiding now?
And then, as his feeling of frustration peaked, his certainty leaked away.
Perhaps it hadn't been a magical sound after all. Perhaps he was so desperate for the tiniest sign of contact from the world to which he belonged that he was simply overreacting to perfectly ordinary noises. Could he be sure it hadn't been the sound of something breaking inside a neighbour's house?
Harry felt a dull, sinking sensation in his stomach and before he knew it the feeling of hopelessness that had plagued him all summer rolled over him once again.
Tomorrow morning he would be woken by the alarm at five o'clock so he could pay the owl that delivered the Daily Prophet—but was there any point continuing to take it? Harry merely glanced at the front page before throwing it aside these days; when the idiots who ran the paper finally realised that Voldemort was back it would be headline news, and that was the only kind Harry cared about.
If he was lucky, there would also be owls carrying letters from his best friends Ron and Hermione, though any expectation he'd had that their letters would bring him news had long since been dashed.
‘We can't say much about you-know-what, obviously....’ ‘We've been told not to say anything important in case our letters go astray....’ ‘We're quite busy but I can't give you details here....’ ‘There's a fair amount going on, we'll tell you everything when we see you....’
But when were they going to see him? Nobody seemed too bothered with a precise date. Hermione had scribbled I expect we'll be seeing you quite soon inside his birthday card, but how soon was soon? As far as Harry could tell from the vague hints in their letters, Hermione and Ron were in the same place, presumably at Ron's parents’ house. He could hardly bear to think of the pair of them having fun at The Burrow when he was stuck in Privet Drive. In fact, he was so angry with them he had thrown away, unopened, the two boxes of Honeydukes chocolates they'd sent him for his birthday. He'd regretted it later, after the wilted salad Aunt Petunia had provided for dinner that night.
And what were Ron and Hermione busy with? Why wasn't he, Harry, busy? Hadn't he proved himself capable of handling much more than them? Had they all forgotten what he had done? Hadn't it been he who had entered that graveyard and watched Cedric being murdered, and been tied to that tombstone and nearly killed?
Don't think about that, Harry told himself sternly for the hundredth time that summer. It was bad enough that he kept revisiting the graveyard in his nightmares, without dwelling on it in his waking moments too.
He turned a corner into Magnolia Crescent; halfway along he passed the narrow alleyway down the side of a garage where he had first clapped eyes on his godfather. Sirius, at least, seemed to understand how Harry was feeling. Admittedly, his letters were just as empty of proper news as Ron and Hermione's, but at least they contained words of caution and consolation instead of tantalising hints: 
‘I know this must be frustrating for you....’ ‘Keep your nose clean and everything will be OK....’ ‘Be careful and don't do anything rash....’
Well, thought Harry, as he crossed Magnolia Crescent, turned into Magnolia Road and headed towards the darkening play park, he had (by and large) done as Sirius advised. He had at least resisted the temptation to tie his trunk to his broomstick and set off for The Burrow by himself. In fact, Harry thought his behaviour had been very good considering how frustrated and angry he felt at being stuck in Privet Drive so long, reduced to hiding in flowerbeds in the hope of hearing something that might point to what Lord Voldemort was doing. Nevertheless, it was quite galling to be told not to be rash by a man who had served twelve years in the wizard prison, Azkaban, escaped, attempted to commit the murder he had been convicted for in the first place, then gone on the run with a stolen hippogriff....
Harry vaulted over the locked park gate and set off across the parched grass. The park was as empty as the surrounding streets. When he reached the swings he sank on to the only one that Dudley and his friends had not yet managed to break, coiled one arm around the chain and stared moodily at the ground. He would not be able to hide in the Dursleys’ flowerbed again. Tomorrow, he would have to think of some fresh way of listening to the news. In the meantime, he had nothing to look forward to but another restless, disturbed night, because even when he escaped the nightmares about Cedric he had unsettling dreams about long dark corridors, all finishing in dead ends and locked doors, which he supposed had something to do with the trapped feeling he had when he was awake. Often the old scar on his forehead prickled uncomfortably, but he did not fool himself that Ron or Hermione or Sirius would find that very interesting any more. In the past, his scar hurting had warned that Voldemort was getting stronger again, but now that Voldemort was back they would probably remind him that its regular irritation was only to be expected ... nothing to worry about ... old news...
The injustice of it all welled up inside him so that he wanted to yell with fury. If it hadn't been for him, nobody would even have known Voldemort was back! And. his reward was to be stuck in Little Whinging for four solid weeks, completely cut off from the magical world, reduced to squatting among dying begonias so hat he could hear about water-skiing budgerigars! How could Dumbledore have forgotten him so easily? Why had Ron and Hermione got together without inviting him along, too? How much longer was he supposed to endure Sirius telling him to sit tight and be a good boy; or resist the temptation to write to the stupid Daily Prophet and point out that Voldemort had returned? These curious thoughts whirled around in Harry's head, and his insides writhed with anger as a sultry, velvety night fell around him, the air full of the smell of warm, dry grass, and the only sound that of the low grumble of traffic on the road beyond the park railings. He did not know how long he had sat on the swing before the sound of voices interrupted his musings and he looked up. The streetlamps from the surrounding roads were casting a misty glow strong enough to silhouette a group of people making their way across the park. One of them was singing a loud, crude song. The others were laughing. A soft ticking noise came from several expensive racing bikes that they were wheeling along.
Harry knew who those people were. The figure in front was unmistakeably his cousin, Dudley Dursley wending his way home, accompanied by his faithful gang.
Dudley was as vast as ever, but a year's hard dieting and the discovery of a new talent had wrought quite a change in his physique. As Uncle Vernon delightedly told anyone who would listen, Dudley had recently become the Junior Heavyweight Inter-school Boxing Champion of the Southeast. ‘The noble sport', as Uncle Vernon called it, had made Dudley even more formidable than he had seemed to Harry in their primary school days when he had served as Dudley's first punchball. Harry was not remotely afraid of his cousin any more but he still didn't think that Dudley learning to punch harder and more accurately was cause for celebration. Neighbourhood children all around were terrified of him—even more terrified than they were of ‘that Potter boy', who, they had been warned, was a hardened hooligan and attended St. Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys.
Harry watched the dark figures crossing the grass and wondered who they had been beating up tonight. Look round, Harry found himself thinking as he watched them. Come on ... look round... I'm sitting here all alone... Come and have a go...
If Dudley's friends saw him sitting here, they would be sure to make a beeline for him, and what would Dudley do then? He wouldn't want to lose face in front of the gang, but he'd be terrified of provoking Harry.... It would be really fun to watch Dudley's dilemma, to taunt him, watch him, with him powerless to respond ... and if any of the others tried hitting Harry, he was ready—he had his wand. Let them try ... he'd love to vent some of his frustration on the boys who had once made his life hell—
But they didn't turn around, they didn't see him, they were almost at the railings. Harry mastered the impulse to call after them.... Seeking a fight was not a smart move.... He must not use magic.... He would be risking expulsion again.
The voices of Dudley's gang died away; they were out of sight, heading along Magnolia Road.
There you go, Sirius, Harry thought dully. Nothing rash. Kept my nose clean. Exactly the opposite of what you'd have done...
He got to his feet and stretched. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon seemed to feel that whenever Dudley turned up was the right time to be home, and any time after that was much too late. Uncle Vernon had threatened to lock Harry in the shed if he came home after Dudley ever again, so, stifling a yawn, and still scowling, Harry set off toward the park gate.
Magnolia Road, like Privet Drive, was full of large, square houses with perfectly manicured lawns, all owned by large, square owners who drove very clean cars similar to Uncle Vernon's. Harry preferred Little Whinging by night, when the curtained windows made patches of jewel-bright colour in the darkness and he ran no danger of hearing disapproving mutters about his ‘delinquent’ appearance when he passed the householders. He walked quickly, so that halfway along Magnolia Road Dudley's gang came into view again; they were saying their farewells at the entrance to Magnolia Crescent. Harry stepped into the shadow of a large lilac tree and waited.
‘...squealed like a pig, didn't he?’ Malcolm was saying, to guffaws from the others.
‘Nice right hook, Big D,’ said Piers.
‘Same time tomorrow?’ said Dudley.
‘Round at my place, my parents will be out,’ said Gordon.
‘See you then,’ said Dudley.
‘Bye, Dud!’
‘See ya, Big D!’
Harry waited for the rest of the gang to move on before setting off again. When their voices had faded once more he headed around the corner into Magnolia Crescent and by walking very quickly he soon came within hailing distance of Dudley, who was strolling along at his ease, humming tunelessly.
‘Hey, Big D!’
Dudley turned.
‘Oh,’ he grunted. ‘It's you.’
‘How long have you been “Big D” then?’ said Harry.
‘Shut it,’ snarled Dudley, turning away.
‘Cool name,’ said Harry, grinning and falling into step beside is cousin. ‘But you'll always be “Ickle Diddykins” to me.’
‘I said, SHUT IT!’ said Dudley, whose ham-like hands had curled into fists.
‘Don't the boys know that's what your mum calls you?’
‘Shut your face.’
‘You don't tell her to shut her face. What about “Popkin” and “Dinky Diddydums", can I use them then?’
Dudley said nothing. The effort of keeping himself from hitting Harry seemed to demand all his self-control.
‘So who've you been beating up tonight?’ Harry asked, his grin fading. ‘Another ten-year-old? I know you did Mark Evans two nights ago—’
‘He was asking for it,’ snarled Dudley.
‘Oh yeah?’
‘He cheeked me.’
‘Yeah? Did he say you look like a pig that's been taught to walk on its hind legs? ‘Cause that's not cheek, Dud, that's true...’
A muscle was twitching in Dudley's jaw. It gave Harry enormous satisfaction to know how furious he was making Dudley; he felt as though he was siphoning off his own frustration into his cousin, the only outlet he had.
They turned right down the narrow alleyway where Harry had first seen Sirius and which formed a short cut between Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk. It was empty and much darker than the streets it linked because there were no streetlamps. Their footsteps were muffled between garage walls on one side and a high fence on the other.
‘Think you're a big man carrying that thing, don't you?’ Dudley said after a few seconds.
‘What thing?’
‘That—that thing you are hiding.’
Harry grinned again.
‘Not as stupid as you look, are you, Dud? But I s'pose, if you were, you wouldn't be able to walk and talk at the same time....’
Harry pulled out his wand. He saw Dudley look sideways at it.
‘You're not allowed,’ Dudley said at once. ‘I know you're not. You'd get expelled from that freak school you go to.’
‘How d'you know they haven't changed the rules, Big D?’
‘They haven't,’ said Dudley, though he didn't sound completely convinced.
Harry laughed softly.
‘You haven't got the guts to take me on without that thing, have you?’ Dudley snarled.
‘Whereas you just need four mates behind you before you can beat up a ten year old. You know that boxing title you keep banging on about? How old was your opponent? Seven? Eight?’
‘He was sixteen, for your information,’ snarled Dudley, ‘and he was out cold for twenty minutes after I'd finished with him and he was twice as heavy as you. You just wait till I tell Dad you had that thing out—’
‘Running to Daddy now, are you? Is his ickle boxing champ frightened of nasty Harry's wand?’
‘Not this brave at night, are you?’ sneered Dudley.
‘This is night, Diddykins. That's what we call it when it goes all dark like this.’
‘I mean when you're in bed!’ Dudley snarled.
He had stopped walking. Harry stopped too, staring at his cousin.
From the little he could see of Dudley's large face, he was wearing a strangely triumphant look.
‘What d'you mean, I'm not brave when I'm in bed?’ said Harry, Completely nonplussed. ‘What—am I supposed to be frightened of, pillows or something?’
‘I heard you last night,’ said Dudley breathlessly. ‘Talking in your sleep. Moaning.’
‘What d'you mean?’ Harry said again, but there was a cold, plunging sensation in his stomach. He had revisited the graveyard last night in his dreams.
Dudley gave a harsh bark of laughter, then adopted a high-pitched whimpering voice.
‘"Don't kill Cedric! Don't kill Cedric!” Who's Cedric—your boyfriend?’
‘I—you're lying,’ said Harry automatically. But his mouth had gone dry. He knew Dudley wasn't lying—how else would he know about Cedric?
‘"Dad! Help me, Dad! He's going to kill me, Dad! Boo hoo!” ’
‘Shut up,’ said Harry quietly. ‘Shut up, Dudley, I'm warning you!’
‘"Come and help me, Dad! Mum, come and help me! He's killed Cedric! Dad, help me! He's going to—” Don't you point that thing at me!’
Dudley backed into the alley wall. Harry was pointing the wand directly at Dudley's heart. Harry could feel fourteen years’ hatred of Dudley pounding in his veins—what wouldn't he give to strike now, to jinx Dudley so thoroughly he'd have to crawl home like an insect, struck dumb, sprouting feelers—
‘Don't ever talk about that again,’ Harry snarled. ‘D'you understand me?’
‘Point that thing somewhere else!’
‘I said, do you understand me?’
‘Point it somewhere else!’
‘DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?’
‘GET THAT THING AWAY FROM—’
Dudley gave an odd, shuddering gasp, as though he had been doused in icy water.
Something had happened to the night. The star-strewn indigo sky was suddenly pitch black and lightless—the stars, the moon, the misty streetlamps at either end of the alley had vanished. The distant rumble of cars and the whisper of trees had gone. The balmy evening was suddenly piercingly, bitingly cold. They were surrounded by total, impenetrable, silent darkness, as though some giant hand had dropped a thick, icy mantle over the entire alleyway, blinding them.
For a split second Harry thought he had done magic without meaning to, despite the fact that he'd been resisting as hard as he could—then his reason caught up with his senses—he didn't have the power to turn off the stars. He turned his head this way and that, trying to see something, but the darkness pressed on his eyes like a weightless veil.
Dudley's terrified voice broke in Harry's ear.
‘W-what are you d-doing? St-stop it!’
‘I'm not doing anything! Shut up and don't move!’
‘I c-can't see! I've g-gone blind! I—’
‘I said shut up!’
Harry stood stock still, turning his sightless eyes left and right. The cold was so intense he was shivering all over; goose bumps had erupted up his arms and the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up—he opened his eyes to their fullest extent, staring blankly around, unseeing.
It was impossible.... They couldn't be here.... Not in Little Whinging.... He strained his ears.... He would hear them before he saw them....
‘I'll t-tell Dad!’ Dudley whimpered. ‘W-where are you? What are you d-do—?’
‘Will you shut up?’ Harry hissed, ‘I'm trying to lis—’
But he fell silent. He had heard just the thing he had been dreading.
There was something in the alleyway apart from themselves, something that was drawing long, hoarse, rattling breaths. Harry felt a horrible jolt of dread as he stood trembling in the freezing air.
‘C-cut it out! Stop doing it! I'll h-hit you, I swear I will!’
‘Dudley, shut—’
WHAM!
A fist made contact with the side of Harry's head, lifting him off his feet. Small white lights popped in front of his eyes. For the second time in an hour Harry felt as though his head had been cleaved in two; next moment, he had landed hard on the ground and his wand had flown out of his hand.
‘You moron, Dudley!’ Harry yelled, his eyes watering with pain as he scrambled to his hands and knees, feeling around frantically in the blackness. He heard Dudley blundering away, hitting the alley fence, stumbling.
‘DUDLEY, COME BACK! YOU'RE RUNNING RIGHT AT IT!’
There was a horrible squealing yell and Dudley's footsteps stopped. At the same moment, Harry felt a creeping chill behind him that could mean only one thing. There was more than one.
‘DUDLEY, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! WHATEVER YOU DO, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! Wand!’ Harry muttered frantically, his hands flying over the ground like spiders. ‘Where's—wand—come on—Lumos!’
He said the spell automatically, desperate for light to help him in his search—and to his disbelieving relief, light flared inches from his right hand—the wand tip had ignited. Harry snatched it up, scrambled to his feet and turned around.
His stomach turned over.
A towering, hooded figure was gliding smoothly towards him, hovering over the ground, no feet or face visible beneath its robes, sucking on the night as it came.
Stumbling backwards, Harry raised his wand.
‘Expecto patronum!’
A silvery wisp of vapour shot from the tip of the wand and the Dementor slowed, but the spell hadn't worked properly; tripping over his own feet, Harry retreated further as the Dementor bore down upon him, panic fogging his brain—concentrate—
A pair of grey, slimy, scabbed hands slid from inside the Dementor's robes, reaching for him. A rushing noise filled Harry's ears.
‘Expecto patronum!’
His voice sounded dim and distant.... Another wisp of silver smoke, feebler than the last, drifted from the wand—he couldn't do it any more, he couldn't work the spell.
There was laughter inside his own head, shrill, high-pitched laughter.... He could smell the Dementor's putrid, death-cold breath filling his own lungs, drowning him— Think ... something happy....
But there was no happiness in him ... the Dementor's icy fingers were closing on his throat—the high-patched laughter was growing louder and louder, and a voice spoke inside his head: ‘Bow to death, Harry.... It might even be painless.... I would not know.... I have never died....’
He was never going to see Ron and Hermione again—
And their faces burst clearly into his mind as he fought for breath.
‘EXPECTO PATRONUM!’
An enormous silver stag erupted from the tip of Harry's wand; it's antlers caught the Dementor in the place where the heart should have been; it was thrown backwards, weightless as darkness, and as the stag charged, the Dementor swooped away, bat-like and defeated.
‘THIS WAY!’ Harry shouted at the stag. Wheeling around, he sprinted down the alleyway, holding the lit wand aloft. ‘DUDLEY? DUDLEY!’
He had run barely a dozen steps when he reached them: Dudley was curled up on the ground, his arms clamped over his face. A second Dementor was crouching low over him, gripping his wrists in its slimy hands, prising them slowly, almost lovingly apart, lowering its hooded head towards Dudley's face as though about to kiss him....
‘GET IT!’ Harry bellowed, and with a rushing, roaring sound, the silver stag he had conjured came galloping past him. The Dementor's eyeless face was barely an inch from Dudley's when the silver antlers caught it; the thing was thrown up into the air and, like its fellow, it soared away and was absorbed into the darkness; the stag cantered to the end of the alleyway and dissolved into silver mist.
Moon, stars and streetlamps burst back into life. A warm breeze swept the alleyway. Trees rustled in neighbouring gardens and the mundane rumble of cars in Magnolia Crescent filled the air again.
Harry stood quite still, all his senses vibrating, taking in the abrupt return to normality. After a moment, he became aware that his T-shirt was sticking to him; he was drenched in sweat.
He could not believe what had just happened. Dementors here, in Little Whinging.
Dudley lay curled up on the ground, whimpering and shaking. Harry bent down to see whether he was in a fit state to stand up, but then he heard loud, running footsteps behind him. Instinctively raising his wand again, he span on his heel to face the newcomer.
Mrs. Figg, their batty old neighbour, came panting into sight. Her grizzled grey hair was escaping from its hairnet, a clanking string shopping bag was swinging from her wrist and her feet were halfway out of her tartan carpet slippers. Harry made to stow his wand hurriedly out of sight, but—
‘Don't put it away, idiot boy!’ she shrieked. ‘What if there are more of them around? Oh, I'm going to kill Mundungus Fletcher!’
夏季最热的日子总算快走到了尽头，一种昏昏欲睡的宁静笼罩着女贞路大大的方形的房子。满是灰尘的汽车闪耀着灯停在了那些曾经是翠绿的而现在却变得被烤焦了的黄色的草坪上—因为橡胶管已经不允许用来浇水了。被剥夺了他们通常的洗车与割草的追击后，女贞路的居民回到了他们阴凉的房子里，窗户大开为的是毫无希望的能有一凉风的吹过。只有一个14、5岁的小孩子留在了外面，他躺在女贞路四号花台的外面。 
　　他是一个瘦小的，有着一头黑发的带眼镜的男孩，尽管看起来有一点营养不良，他在过去的一段时间中也长高了许多。他的牛仔裤被磨损了而且很脏，他穿的T-SHIRT很皱而且褪了色。他的一只运动鞋上面裂开了口。哈利·波特的外表并不受到他那些喜欢看被别人法律制裁的邻居的喜爱，但是当他今天晚上藏在八仙花灌木后时，那些过路人就看不见他了。事实上，他只有在他的维能姨夫或帕尤妮亚姨妈把头伸出起居室窗外并直接往下面的花台中看时才可能被发现。 
　　总的来说，HARRY庆幸自己藏在这里。他也许，躺在这滚烫的、坚硬的土地上，不会很舒服，但从另一方面来说，这里没人会觉着他刺眼，磨着他们的牙齿的声音让他几乎听不见新闻，或者向他质问一些卑劣的问题，这些事在他每次想要在客厅里和他的姨夫姨妈一起看电视时总会发生。 
　　几乎就像这样的念头飞进了开着的窗户一样哈利的姨夫，维能·杜斯利突然说话了。 
　　“那小子没有再闯进来真好。不过他现在在哪儿？” 
　　“不知道”帕尤妮亚姨妈不在意的说，“反正不在房子里。” 
　　维能姨夫不耐烦的咕哝着。 
　　“看看新闻，”他严厉的说，“我到想知道他到底想要干些什么，一个正常的男孩都会关心新闻上说了些什么-一点也不像达德里！他什么都不知道；简直怀疑他到底知不知道现在的部长是谁！不管怎么说，他那群人的什么事应该不会在我们的新闻上—” 
　　“嘘，维能，”帕尤妮亚姨妈说，“窗户开着喃！” 
　　“哦，对了，对不起，亲爱的。” 
　　杜斯利安静了下来。哈利听到了一阵水果早餐篮的叮当声，他正好看见福格老太太—一个紫藤路的古怪的爱猫的老夫人，慢慢的溜达过来哈利对于自己现在藏在灌木后面感到挺高兴的，因为最近福格太太一在路上看见他就叫他到她那里去喝茶。她拐过了拐角，消失在视线中。维能姨夫的声音又从窗户那里飘了过来。 
　　“达德里出去喝茶了吗？” 
　　“在珀可凯瑟斯家”，帕尤妮亚姨妈溺爱地说，“他有那么多的小朋友，他真是挺讨人喜欢的。” 
　　哈利强压住从鼻孔里发出的笑声。杜斯利真是对他们儿子达德里愚蠢的可怜的信任。他们对于这种在假期里，达德里每天晚上都出去和不同的家伙出去喝茶这种傻子般的谎言深信不疑。哈利对于达德里并没有去哪里喝茶这件事很清楚。达德里和他那一伙人每天晚上都去公园搞破坏，在街角吸烟，对着过路的汽车和小孩扔石头。哈利在他在小围金路散步时看见他们了。他大部分的假期都在街上游逛，从路上的垃圾桶里捡报纸看。 
　　预报7点新闻的片头音乐传进了哈利的耳朵里。他的胃翻动了一下。也许今晚—在等待了一个月之后—也许就是今晚。 
　　“在西班牙机场行李搬运工的罢工运动进入第2个星期以后，束手无策的度假者人数创记录的塞满了整个机场—” 
　　“是我的话，我会让他们永远丢掉饭碗1”维能姨夫在听见播抱员的最后一句话时吼到。但是不管怎么样，在花台外面，哈利的心仿佛被撬开了。如果真有什么事发生了，那将成为头条新闻死亡与破坏当然会比束手无策的度假者重要地多。 
　　他慢慢的吐了一口长气，凝视着耀眼的蓝天，这个夏天每天都是一模一样的：紧张、期待、短暂的放松、又是紧张…总是，从来没有停止过，为什么什么事情都没有发生？ 
　　他继续听着，以防有一些小的线索那些是不会被麻瓜们真正所认识的—一个无法解释的失踪，或者也许，一些奇怪的事故。但行李操作者罢工之后是关于东南方的干旱。“我希望他在门边听着！”（维能姨夫咆哮道，“他和他的洒水装置在早上3点钟要行动起来”然后是一架直升飞机差点在田间与一架萨里式游览马车相撞坠毁，然后是一个著名的女演员与她有名的丈夫的离婚。）“就好象我们对他们那些肮脏的事情感兴趣似的，”帕尤妮亚姨妈轻蔑的说，她那多骨的手在每本杂志上翻过，都好象强迫性的写上了这件事。 
　　哈利闭上了眼睛以躲避耀眼的夜空，当新闻播音员说，“最后，Bungy鹦鹉找到了一种新奇的保持凉爽方法，巴恩斯利的 Bungy鹦鹉，学会了水上滑行！玛利多金斯将会找到更多……” 
　　哈利睁开了眼睛，如果他们找到了会滑水的相思鹦鹉，那就没有什么再值得听下去的了，他小心的抬起头，利用膝盖和肘部匍匐前进，准备从窗下爬出去。 
　　就在他刚刚移动了两英寸，突然一些事发生了。 
　　一声很响的，就像是炮击声的劈啪吼叫声打破了睡眠般的宁静一只猫不安地从一辆停着的车下跑出又飞奔不见了，一声尖叫，和一声诅咒的吼叫伴随着瓷器打破的声音从杜斯利的客厅里传出。就好象这是他长久以来等着的信号一样，哈利跳了起来，同时从他的牛仔裤腰带里拔出一根木棒，就好象拔出了一把剑一样—但在他还没有来得及站起来时，他的头顶突然和杜斯利家突然打开的窗户撞上了，撞上的结果使得帕尤妮亚姨妈的叫声更响了。 
　　哈利觉得他的头就好象被劈成了两半。他摇晃着，眼睛发花，尽力注意路，并且辨认出噪音的来源，但是当他还没来得及蹒跚着站起来，一双硕大的酱紫色的手从窗户里伸出紧紧的捏住他的喉咙。 
　　“把它扔掉！”维能姨夫在他的耳边吼到，“别让人看见！” 
　　“放开我！”哈利气喘吁吁的说，他们扭打了几秒钟，哈利用左手尽力推着他姨夫香肠般的手指，右手紧抓住他的魔杖，就好象哈利的头顶给了他一个特别难受的抽动，维能姨夫痛叫着放开了哈利，就好象他突然被电击了一样。一种看不见的力量从他外甥身上释放出来，让他没可能抓住。 
　　哈利气喘着向前翻过八仙花灌木，站直并往周围看着。并没有什么迹象说明什么东西导致了噪音的发生，但有一些脸从附近的窗户那里悄悄往这边看。哈利急忙将他的魔杖插回裤腰，并做出无辜的表情。 
　　“真是可爱的夜晚！”维能姨夫叫到，并对对门的7号夫人挥着手，她正从家里网状的窗帘那里往外看“你听见刚刚汽车逆火了吗？让我和帕尤妮亚吓了一跳！” 
　　他继续咧开嘴展露出一种可怕的笑容，直到所有好奇的邻居都从他们的窗口处消失，然后笑容变成了一种极其愤怒的扭曲，他招手叫哈利回来。 
　　哈利向他挪近了几步，小心的站在维能姨夫抓不到的地方，以防维能姨夫伸出手来把他掐死。 
　　“你到底在倒什么鬼？小子？”维能姨夫哇哇叫着，声音由于气愤而颤抖着。 
　　“我捣鬼做什么？”哈利冷酷地说，仍然在东张西望，想要找出是谁导致了刚才的噪音。 
　　“从外面把一个球拍弄的向是一把枪样对着我们—-” 
　　“我没有弄出那个声音！”哈利坚定的说。 
　　帕尤妮亚姨妈那张瘦长的马脸出现在维能姨夫宽阔的紫脸后面。她看起来很脸色发青。 
　　“你刚才为什么潜伏在我们窗户下？” 
　　“对，对，好问题，帕尤妮亚，你刚才在我们窗户下做什么？” 
　　“听新闻。”哈利用一种听天由命的语气说到。 
　　他的姨夫姨妈交换了一下愤怒的眼光。 
　　“听新闻？你再说一遍？” 
　　“你知道，每天都有新的变化。”哈利说。 
　　“在我这别自以为聪明！小子！我要知道你到底在想做什么？别再告诉我听新闻这种胡言乱语。你很清楚你们这群人—-” 
　　“小心，维能！”帕尤妮亚姨妈小声地说，于是维能姨夫放低了声音使哈利几乎听不见他在说什么，“你们这群人根本不会听我们的新闻！” 
　　“那只是你所知道的，”哈利说。 
　　杜斯利瞪着眼睛看了他几秒，然后帕尤妮亚姨妈说，“你这下流的小撒谎精，那些，”他也放低了声音，使得哈利只能从她的口型上认出后面的一些话，“猫头鹰在做什么，为什么没给你带新闻呢？” 
　　“啊哈！”维能姨夫用一种洋洋得意的细语说道，“听到了吧！小子，你以为我们不知道你从那些瘟鸟那里得到消息吗？” 
　　哈利犹豫了一会儿他必须承认这个事实，尽管他的姨夫姨妈不知道他承认的感觉有多么坏。 
　　“猫头鹰—-没有给我带来任何消息。”他沉闷的说。 
　　“我不相信！”帕尤妮亚姨妈马上说。 
　　“我也不！”维能姨夫激动地说。 
　　“我们知道你在计划一些古怪的事。”帕尤妮亚姨妈说。 
　　“我们不蠢！”维能姨夫说。 
　　“对我来说那可是新闻。”哈利说，他的脾气也上来了，在杜斯利来得及叫他回来前，他跑掉了。穿过前面的草坪，跨过低矮的花墙，大踏步的走上了街。 
　　他知道他现在有麻烦了，他知道待会他要面对他的姨夫姨妈，为他的粗鲁付出代价，但他现在不想想那么多，他头脑中有更紧急的事。 
　　哈利肯定那个声音是由一个人有组织或没组织的搞出来的。听起来象家养小精灵多比再空气中消失的时候的声音。难道多比现在在女贞路？多比会在这种时候跟着他吗？带着这种想法，他又四周张望，然后顺着女贞路看下去，但是那里什么都没有，哈利确信多比不知道怎么隐形。 
　　他继续漫无目的的走，他的脚如此的把他带地神出鬼没，让他把这些路都走的烂熟。每走几步他透过自己的肩膀往后看，他确信在他躺在帕尤妮亚姨妈那些枯死的秋海棠中的时候，有什么魔法的东西在他附近。他们为什么没有对他说话？为什么没有和他接触？为什么他们现在还藏着。 
　　然后，他几乎受挫的感觉让他泄气。 
　　也许根本就没有什么魔法的东西。也许他是过于想要找到即使是微小的关于他的那个世界的东西，以至于现在弄的他对一点小声音都太敏感了。他能肯定那难道不是邻居家里打破什么东西的声音吗？ 
　　哈利感觉自己的胃有一种无趣和沉甸甸的感觉，他知道这种毫无希望的感觉在这个夏天已经折磨了他很多次了。 
　　明天早上他会伴随5点钟的闹铃起来以便付钱给为他送来预言家日报的猫头鹰—但是会有什么新的消息吗？哈利这些天仅仅只看一眼头版便把报纸扔到一边。只有经营报纸的那个蠢蛋认识到伏地魔已经回来了，把它作为头版头条，那才是哈利感兴趣的。 
　　如果他幸运的话，他能收到从他的好友罗恩和荷米恩的猫头鹰，尽管他希望他们能告诉他一些消息，但却不能。 
　　我们不能告诉你关于神秘人的事，明显的，我们被告知不能这么做以防我们的猫头鹰落入其他人手里，我们很忙但我们不能在这里告诉你细节，事情会明朗的，我们见面会告诉你所有事情—- 
　　但他们什么时候才能见到他？没有人告诉一个确切的日期。荷米恩在给他的生日卡上潦草的写着我希望能尽快见到你，但到底是什么时候？哈利只能从信上很模糊的线索猜到，罗恩和荷米恩在同一个地方，大概在罗恩父母家他简直不能忍受当他被困在这里的时候，他们俩在陋居开心的玩。事实上，他气得把他们在他生日时送给他的两大盒蜂蜜公爵的巧克力开都没开就都给扔了。不过，他后来又有些后悔，因为在那天晚上帕尤妮亚姨妈晚饭时做的干涩的沙拉实在让人难以下咽。 
　　还有罗恩和荷米恩到底在忙些？为什么不是他，哈利，在忙呢？他难道没有证明他处理事情的能力强过他们吗？他们已经把他做过的那些事全都忘了吗？难道不是他被带到了墓地，目睹了塞得里克被杀死，而且被捆在墓碑上，甚至差点也被杀死的吗？ 
　　哈利这个夏天已经第100次告诉自己别那么想了。他在梦中重游目的已经够糟糕了，还有漫无目的的游荡，没有一个安身的地方也够糟了。 
　　他在拐角处转了一个弯，到了新月木兰街。就在那条狭小的小巷半路上的车库旁边，他第一次见到了他的教父。至少天狼星，好象能理解哈利的感受。不可否认的，他的信和罗恩还有荷米恩的一样什么也没有说，但至少还有一些安慰性质的警告，比起那些让人着急的线索感觉好多了，我知道这让你感到很失望，照顾好你自己，别多管闲事，事情会好起来的，小心并且别有任何轻率的举动—- 
　　好吧，哈利想到，这时他正穿过新月木兰街，走上木兰路，然后向安黑运动公园走去，他已经甚至超过了做到了天狼星建议他事情。他已经尽力压制住自己把行李绑在他的扫帚上，然后自己出发去陋居的欲望了。事实上，他觉得他的行为已经让他感觉到很挫败和生气了：他被那么久的困在女贞路，藏在花圃下指望听到一点关于伏地魔正在做什么的希望也一点一点的减少。还有，让一个被关在巫师监狱阿滋卡班12年，逃出来想要在第一时间把凶手杀死，结果最后不得不骑上一头被偷来的鹰头马身有翼兽逃走的人说教别干轻率的事，实在是让人感到焦躁。 
　　哈利弯腰穿过锁着的门，走过炎热的草坪。公园和周围的街道一样空荡荡的。当他走过秋千时，他在那唯一一个没有被达德里和他那一伙毁掉的秋千上坐下，一条手臂盘绕在铁链上，生气的看着地面。他再也不能在得斯里家的花圃下藏着了。明天他得想出点什么新法子听一听新闻。同时，他又会有一个一点也不值得期待的，不平静的，受打扰的夜晚。因为，就算是没有关于塞得里克的噩梦，他也会有做另一个让他不安的梦：穿过长长的，黑黑的走廊，最后全是被锁着的门，这让他在醒着的时候有一种被困住的感觉。他的伤疤也经常会有刺痛的感觉，但他想这已经引不起罗恩、荷米恩或者天狼星的兴趣了。过去，他的伤疤痛是一个伏地魔又强大起来的警告，现在伏地魔已经复活了，他们也许只会告诉他那只是经常生气带来的—-没有担心的——-又是老话。 
　　不公平的感觉充满全身，让他想要气恼的大喊。如果不是他的话，没人会知道伏地魔已经回来了。可是他的回报却是让他回到小围金路呆了4个死气沉沉的星期，完全与魔法世界隔绝蹲坐在将死的秋海棠中间听关于会滑水的相思鹦鹉的事！丹伯多怎么能这么轻易的就把他给忘了？为什么罗恩和荷米恩在一起却没有邀请他？多久了，他听天狼星叫他安安静静的坐着，当一个好孩子，并且沉住气不要写信给愚蠢的预言家日报告诉他们伏地魔已经回来了？这些狂怒的想法在哈利的头脑中旋转，他的身体里就象是被闷热的天鹅绒般的气愤给包围着。空气中充满着烤热的干燥的草的气味，唯一的低低的充满抱怨的汽车的声音来自公园栏杆旁边的路上。 
　　他不知道他在秋千上坐了多久，直到有声音打断了他的沉思，他抬起头往四周看。周围路上的街灯发出雾蒙蒙的光，照亮了一群正穿过公园的人的侧影。其中的一个正大声地唱着难听的歌，其他人则在大笑。他们正滑行着的昂贵的赛车发出一种轻轻的声音。 
　　哈利知道那些人是谁在前面的那个人毫无疑问的是他的表哥，达德里·杜斯利，正在他那群忠实的团伙的陪伴下回家。 
　　达德里和过去一样肥大，但是一年艰难的节食和一种新的方法让他的体格产生了巨大的变化。正如维能姨夫高兴的对那些愿意听他讲的人所说的，达德里最近成为了东南地区校际拳击大赛最重量级的冠军。维能姨夫把它叫做是一项贵族运动，这让哈利觉得达德里看起来比当年他在以前的学校里把哈利当作拳击吊球时更可怕。哈利倒不是害怕达德里，他只是觉得达德里非常努力的学拳击并不是因为庆祝或表扬的原因。周围的小孩都害怕达德里—比他们害怕“波特”—他们被严正警告过了，这是一个被送到圣塔不鲁斯安全中心少年犯学校的男孩—更加恐惧。 
　　哈利看着黑黑的人影走过了草坪，想知道他们今晚教训的是谁？看四周，哈利觉得他自己这么想到，来啊，看四周，我在这里坐着，来打我试试——- 
　　但是他们并没有转过来，他们没有看见他，他们几乎在栏杆那里。哈利制止住叫他们的想法，找打并非一个明智的举动，他不能使用魔法，他会再有被开除的危险。 
　　达德里团伙的声音消失了，他们，走向木兰街，消失在视线中。 
　　你满意了吧，天狼星，哈利呆滞的想，没有轻率的举动，乖乖的呆着，和你以前做的正相反。 
　　他站了起来，伸了个懒腰。帕尤妮亚姨妈和维能姨夫觉得达德里什么时候回家都可以，在他回家以后就什么时候都是太晚了。维能姨夫威胁哈利说如果他再比达德里回家晚就要把他锁在棚屋里，所以，沉闷的打了个哈欠，仍然感到闷闷不乐，哈利走向公园门口。 
　　木兰路，跟女贞路一样，到处都是大大的，方形的，有着被修剪得整整齐齐的草地的房子，都属于一个高大的，长的正正方方的人所有，他开着一辆象维能姨夫开的那样干净的车。哈利更喜欢小围金路的晚上，这时挂着窗帘的窗户在黑暗中发出宝石般灿烂的光辉，并且这时也不会他走过住户时有人觉得他违法闯入发出不满意的嘀咕。他走的很快，所以在木兰路半路上他又看见了达德里他们一伙的身影，他们在木兰新月街的入口处互相告别。哈利走到了一棵丁香树的树影里等着。 
　　“——他就象一头猪一样叫，不是吗？”马尔科姆说，使其他人哄笑着。 
　　“真是绝好的钓钩。”皮尔说。 
　　“明天晚上的这个时候怎么样？”达德里说。 
　　“到我家来，我爸妈出去了。”葛登说。 
　　“那么到时见！”达德里说。 
　　“再见。达德里！” 
　　“再见，老大！” 
　　哈利等到其他人都走了才出来。当他们的声音都再次消退了，他走向拐角，快步走着，很快就走到了离达德里很近的地方—他正在悠闲自得的嗡嗡的哼着不成调的歌。 
　　“嘿，老大！” 
　　达德里转过身。 
　　“哦，是你！”他咕噜的说 
　　“你成老大多久了？”哈利说 
　　“闭嘴！”达德里咆哮着，走开了。 
　　“真酷的名字啊！”哈利说，他笑着走在他表兄的身后，“对于我来说，你永远都是‘心肝达德里’” 
　　“我说过了，闭嘴！”达德里说，火腿般的手已经握成了拳头。 
　　“那些人知道你妈妈怎么叫你的吗？” 
　　“不要脸！” 
　　“你不会说她不要脸吧。那么我可以叫你‘心肝达德里’或者‘达德里小乖乖’了？” 
　　达德里什么也没说，看来需要让他全力忍受才能忍住不揍哈利。 
　　“那你们今晚打的是谁？”哈利问，他的笑容消失了。“另一个10岁的小孩吗？我知道你两天前揍了马克·艾文。” 
　　“他活该！”达德里咆哮着说。 
　　“是吗？” 
　　“他侮辱我！” 
　　“是吗？他是说你象一只被教用后腿走路的猪吗？那不是侮辱，达德里，那是事实！” 
　　“达德里下巴上的一块肌肉在抖动，这让哈利很满意—他知道这让达德里很生气。他觉得这让他全身的受挫感就像是通过一根吸管传送到他表兄身上去了—这是他唯一发泄的路径了。 
　　他们向右转向了狭窄的小路—哈利第一次见到天狼星的地方，那是木兰新月街和紫藤路的一个捷径交叉口。这里空空的而且比他所连接的道路更黑，因为没有路灯。他们的脚步在一边的车库和另一边的栅栏的包围下听起来很沉闷。 
　　“认为你自己是一个强人可以隐藏起所有的事，是吗？”达德里停了几秒钟说。 
　　“什么事？” 
　　“你想藏起来的那件事。” 
　　哈利又笑了。 
　　“真不像你看起来那么蠢，是吗？达德里？但是我想你没办法一边走路一边说话吧？” 
　　他拔出了魔杖，看见达德里往侧面看去。 
　　“你不准！”达德里马上说，“我知道你不准！如果你做的话会被那所古怪的学校开除！” 
　　“你怎么知道他们没有修改法规吗？老大？” 
　　“他们没有！”达德里说，虽然他听起来并不确定。 
　　哈利轻轻的笑了。 
　　“你没那个东西不可能打倒我，不是吗？”达德里咆哮到。 
　　“因此你就需要四个家伙站在你后面，这样你才能打倒一个10岁的小孩么？你知道你的拳击头衔是什么吗？你的对手有多大？7岁？8岁？” 
　　“据我的消息，他16岁。”达德里吼叫着，“我打晕他20分钟才醒过来。他有你两个那么重！你等着我叫爸爸把那个东西拿出来———” 
　　“又要跑到爸爸那里去了？难道他的心肝乖乖拳击冠军会害怕哈利肮脏的小魔杖？” 
　　“晚上没有那么勇敢吧？”达德里讥笑到。 
　　“这就是晚上，达德里心肝，这就是我们叫做是晚上的时候。” 
　　“我是说你睡觉的时候！”达德里咆哮着说。 
　　他站住了，哈利也站住了，看着他的表兄。 
　　从达德里模糊的脸上，他看见了一种奇怪的胜利的表情。 
　　“你什么意思？我睡觉的时候难道不够勇敢吗？”哈利说，“你以为我怕什么？枕头还是什么？” 
　　“我昨天晚上听见了，”达德里屏息着说，“你说梦话了，再呻吟。” 
　　“你什么意思？”哈利又说道，但是有一种冰凉的感觉跳进了他的胃里。他昨晚又梦见了墓地。 
　　达德里发出一声刺耳的笑声，然后装出一种高音调的呜咽的声音，“别杀塞得里克！别杀塞得里克！谁是塞得里克？你的男朋友吗？” 
　　“我——-你说谎！”哈利机械的说但是他的嘴巴发干，他知道达德里没说谎，他还听到了关于塞得里克的其他什么吗？ 
　　“爸爸，救我！爸爸！他要杀我了！呜~~呜~~” 
　　“闭嘴！”哈利平静的说，“闭嘴！达德里！我警告你！” 
　　“快来救我！爸爸！快来救我！妈妈！他杀了塞得里克！爸爸！救我！他——你说的难道不是我吗？” 
　　达德里靠在小巷的墙上。哈利用魔杖直指着达德里的心脏。哈利可以感觉到14年来对达德里的仇恨撞击着他的每一寸身体—他为何不现在给达德里一击？让达德里倒霉的象一只虫子一样爬回家？让他不能说话，长出昆虫的触须？ 
　　“不准再说那件事！”哈利吼到，“你明白吗？” 
　　“把那东西指别的东西！” 
　　“我说，明白了吗？” 
　　“指别的东西！” 
　　“你明白了吗？” 
　　“把那东西从我这里拿开———” 
　　达德里气喘吁吁的用一种奇特的发抖的声音说，就好象他被浸到了冰水里。 
　　夜空好象出了一点事，撒满靛青色天空的星星突然被涂上了黑色并且失去了光芒—星星，月亮，小巷尽头两边朦胧的路灯消失了，汽车的隆隆声和树木的低语声消失了。温和的夜晚突然变得刺痛犀利的寒冷。他们完全被一种难以渗透的、寂静的黑暗所包围，就好象一只巨大的手将整个小巷用一件厚厚的斗篷给完全盖住了。 
　　在一瞬间，哈利以为自己又无意中施展了一些魔法，尽管他努力地克制着。然后他意识到自己错了，他没有熄灭星星的能力，他把头转向这边的路，然后是另一边，想看见什么东西，但是黑暗好象给他的双眼蒙上了一层轻薄的面纱。 
　　达德里恐惧的声音传进了哈利的耳朵里， 
　　“你—-你在做什么？停——停下来！” 
　　“我什么也没做！闭嘴！别动！” 
　　“我什么也看不见！我瞎了！我—-” 
　　“我说闭嘴！” 
　　哈利静静的站着，把他看不见的眼睛转向左边然后右边。寒冷是如此的强烈以至于他全身都在发抖，他手臂上起了鸡皮疙瘩，他颈后的头发全都竖起来了，他把眼睛睁到最大，茫然的看着四周，却什么也没看见。 
　　这不可能——-他们不可能在这里——-不可能在小围金路，他紧张的听着，在看见他们以前他可以听见他们—- 
　　“我—-我要告诉爸爸—-”达德里呜咽着，“你在哪？你在做什———” 
　　“你就不能闭上嘴吗？”哈利嘶嘶地说，“我正在努力听——-” 
　　但是他突然沉默了，他听见了他最担心的东西。 
　　在小巷里有一些不属于那里的东西，有什么东西正在发出长长的，嘶哑的，喀哒喀哒的呼吸，哈利觉得自己发出一阵恐惧的摇动，就好象他站在冰冷的空气里发抖一样。 
　　“停—-停下来！住手！！我会打你！我发誓我会！” 
　　“达德里，闭……” 
　　乓！ 
　　一只拳头打在了哈利头上，把他打得站立不稳。他眼冒金星。一个小时里第2次哈利觉得自己的头被劈成了两半，下一秒中，他觉得自己摔到了地上，他的魔杖也脱手了。 
　　“你这白痴！达德里！”哈利叫到，他的眼睛因为疼痛充满了泪水，他用手和膝盖在地上爬着。他听见达德里笨拙的跑开了，撞倒了小巷的栅栏，摔倒了。 
　　“达德里！回来！你正跑到那东西那儿去！” 
　　一声恐惧的尖叫，哈利的脚步停止了。同时，哈利觉得寒冷爬上了他的后背，这只能证明一件事，不止一个。 
　　“达德里！把嘴闭上！不管你做什么！把嘴闭上！魔杖！”哈利疯狂的咕噜着，他的手像蜘蛛一样在地上掠过，“在哪？快点—荧光闪烁！” 
　　他机械的说着咒语，不顾一切的照亮他想要找的东西，—他觉得不可思议的，魔杖在他右手的几英寸处发光—魔杖头点亮了。哈利一把抓起它，蹒跚的站起来看着四周。 
　　他的胃翻绞着。 
　　一个高耸的，带着头巾的东西正朝他滑过来，在地上盘旋着，看不见长袍下的脸或者脚，过来时饥渴地在夜里吮吸着。 
　　跌跌绊绊的往后退，哈利举起了魔杖。 
　　“呼神护卫！” 
　　一小缕银色的气体从魔杖端射了出来，摄魂怪慢了下来，但是咒语并没有完全发挥作用。跌跌绊绊的，他在摄魂怪接近他时又往后退，恐惧充满了他的大
Chapter 2 A Peck Of Owls
‘What?’ said Harry blankly.
‘He left!’ said Mrs. Figg, wringing her hands. ‘Left to see someone about a batch of cauldrons that fell off the back of a broom! I told him I'd flay him alive if he went, and now look! Dementors! It's just lucky I put Mr. Tibbles on the case! But we haven't got time to stand around! Hurry, now, we've got to get you back! Oh, the trouble this is going to cause! I will kill him!’
‘But—’
The revelation that his batty old cat-obsessed neighbour knew what dementors were was almost as big a shock to Harry as meeting two of them down the alleyway. ‘You're—you're a witch?’
‘I'm a Squib, as Mundungus knows full well, so how on earth was I supposed to help you fight off dementors? He left you completely without cover when I'd warned him—’
‘This Mundungus has been following me? Hang on—it was him! He Disapparated from the front of my house!’
‘Yes, yes, yes, but luckily I'd stationed Mr. Tibbles under a car just in case, and Mr Tibbles came and warned me, but by the time I got to your house you'd gone— and now—oh, what's Dumbledore going to say? You!’ she shrieked at Dudley, still supine on the alley floor. ‘Get your fat bottom off the ground, quick!’
‘You know Dumbledore?’ said Harry, staring at her.
‘Of course I know Dumbledore, who doesn't know Dumbledore? But come on— I'll be no help if they come back, I've never so much as Transfigured a teabag.’
She stooped down, seized one of Dudley's massive arms in her wizened hands and tugged.
‘Get up, you useless lump, get up!’
But Dudley either could not or would not move. He remained on the ground, trembling and ashen-faced, his mouth shut very tight.
‘I'll do it.’ Harry took hold of Dudley's arm and heaved. With an enormous effort he managed to hoist him to his feet. Dudley seemed to be on the point of fainting. His small eyes were rolling in their sockets and sweat was beading his face; the moment Harry let go of him he swayed dangerously.
‘Hurry up!’ said Mrs. Figg hysterically.
Harry pulled one of Dudley's massive arms around his own shoulders and dragged him towards the road, sagging slightly under the weight. Mrs. Figg tottered along in front of them, peering anxiously around the corner.
‘Keep your wand out,’ she told Harry, as they entered Wisteria Walk. ‘Never mind the Statute of Secrecy now, there's going to be hell to pay anyway, we might as well be hanged for a dragon as an egg. Talk about the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery... This was exactly what Dumbledore was afraid of—what's that at the end of the street? Oh, it's just Mr. Prentice... Don't put your wand away, boy, don't I keep telling you I'm no use?’
It was not easy to hold a wand steady and haul Dudley along at the same time. Harry gave his cousin an impatient dig in the ribs, but Dudley seemed to have lost all desire for independent movement. He was slumped on Harry's shoulder, his large feet dragging along the ground.
‘Why didn't you tell me you're a Squib, Mrs. Figg?’ asked Harry, panting with the effort to keep walking. ‘All those times I came round your house—why didn't you say anything?’
‘Dumbledore's orders. I was to keep an eye on you but not say anything, you were too young. I'm sorry I gave you such a miserable time, Harry, but the Dursleys would never have let you come if they'd thought you enjoyed it. It wasn't easy, you know ... but oh my word,’ she said tragically, wringing her hands once more, ‘when Dumbledore hears about this—how could Mundungus have left, he was supposed to be on duty until midnight—where is he? How am I going to tell Dumbledore what's happened? I can't Apparate—’
‘I've got an owl, you can borrow her,’ Harry groaned, wondering whether his spine was going to snap under Dudley's weight.
‘Harry, you don't understand! Dumbledore will need to act as quickly as possible, the Ministry have their own ways of detecting underage magic, they'll know already, you mark my words—’
‘But I was getting rid of dementors, I had to use magic—they're going to be more worried about what dementors were doing floating around Wisteria Walk, surely?’
‘Oh, my dear, I wish it were so, but I'm afraid— MUNDUNGUS FLETCHER, I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!’
There was a loud crack and a strong smell of drink mingled with stale tobacco filled the air as a squat, unshaven man in a tattered overcoat materialised right in front of them. He had short, bandy legs, long straggly ginger hair and bloodshot, baggy eyes that gave him the doleful look of a basset hound. He was also clutching a silvery bundle that Harry recognised at once as an Invisibility Cloak.
’ ‘S’ up, Figgy?’ he said, staring from Mrs. Figg to Harry and Dudley. ‘What ‘appened to staying undercover?’
‘I'll give you undercover!’ cried Mrs. Figg. ‘Dementors, you useless, skiving sneak thief!’
‘Dementors?’ repeated Mundungus, aghast. ‘Dementors, here?’
‘Yes, here, you worthless pile of bat droppings, here!’ shrieked Mrs. Figg. ‘Dementors attacking the boy on your watch!’
‘Blimey,’ said Mundungus weakly, looking from Mrs. Figg to Harry, and back again. ‘Blimey, I...’
‘And you off buying stolen cauldrons! Didn't I tell you not to go? Didn't I?’
‘I—well, I—’ Mundungus looked deeply uncomfortable. ‘It ... it was a very good business opportunity, see...’
Mrs. Figg raised the arm from which her string bag dangled and whacked Mundungus around the face and neck with it; judging by the clanking noise it made it was full of cat food.
‘Ouch—gerroff— gerroff, you mad old bat! Someone's gotta tell Dumbledore!’
‘Yes—they— have!’ yelled Mrs. Figg, swinging the bag of cat food at every bit of Mundungus she could reach. ‘And—it—had—better—be—you—and—you—can—tell— him—why—you—weren't—there—to—help!’
‘Keep your ‘airnet on!’ said Mundungus, his arms over his head, cowering. ‘I'm going, I'm going!’
And with another loud crack, he vanished.
‘I hope Dumbledore murders him!’ said Mrs. Figg furiously. ‘Now come on, Harry, what are you waiting for?’
Harry decided not to waste his remaining breath on pointing out that he could barely walk under Dudley's bulk. He gave the semi-conscious Dudley a heave and staggered onwards.
‘I'll take you to the door,’ said Mrs. Figg, as they turned into Privet Drive. ‘Just in case there are more of them around.... Oh my word, what a catastrophe ... and you had to fight them off yourself ... and Dumbledore said we were to keep you from doing magic at all costs.... Well, it's no good crying over spilt potion, I suppose ... but the cat's among the pixies now...’
‘So,’ Harry panted, ‘Dumbledore's ... been having ... me followed?’
‘Of course he has,’ said Mrs. Figg impatiently. ‘Did you expect him to let you wander around on your own after what happened in June? Good Lord, boy, they told me you were intelligent.... Right ... get inside and stay there,’ she said, as they reached number four. ‘I expect someone will be in touch with you soon enough.’
‘What are you going to do?’ asked Harry quickly.
‘I'm going straight home,’ said Mrs. Figg, staring around the dark street and shuddering. ‘I'll need to wait for more instructions. Just stay in the house. Goodnight.’
‘Hang on, don't go yet! I want to know—’
But Mrs. Figg had already set off at a trot, carpet slippers flopping, string bag clanking.
‘Wait!’ Harry shouted after her. He had a million questions to ask anyone who was in contact with Dumbledore; but within seconds Mrs. Figg was swallowed by the darkness. Scowling, Harry readjusted Dudley on his shoulder and made his slow, painful way up number four's garden path.
The hall light was on. Harry stuck his wand back inside the waistband of his jeans, rang the bell and watched Aunt Petunia's outline grow larger and larger, oddly distorted by the rippling glass in the front door.
‘Diddy! About time too, I was getting quite—quite— Diddy, what's the matter?’
Harry looked sideways at Dudley and ducked out from under his arm just in time. Dudley swayed on the spot for a moment, his face pale green ... then he opened his mouth and vomited all over the doormat.
‘DIDDY! Diddy, what's the matter with you? Vernon? VERNON!’
Harry's uncle came galumphing out of the living room, walrus moustache blowing hither and thither as it always did when he was agitated. He hurried forwards to help Aunt Petunia negotiate a weak-kneed Dudley over the threshold while avoiding stepping in the pool of sick.
‘He's ill, Vernon!’
‘What is it, son? What's happened? Did Mrs. Polkiss give you something foreign for tea?’
‘Why are you all covered in dirt, darling? Have you been lying on the ground?’
‘Hang on—you haven't been mugged, have you, son?’
Aunt Petunia screamed.
‘Phone the police, Vernon! Phone the police! Diddy, darling, speak to Mummy! What did they do to you?’
In all the kerfuffle nobody seemed to have noticed Harry, which suited him perfectly. He managed to slip inside just before Uncle Vernon slammed the door and, while the Dursleys made their noisy progress down the hall towards the kitchen, Harry moved carefully and quietly towards the stairs.
‘Who did it, son? Give us names. We'll get them, don't worry.’
‘Shh! He's trying to say something, Vernon! What is it, Diddy? Tell Mummy!’
Harry's foot was on the bottom-most stair when Dudley found his voice.
‘Him.’
Harry froze, foot on the stair, face screwed up, braced for the explosion.
‘BOY! COME HERE!’
With a feeling of mingled dread and anger, Harry removed his foot slowly from the stair and turned to follow the Dursleys.
The scrupulously clean kitchen had an oddly unreal glitter after the darkness outside. Aunt Petunia was ushering Dudley into a chair; he was still very green and clammy-looking. Uncle Vernon was standing in front of the draining board, glaring at Harry through tiny, narrowed eyes.
‘What have you done to my son?’ he said in a menacing growl.
‘Nothing,’ said Harry, knowing perfectly well that Uncle Vernon wouldn't believe him.
‘What did he do to you, Diddy?’ Aunt Petunia said in a quavering voice, now sponging sick from the front of Dudley's leather jacket. ‘Was it—was it you-know-what, darling? Did he use—his thing?’
Slowly, tremulously, Dudley nodded.
‘I didn't!’ Harry said sharply, as Aunt Petunia let out a wail and Uncle Vernon raised his fists. ‘I didn't do anything to him, it wasn't me, it was—’
But at that precise moment a screech owl swooped in through the kitchen window. Narrowly missing the top of Uncle Vernon's head, it soared across the kitchen, dropped the large parchment envelope it was carrying in its beak at Harry's feet, turned gracefully, the tips of its wings just brushing the top of the fridge, then zoomed outside again and off across the garden.
‘OWLS!’ bellowed Uncle Vernon, the well-worn vein in his temple pulsing angrily as he slammed the kitchen window shut. ‘OWLS AGAIN! I WILL NOT HAVE ANY MORE OWLS IN MY HOUSE!’
But Harry was already ripping open the envelope and pulling out the letter inside, his heart pounding somewhere in the region of his Adam's apple.
Dear Mr. Potter,
We have received intelligence that you performed the Patronus Charm at twenty-three minutes past nine this evening in a Muggle-inhabited area and in the presence of a Muggle.
The severity of this breach of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery has resulted in your expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Ministry representatives will be calling at your place of residence shortly to destroy your wand.
As you have already received an official warning for a previous offence under Section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks’ Statute of Secrecy, we regret to inform you that your presence is required at a disciplinary hearing at the Ministry of Magic at 9 a.m. on the twelfth of August.
Hoping you are well,
Yours sincerely,
Mafalda Hopkirk
Improper Use of Magic Office
Ministry of Magic
Harry read the letter through twice. He was only vaguely aware of Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia talking. Inside his head, all was icy and numb. One fact had penetrated his consciousness like a paralysing dart. He was expelled from Hogwarts. It was all over. He was never going back.
He looked up at the Dursleys. Uncle Vernon was purple-faced, shouting, his fists still raised; Aunt Petunia had her arms around Dudley who was retching again.
Harry's temporarily stupefied brain seemed to reawaken. Ministry representatives will be calling at your place of residence shortly to destroy your wand. There was only one thing for it. He would have to run—now. Where he was going to go, Harry didn't know but he was certain of one thing: at Hogwarts or outside it, he needed his wand. In an almost dreamlike state, he pulled his wand out and turned to leave the kitchen.
‘Where d'you think you're going?’ yelled Uncle Venon. When Harry didn't reply, he pounded across the kitchen to block the doorway into the hall. ‘I haven't finished with you, boy!’
‘Get out of the way,’ said Harry quietly.
‘You're going to stay here and explain how my son—’
‘If you don't get out of the way I'm going to jinx you,’ said Harry, raising the wand.
‘You can't pull that one on me!’ snarled Uncle Vernon. ‘I know you're not allowed to use it outside that madhouse you call a school!’
The madhouse has chucked me out,’ said Harry. ‘So I can do whatever I like. You've got three seconds. One—two—’
A resounding CRACK filled the kitchen. Aunt Petunia screamed, Uncle Vernon yelled and ducked, but for the third time that night Harry was searching for the source of a disturbance he had not made. He spotted it at once: a dazed and ruffled-looking barn owl was sitting outside on the kitchen sill, having just collided with the closed window.
Ignoring Uncle Vernon's anguished yell of ‘OWLS!’ Harry crossed the room at a run and wrenched the window open. The owl stuck out its leg, to which a small roll of parchment was tied, shook its feathers, and took off the moment Harry had taken the letter. Hands shaking, Harry unfurled the second message, which was written very hastily and blotchily in black ink.
Harry—
Dumbledore's just arrived at the Ministry and he's trying to sort it all out. DO NOT LEAVE YOUR AUNT AND UNCLE'S HOUSE. DO NOT DO ANY MORE MAGIC. DO NOT SURRENDER YOUR WAND.
Arthur Weasley
Dumbledore was trying to sort it all out ... what did that mean? how much power did Dumbledore have to override the Ministry of Magic? Was there a chance that he might be allowed back to Hogwarts, then? A small shoot of hope burgeoned in Harry's chest, almost immediately strangled by panic—how was he supposed to refuse to surrender his wand without doing magic? He'd have to duel with the Ministry representatives, and if he did that, he'd be lucky to escape Azkaban, let alone expulsion.
His mind was racing.... He could run for it and risk being captured by the Ministry, or stay put and wait for them to find him here. He was much more tempted by the former course, but he knew Mr. Weasley had his best interests at heart ... and, after all, Dumbledore had sorted out much worse than this before....
‘Right,’ Harry said, ‘I've changed my mind, I'm staying.’
He flung himself down at the kitchen table and faced Dudley and Aunt Petunia. The Dursleys appeared taken aback at his abrupt change of mind. Aunt Petunia glanced despairingly at Uncle Vernon. The vein in his purple temple was throbbing worse than ever.
‘Who are all these ruddy owls from?’ he growled.
‘The first one was from the Ministry of Magic, expelling me,’ said Harry calmly. He was straining his ears to catch any noises outside, in case the Ministry representatives were approaching, and it was easier and quieter to answer Uncle Vernon's questions than to have him start raging and bellowing. The second one was from my friend Ron's dad, who works at the Ministry.’
‘Ministry of Magic?’ bellowed Uncle Vernon. ‘People like you in government? Oh, this explains everything, everything, no wonder the country's going to the dogs....’
When Harry did not respond, Uncle Vernon glared at him, then spat out, ‘And why have you been expelled?’
‘Because I did magic.’
‘AHA!’ roared Uncle Vernon, slamming his fist down on top of the fridge, which sprang open; several of Dudley's low-fat snacks toppled out and burst on the floor. ‘So you admit it! What did you do to Dudley?’
‘Nothing,’ said Harry, slightly less calmly. ‘That wasn't me—’
‘Was,’ muttered Dudley unexpectedly, and Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia instantly made flapping gestures at Harry to quieten him while they both bent low over Dudley.
‘Go on, son,’ said Uncle Vernon, ‘what did he do?’
‘Tell us, darling,’ whispered Aunt Petunia.
‘Pointed his wand at me,’ Dudley mumbled.
‘Yeah, I did, but I didn't use—’ Harry began angrily, but...
‘SHUT UP!’ roared Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia in unison.
‘Go on, son,’ repeated Uncle Vernon, moustache blowing about furiously.
‘All dark,’ Dudley said hoarsely, shuddering. ‘Everything dark. And then I h-heard ... things. Inside m-my head...’
Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia exchanged looks of utter horror. If their least favourite thing in the world was magic, closely followed by neighbours who cheated more than they did on the hosepipe ban, people who heard voices were definitely in the bottom ten. They obviously thought Dudley was losing his mind.
‘What sort of things did you hear, popkin?’ breathed Aunt Petunia, very white-faced and with tears in her eyes.
But Dudley seemed incapable of saying. He shuddered again and shook his large blond head, and despite the sense of numb dread that had settled on Harry since the arrival of the first owl, he felt a certain curiosity. Dementors caused a person to relive the worst moments of their life.... What would spoiled, pampered, bullying Dudley have been forced to hear?
‘How come you fell over, son?’ said Uncle Vernon, in an unnaturally quiet voice, the kind of voice he might adopt at the bedside of a very ill person.
‘T-tripped,’ said Dudley shakily. ‘And then—’
He gestured at his massive chest. Harry understood: Dudley was remembering the clammy cold that filled the lungs as hope and happiness were sucked out of you.
‘Horrible,’ croaked Dudley. ‘Cold. Really cold.’
‘OK,’ said Uncle Vernon, in a voice of forced calm, while Aunt Petunia laid an anxious hand on Dudley's forehead to feel his temperature. ‘What happened then, Dudders?’
‘Felt ... felt ... felt ... as if ... as if...’
‘As if you'd never be happy again,’ Harry supplied dully.
‘Yes,’ Dudley whispered, still trembling.
‘So!’ said Uncle Vernon, voice restored to full and considerable volume as he straightened up. ‘You put some crackpot spell on my on so he'd hear voices and believe he was—was doomed to misery, or something, did you?’
‘How many times do I have to tell you?’ said Harry, temper and voice both rising. ‘It wasn't me! It was a couple of dementors!’
‘A couple of—what's this codswallop?’
‘De—men—tors,’ said Harry slowly and clearly. ‘Two of them.’
‘And what the ruddy hell are dementors?’
‘They guard the wizard prison, Azkaban,’ said Aunt Petunia.
Two seconds of ringing silence followed these words before Aunt Petunia clapped her hand over her mouth as though she had let slip a disgusting swear word. Uncle Vernon was goggling at her. Harry's brain reeled. Mrs. Figg was one thing—butAunt Petunia?
‘How d'you know that?’ he asked her, astonished.
Aunt Petunia looked quite appalled with herself. She glanced at Uncle Vernon in fearful apology, then lowered her hand slightly to reveal her horsy teeth.
‘I heard—that awful boy—telling her about them—years ago,’ she said jerkily.
‘If you mean my mum and dad, why don't you use their names?’ said Harry loudly but Aunt Petunia ignored him. She seemed horribly flustered.
Harry was stunned. Except for one outburst years ago, in the course of which Aunt Petunia had screamed that Harry's mother had been a freak, he had never heard her mention her sister. He was astounded that she had remembered this scrap of information about the magical world for so long, when she usually put all her energies into pretending it didn't exist.
Uncle Vernon opened his mouth, closed it again, opened it once more, shut it, then, apparently struggling to remember how to talk, opened it for a third time and croaked, ‘So—so—they—er—they—er—they actually exist, do they—er— Dementy-whatsits?’
Aunt Petunia nodded.
Uncle Vernon looked from Aunt Petunia to Dudley to Harry as if hoping somebody was going to shout ‘April Fool!’ When nobody did, he opened his mouth yet again, but was spared the struggle to find more words by the arrival of the third owl of the evening. It zoomed through the still-open window like a feathery cannon-ball and landed with a clatter on the kitchen table, causing all three of the Dursleys to jump with fright. Harry tore a second official-looking envelope from the owl's beak and ripped it open as the owl swooped back out into the night.
‘Enough—effing—owls...’ muttered Uncle Vernon distractedly, stomping over to the window and slamming it shut again.
Dear Mr. Potter,
Further to our letter of approximately twenty-two minutes ago, the Ministry of Magic has revised its decision to destroy your wand forthwith. You may retain your wand until your disciplinary hearing on the twelfth of August, at which time an official decision will be taken.
Following discussions with the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the Ministry has agreed that the question of your expulsion will also be decided at that time. You should therefore consider yourself suspended from school pending further enquiries.
With best wishes,
Yours sincerely,
Mafalda Hopkirk
Improper Use of Magic Office
Ministry of Magic
Harry read this letter through three times in quick succession. The miserable knot in his chest loosened slightly with the relief of knowing he was not yet definitely expelled, though his fears were by no means banished. Everything seemed to hang on this hearing on the twelfth of August.
‘Well?’ said Uncle Vernon, recalling Harry to his surroundings. ‘What now? Have they sentenced you to anything? Do your lot have the death penalty?’ he added as a hopeful afterthought.
‘I've got to go to a hearing,’ said Harry.
‘And they'll sentence you there?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘I won't give up hope, then,’ said Uncle Vernon nastily.
‘Well, if that's all,’ said Harry, getting to his feet. He was desperate to be alone, to think, perhaps to send a letter to Ron, Hermione or Sirius.
‘NO, IT RUDDY WELL IS NOT ALL!’ bellowed Uncle Vernon. ‘SIT BACK DOWN!’
‘What now?’ said Harry impatiently.
‘DUDLEY!’ roared Uncle Vernon. ‘I want to know exactly what happened to my son!’
‘FINE!’ yelled Harry, and in his temper, red and gold sparks shot out of the end of his wand, still clutched in his hand. All three Dursleys flinched, looking terrified.
‘Dudley and I were in the alleyway between Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk,’ said Harry, speaking fast, fighting to control his temper. ‘Dudley thought he'd be smart with me, I pulled out my wand but didn't use it. Then two dementors turned up—’
‘But what ARE Dementoids?’ asked Uncle Vernon furiously. ‘What do they DO?’
‘I told you—they suck all the happiness out of you,’ said Harry, ‘and if they get the chance, they kiss you—’
‘Kiss you?’ said Uncle Vernon, his eyes popping slightly. ‘Kiss you?’
‘It's what they call it when they suck the soul out of your mouth.’
Aunt Petunia uttered a soft scream.
‘His soul? They didn't take—he's still got his—’
She seized Dudley by the shoulders and shook him, as though testing to see whether she could hear his soul rattling around inside him.
‘Of course they didn't get his soul, you'd know if they had,’ said Harry, exasperated.
‘Fought ‘em off, did you, son?’ said Uncle Vernon loudly, with the appearance of a man struggling to bring the conversation back on to a plane he understood. ‘Gave ‘em the old one-two, did you?’
‘You can't give a Dementor the old one-two,’ said Harry through clenched teeth.
‘Why's he all right, then?’ blustered Uncle Vernon. ‘Why isn't he all empty, then?’
‘Because I used the Patronus—’
WHOOSH. With a clattering, a whirring of wings and a soft fall of dust, a fourth owl came shooting out of the kitchen fireplace.
‘FOR GOD'S SAKE!’ roared Uncle Vernon, pulling great clumps of hair out of his moustache, something he hadn't been driven to do in a long time. ‘I WILL NOT HAVE OWLS HERE, I WILL NOT TOLERATE THIS, I TELL YOU!’
But Harry was already pulling a roll of parchment from the owl's leg. He was so convinced that this letter had to be from Dumbledore, explaining everything—the dementors, Mrs. Figg, what the Ministry was up to, how he, Dumbledore, intended to sort everything out—that for the first time in his life he was disappointed to see Sirius's handwriting. Ignoring Uncle Vernons ongoing rant about owls, and narrowing his eyes against a second cloud of dust as the most recent owl took off back up the chimney, Harry read Sirius's message.
Arthur has just told us what's happened. Don't leave the house again, whatever you do.
Harry found this such an inadequate response to everything that had happened tonight that he turned the piece of parchment over, looking for the rest of the letter, but there was nothing else.
And now his temper was rising again. Wasn't anybody going to say ‘well done’ for fighting off two dementors single-handed? Both Mr. Weasley and Sirius were acting as though he'd misbehaved, and were saving their tellings-off until they could ascertain how much damage had been done.
‘—a peck, I mean, pack of owls shooting in and out of my house. I won't have it, boy, I won't—’
‘I can't stop the owls coming,’ Harry snapped, crushing Sirius's letter in his fist.
‘I want the truth about what happened tonight!’ barked Uncle Vernon. ‘If it was demenders who hurt Dudley, how come you've been expelled? You did you-know-what, you've admitted, it!’
Harry took a deep, steadying breath. His head was beginning to ache again. He wanted more than anything to get out of the kitchen, and away from the Dursleys.
‘I did the Patronus Charm to get rid of the dementors,’ he said, forcing himself to remain calm. ‘It's the only thing that works against them.’
‘But what were Dementoids doing in Little Whinging?’ said Uncle Vernon in an outraged tone.
‘Couldn't tell you,’ said Harry wearily. ‘No idea.’
His head was pounding in the glare of the strip-lighting now. His anger was ebbing away. He felt drained, exhausted. The Dursleys were all staring at him.
‘It's you,’ said Uncle Vernon forcefully. ‘It's got something to do with you, boy, I know it. Why else would they turn up here? Why else would they be down that alleyway? You've got to be the only—the only—’ Evidently, he couldn't bring himself to say the word ‘wizard'. The only you-know-what for miles.’
‘I don't know why they were here.’
But at Uncle Vernon's words, Harry's exhausted brain had ground back into action. Why had the dementors come to Little Whinging? How could it be coincidence that they had arrived in the alleyway where Harry was? Had they been sent? Had the Ministry of Magic lost control of the dementors? Had they deserted Azkaban and joined Voldemort, as Dumbledore had predicted they would?
‘These demembers guard some weirdo prison?’ asked Uncle Vernon, lumbering along in the wake of Harry's train of thought.
‘Yes,’ said Harry.
If only his head would stop hurting, if only he could just leave the kitchen and get to his dark bedroom and think....
‘Oho! They were coming to arrest you!’ said Uncle Vernon, with the triumphant air of a man reaching an unassailable conclusion. ‘That's it, isn't it, boy? You're on the run from the law!’
‘Of course I'm not,’ said Harry, shaking his head as though to scare off a fly, his mind racing now.
‘Then why—?’
‘He must have sent them,’ said Harry quietly, more to himself than to Uncle Vernon.
‘What's that? Who must have sent them?’
‘Lord Voldemort,’ said Harry.
He registered dimly how strange it was that the Dursleys, who flinched, winced and squawked if they heard words like ‘wizard', ‘magic’ or ‘wand', could hear the name of the most evil wizard of all time without the slightest tremor.
‘Lord—hang on,’ said Uncle Vernon, his face screwed up, a look of dawning comprehension coming into his piggy eyes. ‘I've heard that name ... that was the one who...’
‘Murdered my parents, yes,’ Harry said dully.
‘But he's gone,’ said Uncle Vernon impatiently, without the slightest sign that the murder of Harry's parents might be a painful topic. ‘That giant bloke said so. He's gone.’
‘He's back,’ said Harry heavily.
It felt very strange to be standing here in Aunt Petunia's surgically clean kitchen, beside the top-of-the-range fridge and the wide-screen television, talking calmly of Lord Voldemort to Uncle Vernon. The arrival of the dementors in Little Whinging seemed to have breached the great, invisible wall that divided the relentlessly non-magical world of Privet Drive and the world beyond. Harry's two lives had somehow become fused and everything had been turned upside-down; the Dursleys were asking for details about the magical world, and Mrs. Figg knew Albus Dumbledore; dementors were soaring around Little Whinging, and he might never return to Hogwarts. Harry's head throbbed more painfully.
‘Back?’ whispered Aunt Petunia.
She was looking at Harry as she had never looked at him before. And all of a sudden, for the very first time in his life, Harry fully appreciated that Aunt Petunia was his mother's sister. He could not have said why this hit him so very powerfully at this moment. All he knew was that he was not the only person in the room who had an inkling of what Lord Voldemort being back might mean. Aunt Petunia had never in her life looked at him like that before. Her large, pale eyes (so unlike her sisters) were not narrowed in dislike or anger, they were wide and fearful. The furious pretence that Aunt Petunia had maintained all Harry's life—that there was no magic and no world other than the world she inhabited with Uncle Vernon—seemed to have fallen away.
‘Yes,’ Harry said, talking directly to Aunt Petunia now. He came back a month ago. I saw him.’
Her hands found Dudley's massive leather-clad shoulders and clutched them.
‘Hang on,’ said Uncle Vernon, looking from his wife to Harry and back again, apparently dazed and confused by the unprecedented understanding that seemed to have sprung up between them. ‘Hang on. This Lord Voldything's back, you say.’
‘Yes.’
‘The one who murdered your parents.’
‘Yes.’
‘And now he's sending dismembers after you?’
‘Looks like it,’ said Harry.
‘I see,’ said Uncle Vernon, looking from his white-faced wife to Harry and hitching up his trousers. He seemed to be swelling, his great purple face stretching before Harry's eyes. ‘Well, that settles it,’ he said, his shirt front straining as he inflated himself, ‘you can get out of this house, boy!’
‘What?’ said Harry.
‘You heard me—OUT!’ Uncle Vernon bellowed, and even Aunt Petunia and Dudley jumped. ‘OUT! OUT! I should've done this years ago! Owls treating the place like a rest home, puddings exploding, half the lounge destroyed, Dudley's tail, Marge bobbing around on the ceiling and that flying Ford Anglia—OUT! OUT! You've had it! You're history! You're not staying here if some loony's after you, you're not endangering my wife and son, you're not bringing trouble down on us, if you're going the same way as your useless parents, I've had it! OUT!’
Harry stood rooted to the spot. The letters from the Ministry, Mr. Weasley and Sirius were all crushed in his left hand. Don't leave the house again, whatever you do. DO NOT LEAVE YOUR AUNT AND UNCLE'S HOUSE.
‘You heard me!’ said Uncle Vernon, bending forwards now, his massive purple face coming so close to Harry's, he actually felt flecks of spit hit his face. ‘Get going! You were all keen to leave half an hour ago! I'm right behind you! Get out and never darken our doorstep again! Why we ever kept you in the first place, I don't know, Marge was right, it should have been the orphanage. We were too damn soft for our own good, thought we could squash it out of you, thought we could turn you normal, but you've been rotten from the beginning and I've had enough—OWLS!’
The fifth owl zoomed down the chimney so fast it actually hit the floor before zooming into the air again with a loud screech. Harry raised his hand to seize the letter, which was in a scarlet envelope, but it soared straight over his head, flying directly at Aunt Petunia, who let out a scream and ducked, her arms over her face. The owl dropped the red envelope on her head, turned, and flew straight back up the chimney.
Harry darted forwards to pick up the letter, but Aunt Petunia beat him to it.
‘You can open it if you like,’ said Harry, ‘but I'll hear what it says anyway. That's a Howler.’
‘Let go of it, Petunia!’ roared Uncle Vernon. ‘Don't touch it, it could be dangerous!’
‘It's addressed to me,’ said Aunt Petunia in a shaking voice. ‘It's addressed to me, Vernon, look! Mrs. Petunia Dursley, The Kitchen, Number Four, Privet Drive—’
She caught her breath, horrified. The red envelope had begun to smoke.
‘Open it!’ Harry urged her. ‘Get it over with! It'll happen anyway.’
‘No.’
Aunt Petunia's hand was trembling. She looked wildly around the kitchen as though looking for an escape route, but too late—the envelope burst into flames. Aunt Petunia screamed and dropped it.
An awful voice filled the kitchen, echoing in the confined space, issuing from the burning letter on the table.
‘REMEMBER MY LAST, PETUNIA.’
Aunt Petunia looked as though she might faint. She sank into the chair beside Dudley, her face in her hands. The remains of the envelope smouldered into ash in the silence.
‘What is this?’ Uncle Vernon said hoarsely. ‘What—I don't—Petunia?’
Aunt Petunia said nothing. Dudley was staring stupidly at his mother, his mouth hanging open. The silence spiralled horribly. Harry was watching his aunt, utterly bewildered, his head throbbing fit to burst.
‘Petunia, dear?’ said Uncle Vernon timidly. ‘P-Petunia?’
She raised her head. She was still trembling. She swallowed.
‘The boy—the boy will have to stay, Vernon,’ she said weakly.
‘W-what?’
‘He stays,’ she said. She was not looking at Harry. She got to her feet again.
‘He ... but Petunia...’
‘If we throw him out, the neighbours will talk,’ she said. She was rapidly regaining her usual brisk, snappish manner, though she was still very pale. ‘They'll ask awkward questions, they'll want to know where he's gone. We'll have to keep him.’
Uncle Vernon was deflating like an old tyre.
‘But Petunia, dear—’
Aunt Petunia ignored him. She turned to Harry.
‘You're to stay in your room,’ she said. ‘You're not to leave the house. Now get to bed.’
Harry didn't move.
‘Who was that Howler from?’
‘Don't ask questions,’ Aunt Petunia snapped.
‘Are you in touch with wizards?’
‘I told you to get to bed!’
‘What did it mean? Remember the last what?’
‘Go to bed!’
‘How come—?’
‘YOU HEARD YOUR AUNT, NOW GO UP TO BED!’
“你说什么？”哈利一片茫然。 
　　“他走了，”费格太太两手湿淋淋的说道，“他离开是为了去看一个人，那个人从扫帚背上，掉下去一组坩埚！我告诉过他，如果他离开我会活剥了他的皮，现在看看都发生了什么！摄魂怪！这次还是幸运的，我把提比斯先生拉进这个事件当中！但是我们还是没有时间巡视周围！现在，哈利，我们要送你回家！哦，这个麻烦本来不应当发生的！我要杀了他！” 
　　“但是—”对哈利来说，发现他的那个疯狂的爱猫的老太太邻居，居然知道摄魂怪是什么东西，这一点对哈利的震撼与在小巷遇上两只摄魂怪几乎一样大。“你是—你是一个女巫？” 
　　“正如蒙顿格斯完全了解的那样，我是一个哑炮（巫师界对于那些具有传统巫师血统却没有魔法的人的一种称呼），因此怎么能够想象我有能力帮助你击退摄魂怪呢？可是在我警告过他的情况下，他却毫不明智的离开了你—” 
　　蒙顿格斯一直在跟着我？啊哈—是他！是他在我的房子前面闹出了这么大的动静！ 
　　“是的！是的！是的！但是幸运的是，仅仅为了以防万一，我还让提比斯先生驻守在一辆车子底下（第一章里面那头跑出去的猫），而提比斯先生也确实跑来警告了我，但是当我去你家的时候你已经离开了—而现在—哦！丹伯多将会怎么说呢？”“你！”她对着仍然仰躺在小巷地上的达德里大声叫道，“把你的肥屁股离开地面，快点！” 
　　“你认识丹伯多？”哈利盯着她说。 
　　“我当然认识丹伯多，又有谁不认识丹伯多呢？但是现在来吧—如果它们再回来，我可就无能为力了，我从未做到过象变形成一只喝茶包这样的魔法。” 
　　她停了下来，用她枯瘦的手抓着达德里的一只肥胖的胳膊吃力的拖着。 
　　“起来，你这个没用的笨蛋，起来！” 
　　但是达德里既没能力也不愿意站起来。他赖在地上，全身颤抖、脸色苍白、嘴唇紧闭。 
　　“我来。”哈利抓起达德里的胳膊并举了起来。经过一番巨大的努力他尽力让达德里把脚也抬起来，可达德里看起来还是不省人事。他的小眼睛在眼窝里滚动，汗水布满整个脸庞；当哈利让他自己走的时候，他的身体危险地摇摇晃晃。 
　　“快点！”费格太太歇斯底里的叫道。 
　　哈利把达德里一只肥胖的胳膊架在自己的肩膀上，并把他向街上拖过去，在达德里的重量下哈利的肩膀微微的下垂。费格太太在他们的前面踉踉跄跄，紧张的注视着街道的拐角处。 
　　“把你的魔杖拔出来！”当他们进入紫藤路时，她对哈利说道：“现在别再管什么保密法令了。（保密法令是魔法部制订的关于禁止在麻瓜区域使用魔法的法律），无论如何我们都会被严厉惩罚的，没准象只混蛋一样被龙绞死。谈谈那个有点道理的未成年人巫术限制条例吧：这正是丹伯多所担心的事情—哪里是这条街的尽头？哦，那正是普伦提斯先生。别把你的魔杖放下，孩子！不要让我一直告诉你，我不能使用魔法好不好？” 
　　在用力拖住达德里的同时，稳定的握住魔杖，并不是件容易的事情。哈利不耐烦的撞了一下他的堂兄达德里的肋骨，但是达德里看起来已经失去了所有独立行动的渴望。他整个瘫倒在哈利的肩膀上，而他巨大的脚则拖在地面上。 
　　“为什么你不早告诉我，你是一个哑炮，费格太太？”哈利一边奋力行走，一边气喘吁吁的问道，“当我待在你房子里的时候—为什么你什么也不说？” 
　　“丹伯多的命令。我必须监护你但不能告诉你任何事，你太年轻。我很抱歉给了你如此悲惨的时光，哈利！但是如果杜斯利夫妇认为你喜欢我这里的话，他们就再也不会让你来了。你知道的，这很不容易，但是，哦！瞧我都说了些什么。”她再一次手心出汗并悲伤的叫道：“当丹伯多听到这些的时候—听到蒙顿格斯怎么能离开，直到午夜他都被假定是在执行任务的—他在哪里？我该怎么告诉丹伯多发生的事情？我无法联络。” 
　　“我有一头猫头鹰，你可以借用它。”哈利呻吟着，对他的脊背能够承受达德里的重量感到极为惊讶。 
　　“哈利，你不明白！丹伯多要尽快行动，魔法部有他们自己的探测未成年人施展魔法的渠道，他们现在已经知道了，你必须相信我的话。” 
　　“但是我除掉了摄魂怪，我不得不使用魔法—他们应该更担忧的是，摄魂怪在紫藤路游荡正在干些什么，对吗？” 
　　“哦，亲爱的，我希望事情就是如此，但是我恐怕—蒙顿格斯·弗莱彻，我要杀了你！” 
　　当一个穿着破破烂烂外套的人突然出现在他们面前的时候，响起了一声响亮的破碎声，空气当中充满了一股混合了腐烂烟草味道的酒的刺鼻气味。这个人有着短短的罗圈腿，长而散乱的淡黄色头发，以及充满血丝的，松垂的眼睛，这一切使得他看起来就象一头矮脚猎犬，呈现出一种阴沉的样子。他同样抓着一个银色的小包，哈利立刻就认出来那是一件隐形斗篷。 
　　“早上好吗？费格。”他第一次看了看费格太太，哈利和达德里，然后说道。“在我从事秘密活动期间发生了什么？” 
　　“让你的秘密活动见鬼去吧！”费格太太喊了出来“摄魂怪出现了，你这个没用，该杀的小偷！” 
　　“摄魂怪？” 蒙顿格斯惊呆了，他重复道，“你是说摄魂怪吗？” “是的，就在这里，你是个毫无价值的蹩脚间谍，就在这里！”费格太太尖叫道。“在你的监视下摄魂怪袭击了这个孩子！” 
　　“哎呀，” 蒙顿格斯软弱无力的回答，从费格太太看到哈利，然后有看回来，“哎呀，我—” “你是不是又去买那些偷来的坩埚了！我难道没告诉你不要去吗？我难道—” 
　　“我也知道，我—” 蒙顿格斯看起来很难受，“它，它真的是个很好的商业机会，看—” 费格太太举起那只缠在手臂上的包并把它甩到了蒙顿格斯的脸上，包的细绳顺势缠住了蒙顿格斯的脖子，根据包叮当作响的情况判断，包里应该装满了猫食。 
　　“哎呦—把它拿开—拿开，你这只发疯的老蝙蝠（在英文里蝙蝠和间谍同一单词）！有人会把这事告诉丹伯多的！” 
　　“是的—他们—已经这么做了！”费格太太一边大叫一边把五颜六色的猫食，砸向她能够够的着的蒙顿格斯的每一个部位，“而且—最好是你—你能去告诉丹伯多—为什么你没有在那里救援！” 
　　“保持理智！” 蒙顿格斯说道，他的手护在头上，不断向后退缩，“我正在赶去！我正在赶去！” 然后随着另一声巨大的碎裂声，他消失了。 
　　“我希望丹伯多杀了他！”费格太太狂暴的说道，“现在，过来，哈利，你还在等什么？” 
　　哈利决定不再浪费他剩下的气力，去指出在达德里的重压下他几乎无法移动。他将半昏迷的达德里举了一下，使他更向前倾。 
　　“我将把你送到门口，”当他们拐进女贞路的时候费格太太说道：“只不过万一周围还有更多的摄魂怪，哦！我的上帝啊，这真是一场大灾难，而你就必须凭自己的力量击退它们，而且丹伯多说过，我们应当不惜一切代价以使你免于使用魔法，好吧！我想现在不是为小事担心的时候，不过那些猫现在在恶作剧。” 
　　“因此，”哈利气喘吁吁的说道，“丹伯多一直在跟着我吗？” 
　　“当然…是的，”费格太太语气明显缺乏耐心的说道，“你以为在六月的事件发生之后，他会放任你在四周闲逛吗？好了，孩子，他们告诉我让你待在这里是明智而正确的，”当他们抵达四号门牌的时候费格太太这样说道，“我希望很快就会有人将和你接触了。” 
　　“你现在要去干什么？”哈利很快的问道。 
　　“我直接回家，”费格太太回答道，她盯着四周黑暗的街道，浑身发抖，“我需要等待更多的，只是，在那之前仅仅是待在家里。晚安！” 
　　“等等，现在别走！我想知道—” 
　　但是费格太太已经一路小跑的离开了，她的拖鞋嗒嗒作响，细线包也在叮当作响。 
　　“等等！”哈利在她后面大声叫着。他有一百万个问题要问任何一个与丹伯多教授有接触的人：但是在几秒钟之内，费格太太的身影就被黑暗吞没了。愁眉苦脸的哈利重新把肩头的达德里调整了一下姿势以使他们缓慢的，浑身疼痛的挪到女贞路四号的花园小径上。 
　　客厅的灯依然亮着。哈利将魔杖收回到牛仔裤的腰带里，摁响了门铃并且看着帕尤妮亚姨妈的轮廓变得越来越大，同时古怪得扭曲在大门的毛玻璃上。 
　　“达德里！也到时间了，我正在变得十分，十分—达德里，发生什么事了！” 
　　哈利看了看旁边的达德里，并且适时的从达德里的手臂下窜了出来。达德里在原地摇晃了一下，他的脸青一块白一块，然后他张开嘴吐的门口到处都是。 
　　“达德里！达德里！到底发生什么事了？维能！维能！” 
　　哈利的姨父从卧室里意气扬扬的走出来，他两端下垂的小胡子被吹的左一根右一根，当他激动不按的时候好象总是这样的。他急忙上前帮助帕尤妮亚姨妈将腿脚发软的达德里弄了进来，同时也避免踩到地上那堆恶心的呕吐物。 
　　“他病了，维能！” 
　　“你感觉如何，儿子？发生什么事了？是否波尔克丝夫人给你喝了某种外国茶？” 
　　“为什么你全身是土，亲爱的？你曾经倒在地上了吗？” 
　　“等等—你的脸没事吧，对吗，儿子？” 
　　帕尤妮亚姨妈尖声大叫。 
　　“叫警察，维能！叫警察！达德里，亲爱的，和妈妈说话啊！他们对你做了什么？” 
　　在整个这场混乱中，始终没人注意到哈利，这很适合他。他想在维能姨父大力关门之前悄悄的溜进去，当达德里将他的噪音节目从客厅搬到厨房时，哈利小心翼翼的移动并且安静的上楼了。 
　　“谁干的，儿子？告诉我们名字。我们会抓到他的，别担心。” 
　　“安静！他想要说什么，维能！发生了什么，达德里？告诉妈妈！” 
　　当达德里找回声音的时候，哈利正好踩在楼梯的最底下。 
　　“是他。” 
　　哈利冻住了，他的脚踩在楼梯上，脸绷的紧紧的。 
　　“小子！过来！” 
　　带着一种混合了恐惧与愤怒的感情，哈利慢慢的从楼梯上移开脚并且转身跟着杜斯利夫妇。 
　　在外面的黑暗之后，小心翼翼清洁过的厨房发出一种古怪的，不真实的闪光。帕尤妮亚姨妈将达德里安置在一张椅子上，达德里依然脸色发青，看上去又湿又冷。维能姨父站在排水盖的前面通过他那双小小的，窄缝般的眼睛盯着哈利。 
　　“你对我的儿子做了什么？”他用一种威胁的口气咆哮着。 
　　“什么也没干。”哈利回答道，他十分清楚维能姨父不会相信他。 
　　“他对你做了什么，达德里？”帕尤妮亚姨妈用一种颤抖的声调问道，她现在正在用海绵清理达德里皮夹克前面的呕吐物。“是不是—是不是—你懂我意思的，亲爱的？他是不是—是不是用了那个东西？” 
　　达德里缓慢的，颤抖的点了一下头。 
　　“我没有！”当帕尤妮亚姨妈发出一声哀号而维能姨父举起他的拳头的时候，哈利大声叫起来，“我什么也没对他干！那不是我！那是—” 
　　但是就在此时，一只长耳的猫头鹰突然通过厨房的窗户猛扑进来。差一点撞上维能姨父的头顶，它滑翔着通过厨房，将它叼在嘴里的一大张羊皮纸的信掉在了哈利的脚边，然后优雅的转身，它翅膀的末端越过冰箱的顶部，然后再次飞到外面急速上升，并穿过花园消失了。 
　　“猫头鹰！”维能姨父怒吼道，暴起的血管在他的脸上愤怒的跳动，他砰的一声将厨房的窗户重重的关上。“又一只猫头鹰！我决不会再让另一只猫头鹰进我的房子！” 
　　但是哈利已经撕开了信封并将里面的信抽了出来，他的心脏的某处地方被重击了一下。 
　　亲爱的波特先生： 
　　我们已经收到情报显示今晚九点二十三分在麻瓜的居住区你施展了帕特拿姆魔法，并且是当着一个麻瓜的面。这一行为已经违反了限制未成年人巫术使用条例第七十条的规定，这将导致你被逐出霍格瓦彻魔法学校。魔法部的代表将在短时间内抵达你的住处并毁掉你的魔杖。 
　　由于你上一次违反《国际魔法师联盟关于保密的相关条款》第13条的规定，已经收到过一次正式警告，我们很遗憾的通知你，必须在8月12日上午九点到魔法部出席一个训诫听证会。 
　　希望你一切都好， 
　　你真诚的， 
　　马法尔达·霍普凯克 
　　魔法部不适当使用魔法办公室 
　　哈利将这封信读了两遍。他仅仅能模糊的意识到维能姨父和帕尤妮亚姨妈的谈话。在他的头脑里一切都冰冷而麻木。这一事实就象一根麻痹飞镖一样穿透了他的意识。他被霍格瓦彻除名了。一切都完了。他再也回不去了。 
　　他抬头看着杜斯利夫妇。维能姨父的脸色发紫，正在大声咆哮，他的拳头仍然高举着。帕尤妮亚姨妈的手臂搂着达德里，后者又一次呕吐。 
　　哈利短暂麻木的大脑看起来重新清醒了。魔法部的代表将很快抵达你的住处并且毁掉你的魔杖。这只能意味着一件事。那就是他现在必须马上跑。要去哪里哈利并不知道，但是他可以肯定一件事，无论是在霍格瓦彻还是在外面他都需要他的魔杖。在梦一般的状态下，他拔出了自己的魔杖并转身离开了厨房。 
　　“你认为你要去哪里？”维能姨父叫道。当哈利拒绝回答的时候，他穿过厨房并且重重的锁上了通往客厅的门。“我们还没完，小子！” 
　　“让开，”哈利平静的说。 
　　“你将待在这里并解释清楚我儿子怎么了。” 
　　“如果你不让开我将诅咒你，”哈利说道，并同时举起了魔杖。 
　　“你不能在我面前把那个东西拔出来！”维能姨父吼道。“我知道你在那座被你称之为学校的那所疯狂建筑外面是不被允许使用魔法的！” 
　　“这所疯狂建筑已经将我开除了”哈利说道。”因此我能够做我喜欢的任何事。你还有三秒钟。一—二—” 
　　一声巨大的玻璃碎裂的声音充满了卧室。帕尤妮亚姨妈又尖叫起来。 
　　刻意忽略维能姨父的喊叫并快速蹲下，于是这个晚上的第三次，哈利搜索造成骚动的来源，这不是他造成的。他立刻就发现了它，一只头昏眼花，浑身褶子的谷仓猫头鹰（这是可怜的威斯里家猫头鹰的典型特征，它没在送信途中死掉真是一个不折不扣的奇迹啊）正蹲在厨房外面的窗台上，刚刚就是它撞上了关着的窗户。 
　　假装没听见维能姨父苦恼的喊着“猫头鹰！”哈利穿过屋子并把窗户打开。这只猫头鹰的两腿并在一起，嘴里叼着一小卷羊皮纸，震动着它的羽毛，并在哈利拿到信的一瞬间就跑了。哈利的手颤抖着打开第二封信，这封信的字迹相当潦草，而且用的是廉价的黑墨水。 
　　哈利： 
　　丹伯多刚刚赶到魔法部，他正在尽力摆平这件事。不要离开你姨父和姨妈的家。不要再次施展任何魔法。不要交出你的魔杖。 
　　亚瑟·威斯里 
　　丹伯多正在尽力摆平这件事，这究竟是什么意思呢？丹伯多究竟要有多大的力量才能不顾魔法部的指令呢？那么，他是否还有机会重返霍格瓦彻魔法学校呢？一点小小的希望在哈利的心里萌芽，可是很快就被恐惧扼杀；他要怎么做才能在不使用魔法的情况下拒绝交出自己的魔杖呢？他将不得不和魔法部的代表决斗，并且如果他真的这么作了，他将被扔进阿滋卡班巫师监狱，而不仅仅是开除。 
　　他的头脑正在飞速运转，他可以冒着被魔法部通缉的风险逃跑，或者是待在这里等着魔法部的人找到他。他觉得前一种选择诱惑很大，但是他知道威斯里先生是真诚的，并且不管怎么说，在丹伯多试图解决这一事件之前还是不要使事件更加恶化为好。 
　　“正确，”哈利说道，“我已经改主意了，我要待在这里。”他猛的冲到厨房桌子旁边面对着达德里和帕尤妮亚姨妈。杜斯利夫妇看来对哈利想法的急剧改变疑惑不解。帕尤妮亚姨妈绝望的盯着维能姨父。后者紫色的脸上血管比刚才暴的更突出了。 
　　“所有这些红色的猫头鹰都是从哪来的？”他抱怨道。 
　　“第一只是魔法部直属的猫头鹰，它来开除我，”哈利平静的说。他正竖起耳朵捕捉外面的任何动静，万一魔法部的代表正在接近这里的话，更加简洁安静的回答维能姨父的问题总好过让他暴怒并咆哮。“第二只来自我朋友罗恩的父亲，他在魔法部工作。” 
　　“魔法部？”维能姨父叫道：“象你一样的家伙居然在政府里！哦，这就可以解释一切，所有的事，毫无疑问我们的国家正在走向灭亡。” 
　　当哈利还没回应的时候，维能姨父盯着他，然后一巴掌打过去，“那么他们为何开除你？” 
　　“因为我使用魔法。” 
　　“啊哈！”维能姨父叫道，同时把他的拳头重重的打在冰箱的上面，一些属于达德里的低热量小吃倒了出来并且洒在地板上。“因此你用了魔法！你对达德里干了什么？” 
　　“什么也没干，”哈利说道，他的声音已经有一点缺乏冷静，“那不是我—” 
　　“是你。”达德里毫无征兆的嘟噜起来，维能姨父和帕尤妮亚姨妈立刻示意哈利安静，并同时把腰弯到达德里上方。 
　　“接着说，儿子。”维能姨父说道，“他干了什么？” 
　　“告诉我们，亲爱的，”帕尤妮亚姨妈也小声说着。 
　　“他用魔杖指着我。”达德里小声嘟噜。 
　　“是的，我这么做了，但是我并没有使用—”哈利开始愤怒了，但是— 
　　“闭嘴！”维能姨父和帕尤妮亚姨妈一起叫道。 
　　“接着说，儿子，”维能姨父重复了一遍，他的小胡子因狂怒而翘了起来。 
　　“一切都变黑了，”达德里嘶哑的尖叫着，浑身颤抖。“一切都变黑了。然后我就听见—听见有个声音在我脑子里。” 
　　维能姨父和帕尤妮亚姨妈交换了一个绝对恐怖的眼神。如果他们在这个世界上最深恶痛绝的就是魔法的话—这一条对他们撒谎多过做事的邻居而言，则紧随其后的是禁用软管的法令（因为干旱而出台的禁用自来水给花圃浇水的法令）—人们在这种事情上总是爱憎分明。杜斯利夫妇很显然的认为达德里已经丧失理智了。 
　　“你听见什么了？”帕尤妮亚姨妈脸色苍白，眼睛里充满泪水说道。 
　　但是达德里看样子没能力再说下去了。他再一次的浑身发抖并使劲摇晃着他那棵肥大的金发碧眼的脑袋，尽管自从第一只猫头鹰到达之后，对恐惧的麻木感就一直盘踞着哈利，他还是感到了某种程度的好奇。摄魂怪让一个人重新经历他一生中最糟糕的时刻。那个从小被宠溺，饮食过量，欺凌弱小的达德里被迫听见的会是什么呢？ 
　　“那么你接下来是怎样头朝下摔倒的呢，儿子？”维能姨父用一种异乎寻常的平静口气问道，这种口气他只在垂危病人的身边才会采用。 
　　“脚绊倒的，”达德里虚弱不堪的说道。“而且后来—” 
　　他的手指着肥胖的胸部。哈利明白了。达德里正在回忆起那种充满肺部的湿粘的寒冷，并且所有的快乐都从他体内被吸走。 
　　“太恐怖了，”达德里嘶哑的叫道。“寒冷。真正的寒冷。” 
　　“好的，”维能姨父以一种强迫自己平静的语调说道，而与此同时帕尤妮亚姨妈焦虑的把一只手放在达德里的额头上以感觉他的体温。“然后发生了什么，达德里？” 
　　“感到—感到—感到仿佛—仿佛地狱” 
　　“仿佛你再也不会有快乐。”哈利迟钝的补充着。 
　　“是的，“达德里小声说道，身体仍然在发抖。 
　　“因此！”维能姨父的声音恢复了那种高亢的调门，好象他正在澄清事实。“你在我的儿子身上使用了某些疯狂的咒语，因此他听到了某种声音，并且认为他是—是注定命运悲惨，或是别的什么，是吗？““你要我告诉你多少次啊？”哈利说道，他的脾气和声音都提高了，“那不是我！那是两只摄魂怪！” 
　　“两只—你在胡言乱语什么？” 
　　“摄—魂—怪，”哈利说得清晰而缓慢，“两只。” 
　　“那么这种地狱里的生物是干什么的？” 
　　“他们守卫巫师监狱，阿滋卡班。”帕尤妮亚姨妈说道。 
　　在说完这些话并经过两秒钟的安静之后，帕尤妮亚姨妈捂住了自己的嘴，仿佛她让一个令人厌恶的诅咒从嘴里滑了出来。维能姨父瞪大眼睛看着她。哈利的大脑一阵眩晕。费格太太已经是一次了—难道帕尤妮亚姨妈也是吗？““你是怎么知道这事的？”他惊讶的问帕尤妮亚姨妈。 
　　帕尤妮亚姨妈也十分惊异的看着自己。她用一种害怕的歉意盯着维能姨父，然后轻轻的放下手并露出了她马一样的牙齿。 
　　“我听见—那个可怕的小子—在很多年前告诉她关于摄魂怪的事，”她迟疑的说道。 
　　“如果你说的是我的父母，为何不用他们的名字？”哈利大声说道，可是帕尤妮亚姨妈没理他。她看上去恐惧而慌乱。哈利晕了。除了一年前的那次爆发以外，哈利从未听帕尤妮亚姨妈提及过自己的母亲，而仅有的那一次，姨妈高声尖叫说哈利的母亲是个思想怪诞的人。哈利十分惊讶，当帕尤妮亚姨妈尽其所能假装那个魔法世界是完全不存在的时候，她居然还能记得多年以前听过的有关魔法世界的只鳞片羽的信息。 
　　维能姨父张嘴，又闭上，再张嘴，又再一次闭上，很显然他不知如何说，当他第三次张嘴的时候他终于嘶哑的说道：“因此—因此—他们—他们是—他们是真的存在，他们是—现实存在的？” 
　　帕尤妮亚姨妈点点头。 
　　维能姨父从帕尤妮亚姨妈看到达德里再看到哈利，仿佛希望有人告诉他这是“四月愚人节”。当看到没有人这么做的时候，他再一次开口了，但是他好不容易找到的贫乏的谚语被今晚第三只猫头鹰的来访打断了。它象一棵有羽毛的加农炮弹一样从仍然开着的窗户冲下来，并且停在了厨房的桌子上，这使的杜斯利一家三口都害怕的跳起来。哈利从这只猫头鹰的嘴上取下了第二封象官方文件的信，并且在猫头鹰再次突然返回夜空的时候拆开了信。 
　　“够了—快滚—猫头鹰，”维能姨父叫道，它冲到窗户前面并且再一次重重的关上了窗户。 
　　亲爱的波特先生： 
　　在你二十二分钟之前收到我们的信件之后，我们更深入的进行了研究，魔法部修改了立即摧毁你的魔杖的决定。你可以保留你的魔杖直至你参加8月12日的听证会，在那个时候我们将作出一个官方决定。 
　　另外在与霍格瓦彻魔法学校校长进行讨论之后，魔法部同意将是否开除你的问题也延后至那时决定。你在学校还未作出决定之前，因此被认定为暂缓离校。 
　　致以最美好的祝愿 
　　你真诚的 
　　马法尔达·霍普凯克 
　　魔法部不适当使用魔法办公室 
　　哈利很快的将这封信读了三遍。随着他得知自己并非明确除名之后，在他心里那个痛苦的疙瘩稍稍放松了，尽管这并不意味着他的害怕就此消除。看起来在8月12日的听证会上任何事都是有可能发生的。 
　　“怎么样？”维能姨父的话将哈利拉回了现实。“现在怎么样？他们怎样宣判你的？是否你的行为被判处死刑了？”他在后面加上了一个充满希望的联想。 
　　“我要出席一个听证会，”哈利说道。 
　　“那么他们会在那儿宣判你吗？” 
　　“我想是的。” 
　　“那么我们还没有丧失希望，”维能姨父不怀好意的说。 
　　“好吧，如果没事的话，”哈利说着迈开了脚步。他要一个人静一静来思考对策，也许应当寄封信给罗恩、荷
Chapter 3 The Advanced Guard
I've just been attacked by dementors and I might be expelled from Hogwarts. I want to know what's going on and when I'm going to get out of here.
Harry copied these words on to three separate pieces of parchment the moment he reached the desk in his dark bedroom. He addressed the first to Sirius, the second to Ron, and the third to Hermione. His owl, Hedwig, was off hunting; her cage stood empty on the desk. Harry paced the bedroom waiting for her to come back, his head pounding, his brain too busy for sleep even though his eyes stung and itched with tiredness. His back ached from hauling Dudley home, and the two lumps on his head where the window and Dudley had hit him were throbbing painfully.
Up and down he paced, consumed with anger and frustration, grinding his teeth and clenching his fists, casting angry looks out at the empty, star-strewn sky every time he passed the window. Dementors sent to get him, Mrs. Figg and Mundungus Fletcher tailing him in secret, then suspension from Hogwarts and a hearing at the Ministry of Magic—and still no one was telling him what was going on.
And what, what, had that Howler been about? Whose voice had echoed so horribly, so menacingly, through the kitchen?
Why was he still trapped here without information? Why was everyone treating him like some naughty kid? Don't do any more magic, stay in the house...
He kicked his school trunk as he passed it, but far from relieving his anger he felt worse, as he now had a sharp pain in his toe to deal with in addition to the pain in the rest of his body.
Just as he limped past the window, Hedwig soared through it with a soft rustle of wings like a small ghost.
‘About time!’ Harry snarled, as she landed lightly on top of her cage. ‘You can put that down, I've got work for you!’
Hedwig's large, round, amber eyes gazed at him reproachfully over the dead frog clamped in her beak.
‘Come here,’ said Harry, picking up the three small rolls of parchment and a leather thong and tying the scrolls to her scaly leg. ‘Take these straight to Sirius, Ron and Hermione and don't come back here without good long replies. Keep pecking them till they've written decent-length answers if you've got to. Understand?’
Hedwig gave a muffled hooting noise, her beak still full of frog.
‘Get going, then,’ said Harry.
She took off immediately. The moment she'd gone, Harry threw himself down on his bed without undressing and stared at the dark ceiling. In addition to every other miserable feeling, he now felt guilty that he'd been irritable with Hedwig; she was the only friend he had at number four, Privet Drive. But he'd make it up to her when she came back with the answers from Sirius, Ron and Hermione.
They were bound to write back quickly; they couldn't possibly ignore a Dementor attack. He'd probably wake up tomorrow to three fat letters full of sympathy and plans for his immediate removal to The Burrow. And with that comforting idea, sleep rolled over him, stifling all further thought.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
But Hedwig didn't return next morning. Harry spent the day in his bedroom, leaving it only to go to the bathroom. Three times that day Aunt Petunia shoved food into his room through the cat-flap Uncle Vernon had installed three summers ago. Every time Harry heard her approaching he tried to question her about the Howler, but he might as well have interrogated the doorknob for all the answers he got. Otherwise, the Dursleys kept well clear of his bedroom. Harry couldn't see the point of forcing his company on them; another row would achieve nothing except perhaps make him so angry he'd perform more illegal magic.
So it went on for three whole days. Harry was alternately filled with restless energy that made him unable to settle to anything, during which time he paced his bedroom, furious at the whole lot of them for leaving him to stew in this mess, and with a lethargy so complete that he could lie on his bed for an hour at a time, staring dazedly into space, aching with dread at the thought of the Ministry hearing.
What if they ruled against him? What if he was expelled and his wand was snapped in half? What would he do, where would he go? He could not return to living full-time with the Dursleys, not now he knew the other world, the one to which he really belonged.... Might he be able to move into Sirius's house, as Sirius had suggested a year ago, before he had been forced to flee from the Ministry? Would Harry be allowed to live there alone, given that he was still underage? Or would the matter of where he went next be decided for him? Had his breach of the International Statute of Secrecy been severe enough to land him in a cell in Azkaban? Whenever this thought occurred, Harry invariably slid off his bed and began pacing again.
On the fourth night after Hedwig's departure Harry was lying in one of his apathetic phases, staring at the ceiling, his exhausted mind quite blank, when his uncle entered his bedroom. Harry looked slowly around at him. Uncle Vernon was wearing his best suit and an expression of enormous smugness.
‘We're going out,’ he said.
‘Sorry?’
‘We—that is to say, your aunt, Dudley and I—are going out.’
‘Fine,’ said Harry dully, looking back at the ceiling.
‘You are not to leave your bedroom while we are away.’
‘OK.’
‘You are not to touch the television, the stereo, or any of our possessions.’
‘Right.’
‘You are not to steal food from the fridge.’
‘OK.’
‘I am going to lock your door.’
‘You do that.’
Uncle Vernon glared at Harry, clearly suspicious of this lack of argument, then stomped out of the room and closed the door behind him. Harry heard the key turn in the lock and Uncle Vernon's footsteps walking heavily down the stairs. A few minutes later he heard the slamming of car doors, the rumble of an engine, and the unmistakeable sound of the car sweeping out of the drive.
Harry had no particular feeling about the Dursleys leaving. It made no difference to him whether they were in the house or not. He could not even summon the energy to get up and turn on his bedroom light. The room grew steadily darker around him as he lay listening to the night sounds through the window he kept open all the time, waiting for the blessed moment when Hedwig returned.
The empty house creaked around him. The pipes gurgled. Harry lay there in a kind of stupor, thinking of nothing, suspended in misery.
Then, quite distinctly, he heard a crash in the kitchen below.
He sat bolt upright, listening intently. The Dursleys couldn't be back, it was much too soon, and in any case he hadn't heard their car.
There was silence for a few seconds, then voices.
Burglars, he thought, sliding off the bed on to his feet—but a split second later it occurred to him that burglars would keep their voices down, and whoever was moving around in the kitchen was certainly not troubling to do so.
He snatched up his wand from the bedside table and stood facing his bedroom door, listening with all his might. Next moment, he jumped as the lock gave a loud click and his door swung open.
Harry stood motionless, staring through the open doorway at the dark upstairs landing, straining his ears for further sounds, but none came. He hesitated for a moment, then moved swiftly and silently out of his room to the head of the stairs.
His heart shot upwards into his throat. There were people standing in the shadowy hall below, silhouetted against the streetlight glowing through the glass door; eight or nine of them, all, as far as he could see, looking up at him.
‘Lower your wand, boy, before you take someone's eye out,’ said a low, growling voice.
Harry's heart was thumping uncontrollably. He knew that voice, but he did not lower his wand.
‘Professor Moody?’ he said uncertainly.
‘I don't know so much about “Professor",’ growled the voice, ‘never got round to much teaching, did I? Get down here, we want to see you properly.’
Harry lowered his wand slightly but did not relax his grip on it, nor did he move. He had very good reason to be suspicious. He had recently spent nine months in what he had thought was Mad-Eye Moody's company only to find out that it wasn't Moody at all, but an impostor; an impostor, moreover, who 
‘It's all right, Harry. We've come to take you away.’
Harry's heart leapt. He knew that voice, too, though he hadn't heard it for over a year.
‘P-Professor Lupin?’ he said disbelievingly. ‘Is that you?’
‘Why are we all standing in the dark?’ said a third voice, this one completely unfamiliar, a woman's. ‘Lumos.’
A wand-tip flared, illuminating the hall with magical light. Harry blinked. The people below were crowded around the foot of the stairs, gazing up at him intently, some craning their heads for a better look.
Remus Lupin stood nearest to him. Though still quite young, Lupin looked tired and rather ill; he had more grey hairs than when Harry had last said good-bye to him and his robes were more patched and shabbier than ever. Nevertheless, he was smiling broadly at Harry, who tried to smile back despite his state of shock.
‘Oooh, he looks just like I thought he would,’ said the witch who was holding her lit wand aloft. She looked the youngest there; she had a pale heart-shaped face, dark twinkling eyes, and short spiky hair that was a violent shade of violet. ‘Wotcher, Harry!’
‘Yeah, I see what you mean, Remus,’ said a bald black wizard standing furthest back; he had a deep, slow voice and wore a single gold hoop in his ear. ‘He looks exactly like James.’
‘Except the eyes,’ said a wheezy-voiced, silver-haired wizard at the back. ‘Lily's eyes.’
Mad-Eye Moody, who had long grizzled grey hair and a large chunk missing from his nose, was squinting suspiciously at Harry through his mismatched eyes. One eye was small, dark and beady, the other large, round and electric blue—the magical eye that could see through walls, doors, and the back of Moody's own head.
‘Are you quite sure it's him, Lupin?’ he growled. ‘It'd be a nice lookout if we bring back some Death Eater impersonating him. We ought to ask him something only the real Potter would know. Unless anyone brought any Veritaserum?’
‘Harry, what form does your Patronus take?’ Lupin asked.
‘A stag,’ said Harry nervously.
‘That's him, Mad-Eye,’ said Lupin.
Very conscious of everybody still staring at him, Harry descended the stairs, stowing his wand in the back pocket of his jeans as he came.
‘Don't put your wand there, boy!’ roared Moody. ‘What if it ignited? Better wizards than you have lost buttocks, you know!’
‘Who d'you know who's lost a buttock?’ the violet-haired woman asked Mad-Eye interestedly.
‘Never you mind, you just keep your wand out of your back pocket!’ growled Mad-Eye. ‘Elementary wand-safety, nobody bothers about it any more.’ He stumped off towards the kitchen. ‘And I saw that,’ he added irritably, as the woman rolled her eyes towards the ceiling.
Lupin held out his hand and shook Harry's.
‘How are you?’ he asked, looking closely at Harry.
‘F-fine...’
Harry could hardly believe this was real. Four weeks with nothing, not the tiniest hint of a plan to remove him from Privet Drive, and suddenly a whole bunch of wizards was standing matter-of-factly in the house as though this was a long-standing arrangement. He glanced at the people surrounding Lupin; they were still gazing avidly at him. He felt very conscious of the fact that he had not combed his hair for four days.
‘I'm—you're really lucky the Dursleys are out...’ he mumbled.
‘Lucky, ha!’ said the violet-haired woman. ‘It was me who lured them out of the way. Sent a letter by Muggle post telling them they'd been short-listed for the All-England Best Kept Suburban Lawn Competition. They're heading off to the prize-giving right now.... Or they think they are.’
Harry had a fleeting vision of Uncle Vernon's face when he realised there was no All-England Best Kept Suburban Lawn Competition.
‘We are leaving, aren't we?’ he asked. ‘Soon?’
‘Almost at once,’ said Lupin, ‘we're just waiting for the all-clear.’
‘Where are we going? The Burrow?’ Harry asked hopefully.
‘Not The Burrow, no,’ said Lupin, motioning Harry towards the kitchen; the little knot of wizards followed, all still eyeing Harry curiously. ‘Too risky. We've set up Headquarters somewhere un-detectable. It's taken a while....’
Mad-Eye Moody was now sitting at the kitchen table swigging from a hip flask, his magical eye spinning in all directions, taking in the Dursleys’ many labour-saving appliances.
‘This is Alastor Moody, Harry,’ Lupin continued, pointing towards Moody.
‘Yeah, I know,’ said Harry uncomfortably. It felt odd to be introduced to somebody he'd thought he'd known for a year.
‘And this is Nymphadora—’
‘Don't call me Nymphadora, Remus,’ said the young witch with a shudder, ‘it's Tonks.’
‘Nymphadora Tonks, who prefers to be known by her surname only,’ finished Lupin.
‘So would you if your fool of a mother had called you Nymphadora,’ muttered Tonks.
‘And this is Kingsley Shacklebolt'—he indicated the tall black wizard, who bowed—'Elphias Doge'—the wheezy-voiced wizard nodded—'Dedalus Diggle—’
‘We've met before,’ squeaked the excitable Diggle, dropping his violet-coloured top hat.
‘—Emmeline Vance'—a stately-looking witch in an emerald green shawl inclined her head—'Sturgis Podmore'—a square-jawed wizard with thick straw-coloured hair winked—'and Hestia Jones.’ A pink-cheeked, black-haired witch waved from next to the toaster.
Harry inclined his head awkwardly at each of them as they were introduced. He wished they would look at something other than him; it was as though he had suddenly been ushered on-stage. He also wondered why so many of them were there.
‘A surprising number of people volunteered to come and get you,’ said Lupin, as though he had read Harry's mind; the corners of his mouth twitched slightly.
‘Yeah, well, the more the better,’ said Moody darkly. ‘We're your guard, Potter.’
‘We're just waiting for the signal to tell us it's safe to set off,’ said Lupin, glancing out of the kitchen window. ‘We've got about fifteen minutes.’
‘Very clean, aren't they, these Muggles?’ said the witch called Tonks, who was looking around the kitchen with great interest. ‘My dad's Muggle-born and he's a right old slob. I suppose it varies, just as it does with wizards?’
‘Er—yeah,’ said Harry. ‘Look'—he turned back to Lupin—'what's going on, I haven't heard anything from anyone, what's Vol—?’
Several of the witches and wizards made odd hissing noises; Dedalus Diggle dropped his hat again, and Moody growled, ‘Shut up!’
‘What?’ said Harry.
‘We're not discussing anything here, it's too risky,’ said Moody, turning his normal eye on Harry. His magical eye remained focused on the ceiling. ‘Damn it,’ he added angrily, putting a hand up to the magical eye, ‘it keeps getting stuck—ever since that scum wore it—’
And with a nasty squelching sound much like a plunger being pulled from a sink, he popped out his eye.
‘Mad-Eye, you do know that's disgusting, don't you?’ said Tonks conversationally.
‘Get me a glass of water, would you, Harry,’ requested Moody.
Harry crossed to the dishwasher, took out a clean glass and filled it with water at the sink, still watched eagerly by the band of wizards. Their relentless staring was starting to annoy him.
‘Cheers,’ said Moody, when Harry handed him the glass. He dropped the magical eyeball into the water and prodded it up and down; the eye whizzed around, staring at them all in turn. ‘I want three hundred and sixty degrees visibility on the return journey.’
‘How're we getting—wherever we're going?’ Harry asked.
‘Brooms,’ said Lupin. ‘Only way. You're too young to Apparate, they'll be watching the Floo Network and it's more than our life's worth to set up an unauthorised Portkey.’
‘Remus says you're a good flier,’ said Kingsley Shacklebolt in his deep voice.
‘He's excellent,’ said Lupin, who was checking his watch. ‘Anyway, you'd better go and get packed, Harry, we want to be ready to go when the signal comes.’
‘I'll come and help you,’ said Tonks brightly.
She followed Harry back into the hall and up the stairs, looking around with much curiosity and interest.
‘Funny place,’ she said. ‘It's a bit too clean, d'you know what I mean? Bit unnatural. Oh, this is better,’ she added, as they entered Harry's bedroom and he turned on the light.
His room was certainly much messier than the rest of the house. Confined to it for four days in a very bad mood, Harry had not bothered tidying up after himself. Most of the books he owned were strewn over the floor where he'd tried to distract himself with each in turn and thrown it aside; Hedwig's cage needed cleaning out and was starting to smell; and his trunk lay open, revealing a jumbled mixture of Muggle clothes and wizards’ robes that had spilled on to the floor around it.
Harry started picking up books and throwing them hastily into his trunk. Tonks paused at his open wardrobe to look critically at her reflection in the mirror on the inside of the door.
‘You know, I don't think violet's really my colour,’ she said pensively, tugging at a lock of spiky hair. ‘D'you think it makes me look a bit peaky?’
‘Er—’ said Harry, looking up at her over the top of Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland.
‘Yeah, it does,’ said Tonks decisively. She screwed up her eyes in a strained expression as though she was struggling to remember something. A second later, her hair had turned bubble-gum pink.
‘How did you do that?’ said Harry, gaping at her as she opened her eyes again.
‘I'm a Metamorphmagus,’ she said, looking back at her reflection and turning her head so that she could see her hair from all directions. ‘It means I can change my appearance at will,’ she added, spotting Harry's puzzled expression in the mirror behind her. ‘I was born one. I got top marks in Concealment and Disguise during Auror training without any study at all, it was great.’
‘You're an Auror?’ said Harry, impressed. Being a Dark-wizard-catcher was the only career he'd ever considered after Hogwarts.
‘Yeah,’ said Tonks, looking proud. ‘Kingsley is as well; he's a bit higher up than me, though. I only qualified a year ago. Nearly failed on Stealth and Tracking. I'm dead clumsy, did you hear me break that plate when we arrived downstairs?’
‘Can you learn how to be a Metamorphmagus?’ Harry asked her, straightening up, completely forgetting about packing.
Tonks chuckled.
‘Bet you wouldn't mind hiding that scar sometimes, eh?’
Her eyes found the lightning-shaped scar on Harry's forehead.
‘No, I wouldn't mind,’ Harry mumbled, turning away. He did not like people staring at his scar.
‘Well, you'll have to learn the hard way, I'm afraid,’ said Tonks. ‘Metamorphmagi are really rare, they're born, not made. Most wizards need to use a wand, or potions, to change their appearance. But we've got to get going, Harry, we're supposed to be packing,’ she added guiltily, looking around at all the mess on the floor.
‘Oh—yeah,’ said Harry, grabbing a few more books.
‘Don't be stupid, it'll be much quicker if I—pack!’ cried Tonks, waving her wand in a long, sweeping movement over the floor.
Books, clothes, telescope, and scales all soared into the air and flew pell-mell into the trunk.
‘It's not very neat,’ said Tonks, walking over to the trunk and looking down at the jumble inside. ‘My mum's got this knack of getting stuff to fit itself in neatly—she even gets the socks to fold themselves—but I've never mastered how she does it—it's a kind of flick—’ She flicked her wand hopefully.
One of Harry's socks gave a feeble sort of wiggle and flopped back on top of the mess in the trunk.
‘Ah, well,’ said Tonks, slamming the trunk's lid shut, ‘at least it's all in. That could do with a bit of cleaning, too.’ She pointed her wand at Hedwig's cage. ‘Scourgify.’ A few feathers and droppings vanished. ‘Well, that's a bit better— I've never quite got the hang of these householdy sort of spells. Right—got everything? Cauldron? Broom? Wow! A Firebolt!’
Her eyes widened as they fell on the broomstick in Harry's right hand. It was his pride and joy, a gift from Sirius, an international-standard broomstick.
‘And I'm still riding a Comet Two Sixty,’ said Tonks enviously. ‘Ah well ... wand still in your jeans? Both buttocks still on? OK, let's go. Locomotor trunk.’
Harry's trunk rose a few inches into the air. Holding her wand like a conductors baton, Tonks made the trunk hover across the room and out of the door ahead of them, Hedwig's cage in her left hand. Harry followed her down the stairs carrying his broomstick.
Back in the kitchen Moody had replaced his eye, which was spinning so fast after its cleaning it made Harry feel sick to look at it. Kingsley Shacklebolt and Sturgis Podmore were examining the microwave and Hestia Jones was laughing at a potato peeler she had come across while rummaging in the drawers. Lupin was sealing a letter addressed to the Dursleys.
‘Excellent,’ said Lupin, looking up as Tonks and Harry entered. ‘We've got about a minute, I think. We should probably get out into the garden so we're ready. Harry, I've left a letter telling your aunt and uncle not to worry—’
‘They won't,’ said Harry.
‘—that you're safe—’
‘That'll just depress them.’
‘—and you'll see them next summer.’
‘Do I have to?’
Lupin smiled but made no answer.
‘Come here, boy,’ said Moody gruffly, beckoning Harry towards him with his wand. ‘I need to Disillusion you.’
‘You need to what?’ said Harry nervously.
‘Disillusionment Charm,’ said Moody, raising his wand. ‘Lupin says you've got an Invisibility Cloak, but it won't stay on while we're flying; this'll disguise you better. Here you go—’
He rapped him hard on the top of the head and Harry felt a curious sensation as though Moody had just smashed an egg there; cold trickles seemed to be running down his body from the point the wand had struck.
‘Nice one, Mad-Eye,’ said Tonks appreciatively, staring at Harry's midriff.
Harry looked down at his body, or rather, what had been his body, for it didn't look anything like his any more. It was not invisible; it had simply taken on the exact colour and texture of the kitchen unit behind him. He seemed to have become a human chameleon.
‘Come on,’ said Moody, unlocking the back door with his wand.
They all stepped outside on to Uncle Vernon's beautifully kept lawn.
‘Clear night,’ grunted Moody, his magical eye scanning the heavens. ‘Could've done with a bit more cloud cover. Right, you,’ he barked at Harry, ‘we're going to be flying in close formation. Tonks'll be right in front of you, keep close on her tail. Lupin'll be covering you from below. I'm going to be behind you. The rest'll be circling us. We don't break ranks for anything, got me? If one of us is killed—’
‘Is that likely?’ Harry asked apprehensively, but Moody ignored him.
‘—the others keep flying, don't stop, don't break ranks. If they take out all of us and you survive, Harry, the rear guard are standing by to take over; keep flying east and they'll join you.’
‘Stop being so cheerful, Mad-Eye, he'll think we're not taking this seriously,’ said Tonks, as she strapped Harry's trunk and Hedwig's cage into a harness hanging from her broom.
‘I'm just telling the boy the plan,’ growled Moody. ‘Our job's to deliver him safely to Headquarters and if we die in the attempt—’
‘No one's going to die,’ said Kingsley Shacklebolt in his deep, calming voice.
‘Mount your brooms, that's the first signal!’ said Lupin sharply, pointing into the sky.
Far, far above them, a shower of bright red sparks had flared among the stars. Harry recognised them at once as wand sparks. He swung his right leg over his Firebolt, gripped its handle tightly and felt it vibrating very slightly, as though it was as keen as he was to be up in the air once more.
‘Second signal, let's go!’ said Lupin loudly as more sparks, green this time, exploded high above them.
Harry kicked off hard from the ground. The cool night air rushed through his hair as the neat square gardens of Privet Drive fell away, shrinking rapidly into a patchwork of dark greens and blacks, and every thought of the Ministry hearing was swept from his mind as though the rush of air had blown it out of his head. He felt as though his heart was going to explode with pleasure; he was flying again, flying away from Privet Drive as he'd been fantasising about all summer, he was going home.... For a few glorious moments, all his problems seemed to recede to nothing, insignificant in the vast, starry sky.
‘Hard left, hard left, there's a Muggle looking up!’ shouted Moody from behind him. Tonks swerved and Harry followed her, watching his trunk swinging wildly beneath her broom. ‘We need more height.... Give it another quarter of a mile!’
Harry's eyes watered in the chill as they soared upwards: he could see nothing below now but tiny pinpricks of light that were car headlights and streetlamps. Two of those tiny lights might belong to Uncle Vernon's car.... The Dursleys would be heading back to their empty house right now, full of rage about the nonexistent Lawn Competition ... and Harry laughed aloud at the thought, though his voice was drowned by the flapping robes of the others, the creaking of the harness holding his trunk and the cage, and the whoosh of the wind in their ears as they sped through the air. He had not felt this alive in a month, or this happy.
‘Bearing south!’ shouted Mad-Eye. ‘Town ahead!’
They soared right to avoid passing directly over the glittering spiderweb of lights below.
‘Bear southeast and keep climbing, there's some low cloud ahead we can lose ourselves in!’ called Moody.
‘We're not going through clouds!’ shouted Tonks angrily, ‘we'll get soaked, Mad-Eye!’
Harry was relieved to hear her say this; his hands were growing numb on the Firebolt's handle. He wished he had thought to put on a coat; he was starting to shiver.
They altered their course every now and then according to Mad-Eye's instructions. Harry's eyes were screwed up against the rush of icy wind that was starting to make his ears ache; he could remember being this cold on a broom only once before, during the Quidditch match against Hufflepuff in his third year, which had taken place in a storm. The guard around him was circling continuously like giant birds of prey. Harry lost track of time. He wondered how long they had been flying, it felt like an hour at least.
‘Turning southwest!’ yelled Moody. ‘We want to avoid the motorway!’
Harry was now so chilled he thought longingly of the snug, dry interiors of the cars streaming along below, then, even more longingly, of travelling by Floo powder; it might be uncomfortable to spin around in fireplaces but it was at least warm in the flames.... Kingsley Shacklebolt swooped around him, bald pate and earring gleaming slightly in the moonlight.... Now Emmeline Vance was on his right, her wand out, her head turning left and right ... then she, too, swooped over him, to be replaced by Sturgis Podmore....
‘We ought to double back for a bit, just to make sure we're not being followed!’ Moody shouted.
‘ARE YOU MAD, MAD-EYE?’ Tonks screamed from the front. ‘We're all frozen to our brooms! If we keep going off-course we're not going to get there until next week! Besides, we're nearly there now!’
‘Time to start the descent!’ came Lupin's voice. ‘Follow Tonks, Harry!’
Harry followed Tonks into a dive. They were heading for the largest collection of lights he had yet seen, a huge, sprawling crisscrossing mass, glittering in lines and grids, interspersed with patches of deepest black. Lower and lower they flew, until Harry could see individual headlights and streetlamps, chimneys and television aerials. He wanted to reach the ground very much, though he felt sure someone would have to unfreeze him from his broom.
‘Here we go!’ called Tonks, and a few seconds later she had landed.
Harry touched down right behind her and dismounted on a patch of unkempt grass in the middle of a small square. Tonks was already unbuckling Harry's trunk. Shivering, Harry looked around. The grimy fronts of the surrounding houses were not welcoming; some of them had broken windows, glimmering dully in the light from the streetlamps, paint was peeling from many of the doors and heaps of rubbish lay outside several sets of front steps.
‘Where are we?’ Harry asked, but Lupin said quietly, ‘In a minute.’
Moody was rummaging in his cloak, his gnarled hands clumsy with cold.
‘Got it,’ he muttered, raising what looked like a silver cigarette lighter into the air and clicking it.
The nearest streetlamp went out with a pop. He clicked the unlighter again; the next lamp went out; he kept clicking until every lamp in the square was extinguished and the only remaining light came from curtained windows and the sickle moon overhead.
‘Borrowed it from Dumbledore,’ growled Moody, pocketing the Put-Outer. ‘That'll take care of any Muggles looking out of the window, see? Now come on, quick.’
He took Harry by the arm and led him from the patch of grass, across the road and on to the pavement; Lupin and Tonks followed, carrying Harry's trunk between them, the rest of the guard, all with their wands out, flanking them.
The muffled pounding of a stereo was coming from an upper window in the nearest house. A pungent smell of rotting rubbish came from the pile of bulging bin-bags just inside the broken gate.
‘Here,’ Moody muttered, thrusting a piece of parchment towards Harry's Disillusioned hand and holding his lit wand close to it, so as to illuminate the writing. ‘Read quickly and memorise.’
Harry looked down at the piece of paper. The narrow handwriting was vaguely familiar. It said:
The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.
我刚刚被摄魂怪袭击了，而且也许会被开除出霍格瓦彻。我想了解接下来会怎么样以及什么时候我将被赶出这里。 
　　哈利一回到他漆黑卧室的书桌前就把上面这些话抄进了三张不同的羊皮纸。他把第一封信寄给了天狼星，第二封信寄给了罗恩，第三封信寄给了荷米恩。哈利的猫头鹰海维现在正在外面觅食，它桌上的笼子是空的。哈利在卧室里踱来踱去等海维回来，他的头象受到重击一样，尽管他的眼睛由于过度疲劳而刺痛发痒，可是他的脑子却因为过度亢奋而失眠。自从背着达德里回家以来他的背就一直在疼痛，窗户上撞的加上达德里打的那一拳在哈利的头上留下两个肿块，现在也是抽痛。 
　　哈利踱来踱去，带着愤怒和挫败感消磨时光，他磨着牙齿，并且牢牢的攥紧自己的拳头。每次走到窗边的时候他都用恼怒的目光看着外面空洞的，点缀着星光的夜空。摄魂怪送到他的面前，费格太太和蒙顿格斯·弗莱彻秘密跟踪他，接着被从霍格瓦彻延期开除并被告知出席魔法部的听证会—最糟的是直到现在都没有人告诉他还会发生什么。 
　　还有关于那个巫师吼叫信的问题。谁的声音在厨房里回荡的时候显得如此恐怖，如此恶毒呢？ 
　　为什么他依然留在这里得不到任何消息呢？为什么每个人对待他的态度都象对待一个调皮的孩子呢？他只是被要求待在这所房子里并且不得再使用任何魔法。 
　　当哈利经过时他踢了学校的旅行箱一脚，可是这远远没有发泄他的怒火，而只是让他感觉更加的糟糕，就象现在这样，他除了身体其他部分的疼痛之外他的脚趾也剧烈的疼痛起来。 
　　就再哈利再次一瘸一拐的经过窗户的时候，海维象一只小幽灵一样拍着柔软的沙沙作响的翅膀从窗户飞了进来。 
　　“什么时候了！”当海维站在笼子顶上的时候，哈利怒气冲冲的说道，“把那东西放下来，我有工作要你做！” 
　　海维的嘴里叼着一只死青蛙，用它那巨大滚圆，呈琥珀色的眼睛盯着哈利，眼中满是责备。 
　　“到这儿来，”哈利说道，他拿起那三张小羊皮纸和一根皮带并将信卷好绑在海维的脚上。“把这些直接送给天狼星、罗恩和荷米恩，而且没得到足够长度的回信就别回来。如果你到了的话就一直啄他们直到他们写出相当长度的回应。明白了吗？” 
　　海维发出不满的声音，她的嘴里依然叼着那只青蛙。 
　　“那么出发吧，”哈利说道。 
　　她立即启程出发了。就在海维飞走的那一刻，哈利倒在了床上，直勾勾的盯着漆黑一片的天花板。除了其他痛苦的感受以外，他现在又为自己如此粗暴的对待海维而感到愧疚。海维是他在女贞路四号里唯一的朋友。哈利决定当海维带着天狼星，罗恩和荷米恩的回信返回的时候要好好弥补她。 
　　他们肯定会很快回信的：他们决不可能忽略摄魂怪的袭击。由于他对巴罗方面的快速反应，也许明天他醒来的时候，三个写满各种同情和计划的鼓鼓囊囊的信封就会交到他的手里。带着这种令人安慰的想法，睡意席卷了哈利，所有进一步的想法都沉寂下去了。 
　　但是海维第二天早晨并没有回来，哈利一整天都待在卧室里，只有去浴室才离开一下。这一天有三次帕尤妮亚姨妈将食物从维能姨父三年前安装的那个猫洞递进来。每次哈利听见姨妈接近的时候他都试图询问那个巫师吼叫信的事情，但是每次都象是在向门把手咨询一样。除此之外，杜斯利一家就让他好好的待在卧室里。哈利看不到和他们在一起会带给他什么力量，除了可能会使他更加愤怒而施展更多的非法魔法之外什么也得不到。 
　　这样的情况持续了三天。哈利浑身上下充满了过剩的能量，这使的他没有办法解决任何事情，每次他在卧室里踱步的时候他都会为那些把他扔在这个脏乱闷热的鬼地方的人感到极度愤怒，同时每隔一段时间他就会在床上躺一个小时，麻木的盯着空中，以一种恐惧的疼痛想着魔法部的听证会。 
　　如果他们的裁定对他不利怎么办？如果他被开除并且魔杖被折成两段怎么办？他能做什么呢？他能去哪里呢？他无法回到每天和杜斯利一家生活在一起的日子，现在的他不象过去，他知道了另一个他真正归属的世界。也许他可以搬进天狼星的房子去住，就象一年以前天狼星被迫从魔法部逃跑之前建议的那样？可是哈利还未成年，他能否获准一个人生活在哪里呢？或者他将要前往的地方接下来就要决定他的去向呢？也可能他违反国际巫术保密条例的行为已经足够严重，从而使他够资格在阿滋卡班得到一个房间呢？无论何时出现这些想法，哈利总是从床上滑下来并再次在卧室里踱步。 
　　到了海维出发的第四夜，当维能姨父进入卧室的时候，哈利正处于他最无动于衷的某个阶段，眼睛盯着天花板，极度疲劳的大脑一片空白。哈利缓慢的看着他。维能姨父穿着他最好的衣服，脸上带着一种极度装模做样的表情。 “我们正准备出去？” 
　　“抱歉？” 
　　“我们-这么说吧，你的姨妈、达德里和我正准备出门。” 
　　“很好，”哈利迟钝的说着，眼睛又回到天花板。 
　　“当我们外出的时候你不准离开卧室。” 
　　“没问题。” 
　　“你不准碰电视，立体声音响以及任何属于我们的财产。” 
　　“可以。” 
　　“你不准从冰箱里偷食物。” 
　　“行。” 
　　“我将把你的门锁上。” 
　　“你就这么干吧。” 
　　维能姨父盯着哈利，明显对这种缺乏争吵的状况感到怀疑，然后他重重的走出了房间，并关上了他身后的门。哈利听见了钥匙在锁孔里转动的声音，以及维能姨父下楼的沉重脚步声。几分钟之后，他听见了车库门打开的声音，和发动机的轰鸣声，最后是千真万确的汽车驶上马路的声音。 
　　关于杜斯利一家的离开哈利没有任何特别的感觉。对他来说他们是否在家没有任何区别。他甚至没有振作精神爬起来打开卧室的灯。当哈利透过从来不关的窗户躺在床上倾听夜晚的声音的时候，他周围的房间变得更加黑暗了，他现在只是等着某个被祝福的时刻海维能够回来。空荡荡的房子在哈利的身边吱吱作响。管道发出汩汩的流水声。哈利带着一种半昏迷的，不想任何事情的，暂时忘却痛苦的精神状态躺在床上。 
　　接着，很清楚的，他听到下面的厨房里传来一声撞击声。他直挺挺的坐起来，仔细倾听。杜斯利一家不可能回来，时间太短，而且无论如何他都会听见他们汽车的声音。 
　　下面安静了几秒钟，然后响起了说话声。他的想法是来了夜贼，他的脚从床上滑下来—但是第二个瞬间他意识到夜贼会降低他们的声音，并且无论是谁在厨房里移动都肯定不会这么做以给自己惹上麻烦。 
　　哈利从床边的桌子上抓起了自己的魔杖并面队卧室的门站好，尽其所能倾听着外面的动静。下一刻，伴随着锁发出一声响亮的卡嗒声他的卧室门开了，哈利跳了起来。哈利静止不动的站着，通过打开的门洞盯着黑暗的上楼的楼梯平台，竖起耳朵以便听见更多的声音，但是没人上来。他犹豫了一下，然后快速的移动并安静的走出了房间，来到了楼梯的最上端。 他的心一下子提到了嗓子眼。有人站在楼下客厅的阴影里，从毛玻璃透过来的街灯的光照出了他们的侧面轮廓，就他能够尽力看见的而言大约有八到九个人，正在抬头看着他。 
　　“在你把某人的眼睛打爆之前，放低你的魔杖，”一个低沉的声音咆哮道。 
　　哈利的心脏不受控制的狂跳。他认得这个声音，但是他并没有放低自己的魔杖。 
　　“是穆迪教授吗？”他不确定的问道。 
　　“我可不知道什么教授，”这个声音回答道，“我从来就没有教过你们什么东西，是吗？下来，到这里来，我们要见你。” 
　　哈利稍稍放低了魔杖，但是毫不放松的抓着它，同时也没有移动脚步。他完全有充足的理由怀疑。他在最近九个月里认为是疯眼汉穆迪的家伙却被发现完全不是穆迪，而是一个冒名顶替者，一个冒名顶替者，而且更糟糕的是，在他被揭穿之前他还试图杀死哈利。但是在哈利决定下一步行动之前，另一个稍稍沙哑的声音传到了楼上。 
　　“没事了，哈利。我们来带你走。” 
　　哈利的心脏急速的跳动着。他同样认的这个声音，尽管他已经有一年多没有听到这个声音了。 
　　“卢平教授？”他难以置信的问道，“是你吗？” 
　　“我们为什么要站在黑暗里？”第三个声音说道，这个声音是完全陌生的，是个女人，“拉莫斯（咒语）。” 
　　一根魔杖发出了闪光，魔法的光亮照亮了整个客厅。哈利眨了眨眼睛。下面的人都挤在楼梯脚上，专心的盯着哈利，有些人甚至象苏格兰鲱鱼一样仰起头以便看的更清楚。 
　　瑞莫斯·卢平站的离哈利最近。尽管仍然十分年轻，可卢平看上去十分疲倦，一脸病容：他的头发比哈利一年前与他道别时看来更加的灰白，而且他的长袍与过去相比也更加的破旧不堪。然而，他却正在对着哈利露骨的微笑，而后者震惊之余也尽力以微笑回应。 
　　“哦呵，他看上去就象我想象的那个样子，”说话的女巫拿着她那根在高处发光的魔杖。她看上去是这群人里面最年轻的一个：她有着一张苍白的脸，眼睛乌黑闪亮，短而尖的头发是紫色的，呈现出一种狂暴的阴影。“沃切，哈利！““是的，我知道你的意思，瑞莫斯，”说话的是个秃顶的黑人巫师，他站在后面最远的地方—他有着深沉缓慢的声音，并且在他的耳朵上带着一只金环—“他看起来象极了詹姆斯。” 
　　“除了眼睛，”说话的是站在后面的一个气喘吁吁，满头白发的老巫师，“那是莉莉的眼睛。” 
　　疯眼汉穆迪，就是那个有着长而灰白头发，鼻子缺掉一大块的老头，正在通过他那对毫不相配的眼睛怀疑的打量着哈利。他的一只眼睛很小，黑色，向珠子一样，而另一只眼睛巨大，滚圆并且是铁蓝色的—这只魔眼能够穿透墙壁，门以及穆迪自己的后脑看见东西。“你十分确定是他吗，卢平？”他低吼道，“如果我们带回去的是某个该死的模仿者那就好看了。我们应当问他一些只有真正的波特才知道的问题。否则除非谁带了威瑞塔斯拉姆（一种测谎的魔法药剂）药剂。” 
　　“哈利，你的帕特拿姆魔法是什么形状的？”卢平问道，“一只牡鹿。”哈利紧张不安的说道。“就是他，穆迪。”卢平回答说。 
　　每个人都仍然十分好奇的盯着他，哈利走下楼梯，当他走上前的时候将魔杖收进了牛仔裤背后的口袋里。 
　　“不要把魔杖放在那里，孩子！”穆迪吼道，“如果它点着了怎么办？比你优秀的巫师都会烧到臀部，你知道的！” 
　　“你知道有谁烧掉了臀部吗？”那个紫色头发的女巫十分感兴趣的问疯眼汉穆迪。 
　　“这不关你的事，你只要把你的魔杖从屁股口袋里拿出来！”穆迪吼道，“这是基本的魔杖安全措施，没有人会嫌它麻烦的。”可是他在通往厨房的路上绊倒了。“我看见了，”当穆迪看见那个女巫把眼睛翻向天花板时他气急败坏的加了一句。 
　　卢平伸出他的手摇晃着哈利的手。“你怎么样？”他在很近的地方看着哈利并问道。“我很好。”哈利说。 
　　哈利几乎不能相信这是真的。四个星期音信全无，没有半点迹象暗示有将他带离女贞路的计划，而突然一大群巫师见怪不怪的站在这所房子里，仿佛这是一个早就拟订的计划。他扫了一眼围着卢平教授的这些人，他们仍然热切的盯着他。他对自己四天没有梳头这一事实感到极为害羞。 
　　“我说—你们真的十分幸运，因为杜斯利一家都出去了。”他含糊不清的说道。 
　　“幸运，哈！”那个紫色头发的女巫说道，“是我用一种方式把他们引诱出去的。我通过麻瓜的邮局送了一封信给他们，告诉他们已经被提名参加全英格兰最平整郊区草坪竞赛。他们一听说提供奖金就马上出发了，或者他们认为他们就是冠军。” 
　　哈利短暂想象了一下当维能姨父得知根本就没有什么全英格兰最平整郊区草坪竞赛时他的脸色会是什么样子。 
　　“我们就要离开，是吗？”哈利问道，“很快吗？” 
　　“几乎是马上，”卢平教授回答说，“我们只是在等待一切清理干净。” 
　　“我们要去哪里呢？是巴罗吗。”哈利满怀希望的问道。 
　　“不，不是巴罗，”卢平一边说话一边带着哈利往厨房走去，那一小队巫师在后面跟着，还在好奇的盯着哈利，“那太冒险。我们要前往某处无法侦测的指挥部。那需要一点时间。” 
　　疯眼汉穆迪现在正坐在厨房的桌子上痛饮一只小水瓶里的饮料，他的魔眼向各个方向旋转，仔细打量着杜斯利一家苦心搜集的各种用具。 
　　“这是穆迪，哈利，”卢平指着穆迪继续说道。 
　　“是的，我知道，”哈利很不舒服的回答说。被介绍给一个他本来以为已经认识一年的人这种感觉相当古怪。 
　　“而这位是尼姆菲朵拉—” 
　　“别叫我尼姆菲朵拉，瑞莫斯，”这个年轻的女巫抖了一下，“我叫唐克丝。” 
　　“尼姆菲朵拉· 唐克丝，只喜欢别人知道她姓氏的家伙，”卢平作了结尾。 “如果你愚蠢的妈妈给你取名叫尼姆菲朵拉你会怎么做啊，”唐克丝小声抱怨着。 
　　“这位是肯斯雷·沙克雷波尔特，”卢平指着那个高个子的黑人巫师介绍道，而后者则鞠了一躬，“埃尔菲阿斯·道格，”那个气喘吁吁的老巫师点点头。“这位是德大流士·狄格尔—” 
　　“我们以前曾经见过面的，”兴奋的狄格尔大声叫道，并同时摘下了他的紫色的高帽子。 
　　“埃米兰·万斯。”这是一个披着祖母绿围巾的看上去很庄重的女巫，她点了一下头。“斯特吉斯·波德默。”一个有着麦杆色头发，方下巴的男巫眨了一下眼睛。“接下来是赫斯塔·琼斯。”一个粉红脸颊，黑色头发的女巫从穆迪旁边走出来。 
　　在介绍每个人的时候哈利都笨拙的对他们点点头。他希望这些家伙能看点别的东西而不是一直盯着他，仿佛他突然变成了舞台上的小丑一样。他同时也很奇怪为什么有这么多人会在这里。 
　　“数量惊人的巫师志愿前来接你，”卢平仿佛能够读懂哈利的想法，他的嘴角微微抽动了一下。 
　　“是的，很好，但还会更好，”穆迪在黑暗中说道。“我们是你的保镖，波特。” 
　　“我们现在仅仅是要等一个信号告诉我们可以安全离开，”卢平接着说道并飞快的向外扫了一眼厨房窗户，“我们大约需要15分钟才能到达那里。” 
　　“这些麻瓜十分干净，不是吗？”说话的女巫叫唐克丝，她正以十分好奇的目光四处打量着这间厨房。“我的父亲是麻瓜血统，不过他是个十足的懒鬼。我想那是不同的，也许巫师天生不会干这些。” 
　　“恩—是的，”哈利说道，“你看—”他背对着卢平，“接下来是什么，我没有从任何人那里听到任何消息，伏地魔怎么样了？” 
　　几个巫师和巫婆发出了古怪的嘶嘶的噪音，德大流士·狄格尔再次脱下了自己的帽子，而穆迪吼道“闭嘴！” 
　　“什么？”哈利问道。 
　　“我们在这里不能讨论任何事情，太危险了，”穆迪将他那只正常的眼睛转向哈利并说道。他的魔眼仍然聚焦在天花板上，“诅咒它，”他把一只手放在魔眼上愤怒的补充道，“自从那个杂碎带过它之后—它就变的难以接受。” 
　　然后随着一声类似潜水员被人从水池中拖出来时发出的令人厌恶的声音，他把魔眼掏了出来。 
　　“穆迪，你知不知道那是令人讨厌的，”唐克丝极度不满的抗议道。 
　　“给我一杯水好吗，哈利，”穆迪请求道。 
　　哈利穿过洗碗机，拿出一只干净的杯子并到水池灌满水，那群巫师们依然在热切的看着他。他们无情的凝视已经开始困扰着哈利了。 
　　“棒极了，”当哈利把杯子递给穆迪的时候他说道。穆迪将魔眼浸在水里，并且把它按的一沉一浮，这只魔眼飞快的旋转，从各个角度盯着他们。“在回去的路上我需要三百六十度的视野。” 
　　“我们怎样回去—还有我们要去哪里？”哈利问道。 
　　“乘坐扫帚，”卢平说道，“这是唯一的途径。你还太年轻不会瞬间移动，而他们又在监视着壁炉网络，同时设置一个手动的波奇（一种远距离自动传送装置）对我们而言毫无意义。” 
　　“瑞莫斯说你是个优秀的快迪斯选手，”肯斯雷·沙克雷波尔特用他那低沉的嗓门说道。 
　　“他是最棒的，”卢平一边检查着他的手表一边说道，“不管怎么说，你最好上去打包，哈利，等信号一来我们就得准备离开。” 
　　“我来帮你，”唐克丝轻快的说。 
　　她跟着哈利返回客厅并上了楼，一路上充满好奇与兴趣的四处张望。 
　　“有趣的地方，”她说道，“就是有点太干净了。你知道我的意思吗？有点不太自然。哦，这样更好，”当他们进入哈利的卧室并打开灯时她补充道。 
　　哈利的房间肯定要比其他的房间凌乱的多。四天以来他一直陷入一种非常糟糕的情绪当中，并把自己关在这间房间里面。哈利在时候不辞辛苦的把这里收拾整齐。他所拥有的绝大多数的书都杂乱的堆在地板上，他自己翻阅之后就随手扔到一边。海维的笼子也需要彻底清洁，现在已经开始散发气味了。他的旅行箱敞开着躺在一边，麻瓜的衣服和巫师的长袍乱七八糟的混在一起，而且地板上也到处都是。 
　　哈利开始把书拣起来并匆忙的塞进箱子里。唐克丝则停在他的打开的衣柜前面，并且从镶在里面的玻璃中挑剔的看着自己的影象。 
　　“你知道的，我并不认为紫色真正适合我，”她犹豫不决的说道，一边试图把她又长又尖的头发绑起来。“你认为它是否让我看上去有一点惹眼呢？” 
　　“恩—”哈利边说边越过不列颠和爱尔兰快迪斯国家队的海报看着她。 
　　“是的，就是这样，”唐克丝下了结论。她以一种紧张的表情闭上了眼睛仿佛正在努力回忆某样东西。一秒钟之后，她的头发变成了口香糖一样的粉红色。 
　　“你是怎么办到的？”当唐克丝重新睁开眼睛的时候哈利惊奇的问道。 
　　“我是一个变形者，”她从镜子里看着自己的影象，并且把头转来转去，这样她就能够从各个方向看见自己的头发。“这就意味着我可以随心所欲的改变自己的外貌，”她从镜子里看到了哈利迷惑的表情之后补充道，“我是天生的那一种。在傲罗（直接隶属魔法部的一个秘密组织，专门搜捕伏地魔的余党，成员都是些象疯眼汉穆迪这样强的变态的家伙）接受训练期间我的伪装项目得了最高分，可我完全没有学过，这是最棒的。““你是傲罗的成员吗？”哈利对此印象深刻。从霍格瓦彻毕业之后成为一个黑巫师猎手（傲罗组织当中专门负责抓捕黑巫师的人，疯眼汉穆迪是个典型，所以才会搞到五官残缺不全）是哈利曾经考虑过的唯一职业。 
　　“是的，”唐克丝看起来很自豪，“肯斯雷也是，尽管他的魔力比我高一点。我是一年前才获准加入的。但是我在秘密行动和追踪方面完全失败。我笨的要死，你听见我们到达楼下的时候我打碎碟子的声音吗？” 
　　“你知道怎样成为一个变形者吗？”哈利直视着唐克丝，完全忘记了收拾东西。 
　　唐克丝吃吃的笑了。 
　　“我敢打赌你有时候不会介意隐藏那道伤疤的，对吗？” 
　　她的眼睛发现了哈利前额上的那道闪电形状的伤疤。 
　　“不，我不介意，”哈利嘟噜道，他转身走开了。他不喜欢别人盯着他的伤疤。 
　　“好吧，我恐怕你得艰苦学习才行，”唐克丝说道，“变形者真的是非常稀少，他们都是天生的，而不是人为的。绝大多数的巫师都要依靠魔杖或者药剂才能改变其外形。但是我们想变就变。哈利，我想我们现在的任务是打包，”她看着周围凌乱的地板心虚的加上一句。 
　　“哦，是的，”哈利又抓起几本书塞进箱子里。 
　　“别犯傻了，打包的事情由我来做会快的多！”唐克丝叫起来，同时她的魔杖在地板上做了一个波浪形的长长的扫除动作。 
　　书、衣服、望远镜以及几乎所有的东西都飞到了半空中，并且一股脑的飞进了旅行箱里。 
　　“好象不是很整洁，”唐克丝走到旅行箱上方看着里面混乱的局面说道，“我的妈妈掌握了这个咒语的诀窍，她能够让物品整齐的落在合适的位置里—她甚至能够让短袜自己折叠—但是我从来就没有掌握她是怎么做的—那是一种快速轻打的动作—”唐克丝充满希望的快速轻打她的魔杖。 
　　哈利的一只短袜做了一个虚弱无力的摇摆动作，然后噗的一声又落回到混乱的箱子顶端。 
　　“哈，很好，”唐克丝砰的一声箱子盖关上了，“至少它们都装进去了。那个也需要做一点清洁。”她将魔杖指向海维的笼子。“斯科吉菲（咒语）。”几根羽毛和鸟粪消失了。“好的。这次做的更好—我从未花精力去记忆那些讨厌的家政咒语。好—所有东西都带上了吗？气锅？扫帚？哇！那是一根霹雳系列的扫帚—” 
　　当他们坐在哈利右手拿着的扫帚上时，唐克丝的眼睛张大了。那是哈利的骄傲与快乐，一件来自天狼星的礼物，这是一把国际标准的快迪斯比赛用扫帚。 
　　“我现在还在乘坐彗星260，”唐克丝羡慕的说道，“接下来，魔杖还在你的牛仔裤里吗？我们的屁股都安然无恙吗？好的，我们走。运动皮箱。” 
　　哈利的旅行箱漂浮在空中几英寸的地方。唐克丝的魔杖就象是乐队指挥的指挥棒，唐克丝让旅行箱盘旋着穿过房间并在他们的前面出门，海维的笼子抓在她的左手。哈利手中攥着他的扫帚跟在唐克丝后面下楼了。 
　　回到厨房时穆迪已经将他的眼睛装了回去，魔眼在清洁之后旋转的如此之快以至于哈利看着它的时候感到一阵恶心。肯斯雷·沙克雷波尔特和斯特吉斯·波德默正在检查微波炉，赫斯塔·琼斯则在一个抽屉里翻箱捣柜，当她过来的时候她还在对着一个土豆剥皮机笑个不停。卢平教授则正在写一封致杜斯利一家的信。 
　　“棒极了，”卢平抬头看见唐克丝和哈利进来的时候说道。“我认为我们大约一分钟之后出发。我们也许应当出门到花园去做好准备。哈利，我留了一封信告诉你的姨父和姨妈不要担心—” 
　　“他们不会担心的，”哈利说道。 
　　“以及你是安全的。”“那只会让他们感到失望。” 
　　“还有你将在明年再次见到他们。” 
　　“我一定要再次见到他们吗？” 
　　卢平笑了笑但是没有作任何回答。 
　　“到这儿来，孩子，”穆迪粗暴的用魔杖把哈利引到他的面前，“我需要把你隐形。” 
　　“你需要把我什么？”哈利焦急的说。 
　　“隐身咒语，”穆迪说着举起了他的魔杖。“卢平说你曾经获得过一件隐身斗篷，但是当我们飞行的时候它没法使用，这个咒语可以更好的伪装你。你到这里来—” 
　　穆迪重重的敲击着哈利的头，哈利有种奇怪的感觉，好象穆迪仅仅是在敲击一只鸡蛋。 
　　冰冷的魔力从魔杖敲击点流向了哈利的身体。 
　　“漂亮的小伙子，穆迪，“唐克丝一边看着哈利的肚子一边欣赏的说道。 
　　哈利向下看看他的身体，或者确切的说曾经是他身体的那个东西，因为它现在看起来和原先一点也不象。它并非隐形的，而仅仅是把他身体后面的厨房的颜色和材质精确的贴到他的身体上。现在的哈利看上去就象一只人形变色龙。 
　　“跟我来，”穆迪用魔杖打开了门。 
　　他们全体走到外面并且踩在维能姨父精心护理的漂亮的草坪上。 
　　“清晰的夜空，”穆迪咕噜道，他的魔眼正在对天堂进行扫描。“也许要搞些云来覆盖。好了，你，”他对着哈利叫道，“我们将要以紧密编队飞行。唐克丝在你的前面，你要紧紧的在后面跟着她，卢平在你下面遮住你，我将在你的后面，其他人在我们周围围成一圈。在任何情况下都不能破坏编队，明白吗？如果我们之中有人被杀—” 
　　“我看起来象什么？”哈利担心的问道。但是穆迪没理他。 
　　“其余人继续飞行，不要停下来，不要破坏编队。如果他们干掉了我们所有的人而你幸存下来，哈利，我们的后卫部队目前正在另一个地方集结待命，一直向东飞行他们会接应你的。” 
　　“不要显得这么高兴，穆迪，哈利会认为我们并未意识到事态的严重，”唐克丝说着把哈利的旅行箱和海维的笼子全副武装的绑在扫帚上。（上面这几句可能是反话，意思是叫穆迪不要搞的紧张兮兮，免的哈利害怕。） 
　　“我仅仅是告诉这孩子计划，”穆迪抱怨说，“我们的工作是把哈利安全的送到司令部，并且如果我们在这次行动中丧生—”（一只讨厌的老乌鸦，不是吗？） 
　　“没人会死的，” 肯斯雷·沙克雷波尔特用他低沉平静的嗓音说道。 “爬上你们的扫帚，那是第一个信号！”卢平指着天空尖叫道。 
　　在他们上方很高很高的地方，一棵明亮的红色信号弹已经在夜空中闪烁，哈利立刻认出那是魔杖信号弹。他把右脚跨过他的霹雳扫帚，轻轻的抓住把手，他感到扫帚也在微微震动，好象渴望和哈利再次升到空中。 
　　“第二个信号，我们出发！”当另一个绿色的信号弹在高空爆炸时卢平大声命令道。 
　　哈利奋力踢了一下地面。当女贞路整洁的正方形草坪远去的时候，凉爽的夜风从哈利的头发间呼啸着吹过，草坪很快的缩小变成一个暗淡的绿黑相间的拼凑物，与此同时，所有关于魔法部听证会的各种想法都被抛诸脑后，仿佛呼啸而过的风已经将它们从哈利的脑子里吹了出来。他感到自己的心好象因为快乐而要爆炸了：他再一次的飞行，就象整个夏天他一直幻想的那样飞离女贞路，因为几个光荣的行动他现在要回家了，他所有的难题仿佛都在远去，在这个广阔，满布星辰的夜空下它们显得如此的无关紧要了。 
　　“急转向左，急转向左，有个麻瓜在抬头看！”穆迪从后面叫道。唐克丝做了一个突然转向，而哈利在后面紧紧跟随，同时看见他的旅行箱在唐克丝的扫帚下面大幅晃动。“我们需要提升高度，爬升四分之一英里！” 
　　当他们急剧上升时哈利的眼睛在寒冷中流泪了，现在下面除了车头灯和街灯微弱的闪光之外他什么也看不见。那些微弱的闪光有两只也许是属于维能姨父的汽车的，杜斯利一家现在应该马上就要回到那个空荡荡的家了，他们也许正在为那个子虚乌有的草坪比赛而勃然大怒，想到这里哈利不禁笑出声来，尽管他的声音很快就被其他人长袍鼓动的声音淹没了，当他们快速穿过空中的时候吱吱作响的风声传入耳朵。哈利在近一个月里从未感到如此的生气勃勃，或者说是快乐。 
　　“方位正南！”穆迪叫道，“前面有个城镇。” 
　　他们向右转弯以避免直接穿越下面象蜘蛛网一样闪闪发亮的灯光。 
　　“方位东南，持续爬升，有几片低空云层在我们的前面，我们飞进去可以隐藏自己！”穆迪发出指示。 
　　“我们不要穿越云层！”唐克丝恼火的叫道，“我们会被弄湿的，穆迪！” 
　　听到她说这些话哈利放心了，他刚才紧张的握着霹雳扫帚把手以至于双手都渐渐麻木了。他希望他记得套件外套，现在他全身冷的发抖。 
　　他们不时的按照魔眼的指示改变路线。哈利的眼睛因为强劲的冷风而睁不开，他的耳朵也开始疼痛起来，他可以记起这种寒冷的感觉以前只有过一次，那是在三年级的时候参加一场在暴风雪中举行的与哈夫罗普夫魔法学校之间的快迪斯比赛。那些围绕在他身边的保镖就象一群灰色的大鸟。哈利搞不清确切的时间。他很惊讶他们究竟飞了多长距离，感觉上至少过了一个小时。 
　　“转向西南方！”穆迪叫道，“我们要避开铁路！” 
　　哈利现在很冷，他渴想着下面暖和，干燥的汽车，然后，他甚至更加怀念用弗罗粉旅行的经历，也许在壁炉里转的晕头转向不是一件舒服的事情，但是至少在火焰里面是暖和的：肯斯雷·沙克雷波尔特突然猛扑向他的周围,月光反射之下他的光头和耳环微微发亮,现在是埃米兰·万斯在他的右边,她的魔杖已经掏了出来,左顾右盼,然后也从哈利的头上猛的扑过去·而她的位置则由斯特吉斯·波德默代替。 
　　“我们应当向后转两圈，以确定我们没有被跟踪！”穆迪叫道。 
　　“你疯了吗，穆迪？”唐克丝在前面大叫着，“我们都快在扫帚上冻僵了！如果我们这么做的话毫无疑问下个星期我们也到不了那里！而且，我们现在已经接近那里了！” 
　　“是时候开始降落了！”卢平的喊叫声传过来。“跟着唐克丝，哈利！” 
　　哈利跟着唐克丝俯冲向下。他们的前方是一片哈利所见过的最大的灯光网，一片巨大的，杂乱无章的灯光纵横交错，星星点点的散布在最深沉的黑暗之中。他们飞的越来越低，直到哈利可以看清楚单个的车头灯和街灯，以及烟囱和电视天线。他现在很想降落到地面上，尽管他确信
Chapter 4 Number Twelve,Grimmauld Place
‘What's the Order of the—?’ Harry began.
‘Not here, boy!’ snarled Moody. ‘Wait till we're inside!’
He pulled the piece of parchment out of Harry's hand and set fire to it with his wand-tip. As the message curled into flames and floated to the ground, Harry looked around at the houses again. They were standing outside number eleven; he looked to the left and saw number ten; to the right, however, was number thirteen.
‘But where's—?’
‘Think about what you've just memorised,’ said Lupin quietly.
Harry thought, and no sooner had he reached the part about number twelve, Grimmauld Place, than a battered door emerged out of nowhere between numbers eleven and thirteen, followed swiftly by dirty walls and grimy windows. It was as though an extra house had inflated, pushing those on either side out of its way. Harry gaped at it. The stereo in number eleven thudded on. Apparently the Muggles inside hadn't felt anything.
‘Come on, hurry,’ growled Moody, prodding Harry in the back.
Harry walked up the worn stone steps, staring at the newly materialised door. Its black paint was shabby and scratched. The silver doorknocker was in the form of a twisted serpent. There was no keyhole or letterbox.
Lupin, pulled out his wand and tapped the door once. Harry heard many loud, metallic clicks and what sounded like the clatter of a chain. The door creaked open.
‘Get in quick, Harry,’ Lupin whispered, ‘but don't go far inside and don't touch anything.’
Harry stepped over the threshold into the almost total darkness of the hall. He could smell damp, dust, and a sweetish, rotting smell; the place had the feeling of a derelict building. He looked over his shoulder and saw the others filing in behind him, Lupin and Tonks carrying his trunk and Hedwig's cage. Moody was standing on the top step releasing the balls of light the Put-Outer had stolen from the streetlamps; they flew back to their bulbs and the square glowed momentarily with orange light before Moody limped inside and closed the front door, so that the darkness in the hall became complete.
‘Here—’
He rapped Harry hard over the head with his wand; Harry felt as though something hot was trickling down his back this time and knew that the Disillusionment Charm must have lifted.
‘Now stay still, everyone, while I give us a bit of light in here,’ Moody whispered.
The others’ hushed voices were giving Harry an odd feeling of foreboding; it was as though they had just entered the house of a dying person. He heard a soft hissing noise and then old-fashioned gas lamps sputtered into life all along the walls, casting a flickering insubstantial light over the peeling wallpaper and threadbare carpet of a long, gloomy hallway, where a cobwebby chandelier glimmered overhead and age-blackened portraits hung crooked on the walls. Harry heard something scuttling behind the skirting board. Both the chandelier and the candelabra on a rickety table nearby were shaped like serpents.
There were hurried footsteps and Ron's mother, Mrs. Weasley, emerged from a door at the far end of the hall. She was beaming in welcome as she hurried towards them, though Harry noticed that she was rather thinner and paler than she had been last time he had seen her.
‘Oh, Harry, it's lovely to see you!’ she whispered, pulling him into a rib-cracking hug before holding him at arm's length and examining him critically. ‘You're looking peaky; you need feeding up, but you'll have to wait a bit for dinner, I'm afraid....’
She turned to the gang of wizards behind him and whispered urgently, ‘He's just arrived, the meeting's started.’
The wizards behind Harry all made noises of interest and excitement and began filing past him towards the door through which Mrs. Weasley had just come. Harry made to follow Lupin, but Mrs. Weasley held him back.
‘No, Harry, the meeting's only for members of the Order. Ron and Hermione are upstairs, you can wait with them until the meetings over, then we'll have dinner. And keep your voice down in the hall,’ she added in an urgent whisper.
‘Why?’
‘I don't want anything to wake up.’
‘What d'you—?’
‘I'll explain later, I've got to hurry, I'm supposed to be at the meeting— I'll just show you where you're sleeping.’
Pressing her finger to her lips, she led him on tiptoe past a pair of long, moth-eaten curtains, behind which Harry supposed there must be another door, and after skirting a large umbrella stand that looked as though it had been made from a severed troll's leg, they started up the dark staircase, passing a row of shrunken heads mounted on plaques on the wall. A closer look showed Harry that the heads belonged to house-elves. All of them had the same rather snout-like nose.
Harry's bewilderment deepened with every step he took. What on earth were they doing in a house that looked as though it belonged to the Darkest of wizards?
‘Mrs. Weasley, why—?’
‘Ron and Hermione will explain everything, dear, I've really got to dash,’ Mrs. Weasley whispered distractedly. ‘There'—they had reached the second landing—'you're the door on the right. I'll call you when it's over.’
And she hurried off downstairs again.
Harry crossed the dingy landing, turned the bedroom doorknob, which was shaped like a serpent's head, and opened the door.
He caught a brief glimpse of a gloomy high-ceilinged, twin-bedded room; then there was a loud twittering noise, followed by an even louder shriek, and his vision was completely obscured by a large quantity of very bushy hair— Hermione had thrown herself on to him in a hug that nearly knocked him flat, while Ron's tiny owl, Pigwidgeon, zoomed excitedly round and round their heads.
‘HARRY! Ron, he's here, Harry's here! We didn't hear you arrive! Oh, how are you? Are you all right? Have you been furious with us? I bet you have, I know our letters were useless—but we couldn't tell you anything, Dumbledore made us swear we wouldn't, oh, we've got so much to tell you, and you've got things to tell us—the dementors! When we heard—and that Ministry hearing—it's just outrageous, I've looked it all up, they can't expel you, they just can't, there's provision in the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery for the use of magic in life-threatening situations—’
‘Let him breathe, Hermione,’ said Ron, grinning as he closed the door behind Harry. He seemed to have grown several more inches during their month apart, making him taller and more gangly looking than ever, though the long nose, bright red hair and freckles were the same.
Still beaming, Hermione let go of Harry, but before she could say another word there was a soft whooshing sound and something white soared from the top of a dark wardrobe and landed gently on Harry's shoulder.
‘Hedwig!’
The snowy owl clicked her beak and nibbled his ear affectionately as Harry stroked her feathers.
‘She's been in a right state,’ said Ron. ‘Pecked us half to death when she brought your last letters, look at this—’
He showed Harry the index finger of his right hand, which sported a half-healed but clearly deep cut.
‘Oh, yeah,’ Harry said. ‘Sorry about that, but I wanted answers, you know....’
‘We wanted to give them to you, mate,’ said Ron. ‘Hermione was going spare, she kept saying you'd do something stupid if you were stuck all on your own without news, but Dumbledore made us—’
‘—swear not to tell me,’ said Harry. ‘Yeah, Hermione's already said.’
The warm glow that had flared inside him at the sight of his two best friends was extinguished as something icy flooded the pit of his stomach. All of a sudden—after yearning to see them for a solid month—he felt he would rather Ron and Hermione left him alone.
There was a strained silence in which Harry stroked Hedwig automatically, not looking at either of the others.
‘He seemed to think it was best,’ said Hermione rather breathlessly. ‘Dumbledore, I mean.’
‘Right,’ said Harry. He noticed that her hands, too, bore the marks of Hedwig's beak and found that he was not at all sorry.
‘I think he thought you were safest with the Muggles—’ Ron began.
‘Yeah?’ said Harry, raising his eyebrows. ‘Have either of you been attacked by dementors this summer?’
‘Well, no—but that's why he's had people from the Order of the Phoenix tailing you all the time—’
Harry felt a great jolt in his guts as though he had just missed a step going downstairs. So everyone had known he was being followed, except him.
‘Didn't work that well, though, did it?’ said Harry, doing his utmost to keep his voice even. ‘Had to look after myself after all, didn't I?’
‘He was so angry,’ said Hermione, in an almost awestruck voice. ‘Dumbledore. We saw him. When he found out Mundungus had left before his shift had ended. He was scary.’
‘Well, I'm glad he left,’ Harry said coldly. ‘If he hadn't, I wouldn't have done magic and Dumbledore would probably have left me at Privet Drive all summer.’
‘Aren't you ... aren't you worried about the Ministry of Magic hearing?’ said Hermione quietly.
‘No,’ Harry lied defiantly. He walked away from them, looking around, with Hedwig nestled contentedly on his shoulder, but this room was not likely to raise his spirits. It was dank and dark. A blank stretch of canvas in an ornate picture frame was all that relieved the bareness of the peeling walls, and as Harry passed it he thought he heard someone who was lurking out of sight snigger.
‘So why's Dumbledore been so keen to keep me in the dark?’ Harry asked, still trying hard to keep his voice casual. ‘Did you—er—bother to ask him at all?’
He glanced up just in time to see them exchanging a look that told him he was behaving just as they had feared he would. It did nothing to improve his temper.
‘We told Dumbledore we wanted to tell you what was going on,’ said Ron. ‘We did, mate. But he's really busy now, we've only seen him twice since we came here and he didn't have much time, he just made us swear not to tell you important stuff when we wrote, he said the owls might be intercepted—’
‘He could still've kept me informed if he'd wanted to,’ Harry said shortly. ‘You're not telling me he doesn't know ways to send messages without owls.’
Hermione glanced at Ron and then said, ‘I thought that, too. But he didn't want you to know anything.’
‘Maybe he thinks I can't be trusted,’ said Harry, watching their expressions.
‘Don't be thick,’ said Ron, looking highly disconcerted.
‘Or that I can't take care of myself.’
‘Of course he doesn't think that!’ said Hermione anxiously.
‘So how come I have to stay at the Dursleys’ while you two get to join in everything that's going on here?’ said Harry, the words tumbling over one another in a rush, his voice growing louder with every word. ‘How come you two are allowed to know everything that's going on?’
‘We're not!’ Ron interrupted. ‘Mum won't let us near the meetings, she says we're too young—’
But before he knew it, Harry was shouting.
‘SO YOU HAVEN'T BEEN IN THE MEETINGS, BIG DEAL! YOU'VE STILL BEEN HERE, HAVEN'T YOU? YOU'VE STILL BEEN TOGETHER! ME, I'VE BEEN STUCK AT THE DURSLEYS’ FOR A MONTH! AND I'VE HANDLED MORE THAN YOU TWO'VE EVER MANAGED AND DUMBLEDORE KNOWS IT— WHO SAVED THE PHILOSOPHER'S STONE? WHO GOT RID OF RIDDLE? WHO SAVED BOTH YOUR SKINS FROM THE DEMENTORS?’
Every bitter and resentful thought Harry had had in the past month was pouring out of him: his frustration at the lack of news, the hurt that they had all been together without him, his fury at being followed and not told about it: All the feelings he was half-ashamed of finally burst their boundaries. Hedwig took fright at the noise and soared off to the top of the wardrobe again; Pigwidgeon twittered in alarm and zoomed even faster around their heads.
‘WHO HAD TO GET PAST DRAGONS AND SPHINXES AND EVERY OTHER FOUL THING LAST YEAR? WHO SAW HIM> COME BACK? WHO HAD TO ESCAPE FROM HIM? ME!’
Ron was standing there with his mouth half-open, clearly stunned and at a loss for anything to say, whilst Hermione looked on the verge of tears.
‘BUT WHY SHOULD I KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON? WHY SHOULD ANYONE BOTHER TO TELL ME WHAT'S BEEN HAPPENING?’
‘Harry, we wanted to tell you, we really did—’ Hermione began.
‘CAN'T'VE WANTED TO THAT MUCH, CAN YOU, OR YOU'D HAVE SENT ME AN OWL, BUT DUMBLEDORE MADE YOU SWEAR—’
‘Well, he did—’
‘FOUR WEEKS I'VE BEEN STUCK IN PRIVET DRIVE, NICKING PAPERS OUT OF BINS TO TRY AND FIND OUT WHAT'S BEEN GOING ON—’
‘We wanted to—
‘I SUPPOSE YOU'VE BEEN HAVING A REAL LAUGH, HAVEN'T YOU, ALL HOLED UP HERE TOGETHER—’
‘No, honest—’
‘Harry, we're really sorry!’ said Hermione desperately, her eyes now sparkling with tears. ‘You're absolutely right, Harry— I'd be furious if it was me!’
Harry glared at her, still breathing deeply, then turned away from them again, pacing up and down. Hedwig hooted glumly from the top of the wardrobe. There was a long pause, broken only by the mournful creak of the floorboards below Harry's feet.
‘What is this place, anyway?’ he shot at Ron and Hermione.
‘Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix,’ said Ron at once.
‘Is anyone going to bother telling me what the Order of the Phoenix—?’
‘It's a secret society,’ said Hermione quickly. ‘Dumbledore's in charge, he founded it. It's the people who fought against You-Know-Who last time.’
‘Who's in it?’ said Harry coming to a halt with his hands in his pockets.
‘Quite a few people—’
‘We've met about twenty of them,’ said Ron, ‘but we think there are more.’
Harry glared at them.
‘Well?’ he demanded, looking from one to the other.
‘Er,’ said Ron. ‘Well what?’
‘Voldemort!’ said Harry furiously, and both Ron and Hermione winced. ‘What's happening? What's he up to? Where is he? What are we doing to stop him?’
‘We've told you, the Order don't let us in on their meetings,’ said Hermione nervously. ‘So we don't know the details—but we've got a general idea—’ she added hastily, seeing the look on Harry's face.
‘Fred and George have invented Extendable Ears, see,’ said Ron. ‘They're really useful.’
‘Extendable—?’
‘Ears, yeah. Only we've had to stop using them lately because Mum found out and went berserk. Fred and George had to hide them all to stop Mum binning them. But we got a good bit of use out of them before Mum realised what was going on. We know some of the Order are following known Death Eaters, keeping tabs on them, you know—’
‘—some of them are working on recruiting more people to the Order—’ said Hermione.
‘—and some of them are standing guard over something,’ said Ron. ‘They're always talking about guard duty.’
‘Couldn't have been me, could it?’ said Harry sarcastically.
‘Oh, yeah,’ said Ron, with a look of dawning comprehension.
Harry snorted. He walked around the room again, looking anywhere but at Ron and Hermione. ‘So, what have you two been doing, if you're not allowed in meetings?’ he demanded. ‘You said you'd been busy.’
‘We have,’ said Hermione quickly. ‘We've been decontaminating this house, it's been empty for ages and stuff's been breeding in here. We've managed to clean out the kitchen, most of the bedrooms and I think we're doing the drawing room tomo—AARGH!’
With two loud cracks, Fred and George, Ron's elder twin brothers, had materialised out of thin air in the middle of the room. Pigwidgeon twittered more wildly than ever and zoomed off to join Hedwig on top of the wardrobe.
‘Stop doing that!’ Hermione said weakly to the twins, who were as vividly red-haired as Ron, though stockier and slightly shorter.
‘Hello, Harry’ said George, beaming at him. ‘We thought we heard your dulcet tones.’
‘You don't want to bottle up your anger like that, Harry, let it all out,’ said Fred, also beaming. ‘There might be a couple of people fifty miles away who didn't hear you.’
‘You two passed your Apparation tests, then?’ asked Harry grumpily.
‘With distinction,’ said Fred, who was holding what looked like a piece of very long, flesh-coloured string.
‘It would have taken you about thirty seconds longer to walk down the stairs,’ said Ron.
‘Time is Galleons, little brother,’ said Fred. ‘Anyway, Harry, you're interfering with reception. Extendable Ears,’ he added in response to Harry's raised eyebrows, and held up the string which Harry now saw was trailing out on to the landing. ‘We're trying to hear what's going on downstairs.’
‘You want to be careful,’ said Ron, staring at the Ear, ‘if Mum sees one of them again...’
‘It's worth the risk, that's a major meeting they're having,’ said Fred.
The door opened and a long mane of red hair appeared.
‘Oh, hello, Harry!’ said Ron's younger sister, Ginny, brightly. ‘I thought I heard your voice.’
Turning to Fred and George, she said, ‘It's no-go with the Extendable Ears, she's gone and put an Imperturbable Charm on the kitchen door.’
‘How d'you know?’ said George, looking crestfallen.
‘Tonks told me how to find out,’ said Ginny. ‘You just chuck stuff at the door and if it can't make contact the door's been Imperturbed. I've been flicking Dungbombs at it from the top of the stairs and they just soar away from it, so there's no way the Extendable Ears will be able to get under the gap.’
Fred heaved a deep sigh.
‘Shame. I really fancied finding out what old Snape's been up to.’
‘Snape!’ said Harry quickly. ‘Is he here?’
‘Yeah,’ said George, carefully closing the door and sitting down on one of the beds; Fred and Ginny followed. ‘Giving a report. Top secret.’
‘Git,’ said Fred idly.
‘He's on our side now,’ said Hermione reprovingly.
Ron snorted. ‘Doesn't stop him being a git. The way he looks at us when he sees us....’
‘Bill doesn't like him, either,’ said Ginny, as though that settled the matter.
Harry was not sure his anger had abated yet; but his thirst for information was now overcoming his urge to keep shouting. He sank on to the bed opposite the others.
‘Is Bill here?’ he asked. ‘I thought he was working in Egypt?’
‘He applied for a desk job so he could come home and work for the Order,’ said Fred. ‘He says he misses the tombs, but,’ he smirked, ‘there are compensations....’
‘What d'you mean?’
‘Remember old Fleur Delacour?’ said George. ‘She's got a job at Gringotts to eemprove ‘er Eeenglish—’
‘—and Bill's been giving her a lot of private lessons,’ sniggered Fred.
‘Charlie's in the Order, too,’ said George, ‘but he's still in Romania. Dumbledore wants as many foreign wizards brought in as possible, so Charlie's trying to make contacts on his days off.’
‘Couldn't Percy do that?’ Harry asked. The last he had heard, the third Weasley brother was working in the Department of International Magical Co-operation at the Ministry of Magic.
At Harry's words, all the Weasleys and Hermione exchanged darkly significant looks.
‘Whatever you do, don't mention Percy in front of Mum and Dad,’ Ron told Harry in a tense voice.
‘Why not?’
‘Because every time Percy's name's mentioned, Dad breaks whatever he's holding and Mum starts crying,’ Fred said.
‘It's been awful,’ said Ginny sadly.
‘I think we're well shot of him,’ said George, with an uncharacteristically ugly look on his face.
‘What's happened?’ Harry said.
‘Percy and Dad had a row,’ said Fred. ‘I've never seen Dad row with anyone like that. It's normally Mum who shouts....’
‘It was the first week back after term ended,’ said Ron. ‘We were about to come and join the Order. Percy came home and told us he'd been promoted.’
‘You're kidding?’ said Harry.
Though he knew perfectly well that Percy was highly ambitious, Harry's impression was that Percy had not made a great success of his first job at the Ministry of Magic. Percy had committed the fairly large oversight of failing to notice that his boss was being controlled by Lord Voldemort (not that the Ministry had believed it—they all thought Mr. Crouch had gone mad).
‘Yeah, we were all surprised,’ said George, ‘because Percy got into a load of trouble about Crouch, there was an inquiry and everything. They said Percy ought to have realised Crouch was off his rocker and informed a superior. But you know Percy, Crouch left him in charge, he wasn't going to complain....’
‘So how come they promoted him?’
‘That's exactly what we wondered,’ said Ron, who seemed very keen to keep normal conversation going now that Harry had stopped yelling. ‘He came home really pleased with himself—even more pleased than usual, if you can imagine that—and told Dad he'd been offered a position in Fudge's own office. A really good one for someone only a year out of Hogwarts—Junior Assistant to the Minister. He expected Dad to be all impressed, I think.’
‘Only Dad wasn't,’ said Fred grimly.
‘Why not?’ said Harry.
‘Well, apparently Fudge has been storming round the Ministry checking that nobody's having any contact with Dumbledore,’ said George.
‘Dumbledore's name is mud with the Ministry these days, see,’ said Fred. ‘They all think he's just making trouble saying You-Know-Who's back.’
‘Dad says Fudge has made it clear that anyone who's in league with Dumbledore can clear out their desks,’ said George.
‘Trouble is, Fudge suspects Dad, he knows he's friendly with Dumbledore, and he's always thought Dad's a bit of a weirdo because of his Muggle obsession.’
‘But what's that got to do with Percy?’ asked Harry, confused.
‘I'm coming to that. Dad reckons Fudge only wants Percy in his office because he wants to use him to spy on the family—and Dumbledore.’
Harry let out a low whistle.
‘Bet Percy loved that.’
Ron laughed in a hollow sort of way.
‘He went completely berserk. He said—well, he said loads of terrible stuff. He said he's been having to struggle against Dad's lousy reputation ever since he joined the Ministry and that Dad's got no ambition and that's why we've always been—you know—not had a lot of money, I mean—’
‘What?’ said Harry in disbelief, as Ginny made a noise like an angry cat.
‘I know,’ said Ron in a low voice. ‘And it got worse. He said Dad was an idiot to run around with Dumbledore, that Dumbledore was heading for big trouble and Dad was going to go down with him, and that he—Percy—knew where his loyalty lay and it was with the Ministry. And if Mum and Dad were going to become traitors to the Ministry he was going to make sure everyone knew he didn't belong to our family any more. And he packed his bags the same night and left. He's living here in London now.’
Harry swore under his breath. He had always liked Percy least of Ron's brothers, but he had never imagined he would say such things to Mr. Weasley.
‘Mum's been in a right state,’ said Ron dully. ‘You know—crying and stuff. She came up to London to try and talk to Percy but he slammed the door in her face. I dunno what he does if he meets Dad at work—ignores him, I s'pose.’
‘But Percy must know Voldemort's back,’ said Harry slowly. ‘He's not stupid, he must know your mum and dad wouldn't risk everything without proof—’
‘Yeah, well, your name got dragged into the row,’ said Ron, shooting Harry a furtive look. ‘Percy said the only evidence was your word and ... I dunno ... he didn't think it was good enough.’
‘Percy takes the Daily Prophet seriously,’ said Hermione tartly, and the others all nodded.
‘What are you talking about?’ Harry asked, looking around at them all. They were all regarding him warily.
‘Haven't—haven't you been getting the Daily Prophet?’ Hermione asked nervously.
‘Yeah, I have!’ said Harry.
‘Have you—er— been reading it thoroughly?’ Hermione asked, still more anxiously.
‘Not cover to cover,’ said Harry defensively. ‘If they were going to report anything about Voldemort it would be headline news, wouldn't it?’
The others flinched at the sound of the name. Hermione hurried on, ‘Well, you'd need to read it cover to cover to pick it up, but they—um—they mention you a couple of times a week.’
‘But I'd have seen—’
‘Not if you've only been reading the front page, you wouldn't,’ said Hermione, shaking her head. ‘I'm not talking about big articles. They just slip you in, like you're a standing joke.’
‘What d'you—?’
‘It's quite nasty, actually,’ said Hermione in a voice of forced calm. ‘They're just building on Rita's stuff.’
‘But she's not writing for them any more, is she?’
‘Oh, no, she's kept her promise—not that she's got any choice,’ Hermione added with satisfaction. ‘But she laid the foundation for what they're trying to do now.’
‘Which is what?’ said Harry impatiently.
‘OK, you know she wrote that you were collapsing all over the place and saying your scar was hurting and all that?’
‘Yeah,’ said Harry, who was not likely to forget Rita Skeeter's stories about him in a hurry.
‘Well, they're writing about you as though you're this deluded, attention-seeking person who thinks he's a great tragic hero or something,’ said Hermione, very fast, as though it would be less unpleasant for Harry to hear these facts quickly. ‘They keep slipping in snide comments about you. If some far-fetched story appears, they say something like, “A tale worthy of Harry Potter", and if anyone has a funny accident or anything it's, “Let's hope he hasn't got a scar on his forehead or we'll be asked to worship him next"—’
‘I don't want anyone to worship—’ Harry began hotly.
‘I know you don't,’ said Hermione quickly, looking frightened. ‘I know, Harry. But you see what they're doing? They want to turn you into someone nobody will believe. Fudge is behind it, I'll bet anything. They want wizards on the street to think you're just some stupid boy who's a bit of a joke, who tells ridiculous tall stories because he loves being famous and wants to keep it going.’
‘I didn't ask— I didn't want— Voldemort killed my parents!’ Harry spluttered. ‘I got famous because he murdered my family but couldn't kill me! Who wants to be famous for that? Don't they think I'd rather it'd never—’
‘We know, Harry,’ said Ginny earnestly.
‘And of course, they didn't report a word about the dementors attacking you,’ said Hermione. ‘Someone's told them to keep that quiet. That should've been a really big story, out-of-control dementors. They haven't even reported that you broke the International Statute of Secrecy. We thought they would, it would be in so well with this image of you as some stupid show-off. We think they're biding their time until you're expelled, then they're really going to go to town— I mean, if you're expelled, obviously,’ she went on hastily. ‘You really shouldn't be, not if they abide by their own laws, there's no case against you.’
They were back on the hearing and Harry did not want to think about that. He cast around for another change of subject, but was saved the necessity of finding one by the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs.
‘Uh oh.’
Fred gave the Extendable Ear a hearty tug; there was another loud crack and he and George vanished. Seconds later, Mrs. Weasley appeared in the bedroom doorway.
‘The meeting's over, you can come down and have dinner now. Everyone's dying to see you, Harry. And who's left all those Dungbombs outside the kitchen door?’
‘Crookshanks,’ said Ginny unblushingly. ‘He loves playing with them.’
‘Oh,’ said Mrs Weasley, ‘I thought it might have been Kreacher, he keeps doing odd things like that. Now don't forget to keep your voices down in the hall. Ginny, your hands are filthy, what have you been doing? Go and wash them before dinner, please....’
Ginny grimaced at the others and followed her mother out of the room, leaving Harry alone with Ron and Hermione. Both of them were watching him apprehensively, as though they feared he would start shouting again now that everyone else had gone. The sight of them looking so nervous made him feel slightly ashamed.
‘Look...’ he muttered, but Ron shook his head, and Hermione said quietly, ‘We knew you'd be angry, Harry, we really don't blame you, but you've got to understand, we did try to persuade Dumbledore—’
‘Yeah, I know,’ said Harry grudgingly.
He cast around for a topic that didn't involve his headmaster, because the very thought of Dumbledore made Harry's insides burn with anger again.
‘Who's Kreacher?’ he asked.
‘The house-elf who lives here,’ said Ron. ‘Nutter. Never met one like him.’
Hermione frowned at Ron.
‘He's not a nutter, Ron—’
‘His life's ambition is to have his head cut off and stuck up on plaque just like his mother,’ said Ron irritably. ‘Is that normal, Hermione?’
‘Well—well, if he is a bit strange, it's not his fault—’
Ron rolled his eyes at Harry.
‘Hermione still hasn't given up on spew.’
‘It's not “spew"!’ said Hermione heatedly. ‘It's the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. And it's not just me, Dumbledore says we should be kind to Kreacher too—’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ said Ron. ‘C'mon, I'm starving.’
He led the way out of the door and on to the landing, but before they could descend the stairs— ‘Hold it!’ Ron breathed, flinging out an arm to stop Harry and Hermione walking any further. ‘They're still in the hall, we might be able to hear something—’
The three of them looked cautiously over the banisters. The gloomy hallway below was packed with witches and wizards, including all of Harry's guard. They were whispering excitedly together. In the very centre of the group Harry saw the dark, greasy-haired head and prominent nose of his least favourite teacher at Hogwarts, Professor Snape. Harry leant further over the banisters. He was very interested in what Snape was doing for the Order of the Phoenix....
A thin piece of flesh-coloured string descended in front of Harry's eyes. Looking up, he saw Fred and George on the landing above, cautiously lowering the Extendable Ear towards the dark knot of people below. A moment later, however, they all began to move towards the front door and out of sight.
‘Dammit,’ Harry heard Fred whisper, as he hoisted the Extendable Ear back up again.
They heard the front door open, then close.
‘Snape never eats here,’ Ron told Harry quietly. ‘Thank God. C'mon.’
‘And don't forget to keep your voice down in the hall, Harry,’ Hermione whispered.
As they passed the row of house-elf heads on the wall, they saw Lupin, Mrs. Weasley, and Tonks at the front door, magically sealing its many locks and bolts behind those who had just left.
‘We're eating down in the kitchen,’ Mrs. Weasley whispered, meeting them at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Harry, dear, if you'll just tiptoe across the hall it's through this door here—’
CRASH.
‘Tonks!’ cried Mrs. Weasley in exasperation, turning to look behind her.
‘I'm sorry!’ wailed Tonks, who was lying flat on the floor. ‘It's that stupid umbrella stand, that's the second time I've tripped over—’
But the rest of her words were drowned by a horrible, ear-splitting, blood-curdling screech.
The moth-eaten velvet curtains Harry had passed earlier had flown apart, but there was no door behind them. For a split second, Harry thought he was looking through a window, a window behind which an old woman in a black cap was screaming and screaming as though she were being tortured—then he realised it was simply a life-size portrait, but the most realistic, and the most unpleasant, he had ever seen in his life.
The old woman was drooling, her eyes were rolling, the yellowing skin of her face stretched taut as she screamed, and all along the hall behind them, the other portraits awoke and began to yell, too, so that Harry actually screwed up his eyes at the noise and clapped his hands over his ears.
Lupin and Mrs Weasley darted forward and tried to tug the curtains shut over the old woman, but they would not close and she screeched louder than ever, brandishing clawed hands as though trying to tear at their faces.
‘Filth! Scum! By-products of dirt and vileness! Half-breeds, mutants, freaks, begone from this place! How dare you befoul the house of my fathers—’
Tonks apologised over and over again, dragging the huge, heavy troll's leg back off the floor; Mrs. Weasley abandoned the attempt to close the curtains and hurried up and down the hall, Stunning all the other portraits with her wand; and a man with long black hair came charging out of a door facing Harry.
‘Shut up, you horrible old hag, shut UP!’ he roared, seizing the curtain Mrs. Weasley had abandoned.
The old woman's face blanched.
‘Yoooou!’ she howled, her eyes popping at the sight of the man. ‘Blood traitor, abomination, shame of my flesh!’
‘I said—shut—UP!’ roared the man, and with a stupendous effort he and Lupin managed to force the curtains closed again.
The old woman's screeches died and an echoing silence tell. Panting slightly and sweeping his long dark hair out of his eyes, Harry's godfather Sirius turned to face him.
‘Hello, Harry,’ he said grimly, ‘I see you've met my mother.’
“什么是某某指令—？”哈利开始提问。 
　　“不是这里，孩子！”穆迪叫道，“等在这里直到我们进去为止。”他把那张羊皮纸从哈利的手里抽出来并用魔杖将其点燃。当那张纸条在火焰中卷曲并且飘到地面上的时候，哈利再次看了看周围的房子。他们现在正站在11号的外面，他看看左边是10号，然后看看右边，却是13号。 
　　“但是哪里才是—” 
　　“努力回想你刚刚记住的东西，”卢平平静的说。 
　　哈利开始回想，不久他就到达了格里曼迪街12号的地方，除了一扇被敲碎的门现在出现在11号与13号之间以外，其余部分都是肮脏的外墙和污秽的窗户。无论这些东西从外面哪个方向看，都象是另外一家多出来的部分。哈利对着它打了一个哈欠。11号房家中的音箱轰隆作响。很显然住在里面的麻瓜什么也感觉不到。 
　　穆迪在后面推着哈利并大声叫道：“快过来。” 
　　哈利走上旧的台阶，眼睛死死盯着那道新多出来的大门。它的黑色油漆已经破烂不堪并且满布刮痕。银色的门把手已经扭曲成了一个蛇形。在大门上既没有钥匙孔也没有信箱。卢平掏出魔杖敲了大门一次。哈利听见大门发出一阵响亮的，金属质感的卡嗒声，听起来好象是一条金属链子发出的声音。大门吱吱作响的打开了。 
　　“快进去吧，哈利，”卢平小声说道，“但是不要过分深入并且不要碰任何东西。” 
　　哈利走进了几乎完全黑暗的大厅。他能够闻见一种潮湿而多灰尘，并且带有腐败的甜味相混合的气味，这个地方给人的感觉就象一个已经被人遗弃的建筑物。他从肩膀往后看去，其他人整齐的跟在他的后面，卢平和唐克丝手里拿着他的旅行箱以及海维的笼子。穆迪站在最上面一层台阶上，并且正在用那个打火机恢复外面被熄灭的街灯，光线飞回了灯泡里，在穆迪一瘸一拐的走进来并关上大门之前，那个小广场又立刻重新笼罩在一片橘黄色的光线之中，而穆迪已经关上了大门，所以这个大厅就变得完全黑暗了。 
　　“这里—” 
　　他又用魔杖重重的拍了一下哈利的头，这次哈利感觉好象又一股热流在他的背上流过，他知道那个所谓的隐身魔法（就是那个把哈利变成一只人形变色龙的魔法）已经解除了。 
　　“所有人听着，当我给大家一点光线的时候，大家站着别动，”穆迪小声说道。 
　　其他人的沉默不语给了哈利一种古怪的预感，好象他们进入了一个垂死之人的房间。他听见了一阵柔和的嘶嘶声，然后所有墙壁上的老式汽灯都亮了起来，将一束忽明忽暗，很不稳定的光线投射在斑驳的墙纸上，并且照射出一条铺着破旧地毯的，长而黑暗的走廊，在走廊的顶上有一盏满布蜘蛛网的树形装饰灯在闪烁，还有年代久远已经发黑的肖像画挂在弯弯曲曲的墙壁上。哈利听见在身后的壁脚板处有某种打开阀门的声音。无论是那个树形装饰灯，还是放在附近一张摇摇晃晃的桌子上的枝状大烛台，其形状都象是一条大毒蛇。 
　　远处传来一阵匆忙的脚步声，罗恩的母亲，威斯里太太从大厅最尽头的一扇门后面出现了。她的脸上洋溢着欢迎的喜悦匆匆的跑向哈利，可是哈利发现她比上次见到的时候更加的消瘦和苍白。 
　　“哦，哈利，真高兴见到你！”她小声说道并给了哈利一个几乎能把肋骨勒断的拥抱，然后抓着他的手臂挑剔的检查着。“你看上去更加消瘦了，你要加强营养，但是我恐怕你要等一下才能吃到晚饭了。” 
　　她转身向着哈利身后的那帮巫师们小声而急切的说道：“他刚刚抵达，会议已经开始了。” 
　　哈利身后的巫师们发出了一阵兴趣和兴奋交加的嘈杂声，并且整齐的排队越过哈利走向威斯里太太刚刚出现的那扇门。哈利想要跟上卢平，但是威斯里太太把他拉了回来。 
　　“不，哈利，这个会议只有指令成员才可以参加。罗恩与荷米恩在楼上，你可以等着他们直到会议结束，然后我们就吃晚饭。在大厅里尽量压低声音，”她最后又以一种急切的耳语补充道。 
　　“为什么？” 
　　“我不想吵醒任何东西。” 
　　“你会吵醒什么—？” 
　　“我以后会向你解释的，我得赶快走，我要去参加会议—现在我只给你指出睡觉的地方。” 
　　把手指压在嘴唇上，她带着哈利蹑手蹑脚的通过了一对长长的，长满蛀虫的窗帘，在窗帘的后面哈利猜想肯定还有一扇门。然后在绕过了一个巨大的看上去象是几根巨人腿构成的伞架之后，他们走上了黑暗的楼梯，经过了一排裱糊在墙上作为装饰的缩小的头状物体。再靠近一些哈利发现这些头颅属于房屋小精灵。他们都有着猪嘴一样的鼻子。 
　　每前进一步哈利的迷惑都更深了。 
　　他们究竟在这个房子里做了什么，以至于这个地方看起来更象是属于最黑暗的巫师们？ 
　　“威斯里太太，为什么—？” 
　　“罗恩与荷米恩会向你解释一切的，亲爱的，我真的要赶快走了，”威斯里太太小声说道，“那里—他们已经到了第二层，—你的房间在右边。会议结束的时候我来叫你。” 
　　然后她就再次急匆匆的下楼去了。 
　　哈利穿过了黑暗的楼梯平台，转动了门把手，这个门把手的形状也象是一条大毒蛇的头，并且打开了房门。 
　　他简单的巡视了一下阴沉而高耸的天花板，这是一个双人间，然后他听见里面发出一阵响亮的唧唧喳喳的噪音，接着是一声更加响亮的尖叫，随后哈利的视线就被一张巨大的，有着大量浓密头发的脸占据了。荷米恩冲上来给了哈利一个拥抱，几乎把他撞到了地上，而与此同时罗恩的小猫头鹰小猪兴奋的在他们的头顶上盘旋。“快点！罗恩，他在这里，哈利在这里！我们没听说他要来！哦，你怎么样？你还好吧？你会对我们发脾气吗？我打赌你会的，我知道我们信毫无用处—因为我们不能告诉你任何事情—丹伯多（霍格瓦彻的校长）要我们发誓什么也不能说，哦，我们有很多事十分渴望能告诉你，而且你也有很多事情和我们说吧—那些该死的摄魂怪！当我们听说—当然是魔法部听说的—那真是太残忍了，我对着他们直翻白眼，他们不能开除你，他们就是不能，在那个未成年人巫术限制条例里面有条款规定在生命受到威胁的情况下允许使用魔法—” 
　　“让他喘口气吧，荷米恩，”当关上哈利身后的门时罗恩微笑着说。在他们分别的一个月里他看来又长高了几英寸，这使他看上去比过去更加瘦长了，但是他的长鼻子，鲜红的头发和脸上的雀斑还是和过去一样。荷米恩仍然喜气洋洋，她放开了哈利，但是在她没来得及说出下一个字之前传来了一阵柔和的呼啸声，有个白色的东西从黑暗的衣柜顶部猛冲下来并且轻轻的落在了哈利的肩头。 
　　“海维！” 
　　当哈利抚摩着它的羽毛的时候这只浑身雪白的猫头鹰磕着它的嘴并且亲切的轻咬着哈利的耳朵。 
　　“它干的真棒，”罗恩说道，“当它带来你的最后一封信的时候我们被它啄的半死，看看这个—” 
　　他给哈利看了自己的右手食指，虽然已经是半愈合状态，但是很明显伤口很深。 
　　“哦，是的，”哈利说道，“我很抱歉，但是我渴望答复，你知道的—” 
　　“我也想给你答复，伙计，”罗恩说道。 
　　“荷米恩正在请求宽恕，她一直担心如果你得不到任何回复会干傻事，但是丹伯多让我们…” 
　　“发誓不要告诉我，”哈利说道，“荷米恩已经告诉我了。” 
　　看见了两个最好的朋友，哈利感到一股暖流在身体里伸展，仿佛他干瘪的胃里的某种冰冷感也随之消失了。一切都来的那么突然，在经过了一个月的想念之后，他宁愿罗恩和荷米恩让他一个人待着。 
　　当哈利无意识的抚摩着海维的时候出现了一阵紧张的寂静，哈利没有看着另外两个人。 
　　“他看起来认为这么做是最好的，”荷米恩呼吸困难的说道，“我指的是丹伯多。” 
　　“正确，”哈利说道。他注意到荷米恩的手上同样有着海维的硬嘴留下的记号，但是他发现他对此毫无歉意。 
　　“我认为丹伯多觉得你和麻瓜亲戚待在一起是最安全的—”罗恩开口说道。 
　　“是吗？”哈利的眉毛抬了起来，“这个夏天你们之中有谁被摄魂怪袭击了吗？” 
　　“是的，没有，可是那正是为什么他要派遣凤凰指令的成员全天跟踪你的原因—” 
　　哈利感到在他的腿有一阵剧烈的摇晃，仿佛他刚刚下楼时踩空了一级台阶。因此所有人都知道他被跟踪，只是除了他自己。 
　　“但是，他们干的并不好，是吗？”哈利尽了最大的努力使自己的声音平静，“毕竟还是要自己照顾自己，不是吗？” 
　　“他是如此的恼火，”荷米恩用一种几乎敬畏的口气说道，“丹伯多。我们看见他了。当他发现蒙顿格斯在交班之前擅离职守的时候，他几乎惊慌失措。” 
　　“好了，我很高兴他擅离职守，”哈利冷淡的说道，“如果他没有擅离职守我也许就不会使用魔法，那么丹伯多可能整个夏天都把我扔在女贞路。” 
　　“你不是，你不是一直在担心魔法部的听证会吗？”荷米恩平静的问道。 
　　“不，”哈利挑战性的撒谎道。他离开他们，四处打量，海维在他的肩头舒服而满足的站着，但是这个房间看来并不合适他净化灵魂。它又潮湿又黑暗。一块白色的帆布镶在一只装饰精美的镜框里，到处都裸露出剥离的墙面，当哈利经过的时候他认为他听见有东西潜伏在视线之外，偷偷的笑着。 
　　“那么为什么丹伯多如此渴望把我扔进黑暗里呢？” 
　　哈利仍然在尽力保持着不经意的口气问道，“你们—嗯—完全没有问过他吗？” 
　　他正好扫了一眼，并且发现他们交换了一下眼神，这告诉哈利他现在的行为正是他们害怕发生的。这一点也不能让他改善情绪。 
　　“我们告诉丹伯多我们想要告诉你正在进行的行动，”罗恩说道，“我们试过，伙计。但是他现在真的很忙，自从我们来这里之后我们仅仅见过他两次，而且他也没有太多的时间，他只是要我们发誓在写信的时候不要告诉你任何重要的信息，他说猫头鹰也许会被中途截留。” 
　　“如果他愿意的话，他还是可以通知我的，”哈利简洁的说，“你们不要告诉我，他不知道任何不用猫头鹰传递信息的方法。” 
　　荷米恩盯着罗恩然后说道：“我也这么想过。可是他就是不愿你知道任何事情。” 
　　“也许他认为我不可信任，”哈利一边看着他们的表情一边说道。 
　　“别这么想，”罗恩看起来十分惊慌。 
　　“或者是我照顾不了我自己。” 
　　“他当然不会这样认为，”荷米恩紧张的说。 
　　“因此接下来的问题就是为什么我必须待在杜斯利家里，而你们两个人却能够参与在这里进行的每一件事？”哈利说道，这些单词一个接一个的冲口而出，每说一个单词他的嗓门就更大一些，“为什么你们两个被允许知道这里发生的每一件事？” 
　　“我们没有！”罗恩打断了哈利的话，“妈妈不让我们接触会议，她说我们太年轻—” 
　　但是在他了解之前，哈利就已经叫起来。 
　　“因此你就没有参加会议，亲爱的！可是你仍然待在这里，不是吗？你们仍然在一起！我，我却被扔在杜斯利家里一个月！并且我应付问题的能力比你们两个还要出色，而丹伯多也知道这一点—是谁拯救了魔法石？是谁揭开了密室之谜？又是谁从摄魂怪手下救出了你们两个？” 
　　在过去的一个月里每一点的痛苦和愤怒都爆发出来，他对于缺乏信息的愤怒，他们在一起而抛下他的伤害，被跟踪而没有被告知的恼怒—所有这些令他羞耻的感觉，最后都冲破界限爆发出来。海维被这种咆哮声吓坏了，它重新飞回到衣柜顶上，小猪发出警告的喳喳声，并在他们的头上盘旋的更快了。 
　　“去年是谁通过了巨龙、斯芬克斯还有其他一系列令人恶心的考验（详见第四部）？是谁看着伏地魔恢复？是谁从他手里逃脱？我！” 
　　罗恩站在原地，嘴半张着，明显被吓到了，并且说不出任何话来，与此同时荷米恩看上去快要哭出来了。 
　　“但是为什么我不应该知道正在进行的活动？为什么所有人都讨厌告诉我究竟发生了什么？” 
　　“哈利，我们想告诉你，我们真的想—”荷米恩说道。 
　　“你没有那么想，你能的，或者你们想给我送一只猫头鹰，但是丹伯多要你们发誓—” 
　　“是的，他是这么做的—” 
　　“四周以来我一直被扔在女贞路，翻箱倒柜的想要找出究竟发生了什么事—” 
　　“我们想—” 
　　“我猜你们只是想要嘲笑我，不是吗，就在这里你们一起来吧—““不，老实说—” 
　　“哈利，我们真的很抱歉！”荷米恩拼命的叫道，她的眼睛里充满了泪水，“你是完全正确的，哈利—如果换成我的话，我也会勃然大怒的！” 
　　哈利盯着她，依然大口呼吸，然后再次转身背对着他们，在房间里踱来踱去。海维在衣柜顶上阴沉的大声叫喊。房间里出现了一段长时间的停顿，唯一打破这种寂静的只有楼板在哈利脚下的悲鸣。 
　　“不管怎么说，这是什么地方？”哈利冲着罗恩与荷米恩叫道。 
　　“凤凰指令指挥部”罗恩立刻回答道。 
　　“有人可以告诉我什么是凤凰指令—？” 
　　“这是一个秘密组织，”荷米恩很快说道。 
　　“丹伯多是这里的负责人，是他发起成立的。是最近为了对抗你知道的那个人的。” 
　　“这个组织里面都有谁？”哈利把手插在口袋里停顿了一下说道。 
　　“只有很少的几个人—” 
　　“我们碰到的大概有二十个”罗恩说道，“不过我想应该更多。” 
　　哈利盯着他们。 
　　“还有呢？”他从一个看到另一个并询问道。 
　　“嗯”罗恩说道，“还有什么？” 
　　“伏地魔！”哈利狂暴的吼道，而罗恩与荷米恩都在向后退缩，“发生了什么事？他在干什么？他在哪里？我们做了什么事情来阻止他？” 
　　“我已经告诉过你了，凤凰指令组织不让我们参加会议，”荷米恩神情紧张的说道，“因此我们不知道细节，但是我们有个大致的想法，”她看着哈利的脸很快补充道。 
　　“弗来德和乔治（罗恩的两个哥哥）已经发明了顺风耳，你看，”罗恩说道，“它们真的很有用。” 
　　“顺风—？” 
　　“耳朵，是的。只是最近我们被禁止使用，因为妈妈发现了而且极为震怒。弗来德和乔治不得不把它们藏起来以防妈妈把它们没收。但是在妈妈意识到发生的事情之前我们用过一段时间。我们知道指令的某些成员正在跟踪一些著名的食死徒（指伏地魔的忠实信徒），对他们进行辨认，你知道的—” 
　　“他们之中的某些人正在招募更多的人加入凤凰指令组织—”荷米恩说道。 
　　“而且他们之中一些人还在严密守卫着某样东西，”罗恩说道，“他们总是在讨论守卫任务。” 
　　“不会是我吧，会吗？”哈利讽刺的说道。 
　　“哦，就是你，”罗恩的脸上满是终于了解的表情。 
　　哈利对此嗤之以鼻。他又开始在房间里到处转，搜索着除了罗恩与荷米恩以外的任何地方，“那么，如果你们不被允许参加会议，那么你们两个是干什么的呢？” 
　　“我们，”荷米恩很快答道，“我们负责清理这所房子，它已经荒废了很多年了，各种东西都在这里繁殖。我们已经尽力清理出了厨房，绝大多数的卧室，我认为明天应该清理客厅—” 
　　随着两声巨响，罗恩的两个双胞胎哥哥，弗来德和乔治仿佛稀薄的空气一样出现在房间的中央。小猪叫的更大声了，现在它盘旋的范围把衣柜顶上的海维也包括进来。 
　　“下次别这么干！”罗恩对着他的两个哥哥虚弱的说道，着两个家伙都有着和罗恩一样的鲜红头发，但是他们比罗恩更结实也稍稍更矮。 
　　“你好，哈利，”乔治对着他高兴的说道，“我们认为听见了你愉快的声音。” 
　　“你不用象那样控制你的愤怒，哈利，让他们全部爆发出来，”弗来德同样高兴的说道。“也许我们要在50英里外才有办法不听见你的声音。” 
　　“那么你们两个通过标准巫师等级测试吗？”哈利气急败坏的问道。 
　　“这是有区别的，”弗来德说道，他的手里拿着一样东西，看来象是一根相当长的，颜色鲜艳的带子。 
　　“你从这里下楼至少要花费超过30秒的时间，”罗恩说道。 
　　“时间有的是，小弟，”弗来德说道，“不管怎么说，你现在正在妨碍我们工作。顺风耳，”他回应着哈利抬起的眉毛大声叫道，同时拿起了哈利现在看见垂在地上的带子。“我们正在试图听见楼下正在干什么？” 
　　“你们要小心，”罗恩盯着顺风耳说道，“如果妈妈再次看见它们—” 
　　“冒险是值得的，他们正在召开的是一个主要会议，”弗来德说道。 
　　房门又被打开了，出现了一头长长的鲜红头发，“哦，你好，哈利！”说话的是罗恩的妹妹金妮，她的脸上一片明亮，“我想我听见你的声音了。” 
　　转向弗来德和乔治，她接着说道：“这里听不见—带着顺风耳走吧，妈妈在厨房的门上施展了消声咒语就离开了。” 
　　“你是怎么知道的？”乔治看起来垂头丧气。 
　　“唐克丝告诉我怎样识别那些门，”金妮说道，“我站在楼梯顶端用粪蛋丢门，可被弹开了，因此顺风耳没有办法从下面那个缝隙获得声音。” 
　　弗来德发出了一声深深的叹息。 
　　“惭愧啊。我真的想知道老斯内普在干些什么？” 
　　“斯内普！（以对待哈利态度恶劣而著称的斯莱特林分院院长）”哈利很快的说道，“他也在这里吗？” 
　　“是的，”乔治说道，他小心的靠近门口并坐在其中一张床上。弗来德和金妮跟着他。 
　　“他正在提交一份报告。这是最高机密。” 
　　“那个饭桶，”弗来德懒散的说道。 
　　“他现在是我们这边的，”荷米恩责备的说道。 
　　罗恩对荷米恩的论调嗤之以鼻。“不要阻止那个家伙成为一个饭桶。他看我们的时候与我们看他的方式是一回事。” 
　　“比尔（罗恩的大哥，已经从霍格瓦彻毕业，在非洲替古灵阁工作）也不喜欢他，”金妮说道，好象这样就可以解决这个争端一样。 
　　哈利不能肯定他的怒火已经缓和，但是他对信息的渴望现在压倒了继续吼叫的冲动。他背对其他人倒在了床上。 
　　“比尔在这里吗？”他问道，“我想他现在正在埃及工作。” 
　　“他申请了一份文书工作，因此他能够回来并且为凤凰指令工作。”弗来德说道，“他说他错过了金字塔，但是，”他傻笑道，“比尔认为这是有补偿的。” 
　　“你是什么意思？” 
　　“还记得那个老弗蕾儿·德拉克吗？”乔治说道，“她在恶魔银行格林高斯获得了一份工作” 
　　“而现在比尔向她提供了很多私人课程，”弗来德吃吃的偷笑着。 
　　“查理也在为凤凰指令工作，”乔治说道，“但是他仍然待在罗马尼亚。丹伯多想要招募尽可能多的外国巫师，因此这些天查理在努力与他们接触。” 
　　“珀西（罗恩的三哥，哈利入学时是格兰芬多的级长）不能做这项工作吗？”哈利问道。他最后一次听见威斯里家老三的消息是说他正在为魔法部国际魔法合作处工作。 
　　对于哈利的话，全体威斯里家族成员与荷米恩都交换了一个黯然失色的眼神。 
　　“不管你干什么，不要在爸爸和妈妈面前提起珀西，”罗恩用一种紧张的口气告诉哈利。 
　　“为什么不行？” 
　　“因为每一次只要一提到珀西，爸爸手里无论拿着什么东西都一定会打碎，而妈妈就开始哭泣，”弗来德说道。 
　　“那真是很糟糕，”金妮难过的说道。 
　　“我想我们吓到他了，”乔治说道，从他的脸上到是看不出丝毫难看的特征。 
　　“发生了什么事？”哈利问道。 
　　“珀西和爸爸发生了激烈争吵，”弗来德说道，“我从没看见爸爸对任何其他人这样,而妈妈通常就是大喊大叫的。” 
　　“那是学期结束后第一周发生的事情，”罗恩说道，“我们准备去加入凤凰指令。珀西跑来家里告诉我们他被晋升了。” 
　　“你在开玩笑，”哈利说道。 
　　尽管哈利很清楚珀西野心勃勃，他对珀西的印象只有他在魔法部里的第一份工作干的并不出色。珀西犯了个大错，他竟然没有察觉自己的上司已经被伏地魔控制了。（魔法部当然不会相信这个—他们只是认为克劳奇先生发疯了。） 
　　“是的，我们也很惊讶，”乔治说道，“因为珀西卷入了和克劳奇有关的一系列麻烦之中，每件事都需要调查。他们说珀西应该意识到克劳奇的失控并且报告上级。但是你知道珀西的，克劳奇离开之后一切就由他负责，他居然就没了任何抱怨。” 
　　“那么他们又怎么晋升了他呢？” 
　　“那也正是我们疑惑不解的事情，”罗恩说道，看来在哈利停止咆哮之后他很渴望保持这种正常的谈话，“他是真正沾沾自喜的跑到我们家里—甚至比平常更高兴，如果你能想象到的话，—并且告诉爸爸他已经在法尼治（是个魔法大臣）本人的办公室里获得了一个职位。对于一个一年前刚刚离开霍格瓦彻的人来说这是个真正的好职位：成为魔法大臣的高级助手。我想他是希望给爸爸留下深刻印象。” 
　　“可就是爸爸没有，”弗来德咬牙切齿的说。 
　　“为什么没有？”哈利问。 
　　“当然，很显然法尼治正在部里咆哮，要确定没人和丹伯多有过任何接触，”乔治说道。 
　　“丹伯多的名字，这些日子象泥浆一样困扰着魔法部，”弗来德接着说，“他们都认为当他到处说着‘你知道谁回来了吗’这样的话的时候，仅仅是在制造麻烦。” 
　　“爸爸告诉法尼治，他的意图很明显，那就是所有和丹伯多站在同一阵线的人都会从办公桌前扫地出门，”乔治说道。 
　　“麻烦就是，法尼治怀疑爸爸，他知道爸爸是丹伯多的朋友，而且因为爸爸对麻瓜文化的兴趣，他总是认为爸爸有些古怪。” 
　　“但是这和珀西有什么关系呢？”哈利完全糊涂了。 
　　“我就要说到这里，爸爸确信法尼治将珀西招进自己办公室的唯一目的就是让他刺探我们家—以及丹伯多。” 
　　哈利发出了一阵低低的咕噜声。 
　　“但是珀西喜欢这个。” 
　　罗恩用一种空洞的方式笑道。 
　　“他完全疯了。他说—好的，他说了一大堆可怕的话。他说自从进入魔法部以来他就不得不和爸爸恶心的名誉做斗争。而且爸爸毫无野心，那就是为什么我们总是—你知道的—总是没有很多钱，我的意思是—” 
　　“什么？”哈利难以置信的说道，而同时金妮发出了象只愤怒的小猫一样的噪音。 
　　“我知道，”罗恩压低声音说。“还有更糟的。他说爸爸是个围着丹伯多打转的白痴，丹伯多是大麻烦的源头，而爸爸会和他一起掉下去，而他—珀西—知道他的忠诚该放在哪一边，他应该忠于魔法部。而且爸爸、妈妈要是想变成魔法部的叛徒的话，他想要所有人都知道他已经不再属于这个家庭。而他当晚就打包离开了。他现在住在伦敦。” 
　　哈利的呼吸声中带着低低的诅咒。他在威斯里兄弟当中最讨厌珀西，但是他无论如何不能想象他会对威斯里先生说出这些话。 
　　“妈妈做了正确的事情，”罗恩含糊的说到道，“你知道的—她又哭又说。她去了伦敦想和珀西谈一次，但是他当着妈妈的面把门摔上了。我不知道他和爸爸在工作时碰面会怎么样—我求你了，忘记他吧。” 
　　“但是珀西肯定知道伏地魔已经回来了，”哈利慢慢的说，“他不蠢，他一定知道自己的父母没有证据是不会冒险的。” 
　　“是的，很对，你的名字也被卷入这场争吵中，”罗恩给了哈利一个隐秘的眼神然后说道，“珀西说唯一的证据就是你的话……他说……他并不认为那有何可信之处。” 
　　“珀西太相信每日先知报了，”荷米恩辛辣的讽刺道，其他人纷纷点头。 
　　“他们说什么？”哈利看着他们问道。可是他们都小心翼翼的注视着他。 
　　“你没有—没有看过每日先知报吗？”荷米恩紧张的问道。 
　　“是的，我有！”哈利叫道。 
　　“嗯—那么你把它读完了吗？”荷米恩仍然紧张的问道。 
　　“从来没有一版一版的读，”哈利保守的说道，“如果他们要报道任何关于伏地魔的消息那肯定是在头版头条，不是吗？” 
　　其他人在听到这个名字的时候都显得畏畏缩缩，荷米恩很快的说道，“你应该拿出来一版一版的读，不过他们—他们一个星期之内提过你两次。” 
　　“但是我只看见—” 
　　“不，如果你只是读首页的话你就看不见，”荷米恩摇摇头，“我们讨论的不是什么大文章。他们只是一笔带过，好象你在说笑话。” 
　　“他们说什么？” 
　　“那真的很丢人，”荷米恩用一种尽量平静的声音说道，“他们仅仅是建立在丽塔（在前作第四部书中她是最令人厌恶的每日先知报记者，会变成甲虫来探听他人隐私，并捏造事实）的素材的基础上。” 
　　“但是她没有再写任何东西了，是吗？” 
　　“哦，没有，她遵守了自己的约定—她没有任何的机会，”荷米恩满意的补充道，“但是她构筑的基础现在却由那些家伙在上面忙碌。” 
　　“它说什么？”哈利不耐烦的问道。 
　　“好吧，你知道她写过你全身都被压扁了，还说你的伤疤正在疼痛，还有其他的。” 
　　“是的，”哈利回答道，想要很快的忘记那个该死的丽塔为他编造的故事是不可能的。 
　　“现在他们把你写成了一个受到蛊惑的，倍受关注的人，你认为自己是一个伟大的悲剧式的英雄还是其他什么的。”荷米恩说的很快，好象她认为说的越
Chapter 5 The Order Of The Phonenix
‘Your—?’
‘My dear old mum, yeah,’ said Sirius. ‘We've been trying to get her down for a month but we think she put a Permanent Sticking Charm on the back of the canvas. Let's get downstairs, quick, before they all wake up again.’
‘But what's a portrait of your mother doing here?’ Harry asked, bewildered, as they went through the door from the hall and led the way down a flight of narrow stone steps, the others just behind them.
‘Hasn't anyone told you? This was my parents’ house,’ said Sirius. ‘But I'm the last Black left, so it's mine now. I offered it to Dumbledore for Headquarters—about the only useful thing I've been able to do.’
Harry, who had expected a better welcome, noted how hard and bitter Sirius's voice sounded. He followed his godfather to the bottom of the steps and through a door leading into the basement kitchen.
It was scarcely less gloomy than the hall above, a cavernous room with rough stone walls. Most of the light was coming from a large fire at the far end of the room. A haze of pipe smoke hung in the air like battle fumes, through which loomed the menacing shapes of heavy iron pots and pans hanging from the dark ceiling. Many chairs had been crammed into the room for the meeting and a long wooden table stood in the middle of them, littered with rolls of parchment, goblets, empty wine bottles, and a heap of what appeared to be rags. Mr. Weasley and his eldest son Bill were talking quietly with their heads together at the end of the table.
Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat. Her husband, a thin, balding, red-haired man who wore horn-rimmed glasses, looked around and jumped to his feet.
‘Harry!’ Mr. Weasley said, hurrying forward to greet him, and shaking his hand vigorously. ‘Good to see you!’
Over his shoulder Harry saw Bill, who still wore his long hair in a ponytail, hastily rolling up the lengths of parchment left on the table.
‘Journey all right, Harry?’ Bill called, trying to gather up twelve scrolls at once. ‘Mad-Eye didn't make you come via Greenland, then?’
‘He tried,’ said Tonks, striding over to help Bill and immediately toppling a candle on to the last piece of parchment. ‘Oh no—sorry—’
‘Here, dear,’ said Mrs. Weasley, sounding exasperated, and she repaired the parchment with a wave of her wand. In the flash of light caused by Mrs. Weasley's charm Harry caught a glimpse of what looked like the plan of a building.
Mrs. Weasley had seen him looking. She snatched the plan off the table and stuffed it into Bill's already overladen arms.
‘This sort of thing ought to be cleared away promptly at the end of meetings,’ she snapped, before sweeping off towards an ancient dresser from which she started unloading dinner plates.
Bill took out his wand, muttered, ‘Evanesce!’ and the scrolls vanished.
‘Sit down, Harry’ said Sirius. ‘You've met Mundungus, haven't you?’
The thing Harry had taken to be a pile of rags gave a prolonged, grunting snore, then jerked awake.
‘Some'n say m'name?’ Mundungus mumbled sleepily. ‘I agree with Sirius....’ He raised a very grubby hand in the air as though voting, his droopy, bloodshot eyes unfocused.
Ginny giggled.
The meeting's over, Dung,’ said Sirius, as they all sat down around him at the table. ‘Harry's arrived.’
‘Eh?’ said Mundungus, peering bale fully at Harry through his matted ginger hair. ‘Blimey, so ‘e ‘as. Yeah ... you all right, ‘arry?’
‘Yeah,’ said Harry.
Mundungus fumbled nervously in his pockets, still staring at Harry, and pulled out a grimy black pipe. He stuck it in his mouth, ignited the end of it with his wand and took a deep pull on it. Great billowing clouds of greenish smoke obscured him within seconds.
‘Owe you a ‘pology,’ grunted a voice from the middle of the smelly cloud.
‘For the last time, Mundungus,’ called Mrs. Weasley, ‘will you please not smoke that thing in the kitchen, especially not when we're about to eat!’
‘Ah,’ said Mundungus. ‘Right. Sorry, Molly.’
The cloud of smoke vanished as Mundungus stowed his pipe back in his pocket, but an acrid smell of burning socks lingered.
‘And if you want dinner before midnight I'll need a hand,’ Mrs. Weasley said to the room at large. ‘No, you can stay where you are, Harry dear, you've had a long journey—’
‘What can I do, Molly?’ said Tonks enthusiastically, bounding forwards.
Mrs. Weasley hesitated, looking apprehensive.
‘Er—no, it's all right, Tonks, you have a rest too, you've done enough today.’
‘No, no, I want to help!’ said Tonks brightly, knocking over a chair as she hurried towards the dresser, from which Ginny was collecting cutlery.
Soon, a series of heavy knives were chopping meat and vegetables of their own accord, supervised by Mr. Weasley, while Mrs. Weasley stirred a cauldron dangling over the fire and the others took out plates, more goblets and food from the pantry. Harry was left at the table with Sirius and Mundungus, who was still blinking at him mournfully.
‘Seen old Figgy since?’ he asked.
‘No,’ said Harry, ‘I haven't seen anyone.’
‘See, I wouldn't ‘ave left,’ said Mundungus, leaning forward, a pleading note in his voice, ‘but I ‘ad a business opportunity—’
Harry felt something brush against his knees and started, but it was only Crookshanks, Hermione's bandy-legged ginger cat, who wound himself once around Harry's legs, purring, then jumped on to Sirius's lap and curled up. Sirius scratched him absent-mindedly behind the ears as he turned, still grim-faced, to Harry.
‘Had a good summer so far?’
‘No, it's been lousy,’ said Harry.
For the first time, something like a grin flitted across Sirius's free.
‘Don't know what you're complaining about, myself.’
‘What?’ said Harry incredulously.
‘Personally, I'd have welcomed a dementor attack. A deadly struggle for my soul would have broken the monotony nicely. You think you've had it bad, at least you've been able to get out and about, stretch your legs, get into a few fights.... I've been stuck inside for a month.’
‘How come?’ asked Harry, frowning.
‘Because the Ministry of Magic's still after me, and Voldemort will know all about me being an Animagus by now, Wormtail will have told him, so my big disguise is useless. There's not much I can do for the Order of the Phoenix ... or so Dumbledore feels.’
There was something about the slightly flattened tone of voice in which Sirius uttered Dumbledore's name that told Harry that Sirius, too, was not very happy with the headmaster eithe. Harry felt a sudden upsurge of affection for his godfather.
‘At least you've known what's been going on,’ he said bracingly.
‘Oh yeah,’ said Sirius sarcastically. ‘Listening to Snape's reports, having to take all his snide hints that he's out there risking his life while I'm sat on my backside here having a nice comfortable time ... asking me how the cleaning's going—’
‘What cleaning?’ asked Harry.
‘Trying to make this place fit for human habitation,’ said Sirius, waving a hand around the dismal kitchen. ‘No one's lived here for ten years, not since my dear mother died, unless you count her old house-elf, and he's gone round the twist, hasn't cleaned anything in ages—’
‘Sirius,’ said Mundungus, who did not appear to have paid any attention to the conversation, but had been closely examining an empty goblet. ‘This solid silver, mate?’
‘Yes,’ said Sirius, surveying it with distaste. ‘Finest fifteenth-century goblin-wrought silver, embossed with the Black family crest.’
‘That'd come orf, though,’ muttered Mundungus, polishing it with his cuff.
‘Fred—George—NO, JUST CARRY THEM!’ Mrs. Weasley shrieked.
Harry, Sirius and Mundungus looked around and, within a split second, they had dived away from the table. Fred and George had bewitched a large cauldron of stew, an iron flagon of Butterbeer, and a heavy wooden breadboard, complete with knife, to hurtle through the air towards them. The stew skidded the length of the table and came to a halt just before the end, leaving a long black burn on the wooden surface; the flagon of Butterbeer fell with a crash, spilling its contents everywhere; the bread knife slipped off the board and landed, point down and quivering ominously, exactly where Sirius's right hand had been seconds before.
‘FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE!’ screamed Mrs. Weasley. ‘THERE WAS NO NEED— I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS— JUST BECAUSE YOU'RE ALLOWED TO USE MAGIC NOW, YOU DON'T HAVE TO WHIP YOUR WANDS OUT FOR EVERY TINY LITTLE THING!’
‘We were just trying to save a bit of time!’ said Fred, hurrying forward to wrench the bread knife out of the table. ‘Sorry, Sirius, mate—didn't mean to—’
Harry and Sirius were both laughing; Mundungus, who had toppled backwards off his chair, was swearing as he got to his feet; Crookshanks had given an angry hiss and shot off under the dresser, from where his large yellow eyes glowed in the darkness.
‘Boys,’ Mr. Weasley said, lifting the stew back into the middle of the table, ‘your mother's right, you're supposed to show a sense of responsibility now you've come of age—’
‘—none of your brothers caused this sort of trouble!’ Mrs. Weasley raged at the twins as she slammed a fresh flagon of Butterbeer onto the table, and spilling almost as much again. ‘Bill didn't feel the need to Apparate every few feet! Charlie didn't charm everything he met! Percy—’
She stopped dead, catching her breath with a frightened look at her husband, whose expression was suddenly wooden.
‘Let's eat,’ said Bill quickly.
‘It looks wonderful, Molly,’ said Lupin, ladling stew on to a plate for her and handing it across the table.
For a few minutes there was silence but for the chink of plates and cutlery and the scraping of chairs as everyone settled down to their food. Then Mrs. Weasley turned to Sirius.
‘I've been meaning to tell you, Sirius, there's something trapped in that writing desk in the drawing room, it keeps rattling and shaking. Of course, it could just be a boggart, but I thought we ought to ask Alastor to have a look at it before we let it out.’
‘Whatever you like,’ said Sirius indifferently.
‘The curtains in there are full of doxys, too,’ Mrs. Weasley went on. ‘I thought we might try and tackle them tomorrow.’
‘I look forward to it,’ said Sirius. Harry heard the sarcasm in his voice, but he was not sure that anyone else did.
Opposite Harry, Tonks was entertaining Hermione and Ginny by transforming her nose between mouthfuls. Screwing up her eyes each time with the same pained expression she had worn back in Harry's bedroom, her nose swelled to a beak-like protuberance that resembled Snape's, shrank to the size of a button mushroom and then sprouted a great deal of hair from each nostril. Apparently this was a regular mealtime entertainment, because Hermione and Ginny were soon requesting their favourite noses.
‘Do that one like a pig snout, Tonks...’
Tonks obliged, and Harry, looking up, had the fleeting impression that a female Dudley was grinning at him from across the table.
Mr. Weasley, Bill, and Lupin were having an intense discuss on about goblins.
‘They're not giving anything away yet,’ said Bill. ‘I still can't work out whether or not they believe he's back. Course, they might prefer not to take sides at all. Keep out of it.’
‘I'm sure they'd never go over to You-Know-Who,’ said Mr. Weasley, shaking his head. ‘They've suffered losses too; remember that goblin family he murdered last time, somewhere near Nottingham?’
‘I think it depends what they're offered,’ said Lupin. ‘And I'm not talking about gold. If they're offered the freedoms we've been denying them for centuries they're going to be tempted. Have you still not had any luck with Ragnok, Bill?’
‘He's feeling pretty anti-wizard at the moment,’ said Bill, ‘he hasn't stopped raging about the Bagman business, he reckons the Ministry did a cover-up, those goblins never got their gold from him, you know—’
A gale of laughter from the middle of the table drowned the rest of Bill's words. Fred, George, Ron, and Mundungus were rolling around in their seats.
‘...and then,’ choked Mundungus, tears running down his face, ‘and then, if you'll believe it, ‘e says to me, ‘e says, ” ‘Ere, Dung, where didja get all them toads from? ‘Cos some son of a Sludger's gone and nicked all mine!” And I says, “Nicked all your toads, Will, what next? So you'll be wanting some more, then?” And if you'll believe me, lads, the gormless gargoyle buys all ‘is own toads back orf me for a lot more'n what ‘e paid in the first place—’
‘I don't think we need to hear any more of your business dealings, thank you very much, Mundungus,’ said Mrs. Weasley sharply, as Ron slumped forwards on to the table, howling with laughter.
‘Beg pardon, Molly,’ said Mundungus at once, wiping his eyes and winking at Harry. ‘But, you know, Will nicked ‘em orf Warty Harris in the first place so I wasn't really doing nothing wrong—’
‘I don't know where you learned about right and wrong, Mundungus, but you seem to have missed a few crucial lessons,’ said Mrs. Weasley coldly.
Fred and George buried their faces in their goblets of Butterbeer; George was hiccoughing. For some reason, Mrs. Weasley threw a very nasty look at Sirius before getting to her feet and going to fetch a large rhubarb crumble for pudding. Harry looked round at his godfather.
‘Molly doesn't approve of Mundungus,’ said Sirius in an undertone.
‘How come he's in the Order?’ Harry said, very quietly.
‘He's useful,’ Sirius muttered. ‘Knows all the crooks—well, he would, seeing as he's one himself. But he's also very loyal to Dumbledore, who helped him out of a tight spot once. It pays to have someone like Dung around, he hears things we don't. But Molly thinks inviting him to stay for dinner is going too far. She hasn't forgiven him for slipping off duty when he was supposed to be tailing you.’
Three helpings of rhubarb crumble and custard later and the waistband on Harry's jeans was feeling uncomfortably tight (which was saying something as the jeans had once been Dudley's). As he laid down his spoon there was a lull in the general conversation. Mr. Weasley was leaning back in his chair, looking replete and relaxed, Tonks was yawning widely, her nose now back to normal, and Ginny, who had lured Crookshanks out from under the dresser, was sitting cross-legged on the floor, rolling Butterbeer corks for him to chase.
‘Nearly time for bed, I think,’ said Mrs. Weasley with a yawn.
‘Not just yet, Molly,’ said Sirius, pushing away his empty plate and turning to look at Harry. ‘You know, I'm surprised at you. I thought the first thing you'd do when you got here would be to start asking questions about Voldemort.’
The atmosphere in the room changed with the rapidity Harry associated with the arrival of dementors. Where seconds before it had been sleepily relaxed, it was now alert, even tense. A frisson had gone around the table at the mention of Voldemort's name. Lupin, who had been about to take a sip of wine, lowered his goblet slowly, looking wary.
‘I did!’ said Harry indignantly. ‘I asked Ron and Hermione but they said we're not allowed in the Order, so—’
‘And they're quite right,’ said Mrs. Weasley. ‘You're too young.’
She was sitting bolt upright in her chair, her fists clenched an its arms, every trace of drowsiness gone.
‘Since when did someone have to be in the Order of the Phoenix to ask questions?’ asked Sirius. ‘Harry's been trapped in that Muggle house for a month. He's got the right to know what's been happen—’
‘Hang on!’ interrupted George loudly.
‘How come Harry gets his questions answered?’ said Fred angrily.
‘We've been trying to get stuff out of you for a month and you haven't told us a single stinking thing!’ said George.
‘“You're too young, you're not in the Order,”’ said Fred, in a high-pitched voice that sounded uncannily like his mother's. ‘Harry's not even of age!’
‘It's not my fault you haven't been told what the Order's doing,’ said Sirius calmly, ‘that's your parents’ decision. Harry, on the other hand—’
‘It's not down to you to decide what's good for Harry!’ said Mrs. Weasley sharply. The expression on her normally kind face looked dangerous. ‘You haven't forgotten what Dumbledore said, I suppose?’
‘Which bit?’ Sirius asked politely, but with the air of a man readying himself for a fight.
‘The bit about not telling Harry more than he needs to know,’ said Mrs. Weasley, placing a heavy emphasis on the last three words.
Ron, Hermione, Fred, and George's heads swivelled from Sirius to Mrs. Weasley as though they were following a tennis rally. Ginny was kneeling amid a pile of abandoned Butterbeer corks, watching the conversation with her mouth slightly open. Lupin's eyes were fixed on Sirius.
‘I don't intend to tell him more than he needs to know, Molly,’ said Sirius. ‘But as he was the one who saw Voldemort come back’ (again, there was a collective shudder around the table at the name), ‘he has more right than most to—’
‘He's not a member of the Order of the Phoenix!’ said Mrs. Weasley. ‘He's only fifteen and— ’
‘—and he's dealt with as much as most in the Order,’ said Sirius, ‘and more than some—’
‘No one's denying what he's done!’ said Mrs. Weasley, her voice rising, her fists trembling on the arms of her chair. ‘But he's still—’
‘He's not a child!’ said Sirius impatiently.
‘He's not an adult either!’ said Mrs. Weasley, the colour rising in her cheeks. ‘He's not James, Sirius!’
‘I'm perfectly clear who he is, thanks, Molly,’ said Sirius coldly.
‘I'm not sure you are!’ said Mrs. Weasley. ‘Sometimes, the way you talk about him, it's as though you think you've got your best friend back!’
‘What's wrong with that?’ said Harry.
‘What's wrong, Harry, is that you are not your father, however much you might look like him!’ said Mrs. Weasley, her eyes still boring into Sirius. ‘You are still at school and adults responsible for you should not forget it!’
‘Meaning I'm an irresponsible godfather?’ demanded Sirius, his voice rising.
‘Meaning you have been known to act rashly, Sirius, which is why Dumbledore keeps reminding you to stay at home and—’
‘We'll leave my instructions from Dumbledore out of this, if you please!’ said Sirius loudly.
‘Arthur!’ said Mrs. Weasley rounding on her husband. ‘Arthur, back me up!’
Mr. Weasley did not speak at once. He took off his glasses and cleaned them slowly on his robes, not looking at his wife. Only when he had replaced them carefully on his nose did he reply.
‘Dumbledore knows the position has changed, Molly. He accepts that Harry will have to be filled in, to a certain extent, now that he is staying at headquarters—’
‘Yes, but there's a difference between that and inviting him to ask whatever he likes!’
‘Personally,’ said Lupin quietly, looking away from Sirius at last, as Mrs. Weasley turned quickly to him, hopeful that finally she was about to get an ally, ‘I think it better that Harry gets the facts—not all the facts, Molly, but the general picture—from us, rather than a garbled version from ... others.’
His expression was mild, but Harry felt sure Lupin, at least, knew that some Extendable Ears had survived Mrs. Weasley's purge.
‘Well,’ said Mrs Weasley, breathing deeply and looking around the table for support that did not come, ‘well ... I can see I'm going to be overruled. I'll just say this: Dumbledore must have had his reasons for not wanting Harry to know too much, and speaking as someone who has Harry's best interests at heart—’
‘He's not your son,’ said Sirius quietly.
‘He's as good as,’ said Mrs. Weasley fiercely. ‘Who else has he got?’
‘He's got me!’
‘Yes,’ said Mrs Weasley, her lip curling, ‘the thing is, it's been rather difficult for you to look after him while you've been locked up in Azkaban, hasn't it?’
Sirius started to rise from his chair.
‘Molly, you're not the only person at this table who cares about Harry,’ said Lupin sharply. ‘Sirius, sit down.’
Mrs. Weasleys lower lip was trembling. Sirius sank slowly back into his chair, his face white.
‘I think Harry ought to be allowed a say in this,’ Lupin continued, ‘he's old enough to decide for himself.’
‘I want to know what's been going on,’ Harry said at once.
He did not look at Mrs. Weasley. He had been touched by what she had said about his being as good as a son, but he was also impatient with her mollycoddling. Sirius was right, he was not a child.
‘Very well,’ said Mrs. Weasley, her voice cracking. ‘Ginny—Ron—Hermione—Fred—George—I want, you out of this kitchen, now.’
There was instant uproar.
‘We're of age!’ Fred and George bellowed together.
‘If Harry's allowed, why can't I?’ shouted Ron.
‘Mum, I want to hear!’ wailed Ginny.
‘NO!’ shouted Mrs. Weasley, standing up, her eyes overbright. ‘I absolutely forbid—’
‘Molly you can't stop Fred and George,’ said Mr. Weasley wearily. ‘They are of age—’
‘They're still at school—’
‘But they're legally adults now,’ said Mr. Weasley, in the same tired voice.
Mrs. Weasley was now scarlet in the face.
‘I—oh, all right then, Fred and George can stay, but Ron—’
‘Harry'll tell me and Hermione everything you say anyway!’ said Ron hotly. ‘Won't—won't you?’ he added uncertainly, meeting Harry's eyes.
For a split second, Harry considered telling Ron that he wouldn't tell him a single word, that he could try a taste of being kept in the dark and see how he liked it. But the nasty impulse vanished as they looked at each other.
‘Course I will,’ Harry said.
Ron and Hermione beamed.
‘Fine!’ shouted Mrs. Weasley. ‘Fine! Ginny—BED!’
Ginny did not go quietly. They could hear her raging and storming at her mother all the way up the stairs, and when she reached the hall Mrs. Blacks ear-splitting shrieks were added to the din. Lupin hurried off to the portrait to restore calm. It was only after he had returned, closing the kitchen door behind him and taking his seat at the table again, that Sirius spoke.
‘OK, Harry ... what do you want to know?’
Harry took a deep breath and asked the question that had obsessed him for the last month.
‘Where's Voldemort?’ he said, ignoring the renewed shudders and winces at the name. ‘What's he doing? I've been trying to watch the Muggle news, and there hasn't been anything that looks like him yet, no funny deaths or anything—’
‘That's because there haven't been any funny deaths yet,’ said Sirius, ‘not as far as we know, anyway.... And we know quite a lot.’
‘More than he thinks we do, anyway,’ said Lupin.
‘How come he's stopped killing people?’ Harry asked. He knew Voldemort had murdered more than once in the last year alone.
‘Because he doesn't want to draw attention to himself,’ said Sirius. ‘It would be dangerous for him. His comeback didn't come off quite the way he wanted it to, you see. He messed it up.’
‘Or rather, you messed it up for him,’ said Lupin, with a satisfied smile.
‘How?’ Harry asked, perplexed.
‘You weren't supposed to survive!’ said Sirius. ‘Nobody apart from his Death Eaters was supposed to know he'd come back. But you survived to bear witness.’
‘And the very last person he wanted alerted to his return the moment he got back was Dumbledore,’ said Lupin. ‘And you made sure Dumbledore knew at once.’
‘How has that helped?’ Harry asked.
‘Are you kidding?’ said Bill incredulously. ‘Dumbledore was the only one You-Know-Who was ever scared of!’
‘Thanks to you, Dumbledore was able to recall the Order of the Phoenix about an hour after Voldemort returned,’ said Sirius.
‘So, what's the Order been doing?’ said Harry, looking around at them all.
‘Working as hard as we can to make sure Voldemort can't carry out his plans,’ said Sirius.
‘How d'you know what his plans are?’ Harry asked quickly.
‘Dumbledore's got a shrewd idea,’ said Lupin, ‘and Dumbledore's shrewd ideas normally turn out to be accurate.’
‘So what does Dumbledore reckon he's planning?’
‘Well, firstly, he wants to build up his army again,’ said Sirius. ‘In the old days he had huge numbers at his command: witches and wizards he'd bullied or bewitched into following him, his faithful Death Eaters, a great variety of Dark creatures. You heard him planning to recruit the giants; well, they'll be just one of the groups he's after. He's certainly not going to try and take on the Ministry of Magic with only a dozen Death Eaters.’
‘So you're trying to stop him getting more followers?’
‘We're doing our best,’ said Lupin.
‘How?’
‘Well, the main thing is to try and convince as many people as possible that You-Know-Who really has returned, to put them on their guard,’ said Bill. ‘It's proving tricky, though.’
‘Why?’
‘Because of the Ministry's attitude,’ said Tonks. ‘You saw Cornelius Fudge after You-Know-Who came back, Harry. Well, he hasn't shifted his position at all. He's absolutely refusing to believe it's happened.’
‘But why?’ said Harry desperately. ‘Why's he being so stupid? If Dumbledore—’
‘Ah, well, you've put your finger on the problem,’ said Mr. Weasley with a wry smile. ‘Dumbledore.’
‘Fudge is frightened of him, you see,’ said Tonks sadly.
‘Frightened of Dumbledore?’ said Harry incredulously.
‘Frightened of what he's up to,’ said Mr. Weasley. ‘Fudge thinks Dumbledore's plotting to overthrow him. He thinks Dumbledore wants to be Minister for Magic.’
‘But Dumbledore doesn't want—’
‘Of course he doesn't,’ said Mr. Weasley. ‘He's never wanted the Minister's job, even though a lot of people wanted him to take it when Millicent Bagnold retired. Fudge came to power instead, but he's never quite forgotten how much popular support Dumbledore had, even though Dumbledore never applied for the job.’
‘Deep down, Fudge knows Dumbledore's much cleverer than he is, a much more powerful wizard, and in the early days of his Ministry he was forever asking Dumbledore for help and advice,’ said Lupin. ‘But it seems he's become fond of power, and much more confident. He loves being Minister for Magic and he's managed to convince himself that he's the clever one and Dumbledore's simply stirring up trouble for the sake of it.’
‘How can he think that?’ said Harry angrily. ‘How can he think Dumbledore would just make it all up—that I'd make it all up?’
‘Because accepting that Voldermort's back would mean trouble like the Ministry hasn't had to cope with for nearly fourteen years,’ said Sirius bitterly. ‘Fudge just can't bring himself to face it. It's so much more comfortable to convince himself Dumbledore's lying to destabilise him.’
‘You see the problem,’ said Lupin. ‘While the Ministry insists there is nothing to fear from Voldemort it's hard to convince people he's back, especially as they really don't want to believe it in the first place. What's more, the Ministry's leaning heavily on the Daily Prophet not to report any of what they're calling Dumbledore's rumour-mongering, so most of the wizarding community are completely unaware anything's happened, and that makes them easy targets for the Death Eaters if they're using the Imperius Curse.’
‘But you're telling people, aren't you?’ said Harry, looking around at Mr. Weasley, Sirius, Bill, Mundungus, Lupin and Tonks. ‘You're letting people know he's back?’
They all smiled humourlessly.
‘Well, as everyone thinks I'm a mad mass-murderer and the Ministry's put a ten thousand Galleon price on my head, I can hardly stroll up the street and start handing out leaflets, can I?’ said Sirius restlessly.
‘And I'm not a very popular dinner guest with most of the community,’ said Lupin. ‘It's an occupational hazard of being a werewolf.’
‘Tonks and Arthur would lose their jobs at the Ministry if they started shooting their mouths off,’ said Sirius, ‘and it's very important for us to have spies inside the Ministry, because you can bet Voldemort will have them.’
‘We've managed to convince a couple of people, though,’ said Mr. Weasley. Tonks here, for one—she's too young to have been in the Order of the Phoenix last time, and having Aurors on our side is a huge advantage— Kingsley Shacklebolt's been a real asset, too; he's in charge of the hunt for Sirius, so he's been feeding the Ministry information that Sirius is in Tibet.’
‘But if none of you are putting the news out that Voldemort's back—’ Harry began.
‘Who said none of us are putting the news out?’ said Sirius. ‘Why d'you think Dumbledore's in such trouble?’
‘What d'you mean?’ Harry asked.
‘They're trying to discredit him,’ said Lupin. ‘Didn't you see the Daily Prophet last week? They reported that he'd been voted out of the Chairmanship of the International Confederation of Wizards because he's getting old and losing his grip, but it's not true; he was voted out by Ministry wizards after he made a speech announcing Voldemort's return. They've demoted him from Chief Warlock on the Wizengamot—that's the Wizard High Court—and they're talking about taking away his Order of Merlin, First Class, too.’
‘But Dumbledore says he doesn't care what they do as long as they don't take him off the Chocolate Frog Cards,’ said Bill, grinning.
‘It's no laughing matter,’ said Mr. Weasley sharply. ‘If he carries on defying the Ministry like this he could end up in Azkaban, and the last thing we want is to have Dumbledore locked up. While You-Know-Who knows Dumbledore's out there and wise to what he's up to he's going to go cautiously. If Dumbledore's out of the way—well, You-Know-Who will have a clear field.’
‘But if Voldemort's trying to recruit more Death Eaters it's bound to get out that he's come back, isn't it?’ asked Harry desperately.
‘Voldemort doesn't march up to people's houses and bang on their front doors, Harry,’ said Sirius. ‘He tricks, jinxes and blackmails them. He's well-practised at operating in secret. In any case, gathering followers is only one thing he's interested in. He's got other plans too, plans he can put into operation very quietly indeed, and he's concentrating on those for the moment.’
‘What's he after apart from followers?’ Harry asked swiftly. He thought he saw Sirius and Lupin exchange the most fleeting of looks before Sirius answered, ‘Stuff he can only get by stealth.’
When Harry continued to look puzzled, Sirius said, ‘Like a weapon. Something he didn't have last time.’
‘When he was powerful before?’
‘Yes.’
‘Like what kind of weapon?’ said Harry. ‘Something worse than the Avada Kedavra—?’
‘That's enough!’
Mrs. Weasley spoke from the shadows beside the door. Harry hadn't noticed her return from taking Ginny upstairs. Her arms were crossed and she looked furious.
‘I want you in bed, now. All of you,’ she added, looking around at Fred, George, Ron and Hermione.
‘You can't boss us—’ Fred began.
‘Watch me,’ snarled Mrs. Weasley. She was trembling slightly as she looked at Sirius. ‘You've given Harry plenty of information. Any more and you might just as well induct him into the Order straightaway.’
‘Why not?’ said Harry quickly. ‘I'll join, I want to join, I want to fight.’
‘No.’
It was not Mrs Weasley who spoke this time, but Lupin.
‘The Order is comprised only of overage wizards,’ he said. ‘Wizards who have left school,’ he added, as Fred and George opened their mouths. ‘There are dangers involved of which you can have no idea, any of you... I think Molly's right, Sirius. We've said enough.’
Sirius half-shrugged but did not argue. Mrs. Weasley beckoned imperiously to her sons and Herrnione. One by one they stood up and Harry, recognising defeat, followed suit.
“你的—？” 
　　“我亲爱的老妈，是的，”天狼星说道，“一个月以前我们就已经想要让她入土为安了，但是现在我们认为她已经拿到了永久居留权了。她在帆布的后面使用了附身咒语。在那些家伙全体醒过来之前，让我们快点下楼去吧。” 
　　“但是你母亲的肖像在那里干什么呢？”哈利迷惑不解的问道。他们现在通过大厅的门，并且走到了一条向下的石头台阶处，其他人也跟在他们后面。 
　　“没人告诉过你吗？这里是我父母的房子，”天狼星说道，“但是我是他们唯一的后代，因此这所房子现在是我的了。我将它提供给丹伯多做指挥部—这大概是我能做的唯一有用的事情了。” 
　　哈利本想有个更好的欢迎方式，但是他注意到天狼星的嗓音听起来是如此的枯涩和痛苦。他跟在养父的后面走到了楼梯的底部，并且通过一扇门进入了设在地下室的厨房里。 
　　厨房看上去和上面的大厅简直一模一样，阴沉黑暗，这是一个用粗糙的石头墙围绕起来的，洞穴一样的房间，绝大多数的光线都来自房间最里面的一团巨大的火焰。一股阴翳的浓烟悬在空中，宛如战场的硝烟。看过去形状狰狞的用重铁制成的炊事用具和平底锅，从黑暗的天花板上垂挂下来。在这个房间里放满了开会用的椅子，一张长长的木桌摆在椅子的中间，上面堆满了卷起来的羊皮纸、高脚杯、空的葡萄酒瓶、以及一堆看上去好象是抹布的东西。 
　　威斯里太太清了清嗓子。她的丈夫是一个个子高瘦、秃顶、脑后长着鲜红头发的男人，他戴着一付牛角镜框的眼睛，跺着脚四处张望。 
　　“哈利！”威斯里先生叫道，他匆匆忙忙的向哈利打招呼，并且不知疲倦的摇着哈利的手，“见到你真好！” 
　　透过他的肩膀，哈利看见了比尔。比尔仍然留着长头发，扎着马尾辫，他匆忙的卷起一张很长的羊皮纸并且把它扔在桌子上。 
　　“旅途顺利吗，哈利？”比尔一边向哈利打招呼一边试图将一打卷轴收起来，“那么，穆迪没有让你经过格陵兰上这里来吧？” 
　　“他累了，”唐克丝说道，她箭步上前帮助比尔，并迅速的把一根蜡烛碰倒在最后一张羊皮纸上，“哦不！—对不起—” 
　　“到这里来，亲爱的。”威斯里太太怒气冲冲，并且用魔杖修复了羊皮纸。在威斯里太太咒语产生的闪光之中，哈利迅速的扫了一眼那张羊皮纸，上面好象是一个建筑计划。 
　　威斯里太太看见了哈利的目光。她迅速的抓起计划书并塞进了比尔已经严重超载的胳膊底下。 
　　“这些东西应当在会议结束之后马上清理干净，”威斯里太太抱怨道，然后她走向一个古老的料理台，并开始摆放晚餐碟子。比尔掏出了魔杖，嘟噜道，“伊瓦尼斯克（咒语）！”接着这些卷轴就消失了。 
　　“坐下吧，哈利”天狼星说道。“你已经见过了蒙顿格斯，对吧？” 
　　哈利看见那堆象垃圾的物体打了一个长长的呼噜，然后就猛的惊醒了。 
　　“谁在说我的名字？”蒙顿格斯困倦的嘟噜着，“我同意天狼星的……”他象投票一样把一只极端邋遢的手举到空中，他的下垂的，充满血丝的眼睛茫然无神。 
　　金妮咯咯的笑了起来。 
　　“会议结束了，”天狼星说道，而同时大家也都坐到了桌子前面围成一圈。“哈利来了。” 
　　“嗯？”蒙顿格斯的眼睛透过他纠缠在一起毫无光泽的头发凝视着哈利。“哎呀，是真的！是的……你没事吧，哈利？” 
　　“是的”哈利说道。 
　　蒙顿格斯的手紧张的在口袋里摸索着，他仍然盯着哈利，同时掏出了一根肮脏的黑管子。他把管子的一头叼在嘴里，用魔杖点燃了管子的另一端，然后深深的吸了一口。巨大翻腾的绿烟在几秒钟内将他笼罩起来。 
　　“我向你道歉，”一个声音从这堆臭云中含糊的传出来。 
　　“这是最后一次，蒙顿格斯，”威斯里太太叫道，“你能不能不要在厨房里抽烟，尤其是在我们还没有吃饭的时候！” 
　　“啊！”蒙顿格斯说道，“正确！对不起！莫莉。” 
　　这团烟雾在蒙顿格斯把管子放回口袋的时候就消失了，但是一股燃烧短袜的辛辣气味却依然飘荡。 
　　“要是你们不想在半夜吃晚饭的话，我需要一个帮手。”威斯里太太对着房间大声叫道，“不！你就待在原地，你刚经过了一段长途旅行。” 
　　“我能帮忙吗，莫莉？”唐克丝热心的问道，她跃跃欲试。 
　　威斯里太太犹豫了一下，她的神情是可以理解的。 
　　“嗯—不，都搞好了，唐克丝，你也休息吧，你今天干的够多了。” 
　　“不，不，我要帮忙！”唐克丝欢快的叫道，当她匆匆忙忙的冲向料理台时又踢翻了一张凳子，而金妮则正在收拾餐具。 
　　不久，在威斯里太太的监视之下，一阵重刀切肉和蔬菜的声音传了出来，威斯里太太将一口大锅放到了火上，其他人则把盘子，更多的高脚杯和事物从碗橱里拿出来。哈利和天狼星、蒙顿格斯一起留在了桌子跟前，后者仍然在对他悲伤的眨着眼睛。 
　　“自从那以后你见过老费格吗？”蒙顿格斯问道。 
　　“没有，”哈利说道，“我再没见过任何人。” 
　　“你看， 我不该擅自离开的，”蒙顿格斯身体前倾，用一种恳求的声音说道，“但是我获得了一个生意机会—” 哈利感到膝盖处有个什么东西刷了一下，不过那只是克鲁克山，荷米恩的那只短腿的淡黄色大猫，它一度在哈利的脚边受伤，含糊的叫着，然后跳到了天狼星的膝盖上并蜷缩起来。当它翻过来的时候，天狼星无意识的抓着它耳朵后面的毛，仍然用一张严酷的脸看着哈利。 
　　“这么长时间你过了一个愉快的暑假吗？” 
　　第一次，“不，它很恶心。”哈利答道。 
　　某种似笑非笑的表情出现在天狼星的脸上。 
　　“我个人不知道你在抱怨什么。” 
　　“你说什么？”哈利怀疑道。 
　　“从个人角度讲，我欢迎一只摄魂怪的袭击。一场灵魂上的殊死搏斗将有助于打破单调的生活。你认为你过的很糟糕，可是，你至少可以出去，并且散步，卷入几场战斗……而我，已经在这里关了一个月了。” 
　　“接下来怎样？”哈利皱着眉头说道。 
　　“因为魔法部现在仍然在跟踪你，而且伏地魔现在也肯定知道我作为一个变形者的一切事情了，虫尾巴（曾经是罗恩宠物的那只胖老鼠）一定会告诉他的，因此我的高超伪装是毫无用处了。所以我能够为凤凰指令服务的内容也就没多少了……或者丹伯多是这么认为的。” 
　　当天狼星对哈利提到丹伯多的时候语气稍稍有些失色，这告诉哈利一个信息，天狼星也同样对这位校长的行为感到不悦。哈利感到他和养父之间突然亲近了许多。 
　　“至少你知道正在进行的事情，”哈利的精神振作起来。 
　　“哦，这到不错，”天狼星辛辣的讽刺道，“听着史纳皮的报告，被迫讨论他的所有伪造的线索，好象他在外面出生入死，而我却躺在这里享受欢乐时光……人们只是询问我清洁卫生怎么搞—” 
　　“什么清洁卫生？”哈利问道。 
　　“尽力使这个地方可以让人住，”天狼星说着用魔杖指了一下这个阴森黑暗的厨房。“在我亲爱的老妈死掉之前，没人能够在这里住上十年，除非你算上她的那些老掉牙的小精灵，而她死后已经和这里绞在一起，再也分不开了—不能清理这里一切上了年纪的东西。” 
　　“天狼星，”蒙顿格斯说道，他从一开始就没有表现出任何注意这场谈话的迹象，反而凑的很近的检查着一只空的高脚杯，“这东西是银制的吗，伙计？” 
　　“是的，”天狼星用厌恶的眼光衡量着那只高脚杯，“是最好的十五世纪的银杯，黑暗家族的颠峰之作。” 
　　“那么它们很值钱咯，”蒙顿格斯一边嘟噜着一边用袖子擦着那只杯子。 
　　“弗来德—乔治—不，别碰那些东西。”威斯里太太尖叫着。 
　　哈利、天狼星和蒙顿格斯左顾右盼，一瞬间，他们冲离桌子。弗来德和乔治对着一口巨大的炖锅、一块坚硬的酒瓶形蜂蜜（似乎是一种凝固了形状的蜂蜜）、一块沉重的木头案板、以及一把刀子施法，这些东西全都对着他们三个急飞过来。炖菜沿着桌子滑行，并且一个急刹车正好停在桌子这端的边缘，沿途在木质桌面上留下了一条长长的烧焦的痕迹，酒瓶形蜂蜜则猛的掉了下来，飞溅的到处都是，而那把面包刀则在案板上滑行并且停在上面，刀尖向下恶意的颤抖着，正好落在天狼星的右手几秒钟以前放着的地方。 
　　“以上帝的名义！”威斯里太太大叫道，“这里不需要—我们已经有足够的人手—不要仅仅因为现在允许施展魔法，就可以为了每一件鸡毛蒜皮的小事掏出魔杖！” 
　　“我们仅仅是想要尽量节省时间！”弗来德匆匆忙忙的把那把严重扭曲的刀子拔出桌面，“对不起，天狼星，伙计—我不是那个意思—” 
　　哈利和天狼星都笑了，蒙顿格斯已经瘫倒在椅子上，一边找回自己的脚一边诅咒着，大猫克洛克山克斯发出一声愤怒的叫声，然后象炮弹一样躲进了碗柜里面，从那里看过去，它的大大的黄色眼睛在黑暗里发光。 
　　“男孩子们，”威斯里太太把那个大炖锅提回了桌子中央，“你们的妈妈是正确的，现在是你们表现出一点责任感的时候了—” 
　　“你们的兄弟当中没有一个会惹这种麻烦！”当威斯里太太将一块新鲜蜂蜜扔到桌子上的时候她对着那对双胞胎兄弟大发脾气，结果扔的太重，几乎再一次飞溅的到处都是，“比尔从来就不会感到每隔几步就需要施展一次魔法！查理从来不会对他碰到的任何东西施展魔法！派斯—” 
　　她突然死一般的打住了，屏住呼吸用惊恐的眼神看着自己的丈夫，而后者的表情显然僵硬了。 
　　“让我们吃饭吧，”比尔很快的说道。 
　　“这顿饭看起来棒极了，莫莉，”卢平舀了一盘炖肉跨过桌子递给威斯里太太。 
　　房间里出现了几分钟的沉默，只有盘子的叮当声，以及餐具和椅子的摩擦声，所有人都在埋头吃饭。然后威斯里太太转向天狼星。 
　　“我有一些情况要告诉你，天狼星。我们在画室的书桌上收集了一些东西，它们仍然在喀哒作响而且还可以晃动。当然，那也许仅仅是些玩具，但是我认为在扔掉它们之前最好请你看一下。” 
　　“随你处置，”天狼星对此毫不关心。 
　　“那边的窗帘上也满是蛀虫了，”威斯里太太接着说，“我想明天解决这个问题。” 
　　“我明天过去看看，”天狼星说道。哈利听出天狼星的声音里有些挖苦的味道，但是他并不确定其他人也这么认为。 
　　在哈利的对面，唐克丝正在为荷米恩和金妮做表演，她不断改变鼻子的形状。每次弯曲她的眼睛都伴随着同样的痛苦表情，那是她学哈利在老卧室中的行为，她的鼻子一下子高高隆起象只鸟嘴，这当然类似史纳皮，一下子又缩小到蘑菇柄那么小，并且从每个鼻孔里长出一大片头发。很显然这是进餐时间的标准娱乐，因为荷米恩和金妮很快就要求她变出她们喜欢的鼻子。 
　　“做一个猪嘴一样的鼻子，唐克丝。” 
　　唐克丝被迫执行了，哈利看了看，脑子里飞快的闪过念头，这就象是一个雌性的达德里在桌子对面向他微笑。 
　　而威斯里先生，比尔以及卢平则正在进行一个关于小妖精的热烈讨论。 
　　“它们仍然不会在离开的时候提供任何东西，”比尔说道，“我只是还没有发现它们是否相信还会回来 。在此期间，它们或许并不喜欢完全划清界限。它置身事外。” “我确信它们从来就不会回到—你知道的—”威斯里先生摇摇头说道。“它们会为丧失同伴而痛苦：还记得上次在诺丁汉附近的某个地方，一个小妖精家庭被谋杀的事件吗？” 
　　“我认为这依赖于它们所能提供的东西，”卢平说道。“我不想谈论黄金。如果它们能够被提供几个世纪以来我们一直拒绝给予的自由，它们会感兴趣的。你仍然不相信拉格诺克有任何运气吗？ 比尔。” “他此刻感觉自己是个恰当的反巫师者,”比尔说道,” 他没有停止对这些商业推销员的愤怒，他确信魔法部掩盖了事实真相, 那些小妖精从来就没有得到过他们的黄金, 你知道的 - ” 从桌子的中央传来一阵疯狂大笑，淹没了比尔剩下的话。 弗莱德、乔治、罗恩和蒙顿格斯正在他们的座位里面笑的打滚。 “……·然后,”蒙顿格斯笑的梗住了, 他的脸上甚至笑出了眼泪“然后,如果你相信的话,他对我说话了,他说‘嗯, 老顿, 迪迪嘉所有的蟾蜍都是从哪里来的？ 把泥浆泵的那些儿子都赶走，给我的儿子刻上记号！’而我说,‘好吧，我会给你所有的蟾蜍都刻上记号’ 接下来是什么？ 然后你因此将会想要再知道的多一些？而且如果你相信我, 年青人, 这只笨头笨脑的怪兽全部买了下来‘这些是我自己的蟾蜍，我当然要首先付款’”（在英国这是个流传很广的经典笑话吧，不都是些没营养的谈话） “我认为我们不需要再听更多你的生意经了,多谢你,蒙顿格斯,” 威斯里太太尖锐地说道, 与此同时罗恩猛然向桌子摔过去, 开怀大笑。 “请你宽恕,莫莉,”蒙顿格斯立刻说道, 同时擦了擦他的眼睛并且对哈利眨了一下眼。“但是,你知道的,有疣的哈利斯真的为那些刻痕首先付款，因此我真的没做任何错事。” 
　　“我不知道你从哪里学会的对错观念,蒙顿格斯,但是你看起来已经错过一些关键的课程,”威斯里太太冷淡地说道。 
　　弗莱德和乔治用酒瓶形状的蜂蜜把整个脸埋起来；乔治则正在打嗝。因为某种原因, 威斯里太太丢给天狼星一个极为讨厌的眼神，接着就站起来拿了一大块的大黄面包碎屑做布丁。 哈利上下打量着他的教父。 
　　“莫莉对蒙顿格斯不满,”天狼星低声说道。 
　　“为什么蒙顿格斯会来凤凰指令组织呢？”哈利非常平静地说道。 
　　“他是有作用的,”天狼星喃喃自语。 “ 他知道所有的诈骗术, —是的，他知道，而且有时也把自己当作是骗子的一员。 但是他也非常的忠于丹伯多, 有一次是丹伯多帮助他逃出困境。 有人喜欢在老顿周围, 他听过许多我们不知道的事情。但是莫莉认为邀请他共进晚餐实在是太过火了。 她不能原谅他在司职监护你的时候擅离职守。” 
　　三块大黄面包屑的布丁以及稍后的奶油冻下肚，哈利的牛仔裤腰带感觉紧紧地，很不舒服（ 我们正在说的这条牛仔裤曾经一度属于达德里） 。当他放下调羹的时候交谈暂时停了下来。 威斯里先生正斜靠在他的椅子中, 看起来满足而且放松； 唐克丝正在不停地打哈欠, 她的鼻子现在恢复正常了；而金妮则盘腿坐在地板上，她已经把克鲁克山从橱柜下面骗出来，现在正在引诱它追逐一块蜂蜜。 “我想现在接近睡觉时间了,”威斯里太太打了一个哈欠。 
　　“ 现在时间还早,莫莉,”天狼星说道,他推开空碟子并转头看着哈利。 “ 你知道的, 我对你感到惊讶。我认为当你到达这里以后做的第一件事就是开始询问有关伏地魔的问题。” 房间的气氛随着哈利的话题以及提及摄魂怪而迅速的改变了。 如果说在几秒钟以前它还是令人昏昏欲睡地放松, 现在它是警觉的, 甚至有些紧张。一提到伏地魔的名字就有人因为紧张害怕而离开桌子走来走去。 卢平正要啜饮一杯美味的葡萄酒，但现在慢慢地放低了他的高脚杯,看起来十分机警。 
　　“我做了！” 哈利愤怒地说。 “我问了罗恩和荷米恩 ，但是他们说指令不允许他们这样做, 因此- ” “不过他们说的相当正确,”威斯里太太说道。 “你太年轻。” 她坐在椅子里直直地对着门闩,她的拳头紧握双臂，没有了任何睡意的痕迹。 
　　“ 从何时起某人必须在凤凰指令范围中问问题呢？”天狼星问道：“哈利在那一楝麻瓜的房子中被困住达一个月之久。 他有权利知道发生了什么事-” 
　　“ 停止！”乔治大声地打断了天狼星的话。 “接着哈利要怎样得到他的问题的答案呢？”弗莱德愤怒地说道。 
　　“我们已经试图从你这里获知外界情况达一个月之久，而你却没有告诉我们一件哪怕是老的发臭的事情！”乔治说。 
　　“你太年轻,你不是指令成员,”弗莱德用一种模仿母亲的听起来异常尖锐的声音说道。“哈利的年龄甚至更小！” 
　　“你没有被告知指令的行动细节，那不是我的过错,”天狼星平静地说道,”那是你父母的决定。可是从另一方面来讲哈利- ” “还没轮到你来决定什么是对哈利有利的事情！”威斯里太太语气尖锐地说。在她通常友善的脸上出现了危险的表情。“我猜想你没有忘记丹伯多说过什么吧？” 
　　“你指的哪一段？”天狼星有礼貌地问道，但是空气中充满了一个男人自己准备打架的紧张气氛。 
　　“关于不要告诉哈利超过他需要知道的事情的那一段,”威斯里太太着重的强调最后三个字。（在原文中是指‘需要知道’那几个字） 
　　罗恩、荷米恩、弗莱德和乔治的头在天狼星和威斯里太太之间转来转去好像他们正在看一场网球赛。 金妮正跪在一堆丢弃的蜂蜜块上面,她的嘴巴微微张开注视着这场谈话。卢平的眼睛则定格在天狼星的身上。 
　　“我没打算告诉哈利，超出他需要知道的部分，莫莉，”天狼星说道。“但是，他是亲眼看见伏地魔回归的人。”（再一次的，桌子周围因为这个名字而出现集体的战栗）“他比我们之中绝大多数的人更有权力知道—” 
　　“他不是凤凰指令的成员！”威斯里太太说道，“他只有十五岁，而且—” 
　　“而且他解决过的问题象大多数指令成员一样多，”天狼星说道，“甚至比某些成员更多。” 
　　“没人否认他曾经做过的一切！”威斯里太太的声音提高了，她的拳头在椅子扶手上颤抖。“但是他仍然只是—” 
　　“他不是一个孩子！”天狼星不耐烦的说道。 
　　“他也不是一个成年人！”一抹红色爬上了威斯里太太的脸颊。“他不是詹姆斯，天狼星！” 
　　“我很清楚他是谁，谢谢你提醒，莫莉，”天狼星冷淡的说。 
　　“可是我不确信你知道这一点！”威斯里太太 说道。“有时候你和哈利谈话的方式，就好象，你认为你最好的朋友已经回来了一样！” “那有什么不妥之处吗？”哈利问道。 
　　“那有什么错，哈利，错在你不是你父亲，但是你的很多方面和他很象！”威斯里太太的眼睛仍然在盯着天狼星。“你仍然待在学校里，由成年人为你负责，不要忘记这一点！” 
　　“你的意思是，我是个不负责任的养父！”天狼星回应道，他的声音也提高了。 
　　“我的意思是，你要知道你行事轻率，天狼星，这就是为何丹伯多要你待在家里的原因，并且—” 
　　“如果你喜欢的话，我们将不理会丹伯多的指令，并且离开这里！”天狼星响亮的回答。 
　　“亚瑟！”威斯里太太转向她的丈夫，“亚瑟，帮我说句话！” 
　　威斯里先生却没有马上说话。他摘下了他的眼镜，并用他的长袍慢慢的擦着。当他将眼镜仔细的架回鼻梁的时候，他终于回答了。 
　　“丹伯多知道情况已经发生改变，莫莉。他接受在一定范围内哈利必须接触到凤凰指令的某些内容，正如现在他正待在凤凰指令指挥部。” 
　　“是的，但是这和允许他询问任何他想知道的事情之间是有区别的！” 
　　“从个人角度讲，”卢平最后终于从天狼星的身上收回目光，平静的说话了，威斯里太太迅速将头转向他，希望她最后能获得一个盟友，“我认为让哈利知道情况更好，并非全部的情况，莫莉，但是要让他知道大概的情况—对我们来说，这样可以防止其他人断章取义……” 
　　他的表情是温和的，但是哈利确信，至少卢平知道某些顺风耳在威斯里太太的整肃行动中幸免于难。 
　　“好吧，”威斯里太太深深的吸了一口气，她在桌子周围看了一圈，想寻求支持者，不过没人响应，她说道，“好吧……我明白将要被否决了。我要说的仅仅是：丹伯多不想让哈利知道的太多一定有他的理由，而且哈利心里最感兴趣的人—” 
　　“他不是你儿子，”天狼星平静的说道。 
　　“他就象我儿子一样，”威斯里太太猛烈还击，“除此之外他还有谁？” 
　　“他有我！” 
　　“是的，”威斯里太太的嘴唇翘了起来，“事实是，当你被关在阿滋卡班监狱的时候根本照顾不了他，不是吗？” 
　　天狼星开始从他的椅子上站起来。 
　　“莫莉，你不是这里唯一关心哈利的人，”卢平尖锐的说道，“天狼星，坐下。” 
　　威斯里太太的下嘴唇抖了起来。天狼星慢慢坐回他的椅子里，他的脸色苍白。 
　　“我认为哈利有话要说，”卢平接着说道，“他已经够大了，可以自己做决定。” 
　　“我要知道正在发生的事情，”哈利马上说道。 
　　他没有看威斯里太太。他为威斯里太太把他看作亲生儿子而感动，但是他也同样为威斯里太太的骄横而不耐烦。天狼星是正确的，他已经不是小孩子了。 
　　“很好，”威斯里太太尖声说道，“金妮—罗恩—荷米恩—弗来德—乔治—，我要你们现在立刻离开厨房。” 
　　厨房里立即响起了一阵骚动。 
　　“我们也到了年纪！”弗来德和乔治一起叫道。 
　　“如果哈利允许知道，为何我不能？”这是罗恩的叫声。 
　　“妈妈，我要听！”金妮在悲叹。 
　　“不！”威斯里太太咆哮道，她站了起来，眼睛瞪圆了。“我绝对禁止—” 
　　“莫莉，你阻止不了弗来德和乔治。”威斯里先生疲倦的说道，“他们够年纪了。” 
　　“他们还是学生。” 
　　“但是在法律上他们现在是成年人了，”威斯里先生还是用同样疲惫的声音继续说道。 
　　威斯里太太的脸涨的通红。 
　　“我—哦，那么好吧，弗来德和乔治留下，但是罗恩—““哈利会告诉我和荷米恩你们说的每件事情！”罗恩热切的说道。“是—是吗？”他不确定的补充道，眼睛看着哈利。 
　　在一瞬间，哈利考虑告诉罗恩他一个字也不会说，这样罗恩就能够体验一下待在黑暗中的滋味了，然后看看他是否喜欢这个。但是这个卑鄙的想法在他们对视的刹那消失了。 
　　“当然我会的，”哈利说道。 
　　罗恩与荷米恩欢呼起来。 
　　“很好！”威斯里太太叫道。“很好！金妮—上床睡觉！” 
　　金妮可不肯安静的离开。他们可以听见在一路上楼的时候她对着妈妈用各种方式大吵大闹，而当他们到达大厅的时候布莱克斯太太（墙上的老太太，天狼星的老妈）震耳欲聋的尖叫声加入了这场闹剧。卢平匆匆赶到肖像那里去恢复平静。然后当他回来关上厨房的门，并重新坐回桌子前面的椅子之后，天狼星开始说话了。 
　　“哦，哈利……你要知道什么呢？” 
　　哈利深深吸了一口气，然后问了一个月以来一直困扰他的问题。 
　　“伏地魔在哪里？”他故意忽略由这个名字引发的新一轮战栗和退缩，问道。“他现在在干什么？我尽力关注了麻瓜的新闻，可是看样子什么也没发生，没有离奇的死亡以及任何其他事情。” 
　　“只能说到现在为止仍然没有离奇死亡事件，”天狼星说道，“无论如何，我们都不可能全部知道……但是我们知道很多……” 
　　“从各个方面讲都超过那个人（指代老福，下同）认为我们掌握的，”卢平补充道。 
　　“那么他为什么会停止杀戮呢？”哈利问道。他知道单在去年伏地魔就谋杀了不止一人。 
　　“那是因为他不想引人注意，”天狼星说道，“现在对他而言也非常危险。他的恢复并不如他想象的那样完美，你明白的。他把事情搞砸了。” 
　　“或者宁愿说，是你把他的事情搞砸了。”卢平露出了一个满意的微笑。 
　　“怎么说？”哈利迷惑不解的问道。 
　　“你出人意料的幸存下来！”天狼星说道。“除了他的食死徒追随者以外本来没人知道他恢复了。但是你幸存下来并且成为目击者。” 
　　“而此刻他最不想惊动的人就是丹伯多，”卢平说道，“可是你立刻就让丹伯多知道了此事。” 
　　“这有什么帮助吗？”哈利问道。 
　　“你在开玩笑吗？”比尔轻率的说道，“人人都知道丹伯多是那个人唯一害怕的巫师！” 
　　“谢谢你的解释，丹伯多在伏地魔回归之后一个小时之内重新召集了凤凰的指令，”天狼星说道。 
　　“那么，凤凰指令在干什么呢？”哈利看看他们全体问道。 
　　“辛勤工作，以使伏地魔不能实施他的计划，”天狼星说道。 
　　“那你们是怎么知道伏地魔的计划的呢？”哈利很快的问道。 
　　“丹伯多有个精明的主意，”卢平说道，“而他的精明主意通常情况下都是料事如神。” 
　　“那么丹伯多认为伏地魔的计划是什么呢？” 
　　“好的，首先，他要重建他的军队，”天狼星说道，“在过去的日子里他指挥着数量众多的成员；那些他胁迫或者是被他迷惑而跟随他的巫师和女巫们，他的忠诚的食死徒部下，以及大量不同的黑暗生物。你还听见他试图重新招募巨人，是的，他们也曾经是那个人手下的一群。伏地魔并不确定仅仅依靠他的一打食死徒就能够取代魔法部。” 
　　“因此你们就尽力阻止他获得更多的追随者吗？” 
　　“尽我们所能。”卢平说道。 
　　“怎样做？” 
　　“很好，最主要的工作是，确定有多少人是真正想要回到伏地魔身边的，然后把他们监视起来，”比尔说道。“这个策略被证明是很机警的。” 
　　“为什么？” 
　　“因为魔法部的态度，”唐克丝说道，“你看看那个法尼治·福吉听说‘那个人’回来之后惊慌失措的样子。哈利！是的，他完全不会改变立场的。他绝对拒绝相信已经发生的一切。” 
　　“但是为什么？”哈利失望的说道，“为什么他如此愚蠢？如果丹伯多—” 
　　“哦，很好，你说到问题的点子上了，”威斯里先生用一个扭曲的微笑说道，“丹伯多。” 
　　“福吉害怕丹伯多，你知道的，”唐克丝难过的说。 
　　“害怕丹伯多，”哈利草率的叫起来。 
　　“害怕丹伯多取代他，”威斯里先生说道，“福吉认为丹伯多正在密谋推翻他。他认为丹伯多想要得到魔法部长的位置。” 
　　“但是丹伯多根本不想—” 
　　“当然他不想，”威斯里先生说道，“他从没想过要当魔法部长，甚至早在老部长巴格诺德退休的时候，就有很多人推举丹伯多继任。福吉后来还是接管了权力，但是他永远也忘不了丹伯多是多么的受人爱戴，尽管丹伯多从来就没有觊觎这个职位。” 
　　“更深的意义是，福吉清楚丹伯多是个远比他聪明，比他强大的巫师，而且在他刚刚接手魔法部的早期岁月里他总是要向丹伯多咨询意见，”卢平说道，“但是现在看来他开始迷恋权力，并且刚愎自用。他喜欢现在的魔法大臣的职位，而且越来越相信自己才是个聪明人，而丹伯多仅仅是个麻烦爱好者。” 
　　“他怎么能这样认为？”哈利愤怒的叫道，“他怎么能认为丹伯多引起了麻烦—或者说是我引起了麻烦？” 
　　“因为接受
Chapter 6 The Noble And Most Ancient House Of Black
Mrs. Weasley followed them upstairs looking grim.
‘I want you all to go straight to bed, no talking,’ she said as they reached the first landing, ‘we've got a busy day tomorrow. I expect Ginny's asleep,’ she added to Hermione, ‘so try not to wake her up.’
‘Asleep, yeah, right,’ said Fred in an undertone, after Hermione bade them goodnight and they were climbing to the next floor. ‘If Ginny's not lying awake waiting for Hermione to tell her everything they said downstairs then I'm a Flobberworm....’
‘All right, Ron, Harry,’ said Mrs. Weasley on the second landing, pointing them into their bedroom. ‘Off to bed with you.’
’ ‘Night,’ Harry and Ron said to the twins.
‘Sleep tight,’ said Fred, winking.
Mrs. Weasley closed the door behind Harry with a sharp snap. The bedroom looked, if anything, even danker and gloomier than it had on first sight. The blank picture on the wall was now breathing very slowly and deeply, as though its invisible occupant was asleep. Harry put on his pyjamas, took off his glasses, and climbed into his chilly bed while Ron threw Owl Treats up on top of the wardrobe to pacify Hedwig and Pigwidgeon, who were clattering around and rustling their wings restlessly.
‘We can't let them out to hunt every night,’ Ron explained as he pulled on his maroon pyjamas. ‘Dumbledore doesn't want too many owls swooping around the square, thinks it'll look suspicious. Oh yeah ... I forgot....’
He crossed to the door and bolted it.
‘What're you doing that for?’
‘Kreacher,’ said Ron as he turned off the light. ‘First night I was here he came wandering in at three in the morning. Trust me, you don't want to wake up and find him prowling around your room. Anyway...’ He got into his bed, settled down under the covers, then turned to look at Harry in the darkness. Harry could see his outline by the moonlight filtering in through the grimy window, ‘what d'you reckon?’
Harry didn't need to ask what Ron meant.
‘Well, they didn't tell us much we couldn't have guessed, did they?’ he said, thinking of all that had been said downstairs. ‘I mean, all they've really said is that the Order's trying to stop people joining Vol—’
There was a sharp intake of breath from Ron.
—demort,’ said Harry firmly. ‘When are you going to start using his name? Sirius and Lupin do.’
Ron ignored this last comment.
‘Yeah, you're right,’ he said, ‘we already knew nearly everything they told us, from using the Extendable Ears. The only new bit was—’
Crack.
‘OUCH!’
‘Keep your voice down, Ron, or Mum'll be back up here.’
‘You two just Apparated on my knees!’
‘Yeah, well, it's harder in the dark—’
Harry saw the blurred outlines of Fred and George leaping down from Ron's bed. There was a groan of bedsprings and Harry's mattress descended a few inches as George sat down near his feet.
‘So, got there yet?’ said George eagerly.
‘The weapon Sirius mentioned?’ said Harry.
‘Let slip, more like,’ said Fred with relish, now sitting next to Ron. ‘We didn't hear about that on the old Extendables, did we?’
‘What d'you reckon it is?’ said Harry.
‘Could be anything,’ said Fred.
‘But there can't be anything worse than the Avada Kedavra curse, can there?’ said Ron. ‘What's worse than death?’
‘Maybe it's something that can kill loads of people at once,’ suggested George.
‘Maybe it's some particularly painful way of killing people,’ said Ron learfully.
‘He's got the Cruciatus Curse for causing pain,’ said Harry, ‘he doesn't need anything more efficient than that.’
There was a pause and Harry knew that the others, like him, were wondering what horrors this weapon could perpetrate.
‘So who d'you think's got it now?’ asked George.
‘I hope it's our side,’ said Ron, sounding slightly nervous.
‘If it is, Dumbledore's probably keeping it,’ said Fred.
‘Where?’ said Ron quickly. ‘Hogwarts?’
‘Bet it is!’ said George. That's where he hid the Philosopher's Stone.’
‘A weapon's going to be a lot bigger than the Stone, though!’ said Ron.
‘Not necessarily,’ said Fred.
‘Yeah, size is no guarantee of power,’ said George. ‘Look at Ginny.’
‘What d'you mean?’ said Harry.
‘You've never been on the receiving end of one of her Bat-Bogey Hexes, have you?’
‘Shhh!’ said Fred, half-rising from the bed. ‘Listen!’
They fell silent. Footsteps were coming up the stairs.
‘Mum,’ said George and without further ado there was a loud crack and Harry felt the weight vanish from the end of his bed. A few seconds later, they heard the floorboard creak outside their door; Mrs. Weasley was plainly listening to check whether or not they were talking.
Hedwig and Pigwidgeon hooted dolefully. The floorboard creaked again and they heard her heading upstairs to check on Fred and George.
‘She doesn't trust us at all, you know,’ said Ron regretfully.
Harry was sure he would not be able to fall asleep; the evening had been so packed with things to think about that he fully expected to lie awake for hours mulling it all over. He wanted to continue talking to Ron, but Mrs. Weasley was now creaking back downstairs again, and once she had gone he distinctly heard others making their way upstairs.... In fact, many-legged creatures were cantering softly up and down outside the bedroom door, and Hagrid, the Care of Magical Creatures teacher, was saying, ‘Beauties, aren't they, eh, Harry? We'll be studyin’ weapons this term....’ and Harry saw that the creatures had cannons for heads and were wheeling to face him.... He ducked....
The next thing he knew, he was curled into a warm ball under his bedclothes and George's loud voice was filling the room.
‘Mum says get up, your breakfast is in the kitchen and then she needs you in the drawing room, there are loads more doxys than she thought and she's found a nest of dead puffskeins under the sofa.’
Half an hour later, Harry and Ron, who had dressed and breakfasted quickly, entered the drawing room, a long, high-ceilinged room on the first floor with olive-green walls covered in dirty tapestries. The carpet exhaled little clouds of dust every time someone put their foot on it and the long, moss-green velvet curtains were buzzing as though swarming with invisible bees. It was around these that Mrs. Weasley, Hermione, Ginny, Fred, and George were grouped, all looking rather peculiar as they had each tied a cloth over their nose and mouth. Each of them was also holding a large bottle of black liquid with a nozzle at the end.
‘Cover your faces and take a spray,’ Mrs. Weasley said to Harry and Ron the moment she saw them, pointing to two more bottles of black liquid standing on a spindle-legged table. ‘It's Doxycide. I've never seen an infestation this bad—what that house-elf's been doing for the last ten years—’
Hermione's face was half concealed by a tea towel but Harry distinctly saw her throw a reproachful look at Mrs. Weasley.
‘Kreacher's really old, he probably couldn't manage—’
‘You'd be surprised what Kreacher can manage when he wants to, Hermione,’ said Sirius, who had just entered the room carrying a bloodstained bag of what appeared to be dead rats. ‘I've just been feeding Buckbeak,’ he added, in reply to Harry's enquiring look. ‘I keep him upstairs in my mother's bedroom. Anyway ... this writing desk...’
He dropped the bag of rats into an armchair, then bent over to examine the locked cabinet which, Harry now noticed for the first time, was shaking slightly.
‘Well, Molly, I'm pretty sure this is a boggart,’ said Sirius, peering through the keyhole, ‘but perhaps we ought to let Mad-Eye have a shifty at it before we let it out—knowing my mother, it could be something much worse.’
‘Right you are, Sirius,’ said Mrs. Weasley.
They were both speaking in carefully light, polite voices that told Harry quite plainly that neither had forgotten their disagreement of the night before.
A loud, clanging bell sounded from downstairs, followed at once by the cacophony of screams and wails that had been triggered the previous night by Tonks knocking over the umbrella stand.
‘I keep telling them not to ring the doorbell!’ said Sirius exasperatedly, hurrying out of the room. They heard him thundering clown the stairs as Mrs. Black's screeches echoed up through the house once more: ‘Stains of dishonour, filthy half-breeds, blood traitors, children of flith...’
‘Close the door, please, Harry,’ said Mrs. Weasley.
Harry took as much time as he dared to close the drawing-room door; he wanted to listen to what was going on downstairs. Sirius had obviously managed to shut the curtains over his mothers portrait because she had stopped screaming. He heard Sirius walking down the hall, then the clattering of the chain on the front door, and then a deep voice he recognised as Kingsley Shacklebolt's saying, ‘Hestia's just relieved me, so she's got Moody's Cloak now, thought I'd leave a report for Dumbledore....’
Feeling Mrs Weasley's eyes on the back of his head, Harry regretfully closed the drawing-room door and rejoined the doxy party.
Mrs. Weasley was bending over to check the page on doxys in Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests, which was lying open on the sofa.
‘Right, you lot, you need to be careful, because doxys bite and their teeth are poisonous. I've got a bottle of antidote here, but I'd rather nobody needed it.’
She straightened up, positioned herself squarely in front of the curtains and beckoned them all forward.
‘When I say the word, start spraying immediately,’ she said. ‘They'll come flying out at us, I expect, but it says on the sprays one good squirt will paralyse them. When they're immobilized, just throw them in this bucket.’
She stepped carefully out of their line of fire, and raised her own spray.
‘All right—squirt!’
Harry had been spraying only a few seconds when a fully-grown doxy came soaring out of a fold in the material, shiny beetle-like wings whirring, tiny needle-sharp teeth bared, its fairy-like body covered with thick black hair and its four tiny fists clenched with fury. Harry caught it full in the face with a blast of Doxycide; it froze in midair and fell, with a surprisingly loud thunk, on to the worn carpet below. Harry picked it up and threw it in the bucket.
‘Fred, what are you doing?’ said Mrs. Weasley sharply. ‘Spray that at once and throw it away!’
Harry looked round. Fred was holding a struggling doxy between his forefinger and thumb.
‘Right-o,’ Fred said brightly, spraying the doxy quickly in the face so that it fainted, but the moment Mrs. Weasley's back was turned he pocketed it with a wink.
‘We want to experiment with doxy venom for our Skiving Snackboxes,’ George told Harry under his breath.
Deftly spraying two doxys at once as they soared straight for his nose, Harry moved closer to George and muttered out of the corner of his mouth, ‘What are Skiving Snackboxes?’
‘Range of sweets to make you ill,’ George whispered, keeping a wary eye on Mrs. Weasley's back. ‘Not seriously ill, mind, just ill enough to get you out of a class when you feel like it. Fred and I have been developing them this summer. They're double-ended, colour-coded chews. If you eat the orange half of the Puking Pastilles, you throw up. Moment you've been rushed out of the lesson for the hospital wing, you swallow the purple half—’
‘"—which restores you to full fitness, enabling you to pursue the leisure activity of your own choice during an hour that would otherwise have been devoted to unprofitable boredom.” That's what we're putting in the adverts, anyway,’ whispered Fred, who had edged over out of Mrs. Weasley's line of vision and was now sweeping a few stray doxys from the floor and adding them to his pocket. ‘But they still need a bit of work. At the moment our testers are having a bit of trouble stopping themselves puking long enough to swallow the purple end.’
‘Testers?’
‘Us,’ said Fred. ‘We take it in turns. George did the Fainting Fancies—we both tried the Nosebleed Nougat—’
‘Mum thought we'd been duelling,’ said George.
‘Joke shop still on, then?’ Harry muttered, pretending to be adjusting the nozzle on his spray.
‘Well, we haven't had a chance to get premises yet,’ said Fred, dropping his voice even lower as Mrs. Weasley mopped her brow with her scarf before returning to the attack, ‘so we're running it as a mail-order service at the moment. We put advertisements in the Daily Prophet last week.’
‘All thanks to you, mate,’ said George. ‘But don't worry ... Mum hasn't got a clue. She won't read the Daily Prophet any more, ‘cause of it telling lies about you and Dumbledore.’
Harry grinned. He had forced the Weasley twins to take the thousand-Galleon prize money he had won in the Triwizard Tournament to help them realise their ambition to open a joke shop, but he was still glad to know that his part in furthering their plans was unknown to Mrs. Weasley. She did not think running a joke shop was a suitable career for two of her sons.
The de-doxying of the curtains took most of the morning. It was past midday when Mrs. Weasley finally removed her protective scarf, sank into a sagging armchair, and sprang up again with a cry of disgust, having sat on the bag of dead rats. The curtains were no longer buzzing; they hung limp and damp from the intensive spraying; unconscious doxys lay crammed in the bucket at the foot of them beside a bowl of their black eggs, at which Crookshanks was now sniffing and Fred and George were shooting covetous looks.
‘I think we'll tackle those after lunch.’
Mrs. Weasley pointed at the dusty glass-fronted cabinets standing on either side of the mantelpiece. They were crammed with an odd assortment of objects: a selection of rusty daggers, claws, a coiled snakeskin, a number of tarnished silver boxes inscribed with languages Harry could not understand and, least pleasant of all, an ornate crystal bottle with a large opal set into the stopper, full of what Harry was quite sure was blood.
The clanging doorbell rang again. Everyone looked at Mrs. Weasley.
‘Stay here,’ she said firmly, snatching up the bag of rats as Mrs. Blacks screeches started up again from down below. ‘I'll bring up some sandwiches.’
She left the room, closing the door carefully behind her. At once, everyone dashed over to the window to look down on the doorstep. They could see the top of an unkempt gingery head and a stack of precariously balanced cauldrons.
‘Mundungus!’ said Hermione. ‘What's he brought all those cauldrons for?’
‘Probably looking for a safe place to keep them,’ said Harry. ‘Isn't that what he was doing the night he was supposed to be tailing me? Picking up dodgy cauldrons?’
‘Yeah, you're right!’ said Fred, as the front door opened; Mundungus heaved his cauldrons through it and disappeared from view. ‘Blimey, Mum won't like that....’
He and George crossed to the door and stood beside it, listening closely. Mrs. Black's screaming had stopped.
‘Mundungus is talking to Sirius and Kingsley,’ Fred muttered, frowning with concentration. ‘Can't hear properly ... d'you reckon we can risk the Extendable Ears?’
‘Might be worth it,’ said George. ‘I could sneak upstairs and get a pair—’
But at that precise moment there was an explosion of sound from downstairs that rendered Extendable Ears quite unnecessary. All of them could hear exactly what Mrs. Weasley was shouting at the top of her voice.
‘WE ARE NOT RUNNING A HIDEOUT FOR STOLEN GOODS!’
‘I love hearing Mum shouting at someone else,’ said Fred, with a satisfied smile on his face as he opened the door an inch or so to allow Mrs. Weasley's voice to permeate the room better, ‘it makes such a nice change.’
‘—COMPLETELY IRRESPONSIBLE, AS IF WE HAVEN'T GOT ENOUGH TO WORRY ABOUT WITHOUT YOU DRAGGING STOLEN CAULDRONS INTO THE HOUSE—’
‘The idiots are letting her get into her stride,’ said George, shaking his head. ‘You've got to head her off early otherwise she builds up a head of steam and goes on for hours. And she's been dying to have a go at Mundungus ever since he sneaked off when he was supposed to be following you, Harry—and there goes Sirius's mum again.’
Mrs. Weasley's voice was lost amid fresh shrieks and screams from the portraits in the hall.
George made to shut the door to drown the noise, but before he could do so, a house-elf edged into the room.
Except for the filthy rag tied like a loincloth around its middle, it was completely naked. It looked very old. Its skin seemed to be several times too big for it and, though it was bald like all house-elves, there was a quantity of white hair growing out of its large, batlike ears. Its eyes were a bloodshot and watery grey and its fleshy nose was large and rather snoutlike.
The elf took absolutely no notice of Harry and the rest. Acting as though it could not see them, it shuffled hunchbacked, slowly and doggedly, towards the far end of the room, all the while muttering under its breath in a hoarse, deep voice like a bullfrog's, ‘...smells like a drain and a criminal to boot, but she's no better, nasty old blood traitor with her brats messing up my mistress's house, oh, my poor mistress, if she knew, if she knew the scum they've let into her house, what would she say to old Kreacher, oh, the shame of it, Mudbloods and werewolves and traitors and thieves, poor old Kreacher, what can he do....’
‘Hello, Kreacher,’ said Fred very loudly, closing the door with a snap.
The house-elf froze in his tracks, stopped muttering, and gave a very pronounced and very unconvincing start of surprise.
‘Kreacher did not see Young Master,’ he said, turning around and bowing to Fred. Still lacing the carpet, he added, perfectly audibly, ‘Nasty little brat of a blood traitor it is.’
‘Sorry?’ said George. ‘Didn't catch that last bit.’
‘Kreacher said nothing,’ said the elf, with a second bow to George, adding in a clear undertone, ‘and there's its twin, unnataral little beasts they are.’
Harry didn't know whether to laugh or not. The elf straightened up, eyeing them all malevolently, and apparently convinced that they could not hear him as he continued to mutter.
‘...and there's the Mudblood, standing there bold as brass, oh if my mistress knew, oh, how she'd cry, and there's a new boy, Kreacher doesn't know his name. What is he doing here? Kreacher doesn't know...’
‘This is Harry, Kreacher,’ said Hermione tentatively. ‘Harry Potter.’
Kreacher's pale eyes widened and he muttered faster and more furiously than ever.
‘The Mudblood is talking to Kreacher as though she is my friend, if Kreacher's mistress saw him in such company, oh, what would she say—’
‘Don't call her a Mudblood!’ said Ron and Ginny together, very angrily.
‘It doesn't matter,’ Hermione whispered, ‘he's not in his right mind, he doesn't know what he's—’
‘Don't kid yourself, Hermione, he knows exactly what he's saying,’ said Fred, eyeing Kreacher with great dislike.
Kreacher was still muttering, his eyes on Harry.
‘Is it true? Is it Harry Potter? Kreacher can see the scar, it must be true, that's the boy who stopped the Dark Lord, Kreacher wonders how he did it—’
‘Don't we all, Kreacher,’ said Fred.
‘What do you want, anyway?’ George asked.
Kreacher's huge eyes darted towards George.
‘Kreacher is cleaning,’ he said evasively.
‘A likely story,’ said a voice behind Harry.
Sirius had come back; he was glowering at the elf from the doorway. The noise in the hall had abated; perhaps Mrs. Weasley and Mundungus had moved their argument down into the kitchen.
At the sight of Sirius, Kreacher flung himself into a ridiculously low bow that flattened his snoutlike nose on the floor.
‘Stand up straight,’ said Sirius impatiently. ‘Now, what are you up to?’
‘Kreacher is cleaning,’ the elf repeated. ‘Kreacher lives to serve the Noble House of Black—’
‘—and it's getting blacker every day, it's filthy,’ said Sirius.
‘Master always liked his little joke,’ said Kreacher, bowing again, and continuing in an undertone, ‘Master was a nasty ungrateful swine who broke his mother's heart—’
‘My mother didn't have a heart, Kreacher,’ snapped Sirius. ‘She kept herself alive out of pure spite.’
Kreacher bowed again as he spoke.
‘Whatever Master says,’ he muttered furiously. ‘Master is not fit to wipe slime from his mother's boots, oh, my poor mistress, what would she say if she saw Kreacher serving him, how she hated him, what a disappointment he was—’
‘I asked you what you were up to,’ said Sirius coldly. ‘Every time you show up pretending to be cleaning, you sneak something off to your room so we can't throw it out.’
‘Kreacher would never move anything from its proper place in Master's house,’ said the elf, then muttered very fast, ‘Mistress would never forgive Kreacher if the tapestry was thrown out, seven centuries it's been in the family, Kreacher must save it, Kreacher will not let Master and the blood traitors and the brats destroy it—’
‘I thought it might be that,’ said Sirius, casting a disdainful look at the opposite wall. ‘She'll have put another Permanent Sticking Charm on the back of it, I don't doubt, but if I can get rid of it I certainly will. Now go away, Kreacher.’
It seemed that Kreacher did not dare disobey a direct order; nevertheless, the look he gave Sirius as he shuffled out past him was full of deepest loathing and he muttered all the way out of the room.
‘—comes back from Azkaban ordering Kreacher around, oh, my poor mistress, what would she say if she saw the house now, scum living in it, her treasures thrown out, she swore he was no son of hers and he's back, they say he's a murderer too—’
‘Keep muttering and I will be a murderer!’ said Sirius irritably as he slammed the door shut on the elf.
‘Sirius, he's not right in the head,’ Hermione pleaded, ‘I don't think he realises we can hear him.’
‘He's been alone too long,’ said Sirius, ‘taking mad orders from my mother's portrait and talking to himself, but he was always a foul little—’
‘If you could just set him free,’ said Hermione hopefully, ‘maybe—’
‘We can't set him free, he knows too much about the Order,’ said Sirius curtly. ‘And anyway, the shock would kill him. You suggest to him that he leaves this house, see how he takes it.’
Sirius walked across the room to where the tapestry Kreacher had been trying to protect hung the length of the wall. Harry and the others followed.
The tapestry looked immensely old; it was faded and looked as though doxys had gnawed it in places. Nevertheless, the golden thread with which it was embroidered still glinted brightly enough to show them a sprawling family tree dating back (as far as Harry could tell) to the Middle Ages. Large words at the very top of the tapestry read:
The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black'Toujours pur’
‘You're not on here!’ said Harry, after scanning the bottom of the tree closely.
‘I used to be there,’ said Sirius, pointing at a small, round, charred hole in the tapestry, rather like a cigarette burn. ‘My sweet old mother blasted me off after I ran away from home— Kreacher's quite fond of muttering the story under his breath.’
‘You ran away from home?’
‘When I was about sixteen,’ said Sirius. ‘I'd had enough.’
‘Where did you go?’ asked Harry, staring at him.
‘Your dad's place,’ said Sirius. ‘Your grandparents were really good about it; they sort of adopted me as a second son. Yeah, I camped out at your dad's in the school holidays, and then when I was seventeen I got a place of my own, my Uncle Alphard had left me a decent bit of gold—he's been wiped off here too, that's probably why—anyway, after that I looked after myself. I was always welcome at Mr. and Mrs. Potters for Sunday lunch, though.’
‘But ... why did you...?’
‘Leave?’ Sirius smiled bitterly and ran his fingers through his long, unkempt hair. ‘Because I hated the whole lot of them: my parents, with their pure-blood mania, convinced that to be a Black made you practically royal ... my idiot brother, soft enough to believe them ... that's him.’
Sirius jabbed a finger at the very bottom of the tree, at the name ‘Regulus Black'. A date of death (some fifteen years previously) followed the date of birth.
‘He was younger than me,’ said Sirius, ‘and a much better son, as I was constantly reminded.’
‘But he died,’ said Harry.
‘Yeah,’ said Sirius. ‘Stupid idiot ... he joined the Death Eaters.’
‘You're kidding!’
‘Come on, Harry, haven't you seen enough of this house to tell what kind of wizards my family were?’ said Sirius testily.
‘Were—were your parents Death Eaters as well?’
‘No, no, but believe me, they thought Voldemort had the right idea, they were all for the purification of the wizarding race, getting rid of Muggle-borns and having pure-bloods in charge. They weren't alone, either, there were quite a few people, before Voldemort showed his true colours, who thought he had the right idea about things.... They got cold feet when they saw what he was prepared to do to get power, though. But I bet my parents thought Regulus was a right little hero for joining up at first.’
‘Was he killed by an Auror?’ Harry asked tentatively.
‘Oh, no,’ said Sirius. ‘No, he was murdered by Voldemort. Or on Voldemort's orders, more likely; I doubt Regulus was ever important enough to be killed by Voldemort in person. From what I found out after he died, he got in so far, then panicked about what he was being asked to do and tried to back out. Well, you don't just hand in your resignation to Voldemort. It's a lifetime of service or death.’
‘Lunch,’ said Mrs Weasley's voice.
She was holding her wand high in front of her, balancing a huge tray loaded with sandwiches and cake on its tip. She was very red in the face and still looked angry. The others moved over to her, eager for some food, but Harry remained with Sirius, who had bent closer to the tapestry.
‘I haven't looked at this for years. There's Phineas Nigellus ... my great-great-grandfather, see? Least popular headmaster Hogwarts ever had ... and Araminta Meliflua ... cousin of my mother's ... tried to force through a Ministry Bill to make Muggle-hunting legal ... and dear Aunt Elladora ... she started the family tradition of beheading house-elves when they got too old to carry tea trays ... of course, any time the family produced someone halfway decent they were disowned. I see Tonks isn't on here. Maybe that's why Kreacher won't take orders from her—he's supposed to do whatever anyone in the family asks him....’
‘You and Tonks are related?’ Harry asked, surprised.
‘Oh, yeah, her mother Andromeda was my favourite cousin, said Sirius, examining the tapestry closely. ‘No, Andromeda's not on here either, look—’
He pointed to another small round burn mark between two names, Bellatrix and Narcissa.
‘Andromeda's sisters are still here because they made lovely, respectable pure-blood marriages, but Andromeda married a Muggle-born, Ted Tonks, so—’
Sirius mimed blasting the tapestry with a wand and laughed sourly. Harry, however, did not laugh; he was too busy staring at the names to the right of Andromeda's burn mark. A double line of gold embroidery linked Narcissa Black with Lucius Malfoy and a single vertical gold line from their names led to the name Draco.
‘You're related to the Malfoys!’
‘The pure-blood families are all interrelated,’ said Sirius. ‘If you're only going to let your sons and daughters marry pure-bloods our choice is very limited; there are hardly any of us left. Molly and I are cousins by marriage and Arthur's something like my second cousin once removed. But there's no point looking for them on here—if ever a family was a bunch of blood traitors it's the Weasleys.’
But Harry was now looking at the name to the left of Andromeda's burn: Bellatrix Black, which was connected by a double line to Rodolphus Lestrange.
‘Lestrange...’ Harry said aloud. The name had stirred something in his memory; he knew it from somewhere, but for a moment he couldn't think where, though it gave him an odd, creeping sensation in the pit of his stomach.
‘They're in Azkaban,’ said Sirius shortly.
Harry looked at him curiously.
‘Bellatrix and her husband Rodolphus came in with Barty Crouch, Junior,’ said Sirius, in the same brusque voice. ‘Rodolphus's brother Rabastan was with them, too.’
Then Harry remembered: He had seen Bellatrix Lestrange inside Dumbledore's Pensieve, the strange device in which thoughts and memories could be stored: a tall dark woman with heavy-lidded eyes, who had stood at her trial and proclaimed her continuing allegiance to Lord Voldemort, her pride that she had tried to find him after his downfall and her conviction that she would one day be rewarded for her loyalty.
‘You never said she was your—’
‘Does it matter if she's my cousin?’ snapped Sirius. ‘As far as I'm concerned, they're not my family. She's certainly not my family. I haven't seen her since I was your age, unless you count a glimpse of her coming into Azkaban. D'you think I'm proud of having a relative like her?’
‘Sorry,’ said Harry quickly, ‘I didn't mean—I was just surprised, that's all—’
‘It doesn't matter, don't apologise,’ Sirius mumbled. He turned away from the tapestry, his hands deep in his pockets. ‘I don't like being back here,’ he said, staring across the drawing room. ‘I never thought I'd be stuck in this house again.’
Harry understood completely. He knew how he would feel, when he was grown up and thought he was free of the place for ever, to return and live at number four, Privet Drive.
‘It's ideal for headquarters, of course,’ Sirius said. ‘My father put every security measure known to wizardkind on it when he lived here. It's unplottable, so Muggles could never come and call—as if they'd ever have wanted to—and now Dumbledore's added his protection, you'd be hard put to find a safer house anywhere. Dumbledore's Secret-Keeper for the Order, you know—nobody can find Headquarters unless he tells them personally where it is—that note Moody showed you last night, that was from Dumbledore....’ Sirius gave a short, bark-like laugh. ‘If my parents could see the use their house was being put to now ... well, my mothers portrait should give you some idea.’
He scowled for a moment, then sighed.
‘I wouldn't mind if I could just get out occasionally and do something useful. I've asked Dumbledore whether I can escort you to your hearing—as Snuffles, obviously—so I can give you a bit of moral support, what d'you think?’
Harry felt as though his stomach had sunk through the dusty carpet. He had not thought about the hearing once since dinner the previous evening; in the excitement of being back with the people he liked best, and hearing everything that was going on, it had completely flown his mind. At Sirius's words, however, the crushing sense of dread returned to him. He stared at Hermione and the Weasleys, all tucking into their sandwiches, and thought how he would feel if they went back to Hogwarts without him.
‘Don't worry,’ Sirius said. Harry looked up and realised that Sirius had been watching him. ‘I'm sure they'll clear you, there's definitely something in the International Statute of Secrecy about being allowed to use magic to save your own life.’
‘But if they do expel me,’ said Harry quietly, ‘can I come back here and live with you?’
Sirius smiled sadly.
‘We'll see.’
‘I'd feel a lot better about the hearing if I knew I didn't have to go back to the Dursleys,’ Harry pressed him.
‘They must be bad if you prefer this place,’ said Sirius gloomily.
‘Hurry up, you two, or there won't be any food left,’ Mrs. Weasley called.
Sirius heaved another great sigh, cast a dark look at the tapestry, then he and Harry went to join the others.
Harry tried his best not to think about the hearing while he emptied the glass-fronted cabinets that afternoon. Fortunately for him, it was a job that required a lot of concentration, as many of the objects in there seemed very reluctant to leave their dusty shelves. Sirius sustained a bad bite from a silver snuffbox; within seconds his bitten hand had developed an unpleasant crusty covering like a tough brown glove.
‘It's OK,’ he said, examining the hand with interest before tapping it lightly with his wand and restoring its skin to normal, ‘must be Wartcap powder in there.’
He threw the box aside into the sack where they were depositing the debris from the cabinets; Harry saw George wrap his own hand carefully in a cloth moments later and sneak the box into his already doxy-filled pocket.
They found an unpleasant-looking silver instrument, something like a many-legged pair of tweezers, which scuttled up Harry's arm like a spider when he picked it up, and attempted to puncture his skin. Sirius seized it and smashed it with a heavy book entitled Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy. There was a musical box that emitted a faintly sinister, tinkling tune when wound, and they all found themselves becoming curiously weak and sleepy, until Ginny had the sense to slam the lid shut; a heavy locket that none of them could open; a number of ancient seals; and, in a dusty box, an Order of Merlin, First Class, that had been awarded to Sirius's grandfather for ‘services to the Ministry'.
‘It means he gave them a load of gold,’ said Sirius contemptuously throwing the medal into the rubbish sack.
Several times Kreacher sidled into the room and attempted to smuggle things away under his loincloth, muttering horrible curses every time they caught him at it. When Sirius wrested a large golden ring bearing the Black crest from his grip, Kreacher actually burst into furious tears and left the room sobbing under his breath and calling Sirius names Harry had never heard before.
‘It was my father's,’ said Sirius, throwing the ring into the sack. ‘Kreacher wasn't quite as devoted to him as to my mother, but I still caught him snogging a pair of my father's old trousers last week.’
Mrs. Weasley kept them all working very hard over the next few days. The drawing room took three days to decontaminate. Finally, the only undesirable things left in it were the tapestry of the Black family tree, which resisted all their attempts to remove it from the wall, and the rattling writing desk. Moody had not dropped by headquarters yet, so they could not be sure what was inside it.
They moved from the drawing room to a dining room on the ground floor where they found spiders as large as saucers lurking in the dresser (Ron left the room hurriedly to make a cup of tea and did not return for an hour and a half). The china, which bore the Black crest and motto, was all thrown unceremoniously into a sack by Sirius, and the same fate met a set of old photographs in tarnished silver frames, all of whose occupants squealed shrilly as the glass covering them smashed.
Snape might refer to their work as ‘cleaning', but in Harry's opinion they were really waging war on the house, which was putting up a very good fight, aided and abetted by Kreacher. The house-elf kept appearing wherever they were congregated, his muttering becoming more and more offensive as he attempted to remove anything he could from the rubbish sacks. Sirius went as far as to threaten him with clothes, but Kreacher fixed him with a watery stare and said, ‘Master must do as Master wishes,’ before turning away and muttering very loudly, ‘but Master will not turn Kreacher away, no, because Kreacher knows what they are up to, oh yes, he is plotting against the Dark Lord, yes, with these Mudblood and traitors and scum....’
At which Sirius, ignoring Hermione's protests, seized Kreacher by the back of his loincloth and threw him bodily from the room.
The doorbell rang several times a day, which was the cue for Sirius's mother to start shrieking again, and for Harry and the others to attempt to eavesdrop on the visitor, though they gleaned very little from the brief glimpses and snatches of conversation they were able to sneak before Mrs. Weasley recalled them to their tasks. Snape flitted in and out of the house several times more, though to Harry's relief they never came face to face; Harry also caught sight of his Transfiguration teacher, Professor McGonagall, looking very odd in a Muggle dress and coat, and she also seemed too busy to linger. Sometimes, however, the visitors stayed to help. Tonks joined them for a memorable afternoon in which they found a murderous old ghoul lurking in an upstairs toilet, and Lupin, who was staying in the house with Sirius but who left it for long periods to do mysterious work for the Order, helped them repair a grandfather clock that had developed the unpleasant habit of shooting heavy bolts at passers-by. Mundungus redeemed himself slightly in Mrs. Weasley's eyes by rescuing Ron from an ancient set of purple robes that had tried to strangle him when he removed them from their wardrobe.
Despite the fact that he was still sleeping badly, still having dreams about corridors and locked doors that made his scar prickle, Harry was managing to have fun for the first time all summer. As long as he was busy he was happy; when the action abated, however, whenever he dropped his guard, or lay exhausted in bed watching blurred shadows move across the ceiling, the thought of the looming Ministry hearing returned to him. Fear jabbed at his insides like needles as he wondered what was going to happen to him if he was expelled. The idea was so terrible that he did not dare voice it aloud, not even to Ron and Hermione, who, though he often saw them whispering together and casting anxious looks in his direction, followed his lead in not mentioning it. Sometimes, he could not prevent his imagination showing him a faceless Ministry official who was snapping his wand in two and ordering him back to the Dursleys’ ... but he would not go. He was determined on that. He would come back here to Grimmauld Place and live with Sirius.
He felt as though a brick had dropped into his stomach when Mrs. Weasley turned to him during dinner on Wednesday evening and said quietly, ‘I've ironed your best clothes for tomorrow morning, Harry, and I want you to wash your hair tonight, too. A good first impression can work wonders.’
Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Ginny all stopped talking and looked over at him. Harry nodded and tried to keep eating his chop, but his mouth had become so dry he could not chew.
‘How am I getting there?’ he asked Mrs. Weasley, trying to sound unconcerned.
‘Arthur's taking you to work with him,’ said Mrs. Weasley gently.
Mr. Weasley smiled encouragingly at Harry across the table.
‘You can wait in my office until it's time for the hearing,’ he said.
Harry looked over at Sirius, but before he could ask the question, Mrs. Weasley had answered it.
‘Professor Dumbledore doesn't think it's a good idea for Sirius to go with you, and I must say I—’
‘—think he's quite right,’ said Sirius through clenched teeth.
Mrs. Weasley pursed her lips.
‘When did Dumbledore tell you that?’ Harry said, staring at Sirius.
‘He came last night, when you were in bed,’ said Mr. Weasley.
Sirius stabbed moodily at a potato with his fork. Harry lowered his own eyes to his plate. The thought that Dumbledore had been in the house on the eve of his hearing and not asked to see him made him feel, if it were possible, even worse.
威斯里太太面色严峻的跟着他们到了楼上。 
　　“我要求你们所有人直接上床睡觉，不许再聊天，”当他们到达一楼的时候，威斯里太太说道，“明天我们还有的忙。我希望金妮已经睡着了，”她对着荷米恩补充道，“因此尽量别吵醒她。” 
　　“睡觉，是的，非常正确，”弗来德小声说道，这时荷米恩已经向他们道过晚安，兄弟两个正向楼上爬去，“如果金妮没有上床睡觉，而是等着荷米恩告诉她我们刚才在楼下谈论的所有事情，那么我就是一个．．．．．．” 
　　“好了，罗恩、哈利，”威斯里太太现在在二楼，指示他们进卧室，“上床去睡吧。” 
　　“晚安！”哈利和罗恩对双胞胎兄弟说道。 
　　“睡个好觉！”弗来德眨眨眼睛说道。 
　　威斯里太太在哈利的身后猛的把门关上了。卧室现在看起来比第一次看见的时候更加的黑暗阴森。墙上的那张空画正在缓慢而深长的呼吸，仿佛它上面那个看不见的居住者也睡着了。哈利穿上他的睡衣，摘下眼睛爬到他冰冷的床上，而与此同时罗恩把猫头鹰笼子放到衣柜的顶端以安抚海维与小猪，它们正在到处吵闹，翅膀发出不安的沙沙声。 
　　“我们不能让它们每天晚上都出去觅食，”罗恩一边穿上他的栗色睡衣一边抱怨着，“丹伯多不想让太多的猫头鹰在广场周围乱窜，他认为这看起来十分可疑。哦，是的．．．我差点忘记了．．．” 
　　他穿过卧室走向门口并且把门栓上了。 
　　“你这么做是为什么啊？” 
　　“克瑞彻”罗恩关灯的时候说道，“第一夜我睡在这里，他凌晨三点跑过来游荡。相信我，你不会乐意被吵醒然后发现那个家伙在你的房间里游荡。无论如何．．．．．．”他上床躺进被窝里，然后转过来在黑暗中看着哈利；通过肮脏的窗户透进来的月光使的哈利能够看清罗恩的轮廓，“你在想什么？” 
　　哈利不需要询问罗恩的意思。 
　　“是的，他们并没有告诉我们很多我们无法猜测的东西，是吗？”哈利一边回忆他们在楼下的谈话一边说道，“我的意思是，所有他们真正告诉我们的就是，凤凰指令正在尽力组织人们加入福尔—” 
　　从罗恩哪里传来一阵尖锐的呼吸声。“—魔鬼，”哈利平静的说，“你准备什么时候开始使用他的名字？天狼星和卢平干的。”（哈利觉得被貌似慷慨的天狼星和卢平这两只老狐狸给耍了，因而发泄不满） 
　　罗恩没听见最后一句。 
　　“是的，你是正确的，”他说道，“我们已经知道了他们告诉我们的每一件事情，这些事情我们通过顺风耳都已经了解了。唯一没听过的一小段就是—” 
　　啪的一声。 
　　“哎哟！” 
　　“小声点，罗恩，你妈妈也许会回来看看。” 
　　“你们两个站在我膝盖上了！” 
　　“是的，好吧，看来瞬间移动魔法在黑夜里更难施展。” 
　　哈利看见弗来德和乔治模糊的轮廓从罗恩的床上跳下来。弹簧床面发出了呻吟，而当乔治坐到他脚边的时候哈利的床垫被压沉了几英寸。 
　　“那么，你见过那个东西吗？”乔治一脸渴望的说道。 
　　“天狼星提及的武器吗？”哈利问道。 
　　“还能是什么，”弗来德接着说道。 
　　“但是这个世界上没有什么比阿瓦达索命咒语（这个咒语是前作提及的三大禁咒的最后一个，也即死亡咒语，是伏地魔杀死哈利父母的咒语，当伏地魔对哈利施展的时候出现意外，结果伏地魔几乎被杀，而哈利则留下一道闪电形状的疤痕）更加糟糕的东西，是吗？”罗恩说道，“什么东西会比死亡更糟呢？” 
　　“也许它是某种能够同时杀死成千上万人的东西，“乔治推测道。 
　　“也许它是以某种特别痛苦的方式杀人的东西，”罗恩沉重的说道。 
　　“伏地魔已经有了钻心咒（三大禁咒第二位，即痛苦咒语，能使人痛不欲生但是却死不了）让人痛苦，”哈利说道，“他不会需要任何比这个咒语更有效的东西。” 
　　卧室里一片平静，哈利知道其他人象他一样，正在奇怪那是一种怎样的恐怖武器呢？ 
　　“那么你认为现在谁得到了这种武器呢？”乔治问道。 
　　“希望是我们这边的，”罗恩有点紧张不安的说道。 
　　“如果真是这样的话，丹伯多可能把它藏起来了。”弗来德说道。 
　　“藏在哪里？”罗恩很快说道，“霍格瓦彻吗？” 
　　“我打赌肯定是在霍格瓦彻！”乔治说道，“那正是丹伯多隐藏魔法石的地方。” 
　　“但是一件武器应该比一块石头大的多！”罗恩说道。 
　　“这可不一定，”弗来德说道。 
　　“是的，体积并不是威力的保证，”乔治说道，“看看金妮就知道。” 
　　“你的意思是”哈利问。 
　　“你大概还从未尝到过她的击妖魔法，对吧？” 
　　“嘘！”弗来德从床上半坐起来，“听！” 
　　他们安静下来。脚步声正在上楼。 
　　“妈妈，”乔治说道，接着几乎在一瞬间伴随一声巨响，哈利感到床脚的重量消失了。几秒钟之后，他们听见门外的楼板吱吱作响：威斯里太太在门外倾听，以检查他们是否正在交谈。 
　　海维和小猪寂寞的大声叫喊。楼板再次吱吱作响，他们听见威斯里太太上楼检查弗来德和乔治去了。 
　　“你知道吗，她完全不相信我们，”罗恩懊恼的说道。 
　　哈利确信自己睡不着，这个晚上发生了太多的事情要考虑，因此他满心期望能够清醒的躺上几个小时全部咀嚼一遍。他想继续与罗恩谈话，但威斯里太太的脚步声再次下楼来了，而她一离开哈利就清楚的听见其他人都上楼去了．．．．．．实际上，许多有脚的生物都正在卧室的门外轻柔的跑来跑去，而魔法生物饲养课的老师哈格力正在讲课：“他们很漂亮，不是吗，哈利？这个学期我们将要学习这种武器．．．”接着哈利就看见这种生物的头部变成了加农炮，并且正在瞄准他．．．哈利猛的蹲下．．．接下来他所知道的事情就是，他在床单下面暖和的缩成一团，而乔治响亮的声音充满了房间。 
　　“妈妈说起床了，你的早餐在厨房里，吃完以后她要你待在画室里，这里有超出她想象的大量的害虫，而且她又在沙发底下发现了一窝死掉的害虫。” 
　　半个小时之后哈利和罗恩迅速的穿戴整齐并吃了早餐，接着进了画室，这是一楼一个长形的房间，有着高高的天花板，橄榄绿的墙面上覆盖着厚厚的灰尘。地毯每次有人踩上去的时候就会发出一股灰尘形成的烟雾，长长的，苔绿色的天鹅绒窗帘正在嗡嗡作响，仿佛里面有一大群看不见的蜜蜂。威斯里太太、荷米恩、金妮、弗来德和乔治都来了，他们用一件衣服包住鼻子和嘴巴的样子显的十分奇特。而在他们每个人的手里都拿着一大瓶黑色的液体，瓶子的末端都装着一个喷嘴。 
　　“把你们的脸包起来并拿上一个喷雾器，”威斯里太太一看见哈利和罗恩就说道，并指了指一张长腿桌子上面两个更大的装满黑色液体的瓶子。“这里真是虫子窝，我从来没有见过虫子出没的如此猖獗—在最近十年里那些小精灵们都干了些什么—” 
　　荷米恩的脸虽然半隐藏在一条茶色毛巾里，但是哈利明显看见她向威斯里太太投去一个责备的目光。“克瑞彻真是太老了，它也许无法管理—” 
　　“如果克瑞彻想管的话你会很惊奇的发现它有多么能干，荷米恩。”说话的是天狼星，他正提着一个看上去装满了死老鼠的血淋淋的包走进房间里，“我刚刚喂了巴克比克（就是前作那只险些被砍头，最后载着天狼星一起流亡的鹰头马身的怪鸟）”他回应着哈利询问的眼神补充道。“我把它留在楼上我妈妈的卧室里。不管怎么说，．．．这张写字台．．．” 
　　天狼星把包扔进了一张扶手椅子里，然后弯腰检查一个上锁的橱柜，哈利现在才首次注意到那个橱柜，它正在轻轻摇晃。 
　　“好的，莫莉，我十分确定这是一个波奇（一种远距离传送装置），“天狼星一边通过锁孔向里面窥视一边说道，“在我们打开它之前也许我们应该让魔眼来看看—我了解我妈妈，它有可能是个很糟糕的东西。” 
　　“你是对的，天狼星。”威斯里太太说道。 
　　他们都在用一种小心翼翼的，礼貌周到的方式交谈，这十分明显的告诉哈利两个人都没有忘记昨天晚上的争执。 
　　一声巨大的叮当作响的铃声从楼下传了上来，紧跟着的就是震耳欲聋的尖叫声和哀号声，昨天晚上唐克丝在碰倒那个伞架的时候就触发过一次。 
　　“我告诉过他们不要按门铃！”天狼星恼火的说着，急匆匆的跑出房间。他们听见他脚步声洪亮的下楼，而布莱克夫人的尖叫声又再一次的响彻大厅： 
　　“你这个家族的耻辱、肮脏的杂种、血统的叛徒、污秽的孩子．．．” 
　　“请把门关上，哈利，”威斯里太太说道。 
　　哈利花了很多时间才关上画室的门；他想要听听楼下发生了什么事。天狼星显然已经尽力关上了盖在他妈妈肖像上的窗帘，因为老太太已经停止尖叫了。他听见天狼星走出大厅，然后前门响起了铁链滑动的声音，接着他听见一个他认为是肯斯雷·沙克雷波尔特的低沉的嗓音说道：“赫斯提（希腊神话中的女灶神，这里可能指火神）刚刚放过我，而她现在拿走了穆迪的斗篷，我认为我应该给丹伯多留一个报告．．．” 
　　感觉到威斯里太太的目光落在他的后脑勺上，哈利懊悔的把画室的门关上并重新加入了除虫队伍。 
　　威斯里太太正在弯腰查看一本打开并放在沙发上的书，这是一本吉德洛．洛哈特（前作密室之迷中出现过的一只绣花枕头式的人物，做过哈利的一任黑魔法防御课教师）写的家庭害虫防治指南。 
　　“很好，你们大家，你们要很小心，因为这些害虫会叮人，他们的牙齿是有毒的。我这里已经提供了一瓶解毒剂，但是我希望没有人需要用到它。” 
　　威斯里太太把腰直起来，站在窗帘的正前方，并招手示意他们都上前来。 
　　“当我下命令的时候，你们就马上开始喷药水，”威斯里太太说道，“我希望它们会朝我们飞过来，但是这种喷雾器的说明书上写着仅仅一次成功的喷射就可以麻痹它们。当它们被麻痹的时候，就把它们扔到这个桶子里。” 
　　威斯里太太小心翼翼的走出火线，并且举起了她自己的喷雾器。 
　　“预备—喷射！” 
　　哈利仅仅喷了几秒钟就有一只浑身绿色的害虫从一堆折叠好的布料里面飞了出来，它的光亮的，甲虫一样的翅膀发出呼呼的声音，微小的针尖一样锋利的牙齿裸露着，它精灵一样的身体上覆盖着厚厚的毛，而它的四只细小的拳头愤怒的紧握着。哈利用一阵杀虫剂将它喷了个正着。它在半空中僵住了并且掉了下来，发出了一声令人惊讶的巨响，躺在了旧地毯的上面。哈利把它拣起来并且扔到了桶子里。 
　　“弗来德，你在干什么？”威斯里太太尖叫道，“马上喷它并把它扔掉。” 
　　哈利向这边看了看。弗来德的食指和拇指之间抓着一只正在挣扎的虫子。 
　　“好的—”弗来德轻快的说道，他迅速的朝这只虫子脸上喷了一下然后虫子就昏倒了，但是在威斯里太太转身的一瞬间他迅速的把虫子塞进了口袋里。 
　　“我们要用虫子的毒液实验我们的削蛇盒，”乔治低声的告诉哈利。 
　　当虫子直接向哈利的鼻子飞过来的时候，他技巧熟练的同时喷下来两只虫子，哈利靠近了乔治并且用嘴角嘟噜着“什么是削蛇盒？” 
　　“这是一系列会使你生病的糖果，”乔治一边小声说道一边用机警的眼神望着威斯里太太的背影。“放心，并不是什么严重的疾病，仅仅是当你感到有必要的话，让你病到足以中途退堂。弗来德和我在这个夏天就正在开发它们。它们是双重功效的，有颜色的咀嚼片。如果你吃了黄色的那一半呕吐药剂的话，你将剧烈呕吐。一旦你已经冲出教室跑向医院的时候，你就吞下紫色的那一半—” 
　　“—这将使你恢复舒适感，并且使的你在一个小时里按自己的选择从事休闲活动，而不是陷入毫无意义的厌烦之中。”“总之，那就是我们在广告里要提出的，”弗来德小声说道，他已经站到了威斯里太太视线之外的边缘地带，并且正在地板上扫荡几只昏迷的虫子，把它们放到口袋里。“但是这种糖果仍然需要一点工夫才能最终完成。现在我们的实验者有一点小麻烦，他们在吞下紫色药片之后需要一段足够长的时间才能制止呕吐。” 
　　“实验者？” 
　　“是我们，”弗来德说道，“我们轮流服用。乔治制作了昏迷的花色制品—我们都厌倦了流鼻血的奶油杏仁糖—” 
　　“妈妈认为我们两个正在决斗，”乔治说道。 
　　“那么，搞笑商店的计划还在进行吗？”哈利嘟噜着，假装是在调整他的喷雾器的喷嘴。 
　　“是的，但我们仍然没机会获得启动资金，”弗来德说道，当威斯里太太在再次袭击之前用围巾擦着眉毛的时候，他的声音更低了，“因此我们在目前用邮购的方式运作它。我们上周在每日先知报上登了广告。” 
　　“这都得感谢你，伙计，”乔治说道，“但是不用担心．．．妈妈对此一无所觉。她不再读每日先知报了，‘因为每日先知报正在诽谤你和丹伯多’” 
　　哈利笑了。他曾经强迫威斯里家的双胞胎两兄弟，接受了他在三巫师争霸赛中赢得的几千帆船币的奖金，以帮助他们实现开设一家搞笑商店的雄心壮志，而他仍然很高兴的知道他们的进一步计划没有被威斯里太太察觉。威斯里太太从来就不认为开一家搞笑商店对她的两个儿子来说是个合适的职业。 
　　清理窗帘蛀虫的行动花费了几乎整整一个上午。时至正午，威斯里太太最终脱下了她的保护性的围巾，倒进了一张扶手椅子里，并带着一声因厌恶而发出的尖叫再一次从椅子里跳起来，因为她正好坐在了那个装满死老鼠的大包上。窗帘不再发出嗡嗡的响声了，它们因为密集的喷雾而变的柔软潮湿，垂了下来。在他们的脚下丧失意识的虫子密密麻麻的躺在桶子里，桶子的旁边是一个装满虫子黑色的卵的大碗，克洛克山克斯正在嗅着这只碗，而威斯里兄弟也在贪婪的盯这这只大碗。 
　　“我想午饭之后我们将解决它的问题，”威斯里太太指了一下壁炉架子两边一边一个的放着的，积满灰尘的玻璃橱柜。橱柜里面摆满了各种不成对的东西（橱柜是一对，所以习惯上里面的东西应该是对称的），一把精挑细选的生锈的短剑，几只爪子，一卷蛇皮，数量众多的银色盒子，上面刻满了哈利看不懂的文字，而所有物品当中最令人讨厌的是一个装饰华丽的水晶瓶，上面塞着一块巨大的猫眼石，里面装满了哈利确信是鲜血的液体。 
　　门铃的叮当声再度响起。每个人都看着威斯里太太。“待在这里。”当布莱克太太的尖叫声再次从下面传来的时候，威斯里太太抓起那只装满死老鼠的大包平静的说道，“我去拿点三明治。” 
　　她离开了房间，小心翼翼的关上了身后的门。几乎同时的，每个人都冲向窗户并通过楼梯台阶往下张望。他们可以看见一颗长着蓬乱头发的头顶，和一组摇摇晃晃保持平衡的坩埚。 
　　“蒙顿格斯！”荷米恩说道。“他带着那些坩埚干什么？” 
　　“也许是在寻找一个安全的地方摆放它们，”哈利说道，“那也许是他受命跟踪我的那天晚上跑去搞的勾当？挑选销赃的坩埚？” 
　　“是的，你是正确的！” 弗来德说道，这时前门打开了，蒙顿格斯吃力的端着他的坩埚，穿过前门并且从视野里消失了，“哎呀，妈妈不喜欢…” 他和乔治穿过画室并站到门边仔细的听着。布莱克太太的尖叫声已经停止了。 
　　“蒙顿格斯正在和西斯里还有肯斯雷说话，”弗来德的眉头皱了起来小声说道。“不可能听见…你认为我们是否值得冒险使用顺风耳？” 
　　“也许值得，”乔治说道，“我可以偷偷摸摸的到楼上拿一对—” 
　　但是就在此时从楼下传来一声巨响，这使得顺风耳完全没有了用武之地。所有人都可以清楚的听见威斯里太太正在用她最高的嗓门咆哮着。 
　　“我们没地方为偷来的东西挪出一个藏匿点！” 
　　“有时我喜欢听见妈妈对别人咆哮，”弗来德的脸上带着一种满意的微笑说着，他把门拉开一英寸左右，这样可以让威斯里太太的声音更清楚的传进房间里，“这是如此优美的改变。” 
　　“—完全不负责任，好象没有你拖进来的这些销赃的坩埚我们就会因为缺少经费而愁眉苦脸—” 
　　“这群白痴正在让她步步进逼，”乔治摇摇头说道，“你必须尽早的拦下她的话头，否则她就会象沸腾的蒸汽一样滔滔不绝的说上几个小时。自从蒙顿格斯在受命跟踪你的期间擅离职守以来，妈妈早就想找个机会修理他了。哈利—现在是天狼星的妈妈再度发飚。” 
　　威斯里太太的丧失了开始的尖锐，而尖叫声从大厅的肖像处传了过来。 
　　乔治试图关上门以抵挡噪音，不过在他这么做之前，一只房屋小精灵进到房间的边上。 
　　除了把一串肮脏的老鼠绑成一根带子围在腰间以外，它全身赤裸。它看上去很老。皮肤看来比它的身体大好几倍，尽管它象其他的房屋小精灵一样光秃秃的不长毛，但是大量的白色眉毛在它巨大的、蝙蝠一样的眼睛上方冒了出来。它的眼睛充满血丝并且是潮湿的灰白色，而它肉色的鼻子同样十分巨大，或者更贴切的讲象猪嘴。 
　　这只小精灵绝对没有注意到哈利和其他人。它的行为仿佛象是看不见他们一样，它驼着背，慢吞吞的走着，固执而迟缓，一直走向房间的最里面，它所发出的喃喃自语声在他的呼吸里嘶哑、深沉，就象一只牛蛙一样。 
　　“…闻起来就象一条排水沟或者是一个罪犯的靴子，但是她也好不了多少，肮脏衰老的血统叛徒带着她的乳臭未干的孩子们，把我的女主人的房子弄的乱七八糟，哦，我可怜的女主人，如果她知道这些家伙把些什么垃圾带进来的话，她会对老克瑞彻说些什么呢，哦，这真是可耻，小孩、狼人、叛徒，还有小偷，可怜的老克瑞彻，它能干什么…” 
　　“你好，克瑞彻，”弗来德猛的关上门大声说道。 
　　这只小精灵停下了脚步，不再喃喃自语，并且带着一种十分明显的不确定的神情开始感到惊讶。 
　　“克瑞彻没看见小主人，”它转过头对弗来德鞠了一躬。仍然站在地毯边上，它用正好能听见的声音补充道，“这是一个血统叛徒的一个肮脏的乳臭未干的小孩子。” 
　　“对不起？”乔治说道，“不要加上最后那点。” 
　　“克瑞彻什么也没说，”小精灵向乔治第二个鞠躬，用一种清晰的低音补充道，“这是他的双胞胎兄弟，他们都是异乎寻常的小畜生。” 
　　哈利不知道该笑还是不该笑。这只小精灵直起身体，眼睛充满恶意的瞪着他们，并且很显然的相信他们听不见它说话，所以它继续嘟噜着。 
　　“…这里还有些小孩，厚颜无耻的站在这里，哦，如果我的女主人知道的话，哦，她会怎样尖叫啊，这里还有个新来的男孩，克瑞彻不知道他的名字。他来这里干什么？克瑞彻不知道…” 
　　“这是哈利，克瑞彻，”荷米恩试探性的说道。“哈利波特。” 
　　克瑞彻苍白的眼睛睁大了，它嘟噜的更快了，而且比刚才更加的愤怒。这个小孩正在象朋友一样的和克瑞彻说话，如果克瑞彻的女主人看见它这个样子的话，哦，她会说—” 
　　“不要叫她乳臭未干的小孩！”罗恩和金妮同时愤怒的叫道。 
　　“没关系的，”荷米恩小声说道，“它现在已经出神了，它不知道自己在说什么—” 
　　“别骗你自己，荷米恩，它知道的很清楚自己在说些什么，”弗来德看见克瑞彻的脸上充满了厌恶。 
　　克瑞彻还在嘟噜着，它的眼睛看着哈利。 
　　“这是真的吗？这是哈利波特吗？克瑞彻能够看见那道伤疤，这一定是真的，就是这个小男孩阻止了黑暗公爵，克瑞彻怀疑他是怎么做到的—” 
　　“放过我们大家吧，克瑞彻，”弗来德说道。 
　　“不管怎么说，你在干什么？”乔治问道。 
　　克瑞彻的大眼睛转向乔治。 
　　“克瑞彻正在清洁，”它推脱的说道。 
　　“一个合适的借口，”哈利身后一个声音说道。 
　　天狼星已经回来了；他正在门口对着这只小精灵怒目而视。客厅里的吵闹声已经消失了；也许威斯里太太和蒙顿格斯已经把他们的战场移到了厨房。 
　　看见了天狼星
Chapter 7 The Ministry Of Magic
Harry awoke at half-past five the next morning as abruptly and completely as if somebody had yelled in his ear. For a few moments he lay immobile as the prospect of the disciplinary hearing filled every tiny particle of his brain, then, unable to bear it, he leapt out of bed and put on his glasses. Mrs. Weasley had laid out his freshly laundered jeans and T-shirt at the foot of his bed. Harry scrambled into them. The blank picture on the wall sniggered.
Ron was lying sprawled on his back with his mouth wide open, fast asleep. He did not stir as Harry crossed the room, stepped out on to the landing and closed the door softly behind him. Trying not to think of the next time he would see Ron, when they might no longer be fellow students at Hogwarts, Harry walked quietly down the stairs, past the heads of Kreacher's ancestors, and down into the kitchen.
He had expected it to be empty, but when he reached the door he heard the soft rumble of voices on the other side. He pushed it open and saw Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Sirius, Lupin, and Tonks sitting there almost as though they were waiting for him. All were fully dressed except Mrs. Weasley, who was wearing a quilted purple dressing gown. She leapt to her feet the moment Harry entered.
‘Breakfast,’ she said as she pulled out her wand and hurried over to the fire.
‘M-m-morning, Harry,’ yawned Tonks. Her hair was blonde and curly this morning. ‘Sleep all right?’
‘Yeah,’ said Harry.
‘I've b-b-been up all night,’ she said, with another shuddering yawn. ‘Come and sit down....’
She drew out a chair, knocking over the one beside it in the process.
‘What do you want, Harry?’ Mrs. Weasley called. ‘Porridge? Muffins? Kippers? Bacon and eggs? Toast?’
‘Just—just toast, thanks,’ said Harry.
Lupin glanced at Harry, then said to Tonks, ‘What were you saying about Scrimgeour?’
‘Oh ... yeah ... well, we need to be a bit more careful, he's been asking Kingsley and me funny questions....’
Harry felt vaguely grateful that he was not required to join in the conversation. His insides were squirming. Mrs. Weasley placed a couple of pieces of toast and marmalade in front of him; he tried to eat, but it was like chewing carpet. Mrs Weasley sat down on his other side and started fussing with his T-shirt, tucking in the label and smoothing out the creases across his shoulders. He wished she wouldn't.
‘...and I'll have to tell Dumbledore I can't do night duty tomorrow, I'm just t-t-too tired,’ Tonks finished, yawning hugely again.
‘I'll cover for you,’ said Mr. Weasley. ‘I'm OK, I've got a report to finish anyway....’
Mr. Weasley was not wearing wizards’ robes but a pair of pinstriped trousers and an old bomber jacket. He turned from Tonks to Harry.
‘How are you feeling?’
Harry shrugged.
‘It'll all be over soon,’ Mr. Weasley said bracingly. ‘In a few hours’ time you'll be cleared.’
Harry said nothing.
‘The hearing's on my floor, in Amelia Bones's office. She's Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and she's the one who'll be questioning you.’
‘Amelia Bones is OK, Harry,’ said Tonks earnestly. ‘She's fair, she'll hear you out.’
Harry nodded, still unable to think of anything to say.
‘Don't lose your temper,’ said Sirius abruptly. ‘Be polite and stick to the facts.’
Harry nodded again.
‘The law's on your side,’ said Lupin quietly. ‘Even underage wizards are allowed to use magic in life-threatening situations.’
Something very cold trickled down the back of Harry's neck; for a moment he thought someone was putting a Disillusionment Charm on him, then he realised that Mrs. Weasley was attacking his hair with a wet comb. She pressed hard on the top of his head.
‘Doesn't it ever lie flat?’ she said desperately.
Harry shook his head.
‘Mr. Weasley checked his watch and looked up at Harry. I think we'll go now,’ he said. ‘We're a bit early, but I think you'll be better off at the Ministry than hanging around here.’
‘OK,’ said Harry automatically, dropping his toast and getting to his feet.
‘You'll be all right, Harry,’ said Tonks, patting him on the arm.
‘Good luck,’ said Lupin. ‘I'm sure it will be fine.’
‘And if it's not,’ said Sirius grimly, ‘I'll see to Amelia Bones for you....’
Harry smiled weakly. Mrs. Weasley hugged him.
‘We've all got our fingers crossed,’ she said.
‘Right,’ said Harry. ‘Well ... see you later then.’
He followed Mr. Weasley upstairs and along the hall. He could hear Sirius's mother grunting in her sleep behind her curtains. Mr. Weasley unbolted the door and they stepped out into the cold, grey dawn.
‘You don't normally walk to work, do you?’ Harry asked him, as they set off briskly around the square.
‘No, I usually Apparate,’ said Mr. Weasley, ‘but obviously you can't, and I think it's best we arrive in a thoroughly non-magical fashion ... makes a better impression, given what you're being disciplined for....’
Mr. Weasley kept his hand inside his jacket as they walked. Harry knew it was clenched around his wand. The run-down streets were almost deserted, but when they arrived at the miserable little underground station they found it already lull of early-morning commuters. As ever when he found himself in close proximity to Muggles going about their daily business, Mr. Weasley was hard put to contain his enthusiasm.
‘Simply fabulous,’ he whispered, indicating the automatic ticket machines. ‘Wonderfully ingenious.’
‘They're out of order,’ said Harry, pointing at the sign.
‘Yes, but even so...’ said Mr. Weasley, beaming at them fondly.
They bought their tickets instead from a sleepy-looking guard (Harry handled the transaction, as Mr. Weasley was not very good with Muggle money) and five minutes later they were boarding an underground train that rattled them off towards the centre of London. Mr. Weasley kept anxiously checking and re-checking the Underground Map above the windows.
‘Four stops, Harry ... three stops left now ... two stops to go, Harry...’
They got off at a station in the very heart of London, and were swept from the train in a tide of besuited men and women carrying briefcases. Up the escalator they went, through the ticket barrier (Mr. Weasley delighted with the way the stile swallowed his ticket), and emerged on to a broad street lined with imposing-looking buildings and already full of traffic.
‘Where are we?’ said Mr. Weasley blankly, and for one heart-stopping moment Harry thought they had got off at the wrong station despite Mr. Weasley's continual references to the map; but a second later he said, ‘Ah yes ... this way, Harry,’ and led him down a side road.
‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘but I never come by train and it all looks rather different from a Muggle perspective. As a matter of fact, I've never even used the visitors’ entrance before.’
The further they walked, the smaller and less imposing the buildings became, until finally they reached a street that contained several rather shabby-looking offices, a pub and an overflowing skip. Harry had expected a rather more impressive location for the Ministry of Magic.
‘Here we are,’ said Mr. Weasley brightly, pointing at an old red telephone box, which was missing several panes of glass and stood before a heavily graffitied wall. ‘After you, Harry.’
He opened the telephone-box door.
Harry stepped inside, wondering what on earth this was about. Mr. Weasley folded himself in beside Harry and closed the door. It was a tight fit; Harry was jammed against the telephone apparatus, which was hanging crookedly from the wall as though a vandal had tried to rip it off. Mr. Weasley reached past Harry for the receiver.
‘Mr. Weasley, I think this might be out of order, too,’ Harry said.
‘No, no, I'm sure its fine,’ said Mr. Weasley, holding the receiver above his head and peering at the dial. ‘Let's see ... six...’ he dialled the number, ‘two ... four ... and another four ... and another two...’
As the dial whirred smoothly back into place, a cool female voice sounded inside the telephone box, not from the receiver in Mr. Weasley's hand, but as loudly and plainly as though an invisible woman were standing right beside them.
‘Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business.’
‘Er...’ said Mr. Weasley, clearly uncertain whether or not he should talk into the receiver. He compromised by holding the mouthpiece to his ear, ‘Arthur Weasley, Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, here to escort Harry Potter, who has been asked to attend a disciplinary hearing....’
‘Thank you,’ said the cool female voice. ‘Visitor, please take the badge and attach it to the front of your robes.’
There was a click and a rattle, and Harry saw something slide out of the metal chute where returned coins usually appeared. He picked it up: it was a square silver badge with Harry Potter, Disciplinary Hearing on it. He pinned it to the front of his T-shirt as the female voice spoke again.
‘Visitor to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium ’
The floor of the telephone box shuddered. They were sinking slowly into the ground. Harry watched apprehensively as the pavement seemed to rise up past the glass windows of the telephone box until darkness closed over their heads. Then he could see nothing at all; he could hear only a dull grinding noise as the telephone box made its way down through the earth. After about a minute, though it felt much longer to Harry, a chink of golden light illuminated his feet and, widening, rose up his body, until it hit him in the face and he had to blink to stop his eyes watering.
‘The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day,’ said the woman's voice.
The door of the telephone box sprang open and Mr. Weasley stepped out of it, followed by Harry, whose mouth had fallen open.
They were standing at one end of a very long and splendid hall with a highly polished, dark wood floor. The peacock blue ceiling was inlaid with gleaming golden symbols that kept moving and changing like some enormous heavenly noticeboard. The wall's on each side were panelled in shiny dark wood and had many gilded fireplaces set into them. Every few seconds a witch or wizard would emerge from one of the left-hand fireplaces with a soft whoosh; on the right-hand side, short queues were forming before each fireplace, waiting to depart.
Halfway down the hall was a fountain. A group of golden statues, larger than life-size, stood in the middle of a circular pool. Tallest of them all was a noble-looking wizard with his wand pointing straight up in the air. Grouped around him were a beautiful witch, a centaur, a goblin and a house-elf. The last three were all looking adoringly up at the witch and wizard. Glittering jets of water were flying from the ends of the two wands, the point of the centaur's arrow, the tip of the goblin's hat, and each of the house-elf's ears, so that the tinkling hiss of falling water was added to the pops and cracks of the Apparators and the clatter of footsteps as hundreds of witches and wizards, most of whom were wearing glum, early-morning looks, strode towards a set of golden gates at the far end of the hall.
‘This way,’ said Mr. Weasley.
They joined the throng, wending their way between the Ministry workers, some of whom were carrying tottering piles of parchment, others battered briefcases, still others were reading the Daily Prophet while they walked. As they passed the fountain Harry saw silver Sickles and bronze Knuts glinting up at him from the bottom of the pool. A small smudged sign beside it read:
All proceeds from the fountain of magical brethren will be given to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries
If I'm not expelled from Hogwarts, I'll put in ten Galleons, Harry found himself thinking desperately.
‘Over here, Harry,’ said Mr. Weasley, and they stepped out of the stream of Ministry employees heading for the golden gates. Seated at a desk to the left, beneath a sign saying SECURITY, a badly-shaven wizard in peacock-blue robes looked up as they approached and put down his Daily Prophet.
‘I'm escorting a visitor,’ said Mr. Weasley, gesturing towards Harry.
‘Step over here,’ said the wizard in a bored voice.
Harry walked closer to him and the wizard held up a long golden rod, thin and flexible as a car aerial, and passed it up and down Harry's front and back.
‘Wand,’ grunted the security wizard at Harry, putting down the golden instrument and holding out his hand.
Harry produced his wand. The wizard dropped it on to a strange brass instrument, which looked something like a set of scales with only one dish. It began to vibrate. A narrow strip of parchment came speeding out of a slit in the base. The wizard tore this off and read the writing on it.
‘Eleven inches, phoenix-feather core, been in use four years. That correct?’
‘Yes,’ said Harry nervously.
‘I keep this,’ said the wizard, impaling the slip of parchment on a small brass spike. ‘You get this back,’ he added, thrusting the wand at Harry.
‘Thank you.’
‘Hang on....’ said the wizard slowly.
His eyes had darted from the silver visitor's badge on Harry's chest to his forehead.
‘Thank you, Eric,’ said Mr. Weasley firmly, and grasping Harry by the shoulder he steered him away from the desk and back into the stream of wizards and witches walking through the golden gates.
Jostled slightly by the crowd, Harry followed Mr. Weasley through the gates into the smaller hall beyond, where at least twenty lifts stood behind wrought golden grilles. Harry and Mr. Weasley joined the crowd around one of them. Nearby, stood a big bearded wizard holding a large cardboard box which was emitting rasping noises.
‘All right, Arthur?’ said the wizard, nodding at Mr. Weasley.
‘What've you got there, Bob?’ asked Mr. Weasley, looking at the box.
‘We're not sure,’ said the wizard seriously. ‘We thought it was a bog-standard chicken until it started breathing fire. Looks like a serious breach of the Ban on Experimental Breeding to me.’
With a great jangling and clattering a lift descended in front of them; the golden grille slid back and Harry and Mr. Weasley stepped into the lift with the rest of the crowd and Harry found himself jammed against the back wall. Several witches and wizards were looking at him curiously; he stared at his feet to avoid catching anyone's eye, flattening his fringe as he did so. The grilles slid shut with a crash and the lift ascended slowly, chains rattling, while the same cool female voice Harry had heard in the telephone box rang out again.
‘Level Seven, Department of Magical Games and Sports, incorporating the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters, Official Gobstones Club and Ludicrous Patents Office.’
The lift doors opened; Harry glimpsed an untidy-looking corridor, with various posters of Quidditch teams tacked lopsidedly on the walls. One of the wizards in the lift, who was carrying an armful of broomsticks, extricated himself with difficulty and disappeared down the corridor. The doors closed, the lift juddered upwards again and the woman's voice announced:
‘Level Six, Department of Magical Transportation, incorporating the Floo Network Authority, Broom Regulatory Control, Portkey Office, and Apparation Test Centre.’
Once again the lift doors opened and four or five witches and wizards got out; at the same time, several paper aeroplanes swooped into the lift. Harry stared up at them as they flapped idly around above his head; they were a pale violet colour and he could see MINISTRY OF MAGIC stamped along the edge of their wings.
‘Just inter-departmental memos,’ Mr. Weasley muttered to him. ‘We used to use owls, but the mess was unbelievable ... droppings all over the desks...’
As they clattered upwards again the memos flapped around the lamp swaying from the lift's ceiling.
‘Level Five, Department of International Magical Cooperation, incorporating the International Magical Trading Standards Body, the International Magical Office of Law and the International Confederation of Wizards, British Seats.’
When the doors opened, two of the memos zoomed out with a few more of the witches and wizards, but several more memos zoomed in, so that the light from the lamp flickered and flashed overhead as they darted around it.
‘Level Four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating Beast, Being and Spirit Divisions, Goblin Liaison Office, and Pest Advisory Bureau.
’ ‘S'cuse,’ said the wizard carrying the fire-breathing chicken and he left the lift pursued by a little flock of memos. The doors clanged shut yet again.
‘Level Three, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, including the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, Obliviator Headquarters, and Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee.’
Everybody left the lift on this floor except Mr. Weasley, Harry, and a witch who was reading an extremely long piece of parchment that was trailing on the floor. The remaining memos continued to soar around the lamp as the lift juddered upwards again, then the doors opened and the voice made its announcement.
‘Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services.’
‘This is us, Harry,’ said Mr. Weasley, and they followed the witch out of the lift into a corridor lined with doors. ‘My office is on the other side of the floor.’
‘Mr. Weasley,’ said Harry, as they passed a window through which sunlight was streaming, ‘aren't we still underground?’
‘Yes, we are,’ said Mr. Weasley. ‘Those are enchanted windows. Magical Maintenance decide what weather we'll get every day. We had two months of hurricanes last time they were angling for a pay rise.... Just round here, Harry.’
They turned a corner, walked through a pair of heavy oak doors and emerged in a cluttered open area divided into cubicles, which was buzzing with talk and laughter. Memos were zooming in and out of cubicles like miniature rockets. A lopsided sign on the nearest cubicle read AUROR HEADQUARTERS.
Harry looked surreptitiously through the doorways as they passed. The Aurors had covered their cubicle walls with everything From pictures of wanted wizards and photographs of their families, to posters of their favourite Quidditch teams and articles from the Daily Prophet. A scarlet-robed man with a ponytail longer than Bill's was sitting with his boots up on his desk, dictating a report to his quill. A little further along, a witch with a patch over one eye was talking over the top of her cubicle wall to Kingsley Shacklebolt.
‘Morning, Weasley,’ said Kingsley carelessly, as they drew nearer. ‘I've been wanting a word with you, have you got a second?’
‘Yes, if it really is a second,’ said Mr. Weasley, ‘I'm in rather a hurry.’
They were talking as though they hardly knew each other and when Harry opened his mouth to say hello to Kingsley, Mr. Weasly stood on his foot. They followed Kingsley along the row and into the very last cubicle.
Harry received a slight shock; blinking down at him from every direction was Sirius's face. Newspaper cuttings and old photographs—even the one of Sirius being best man at the Potters’ wedding—papered the walls. The only Sirius-free space was a map of the world in which little red pins were glowing like jewels.
‘Here,’ said Kingsley brusquely to Mr. Weasley, shoving a sheaf of parchment into his hand. ‘I need as much information as possible on flying Muggle vehicles sighted in the last twelve months. We've received information that Black might still be using his old motorcycle.’
Kingsley tipped Harry an enormous wink and added, in a whisper, ‘Give him the magazine, he might find it interesting.’ Then he said in normal tones, ‘And don't take too long, Weasley, the delay on that firelegs report held our investigation up for a month.’
‘If you had read my report you would know that the term is “firearms",’ said Mr. Weasley coolly. ‘And I'm afraid you'll have to wait for information on motorcycles; we're extremely busy at the moment.’ He dropped his voice and said, ‘If you can get away before seven, Molly's making meatballs.’
He beckoned to Harry and led him out of Kingsley's cubicle, through a second set of oak doors, into another passage, turned left, marched along another corridor, turned right into a dimly lit and distinctly shabby corridor, and finally reached a dead end, where a door on the left stood ajar, revealing a broom cupboard, and a door on the right bore a tarnished brass plaque reading Misuse of Muggle Artefacts.
Mr. Weasley's dingy office seemed to be slightly smaller than the broom cupboard. Two desks had been crammed inside it and there was barely space to move around them because of all the overflowing filing cabinets lining the walls, on top of which were tottering piles of files. The little wall space available bore witness to Mr. Weasley's obsessions; there were several posters of cars, including one of a dismantled engine, two illustrations of postboxes he seemed to have cut out of Muggle children's books, and a diagram showing how to wire a plug.
Sitting on top of Mr. Weasley's overflowing in-tray was an old toaster that was hiccoughing in a disconsolate way and a pair of empty leather gloves that were twiddling their thumbs. A photograph of the Weasley family stood beside the in-tray. Harry noticed that Percy appeared to have walked out of it.
‘We haven't got a window,’ said Mr. Weasley apologetically, taking off his bomber jacket and placing it on the back of his chair. ‘We've asked, but they don't seem to think we need one. Have a seat, Harry, doesn't look as if Perkins is in yet.’
Harry squeezed himself into the chair behind Perkins's desk while Mr. Weasley riffled through the sheaf of parchment Kingsley Shacklebolt had given him.
‘Ah,’ he said, grinning, as he extracted a copy of a magazine entitled The Quibbler from its midst, ‘yes...’ He flicked through it. ‘Yes, he's right, I'm sure Sirius will find that very amusing—oh dear, what's this now?’
A memo had just zoomed in through the open door and fluttered to rest on top of the hiccoughing toaster. Mr. Weasley unfolded it and read aloud, ‘"Third regurgitating public toilet reported in Bethnal Green, kindly investigate immediately.” This is getting ridiculous ...’
‘A regurgitating toilet?’
‘Anti-Muggle pranksters,’ said Mr. Weasley, frowning. ‘We had two last week, one in Wimbledon, one in Elephant and Castle. Muggles are pulling the flush and instead of everything disappearing—well, you can imagine. The poor things keep calling in those—pumbles, I think they're called—you know, the ones who mend pipes and things.’
‘Plumbers?’
‘—exactly, yes, but of course they're flummoxed. I only hope we can catch whoever's doing it.’
‘Will it be Aurors who catch them?’
‘Oh no, this is too trivial for Aurors, it'll be the ordinary Magical Law Enforcement Patrol—ah, Harry, this is Perkins.’
A stooped, timid-looking old wizard with fluffy white hair had just entered the room, panting.
‘Oh, Arthur!’ he said desperately, without looking at Harry. ‘Thank goodness, I didn't know what to do for the best, whether to wait here for you or not. I've just sent an owl to your home but you've obviously missed it—an urgent message came ten minutes ago—’
‘I know about the regurgitating toilet,’ said Mr. Weasley.
‘No, no, it's not the toilet, it's the Potter boy's hearing—they've changed the time and venue—it starts at eight o'clock now and it's down in old Courtroom Ten—’
‘Down in old— but they told me—Merlin's beard—’
Mr. Weasley looked at his watch, let out a yelp and leapt from his chair.
‘Quick, Harry, we should have been there five minutes ago!’
Perkins flattened himself against the filing cabinets as Mr. Weasley left the office at a run, Harry close on his heels.
‘Why have they changed the time?’ Harry said breathlessly, as they hurtled past the Auror cubicles; people poked out their heads and stared as they streaked past. Harry felt as though he had left all his insides back at Perkins's desk.
‘I've no idea, but thank goodness we got here so early, if you'd missed it, it would have been catastrophic!’
Mr. Weasley skidded to a halt beside the lifts and jabbed impatiently at the ‘down’ button.
‘Come ON!’
The lift clattered into view and they hurried inside. Every time it stopped Mr. Weasley cursed furiously and pummelled the number nine button.
‘Those courtrooms haven't been used in years,’ said Mr. Weasley angrily. ‘I can't think why they're doing it down there—unless—but no...’
A plump witch carrying a smoking goblet entered the lift at that moment, and Mr. Weasley did not elaborate.
‘The Atrium,’ said the cool female voice and the golden grilles slid open, showing Harry a distant glimpse of the golden statues in the fountain. The plump witch got out and a sallow-skinned wizard with a very mournful face got in.
‘Morning, Arthur,’ he said in a sepulchral voice as the lift began to descend. ‘Don't often see you down here....’
‘Urgent business, Bode,’ said Mr. Weasley, who was bouncing on the balls of his feet and throwing anxious looks over at Harry.
‘Ah, yes,’ said Bode, surveying Harry unblinkingly. ‘Of course.’
Harry barely had emotion to spare for Bode, but his unfaltering gaze did not make him feel any more comfortable.
‘Department of Mysteries,’ said the cool female voice, and left it at that.
‘Quick, Harry,’ said Mr. Weasley as the lift doors rattled open, and they sped up a corridor that was quite different from those above. The walls were bare; there were no windows and no doors apart from a plain black one set at the very end of the corridor. Harry expected them to go through it, but instead Mr. Weasley seized him by the arm and dragged him to the left, where there was an opening leading to a flight of steps.
‘Down here, down here,’ panted Mr. Weasley, taking two steps at a time. ‘The lift doesn't even come down this far ... why they're doing it down there...’
They reached the bottom of the steps and ran along yet another corridor, which bore a great resemblance to the one that led to Snape's dungeon at Hogwarts, with rough stone walls and torches in brackets. The doors they passed here were heavy wooden ones with iron bolts and keyholes.
‘Courtroom ... ten ... I think ... we're nearly ... yes.’
Mr. Weasley stumbled to a halt outside a grimy dark door with an immense iron lock and slumped against the wall, clutching at a stitch in his chest.
‘Go on,’ he panted, pointing his thumb at the door. ‘Get in there.’
‘Aren't—aren't you coming with—?’
‘No, no, I'm not allowed. Good luck!’
Harry's heart was beating a violent tattoo against his Adam's apple. He swallowed hard, turned the heavy iron door handle and stepped inside the courtroom.
哈利在第二天早晨五点半的时候突然完全惊醒，仿佛有人在他耳边大声叫喊一样。有一小段时间他稳稳的躺在床上，纪律听证会的情景充满了他脑子的每一个角落，几乎让哈利无法忍受，他跳下床戴上眼镜。威斯里太太已经将他的牛仔裤和T恤衫清洗干净并且放在床脚。墙上那幅空白的画也在吃吃的笑着。 
　　罗恩四肢张开仰面躺着，嘴巴张的大大的，很快就睡着了，当哈利穿过房间的时候他并没有被吵醒。哈利走出卧室站在楼板上并轻轻的带上身后的门。哈利试图再次系统的思考这个问题，他看看罗恩的样子，也许他们再也不能在霍格瓦彻成为同学了，哈利平静的下楼，穿过克瑞彻祖先的头像装饰，然后向下进了厨房。 
　　他本来希望厨房现在没人，但是当哈利到达门口的时候他听见另一边传来低低的谈话声。他推开房门就看见威斯里夫妇、天狼星、卢平和唐克丝都坐在里面，这种情景几乎就象是他们正在等他一样。除了威斯里太太之外所有人都衣冠楚楚，而威斯里太太则穿了一件夹棉的紫色睡袍。当哈利进来的时候她正在跳着脚。 
　　“早餐，”威斯里太太抽出魔杖匆匆忙忙的点上火。 
　　“早—早—早上好，哈利，”唐克丝打着哈欠说道。她的头发今天早晨是白色的而且略微卷曲，“过来坐下吧。” 
　　她拽出了一只椅子，并且把旁边的一只挪开了。 
　　“你要来点什么，哈利？”威斯里太太问道。“麦片粥？松饼？腌鱼？熏肉和鸡蛋？还是烤面包？” 
　　“就要—就要烤面包，谢谢，”哈利说道。 
　　卢平扫了一眼哈利，然后就对唐克丝说道，“你刚才说斯奎慕怎么了？” 
　　“哦…是的…好的，我们需要更加的小心一点，他已经问了肯斯雷和我一些奇怪的问题…” 
　　哈利感到一丝模模糊糊的感激，他并不需要参与这场谈话。他的体内正在蠕动。威斯里太太将两片烤面包和橘子果酱放到了哈利的面前；他试着去吃，可是味同嚼蜡。威斯里太太坐到了他的另外一边，并且开始对他的T恤衫大惊小怪，压平标签，从肩膀开始抹平折痕。可是哈利希望她不要这么做。 
　　“…而且我必须告诉丹伯多明天晚上我不能值夜班，我只是太—太—太累，”唐克丝说完又打了一个大大的哈欠。 
　　“我会替你的，”威斯里太太说道，“我没问题的。反正不管怎样我都要赶完一份报告。” 
　　威斯里先生没有穿巫师的长袍，而是穿了细条纹的长裤和一件老式的轰炸机夹克衫。他把头从唐克丝那里转向哈利。 
　　“感觉如何？” 
　　哈利耸耸肩。 
　　“很快就会结束的，”威斯里先生振作起来说道，“几个小时之后你就会没事的。” 
　　听证会在和我的同层的埃米拉·波恩斯的办公室举行。她是魔法条例执行处的头头，也就是这个部门正在对你调查。 
　　“埃米拉·波恩斯是个好人，哈利，”唐克丝诚挚的说道，“她是公正的，她会认真听取你的陈诉。” 
　　哈利点点头，仍然无话可说。 
　　“不要丧失心情，”天狼星突然说道，“要有礼貌并且贴近事实。” 
　　哈利再次点点头。 
　　“法律在你这边的，”卢平冷静的说道，“甚至是未成年的巫师在生死攸关的时刻都是允许使用魔法的。” 
　　有一股寒流从哈利的脖子传到背上；在一瞬间哈利以为有人对他施展了隐身咒语（就是前面疯眼汉穆迪曾经对哈利施展过的那个变色龙隐身咒语），接着他就意识到是威斯里太太正在用一把湿梳子替他梳头。她使劲的在哈利的头顶压着。 
　　“你的头发曾经平坦服帖过吗？”威斯里太太失望的问道。 
　　哈利摇摇头。 
　　威斯里先生看了一下表然后抬头看着哈利。“我想我们现在要出发了，”他说道，“我们去的稍微早了一点，但是我认为你早点出发去魔法部，总比在这里象热锅上的蚂蚁一样乱晃的好。” 
　　“好的，”哈利下意识的回答道，他放下了手中的烤面包并站了起来。 
　　“你会没事的，哈利。”唐克丝象好朋友一样按着哈利的肩说道。 
　　“祝你好运，”卢平说道，“我确信你会一切安好的。” 
　　“如果事情不如人意，”天狼星咬牙切齿的说道，“我会为了你去拜访一下埃米拉·波恩斯的……” 
　　哈利虚弱的笑了笑。威斯里太太拥抱了他一下。 
　　“我们都会为你祈祷的，”她说道 
　　“好的，”哈利说道，“嗯……那么再见了。” 
　　他跟着威斯里先生上楼并且穿过客厅。他能够听见天狼星的妈妈在窗帘的后面打着呼噜。威斯里先生打开大门，他们走了出去，外面正是寒冷，灰色的黎明。 
　　“你平常不是走路上班的吧，对吗？”当他们精神抖擞的走到广场的时候，哈利问威斯里先生。 
　　“不，我经常步行，”威斯里先生说道，“但是很显然你不是，而且我认为我们最好彻底使用非魔法方式到那里去…这样可以留一个好印象，告诉他们你是遵守纪律的…” 
　　当他们一路行进的时候威斯里先生一直把手放在夹克里。哈利知道他的手里紧紧的抓着魔杖。这是一条几乎荒废的小路，但是当他们到达小的可怜的地铁站的时候却发现这里挤满了早班赶车的人。当他们发现自己与那些正在谈论着日常事物的麻瓜如此接近的时候，威斯里先生极为困难的压制住了自己热情。（威斯里先生是个麻瓜迷） 
　　“就象神话一样，”他眼镜盯着自动售票机小声说道，“具有惊人的独创性。” 
　　“但是它们已经失灵了，”哈利指着标记说道。 
　　“是的，但是即使如此…”威斯里先生天真而且容光焕发的看着这些东西。 
　　哈利和威斯里先生从一个昏昏欲睡的售票员那里买了票（哈利执行了这次交易，因为威斯里先生对麻瓜货币很不在行），并且五分钟之后他们登上了一辆开往伦敦市中心的地铁。威斯里先生焦虑不安的一遍又一遍的检查着贴在窗户上的地铁路线图。 
　　“还有四站，哈利…现在还有三站…两站就到了，哈利…” 
　　他们在伦敦市一个十分靠近中心的车站下了车,并且溶入了一条人流,这条人流里面都是些穿着考究,手里拿着公文包的男男女女。他们走上自动扶梯，通过剪票栏（威斯里先生对这种扶梯两边吞票的方式感到十分欣喜），随后他们就出现在一条宽阔的街道上，街道两边都是壮观的高楼大厦，街上车水马龙。 
　　“我们在哪里？”威斯里先生茫然的问道，在一次心跳的瞬间里，哈利几乎认为尽管威斯里先生不停的查阅地图他们还是在错误的站台下了车，但是一秒钟之后威斯里先生说道，“啊，是的…这条路，哈利。”然后就领着哈利拐进了旁边的一条路。 
　　“对不起，”威斯里先生说道，“不过我从来没有乘坐火车上班，从一个麻瓜的观点来看我的举止极为不同。事实上，我以前从来没有使用过来宾入口。”（这里的来宾入口应该是指魔法部的来宾入口，也就是连接麻瓜世界和魔法部的通道） 
　　他们走的越深入，路边的建筑物就显得越发的矮小破旧，直到最后他们抵达了一条小巷子，这条小巷包括几间破烂不堪的办公室，一个酒吧以及一辆正在溢水的罐车。哈利本来希望魔法部设在一个更加令人印象深刻的地方。 
　　“我们到了，”威斯里先生简洁的说道，他用手指着一个老旧的红色电话亭，这个电话亭少了几块玻璃，并且竖立在一堵被严重乱图乱画的墙壁前面，“跟我来，哈利。” 
　　他打开了电话亭的门。 
　　哈利走进了电话亭并且很好奇这个地方到底是干什么用的。威斯里先生自己挤到哈利旁边并且把电话亭的门关上了。这里面有点狭窄；哈利被挤的靠在电话机上，电话机弯弯曲曲的挂在墙上仿佛一个野蛮人曾经试图把它撕开一样。威斯里先生越过哈利拿到了听筒。 
　　“威斯里先生， 我认为这部电话机也失灵了，”哈利说道。 “不，不，我肯定它是好的，”威斯里先生将听筒靠在耳边开始拨号。“让我看看…六…”他拨着号码，“二…四…再一个四…再一个二…” 
　　当号码盘平稳的回到原位的时候，一个冰冷的女声从电话机里面传出来，而不是从威斯里先生手上的听筒里面传出，不过这个声音十分响亮明白，好象有一个看不见的女人就站在他们旁边。 
　　“欢迎光临魔法部。请报出您的姓名、职业。” 
　　“恩…”威斯里先生显然不确定他是否要对着听筒说话。他折衷的把话筒放在耳朵上，“亚瑟 威斯里，不适当使用魔法物品办公室的，旁边陪同的是哈利·波特，他被要求前来参加一个纪律听证会…” “谢谢，”这个冰冷的女声说道，“来访者，请拿好徽章并把它系在长袍的前面。” 
　　出现了一阵卡嗒声，接着哈利就看见有某样东西从金属滑道里面滑出来，这个金属滑道通常是用来返回硬币的。他把这个东西拣起来，那是一个正方形的银制徽章，上面写着哈利·波特，纪律听证会的字样。当女声再次响起的时候，他将徽章别在T恤衫的前面。 
　　“魔法部的来访者，您需要接受一个检查，并且将您的魔杖拿到安全处登记注册，安全处就在中厅的最里面。“电话亭的地板突然颤抖起来。他们慢慢的沉入地下。当外面的人行道慢慢抬升并超过电话亭的玻璃窗直到黑暗在他们的头上逐渐增大的时候，哈利看起来有点紧张。然后他们就什么也看不见了，他只能听见电话亭向下通过地面时发出的枯燥的摩擦噪音。尽管哈利感觉要漫长的多，但是大概一分钟之后一束金色的光线照亮了他的脚下，并且越来越宽，逐渐上升直到射到他的脸上，哈利不得不眨眼以避免流泪。 
　　“魔法部预祝你们度过愉快的一天，”这个女声说道。 
　　电话亭的门弹开了，威斯里先生走了出去，后面跟着哈利，他的嘴巴惊讶的几乎合不拢。 
　　他们现在正站在一个极为深长壮观的大厅的一端，大厅铺着十分光亮的黑色木质地板。孔雀蓝的天花板上镶嵌着闪闪发光的金色符号，这些符号持续移动并且改变，就象是许多天堂的守护者。两边的墙上都镶嵌着发亮的黑色木头，并且有许多镀金的壁炉。每隔几秒钟，随着一声轻微的飞速移动就有一个巫师或者女巫从左手边的壁炉里走出来。而在右手边，每个壁炉前面都排起了小股队伍等着离开。 
　　在大厅的半路上有一个喷泉。一组比真人尺寸稍大的金色雕像站在一个圆形水池的中央。这些雕像里面最高大的是一位长相高贵的巫师，他的魔杖直指天空。围绕在这个巫师雕像周围的有一个漂亮的女巫，一头半人马，一只小妖精和一只小精灵。后面的三尊雕像都以崇敬的表情站在巫师和女巫的面前。水流正在从他们魔杖顶端闪闪发光的喷嘴里面飞出，其他的喷嘴还包括半人马的一条拖绳，小妖精帽子的顶端，以及小精灵的两只耳朵，因此丁冬作响的落水声从雕像的缝隙传出，而在这些雕像的脚下错落分布着数以百计的巫师和女巫，这些雕像大多数都衣着灰暗，看上去有些早熟。笔直的看过去在大厅的尽头有一组金色的门。 
　　“这条路，”威斯里先生说道。 
　　他们加入了人流，在魔法部的工作人员之间穿行，有些工作人员手上拿着一大叠摇摇晃晃的羊皮纸，而另外一些则提着一个扁扁的公文包；还有一些人则边走边读着每日先知报。当哈利和威斯里先生经过喷泉的时候，他看见在水池的底部闪烁着许多银币和青铜币。在水池的旁边有一个小小的被弄脏的牌子，上面写道： 
　　来自魔法同胞喷泉的所有收益都将捐献给圣蒙哥魔法医院，用以治疗魔法疾病与伤害。 
　　哈利发现自己拼命的想着：“如果这次我没有从霍格瓦彻被开除的话，我会捐上十个帆船币。” 
　　“上这来，哈利，”威斯里先生说道。他们走出了魔法部雇员的人流，前往那些金色的门。在左边的地方放着一张桌子，上面有一个标志牌写着安全处，当他们靠近的时候一个巫师抬头看着他们并放下了手中的每日先知报，这个家伙胡子刮的很糟糕的，身上穿着一件孔雀蓝的长袍。 
　　“我正在陪同一个访问者，”威斯里先生对着哈利做了一个手势。 
　　“站过来，”这个巫师用一种无聊的口气说道。 
　　哈利向他走过去，这个巫师拿出一根长长的金色棒子，这根棒子象汽车天线一样又细又柔软，巫师用它在哈利的前前后后上下翻飞的探测。 
　　“魔杖，”安全处的巫师嘟噜着放下了那个金色的设备并且把手伸了出来。 
　　哈利把自己的魔杖递过去。巫师将魔杖放到一个奇怪的黄铜仪器上，它有点象各种比例的碟形天线。仪器开始振动起来。一张窄条的羊皮纸从仪器的底部传出来。巫师拿起羊皮纸读着上面的文字。 
　　“十一英寸，凤凰羽毛的轴心，已经使用四年。资料正确吗？” 
　　“是的，”哈利紧张的回答道。 
　　“我留下这个，”巫师说着把这一小条羊皮纸钉在一只小铜钉上。“你把魔杖拿回去，”他把魔杖扔给哈利补充道。 
　　“谢谢。” 
　　“等等…”巫师慢慢的说道。 
　　他的眼镜飞快的从哈利胸前的访客铭牌扫到他的前额。 
　　“谢谢你，伊瑞克，”威斯里先生沉稳的说道。他抓着哈利的肩膀带着哈利离开了安全处，重新加入了在各个金色大门之间穿梭的巫师和女巫们的大军。 
　　人群稍稍有点拥挤，哈利跟着威斯里先生穿过几扇门来到较远处的一个小一点的大厅，在这里至少有二十部金色格子一样的电梯在工作着。哈利和威斯里先生加入了其中的一群等电梯的人。在他们的旁边站着大胡子巫师，手上拿着一个巨大的纸板盒，盒子里发出一阵令人焦躁的噪音。 
　　“你好吗，亚瑟？”这个巫师冲着威斯里先生点点头。 
　　“你端着的是什么，鲍勃？”威斯里先生看着盒子问道。 
　　“我不能肯定，”这个巫师严肃的说道，“我原本以为它只是一只符合标准的小鸡，可是它现在开始吐出火焰了。看样子我已经严重破坏了禁止实验性饲养的规定。”（不会吧，难道真是初生的凤凰不如鸡啊，这也能看错，这位老兄厚黑学已然炉火纯青了） 
　　随着一声嘈杂的响声，一部电梯停在了他们的面前；金色的格子门打开，哈利和威斯里先生跟着其他人走进电梯，哈利发现他自己已经被挤到了后面的墙上。几个巫师和女巫好奇的打量着他；他低头看着自己的脚以避免碰到任何人的视线，当他这么做的时候额头的刘海垂了下来。格子门哗的一声关上了并开始缓慢爬升，当哈利在电话亭听过的同样的女声再度响起的时候，电梯的链条发出了喀哒声。 
　　“第七层，魔法竞赛与运动部，不列颠与爱尔兰快迪斯合作联盟总部、办公室桌球俱乐部、和魔法玩具专利局。” 
　　电梯门打开了。哈利瞥见一条凌乱不堪的走廊，各种各样的快迪斯广告乱七八糟的钉在墙上。电梯里面一个抱着扫帚柄的巫师艰难的从电梯里面挤出来并且消失在走廊里。门关上了，电梯再度颤抖着爬升，这一次那个女声宣布： 
　　“第六层，魔法运输部、弗罗粉传送网络合作中心、扫帚调整控制处、波奇办公室和传输测试中心。” 
　　再一次，电梯门打开了，四五个巫师和女巫走了出去；与此同时，有几架纸飞机冲进了电梯。当这些纸飞机悠闲的拍打着翅膀在头顶盘旋的时候，哈利盯着他们，他们通体是淡紫色的，在他们的翅膀边缘上盖着魔法部的邮戳。 
　　“这只不过是内部邮件罢了，”威斯里先生轻轻的告诉哈利，“我们一般情况下使用猫头鹰，但是信件的数量多的令人难以置信…他们堆满了我的办公桌。” 
　　当他们爬升的过程中，这些内部邮件全都在围着天花板的吸顶灯盘旋。 
　　“第五层，国际魔法合作部，国际魔法物品交易标准合作办公室，国际魔法法律办公室和国际魔法联盟英国分会。” 
　　当电梯门打开的时候，两封内部邮件及几个巫师出去了，但是又飞进来几封内部邮件，因此他们头顶上的灯变得忽明忽暗。 
　　“第四层，魔法生物规章与控制部，魔法生物合作处，身体与灵魂分离办公室（前作有过介绍，特指对使用瞬间移动魔法不当引起身体与灵魂分离者进行救助的机构），小妖精联络办公室，和宠物咨询中心。” 
　　“到了，”那个提着喷火鸡的巫师还有几封内部邮件一起出了电梯。电梯门再度关闭。 
　　“第三层，魔法意外与灾难部，包括魔法灾难逆转办公室，救援指挥部，以及保护麻瓜委员会。” 
　　在这一层，除了哈利、威斯里先生和一个正在电梯里读着一张很长的羊皮纸的巫师以外，其他人都出了电梯。当电梯再度上升的时候剩下的内部邮件仍然在围着吸顶灯盘旋。接着电梯门再度打开，那个女声宣布道。 
　　“第二层，魔法条例执行部，包括不适当使用魔法办公室，傲罗指挥部，和魔法物品维修保养管理办公室。” 
　　“这里就是了，哈利，”威斯里先生说道。他们和那个巫师一起走出了电梯并且来到了一个有一排门的走廊。“我的办公室在这一层的另外一边。” 
　　“威斯里先生，”当他们经过一个阳光普照的窗户的时候哈利说道，“我们现在不是仍然待在地下吗？” 
　　“是的，我们在地下，”威斯里先生说道，“那些是魔法窗。由魔法维修处决定每天是什么天气。在他们上一次要求加薪期间我们足足经历了两个月的飓风天气…往这边拐，哈利。” 
　　他们拐了一个弯，通过了两扇厚厚的橡木门，并出现在一个分割成一个个独立小间的嘈杂的开放区域，这里充满了谈话声和笑声。内部邮件象微型火箭一样在这里往来穿梭。在最近的一个小间的上面挂着一个歪歪斜斜的牌子，上面写着：傲罗指挥部。 
　　当他们经过的时候哈利偷偷的从门边看过去。傲罗成员在他们的小间墙上挂满了被通缉的巫师的图片和他们自己的全家福，有的还张贴着他们喜欢的快迪斯队的图片，以及每日先知报的文章。一个穿着鲜红色长袍的巫师正盘腿坐在桌子上，用他的大羽毛笔赶制一份报告，他的脑袋上留着比比尔还长的马尾辫。再过去一点点，一个用眼罩蒙住一只眼睛的女巫正坐在她的单间的墙顶上与肯斯雷·沙克雷波尔特聊天。 
　　“早晨好，威斯里，”当他们靠近的时候肯斯雷小心翼翼的打招呼道。“你有一秒钟时间吗，我有句话要和你说。” 
　　“是的，如果真是一秒钟的话，”威斯里先生说道，“我现在有点忙。” 
　　他们正在交谈，但是看来好象很难沟通，而当哈利想开口和肯斯雷打招呼的时候，威斯里先生踩了一下哈利的脚。他们跟着肯斯雷一直走进去直到一个最里面的单间。 
　　哈利被眼前的情景惊呆了，在他身边每个方向上都是天狼星的相貌，有关的新闻剪接和老照片—甚至天狼星还在作为好人参加波特婚礼时候的照片都有—它们都贴在墙上。唯一一块没有贴天狼星内容的地方是一张世界地图，地图上的红色大头针象宝石一样闪闪发光。 
　　“这里，”肯斯雷粗率的对威斯里先生说道，并将一捆羊皮纸塞到了威斯里先生的手里。“在过去十二个月里我尽可能的搜集有关麻瓜飞行发动机的信息。我们已经接到报告说布莱克还在使用他的那辆老摩托车。” 
　　肯斯雷冲哈利眨了几下眼睛，然后小声补充道，“给他那本杂志，然后他会发现那是很有趣的。”接着他用正常的音调说道：“不要拖太长时间，威斯里，那份火腿报告的延误让我们调查了一个月。” 
　　“你如果读了我的报告就应该知道那个东西是火臂，”威斯里先生冷淡的说道，“而且我恐怕你必须继续等待摩托车的消息了，我们此刻很忙。”他压低声音说道，“如果你能在七点钟以前离开的话，莫莉做了肉丸子。” 
　　他带着哈利走出肯斯雷的单间，穿过第二个橡木门进入了另一个单位，左转，通过下一个走廊，再右转进了一个灯光昏暗，明显破旧的走廊。最后他们到达了一个死胡同，在他们的左边有一扇微微敞开的门，这是一个打开的扫帚柜，而在右边的门上则挂着一个讨厌的失去光泽的黄铜牌子，上面写着：不适当使用麻瓜物品办公室。威斯里先生邋遢的办公室看起来比对面的扫帚柜还要小一点。两张办公桌拥挤的放在里面，靠墙的地方摆着一溜塞满东西的柜子，中间的空间刚好能让他们勉强通过，在每个橱柜的顶端都堆满了大批的文件。在墙上剩下的小小空间之中摆放着几样令威斯里先生着迷的东西：几张汽车的图片，包括一个已经被拆卸下来的发动机，两张从麻瓜小孩的书上剪接下来的邮箱的图解；以及一张显示怎样缠绕插座的示意图。 
　　在威斯里先生对面的办公桌上放着一张老酒鬼的照片，他郁郁寡欢的打着饱嗝，拇指上玩弄着一双空着的皮手套。在盘子的旁边放着一张威斯里家的全家福照片。哈利注意到派斯似乎已经从里面走开了。 
　　“我们这里没窗户，”威斯里先生抱歉的说道。他把夹克衫脱下来并挂在椅子背上，“我们申请过，但是他们似乎并不认为我们这里需要一个窗户，哈利，不要再看了，珀金斯还没来。” 
　　当威斯里先生快速阅读着肯斯雷刚刚交给他的羊皮纸的时候，哈利正挤进珀金斯办公桌后面的椅子里。 
　　“哈，”威斯里从一本名为吹毛求疵的杂志里面摘取了一点东西之后，他微微一笑，“是的，他是对的，我敢肯定天狼星会发现这很有趣—哦，亲爱的，现在几点了？” 
　　一封内部邮件刚刚从开着的门里飞进来并落在那个打着饱嗝的酒鬼照片上面。威斯里先生打开信并大声读了起来。 
　　“比斯乃尔·格林报告第三个回流的公共卫生间。这真是荒谬…” 
　　“一个回流的卫生间？” 
　　“反麻瓜者开的玩笑，”威斯里先生皱着眉头说道，“我们上周处理了两个，一个在威姆布莱顿，一个在大象城堡。麻瓜正想冲水的时候一切都消失了—是的，你可以想象一下。这些破事接连不断的出现—我认为他们应该叫管道工—你知道的，就是那些专门修理管道的人。 
　　“管道工？” 
　　“正确，是的，当然他们会狼狈不堪，仅仅希望我们能抓住几个肇事者。” 
　　“傲罗不会去抓他们吗？” 
　　“哦，不，这些事情太琐碎了，不会惊动傲罗的，它归一般魔法法律执行巡逻队管辖—啊，哈利，这位是珀金斯。” 
　　一个驼背的，看来有点羞涩的老巫师正好走进了房间，他留着花白胡须，正在喘气。 
　　“哦，亚瑟！”他没看哈利拼命叫道，“感谢上帝，我不知道最好怎么处理这件事，是否要等你来。我刚刚给你家派去一只猫头鹰，不过很显然你没收到—十分钟前来了一封紧急信件—” 
　　“我知道，是关于那个回流卫生间的事情，”威斯里先生说道。 
　　“不，不，是关于波特儿子听证会的事情—他们已经修改了时间和地点—它就在现在八点钟的时候，在楼下老的十号审判庭举行—” 
　　“在楼下的十 —但是他们告诉我— 梅林的胡子！ 
　　威斯里先生看看表，发出一声尖叫并从椅子上跳了起来。 
　　“快，哈利，我们应该在五分钟前到那里！” 
　　珀金斯把背贴在橱柜上以便让威斯里先生跑出办公室，哈利紧紧跟在后面。 
　　“为什么他们修改时间？”当他们穿过傲罗单间的时候哈利气喘吁吁的问道。人们纷纷侧头让开并盯着他们快速经过。哈利感到他所有的感觉都还停留在珀金斯的办公桌。 
　　“我也不知道，但是感谢上帝我们来的够早，如果你错过了听证会，那后果将是灾难性的！” 
　　威斯里先生在一个电梯前面急刹车并焦躁不安的戳着下降按纽。 
　　“快来！” 
　　电梯喀哒喀哒的进入视野，他们迅速的跑进去。每次电梯停下的时候威斯里先生都要恼火的咒骂，并且用拳头使劲砸着九层的按纽。 
　　“那些审判庭已经多年不用了，”威斯里先生愤怒的说道，“我想不出他们为什么要在那里举行听证会—除非—但是不—” 
　　正在此时，一个肥胖的女巫拿着一个冒烟的高脚杯走进电梯，威斯里先生并没有仔细看她。 
　　“中厅，”冰冷的女声说道，接着金色的格子门打开了，哈利远远的瞥了一眼有金色雕像的喷泉。肥胖的女巫走了出去，同时一个菜色皮肤的巫师脸色悲伤的进来了。 
　　“早上好，亚瑟，”当电梯开始下降的时候他用一种埋死人的口气说道，“不是经常能看见你下到这里来。” 
　　“紧急事务，波迪，”威斯里先生说道，他的脚正在焦急的跺着，并担心的看着哈利。 
　　“啊，是的，”波迪眼睛一眨不眨的打量着哈利，“当然。” 
　　哈利现在几乎没有心情理波迪，而且他不眨眼的紧盯也不会使哈利感觉更舒服。 
　　“神秘部门，”女声说完门就打开了。 
　　“快点，哈利，”那扇令人恼火的电梯门打开的时候威斯里先生说道。他们迅速的跑过一个走廊。这个走廊看起来和上面的完全不同。墙上光秃秃的，既没有窗户也没有门，只在走廊的尽头有一片黑色的草原图画。哈利以为他们要从这里穿出去，但是威斯里先生抓着他的手并且把 他拽向左边，在这里有一个开放的楼梯踏步。 “从这里下去，从这里下去…”威斯里先生气喘吁吁的叫道，同时一步两级的往下冲。“电梯也不能下到这么远…为什么他们要在这里干这件事情，我…” 
　　他们跑到楼梯底部并延着另一个走廊一直跑，这条走廊与霍格瓦彻魔法学校里面史纳皮的地牢有许多令人讨厌的相似之处，都有着粗糙的石头墙和突出墙面的火炬。在这里他们经过的都是栓着铁栓，带锁眼的沉重的木头门。 
　　“审判庭…十号…我认为…我们快到了…是的。” 
　　威斯里先生在一个肮脏的带着一把大锁的黑色大门前面一个急刹车，他靠在墙上疲惫不堪，手紧紧的抓着胸口。 
　　“进去吧，”他气喘吁吁的说道，并且用拇指指这这扇门，“就是这里。” 
　　“不是—你不跟我一起进来吗—？” 
　　“不，不，我是不允许进入的。祝你好运！” 
　　哈利感到心快跳到嗓子眼了，他口干舌燥，吞咽困难，转动着铁制的沉重的门把手并且走进了审判庭。
Chapter 8 The Hearing
Harry gasped; he could not help himself. The large dungeon he had entered was horribly familiar. He had not only seen it before, he had been here before. This was the place he had visited inside Dumbledore's Pensieve, the place where he had watched the Lestranges sentenced to life imprisonment in Azkaban.
The walls were made of dark stone, dimly lit by torches. Empty benches rose on either side of him, but ahead, in the highest benches of all, were many shadowy figures. They had been talking in low voices, but as the heavy door swung closed behind Harry an ominous silence fell.
A cold male voice rang across the courtroom.
‘You're late.’
‘Sorry,’ said Harry nervously. ‘I—I didn't know the time had been changed.’
‘That is not the Wizengamot's fault,’ said the voice. ‘An owl was sent to you this morning. Take your seat.’
Harry dropped his gaze to the chair in the centre of the room, the arms of which were covered in chains. He had seen those chains spring to life and bind whoever sat between them. His footsteps echoed loudly as he walked across the stone floor. When he sat gingerly on the edge of the chair the chains clinked threateningly, but did not bind him. Feeling rather sick, he looked up at the people seated at the bench above.
There were about fifty of them, all, as far as he could see, wearing plum-coloured robes with an elaborately worked silver ‘W’ on the left-hand side of the chest and all staring down their noses at him, some with very austere expressions, others looks of frank curiosity.
In the very middle of the front row sat Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic. Fudge was a portly man who often sported a lime-green bowler hat, though today he had dispensed with it; he had dispensed too with the indulgent smile he had once worn when he spoke to Harry. A broad, square-jawed witch with very short grey hair sat on Fudges left; she wore a monocle and looked forbidding. On Fudges right was another witch, but she was sitting so far back on the bench that her face was in shadow.
‘Very well,’ said Fudge. ‘The accused being present—finally—let us begin. Are you ready?’ he called down the row.
‘Yes, sir,’ said an eager voice Harry knew. Ron's brother Percy was sitting at the very end of the front bench. Harry looked at Percy, expecting some sign of recognition from him, but none came. Percy's eyes, behind his horn-rimmed glasses, were fixed on his parchment, a quill poised in his hand.
‘Disciplinary hearing of the twelfth of August,’ said Fudge in a ringing voice, and Percy began taking notes at once, ‘into offences committed under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and the International Statute of Secrecy by Harry James Potter, resident at number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.
‘Interrogators: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister for Magic; Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister. Court Scribe, Percy Ignatius Weasley—’
‘—Witness for the defence, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore,’ said a quiet voice from behind Harry, who turned his head so fast he cricked his neck.
Dumbledore was striding serenely across the room wearing long midnight-blue robes and a perfectly calm expression. His long silver beard and hair gleamed in the torchlight as he drew level with Harry and looked up at Fudge through the half-moon spectacles that rested halfway down his very crooked nose.
The members of the Wizengamot were muttering. All eyes were now on Dumbledore. Some looked annoyed, others slightly frightened; two elderly witches in the back row, however, raised their hands and waved in welcome.
A powerful emotion had risen in Harry's chest at the sight of Dumbledore, a fortified, hopeful feeling rather like that which phoenix song gave him. He wanted to catch Dumbledore's eye, but Dumbledore was not looking his way; he was continuing to look up at the obviously flustered Fudge.
‘Ah,’ said Fudge, who looked thoroughly disconcerted. ‘Dumbledore. Yes. You—er—got our—er— message that the time and—er—place of the hearing had been changed, then?’
‘I must have missed it,’ said Dumbledore cheerfully. ‘However, due to a lucky mistake I arrived at the Ministry three hours early, so no harm done.’
‘Yes—well—I suppose we'll need another chair—I—Weasley, could you—?’
‘Not to worry, not to worry,’ said Dumbledore pleasantly; he took out his wand, gave it a little flick, and a squashy chintz armchair appeared out of nowhere next to Harry. Dumbledore sat down, put the tips of his long fingers together and surveyed Fudge over them with an expression of polite interest. The Wizengamot was still muttering and fidgeting restlessly; only when Fudge spoke again did they settle down.
‘Yes,’ said Fudge again, shuffling his notes. ‘Well, then. So. The charges. Yes.’
He extricated a piece of parchment from the pile before him, took a deep breath, and read out, ‘The charges against the accused are as follows: That he did knowingly, deliberately and in full awareness of the illegality of his actions, having received a previous written warning from the Ministry of Magic on a similar charge, produce a Patronus Charm in a Muggle-inhabited area, in the presence of a Muggle, on the second of August at twenty-three minutes past nine, which constitutes an offence under Paragraph C of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, and also under Section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks’ Statute of Secrecy.
‘You are Harry James Potter, of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey?’ Fudge said, glaring at Harry over the top of his parchment.
‘Yes,’ Harry said.
‘You received an official warning from the Ministry for using illegal magic three years ago, did you not?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘And yet you conjured a Patronus on the night of the second of August?’ said Fudge.
‘Yes,’ said Harry, ‘but—’
‘Knowing that you are not permitted to use magic outside school while you are under the age of seventeen?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Knowing that you were in an area full of Muggles?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Fully aware that you were in close proximity to a Muggle at the time?’
‘Yes,’ said Harry angrily, ‘but I only used it because we were—’
The witch with the monocle cut across him in a booming voice.
‘You produced a fully-fledged Patronus?’
‘Yes,’ said Harry, ‘because—’
‘A corporeal Patronus?’
‘A—what?’ said Harry.
‘Your Patronus had a clearly defined form? I mean to say, it was more than vapour or smoke?’
‘Yes,’ said Harry, feeling both impatient and slightly desperate, ‘it's a stag, it's always a stag.’
‘Always?’ boomed Madam Bones. ‘You have produced a Patronus before now?’
‘Yes,’ said Harry, ‘I've been doing it for over a year.’
‘And you are fifteen years old?’
‘Yes, and—’
‘You learned this at school?’
‘Yes, Professor Lupin taught me in my third year, because of the—’
‘Impressive,’ said Madam Bones, staring down at him, ‘a true Patronus at his age ... very impressive indeed.’
Some of the wizards and witches around her were muttering again; a few nodded, but others were frowning and shaking their heads.
‘It's not a question of how impressive the magic was,’ said Fudge in a testy voice, ‘in fact, the more impressive the worse it is, I would have thought, given that the boy did it in plain view of a Muggle!’
Those who had been frowning now murmured in agreement, but it was the sight of Percy's sanctimonious little nod that goaded Harry into speech.
‘I did it because of the dementors!’ he said loudly, before anyone could interrupt him again.
He had expected more muttering, but the silence that fell seemed to be somehow denser than before.
‘Dementors?’ said Madam Bones after a moment, her thick eyebrows rising until her monocle looked in danger of falling out. ‘What do you mean, boy?’
‘I mean there were two dementors down that alleyway and they went for me and my cousin!’
‘Ah,’ said Fudge again, smirking unpleasantly as he looked around at the Wizengamot, as though inviting them to share the joke. ‘Yes. Yes, I thought we'd be hearing something like this.’
‘Dementors in Little Whinging?’ Madam Bones said, in a tone of great surprise. ‘I don't understand—’
‘Don't you, Amelia?’ said Fudge, still smirking. ‘Let me explain. He's been thinking it through and decided dementors would make a very nice little cover story, very nice indeed. Muggles can't see dementors, can they, boy? Highly convenient, highly convenient ... so it's just your word and no witnesses....’
‘I'm not lying!’ said Harry loudly, over another outbreak of muttering from the court. ‘There were two of them, coming from opposite ends of the alley everything went dark and cold and my cousin felt them and ran for it—’
‘Enough, enough!’ said Fudge, with a very supercilious look on his face. ‘I'm sorry to interrupt what I'm sure would have been a very well-rehearsed story—’
Dumbledore cleared his throat. The Wizengamot fell silent again.
‘We do, in fact, have a witness to the presence of dementors in that alleyway,’ he said, ‘other than Dudley Dursley, I mean.’
Fudge's plump face seemed to slacken, as though somebody had let air out of it. He stared down at Dumbledore for a moment or two, then, with the appearance of a man pulling himself back together, said, ‘We haven't got time to listen to more tarradiddles, I'm afraid, Dumbledore. I want this dealt with quickly—’
‘I may be wrong,’ said Dumbledore pleasantly, ‘but I am sure that under the Wizengamot Charter of Rights, the accused has the right to present witnesses for his or her case? Isn't that the policy of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Madam Bones?’ he continued, addressing the witch in the monocle.
‘True,’ said Madam Bones. ‘Perfectly true.’
‘Oh, very well, very well,’ snapped Fudge. ‘Where is this person?’
‘I brought her with me,’ said Dumbledore. ‘She's just outside the door. Should I—?’
‘No—Weasley, you go,’ Fudge barked at Percy, who got up at once, ran down the stone steps from the judge's balcony and hurried past Dumbledore and Harry without glancing at them.
A moment later, Percy returned, followed by Mrs. Figg. She looked scared and more batty than ever. Harry wished she had thought to change out of her carpet slippers.
Dumbledore stood up and gave Mrs. Figg his chair, conjuring a second one for himself.
‘Full name?’ said Fudge loudly, when Mrs. Figg had perched herself nervously on the very edge of her seat.
‘Arabella Doreen Figg,’ said Mrs. Figg in her quavery voice.
‘And who exactly are you?’ said Fudge, in a bored and lofty voice.
‘I'm a resident of Little Whinging, close to where Harry Potter lives,’ said Mrs. Figg.
‘We have no record of any witch or wizard living in Little Whinging, other than Harry Potter,’ said Madam Bones at once. ‘That situation has always been closely monitored, given ... given past events.’
‘I'm a Squib,’ said Mrs. Figg. ‘So you wouldn't have me registered, would you?’
‘A Squib, eh?’ said Fudge, eyeing her closely. ‘We'll be checking that. You'll leave details of your parentage with my assistant, Weasley. Incidentally, can Squibs see dementors?’ he added, looking left and right along the bench.
‘Yes, we can!’ said Mrs. Figg indignantly.
Fudge looked back down at her, his eyebrows raised. ‘Very well,’ he said aloofly. ‘What is your story?’
‘I had gone out to buy cat food from the corner shop at the end of Wisteria Walk, around about nine o'clock, on the evening of the second of August,’ gabbled Mrs. Figg at once, as though she had learned what she was saying by heart, ‘when I heard a disturbance down the alleyway between Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk. On approaching the mouth of the alleyway I saw dementors running—’
‘Running?’ said Madam Bones sharply. ‘Dementors don't run, they glide.’
‘That's what I meant to say,’ said Mrs. Figg quickly, patches of pink appearing in her withered cheeks. ‘Gliding along the alley towards what looked like two boys.’
‘What did they look like?’ said Madam Bones, narrowing her eyes so that the edge of the monocle disappeared into her flesh.
‘Well, one was very large and the other one rather skinny—’
‘No, no,’ said Madam Bones impatiently. ‘The dementors ... describe them.’
‘Oh,’ said Mrs Figg, the pink flush creeping up her neck now. ‘They were big. Big and wearing cloaks.’
Harry felt a horrible sinking in the pit of his stomach. Whatever Mrs. Figg might say, it sounded to him as though the most she had ever seen was a picture of a dementor, and a picture could never convey the truth of what these beings were like: the eerie way they moved, hovering inches over the ground, or the rotting smell of them, or that terrible rattling noise they made as they sucked on the surrounding air....
In the second row, a dumpy wizard with a large black moustache leaned close to whisper in the ear of his neighbour, a frizzy-haired witch. She smirked and nodded.
‘Big and wearing cloaks,’ repeated Madam Bones coolly, while Fudge snorted derisively. ‘I see. Anything else?’
‘Yes,’ said Mrs Figg. ‘I felt them. Everything went cold, and this was a very warm summer's night, mark you. And I felt ... as though all happiness had gone from the world ... and I remembered ... dreadful things....’
Her voice shook and died.
Madam Bones's eyes widened slightly. Harry could see red marks under her eyebrow where the monocle had dug into it.
‘What did the dementors do?’ she asked, and Harry felt a rush of hope.
‘They went for the boys,’ said Mrs. Figg, her voice stronger and more confident now, the pink flush ebbing away from her face. ‘One of them had fallen. The other was backing away, trying to repel the dementor. That was Harry. He tried twice and produced only silver vapour. On the third attempt, he produced a Patronus, which charged down the first dementor and then, with his encouragement, chased the second one away from his cousin. And that ... that is what happened,’ Mrs. Figg finished, somewhat lamely.
Madam Bones looked down at Mrs. Figg in silence. Fudge was not looking at her at all, but fidgeting with his papers. Finally, he raised his eyes and said, rather aggressively, ‘That's what you saw, is it?’
‘That is what happened,’ Mrs. Figg repeated.
‘Very well,’ said Fudge. ‘You may go.’
Mrs. Figg cast a frightened look from Fudge to Dumbledore, then got up and shuffled off towards the door. Harry heard it thud shut behind her.
‘Not a very convincing witness,’ said Fudge loftily.
‘Oh, I don't know,’ said Madam Bones, in her booming voice. ‘She certainly described the effects of a dementor attack very accurately. And I can't imagine why she would say they were there if they weren't.’
‘But dementors wandering into a Muggle suburb and just happening to come across a wizard?’ snorted Fudge. The odds on that must be very, very long. Even Bagman wouldn't have bet—’
‘Oh, I don't think any of us believe the dementors were there by coincidence,’ said Dumbledore lightly.
The witch sitting to the right of Fudge, with her face in shadow, moved slightly but everyone else was quite still and silent.
‘And what is that supposed to mean?’ Fudge asked icily.
‘It means that I think they were ordered there,’ said Dumbledore.
‘I think we might have a record of it if someone had ordered a pair of dementors to go strolling through Little Whinging!’ barked Fudge.
‘Not if the dementors are taking orders from someone other than the Ministry of Magic these days,’ said Dumbledore calmly. ‘I have already given you my views on this matter, Cornelius.’
‘Yes, you have,’ said Fudge forcefully, ‘and I have no reason to believe that your views are anything other than bilge, Dumbledore. The dementors remain in place in Azkaban and are doing everything we ask them to.’
‘Then,’ said Dumbledore, quietly but clearly, ‘we must ask ourselves why somebody within the Ministry ordered a pair of dementors into that alleyway on the second of August.’
In the complete silence that greeted these words, the witch to the right of Fudge leaned forwards so that Harry saw her for the first time.
He thought she looked just like a large, pale toad. She was rather squat with a broad, flabby face, as little neck as Uncle Vernon and a very wide, slack mouth. Her eyes were large, round and slightly bulging. Even the little black velvet bow perched on top of her short curly hair put him in mind of a large fly she was about to catch on a long sticky tongue.
‘The Chair recognises Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister,’ said Fudge.
The witch spoke in a fluttery, girlish, high-pitched voice that took Harry aback; he had been expecting a croak.
‘I'm sure I must have misunderstood you, Professor Dumbledore,’ she said, with a simper that left her big, round eyes as cold as ever. ‘So silly of me. But it sounded for a teensy moment as though you were suggesting that the Ministry of Magic had ordered an attack on this boy!’
She gave a silvery laugh that made the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stand up. A few other members of the Wizengamot laughed with her. It could not have been plainer that not one of them was really amused.
‘If it is true that the dementors are taking orders only from the Ministry of Magic, and it is also true that two dementors attacked Harry and his cousin a week ago, then it follows logically that somebody at the Ministry might have ordered the attacks,’ said Dumbledore politely. ‘Of course, these particular dementors may have been outside Ministry control—’
‘There are no dementors outside Ministry control!’ snapped Fudge, who had turned brick red.
Dumbledore inclined his head in a little bow.
‘Then undoubtedly the Ministry will be making a full inquiry into why two dementors were so very far from Azkaban and why they attacked without authorisation.’
‘It is not for you to decide what the Ministry of Magic does or does not do, Dumbledore!’ snapped Fudge, now a shade of magenta of which Uncle Vernon would have been proud.
‘Of course it isn't,’ said Dumbledore mildly. ‘I was merely expressing my confidence that this matter will not go uninvestigated.’
He glanced at Madam Bones, who readjusted her monocle and stared back at him, frowning slightly.
‘I would remind everybody that the behaviour of these dementors, if indeed they are not figments of this boy's imagination, is not the subject of this hearing!’ said Fudge. ‘We are here to examine Harry Potter's offences under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery!’
‘Of course we are,’ said Dumbledore, ‘but the presence of dementors in that alleyway is highly relevant. Clause Seven of the Decree states that magic may be used before Muggles in exceptional circumstances, and as those exceptional circumstances include situations which threaten the life of the wizard or witch himself, or any witches, wizards or Muggles present at the time of the—’
‘We are familiar with Clause Seven, thank you very much!’ snarled Fudge.
‘Of course you are,’ said Dumbledore courteously. ‘Then we are in agreement that Harry's use of the Patronus Charm in these circumstances falls precisely into the category of exceptional circumstances the clause describes?’
‘If there were dementors, which I doubt.’
‘You have heard it from an eyewitness,’ Dumbledore interrupted.
‘If you still doubt her truthfulness, call her back, question her again. I am sure she would not object.’
‘I—that—not—’ blustered Fudge, fiddling with the papers before him. ‘It's—I want this over with today, Dumbledore!’
‘But naturally, you would not care how many times you heard from a witness, if the alternative was a serious miscarriage of justice,’ said Dumbledore.
‘Serious miscarriage, my hat!’ said Fudge at the top of his voice. ‘Have you ever bothered to tot up the number of cock-and-bull stories this boy has come out with, Dumbledore, while trying to cover up his flagrant misuse of magic out of school? I suppose you've forgotten the Hover Charm he used three years ago—’
‘That wasn't me, it was a house-elf!’ said Harry.
‘YOU SEE?’ roared Fudge, gesturing flamboyantly in Harry's direction. ‘A house-elf! In a Muggle house! I ask you—’
‘The house-elf in question is currently in the employ of Hogwarts School,’ said Dumbledore. ‘I can summon him here in an instant to give evidence if you wish.’
‘I—not—I haven't got time to listen to house-elves! Anyway, that's not the only—he blew up his aunt, for God's sake!’ Fudge shouted, banging his fist on the judge's bench and upsetting a bottle of ink.
‘And you very kindly did not press charges on that occasion, accepting, I presume, that even the best wizards cannot always control their emotions,’ said Dumbledore calmly, as Fudge attempted to scrub the ink off his notes.
‘And I haven't even started on what he gets up to at school—’
‘But, as the Ministry has no authority to punish Hogwarts students for misdemeanours at school, Harry's behaviour there is not relevant to this hearing,’ said Dumbledore, as politely as ever, but now with a suggestion of coolness behind his words.
‘Oho!’ said Fudge. ‘Not our business what he does at school, eh? You think so?’
‘The Ministry does not have the power to expel Hogwarts students, Cornelius, as I reminded you on the night of the second of August,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Nor does it have the right to confiscate wands until charges have been successfully proven, again, as I reminded you on the night of the second of August, in your admirable haste to ensure that the law is upheld, you appear, inadvertently I am sure, to have overlooked a few laws yourself.’
‘Laws can be changed,’ said Fudge savagely.
‘Of course they can,’ said Dumbledore, inclining his head. ‘And you certainly seem to be making many changes, Cornelius. Why, in the few short weeks since I was asked to leave the Wizengamot, it has already become the practice to hold a full criminal trial to deal with a simple matter of underage magic!’
A few of the wizards above them shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Fudge turned a slightly deeper shade of puce. The toadlike witch on his right, however, merely gazed at Dumbledore, her face quite expressionless.
‘As far as I am aware,’ Dumbledore continued, ‘there is no law yet in place that says this court's job is to punish Harry for every bit of magic he has ever performed. He has been charged with a specific offence and he has presented his defence. All he and I can do now is to await your verdict.’
Dumbledore put his fingertips together again and said no more. Fudge glared at him, evidently incensed. Harry glanced sideways at Dumbledore, seeking reassurance; he was not at all sure that Dumbledore was right in telling the Wizengamot, in effect, that it was about time they made a decision. Again, however, Dumbledore seemed oblivious to Harry's attempt to catch his eye. He continued to look up at the benches where the entire Wizengamot had fallen into urgent, whispered conversations.
Harry looked at his feet. His heart, which seemed to have swollen to an unnatural size, was thumping loudly under his ribs. He had expected the hearing to last longer than this. He was not at all sure that he had made a good impression. He had not really said very much. He ought to have explained more fully about the dementors, about how he had fallen over, about how both he and Dudley had nearly been kissed....
Twice he looked up at Fudge and opened his mouth to speak, but his swollen heart was now constricting his air passages and both times he merely took a deep breath and looked back down at his shoes.
Then the whispering stopped. Harry wanted to look up at the judges, but found that it was really much, much easier to keep examining his laces.
‘Those in favour of clearing the witness of all charges?’ said Madam Boness booming voice.
Harry's head jerked upwards. There were hands in the air, many of them ... more than half! Breathing very fast, he tried to count, but before he could finish, Madam Bones had said, ‘And those in favour of conviction?’
Fudge raised his hand; so did half a dozen others, including the witch on his right and the heavily-moustached wizard and the frizzy-haired witch in the second row.
Fudge glanced around at them all, looking as though there was something large stuck in his throat, then lowered his own hand. He took two deep breaths and said, in a voice distorted by suppressed rage, ‘Very well, very well ... cleared of all charges.’
‘Excellent,’ said Dumbledore briskly, springing to his feel, pulling out his wand and causing the two chintz armchairs to vanish. ‘Well, I must be getting along. Good day to you all.’
And without looking once at Harry, he swept from the dungeon.
哈利现在气喘吁吁；他现在只有自救。他曾经进入过和这里差不多恐怖的地牢。哈利以前既没有看过这里。也没有来过这里。但是，他在丹伯多的记忆盆中曾经访问过这里，在这个地方他看见雷斯坚被判在阿滋卡班终生监禁。 
　　墙壁是由黑色的石头构成的，火炬发出昏暗的光线。他的两边是空空的长椅，但是在顶头一排最高的长椅上有许多阴影。他们都在小声说话，但是当哈利身后的大门轰然关闭的时候，大厅里充满的不祥的寂静。 
　　一个冷漠的声音在审判庭中响起。 
　　“你迟到了。” 
　　“对不起，”哈利紧张不安的说道，“我—我不知道时间改变了。” 
　　“那不是陪审团的过错，”这个声音说道，“今天早晨已经给你家派了一只猫头鹰。坐下吧。” 
　　哈利低头仔细观察审判庭中间的椅子，椅子的扶手上隐藏着镣铐。他看见过这些镣铐象有生命一般弹出来固定住任何坐在椅子里面的人。他通过石头地面走够去，脚步的回声显得格外响亮。当哈利小心翼翼的坐到椅子边缘的时候，镣铐发出威胁的叮当声，但是并没有锁住他。哈利的感觉更加不舒服了，他抬起头看着坐在上面那排长椅上的人。 
　　从他能够看见的数目估计，大约有五十个人坐在那里，他们都穿着李子色的长袍，在长袍胸前左边的位置上绣着一个做工精美的银色“W”的字样，所有人都从鼻子下方凝视着他，有些人脸上带着一丝不苟的表情，而其他人看上去则十分的好奇。 
　　在前排正中间的位置上坐着法尼治·福吉，魔法大臣。福吉是一个身体肥胖的人，经常戴着一顶灰绿色的魔法帽，不过今天脱掉了；他今天还脱掉了他平常和哈利说话的时候惯有的纵容的微笑。一个有着宽阔的，正方形下巴的女巫坐在福吉的左边，她戴着单片眼镜，表情可怕。在福吉的右边是另外一个女巫，不过她坐在长椅的很后面，所以她的脸整个藏在阴影里。 
　　“很好，”福吉说道，“被告已经到了—尽管是最后到的—让我们开始吧。你们准备好了吗？”他问在座的各位。 
　　“是的，先生，”一个哈利熟悉的热心的声音说道。罗恩的兄长珀西正坐在前排长椅的最旁边。哈利抬头看着珀西，希望从他的身上看出某种迹象，但是没有回应。珀西的眼睛藏在牛角镜框的眼镜后面，面前放着一张羊皮纸，手上握着一只大号的羽毛笔。 
　　“8月12日的纪律听证会，”福吉用一种响亮的声音说道，而珀西则马上做起了记录，“将审理哈利 波特先生违反未成年人魔法限制条例和国际魔法保密条例的违纪行为，哈利 波特先生现为萨里郡小惠金区女贞路4号的居民。” 
　　“质询者：法尼治 奥斯瓦尔德 福吉，魔法大臣；爱米拉 苏珊 波尼斯，魔法条例执行处处长；多罗尔斯 简 乌姆布瑞杰，魔法部高级次长。庭审记录员：珀西 艾格那提斯 威斯里—” 
　　“辩护律师，阿巴斯 帕斯威尔 乌尔福瑞克 布瑞安 丹伯多，”一个平静的声音在哈利的身后响起，哈利迅速的转头看去，结果扭到了脖子。 
　　丹伯多正安详的走过房间，他穿着一件深蓝色的长袍，一脸极为平静的表情。他的长长的银色须发在火炬的光线之下闪闪发光。丹伯多站到了哈利旁边通过眼镜片抬头看着福吉，他的半月形眼镜架在长长的鹰钩鼻子的中段。 
　　陪审团的成员们开始交头接耳。所有的眼睛现在都集中在丹伯多身上。有些人面色苦恼，而其他人则微微的有些恐惧；而后排的两个年纪稍长的巫师则挥舞着双手表示欢迎。 
　　当哈利看见丹伯多的时候，一股强有力的感情从胸中升起，那种充满希望的感觉不亚于听见了凤凰之歌。他想看见丹伯多的眼睛，不过丹伯多并没有看着他；他一直持续的盯着显然狼狈不堪的福吉。 
　　“啊，”福吉说道，他看起来完全惊慌失措。“丹伯多。是的。你—恩—得到我们—恩—改变听证会时间—恩—和地点的消息吗？” 
　　“我本来肯定会错过听证会的，”丹伯多兴高采烈的说道，“然而，归功于一个幸运的错误，我提前三个小时到了魔法部，因此一无所损。” 
　　“是的—好吧—我想我们需要另一张椅子—我—威斯里，你能不能—？” 
　　“没关系，没关系，”丹伯多高兴的说道；他掏出了自己的魔杖，做了一个小手势，一只柔软的印花棉布的扶手椅子就出现在哈利的旁边。丹伯多坐下了，他长长的手指末端张开，透过手指用一种饶有兴趣的眼神仔细打量着福吉。陪审团的成员们仍然在窃窃私语，他们表情慌张，坐立不安；直到福吉再次开口的时候他们才安静下来。 
　　“是的，”福吉慢吞吞的查阅着他的笔记再度说道：“好吧，那么。因此。指控。是的。” 
　　福吉从面前大堆的文件中抽出一张羊皮纸，做了一个深呼吸，然后开始宣读，对被告的指控如下： 
　　被告明知故犯，在已经收到魔法部因相似指控而发出的一张书面警告之后，本应当充分意识到其行为违法，但仍然在麻瓜的聚居区使用了帕特拿姆魔法，并且是当着一个麻瓜的面施展的，时间是8月2日晚上9点23分。该被告的行为违反了1875年制订的未成年人魔法限制条例第3条之规定，并且同时违反了国际巫师联盟魔法保密条例第13条之规定。 
　　“你是住在萨里郡小惠金区女贞路4号的哈利 詹姆斯 波特先生吗？”福吉从羊皮纸的上方盯着哈利问道。 
　　“是的，”哈利说道。 
　　“三年前你曾经收到过魔法部关于非法施展魔法的正式警告，是吗？” 
　　“是的，不过—” 
　　“但是你仍然在8月2日的晚上施展了帕特拿姆魔法，对吗？” 
　　“是的，”哈利说道，“但是—” 
　　“你明知在未满17岁的情况下是不允许在学校以外的地方使用魔法的，对吗？” 
　　“是的，但是—” 
　　“你知道自己身处一个满是麻瓜的区域，对吗？” 
　　“是的，但是—” 
　　“你充分意识到当时和一个麻瓜非常接近，对吗？” 
　　“是的，”哈利恼火的说道，“但是我施展魔法是因为我们当时—” 
　　那个戴着单片眼镜的女巫用一种急速的语调打断了哈利的话。 
　　“你施展了一次完整的帕特拿姆魔法，对吗？” 
　　“是的，”哈利说道，“因为—” 
　　“一次有形的帕特拿姆魔法，对吗？” 
　　“一次—什么？”哈利说道。 
　　“你的帕特拿姆魔法有清楚的形象吗？我的意思是说，它不是一阵蒸汽或者一股烟，对吗？” 
　　“是的，”哈利说道，他现在感到既没有耐心也稍微有点失望，“它是一头牡鹿，它总是一头牡鹿。” 
　　“总是？”波尼斯夫人大声问道。“你在此之前已经施展过帕特拿姆魔法吗？” 
　　“是的，”哈利说道，“我能够施展这种魔法已经一年多了。” 
　　“那么你那时15岁？” 
　　“是的，而且—” 
　　“你在学校里学会的？” 
　　“卢平教授在我三年纪的时候教会我，因为那个—” 
　　“令人印象深刻，”波尼斯夫人说道，她低头盯着哈利，“在那个年纪施展一个真正的帕特拿姆魔法。。。真是令人印象非常深刻。” 
　　她周围的某些巫师和女巫再次的窃窃私语；有些人点头，但也有些人皱着眉毛，摇了摇头。 
　　“现在不是这个魔法如何令人印象深刻的问题，”福吉用一种暴躁的声音问道，“事实上，越是令人印象深刻就越糟糕，我认为，这个孩子施展的魔法被一个麻瓜清楚的看见了！” 
　　那些刚才皱眉的巫师现在喃喃自语的表示同意，但是珀西假装神圣的点头的样子刺激哈利说话了。 
　　“我施展魔法是因为摄魂怪！”哈利在任何人能够打断他之前大声说道。 
　　他原本希望出现更多的骚动，但是陪审团一片安静，好象比前一次还要浓厚。 
　　“摄魂怪？”波尼斯夫人过了一下问道，她的浓密的眉毛抬了起来，直到她的单片眼镜几乎要掉下来。“你是什么意思，孩子？” 
　　“我的意思是有两只摄魂怪在半路出现，它们袭击了我和我的堂兄！” 
　　“啊，”福吉再次说道，他很不高兴的傻笑着看看周围的陪审团成员，好象要他们也来分享这个笑话。“是的，是的。我想我们曾经听过类似的事情。” 
　　“摄魂怪出现在小惠金区？”波尼斯夫人用一种十分诧异的声调问道，“我不明白—” 
　　“你不明白吗，爱米拉？”福吉仍然在傻笑着，“让我来解释吧。他已经彻底的想过这件事，并且觉得摄魂怪可以用来编造一个非常真实的封面小故事。麻瓜看不见摄魂怪，他们能吗，孩子？很方便，很方便。。。因此那仅仅是你的一面之辞，没有目击证人。。。” 
　　“我没有撒谎！”哈利响亮的声音盖过了审判庭当中爆发的另一阵窃窃私语。“它们有两只，从小巷的两端冲出来，周围变的又暗又冷，我的堂兄感觉到了它们并且跑过去—” 
　　“够了！够了！”福吉的脸上带着一种目空一切的表情说道，“我很抱歉打断你的话，但我确定这只是一个预先编排好的故事—” 
　　丹伯多清了清喉咙，陪审团再度安静下来。 
　　“事实上，我们有一个证人目击了摄魂怪在小巷出现，”他说道，“我的意思是除了达德里 达斯利以外的其他人。” 福吉圆胖的脸松弛下来，好象有人从里面抽走了空气一样。他盯了丹伯多一会儿，然后，好象有人把他拉回来一样，他说道：“我恐怕我们没时间再听更多的谎言了。我要很快的处理—” 
　　“我也许是错的，”丹伯多高兴的说道，“但是我确信陪审团章程是正确的，被告有权利提供其案件的目击证人？难道这不是魔法条例执行处的政策吗，波尼斯夫人？”他指了指带着单片眼镜的女巫继续说道。 
　　“正确，”波尼斯夫人说道，“非常正确。” 
　　“哦，很好，很好，”福吉突然说道，“这个人在哪里？” 
　　“我把她带来了，”丹伯多说道，“她就在门外。我能—？” 
　　“不—威斯里，你去，”福吉向珀西咆哮道，“叫她马上过来，从审判庭楼厅走到石头踏步这里，然后迅速通过并不准看哈利和丹伯多。” 
　　很快的，珀西回来了，后面跟着费格太太。她看上去惊恐不安，而且比以前更加古怪了。哈利希望她没有忘记换掉她那双男用拖鞋。 
　　丹伯多站起来并把他的椅子让给费格太太，然后用魔法替自己再变了一把。 
　　“全名？”当费格太太极度紧张的坐在椅子的最边缘的时候福吉大声问道。 
　　“阿拉贝拉 多林 费格，”费格太太用一种颤抖的声音说道。 
　　“你的确切身份？”福吉用厌烦高傲的口气问道。 
　　“我是小惠金区哈利 波特先生住处附近的居民。”费格太太回答道。 “除了哈利 波特先生以外，在我们的记录里没有任何其他的男巫或女巫住在小惠金区，”波尼斯太太立刻说道，“那个位置总是太靠近监视器，提供。。。提供过去的事件。” “我是一个史奎伯，”费格太太说道，“因此你们没有登记我，对吗？” 
　　“一个史奎伯，恩？”福吉靠近费格太太看了看说道，“我们将会调查。你把你的出身详细资料交给我的助手威斯里。顺带提一句，史奎伯能够看见摄魂怪吗？”他左顾右盼的补充道。 
　　“是的，我们能！”费格太太愤怒的说道。 
　　福吉向下看了看费格太太，他的眉毛抬了起来，“很好，”他冷淡的说道，“你的故事是什么？” 
　　“我在8月2日晚上9点钟左右外出，到威斯特里亚步行街拐角处的商店买猫食，”费格太太立刻急促的说道，好象她已经用心学过要说的话，“但是我听到在木兰后街与威斯特里亚步行街之间的小巷传来一阵骚动。接近街口的时候我看见摄魂怪跑—” 
　　“奔跑？”波尼斯夫人尖锐的说道，“摄魂怪不会奔跑，它们是滑行的。” 
　　“那就是我要说的意思，”费格太太很快说道，一抹粉红色出现在她干瘪的脸上，“它们沿着小巷滑行，看起来就象两个孩子。” 
　　“你说它们看起来象什么？”波尼斯太太的眉毛皱的如此之深以至于她的单片眼镜都从脸上掉下去了。 
　　“是的，其中一个非常肥胖而另一个很瘦—” 
　　“不，不，”波尼斯太太不耐烦的说道，“摄魂怪。。。描述摄魂怪。” 
　　“哦，”费格太太脸上的红晕现在爬到了脖子上。“它们很大。巨大而且穿着斗篷。” 
　　哈利感到他的胃在这一刻可怕的沉了下去。无论费格太太说什么，在哈利听来好象她最多就是曾经看过摄魂怪的图片，而且这些图片不是按照真实样子传达的：它们可怕的移动方式，漂浮在地面以上几英寸的地方；或者是它们腐烂的气味；还有它们吸取周围空气所发出的可怕的喀哒声。。。 
　　在第二排，一个矮胖的巫师正在侧身和他的邻居耳语。这个巫师留着一部巨大的黑胡子，而他的邻居则是一个头发卷曲的女巫。这个女巫傻笑着点点头。 
　　“身材高大，披着斗篷，”当福吉嘲弄的喷着鼻子的时候，波尼斯太太冷淡的重复道，“我明白了。还有其他的吗？” 
　　“是的，”费格太太说道，“我感觉的到它们。周围的一切都变的寒冷，提醒你，那是一个非常炎热的夏季的晚上。而且我感到。。。仿佛所有的快乐都从这个世界上消失了。。。而且我回忆起了。。。恐惧的事情。。。” 
　　费格太太声音颤抖，死气沉沉。 
　　波尼斯太太的眼睛稍稍睁大了。哈利可以看见波尼斯太太眉毛下面单片眼睛曾经压着的地方出现了一抹红晕。 
　　“摄魂怪当时在干什么？”波尼斯太太问道。哈利又重新燃起一丝希望。 
　　“他们冲向了那两个孩子，”费格太太的声音现在变大了，而且也更有自信了，粉红的颜色也退回她的脸上。“其中一个孩子摔倒了。另一个孩子逐渐后退，尽全力抵挡摄魂怪。那个孩子就是哈利。他两次尝试施展魔法，但是只放出了一股银色的蒸汽。第三次尝试的时候，他终于施放出一个完整的帕特拿姆魔法，这个魔法击退了第一只摄魂怪，然后，在哈利的努力下，这个魔法把第二只摄魂怪从哈利表兄的身边赶走了。而这就是当时发生的事情经过。”费格太太有些不太完整的结束了称述。 
　　波尼斯夫人沉默的看着费格太太。福吉则完全没有看她，不过他却在焦躁不安的翻着文件。最后，福吉睁开眼睛极具攻击性的说道：“那就是你全部要说的，是吗？” 
　　“那就是所发生的一切，”费格太太重复了一遍。 
　　“很好，”福吉说道，“你可以走了。” 
　　费格太太用害怕的眼神看了一眼福吉和丹伯多，然后站起身来慢吞吞的走向门口。哈利听见大门在她身后轰然关闭。 
　　“这并不是一个十分可信的目击证人，”福吉傲慢的说道。 
　　“不，我还不能确定，”波尼斯太太很快的说道，“她显然非常精确的描述了摄魂怪攻击时所产生得影响。我想象不出如果摄魂怪没有出现在小维茵的话，她为什么要这样说。” 
　　“但是摄魂怪在麻瓜的居住区域徘徊并且遇见了一个路过的巫师？”福吉轻蔑的嗤之以鼻，“这种可能性非常，非常的小。就算是商品推销员都不敢打赌—” 
　　“哦，我认为我们之中没有任何人会相信摄魂怪是碰巧出现在那里的。”丹伯多轻轻的说道。 
　　坐在福吉左边的女巫，也就是脸藏在阴影中的那个，身体不安的移动了一下，但是其他人仍然安静的坐在原地一动不动。 
　　“这个假设意味着什么？”福吉冷冰冰的问道。 
　　“这意味着我认为摄魂怪是受命去那里？”丹伯多说道。 
　　“我认为我们有相关记录可查，看看是否有两只摄魂怪受命去小惠金区巡游！”福吉咆哮道。 
　　“这些日子以来，不排除摄魂怪受命于魔法部以外的其他人，”丹伯多平静的说，“我已经向你提供了我在这件事情上的看法，法尼治。” 
　　“是的，你提供了，”福吉咄咄逼人的说道，“但是我没有理由相信你的观点有任何可信之处。摄魂怪现在正待在阿滋卡班魔法监狱并忠实的执行着我们下达的一切命令。” 
　　“那么，”丹伯多平静而清晰的说道，“我们就必须扪心自问为什么魔法部里有人会在8月2日命令摄魂怪前往小巷。” 
　　听完这些话之后审判庭里一片寂静，福吉右边的女巫身体前倾，因此哈利第一次看清楚她的样子。 
　　他认为这个女巫长的象一只苍白，巨大的癞蛤蟆。她几乎是蹲在椅子上，这个女巫长着一张宽阔松弛的脸，有着象维能姨丈一样又粗又短的脖子，以及一张宽而呆滞的嘴巴。她的眼睛又大又圆并且向外鼓凸。甚至是她卷曲的短头发上面扣着的黑色天鹅绒蝴蝶结都给哈利一种感觉，仿佛那就是她要伸出粘糊糊的长舌头捕食的一只大苍蝇。 
　　“这位就是多罗尔斯 简 乌姆布瑞治，魔法部高级次长，”福吉说道。 
　　这个女巫用一种振颤的，故作少女状的，高亢的声调说话，这让哈利毛骨悚然；他觉得象癞蛤蟆的叫声。 
　　“我肯定没有理解你的话，丹伯多教授，” 
　　她吃吃的傻笑着，不过又大又圆的眼睛还是一如既往的冷漠，“我太傻了。但是听起来你有点觉得是魔法部下命令袭击这个孩子的！” 
　　她发出了一阵清脆的笑声，这使得哈利的寒毛孔都竖起来了。陪审团的其他几名成员都在嘲笑她。不过更确切的说是们中没有一个真的笑出来。 
　　“如果摄魂怪现在真的只能从魔法部接受命令，而一周前两只摄魂怪也真的袭击了哈利和他的表兄，那么接下来的逻辑就是魔法部有人下令执行这次袭击，”丹伯多彬彬有礼的说道，“当然，也有可能这些额外的摄魂怪是在魔法部得控制之外—” 
　　“不存在魔法部控制之外的摄魂怪！”福吉的脸涨成了猪肝色吼道。 
　　丹伯多轻轻的点点头。 
　　“那么毫无疑问魔法部必须展开全面调查，为什么有两只摄魂怪会远离阿滋卡班，还有它们为什么在没有得到命令得情况下展开袭击。” 
　　“还轮不到你来决定魔法部该做什么，不该做什么，丹伯多！”福吉脸上现在出现了维能姨丈引以为自豪的紫红色，并且大声咆哮。 
　　“当然不是，”丹伯多温和的说，“我仅仅是在表达我的决心，那就是这一事件不能就这样不了了之。” 
　　丹伯多盯着波尼斯夫人，而后者也调整了一下单片眼镜微微皱着眉头回盯着丹伯多。 
　　“我要提醒在座诸位，如果这些摄魂怪的行为真的不是出自这个孩子的主观臆想，那也不是这次听证会讨论的题目！”福吉说道，“我们在这里的目的是为了检查哈利 波特违反未成年人魔法限制条例的行为。” “我们当然是，”丹伯多说道，“但是摄魂怪在小巷出现是非常关键的问题。根家魔法宪法条例第七条之规定，在特殊情况下允许在麻瓜面前施展魔法，那些特殊情况里面就包括魔法师本人的生命受到威胁，或者任何其他魔法师或麻瓜的生命受到威胁的情况—” 
　　“我们知道宪法第七条是怎么规定的，非常感谢！”福吉狂怒道。 
　　“诸位当然清楚，”丹伯多亲切的说道。“那么我们就必须同意哈利在这种情况下施展帕特拿姆魔法完全符合宪法条例中关于特殊情况的规定。” 
　　“对于当时是否存在摄魂怪我表示怀疑！” 
　　“诸位刚才已经从一个目击者那里听见了，”丹伯多打断他说道。 
　　“如果你仍然怀疑她的证词的真实性，那么把她叫回来。再问她一次，我肯定费格太太不会反对的。” 
　　“我—那个—不用了—，”福吉气急败坏的说道。在他的面前摆放着那份没用的文件。“只是—我希望今天就到这里，丹伯多！” 
　　“但是很自然，如果你担心这一选择会导致审判的严重失误的话，随便你询问目击者多少次。”丹伯多说道。 
　　“严重失误，我的天哪！”福吉用最高的声调说道，“你甚至会对一个孩子编造的公鸡-公牛的故事信以为真并苦恼不已吗，丹伯多，难道你真的要对他在校外违法施展魔法的行为包庇纵容吗？我猜想你已经忘记他三年前施展盘旋魔法的事情了—” 
　　“那不是我干的，那是一只房屋小精灵干的！”哈利说道。 
　　“你看？”福吉咆哮着，他对着哈利的方向比划着一派胡言的手势。“一只房屋小精灵！在一所麻瓜的房子里！我问你·” 
　　“这只惹出问题的房屋小精灵现在是霍格瓦彻魔法学校的雇员，”丹伯多说道，“如果你希望的话我可以立即把它召唤过来作证。” 
　　“我-不-我没时间听那些房屋小精灵废话！不管怎么说，这不是第一次了—对着上帝发誓，他居然把自己的姨妈打得飞出去！”福吉重重的拍击着审判庭的长椅并且打翻了一瓶墨水。 
　　“我承认，那一次你非常和善的不予追究，并且说即使最好的巫师也不能永远控制住他们的情绪。”当福吉手忙脚乱的收拾文件的时候，丹伯多平静的说道。 
　　“而且那时我也没有提过对他如何惩罚。” 
　　“但是，魔法部并没有权力惩罚霍格瓦彻魔法学校的学生在校内的行为不端。哈利那次的行为和本次听证会无关，”丹伯多甚至比刚才更加彬彬有礼，不过在他的话背后却有着一种冷冰冰的暗示。 
　　“哦呵！”福吉说道，“也就是说他在学校不管干什么都不关我们的事，恩？你是这么想的吗？” 
　　“正如8月2日的晚上我提醒你的那样，魔法部无权开除霍格瓦彻的学生，法尼治，”丹伯多说道，“无论魔法部是否有权没收他的魔杖直至调查完全结束为止；我也要象8月2日晚上那样再一次提醒你，你的那些绝妙的延误表明你自己忽略了一些重要的法律条文，当然我相信你不是故意的。” 
　　“法律是可以改变的，”福吉野蛮的说道。 
　　“当然可以改变，”丹伯多点点头说道，“而且你肯定会做出许多修改的，法尼治。为什么在我离开陪审团的短短几周之内，处理一个如此简单的未成年人施展魔法的问题却要使用一个如此全副武装的刑事犯罪审判程序！” 
　　陪审团的一些巫师在他们的座位里不安的扭动。福吉本已经涨成深褐色的脸现在显得更黑了一点。然而，坐在福吉右边的那个长得象癞蛤蟆一样的女巫却仅仅是瞪了丹伯多一眼，她的脸上面无表情。 
　　“正如我意识到的那样，”丹伯多继续说道，“在这个地方已经没有法律了，这个法庭的全部作用就是惩罚哈利曾经施展过的每一点魔法。他还要为一点特别的冒犯承担责任，因为他为自己辩护。哈利和我现在所能做的所有事情就是等待你们的裁决。” 
　　丹伯多再次手指交叉，一言不发。福吉盯着丹伯多，很显然被激怒了。哈利看了看坐在旁边的丹伯多，感到很放心；他不仅完全相信丹伯多刚才对陪审团说的话是完全正确的，而且，现在也该是做出决定的时候了。但是，丹伯多似乎再一次想忽略哈利要观察他眼神的企图。他持续的抬头看着上面的一排长椅，陪审团的全体成员正在小声的进行紧急磋商。 
　　哈利向下看看自己的脚。他的心脏看起来已经肿胀到了一个异乎寻常的尺寸，它在肋骨下面大声的砰砰直跳。他本以为听证会会比现在更长一点。他完全没有信心自己已经给陪审团留下了一个好印象。他说的并不多。他应当对摄魂怪的问题解释的更加充分，比如关于他怎样摔倒，以及他和达德里怎样险些遭受摄魂怪的死亡之吻。。。 
　　哈利有两次看着福吉想开口说话，但是他肿胀的心脏限制的空气的流动，每次他都仅仅只能勉强的做一个深呼吸，然后又低头看着自己的鞋子。 
　　接着耳语声停止了。哈利想要抬头看看陪审团，但是他发现低头检查鞋带要比抬头容易的多。 
　　“同意撤消被告一切指控的陪审员请举手？”波尼斯夫人很快的说道。 
　　哈利的头猛的抬起来。空中举着很多的手。。。超过半数！哈利的呼吸急促起来，他想要尽力去数，但是在他数完之前，波尼斯太太已经说道：“下面认为被告有罪的陪审员请举手？” 
　　福吉举手了；跟着他的有大约12个陪审团成员，包括他右边那个象癞蛤蟆的女巫，以及那个长着一部不相称大胡子的矮胖巫师，还有那个坐在第二排的卷毛女巫。 
　　福吉看看周围，仿佛有什么东西堵在喉咙里，接着他的手放下了。他做了两次深呼吸，并用一种尽力压制愤怒而扭曲的声音说道：“很好，很好。。。撤消一切指控。” 
　　“棒极了，”丹伯多高兴的说道。他抽出了魔杖让那两张印花棉布的扶手椅消失了。“好吧，我要走了。各位，再见吧。” 
　　接着，他没有再看哈利一眼就从地牢里消失了。
Chapter 9 The Woes Of Mrs.Weasley
Dumbledore's abrupt departure took Harry completely by surprise. He remained sitting where he was in the chained chair, struggling with his feelings of shock and relief. The Wizengamot were all getting to their feet, talking, gathering up their papers and packing them away. Harry stood up. Nobody seemed to be paying him the slightest bit of attention, except the toadlike witch on Fudge's right, who was now gazing down at him instead of at Dumbledore. Ignoring her, he tried to catch Fudge's eye, or Madam Bones's, wanting to ask whether he was free to go, but Fudge seemed quite determined not to notice Harry, and Madam Bones was busy with her briefcase, so he took a lew tentative steps towards the exit and, when nobody called him back, broke into a very fast walk.
He took the last lew steps at a run, wrenched open the door and almost collided with Mr. Weasley, who was standing right outside, looking pale and apprehensive.
‘Dumbledore didn't say—’
‘Cleared,’ Harry said, pulling the door closed behind him, ‘of all charges!’
Beaming, Mr Weasley seized Harry by the shoulders.
‘Harry, that's wonderful! Well, of course, they couldn't have found you guilty, not on the evidence, but even so, I can't pretend I wasn't—’
But Mr. Weasley broke off, because the courtroom door had ust opened again. The Wizengamot were filing out.
‘Merlin's beard!’ exclaimed Mr. Weasley wonderingly, pulling Harry aside to let them all pass. ‘You were tried by the full court?’
‘I think so,’ said Harry quietly.
One or two of the wizards nodded to Harry as they passed and a few, including Madam Bones, said, ‘Morning, Arthur,’ to Mr. Weasley, but most averted their eyes. Cornelius Fudge and the toadlike witch were almost the last to leave the dungeon. Fudge acted as though Mr. Weasley and Harry were part of the wall, but again, the witch looked almost appraisingly at Harry as she passed. Last of all to pass was Percy. Like Fudge, he completely ignored his father and Harry; he marched past clutching a large roll of parchment and a handful of spare quills, his back rigid and his nose in the air. The lines around Mr. Weasley's mouth tightened slightly, but other than this he gave no sign that he had seen his third son.
‘I'm going to take you straight back so you can tell the others the good news,’ he said, beckoning Harry forwards as Percy's heels disappeared up the steps to Level Nine. ‘I'll drop you off on the way to that toilet in Bethnal Green. Come on....’
‘So, what will you have to do about the toilet?’ Harry asked, grinning. Everything suddenly seemed five times funnier than usual. It was starting to sink in: He was cleared, he was going back to Hogwarts.
‘Oh, it's a simple enough anti-jinx,’ said Mr. Weasley as they mounted the stairs, ‘but it's not so much having to repair the damage, it's more the attitude behind the vandalism, Harry. Muggle-baiting might strike some wizards as funny, but it's an expression of something much deeper and nastier, and I for one—’
Mr. Weasley broke off in mid-sentence. They had just reached the ninth-level corridor and Cornelius Fudge was standing a few feet away from them, talking quietly to a tall man with sleek blond hair and a pointed, pale face.
The second man turned at the sound of their footsteps. He, too, broke off in mid-conversation, his cold grey eyes narrowed and fixed upon Harry's face.
‘Well, well, well ... Patronus Potter,’ said Lucius Malfoy coolly.
Harry felt winded, as though he had just walked into something solid. He had last seen those cold grey eyes through slits in a Death Eater's hood, and last heard that man's voice jeering in a dark graveyard while Lord Voldemort tortured him. Harry could not believe that Lucius Malfoy dared look him in the face; he could not believe that he was here, in the Ministry of Magic, or that Cornelius Fudge was talking to him, when Harry had told Fudge mere weeks ago that Malfoy was a Death Eater.
‘The Minister was just telling me about your lucky escape, Potter,’ drawled Mr. Malfoy. ‘Quite astonishing, the way you continue to wriggle out of very tight holes.... Snakelike, in fact...’
Mr. Weasley gripped Harry's shoulder in warning.
‘Yeah,’ said Harry, ‘yeah, I'm good at escaping.’
Lucius Malfoy raised his eyes to Mr. Weasley's face.
‘And Arthur Weasley too! What are you doing here, Arthur?’
‘I work here,’ said Mr. Weasley curtly.
‘Not here, surely?’ said Mr. Malfoy, raising his eyebrows and glancing towards the door over Mr. Weasley's shoulder. ‘I thought you were up on the second floor.... Don't you do something that involves sneaking Muggle artefacts home and bewitching them?’
‘No,’ Mr. Weasley snapped, his fingers now biting into Harry's shoulder.
‘What areyou doing here, anyway?’ Harry asked Lucius Malfoy.
‘I don't think private matters between myself and the Minister are any concern of yours, Potter,’ said Malfoy, smoothing the front of his robes. Harry distinctly heard the gentle clinking of what sounded like a full pocket of gold. ‘Really, just because you are Dumbledore's favourite boy, you must not expect the same indulgence from the rest of us.... Shall we go up to your office, then, Minister?’
‘Certainly,’ said Fudge, turning his back on Harry and Mr. Weasley. ‘This way, Lucius.’
They strode off together, talking in low voices. Mr. Weasley did not let go of Harry's shoulder until they had disappeared into the lift.
‘Why wasn't he waiting outside Fudge's office if they've got business to do together?’ Harry burst out furiously. ‘What was he doing down here?’
‘Trying to sneak down to the courtroom, if you ask me,’ said Mr. Weasley, looking extremely agitated and glancing over his shoulder as though making sure they could not be overheard. ‘Trying to find out whether you'd been expelled or not. I'll leave a note for Dumbledore when I drop you off, he ought to know Malfoy's been talking to Fudge again.’
‘What private business have they got together, anyway?’
‘Gold, I expect,’ said Mr. Weasley angrily. ‘Malfoy's been giving generously to all sorts of things for years.... Gets him in with the right people ... then he can ask favours ... delay laws he doesn't want passed... Oh, he's very well-connected, Lucius Malfoy....’
The lift arrived; it was empty except for a flock of memos that flapped around Mr. Weasley's head as he pressed the button for the Atrium and the doors clanged shut. He waved them away irritably.
‘Mr. Weasley,’ said Harry slowly, ‘if Fudge is meeting Death Eaters like Malfoy, if he's seeing them alone, how do we know they haven't put the Imperius Curse on him?’
‘Don't think it hadn't occurred to us, Harry,’ said Mr. Weasley quietly. ‘But Dumbledore thinks Fudge is acting of his own accord at the moment—which, as Dumbledore says, is not a lot of comfort.... Best not talk about it any more just now, Harry....’
The doors slid open and they stepped out into the now almost-deserted Atrium. Eric the watchwizard was hidden behind his Daily Prophet again. They had walked straight past the golden fountain before Harry remembered.
‘Wait....’ he told Mr. Weasley, and, pulling his moneybag from his pocket, he turned back to the fountain.
He looked up into the handsome wizard's face, but up close, Harry thought he looked rather weak and foolish. The witch was wearing a vapid smile like a beauty contestant, and from what Harry knew of goblins and centaurs, they were most unlikely to be caught staring so soppily at humans of any description. Only the house-elf's attitude of creeping servility looked convincing. With a grin at the thought of what Hermione would say if she could see the statue of the elf, Harry turned his moneybag upside-down and emptied not just ten Galleons, but the whole contents into the pool at the statues’ feet.
‘I knew it!’ yelled Ron, punching the air. ‘You always get away with stuff!’
‘They were bound to clear you,’ said Hermione, who had looked positively faint with anxiety when Harry had entered the kitchen and was now holding a shaking hand over her eyes, ‘there was no case against you, none at all.’
‘Everyone seems quite relieved, though, considering you all knew I'd get off,’ said Harry, smiling.
Mrs. Weasley was wiping her face on her apron, and Fred, George, and Ginny were doing a kind of war dance to a chant that went: ‘He got off, he got off, he got off—’
‘That's enough! Settle down!’ shouted Mr. Weasley, though he too was smiling. ‘Listen, Sirius, Lucius Malfoy was at the Ministry—’
‘What?’ said Sirius sharply.
‘He got off, he got off, he got off—’
‘Be quiet, you three! Yes, we saw him talking to Fudge on Level Nine, then they went up to Fudge's office together. Dumbledore ought to know.’
‘Absolutely,’ said Sirius. ‘We'll tell him, don't worry.’
‘Well, I'd better get going, there's a vomiting toilet waiting for me in Bethnal Green. Molly, I'll be late, I'm covering for Tonks, but Kingsley might be dropping in for dinner—’
‘He got off, he got off, he got off—’
‘That's enough—Fred—George—Ginny!’ said Mrs. Weasley, as Mr. Weasley left the kitchen. ‘Harry, dear, come and sit down, have some lunch, you hardly ate breakfast....’
Ron and Hermione sat themselves down opposite him, looking happier than they had done since he had first arrived at Grimmauld Place, and Harry's feeling of giddy relief, which had been somewhat dented by his encounter with Lucius Malfoy, swelled again. The gloomy house seemed warmer and more welcoming all of a sudden; even Kreacher looked less ugly as he poked his snoutlike nose into the kitchen to investigate the source of all the noise.
’ ‘Course, once Dumbledore turned up on your side, there was no way they were going to convict you,’ said Ron happily, now dishing great mounds of mashed potato on to everyone's plates.
‘Yeah, he swung it for me,’ said Harry. He felt it would sound highly ungrateful, not to mention childish, to say, ‘I wish he'd talked to me, though. Or even looked at me.’
And as he thought this, the scar on his forehead burned so badly that he clapped his hand to it..
‘What's up?’ said Hermione, looking alarmed.
‘Scar,’ Harry mumbled. ‘But it's nothing.... It happens all the time now....’
None of the others had noticed a thing; all of them were now helping themselves to food while gloating over Harry's narrow escape; Fred, George, and Ginny were still singing. Hermione looked rather anxious, but before she could say anything, Ron had said happily, ‘I bet Dumbledore turns up this evening, to celebrate with us, you know.’
‘I don't think he'll be able to, Ron,’ said Mrs. Weasley, setting a huge plate of roast chicken down in front of Harry. ‘He's really very busy at the moment.’
‘HE GOT OFF, HE GOT OFF. HE GOT OFF—’
‘SHUT UP!’ roared Mrs. Weasley.
Over the next few days Harry could not help noticing that there was one person within number twelve, Grimmauld Place, who did not seem wholly overjoyed that he would be returning to Hogwarts. Sirius had put up a very good show of happiness on first hearing the news, wringing Harry's hand and beaming just like the rest of them. Soon, however, he was moodier and surlier than before, talking less to everybody, even Harry, and spending increasing amounts of time shut up in his mother's room with Buckbeak.
‘Don't you go feeling guilty!’ said Hermione sternly, after Harry had confided some of his feelings to her and Ron while they scrubbed out a mouldy cupboard on the third floor a few days later. ‘You belong at Hogwarts and Sirius knows it. Personally, I think he's being selfish.’
‘That's a bit harsh, Hermione,’ said Ron, frowning as he attempted to prise off a bit of mould that had attached itself firmly to his finger, ‘you wouldn't want to be stuck inside this house without any company.’
‘He'll have company!’ said Hermione. ‘It's Headquarters to the Order of the Phoenix, isn't it? He just got his hopes up that Harry would be coming to live here with him.’
‘I don't think that's true,’ said Harry, wringing out his cloth. ‘He wouldn't give me a straight answer when I asked him if I could.’
‘He just didn't want to get his own hopes up even more,’ said Hermione wisely. ‘And he probably felt a bit guilty himself, because I think a part of him was really hoping you'd be expelled. Then you'd both be outcasts together.’
‘Come off it!’ said Harry and Ron together, but Hermione merely shrugged.
‘Suit yourselves. But I sometimes think Ron's mum's right and Sirius gets confused about whether you're you or your father, Harry.’
‘So you think he's touched in the head?’ said Harry heatedly.
‘No, I just think he's been very lonely for a long time,’ said Hermione simply.
At this point, Mrs. Weasley entered the bedroom behind them.
‘Still not finished?’ she said, poking her head into the cupboard.
‘I thought you might be here to tell us to have a break!’ said Ron bitterly. ‘D'you know how much mould we've got rid of since we arrived here?’
‘You were so keen to help the Order,’ said Mrs. Weasley, ‘you can do your bit by making Headquarters fit to live in.’
‘I feel like a house-elf,’ grumbled Ron.
‘Well, now you understand what dreadful lives they lead, perhaps you'll be a bit more active in S.P.E.W.!’ said Hermione hopefully, as Mrs. Weasley left them to it. ‘You know, maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to show people exactly how horrible it is to clean all the time—we could do a sponsored scrub of Gryffindor common room, all proceeds to S.P.E.W., it would raise awareness as well as funds—’
‘I'll sponsor you to shut up about spew,’ Ron muttered irritably, but only so Harry could hear him.
Harry found himself daydreaming about Hogwarts more and more as the end of the holidays approached; he could not wait to see Hagrid again, to play Quidditch, even to stroll across the vegetable patches to the Herbology greenhouses; it would be a treat just to leave this dusty, musty house, where half of the cupboards were still bolted shut and Kreacher wheezed insults out of the shadows as you passed, though Harry was careful not to say any of this within earshot of Sirius.
The fact was that living at the Headquarters of the anti-Voldemort movement was not nearly as interesting or exciting as Harry would have expected before he'd experienced it. Though members of the Order of the Phoenix came and went regularly, sometimes staying for meals, sometimes only for a few minutes of whispered conversation, Mrs. Weasley made sure that Harry and the others were kept well out of earshot (whether Extendable or normal) and nobody, not even Sirius, seemed to feel that Harry needed to know anything more than he had heard on the night of his arrival.
On the very last day of the holidays Harry was sweeping up Hedwig's owl droppings from the top of the wardrobe when Ron entered their bedroom carrying a couple of envelopes.
‘Booklists have arrived,’ he said, throwing one of the envelopes up to Harry, who was standing on a chair. ‘About time, I thought they'd forgotten, they usually come much earlier than this....’
Harry swept the last of the droppings into a rubbish bag and threw the bag over Ron's head into the wastepaper basket in the corner, which swallowed it and belched loudly. He then opened his letter. It contained two pieces of parchment: one the usual reminder that term started on the first of September; the other telling him which books he would need for the coming year.
‘Only two new ones,’ he said, reading the list, ‘The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5, by Miranda Goshawk, and Defensive Magical Theory, by Wilbert Slinkhard.’
Crack.
Fred and George Apparated right beside Harry. He was so used to them doing this by now that he didn't even fall off his chair.
‘We were just wondering who assigned the Slinkhard book,’ said Fred conversationally.
‘Because it means Dumbledore's found a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher,’ said George.
‘And about time too,’ said Fred.
‘What d'you mean?’ Harry asked, jumping down beside them.
Well, we overheard Mum and Dad talking on the Extendable Ears a few weeks back,’ Fred told Harry, ‘and from what they were saying, Dumbledore was having real trouble finding anyone to do the job this year.’
‘Not surprising, is it, when you look at what's happened to the last four?’ said George.
‘One sacked, one dead, one's memory removed, and one locked in a trunk for nine months,’ said Harry, counting them off on his fingers. ‘Yeah, I see what you mean.’
‘What's up with you, Ron?’ asked Fred.
Ron did not answer. Harry looked round. Ron was standing very still with his mouth slightly open, gaping at his letter from Hogwarts.
‘What's the matter?’ said Fred impatiently, moving around Ron to look over his shoulder at the parchment.
Fred's mouth fell open, too.
‘Prefect?’ he said, staring incredulously at the letter. ‘Prefect?’
George leapt forward, seized the envelope in Ron's other hand and turned it upside-down. Harry saw something scarlet and gold fall into George's palm.
‘No way,’ said George in a hushed voice.
‘There's been a mistake,’ said Fred, snatching the letter out of Ron's grasp and holding it up to the light as though checking for a watermark. ‘No one in their right mind would make Ron a prefect.’
The twins’ heads turned in unison and both of them stared at Harry.
‘We thought you were a cert!’ said Fred, in a tone that suggested Harry had tricked them in some way.
‘We thought Dumbledore was bound to pick you!’ said George indignantly.
‘Winning the Triwizard and everything!’ said Fred.
‘I suppose all the mad stuff must've counted against him,’ said George to Fred.
‘Yeah,’ said Fred slowly. ‘Yeah, you've caused too much trouble, mate. Well, at least one of you's got their priorities right.’
He strode over to Harry and clapped him on the back while giving Ron a scathing look.
‘Prefect ... ickle Ronnie the prefect...’
‘Oh, Mum's going to be revolting,’ groaned George, thrusting the prefect badge back at Ron as though it might contaminate him.
Ron, who still had not said a word, took the badge, stared at it for a moment, then held it out to Harry as though asking mutely for confirmation that it was genuine. Harry took it. A large ‘P’ was superimposed on the Gryffindor lion. He had seen a badge just like this on Percy's chest on his very first day at Hogwarts.
The door banged open. Hermione came tearing into the room, her cheeks flushed and her hair flying. There was an envelope in her hand.
‘Did you—did you get—?’
She spotted the badge in Harry's hand and let out a shriek.
‘I knew it!’ she said excitedly, brandishing her letter. ‘Me too, Harry, me too!’
‘No,’ said Harry quickly, pushing the badge back into Ron's hand. ‘It's Ron, not me.’
‘It—what?’
‘Ron's prefect, not me,’ Harry said.
‘Ron?’ said Hermione, her jaw dropping. ‘But ... are you sure? I mean—’
She turned red as Ron looked round at her with a defiant expression on his lace.
‘It's my name on the letter,’ he said.
‘I....’ said Hermione, looking thoroughly bewildered. ‘I ... well ... wow! Well done, Ron! That's really—’
‘Unexpected,’ said George, nodding.
‘No,’ said Hermione, blushing harder than ever, ‘no it's not ... Ron's done loads of ... he's really...’
The door behind her opened a little wider and Mrs. Weasley backed into the room carrying a pile of freshly laundered robes.
‘Ginny said the booklists had come at last,’ she said, glancing around at all the envelopes as she made her way over to the bed and started sorting the robes into two piles. ‘If you give them to me I'll take them over to Diagon Alley this afternoon and get your books while you're packing. Ron, I'll have to get you more pyjamas, these are at least six inches too short, I can't believe how fast you're growing ... what colour would you like?’
‘Get him red and gold to match his badge,’ said George, smirking.
‘Match his what?’ said Mrs. Weasley absently, rolling up a pair of maroon socks and placing them on Ron's pile.
‘His badge,’ said Fred, with the air of getting the worst over quickly. ‘His lovely shiny new prefect's badge.’
Fred's words took a moment to penetrate Mrs. Weasley's preoccupation with pyjamas.
‘His ... but ... Ron, you're not...?’
Ron held up his badge.
Mrs. Weasley let out a shriek just like Hermione's.
‘I don't believe it! I don't believe it! Oh, Ron, how wonderful! A prefect! That's everyone in the family!’
‘What are Fred and I, next-door neighbours?’ said George indignantly, as his mother pushed him aside and flung her arms around her youngest son.
‘Wait until your father hears! Ron, I'm so proud of you, what wonderful news, you could end up Head Boy just like Bill and Percy, it's the first step! Oh, what a thing to happen in the middle of all this worry, I'm just thrilled, oh, Ronnie—’
Fred and George were both making loud retching noises behind her back but Mrs. Weasley did not notice; arms tight around Ron's neck, she was kissing him all over his face, which had turned a brighter scarlet than his badge.
‘Mum ... don't ... Mum, get a grip....’ he muttered, trying to push her away.
She let go of him and said breathlessly, ‘Well, what will it be? We gave Percy an owl, but you've already got one, of course.’
‘W-what do you mean?’ said Ron, looking as though he did not dare believe his ears.
‘You've got to have a reward for this!’ said Mrs. Weasley fondly. ‘How about a nice new set of dress robes?’
‘We've already bought him some,’ said Fred sourly, who looked as though he sincerely regretted this generosity.
‘Or a new cauldron, Charlie's old one's rusting through, or a new rat, you always liked Scabbers—’
‘Mum,’ said Ron hopefully, ‘can I have a new broom?’
Mrs. Weasley's face fell slightly; broomsticks were expensive.
‘Not a really good one!’ Ron hastened to add. ‘Just—just a new one for a change...’
Mrs. Weasley hesitated, then smiled.
‘Of course you can.... Well, I'd better get going if I've got a broom to buy too. I'll see you all later.... Little Ronnie, a prefect! And don't forget to pack your trunks.... A prefect... Oh, I'm all of a dither!’
She gave Ron yet another kiss on the cheek, sniffed loudly, and bustled from the room.
Fred and George exchanged looks.
‘You don't mind if we don't kiss you, do you, Ron?’ said Fred in a falsely anxious voice.
‘We could curtsey, if you like,’ said George.
‘Oh, shut up,’ said Ron, scowling at them.
‘Or what?’ said Fred, an evil grin spreading across his face. ‘Going to put us in detention?’
‘I'd love to see him try,’ sniggered George.
‘He could if you don't watch out!’ said Hermione angrily.
Fred and George burst out laughing, and Ron muttered, ‘Drop it, Hermione.’
‘We're going to have to watch our step, George,’ said Fred, pretending to tremble, ‘with these two on our case....’
‘Yeah, it looks like our law-breaking days are finally over,’ said George, shaking his head.
And with another loud crack, the twins Disapparated.
‘Those two!’ said Hermione furiously, staring up at the ceiling, through which they could now hear Fred and George roaring with laughter in the room upstairs. ‘Don't pay any attention to them, Ron, they're only jealous!’
‘I don't think they are,’ said Ron doubtfully, also looking up at the ceiling. They've always said only prats become prefects.... Still,’ he added on a happier note, ‘they've never had new brooms! I wish I could go with Mum and choose.... She'll never be able to afford a Nimbus, but there's the new Cleansweep out, that'd be great.... Yeah, I think I'll go and tell her I like the Cleansweep, just so she knows....’
He dashed from the room, leaving Harry and Hermione alone.
For some reason, Harry found he did not want to look at Hermione. He turned to his bed, picked up the pile of clean robes Mrs. Weasley had laid on it and crossed the room to his trunk.
‘Harry?’ said Hermione tentatively.
‘Well done, Hermione,’ said Harry, so heartily it did not sound like his voice at all, and, still not looking at her, ‘brilliant. Prefect. Great.’
‘Thanks,’ said Hermione. ‘Erm—Harry—could I borrow Hedwig so I can tell Mum and Dad? They'll be really pleased—I mean prefect is something they can understand.’
‘Yeah, no problem,’ said Harry, still in the horrible hearty voice that did not belong to him. ‘Take her!’
He leaned over his trunk, laid the robes on the bottom of it and pretended to be rummaging for something while Hermione crossed to the wardrobe and called Hedwig down. A few moments passed; Harry heard the door close but remained bent double, listening; the only sounds he could hear were the blank picture on the wall sniggering again and the wastepaper basket in the corner coughing up the owl droppings.
He straightened up and looked behind him. Hermione had left and Hedwig had gone. Harry hurried across the room, closed the door, then returned slowly to his bed and sank on to it, gazing unseeingly at the foot of the wardrobe.
He had forgotten completely about prefects being chosen in the fifth year. He had been too anxious about the possibility of being expelled to spare a thought for the fact that badges must be winging their way towards certain people. But if he had remembered ... if he had thought about it ... what would he have expected?
Not this, said a small and truthful voice inside his head.
Harry screwed up his face and buried it in his hands. He could not lie to himself; if he had known the prefect badge was on its way, he would have expected it to come to him, not Ron. Did this make him as arrogant as Draco Malfoy? Did he think himself superior to everyone else? Did he really believe he was better than Ron?
No, said the small voice defiantly.
Was that true? Harry wondered, anxiously probing his own feelings.
I'm better at Quidditch, said the voice. But I'm not better at anything else.
That was definitely true, Harry thought; he was no better than Ron in lessons. But what about outside lessons? What about those adventures he, Ron, and Hermione had had together since starting at Hogwarts, often risking much worse than expulsion?
Well, Ron and Hermione were with me most of the time, said the voice in Harry's head.
Not all the time, though, Harry argued with himself. They didn't fight Quirrell with me. They didn't take on Riddle and the Basilisk. They didn't get rid of all those dementors the night Sirius escaped. They weren't in that graveyard with me, the night Voldemort returned....
And the same feeling of ill-usage that had overwhelmed him on the night he had arrived rose again. I've definitely done more, Harry thought indignantly. I've done more than either of them!
But maybe, said the small voice fairly, maybe Dumbledore doesn't choose prefects because they've got themselves into a load of dangerous situations.... Maybe he chooses them for other reasons.... Ron must have something you don't....
Harry opened his eyes and stared through his fingers at the wardrobe's clawed feet, remembering what Fred had said.
‘No one in their right mind would make Ron a prefect....’
Harry gave a small snort of laughter. A second later he felt sickened with himself.
Ron had not asked Dumbledore to give him the prefect badge. This was not Ron's fault. Was he, Harry, Ron's best friend in the world, going to sulk because he didn't have a badge, laugh with the twins behind Ron's back, ruin this for Ron when, for the first time, he had beaten Harry at something?
At this point Harry heard Ron's footsteps on the stairs again. He stood up, straightened his glasses, and hitched a grin on to his face as Ron bounded back through the door.
‘Just caught her!’ he said happily. ‘She says she'll get the Cleansweep if she can.’
‘Cool,’ Harry said, and he was relieved to hear that his voice had stopped sounding hearty. ‘Listen—Ron—well done, mate.’
The smile faded off Ron's face.
‘I never thought it would be me!’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I thought it would be you!’
‘Nah, I've caused too much trouble,’ Harry said, echoing Fred.
‘Yeah,’ said Ron, ‘yeah, I suppose.... Well, we'd better get our trunks packed, hadn't we?’
It was odd how widely their possessions seemed to have scattered themselves since they had arrived. It took them most of the afternoon to retrieve their books and belongings from all over the house and stow them back inside their school trunks. Marry noticed that Ron kept moving his prefect's badge around, first placing it on his bedside table, then putting it into his jeans pocket, then taking it out and lying it on his folded robes, as though to see the effect of the red on the black. Only when Fred and George dropped in and offered to attach it to his forehead with a Permanent Sticking Charm did he wrap it tenderly in his maroon socks and lock it in his trunk.
Mrs. Weasley returned from Diagon Alley around six o'clock, laden with books and carrying a long package wrapped in thick brown paper that Ron took from her with a moan of longing.
‘Never mind unwrapping it now, people are arriving for dinner, I want you all downstairs,’ she said, but the moment she was out of sight Ron ripped off the paper in a frenzy and examined every inch of his new broom, an ecstatic expression on his face.
Down in the basement Mrs. Weasley had hung a scarlet banner over the heavily laden dinner table, which read CONGRATULATIONS RON AND HERMIONE—NEW PREFECTS. She looked in a better mood than Harry had seen her all holiday.
‘I thought we'd have a little party not a sit-down dinner,’ she told Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Ginny as they entered the room. ‘Your father and Bill are on their way, Ron. I've sent them both owls and they're thrilled,’ she added, beaming.
Fred rolled his eyes.
Sirius, Lupin, Tonks, and Kingsley Shacklebolt were already there and Mad-Eye Moody stumped in shortly after Harry had got himself a Butterbeer.
‘Oh, Alastor, I am glad you're here,’ said Mrs. Weasley brightly, as Mad-Eye shrugged off his travelling cloak. ‘We've been wanting to ask you for ages—could you have a look in the writing desk in the drawing room and tell us what's inside it? We haven't wanted to open it just in case it's something really nasty.’
‘No problem, Molly...’
Moody's electric-blue eye swivelled upwards and stared fixedly through the ceiling of the kitchen.
‘Drawing room...’ he growled, as the pupil contracted. ‘Desk in the corner? Yeah, I see it.... Yeah, it's a boggart.... Want me to go up and get rid of it, Molly?’
‘No, no, I'll do it myself later,’ beamed Mrs. Weasley, ‘you have your drink. We're having a little bit of a celebration, actually....’ She gestured at the scarlet banner. ‘Fourth prefect in the family!’ she said fondly, ruffling Ron's hair.
‘Prefect, eh?’ growled Moody, his normal eye on Ron and his magical eye swivelling around to gaze into the side of his head. Harry had the very uncomfortable feeling it was looking at him and moved away towards Sirius and Lupin.
‘Well, congratulations,’ said Moody, still glaring at Ron with his normal eye, ‘authority figures always attract trouble, but I suppose Dumbledore thinks you can withstand most major jinxes or he wouldn't have appointed you....’
Ron looked rather startled at this view of the matter but was saved the trouble of responding by the arrival of his father and eldest brother. Mrs. Weasley was in such a good mood she did not even complain that they had brought Mundungus with them; he was wearing a long overcoat that seemed oddly lumpy in unlikely places and declined the offer to remove it and put it with Moody's travelling cloak.
‘Well, I think a toast is in order,’ said Mr. Weasley, when everyone had a drink. He raised his goblet. ‘To Ron and Hermione, the new Gryffindor prefects!’
Ron and Hermione beamed as everyone drank to them, and then applauded.
‘I was never a prefect myself,’ said Tonks brightly from behind Harry as everybody moved towards the table to help themselves to food. Her hair was tomato red and waist-length today; she looked like Ginny's older sister. ‘My Head of House said I lacked certain necessary qualities.’
‘Like what?’ said Ginny, who was choosing a baked potato.
‘Like the ability to behave myself,’ said Tonks.
Ginny laughed; Hermione looked as though she did not know whether to smile or not and compromised by taking an extra large gulp of Butterbeer and choking on it.
‘What about you, Sirius?’ Ginny asked, thumping Hermione on the back.
Sirius, who was right beside Harry, let out his usual bark-like laugh.
‘No one would have made me a prefect, I spent too much time in detention with James. Lupin was the good boy, he got the badge.’
‘I think Dumbledore might have hoped I would be able to exercise some control over my best friends,’ said Lupin. ‘I need scarcely say that I failed dismally.’
Harry's mood suddenly lifted. His father had not been a prefect either. All at once the party seemed much more enjoyable; he loaded up his plate, feeling doubly fond of everyone in the room.
Ron was rhapsodising about his new broom to anybody who would listen.
‘...nought to seventy in ten seconds, not bad, is it? When you think the Comet Two Ninety's only nought to sixty and that's with a decent tailwind according to Which Broomstick?’
Hermione was talking very earnestly to Lupin about her view of elf rights.
‘I mean, it's the same kind of nonsense as werewolf segregation, isn't it? It all stems from this horrible thing wizards have of thinking they're superior to other creatures....’
Mrs. Weasley and Bill were having their usual argument about Bill's hair.
‘...getting really out of hand, and you're so good-looking, it would look much better shorter, wouldn't it, Harry?’
‘Oh—I dunno—’ said Harry, slightly alarmed at being asked his opinion; he slid away from them in the direction of Fred and George, who were huddled in a corner with Mundungus.
Mundungus stopped talking when he saw Harry, but Fred winked and beckoned Harry closer.
‘It's OK,’ he told Mundungus, ‘we can trust Harry, he's our financial backer.’
‘Look what Dung's got us,’ said George, holding out his hand to Harry. It was full of what looked like shrivelled black pods. A faint rattling noise was coming from them, even though they were completely stationary.
‘Venomous Tentacula seeds,’ said George. ‘We need them for the Skiving Snackboxes but they're a Class C Non-Tradeable Substance so we've been having a bit of trouble getting hold of them.’
‘Ten Galleons the lot, then, Dung?’ said Fred.
‘Wiv all the trouble I went to to get ‘em?’ said Mundungus, his saggy, bloodshot eyes stretching even wider. ‘I'm sorry, lads, but I'm not taking a Knut under twenty.’
‘Dung likes his little joke,’ Fred said to Harry.
‘Yeah, his best one so far has been six Sickles for a bag of Knarl quills,’ said George.
‘Be careful,’ Harry warned them quietly.
‘What?’ said Fred. ‘Mum's busy cooing over Prefect Ron, we're okay.’
‘But Moody could have his eye on you,’ Harry pointed out.
Mundungus looked nervously over his shoulder.
‘Good point, that,’ he grunted. ‘All right, lads, ten it is, if you'll take ‘em quick.’
‘Cheers, Harry!’ said Fred delightedly, when Mundungus had emptied his pockets into the twins’ outstretched hands and scuttled off towards the food. ‘We'd better get these upstairs....’
Harry watched them go, feeling slightly uneasy. It had just occurred to him that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would want to know how Fred and George were financing their joke shop business when, as was inevitable, they finally found out about it. Giving the twins his Triwizard winnings had seemed a simple thing to do at the time, but what if it led to another family row and a Percy-like estrangement? Would Mrs. Weasley still feel that Harry was as good as her son if she found out he had made it possible for Fred and George to start a career she thought quite unsuitable?
Standing where the twins had left him, with nothing but a guilty weight in the pit of his stomach for company, Harry caught the sound of his own name. Kingsley Shacklebolt's deep voice was audible even over the surrounding chatter.
‘...why Dumbledore didn't make Potter a prefect?’ said Kingsley.
‘He'll have had his reasons,’ replied Lupin.
‘But it would've shown confidence in him. It's what I'd've done,’ persisted Kingsley, ’ ‘specially with the Daily Prophet having a go at him every few days....’
Harry did not look round; he did not want Lupin or Kingsley to know he had heard. Though not remotely hungry, he followed Mundungus back towards the table. His pleasure in the party had evaporated as quickly as it had come; he wished he were upstairs in bed.
Mad-Eye Moody was sniffing at a chicken leg with what remained of his nose; evidently he could not detect any trace of poison, because he then tore a strip off it with his teeth.
‘...the handle's made of Spanish oak with anti-jinx varnish and in-built vibration control—’ Ron was saying to Tonks.
Mrs. Weasley yawned widely.
‘Well, I think I'll sort out that boggart before I turn in.... Arthur, I don't want this lot up too late, all right? ‘Night, Harry, dear.’
She left the kitchen. Harry set down his plate and wondered whether he could follow her without attracting attention.
‘You all right, Potter?’ grunted Moody.
‘Yeah, fine,’ lied Harry.
Moody took a swig from his hipflask, his electric-blue eye staring sideways at Harry.
‘Come here, I've got something that might interest you,’ he said.
From an inner pocket of his robes Moody pulled a very tattered old wizarding photograph.
‘Original Order of the Phoenix,’ growled Moody. ‘Found it last night when I was looking for my spare Invisibility Cloak, seeing as Podmore hasn't had the manners to return my best one.... Thought people might like to see it.’
Harry took the photograph. A small crowd of people, some waving at him, others lifting their glasses, looked back up at him.
‘There's me,’ said Moody, unnecessarily pointing at himself. The Moody in the picture was unmistakeable, though his hair was slightly less grey and his nose was intact. ‘And there's Dumbledore beside me, Dedalus Diggle on the other side... That's Marlene McKinnon, she was killed two weeks after this was taken, they got her whole family. That's Frank and Alice Longbottom—’
Harry's stomach, already uncomfortable, clenched as he looked at Alice Longbottom; he knew her round, friendly face very well, even though he had never met her, because she was the image of her son, Neville.
‘Poor devils,’ growled Moody. ‘Better dead than what happened to them ... and that's Emmeline Vance, you've met her, and that there's Lupin, obviously ... Benjy Fenwick, he copped it too, we only ever found bits of him ... shift aside there,’ he added, poking the picture, and the little photographic people edged sideways, so that those who were partially obscured could move to the front.
‘That's Edgar Bones ... brother of Amelia Bones, they got him and his family, too, he was a great wizard ... Sturgis Podmore, blimey, he looks young ... Caradoc Dearborn, vanished six months after this, we never found his body ... Hagrid, of course, looks exactly the same as ever ... Elphias Doge, you've met him, I'd forgotten he used to wear that stupid hat ... Gideon Prewett, it took five Death Eaters to kill him and his brother Fabian, they fought like heroes ... budge along, budge along ...’
The little people in the photograph jostled among themselves and those hidden right at the back appeared at the forefront of the picture.
‘That's Dumbledore's brother Aberforth, only time I ever met him, strange bloke ... That's Dorcas Meadowes, Voldemort killed her personally ... Sirius, when he still had short hair ... and ... there you go, thought that would interest you!’
Harry's heart turned over. His mother and father were beaming up at him, sitting on either side of a small, watery-eyed man whom Harry recognised at once as Wormtail, the one who had betrayed his parents’ whereabouts to Voldemort and so helped to bring about their deaths.
‘Eh?’ said Moody.
Harry looked up into Moody s heavily scarred and pitted face. Evidently Moody was under the impression he had just given Harry a bit of a treat.
‘Yeah,’ said Harry, once again attempting to grin. ‘Er ... listen, I've just remembered, I haven't packed my...’
He was spared the trouble of inventing an object he had not packed. Sirius had just said, ‘What's that you've got there, Mad-Eye?’ and Moody had turned towards him. Harry crossed the kitchen, slipped through the door and up the stairs before anyone could call him back.
He did not know why it had been such a shock; he had seen pictures of his parents before, after all, and he had met Wormtail ... but to have them sprung on him like that, when he was least expecting it.... No one would like that, he thought angrily...
And then, to see them surrounded by all those other happy faces ... Benjy Fenwick, who had been found in bits, and Gideon Prewett, who had died like a hero, and the Longbottoms, who had been tortured into madness ... all waving happily out of the photograph forever more, not knowing that they were doomed ... well, Moody might find that interesting ... he, Harry, found it disturbing....
Harry tiptoed up the stairs in the hall past the stuffed elf-heads, glad to be on his own again, but as he approached the first landing he heard noises. Someone was sobbing in the drawing room.
‘Hello?’ Harry said.
There was no answer but the sobbing continued. He climbed the remaining stairs two at a time, walked across the landing and opened the drawing-room door.
Someone was cowering against the dark wall, her wand in her hand, her whole body shaking with sobs. Sprawled on the dusty old carpet in a patch of moonlight, clearly dead, was Ron.
All the air seemed to vanish from Harry's lungs; he felt as though he were falling through the floor; his brain turned icy cold—Ron dead, no, it couldn't be—’
But wait a moment, it couldn't be— Ron was downstairs—
‘Mrs. Weasley?’ Harry croaked.
‘R-r-riddikulus!’ Mrs. Weasley sobbed, pointing her shaking wand at Ron's body.
Crack
Ron's body turned into Bill's, spread-eagled on his back, his eyes wide open and empty. Mrs Weasley sobbed harder than ever.
‘R-riddikulus!’ she sobbed again.
Crack.
Mr. Weasley's body replaced Bill's, his glasses askew, a trickle of blood running down his face.
‘No!’ Mrs. Weasley moaned. ‘No ... riddikulus! Riddikulus! RIDDIKULUS!’
Crack. Dead twins. Crack. Dead Percy. Crack. Dead Harry...
‘Mrs. Weasley, just get out of here!’ shouted Harry, staring down at his own dead body on the floor. ‘Let someone else—’
‘What's going on?’
Lupin had come running into the room, closely followed by Sirius, with Moody stumping along behind them. Lupin looked from Mrs. Weasley to the dead Harry on the floor and seemed to understand in an instant. Pulling out his own wand, he said, very firmly and clearly, ‘Riddikulus!’
Harry's body vanished. A silvery orb hung in the air over the spot where it had lain. Lupin waved his wand once more and the orb vanished in a puff of smoke.
‘Oh—oh—oh!’ gulped Mrs. Weasley, and she broke into a storm of crying, her face in her hands.
‘Molly,’ said Lupin bleakly, walking over to her. ‘Molly, don't...’
Next second, she was sobbing her heart out on Lupin's shoulder.
‘Molly it was just a boggart,’ he said soothingly, patting her on the head. ‘Just a stupid boggart...’
‘I see them d-d-dead all the time!’ Mrs. Weasley moaned into his shoulder. ‘All the t-t-time! I d-d-dream about it...’
Sirius was staring at the patch of carpet where the boggart, pretending to be Harry's body, had lain. Moody was looking at Harry, who avoided his gaze. He had a funny feeling Moody's magical eye had followed him all the way out of the kitchen.
‘D-d-don't tell Arthur,’ Mrs. Weasley was gulping now, mopping her eyes frantically with her cuffs. ‘I d-d-don't want him to know.... Being silly...’
Lupin handed her a handkerchief and she blew her nose.
‘Harry, I'm so sorry. What must you think of me?’ she said shakily. ‘Not even able to get rid of a boggart...’
‘Don't be stupid,’ said Harry, trying to smile.
‘I'm just s-s-so worried,’ she said, tears spilling out of her eyes again. ‘Half the f-f-family's in the Order, it'll b-b-be a miracle if we all come through this.... and P-P-Percy's not talking to us.... What if something d-d-dreadful happens and we've never m-m-made it up with him? And what's going to happen if Arthur and I get killed, who's g-g-going to look after Ron and Ginny?’
‘Molly, that's enough,’ said Lupin firmly. ‘This isn't like last time. The Order are better prepared, we've got a head start, we know what Voldemort's up to—’
Mrs. Weasley gave a little squeak of fright at the sound of the name.
‘Oh, Molly, come on, it's about time you got used to hearing his name—look, I can't promise no one's going to get hurt, nobody can promise that, but we're much better off than we were last time. You weren't in the Order then, you don't understand. Last time we were outnumbered twenty to one by the Death Eaters and they were picking us off one by one....’
Harry thought of the photograph again, of his parents’ beaming faces. He knew Moody was still watching him.
‘Don't worry about Percy,’ said Sirius abruptly. ‘He'll come round. It's only a matter of time before Voldemort moves into the open; once he does, the whole Ministry's going to be begging us to forgive them. And I'm not sure I'll be accepting their apology,’ he added bitterly.
‘And as for who's going to look after Ron and Ginny if you and Arthur died,’ said Lupin, smiling slightly, ‘what do you think we'd do, let them starve?’
Mrs. Weasley smiled tremulously.
‘Being silly,’ she muttered again, mopping her eyes.
But Harry, closing his bedroom door behind him some ten minutes later, could not think Mrs. Weasley silly. He could still see his parents beaming up at him from the battered old photograph, unaware that their lives, like so many of those around them, were drawing to a close. The image of the boggart posing as the corpse of each member of Mrs. Weasley's family in turn kept flashing before his eyes.
Without warning, the scar on his forehead seared with pain again and his stomach churned horribly.
‘Cut it out,’ he said firmly, rubbing the scar as the pain receded.
‘First sign of madness, talking to your own head,’ said a sly voice from the empty picture on the wall.
Harry ignored it. He felt older than he had ever felt in his life and it seemed extraordinary to him that barely an hour ago he had been worried about a joke shop and who had got a prefect's badge.
丹伯多的突然离去让哈利十分的惊讶。他仍然坐在那张带有镣铐的椅子上，与他的震惊感苦苦斗争并尝试放松。陪审团成员都离开了自己的座位，他们相互交谈着，将他们的文件收进包里带走了。哈利站了起来。除了坐在福吉右边的那个长得象癞蛤蟆一样的女巫以外，看来没人对他有丝毫的注意，这个女巫现在已经把目光从丹伯多的身上移到了哈利的身上。哈利故意不理会她，他用目光尽力去找福吉或是波尼丝夫人，想问问他现在是否没事可以走了，但是福吉看来下定决心不理哈利，而波尼丝太太则在忙着整理她的公文包，因此他试探性的向门口走了几步，然后当确信没有人叫他回来时，他迅速的离开了。 
　　他的最后几步是冲出去的，猛的推开门结果几乎撞到了威斯里先生。威斯里先生正站在外面，脸色苍白。 
　　“丹伯多没有说—” 
　　“撤消，”哈利关上身后的门说道。“所有指控！” 
　　威斯里先生喜气洋洋的抓着哈利的肩膀。 
　　“哈利，那真是太棒了！好吧，当然，他们不能判定你有罪，没有证据，但是尽管如此，我也不能掩饰不是—” 
　　但是威斯里先生没有接着往下说，因为审判庭的大门这时再一次的打开了。陪审团的成员鱼贯而出。 
　　“太棒了！”威斯里先生惊讶的宣称道，他把哈利拽到一旁让陪审团成员通过。“你已经通过这个镣铐椅的测试了吗？” 
　　“我认为是这样的，”哈利平静的说。 
　　这群巫师中有一两个在经过哈利身边时冲他点点头，而另外一些，包括波尼丝太太则向威斯里先生道早安，但是绝大多数都把眼睛移开了。法尼治·福吉和那个长得象癞蛤蟆的女巫几乎是最后离开的审判庭的。福吉的举止好象是把哈利和威斯里先生当作了墙壁的一部分，但是再一次，那个女巫在经过哈利身边的时候以一种近乎评价的眼光看着哈利。在所有人之中最后走的就是珀西。就象福吉一样，他完全忽略了他父亲和哈利；他抓着一大卷羊皮纸和一把多余的大羽毛笔向前走着，他挺胸叠肚，目空一切。威斯里先生的嘴巴紧紧的抿成一条线，除此之外，他没有表现出任何迹象，显示他看见了自己的第三个儿子。 
　　“我将送你直接回去，这样你就可以告诉其他人这个好消息了，”当珀西的脚后跟消失在第九层楼梯上的时候，威斯里先生推着哈利向前走去。“我将去瞧瞧比斯乃尔·格林那里的卫生间，并且顺路带你回去。来吧…” 
　　“那么，你要怎样处理这个卫生间呢？”哈利笑着问道。现在每件事看起来都比平常有趣五倍，因为人们正在了解他是清白的，他就要回到霍格瓦彻。 
　　“哦，那只需要一个简单的诅咒逆向魔法就可以了，”当他们上楼的时候威斯里先生说道。“但是修复这种损害并不是什么复杂的事情，更重要的是这种故意破坏的行为背后隐藏的态度，哈利。欺负麻瓜在一些巫师们看来也许是一件有趣的事情，但是这表达了某种更加深层次也更加肮脏的东西，而且我为一个—” 
　　威斯里先生的话说了一半就被打断了。他们已经到了第九层的电梯那里，而法尼治·福吉就站在离他们几英尺远的地方和一个高个子男人小声的交谈。这个男人有一头圆滑的金色头发和一张尖嘴猴腮的苍白的脸。 
　　后者听见他们的脚步声也转过身来。他同样半路停止了谈话，他的灰白冰冷的眼睛缩小并且定格在哈利的脸上。 
　　“很好，很好，很好…帕特拿姆·波特，”卢修斯·马尔夫冷冷地说道。（这个家伙叫马尔夫先生，是哈利在霍格瓦彻的死对头马尔夫的老爸） 
　　哈利感到喘不过气来，好象他周围的空气都凝固了。他最后一次看见这双冰冷灰白的眼睛是通过食死徒头巾上的裂缝，而他最后一次听见这个声音是在一个黑暗的坟墓里，他被伏地魔折磨，而马尔夫先生则在一旁嘲弄着他。哈利不相信马尔夫先生敢看他的脸；他也不相信他会出现在这里，在魔法部，同时他也不相信福吉正在和他交谈，因为哈利仅仅在几周前还告诉过福吉，说那个马尔夫先生是个食死徒。 
　　“魔法大臣刚刚正在向我讲述你的幸运逃脱，”马尔夫先生懒洋洋的说道，“十分令人惊讶，你每次都从小洞里逃脱…事实上，就象蛇一样。” 
　　威斯里先生紧紧的抓住哈利的肩膀以示警告。 
　　“是的，”哈利说道，“是的，我善于逃脱。” 
　　马尔夫先生抬起眼睛看着威斯里先生的脸。 
　　“而且亚瑟·威斯里也是！你现在在干什么呢，亚瑟？” 
　　“我在这里工作，”威斯里先生简单的说道。 
　　“你不在这里工作，我确信这一点，”马尔夫先生皱着眉头从威斯里先生的肩膀上看着门口。“我想你是在上面的二楼工作…你不会又做了一些涉及麻瓜违禁物品的事情并且还在继续迷恋它们吧？” 
　　“不，”威斯里先生咆哮道。他的手指现在捏得哈利的肩膀疼痛起来。 
　　“不管怎么说，你现在在这里干什么呢？”哈利问马尔夫先生。 
　　“我不认为我本人与魔法大臣的私人问题有任何地方要你操心的，波特，”马尔夫先生把他的长袍前面抹平并说道。哈利清楚的听见他的口袋里传出轻轻的叮当声，很显然里面装满了金币。“确实，因为你是丹伯多宠爱的学生，但是你不要指望我们这些人会同样的纵容你…那么，我们去你的办公室吗，魔法大臣阁下？” 
　　“那当然，”福吉把背转向哈利和威斯里先生并且说道，“这边走，卢修斯。” 
　　他们大踏步的一起离开了，边走还在小声交谈着。威斯里先生直到他们消失在电梯里才放开哈利肩膀上的手。 
　　“如果他们有公事要谈，那么为什么马尔夫先生不在福吉的办公室外面等呢？”哈利愤怒的叫起来。“他在这下面做什么？” 
　　“如果你问我的话，我想他是企图偷偷摸摸的接近审判庭，”威斯里先生看起来极度不安，他左顾右盼好象要确定他们已经听不见了一样。“他是企图得知你是否被开除。当我送你回去之后，我将给丹伯多留一张便条，他应当获悉马尔夫先生再次与福吉谈话。” 
　　“不管怎么说，他们在一起是为了什么样的私人事务呢？” 
　　“我想是钱，”威斯里先生愤怒的说道，“马尔夫先生慷慨贿赂各类物品已经多年了…将这些东西提供给有适当的人…。然后他就可以要求利益…延迟他不想通过的法律…哦，卢修斯·马尔夫，他的关系网很广的。” 
　　电梯到了；除了一封内部邮件在威斯里先生的头顶盘旋以外，里面什么人也没有。威斯里先生按下了中厅的按钮，电梯门就关上了。电梯急速的载着他们离开这里。 
　　“威斯里先生，”哈利慢慢的说道，“如果福吉正在与象马尔夫先生这样的食死徒见面，如果他单独接见他们，那么我们怎么能够知道他们没有向福吉施展英帕流斯咒语呢？” 
　　“不要认为这种事情不会发生在我们身上，哈利，”威斯里先生平静的说道，“但是丹伯多认为福吉此刻是在按照自己的意志行事—当丹伯多在谈论这件事情的时候，他并不是很自在。最好马上停止谈论这件事情，哈利。” 
　　电梯门打开了，他们踏进了现在几乎空无一人的中厅。那个巫师看守伊瑞克现在又埋头在他的每日先知报后面。在哈利想起来的时候，他们已经直接走过了那个金色喷泉。 
　　“等一等，”哈利叫住了威斯里先生，他把钱包从口袋里拿出来并转身回到了喷泉处。 
　　哈利抬头看着那个英俊巫师的脸，但是凑近看哈利觉得他的样子既虚弱又愚蠢。这个巫师脸上带着索然无味的微笑，就象一个漂亮的竞选者，而且就哈利所知的小妖精和其他魔法生物，它们大多数都不愿意被人类如此盯着并这样描绘。仅仅只有房屋小精灵点头哈腰的样子还算可信。想到如果荷米恩看到这尊小精灵雕像的时候会说些什么，哈利不禁咧开嘴笑了。哈利把钱包整个翻过来倒空，里面不止有十个帆船币，不过哈利没计较,全部投进了水池里。 
　　“我就知道！”罗恩的手对着空气指指点点并且大叫道。“你总是满载而归！” 
　　“他们必须还你清白，”当哈利进入厨房的时候，荷米恩看上去几乎因紧张而晕倒，而她现在则把一只颤抖的手盖在眼睛上。“没有任何对你不利的证据，完全没有。” 
　　“每个人看来都很放心，我认为你们都知道我会成功的，”哈利笑着说。 
　　威斯里太太正在用围裙擦脸，而弗来德、乔治和金妮则正在跳一种战争舞蹈并唱着一首圣歌：“他成功了，他成功了，他成功了…” 
　　“闹够了！静一静！”尽管自己也在笑个不停，威斯里先生还是叫道。“听着，天狼星、卢修斯·马尔夫在魔法部—” 
　　“什么？”天狼星大声说道。 
　　“他成功了，他成功了，他成功了…” 
　　“安静一点，你们三个！是的，我看见他在第九层和福吉交谈，然后他们一起上楼，去了福吉的办公室。丹伯多应该知道这件事情。” 
　　“这是绝对的，”天狼星说道，“别担心，我们会告诉他的。” 
　　“好的，我最好走了，比斯乃尔·格林那里有一个正在喷发的卫生间在等着我去处理。莫莉，我会晚点回来，我要代替唐克丝值班，但是肯斯雷也许会过来吃晚饭—” 
　　“他成功了，他成功了，他成功了…” 
　　“够了—弗来德—乔治—金妮！”当威斯里先生离开厨房的时候威斯里太太说道。“哈利，亲爱的，来，坐下吧，吃点午餐，你几乎没吃早点。” 
　　罗恩与荷米恩一边一个夹着哈利坐下了，自从哈利第一次抵达格里曼迪街以来，他们从没有比现在更加高兴，而哈利眼花缭乱的感觉有所减轻，这种感觉本来有所缓和，不过当他见到马尔夫先生的时候又再度加剧。这所阴沉的房子也突然变的更加温暖也更加的受欢迎；甚至当克瑞彻伸着它猪一样的鼻子冲进厨房调查噪音来源的时候也显得没那么难看了。 
　　“那是当然的，一旦丹伯多突然出现在你旁边，他们就没有办法宣判你有罪，”罗恩一边把所有人的盘子都装上大堆的捣碎的土豆泥，一边快活的说道。 
　　“是的，他为了我而卷入此事，”哈利说道。不过他的声音很不领情，没有提及他的孩子气，说道，“尽管我希望他能和我说话。或者甚至是看我一眼。” 
　　而当哈利想到这些的时候，他额头上的伤疤象火烧一样灼痛，疼痛是如此剧烈，以至于他用手拍着自己的头。 
　　“怎么了？”荷米恩警觉的问道。 
　　“伤疤，”哈利含糊的说道，“但是没什么…现在它整天都会疼痛…” 
　　没有其他人注意到这一点；现在所有的人都在埋头狼吞虎咽，对哈利的侥幸逃脱而沾沾自喜；弗来德、乔治和金妮仍然在继续唱歌。荷米恩神情紧张，但是在她说出任何话之前，罗恩快活的说道：“我敢打赌丹伯多今天晚上会来和我们一起庆祝，你知道的。” 
　　“我不认为他会这么做，罗恩，”威斯里太太端了一大盘烤鸡肉放到哈利的面前说道：“他现在真的非常忙。” 
　　“他成功了，他成功了，他成功了…” 
　　“闭嘴，”威斯里太太咆哮道。 
　　* 
　　在接下来的几天当中，哈利没法不注意到在格里曼迪街12号有一个人，对他可以重返霍格瓦彻这件事情并没有全身心的感到高兴。第一次听到这个消息的时候，天狼星表现的十分高兴，他抓着哈利的手和其他人一样喜气洋洋。不过很快，他就变的比过去更加暴躁，也更加忧郁，他和每个人的交谈都更少了，甚至包括哈利，并且借口打发时间而把自己和巴克比克（还是前作那只险些被砍头，最后载着天狼星一起流亡的鹰头马身的怪鸟）关在他母亲的房间里。 
　　“你不要有负罪感！”当哈利向罗恩与荷米恩倾诉一些感觉的时候，荷米恩严厉的说道。他们此刻正在擦洗着三楼一个发霉的碗橱。这已经是哈利顺利从听证会归来几天以后的事情了。“从个人角度看，你属于霍格瓦彻，而天狼星也知道这一点，我认为他现在有点自私。” 
　　“那听起来有点刺耳，荷米恩。”罗恩说道。他正在皱着眉头试图将一个紧紧粘住他手指不放的霉斑剥下来。“你也不愿意没有任何同伴而是一个人被困在这所房子里吧。” 
　　“他有同伴！”荷米恩说道，“这里是凤凰指令总部，不是吗？他只不过是希望哈利能够和他生活在这里。” 
　　“我不认为这是真的，”哈利使劲绞着他的衣服说道，“当我有可能住在这里的时候曾经问过他，不过他没有直接回答我。” 
　　“他只不过是不愿意透露自己更多的真实想法，”荷米恩精明的说道，“而且他也许感到自己有一点负罪感，因为我觉得在他心里有一部分是真心希望你被开除。然后你们就一起成为流放者了。” 
　　“一派胡言！”罗恩和哈利同时说道。但是荷米恩仅仅耸耸肩，不置可否。 
　　“你自己看着办吧，不过有时我认为罗恩的妈妈是正确的，天狼星把你和你父亲搞混了，哈利。” 
　　“因此你认为他脑子有问题？”哈利激动的说。 
　　“不，我仅仅是认为长期以来他一个人非常孤独，”荷米恩简单的说。 
　　正在这个时候威斯里太太走进卧室站在他们后面。 
　　“还没有搞完吗？”她说着把头伸进了碗柜。 
　　“我认为你来这里是想叫我们休息一下的！”罗恩痛苦的说道，“你知道我们来这里之后清理掉了多少霉斑吗？” 
　　“你对帮助凤凰指令的
Chapter 10 Luna Lovegood
Harry had a troubled night's sleep. His parents wove in and out of his dreams, never speaking; Mrs. Weasley sobbed over Kreacher's dead body, watched by Ron and Hermione who were wearing crowns, and yet again Harry found himself walking down a corridor ending in a locked door. He awoke abruptly with his scar prickling to find Ron already dressed and talking to him.
‘...better hurry up, Mums going ballistic, she says we're going to miss the train....’
There was a lot of commotion in the house. From what he heard as he dressed at top speed, Harry gathered that Fred and George had bewitched their trunks to fly downstairs to save the bother of carrying them, with the result that they had hurtled straight into Ginny and knocked her down two flights of stairs into the hall; Mrs. Black and Mrs. Weasley were both screaming at the top of their voices.
‘—COULD HAVE DONE HER A SERIOUS INJURY, YOU IDIOTS—’
‘—FILTHY HALF-BREEDS, BESMIRCHING THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS—’
Hermione came hurrying into the room looking flustered, just as Harry was putting on his trainers. Hedwig was swaying on her shoulder, and she was carrying a squirming Crookshanks in her arms.
‘Mum and Dad just sent Hedwig back'—the owl fluttered obligingly over and perched on top of her cage—'are you ready yet?’
‘Nearly—Ginny all right?’ Harry asked, shoving on his glasses.
‘Mrs. Weasley's patched her up,’ said Hermione. ‘But now Mad-Eye's complaining that we can't leave unless Sturgis Podmore's here, otherwise the guard will be one short.’
‘Guard?’ said Harry. ‘We have to go to King's Cross with a guard?’
‘You have to go to King's Cross with a guard,’ Hermione corrected him.
‘Why?’ said Harry irritably. ‘I thought Voldemort was supposed to be lying low, or are you telling me he's going to jump out from behind a dustbin to try and do me in.’
‘I don't know, it's just what Mad-Eye says,’ said Hermione distractedly, looking at her watch, ‘but if we don't leave soon we're definitely going to miss the train ....’
‘WILL YOU LOT GET DOWN HERE NOW, PLEASE!’ Mrs. Weasley bellowed and Hermione jumped as though scalded and hurried out of the room. Harry seized Hedwig, stuffed her unceremoniously into her cage, and set off downstairs after Hermione, dragging his trunk.
Mrs. Black's portrait was howling with rage but nobody was bothering to close the curtains over her; all the noise in the hall was bound to rouse her again, anyway.
‘Harry, you're to come with me and Tonks,’ shouted Mrs. Weasley over the repeated screeches of ‘MUDBLOODS! SCUM! CREATURES OF DIRT!’ ‘Leave your trunk and your owl, Alastor's going to deal with the luggage.... Oh, for heavens sake, Sirius, Dumbledore said no!’
A bearlike black dog had appeared at Harry's side as he was clambering over the various trunks cluttering the hall to get to Mrs. Weasley.
‘Oh honestly...’ said Mrs. Weasley despairingly, ‘well, on your own head be it!’
She wrenched open the front door and stepped out into the weak September sunlight. Harry and the dog followed her. The door slammed behind them and Mrs. Black's screeches were cut off instantly.
‘Where's Tonks?’ Harry said, looking round as they went down the stone steps of number twelve, which vanished the moment they reached the pavement.
‘She's waiting for us just up here,’ said Mrs. Weasley stiffly, averting her eyes from the lolloping black dog beside Harry.
An old woman greeted them on the corner. She had tightly curled grey hair and wore a purple hat shaped like a pork pie.
‘Wotcher, Harry,’ she said, winking. ‘Better hurry up, hadn't we, Molly?’ she added, checking her watch.
‘I know, I know,’ moaned Mrs. Weasley, lengthening her stride, ‘but Mad-Eye wanted to wait for Sturgis.... If only Arthur could have got us cars from the Ministry again ... but Fudge won't let him borrow so much as an empty ink bottle these days... How Muggles can stand travelling without magic...’
But the great black dog gave a joyful bark and gambolled around them, snapping at pigeons and chasing its own tail. Harry couldn't help laughing. Sirius had been trapped inside for a very long time. Mrs. Weasley pursed her lips in an almost Aunt Petunia-ish way.
It took them twenty minutes to reach King's Cross on foot and nothing more eventful happened during that time than Sirius scaring a couple of cats for Harry's entertainment. Once inside the station they lingered casually beside the barrier between platforms nine and ten until the coast was clear, then each of them leaned against it in turn and fell easily through on to platform nine and three-quarters, where the Hogwarts Express stood belching sooty steam over a platform packed with departing students and their families. Harry inhaled the familiar smell and felt his spirits soar.... He was really going back ...
‘I hope the others make it in time,’ said Mrs. Weasley anxiously, staring behind her at the wrought-iron arch spanning the platform, through which new arrivals would come.
‘Nice dog, Harry!’ called a tall boy with dreadlocks.
‘Thanks, Lee,’ said Harry, grinning, as Sirius wagged his tail frantically.
‘Oh good,’ said Mrs. Weasley, sounding relieved, ‘here's Alastor with the luggage, look...’
A porter's cap pulled low over his mismatched eyes, Moody came limping through the archway pushing a trolley loaded with their trunks.
‘All okay,’ he muttered to Mrs. Weasley and Tonks, ‘don't think we were followed....’
Seconds later, Mr. Weasley emerged on to the platform with Ron and Hermione. They had almost unloaded Moody's luggage trolley when Fred, George, and Ginny turned up with Lupin.
‘No trouble?’ growled Moody.
‘Nothing,’ said Lupin.
‘I'll still be reporting Sturgis to Dumbledore,’ said Moody, ‘that's the second time he's not turned up in a week. Getting as unreliable as Mundungus.’
‘Well, look after yourselves,’ said Lupin, shaking hands all round. He reached Harry last and gave him a clap on the shoulder. ‘You too, Harry. Be careful.’
‘Yeah, keep your head down and your eyes peeled,’ said Moody, shaking Harry's hand too. ‘And don't forget, all of you—careful what you put in writing. If in doubt, don't put it in a letter at all.’
‘It's been great meeting all of you,’ said Tonks, hugging Hermione and Ginny. ‘We'll see you soon, I expect.’
A warning whistle sounded; the students still on the platform started hurrying on to the train.
‘Quick, quick,’ said Mrs. Weasley distractedly, hugging them at random and catching Harry twice, ‘Write.... Be good.... If you've forgotten anything we'll send it on.... Onto the train, now, hurry....’
For one brief moment, the great black dog reared on to its hind legs and placed its front paws on Harry's shoulders, but Mrs. Weasley shoved Harry away towards the train door, hissing, ‘For heaven's sake, act more like a dog, Sirius!’
‘See you!’ Harry called out of the open window as the train began to move, while Ron, Hermione, and Ginny waved beside him. The figures of Tonks, Lupin, Moody, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley shrank rapidly but the black dog was bounding alongside the window, wagging its tail; blurred people on the platform were laughing to see it chasing the train, then they rounded a bend, and Sirius was gone.
‘He shouldn't have come with us,’ said Hermione in a worried voice.
‘Oh, lighten up,’ said Ron, ‘he hasn't seen daylight for months, poor bloke.’
‘Well,’ said Fred, clapping his hands together, ‘can't stand around chatting all day, we've got business to discuss with Lee. See you later,’ and he and George disappeared down the corridor to the right.
The train was gathering still more speed, so that the houses outside the window flashed past, and they swayed where they stood.
‘Shall we go and find a compartment, then?’ Harry asked.
Ron and Hermione exchanged looks.
‘Er,’ said Ron.
‘We're—well—Ron and I are supposed to go into the prefect carriage,’ Hermione said awkwardly.
Ron wasn't looking at Harry; he seemed to have become intensely interested in the fingernails on his left hand.
‘Oh,’ said Harry. ‘Right. Fine.’
‘I don't think we'll have to stay there all journey,’ said Hermione quickly. ‘Our letters said we just get instructions from the Head Boy and Girl and then patrol the corridors from time to time.’
‘Fine,’ said Harry again. ‘Well, I—I might see you later, then.’
‘Yeah, definitely,’ said Ron, casting a shifty, anxious look at Harry. ‘It's a pain having to go down there, I'd rather—but we have to—I mean, I'm not enjoying it, I'm not Percy,’ he finished defiantly.
‘I know you're not,’ said Harry and he grinned. But as Hermione and Ron dragged their trunks, Crookshanks, and a caged Pigwidgeon off towards the engine end of the train, Harry felt an odd sense of loss. He had never travelled on the Hogwarts Express without Ron.
‘Come on,’ Ginny told him, ‘if we get a move on we'll be able to save them places.’
‘Right,’ said Harry, picking up Hedwig's cage in one hand and the handle of his trunk in the other. They struggled off down the corridor, peering through the glass-panelled doors into the compartments they passed, which were already full. Harry could not help noticing that a lot of people stared back at him with great interest and that several of them nudged their neighbours and pointed him out. After he had met this behaviour in five consecutive carriages he remembered that the Daily Prophet had been telling its readers all summer what a lying show-off he was. He wondered dully whether the people now staring and whispering believed the stories.
In the very last carriage they met Neville Longbottom, Harry's fellow fifth-year Gryffindor, his round face shining with the effort of pulling his trunk along and maintaining a one-handed grip on his struggling toad, Trevor.
‘Hi, Harry,’ he panted. ‘Hi, Ginny.... Everywhere's full.... I can't find a seat....’
‘What are you talking about?’ said Ginny, who had squeezed past Neville to peer into the compartment behind him. ‘There's room in this one, there's only Loony Lovegood in here—’
Neville mumbled something about not wanting to disturb anyone.
‘Don't be silly,’ said Ginny, laughing, ‘she's all right.’
She slid the door open and pulled her trunk inside. Harry and Neville followed.
‘Hi, Luna,’ said Ginny, ‘is it okay if we take these seats?’
The girl beside the window looked up. She had straggly, waist-length, dirty-blonde hair, very pale eyebrows and protuberant eyes that gave her a permanently surprised look. Harry knew at once why Neville had chosen to pass this compartment by. The girl gave off an aura of distinct dottiness. Perhaps it was the fact that she had stuck her wand behind her left ear for safekeeping, or that she had chosen to wear a necklace of Butterbeer corks, or that she was reading a magazine upside-down. Her eyes ranged over Neville and came to rest on Harry. She nodded.
‘Thanks,’ said Ginny, smiling at her.
Harry and Neville stowed the three trunks and Hedwig's cage in the luggage rack and sat down. Luna watched them over her upside-down magazine, which was called The Quibbler. She did not seem to need to blink as much as normal humans. She stared and stared at Harry, who had taken the seat opposite her and now wished he hadn't.
‘Had a good summer, Luna?’ Ginny asked.
‘Yes,’ said Luna dreamily, without taking her eyes off Harry. ‘Yes, it was quite enjoyable, you know. You're Harry Potter,’ she added.
‘I know I am,’ said Harry.
Neville chuckled. Luna turned her pale eyes on him instead.
‘And I don't know who you are.’
‘I'm nobody,’ said Neville hurriedly.
‘No you're not,’ said Ginny sharply. ‘Neville Longbottom—Luna Lovegood. Luna's in my year, but in Ravenclaw.’
‘Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure,’ said Luna in a singsong voice.
She raised her upside-down magazine high enough to hide her face and fell silent. Harry and Neville looked at each other with their eyebrows raised. Ginny suppressed a giggle.
The train rattled onwards, speeding them out into open country. It was an odd, unsettled sort of day; one moment the carriage was full of sunlight and the next they were passing beneath ominously grey clouds.
‘Guess what I got for my birthday?’ said Neville.
‘Another Remembrall?’ said Harry, remembering the marble-like device Neville's grandmother had sent him in an effort to improve his abysmal memory.
‘No,’ said Neville. ‘I could do with one, though, I lost the old one ages ago.... No, look at this....’
He dug the hand that was not keeping a firm grip on Trevor into his schoolbag and after a little bit of rummaging pulled out what appeared to be a small grey cactus in a pot, except that it was covered with what looked like boils rather than spines.
‘Mimbulus mimbletonia,’ he said proudly.
Harry stared at the thing. It was pulsating slightly, giving it the rather sinister look of some diseased internal organ.
‘It's really, really rare,’ said Neville, beaming. ‘I don't know if there's one in the greenhouse at Hogwarts, even. I can't wait to show it to Professor Sprout. My Great Uncle Algie got it for me in Assyria. I'm going to see if I can breed from it.’
Harry knew that Neville's favourite subject was Herbology, but for the life of him he could not see what he would want with this stunted little plant.
‘Does it—er—do anything?’ he asked.
‘Loads of stuff!’ said Neville proudly. ‘It's got an amazing defensive mechanism. Here, hold Trevor for me....’
He dumped the toad into Harry's lap and took a quill from his schoolbag. Luna Lovegood's popping eyes appeared over the top of her upside-down magazine again, watching what Neville was doing. Neville held the Mimbulus mimbletonia up to his eyes, his tongue between his teeth, chose his spot, and gave the plant a sharp prod with the tip of his quill.
Liquid squirted from every boil on the plant; thick, stinking, dark green jets of it. They hit the ceiling, the windows, and spattered Luna Lovegood's magazine; Ginny, who had flung her arms up in front of her face just in time, merely looked as though she was wearing a slimy green hat, but Harry, whose hands had been busy preventing Trevor's escape, received a faceful. It smelled like rancid manure.
Neville, whose face and torso were also drenched, shook his head to get the worst out of his eyes.
‘Sosorry,’ he gasped. ‘I haven't tried that before.... Didn't realise it would be quite so... Don't worry, though, Stinksap's not poisonous,’ he added nervously, as Harry spat a mouthful on to the floor.
At that precise moment the door of their compartment slid open.
‘Oh ... hello, Harry,’ said a nervous voice. ‘Um ... bad time?’
Harry wiped the lenses of his glasses with his Trevor-free hand. A very pretty girl with long, shiny black hair was standing in the doorway smiling at him: Cho Chang, the Seeker on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team.
‘Oh ... hi,’ said Harry blankly.
‘Um...’ said Cho. ‘Well ... just thought I'd say hello ... ‘bye then.’
Rather pink in the face, she closed the door and departed. Harry slumped back in his seat and groaned. He would have liked Cho to discover him sitting with a group of very cool people laughing their heads off at a joke he had just told; he would not have chosen to be sitting with Neville and Loony Lovegood, clutching a toad and dripping in Stinksap.
‘Never mind,’ said Ginny bracingly. ‘Look, we can easily get rid of all this.’ She pulled out her wand. ‘Scourgify!’
The Stinksap vanished.
‘Sorry.’ said Neville again, in a small voice.
Ron and Hermione did not turn up for nearly an hour, by which time the food trolley had already gone by. Harry, Ginny, and Neville had finished their pumpkin pasties and were busy swapping Chocolate Frog Cards when the compartment door slid open and they walked in, accompanied by Crookshanks and a shrilly hooting Pigwidgeon in his cage.
‘I'm starving,’ said Ron, stowing Pigwidgeon next to Hedwig, grabbing a Chocolate Frog from Harry and throwing himself into the seat next to him. He ripped open the wrapper, bit off the frog's head and leaned back with his eyes closed as though he had had a very exhausting morning.
‘Well, there are two fifth-year prefects from each house,’ said Hermione, looking thoroughly disgruntled as she took her seat. ‘Boy and girl from each.’
‘And guess who's a Slytherin prefect?’ said Ron, still with his eyes closed.
‘Malfoy,’ replied Harry at once, certain his worst fear would be confirmed.
’ ‘Course,’ said Ron bitterly, stuffing the rest of the Frog into his mouth and taking another.
‘And that complete cow Pansy Parkinson,’ said Hermione viciously. ‘How she got to be a prefect when she's thicker than a concussed troll...’
‘Who are Hufflepuff's?’ Harry asked.
‘Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbott,’ said Ron thickly.
‘And Anthony Goldstein and Padma Patil for Ravenclaw,’ said Hermione.
‘You went to the Yule Ball with Padma Patil,’ said a vague voice.
Everyone turned to look at Luna Lovegood, who was gazing unblinkingly at Ron over the top of The Quibbler. He swallowed his mouthful of Frog.
‘Yeah, I know I did,’ he said, looking mildly surprised.
‘She didn't enjoy it very much,’ Luna informed him. ‘She doesn't think you treated her very well, because you wouldn't dance with her. I don't think I'd have minded,’ she added thoughtfully, ‘I don't like dancing very much.’
She retreated behind The Quibbler again. Ron stared at the cover with his mouth hanging open for a few seconds, then looked around at Ginny for some kind of explanation, but Ginny had stuffed her knuckles in her mouth to stop herself giggling. Ron shook his head, bemused, then checked his watch.
‘We're supposed to patrol the corridors every so often,’ he told Harry and Neville, ‘and we can give out punishments if people are misbehaving. I can't wait to get Crabbe and Goyle for something....’
‘You're not supposed to abuse your position, Ron!’ said Hermione sharply.
‘Yeah, right, because Malfoy won't abuse it at all,’ said Ron sarcastically.
‘So you're going to descend to his level?’
‘No, I'm just going to make sure I get his mates before he gets mine.’
‘For heavens sake, Ron—’
‘I'll make Goyle do lines, it'll kill him, he hates writing,’ said Ron happily. He lowered his voice to Goyle's low grunt and, screwing up his face in a look of pained concentration, mimed writing in midair. ‘I ... must ... not ... look ... like ... a ... baboon's ... backside.’
Everyone laughed, but nobody laughed harder than Luna Lovegood. She let out a scream of mirth that caused Hedwig to wake up and flap her wings indignantly and Crookshanks to leap up into the luggage rack, hissing. Luna laughed so hard her magazine slipped out of her grasp, slid down her legs, and onto the floor.
‘That was funny!’
Her prominent eyes swam with tears as she gasped for breath, staring at Ron. Utterly nonplussed, he looked around at the others, who were now laughing at the expression on Ron's face and at the ludicrously prolonged laughter of Luna Lovegood, who was rocking backwards and forwards, clutching her sides.
‘Are you taking the mickey?’ said Ron, frowning at her.
‘Baboon's ... backside!’ she choked, holding her ribs.
Everyone else was watching Luna laughing, but Harry, glancing at the magazine on the floor, noticed something that made him dive for it. Upside-down it had been hard to tell what the picture on the front was, but Harry now realised it was a fairly bad cartoon of Cornelius Fudge; Harry only recognised him because of the lime-green bowler hat. One of Fudges hands was clenched around a bag of gold; the other hand was throttling a goblin. The cartoon was captioned: How Far Will Fudge Go to Gain Gringotts?
Beneath this were listed the titles of other articles inside the magazine.
CORRUPTION IN THE QUIDDITCH LEAGUE:How the Tornados are Taking Control
SECRETS OF THE ANCIENT RUINS REVEALED
SIRIUS BLACK: Villain or Victim?
‘Can I have a look at this?’ Harry asked Luna eagerly.
She nodded, still gazing at Ron, breathless with laughter.
Harry opened the magazine and scanned the index. Until this moment he had completely forgotten the magazine Kingsley had handed Mr. Weasley to give to Sirius, but it must have been this edition of The Quibbler.
He found the page, and turned excitedly to the article.
This, too, was illustrated by a rather bad cartoon; in fact, Harry would not have known it was supposed to be Sirius if it hadn't been captioned. Sirius was standing on a pile of human bones with his wand out. The headline on the article said:
SIRIUS—Black As He's Painted Notorious Mass Murderer OR Innocent Singing Sensation?
Harry had to read this first sentence several times before he was convinced that he had not misunderstood it. Since when had Sirius been a singing sensation?
For fourteen years Sirius Black has been believed guilty of the mass murder of twelve innocent Muggles and one wizard. Black's audacious escape from Azkaban two years ago has led to the widest manhunt ever conducted by the Ministry of Magic. None of us has ever questioned that he deserves to be recaptured and handed back to the dementors.
BUT DOES HE?
Startling new evidence has recently come to light that Sirius Black may not have committed the crimes for which he was sent to Azhaban. In fact, says Doris Purkiss, of 18 Acanthia Way, Little Norton, Black may not even have been present at the killings.
‘What people don't realise is that Sirius Black is a false name,’ says Mrs. Purkiss. ‘The man people believe to be Sirius Black is actually Stubby Boardman, lead singer of popular singing group The Hobgoblins, who retired from public life after being struck on the ear by a turnip at a concert in Little Norton Church Hall nearly fifteen years ago. I recognised him the moment I saw his picture in the paper. Now, Stubby couldn't possibly have committed those crimes, because on the day in question he happened to be enjoying a romantic candlelit dinner with me. I have written to the Minister for Magic and am expecting him to give Stubby, alias Sirius, a full pardon any day now.’
Harry finished reading and stared at the page in disbelief. Perhaps it was a joke, he thought, perhaps the magazine often printed spoof items. He flicked back a few pages and found the piece on Fudge.
Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic, denied that he had any plans to take over the running of the Wizarding Bank, Gringotts, when he was elected Minister for Magic jive years ago. Fudge has always insisted that he wants nothing more than to ‘cooperate peacefully’ with the guardians of our gold.
BUT DOES HE?
Sources close to the Minister have recently disclosed that Fudge's dearest ambition is to seize control of the goblin gold supplies and that he will not hesitate to use force if need be.
‘It wouldn't be the first time, either,’ said a Ministry insider. ‘Cornelius “Goblin-Crusher” Fudge, that's what his friends call him. If you could hear him when he thinks no one's listening, oh, he's always talking about the goblins he's had done in; he's had them drowned, he's had them dropped off buildings, he's had them poisoned, he's had them cooked in pies....’
Harry did not read any further. Fudge might have many faults but Harry found it extremely hard to imagine him ordering goblins to be cooked in pies. He flicked through the rest of the magazine. Pausing every few pages, he read: an accusation that the Tutshill Tornados were winning the Quidditch League by a combination of blackmail, illegal broom-tampering and torture; an interview with a wizard who claimed to have flown to the moon on a Cleansweep Six and brought back a bag of moon frogs to prove it; and an article on ancient runes which at least explained why Luna had been reading The Quibbler upside-down. According to the magazine, if you turned the runes on their heads they revealed a spell to make your enemy's ears turn into kumquats. In fact, compared to the rest of the articles in The Quibbler, the suggestion that Sirius might really be the lead singer of The Hobgoblins was quite sensible.
‘Anything good in there?’ asked Ron as Harry closed the magazine.
‘Of course not,’ said Hermione scathingly, before Harry could answer. ‘The Quibbler's rubbish, everyone knows that.’
‘Excuse me,’ said Luna; her voice had suddenly lost its dreamy quality. ‘My father's the editor.’
‘I—oh,’ said Hermione, looking embarrassed. ‘Well ... it's got some interesting ... I mean, it's quite...’
‘I'll have it back, thank you,’ said Luna coldly, and leaning forwards she snatched it out of Harry's hands. Riffling through it to page fifty-seven, she turned it resolutely upside-down again and disappeared behind it, just as the compartment door opened for the third time.
Harry looked around; he had expected this, but that did not make the sight of Draco Malfoy smirking at him from between his cronies Crabbe and Goyle any more enjoyable.
‘What?’ he said aggressively, before Malfoy could open his mouth.
‘Manners, Potter, or I'll have to give you a detention,’ drawled Malfoy, whose sleek blond hair and pointed chin were just like his father's. ‘You see, I, unlike you, have been made a prefect, which means that I, unlike you, have the power to hand out punishments.’
‘Yeah,’ said Harry, ‘but you, unlike me, are a git, so get out and leave us alone.’
Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville laughed. Malfoy's lip curled.
‘Tell me, how does it feel being second-best to Weasley, Potter?’ he asked.
‘Shut up, Malfoy,’ said Hermione sharply.
‘I seem to have touched a nerve,’ said Malfoy, smirking. ‘Well, just watch yourself, Potter, because I'll be dogging your footsteps in case you step out of line.’
‘Get out!’ said Hermione, standing up.
Sniggering, Malfoy gave Harry a last malicious look and departed, with Crabbe and Goyle lumbering along in his wake. Hermione slammed the compartment door behind them and turned to look at Harry, who knew at once that she, like him, had registered what Malfoy had said and been just as unnerved by it.
‘Chuck us another Frog,’ said Ron, who had clearly noticed nothing.
Harry could not talk freely in front of Neville and Luna. He exchanged another nervous look with Hermione, then stared out of the window.
He had thought Sirius coming with him to the station was a bit of a laugh, but suddenly it seemed reckless, if not downright dangerous.... Hermione had been right.... Sirius should not have come. What if Mr. Malfoy had noticed the black dog and told Draco? What if he had deduced that the Weasleys, Lupin, Tonks and Moody knew where Sirius was hiding? Or had Malfoy's use of the word ‘dogging’ been a coincidence?
The weather remained undecided as they travelled farther and farther north. Rain spattered the windows in a half-hearted way, then the sun put in a feeble appearance before clouds drifted over it once more. When darkness fell and lamps came on inside the carriages, Luna rolled up The Quibbler, put it carefully away in her bag and took to staring at everyone in the compartment instead.
Harry was sitting with his forehead pressed against the train window, trying to get a first distant glimpse of Hogwarts, but it was a moonless night and the rain-streaked window was grimy.
‘We'd better change,’ said Hermione at last, and all of them opened their trunks with difficulty and pulled on their school robes. She and Ron pinned their prefect badges carefully to their chests. Harry saw Ron checking his reflection in the black window.
At last, the train began to slow down and they heard the usual racket up and down it as everybody scrambled to get their luggage and pets assembled, ready for departure. Ron and Hermione were supposed to supervise all this; they disappeared from the carriage again, leaving Harry and the others to look after Crookshanks and Pigwidgeon.
‘I'll carry that owl, if you like,’ said Luna to Harry, reaching out for Pigwidgeon as Neville stowed Trevor carefully in an inside pocket.
‘Oh—er—thanks,’ said Harry, handing her the cage and hoisting Hedwig's more securely into his arms.
They shuffled out of the compartment feeling the first sting of the night air on their faces as they joined the crowd in the corridor. Slowly, they moved towards the doors. Harry could smell the pine trees that lined the path down to the lake. He stepped down on to the platform and looked around, listening for the familiar call of ‘firs’ years over ‘ere ... firs’ years...’
But it did not come. Instead, a quite different voice, a brisk female one, was calling out, ‘First years line up over here, please! All first years to me!’
A lantern came swinging towards Harry and by its light he saw the prominent chin and severe haircut of Professor Grubbly-Plank, the witch who had taken over Hagrid's Care of Magical Creatures lessons for a while the previous year.
‘Where's Hagrid?’ he said out loud.
‘I don't know,’ said Ginny, ‘but we'd better get out of the way, we're blocking the door.’
‘Oh, yeah...’
Harry and Ginny became separated as they moved off along the platform and out through the station. Jostled by the crowd, Harry squinted through the darkness for a glimpse of Hagrid; he had to be here, Harry had been relying on it—seeing Hagrid again was one of the things he'd been looking forward to most. But there was no sign of him.
He can't have left, Harry told himself as he shuffled slowly through a narrow doorway on to the road outside with the rest of the crowd. He's just got a cold or something....
He looked around for Ron or Hermione, wanting to know what they thought about the reappearance of Professor Grubbly-Plank, but neither of them was anywhere near him, so he allowed himself to be shunted forward onto the dark rain-washed road outside Hogsmeade Station.
Here stood the hundred or so horseless stagecoaches that always took the students above first year up to the castle. Harry glanced quickly at them, turned away to keep a lookout for Ron and Hermione, then did a double-take.
The coaches were no longer horseless. There were creatures standing between the carriage shafts. If he had had to give them a name, he supposed he would have called them horses, though there was something reptilian about them, too. They were completely fleshless, their black coats clinging to their skeletons, of which every bone was visible. Their heads were dragonish, and their pupil-less eyes white and staring. Wings sprouted from each wither—vast, black leathery wings that looked as though they ought to belong to giant bats. Standing still and quiet in the gathering gloom, the creatures looked eerie and sinister. Harry could not understand why the coaches were being pulled by these horrible horses when they were quite capable of moving along by themselves.
‘Where's Pig?’ said Ron's voice, right behind Harry.
‘That Luna girl was carrying him,’ said Harry, turning quickly, eager to consult Ron about Hagrid. ‘Where d'you reckon—’
‘—Hagrid is? I dunno,’ said Ron, sounding worried. ‘He'd better be okay....’
A short distance away, Draco Malfoy, followed by a small gang of cronies including Crabbe, Goyle and Pansy Parkinson, was pushing some timid-looking second-years out of the way so that he and his friends could get a coach to themselves. Seconds later, Hermione emerged panting from the crowd.
‘Malfoy was being absolutely foul to a first-year back there. I swear I'm going to report him, he's only had his badge three minutes and he's using it to bully people worse than ever.... Where's Crookshanks?’
‘Ginny's got him,’ said Harry. ‘There she is....’
Ginny had just emerged from the crowd, clutching a squirming Crookshanks.
‘Thanks,’ said Hermione, relieving Ginny of the cat. ‘Come on, let's get a carriage together before they all fill up....’
‘I haven't got Pig yet!’ Ron said, but Hermione was already heading off towards the nearest unoccupied coach. Harry remained behind with Ron.
‘What are those things, d'you reckon?’ he asked Ron, nodding at the horrible horses as the other students surged past them.
‘What things?’
‘Those horse—’
Luna appeared holding Pigwidgeon's cage in her arms; the tiny owl was twittering excitedly as usual.
‘Here you are,’ she said. ‘He's a sweet little owl, isn't he?’
‘Er ... yeah ... he's all right,’ said Ron gruffly. ‘Well, come on then, let's get in.... What were you saying, Harry?’
‘I was saying, what are those horse things?’ Harry said, as he, Ron, and Luna made for the carriage in which Hermione and Ginny were already sitting.
‘What horse things?’
‘The horse things pulling the carriages!’ said Harry impatiently. They were, after all, about three feet from the nearest one; it was watching them with empty white eyes. Ron, however, gave Harry a perplexed look.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I'm talking about—look!’
Harry grabbed Ron's arm and wheeled him about so that he was face to face with the winged horse. Ron stared straight at it for a second, then looked back at Harry.
‘What am I supposed to be looking at?’
‘At the—there, between the shafts! Harnessed to the coach! It's right there in front—’
But as Ron continued to look bemused, a strange thought occurred to Harry.
‘Can't ... can't you see them?’
‘See what?’
‘Can't you see what's pulling the carriages?’
Ron looked seriously alarmed now.
‘Are you feeling all right, Harry?’
‘I ... yeah...’
Harry felt utterly bewildered. The horse was there in front of him, gleaming solidly in the dim light issuing from the station windows behind them, vapour rising from its nostrils in the chilly night air. Yet, unless Ron was faking—and it was a very feeble joke if he was—Ron could not see it at all.
‘Shall we get in, then?’ said Ron uncertainly, looking at Harry as though worried about him.
‘Yeah,’ said Harry. ‘Yeah, go on...’
‘It's all right,’ said a dreamy voice from beside Harry as Ron vanished into the coach's dark interior. ‘You're not going mad or anything. I can see them, too.’
‘Can you?’ said Harry desperately, turning to Luna. He could see the bat-winged horses reflected in her wide silvery eyes.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Luna, ‘I've been able to see them ever since my first day here. They've always pulled the carriages. Don't worry. You're just as sane as I am.’
Smiling faintly, she climbed into the musty interior of the carriage after Ron. Not altogether reassured, Harry followed her.
哈利度过了一个不眠之夜。他的父母不断在梦中隐现，但是从不说话；威斯里太太则对着克瑞彻的尸体痛哭流涕，而罗恩与荷米恩则头戴王冠在一边看着；接着哈利再次发现自己来到了那个尽头有一扇上锁的门的走廊之中。这时他头上的伤疤刺痛起来并猛然惊醒了，哈利发现罗恩已经穿好衣服在和他说话。 
　　“…最好快点，妈妈心急火燎，她说我们要错过火车了…” 
　　房间里出现了一阵骚动。哈利听见这话以最快的速度穿好衣服，他看见弗来德和乔治已经给旅行箱施法让它自己飞下楼以避免搬运的麻烦，结果是下了两层楼进入大厅的时候正撞上金妮并将她撞倒在地；布莱克太太和威斯里太太同时用最尖锐的嗓音叫了起来。 
　　“—你这样会伤到金妮的，你们这两个白痴—” 
　　“—肮脏的杂种，弄脏了我祖传的房子—” 
　　哈利正在穿裤子的时候，荷米恩急匆匆的冲进房间，结果满脸通红。海维正摇摇晃晃的站在荷米恩的肩膀上，在荷米恩的手上则手脚蠕动的克鲁克山。 
　　“爸爸和妈妈刚刚把海维送来，”猫头鹰亲切的鼓动双翼停在了笼子的顶上。“那么你们准备好了吗？” 
　　“快了。金妮没事吧？”哈利推了一下眼镜问道。 
　　“威斯里太太正在处理，”荷米恩说道，“但是现在疯眼汉穆迪正在抱怨说除非斯特吉斯 博得摩在，否则我们不能离开，警卫力量太薄弱了。” “警卫？”哈利说道，“我们难道必须由警卫陪同去国王车站吗？” 
　　“你必须由警卫陪同去国王车站，”荷米恩纠正哈利的说法。 
　　“为什么？”哈利急噪的说道，“我想伏地魔应当采取低调，要不你告诉我，他会从垃圾箱后面跳出来把我干掉啊。” 
　　“我不知道，这是魔眼说的，”荷米恩漫不经心的一边看着表一边说道，“但是如果我们不马上动身的话，我们肯定会错过火车的…” 
　　“你们几个现在下楼来，快！”威斯里太太咆哮道，荷米恩象被烫到一样跳起来并且快速跑出了房间。哈利抓着海维，随便的把它塞进笼子里，然后拖着旅行箱，跟着荷米恩跑下了楼。 
　　布莱克太太的肖像正在狂暴的嚎叫，不过现在没人有工夫去关上她面前的窗帘；因为不管怎样，大厅里所有的噪音都会将她再次惊醒的。 
　　“哈利，你跟着我和唐克丝去，”威斯里太太的叫声压过了布莱克太太不断重复的尖叫（布莱克太太总共也就是这么几句‘血统的叛徒！垃圾！肮脏的生物！’）说道，“把你的旅行箱和猫头鹰留下，阿拉斯特会处理这些行李的…哦，对着上帝发誓，天狼星，丹伯多说过不可以！” 
　　一只象熊一样的黑狗（也就是天狼星的变身形态）出现在哈利的旁边，好象它正在将大厅里乱七八糟的旅行箱叼起来递给威斯里太太。 
　　“哦，老实说…”威斯里太太绝望的说道，“好吧，你的脑子就和它一样！” 
　　威斯里太太打开了前门并走进九月微弱的阳光里。哈利和天狼星变的那条狗跟在她的后面。大门猛的关上了，而布莱克太太的尖叫声也立即消失了。 
　　“唐克丝在哪里？”当他们一行走下12号的石头台阶时哈利左右观望这问道。而那些石头台阶在他们到达人行道的一瞬间就消失不见了。 
　　“她就在这里等我们，”威斯里太太呆板的说道，接着就将目光从哈利身边那条懒洋洋的大黑狗身上移开了。 
　　一个老太太在街道拐角处向他们打招呼。她有着一头微微卷曲的灰色头发并且戴着一顶形状象猪肉馅饼的紫色帽子。 
　　“我叫沃特彻，哈利，”唐克丝眨眨眼睛说道，“最好快点，不是吗，莫莉？”她看看手表补充道。 
　　“我知道，我知道，”威斯里太太拉大了步子抱怨道，“但是穆迪要等斯特吉斯来…如果亚瑟能再次从魔法部借车带我们去就好了…不过这些日子福格恐怕一个空墨水瓶也不会让他借…真想象不出麻瓜是如何不靠魔法旅行的…” 
　　但是那只大黑狗却发出一阵喜悦的吠叫声，它围着他们欢呼雀跃，猛扑那些鸽子并且追着自己的尾巴。哈利忍不住笑起来。天狼星已经困在屋里很长时间了。威斯里太太用一种几乎和派特妮亚姨妈相同的方式紧紧的抿着嘴唇。 
　　他们花了大约20分钟步行抵达了国王车站，除了天狼星为了取悦哈利而抓伤了两只猫以外，一路上风平浪静。一旦进入车站他们就象往常一样闲逛着靠近九号和十号站台之间的护栏，知道滑坡变的清晰起来。接着他们依次身体前倾并很容易的通过护栏进入九又四分之三站台，在这里霍格瓦彻快车喷着乌黑的蒸汽，在站台上到处都是准备上车的学生以及他们的家人。哈利又闻到了熟悉的气味，他的灵魂都要飞了起来…他真的要回到学校了… 
　　“我希望其他人准时抵达，”威斯里太太紧张的说道，她的眼睛盯着身后用钢铁制成的横跨站台的拱门，新来的旅客都要从这里经过。 
　　“漂亮的狗，哈利！”一个高个子的男孩用害怕的口气说道。 
　　“谢谢你，李。”哈利露齿一笑，而天狼星则狂暴的摇着尾巴。 
　　“哦，太好了，”威斯里太太松了一口气说道，“阿拉斯特带着行李过来了，看…” 
　　用一顶波特的帽子低低的盖住了比例失调的眼睛，穆迪一瘸一拐的拖着一辆装满旅行箱的拖车通过了拱门。 
　　“一切都搞定了，”他对着威斯里太太和唐克丝嘟噜着说，“我们没有被跟踪…” 
　　几秒钟之后，威斯里先生带着罗恩与荷米恩出现在站台上。当弗来德、乔治和金妮跟着卢平走过来的时候他们已经卸下了穆迪的行李拖车。 
　　“没什么麻烦吧？”穆迪抱怨道。 
　　“没事，”卢平回答说。 
　　“我还是要把斯特吉斯告到丹伯多那里，”穆迪说道，“这已经是一周之内第二次失约了。他变的象蒙顿格斯一样不可靠。” 
　　“好了，照顾好你自己吧，”卢平朝四周摆摆手说道。他接着走向哈利并在哈利的肩膀上拍了一下。“你也是，哈利。要小心。““是的，你要随时保持警惕，”穆迪也握了一下哈利的手说道，“而且你们所有的人都不要忘记—对你们信件的内容要谨慎。如果有怀疑的话，就不要把所有内容写在一封信里。” 
　　“见到你们大家真的很棒，”唐克丝拥抱了一下荷米恩和金妮。“我期待着很快会再见面的。” 
　　一声警告的汽笛声响起，仍然留在站台上的学生们开始匆匆忙忙的上火车。 
　　“快点，快点，”威斯里太太手忙脚乱的说道。她随机的拥抱着孩子们并且抓着哈利两次。“写信…祝你们一切都好…如果你们忘了什么东西我会给你们寄去的…现在上车吧，快点…“很短的一瞬间，那只大黑狗用后腿站立并将前爪搭在哈利的肩膀上，但是威斯里太太将哈利推向车门处，嘴里发出不满的嘶嘶声，“对着上帝发誓，你要扮的更象一只狗，天狼星！” 
　　“再见！”当火车开始移动的时候，哈利从开着的车窗向外叫道，与此同时，罗恩、荷米恩与金妮也在他身边挥着手。唐克丝、卢平、穆迪以及威斯里夫妇的身影很快的变小，但是那只黑狗却还在车窗边跳着，使劲的摇着尾巴；站台上已经模糊不清的人们都在笑着看它追逐火车；接着他们全都笑弯了腰，而天狼星已经走了。 
　　“他不能跟着我们来，”荷米恩用一种忧郁的声调说道。 
　　“哦，阳光，”罗恩说道，“他已经几个月没有见到阳光了，可怜的家伙。” 
　　“好了，”弗来德拍拍手说道，“不能一整天站在这里聊天啊，我们要去和李讨论生意。再见了。”然后他和乔治就从右边的走廊消失了。 
　　火车开始加速，因此车窗外面的房屋飞驰而过，他们也在站立的地方左右摇晃。 
　　“那么，我们去找个隔间吗？”哈利问道。 
　　罗恩与荷米恩交换了一个眼神。 
　　“恩，“罗恩说道。 
　　“我们—好吧—罗恩和我要去级长包厢，”荷米恩笨拙的说道。 
　　罗恩没有看哈利；他看上去对自己左手的手指甲发生了浓厚的兴趣。 
　　“哦，”哈利说道，“正确。很好。” 
　　“我不认为我们整个旅途都会待在那里，”荷米恩很快说道，“我们的信上说我们要从男女班长那里获得指示，然后要不时的在车厢里巡逻。” 
　　“很好，”哈利再次说道，“好吧，那么，我-我待会再见你们。” 
　　“是的，毫无疑问，”罗恩向哈利投去一个交换的，紧张的眼神，“必须去级长车厢是一种痛苦，我宁愿—不过我不得不—我的意思是，我并不喜欢这样，我不是派斯，”他最后对抗性的说道。 
　　“我知道你们不喜欢，”哈利露齿一笑。但是当罗恩与荷米恩提着他们的行李，带着克鲁克山以及装着小猪的笼子向驾驶室的末端走去的时候，哈利感到一种奇怪的失落感。他从未在没有罗恩陪伴的情况下乘坐霍格瓦彻快车旅行。 
　　“来吧，”金妮说道，“如果我们走动一下也许能找到座位。” 
　　“好吧，”哈利一只手提着海维的笼子，而另一只手则提着旅行箱。他们艰难的在车厢里移动，当他们经过隔间时就从平板玻璃们向里张望，而这些隔间全都坐满了人。哈利毫不惊讶的注意到许多人都用很有兴趣的目光回头看着他，还有几个人用肘轻轻推着邻居并对着他指指点点。在哈利连续五个隔间遇到这种情况之后，他想起来整个夏天每日先知报都在其读者中对自己进行诽谤。他只是有点疑惑现在看着他并窃窃私语的这些人是否相信了那些故事呢。 
　　在一个很后面的包厢里面他们碰见了纳威 隆巴顿（哈利的同学之一，为人腼腆羞涩，不善言辞，由于父母受折磨对他的刺激，所以魔法能力极低，但是在魔法草药学上很有天分），他是哈利在格兰芬多的五年级同学，他的圆圆的脸上由于吃力的拖着旅行箱而满是汗珠，而一只手上还紧紧抓着他的那只宠物蟾蜍，特瑞沃。 “你好，哈利，”他气喘吁吁的说道，“你好，金妮…每个地方都尽是人…我找不到一个座位…” 
　　“你们在说什么？”金妮挤开纳威并盯着他身后的隔间问道。“在这个房间里还有空位，这里只有朗妮 拉格顿一个人在里面—” 而纳威嘴里则嘟噜着什么不要打搅任何人之类的话。 
　　“别傻了，”金妮笑着说道，“她很好。” 
　　金妮把门拉开并拖着旅行箱进去了，哈利和纳威跟在她的后面。 
　　“你好，露娜，”金妮笑着说道，“我们能坐这些位置吗？” 
　　这个靠窗的女孩抬头看着他们。她有着凌乱的，及腰长的，很脏的白头发，非常苍白的眉毛以及鼓突的眼睛，这使她的样子看上去永远都是那么的怪异。 
　　哈利立即知道纳威为什么选择掠过这个隔间了。这个女孩发出一股明显神智不清的气息。也许这种感觉事实上来源于她的魔杖就在左耳后面安全保存，或者她戴着的一串软木塞制成的项链，或者是她现在读的一份倒拿在手里的杂志。她的眼睛看看纳威接着又扫了一眼哈利。点点头。 
　　“谢谢，”金妮对她笑笑说道。 
　　哈利和纳威放下了三个旅行箱，并将海维的笼子放在行李架上，然后坐下了。露娜从那本颠倒的杂志上方看着他们，杂志的名字叫吹毛求疵者。（感觉就是上次哈利去奥罗总部时，肯斯雷与威斯里先生接头用的同一种杂志）她好象不象普通人那样需要眨眼睛。她盯着座位对面的哈利一直看，一直看，哈利现在真希望自己没有进来。 
　　“暑假过的愉快吗，露娜？”金妮问道。 
　　“是的，”露娜梦游一般说道。她并没有把目光从哈利身上移开。“是的，很开心，你知道的。你是哈利 波特。”她补充道。 “我知道我是，”哈利说道。 
　　纳威吃吃的笑了。露娜将目光转向他。 
　　“不过我不知道你是谁。” 
　　“我谁都不是。”纳威急忙说道。 
　　“不你不是，”金妮尖锐的说道，“纳威 朗伯顿—露娜 拉格顿。露娜是我同年级的同学，不过是拉文克罗学院的。” 
　　“无可估量的智慧是男人最可宝贵的财富，”露娜用一种咏唱般的声调说道。 
　　她高高举起那本颠倒的杂志挡住脸并陷入沉默。哈利和纳威互相看看对方，都抬了抬眉毛。而金妮则忍不住咯咯的笑了起来。 
　　火车呼啸着向前，将他们载入开放的乡间。今天的天气古怪而毫无规律；上一刻隔间里还充满了阳光，可是下一刻他们就处在不祥的乌云笼罩之下。 
　　“猜猜我得到了什么生日礼物？”纳威说道。 
　　“另一只记忆秋？”哈利说道，他记得那个大理石一样的装置是纳威的祖母送给他以改善他严重的健忘症的。 
　　“不，”纳威说道。“我有一个就够用了，尽管我在很久以前就把那个老的弄丢了…不对，看看这个…” 
　　他的手里不再紧紧抓着特瑞沃，而是把它放进包里，然后经过一阵翻箱倒柜之后，拿出了一棵看上去象小瓶里装着的灰色仙人掌的东西，不过这棵植物浑身长满疙瘩而不是尖刺。 
　　“米姆布拉丝 米姆布雷托妮亚。”纳威骄傲的说道。 哈利盯着这个东西。它正在微微的搏动，这给了它一种危险的外观，好象是某种疾病的内部组织。 
　　“它是真的，真的非常稀有，”纳威喜气洋洋的说道，“我甚至都不知道在霍格瓦彻的温室里是否有这么一棵。我已经迫不及待的要将它展示给史包特教授了。我的大伯埃尔吉在西西里亚给我带来的。如果我能够有机会的话我会去那里看看。” 
　　哈利知道纳威感兴趣的课程是魔法草药学，但是对哈利而言却怎么也看不出这辈子要这种矮小的植物干什么。 
　　“它能—恩—干什么用？”哈利问道。 
　　“吐东西，”纳威骄傲的说道，“它有一种令人惊异的防卫装置。来，帮我拿着特瑞沃…” 
　　他将那只癞蛤蟆放在哈利的膝盖上，然后从书包里拿出了一只大号羽毛笔。露娜的鼓眼睛现在再次出现在那本颠倒的杂志后面，看着纳威的行动。 
　　纳威把植物凑近眼睛的位置，他的牙齿咬着舌头，选好点，然后用羽毛笔狠狠的刺了一下它。 
　　液体从植物的每个疙瘩里面喷射而出；象是粘稠、臭气熏天的暗绿色的墨汁。汁液飞溅在天花板，窗户以及露娜的杂志上；金妮及时的用胳膊挡住了脸，看上去仅仅象戴了一顶粘乎乎的绿色帽子，但是哈利就倒霉的多，他的手正在阻止特瑞沃的逃窜，结果被喷了个满脸。那种汁液味道闻起来就象腐臭的肥料。 
　　纳威的脸上也被全部喷到了，他摇晃着脑袋把眼睛里的汁液弄出来。 
　　“对—对不起，”他气喘吁吁的说道，“我以前从没试过…没有意识到它的喷射会如此猛烈…但是别担心，这种汁液是无毒的，”当他看见哈利吐了一大口在地板上时，紧张的补充道。 
　　就在这个时候他们的隔间门被打开了。 
　　“哦…你好，哈利，”一个不安的声音说道，“恩…好象来的不是时候。” 
　　哈利用没拿着特瑞沃的那只手擦了擦眼镜片。一个非常漂亮的女孩站在门口对着他微笑，这个女孩长着长长的、富有光泽的黑色头发：是卓 常（哈利的梦中情人，开始喜欢塞德利克，不过小塞被老福给杀了，现在应该名花无主），拉文克罗学院快迪斯队的搜索者。 “哦…你好，”哈利的大脑一片空白。 
　　“恩…”卓说道，“好吧…我只是想和你打个招呼而已…那么再见了。” 
　　一抹粉红出现在脸上，她关上门离开了。哈利倒在椅子上痛苦的呻吟着。他可不喜欢卓发现他和一群这么酷的人待在一起，人们都在想他刚才谈论的那样嘲笑这些家伙；他也毫无选择的和纳威以及露娜 拉格顿坐在一起，手里还抓着一只癞蛤蟆，而且被汁液喷的湿头湿脑。 “别介意，”金妮振作起来说道，“瞧，我们很容易就可以除掉这些汁液的。”她抽出魔杖。“斯科吉费！” 
　　汁液消失了。 
　　“对不起，”纳威再次小声说道。 
　　当餐车经过的时候，罗恩与荷米恩已经快一个小时了还没有过来。哈利、金妮和纳威已经吃完了他们的南瓜饼，现在正忙着交换他们的巧克力青蛙卡片。这时隔间的门打开了，罗恩与荷米恩走了进来，和他们一起的还有克鲁克山，以及在笼子里尖声乱叫的小猪。 
　　“我饿的要死，”罗恩把小猪放在海维身边，从哈利那里抓过来一块巧克力青蛙糖并且一屁股坐在了哈利身边的位置上。他撕破了包装纸，咬了一小口青蛙头，然后闭着眼睛向后靠去，仿佛他度过了一个令人筋疲力尽的早晨。 
　　“是的，每个学院有两个五年级级长，”荷米恩满脸不高兴的坐在位子上说道，“男女生各一个。” 
　　“猜猜谁是史林德林的级长？”罗恩的眼睛仍然闭着。 
　　“马尔夫，”哈利很快回答道，很显然他最大的担心得到了证实。 
　　“当然了，”罗恩痛苦的说道，接着他就把手上剩下的青蛙糖塞进嘴里，然后又拿了一块。 
　　“还有那个长的和母牛完全一致的帕茜 珀金斯，”荷米恩充满敌意的说道，“当她比一只滚筒还粗的时候，她是怎么当上级长的…” “那么谁是海夫巴夫的级长呢？” 
　　“埃聂 麦克米兰和汉娜 阿波特，”罗恩重重的说道。 
　　“而安斯尼 格登斯坦和帕得玛 帕提尔是拉文克罗学院的级长。荷米恩说道。 
　　“你邀请过帕得玛 帕提尔一起去圣诞舞会，”一个含糊不清的声音说道。 所有人都转头看着露娜，而后者则两眼无神的从杂志上方看着罗恩。罗恩吞下了满嘴的青蛙糖。 
　　“是的，我知道自己干过，”罗恩看上去略微有点诧异的说道。 
　　“她很不喜欢那次舞会，”露娜告诉罗恩。“她认为你对她很不好，因为你没有陪她跳舞。不过我认为是我的话不会介意的。”她深思熟虑的补充道，“我不喜欢跳太多的舞。” 
　　她再次缩回了杂志的后面。罗恩嘴巴张的大大的，眼睛发直，然后左顾右盼的寻找金妮想要做出某种解释，不过金妮已经用手指捂住嘴以防止自己笑出声来。罗恩呆呆的摇摇头，然后看了一下表。 
　　“我们被要求经常的巡视走廊，”他告诉哈利和纳威说道，“而且如果发现有人行为不端，我们可以提出惩罚。我已经迫不及待的要给克劳伯和高勒一点教训…”（克劳伯和高勒都是马尔夫的死党，就如罗恩、荷米恩与哈利的关系一样） 
　　“你不能滥用职权，罗恩！”荷米恩大声说道。 
　　“是的，正确，因为马尔夫从不滥用职权。”罗恩辛辣的讽刺道。 
　　“因此你就降低自己的标准吗？” 
　　“不，我只不过是想在他对付我们的同伴之前能够确定抓住他的同伴。” 
　　“对着上帝发誓，罗恩…” 
　　“我要让高勒作诗，这会杀了他，他痛恨写作，”罗恩高兴的说道。他压低了声音以模仿高勒的粗嗓门，将脸扭曲成一个高度痛苦的表情，在空中模仿写字的动作，“我—从—背—后—看—一—定—不—象—一—只—狒狒。” 
　　所有人都笑了，但是没有人笑的比露娜更强烈。她爆发出一阵尖锐的笑声，结果把海维吵醒了，使得它愤怒的拍打着翅膀，而克鲁克山则跳上了行李架并发出嘶嘶声。露娜笑的如此剧烈，以至于她手上的杂志都滑出来并顺着腿掉到了地上。 
　　“这真是太搞笑了！” 
　　露娜盯着罗恩，笑叉了气，她鼓突的眼睛里面笑出了眼泪。罗恩完全困惑了，他现在左顾右盼的看着其他人，而其他人都在为他脸上的表情而忍俊不止。而且大家也对露娜发出的那阵长的滑稽的大笑而乐个不停，现在露娜已经抓着侧边笑的前付后仰。 
　　“你没问题吧？”罗恩对她皱着眉头说道。 
　　“狒狒…的后背！”她抓着肋骨，笑的梗住了。 
　　其他所有人都在看着她笑，但是哈利扫了一眼地板上的杂志，注意到上面有些东西值得他看看。杂志是颠倒的躺在地板上，文字很难阅读，不过在标题的位置上有一幅画，哈利现在认出来了，上面画的是法尼治 福格的讽刺漫画；哈利能够认出福格是因为那顶灰绿色的圆顶硬礼帽。福格的一只手上紧紧的抓着一袋黄金，而另一只手上则掐着一只小妖精。这幅漫画的题目是：福格离格林高斯（魔法银行）的赢利还有多远？ 在这条消息的下面还列出了杂志里面其他文章的标题。 
　　快迪斯联盟的贪污案 
　　唐纳德是怎样获得控制权的 
　　远古诗歌所揭示的秘密 
　　天狼星 布莱克：恶棍还是受害者 
　　“我能看一下那本杂志吗？”哈利渴望的问露娜。 
　　露娜点点头，仍然盯着罗恩，笑的喘不过气来。 
　　哈利打开杂志，浏览着目录。直到这一刻他还是不记得肯斯雷要威斯里先生带给天狼星的杂志，但是肯定是这一期的吹毛求疵。 
　　哈利找到那一页，并且兴奋的翻阅着这篇文章。 
　　这一页同样有一幅讽刺漫画做插图：事实上，哈利如果没有看标题根本看不出那个是天狼星。在画上，天狼星正掏出魔杖站在一堆人骨头的上面。文章的标题写道： 
　　天狼星—被描绘成的黑巫师吗？ 
　　声名狼藉的大杀手还是清白无辜的感人歌手 
　　在确信自己没有误解文章意思之前，哈利将文章的头一句读了好几遍。什么时候天狼星做过一个感人歌手了？ 
　　十四年以来，天狼星一直被认为是一个大杀手，他杀害了12个无辜的麻瓜和一个巫师。两年前这个布莱克实施了一次大胆的越狱行动并从阿滋卡班逃脱了，这导致魔法部展开了有史以来最大规模的搜捕行动。每人怀疑他应当被重新捉拿归案并送回得蒙特那里。 
　　但是他干了什么呢？ 
　　最近暴光的令人吃惊的新证据表明天狼星 布莱克并没有犯下导致他被送进阿滋卡班的那些罪行。实际上，家住小诺顿区阿堪迪那街18号的多里斯 帕金斯说，布莱克甚至还没有被指认为凶手。 “人们所不知道的是天狼星 布莱克是个错误的名字，”帕金斯先生说道，“人们相信是天狼星 布莱克的人实际上是斯图比 波德曼，流行歌唱乐团的领唱歌手，在大约十五年前从公众生活中退休并在小诺顿街拐角的教堂大厅开了一个告别音乐会之后隐居。因为在报纸上看过他的照片所以那时候我认识他。而现在，斯图比不可能犯下这些罪行，因为事发当晚他正在和我享受一个浪漫的烛光晚餐。我已经写信给魔法大臣，要求他向斯图比 阿里阿斯 天狼星先生正式道歉。” 哈利看完这篇文章并且难以置信的盯着这页杂志。他想，也许这是一个笑话，也许这个杂志经常登载一些骗人的消息。他向后快速的翻了几页并找到了有关福格的那篇文章。 
　　魔法大臣法尼治 福格否认在他多年前被选为魔法大臣的时候曾经有过任何接管巫师银行格林高斯的计划。福格一直坚持说他除了与我们的财产监护者（指守卫格林高斯的小妖精）“和平合作”之外别无所求。 但是他干了什么呢？ 
　　最近从魔法部得到得消息显示福格最大的心愿就是控制小妖精的黄金供应，而且如果需要的话他会毫不犹豫的使用武力。 
　　“这也已经不是第一次了，”据一位魔法部内部人士透露，“福格的朋友们都称呼他为”小妖精粉碎机“法尼治 福格。如果你能够在他认为无人偷听的时候听见他的谈话，哦，他总是说他要对小妖精采取行动；他要淹死他们，他要拆了他们的房子，他要给他们下毒，他要把他们做成馅饼…“ 哈利再也读不下去了。福格也许有很多的缺点，但是哈利无论如何不能想象福格会去把小妖精们做成馅饼。哈利继续翻阅着剩下的杂志。在翻过几页之后，他读道：有人指控，通过一系列的勒索，非法贿赂以及拷打，图特希尔 脱那德斯正在赢得快迪斯联盟德控制权；而据一个巫师提供德内幕消息宣称灵光6型扫帚可以飞上月球，并且带回来一包月球青蛙作为证明；那篇有关古代诗歌的文章则解释了为什么露娜会颠倒着看杂志。按照这篇文章的说法，如果你将诗歌颠倒过来读，它就会释放出一个咒语让你的敌人的耳朵变成两只金橘。实际上，按照这本杂志剩下的文章的情况看来，说天狼星是流行乐团领唱歌手的说法还是很明智的。 
　　“那里面有什么好东西吗？“当哈利合上杂志的时候罗恩问道。 
　　“当然没有，”在哈利回答之前，荷米恩就痛斥道。“这本杂志完全是垃圾，每个人都知道的。” 
　　“对不起，”露娜的声音突然失去了那种梦游般的品质说道，“我的父亲是它的编辑。” 
　　“我—哦，”荷米恩看起来十分窘迫，“好吧…它是有点有趣…我的意思是，它很…” 
　　“我会拿回来的，谢谢。”露娜冷冷的说道。她身体前倾并且从哈利手中将杂志抓了过来。将杂志翻到57页，她又将杂志颠倒过来并消失在杂志后面。 
　　哈利左顾右盼；他刚才希望的就是这样，但是没有什么比看见马尔夫在克劳伯与高勒的陪同下傻笑着向他走来更加令人不愉快了。 
　　“什么事？”哈利在马尔夫开口之前充满火药味的问道。 

Chapter 12 Professor Umbridge
Seamus dressed at top speed next morning and left the dormitory before Harry had even put on his socks.
‘Does he think he'll turn into a nutter if he stays in a room with me too long?’ asked Harry loudly as the hem of Seamus's robes wnipped out of sight.
‘Don't worry about it, Harry,’ Dean muttered, hoisting his schoolbag on to his shoulder, ‘he's just ...’
But apparently he was unable to say exactly what Seamus was, and after a slightly awkward pause followed him out of the room.
Neville and Ron both gave Harry an it's-his-problem-not-yours look, but Harry was not much consoled. How much more of this would he have to take?
‘What's the matter?’ asked Hermione five minutes later, catching up with Harry and Ron halfway across the common room as they all headed towards breakfast. ‘You look absolutely—Oh for heavens sake.’
She was staring at the common-room noticeboard, where a large new sign had been put up.
GALLONS OF GALLEONS!
Pocket money failing to keep pace with your outgoings? 
Like to earn a little extra gold?
Contact Fred and George Weasley, Gryffindor common room,
for simple, part-time, virtually painless jobs.
(We regret that all work is undertaken at applicant's own risk.)
‘They are the limit,’ said Hermione grimly, taking down the sign, which Fred and George had pinned up ewer a poster giving the date of the first Hogsmeade weekend, which was to be in October. ‘We'll have to talk to them, Ron.’
Ron looked positively alarmed.
‘Why?’
‘Because we're prefects!’ said Hermione, as they climbed out through the portrait hole. ‘It's up to us to stop this kind of thing!’
Ron said nothing; Harry could tell from his glum expression that the prospect of stopping Fred and George doing exactly what they liked was not one he found inviting.
‘Anyway, what's up, Harry?’ Hermione continued, as they walked down a flight of stairs lined with portraits of old witches and wizards, all of whom ignored them, being engrossed in their own conversation. ‘You look really angry about something.’
‘Seamus reckons Harry's lying about You-Know-Who,’ said Ron succinctly, when Harry did not respond.
Hermione, who Harry had expected to react angrily on his behalf, sighed.
‘Yes, Lavender thinks so too,’ she said gloomily.
‘Been having a nice little chat with her about whether or not I'm a lying, attention-seeking prat, have you?’ Harry said loudly.
‘No,’ said Hermione calmly. ‘I told her to keep her big fat mouth shut about you, actually. And it would be quite nice if you stopped jumping down our throats, Harry, because in case you haven't noticed, Ron and I are on your side.’
There was a short pause.
‘Sorry,’ said Harry in a low voice.
‘That's quite all right,’ said Hermione with dignity. Then she shook her head. ‘Don't you remember what Dumbledore said at the last end-of-term feast?’ 
Harry and Ron both looked at her blankly and Hermione sighed again.
‘About You-Know-Who. He said his “gift for spreading discord and enmity is very great. We can fight it only by showing an equally strong bond of friendship and trust—” ’
‘How do you remember stuff like that?’ asked Ron, looking at her in admiration.
‘I listen, Ron,’ said Hermione, with a touch of asperity.
‘So do I, but I still couldn't tell you exactly what—’
‘The point,’ Hermione pressed on loudly, ‘is that this sort of thing is exactly what Dumbledore was talking about. You-Know-Who's only been back two months and we've already started fighting among ourselves. And the Sorting Hat's warning was the same: stand together, be united—’
‘And Harry got it right last night,’ retorted Ron. ‘If that means we're supposed to get matey with the Slytherins—fat chance.’
‘Well, I think it's a pity we're not trying for a bit of inter-house unity,’ said Hermione crossly.
They had reached the foot of the marble staircase. A line of fourth-year Ravenclaws was crossing the Entrance Hall; they caught sight of Harry and hurried to form a tighter group, as though frightened he might attack stragglers.
‘Yeah, we really ought to be trying to make friends with people like that,’ said Harry sarcastically.
They followed the Ravenclaws into the Great Hall, all looking instinctively at the staff table as they entered. Professor Grubbly-Plank was chatting to Professor Sinistra, the Astronomy teacher, and Hagrid was once again conspicuous only by his absence. The enchanted ceiling above them echoed Harry's mood; it was a miserable rain-cloud grey.
‘Dumbledore didn't even mention how long that Grubbly-Plank woman's staying,’ he said, as they made their way across to the Gryffindor table.
‘Maybe ...’ said Hermione thoughtfully.
‘What?’ said both Harry and Ron together.
‘Well ... maybe he didn't want to draw attention to Hagrid not being here.’ 
‘What d'you mean, draw attention to it?’ said Ron, half-laughing. ‘How could we not notice?’
Before Hermione could answer, a tall black girl with long braided hair had marched up to Harry.
‘Hi, Angelina.’
‘Hi,’ she said briskly, ‘good summer?’ And without waiting for an answer, ‘Listen, I've been made Gryffindor Quidditch Captain.’
‘Nice one,’ said Harry, grinning at her; he suspected Angelina's pep talks might not be as long-winded as Oliver Wood's had been, which could only be an improvement.
‘Yeah, well, we need a new Keeper now Oliver's left. Tryouts are on Friday at five o'clock and I want the whole team there, all right? Then we can see how the new person'll fit in.’
‘OK,’ said Harry.
Angelina smiled at him and departed.
‘I'd forgotten Wood had left,’ said Hermione vaguely as she sat down beside Ron and pulled a plate of toast towards her. ‘I suppose that will make quite a difference to the team?’
‘I s'pose,’ said Harry, taking the bench opposite. ‘He was a good Keeper ...’
‘Still, it won't hurt to have some new blood, will it?’ said Ron.
With a whoosh and a clatter, hundreds of owls came soaring in through the upper windows. They descended all over the Hall, bringing letters and packages to their owners and showering the breakfasters with droplets of water; it was clearly raining hard outside. Hedwig was nowhere to be seen, but Harry was hardly surprised; his only correspondent was Sirius, and he doubted Sirius would have anything new to tell him after only twenty-four hours apart. Hermione, however, had to move her orange juice aside quickly to make way gor a large damp barn owl bearing a sodden Daily Prophet in its beak.
‘What are you still getting that for?’ said Harry irritably, thinking of Seamus as Hermione placed a Knut in the leather pouch on the owl's leg and it took off again. ‘I'm not bothering ... load of rubbish.’
‘It's best to know what the enemy is saying,’ said Hermione darkly, and she unfurled the newspaper and disappeared behind it, not emerging until Harry and Ron had finished eating.
‘Nothing,’ she said simply, rolling up the newspaper and laying it down by her plate. ‘Nothing about you or Dumbledore or anything.’
Professor McGonagall was now moving along the table handing out timetables.
‘Look at today!’ groaned Ron. ‘History of Magic, double Potions, Divination and double Defence Against the Dark Arts ... Binns, Snape, Trelawney and that Umbridge woman all in one day! I wish Fred and George'd hurry up and get those Skiving Snackboxes sorted ...’
‘Do mine ears deceive me?’ said Fred, arriving with George and squeezing on to the bench beside Harry. ‘Hogwarts prefects surely don't wish to skive off lessons?’
‘Look what we've got today,’ said Ron grumpily, shoving his timetable under Fred's nose. ‘That's the worst Monday I've ever seen.’
‘Fair point, little bro,’ said Fred, scanning the column. ‘You can have a bit of Nosebleed Nougat cheap if you like.’
‘Why's it cheap?’ said Ron suspiciously.
‘Because you'll keep bleeding till you shrivel up, we haven't got an antidote yet,’ said George, helping himself to a kipper.
‘Cheers,’ said Ron moodily, pocketing his timetable, ‘but I think I'll take the lessons.’
‘And speaking of your Skiving Snackboxes,’ said Hermione, eyeing Fred and George beadily, ‘you can't advertise for testers on the Gryffindor noticeboard.’ 
‘Says who?’ said George, looking astonished.
‘Says me,’ said Hermione. ‘And Ron.’
‘Leave me out of it,’ said Ron hastily.
Hermione glared at him. Fred and George sniggered.
‘You'll be singing a different tune soon enough, Hermione,’ said Fred, thickly buttering a crumpet. ‘You're starting your fifth year, you'll be begging us for a Snackbox before long.’
‘And why would starting fifth year mean I want a Skiving Snackbox?’ asked Hermione.
‘Fifth year's OWL year,’ said George.
‘So?’
‘So you've got your exams coming up, haven't you? They'll be keeping your noses so hard to that grindstone they'll be rubbed raw,’ said Fred with satisfaction.
‘Half our year had minor breakdowns coming up to OWLs,’ said George happily. ‘Tears and tantrums ... Patricia Stimpson kept coming over faint ...’
‘Kenneth Towler came out in boils, d'you remember?’ said Fred remmiscently.
‘That's ‘cause you put Bulbadox powder in his pyjamas,’ said George.
‘Oh yeah,’ said Fred, grinning. ‘I'd forgotten ... hard to keep track sometimes, isn't it?’
‘Anyway, it's a nightmare of a year, the fifth,’ said George. ‘If you care about exam results, anyway. Fred and I managed to keep our peckers up somehow.’ 
‘Yeah ... you got, what was it, three OWLs each?’ said Ron.
‘Yep,’ said Fred unconcernedly. ‘But we feel our futures lie outside the world of academic achievement.’
‘We seriously debated whether we were going to bother coming back for our seventh year,’ said George brightly, ‘now that we've got—’
He broke off at a warning look from Harry, who knew George had been about to mention the Triwizard winnings he had given them.
‘—now that we've got our OWLs,’ George said hastily. ‘I mean, do we really need NEWTs? But we didn't think Mum could take us leaving school early not on top of Percy turning out to be the world's biggest prat.’
‘We're not going to waste our last year here, though,’ said Fred, looking affectionately around at the Great Hall. ‘We're going to use it to do a bit of market research, find out exactly what the average Hogwarts student requires from a joke shop, carefully evaluate the results of our research, then produce products to fit the demand.’
‘But where are you going to get the gold to start a joke shop?’ Hermione asked sceptically. ‘You're going to need all the ingredients and materials—and premises too, I suppose ...’
Harry did not look at the twins. His face felt hot; he deliberately dropped his fork and dived down to retrieve it. He heard Fred say overhead, ‘Ask us no questions and we'll tell you no lies, Hermione. C'mon, George, if we get there early we might be able to sell a few Extendable Ears before Herbology.’
Harry emerged from under the table to see Fred and George walking away, each carrying a stack of toast.
‘What did that mean?’ said Hermione, looking from Harry to Ron. ‘"Ask us no questions ...” Does that mean they've already got some gold to start a joke shop?’
‘You know, I've been wondering about that,’ said Ron, his brow furrowed. ‘They bought me a new set of dress robes this summer and I couldn't understand where they got the Galleons ...’
Harry decided it was time to steer the conversation out of these dangerous waters.
‘D'you reckon it's true this year's going to be really tough? Because of the exams?’
‘Oh, yeah,’ said Ron. ‘Bound to be, isn't it? OWLs are really important, affect the jobs you can apply for and everything. We get career advice, too, later this year, Bill told me. So you can choose what NEWTs you want to do next year.’
‘D'you know what you want to do after Hogwarts?’ Harry asked the other two, as they left the Great Hall shortly afterwards and set off towards their History of Magic classroom.
‘Not really,’ said Ron slowly. ‘Except ... well ...’
He looked slightly sheepish.
‘What?’ Harry urged him.
‘Well, it'd be cool to be an Auror,’ said Ron in an off-hand voice.
‘Yeah, it would,’ said Harry fervently.
‘But they're, like, the elite,’ said Ron. ‘You've got to be really good. What about you, Hermione?’
‘I don't know,’ she said. ‘I think I'd like to do something really worthwhile.’
‘An Auror's worthwhile!’ said Harry.
‘Yes, it is, but it's not the only worthwhile thing,’ said Hermione thoughtfully, ‘I mean, if I could take SPEW further ...’
Harry and Ron carefully avoided looking at each other.
History of Magic was by common consent the most boring subject ever devised by wizardkind. Professor Binns, their ghost teacher, had a wheezy, droning voice that was almost guaranteed to cause severe drowsiness within ten minutes, five in warm weather. He never varied the form of their lessons, but lectured them without pausing while they took notes, or rather, gazed sleepily into space. Harry and Ron had so far managed to scrape passes in this subject only by copying Hermione's notes before exams; she alone seemed able to resist the soporific power of Binns's voice.
Today, they suffered an hour and a half's droning on the subject of giant wars. Harry heard just enough within the first ten minutes to appreciate dimly that in another teacher's hands this subject might have been mildly interesting, but then his brain disengaged, and he spent the remaining hour and twenty minutes playing hangman on a corner of his parchment with Ron, while Hermione shot them filthy looks out of the corner of her eye.
‘How would it be,’ she asked them coldly, as they left the classroom for break (Binns drifting away through the blackboard), ‘if I refused to lend you my notes this year?’
‘We'd fail our OWL, said Ron. ‘If you want that on your conscience, Hermione ...’
‘Well, you'd deserve it,’ she snapped. ‘You don't even try to listen to him, do you?’
‘We do try,’ said Ron. ‘We just haven't got your brains or your memory or your concentration— you're just cleverer than we are—is it nice to rub it in?’
‘Oh, don't give me that rubbish,’ said Hermione, but she looked slightly mollified as she led the way out into the damp courtyard.
A fine misty drizzle was falling, so that the people standing in huddles around the edges of the yard looked blurred at the edges. Harry, Ron and Hermione chose a secluded corner under a heavily dripping balcony, turning up the collars of their robes against the chilly September air and talking about what Snape was likely to set them in the first lesson of the year. They had got as far as agreeing that it was likely to be something extremely difficult, just to catch them off guard after a two-month holiday, when someone walked around the corner towards them.
‘Hello, Harry!’
It was Cho Chang and, what was more, she was on her own again. This was most unusual: Cho was almost always surrounded by a gang of giggling girls; Harry remembered the agony of trying to get her by herself to ask her to the Yule Ball.
‘Hi,’ said Harry, feeling his face grow hot. At least you're not covered in Stinksap this time, he told himself. Cho seemed to be thinking along the same lines.
‘You got that stuff off, then?’
‘Yeah,’ said Harry, trying to grin as though the memory of their last meeting was funny as opposed to mortifying. ‘So, did you ... er ... have a good summer?’
The moment he had said this he wished he hadn't—Cedric had been Cho's boyfriend and the memory of his death must have affected her holiday almost as badly as it had affected Harry's. Something seemed to tauten in her face, but she said, ‘Oh, it was all right, you know ...’
‘Is that a Tornados badge?’ Ron demanded suddenly, pointing to the front of Cho's robes, where a sky-blue badge emblazoned with a double gold ‘T’ was pinned. ‘You don't support them, do you?’
‘Yeah, I do,’ said Cho.
‘Have you always supported them, or just since they started winning the league?’ said Ron, in what Harry considered an unnecessarily accusatory tone of voice.
‘I've supported them since I was six,’ said Cho coolly. ‘Anyway ... see you, Harry.’
She walked away. Hermione waited until Cho was halfway across the courtyard before rounding on Ron.
‘You are so tactless!’
‘What? I only asked her if—’
‘Couldn't you tell she wanted to talk to Harry on her own?’
‘So? She could've done, I wasn't stopping—’
‘Why on earth were you attacking her about her Quidditch team?’
‘Attacking? I wasn't attacking her, I was only—’
‘Who cares if she supports the Tornados?’
‘Oh, come on, half the people you see wearing those badges only bought them last season—’
‘But what does it matter?’
‘It means they're not real fans, they're just jumping on the bandwagon—’ 
‘That's the bell,’ said Harry dully, because Ron and Hermione were bickering too loudly to hear it. They did not stop arguing all the way down to Snapes dungeon, which gave Harry plenty of time to reflect that between Neville and Ron he would be lucky ever to have two minutes of conversation with Cho that he could look back on without wanting to leave the country.
And yet, he thought, as they joined the queue lining up outside Snape's classroom door, she had chosen to come and talk to him, hadn't she? She had been Cedric's girlfriend; she could easily have hated Harry for coming out of the Triwizard maze alive when Cedric had died, yet she was talking to him in a perfectly friendly way, not as though she thought him mad, or a liar, or in some horrible way responsible for Cedric's death ... yes, she had definitely chosen to come and talk to him, and that made the second time in two days ... and at this thought, Harry's spirits rose. Even the ominous sound of Snape's dungeon door creaking open did not puncture the small, hopeful bubble that seemed to have swelled in his chest. He filed into the classroom behind Ron and Hermione and followed them to their usual table at the back, where he sat down between Ron and Hermione and ignored the huffy, irritable noises now issuing from both of them.
‘Settle down,’ said Snape coldly, shutting the door behind him.
There was no real need for the call to order; the moment the class had heard the door close, quiet had fallen and all fidgeting stopped. Snape's mere presence was usually enough to ensure a class's silence.
‘Before we begin today's lesson,’ said Snape, sweeping over to his desk and staring around at them all, ‘I think it appropriate to remind you that next June you will be sitting an important examination, during which you will prove how much you have learned about the composition and use of magical potions. Moronic though some of this class undoubtedly are, I expect you to scrape an “Acceptable” in your OWL, or suffer my ... displeasure.’
His gaze lingered this time on Neville, who gulped.
‘After this year, of course, many of you will cease studying with me,’ Snape went on. ‘I take only the very best into my NEWT Potions class, which means that some of us will certainly be saying goodbye.’
His eyes rested on Harry and his lip curled. Harry glared back, feeling a grim pleasure at the idea that he would be able to give up Potions after fifth year.
‘But we have another year to go before that happy moment of farewell,’ said Snape softly, ‘so, whether or not you are intending to attempt NEWT, I advise all of you to concentrate your efforts upon maintaining the high pass level I have come to expect from my OWL students.
‘Today we will be mixing a potion that often comes up at Ordinary Wizarding Level: the Draught of Peace, a potion to calm anxiety and soothe agitation. Be warned: if you are too heavy-handed with the ingredients you will put the drinker into a heavy and sometimes irreversible sleep, so you will need to pay close attention to what you are doing.’ On Harry's left, Hermione sat up a little straighter, her expression one of utmost attention. The ingredients and method—’ Snape flicked his wand ‘—are on the blackboard—(they appeared there) ‘—you will find everything you need—’ he flicked his wand again ‘—in the store cupboard—’ (the door of the said cupboard sprang open) ‘—you have an hour and a half ... start.’
Just as Harry, Ron and Hermione had predicted, Snape could hardly have set them a more difficult, fiddly potion. The ingredients had to be added to the cauldron in precisely the right order and quantities; the mixture had to be stirred exactly the right number of times, firstly in clockwise, then in anti-clockwise directions; the heat of the flames on which it was simmering had to be lowered to exactly the right level for a specific number of minutes before the final ingredient was added.
‘A light silver vapour should now be rising from your potion,’ called Snape, with ten minutes left to go.
Harry, who was sweating profusely, looked desperately around the dungeon. His own cauldron was issuing copious amounts of dark grey steam; Ron's was spitting green sparks. Seamus was feverishly prodding the flames at the base of his cauldron with the tip of his wand, as they seemed to be going out. The surface of Hermione's potion, however, was a shimmering mist of silver vapour, and as Snape swept by he looked down his hooked nose at it without comment, which meant he could find nothing to criticise.
At Harry's cauldron, however, Snape stopped, and looked down at it with a horrible smirk on his face.
‘Potter, what is this supposed to be?’
The Slytherins at the front of the class all looked up eagerly; they loved hearing Snape taunt Harry.
‘The Draught of Peace,’ said Harry tensely.
‘Tell me, Potter,’ said Snape softly, ‘can you read?’
Draco Malfoy laughed.
‘Yes, I can,’ said Harry, his fingers clenched tightly around his wand.
‘Read the third line of the instructions for me, Potter.’
Harry squinted at the blackboard; it was not easy to make out the instructions through the haze of multi-coloured steam now filling the dungeon.
‘"Add powdered moonstone, stir three times counter-clockwise, allow to simmer for seven minutes then add two drops of syrup of hellebore.” ’
His heart sank. He had not added syrup of hellebore, but had proceeded straight to the fourth line of the instructions after allowing his potion to simmer for seven minutes.
‘Did you do everything on the third line, Potter?’
‘No,’ said Harry very quietly.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘No,’ said Harry, more loudly. ‘I forgot the hellebore.’
‘I know you did, Potter, which means that this mess is utterly worthless. Evanesce.’
The contents of Harry's potion vanished; he was left standing foolishly beside an empty cauldron.
‘Those of you who have managed to read the instructions, fill one flagon with a sample of your potion, label it clearly with your name and bring it up to my desk for testing,’ said Snape. ‘Homework: twelve inches of parchment on the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion-making, to be handed in on Thursday.’
While everyone around him filled their flagons, Harry cleared away his things, seething. His potion had been no worse than Ron's, which was now giving off a foul odour of bad eggs; or Neville's, which had achieved the consistency of just-mixed cement and which Neville was now having to gouge out of his cauldron; yet it was he, Harry, who would be receiving zero marks for the day's work. He stuffed his wand back into his bag and slumped down on to his seat, watching everyone else march up to Snape's desk with filled and corked flagons. When at long last the bell rang, Harry was first out of the dungeon and had already started his lunch by the time Ron and Hermione joined him in the Great Hall. The ceiling had turned an even murkier grey during the morning. Rain was lashing the high windows.
‘That was really unfair,’ said Hermione consolingly, sitting down next to Harry and helping herself to shepherd's pie. ‘Your potion wasn't nearly as bad as Goyle's; when he put it in his flagon the whole thing shattered and set his robes on fire.’
‘Yeah, well,’ said Harry, glowering at his plate, ‘since when has Snape ever been fair to me?’
Neither of the others answered; all three of them knew that Snape and Harry's mutual enmity had been absolute from the moment Harry had set foot in Hogwarts.
‘I did think he might be a bit better this year,’ said Hermione in a disappointed voice. ‘I mean ... you know ...’ she looked around carefully; there were half a dozen empty seats on either side of them and nobody was passing the table ’ ... now he's in the Order and everything.’
‘Poisonous toadstools don't change their spots,’ said Ron sagely. ‘Anyway, I've always thought Dumbledore was cracked to trust Snape. Where's the evidence he ever really stopped working for You-Know-Who?’
‘I think Dumbledore's probably got plenty of evidence, even if he doesn't share it with you, Ron,’ snapped Hermione.
‘Oh, shut up, the pair of you,’ said Harry heavily, as Ron opened his mouth to argue back. Hermione and Ron both froze, looking angry and offended. ‘Can't you give it a rest?’ said Harry. ‘You're always having a go at each other, it's driving me mad.’ And abandoning his shepherd's pie, he swung his schoolbag back over his shoulder and left them sitting there.
He walked up the marble staircase two steps at a time, past the many students hurrying towards lunch. The anger that had just flared so unexpectedly still blazed inside him, and the vision of Ron and Hermione's shocked faces afforded him a sense of deep satisfaction. Serve them right, he thought, why can't they give it a rest ... bickering all the time ... it's enough to drive anyone up the wall ...
He passed the large picture of Sir Cadogan the knight on a landing; Sir Cadogan drew his sword and brandished it fiercely at Harry, who ignored him.
‘Come back, you scurvy dog! Stand fast and fight!’ yelled Sir Cadogan in a muffled voice from behind his visor, but Harry merely walked on and when Sir Cadogan attempted to follow him by running into a neighbouring picture, he was rebuffed by its inhabitant, a large and angry-looking wolfhound.
Harry spent the rest of the lunch hour sitting alone underneath the trapdoor at the top of North Tower. Consequently, he was the first to ascend the silver ladder that led to Sybill Trelawney's classroom when the bell rang.
After Potions, Divination was Harry's least favourite class, which was due mainly to Professor Trelawney's habit of predicting his premature death every few lessons. A thin woman, heavily draped in shawls and glittering with strings of beads, she always reminded Harry of some kind of insect, with her glasses hugely magnifying her eyes. She was busy putting copies of battered leather-bound books on each of the spindly little tables with which her room was littered when Harry entered the room, but the light cast by the lamps covered by scarves and the low-burning, sickly-scented fire was so dim she appeared not to notice him as he took a seat in the shadows. The rest of the class arrived over the next five minutes. Ron emerged from the trapdoor, looked around carefully, spotted Harry and made directly for him, or as directly as he could while having to wend his way between tables, chairs and overstuffed pouffes.
‘Hermione and me have stopped arguing,’ he said, sitting down beside Harry.
‘Good,’ grunted Harry.
‘But Hermione says she thinks it would be nice if you stopped taking out your temper on us,’ said Ron.
‘I ‘m not—’
‘I'm just passing on the message,’ said Ron, talking over him. ‘But I reckon she's right. It's not our fault how Seamus and Snape treat you.’
‘I never said it —’
‘Good-day,’ said Professor Trelawney in her usual misty, dreamy voice, and Harry broke off, again feeling both annoyed and slightly ashamed of himself. ‘And welcome back to Divination. I have, of course, been following your fortunes most carefully over the holidays, and am delighted to see that you have all returned to Hogwarts safely—as, of course, I knew you would.
‘You will find on the tables before you copies of The Dream Oracle, by Inigo Imago. Dream interpretation is a most important means of divining the future and one that may very probably be tested in your OWL. Not, of course, that I believe examination passes or failures are of the remotest importance when it comes to the sacred art of divination. If you have the Seeing Eye, certificates and grades matter very little. However, the Headmaster likes you to sit the examination, so ...’
Her voice trailed away delicately, leaving them all in no doubt that Professor Trelawney considered her subject above such sordid matters as examinations.
‘Turn, please, to the introduction and read what Imago has to say on the matter of dream interpretation. Then, divide into pairs. Use The Dream Oracle to interpret each other's most recent dreams. Carry on.’
The one good thing to be said for this lesson was that it was not a double period. By the time they had all finished reading the introduction of the book, they had barely ten minutes left for dream interpretation. At the table next to Harry and Ron, Dean had paired up with Neville, who immediately embarked on a long-winded explanation of a nightmare involving a pair of giant scissors wearing his grandmother's best hat; Harry and Ron merely looked at each other glumly.
‘I never remember my dreams,’ said Ron, ‘you say one.’
‘You must remember one of them,’ said Harry impatiently.
He was not going to share his dreams with anyone. He knew perfectly well what his regular nightmare about a graveyard meant, he did not need Ron or Proiessor Trelawney or the stupid Dream Oracle to tell him.
‘Well, I dreamed I was playing Quidditch the other night,’ said Ron, screwing up his face in an effort to remember. ‘What d'you reckon that means?’
‘Probably that you're going to be eaten by a giant marshmallow or something,’ said Harry, turning the pages of The Dream Oracle without interest. It was very dull work looking up bits of dreams in the Oracle and Harry was not cheered up when Professor Trelawney set them the task of keeping a dream diary for a month as homework. When the bell went, he and Ron led the way back down the ladder, Ron grumbling loudly.
‘D'you realise how much homework we've got already? Binns set us a foot-and-a-half-long essay on giant wars, Snape wants a foot on the use of moonstones, and now we've got a month's dream diary from Trelawney! Fred and George weren't wrong about OWL year, were they? That Umbridge woman had better not give us any ...’
When they entered the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom they found Professor Umbridge already seated at the teachers desk, wearing the fluffy pink cardigan of the night before and the black velvet bow on top of her head. Harry was again reminded forcibly of a large fly perched unwisely on top of an even larger toad.
The class was quiet as it entered the room; Professor Umbridge was, as yet, an unknown quantity and nobody knew how strict a disciplinarian she was likely to be.
‘Well, good afternoon!’ she said, when finally the whole class had sat down.
A few people mumbled ‘good afternoon’ in reply.
‘Tut, tut,’ said Professor Umbridge. ‘That won't do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply “Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge". One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!’
‘Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge,’ they chanted back at her.
‘There, now,’ said Professor Umbridge sweetly. That wasn't too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please.’
Many of the class exchanged gloomy looks; the order ‘wands away’ had never yet been followed by a lesson they had found interesting. Harry shoved his wand back inside his bag and pulled cut quill, ink and parchment. Professor Umbridge opened her handbag, extracted her own wand, which was an unusually short one, and tapped the blackboard sharply with it; words appeared on the board at once:
Defence Against the Dark Arts
A Return to Basic Principles
‘Well now, your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn't it?’ stated Professor Umbridge, turning to face the class with her hands clasped neatly in front of her. The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your OWL year.
‘You will be pleased to know, however, that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory-centred, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year. Copy down the following, please.’
She rapped the blackboard again; the first message vanished and was replaced by:
Course Aims:1. Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic.
2. Learning to recognise situations in which defensive magic can legally be used
3. Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use.
For a couple of minutes the room was full of the sound of scratching quills on parchment. When everyone had copied down Professor Umbridge's three course aims she asked, ‘Has everybody got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?’
There was a dull murmur of assent throughout the class.
‘I think we'll try that again,’ said Professor Umbridge. ‘When I ask you a question, I should like you to reply, “Yes, Professor Umbridge", or “No, Professor Umbridge". So: has everyone got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?’
‘Yes, Professor Umbridge,’ rang through the room.
‘Good,’ said Professor Umbridge. ‘I should like you to turn to page five and read “Chapter One, Basics for Beginners". There will be no need to talk.’
Professor Umbridge left the blackboard and settled herself in the chair behind the teacher's desk, observing them all closely with those pouchy toad's eyes. Harry turned to page five of his copy of Defensive Magical Theory and started to read.
It was desperately dull, quite as bad as listening to Professor Binns. He felt his concentration sliding away from him; he had soon read the same line half a dozen times without taking in more than the first few words. Several silent minutes passed. Next to him, Ron was absent-mindedly turning his quill over and over in his fingers, staring at the same spot on the page. Harry looked right and received a surprise to shake him out of his torpor. Hermione had not even opened her copy of Defensive Magical Theory.She was staring fixedly at Professor Umbridge with her hand in the air.
Harry could not remember Hermione ever neglecting to read when instructed to, or indeed resisting the temptation to open any book that came under her nose. He looked at her enquiringly, but she merely shook her head slightly to indicate that she was not about to answer questions, and continued to stare at Professor Umbridge, who was looking just as resolutely in another direction.
After several more minutes had passed, however, Harry was not the only one watching Hermione. The chapter they had been instructed to read was so tedious that more and more people were choosing to watch Hermione's mute attempt to catch Professor Umbridge's eye rather than struggle on with ‘Basics for Beginners'.
When more than half the class were staring at Hermione rather than at their books, Professor Umbridge seemed to decide that she could ignore the situation no longer.
‘Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?’ she asked Hermione, as though she had only just noticed her.
‘Not about the chapter, no,’ said Hermione.
‘Well, we're reading just now,’ said Professor Umbridge, showing her small pointed teeth. ‘If you have other queries we can deal with them at the end of class.’
‘I've got a query about your course aims,’ said Hermione.
Professor Umbridge raised her eyebrows.
‘And your name is?’
‘Hermione Granger,’ said Hermione.
‘Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully,’ said Professor Umbridge in a voice of determined sweetness.
‘Well, I don't,’ said Hermione bluntly. ‘There's nothing written up there about using defensive spells.’
There was a short silence in which many members of the class turned their heads to frown at the three course aims still written on the blackboard.
‘Using defensive spells?’ Professor Umbridge repeated with a little laugh. ‘Why, I can't imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class?’
‘We're not going to use magic?’ Ron exclaimed loudly.
‘Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr.—?’ 
‘Weasley,’ said Ron, thrusting his hand into the air.
Professor Umbridge, smiling still more widely, turned her back on him. Harry and Hermione immediately raised their hands too. Professor Umbridge's pouchy eyes lingered on Harry for a moment before she addressed Hermione.
‘Yes, Miss Granger? You wanted to ask something else?’
‘Yes,’ said Hermione. ‘Surely the whole point of Defence Against the Dark Arts is to practise defensive spells?’
‘Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?’ asked Professor Umbridge, in her falsely sweet voice.
‘No, but—’
‘Well then, I'm afraid you are not qualified to decide what the “whole point” of any class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised our new programme of study. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way—’
‘What use is that?’ said Harry loudly. ‘If we're going to be attacked, it won't be in a—’
‘Hand,Mr Potter!’ sang Professor Umbridge.
Harry thrust his fist in the air. Again, Professor Umbridge promptly turned away from him, but now several other people had their hands up, too.
‘And your name is?’ Professor Umbridge said to Dean.
‘Dean Thomas.’
‘Well, Mr Thomas?’
‘Well, it's like Harry said, isn't it?’ said Dean. ‘If we're going to be attacked, it won't be risk free.’
‘I repeat,’ said Professor Umbridge, smiling in a very irritating fashion at Dean, ‘do you expect to be attacked during my classes?’
‘No, but—’
Professor Umbridge talked over him. ‘I do not wish to criticise the way things have been run in this school,’ she said, an unconvincing smile stretching her wide mouth, ‘but you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class, very irresponsible indeed—not to mention,’ she gave a nasty little laugh, ‘extremely dangerous half-breeds.’
‘If you mean Professor Lupin,’ piped up Dean angrily, ‘he was the best we ever—
‘Hand,Mr Thomas! As I was saying—you have been introduced to spells that have been complex, inappropriate to your age group and potentially lethal. You have been frightened into believing that you are likely to meet Dark attacks every other day—’
‘No we haven't,’ Hermione said, ‘we just—’
‘Your hand is not up, Miss Granger!’
Hermione put up her hand. Professor Umbridge turned away from her.
‘It is my understanding that my predecessor not only performed illegal curses in front of you, he actually performed them on you.’
‘Well, he turned out to be a maniac, didn't he?’ said Dean hotly. ‘Mind you, we still learned loads.’
‘Your hand is not up, Mr. Thomas!’ trilled Professor Umbridge. ‘Now, it is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be more than sufficient to get you through your examination, which, after all, is what school is all about. And your name is?’ she added, staring at Parvati, whose hand had just shot up.
‘Parvati Patil, and isn't there a practical bit in our Defence Against the Dark Arts OWL? Aren't we supposed to show that we can actually do the counter-curses and things?’
‘As long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there is no reason why you should not be able to perform the spells under carefully controlled examination conditions,’ said Professor Umbridge dismissively.
‘Without ever practising them beforehand?’ said Parvati incredulously. ‘Are you telling us that the first time we'll get to do the spells will be during our exam?’
‘I repeat, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough—’
‘And what good's theory going to be in the real world?’ said Harry loudly, his fist in the air again.
Professor Umbridge looked up.
‘This is school, Mr. Potter, not the real world,’ she said softly.
‘So we're not supposed to be prepared for what's waiting for us out there?’ 
‘There is nothing waiting out there, Mr. Potter.’
‘Oh, yeah?’ said Harry. His temper, which seemed to have been bubbling just beneath the surface all day, was reaching boiling point.
‘Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?’ enquired Professor Umbridge in a horribly honeyed voice.
‘Hmm, let's think ...’ said Harry in a mock thoughtful voice. ‘Maybe ... Lord Voldemort?’
Ron gasped; Lavender Brown uttered a little scream; Neville slipped sideways off his stool. Professor Umbridge, however, did not flinch. She was staring at Harry with a grimly satisfied expression on her face.
‘Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter.’
The classroom was silent and still. Everyone was staring at either Umbridge or Harry.
‘Now, let me make a few things quite plain.’
Professor Umbridge stood up and leaned towards them, her stubby-fingered hands splayed on her desk.
‘You have been told that a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead—’
‘He wasn't dead,’ said Harry angrily, ‘but yeah, he's returned!’
‘Mr-Potter-you-have-already-lost-your-house-ten-points-do-not-make-matters-worse-for-yourself,’ said Professor Umbridge in one breath without looking at him. ‘As I was saying, you have been informed that a certain Dark wizard is at large once again. This is a lie.’
‘It is NOT a lie!’ said Harry. ‘I saw him, I fought him!’
‘Detention, Mr Potter!’ said Professor Umbridge triumphantly. ‘Tomorrow evening. Five o'clock. My office. I repeat, this is a lie.The Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard. If you are still worried, by all means come and see me outside class hours. If someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn Dark wizards, I would like to hear about it. I am here to help. I am your friend. And now, you will kindly continue your reading. Page five, “Basics for Beginners".’
Professor Umbridge sat down behind her desk. Harry, however, stood up. Everyone was staring at him; Seamus looked half-scared, half-fascinated.
‘Harry, no!’ Hermione whispered in a warning voice, tugging at his sleeve, but Harry jerked his arm out of her reach.
‘So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?’ Harry asked, his voice shaking.
There was a collective intake of breath from the class, for none of them, apart from Ron and Hermione, had ever heard Harry talk about what had happened on the night Cedric had died. They stared avidly from Harry to Professor Umbridge, who had raised her eyes and was staring at him without a trace of a fake smile on her face.
‘Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident,’ she said coldly.
‘It was murder,’ said Harry. He could feel himself shaking. He had hardly spoken to anyone about this, least of all thirty eagerly listening classmates. ‘Voldemort killed him and you know it.’
Professor Umbridge's face was quite blank. For a moment, Harry thought she was going to scream at him. Then she said, in her softest, most sweetly girlish voice, ‘Come here, Mr. Potter, dear.’
He kicked his chair aside, strode around Ron and Hermione and up to the teacher's desk. He could feel the rest of the class holding its breath. He felt so angry he did not care what happened next.
Professor Umbridge pulled a small roll of pink parchment out of her handbag, stretched it out on the desk, dipped her quill into a bottle of ink and started scribbling, hunched over so that Harry could not see what she was writing. Nobody spoke. After a minute or so she rolled up the parchment and tapped it with her wand; it sealed itself seamlessly so that he could not open it.
‘Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear,’ said Professor Umbridge, holding out the note to him.
He took it from her without saying a word, turned on his heel and left the room, not even looking back at Ron and Hermione, slamming the classroom door shut behind him. He walked very fast along the corridor, the note to McGonagall clutched tight in his hand, and turning a corner walked slap into Peeves the poltergeist, a wide-mouthed little man floating on his back in midair, juggling several inkwells.
‘Why, it's Potty Wee Potter!’ cackled Peeves, allowing two of the inkwells to fall to the ground where they smashed and spattered the walls with ink; Harry jumped backwards out of the way with a snarl.
‘Get out of it, Peeves.’
‘Oooh, Crackpot's feeling cranky,’ said Peeves, pursuing Harry along the corridor, leering as he zoomed along above him. ‘What is it this time, my fine Potty friend? Hearing voices? Seeing visions? Speaking in—’ Peeves blew a gigantic raspberry ‘— tongues?’
‘I said, leave me ALONE!’ Harry shouted, running down the nearest flight of stairs, but Peeves merely slid down the banister on his back beside him.
‘Oh, most think he's barking, the potty wee lad,
But some are more kindly and think he's just sad,
But Peevesy knows better and says that he's mad—’
 
‘SHUT UP!’
A door to his left flew open and Professor McGonagall emerged from her office looking grim and slightly harassed.
‘What on earth are you shouting about, Potter?’ she snapped, as Peeves cackled gleefully and zoomed out of sight. ‘Why aren't you in class?’
‘I've been sent to see you,’ said Harry stiffly.
‘Sent? What do you mean, sent?’
He held out the note from Professor Umbridge. Professor McGonagall took it from him, frowning, slit it open with a tap of her wand, stretched it out and began to read. Her eyes zoomed from side to side behind their square spectacles as she read what Umbridge had written, and with each line they became narrower.
‘Come in here, Potter.’
He followed her inside her study. The door closed automatically behind him.
‘Well?’ said Professor McGonagall, rounding on him. ‘Is this true?’
‘Is what true?’ Harry asked, rather more aggressively than he had intended. ‘Professor?’ he added, in an attempt to sound more polite.
‘Is it true that you shouted at Professor Umbridge?’
‘Yes,’ said Harry.
‘You called her a liar?’
‘Yes.’
‘You told her He Who Must Not Be Named is back?’
‘Yes.’
Professor McGonagall sat down behind her desk, watching Harry closely. Then she said, ‘Have a biscuit, Potter.’
‘Have—what?’
‘Have a biscuit,’ she repeated impatiently, indicating a tartan tin lying on top of one of the piles of papers on her desk. ‘And sit down.’
There had been a previous occasion when Harry, expecting to be caned by Professor McGonagall, had instead been appointed by her to the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He sank into a chair opposite her and helped himself to a Ginger Newt, feeling just as confused and wrong-footed as he had done on that occasion.
Professor McGonagall set down Professor Umbridge's note and looked very seriously at Harry.
‘Potter, you need to be careful.’
Harry swallowed his mouthful of Ginger Newt and stared at her. Her tone of voice was not at all what he was used to; it was not brisk, crisp and stern; it was low and anxious and somehow much more human than usual.
‘Misbehaviour in Dolores Umbridge's class could cost you much more than house points and a detention.’
‘What do you—?’
‘Potter, use your common sense,’ snapped Professor McGonagall, with an abrupt return to her usual manner. ‘You know where she comes from, you must know to whom she is reporting.’
The bell rang for the end of the lesson. Overhead and all around came the elephantine sounds of hundreds of students on the move.
‘It says here she's given you detention every evening this week, starting tomorrow,’ Professor McGonagall said, looking down at Umbridge's note again.
‘Every evening this week!’ Harry repeated, horrified. ‘But, Professor, couldn't you—?’
‘No, I couldn't,’ said Professor McGonagall flatly.
‘But—’
‘She is your teacher and has every right to give you detention. You will go to her room at five o'clock tomorrow for the first one. Just remember: tread carefully around Dolores Umbridge.’
‘But I was telling the truth!’ said Harry, outraged. ‘Voldemort is back, you know he is; Professor Dumbledore knows he is—’
‘For heaven's sake, Potter!’ said Professor McGonagall, straightening her glasses angrily (she had winced horribly when he had used Voldemort's name). ‘Do you really think this is about truth or lies? It's about keeping your head down and your temper under control!’
She stood up, nostrils wide and mouth very thin, and Harry stood up, too.
‘Have another biscuit,’ she said irritably, thrusting the tin at him.
‘No, thanks,’ said Harry coldly.
‘Don't be ridiculous,’ she snapped.
He took one.
‘Thanks,’ he said grudgingly.
‘Didn't you listen to Dolores Umbridge's speech at the start-of-term feast, Potter?’
‘Yeah,’ said Harry. ‘Yeah ... she said ... progress will be prohibited or ... well, it meant that ... that the Ministry of Magic is trying to interfere at Hogwarts.’
Professor McGonagall eyed him closely for a moment, then sniffed, walked around her desk and held open the door for him.
‘Well, I'm glad you listen to Hermione Granger at any rate,’ she said, pointing him out of her office.
西姆斯以最快的速度穿好衣服并在哈利穿好袜子前走出了寝室。 
　　当他衣袍的边也消失于眼际时，哈利大声叫道：“他是不是认为和我在一个屋子待久了也会变成一个疯子？” 
　　“别为它烦恼，哈利，”迪安咕哝道，同时背起了他的书包，“他只是——” 
　　很显然他也不知道西姆斯怎么了，因而在停顿了一下后也溜出了房门。 
　　纳威和罗恩同时递给哈利一个表示“那是他的问题，不关你的事”的眼神，但哈利并没有从这些动作之中感到多少安慰。想反，他稍有烦燥的在想：像这样的事他还得受多少？ 
　　“怎么了？”五分钟后荷米恩赶上正穿过公共休息室去吃早饭的哈利和罗恩问道，“你们看上去绝对——哦，我的天啊！” 
　　她瞪着公共休息室的布告版，在一张宣布第一次去霍格玛德魔法村的周末将是在十月份的海报上面被贴上一张巨大的新告示： 
　　一堆的帆船币！感到零花钱不够满足你的花费？想要挣些额外的金币？只是一份既简单又轻松的兼职！请到格里芬顿公共休息室与弗莱德和乔治·威斯里联系在告示的下方还有一行小字：申请者将要承担一些因工作带来的小小风险。 
　　“这是被禁止的，”荷米恩严肃地说，揭下了被弗莱德和乔治钉在一张海报上的告示， “我们该和他们谈谈，罗恩。”荷米恩说。 当他们穿过胖大婶的画像时，荷米恩说道：“因为我们是级长，阻止这样的事是我们的职责。” 
　　罗恩没有响应；哈利从他阴沉的表情上看出他对劝阻双胞胎兄弟的前景并不看好。 
　　“无论如何，哈利，到底怎么了？你看上去很恼火。”荷米恩继续道，这时他们走过了一串挂在楼梯边的女巫和巫师的肖像，但那些画像并没有理他们，投入地谈论着自己的话题。 
　　“西姆斯怀疑哈利在神秘人的事上撒了谎。”罗恩替没有回答的哈利简单地解释了一番。 
　　荷米恩叹了口气，并没有如哈利预计的暴怒。 
　　她沮丧地说：“是的，Lavender也是这么认为。” 
　　“和她愉快的谈论我，一个想要别人的注意的傻瓜，是否在说谎，是吗？”哈利大叫着。 
　　荷米恩平静地说：“实际并不是这样，我警告她闭上她那张谈论你的大肥嘴。如果你能降低一下你对罗恩和我的声调那就更好了。你难道没看出来我们是站在你这边的吗？” 
　　一段小小的沉默。 
　　“对不起，”哈利颓丧地低声道。 
　　“这样就好了。”荷米恩高傲的说道，接着她摇了摇头说道：“你难道不记得丹伯多在上个学期末的宴会上说的了吗？” 
　　哈利和罗恩都茫然地看着荷米恩，希冀着她能解释地清楚些。 
　　“就是关于神秘人的。他说他的“散布不和谐音和憎恨的天赋很高。我们只能凭与之相对的友谊和信任结合的强大力量和他抗衡——” 
　　“你怎么能把原版记得那么牢？”罗恩羡慕地看着她。 
　　“我是听的，罗恩，”荷米恩以一种刻薄的语气说道。 
　　“我也在听的，但我还是不能像你那样说的精—” 
　　“重点是现在这种事就是丹伯多所说的，”荷米恩提高嗓音强调，“神秘人回来不过两个月，我们就已经起内讧了。分院帽也是这样警告的：站在一起，团结起来—” 
　　“但哈利昨晚那样是对的，”罗恩反驳道，“如果那警告意味着我们要向史林德林的蠢材们示好。” 
　　“那我很遗憾我们没在为让内部的一点团结而努力。”荷米恩针锋相对道。 
　　当他们走完大理石的楼梯时，一队拉文克罗的四年级学生正在穿过大厅。他们瞧见了哈利就挤作一团地跑开了，好像哈利会攻击那些掉队的。 
　　“是啊，我们的确是要试着和那些人交朋友。”哈利讽刺地说道。 
　　他们随着拉文克罗的人进了大厅，不自觉地朝教工餐桌望了望。格卢比。布兰科教授（哈格力之前的魔法生物学老师：骑车过路人插）正在和希尼斯塔教授（天文学老师）聊天，而哈格力显然再一次地没有出现。在他们头顶的施了魔法的天花板就像是哈利的心情一样，是种凄惨的乌云密布的灰色。 
　　“丹伯多甚至没有提起格卢比。布兰科要在这待多久，”当他们向格里芬顿的餐桌走去时哈利抱怨道。 
　　“也许—”荷米恩思索着。 
　　“什么？”哈利和罗恩同声道。 
　　“也许他不想让人注意到哈格力的缺席。” 
　　“什么意思，让人注意到？”罗恩半笑半说，“我们怎么能不注意到？” 
　　就在荷米恩回应之前，一个又高又黑，梳着长长的麻花辫的女孩大步向哈利走来。 
　　“你好，安吉莉娜。” 
　　“你好，”她兴奋地回道，“假期过得好吗？”没等到回答她就说道，“你们知道吗，我被任为格里芬顿的快迪斯队长。” 
　　“真棒，”哈利祝贺道，朝她咧嘴笑着；他希望安吉莉娜充满活力的讲话不会象奥利弗·伍德的那么长，那样的话就是一个进步了。 
　　“是的，鉴于奥利弗的离开，我们需要一个新守门。测试将于周五五点举行，我希望全队都到，明白了吗？然后我们要看看那新人怎么和我们配合。’“好。” 
　　安吉莉娜笑着离开了。 
　　“我都忘了伍德已经离开了，”荷米恩含糊地说，她已经坐在罗恩旁，一大盘的烤吐司堆在她面前，“我希望这会对整个队有个大变化。” 
　　“我也这么想，”哈利坐在对面的位子，“伍德原是个很好的守门。” 
　　“但它不会影响一些新鲜的血液进入，对吗？”罗恩说。 
　　在一阵淅沥哗啦中，几百只猫头鹰从天窗飞了进来，盘旋在上空。它们直冲向它们的主人，带来信件和包裹，抖落向正在进食的人滴滴雨水；外面的雨肯定下得很大。海维没有出现，但哈利并不惊讶；他唯一的通信人就是天狼星，而他不认为在离开二十四小时后天狼星有什么新的要告诉他。然而荷米恩却不得不迅速移开她的橘子汁腾出地方给一只湿透了的从畜棚来的大猫头鹰，它的嘴里叼着一份已经浸透的预言者日报。 
　　“你还订那个干什么？”哈利暴躁地问道，想到了西姆斯，这时荷米恩正把一个克拉币放进猫头鹰的皮袋中，“我不会为一堆垃圾烦恼的。” 
　　“这是最好的了解敌人在说些什么的途径，”荷米恩黑着脸说，她把报纸展开然后消失在报纸后面，直到哈利和罗恩吃完了他们的早餐才把头冒了出来。 
　　“没事，”她简单地说道，把报纸卷起来放在盘子边，“没有任何事是关于你或是丹伯多的。” 
　　麦格教授这是正拿着张时间表沿着桌子走着。 
　　“看看今天！”罗恩呻吟道，“魔法历史课，两节药剂课，预言课还有两节黑魔法防御课—宾斯，斯内普，特雷洛尼还有那个乌姆。布瑞杰都在一天里！我真希望弗莱德和乔治能赶快把那个削蛇盒弄好“我有没有听错，”弗莱德说道，他和乔治正挤进来坐在哈利旁边，“霍格沃兹的级长不会想翘课的吧？” 
　　“瞧瞧我们今天都上些什么，”罗恩咆哮着，把时间表推到弗莱德面前，“这是我碰到过的最糟糕的星期一。” 
　　“公平交易，小弟，”弗莱德看了遍时间表说道。“如果你想要，我们可以便宜一点卖给你些流鼻血奶油杏仁糖。” 
　　“为什么便宜些？”罗恩怀疑道。 
　　“因为你会流鼻血直到你变老，我们还没有恢复剂，”乔治边说边吃着腌鱼。 
　　“干杯，”罗恩心情激动地说，收好他的课程表，“不过我想我还是去上课吧。” 
　　“还说你的削蛇盒”荷米恩说，看了弗莱德和乔治一眼，“你不能在格兰芬多的布告板上做广告。” 
　　“谁说的？”乔治说，看起来很惊讶。 
　　“我说的，”荷米恩说，“还有罗恩” 
　　“不包括我，”罗恩急忙说。 
　　荷米恩瞪了他一眼。弗莱德和乔治在一旁窃笑。 
　　“你很快就会唱一首很不同的歌曲，荷米恩，”弗莱德说，在烤面包上涂了一层厚厚的黄油。“你正在开始你的第5年，不出多久你就会向我们乞求一个削蛇盒了。” 
　　“但为什么开始第5年就说明我想要一个削蛇盒呢？”荷米恩问。“第5年要进行普通巫师等级考试。”乔治说。 
　　“然后？” 
　　“然后你的测试就会来了，不对吗？他们会使你成为一个用功的学生”弗莱德说的时候作出很满意的表情。 
　　“我们半年的时间都花在普通巫师等级考试上了，”乔治高兴地说。“眼泪和发脾气……” 
　　“Kenneth的塔在沸腾中出现的，你还记得么？”弗莱德回忆着说。 
　　“那是因为你放了Bulbadox粉在他的夹克衫里”乔治说。 
　　“哦，对，”弗莱德说，露出牙齿笑了。“我忘了……很难非常清楚的记得什么东西，不对吗？” 
　　“总之，这是第5年的一个噩梦，”乔治说。“如果你介意考试的结果，随便。弗莱德和我不知何故要维持我们的啄木鸟。” 
　　“是啊，”弗莱德漫不经心地说。“但我们觉得我们的将来会不止在学院里撒谎。” 
　　“我们最严肃的争论是我们第7年还来不来这里上学，”乔治鲜明地说，“现在我们已经有了-” 
　　他在哈利向他投来一个警告的眼光时停住了，乔治知道是哈利把他在勇士争霸塞赢得的钱给了他。 
　　“现在我们已经有了我们的普通巫师证书，”乔治急忙说。“我的意思是，我们真的还需要终极巫师的证书吗？但我们想妈妈不会让我们太早离开学校，在泊西之后又成为世界最傻的人。” 
　　“我们不打算在这里浪费我们的最后一年，”弗莱德说，看了一眼门厅。“我们将用它去做很多调查，找出一般的霍格瓦彻的学生在笑话商店需要什么，仔细评估调查的结果，然后生产产品来满足需要。” 
　　“但你怎么筹集资金去开笑话商店呢？”荷米恩怀疑地问。“你们需要所有的材料和成分—还有前提，我想……” 
　　哈利没有看双胞胎。他的脸红了；他并不希望他的叉子掉下来再弯腰去捡它。他听见弗莱德在头上说：“不要问我们问题，我们就不会对你说谎，荷米恩。来，乔治，如果我们早点到那里也许能卖几只顺风耳。” 
　　哈利从桌子底下抬起头以便能看见弗莱德和乔治走远，每个人都拿着一堆烤面包“这是什么意思？”荷米恩说，在哈利和罗恩之间看来看去。“‘不要问我们问题……’这说明他们已经有一些资金去开笑话商店吗？” 
　　“你知道，我正在为这件事情惊讶，”罗恩说，他皱起眉毛。“他们暑假给我买了一件礼服，而我不知道他们从哪里弄来的钱。” 
　　哈利想现在是时候
Chapter 13 Dentention Width Delores
Dinner in the Great Hall that night was not a pleasant experience for Harry. The news about his shouting match with Umbridge had travelled exceptionally fast even by Hogwarts’ standards. He heard whispers all around him as he sat eating between Ron 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 first-hand.
‘He says he saw Cedric Diggory murdered ...’
‘He reckons he duelled with You-Know-Who ...’
‘Come off it ...’
‘Who does he think he's kidding?’
‘Pur-lease ...’
‘What I don't get,’ said Harry through clenched teeth, laying down his knife and fork (his hands were shaking too much to hold them steady), ‘is why they all believed the story two months ago when Dumbledore told them ...’
‘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 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 OWL year, too!’
‘Well, we've never had great Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers, have we?’ said Harry. ‘You know what it's like, Hagrid told us, nobody wants the job; they say it's jinxed.’
‘Yes, but to employ someone who's actually refusing to let us do magic! What's Dumbledore playing at?’
‘And she's trying to get people to spy for her,’ said Ron darkly.
‘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.’ 
‘Of course they want to be free!’ said Hermione at once, though her face was turning pink. ‘Don't you dare touch those hats, Ron!’
She turned on her heel and left. Ron waited until she had disappeared through the door to the girls’ dormitories, then cleared the rubbish off the woolly hats.
‘They should at least see what they're picking up,’ he said firmly. ‘Anyway ...’ he rolled up the parchment on which he had written the title of Snape's essay, ‘there's no point trying to finish this now, I can't do it without Hermione, I haven't got a clue what you're supposed to do with moonstones, have you?’
Harry shook his head, noticing as he did so that the ache in his right temple was getting worse. He thought of the long essay on giant wars and the pain stabbed at him sharply. Knowing perfectly well that when the morning came, he would regret not finishing his homework that night, he piled his books back into his bag.
‘I'm going to bed too.’
He passed Seamus on the way to the door leading to the dormitories, but did not look at him. Harry had a fleeting impression that Seamus had opened his mouth to speak, but he sped up and reached the soothing peace of the stone spiral staircase without having to endure any more provocation.
The following day dawned just as leaden and rainy as the previous one. Hagrid was still absent from the staff table at breakfast.
‘But on the plus side, no Snape today,’ said Ron bracingly.
Hermione yawned widely and poured herself some coffee. She looked mildly pleased about something, and when Ron asked her what she had to be so happy about, she simply said, ‘The hats have gone. Seems the house-elves do want freedom after all.’
‘I wouldn't bet on it,’ Ron told her cuttingly. ‘They might not count as clothes. They didn't look anything like hats to me, 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 the first fifteen minutes of their lessons lecturing the class on the importance of OWLs.
‘What you must remember,’ said little Professor Flitwick squeakily, perched as ever on a pile of books so that he could see over the top of his desk, ‘is that these examinations may influence your futures for many years to come! If you have not already given serious thought to your careers, now is the time to do so. And in the meantime, I'm afraid, we shall be working harder than ever to ensure that you all do yourselves justice!’
They then spent over an hour revising Summoning Charms, which according to Professor Flitwick were bound to come up in their OWL, and he rounded off the lesson by setting them their largest ever amount of Charms homework.
It was the same, if not worse, in Transfiguration.
‘You cannot pass an OWL,’ said Professor McGonagall grimly, ‘without serious application, practice and study. I see no reason why everybody in this class should not achieve an OWL in Transfiguration as long as they put in the work.’ Neville made a sad little disbelieving noise. ‘Yes, you too, Longbottom,’ said Professor McGonagall. ‘There's nothing wrong with your work except lack of confidence. So ... today we are starting Vanishing Spells. These are easier than Conjuring Spells, which you would not usually attempt until NEWT level, but they are still among the most difficult magic you will be tested on in your OWL.’
She was quite right; Harry found the Vanishing Spells horribly difficult. By the end of a double period, neither he nor Ron had managed to vanish the snails on which they were practising, though Ron said hopefully he thought his looked a bit paler. Hermione, on the other hand, successfully vanished her snail on the third attempt, earning her a ten-point bonus for Gryffindor from Professor McGonagall. She was the only person not given homework; everybody else was told to practise the spell overnight, ready for a fresh attempt on their snails the following afternoon.
Now panicking slightly about the amount of homework they had to do, Harry and Ron spent their lunch hour in the library looking up the uses of moonstones in potion-making. Still angry about Ron's slur on her woolly hats, Hermione did not join them. By the time they reached Care of Magical Creatures in the afternoon, Harry's head was aching again.
The day had become cool and breezy, and as they walked down the sloping lawn towards Hagrid's cabin on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, they felt the occasional drop of rain on their faces. Professor Grubbly-Plank stood waiting for the class some ten yards from Hagrid's front door, a long trestle table in front of her laden with twigs. As Harry and Ron reached her, a loud shout of laughter sounded behind them; turning, they saw Draco Malfoy striding towards them, surrounded by his usual gang of Slytherin cronies. He had clearly just said something highly amusing, because Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy Parkinson and the rest continued to snigger heartily as they gathered around the trestle table and, judging by the way they all kept looking over at Harry, he was able to guess the subject of the joke without too much difficulty.
‘Everyone here?’ barked Professor Grubbly-Plank, once all the Slytherins and Gryffindors had arrived. ‘Let's crack on then. Who can tell me what these things are called?’
She indicated the heap of twigs in front of her. Hermione's hand shot into the air. Behind her back, Malfoy did a buck-toothed imitation of her jumping up and down in eagerness to answer a question. Pansy Parkinson gave a shriek of laughter that turned almost at once into a scream, as the twigs on the table leapt into the air and revealed themselves to be what looked like tiny pixie-ish creatures made of wood, each with knobbly brown arms and legs, two twiglike fingers at the end of each hand and a funny flat, barklike face in which a pair of beetle-brown eyes glittered.
‘Oooooh!’ said Parvati and Lavender, thoroughly irritating Harry. Anyone would have thought Hagrid had never shown them impressive creatures; admittedly, the Flobberworms had been a bit dull, but the salamanders and hippogriffs had been interesting enough, and the Blast-Ended Skrewts perhaps too much so.
‘Kindly keep your voices down, girls!’ said Professor Grubbly-Plank sharply, scattering a handful of what looked like brown rice among the stick-creatures, who immediately fell upon the food. ‘So—anyone know the names of these creatures? 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 rightly says, they generally live in trees whose wood is of wand quality. Anybody know what they eat?’
‘Woodlice,’ said Hermione promptly, which explained why what Harry had taken to be grains of brown rice were moving. ‘But fairy eggs if they can get them.’ 
‘Good girl, take another five points. So, whenever you need leaves or wood from a tree in which a Bowtruckle lodges, it is wise to have a gift of woodlice ready to distract or placate it. They may not look dangerous, but if angered they will try to gouge at human eyes with their fingers, which, as you can see, are very sharp and not at all desirable near the eyeballs. So if you'd like to gather closer, take a few woodlice and a Bowtruckle—I have enough here for one between three—you can study them more closely. I want a sketch from each of you with all body-parts labelled by the end of the lesson.’
The class surged forwards around the trestle table. Harry deliberately circled around the back so that he ended up right next to Professor Grubbly-Plank.
‘Where's Hagrid?’ he asked her, while everyone else was choosing Bowtruckles.
‘Never you mind,’ said Professor Grubbly-Plank repressively, which had been her attitude last time Hagrid had failed to turn up for a class, too. Smirking all over his pointed face, Draco Malfoy leaned across Harry and seized the largest Bowtruckle.
‘Maybe,’ said Malfoy in an undertone, so that only Harry could hear him, ‘the stupid great oaf's got himself badly injured.’
‘Maybe you will if you don't shut up,’ said Harry out of the side of his mouth.
‘Maybe he's been messing with stuff that's too big for him, if you get my drift.’
Malfoy walked away, smirking over his shoulder at Harry, who felt suddenly sick. Did Malfoy know something? His father was a Death Eater after all; what if he had information about Hagrid's fate that had not yet reached the ears of the Order? He hurried back around the table to Ron and Hermione who were squatting on the grass some distance away and attempting to persuade a Bowtruckle to remain still long enough for them to draw it. Harry pulled out parchment and quill, crouched down beside the others and related in a whisper what Malfoy had just said.
‘Dumbledore would know if something had happened to Hagrid,’ said Hermione at once. ‘It's just playing into Malfoy's hands to look worried; it tells him we don't know exactly what's going on. We've got to ignore him, Harry. Here, hold the Bowtruckle for a moment, just so I can draw its face ...’
‘Yes,’ came Malfoy's clear drawl from the group nearest them, ‘Father was talking to the Minister just a couple of days ago, you know, and it sounds as though the Ministry's really determined to crack down on sub-standard teaching in this place. So even if that overgrown moron does show up again, he'll probably be sent packing straightaway.’
‘OUCH!’
Harry had gripped the Bowtruckle so hard that it had almost snapped, and it had just taken a great retaliatory swipe at his hand with its sharp fingers, leaving two long deep cuts there. Harry dropped it. Crabbe and Goyle, who had already been guffawing at the idea of Hagrid being sacked, laughed still harder as the Bowtruckle set off at full tilt towards the Forest, a little moving stick-man soon swallowed up among the tree roots. When the bell echoed distantly over the grounds, Harry rolled up his blood-stained Bowtruckle picture and marched off to Herbology with his hand wrapped in Hermione's handkerchief, and Malfoy's derisive laughter still ringing in his ears.
‘If he calls Hagrid a moron one more time ...’ said Harry through gritted teeth.
‘Harry, don't go picking a row with Malfoy, don't forget, he's a prefect now, he could make life difficult for you ...’
‘Wow, I wonder what it'd be like to have a difficult life?’ said Harry sarcastically. Ron laughed, but Hermione frowned. Together, they traipsed across the vegetable patch. The sky still appeared unable to make up its mind whether it wanted to rain or not.
‘I just wish Hagrid would hurry up and get back, that's all,’ said Harry in a low voice, as they reached the greenhouses. ‘And don't say that Grubbly-Plank woman's a better teacher!’ he added threateningly.
‘I wasn't going to,’ said Hermione calmly.
‘Because she'll never be as good as Hagrid,’ said Harry firmly, fully aware that he had just experienced an exemplary Care of Magical Creatures lesson and was thoroughly annoyed about it.
The door of the nearest greenhouse opened and some fourth-years spilled out of it, including Ginny.
‘Hi,’ she said brightly as she passed. A few seconds later, Luna Lovegood emerged, trailing behind the rest of the class, a smudge of earth on her nose, and her hair tied in a knot on the top of her head. When she saw Harry, her prominent eyes seemed to bulge excitedly and she made a beeline straight for him. Many of his classmates turned curiously to watch. Luna took a great breath and then said, without so much as a preliminary hello, ‘I believe He Who Must Not Be Named is back and I believe you fought him and escaped from him.’ 
‘Er—right,’ said Harry awkwardly. Luna was wearing what looked like a pair of orange radishes for earrings, a fact that Parvati and Lavender seemed to have noticed, as they were both giggling and pointing at her earlobes.
‘You can laugh,’ Luna said, her voice rising, apparently under the impression that Parvati and Lavender were laughing at what she had said rather than what she was wearing, ‘but people used to believe there were no such things as the Blibbering Humdinger or the Crumple-Horned Snorkack!’
‘Well, they were right, weren't they?’ said Hermione impatiently. There weren't any such things as the Blibbering Humdinger or the Crumple-Horned Snorkack.’
Luna gave her a withering look and flounced away, radishes swinging madly. Parvati and Lavender were not the only ones hooting with laughter now.
‘D'you mind not offending the only people who believe me?’ Harry asked Hermione as they made their way into class.
‘Oh, for heaven's sake, Harry, you can do better than her,’ said Hermione. ‘Ginny's told me all about her; apparently, she'll only believe in things as long as there's no proof at all. Well, I wouldn't expect anything else from someone whose father runs The Quibbler.’
Harry thought of the sinister winged horses he had seen on the night he had arrived and how Luna had said she could see them too. His spirits sank slightly. Had she been lying? But before he could devote much more thought to the matter, Ernie Macmillan had stepped up to him.
‘I want you to know, Potter,’ he said in a loud, carrying voice, ‘that it's not only weirdos who support you. I personally believe you one hundred per cent. My family have always stood firm behind Dumbledore, and so do I.’
‘Er—thanks very much, Ernie,’ said Harry, taken aback but pleased. Ernie might be pompous on occasions like this, but Harry was in a mood to deeply appreciate a vote of confidence from somebody who did not have radishes dangling from their ears. Ernie's words had certainly wiped the smile from Lavender Browns face and as he turned to talk to Ron and Hermione, Harry caught Seamus's expression, which looked both confused and defiant.
To nobody's surprise, Professor Sprout started their lesson by lecturing them about the importance of OWLs. Harry wished all the teachers would stop doing this; he was starting to get an anxious, twisted feeling in his stomach every time he remembered how much homework he had to do, a feeling that worsened dramatically when Professor Sprout gave them yet another essay at the end of class. Tired and smelling strongly of dragon dung, Professor Sprouts preferred type of fertiliser, the Gryffindors trooped back up to the castle an hour and a half later, none of them talking very much; it had been another long day.
As Harry was starving, and he had his first detention with Umbridge at five o'clock, he headed straight for dinner without dropping off his bag in Gryffindor Tower so that he could bolt something down before facing whatever she had in store for him. He had barely reached the entrance of the Great Hall, however, when a loud and angry voice yelled, ‘Oi, Potter!’
‘What now?’ he muttered wearily, turning to face Angelina Johnson, who looked as though she was in a towering temper.
‘I'll tell you what now,’ she said, marching straight up to him and poking him hard in the chest with her finger. ‘How come you've landed yourself in detention for five o'clock on Friday?’
‘What?’ said Harry. ‘Why ... oh yeah, Keeper tryouts!’
‘Now he remembers!’ snarled Angelina. ‘Didn't I tell you I wanted to do a tryout with the whole team, and find someone who fitted in with everyone?Didn't I tell you I'd booked the Quidditch pitch specially? And now you've decided you're not going to be there!’
‘I didn't decide not to be there!’ said Harry, stung by the injustice of these words. ‘I got detention from that Umbridge woman, just because I told her the truth about You-Know-Who.’
‘Well, you can just go straight to her and ask her to let you off en Friday,’ said Angelina fiercely, ‘and I don't care how you do it. Tell her You-Know-Who's a figment of your imagination if you like, just make sure you're there!’
She turned on her heel and stormed away.
‘You know what.?’ Harry said to Ron and Hermione as they entered the Great Hall. ‘I think we'd better check with Puddlemere United whether Oliver Wood's been killed during a training session, because Angelina seems to be channelling his spirit.’
‘What d'you reckon are the odds of Umbridge letting you off on Friday?’ said Ron sceptically, as they sat down at the Gryffindor table.
‘Less than zero,’ said Harry glumly, tipping lamb chops on to his plate and starting to eat. ‘Better try, though, hadn't I? I'll offer to do two more detentions or something, I dunno ...’ He swallowed a mouthful of potato and added, ‘I hope she doesn't keep me too long this evening. You realise we've got to write three essays, practise Vanishing Spells for McGonagall, work out a counter-charm for Flitwick, finish the Bowtruckle drawing and start that stupid dream diary for Trelawney?’
Ron moaned and for some reason glanced up at the ceiling.
‘And it looks like it's going to rain.’
‘What's that got to do with our homework?’ said Hermione, her eyebrows raised.
‘Nothing,’ said Ron at once, his ears reddening.
At five to five Harry bade the other two goodbye and set off for Umbridge's office on the third floor. When he knocked on the door she called, ‘Come in,’ in a sugary voice. He entered cautiously, looking around.
He had known this office under three of its previous occupants.
In the days when Gilderoy Lockhart had lived here it had been plastered in beaming portraits of himself. When Lupin had occupied it, it was likely you would meet some fascinating Dark creature in a cage or tank if you came to call. In the impostor Moody's days it had been packed with various instruments and artefacts for the detection of wrongdoing and concealment.
Now, however, it looked totally unrecognisable. The surfaces had all been draped in lacy covers and cloths. There were several vases full of dried flowers, each one residing on its own doily, and on one of the walls was a collection of ornamental plates, each decorated with a large technicolour kitten wearing a different bow around its neck. These were so foul that Harry stared at them, transfixed, until Professor Umbridge spoke again.
‘Good evening, Mr Potter.’
Harry started and looked around. He had not noticed her at first because she was wearing a luridly flowered set of robes that blended only too well with the tablecloth on the desk behind her.
‘Evening, Professor Umbridge,’ Harry said stiffly.
‘Well, sit down,’ she said, pointing towards a small table draped in lace beside which she had drawn up a straight-backed chair. A piece of blank parchment lay on the table, apparently waiting for him.
‘Er,’ said Harry, without moving. ‘Professor Umbridge. Er—before we start, I—I wanted to ask you a ... a favour.’
Her bulging eyes narrowed.
‘Oh, yes?’
‘Well, I'm ... I'm in the Gryffindor Quidditch team. And I was supposed to be at the tryouts for the new Keeper at five o'clock on Friday and I was—was wondering whether I could skip detention that night and do it—do it another night ... instead ...’
He knew long before he reached the end of his sentence that it was no good.
‘Oh, no,’ said Umbridge, smiling so widely that she looked as though she had just swallowed a particularly juicy fly. ‘Oh, no, no, no. This is your punishment for spreading evil, nasty, attention-seeking stories, Mr. Potter, and punishments certainly cannot be adjusted to suit the guilty one's convenience. No, you will come here at five o'clock tomorrow, and the next day, and on Friday too, and you will do your detentions as planned. I think it rather a good thing that you are missing something you really want to do. It ought to reinforce the lesson I am trying to teach you.’
Harry felt the blood surge to his head and heard a thumping noise in his ears. So he told ‘evil, nasty, attention-seeking stones', did he?
She was watching him with her head slightly to one side, still smiling widely, as though she knew exactly what he was thinking and was waiting to see whether he would start shouting again. With a massive effort, Harry looked away from her, dropped his schoolbag beside the straight-backed chair and sat down.
‘There,’ said Umbridge sweetly, ‘we're getting better at controlling our temper already, aren't we? Now, you are going to be doing some lines for me, Mr Potter. No, not with your quill,’ she added, as Harry bent down to open his bag. ‘You're going to be using a rather special one of mine. Here you are.’
She handed him a long, thin black quill with an unusually sharp point.
‘I want you to write, I must not tell lies,’ she told him softly.
‘How many times?’ Harry asked, with a creditable imitation of politeness.
‘Oh, as long as it takes for the message to sink in,’ said Umbridge sweetly. ‘Off you go.’
She moved over to her desk, sat down and bent over a stack of parchment that looked like essays for marking. Harry raised the sharp black quill, then realised what was missing.
‘You haven't given me any ink,’ he said.
‘Oh, you won't need ink,’ said Professor Umbridge, with the merest suggestion of a laugh in her voice.
Harry placed the point of the quill on the paper and wrote: I must not tell lies.
He let out a gasp of pain. The words had appeared on the parchment in what appeared to be shining red ink. At the same time, the words had appeared on the back of Harry's right hand, cut into his skin as though traced there by a scalpel - yet even as he stared at the shining cut, the skin healed over again, leaving the place where it had been slightly redder than before but quite smooth.
Harry looked round at Umbridge. She was watching him, her wide, toadlike mouth stretched in a smile.
‘Yes?’
‘Nothing,’ said Harry quietly.
He looked back at the parchment, placed the quill on it once more, wrote I must not tell lies, and felt the searing pain on the back of his hand for a second time; once again, the words had been cut into his skin; once again, they healed over seconds later.
And on it went. Again and again Harry wrote the words on the parchment in what he soon came to realise was not ink, but his own blood. And, again and again, the words were cut into the back of his hand, healed, and reappeared the next time he set quill to parchment.
Darkness fell outside Umbridge's window. Harry did not ask when he would be allowed to stop. He did not even check his watch. He knew she was watching him for signs of weakness and he was not going to show any, not even if he had to sit there all night, cutting open his own hand with this quill ...
‘Come here,’ she said, after what seemed hours.
He stood up. His hand was stinging painfully. When he looked down at it he saw that the cut had healed, but that the skin there was red raw.
‘Hand,’ she said.
He extended it. She took it in her own. Harry repressed a shudder as she touched him with her thick, stubby fingers on which she wore a number of ugly old rings.
‘Tut, tut, I don't seem to have made much of an impression yet,’ she said, smiling. ‘Well, we'll just have to try again tomorrow evening, won't we? You may go.’
Harry left her office without a word. The school was quite deserted; it was surely past midnight. He walked slowly up the corridor, then, when he had turned the corner and was sure she would not hear him, broke into a run.
He had not had time to practise Vanishing Spells, had not written a single dream in his dream diary and had not finished the drawing of the Bowtruckle, nor had he written his essays. He skipped breakfast next morning to scribble down a couple of made-up dreams for Divination, their first lesson, and was surprised to find a dishevelled Ron keeping him company.
‘How come you didn't do it last night?’ Harry asked, as Ron stared wildly around the common room for inspiration. Ron, who had been fast asleep when Harry got back to the dormitory, muttered something about ‘doing other stuff, bent low over his parchment and scrawled a few words.
‘That'll have to do,’ he said, slamming the diary shut. ‘I've said I dreamed I was buying a new pair of shoes, she can't make anything weird out of that, can she?’
They hurried off to North Tower together.
‘How was detention with Umbridge, anyway? What did she make you do?’
Harry hesitated for a fraction of a second, then said, ‘Lines.’
‘That's not too bad, then, eh?’ said Ron.
‘Nope,’ said Harry.
‘Hey—I forgot— did she let you off for Friday?’
‘No,’ said Harry.
Ron groaned sympathetically.
It was another bad day for Harry; he was one of the worst in Transfiguration, not having practised Vanishing Spells at all. He had to give up his lunch hour to complete the picture of the Bowtruckle and, meanwhile, Professors McGonagall, Grubbly-Plank and Sinistra gave them yet more homework, which he had no prospect of finishing that evening because of his second detention with Umbridge. To cap it all, Angelina Johnson tracked him down at dinner again and, on learning that he would not be able to attend Friday's Keeper tryouts, told him she was not at all impressed by his attitude and that she expected players who wished to remain on the team to put training before their other commitments.
‘I'm in detention!’ Harry yelled after her as she stalked away. ‘D'you think I'd rather be stuck in a room with that old toad or playing Quidditch?’
‘At least it's only lines,’ said Hermione consolingly, as Harry sank back on to his bench and looked down at his steak and kidney pie, which he no longer fancied very much. ‘It's not as it it's a dreadful punishment, really ...’
Harry opened his mouth, closed it again and nodded. He was not really sure why he was not telling Ron and Hermione exactly what was happening in Umbridge's room: he only knew that he did not want to see their looks of horror; that would make the whole thing seem worse and therefore more difficult to face. He also felt dimly that this was between himself and Umbridge, a private battle of wills, and he was not going to give her the satisfaction of hearing that he had complained about it.
‘I can't believe how much homework we've got,’ said Ron miserably.
‘Well, why didn't you do any last night?’ Hermione asked him. ‘Where were you, anyway?’
‘I was ... I fancied a walk,’ said Ron shiftily.
Harry had the distinct impression that he was not alone in concealing things at the moment.
The second detention was just as bad as the previous one. The skin on the back of Harry's hand became irritated more quickly now and was soon red and inflamed. Harry thought it unlikely that it would keep healing as effectively for long. Soon the cut would remain etched into his hand and Umbridge would, perhaps, be satisfied. He let no gasp of pain escape him, however, and from the moment of entering the room to the moment of his dismissal, again past midnight, he said nothing but ‘good evening’ and ‘goodnight'.
His homework situation, however, was now desperate, and when he returned to the Gryffindor common room he did not, though exhausted, go to bed, but opened his books and began Snape's moonstone essay. It was half past two by the time he had finished it. He knew he had done a poor job, but there was no help for it; unless he had something to give in he would be in detention with Snape next. He then dashed off answers to the questions Professor McGonagall had set them, cobbled together something on the proper handling of Bowtruckles for Professor Grubbly-Plank, and staggered up to bed, where he fell fully clothed on top of the covers and fell asleep immediately.
Thursday passed in a haze of tiredness. Ron seemed very sleepy too, though Harry could not see why he should be. Harry's third detention passed in the same way as the previous two, except that after two hours the words ‘I must not tell lies’ did not fade from the back of Harry's hand, but remained scratched there, oozing droplets of blood. The pause in the pointed quills scratching made Professor Umbridge look up.
‘Ah,’ she said softly, moving around her desk to examine his hand herself. ‘Good. That ought to serve as a reminder to you, oughtn't it? You may leave for tonight.’
‘Do I still have to come back tomorrow?’ said Harry, picking up his schoolbag with his left hand rather than his smarting right one.
‘Oh yes,’ said Professor Umbridge, smiling as widely as before. ‘Yes, I think we can etch the message a little deeper with another evenings work.’
Harry had never before considered the possibility that there might be another teacher in the world he hated more than Snape, but as he walked back towards Gryffindor Tower he had to admit he had found a strong contender. She's evil, he thought, as he climbed a staircase to the seventh floor, she's an evil, twisted, mad old-
‘Ron?’
He had reached the top of the stairs, turned right and almost walked into Ron, who was lurking behind a statue of Lachlan the Lanky, clutching his broomstick. He gave a great leap of surprise when he saw Harry and attempted to hide his new Cleansweep Eleven behind his back.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Er—nothing. What are you doing?’
Harry frowned at him.
‘Come on, you can tell me! What are you hiding here for?’
‘I'm—I'm hiding from Fred and George, if you must know,’ said Ron. ‘They just went past with a bunch of first-years, I bet they're testing stuff on them again, I mean, they can't do it in the common room now, can they, not with Hermione there.’
He was talking in a very fast, feverish way.
‘But what have you got your broom for, you haven't been flying, have you?’ Harry asked.
‘I—well—well, OK, I'll tell you, but don't laugh, all right?’ Ron said defensively, turning redder with every second. ‘I—I thought I'd try out for Gryffindor Keeper now I've got a decent broom. There. Go on. Laugh.’
‘I'm not laughing,’ said Harry. Ron blinked. ‘It's a brilliant idea! It'd be really cool if you got on the team! I've never seen you play Keeper, are you good?’
‘I'm not bad,’ said Ron, who looked immensely relieved at Harry's reaction. ‘Charlie, Fred and George always made me keep for them when they were training during the holidays.’
‘So you've been practising tonight?’
‘Every evening since Tuesday ... just on my own, though. I've been trying to bewitch Quaffles to fly at me, but it hasn't been easy and I don't know how much use it'll be.’ Ron looked nervous and anxious. ‘Fred and George are going to laugh themselves stupid when I turn up for the tryouts. They haven't stopped taking the mickey out of me since I got made a prefect.’
‘I wish I was going to be there,’ said Harry bitterly, as they set off together towards the common room.
‘Yeah, so do— Harry, what's that on the back of your hand?’
Harry, who had just scratched his nose with his free right hand, tried to hide it, but had as much success as Ron with his Cleansweep.
‘It's just a cut —it's nothing—it's—’
But Ron had grabbed Harry's forearm and pulled the back of Harry's hand up level with his eyes. There was a pause, during which he stared at the words carved into the skin, then, looking sick, he released Harry.
‘I thought you said she was just giving you lines?’
Harry hesitated, but after all, Ron had been honest with him, so he told Ron the truth about the hours he had been spending in Umbridge's office.
‘The old hag!’ Ron said in a revolted whisper as they came to a halt in front of the Fat Lady, who was dozing peacefully with her head against her frame. ‘She's sick! Go to McGonagall, say something!’
‘No,’ said Harry at once. ‘I'm not giving her the satisfaction of knowing she's got to me.’
‘Got to you?You can't let her get away with this!’
‘I don't know how much power McGonagall's got over her,’ said Harry.
‘Dumbledore, then, tell Dumbledore!’
‘No,’ said Harry flatly.
‘Why not?’
‘He's got enough on his mind,’ said Harry, but that was not the true reason. He was not going to go to Dumbledore for help when Dumbledore had not spoken to him once since June.
‘Well, I reckon you should—’ Ron began, but he was interrupted by the Fat Lady, who had been watching them sleepily and now burst out, ‘Are you going to give me the password or will I have to stay awake all night waiting for you to finish your conversation?’
Friday dawned sullen and sodden as the rest of the week. Though Harry automatically glanced towards the staff table when he entered the Great Hall, it was without any real hope of seeing Hagrid, and he turned his mind immediately to his more pressing problems, such as the mountainous pile of homework he had to do and the prospect of yet another detention with Umbridge.
Two things sustained Harry that day. One was the thought that it was almost the weekend; the other was that, dreadful though his final detention with Umbridge was sure to be, he had a distant view of the Quidditch pitch from her window and might, with luck, be able to see something of Ron's tryout. These were rather feeble rays of light, it was true, but Harry was grateful for anything that might lighten his present darkness; he had never had a worse first week of term at Hogwarts.
At five o'clock that evening he knocked on Professor Umbridge's office door for what he sincerely hoped would be the final time, and was told to enter. The blank parchment lay ready for him on the lace-covered table, the pointed black quill beside it.
‘You know what to do, Mr. Potter,’ said Umbridge, smiling sweetly at him.
Harry picked up the quill and glanced through the window. If he just shifted his chair an inch or so to the right ... on the pretext of shifting himself closer to the table, he managed it. He now had a distant view of the Gryffindor Quidditch team soaring up and down the pitch, while half a dozen black figures stood at the foot of the three high goalposts, apparently awaiting their turn to Keep. It was impossible to tell which one was Ron at this distance.
I must not tell lies,Harry wrote. The cut in the back of his right hand opened and began to bleed afresh.
I must not tell lies.The cut dug deeper, stinging and smarting.
I must not tell lies.Blood trickled down his wrist.
He chanced another glance out of the window. Whoever was defending the goalposts now was doing a very poor job indeed. Katie Bell scored twice in the few seconds Harry dared to watch. Hoping very much that the Keeper wasn't Ron, he dropped his eyes back to the parchment shining with blood.
I must not tell lies.
I must not tell lies.
He looked up whenever he thought he could risk it; when he could hear the scratching of Umbridge's quill or the opening of a desk drawer. The third person to try out was pretty good, the fourth was terrible, the fifth dodged a Bludger exceptionally well but then fumbled an easy save. The sky was darkening, and Harry doubted he would be able to see the sixth and seventh people at all.
I must not tell lies.
I must not tell lies.
The parchment was now dotted with drops of blood from the back of his hand, which was searing with pain. When he next looked up, night had fallen and the Quidditch pitch was no longer visible.
‘Let's see if you've got the message yet, shall we?’ said Umbridge's soft voice half an hour later.
She moved towards him, stretching out her short ringed fingers for his arm. And then, as she took hold of him to examine the words now cut into his skin, pain seared, not across the back of his hand, but across the scar on his forehead. At the same time, he had a most peculiar sensation somewhere around his midriff.
He wrenched his arm out of her grip and leapt to his feet, staring at her. She looked back at him, a smile stretching her wide, slack mouth.
‘Yes, it hurts, doesn't it?’ she said softly.
He did not answer. His heart was thumping very hard and fast. Was she talking about his hand or did she know what he had just felt in his forehead? 
‘Well, I think I've made my point, Mr. Potter. You may go.’
He caught up his schoolbag and left the room as quickly as he could.
Stay calm, he told himself, as he sprinted up the stairs. Stay calm, it doesn't necessarily mean what you think it means ...
‘Mimbulus mimbletonia!’ he gasped at the Fat Lady, who swung forwards once more.
A roar of sound greeted him. Ron came running towards him, beaming all over his face and slopping Butterbeer down his front from the goblet he was clutching.
‘Harry, I did it, I'm in, I'm Keeper!’
‘What? Oh— brilliant!’ said Harry, trying to smile naturally, while his heart continued to race and his hand throbbed and bled.
‘Have a Butterbeer.’ Ron pressed a bottle on him. ‘I can't believe it—where's Hermione gone?’
‘She's there,’ said Fred, who was also swigging Butterbeer, and pointed to an armchair by the fire. Hermione was dozing in it, her drink tipping precariously in her 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 moments before Harry noticed that several of the first-years gathered around them bore unmistakeable signs of recent nosebleeds.
Come here, Ron, and see if Oliver's old robes fit you,’ called Kade Bell, ‘we can take off his name and put yours on instead ...’
As Ron moved away, Angelina came striding up to Harry.
‘Sorry I was a bit short with you earlier, Potter,’ she said abruptly. ‘It's stressful this managing lark, you know, I'm starting to think I was a bit hard on Wood sometimes.’ She was watching Ron over the rim of her goblet with a slight frown on her face.
‘Look, I know he's your best mate, but he's not fabulous,’ she said bluntly. ‘I think with a bit of training he'll be all right, though. He comes from a family of good Quidditch players. I'm banking on him turning out to have a bit more talent than he showed today, to be honest. Vicky Frobisher and Geoffrey Hooper both flew better this evening, but Hooper's a real whiner, he's always moaning about something or other, and Vicky's involved in all sorts of societies. She admitted herself that if training clashed with her Charms Club she'd put Charms first. Anyway, we're having a practice session at two o'clock tomorrow, so just make sure you're there this time. And do me a favour and help Ron as much as you can, OK?’
He nodded, and Angelina strolled back to Alicia Spinnet. Harry moved over to sit next to Hermione, who awoke with a jerk as he put down his bag.
‘Oh, Harry, it's you ... good about Ron, isn't it?’ she said blearily. ‘I'm just so—so—so tired,’ she yawned. ‘I was up until one o'clock making more hats. They're disappearing like mad!’
And sure enough, now that he looked, Harry saw that there were woolly hats concealed all around the room where unwary elves might accidentally pick them up.
‘Great,’ said Harry distractedly; if he did not tell somebody soon, he would burst. ‘Listen, Hermione, I was just up in Umbridge's office and she touched my arm ...’
Hermione listened closely. When Harry had finished, she said slowly, ‘You're worried You-Know-Who's controlling 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 sounded unconvinced. ‘But I don't think he can be possessing her the way he possessed Quirrell, I mean, he's properly alive again now, isn't he, he's got his own body, he wouldn't need to share someone else's. He could have her under the Imperius Curse, I suppose ...’
Harry watched Fred, George and Lee Jordan juggling empty Butterbeer bottles for a moment. Then Hermione said, ‘But last year your scar hurt when nobody was touching you, and didn't Dumbledore say it had to do with what 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 with her?’
‘She's evil,’ said Harry flatly. ‘Twisted.’
‘She's horrible, yes, but ... Harry, I think you ought to tell Dumbledore your scar hurt.’
It was the second time in two days he had been advised to go to Dumbledore and his answer to Hermione was just the same as his answer to Ron.
‘I'm not bothering him with this. Like you just said, it's not a big deal. It's been hurting on and off all summer—it was just a bit worse tonight, that's all—’
‘Harry, I'm sure Dumbledore would want to be bothered by this—’ 
‘Yeah,’ said Harry, before he could stop himself, ‘that's the only bit of me Dumbledore cares about, isn't it, my scar?’
‘Don't say that, it's not true!’
‘I think I'll write and tell Sirius about it, see what he thinks—’
‘Harry, you can't put something like that in a letter!’ said Hermione, looking alarmed. ‘Don't you remember, Moody told us to be careful what we put in writing! We just can't guarantee owls aren't being intercepted any more!’ 
‘All right, all right, I won't tell him, then!’ said Harry irritably. He got to his feet. ‘I'm going to bed. Tell Ron for me, will you?’
‘Oh no,’ said Hermione, looking relieved, ‘if you're going that means I can go too, without being rude. I'm absolutely exhausted and I want to make some more hats tomorrow. Listen, you can help me if you like, it's quite fun, I'm getting better, I can do patterns and bobbles and all sorts of things now.’
Harry looked into her face, which was shining with glee, and tried to look as though he was vaguely tempted by this offer.
‘Er ... no, I don't think I will, thanks,’ he said. ‘Er—not tomorrow. I've got loads of homework to do ...’
And he traipsed off to the boys’ stairs, leaving her looking slightly disappointed.
对哈利而言，那天晚上在大厅里的晚餐并不愉快。有关他与昂布瑞吉的冲突在霍格瓦彻传得飞快。当他在罗恩和荷米恩当中坐下吃东西时，听到周围的窃窃私语。有趣的是，没有人看起来介意他偷听到他们议论他的事。相反的，他们似乎希望他再次发怒并向他们吼叫，这样他们可以亲耳听到他的故事。 
　　“他说他看到塞德里克被谋杀了。” 
　　“他以为他曾与伏地魔决斗。” 
　　“别提了…” 
　　“他在开玩笑？” 
　　“特尔—滋斯” 
　　“一无所获，”哈利紧咬牙关，放下他的刀和叉（他的手握得太紧以致于有些发抖），二个月前丹伯多告诉他们时，为什么他们都相信这是个故事。 
　　“事实上，哈利，我不认为他们相信，”荷米恩严厉地说，“让我们离开这里。” 
　　她猛地放下自己的刀和叉；罗恩渴望地看着他吃了一半的苹果派，但是随着离开。大家目送他们走出大厅。 
　　“你的意思是什么，你不确定他们相信丹伯多？”当他们走到一楼时，哈利问荷米恩。 
　　“看，你并不了解载事情发生后又发生了什么，”荷米恩平静地说，“你拖着塞德里克的尸体回到草地中央。谁也没看见发生了什么。我们只知道丹伯多说，伏地魔已经回来，杀死了塞德里克，并袭击了你。” 
　　“这是真相！”哈利大声说。 
　　“我知道它是，哈利，所以请你不要打断我？”荷米恩疲倦地说，“在事实还没被了解前，每个人都回家度过夏天，花了2个月读关于《你是个疯子，丹伯多老了》。” 
　　当他们沿着空荡荡的走廊返回格兰芬多塔时，雨水打在窗格玻璃上。哈利感觉这一天象过了一个星期，在上床前，他仍然还有一大堆作业要做。他的右眼感到一阵轻微的疼痛，看了一眼雨水清洗的窗口后黑沉沉的操场，转身进入胖夫人走廊。哈格力的小屋仍然没有一丝灯光。 
　　"米姆布拉丝，米姆布雷托妮亚"，荷米恩在胖夫人发问前回答。肖像移开，现出一个洞，三个人爬了进去。 
　　公共活动室几乎是空的，大部分人还在楼下吃晚餐。克鲁克山从扶椅里爬起来，小跑向他们，发出大声的咕噜咕噜声，哈利、罗恩和荷米恩在靠近炉火的位置,克鲁克山轻轻地跳到荷米恩的膝盖上，卷得象个毛茸茸、浅黄色的软垫子。哈利凝视着火焰，感到精疲力竭。 
　　“丹伯多怎么会让这些发生？”荷米恩突然叫到，哈利和罗恩跳起来。克鲁克山从她身上跳开，感觉被冒犯似的。她猛烈地拍着椅子的把手，以致于一些碎屑从洞里跳了出来。“他怎么会让这个麻烦女人来教我们？特别是在我们要进行普通巫师等级考试的年度！” 
　　“我们从来没有过黑魔法防御术老师。”哈利说，“你们知道这就象哈格力告诉我们的，没有人想要这份工作，他们说它是倒霉的。” 
　　“是的，但是雇佣一个实际上拒绝教授我们使用魔法的人！丹伯多在搞什么？” 
　　“并且她正在试图叫人替她监视”罗恩阴沉的说道，“记得当时她说希望我们过来并当我们听到有关神秘人回来的消息后就告诉她吗？” 
　　“当然她在监视我们，这是很显然的，但是福吉为什么叫她来？”荷米恩突然说道 。 “不要又开始吵了，”当罗恩张嘴准备开始报复时，哈利疲倦的说，“我们难道不能只……·我们就做作业，别提这个了……” 
　　他们从一角拿出自己的书包，回到自己的位子上。大家现在刚刚吃完晚饭回来。哈利把头低下，但仍能感到他吸引来的那些目光。 
　　“那么，我们先做斯内普的作业？”罗恩说道，同时把他的羽毛笔伸进墨水瓶。“这些东西…关于月长石……·它的作用…·在每副药剂的制作中。”他嘴里咕哝着，并且从羊皮纸的最顶部把他所说的写出来。“这里，”他把标题画了条下划线，然后用一种期待的眼光看着荷米恩。“那么，月长石的成分以及怎样在做药剂的时候使用它？” 
　　但荷米恩并没有在听，她的眼睛瞟到房间的远处角落。弗莱德、乔治和李乔登正坐在一群一年级新生中间，后者正在咀嚼弗莱德手上拿着的什么东西。 
　　“不，对不起，他们太过分了。”她说道，同时站起来，用一种暴怒的眼神，“来吧，罗恩”。 
　　“我—干什么？”罗恩说道，显然是在磨蹭时间，“不，来吧，荷米恩…·我们不能叫他们不要给他们糖吃。” 
　　“你非常清楚他们正在卖削蛇盒，或是呕吐药，再或者是………” 
　　“迷幻药？”哈利小声地暗示。 
　　好象被一个看不见的棒子敲击着头，一年级新生一个接着一个猛然摊倒在座位上、地板上，他们的舌头卷曲。大多数观看的人在大笑，然而荷米恩不动声色，在弗来德和乔治剪贴板站着的地方直接指挥，密切观察不省人事的一年级新生。罗恩从他的椅子里略站起来，举棋不定，然后向哈利低声抱怨，“她把一切都搞乱了。”然后又深深地坐回到椅子里。 
　　“够了。”荷米恩对弗来德和乔治说，他们两个看起来有些吃惊。 
　　“是，你是正确的，”乔治边点头边说，“这个药力够强了，对不？” 
　　“我在早上告诉过你，你不能在学生身上测试你的垃圾。” 
　　“我们付钱给他们。”弗来德愤概地说。 
　　“我不管那个，这是十分危险的。” 
　　“垃圾！”弗来德说。 
　　“安静，荷米恩，他们没事了。”李从一年级生旁边走过，安慰道，把紫色的糖果放到他们张开的嘴里。 
　　“是的，看，他们醒过来了。”乔治说。 
　　许多一年级新生十分困惑。不少人看起来十分惊奇地发现自己躺在地上，或者在椅子里摇摇晃晃。哈利肯定弗来德和乔治并没有警告他们糖果会发生什么作用。 
　　“感觉还好吗？”乔治温和地问一个小个黑发的女孩，她正躺在他的脚上。 
　　“我，我想是这样，”她晃晃悠悠地说。 
　　“完美，”弗来德十分高兴，但是下一秒荷米恩已把削蛇盒和呕吐药从他的手里夺了过来。 
　　“这不是完美的！” 
　　“但是它是，他们还是活蹦乱跳的，难道不是吗？”弗来德恼怒地说。 
　　“你不能这样做，如果你让他们中的一个生病怎么办？” 
　　“我们并不想让他们生病，我们已经在我们自己身上试验过，这只是测试是否每个人的反应都一样。” 
　　“如果你不停止，我将～～” 
　　“关我们禁闭？”弗来德问，用一种“你倒是试试看的语气”。 
　　“罚我们抄写？”乔治边说边得意地笑。 
　　房间里旁观的人都笑起来。荷米恩挺直身子，她的眼睛眯了起来，灌木似的头发看起来象通电一样直立起来。 
　　“不，”她说，她的声音因为发怒而微微颤抖，“但是我会写信给你妈妈。” 
　　“你不会，”乔治害怕道，从她身边退开一步。 
　　“噢，是的，我会的，”荷米恩严厉地说，“我不能禁止你吃这些愚蠢的东西，但是你不能把这些给一年级新生。” 
　　弗来德和乔治看起来遭电击了一样。很明显，正象他们所担忧的，荷米恩的威胁是有底牌的。她最后威胁地看了他们一眼，把削蛇盒和袋子扔回到他的手里，重新回到她火边的椅子。 
　　罗恩缩在他的位子里，他的鼻子擦着他的膝盖。 
　　“谢谢你的支持，罗恩，”荷米恩讥讽地说。 
　　“你靠自己搞定这事。”罗恩咕哝着。 
　　荷米恩盯着她的黑色羊皮纸看了几秒钟，尖锐地说，“噢，不太妙，我不能集中思想了，我去睡了。” 
　　她打开她的口袋，哈利想，她会把她的书拿出来，但是她却拿出来二个畸形的,带毛的东西，把他们小心地放在靠近壁炉的桌上，用一小张螺丝状的羊皮纸和一个坏掉的羽毛笔盖住，站回原地欣赏地看着。 
　　“以梅林的名义告诉我，你在干什么？”罗恩说，看着她好象她疯了似的。 
　　“是给家养小精灵的帽子”。她轻快地说，把她的书装回到袋子里。“我整个夏天在做这些东西，没有魔法，我的编织的动作很慢，不过现在我回到学校我能够做得很多啦。” 
　　“你要给家养小精灵帽子？”罗恩慢慢地说，“而你先用这些垃圾来给它们戴？” 
　　“是的，”荷米恩带着挑战的口吻说，口袋在她的背上摇晃。 
　　“那不是真的，”罗恩怒道，“你在试图用这些帽子捉弄他们，你想释放它们但是它们并不想自由。” 
　　“当然它们想要自由！”荷米恩马上说，她的脸变成粉红色，“你如果敢去碰这些帽子，罗恩！” 
　　她转身离去。罗恩等她消失在女生宿舍门后，才把毛线帽子上的垃圾清理干净。 
　　“他们至少看看他们得到些什么，”他坚定地说。“不管怎么说，”他卷起写有斯内普论文题目的羊皮纸，“我现在无法完成这些，没有荷米恩我不能做这个，我可不知道怎么写月长石，你呢？” 
　　哈利摇摇头，注意到他这样做时右边的太阳穴更痛了。他想着这篇关于巨人战争的长篇论文，以及锐利地刺着他的疼痛。虽然很清楚地知道天亮时他会后悔晚上没有完成作业，他仍把成堆的书放回书包里。 
　　“我也去睡觉了。” 
　　他走过西姆斯，走向通往宿舍的门，但是并不去看他。哈利有刹那的感觉，西姆斯已经张嘴说了，但是他加快速度，触着石质、光滑、盘旋的楼梯，一点都没有忍下怒气。 
　　第二天黎明就象前一天的一样沉闷且多雨。早餐桌旁仍没有哈格力的身影。 
　　“可也有好事，今天没有斯内普的课。”罗恩说。 
　　荷米恩打了个大大的哈欠，一些咖啡溢了出来，她看起来心情不错。罗恩问她为什么这么开心，她简单地说，帽子没有了。看起来家养小精灵最终是需要自由的。 
　　“我跟你打赌，”罗恩对她说，“他们也许不当那些帽子是衣服· 我认为
Chapter 14 Percy And Padfoot
Harry was first to wake up in his dormitory next morning. He lay for a moment watching dust swirl in the ray of sunlight coming through the gap in his four-poster's hangings, and savoured the thought that it was Saturday. The first week of term seemed to have dragged on for ever, like one gigantic History of Magic lesson.
Judging by the sleepy silence and the freshly minted look of that beam of sunlight, it was just after daybreak. He pulled open the curtains around his bed, got up and started to dress. The only sound apart from the distant twittering of birds was the slow, deep breathing of his fellow Gryffindors. He opened his schoolbag carefully, pulled out parchment and quill and headed out of the dormitory for the common room.
Making straight for his favourite squashy old armchair beside the now extinct fire, Harry settled himself down comfortably and unrolled his parchment while looking around the room. The detritus of crumpled-up bits of parchment, old Gobstones, empty ingredient jars and sweet wrappers that usually covered the common room at the end of each day was gone, as were all Hermione's elf hats. Wondering vaguely how many elves had now been set free whether they wanted to be or not, Harry uncorked his ink bottle, dipped his quill into it, then held it suspended an inch above the smooth yellowish surface of his parchment, thinking hard ... but after a minute or so he found himself staring into the empty grate, at a complete loss for what to say.
He could now appreciate how hard it had been for Ron and Hermione to write him letters over the summer. How was he supposed to tell Sirius everything that had happened over the past week and pose all the questions he was burning to ask without giving potential letter-thieves a lot of information he did not want them to have?
He sat quite motionless for a while, gazing into the fireplace, then, finally coming to a decision, he dipped his quill into the ink bottle once more and set it resolutely on the parchment.
Dear Snuffles,
Hope you're OK, the first week back here's been terrible, I'm really glad it's the weekend.
We've got a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Umbridge. She's nearly as nice as your mum. I'm writing because that thing I wrote to you about last summer happened again last night when I was doing a detention with Umbridge.
We're all missing our biggest friend, we hope he'll be back soon.
Please write back quickly.
Best,
Harry
Harry reread the letter several times, trying to see it from the point of view of an outsider. He could not see how they would know what he was talking about—or who he was talking to—just from reading this letter. He did hope Sirius would pick up the hint about Hagrid and tell them when he might be back. Harry did not want to ask directly in case it drew too much attention to what Hagrid might be up to while he was not at Hogwarts.
Considering it was a very short letter, it had taken a long time to write; sunlight had crept halfway across the room while he had been working on it and he could now hear distant sounds of movement from the dormitories above. Sealing the parchment carefully, he climbed through the portrait hole and headed off for the Owlery.
‘I would not go that way if I were you,’ said Nearly Headless Nick, drifting disconcertingly through a wall just ahead of Harry as he walked down the passage. ‘Peeves is planning an amusing joke on the next person to pass the bust of Paracelsus halfway down the corridor.’
‘Does it involve Paracelsus falling on top of the person's head?’ asked Harry.
‘Funnily enough, it does,’ said Nearly Headless Nick in a bored voice. ‘Subtlety has never been Peeves's strong point. I'm off to try and find the Bloody Baron ... he might be able to put a stop to it ... see you, Harry ...’ 
‘Yeah, bye,’ said Harry and instead of turning right, he turned left, taking a longer but safer route up to the Owlery. His spirits rose as he walked past window after window showing brilliantly blue sky; he had training later, he would be back on the Quidditch pitch at last.
Something brushed his ankles. He looked down and saw the caretaker's skeletal grey cat, Mrs Norris, slinking past him. She turned lamplike yellow eyes on him for a moment before disappearing behind a statue of Wilfred the Wistful.
‘I'm not doing anything wrong,’ Harry called after her. She had the unmistakeable air of a cat that was off to report to her boss, yet Harry could not see why; he was perfectly entitled to walk up to the Owlery on a Saturday morning.
The sun was high in the sky now and when Harry entered the Owlery the glassless windows dazzled his eyes; thick silvery beams of sunlight crisscrossed the circular room in which hundreds of owls nestled on rafters, a little restless in the early-morning light, some clearly just returned from hunting. The straw-covered floor crunched a little as he stepped across tiny animal bones, craning his neck for a sight of Hedwig.
‘There you are,’ he said, spotting her somewhere near the very top of the vaulted ceiling. ‘Get down here, I've got a letter for you.’
With a low hoot she stretched her great white wings and soared down on to his shoulder.
‘Right, I know this says Snuffles on the outside,’ he told her, giving her the letter to clasp in her beak and, without knowing exactly why, whispering, ‘but it's for Sirius, OK?’
She blinked her amber eyes once and he took that to mean that she understood.
‘Safe flight, then,’ said Harry and he carried her to one of the windows; with a moments pressure on his arm, Hedwig took off into the blindingly bright sky. He watched her until she became a tiny black speck and vanished, then switched his gaze to Hagrid's hut, clearly visible from this window, and just as clearly uninhabited, the chimney smokeless, the curtains drawn.
The treetops of the Forbidden Forest swayed in a light breeze. Harry watched them, savouring the fresh air on his face, thinking about Quidditch later ... then he saw it. A great, reptilian winged hcrse, just like the ones pulling the Hogwarts carriages, with leahery black wings spread wide like a pterodactyl's, rose up out of the trees like a grotesque, giant bird. It soared in a great circle, then plunged back into the trees. The whole thing had happened so quickly, Harry could hardly believe what he had seen, except that his heart was hammering madly.
The Owlery door opened behind him. He leapt in shock and, turning quickly, saw Cho Chang holding a letter and a parcel in his hands.
‘Hi,’ said Harry automatically.
‘Oh ... hi,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I didn't think anyone would be up here this early ... I only remembered five minutes ago, it's my mum's birthday’
She held up the parcel.
‘Right,’ said Harry. His brain seemed to have jammed. He wanted to say something funny and interesting, but the memory of that terrible winged horse was fresh in his mind.
‘Nice day,’ he said, gesturing to the windows. His insides seemed to shrivel with embarrassment. The weather. He was talking about the weather ... 
‘Yeah,’ said Cho, looking around for a suitable owl. ‘Good Quidditch conditions. I haven't been out all week, have you?’
‘No,’ said Harry.
Cho had selected one of the school barn owls. She coaxed it down on to her arm where it held out an obliging leg so that she could attach the parcel.
‘Hey has Gryffindor got a new Keeper yet?’ she asked.
‘Yeah,’ said Harry. ‘It's my friend Ron Weasley, d'you know him?’
‘The Tornados-hater?’ said Cho rather coolly. ‘Is he any good?’
‘Yeah,’ said Harry, ‘I think so. I didn't see his tryout, though, I was in detention.’
Cho looked up, the parcel only half-attached to the owl's legs.
‘That Umbridge woman's foul,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Putting you in detention just because you told the truth about how—how—how he died. Everyone heard about it, it was all over the school. You were really brave standing up to her like that.’
Harry's insides re-inflated so rapidly he felt as though he might actually float a few inches off the dropping-strewn floor. Who cared about a stupid flying horse; Cho thought he had been really brave. For a moment, he considered accidentally-on-purpose showing her his cut hand as he helped her tie her parcel on to her owl ... but the very instant this thrilling thought occurred, the Owlery door opened again.
Filch the caretaker came wheezing into the room. There were purple patches on his sunken, veined cheeks, his jowls were aquiver and his thin grey hair dishevelled; he had obviously run here. Mrs. Norris came trotting at his heels, gazing up at the owls overhead and mewing hungrily. There was a restless shifting of wings from above and a large brown owl snapped his beak in a menacing fashion.
‘Aha!’ said Filch, taking a flat-footed step towards Harry, his pouchy cheeks trembling with anger. ‘I've had a tip-off that you are intending to place a massive order for Dungbombs!’
Harry folded his arms and stared at the caretaker.
‘Who told you I was ordering Dungbombs?’
Cho was looking from Harry to Filch, also frowning; the barn owl on her arm, tired of standing on one leg, gave an admonitory hoot but she ignored it.
‘I have my sources.’ said Filch in a self-satisfied hiss. ‘Now hand over whatever it is you're sending.’
Feeling immensely thankful that he had not dawdled in posting off the letter, Harry said, ‘I can't, it's gone.’
‘Gone?’ said Filch, his face contorting with rage.
‘Gone,’ said Harry calmly.
Filch opened his mouth furiously, mouthed for a few seconds, then raked Harry's robes with his eyes.
‘How do I know you haven't got it in your pocket?’
‘Because—’
‘I saw him send it,’ said Cho angrily.
Filch rounded on her.
‘You saw him—?’
‘That's right, I saw him,’ she said fiercely.
There was a moment's pause in which Filch glared at Cho and Cho glared right back, then the caretaker turned on his heel and shuffled back towards the door. He stopped with his hand on the handle and looked back at Harry.
‘If I get so much as a whiff of a Dungbomb ...’
He stumped off down the stairs. Mrs. Norris cast a last longing look at the owls and followed him.
Harry and Cho looked at each other.
‘Thanks,’ Harry said.
‘No problem,’ said Cho, finally fixing the parcel to the barn owl's other leg, her face slightly pink. ‘You weren't ordering Dungbombs, were you?’ 
‘No,’ said Harry.
‘I wonder why he thought you were, then?’ she said as she carried the owl to the window.
Harry shrugged. He was quite as mystified by that as she was, though oddly it was not bothering him very much at the moment.
They left the Owlery together. At the entrance of a corridor that led towards the west wing of the castle, Cho said, ‘I'm going this way.Well, I'll ... I'll see you around, Harry.’
‘Yeah ... see you.’
She smiled at him and departed. Harry walked on, feeling quietly elated. He had managed to have an entire conversation with her and not embarrassed himself once ... you were really brave standing up to her like that ...Cho had called him brave ... she did not hate him for being alive ...
Of course, she had preferred Cedric, he knew that ... though if he'd only asked her to the Ball before Cedric had, things might have turned out differently ... she had seemed sincerely sorry that she'd had to refuse when Harry asked her ...
‘Morning,’ Harry said brightly to Ron and Hermione as he joined them at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall.
‘What are you looking so pleased about?’ said Ron, eyeing Harry in surprise.
‘Erm ... Quidditch later,’ said Harry happily, pulling a large platter of bacon and eggs towards him.
‘Oh ... yeah ...’ said Ron. He put down the piece of toast he was eating and took a large swig of pumpkin juice. Then he said, ‘Listen ... you don't fancy going out a bit earlier with me, do you? Just to—er—give me some practice before training? So I can, you know, get my eye in a bit.’
‘Yeah, OK,’ said Harry.
‘Look, I don't think you should,’ said Hermione seriously. ‘You're both really behind on homework as it—’
But she broke off; the morning post was arriving and, as usual, the Daily Prophet was soaring towards her in the beak of a screech owl, which landed perilously close to the sugar bowl and held out a leg. Hermione pushed a Knut into its leather pouch, took the newspaper, and scanned the front page critically as the owl took off.
‘Anything interesting?’ said Ron. Harry grinned, knowing Ron was keen to keep her off the subject of homework.
‘No,’ she sighed, ‘just some guff about the bass player in the Weird Sisters getting married.’
Hermione opened the paper and disappeared behind it. Harry devoted himself to another helping of eggs and bacon. Ron was staring up at the high windows, looking slightly preoccupied.
‘Wait a moment,’ said Hermione suddenly. ‘Oh no ... Sirius!’
‘What's happened?’ said Harry, snatching at the paper so violently it ripped down the middle, with him and Hermione each holding one half.
’ “The Ministry of Magic has received a tip-off from a reliable source that Sirius Black, notorious mass murderer ... blah blah blah ...is currently hiding in London!”‘Hermione read from her half in an anguished whisper.
‘Lucius Malfoy, I'll bet anything,’ said Harry in a low, furious voice. ‘He did recognise Sirius on the platform ...’
‘What?’ said Ron, looking alarmed. ‘You didn't say—’
‘Shh!’ said the other two.
‘... “Ministry warns wizarding community that Black is very dangerous ... killed thirteen people ... broke out of Azkaban ...” the usual rubbish,’ Hermione concluded, laying down her half of the paper and looking fearfully at Harry and Ron. ‘Well, he just won't be able to leave the house again, that's all,’ she whispered. ‘Dumbledore did warn him not to.’
Harry looked down glumly at the bit of the Prophet he had torn off. Most of the page was devoted to an advertisement for Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, which was apparently having a sale.
‘Hey!’ he said, flattening it down so Hermione and Ron could see it. ‘Look at this!’
‘I've got all the robes I want,’ said Ron.
‘No,’ said Harry. ‘Look ... this little piece here ...’
Ron and Hermione bent closer to read it; the item was barely an inch long and placed right at the bottom of a column. It was headlined:
TRESPASS AT MINISTRY
 
Sturgis Podmore, 38, of number two, Laburnum Gardens, Clapham, has appeared in front of the Wizcngamot charged with trespass and attempted robbery at the Ministry of Magic on 31st August. Podmore was arrested by Ministry of Magic watchwizard Eric Munch, who found him attempting to force his way through a top-security door at one o'clock in the morning. Podmore, who refused to speak, in his own defence, was convicted on both charges and sentenced to six months in Azkaban.
 
‘Sturgis Podmore?’ said Ron slowly. ‘He's that bloke who looks like his head's been thatched, isn't he? He's one of the Ord—
‘Ron, shh!’ said Hermione, casting a terrified look around them.
‘Six months in Azkaban!’ whispered Harry, shocked. ‘Just for trying to get through a door!’
‘Don't be silly, it wasn't just for trying to get through a door. What on earth was he doing at the Ministry of Magic at one o'clock in the morning?’ breathed Hermione.
D'you reckon he was doing something for the Order?’ Ron muttered.
‘Wait a moment ...’ said Harry slowly. ‘Sturgis was supposed to come and see us off, remember?’
The other two looked at him.
‘Yeah, he was supposed to be part of our guard going to King's Cross, remember? And Moody was all annoyed because he didn't turn up; so he couldn't have been on a job for them, could he?’
‘Well, maybe they didn't expect him to get caught,’ said Hermione.
‘It could be a frame-up!’ Ron exclaimed excitedly. ‘No—listen!’ he went on, dropping his voice dramatically at the threatening look on Hermione's face. ‘The Ministry suspects he's one of Dumbledore's lot so—I dunno—they lured him to the Ministry, and he wasn't trying to get through a door at all! Maybe they've just made something up to get him!’
There was a pause while Harry and Hermione considered this. Harry thought it seemed far-fetched. Hermione, on the other hand, looked rather impressed.
‘Do you know, I wouldn't be at all surprised if that were true.’
She folded up her half of the newspaper thoughtfully. As Harry laid down his knife and fork, she seemed to come out of a reverie.
‘Right, well, I think we should tackle that essay for Sprout on self-fertilising shrubs first and if we're lucky we'll be able to start McGonagall's Inanimatus Conjurus Spell before lunch ...’
Harry felt a small twinge of guilt at the thought of the pile of homework awaiting him upstairs, but the sky was a clear, exhilarating blue, and he had not been on his Firebolt for a week ...
‘I mean, we can do it tonight,’ said Ron, as he and Harry walked down the sloping lawns towards the Quidditch pitch, their broomsticks over their shoulders, and with Hermione's dire warnings that they would fail all their OWLs still ringing in their ears. ‘And we've got tomorrow. She gets too worked up about work, that's her trouble ...’ There was a pause and he added, in a slightly more anxious tone, ‘D'you think she meant it when she said we weren't copying from her?’
‘Yeah, I do,’ said Harry. ‘Still, this is important, too, we've got to practise if we want to stay on the Quidditch team ...’
‘Yeah, that's right,’ said Ron, in a heartened tone. ‘And we have got plenty of time to do it all ...’
As they approached the Quidditch pitch, Harry glanced over to his right to where the trees of the Forbidden Forest were swaying darkly. Nothing flew out of them; the sky was empty but for a few distant owls fluttering around the Owlery tower. He had enough to worry about; the flying horse wasn't doing him any harm; he pushed it out of his mind.
They collected balls from the cupboard in the changing room and set to work, Ron guarding the three tall goalposts, Harry playing Chaser and trying to get the Quaffle past Ron. Harry thought Ron was pretty good; he blocked three-quarters of the goals Harry attempted to put past him and played better the longer they practised. After a couple of hours they returned to the castle for lunch—during which Hermione made it quite clear she thought they were irresponsible—then returned to the Quidditch pitch for the real training session. All their teammates but Angelina were already in the changing room when they entered.
‘All right, Ron?’ said George, winking at him.
‘Yeah,’ said Ron, who had become quieter and quieter all the way down to the pitch.
‘Ready to show us all up, Ickle Prefect?’ said Fred, emerging tousle-haired from the neck of his Quidditch robes, a slightly malicious grin on his face.
‘Shut up,’ said Ron, stony-faced, pulling on his own team robes for the first time. They fitted him well considering they had been Oliver Wood's, who was rather broader in the shoulder.
‘OK, everyone,’ said Angelina, entering from the Captain's office, already changed. ‘Let's get to it; Alicia and Fred, if you can just bring out the ball crate for us. Oh, and there are a couple of people out there watching but I want you to just ignore them, all right?’
Something in her would-be casual voice made Harry think he might know who the uninvited spectators were, and sure enough, when they left the changing room for the bright sunlight of the pitch it was to a storm of catcalls and jeers from the Slytherin Quidditch team and assorted hangers-on, who were grouped halfway up the empty stands and whose voices echoed loudly around the stadium.
‘What's that Weasley's riding?’ Malfoy called in his sneering drawl. ‘Why would anyone put a flying charm on a mouldy old log like that?’
Crabbe, Goyle and Pansy Parkinson guffawed and shrieked with laughter. Ron mounted his broom and kicked off from the ground and Harry followed him, watching his ears turn red from behind.
‘Ignore them,’ he said, accelerating to catch up with Ron, ‘we'll see who's laughing after we play them ...’
‘Exactly the attitude I want, Harry,’ said Angelina approvingly soaring around them with the Quaffle under her arm and slowing to hover on the spot in front of her airborne team. ‘OK, everyone, we're going to start with some passes just to warm up, the whole team please—’
‘Hey, Johnson, what's with that hairstyle, anyway?’ shrieked Pansy Parkinson from below. ‘Why would anyone want to look like they've got worms coming out of their head?’
Angelina swept her long braided hair out of her face and continued calmly, ‘Spread out, then, and let's see what we can do ...’
Harry reversed away from the others to the far side of the pitch. Ron fell back towards the opposite goal. Angelina raised the Quaffle with one hand and threw it hard to Fred, who passed to George, who passed to Harry, who passed to Ron, who dropped it.
The Slytherins, led by Malfoy, roared and screamed with laughter. Ron, who had pelted towards the ground to catch the Quaffle before it landed, pulled out of the dive untidily, so that he slipped sideways on his broom, and returned to playing height, blushing. Harry saw Fred and George exchange looks, but uncharacteristically neither of them said anything, for which he was grateful.
‘Pass it on, Ron,’ called Angelina, as though nothing had happened.
Ron threw the Quaffle to Alicia, who passed back to Harry, who passed to George ...
‘Hey, Potter, how's your scar feeling?’ called Malfoy. ‘Sure you don't need a lie down? It must be, what, a whole week since you were in the hospital wing, that's a record for you, isn't it?’
George passed to Angelina; she reverse-passed to Harry, who had not been expecting it, but caught it in the very tips of his fingers and passed it quickly to Ron, who lunged for it and missed by inches.
‘Come on now, Ron,’ said Angelina crossly, as he dived for the ground again, chasing the Quaffle. ‘Pay attention.’
It would have been hard to say whether Ron's face or the Quaffle was a deeper scarlet when he again returned to playing height. Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherin team were howling with laughter.
On his third attempt, Ron caught the Quaffle; perhaps out of relief he passed it on so enthusiastically that it soared straight though Katie's outstretched hands and hit her hard in the face.
‘Sorry!’ Ron groaned, zooming forwards to see whether he had done any damage.
‘Get back in position, she's fine!’ barked Angelina. ‘But as you're passing to a teammate, do try not to knock her off her broom, won't you? We've got Bludgers for that!’
Katie's nose was bleeding. Down below, the Slytherins were stamping their feet and jeering. Fred and George converged on Katie.
‘Here, take this,’ Fred told her, handing her something small anc purple from out of his pocket, ‘it'll clear it up in no time.’
‘All right,’ called Angelina, ‘Fred, George, go and get your bats and a Bludger. Ron, get up to the goalposts. Harry, release the Snitch when I say so. We're going to aim for Ron's goal, obviously.’
Harry zoomed off after the twins to fetch the Snitch.
‘Ron's making a right pig's ear of things, isn't he?’ muttered George, as the three of them landed at the crate containing the balls and opened it to extract one of the Bludgers and the Snitch.
‘He's just nervous,’ said Harry, ‘he was fine when I was practising with him this morning.’
‘Yeah, well, I hope he hasn't peaked too soon,’ said Fred gloomily.
They returned to the air. When Angelina blew her whistle, Harry released the Snitch and Fred and George let fly the Bludger. From that moment on, Harry was barely aware of what the others were doing. It was his job to recapture the tiny fluttering golden ball that was worth a hundred and fifty points to the Seeker's team and doing so required enormous speed and skill. He accelerated, rolling and swerving in and out of the Chasers, the warm autumn air whipping his face, and the distant yells of the Slytherins so much meaningless roaring in his ears ... but too soon, the whistle brought him to a halt again.
‘Stop—stop— STOP!’ screamed Angelina. ‘Ron—you're not covering your middle post!’
Harry looked round at Ron, who was hovering in front of the left-hand hoop, leaving the other two completely unprotected.
‘Oh ... sorry ...’
‘You keep shifting around while you're watching the Chasers!’ said Angelina. ‘Either stay in centre position until you have to move to defend a hoop, or else circle the hoops, but don't drift vaguely off to one side, that's how you let in the last three goals!’
‘Sorry ...’ Ron repeated, his red face shining like a beacon against the bright blue sky.
‘And Katie, can't you do something about that nosebleed?’
‘It's just getting worse!’ said Katie thickly, attempting to stem the flow with her sleeve.
Harry glanced round at Fred, who was looking anxious and checking his pockets. He saw Fred pull out something purple, examine it for a second and then look round at Katie, evidently horror-struck.
‘Well, let's try again,’ said Angelina. She was ignoring the Slytherins, who had now set up a chant of ‘Gryffindor are losers, Gryffindor are losers,’ but there was a certain rigidity about her seat on the broom nevertheless.
This time they had been flying for barely three minutes when Angelinas whistle sounded. Harry, who had just sighted the Snitch circling the opposite goalpost, pulled up feeling distinctly aggrieved.
‘What now?’ he said impatiently to Alicia, who was nearest.
‘Katie,’ she said shortly.
Harry turned and saw Angelina, Fred and George all flying as fast as they could towards Katie. Harry and Alicia sped towards her, too. It was plain that Angelina had stopped training just in time; Katie was now chalk white and covered in blood.
‘She needs the hospital wing,’ said Angelina.
‘We'll take her,’ said Fred. ‘She—er—might have swallowed a Blood Blisterpod by mistake—’
‘Well, there's no point continuing with no Beaters and a Chaser gone,’ said Angelina glumly as Fred and George zoomed off towards the castle supporting Katie between them. ‘Come on, let's go and get changed.’
The Slytherins continued to chant as they trailed back into the changing rooms.
‘How was practice?’ asked Hermione rather coolly half an hour later, as Harry and Ron climbed through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room.
‘It was—’ Harry began.
‘Completely lousy,’ said Ron in a hollow voice, sinking into a chair beside Hermione. She looked up at Ron and her frost mess seemed to melt.
‘Well, it was only your first one,’ she said consolingly, ‘it's bound to take time to—’
‘Who said it was me who made it lousy?’ snapped Ron.
‘No one,’ said Hermione, looking taken aback, ‘I thought—’
‘You thought I was bound to be rubbish?’
‘No, of course I didn't! Look, you said it was lousy so I just—’
‘I'm going to get started on some homework,’ said Ron angrily and stomped off to the staircase to the boys’ dormitories and vanished from sight. Hermione turned to Harry.
‘Was he lousy?’
‘No,’ said Harry loyally.
Hermione raised her eyebrows.
‘Well, I suppose he could've played better,’ Harry muttered, ‘but it was only the first training session, like you said ...’
Neither Harry nor Ron seemed to make much headway with their homework that night. Harry knew Ron was too preoccupied with how badly he had performed at Quidditch practice and he himself was having difficulty in getting the ‘Gryffindor are losers’ chant out of his head.
They spent the whole of Sunday in the common room, buried in ! heir books while the room around them filled up, then emptied. It was another clear, fine day and most of their fellow Gryffindors spent the day out in the grounds, enjoying what might well be some of the last sunshine that year. By the evening, Harry felt as though somebody had been beating his brain against the inside of his skull.
‘You know, we probably should try and get more homework done during the week,’ Harry muttered to Ron, as they finally laid aside Professor McGonagall's long essay on the Inanimatus Conjurus Spell and turned miserably to Professor Sinistra's equally long and difficult essay about Jupiter's many moons.
‘Yeah,’ said Ron, rubbing slightly bloodshot eyes and throwing his fifth spoiled bit of parchment into the fire beside them. ‘Listen ... shall we just ask Hermione if we can have a look at what she's done?’
Harry glanced over at her; she was sitting with Crookshanks on her lap and chatting merrily to Ginny as a pair of knitting needles flashed in midair in front of her, now knitting a pair of shapeless elf socks.
‘No,’ he said heavily, ‘you know she won't let us.’
And so they worked on while the sky outside the windows became steadily darker. Slowly, the crowd in the common room began to thin again. At half past eleven, Hermione wandered over to them, yawning.
‘Nearly done?’
‘No,’ said Ron shortly.
‘Jupiter's biggest moon is Ganymede, not Callisto,’ she said, pointing over Ron's shoulder at a line in his Astronomy essay, ‘and it's Io that's got the volcanoes.’
‘Thanks,’ snarled Ron, scratching out the offending sentences.
‘Sorry, I only— ’
‘Yeah, well, if you've just come over here to criticise—’
‘Ron—’
‘I haven't got time to listen to a sermon, all right, Hermione, I'm up to my neck in it here— ’
‘No—look!’
Hermione was pointing to the nearest window. Harry and Ron both looked over. A handsome screech owl was standing on the windowsill, gazing into the room at Ron.
‘Isn't that Hermes?’ said Hermione, sounding amazed.
‘Blimey, it is!’ said Ron quietly, throwing down his quill and getting to his feet. ‘What's Percy writing to me for?’
He crossed to the window and opened it; Hermes flew inside, landed on Ron's essay and held out a leg to which a letter was attached. Ron took the letter off it and the owl departed at once, leaving inky footprints across Ron's drawing of the moon Io.
‘That's definitely Percy's handwriting,’ said Ron, sinking back into his chair and staring at the words on the outside of the scroll: Ronald Weasley, Gryffindor House, Hogwarts. He looked up at the other two. ‘What d'you reckon?’
‘Open it!’ said Hermione eagerly, and Harry nodded.
Ron unrolled the scroll and began to read. The further clown the parchment his eyes travelled, the more pronounced became his scowl. When he had finished reading, he looked disgusted. He thrust the letter at Harry and Hermione, who leaned towards each other to read it together:
Dear Ron,
I have only just heard (from no less a person than the Minister for Magic himself, who has it from your new teacher, Professor Umbridge) that you have become a Hogwarts prefect.
I was most pleasantly surprised when f heard this news and must firstly offer my congratulations. I must admit that I have always been afraid that you would take what we might call the ‘Fred and George’ route, rather than following in my footsteps, so you can imagine my feelings on hearing you have stopped flouting authority and have decided to shoulder some real responsibility.
But I want to give you more than congratulations, Ron, I want to give you some advice, which is why I am sending this at night rather than by the usual morning post. Hopefully, you will be able to read this away from prying eyes and avoid awkward questions.
From something the Minister let slip when telling me you are now a prefect, I gather that you are still seeing a lot of Harry Potter. I must tell you, Ron, that nothing could put you in danger of losing your badge more than continued fraternisation with that boy. Yes, I am sure you are surprised to hear this— no doubt you will say that Potter has always been Dumbledore's favourite—but I feel bound to tell you that Dumbledore may not be in charge at Hogwarts much longer and the people who count have a very different—and probably more accurate—view of Potter's behaviour. I shall say no more here, but if you look at the Daily Prophet tomorrow you will get a good idea of the way the wind is blowing—and see if you can spot yours truly!
Seriously, Ron, you do not want to be tarred with the same brush as Potter, it could be very damaging to your future prospects, and I am talking here about life after school, too. As you must be aware, given that our father escorted him to court, Potter had a disciplinary hearing this summer in front of the whole Wizengamot and he did not come out of it looking too good. He got off on a mere technicality, if you ask me, and many of the people I've spoken to remain convinced of his guilt.
It may be that you are afraid to sever ties with Potter—I know that he can be unbalanced and, for all I know, violent—but if you have any worries about this, or have spotted anything else in Potter's behaviour that is troubling you, I urge you to speak to Dolores Umbridge, a truly delightful woman who I know will be only too happy to advise you.
This leads me to my other bit of advice. As I have hinted above, Dumbledore's regime at Hogwarts may soon be over. Your loyalty, Ron, should be not to him, but to the school and the Ministry. I am very sorry to hear that, so far, Professor Umbridge is encountering very little co-operation from staff as she strives to make those necessary changes within Hogwarts that the Ministry so ardently desires (although she should find this easier from next week— again, see the Daily Prophet tomorrow!). I shall say only this—a student who shows himself willing to help Professor Umbridge now may be very well-placed for Head Boyship in a couple of years!
I am sorry that I was unable to see more of you over the summer. It pains me to criticise our parents, but I am afraid I can no longer live under their roof while they remain mixed up with the dangerous crowd around Dumbledore. (If you are writing to Mother at any point, you might tell her that a certain Sturgis Podmore, who is a great friend of Dumbledore's, has recently been sent to Azkaban for trespass at the Ministry. Perhaps that will open their eyes to the kind of petty criminals with whom they are currently rubbing shoulders.) I count myself very lucky to have escaped the stigma of association with such people—the Minister really could not be more gracious to me—and I do hope, Ron, that you will not allow family ties to blind you to the misguided nature of our parents’ beliefs and actions, either. I sincerely hope that, in time, they will realise how mistaken they were and I shall, of course, be ready to accept a full apology when that day comes.
Please think over what I have said most carefully, particularly the bit about Harry Potter, and congratulations again on becoming prefect.
Your brother,
Percy
Harry looked up at Ron.
‘Well,’ he said, trying to sound as though he found the whole thing a joke, ‘if you want to—er —what is it?'—he checked Percy's letter—'Oh yeah—"sever ties” with me, I swear I won't get violent.’
‘Give it back,’ said Ron, holding out his hand. ‘He is—’ Ron said jerkily, tearing Percy's letter in half ‘the world's—’ he tore it into quarters ‘biggest—’ he tore it into eighths ‘git.’ He threw the pieces into the fire.
‘Come on, we've got to get this finished sometime before dawn,’ he said briskly to Harry, pulling Professor Sinistra's essay back towards him.
Hermione was looking at Ron with an odd expression on her face.
‘Oh, give them here,’ she said abruptly.
‘What?’ said Ron.
‘Give them to me, I'll look through them and correct them,’ she said.
‘Are you serious? Ah, Hermione, you're a life-saver,’ said Ron, ‘what can I—?’
‘What you can say is, “We promise we'll never leave our homework this late again,” ’ she said, holding out both hands for their essays, but she looked slightly amused all the same.
‘Thanks a million, Hermione,’ said Harry weakly, passing over his essay and sinking back into his armchair, rubbing his eyes.
It was now past midnight and the common room was deserted but for the three of them and Crookshanks. The only sound was that of Hermione's quill scratching out sentences here and there on their essays and the ruffle of pages as she checked various facts in the reference books strewn across the table. Harry was exhausted. He also felt an odd, sick, empty feeling in his stomach that had nothing to do with tiredness and everything to do with the letter now curling blackly in the heart of the fire.
He knew that half the people inside Hogwarts thought him strange, even mad; he knew that the Daily Prophet had been making snide allusions to him for months, but there was something about seeing it written down like that in Percy's writing, about knowing that Percy was advising Ron to drop him and even to tell tales about him to Umbridge, that made his situation real to him as nothing else had. He had known Percy for four years, had stayed in his house during the summer holidays, shared a tent with him during the Quidditch World Cup, had even been awarded full marks by him in the second task of the Triwizard Tournament last year, yet now, Percy thought him unbalanced and possibly violent.
And with a surge of sympathy for his godfather, Harry thought Sirius was probably the only person he knew who could really understand how he felt at the moment, because Sirius was in the same situation. Nearly everyone in the wizarding world thought Sirius a dangerous murderer and a great Voldemort supporter and he had had to live with that knowledge for fourteen years ...
Harry blinked. He had just seen something in the fire that could not have been there. It had flashed into sight and vanished immediately. No ... it could not have been ... he had imagined it because he had been thinking about Sirius ...
‘OK, write that down,’ Hermione said to Ron, pushing his essay and a sheet covered in her own writing back to Ron, ‘then add this conclusion I've written for you.’
‘Hermione, you are honestly the most wonderful person I've ever met,’ said Ron weakly, ‘and if I'm ever rude to you again—’
‘—I'll know you're back to normal,’ said Hermione. ‘Harry, yours is OK except for this bit at the end, I think you must have misheard Professor Sinistra, Europa's covered in ice, not mice—Harry?’
Harry had slid off his chair on to his knees and was now crouching on the singed and threadbare hearthrug, gazing into the flames.
‘Er—Harry?’ said Ron uncertainly. ‘Why are you down there?’
‘Because I've just seen Sirius's head in the fire,’ said Harry.
He spoke quite calmly; after all, he had seen Sirius's head in this very fire the previous year and talked to it, too; nevertheless, he could not be sure that he had really seen it this time ... it had vanished so quickly ...
‘Sirius's head?’ Hermione repeated. ‘You mean like when he wanted to talk to you during the Triwizard Tournament? But he wouldn't do that now, it would be too—Sirius!’
She gasped, gazing at the fire; Ron dropped his quill. There in the middle of the dancing flames sat Sirius's head, long dark hair failing around his grinning face.
‘I was starting to think you'd go to bed before everyone else had disappeared,’ he said. ‘I've been checking every hour.’
‘You've been popping into the fire every hour?’ Harry said, half-laughing.
‘Just for a few seconds to check if the coast was clear.’
‘But what if you'd been seen?’ said Hermione anxiously.
‘Well, I think a girl—first-year, by the look of her—might've get a glimpse of me earlier, but don't worry,’ Sirius said hastily, as Hermione clapped a hand to her mouth, ‘I was gone the moment she looked back at me and I'll bet she just thought I was an oddly-shaped log or something.’
‘But, Sirius, this is taking an awful risk—’ Hermione began.
‘You sound like Molly,’ said Sirius. ‘This was the only way I could come up with of answering Harry's letter without resorting to a code—and codes are breakable.’
At the mention of Harry's letter, Hermione and Ron both turned to stare at him.
‘You didn't say you'd written to Sirius! said Hermione accusingly.
‘I forgot,’ said Harry, which was perfectly true; his meeting with Cho in the Owlery had driven everything before it out of his mind. ‘Don't look at me like that, Hermione, there was no way anyone would have got secret information out of it, was there, Sirius?’
‘No, it was very good,’ said Sirius, smiling. ‘Anyway, we'd better be quick, just in case we're disturbed—your scar.’
‘What about—?’ Ron began, but Hermione interrupted him.
‘We'll tell you afterwards. Go on, Sirius.’
‘Well, I know it can't be fun when it hurts, but we don't think its anything to really worry about. It kept aching all last year, didn't it?’
‘Yeah, and Dumbledore said it happened whenever Voldemort was feeling a powerful emotion,’ said Harry, ignoring, as usual, Ron and Hermione's winces. ‘So maybe he was just, I dunno, really angry or something the night I had that detention.’
‘Well, now he's back it's bound to hurt more often,’ said Sirius.
‘So you don't think it had anything to do with Umbridge touching me when I was in detention with her?’ Harry asked.
‘I doubt it,’ said Sirius. ‘I know her by reputation and I'm sure she's no Death Eater—’
‘She's foul enough to be one,’ said Harry darkly, and Ron and Hermione nodded vigorously in agreement.
‘Yes, but the world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters,’ said Sirius with a wry smile. ‘I know she's a nasty piece of work, though—you should hear Remus talk about her.’
‘Does Lupin know her?’ asked Harry quickly, remembering Umbridge's comments about dangerous half-breeds during her first lesson.
‘No,’ said Sirius, ‘but she drafted a bit of anti-werewolf legislation two years ago that makes it almost impossible for him to get a job.’
Harry remembered how much shabbier Lupin looked these days and his dislike of Umbridge deepened even further.
‘What's she got against werewolves?’ said Hermione angrily.
‘Scared of them, I expect,’ said Sirius, smiling at her indignation. ‘Apparently, she loathes part-humans; she campaigned to have merpeople rounded up and tagged last year, too. Imagine wasting your time and energy persecuting merpeople when there are little toerags like Kreacher on the loose.’
Ron laughed but Hermione looked upset.
‘Sirius!’ she said reproachfully. ‘Honestly, if you made a bit of an effort with Kreacher, I'm sure he'd respond. After all, you are the only member of his family he's got left, and Professor Dumbledore said—’
‘So, what are Umbridge's lessons like?’ Sirius interrupted. ‘Is she training you all to kill half-breeds?’
‘No,’ said Harry, ignoring Hermione's affronted look at being cut off in her defence of Kreacher. ‘She's not letting us use magic at all!’
‘All we do is read the stupid textbook,’ said Ron.
‘Ah, well, that figures,’ said Sirius. ‘Our information from inside the Ministry is that Fudge doesn't want you trained in combat.’
‘Trained in combat!’ repeated Harry incredulously. ‘What does he think we're doing here, forming some sort of wizard army?’
‘That's exactly what he thinks you're doing,’ said Sirius, ‘or, rather, that's exactly what he's afraid Dumbledore's doing—forming his own private army, with which he will be able to take on the Ministry of Magic.’
There was a pause at this, then Ron said, That's the most stupid thing I've ever heard, including all the stuff that Luna Lovegood comes out with.’
‘So we're being prevented from learning Defence Against the Dark Arts because Fudge is scared we'll use spells against the Ministry?’ said Hermione, looking furious.
‘Yep,’ said Sirius. ‘Fudge thinks Dumbledore will stop at nothing to seize power. He's getting more paranoid about Dumbledore by the day. It's a matter of time before he has Dumbledore arrested on some trumped-up charge.’
This reminded Harry of Percy's letter.
‘D'you know if there's going to be anything about Dumbledore in the Daily Prophet tomorrow? Ron's brother Percy reckons there will be—’
‘I don't know,’ said Sirius, ‘I haven't seen anyone from the Order all weekend, they're all busy. It's just been Kreacher and me here.’
There was a definite note of bitterness in Sirius's voice.
‘So you haven't had any news about Hagrid, either?’
‘Ah ...’ said Sirius, ‘well, he was supposed to be back by now, no one's sure what's happened to him.’ Then, seeing their stricken faces, he added quickly, ‘But Dumbledore's not worried, so don't you three get yourselves in a state; I'm sure Hagrid's fine.’
‘But if he was supposed to be back by now ...’ said Hermione in a small, anxious voice.
‘Madame Maxime was with him, we've been in touch with her and she says they got separated on the journey home—but there's nothing to suggest he's hurt or—well, nothing to suggest he's not perfectly OK.’
Unconvinced, Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged worried looks.
‘Listen, don't go asking too many questions about Hagrid,’ said Sirius hastily, ‘it'll just draw even more attention to the fact that he's not back and I know Dumbledore doesn't want that. Hagrid's tough, he'll be OK.’ And when they did not appear cheered by this, Sirius added, ‘When's your next Hogsmeade weekend, anyway? I was thinking, we got away with the dog disguise at the station, didn't we? I thought I could—’
‘NO!’ said Harry and Hermione together, very loudly.
‘Sirius, didn't you see the Daily Prophet?’ said Hermione anxiously.
‘Oh, that,’ said Sirius, grinning, ‘they're always guessing where I am, they haven't really got a clue—’
‘Yeah, but we think this time they have,’ said Harry. ‘Something Malfoy said on the train made us think he knew it was you, and his father was on the platform, Sirius— you know, Lucius Malfoy—so don't come up here, whatever you do. If Malfoy recognises you again—’
‘All right, all right, I've got the point,’ said Sirius. He looked most displeased. ‘Just an idea, thought you might like to get together.’
‘I would, I just don't want you chucked back in Azkaban!’ said Harry.
There was a pause in which Sirius looked out of the fire at Harry, a crease between his sunken eyes.
‘You're less like your father than I thought,’ he said finally, a definite coolness in his voice. ‘The risk would've been what made it fun for James.’ 
‘Look—’
‘Well, I'd better get going, I can hear Kreacher coming down the stairs,’ said Sirius, but Harry was sure he was lying. ‘I'll write to tell you a time I can make it back into the fire, then, shall I? If you can stand to risk it?’ 
There was a tiny pop, and the place where Sirius's head had been was flickering flame once more.
第二天早晨，哈利第一个从他的宿舍中醒来。他躺在床书看着从四柱大床床幔的缝隙中漏过阳光和在打着旋的灰尘，并且品味着它。今天是星期六。这个学期的第一周看起来已经拖延了，像巨人的魔法历史。 
　　由睡觉的寂静和清新的薄荷味，以及光线的照入，可以看出现在刚好是黎明之后。他拉开了他床旁的窗帘，然后起床穿衣。细微的声音除了远处的鸟鸣，还有他同伴慢而深沉的呼吸。他细心的打开了他的书包，取出了羊皮纸和羽毛笔，走出宿舍来到公共休息室。 
　　他将他最喜欢的旧软椅直放在已经熄灭的火炉旁，他安乐将自己安顿在椅上，看着房间的周围解开羊皮纸。这张有点褶皱的羊皮纸上，旧的Gobstones，空的罐子和糖果纸常常在一天之后隐藏在公共休息室中，像是所有荷米恩的小精灵的帽子。令人奇怪的是现在有多少小精灵获得自由，并且它们是否想要这样。哈利取开墨水瓶的瓶塞，把羽毛沾了些墨水，在羊皮纸上约一英寸高的光滑地方停住了，努力地思考着。但是一会之后，他发现他在注视着空的壁炉，茫然若失。 
　　他现在可以感受到暑假中罗恩和荷米恩给他写信是多么的难，他想应该怎样告诉天狼星前一周所发生的事情和他急切想知道而不能被信贼得知的问题？ 
　　他坐了许久，凝视着壁炉。最终，他做了决定，他再次把羽毛笔沾上了墨水，坚定地在羊皮纸上写下了： 
　　亲爱的伤风: 
　　希望你一切都好，回来的第一周是十分可怕的，真的。 
　　令人庆幸的是现在是周末。 
　　我们已经讲到黑魔法防御科的新老师，昂布瑞吉教授。她几乎像你妈妈一样美好，上个暑假所发生的事在昨晚我和昂布瑞吉教授关禁闭时再次发生了。 
　　我们想念我们的大朋友，我们希望他很快会回来。 
　　请尽快回信。 
　　最好的朋友 
　　哈利 
　　哈利将这封信读了好几遍，试图以局外人的观点来读它。他不知道他们会怎样理解他正在说的——或者他同谁说话——仅仅读这封信。他十分希望天狼星找到哈格力的线索，并且告诉他们他和时将要回来。哈利并不希望直接问以防对哈格力不在霍格瓦彻时吸引了太多的注意力。 
　　考虑到那是一封很短的信，但他已经花了许久时间去写他。在他忙于心中的时候，阳光已经穿过了房间爬了进来。他可以听见远处宿舍的声音。小心地合上了羊皮纸，他爬过了肖像洞，来到了猫头鹰屋。 
　　“如果我是你的话我一定不愿意走那条路。”几乎没头的尼克说到，令人不安地当哈利沿着通道向下走的时候在哈利面前飘动着穿过了一堵墙。“皮皮鬼计划对下一个在半路上向走廊走去而穿过帕拉塞尔苏斯半身像的人开一个笑。” 
　　“它包括帕拉塞尔苏斯掉在了人的头上吗？”哈利问。 
　　“这样做够好笑了。”几乎没头的尼克用一种无聊的声音说道。“精明并非皮皮鬼地优点。我正试着离开去找血人巴罗，他可能会阻止他。再见了，哈利。” 
　　“好的，再见，”哈利说道并且改道向左走来代替向左走，换了一条更长的但是更安全的路来到了猫头鹰屋。他穿过一个个窗户时看到的明亮的天空，使他的精神好转。一会后，他有了训练。他最终要回到魁地奇训练场。 
　　有什么东西刷到了他的踝部，他向下看，看到了管理员的灰猫，洛丽斯太太从他身边溜过。在“渴望的威尔弗来德”雕像后消失之前,她用她的黄眼睛看了他一会。 
　　“我并没做错任何事。”哈利在他后面叫道。 
　　她有一只猫不易弄错的嗅觉，那是ofi来报告她的主人，哈利还没有看清怎么了，但他用那种具有充足资格的脚步在周六早晨走进了猫头鹰屋。 
　　当哈利走进猫头鹰屋时，太阳正高高地挂在了天上，耀眼的阳光经过玻璃的反射，炫耀了哈利的双眼；粗厚的光柱交叉地映在了圆形的房间里，成百只猫头鹰舒适的停在房椽上，一点不平静的东西夹在晨光中，很明显，他们中有一些刚刚捕食回来。 
　　但他踏过小动物的骨头的时候，地上平整的稻草发出了一点咯吱咯吱的响声，海维看到了哈利，伸出了它的脖子。 
　　“原来你在这儿！”他说，发现它在高处拱形的天花板上，“下来，我要给你一封信。” 
　　随着一声低叫，她伸出了她的美丽的白翼，飞下来落到了他的肩膀上。 
　　“好的，我知道这里说伤风在外面，”他告诉她，把这封信扣在了她的嘴上，并且，并不知道正确的原因，低声说，“但它是送给天狼星的，知道吗？” 
　　她眨了眨她琥珀色的眼睛，哈利知道这表示她听懂了。 
　　“飞的时候注意安全！”哈利说道。他带她到一个窗子前。在她压了一下哈利的手臂之后，海维飞到了那令人眼盲的明亮的天空。他一着看着她直道她变成了一个黑色的斑点，并且消失。然后转向看哈格力的小屋，透过他的窗户可以很清楚地看到，里面没有任何人居住，无烟的烟囱，寂寞的门帘。 
　　禁林中的树梢在微风中轻轻地摇摆，哈利看着他们，享受着他脸前的新鲜空气，想着有关魁地奇的事。然后他就看见了它，长着翅膀的像爬虫一样的马，就像霍格瓦彻的拉马车，长着皮革一般的黑翼像翼龙一般宽阔的展开，奇异地像巨鸟一般向树外飞。他在天空中绕着一个巨大的圆盘旋，然后飞回了树丛中。整件事发生得如此之快，以至于哈利无法相信他所看到的东西，除了他的心在疯狂地跳。 
　　猫头鹰屋大门在他身后打开了，他吓了一跳，转过身来。他看见张秋的手里握着一封信和一个包裹。 
　　“好呀，”哈利机械的说了一声。 
　　“哦，你好，”她气喘吁吁的说道，“我没想到竟然有人这么早就来到这里。我只记得在五分钟之前，那是我妈妈的生日。” 
　　她拿起了包裹。 
　　“好的，”哈利说道。他的大脑已经混乱不堪了。他想说一些有趣的事，但是那匹长着翅膀的黑马总是令他记忆犹新。 
　　“好日子，”他说道，手指着窗户。但他的内心已经因为可怕的困难而束手无策。天气，他正在谈论天气。 
　　“是的，”张秋说到，同时为找一只适当的猫头鹰而四处观望。“关于魁地奇的好消息，我并不需要一整个星期都呆在外头，你呢？” 
　　“不，”哈利说道。 
　　秋选择了一支学校农仓里的猫头鹰，她耐心而亲切地使她飞下来到她的手臂上，她一边系上这个包裹。 
　　“嗨，格兰芬多找到了一个新的守门员了吗？”她问到。 
　　“是的，他是我的朋友罗恩·威斯莱。你认识他吗？” 
　　“那个对龙卷风队严重憎恶的人吗？”秋冷淡地说，“他有什么好的地方吗？” 
　　“是的。”哈利说道，“我也这么认为。虽然我不能看见他的训练，我被关禁闭了。” 
　　秋向上看，它的包裹仅仅只有一半绑在猫头鹰的脚上。 
　　“你因为昂布瑞吉女士而犯规了，”她低声说，“把你关禁闭只是因为你说出了事实——如何——如何——他如何死。所有人都知道这件事，他已经在全学校传遍了。那次你真是勇敢地站在了她的面前。” 
　　哈利的心膨胀得那么快，他觉得自己似乎从地板上撒满的鸟粪上飘动了几英寸。谁还会去在乎那个愚蠢的飞马呢，既然秋都认为他真的很勇敢。当他帮她把包裹系到猫头鹰上的时候，那一刻，他考虑要不要把手上的伤给她看，但就在他产生这个令人发抖的想法的那一瞬间，猫头鹰屋的门又被推开了。 
　　费奇，学院的管理者，喘息着走了进来。深陷的脸颊上有着紫色的斑点，颚骨上充满了兴奋。稀疏的灰发散乱着，显然，他是跑到这里的。洛丽斯夫人在他的脚后跟那里走来走去，凝视着高架上的猫头鹰，饥饿地叫着。鸟儿们狡猾的翅膀发出了一点声响，一只灰大的猫头鹰突然用一种险恶的方式咬住了他的鸟嘴。 
　　“啊哈！”费奇说道，拖着脚步向哈利走了一步，他紫迹斑斑的脸颊因愤怒而发抖了。“我知道，你正在弄了一大批的订单去购买粪蛋。” 
　　哈利曲起了他的双臂，盯着费奇看。 
　　“谁告诉你购买粪蛋？” 
　　秋看看哈利，又看看费奇，同时也皱了皱眉头；她手臂上的农仓里的猫头鹰疲劳地单脚站着，劝告似地叫了一声，但是她忽略了它。 
　　“我有我消息来源，”费奇自得地嘘了一声，“不论你送的是什么，交过来。” 
　　感到幸运的是他并没有在寄信的时候贪玩，哈利说道，“我不能，信已经送走了。” 
　　“送走了？”费奇说道，他的脸因愤怒而扭曲。 
　　“是的，送走了。”哈利平静地说。 
　　费奇气愤地张开了嘴，持续了好几秒，然后扫视着哈利的长袍。 
　　“我怎么知道你没有把它塞进口袋里？” 
　　“因为——” 
　　“我看到他把这封信送走了，”秋生气地说。 
　　费奇在她身旁绕了一圈。 
　　“你看到他——？” 
　　“是的，我看到他，”她激烈地说。 
　　之后有好长一段时间说话暂停了，因为费奇对秋怒目而视，并且秋也同样回敬费奇，然后管理员转过身，慢吞吞的向门走去。在他手握着门柄时，他停下并且转过身看着哈利。 
　　“如果我抓到一些粪蛋——” 
　　无语，他下了楼。 
　　洛丽斯夫人最后看了一眼猫头鹰，然后跟他走了。 
　　哈利和秋互相看着。 
　　“谢谢，”哈利说。 
　　“没问题，”秋说，最终，她在猫头鹰的另一只脚上固定了包裹，她的脸有一些粉红。 
　　“你并不是在购买粪蛋，是吗？” 
　　“不，我没有。”哈利说道。 
　　“我真搞不懂为什么他认为你是？”她把猫头鹰送出窗外时说。 
　　哈利耸了耸肩。他因为秋刚才的表现十分奇怪，虽然并未惊动费奇而被他的知道也是一件奇怪的事。 
　　他们一起离开了猫头鹰屋。在走廊的入口引他们到了城堡的西边，秋说，“我要走这条路。嗯, 我将，我将目送你离开，哈利。” “好的，再见。” 
　　她微笑的看着他，然后离开了。哈利继续走着，感觉平静而高兴。他已经没法完整而使自己不困窘地同秋谈话。“那次你真是勇敢地站在了她的面前。”秋说他勇敢。秋变活泼后并没有讨厌他。 
　　最早，她喜欢塞德里克，他了解那些，虽然他仅仅是在塞德里克之前邀请她，而事情是会发生改变的。她看起来对她拒绝哈利的邀请已经感到真诚的愧疚。 
　　“早上好，”但他在大厅中的格兰芬多桌加入他们后，哈利大声地对罗恩和荷米恩说。 
　　“什么值得你这么高兴？”罗恩说道，惊奇地看着哈利。 
　　“嗯，魁地奇训练一会便开始了，”哈利高兴的说着，把一大盘咸肉和鸡蛋拖到了他的面前。 
　　“哦，是这样。”罗恩说道。他放下了他正在吃的烤面包，喝了一大口南瓜汁。然后他说，“听，你不想和我早一点出去，是吗？仅仅是去——嗯——在训练之前给我一点练习？这样我能，你知道，用好我的眼睛。” 
　　“行，好呀。”哈利说道。 
　　“看，我不认为你应在这样做，”荷米恩严肃地说，“你们都应该在作业完成后来做——” 
　　但是她停住了，早信到了，像平常一样，预言家日报应该从长耳猫头鹰的嘴里飞向她，掉在糖碗的附近，并且弄到一只腿上。 
　　荷米恩向他的皮袋里放了一个Knut，拿着报纸，当猫头鹰离开时带着批评的目光浏览了第一版。 
　　“有有趣的东西吗？”罗恩问道。哈利露齿笑笑，知道罗恩渴望避开她来做家庭作业。 
　　“没有，”她叹息道，“仅仅是一些有关于怪异姐妹中的低音演唱者要结婚的胡言乱语。” 
　　荷米恩打开了报纸，并且消失在他后面。哈利又吃了些蛋和咸肉。罗恩凝视着高处的窗户，全神贯注的看着。 
　　“等等，”荷米恩突然说道，“哦，不，天狼星！” 
　　“发生了什么？”哈利说道，把报纸抢到了中间，他和荷米恩一人抓着一半。 
　　“魔法部已经收到了一条来源可靠的消息，天狼星·布莱克，声名狼藉的疯狂凶手，废话，废话，嗯，正藏在伦敦！”荷米恩从他的一半那读到了这些消息，对哈利痛苦的耳语。 
　　“卢修斯·马尔夫赌任何东西，”哈利用一种低沉，愤怒的声音说道，“他确实在月台上承认他是天狼星。” 
　　“什么？”罗恩说道，看起来十分惊慌，“你不是说——” 
　　“嘘！”另外两人说道。 
　　“魔法部警告说布莱克是个十分危险的人物，杀了十三个人，从阿兹卡班逃了出来。” 
　　“平平的垃圾。”荷米恩带有推断性的说道，放下他那一半的报纸，担心地看着哈利和罗恩。“嗯，他不能再离开房子了，就这样，”她低声说道，“丹伯多已经警告过他不能这样做了。” 
　　哈利忧郁地看着他已经撕掉的预言家日报，许多版面都专注的为适合于所有场合的摩金夫人的长袍做广告,显然那正在举行一场拍卖活动。 
　　“嗨！”他说道，把报纸在桌上放平，让罗恩和荷米恩能够阅读到，“看这里！” 
　　“我已经有了所有我想要的长袍，”罗恩说道。 
　　“不，”哈利说道，“看着一小块。” 
　　罗恩和荷米恩弯着身子阅读着，这一块在一栏的底部，仅仅不到一英寸长，上面写着标题： 
　　魔法部被侵入 
　　在8月31日，克拉彭金链花园2区38号的Sturgis Podmore，在Wizengamot前发生了一起肆意侵入并且尝试在魔法部偷窃的案件。Podmore被魔法部的警卫埃里克·曼趋（Eric
Chapter 17 Educational Decree Number Twenty-four
Harry felt happier for the rest of the weekend than he had done all term. He and Ron spent much of Sunday catching up with all their homework again, and although this could hardly be called fun, the last burst of autumn sunshine persisted, so rather than sitting hunched over tables in the common room they took their work outside and lounged in the shade of a large beech tree on the edge of the lake. Hermione, who of course was up to date with all her work, brought more wool outside with her and bewitched her knitting needles so that they flashed and clicked in midair beside her, producing more hats and scarves.
Knowing they were doing something to resist Umbridge and the Ministry and that he was a key part of the rebellion, gave Harry a feeling of immense satisfaction. He kept reliving Saturdays meeting in his mind: all those people, coming to him to learn Defence Against the Dark Arts ... and the looks on their faces as they had heard some of the things he had done ... and Cho praising his performance in the Triwizard Tournament—knowing all those people did not think him a lying weirdo, but someone to be admired, buoyed him up so much that he was still cheerful on Monday morning, despite the imminent prospect of all his least favourite classes.
He and Ron headed downstairs from their dormitory, discussing Angelina's idea that they were to work on a new move called the Sloth Grip Roll during that nights Quidditch practice, and not until they were halfway across the sunlit common room did they notice the addition to the room that had already attracted the attention of a small group of people.
A large sign had been affixed to the Grffindor noticeboard, so large it covered everything else on it—the lists of secondhand spellbooks for sale, the regular reminders of school rules from Argus Filch, the Quidditch team training timetable, the offers to barter certain Chocolate Frog Cards for others, the Weasleys’ latest advertisement for testers, the dates of the Hogsmeade weekends and the lost and found notices. The new sign was printed in large black letters and there was a highly official-looking seal at the bottom beside a neat and curly signature.
BY ORDER OF THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS
All student organisations, societies, teams, groups and clubs are
henceforth disbanded.
 
An organisation, society, team, group or club is hereby defined
as a regular meeting of three or more students.
 
Permission to re-form may be sought from the High Inquisitor
(Professor Umbridge).
 
No student organisation, society, team, group or club may exist
without the knowledge and approval of the High Inquisitor.
 
Any student found to have formed, or to belong to, an organisation,
society, team, group or club that has not been approved by
the High Inquisitor will be expelled.
 
The above is in accordance with Educational Decree
Number Twenty-four.
 
Signed: Dolores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor
Harry and Ron read the notice over the heads of some anxious-looking second-years.
‘Does this mean they're going to shut down the Gobstones Club?’ one of them asked his friend.
‘I reckon you'll be OK with Gobstones,’ Ron said darkly, making the second-year jump. ‘I don't think we're going to be as lucky, though, do you?’ he asked Harry as the second-years hurried away.
Harry was reading the notice through again. The happiness that had filled him since Saturday was gone. His insides were pulsing with rage.
‘This isn't a coincidence,’ he said, his hands forming fists. ‘She knows.’ 
‘She can't,’ said Ron at once.
‘There were people listening in that pub. And let's face it, we don't know how many of the people who turned up we can trust ... any of them could have run off and told Umbridge ...’
And he had thought they believed him, thought they even admired him ...
‘Zacharias Smith!’ said Ron at once, punching a fist into his hand. ‘Or—I thought that Michael Corner had a really shifty look, too—’
‘I wonder if Hermione's seen this yet?’ Harry said, looking round at the door to the girls’ dormitories.
‘Let's go and tell her,’ said Ron. He bounded forwards, pulled open the door and set off up the spiral staircase.
He was on the sixth stair when there was a loud, wailing, klaxon-like sound and the steps melted together to make a long, smooth stone slide like a helter-skelter. There was a brief moment when Ron tried to keep running, arms working madly like windmills, then he toppled over backwards and shot down the newly created slide, coming to rest on his back at Harry's feet.
‘Er—I don't think we're allowed in the girls’ dormitories,’ said Harry, pulling Ron to his feet and trying not to laugh.
Two fourth-year girls came zooming gleefully down the stone slide.
‘Oooh. who tried to get upstairs?’ they giggled happily, leaping to their feet and ogling Harry and Ron.
‘Me,’ said Ron, who was still rather dishevelled. ‘I didn't realise that would happen. It's not fair!’ he added to Harry, as the girls headed off for the portrait hole, still giggling madly. ‘Hermione's allowed in our dormitory, how come we're not allowed —?’
‘Well, it's an old-fashioned rule,’ said Hermione, who had just slid neatly on to a rug in front of them and was now getting to her feet, ‘but it says in Hogwarts: A History, that the founders thought boys were less trustworthy than girls. Anyway, why were you trying to get in there?’
‘To see you—look at this!’ said Ron, dragging her over to the noticeboard.
Hermione's eyes slid rapidly down the notice. Her expression became stony.
‘Someone must have blabbed to her!’ Ron said angrily.
‘They can't have done,’ said Hermione in a low voice.
‘You're so naive,’ said Ron, ‘you think just because you're all honourable and trustworthy —’
‘No, they can't have done, because I put a jinx on that piece of parchment we all signed,’ said Hermione grimly. ‘Believe me, if anyone's run off and told Umbridge, we'll know exactly who they are and they will really regret it.’
‘What'll happen to them?’ said Ron eagerly.
‘Well, put it this way,’ said Hermione, ‘it'll make Eloise Midgeon's acne look like a couple of cute freckles. Come on, let's get down to breakfast and see what the others think ... I wonder whether this has been put up in all the houses?’
It was immediately apparent on entering the Great Hall that Umbridge's sign had not only appeared in Gryffindor Tower. There was a peculiar intensity about the chatter and an extra measure of movement in the Hall as people scurried up and down their tables conferring on what they had read. Harry, Ron and Hermione had barely taken their seats when Neville, Dean, Fred, George and Ginny descended upon them.
‘Did you see it?’
‘D'you reckon she knows?’
‘What are we going to do?’
They were all looking at Harry. He glanced around to make sure there were no teachers near them.
‘We're going to do it anyway, of course,’ he said quietly.
‘Knew you'd say that,’ said George, beaming and thumping Harry on the arm.
‘The prefects as well?’ said Fred, looking quizzically at Ron and Hermione.
‘Of course,’ said Hermione coolly.
‘Here come Ernie and Hannah Abbott,’ said Ron, looking over his shoulder. ‘And those Ravenclaw blokes and Smith ... and no one looks very spotty.’
Hermione looked alarmed.
‘Never mind spots, the idiots can't come over here now, it'll look really suspicious—sit down!’ she mouthed to Ernie and Hannah, gesturing frantically to them to rejoin the Hufflepuff table. ‘Later! We'll—talk—to—you—later!’
‘I'll tell Michael,’ said Ginny impatiently, swinging herself off her bench, ‘the fool, honestly ...’
She hurried off towards the Ravenclaw table; Harry watched her go. Cho was sitting not far away, talking to the curly-haired friend she had brought along to the Hog's Head. Would Umbridge's notice scare her off meeting them again? 
But the full repercussions of the sign were not felt until they were leaving the Great Hall for History of Magic.
‘Harry! Ron!’
It was Angelina and she was hurrying towards them looking perfectly desperate.
‘It's OK,’ said Harry quietly, when she was near enough to hear him. ‘We're still going to—’
‘You realise she's including Quidditch in this?’ Angelina said over him. ‘We have to go and ask permission to re-form the Gryffindor team!’
‘What?’ said Harry.
‘No way,’ said Ron, appalled.
‘You read the sign, it mentions teams too! So listen, Harry ... I am saying this for the last time ... please, please don't lose your temper with Umbridge again or she might not let us play any more!’
‘OK, OK,’ said Harry, for Angelina looked as though she was on the verge of tears. ‘Don't worry, I'll behave myself ...’
‘Bet Umbridge is in History of Magic,’ said Ron grimly, as they set off for Binns's lesson. ‘She hasn't inspected Binns yet ... bet you anything she's there ...’
But he was wrong; the only teacher present when they entered was Professor Binns, floating an inch or so above his chair as usual and preparing to continue his monotonous drone on giant wars. Harry did not even attempt to follow what he was saying today; he doodled idly on his parchment ignoring Hermione's frequent glares and nudges, until a particularly painful poke in the ribs made him look up angrily.
‘What?’
She pointed at the window. Harry looked round. Hedwig was perched on the narrow window ledge, gazing through the thick glass at him, a letter tied to her leg. Harry could not understand it; they had just had breakfast, why on earth hadn't she delivered the letter then, as usual? Many of his classmates were pointing out Hedwig to each other, too.
‘Oh, I've always loved that owl, she's so beautiful,’ Harry heard Lavender sigh to Parvati.
He glanced round at Professor Binns who continued to read his notes, serenely unaware that the class's attention was even less focused upon him than usual. Harry slipped quietly off his chair, crouched down and hurried along the row to the window, where he slid the catch and opened it very slowly.
He had expected Hedwig to hold out her leg so that he could remove the letter and then fly off to the Owlery, but the moment the window was open wide enough she hopped inside, hooting dolefully. He closed the window with an anxious glance at Professor Binns, crouched low again and sped back to his seat with Hedwig on his shoulder. He regained his seat, transferred Hedwig to his lap and made to remove the letter tied to her leg.
Only then did he realise that Hedwig's feathers were oddly ruffled; some were bent the wrong way, and she was holding one of her wings at an odd angle.
‘She's hurt!’ Harry whispered, bending his head low over her. Hermione and Ron leaned in closer; Hermione even put down her quill. ‘Look—there's something wrong with her wing—’
Hedwig was quivering; when Harry made to touch the wing she gave a little jump, all her feathers on end as though she was inflating herself, and gazed at him reproachfully.
‘Professor Binns,’ said Harry loudly, and everyone in the class turned to look at him. ‘I'm not feeling well.’
Professor Binns raised his eyes from his notes, looking amazed, as always, to find the room in front of him full of people.
‘Not feeling well?’ he repeated hazily.
‘Not at all well,’ said Harry firmly, getting to his feet with Hedwig concealed behind his back. ‘I think I need to go to the hospital wing.’
‘Yes,’ said Professor Binns, clearly very much wrong-footed. ‘Yes ... yes, hospital wing ... well, off you go, then, Perkins ...’
Once outside the room, Harry returned Hedwig to his shoulder and hurried off up the corridor, pausing to think only when he was out of sight of Binns's door. His first choice of somebody to cure Hedwig would have been Hagrid, of course, but as he had no idea where Hagrid was his only remaining option was to find Professor Grubbly-Plank and hope she would help.
He peered out of a window at the blustery, overcast grounds. There was no sign of her anywhere near Hagrid's cabin; if she was not teaching, she was probably in the staff room. He set off downstairs, Hedwig hooting feebly as she swayed on his shoulder.
Two stone gargoyles flanked the staff-room door. As Harry approached, one of them croaked, ‘You should be in class, Sonny Jim.’
‘This is urgent,’ said Harry curtly.
‘Ooooh, urgent, is it?’ said the other gargoyle in a high-pitched voice. ‘Well, that's put us in our place, hasn't it?’
Harry knocked. He heard footsteps, then the door opened and he found himself face to face with Professor McGonagall.
‘You haven't been given another detention!’ she said at once, her square spectacles flashing alarmingly.
‘No, Professor!’ said Harry hastily.
‘Well then, why are you out of class?’
‘It's urgent, apparently,’ said the second gargoyle snidely.
‘I'm looking for Professor Grubbly-Plank,’ Harry explained. ‘It's my owl, she's injured.’
‘Injured owl, did you say?’
Professor Grubbly-Plank appeared at Professor McGonagall's shoulder, smoking a pipe and holding a copy of the Daily Prophet.
‘Yes,’ said Harry, lifting Hedwig carefully off his shoulder, ‘she turned up after the other post owls and her wing's all funny, look—’
Professor Grubbly-Plank stuck her pipe firmly between her teeth and took Hedwig from Harry while Professor McGonagall watched.
‘Hmm,’ said Professor Grubbly-Plank, her pipe waggling slightly as she talked. ‘Looks like something's attacked her. Can't think what would have done it, though. Thestrals will sometimes go for birds, of course, but Hagrid's got the Hogwarts Thestrals well-trained not to touch owls.’
Harry neither knew nor cared what Thestrals were; he just wanted to know that Hedwig was going to be all right. Professor McGonagall, however, looked sharply at Harry and said, ‘Do you know how far this owl's travelled, Potter?’
‘Er,’ said Harry. ‘From London, I think.’
He met her eyes briefly and knew, by the way her eyebrows had joined in the middle, that she understood ‘London’ to mean ‘number twelve, Grimmauld Place'.
Professor Grubbly-Plank pulled a monocle out of the inside of her robes and screwed it into her eye, to examine Hedwig's wing closely. ‘I should be able to sort this out if you leave her with me, Potter,’ she said, ‘she shouldn't be flying long distances for a few days, in any case.’
‘Er—right—thanks,’ said Harry, just as the bell rang for break.
‘No problem,’ said Professor Grubbly-Plank gruffly, turning back into the staff room.
‘Just a moment, Wilhelmina!’ said Professor McGonagall. ‘Potter's letter!’ 
‘Oh yeah!’ said Harry, who had momentarily forgotten the scroll tied to Hedwig's leg. Professor Grubbly-Plank handed it over and then disappeared into the staff room carrying Hedwig, who was staring at Harry as though unable to believe he would give her away like this. Feeling slightly guilty, he turned to go, but Professor McGonagall called him back.
‘Potter!’
‘Yes, Professor?’
She glanced up and down the corridor; there were students coming from both directions.
‘Bear in mind,’ she said quickly and quietly, her eyes on the scroll in his hand, ‘that channels of communication in and out of Hogwarts may be being watched, won't you?’
‘I—’ said Harry, but the flood of students rolling along the corridor was almost upon him. Professor McGonagall gave him a curt nod and retreated into the staff room, leaving Harry to be swept out into the courtyard with the crowd. He spotted Ron and Hermione already standing in a sheltered corner, their cloak collars turned up against the wind. Harry slit open the scroll as he hurried towards them and found five words in Sirius's handwriting:
Today, same time, same place.
‘Is Hedwig OK?’ asked Hermione anxiously, the moment he was within earshot.
‘Where did you take her?’ asked Ron.
‘To Grubbly-Plank,’ said Harry. ‘And I met McGonagall ... listen ...’
And he told them what Professor McGonagall had said. To his surprise, neither of the others looked shocked. On the contrary, they exchanged significant looks.
‘What?’ said Harry, looking from Ron to Hermione and back again.
‘Well, I was just saying to Ron ... what if someone had tried to intercept Hedwig? I mean, she's never been hurt on a flight before, has she?’
‘Who's the letter from, anyway?’ asked Ron, taking the note from Harry.
‘Snuffles,’ said Harry quietly.
‘"Same time, same place?” Does he mean the fire in the common room?’
‘Obviously,’ said Hermione, also reading the note. She looked uneasy. ‘I just hope nobody else has read this ...’
‘But it was still sealed and everything,’ said Harry, trying to convince himself as much as her. ‘And nobody would understand what it meant if they didn't know where we'd spoken to him before, would they?’
‘I don't know,’ said Hermione anxiously, hitching her bag back over her shoulder as the bell rang again, ‘it wouldn't be exactly difficult to re-seal the scroll by magic ... and if anyone's watching the Floo Network ... but I don't really see how we can warn him not to come without that being intercepted, too!’
They trudged down the stone steps to the dungeons for Potions, all three of them, lost in thought, but as they reached the bottom of the steps they were recalled to themselves by the voice of Draco Malfoy, who was standing just outside Snape's classroom door, waving around an official-looking piece of parchment and talking much louder than was necessary so that they could hear every word.
‘Yeah, Umbridge gave the Slytherin Quidditch team permission to continue playing straightaway, I went to ask her first thing this morning. Well, it was pretty much automatic, I mean, she knows my father really well, he's always popping in and out of the Ministry ... it'll be interesting to see whether Gryffindor are allowed to keep playing, won't it?’
‘Don't rise,’ Hermione whispered imploringly to Harry and Ron, who were both watching Malfoy, faces set and fists clenched. ‘It's what he wants.’
‘I mean,’ said Malfoy, raising his voice a little more, his grey eyes glittering malevolently in Harry and Ron's direction, ‘if it's a question of influence with the Ministry, I don't think they've got much chance ... from what my father says, they've been looking for an excuse to sack Arthur Weasley for years ... and as for Potter ... my father says it's a matter of time before the Ministry has him carted off to St. Mungo's ... apparently they've got a special ward for people whose brains have been addled by magic.’
Malfoy made a grotesque face, his mouth sagging open and his eyes rolling. Crabbe and Goyle gave their usual grunts of laughter; Pansy Parkinson shrieked with glee.
Something collided hard with Harry's shoulder, knocking him sideways. A split second later he realised that Neville had just charged past him, heading straight for Malfoy.
‘Neville, no!’
Harry leapt forward and seized the back of Neville's robes; Neville struggled frantically, his fists flailing, trying desperately to get at Malfoy who looked, for a moment, extremely shocked.
‘Help me!’ Harry flung at Ron, managing to get an arm around Neville's neck and dragging him backwards, away from the Slytherins. Crabbe and Goyle were flexing their arms as they stepped in front of Malfoy, ready for the fight. Ron seized Neville's arms, and together he and Harry succeeded in dragging Neville back into the Gryffindor line. Nevilles face was scarlet; the pressure Harry was exerting on his throat rendered him quite incomprehensible, but odd words spluttered from his mouth.
‘Not ... funny ... don't ... Mungo's ... show ... him ...’
The dungeon door opened. Snape appeared there. His black eyes swept up the Gryffindor line to the point where Harry and Ron were wrestling with Neville.
‘Fighting, Potter, Weasley, Longbottom?’ Snape said in his cold, sneering voice. ‘Ten points from Gryffindor. Release Longbottom, Potter, or it will be detention. Inside, all of you.’
Harry let go of Neville, who stood panting and glaring at him.
‘I had to stop you,’ Harry gasped, picking up his bag. ‘Crabbe and Goyle would've torn you apart.’
Neville said nothing; he merely snatched up his own bag and stalked off into the dungeon.
‘What in the name of Merlin,’ said Ron slowly, as they followed Neville, ‘was that about?’
Harry did not answer. He knew exactly why the subject of people who were in St. Mungo's because of magical damage to their brains was highly distressing to Neville, but he had sworn to Dumbledore that he would not tell anyone Neville's secret. Even Neville did not know Harry knew.
Harry, Ron and Hermione took their usual seats at the back of the class, pulled out parchment, quills and their copies of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi.The class around them was whispering about what Neville had just done, but when Snape closed the dungeon door with an echoing bang, everybody immediately fell silent.
‘You will notice,’ said Snape, in his low, sneering voice, ‘that we have a guest with us today.’
He gestured towards the dim corner of the dungeon and Harry saw Professor Umbridge sitting there, clipboard on her knee. He glanced sideways at Ron and Hermione, his eyebrows raised. Snape and Umbridge, the two teachers he hated most. It was hard to decide which one he wanted to triumph over the other.
‘We are continuing with our Strengthening Solution today. You will find your mixtures as you left them last lesson; it correctly made they should have matured well over the weekend—instructions—’ he waved his wand again ‘—on the board. Carry on.’
Professor Umbridge spent the first half hour of the lesson making notes in her corner. Harry was very interested in hearing her question Snape; so interested, that he was becoming careless with his potion again.
‘Salamander blood, Harry!’ Hermione moaned, grabbing his wrist to prevent him adding the wrong ingredient for the third time, ‘not pomegranate juice!’ 
‘Right,’ said Harry vaguely, putting down the bottle and continuing to watch the corner. Umbridge had just got to her feet. ‘Ha,’ he said softly, as she strode between two lines of desks towards Snape, who was bending over Dean Thomas's cauldron.
‘Well, the class seem fairly advanced for their level,’ she said briskly to Snape's back. ‘Though I would question whether it is advisable to teach them a potion like the Strengthening Solution. I think the Ministry would prefer it if that was removed from the syllabus.’
Snape straightened up slowly and turned to look at her.
‘Now ... how long have you been teaching at Hogwarts?’ she asked, her quill poised over her clipboard.
‘Fourteen years,’ Snape replied. His expression was unfathomable. Harry, watching him closely, added a few drops to his potion; it hissed menacingly and turned from turquoise to orange.
‘You applied first for the Defence Against the Dark Arts post, I believe?’ Professor Umbridge asked Snape.
‘Yes,’ said Snape quietly.
‘But you were unsuccessful?’
Snape's lip curled.
‘Obviously.’
Professor Umbridge scribbled on her clipboard.
‘And you have applied regularly for the Defence Against the Dark Arts post since you first joined the school, I believe?’
‘Yes,’ said Snape quietly, barely moving his lips. He looked very angry.
‘Do you have any idea why Dumbledore has consistently refused to appoint you?’ asked Umbridge.
‘I suggest you ask him,’ said Snape jerkily.
‘Oh, I shall,’ said Professor Umbridge, with a sweet smile.
‘I suppose this is relevant?’ Snape asked, his black eyes narrowed.
‘Oh yes,’ said Professor Umbridge, ‘yes, the Ministry wants a thorough understanding of teachers'—er—backgrounds.’
She turned away, walked over to Pansy Parkinson and began questioning her about the lessons. Snape looked round at Harry and their eyes met for a second. Harry hastily dropped his gaze to his potion, which was now congealing foully and giving off a. strong smell of burned rubber.
‘No marks again, then, Potter,’ said Snape maliciously, emptying Harry's cauldron with a wave of his wand. ‘You will write me an essay on the correct composition of this potion, indicating how and why you went wrong, to be handed in next lesson, do you understand?’
‘Yes,’ said Harry furiously. Snape had already given them homework and he had Quidditch practice this evening; this would mean another couple of sleepless nights. It did not seem possible that he had awoken that morning feeling very happy. All he felt now was a fervent desire for this day to end.
‘Maybe I'll skive off Divination,’ he said glumly, as they stood in the courtyard after lunch, the wind whipping at the hems of robes and brims of hats. ‘I'll pretend to be ill and do Snape's essay instead, then I won't have to stay up half the night.’
‘You can't skive off Divination,’ said Hermione severely.
‘Hark who's talking, you walked out of Divination, you hate Trelawney!’ said Ron indignantly.
‘I don't hate her,’ said Hermione loftily. ‘I just think she's an absolutely appalling teacher and a real old fraud. But Harry's already missed History of Magic and I don't think he ought to miss anything else today!’
There was too much truth in this to ignore, so half an hour later Harry took his seat in the hot, overperfumed atmosphere of the Divination classroom, feeling angry at everybody. Professor Trelawney was yet again handing out copies of The Dream Oracle.Harry thought he'd surely be much better employed doing Snape's punishment essay than sitting here trying to find meaning in a lot of made-up dreams.
It seemed, however, that he was not the only person in Divination who was in a temper. Professor Trelawney slammed a copy of the Oracle down on the table between Harry and Ron and swept away, her lips pursed; she threw the next copy of the Oracle at Seamus and Dean, narrowly avoiding Seamus's head, and thrust the final one into Neville's chest with such force that he slipped off his pouffe.
‘Well, carry on!’ said Professor Trelawney loudly, her voice high-pitched and somewhat hysterical, ‘you know what to do! Or am I such a sub-standard teacher that you have never learned how to open a book?’
The class stared perplexedly at her, then at each other. Harry, however, thought he knew what was the matter. As Professor Trelawney flounced back to the high-backed teachers chair, her magnified eyes full of angry tears, he leaned his head closer to Ron's and muttered, ‘I think she's got the results of her inspection back.’
‘Professor?’ said Parvati Patil in a hushed voice (she and Lavender had always rather admired Professor Trelawney). ‘Professor, is there anything—er—wrong?’
‘Wrong!’ cried Professor Trelawney in a voice throbbing with emotion. ‘Certainly not! I have been insulted, certainly ... insinuations have been made against me ... unfounded accusations levelled ... but no, there is nothing wrong, certainly not!’
She took a great shuddering breath and looked away from Parvati, angry tears spilling from under her glasses.
‘I say nothing,’ she choked, ‘of sixteen years of devoted service ... it has passed, apparently, unnoticed ... but I shall not be insulted, no, I shall not!’ 
‘But, Professor, who's insulting you?’ asked Parvati timidly.
‘The Establishment!’ said Professor Trelawney, in a deep, dramatic, wavering voice. ‘Yes, those with eyes too clouded by the mundane to See as I See, to Know as I Know ... of course, we Seers have always been feared, always persecuted ... it is—alas—our fate.’
She gulped, dabbed at her wet cheeks with the end of her shawl, then she pulled a small embroidered handkerchief from her sleeve, and blew her nose very hard with a sound like Peeves blowing a raspberry.
Ron sniggered. Lavender shot him a disgusted look.
‘Professor,’ said Parvati, ‘do you mean ... is it something Professor Umbridge—?’
‘Do not speak to me about that woman!’ cried Professor Trelawney leaping to her feet, her beads rattling and her spectacles flashing. ‘Kindly continue with your work!’
And she spent the rest of the lesson striding among them, tears still leaking from behind her glasses, muttering what sounded like threats under her breath.
‘... may well choose to leave ... the indignity of it ... on probation ... we shall see ... how she dares ...’
‘You and Umbridge have got something in common,’ Harry told Hermione quietly when they met again in Defence Against the Dark Arts. ‘She obviously reckons Trelawney's an old fraud, too ... looks like she's put her on probation.’
Umbridge entered the room as he spoke, wearing her black velvet bow and an expression of great smugness.
‘Good afternoon, class.’
‘Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge,’ they chanted dully.
‘Wands away, please.’
But there was no answering flurry of movement this time; nobody had bothered to take out their wands.
‘Please turn to page thirty-four of Defensive Magical Theory and read the third chapter, entitled “The Case for Non-Offensive Responses to Magical Attack". There will be—’
‘—no need to talk,’ Harry, Ron and Hermione said together, under their breaths.
‘No Quidditch practice,’ said Angelina in hollow tones when Harry, Ron and Hermione entered the common room after dinner that night.
‘But I kept my temper!’ said Harry, horrified. ‘I didn't say anything to her, Angelina, I swear, I—’
‘I know, I know, said Angelina miserably. ‘She just said she needed a bit of time to consider.’
‘Consider what?’ said Ron angrily. ‘She's given the Slytherins permission, why not us?’
But Harry could imagine how much Umbridge was enjoying holding the threat of no Gryffindor Quidditch team over their heads and could easily understand why she would not want to relinquish that weapon over them too soon.
‘Well,’ said Hermione, ‘look on the bright side—at least now you'll have time to do Snape's essay!’
‘That's a bright side, is it?’ snapped Harry, while Ron stared incredulously at Hermione. ‘No Quidditch practice, and extra Potions?’
Harry slumped down into a chair, dragged his Potions essay reluctantly from his bag and set to work. It was very hard to concentrate; even though he knew Sirius was not due in the fire until much later, he could not help glancing into the flames every few minutes just in case. There was also an incredible amount of noise in the room: Fred and George appeared finally to have perfected one type of Skiving Snackbox, which they were taking turns to demonstrate to a cheering and whooping crowd.
First, Fred would take a bite out of the orange end of a chew, at which he would vomit spectacularly into a bucket they had placed in front of them. Then he would force down the purple end of the chew, at which the vomiting would immediately cease. Lee Jordan, who was assisting the demonstration, was lazily Vanishing the vomit at regular intervals with the same Vanishing Spell Snape kept using on Harry's potions.
What with the regular sounds of retching, cheering and the sound of Fred and George taking advance orders from the crowd, Harry was finding it exceptionally difficult to focus on the correct method for Strengthening Solution. Hermione was not helping matters; the cheers and the sound of vomit hitting the bottom of Fred and George's bucket were punctuated by her loud and disapproving sniffs, which Harry found, if anything, more distracting.
‘Just go and stop them, then!’ he said irritably, after crossing out the wrong weight of powdered griffin claw for the fourth time.
‘I can't, they're not technically doing anything wrong,’ said Hermione through gritted teeth. ‘They're quite within their rights to eat the foul things themselves and I can't find a rule that says the other idiots aren't entitled to buy them, not unless they're proven to be dangerous in some way and it doesn't look as though they are.’
She, Harry and Ron watched George projectile-vomit into the bucket, gulp down the rest of the chew and straighten up, beaming with his arms wide to protracted applause.
‘You know, I don't get why Fred and George only got three OWLs each,’ said Harry, watching as Fred, George and Lee collected gold from the eager crowd. ‘They really know their stuff.’
‘Oh, they only know flashy stuff that's of no real use to anyone,’ said Hermione disparagingly.
‘No real use?’ said Ron in a strained voice. ‘Hermione, they've made about twenty-six Galleons already.’
It was a long while before the crowd around the Weasley twins dispersed, then Fred, Lee and George sat up counting their takings even longer, so it was well past midnight when Harry, Ron and Hermione finally had the common room to themselves. At long last, Fred had closed the doorway to the boys’ dormitories behind him, rattling his box of Galleons ostentatiously so that Hermione scowled. Harry, who was making very little progress with his Potions essay, decided to give it up for the night. As he put his books away, Ron, who was dozing lightly in an armchair, gave a muffled grunt, awoke, and looked blearily into the fire.
‘Sirius!’ he said.
Harry whipped round. Sirius's untidy dark head was sitting in the fire again.
‘Hi,’ he said, grinning.
‘Hi,’ chorused Harry, Ron and Hermione, all three kneeling down on the hearthrug. Crookshanks purred loudly and approached the fire, trying, despite the heat, to put his face close to Sirius's.
‘How're things?’ said Sirius.
‘Not that good,’ said Harry, as Hermione pulled Crookshanks back to stop him singeing his whiskers. ‘The Ministry's forced through another decree, which means we're not allowed to have Quidditch teams—’
‘Or secret Defence Against the Dark Arts groups?’ Said Sirius.
There was a short pause.
‘How did you know about that?’ Harry demanded.
‘You want to choose your meeting places more carefully,’ said Sirius, grinning still more broadly. ‘The Hog's Head, I ask you.’
‘Well, it was better than the Three Broomsticks!’ said Hermione defensively. ‘That's always packed with people—’
‘Which means you'd have been harder to overhear,’ said Sirius. ‘You've got a lot to learn, Hermione.’
‘Who overheard us?’ Harry demanded.
‘Mundungus, of course,’ said Sirius, and when they all looked puzzled he laughed. ‘He was the witch under the veil.’
‘That was Mundungus?’ Harry said, stunned. ‘What was he doing in the Hog's Head?’
‘What do you think he was doing?’ said Sirius impatiently. ‘Keeping an eye on you, of course.’
‘I'm still being followed?’ asked Harry angrily.
‘Yeah, you are,’ said Sirius, ‘and just as well, isn't it, if the first thing you're going to do on your weekend off is organise an illegal defence group.’ 
But he looked neither angry nor worried. On the contrary, he was looking at Harry with distinct pride.
‘Why was Dung hiding from us?’ asked Ron, sounding disappointed. ‘We'd've liked to've seen him.’
‘He was banned from the Hog's Head twenty years ago,’ said Sirius, ‘and that barman's got a long memory. We lost Moody's spare Invisibility Cloak when Sturgis was arrested, so Dung's been dressing as a witch a lot lately ... anyway ... first of all, Ron—I've sworn to pass on a message from your mother.’ 
‘Oh yeah?’ said Ron, sounding apprehensive.
‘She says on no account whatsoever are you to take part in an illegal secret Defence Against the Dark Arts group. She says you'll be expelled for sure and your future will be ruined. She says there will be plenty of time to learn how to defend yourself later and that you are too young to be worrying about that right now. She also’ (Sirius's eyes turned to the other two) ‘advises Harry and Hermione not to proceed with the group, though she accepts that she has no authority over either of them and simply begs them to remember that she has their best interests at heart. She would have written all this to you, but if the owl had been intercepted you'd all have been in real trouble, and she can't say it for herself because she's on duty tonight.’
‘On duty doing what?’ said Ron quickly.
‘Never you mind, just stuff for the Order,’ said Sirius. ‘So it's fallen to me to be the messenger and make sure you tell her I passed it all on, because I don't think she trusts me to.’
There was another pause in which Crookshanks, mewing, attempted to paw Sirius's head, and Ron fiddled with a hole in the hearthrug.
‘So, you want me to say I'm not going to take part in the Defence group?’ he muttered finally.
‘Me? Certainly not!’ said Sirius, looking surprised. ‘I think it's an excellent idea!’
‘You do?’ said Harry, his heart lifting.
‘Of course I do!’ said Sirius. ‘D'you think your father and I would've lain down and taken orders from an old hag like Umbridge?’
‘But—last term all you did was tell me to be careful and not take risks—’
‘Last year, all the evidence was that someone inside Hogwarts was trying to kill you, Harry!’ said Sirius impatiently. ‘This year, we know there's someone outside Hogwarts who'd like to kill us all, so I think learning to defend yourselves properly is a very good idea!’
‘And if we do get expelled?’ Hermione asked, a quizzical look on her face.
‘Hermione, this whole thing was your idea!’ said Harry, staring at her.
‘I know it was. I just wondered what Sirius thought,’ she said, shrugging.
‘Well, better expelled and able to defend yourselves than sitting safely in school without a clue,’ said Sirius.
‘Hear, hear,’ said Harry and Ron enthusiastically.
‘So,’ said Sirius, ‘how are you organising this group? Where are you meeting?’
‘Well, that's a bit of a problem now,’ said Harry. ‘Dunno where we're going to be able to go.’
‘How about the Shrieking Shack?’ suggested Sirius.
‘Hey, that's an idea!’ said Ron excitedly, but Hermione made a sceptical noise and all three of them looked at her, Sirius's head turning in the flames.
‘Well, Sirius, it's just that there were only four of you meeting in the Shrieking Shack when you were at school,’ said Hermione, ‘and all of you could transform into animals and I suppose you could all have squeezed under a single Invisibility Cloak if you'd wanted to. But there are twenty-eight of us and none of us is an Animagus, so we wouldn't need so much an Invisibility Cloak as an Invisibility Marquee—’
‘Fair point,’ said Sirius, looking slightly crestfallen. ‘Well, I'm sure you'll come up with somewhere. There used to be a pretty roomy secret passageway behind that big mirror on the fourth floor, you might have enough space to practise jinxes in there.’
‘Fred and George told me it's blocked,’ said Harry, shaking his head. ‘Caved in or something.’
‘Oh ...’ said Sirius, frowning. ‘Well, I'll have a think and get back to—’
He broke off. His face was suddenly tense, alarmed. He turned sideways, apparently looking into the solid brick wall of the fireplace.
‘Sirius?’ said Harry anxiously.
But he had vanished. Harry gaped at the flames for a moment, then turned to look at Ron and Hermione.
‘Why did he—?’
Hermione gave a horrified gasp and leapt to her feet, still staring at the fire.
A hand had appeared amongst the flames, groping as though to catch hold of something; a stubby, short-fingered hand covered in ugly old-fashioned rings.
The three of them ran for it. At the door of the boys’ dormitory Harry looked back. Umbridge's hand was still making snatching movements amongst the flames, as though she knew exactly where Sirius's hair had been moments before and was determined to seize it.
剩下的周末时光里，哈利感到了整个学期以来前所未有的愉悦。他和罗恩又花了周日的大部分时间赶他们的作业，当然这不能称得上有趣。但因秋日阳光灿烂，他们不再围着桌子，而是把各自的功课扔在一边，在湖边大树的影子下闲逛起来。而决意按时做完所有功课的荷米恩，带了更多的毛线，对自己的织针施加了魔法，于是它们便在半空中中反射出耀眼的阳光，“滴答”作响地织出更多的帽子和桌巾。 
　　在知道了他们正在采取行动抵抗昂布瑞吉和魔法部，而昂布瑞吉又是叛乱的一个关键人物的时候，哈利感到了极大的满足。他在脑中回想着每星期六的会面：所有这些到他这里学习黑魔法防卫术的人、他们听过他的所为后的神态、秋在 Triwizard 巡回赛中对他的表现的啧啧称赞——知道了这些人不再把他当成一个说谎的无赖，有些人甚至很崇拜他，他感到如此振奋，以至这种快乐的情绪延续到了星期一的早上——尽管这天没什么他喜欢的课程。 他和罗恩下了宿舍楼，讨论着安吉丽娜关于在夜间练习中练习一种叫Sloth Grip Roll的新动作的主意。当他们经过阳光普照的休息室时，他们注意到室中多出来的物品已经吸引了一小群人在观看。 
　　格兰芬多的布告栏粘贴着一个巨大的告示，它覆盖了在布告栏上的所有其他东西 ——二手符咒书的售货清单、由Argus Filch张贴的学校常规提醒、魁地奇队的训练时间表、某种巧克力蛙卡交换启事、Weasleys最新的测试广告、去霍格莫德村的周末日期以及各种寻物启事。新的告示是用巨大的黑色字母书写的，在它的底部有一个官方印章，旁边是整齐的花体签名落款： 
　　霍格瓦彻魔法学校令 
　　所有学生组织、社团、团体、dubs即日起解散。 
　　学生组织、社团、团体、俱乐部指3人或以上的学生例会。 
　　重新建立必须通过高级检查官（昂布瑞吉教授）的批准。 
　　未得到高级检查官认可和批准的任何社团、团体、俱乐部都不允许存在。 
　　任何建立、参加未经高级检查官批准的组织、社团、群体、俱乐部的学生将被开除。 
　　上述文件依据24号教育法令 
　　签名：多洛瑞斯·昂布瑞吉，高级检查官 
　　哈利和罗恩站在一群忧心忡忡的二年级学生后面，越过他们的脑袋，读着这张通知。 
　　“这是否意味着他们将关闭Gobstones俱乐部？”其中一人问他的朋友。 
　　“我估计你的Gobstones会没事，”罗恩阴沉沉地说，吓得这名二年级学生跳起来，“而我们就没那么幸运了，你说呢？”当二年级学生匆忙离去后，他问哈利。 
　　哈利正在再次阅读这则告示，自星期六以来便充盈他全身的愉悦已消逝得无影无踪。他体内充满了愤怒。 
　　“这绝非巧合”他说，他把手握成拳状，“她知道。” 
　　“她不可能知道” 罗恩立刻答道。 
　　“会有人在那酒店偷听，让我们面对这一点，我们不知道多少出现在我们眼前的人是值得信任的。他们中的任何人都可能跑去向昂布瑞吉告密。” 
　　而他竟以为他们信任他，甚至认为他们崇拜着他。 
　　“Zacharias Smith！” 罗恩立刻说道，并用拳猛击一下自己的手掌，“或者，我认为Michael Corner 也叛变了！” “我想知道荷米恩看到了这告示没有？” 哈利说，一边扫视那扇通向女生宿舍的门。 “让我们去告诉她吧。” 罗恩说。他向前跃进，打开了门，走上螺旋梯。 当他到了第六级阶梯时，一种高声的、哀号似的、听起来像高音喇叭的声音和阶梯融合在一起，形成了一道像平滑的石梯。罗恩试图逃跑，他的手疯狂的舞动着，就像一架风车。然后他被新形成的石梯击中，后背着地摔倒在哈利的脚下。 
　　“恩，我不认为我们被允许进入女生宿舍” 哈利说着，把罗恩从他脚上扶起来，试图忍住不大笑出声。 两个四年级的女生笑着从石梯上走来。 
　　“噢，谁想上楼去？”她们开心得吃吃直笑，蹦蹦跳跳的笑看着哈利和罗恩。 
　　“是我。” 灰头土脸的罗恩说，“我不知道会发生那种事。这不公平！”当女孩们疯笑着从肖像画洞口离开时，他对哈利补充道：“荷米恩被允许进入我们的宿舍，为什么我们不能……？” “这是一条老规矩”，她优雅地滑下石梯，跳到他们面前的地毯上，不费吹灰之力。“在霍格沃兹而言，这是一个历史问题，创立者认为男生相对女生而言较为不值得信赖。不管怎样，你为什么要去那儿？” 
　　“来找你，看看这个！” 罗恩不由分说地把她拖曳到告示板前。 荷米恩的眼睛快速地在告示上扫视，她的表情变得凝重起来。 
　　“一定有人向她告密！” 罗恩愤愤不平地说道。 “他们不可能这么做，” 荷米恩低声说道 。 
　　“你太天真了，” 罗恩说“因为你诚实可信，你就这样认为吗？” “不，他们不会这样做的，因为我对那张有我们签名的羊皮纸下了诅咒，” 荷米恩镇静地说道，“相信我，如果他们中的任何人跑去向昂布瑞吉告密，我们会清楚的知道他们是谁，他们也必定会对此感到由衷的后悔。” “他们会怎样？” 罗恩以渴望的声调说道。 “如果这样，” 荷米恩说，“这会让Eloise Midgeon的粉刺看起来像一对可爱斑点。来吧，让我们享用我们的早餐并看看其他人怎么想的。我想知道这张通知是否张贴在所有房间里。” 
　　一走进大厅，他们就知道不光只是格兰芬多塔贴有昂布瑞吉氏的告示了。强烈的情绪和异常的躁动在门厅里蔓延，人们围着桌子围着桌子议论着他们读到的东西。哈利、罗恩 和荷米恩 刚一入座，奈威、Dean、弗来德、乔治 和 金妮 便径直向他们走来。 “你看到那告示了吗？” 
　　“你们猜她知道了吗？” 
　　“我们该怎么办呢？” 
　　他们都注视着哈利，他向周围扫视了一周，确认附近没有老师。 
　　“不管怎样，我们当然还是要那么做的。”他低声说道。 
　　“就知道你会那么说！” 乔治兴奋地在哈利臂上重重一击。 “级长呢？” 弗来德问道，探询性的看向罗恩和荷米恩· “当然。” 荷米恩沉着地说。 
　　“Ernie和Hannah Abbott在这儿，” 罗恩越过他的肩膀张望着，“这里是Ravenclaw blokes和Smith，没有人看起来是有污点的。” 
　　荷米恩一脸警视： 
　　“别去关心那些斑点，那些白痴现在还不会出现在这儿，这种举动让你看起来很可疑，坐下！”她对Ernie和Hannah比口形，疯狂地向他们作手势让他们重新坐到Hufflepuff桌。“稍后！我们—稍后——再—谈！” 
　　“一直等到告诉Michael，” 金妮不耐烦地说，她在长凳上摇摆着，“那些笨蛋，彻头彻尾的笨蛋。” 她快速走向Ravenclaw那一桌；哈利看着她远去。秋坐得并不远，她正跟一个跟她一起去过猪头酒吧的卷发朋友说话。昂布拉吉是否注意到她又吓得不敢再跟他们会面了呢？ 
　　直到他们离开大厅，去上魔法史课，通知激起的巨大反应仍未平息。 
　　“哈利！ 罗恩。” 
　　是安吉丽娜，她带着绝望的表情，不顾一切的向他们冲过来。 
　　“好的，”当她走近到足以听见他的声音时，哈利悄声说道，“我们仍然试图……” 
　　“你难道不知道她的告示包括在魁地奇内吗？” 安吉丽娜打断了他，“我们必须申请得到许可，以重组格兰芬多队。 “什么？”哈利说。 
　　“没门！”罗恩一脸惊骇。 
　　“你们阅读了告示，它也提及了团队！因此，听我说，哈利，我说最后一次，请不要再跟昂布瑞吉大动肝火了，否则的话，她可能再也不让我们玩魁地奇了！” 
　　“好吧好吧，”看见安吉丽娜的眼泪已经在眼眶里打转，哈利只好先答应下来，“别担心，我会自制的。” 
　　“我打赌昂布瑞吉会出现在魔法史教室。”在他们去上宾斯教授的课的途中，罗恩冷冷地说，“她还没有检查宾斯教授呢。我打赌她在那里，赌什么都行。” 
　　可他错了，当他们进入教室时，出现在他们眼前的只有唯一一位老师——宾斯教授，像平时一样飘浮在椅子上方一英尺的地方，正准备继续讲授单调而又长篇累牍的巨人战争。哈利今天甚至不想尝试着跟随他的讲课思路。他闲散地在他的羊皮纸上涂鸦，不去理睬荷米恩对他的频频怒视和推搡，直到肋骨上一次明显的刺痛惹恼了他，他才抬起头。 
　　“什么？” 
　　她指向窗，哈利环视四周，发现海维正栖息在窗子狭窄的边缘上，透过厚厚的玻璃窗凝视着他，它腿上绑着一封信。哈利真搞不明白它，他们刚刚一起用过早餐，究竟为什么它不像往常一样在那时递送这封信呢？他的许多同学也都认出了它。 
　　“噢，我一直很喜欢那只猫头鹰，她是那么的漂亮” 哈利听到Lavender 对Parvati这样叹道。 
　　他瞥了一眼还在继续朗读笔记的宾斯教授，教授仿佛丝毫没有察觉到班级里对他的注意力比往常更少了。哈利悄悄地离开他自己的座位，蜷缩着身子，飞快地穿过教室里的排排座位来到窗边，他滑动着窗钩，缓缓打开它。 
　　他希望海维伸出它的脚，那么他就可以拿走信，然后让它飞回猫头鹰屋。但那个时候窗子已经开得足够宽，因此海维希望可以飞进去，于是它寂寞地叫了起来。他忙关上窗，不安地向教授瞥了一眼，再次蜷缩着身子，把海维放在肩膀上，快速返回到自己的座位，又把它转移到自己膝上，解下绑在它腿上的信件。 
　　直到那时他才突然发现海维的羽毛奇怪地卷曲着；有些倒了，它的一只翅膀耷拉着。 
　　“它受伤了！”哈利低声说，一边弯下头靠近它。荷米恩和罗恩倾斜着身子以便靠得更近；荷米恩甚至放下了她的羽毛笔。“看，它的翅膀的这里有些不妥。” 
　　海维颤抖着，当哈利碰触她的翅膀时，它忍不住轻跳了起来。海维所有羽毛都竖了起来，它责备地看着他。 
　　“宾斯教授，” 哈利大声说，教室里的所有人都转过来看向他，“我感到有点不舒服。” 宾斯教授把他的视线从笔记上移开，惊讶地看着哈利，却像往常一样，只发现满屋子的人。 
　　“感到不舒服？”他模糊地重复道。 
　　“浑身都不舒服，” 哈利把海维藏在背后，坚定地迈开步子，“我认为我需要飞速赶到医院去。” “是的，” 宾斯教授说，明显的有些手足无措，“是的，是的，飞速赶到医院，好的，你可以走了，那么，Perkins。” 
　　一出教室，哈利就把海维重新放到肩上，匆忙地在廊上行走，直到离开宾斯教授的视力可及之处才停下来思考。他心目中治疗海维的首选当然是哈格力，但由于他现在并不知道哈格力在哪儿，于是他唯一剩余的选择就是向Grubbly-Plank教授寻求帮助。 
　　他从窗内窥视窗外那阴郁多风的土地，靠近哈格力的小屋无论如何都不会有她的告示；如果她现在不在授课，她可能会在教研室。他走下楼，海维在他肩上虚弱地摇摆着，不时发出柔弱的哀号。 
　　在教研室大门两侧分别嵌着一只石兽装饰。当哈利靠近大门，其中一个石兽用嘶哑的嗓音说道：“你现在应该在课堂上，小家伙。” 
　　“这事很紧急。” 哈利说得很简略。 
　　“噢，急事，是吗？”另一只石兽用尖锐的声调说道，“好吧，这倒让我们做起本职工作来了，不是吗？” 
　　哈利敲了敲门，他听到脚步声，门开了，他与麦格教授面面相觑。 
　　“你没有被判处又一次禁闭吧！”她立刻说道，她的方形眼镜闪耀着警示的光芒。 
　　“没有，教授！” 哈利急忙为自己辩白。 
　　“好的，那么，你为什么不在自己的课堂上呢？” 
　　“显而易见的，是因为有急事，”第二只石兽用他的丑恶嘴脸说道。 
　　“我在寻找Grubbly-Plank教授，” 哈利解释道，“这是我的猫头鹰，它受伤了。” “受伤的猫头鹰，是吗？” 
　　Grubbly-Plank教授一手持着烟管，一手持着一份预言家日报，出现在麦格教授的肩上。 
　　“是的。” 哈利小心翼翼地把肩膀上的海维轻轻举起来，“它出现在其他的投递猫头鹰后面，它的羽翼变得很古怪，看。” Grubbly-Plank教授用牙齿紧紧咬住烟管，然后在麦格教授的注视下从哈利手中拿走海维。 
　　“恩，” Grubbly-Plank说，她的烟管在她说话时来回地摆动着，“它好象被某种东西袭击了。真难以想象什么东西会把它伤成这样。当然的，Thestrals会时常猎取鸟儿，但是哈格力已经好好地训练过霍格沃兹的Thestrals，让它们不再去招惹猫头鹰了。” 
　　哈利不想知道也不关心什么是Thestrals，他只想知道海维能否复原。可麦格教授却用敏锐的目光看着哈利，问道：“你知道这只猫头鹰飞了多远的路吗，波特？” 
　　“恩，”哈利说，“大概有到伦敦那么远，我想。” 
　　他飞快地瞥了她一眼，当他看到她双眉紧缩，就知道她已经明了“伦敦”实际上意味着“Grimmauld Place，十二号。” 
　　Grubbly-Plank教授从她的长袍中掏出一片单片眼镜，把它塞进自己的眼睛里，近距离检查海维的翅膀。“如果你把它交给我的话我可以很快让它复原，”她说，“她这几天无论如何不能飞得太远。” 
　　“恩，好的，谢谢你。” 哈利说，正在此时，休息铃响了。 “没问题，” Grubbly-Plank教授粗声说，随即返回了教研室。 
　　“等一下，Wilhelmina！”麦格教授匆匆喊道：“波特的信！” 
　　“噢，是的！” 哈利说，他差点忘了海维腿上的纸卷。Grubbly-Plank把信移交给哈利，然后就带着海维在教研室中消失了。海维消失前一直紧盯着哈利，似乎不敢相信他会这样抛下它。哈利感到有点心虚，他正想离开，却被麦格教授叫了回来。 
　　“波特！” 
　　“是的，教授？” 
　　她上下扫视着门廊，两个方向都有学生走出来。 
　　“记住，”她看着他手中的纸卷快速地低声说道，“那个霍格沃兹与外界的联络渠道将会被看护得好好的，你会这样做吗？” 
　　“我……” 哈利正想作答，但是走廊上的学生们已蜂拥而至。麦格教授向他点了点头，撤回了教研室。留下哈利被熙攘的人群席卷入院中。他发现罗恩和荷米恩早已站在安全的角落，他们的外衣领子在风中翻飞。哈利一边跑向他们，一边打开纸卷，发现纸卷上有五个词——是天狼星的笔迹：今天，老时间，老地方。 “海维还好吧？” 荷米恩忧虑地问道，此刻他才回过了神。 “你把它带去哪儿了？” 罗恩问 
　　“Grubbly-Plank教授那儿，”哈利说，“我还见到了麦格，听着。” 
　　他把麦格所说的话转告给他们。出乎他的意料之外，他们并不感到震惊。相反的，他们交换着意味深长的眼神。 
　　“什么？” 哈利说，把眼神从罗恩身上转到荷米恩身上又再转回来。 “好，我刚刚只是在跟罗恩说话。如果有人试图在中途阻截海维，那会怎么样？我是说，它还从未在以前的飞行途中受过伤，不是吗？” 
　　“无论怎样，那是谁的信？” 罗恩问，从哈利手中拿过纸条。 “用鼻音讲。”哈利轻声提醒道。 
　　“‘老时间，老地方’？他说的是教研室的炉火中吗？” 
　　“显然的，” 荷米恩说，她也正在阅读纸条，她有点心神不安，“我希望没有其他人读过它。” “但是它到我手里时依旧是密封的，” 哈利像她一样尽量试图让自己信服，“如果他们不知道我们以前跟他在哪见面，那么就没有人会知道它意味着什么，不是吗？” “我不知道，” 荷米恩一脸焦虑，当铃声再次响起来的时候她猛把他的背包拉过肩，“用魔法重新密封纸卷并不是什么难事，我们也并不知道是否有人在监视壁炉网络系统，但是我确实不知道我们怎么才能在信件不被阻截的情况下警告他。” 他们走下石梯去上魔法学课程，三个人都走了神。但当他们走到最后几级台阶时，却被马尔夫的声音从沉思中唤醒。他站在斯内普的教室门外，挥舞着一张官方文件样的羊皮纸，故意提高了声音以便让他们能够清楚的听到每个字。 
　　“是的，昂布瑞吉批准史莱哲林学院的魁地奇球队继续活动，我今天一大早就去向她申请了。这其实是理所当然的，我是说，她跟我的父亲很熟，他经常出入魔法部。看格兰芬多是否能得到批准继续参加球赛是件趣事，不是吗？” 
　　“别生气，” 荷米恩小声向哈利和罗恩哀求道，他们怒视着马尔夫，脸儿通红，拳头紧握，“这正称了他的意。” “我是说，” 马尔夫又把声调提高了一点，他的灰色眼睛里闪烁着恶意，看向哈利和罗恩所在的方向，“如果这个问题跟魔法部的影响有关，我可不认为他们有多少机会。据我父亲所言，他们近年来一直在找理由解雇韦斯利（罗恩的父亲，在魔法部任职）。波特也一样。我父亲说把他送到St Mungo魔法疾病医院去只是个时间问题。很明显，他们对脑袋被魔法搞混的人有特殊的防护措施。” 
　　马尔夫做了个鬼脸，他垂着嘴，眼珠乱转。Crabbe和Goyle和往常一样发出咕哝的笑声，Pansy Parkinson快乐地尖叫起来。 
　　似乎有什么东西在哈利的肩上猛撞了一记，撞得他向一边倒去。马上他就明白刚刚是奈威（哈利在葛来分多的同学，是记性差的迷糊鬼，常惹麻烦）走过他身旁，径直地向马尔夫冲去。 
　　“奈威，不要！” 
　　哈利飞奔向前，抓住了奈威的长袍。奈威疯狂的挣扎，他双拳乱舞，拼命挣扎着试图靠近马尔夫。马尔夫顿时惊骇万分。 
　　“帮我！” 哈利向罗恩求助，他用一只手绕过奈威的脖子，勉力把他拖了回来，远离史莱哲林s学院。Crabbe和Goyle舞动着他们的胳膊，站到马尔夫身前，准备搏斗。罗恩抓住了奈威的手臂，和哈利一起成功地把奈威拖回格兰芬多线内。奈威的脸涨得通红，哈利强加于自己喉咙上的压力致使他变得相当混乱，单个的单词杂乱无章地从他口中蹦出来。 
　　“不要，有趣，别，麻瓜，展示，他。” 
　　魔法学教室的门开了，斯内普出现在那里。他用黑眼睛扫视着格兰芬多交界线，哈利和罗恩正在那里跟奈威扭打成一团。 
　　“打得很起劲啊，波特, Weasley, 隆巴顿？” 斯内普用他冷酷的嗓音轻蔑地嘲弄道。格兰芬多扣十分。波特，放开隆巴顿，不然就罚你禁闭。全部给我进来！“哈利松开奈威，他气喘吁吁，对哈利怒目而视。 
　　“我必须阻止你，” 哈利上气不接下气地说，一边捡起他的书包，“Crabbe 和Goyle会把你撕成两半！” 
　　奈威一言不发； 他只是夺过自己的书包，走入魔法教室。 “以梅林的名义，” 罗恩缓慢地说，跟在奈威后面，“那是为什么？” 哈利没有回答。他清楚知道，奈威为什么会对石墙高中的人们的大脑受到魔法损害这种话题感到痛苦，但是他已经对丹伯多发誓，他将不告诉任何人奈威的秘密，甚至奈威也不知道哈利知道这件事。 
　　哈利、罗恩和荷米恩像以前一样坐在班级靠后的位置上，拿出羊皮纸、羽毛笔和《一千种神奇药草与蕈类》。整个班级都在轻声议论奈威刚刚的举动，但当斯内普教授“砰”地关上室门，一切立刻归于沉寂。 
　　———————————————————————————————— 
　　“你们应该注意到”斯内普用他低沉的声音轻蔑的说，“我们今天有位客人。” 
　　他向地牢阴暗的一角示意，哈里看见昂布瑞奇教授正坐在那儿，她的膝盖上放着一个记事板。他向罗恩和荷米恩旁边瞟了一眼，抬了抬眉毛。斯内普和昂布瑞奇是他最讨厌的两个老师。他很难弄清他更希望谁取得胜利。 
　　“我们今天将继续研究Strengthening Solution。你们会看到你们配的药和上周留下时的一样；如果配的正确，它们应该在周末后酿造成功——说明——”他再一次挥动他的魔杖“——在黑板上。继续干。” 
　　墙角的昂布瑞奇教授把上课的第一个半小时花在做笔记上。哈里极有兴致的听着她向斯内普提问；他的兴致使他又对自己配的药掉以轻心。 
　　“火蜥蜴血,哈里！”荷米恩一边抱怨一边抓住他的手腕，防第三次放错药，“不是石榴汁！” 
　　“知道了”哈里含糊的说，他放下瓶子继续向那个角落看。昂布里奇站了起来。当她走到离正在弯腰看迪安·托马斯的锅炉的斯内普两条桌子
Chapter 19 The Lion And The Serpent
Harry felt as though he were carrying some kind of talisman inside his chest over the following two weeks, a glowing secret that supported him through Umbridge's classes and even made it possible for him to smile blandly as he looked into her horrible bulging eyes. He and the DA were resisting her under her very nose, doing the very thing she and the Ministry most feared, and whenever he was supposed to be reading Wilbert Slinkhard's book during her lessons he dwelled instead on satisfying memories of their most recent meetings, remembering how Neville had successfully disarmed Hermione, how Colin Creevey had mastered the Impediment Jinx after three meetings’ hard effort, how Parvati Patil had produced such a good Reductor Curse that she had reduced the table carrying all the Sneakoscopes to dust.
He was finding it almost impossible to fix a regular night of the week for the DA meetings, as they had to accommodate three separate: team's Quidditch practices, which were often rearranged due to bad weather conditions; but Harry was not sorry about this; he had a feeling that it was probably better to keep the timing of their meetings unpredictable. If anyone was watching them, it would be hard to make out a pattern.
Hermione soon devised a very clever method of communicating the time and date of the next meeting to all the members in case they needed to change it at short notice, because it would look suspicious if people from different Houses were seen crossing the Great Hall to talk to each other too often. She gave each of the members of the DA a fake Galleon (Ron became very excited when he first saw the basket and was convinced she was actually giving out gold).
‘You see the numerals around the edge of the coins?’ Hermione said, holding one up for examination at the end of their fourth meeting. The coin gleamed fat and yellow in the light from the torches. ‘On real Galleons that's just a serial number referring to the goblin who cast the coin. On these fake coins, though, the numbers will change to reflect the time and date of the next meeting. The coins will grow hot when the date changes, so if you're carrying them in a pocket you'll be able to feel them. We take one each, and when Harry sets the date of the next meeting he'll change the numbers on his coin, and because I've put a Protean Charm on them, they'll all change to mimic his.’ 
A blank silence greeted Hermione's words. She looked around at all the faces upturned to her, rather disconcerted.
‘Well—I thought it was a good idea,’ she said uncertainly, ‘I mean, even if Umbridge asked us to turn out our pockets, there's nothing fishy about carrying a Galleon, is there? But ... well, if you don't want to use them—’ 
‘You can do a Protean Charm?’ said Terry Boot.
‘Yes,’ said Hermione.
‘But that's ... that's NEWT standard, that is,’ he said weakly.
‘Oh,’ said Hermione, trying to look modest. ‘Oh ... well ... yes, I suppose it is.’
‘How come you're not in Ravenclaw?’ he demanded, staring at Hermione with something close to wonder. ‘With brains like yours?’
‘Well, the Sorting Hat did seriously consider putting me in Ravenclaw during my Sorting,’ said Hermione brightly, ‘but it decided on Gryffindor in the end. So, does that mean we're using the Galleons?’
There was a murmur of assent and everybody moved forwards to collect one from the basket. Harry looked sideways at Hermione.
‘You know what these remind me of?’
‘No, what's that?’
The Death Eaters’ scars. Voldemort touches one of them, and all their scars burn, and they know they've got to join him.’
‘Well ... yes,’ said Hermione quietly, ‘that is where I got the idea ... but you'll notice I decided to engrave the date on bits of metal rather than on our members’ skin.’
‘Yeah ... I prefer your way,’ said Harry, grinning, as he slipped his Galleon into his pocket. ‘I suppose the only danger with these is that we might accidentally spend them.’
‘Fat chance,’ said Ron, who was examining his own fake Galleon with a slightly mournful air, ‘I haven't got any real Galleons to confuse it with.’ 
As the first Quidditch match of the season, Gryffindor versus Slytherin, drew nearer, their DA meetings were put on hold because Angelina insisted on almost daily practices. The fact that the Quidditch Cup had not been held for so long added considerably to the interest and excitement surrounding the forthcoming game; the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were taking a lively interest in the outcome, for they, of course, would be playing both teams over the coming year; and the Heads of House of the competing teams, though they attempted to disguise it under a decent pretence of sportsmanship, were determined to see their own side victorious. Harry realised how much Professor McGonagall cared about beating Slytherin when she abstained from giving them homework in the week leading up to the match.
I think you've got enough to be getting on with at the moment,’ she said loftily. Nobody could quite believe their ears until she looked directly at Harry and Ron and said grimly, ‘I've become accustomed to seeing the Quidditch Cup in my study, boys, and I really don't want to have to hand it over to Professor Snape, so use the extra time to practise, won't you?’
Snape was no less obviously partisan; he had booked the Quidditch pitch for Slytherin practice so often that the Gryffindors had difficulty getting on it to play. He was also turning a deaf ear to the many reports of Slytherin attempts to hex Gryffindor players in the corridors. When Alicia Spinnet turned up in the hospital wing with her eyebrows growing so thick and fast they obscured her vision and obstructed her mouth, Snape insisted that she must have attempted a Hair-thickening Charm on herself and refused to listen to the fourteen eye-witnesses who insisted they had seen the Slytherin Keeper, Miles Bletchley, hit her from behind with a jinx while she worked in the library.
Harry felt optimistic about Gryffindors chances; they had, after all, never lost to Malfoy's team. Admittedly, Ron was still not performing to Wood's standard, but he was working extremely hard to improve. His greatest weakness was a tendency to lose confidence after he'd made a blunder; if he let in one goal he became flustered and was therefore likely to miss more. On the other hand, Harry had seen Ron make some truly spectacular saves when he was on form; during one memorable practice he had hung one-handed from his broom and kicked the Quaffle so hard away from the goalhoop that it soared the length of the pitch and through the centre hoop at the other end; the rest of the team felt this save compared favourably with one made recently by Barry Ryan, the Irish International Keeper, against Poland's top Chaser, Ladislaw Zamojski. Even Fred had said that Ron might yet make him and George proud, and that they were seriously considering admitting he was related to them, something they assured him they had been trying to deny for four years.
The only thing really worrying Harry was how much Ron was allowing the tactics of the Slytherin team to upset him before they even got on to the pitch. Harry, of course, had endured their snide comments for over four years, so whispers of, ‘Hey, Potty, I heard Warrington's sworn to knock you off your broom on Saturday', far from chilling his blood, made him laugh. ‘Warrington's aim's so pathetic I'd be more worried if he was aiming for the person next to me,’ he retorted, which made Ron and Hermione laugh and wiped the smirk off Pansy Parkinson's face.
But Ron had never endured a relentless campaign of insults, jeers and intimidation. When Slytherins, some of them seventh-years and considerably larger than he was, muttered as they passed in the corridors, ‘Got your bed booked in the hospital wing, Weasley?’ he didn't laugh, but turned a delicate shade of green. When Draco Malfoy imitated Ron dropping the Quaffle (which he did whenever they came within sight of each other), Ron's ears glowed red and his hands shook so badly that he was likely to drop whatever he was holding at the time, too.
October extinguished itself in a rush of howling winds and driving rain and November arrived, cold as frozen iron, with hard frosts every morning and icy draughts that bit at exposed hands and faces. The skies and the ceiling of the Great Hall turned a pale, pearly grey, the mountains around Hogwarts were snowcapped, and the temperature in the castle dropped so low that many students wore their thick protective dragonskin gloves in the corridors between lessons.
The morning of the match dawned bright and cold. When Harry awoke he looked round at Ron's bed and saw him sitting bolt upright, his arms around his knees, staring fixedly into space.
‘You all right?’ said Harry.
Ron nodded but did not speak. Harry was reminded forcibly of the time Ron had accidentally put a Slug-vomiting Charm on himself; he looked just as pale and sweaty as he had done then, not to mention as reluctant to open his mouth.
‘You just need some breakfast,’ Harry said bracingly. ‘C'mon.’
The Great Hall was filling up fast when they arrived, the talk louder and the mood more exuberant than usual. As they passed the Slytherin table there was an upsurge of noise. Harry looked round and saw that, in addition to the usual green and silver scarves and hats, every one of them was wearing a silver badge in the shape of what seemed to be a crown. For some reason many of them waved at Ron, laughing uproariously. Harry tried to see what was written on the badges as he walked by, but he was too concerned to get Ron past their table quickly to linger long enough to read them.
They received a rousing welcome at the Gryffindor table, where everyone was wearing red and gold, but far from raising Ron's spirits the cheers seemed to sap the last of his morale; he collapsed on to the nearest bench looking as though he were facing his final meal.
‘I must've been mental to do this,’ he said in a croaky whisper. ‘Mental.’
‘Don't be thick,’ said Harry firmly, passing him a choice of cereals, ‘you're going to be fine. It's normal to be nervous.’
‘I'm rubbish,’ croaked Ron. ‘I'm lousy. I can't play to save my life. What was I thinking?’
‘Get a grip,’ said Harry sternly. ‘Look at that save you made with your foot the other day, even Fred and George said it was brilliant.’
Ron turned a tortured face to Harry.
‘That was an accident,’ he whispered miserably. ‘I didn't mean to do it—I slipped off my broom when none of you were looking and when I was trying to get back on I kicked the Quaffle by accident.’
‘Well,’ said Harry, recovering quickly from this unpleasant surprise, ‘a few more accidents like that and the game's in the bag, isn't it?’
Hermione and Ginny sat down opposite them wearing red and gold scarves, gloves and rosettes.
‘How're you feeling?’ Ginny asked Ron, who was now staring into the dregs of milk at the bottom of his empty cereal bowl as though seriously considering attempting to drown himself in them.
‘He's just nervous,’ said Harry.
‘Well, that's a good sign, I never feel you perform as well in exams if you're not a bit nervous,’ said Hermione heartily.
‘Hello,’ said a vague and dreamy voice from behind them. Harry looked up: Luna Lovegood had drifted over from the Ravenclaw table. Many people were staring at her and a few were openly laughing and pointing; she had managed to procure a hat shaped like a life-size lion's head, which was perched precariously on her head.
‘I'm supporting Gryffindor,’ said Luna, pointing unnecessarily at her hat. ‘Look what it does ...’
She reached up and tapped the hat with her wand. It opened its mouth wide and gave an extremely realistic roar that made everyone in the vicinity jump.
‘It's good, isn't it?’ said Luna happily. ‘I wanted to have it chewing up a serpent to represent Slytherin, you know, but there wasn't time. Anyway ... good luck, Ronald!’
She drifted away. They had not quite recovered from the shock of Luna's hat before Angelina came hurrying towards them, accompanied by Katie and Alicia, whose eyebrows had mercifully been returned to normal by Madam Pomfrey.
‘When you're ready,’ she said, ‘we're going to go straight down to the pitch, check out conditions and change.’
‘We'll be there in a bit,’ Harry assured her. ‘Ron's just got to have some breakfast.’
It became clear after ten minutes, however, that Ron was not capable of eating anything more and Harry thought it best to get him down to the changing rooms. As they rose from the table, Hermione got up, too, and taking Harry's arm she drew him to one side.
‘Don't let Ron see what's on those Slytherins’ badges,’ she whispered urgently.
Harry looked questioningly at her, but she shook her head warningly; Ron had just ambled over to them, looking lost and desperate.
‘Good luck, Ron,’ said Hermione, standing on tiptoe and kissing him on the cheek. ‘And you, Harry —’
Ron seemed to come to himself slightly as they walked back across the Great Hall. He touched the spot on his face where Hermione had kissed him, looking puzzled, as though he was not quite sure what had just happened. He seemed too distracted to notice much around him, but Harry cast a curious glance at the crown-shaped badges as they passed the Slytherin table, and this time he made out the words etched on to them:
Weasley is our King
With an unpleasant feeling that this could mean nothing good, he hurried Ron across the Entrance Hall, clown the stone steps and out into the icy air.
The frosty grass crunched under their feet as they hurried down the sloping lawns towards the stadium. There was no wind at all and the sky was a uniform pearly white, which meant that visibility would be good without the drawback of direct sunlight in the eyes. Harry pointed out these encouraging factors to Ron as they walked, but he was not sure that Ron was listening.
Angelina had changed already and was talking to the rest of the team when they entered. Harry and Ron pulled on their robes (Ron attempted to do his up back-to-front for several minutes before Alicia took pity on him and went to help), then sat down to listen to the pre-match talk while the babble of voices outside grew steadily louder as the crowd came pouring out of the castle towards the pitch.
‘OK, I've only just found out the final line-up for Slytherin,’ said Angelina, consulting a piece of parchment. ‘Last year's Beaters, Derrick and Bole, have left, but it looks as though Montague's replaced them with the usual gorillas, rather than anyone who can fly particularly well. They're two blokes called Crabbe and Goyle, I don't know much about them—’
‘We do,’ said Harry and Ron together.
‘Well, they don't look bright enough to tell one end of a broom from the other,’ said Angelina, pocketing her parchment, ‘but then I was always surprised Derrick and Bole managed to find their way on to the pitch without signposts.’ 
‘Crabbe and Goyle are in the same mould,’ Harry assured her.
They could hear hundreds of footsteps mounting the banked benches of the spectators’ stands. Some people were singing, though Harry could not make out the words. He was starting to feel nervous, but he knew his butterflies were as nothing compared to Ron's, who was clutching his stomach and staring straight ahead again, his jaw set and his complexion pale grey.
‘It's time,’ said Angelina in a hushed voice, looking at her watch. ‘C'mon everyone ... good luck.’
The team rose, shouldered their brooms and marched in single file out of the changing room and into the dazzling sunlight, A roar of sound greeted them in which Harry could still hear singing, though it was muffled by the cheers and whistles.
The Slytherin team was standing waiting for them. They, too, were wearing those silver crown-shaped badges. The new Captain, Montague, was built along the same lines as Dudley Dursley with massive forearms like hairy hams. Behind him lurked Crabbe and Goyle, almost as large, blinking stupidly in the sunlight, swinging their new Beaters’ bats. Malfoy stood to one side, the sunlight gleaming on his white-blond head. He caught Harry's eye and smirked, tapping the crown-shaped badge on his chest.
‘Captains, shake hands,’ ordered the referee Madam Hooch, as Angelina and Montague reached each other. Harry could tell that Montague was trying to crush Angelina's fingers, though she did not wince. ‘Mount your brooms ...’
Madam Hooch placed her whistle in her mouth and blew.
The balls were released and the fourteen players shot upwards. Out of the corner of his eye Harry saw Ron streak off towards the goalhoops. Harry zoomed higher, dodging a Bludger, and set off on a wide lap of the pitch, gazing around for a glint of gold; on the other side of the stadium, Draco Malfoy was doing exactly the same.
‘And it's Johnson —Johnson with the Quaffle, what a player that girl is, I've been saying it for years but she still won't go out with me—’
‘JORDAN!’ yelled Professor McGonagall.
‘—just a fun fact, Professor, adds a bit of interest—and she's ducked Warrington, she's passed Montague, she's—ouch—been hit from behind by a Bludger from Crabbe ... Montague catches the Quaffle, Montague heading back up the pitch and—nice Bludger there from George Weasley, that's a Bludger to the head for Montague, he drops the Quaffle, caught by Katie Bell, Katie Bell of Gryffindor reverse-passes to Alicia Spinnet and Spinnet's away—’
Lee Jordan's commentary rang through the stadium and Harry listened as hard as he could through the wind whistling in his ears and the din of the crowd, all yelling and booing and singing.
‘—dodges Warrington, avoids a Bludger—close call, Alicia—and the crowd are loving this, just listen to them, what's that they're singing?’
And as Lee paused to listen, the song rose loud and clear from the sea of green and silver in the Slytherin section of the stands:
 
‘Weasley cannot save a thing,
He cannot block a single ring,
That's why Slytherins all sing:
Weasley is our King.
‘Weasley was born in a bin
He always lets the Quaffle in
Weasley will make sure we win
Weasley is our King.’
’ —a nd Alicia passes back to Angelina!’ Lee shouted, and as Harry swerved, his insides boiling at what he had just heard, he knew Lee was trying to drown out the words of the song. ‘Come on now, Angelina—looks like she's got just the Keeper to beat!—SHE SHOOTS—SHE—aaaah ...’
Bletchley, the Slytherin Keeper, had saved the goal; he threw the Quaffle to Warrington who sped off with it, zig-zagging in between Alicia and Katie; the singing from below grew louder and louder as he drew nearer and nearer Ron.
‘Weasley is our King,
Weasley is our King,
He always lets the Quaffle in
Weasley is our King. ’
Harry could not help himself: abandoning his search for the Snitch, he wheeled around to watch Ron, a lone figure at the far end of the pitch, hovering before the three goalhoops while the massive Warrington pelted towards him.
‘—and it's Warrington with the Quaffle, Warrington heading for goal, he's out of Bludger range with just the Keeper ahead—’
A great swell of song rose from the Slytherin stands below:
‘Weasley cannot save a thing,
He cannot block a single ring ...’
 
‘— so it's the first test for new Gryffindor Keeper Weasley, brother of Beaters Fred and George, and a promising new talent on the team—come on, Ron!’
But the scream of delight came from the Slytherins’ end: Ron had dived wildly, his arms wide, and the Quaffle had soared between them straight through Ron's central hoop.
‘Slytherin score!’ came Lee's voice amid the cheering and booing from the crowds below, ‘so that's ten-nil to Slytherin—bad luck, Ron.’
The Slytherins sang even louder:
‘WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN
HE ALWAYS LETS THE QUAFFLE IN... ’
‘—and Gryffindor back in possession and it's Katie Bell tanking up the pitch—’ cried Lee valiantly, though the singing was now so deafening that he could hardly make himself heard above it.
‘WEASLEY WILL MAKE SURE WE WIN
WEASLEY IS OUR KING ...’
 
‘Harry, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?’ screamed Angelina, soaring past him to keep up with Katie. ‘GET GOING!’
Harry realised he had been stationary in midair for over a minute, watching the progress of the match without sparing a thought for the whereabouts of the Snitch; horrified, he went into a dive and started circling the pitch again, staring around, trying to ignore the chorus now thundering through the stadium:
‘WEASLEY IS OUR KING,
WEASLEY IS OUR KING ... ’
There was no sign of the Snitch anywhere he looked; Malfoy was still circling the stadium just as he was. They passed one another midway around the pitch, going in opposite directions, and Harry heard Malfoy singing loudly:
‘WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN ...’
 
‘—and it's Warrington again,’ bellowed Lee, ‘who passes to Pucey, Pucey's off past Spinnet, come on now, Angelina, you can take him - turns out you can't—but nice Bludger from Fred Weasley I mean, George Weasley, oh, who cares, one of them, anyway, and Warrington drops the Quaffle and Katie Bell—er—drops it, too—so that's Montague with the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Montague takes the Quaffle and he's off up the pitch, come on now, Gryffindor, block him!’
Harry zoomed around the end of the stadium behind the Slytherin goalhoops, willing himself not to look at what was going on at Ron's end. As he sped past the Slytherin Keeper, he heard Bletchley singing along with the crowd below:
‘WEASLEY CANNOT SAVE A THING ...’
‘—and Pucey's dodged Alicia again and he's heading straight for goal, stop it, Ron!’
Harry did not have to look to see what had happened: there was a terrible groan from the Gryffindor end, coupled with fresh screams and applause from the Slytherins. Looking down, Harry saw the pug-faced Pansy Parkinson right at the front of the stands, her back to the pitch as she conducted the Slytherin supporters who were roaring:
‘THAT'S WHY SLYTHERINS ALL SING
WEASLEY IS OUR KING.’
But twenty-nil was nothing, there was still time for Gryffindor to catch up or catch the Snitch. A few goals and they would be in the lead as usual, Harry assured himself, bobbing and weaving through the other players in pursuit of something shiny that turned out to be Montague's watchstrap.
But Ron let in two more goals. There was an edge of panic in Harry's desire to find the Snitch now. If he could just get it soon and finish the game quickly.
‘—and Katie Bell of Gryffindor dodges Pucey, ducks Montague, nice swerve, Katie, and she throws to Johnson, Angelina Johnson takes the Quaffle, she's past Warrington, she's heading for goal, come on now, Angelina—GRYFFINDOR SCORE! It's forty-ten, forty-ten to Slytherin and Pucey has the Quaffle ...’
Harry could hear Luna's ludicrous lion hat roaring amidst the Gryffindor cheers and felt heartened; only thirty points in it, that was nothing, they could pull back easily. Harry ducked a Bludger that Crabbe had sent rocketing in his direction and resumed his frantic scouring of the pitch for the Snitch, keeping one eye on Malfoy in case he showed signs of having spotted it, but Malfoy, like him, was continuing to soar around the stadium, searching fruitlessly ...
‘—Pucey throws to Warrington, Warrington to Montague, Montague back to Pucey—Johnson intervenes, Johnson takes the Quaffle, Johnson to Bell, this looks good—I mean bad—Bell's hit by a Bludger from Goyle of Slytherin and it's Pucey in possession again ...’
‘WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN
HE ALWAYS LETS THE QUAFFLE IN
WEASLEY WILL MAKE SURE WE WIN ... ’
But Harry had seen it at last: the tiny fluttering Golden Snitch was hovering feet from the ground at the Slytherin end of the pitch.
He dived ...
In a matter of seconds, Malfoy was streaking out of the sky on Harry's left, a green and silver blur lying flat on his broom ...
The Snitch skirted the foot of one of the goalhoops and scooted off towards the other side of the stands; its change of direction suited Malfoy, who was nearer; Harry pulled his Firebolt around, he and Malfoy were now neck and neck ...
Feet from the ground, Harry lifted his right hand from his broom, stretching towards the Snitch ... to his right, Malfoy's arm extended too, was reaching, groping ...
It was over in two breathless, desperate, windswept seconds—Harry's fingers closed around the tiny, struggling ball—Malfoy's fingernails scrabbled the back of Harry's hand hopelessly—Harry pulled his broom upwards, holding the struggling ball in his hand and the Gryffindor spectators screamed their approval ...
They were saved, it did not matter that Ron had let in those goals, nobody would remember as long as Gryffindor had won—
WHAM.
A Bludger hit Harry squarely in the small of the back and he flew forwards off his broom. Luckily he was only five or six feet above the ground, having dived so low to catch the Snitch, but he was winded all the same as he landed flat on his back on the frozen pitch. He heard Madam Hooch's shrill whistle, an uproar in the stands compounded of catcalls, angry yells and jeering, a thud, then Angelina's frantic voice.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Course I am,’ said Harry grimly, taking her hand and allowing her to pull him to his feet. Madam Hooch was zooming towards one of the Slytherin players above him, though he could not see who it was from this angle.
‘It was that thug Crabbe,’ said Angelina angrily, ‘he whacked the Bludger at you the moment he saw you'd got the Snitch—but we won, Harry, we won!’
Harry heard a snort from behind him and turned around, still holding the Snitch tightly in his hand: Draco Malfoy had landed close by. White-faced with fury, he was still managing to sneer.
‘Saved Weasley's neck, haven't you?’ he said to Harry. ‘I've never seen a worse Keeper ... but then he was born in a bin ... did you like my lyrics, Potter?’
Harry didn't answer. He turned away to meet the rest of the team who were now landing one by one, yelling and punching the air in triumph; all except Ron, who had dismounted from his broom over by the goalposts and seemed to be making his way slowly back to the changing rooms alone.
‘We wanted to write another couple of verses!’ Malfoy called, as Katie and Alicia hugged Harry. ‘But we couldn't find rhymes for fat and ugly—we wanted to sing about his mother, see—’
‘Talk about sour grapes,’ said Angelina, casting Malfoy a disgusted look.
‘—we couldn't fit in useless loser either—for his father, you know—’
Fred and George had realised what Malfoy was talking about. Halfway through shaking Harry's hand, they stiffened, looking round at Malfoy.
‘Leave it!’ said Angelina at once, taking Fred by the arm. ‘Leave it, Fred, let him yell, he's just sore he lost, the jumped-up little—
‘—but you like the Weasleys, don't you, Potter?’ said Malfoy, sneering. ‘Spend holidays there and everything, don't you? Can't see how you stand the stink, but I suppose when you've been dragged up by Muggles, even the Weasleys’ hovel smells OK—’
Harry grabbed hold of George. Meanwhile, it was taking the combined efforts of Angelina, Alicia and Katie to stop Fred leaping on Malfoy, who was laughing openly. Harry looked around for Madam Hooch, but she was still berating Crabbe for his illegal Bludger attack.
‘Or perhaps,’ said Malfoy, leering as he backed away, ‘you can remember what your mother's house stank like, Potter, and Weasley's pigsty reminds you of it—’
Harry was not aware of releasing George, all he knew was that a second later both of them were sprinting towards Malfoy. He had completely forgotten that all the teachers were watching: all he wanted to do was cause Malfoy as much pain as possible; with no time to draw out his wand, he merely drew back the fist clutching the Snitch and sank it as hard as he could into Malfoy's stomach—
‘Harry! HARRY! GEORGE! NO!’
He could hear girls’ voices screaming, Malfoy yelling, George swearing, a whistle blowing and the bellowing of the crowd around him, but he did not care. Not until somebody in the vicinity yelled ‘Impedimenta!’ and he was knocked over backwards by the force of the spell, did he abandon the attempt to punch every inch of Malfoy he could reach.
‘What do you think you're doing?’ screamed Madam Hooch, as Harry leapt to his feet. It seemed to have been her who had hit him with the Impediment Jinx; she was holding her whistle in one hand and a wand in the other; her broom lay abandoned several feet away. Malfoy was curled up on the ground, whimpering and moaning, his nose bloody; George was sporting a swollen lip; Fred was still being forcibly restrained by the three Chasers, and Crabbe was cackling in the background. ‘I've never seen behaviour like it—back up to the castle, both of you, and straight to your Head of House's office! Go! Now.’
Harry and George turned on their heels and marched off the pitch, both panting, neither saying a word to the other. The howling and jeering of the crowd grew fainter and fainter until they reached the Entrance Hall, where they could hear nothing except the sound of their own footsteps. Harry became aware that something was still struggling in his right hand, the knuckles of which he had bruised against Malfoy's jaw. Looking down, he saw the Snitch's silver wings protruding from between his fingers, struggling for release.
They had barely reached the door of Professor McGonagalls office when she came marching along the corridor behind them. She was wearing a Gryffindor scarf, but tore it from her throat with shaking hands as she strode towards them, looking livid.
‘In!’ she said furiously, pointing to the door. Harry and George entered. She strode around behind her desk and faced them, quivering with rage as she threw the Gryffindor scarf aside on to the floor.
‘Well?’ she said. ‘I have never seen such a disgraceful exhibition. Two on one! Explain yourselves!’
‘Malfoy provoked us,’ said Harry stiffly.
‘Provoked you?’ shouted Professor McGonagall, slamming a fist on to her desk so that her tartan tin slid sideways off it and burst open, littering the floor with Ginger Newts. ‘He'd just lost, hadn't he? Of course he wanted to provoke you! But what on earth he can have said that justified what you two—’
‘He insulted my parents,’ snarled George. ‘And Harry's mother.’
‘But instead of leaving it to Madam Hooch to sort out, you two decided to give an exhibition of Muggle duelling, did you?’ bellowed Professor McGonagall. ‘Have you any idea what you've—?’
‘Hem, hem.’
Harry and George both wheeled round. Dolores Umbridge was standing in the doorway wrapped in a green tweed cloak that greatly enhanced her resemblance to a giant toad, and was smiling in the horrible, sickly, ominous way that Harry had come to associate with imminent misery.
‘May I help, Professor McGonagall?’ asked Professor Umbridge in her most poisonously sweet voice.
Blood rushed into Professor McGonagall's face.
‘Help?’ she repeated, in a constricted voice. ‘What do you mean, help?’
Professor Umbridge moved forwards into the office, still smiling her sickly smile.
‘Why, I thought you might be grateful for a little extra authority.’
Harry would not have been surprised to see sparks fly from Professor McGonagall's nostrils.
‘You thought wrong,’ she said, turning her back on Umbridge.
‘Now, you two had better listen closely. I do not care what provocation Malfoy offered you, I do not care if he insulted every family member you possess, your behaviour was disgusting and I am giving each of you a week's worth of detentions! Do not look at me like that, Potter, you deserve it! And if either of you ever—’
‘Hem, hem.’
Professor McGonagall closed her eyes as though praying for patience as she turned her face towards Professor Umbridge again.
‘Yes?’
‘I think they deserve rather more than detentions,’ said Umbridge, smiling still more broadly.
Professor McGonagall's eyes flew open.
‘But unfortunately,’ she said, with an attempt at a reciprocal smile that made her look as though she had lockjaw, ‘it is what I think that counts, as they are in my House, Dolores.’
‘Well, actually, Minerva,’ simpered Professor Umbridge, ‘I think you'll find that what I think does count. Now, where is it? Cornelius just sent it ... I mean,’ she gave a false little laugh as she rummaged in her handbag, ‘the Minister just sent it ... ah yes ...’
She had pulled out a piece of parchment which she now unfurled, clearing her throat fussily before starting to read what it said.
‘Hem, hem ...“Educational Decree Number Twenty-five".’
‘Not another one!’ exclaimed Professor McGonagall violently.
‘Well, yes,’ said Umbridge, still smiling. ‘As a matter of fact, Minerva, it was you who made me see that we needed a further amendment ... you remember how you overrode me, when I was unwilling to allow the Gryffindor Quidditch team to re-form? How you took the case to Dumbledore, who insisted that the team be allowed to play? Well, now, I couldn't have that. I contacted the Minister at once, and he quite agreed with me that the High Inquisitor has to have the power to strip pupils of privileges, or she—that is to say, I—would have less authority than common teachers! And you see now, don't you, Minerva, how right I was in attempting to stop the Gryffindor team re-forming? Dreadful tempers ... anyway, I was reading out our amendment ... hem, hem ...“the High Inquisitor will henceforth have supreme authority over all punishments, sanctions and removal of privileges pertaining to the students of Hogwarts, and the power to alter such punishments, sanctions and removals of privileges as may have been ordered by other staff members. Signed, Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, Order of Merlin First Class, etc., etc.” ’
She rolled up the parchment and put it back into her handbag still smiling.
‘So ... I really think I will have to ban these two from playing Quidditch ever again,’ she said, looking from Harry to George and back again.
Harry felt the Snitch fluttering madly in his hand.
‘Ban us?’ he said, and his voice sounded strangely distant. ‘From playing ... ever again?’
‘Yes, Mr. Potter, I think a lifelong ban ought to do the trick,’ said Umbridge, her smile widening still further as she watched him struggle to comprehend what she had said. ‘You and Mr. Weasley here. And I think, to be safe, this young man's twin ought to be stopped, too—if his teammates had not restrained him, I feel sure he would have attacked young Mr. Malfoy as well. I will want their broomsticks confiscated, of course; I shall keep them safely in my office, to make sure there is no infringement of my ban. But I am not unreasonable, Professor McGonagall,’ she continued, turning back to Professor McGonagall who was now standing as still as though carved from ice, staring at her. ‘The rest of the team can continue playing, I saw no signs of violence from any of them. Well ... good afternoon to you.’
And with a look of the utmost satisfaction, Umbridge left the room, leaving a horrified silence in her wake.
‘Banned,’ said Angelina in a hollow voice, late that evening in the common room. ‘Banned.No Seeker and no Beaters ... what on earth are we going to do?’
It did not feel as though they had won the match at all. Everywhere Harry looked there were disconsolate and angry faces; the team themselves were slumped around the fire, all apart from Ron, who had not been seen since the end of the match.
‘It's just so unfair,’ said Alicia numbly. ‘I mean, what about Crabbe and that Bludger he hit after the whistle had been blown? Has she banned him?’
‘No,’ said Ginny miserably; she and Hermione were sitting on either side of Harry. ‘He just got lines, I heard Montague laughing about it at dinner.’
‘And banning Fred when he didn't even do anything!’ said Alicia furiously, pummelling her knee with her fist.
‘It's not my fault I didn't,’ said Fred, with a very ugly look on his face, ‘I would've pounded the little scumbag to a pulp if you three hadn't been holding me back.’
Harry stared miserably at the dark window. Snow was falling. The Snitch he had caught earlier was now zooming around and around the common room; people were watching its progress as though hypnotised and Crookshanks was leaping from chair to chair, trying to catch it.
‘I'm going to bed,’ said Angelina, getting slowly to her feet. ‘Maybe this will all turn out to have been a bad dream ... maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and find we haven't played yet ...’
She was soon followed by Alicia and Katie. Fred and George sloped off to bed some time later, glowering at everyone they passed, and Ginny went not long after that. Only Harry and Hermione were left beside the fire.
‘Have you seen Ron?’ Hermione asked in a low voice.
Harry shook his head.
‘I think he's avoiding us,’ said Hermione. ‘Where do you think he—?’
But at that precise moment, there was a creaking sound behind them as the Fat Lady swung forwards and Ron came clambering through the portrait hole. He was very pale indeed and there was snow in his hair. When he saw Harry and Hermione, he stopped dead in his tracks.
‘Where have you been?’ said Hermione anxiously, springing up.
‘Walking,’ Ron mumbled. He was still wearing his Quidditch things.
‘You look frozen,’ said Hermione. ‘Come and sit down!’
Ron walked to the fireside and sank into the chair furthest from Harry's, not looking at him. The stolen Snitch zoomed over their heads.
‘I'm sorry,’ Ron mumbled, looking at his feet.
‘What for?’ said Harry.
‘For thinking I can play Quidditch,’ said Ron. ‘I'm going to resign first thing tomorrow.’
‘If you resign,’ said Harry testily, ‘there'll only be three players left on the team.’ And when Ron looked puzzled, he said, ‘I've been given a lifetime ban. So've Fred and George.’
‘What?’ Ron yelped.
Hermione told him the full story; Harry could not bear to tell it again. When she had finished, Ron looked more anguished than ever.
‘This is all my fault—’
‘You didn't make me punch Malfoy,’ said Harry angrily.
‘— if I wasn't so terrible at Quidditch—’
‘—it's got nothing to do with that.’
‘—it was that song that wound me up—’
‘—it would've wound anyone up.’
Hermione got up and walked to the window, away from the argument, watching the snow swirling down against the pane.
‘Look, drop it, will you!’ Harry burst out. ‘It's bad enough, without you blaming yourself for everything!’
Ron said nothing but sat gazing miserably at the damp hem of his robes. After a while he said in a dull voice, ‘This is the worst I've ever felt in my life.’
‘Join the club,’ said Harry bitterly.
‘Well,’ said Hermione, her voice trembling slightly. ‘I can think of one thing that might cheer you both up.’
‘Oh yeah?’ said Harry sceptically.
‘Yeah,’ said Hermione, turning away from the pitch-black, snow-flecked window, a broad smile spreading across her face. ‘Hagrid's back.’
哈利觉得最近两个星期他的心中好像有什么护身符似的，一个令人激动的秘密支持他上完Umbridge的课，甚至使他在看着Umbridge讨厌的凸出的眼睛时能装出殷勤的样子。他和DA就在Umbridge的鼻子底下反抗她，做的正是她和魔法部最怕的事。当他在课上装着读Wilbert Slinkhard的书的时候 ，他就会满意地回想起DA最近的聚会，回忆纳威怎么样成功地解除了荷米恩的武器，Colin Creevey经过三堂课的努力怎样掌握了障碍咒，Parvati Patil怎样用一个很完美的还原咒,将桌上的窥镜变成了灰尘。 
　　哈利觉得很难为DA的会面定一个固定的时间，因为他们要适应三支不同的魁地奇队伍的训练时间，而且训练时间常会因为坏天气的影响而重新安排。但哈利觉得这样挺好，他有一种感觉，不固定的聚会时间更好一点，如果有人在监视他们，这会让他们难以得逞。 
　　荷米恩很快想出了一个非常聪明的方法，万一有什么变化，可以用来通知全体成员下一次聚会的日期和时间，因为如果不同学院的人总是穿过大厅相互交谈的话，会显得很可疑。她发给每个DA成员一个假的金加隆（罗恩第一次看到装金加隆的篮子时非常兴奋，还以为荷米恩真的在分发金子）。 
　　“你们看见金币边上的数字了吗？”在第四次聚会快结束的时候荷米恩说，并拿起了一个金币查看上面的数字。在火把的照耀下金币泛着黄色的光芒。“在真的加隆上有的只是铸造金币的古灵阁精灵刻上的序列号，可这些假金币上的数字会显示我们下一次会面的日期和时间。当日期变化时金币会发热，要是你们把金币放在口袋里的话就可以感觉到。我们一人拿一个，当哈利决定了下次聚会的时间后就改变他硬币上的时间，因为我已经给金币施了转换咒，所有人的金币上的时间会随着他金币的改变而改变。” 
　　她说完后大家一阵沉默，荷米恩不安的看着大家。 
　　“哦——我本来以为这是个好主意，”她不确定地说，“我的意思是，就算Umbridge翻我们的口袋，有一个金加隆也不会引起她的注意，不是吗？不过。。。哦，如果你们不想用的话——” 
　　“你会用转换咒？”Terry Boot问。 
　　“是的，”荷米恩回答。 
　　“可是，那不是高级巫师等级考试的水平吗？”他小声说。 
　　“噢，”荷米恩说，并尽量让自己看上去很谦虚，“噢，是的，我想是吧。” 
　　“你怎么没分在拉文克劳？”他询问，用某种近乎惊奇的眼光看着荷米恩。“象你这么有头脑的人？” 
　　“好吧，分院式的时候分院帽真的想过要把我分到拉文克劳的，”荷米恩爽快地说，“可是他最终决定把我分在格兰芬多。那么，这是不是意味着我们要用这些金币？” 
　　大家低声交换了意见表示赞同，于是每人都上前从篮子里拿了一个金币。哈利站在一旁看着荷米恩。 
　　“你知道这使我想起了什么吗？” 
　　“不知道，是什么？” 
　　“食死徒的伤疤。伏地魔碰到其中的一个伤疤，其他的人的伤疤燃烧，他们就会知道他们的主人在召唤他们。” 
　　“好吧。。。是的，”荷米恩平静的说，“我就是从这里得到的灵感，但你应该注意到了我把日期刻在了金属上而不是你们的皮肤上。” 
　　“对啊。。。我比较喜欢你的方法，”哈利笑着把金币放进口袋。“我想唯一的危险就是我们有可能把它当成真的金币花掉。” 
　　“奢侈的机会，”罗恩说，一边有点悲哀地看着他的金币，“我都没有真的金币可以和它搞混。” 
　　第一赛季的魁地奇比赛日益临近，格兰芬多对斯莱特林，因为安吉丽娜坚持每天都练习，DA的聚会一直在推迟。事实上因为很久都没有举行魁地奇杯了，使得大家都更加兴奋并期待着比赛的到来。拉文克劳和赫夫帕夫对比赛的结果非常期待，当然，对他们来说，无论结果怎样，来年他们都要和两支队伍交手的。而各学院的院长们，尽管他们试图用运动家精神来掩饰这一点，他们还是希望自己这方获胜的。当麦格教授在比赛前的一个星期放弃了给他们布置作业时，哈利才意识到她对在比赛中打败斯莱特林是多么的重视。 
　　“我相信你们现在已经准备好了，”她高傲的说。没有人相信他们的耳朵，直到麦格教授严肃地看着哈利和罗恩说，“我已经习惯魁地奇冠军杯被我们学院夺得了，小伙子们，我可不想把它交给斯内普教授，所以用这额外的时间加紧练习，知道吗？” 
　　斯内普非常明显地在偏袒斯莱特林队，他频繁地为斯莱特林预定练习场，弄得格兰芬多的球员很难订到场地来练习。他也装着没听到斯莱特林的人在走廊上对格兰分多球员施咒的传言。当Alicia Spinnet 进了医院，因为她的眉毛越长越浓密，很快就遮住了她的视线并盖住了她的嘴巴时，斯内普不顾14个证人作证说他们看见了斯莱特林的守门员Miles Bletchley在Alicia在图书馆看书时在她背后用咒语攻击了她，坚持说Alicia肯定是尝试对自己施了个增毛咒。 
　　哈利乐观地认为格兰芬多能获胜。不管怎么样，他们从来都没有输给过马尔夫的球队。诚然，罗恩的水平还赶不上伍德，但他已经非常努力地在练习了。他最大的弱点就是失误了一次后就容易丧失信心，如果他漏过了一个球就会惊慌失措，然后出现更多的失误。另一方面，哈利看过罗恩在训练时救过很多好球。在一次难忘的练习中，罗恩用一只手控制着扫帚用力将鬼飞球击离了球门，球飞过了整个球场，穿过了另外一边的中心区。其他队员认为这个救球可以和最近爱尔兰国际守门员Barry Ryan扑救波兰最好的追球手Ladislaw Zamojski的那个球相比了。就连弗来德也说他和乔治也许还会以罗恩为荣，他们会认真考虑承认罗恩是他们的亲戚，同意他们四年来一直否认的。 
　　哈里唯一真正担心的是，罗恩会不会在上球场之前就被斯莱特林的心理战术惹恼，哈利，当然，他已经忍受斯莱特林那些卑鄙的勾当四年了，所以诸如“嗨，波特，我听说Warrington发誓他会在星期六把你撞下扫帚。”这类的话远远不能让哈利发火，只让他觉得可笑。“Warrington的准头真是差劲，如果他瞄准我旁边的人的话我也许会更担心一点。”他反驳道。这些话让罗恩和荷米恩笑了起来，也让Pansy Parkinsons 脸上的假笑消失了。 可是罗恩从来没有忍受过被人无情的侮辱、取笑和威胁。当斯莱特林们，一些七年级的、块头比他大的多的男生，在他路过走廊的时候低声说“你在医院预定床位了吗，威斯里？”时，他没有笑，脸色有些发青。当马尔夫模仿罗恩不小心掉了鬼飞球的动作时（每次他们遇见的时候他都会做），罗恩的耳朵热的发红，他的手抖的那么厉害，以至无论当时他拿着什么都会掉下来。 
　　十月在狂风和暴雨中结束了，十一月到了，冷的像冰冻的铁板，每个早晨都有很重的霜，寒冷的气流吹在人们暴露在外的手和脸上。天空和礼堂里的天花板变成了暗淡、珍珠般的灰色，霍格沃兹周围的山都被雪覆盖着。城堡里的温度变得那么低，因此很多学生在两节课间到走廊时都戴上了他们保暖的厚龙皮手套。 
　　比赛那天早上的明亮而寒冷。当哈利醒来的时候，看到罗恩笔直的坐在床上，双手抱膝，目不转睛的看着上空。 
　　“你还好吧？”哈利问·。 
　　罗恩点了点头但没有说话。哈里不由想起了有一次罗恩意外地将一个呕吐咒施在了自己身上，他看上去就像那时一样苍白无力，更别提他好象难以开口的样子了。 
　　“你只是需要吃点早餐，”哈利精神地说，”来吧。” 
　　他们到了以后大厅里就快满了，大家大声谈论着，气氛比平时更热烈。当他们走过斯莱特林的桌子时，鼓噪声一下增大了。哈利看到，除了平时戴的绿色和银色的围巾和帽子，他们每个人都戴着一个银色的徽章，形状象一个王冠。出于某种原因，很多人嬉笑着向罗恩招手。哈利试图在走过时看清楚他们的徽章上写着什么字，但与其磨蹭去看这个，他更想赶紧让罗恩尽快地走过他们的桌子。 
　　在格兰芬多那儿他们受到了热烈欢迎，每个人都穿戴着红色和金色的服饰，可这欢迎非但没有鼓起罗恩的勇气，反而象是让他泄了最后一点气，他瘫坐在最近的长凳上，表情看起来仿佛面对着他最后的一餐。 
　　“我一定是疯了才会来干这个，”他嘶哑地说。“神经错乱了。” 
　　“别傻了，”哈利坚定地说，把燕麦粥递给他，“你会好起来的。感到紧张是正常的。” 
　　“我是废物，”罗恩黯然说。“我很没用，我干不下去了。我在想什么？” 
　　“控制住自己，”哈利严厉地说。“想想那天你用脚救起的球，就连弗来德和乔治都说了不起。” 
　　罗恩痛苦地转向哈利。 
　　“那是偶然的，”他虚弱地咕哝着：“我不是有意的——你们都没注意到我从扫帚上滑下来了，当我想坐好时我碰巧踢到了那个球。” 
　　“好吧，”哈利说，很快从诧异中回过神来，“多点这样的意外，胜利就是我们的囊中之物了，不是吗？” 
　　荷米恩和金妮坐在他们对面，戴着红色和金色的围巾、手套和玫瑰花饰。 
　　“你感觉怎么样？”金妮问罗恩，罗恩正盯着自己的空燕麦碗底的剩牛奶看，好象真的企图把自己演死在里面。 
　　“他只是紧张，”哈利说。 
　　“好啊，这是个好迹象，我从没见过你在不紧张的情况下，在考试中取得好成绩。”荷米恩热忱地说。 
　　“嗨，”一个茫然的、梦幻似的声音在他们背后响起，哈利抬头一看，Luna Lovegood从拉文克劳的桌子那边飘然而至，很多人都盯着她看，有些人还公开的指指点点取笑她。她成功地弄到了一顶帽子，形状象个老狮子头，在她脑袋上摇晃着。 
　　“我支持格来芬多，”Luna说，多余地指着她的帽子。“看这是什么。。。” 
　　她抽出魔杖来碰了碰她的帽子。那狮子张大嘴，发出一声非常逼真的咆哮，让附近的人都吓了一跳。 
　　“很好吧，不是吗？”Luna高兴地说。“我希望它嚼碎斯莱特林的大毒蛇，你知道，但现在不是时候。不管怎么样。。。祝你好运，Ronald！” 
　　她飘然而去。当Angelina和Katie及Alicia匆忙走向他们的时候，他们还没从那顶帽子带来的惊吓中恢复过来，在Pomfrey夫人的治疗下，Alicia的眉毛已经恢复原状了。 
　　“你们好了的话，”她说，“我们直接去场地，检查一下环境并换衣服。” 
　　“我们很快就到，”哈利保证说。“只是罗恩还要再吃点早餐。” 
　　但是，十分钟后他就明白罗恩显然咽不下任何东西，哈利想最好还是快点带他去更衣室。当他们站起来时，荷米恩也站了起来，拽住哈利的胳膊把他拉到一边。 
　　“别让罗恩看见斯莱特林的徽章上写了什么，”她焦急地轻声说。 
　　哈利疑惑地看着她，但她警告地摇了摇头，罗恩正向他们这边来，看上去迷惑而绝望。 
　　“祝你好运，罗恩，”荷米恩说，踮起脚尖来吻了他的面颊，“还有你，哈利——” 
　　当他们从大厅后面穿过去时，罗恩看上去清醒点了。他抚摩着脸上刚刚被荷米恩吻过的地方，看上去很困惑，好象他不能确定刚才到底发生了什么。他看上去过于心烦意乱，没空注意周围的事，但当他们走过斯莱特林的桌子时，哈利好奇地看了一眼那个王冠形状的徽章，这次他看清楚了上面刻的字： 
　　威斯里是我们的王牌 
　　他不详地预感到这不会是什么好事，因此催促着罗恩快步穿过了大门，走下石阶，踏进了寒冷的空气中。 
　　当他们匆忙走过斜坡上的草坪去体育馆的时候，结霜的野草被他们踩的嘎扎嘎扎响。今天没有一丝风，天空是纯净的珍珠白色，这表明今天没有阳光晃眼的问题，可见度很高。哈利一边走一边跟罗恩指出他们的有利因素，但他不确定罗恩是不是在听。 
　　当他们到达时Angelina已经换好了衣服正向其他队员走来。哈利和罗恩穿上他们的长袍（罗恩用了好几分钟想把衣服前后正过来，直到Angelina看不下去过来帮他），然后坐下来听每次比赛前的讲话，这时随着人群从城堡涌到体育场，喧哗声越来越大。 
　　“那么，我刚刚才知道斯莱特林的最后阵容，”Angelina说，参考着一张羊皮纸。“去年的击球手Derrick和Bole已经走了，但看起来Montague用惯用的大块头替换了他们，或者不如说，任何知道怎么飞的人。他们是两个叫Crabbe和Goyle的家伙，我对他们不是很熟——” 
　　“我们熟悉，”哈利和罗恩一起说。 
　　“恩，他们看起来还没聪明到足以分辨扫帚的两头，”Angelina说，把羊皮纸装到口袋里，“但我常常很惊讶Derrick和Bole能在没有路标的情况下找到来场地的路。” 
　　“Crabbe和Goyle跟他们是一个模子里刻出来的，”哈利肯定地说。 
　　他们能听到数以百记的脚步声踏上观众席的长凳。有的人在唱歌，尽管哈利听不清楚词。他开始感到紧张，但他知道他恶心的感觉远比不上罗恩的强烈，罗恩正捂着自己的胃呆呆地直视着前方，他的下巴张着、脸色灰白。 
　　“时间到了，”Angelina镇定地说，看了看表，“来吧，伙计们。。。祝你们走运。” 
　　大家站起来，扛着扫帚，排成一队走出了更衣室，来到耀眼的阳光下。一阵极大的欢呼声迎接着他们，哈利仍然可以听见歌声，尽管它被欢呼声和口哨声压过了。 
　　斯莱特林队站在那儿等候着他们。他们也戴着银色王冠状的徽章。他们的新队长，Montague，建立起了一支达德利？杜斯利式的队伍，个个都有多毛的大腿一般魁梧的前臂。在他背后站着Crabbe和Goyle，在阳光下愚蠢地眯着眼睛，摇晃要他们的新球棒。马尔夫站在一边，太阳照耀在他的金发上。他迎着哈利的视线假笑着，戳着自己胸前的王冠形徽章。 
　　“队长，握握手，”当Angelina和Montague走到对方面前时，裁判Hooch夫人命令说，哈利敢说Montague想捏碎Angelina的手指，尽管Angelina并没退缩。“骑上扫帚。。。” 
　　Hooch夫人把哨子放进嘴里，吹了一下。 
　　球放了出来，同时14个队员也冲了上去。哈利用眼角瞄到罗恩向球门冲去。他急速上升，躲开一个游走球，然后在场地上空飞了一大圈，四处搜寻金色的光芒。在体育场的另一边，马尔夫也在做同样的事。 
　　“那是Johnson，Johnson和鬼飞球，那女孩是个多棒的队员啊，我说了好几年了，可她还是不肯跟我出去——” 
　　“乔丹！”麦格教授叫道。 
　　“只是开个玩笑，增加点趣味——她躲过了Warrington，她晃过了Montag，她——欧——她被Crabbe打来的一个游走球击中了。。。Montague抓住了鬼飞球，Montague掉头回到了场地——乔治？威斯里击出了一记漂亮的游走球。那是对准Montague脑袋的，他丢了鬼飞球，被Katie Bell抓住了，格兰芬多的Katie Bell回传给Alicia Spinnet，Spinnet要——” 
　　李？乔丹的解说在场中回响，哈利透过耳边的风声、人群的喧哗声，包括所有的喊叫、嘘声和歌声，尽量使劲听着。 
　　“——躲开了Warrington，躲过了一个游走球——千钧一发，Alicia——观众喜欢这个，听听，他们在唱什么？” 
　　当李停下来听的时候，斯莱特林看台上那片银色和绿色的海洋中传来的歌声变得响亮清晰了。 
　　“威斯里一个球都救不了，他连一下都挡不住，这就是为什么我们斯莱特林总是说，威斯里是我们的王牌。” 
　　“威斯里生在垃圾箱，他总让鬼飞球漏进去，威斯里会确保我们赢，威斯里是我们的王牌。” 
　　“——Alicia从Angelina后面过去了！”李叫道，当哈利转向时，简直为刚才听到的歌声气炸了，他知道李想淹没这歌声，“现在来吧，Angelina ——看样子她刚敲打了守门员！——她射门了——她——哈哈哈哈。。。” 不幸地，斯莱特林的守门员救起了这个球，他把鬼飞球扔给Warrington，Warrington带着它迅速滑开了，在Alicia和Katie之间之字形的飞行着，当他越来越接近罗恩的时候，下面的歌声变得越来越大。 
　　“威斯里是我们的王牌，威斯里是我们的王牌，他总让鬼飞球漏进去，威斯里是我们的王牌。” 
　　哈利无法控制自己，放弃了搜寻飞贼，他旋转着想去看看罗恩，在遥远的场地那头的孤独身影，当大块头Warrington向他冲来时他正盘旋在球门的三个铁圈前。 
　　“——现在Warrington带着鬼飞球，Warrington向球门冲去，他已经越过了游走球的攻击范围，现在他前面只有守门员了——” 
　　下面斯莱特林的看台上发出一阵高涨的歌声： 
　　“威斯里一个球都救不了，他连一下都挡不住。。。” 
　　“——这是格兰芬多的新守门员威斯里的第一个考验，击球手弗来德和乔治的兄弟，鬼飞球从他们中间飞过去了，直接穿过了罗恩守着的中间的球门。” 
　　“斯莱特林得分！”下面观众的欢呼声和嘘声中，传来了李的声音，“斯莱特林得10分——不走运啊，罗恩。” 
　　斯莱特林的歌声更响了： 
　　“威斯里生在垃圾箱，他总让鬼飞球漏进去。。。” 
　　“——格兰芬多队员回到了自己的位置上，现在Katie Bell冲过场地——”李勇敢的大叫，尽管现在歌声已经是震耳欲聋，他几乎没办法让自己的声音盖过它。 
　　“威斯里会确保我们赢，威斯里是我们的王牌。。” 
　　“哈利，你在干什么？”Angelina尖声叫道，从他身边飞过去追赶Katie，“继续飞！” 
　　哈利意识到他已经在空中停留了一分多钟，注视着比赛进程而把飞贼忘到了脑后。他吃了一惊，俯冲下去开始沿着场地转圈，凝视着周围，试图不去注意体育场内雷鸣般的歌声： 
　　“威斯里是我们的王牌，威斯里是我们的王牌。。。” 
　　他丝毫看不到飞贼的踪影，马尔夫也象他一样在体育场里绕圈。他们在途中反向擦身而过，这时哈利听见马尔夫大声说： 
　　“威斯里生在垃圾箱。。。” 
　　“——现在又轮到Warrington了，”李在下面说，“他传给了Pucey，Pucey躲开了Spinnet，现在来了，Angelina，你能对付他，——事实上你不能——但弗来德？威斯里打出了一个漂亮的游走球，我是说，乔治？威斯里，哦，管他呢，不管怎么样总是他们中的一个，现在Warrington掉了鬼飞球而Katie Bell——哦——也松手了——现在是Montague带着鬼飞球，斯莱特林的队长Montague拿着鬼飞球，他已经飞高了，现在快，格来芬多们，堵住他！” 
　　哈利急升到在体育场一头的斯莱特林的球门后面，希望自己别看见罗恩那头发生了什么。当他掠过斯莱特林的守门员时，他听到Bletchley和下面的观众一起唱着： 
　　“威斯里一个球都救不了。。。” 
　　“——Pucey又躲开了Alicia，他直接向球门飞去，拦住他，罗恩！” 
　　哈利不需要看发生了什么：格兰芬多这头发出了一阵悲惨的叹息声，伴随着斯莱特林那头新的尖叫和欢呼。往下看时，哈利看见长着一张哈巴狗面孔的Pansy Parkinson就在看台正前方，背对着球场，指挥斯莱特林的支持者精神饱满地唱着： 
　　“这就是为什么斯莱特林都说威斯里是我们的王牌” 
　　但20分算不了什么，格兰芬多还有时间追上，或者抓到飞贼。进几个球他们又会象平时那样取胜，哈利对自己说，上下穿梭在其他队员间去追击前面闪光的一点，后来发现那是Montague的表带。 
　　但罗恩又放进两个球。哈利现在已经有点着忙急于要找到飞贼了。如果他能刚好找到它并迅速结束比赛的话。 
　　“——格兰芬多的Katie Bell躲过了Pucey，闪过了Montague，好一个转身，Katie，现在她扔给了Johnson，Angelina Johnson抓住了鬼飞球，她通过了Warrington，她向球门冲去，现在来吧，Angelina ——格来芬多得分！！现在斯莱特林是40比10，40比10，现在Pucey拿着鬼飞球。” 
　　哈利能够听见LUNA那头滑稽的狮子帽的吼声夹杂在格来芬多的欢呼声中，这令他感到振奋。只差30分了，那算不了什么，他们很容易追回来。哈利躲过了一个Crabbe向他的方向狠打过来的游走球，继续在场内疯狂的穿行寻找飞贼，同时观察着马尔夫以防有什么迹象显示他发现了飞贼，但马尔夫和他一样，只是一直在场内高高盘旋，徒劳地寻找着。。。 
　　“Pucey扔给了Warrington，Warrington给了Montague，Montague扔回给Pucey——Johnson插了进来，Johnson拿到了鬼飞球，Johnson给了Bell，看上去有希望——我是说不妙—— Bells被斯莱特林的Goyle 打来的游走球击中了，现在Pucey拿着球。” 
　　“威斯里生在垃圾箱，他总让鬼飞球漏进去，威斯里会确保我们赢” 
　　但哈利终于找到了它：那微小的摆动着翅膀的金色飞贼正在斯莱特林的场地那头，在离地几英尺的地方盘旋着。 
　　他俯冲下去。。。 
　　至多几秒钟的功夫，马尔夫从哈利的左边疾弛过去，只看到一团绿色和银色的影子伏在他的扫帚上。。。 
　　飞贼在一个球门的脚下环绕了几圈并迅速向看台的另一边溜去。它的方向改变对马尔夫
Chapter 21 The Eye Of The Snake
Hermione ploughed her way back to Hagrid's cabin through two feet of snow on Sunday morning. Harry and Ron wanted to go with her, but their mountain of homework had reached an alarming height again, so they remained grudgingly in the common room, Tying to ignore the gleeful shouts drifting up from the grounds outside, where students were enjoying themselves skating on the frozen lake, tobogganing and, worst of all, bewitching snowballs to zoom up to Gryffindor Tower and rap hard on the windows.
‘Oi!’ bellowed Ron, finally losing patience and sticking his head out of the window, ‘I am a prefect and if one more snowball hits this window—OUCH!’
He withdrew his head sharply, his face covered in snow.
‘It's Fred and George,’ he said bitterly, slamming the window behind him. ‘Gits ...’
Hermione returned from Hagrid's just before lunch, shivering slightly, her robes damp to the knees.
‘So?’ said Ron, looking up when she entered. ‘Got all his lessons planned for him?’
‘Well, I tried,’ she said dully, sinking into a chair beside Harry. She pulled out her wand and gave it a complicated little wave so that hot air streamed out of the tip; she then pointed this at her robes, which began to steam as they dried out. ‘He wasn't even there when I arrived, I was knocking for at least half an hour. And then he came stumping out of the Forest—’ 
Harry groaned. The Forbidden Forest was teeming with the kind of creatures most likely to get Hagrid the sack. ‘What's he keeping in there? Did he say?’ he asked.
‘No,’ said Hermione miserably. ‘He says he wants them to be a surprise. I tried to explain about Umbridge, but he just doesn't get it. He kept saying nobody in their right mind would rather study Knarls than Chimaeras—oh, I don't think he's got a Chimaera,’ she added at the appalled look on Harry and Ron's faces, ‘but that's not for lack of trying, from what he said about how hard it is to get eggs. I don't know how many times I told him he'd be better off following Grubbly-Plank's plan, I honestly don't think he listened to half of what I said. He's in a bit of a funny mood, you know. He still won't say how he got all those injuries.’
Hagrid's reappearance at the staff table at breakfast next day was not greeted by enthusiasm from all students. Some, like Fred, George and Lee, roared with delight and sprinted up the aisle between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables to wring Hagrid's enormous hand; others, like Parvati and Lavender, exchanged gloomy looks and shook their heads. Harry knew that many of them preferred Professor Grubbly-Planks lessons, and the worst of it was that a very small, unbiased part of him knew that they had good reason: Grubbly-Plank's idea of an interesting class was not one where there was a risk that somebody might have their head ripped off.
It was with a certain amount of apprehension that Harry, Ron and Hermione headed down to Hagrid's on Tuesday, heavily muffled against the cold. Harry was worried, not only about what Hagrid might have decided to teach them, but also about how the rest of the class, particularly Malfoy and his cronies, would behave if Umbridge was watching them.
However, the High Inquisitor was nowhere to be seen as they struggled through the snow towards Hagrid, who stood waiting for them on the edge of the Forest. He did not present a reassuring sight; the bruises that had been purple on Saturday night were now tinged with green and yellow and some of his cuts still seemed to be bleeding. Harry could not understand this: had Hagrid perhaps been attacked by some creature whose venom prevented the wounds it inflicted from healing? As though to complete the ominous picture, Hagrid was carrying what looked like half a dead cow over his shoulder.
‘We're workin’ in here today!’ Hagrid called happily to the approaching students, jerking his head back at the dark trees behind him. ‘Bit more sheltered! Anyway, they prefer the dark.’
‘What prefers the dark?’ Harry heard Malfoy say sharply to Crabbe and Goyle, a trace of panic in his voice. ‘What did he say prefers the dark—did you hear?’
Harry remembered the only other occasion on which Malfoy had entered the Forest before now; he had not been very brave then, either. He smiled to himself; after the Quidditch match anything that caused Malfoy discomfort was all right with him.
‘Ready?’ said Hagrid cheerfully, looking around at the class. ‘Right, well, I've bin savin’ a trip inter the Forest fer yer fifth year. Thought we'd go an’ see these creatures in their natural habitat. Now, what we're studyin’ today is pretty rare, I reckon I'm probably the on'y person in Britain who's managed ter train ‘em.’
‘And you're sure they're trained, are you?’ said Malfoy, the panic in his voice even more pronounced. ‘Only it wouldn't be the first time you'd brought wild stuff to class, would it?’
The Slytherins murmured agreement and a few Gryffindors looked as though they thought Malfoy had a fair point, too.
‘Course they're trained,’ said Hagrid, scowling and hoisting the dead cow a little higher on his shoulder.
‘So what happened to your face, then?’ demanded Malfoy.
‘Mind yer own business!’ said Hagrid, angrily. ‘Now, if yeh've finished askin’ stupid questions, follow me!’
He turned and strode straight into the Forest. Nobody seemed much disposed to follow. Harry glanced at Ron and Hermione, who sighed but nodded, and the three of them set off after Hagrid, leading the rest of the class.
They walked for about ten minutes until they reached a place where the trees stood so closely together that it was as dark as twilight and there was no snow at all on the ground. With a grunt, Hagrid deposited his half a cow on the ground, stepped back and turned to face his class, most of whom were creeping from tree to tree towards him, peering around nervously as though expecting to be set upon at any moment.
‘Gather roun', gather roun',’ Hagrid encouraged. ‘Now, they'll be attracted by the smell ‘o the meat but I'm going ter give em a call anyway, ‘cause they'll like ter know it's me.’
He turned, shook his shaggy head to get the hair out of his face and gave an odd, shrieking cry that echoed through the dark trees like the call of some monstrous bird. Nobody laughed: most of them looked too scared to make a sound.
Hagrid gave the shrieking cry again. A minute passed in which the class continued to peer nervously over their shoulders and around trees for a first glimpse of whatever it was that was coming. And then, as Hagrid shook his hair back for a third lime and expanded his enormous chest, Harry nudged Ron and pointed into the black space between two gnarled yew trees.
A pair of blank, white, shining eyes were growing larger through the gloom and a moment later the dragonish face, neck and then skeletal body of a great, black, winged horse emerged from the darkness. It surveyed the class for a few seconds, swishing its long black tail, then bowed its head and began to tear flesh from the dead cow with its pointed fangs.
A great wave of relief broke over Harry. Here at last was proof that he had not imagined these creatures, that they were real: Hagrid knew about them too. He looked eagerly at Ron, but Ron was still staring around into the trees and after a few seconds he whispered, ‘Why doesn't Hagrid call again?’
Most of the rest of the class were wearing expressions as confused and nervously expectant as Ron's and were still gazing everywhere but at the horse standing feet from them. There were only two other people who seemed to be able to see them: a stringy Slytherin boy standing just behind Goyle was watching the horse eating with an expression of great distaste on his face; and Neville, whose eyes were following the swishing progress of the long black tail.
‘Oh, an’ here comes another one!’ said Hagrid proudly, as a second black horse appeared out of the dark trees, folded its leathery-wings closer to its body and dipped its head to gorge on the meat. ‘Now ... put yer hands up, who can see ‘em?’
Immensely pleased to feel that he was at last going to understand the mystery of these horses, Harry raised his hand. Hagrid nodded at him.
‘Yeah ... yeah, I knew you'd be able ter, Harry,’ he said seriously. ‘An’ you too, Neville, eh? An'—’
‘Excuse me,’ said Malfoy in a sneering voice, ‘but what exactly are we supposed to be seeing?’
For an answer, Hagrid pointed at the cow carcass on the ground. The whole class stared at it for a few seconds, then several people gasped and Parvati squealed. Harry understood why: bits of flesh stripping themselves away from the bones and vanishing into thin air had to look very odd indeed.
‘What's doing it?’ Parvati demanded in a terrified voice, retreating behind the nearest tree. ‘What's eating it?’
‘Thestrals,’ said Hagrid proudly and Hermione gave a soft ‘Oh!’ of comprehension at Harry's shoulder. ‘Hogwarts has got a whole herd of ‘em in here. Now, who knows —?’
‘But they're really, really unlucky!’ interrupted Parvati, looking alarmed. ‘They're supposed to bring all sorts of horrible misfortune on people who see them. Professor Trelawney told me once—’
‘No, no, no,’ said Hagrid, chuckling, ‘tha's jus’ superstition, that is, they aren’ unlucky, they're dead clever an’ useful! Course, this lot don’ get a lot o’ work, it's mainly jus’ pullin’ the school carriages unless Dumbledore's takin’ a long journey an’ don’ want ter Apparate—an’ here's another couple, look—’
Two more horses came quietly out of the trees, one of them passing very close to Parvati, who shivered and pressed herself closer to the tree, saying, ‘I think I felt something, I think it's near me!’
‘Don’ worry, it won’ hurt yeh,’ said Hagrid patiently. ‘Righ', now, who can tell me why some o’ yeh can see ‘em an’ some can't?’
Hermione raised her hand.
‘Go on then,’ said Hagrid, beaming at her.
‘The only people who can see Thestrals,’ she said, ‘are people who have seen death.’
‘Tha's exactly right,’ said Hagrid solemnly, ‘ten points ter Gryffindor. Now, Thestrals—’
‘Hem, hem.’
Professor Umbridge had arrived. She was standing a few feet away from Harry, wearing her green hat and cloak again, her clipboard at the ready. Hagrid. who had never heard Umbridge's fake cough before, was gazing in some concern at the closest Thestral, evidently under the impression that it had made the sound.
‘Hem, hem.’
‘Oh, hello!’ Hagrid said, smiling, having located the source of the noise.
‘You received the note I sent to your cabin this morning?’ said Umbridge, in the same loud, slow voice she had used with him earlier, as though she were addressing somebody both foreign and very slow. ‘Telling you that I would be inspecting your lesson?’
‘Oh, yeah,’ said Hagrid brightly. ‘Glad yeh found the place all righ'! Well, as you can see— or, I dunno—can you? We're doin’ Thestrals today—’
‘I'm sorry?’ said Professor Umbridge loudly, cupping her hand around her ear and frowning. ‘What did you say?’
Hagrid looked a little confused.
‘Er—Thestrals!’ he said loudly. ‘Big—er—winged horses, yeh know!’ 
He flapped his gigantic arms hopefully. Professor Umbridge raised her eyebrows at him and muttered as she made a note on her clipboard: ‘Has ... to ... resort ... to ... crude ... sign ... language.’
‘Well ... anyway ...’ said Hagrid, turning back to the class and looking slightly flustered, ‘erm ... what was I sayin?’
‘Appears ... to ... have ... poor ... short ... term ... memory,’ muttered Umbridge, loudly enough for everyone to hear her. Draco Malfoy looked as though Christmas had come a month early; Hermione, on the other hand, had turned scarlet with suppressed rage.
‘Oh, yeah,’ said Hagrid, throwing an uneasy glance at Umbridge's clipboard, but ploughing on valiantly. ‘Yeah, I was gonna tell yeh how come we got a herd. Yeah, so, we started off with a male an’ five females. This one,’ he patted the first horse to have appeared, ‘name o’ Tenebrus, he's my special favourite, firs’ one born here in the Forest—’
‘Are you aware,’ Umbridge said loudly, interrupting him, ‘that the Ministry of Magic has classified Thestrals as “dangerous"?’
Harry's heart sank like a stone, but Hagrid merely chuckled.
‘Thestrals aren’ dangerous! All righ', they might take a bite outta yeh if yeh really annoy them —’
‘Shows ... signs ... of... pleasure ... at ... idea ... of... violence,’ muttered Umbridge, scribbling on her clipboard again.
‘No—come on!’ said Hagrid, looking a little anxious now. ‘I mean, a dog'll bite if yeh bait it, won’ it—but Thestrals have jus’ got a bad reputation because o’ the death thing—people used ter think they were bad omens, didn’ they? Jus’ didn’ understand, did they?’
Umbridge did not answer; she finished writing her last note, then looked up at Hagrid and said, again very loudly and slowly, ‘Please continue teaching as usual. I am going to walk,’ she mimed walking (Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson were having silent fits of laughter) ‘among the students’ (she pointed around at individual members of the class) ‘and ask them questions.’ She pointed at her mouth to indicate talking.
Hagrid stared at her, clearly at a complete loss to understand why she was acting as though he did not understand normal English. Hermione had tears of fury in her eyes now.
‘You hag, you evil hag!’ she whispered, as Umbridge walked towards Pansy Parkinson. ‘I know what you're doing, you awiul, twisted, vicious—’
‘Erm ... anyway,’ said Hagrid, clearly struggling to regain the flow of his lesson, ‘so —Thestrals. Yeah. Well, there's loads o’ good stuff abou’ them ...’
‘Do you find,’ said Professor Umbridge in a ringing voice to Pansy Parkinson, ‘that you are able to understand Professor Hagrid when he talks?’
Just like Hermione, Pansy had tears in her eyes, but these were tears of laughter; indeed, her answer was almost incoherent because she was trying to suppress her giggles.
‘No ... because ... well ... it sounds ... like grunting a lot of the time ...’
Umbridge scribbled on her clipboard. The few unbruised bits of Hagrid's face flushed, but he tried to act as though he had not heard Pansy's answer.
‘Er ... yeah ... good stuff abou’ Thestrals. Well, once they're tamed, like this lot, yeh'll never be lost again. ‘Mazin’ sense o’ direction, jus’ tell ‘em where yeh want ter go—’
‘Assuming they can understand you, of course,’ said Malfoy loudly, and Pansy Parkinson collapsed in a fit of renewed giggles. Professor Umbridge smiled indulgently at them and then turned to Neville.
‘You can see the Thestrals, Longbottom, can you?’ she said.
Neville nodded.
‘Who did you see die?’ she asked, her tone indifferent.
‘My ... my grandad,’ said Neville.
‘And what do you think of them?’ she said, waving her stubby hand at the horses, who by now had stripped a great deal of the carcass down to bone.
‘Erm,’ said Neville nervously, with a glance at Hagrid. ‘Well, they're ... er ... OK ...’
‘Students ... are ... too ... intimidated ... to ... admit ... they ... are ... frightened,’ muttered Umbridge, making another note on her clipboard.
‘No!’ said Neville, looking upset. ‘No, I'm not scared of them!’
‘It's quite all right,’ said Umbridge, patting Neville on the shoulder with what she evidently intended to be an understanding smile, though it looked more like a leer to Harry. ‘Well, Hagrid,’ she turned to look up at him again, speaking once more in that loud, slow voice, ‘I think I've got enough to be getting along with. You will receive’ (she mimed taking something from the air in front of her) ‘the results of your inspection’ (she pointed at the clipboard) ‘in ten days’ time.’ She held up ten stubby little fingers, then, her smile wider and more toadlike than ever before beneath her green hat, she bustled from their midst, leaving Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson in fits of laughter, Hermione actually shaking with fury and Neville looking confused and upset.
‘That foul, lying, twisting old gargoyle!’ stormed Hermione half an hour later, as they made their way back up to the castle through the channels they had made earlier in the snow. ‘You see what she's up to? It's her thing about half-breeds all over again—she's trying to make out Hagrid's some kind of dimwitted troll, just because he had a giantess for a mother—and oh, it's not fair, that really wasn't a bad lesson at all—I mean, all right, if it had been Blast-Ended Skrewts again, but Thestrals are fine—in fact, for Hagrid, they're really good!’
‘Umbridge said they're dangerous,’ said Ron.
‘Well, it's like Hagrid said, they can look after themselves,’ said Hermione impatiently, ‘and I suppose a teacher like Grubbly-Plank wouldn't usually show them to us before NEWT level, but, well, they are very interesting, aren't they? The way some people can see them and some can't! I wish I could.’ 
‘Do you?’ Harry asked her quietly.
She looked suddenly horrorstruck.
‘Oh, Harry—I'm sorry—no, of course I don't—that was a really stupid thing to say.’
‘It's OK,’ he said quickly, ‘don't worry’
‘I'm surprised so many people could see them,’ said Ron. ‘Three in a class—’
‘Yeah, Weasley, we were just wondering,’ said a malicious voice. Unheard by any of them in the muffling snow, Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle were walking along right behind them. ‘D'you reckon if you saw someone snuff it you'd be able to see the Quaffle better?’
He, Crabbe and Goyle roared with laughter as they pushed past on their way to the castle, then broke into a chorus of ‘Weasley is our King'. Ron's ears turned scarlet.
‘Ignore them, just ignore them,’ intoned Hermione, pulling out her wand and performing the charm to produce hot air again, so that she could melt them an easier path through the untouched snow between them and the greenhouses.
December arrived, bringing with it more snow and a positive avalanche of homework for the fifth-years. Ron and Hermione's prefect duties also became more and more onerous as Christmas approached. They were called upon to supervise the decoration of the castle ('You try putting up tinsel when Peeves has got the other end and is trying to strangle you with it,’ said Ron), to watch over first- and second-years spending their break-times inside because of the bitter cold ('And they're cheeky little snot-rags, you know, we definitely weren't that rude when we were in first year,’ said Ron) and to patrol the corridors in shifts with Argus Filch, who suspected that the holiday spirit might show itself in an outbreak of wizard duels ('He's got dung for brains, that one,’ said Ron furiously). They were so busy that Hermione had even stopped knitting elf hats and was fretting that she was down to her last three.
‘All those poor elves I haven't set free yet, having to stay here over Christmas because there aren't enough hats!’
Harry, who had not had the heart to tell her that Dobby was taking everything she made, bent lower over his History of Magic essay. In any case, he did not want to think about Christmas. For the first time in his school career, he very much wanted to spend the holidays away from Hogwarts. Between his Quidditch ban and worry about whether or not Hagrid was going to be put on probation, he felt highly resentful towards the place at the moment. The only thing he really looked forward to were the DA meetings, and they would have to stop over the holidays, as nearly everybody in the DA would be spending the time with their families. Hermione was going skiing with her parents, something that greatly amused Ron, who had never heard of Muggles strapping narrow strips of wood on to their feet to slide down mountains. Ron was going home to The Burrow. Harry endured several days of envy before Ron said, in response to Harry asking him how he was going to get home for Christmas: ‘But you're coming too! Didn't I say? Mum wrote and told me to invite you weeks ago!’
Hermione rolled her eyes, but Harry's spirits soared: the thought of Christmas at The Burrow was truly wonderful, though slightly marred by Harry's guilty feeling that he would not be able to spend the holiday with Sirius. He wondered whether he could possibly persuade Mrs. Weasley to invite his godfather for the festivities. Even though he doubted whether Dumbledore would permit Sirius to leave Grimmauld Place anyway, he could not help but think Mrs. Weasley might not want him; they were so often at loggerheads. Sirius had not contacted Harry at all since his last appearance in the fire, and although Harry knew that with Umbridge on constant watch it would be unwise to attempt to contact him, he did not like to think of Sirius alone in his mother's old house, perhaps pulling a lonely cracker with Kreacher.
Harry arrived early in the Room of Requirement for the last DA meeting before the holidays and was very glad he had, because when the torches burst into flame he saw that Dobby had taken it upon himself to decorate the place for Christmas. He could tell the elf had done it, because nobody else would have strung a hundred golden baubles from the ceiling, each showing a picture of Harry's face and bearing the legend: ‘HAVE A VERY HARRY CHRISTMAS!’
Harry had only just managed to get the last of them down before the door creaked open and Luna Lovegood entered, looking as dreamy as usual.
‘Hello,’ she said vaguely, looking around at what remained of the decorations. ‘These are nice, did you put them up?’
‘No,’ said Harry, ‘it was Dobby the house-elf.’
‘Mistletoe,’ said Luna dreamily, pointing at a large clump of white berries placed almost over Harry's head. He jumped out from under it. ‘Good thinking,’ said Luna very seriously. ‘It's often infested with Nargles.’
Harry was saved the necessity of asking what Nargles are by the arrival of Angelina, Katie and Alicia. All three of them were breathless and looked very cold.
‘Well,’ said Angelina dully, pulling off her cloak and throwing it into a corner, ‘we've finally replaced you.’
‘Replaced me?’ said Harry blankly.
‘You and Fred and George,’ she said impatiently. ‘We've got another Seeker!’ 
‘Who?’ said Harry quickly.
‘Ginny Weasley,’ said Katie.
Harry gaped at her.
‘Yeah, I know,’ said Angelina, pulling out her wand and flexing her arm, ‘but she's pretty good, actually. Nothing on you, of course,’ she said, throwing him a very dirty look, ‘but as we can't have you ...’
Harry bit back the retort he was longing to utter: did she imagine for a second that he did not regret his expulsion from the team a hundred times more than she did?
‘And what about the Beaters? he asked, trying to keep his voice even.
‘Andrew Kirke,’ said Alicia without enthusiasm, ‘and Jack Sloper. Neither of them are brilliant, but compared to the rest of the idiots who turned up ...’ 
The arrival of Ron, Hermione and Neville brought this depressing discussion to an end, and within five minutes the room was full enough to prevent Harry seeing Angelina's burning, reproachful looks.
‘OK,’ he said, calling them all to order. ‘I thought this evening we should just go over the things we've done so far, because it's the last meeting before the holidays and there's no point starting anything new right before a three-week break—’
‘We're not doing anything new?’ said Zacharias Smith, in a disgruntled whisper loud enough to carry through the room. ‘If I'd known that, I wouldn't have come.’
‘We're all really sorry Harry didn't tell you, then,’ said Fred loudly.
Several people sniggered. Harry saw Cho laughing and felt the familiar swooping sensation in his stomach, as though he had missed a step going downstairs.
‘—we can practise in pairs,’ said Harry. ‘We'll start with the Impediment Jinx, for ten minutes, then we can get out the cushions and try Stunning again.’ 
They all divided up obediently; Harry partnered Neville as usual. The room was soon full of intermittent cries of ‘Impedimenta!’ People froze for a minute or so, during which their partner would stare aimlessly around the room watching other pairs at work, then would unfreeze and take their turn at the jinx.
Neville had improved beyond all recognition. After a while, when Harry had unfrozen three times in a row, he had Neville join Ron and Hermione again so that he could walk around the room and watch the others. When he passed Cho she beamed at him; he resisted the temptation to walk past her several more times.
After ten minutes on the Impediment Jinx, they laid out cushions all over the floor and started practising Stunning again. Space was really too confined to allow them all to work this spell at once; half the group observed the others for a while, then swapped over.
Harry felt himself positively swelling with pride as he watched them all. True, Neville did Stun Padma Patil rather than Dean, at whom he had been aiming, but it was a much closer miss than usual, and everybody else had made enormous progress.
At the end of an hour, Harry called a halt.
‘You're getting really good,’ he said, beaming around at them. ‘When we get back from the holidays we can start doing some of the big stuff—maybe even Patronuses.’
There was a murmur of excitement. The room began to clear in the usual twos and threes; most people wished Harry a ‘Happy Christmas’ as they went. Feeling cheerful, he collected up the cushions with Ron and Hermione and stacked them neatly away. Ron and Hermione left before he did; he hung back a little, because Cho was still there and he was hoping to receive a ‘Merry Christmas’ from her.
‘No, you go on,’ he heard her say to her friend Marietta and his heart gave a jolt that seemed to take it into the region of his Adam's apple.
He pretended to be straightening the cushion pile. He was quite sure they were alone now and waited for her to speak. Instead, he heard a hearty sniff.
He turned and saw Cho standing in the middle of the room, tears pouring down her face.
‘Wha—?’
He didn't know what to do. She was simply standing there, crying silently.
‘What's up?’ he said, feebly.
She shook her head and wiped her eyes on her sleeve.
‘I'm—sorry,’ she said thickly. ‘I suppose ... it's just ... learning all this stuff ... it just makes me ... wonder whether ... if he'd known it all ... he'd still be alive.’
Harry's heart sank right back past its usual spot and settled somewhere around his navel. He ought to have known. She wanted to talk about Cedric.
‘He did know this stuff,’ Harry said heavily. ‘He was really good at it, or he could never have got to the middle of that maze. But if Voldemort really wants to kill you, you don't stand a chance.’
She hiccoughed at the sound of Voldemort's name, but stared at Harry without flinching.
‘You survived when you were just a baby,’ she said quietly.
‘Yeah, well,’ said Harry wearily, moving towards the door, ‘I dunno why, nor does anyone else, so it's nothing to be proud of.’
‘Oh, don't go!’ said Cho, sounding tearful again. ‘I'm really sorry to get all upset like this ... I didn't mean to ...’
She hiccoughed again. She was very pretty even when her eyes were red and puffy. Harry felt thoroughly miserable. He'd have been so pleased with just a ‘Merry Christmas'.
‘I know it must be horrible for you,’ she said, mopping her eyes on her sleeve again. ‘Me mentioning Cedric, when you saw him die ... I suppose you just want to forget about it?’
Harry did not say anything to this; it was quite true, but he felt heartless saying it.
‘You're a r-really good teacher, you know,’ said Cho, with a watery smile. ‘I've never been able to Stun anything before.’
‘Thanks,’ said Harry awkwardly.
They looked at each other for a long moment. Harry felt a burning desire to run from the room and, at the same time, a complete inability to move his feet.
‘Mistletoe,’ said Cho quietly, pointing at the ceiling over his head.
‘Yeah,’ said Harry. His mouth was very dry. ‘It's probably full of Nargles, though.’
‘What are Nargles?’
‘No idea,’ said Harry. She had moved closer. His brain seemed to have been Stunned. ‘You'd have to ask Loony. Luna, I mean.’
Cho made a funny noise halfway between a sob and a laugh. She was even nearer to him now. He could have counted the freckles on her nose.
‘I really like you, Harry.’
He could not think. A tingling sensation was spreading through him, paralysing his arms, legs and brain.
She was much too close. He could see every tear clinging to her eyelashes ...
He returned to the common room half an hour later to find Hermione and Ron in the best seats by the fire; nearly everybody else had gone to bed. Hermione was writing a very long letter; she had already filled half a roll of parchment, which was dangling from the edge of the table. Ron was lying on the hearthrug, trying to finish his Transfiguration homework.
‘What kept you?’ he asked, as Harry sank into the armchair next to Hermione's.
Harry didn't answer. He was in a state of shock. Half of him wanted to tell Ron and Hermione what had just happened, but the other half wanted to take the secret with him to the grave.
‘Are you all right, Harry?’ Hermione asked, peering at him over the tip of her quill.
Harry gave a half-hearted shrug. In truth, he didn't know whether he was all right or not. ‘What's up?’ said Ron, hoisting himself up on his elbow to get a clearer view of Harry. ‘What's happened?’
Harry didn't quite know how to set about telling them, and still wasn't sure whether he wanted to. Just as he had decided not to say anything, Hermione took matters out of his hands.
‘Is it Cho?’ she asked in a businesslike way. ‘Did she corner you after the meeting?’
Numbly surprised, Harry nodded. Ron sniggered, breaking off when Hermione caught his eye.
‘So—er—what did she want?’ he asked in a mock casual voice.
‘She—’ Harry began, rather hoarsely, he cleared his throat and tried again. ‘She—er—’
‘Did you kiss?’ asked Hermione briskly.
Ron sat up so fast he sent his ink bottle flying all over the rug. Disregarding this completely, he stared avidly at Harry.
‘Well?’ he demanded.
Harry looked from Ron's expression of mingled curiosity and hilarity to Hermione's slight frown, and nodded.
‘HA!’
Ron made a triumphant gesture with his fist and went into a raucous peal of laughter that made several timid-looking second-years over beside the window jump. A reluctant grin spread over Harry's face as he watched Ron rolling around on the hearthrug.
Hermione gave Ron a look or deep disgust and returned to her letter.
‘Well?’ Ron said finally, looking up at Harry. ‘How was it?’
Harry considered for a moment.
‘Wet,’ he said truthfully.
Ron made a noise that might have indicated jubilation or disgust, it was hard to tell.
‘Because she was crying,’ Harry continued heavily.
‘Oh,’ said Ron, his smile fading slightly. ‘Are you that bad at kissing?’ 
‘Dunno,’ said Harry, who hadn't considered this, and immediately felt rather worried. ‘Maybe I am.’
‘Of course you're not,’ said Hermione absently, still scribbling away at her letter.
‘How do you know?’ said Ron very sharply.
‘Because Cho spends half her time crying these days,’ said Hermione vaguely. ‘She does it at mealtimes, in the loos, all over the place.’
‘You'd think a bit of kissing would cheer her up,’ said Ron, grinning.
‘Ron,’ said Hermione in a dignified voice, dipping the point of her quill into her inkpot, ‘you are the most insensitive wart I have ever had the misfortune to meet.’
‘What's that supposed to mean?’ said Ron indignantly. ‘What sort of person cries while someone's kissing them?’
‘Yeah,’ said Harry, slightly desperately, ‘who does?’
Hermione looked at the pair of them with an almost pitying expression on her face.
‘Don't you understand how Cho's feeling at the moment?’ she asked.
‘No,’ said Harry and Ron together.
Hermione sighed and laid down her quill.
‘Well, obviously, she's feeling very sad, because of Cedric dying. Then I expect she's feeling confused because she liked Cedric and now she likes Harry, and she can't work out who she likes best. Then she'll be feeling guilty, thinking it's an insult to Cedric's memory to be kissing Harry at all, and she'll be worrying about what everyone else might say about her if she starts going out with Harry. And she probably can't work out what her feelings towards Harry are, anyway, because he was the one who was with Cedric when Cedric died, so that's all very mixed up and painful. Oh, and she's afraid she's going to be thrown off the Ravenclaw Quidditch team because she's been flying so badly.’ 
A slightly stunned silence greeted the end of this speech, then Ron said, ‘One person can't feel all that at once, they'd explode.’
‘Just because you've got the emotional range of a teaspoon doesn't mean we all have,’ said Hermione nastily, picking up her quill again.
‘She was the one who started it,’ said Harry. ‘I wouldn't've—she just sort of came at me—and next thing she's crying all over me—I didn't know what to do—’
‘Don't blame you, mate,’ said Ron, looking alarmed at the very thought.
‘You just had to be nice to her,’ said Hermione, looking up anxiously. ‘You were, weren't you?’
‘Well,’ said Harry, an unpleasant heat creeping up his face, ‘I sort of—patted her on the back a bit.’
Hermione looked as though she was restraining herself from rolling her eyes with extreme difficulty.
‘Well, I suppose it could have been worse,’ she said. ‘Are you going to see her again?’
‘I'll have to, won't I?’ said Harry. ‘We've got DA meetings, haven't we?’ 
‘You know what I mean,’ said Hermione impatiently.
Harry said nothing. Hermione's words opened up a whole new vista of frightening possibilities. He tried to imagine going somewhere with Cho—Hogsmeade, perhaps—and being alone with her for hours at a time. Of course, she would have been expecting him to ask her out after what had just happened ... the thought made his stomach clench painfully.
‘Oh well,’ said Hermione distantly, buried in her letter once more, ‘you'll have plenty of opportunities to ask her.’
‘What if he doesn't want to ask her?’ said Ron, who had been watching Harry with an unusually shrewd expression on his face.
‘Don't be silly,’ said Hermione vaguely, ‘Harry's liked her for ages, haven't you, Harry?’
He did not answer. Yes, he had liked Cho for ages, but whenever he had imagined a scene involving the two of them it had always featured a Cho who was enjoying herself, as opposed to a Cho who was sobbing uncontrollably into his shoulder.
‘Who're you writing the novel to, anyway?’ Ron asked Hermione, trying to read the bit of parchment now trailing on the floor. Hermione hitched it up out of sight.
‘Viktor.’
‘Krum?’
‘How many other Viktors do we know?’
Ron said nothing, but looked disgruntled. They sat in silence for another twenty minutes, Ron finishing his Transfiguration essay with many snorts of impatience and crossings-out, Hermione writing steadily to the very end of the parchment, rolling it up carefully and sealing it, and Harry staring into the fire, wishing more than anything that Sirius's head would appear there and give him some advice about girls. But the fire merely crackled lower and lower, until the red-hot embers crumbled into ash and, looking around, Harry saw that they were, yet again, the last ones in the common room.
‘Well, night,’ said Hermione, yawning widely as she set off up the girls’ staircase.
‘What does she see in Krum?’ Ron demanded, as he and Harry climbed the boys’ stairs.
‘Well,’ said Harry, considering the matter, ‘I s'pose he's older, isn't he ... and he's an international Quidditch player ...’
‘Yeah, but apart from that,’ said Ron, sounding aggravated. ‘I mean, he's a grouchy git, isn't he?’
‘Bit grouchy, yeah,’ said Harry, whose thoughts were still on Cho.
They pulled off their robes and put on pyjamas in silence; Dean, Seamus and Neville were already asleep. Harry put his glasses on his bedside table and got into bed but did not pull the hangings closed around his four-poster; instead, he stared at the patch of starry sky visible through the window next to Neville's bed. If he had known, this time last night, that in twenty-four hours’ time he would have kissed Cho Chang ...
‘Night,’ grunted Ron, from somewhere to his right.
‘Night,’ said Harry.
Maybe next time ... if there was a next time ... she'd be a bit happier. He ought to have asked her out; she had probably been expecting it and was now really angry with him ... or was she lying in bed, still crying about Cedric? He did not know what to think. Hermione's explanation had made it all seem more complicated rather than easier to understand.
That's what they should teach us here, he thought, turning over on to his side, how girls’ brains work ... it'd be more useful than Divination, anyway ...
Neville snuffled in his sleep. An owl hooted somewhere out in the night.
Harry dreamed he was back in the DA room. Cho was accusing him of luring her there under false pretences; she said he had promised her a hundred and fifty Chocolate Frog Cards if she showed up. Harry protested ... Cho shouted, ‘Cedric gave me loads of Chocolate Frog Cards, look!’ And she pulled out fistfuls of Cards from inside her robes and threw them into the air. Then she turned into Hermione, who said, ‘You did promise her, you know, Harry ... I think you'd better give her something else instead ... how about your Firebolt?’ And Harry was protesting that he could not give Cho his Firebolt, because Umbridge had it, and anyway the whole thing was ridiculous, he'd only come to the DA room to put up some Christmas baubles shaped like Dobby's head ...
The dream changed ...
His body felt smooth, powerful and flexible. He was gliding between shining metal bars, across dark, cold stone ... he was flat against the floor, sliding along on his belly ... it was dark, yet he could see objects around him shimmering in strange, vibrant colours ... he was turning his head ... at first glance the corridor was empty ... but no ... a man was sitting on the floor ahead, his chin drooping on to his chest, his outline gleaming in the dark ...
Harry put out his tongue ... he tasted the man's scent on the air ... he was alive but drowsy ... sitting in front of a door at the end of the corridor ..
Harry longed to bite the man ... but he must master the impulse ... he had more important work to do ...
But the man was stirring ... a silver Cloak fell from his legs as he jumped to his feet; and Harry saw his vibrant, blurred outline towering above him, saw a wand withdrawn from a belt ... he had no choice ... he reared high from the floor and struck once, twice, three times, plunging his fangs deeply into the man's flesh, feeling his ribs splinter beneath his jaws, feeling the warm gush of blood ...
The man was yelling in pain ... then he fell silent ... he slumped backwards against the wall ... blood was splattering on to the floor ...
His forehead hurt terribly ... it was aching fit to burst ...
‘Harry! HARRY!’
He opened his eyes. Every inch of his body was covered in icy sweat; his bed covers were twisted all around him like a strait-jacket; he felt as though a white-hot poker were being applied to his forehead.
‘Harry!’
Ron was standing over him looking extremely frightened. There were more figures at the foot of Harry's bed. He clutched his head in his hands; the pain was blinding him ... he rolled right over and vomited over the edge of the mattress.
‘He's really ill,’ said a scared voice. ‘Should we call someone?’
‘Harry! Harry!’
He had to tell Ron, it was very important that he tell him ... taking great gulps of air, Harry pushed himself up in bed, willing himself not to throw up again, the pain half-blinding him.
‘Your dad,’ he panted, his chest heaving. ‘Your dad's ... been attacked ...’ 
‘What?’ said Ron uncomprehendingly.
‘Your dad! He's been bitten, it's serious, there was blood everywhere ...’ 
‘I'm going for help,’ said the same scared voice, and Harry heard footsteps running out of the dormitory.
‘Harry, mate,’ said Ron uncertainly, ‘you ... you were just dreaming—’ 
‘No!’ said Harry furiously; it was crucial that Ron understand.
‘It wasn't a dream ... not an ordinary dream ... I was there, I saw it ... I did it ...’
He could hear Seamus and Dean muttering but did not care. The pain in his forehead was subsiding slightly, though he was still sweating and shivering feverishly. He retched again and Ron leapt backwards out of the way.
‘Harry, you're not well,’ he said shakily. ‘Neville's gone for help.’
‘I'm fine!’ Harry choked, wiping his mouth on his pyjamas and shaking uncontrollably. ‘There's nothing wrong with me, it's your dad you've got to worry about—we need to find out where he is—he's bleeding like mad—I was—it was a huge snake.’
He tried to get out of bed but Ron pushed him back into it; Dean and Seamus were still whispering somewhere nearby. Whether one minute passed or ten, Harry did not know; he simply sat there shaking, feeling the pain recede very slowly from his scar ... then there were hurried footsteps coming up the stairs and he heard Neville's voice again.
‘Over here, Professor.’
Professor McGonagall came hurrying into the dormitory in her tartan dressing gown, her glasses perched lopsidedly on the bridge of her bony nose.
‘What is it, Potter? Where does it hurt?’
He had never been so pleased to see her; it was a member of the Order of the Phoenix he needed now, not someone fussing over him and prescribing useless potions.
‘It's Ron's dad,’ he said, sitting up again. ‘He's been attacked by a snake and it's serious, I saw it happen.’
‘What do you mean, you saw it happen?’ said Professor McGonagall, her dark eyebrows contracting.
‘I don't know ... I was asleep and then I was there ...’
‘You mean you dreamed this?’
‘No!’ said Harry angrily; would none of them understand? ‘I was having a dream at first about something completely different, something stupid ... and then this interrupted it. It was real, I didn't imagine it. Mr. Weasley was asleep on the floor and he was attacked by a gigantic snake, there was a load of blood, he collapsed, someone's got to find out where he is ...’
Professor McGonagall was gazing at him through her lopsided spectacles as though horrified at what she was seeing.
‘I'm not lying and I'm not mad!’ Harry told her, his voice rising to a shout. ‘I tell you, I saw it happen!’
‘I believe you, Potter,’ said Professor McGonagall curtly. ‘Put on your dressing gown—we're going to see the Headmaster.’
星期天一早荷米恩踩着两尺深的大雪艰难的向哈格力的小屋走去。哈利和罗恩本想一同前往，可是他们积累如山的作业又达到了令人警惕的高度，所以他们勉强的留在休息室里，试着忽略外面一阵阵欢呼—-同学们正在享受着在冰冻的河上滑冰和玩雪橇的快乐；更恼人的是他们施魔法使雪球不停的飞上格林芬多塔，重重地击打在窗户上。 
　　“真烦人！”罗恩低吼，终于失去了耐心，把头伸到窗外，“我可是级长，再有雪球打到这窗户———哎唷！” 
　　他立即缩回头，满脸是雪。 
　　“是弗莱德和乔治，”他抱怨道，重重地关上身后的窗户，“浑蛋。。。” 
　　荷米恩正好在午饭之前从哈格力的小屋回来，微微地颤抖着，袍子膝部以下的部分都湿了。 
　　“怎么样？”当她进来的时候，罗恩抬头问道，“把他所有的课都计划好了吗？” 
　　“不管怎样，我试过了，”她闷声闷气的答道，一屁股坐进哈里旁边的椅子。她抽出她的魔杖，复杂的挥舞了几下，一阵热气便从魔杖的末端涌出；她把魔杖对着袍子，那袍子就随着水汽的挥发，渐渐干了。“我到的时候他根本不在，我至少敲了半个小时的门，最后才看到他笨拙的从森林里走出来—-” 
　　哈利呻吟着：禁林里的生物都很有可能成为哈格力被解雇的原因。 “他在里面养了什么？他有说吗？” 哈利问道。 
　　“没，”荷米恩沮丧地回答。“他说他想把他们当作一个惊喜。我试着跟他解释Umbridge，但是他就是不理解。他总说没有正常人会想学变形虫而不去学吐火怪的 —— 哦，我想他不会真的 得到 一只吐火怪，” 看到哈利和罗恩惊骇的表情，她又说道，“从他所说拿蛋的难度，他并不是没有试过。我不知告诉他多少次他最好按照格拉普兰的课程计划，但坦白的说我并不认为他甚至听进了我说的一半。你知道的，他现在在一种古怪的状态。他仍然不肯说到底怎么受了那么多伤。。。” 第二天早餐时，哈格力在教员桌的出现并没有受到全体同学热情欢迎。一些， 像弗莱德，乔治，和 李？乔丹， 高兴地嚷着，在格林芬多和海夫巴夫的桌子间跑过，冲上前去紧紧抓着哈格力的大手；其他人，像Parvati和Lavender，交换了一个阴郁的眼神，摇了摇头。哈利知道很多同学比较喜欢格拉普兰教授的课，最糟的是在他头脑中有一小块但没有偏见的部分知道他们有个合理的理由：格拉普兰的对一节有趣的课的概念是课堂中不会有谁有丢掉脑袋的危险。 
　　星期二，带着对哈格力的担忧，哈利，罗恩，和荷米恩一起去找哈格力，厚厚的包裹着来抵抗严寒。哈利担心的不仅仅是哈格力决定教他们什么，还有其余的同学特别是马尔夫一伙人的表现如果Umbridge在场。 
　　然而最高检察官却出乎意料的没有现身，当他们艰难的穿过雪地，向站在森林边缘等待他们的哈格力走去的时候。哈格力的出现并不能让他们放心：星期六紫色的淤青现在已经变成淡淡的黄绿色，一些割伤看起来让然像在滴血。哈利不理解：哈格力被某些生物攻击了吗 —— 或许，这种生物的毒液防止伤口愈合。仿佛在赞成这个不吉祥的想象，哈格力肩上似乎扛着半头死牛。 
　　“我们今天在这儿上课！”哈格力愉快地告诉前来的学生，示意他身后的黑树林。“更为隐蔽！再说，他们也比较喜欢黑暗。。。” 
　　“什么喜欢黑暗？”哈利听见马尔夫尖声问克莱博和高尔，声音中有一点惊慌失措。“他说什么喜欢黑暗 —— 你听见了吗？” 
　　哈利记得在这以前唯一一次马尔夫进入森林的时候；他那时候也并不勇敢。他笑了：在魁迪奇比赛之后，任何使马尔夫不舒服的事都令他满意。 
　　“准备好了吗？”哈格力巡视同学们一圈，高兴地问道。“好，那么，我为你们的第五年准备了一个进入森林的实地考察旅行。想着我们可以去观察一下这些生物在他们自然的生活环境。现在，我们今天要学习的生物是非常少见的，我认为我可能是英国唯一一位可以驯养它们的人了——” 
　　“你确定它们真的被驯服了吗？”马尔夫问，现在他语气中的慌张更明显了。“只是这已经不是第一次你把野生动物带到课堂上来了，是吧？” 
　　斯林德林们赞成地嘟哝着，一些格林芬多们看起来也觉得马尔夫说得有点道理。 
　　“它们当然被驯服了，”哈格力说，他沉下脸，把肩上的牛抬高了一点。 
　　“那，你的脸又是怎么一回事？”马尔夫追问。 
　　“管你自己的事儿！”哈格力生气地说。“现在你们已经问完愚蠢的问题了，跟着我走吧！” 
　　他转身大步跨进森林。似乎没有人乐意跟他走。哈里瞥了罗恩和荷米恩一眼，叹了一口气，淡淡的点了点头，然后他们三个领着整个班级随着哈格力出发。 
　　他们走了大约十分钟，直到他们到达了一个地方，那里的树异常的茂密，暗得像似黄昏，地上也没有一丝血的痕迹。随着一声轻哼，哈格力把那半头牛扔在地上，向后退一步，然后再次面向他的学生，大多数学生都蹑手蹑脚的在树丛之间向他走来，紧张地四处张望，好像在任何时候都会有被攻击的可能。 
　　“都过来，都过来，”哈格力鼓励大家。“现在，他们将会被生肉的气味吸引过来，但是我还是先喊他们一声，他们会喜欢先知道这里是我的。。。” 
　　他转过身，晃了晃他那毛发蓬松的脑袋，试着甩掉脸上的头发，然后发出了一声奇怪并令人毛骨悚然的叫喊，那喊声在黑树林里产生了回音，像是某些怪异的鸟叫声。没有人在笑，他们像是被吓得发不出声音来。 
　　哈格力又发出另一声尖叫。一分钟过去了，同学们仍然紧张地四处观望，试着捕捉前来动物的第一眼。然后，当哈格力第三次把头发甩到后面，扩大胸腔时候，哈利轻轻的推了一下罗恩，指着两颗多瘤的紫杉树之间一片黑色的间隔。 
　　一对没有表情的，白色，发光的眼睛，闪着光在黑暗中渐渐变大；不一会，一张凶暴的脸，脖颈，然后一匹带翅膀的黑马的骸骨般的躯体从黑暗中浮现出来。它审视了整个班级几秒钟，甩动着它长长的黑色马尾，然后低着头，开始用它的尖牙把血肉一块块从死牛的身上撕扯下来。 
　　哈利觉得一阵安慰。至少这是他没有幻想出这些生物的证据，它们是真的：哈格力也知道它们。他急切地望向罗恩，但是罗恩仍然盯着树林周围，几秒钟后，他低声问，“为什么哈格力不再喊了呢？” 
　　大多数同学有着和罗恩一样的表情：困惑又紧张地期待着，他们仍然到处张望却注意不到和他们距离仅有个把尺远的马匹。只有其他两个人看起来能够看到它们：站在高尔后面的一位纤细的斯林德林男孩正在看着那匹马吃食，脸上满是厌恶的神情；还有纳维，他的眼神随着那长长的黑马尾移动。 
　　“哦，这又来了另一匹！”哈格力骄傲地说，当第二匹黑马从黑树林里出现，把它皮革般的翅膀合起贴近他的躯体，低下头狼吞虎咽的吃起来。“现在。。。把手举起来，谁可以看得见？” 
　　哈利举起他的手，他非常高兴他最终就要明白关于这些马的秘密了。哈格力对他点点头。 
　　“对。。。对，我知道你可以看到，哈利，”他严肃地说。“你也可以，纳维，是吧？还有——” 
　　“打断一下，”马尔夫用嘲笑的语气说道，“我们到底应该看什么呀？” 
　　作为答案，哈格力指着地上牛的尸体。整个班级凝视了几秒，然后一些人惊讶得吸了口气，Parvati细声尖叫。哈利知道为什么：一块块血肉好似自然的从骨头上脱落，然后消失在薄薄的空气里，看起来果然异常古怪。 
　　“什么在这样？”Parvati恐惧地问道，躲到离她最近的一棵树后，“什么在吃肉？” 
　　“Thestrals,”哈格力骄傲的说，荷米恩越过哈利的肩头发出了一声轻叫，“哦！”表示理解。 “哈格瓦茨这有一大群。现在，谁知道—？” “但是他们是非常，非常不吉祥的！”Parvati打断，样子很警惕。“他们会给看到他们的人带来各种各样的带来厄运的。Profession Trelawney曾告诉我—” 
　　“不，不，不，”哈格力轻笑，“那只是迷信，事实是，他们并不是不吉祥的，他们非常聪明而且有用！当然，他们并没有很多工作，他们主要的工作是拉学校的马车，还有当邓布里多不想Apparate去一个遥远的地方的时候—这又来了一对，看—” 
　　又有两匹马静静的从树林里走出来，其中一只经过时离Parvati很近，她颤抖着，让自己更贴近树桩，说道，“我想我感觉到了什么，我想它离我很近！” 
　　“别担心，她不会伤害你的，”哈格力耐心的说。“好，现在谁能够告诉我为什么有些人看得见而其他人不能呢？” 
　　荷米恩举起手。 
　　“说吧，”哈格力微笑的说。 
　　“唯一可以看见thestral的人，”她说，“是见过死亡的人。” 
　　“完全正确，”哈格力严肃地说，“给格林分多加十分。现在，thestrals—” 
　　“Hem, hem·” 
　　Professor Umbridge来了。她正站在离哈利几尺远的地方，又穿着她绿色的帽子和袍子，她的笔记板已经准备好了。哈格力，以前从来没有听过Umbridge的假咳声，关心的盯着最近的thestral，显然认为它发出了那个响声。 
　　“Hem, hem·” 
　　“哦你好！”哈格力说，微笑着，找到了声音的来源。 
　　“你收到我早晨发到你小屋的条子了吗？”Umbridge说，用像上次一样响亮缓慢的声音，似乎她在和某些外国的，非常迟钝的人说话。“告诉你我将会来视察你的课？” 
　　“啊对，”哈格力欢快的说。“真高兴你找到了这个地方！ 那么，就像你所看到的—或，我不知道—你能吗？我们今天学习Thestrals—” 
　　“抱歉？”Umbridge大声说，用手在耳边做成杯状，皱着眉。“你说什么？” 
　　哈格力看起来有些疑惑。 
　　“呃—thestrals！”他大声说。“大的—呃—有翅膀的马，你知道的！” 
　　他怀着希望地拍打着他巨大的臂膀。 Professor Umbridge 抬起她的眉毛，一边嘀咕一边在她的笔记板上作笔记， “‘需要。。。求助于。。。拙劣的。。。手语。。。’” 
　　“嗯。。。总之。。。”哈格力说，转过身面向他的班级，看起来有一点慌乱狼狈。 “嗯。。。我刚刚说到哪里了？” “‘看起来。。。有。。。很不好的。。。短。。。期。。。记忆力。。。’” Umbridge咕哝，声音大得每个人都听得见。Draco Malfoy 看起来好像圣诞节早到了一个月；荷米恩，正好相反，脸变成猩红色，强忍着愤怒。 “哦，对了，”哈格力说，不自在的瞥了一眼Umbridge的笔记板，困难的继续，“对了，我正要告诉你们为什么我们也有一群。 对，嗯，我们刚开始有一只雄马和五只雌的。这一只，”他拍了拍第一个出现的那只，“叫做Tenebrus, 他是我最喜欢的，是第一个在这座森林里出生的——” “你有没有意识到，”Umbridge，大声的打断他的话，“Ministry Of Magic把thestrals归类为‘危险动物’？” 
　　哈里的心像一颗石头一样沉了下去，可是哈格力仅仅笑了笑。 
　　“Thestrals不危险！的确，如果你惹怒了他们他们会咬你一口——” 
　　“‘一想起。。。暴力。。。就会。。。表现的。。。很高兴。。。’”Umbridge继续边低估边在笔记板上作笔记。 
　　“不——真的！”哈格力现在有些着急了。“狗也可以咬人如果你激怒他的话，不会吗——可是thestrals有着不好的名誉仅仅因为死亡的这件事——人们向来认为他们是坏的预兆，不是吗？他们只是不理解，是吧？” 
　　Umbridge不 回答；她写她最后的笔记,然后向上看着哈格力说,再一次非常大声地而且慢慢地，“请像往常一样继续上课。我去随便走走。”她做了步行的手势——马尔夫和Pansy Parkinson 偷偷地笑—— “在学生中”——她指指班级的个别成员—— “问他们一些问题。” 她指着嘴表示说话。 
　　哈格力盯着她, 显然完全不了解为什麽她的举动像是认为他不 了解正常的英语。现在荷米恩的眼中充满了愤怒的泪水。 
　　“女巫 , 你这个邪恶的女巫 ！” 她低声说，当Umbridge向Pansy Parkinson 走去的时候。“我知道你在做什么, 你糟糕丑陋的，变态恶毒的——” “呃。。。总之，”哈格力说，显然在努力恢复他的教学流程， “那么—— thestrals。 是的。 好吧，他们有很多优点。。。。” 
　　“你认为，”Umbridge教授用她响亮的声音对Pansy Parkinson说，“当他说话的时候 ， 你能够了解哈格力教授吗？” 
　　正如荷米恩，Pansy眼中也有泪滴，但这些是笑的泪滴；的确，因为她试着抑制吃吃的笑声，所以她的答案几乎不连贯。“不。。。。因为。。。。嗯。。。。很多时间听起来像咕哝声。。。。” 
　　Umbridge在她的笔记板上潦草地书写着。 哈格力脸上没有淤青的一小部分红了，但是他试着装成好像没有听到Pansy的答案。 
　　“呃 …是的…thestrals的优点。 嗯，一旦他们被驯养，像这着些马，你就不会再迷路了。他们有着令人惊异的方向感，只要告诉他们你想到哪里去——” “当然，假定他们能了解你，”马尔夫大声地说，和Pansy Parkinson 笑成一团。 Umbridge教授纵容的对他们微笑着，然后转向 Neville 。 “你能看见 Thestrals, Longbottom,是吗 ？' 她说。 Neville 点头。 
　　“你曾经见过谁的死亡？” 她问， 她的语气漠不关心。 
　　“我的…我的祖父，” Neville说 。 
　　“那你觉得他们如何？”她说，挥动着她粗短的手，向着马群，他们现在已经 把牛的尸体撕扯得只剩骨头了。 “呃,” Neville紧张的说，瞥向哈格力。“嗯，他们。。。呃。。。还好。。。” 
　　“‘学生们。。。不敢。。。去。。。承认。。。他们。。。害怕。。。’”Umbridge嘟哝着，在笔记板上写下另一个笔记。 
　　“不是的！” Neville 慌乱的说。“不，我不害怕他们——！” “非常好，”安布里奇说着，拍着纳威的肩膀，故意挤出一丝谅解的微笑，虽然它看上去更像是投给哈利的恶意的目光。“好啦，哈格力，”她转过头再一次看向他，又用那种高声的缓慢的嗓音说，“我认为我们接触的足够久了。你会得到（她仿佛要从她面前的空气中拿到什么）你的检查结果（她指着那个记事本）在十天内。”她举起那十个粗短的手指，然后，她的笑容更大了，藏在帽子底下，比以前的任何时候都更像个癞蛤蟆了，她匆忙的从他们中间离去，留下马尔夫和潘西在那儿笑个不停，荷米恩因为狂怒而发抖，而纳威看上去困惑而混乱。 
　　“那个邪恶的，撒谎的，变态的老怪物！”荷米恩半个小时后终于爆发了，当时他们正在回城堡的路上，在通过走廊时他们发现雪下的比平常早了。“你看她像什么？又是她的那些关于半种的东西——她在试图把哈格力描绘得好像他有多愚蠢，就因为他有一个巨人母亲——哦，这不公平，那真的不是堂很糟糕的课——我是说，好吧，也许它会有一个毁灭性的结尾，但Thestrals不错——事实上，对哈格力来说，它们真的很好！” 
　　“安布里奇说他们很危险，”罗恩说。 
　　“好吧，就像哈格力说的，它们能照顾自己，”荷米恩没耐性地说，“我想像格拉伯利-普兰克那样的老师在NEWT测试之前是不会经常把它们展示给我们看的，不过，好吧，它们非常有趣，不是吗？有些人能看到他们而有些人不能！我真希望我能。” 
　　“你能？”哈里安静的问她。 
　　她突然很惊骇的表情。 
　　“哦，哈利-对不起-步，当然我不能-那真是个愚蠢的说法。” 
　　“没关系，”他赶紧说，“别担心” 
　　“我真惊讶有那么多人能看见它们，”罗恩说。“一个班里有三个……” 
　　“是的，威斯利，我们刚刚很奇怪，”一个恶毒的声音从安静的雪地那边传来，马尔夫，克莱博和高尔正在他们的右后方。“你估计如果你见到什么人死了，是不是看鬼飞球也能更清楚点儿？” 
　　他，克莱博和高尔狂笑着走向城堡，接着传来一声齐唱“威斯利是我们的王牌。”罗恩的耳朵立刻变红了。 
　　“别理他们，就当他们不存在，”荷米恩嘀咕着，掏出她的魔杖施魔法使空气重新暖合起来，这样她就能够从那些看上去没什么改变的雪地中开出一条从这儿到温室之间的更容易走的小路。 
　　十二月到了，带来了更多的雪和一堆足以令五年级崩溃的作业。在圣诞即将到来之时罗恩和荷米恩级长的职责也更加繁重了。他们被叫去监督城堡的装饰工作（“你试试当烦恼在一边正试图恰似你时去挂铃铛，”罗恩说），去照看那些因为痛苦的寒冷而不得不把空闲时间花在室内的一二年级的学生（“他们这些厚颜无耻的萧鼻涕虫，你知道，我们一年级的时候可没有像他们那么粗鲁，”罗恩说） 
　　与Filch轮流巡逻走廊，Filch怀疑假日的气氛会以巫师的决斗来表现（“他的脑袋里一定装满了大便，”罗恩暴躁的说）。他们是如此的忙碌以致於荷米恩甚至已经停止编织精灵帽子，她很烦恼因为她只剩下最后三个了。 
　　“所有那些还没有被我解放的可怜的精灵们，必须留在这里过圣诞节了因为没有充足的帽子！” 
　　没有那个胆量告诉她多比拿走了她编的每件东西 ，哈利更低的弯向他的魔法史。 无论如何，不管怎样，他不
Chapter 23 Christmas On The Closed Ward
Was this why Dumbledore would no longer meet Harry's eyes? Did he expect to see Voldemort staring out of them, afraid, perhaps, that their vivid green might turn suddenly to scarlet, with catlike slits for pupils? Harry remembered how the snakelike face of Voldemort had once forced itself out of the back of Professor Quirrell's head and ran his hand over the back of his own, wondering what it would feel like if Voldemort burst out of his skull.
He felt dirty, contaminated, as though he were carrying some deadly germ, unworthy to sit on the Underground train back from the hospital with innocent, clean people whose minds and bodies were free of the taint of Voldemort ... he had not merely seen the snake, he had been the snake, he knew it now ...
A truly terrible thought then occurred to him, a memory bobbing to the surface of his mind, one that made his insides writhe and squirm like serpents.
What's he after, apart from followers?
Stuff he can only get by stealth ... like a weapon. Something he didn't have last time.
I'm the weapon, Harry thought, and it was as though poison were pumping through his veins, chilling him, bringing him out in a sweat as he swayed with the train through the dark tunnel. I'm the one Voldemort's trying to use, that's why they've got guards around me everywhere I go, it's not for my protection, it's for other people's, only it's not working, they can't have someone on me all the time at Hogwarts ... I did attack Mr. Weasley last night, it was me. Voldemort made me do it and he could be inside me, listening to my thought's right now—’
‘Are you all right, Harry, dear?’ whispered Mrs. Weasley, leaning across Ginny to speak to him as the train rattled along through its dark tunnel. ‘You don't look very well. Are you feeling sick?’
They were all watching him. He shook his head violently and stared up at an advertisement for home insurance.
‘Harry, dear, are you sure you're all right?’ said Mrs. Weasley in a worried voice, as they walked around the unkempt patch of grass in the middle of Grimmauld Place. ‘You look ever so pale ... are you sure you slept this morning? You go upstairs to bed right now and you can have a couple of hours of sleep before dinner, all right?’
He nodded; here was a ready-made excuse not to talk to any of the others, which was precisely what he wanted, so when she opened the front door he hurried straight past the trolls-leg umbrella stand, up the stairs and into his and Ron's bedroom.
Here, he began to pace up and down, past the two beds and Phineas Nigellus's empty picture frame, his brain teeming and seething with questions and ever more dreadful ideas.
How had he become a snake? Perhaps he was an Animagus ... no, he couldn't be, he would know ... perhaps Voldemort was an Animagus ... yes, thought Harry, that would fit, he would turn into a snake of course ... and when he's possessing me, then we both transform ... that still doesn't explain how I got to London and back to my bed in the space of about five minutes ... but then Voldemort's about the most powerful wizard in the world, apart from Dumbledore, it's probably no problem at all to him to transport people like that.
And then, with a terrible stab of panic, he thought, but this is insane—if Voldemort's possessing me, I'm giving him a clear view into the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix right now! He'll know who's in the Order and where Sirius is ... and I've heard loads of stuff I shouldn't have, everything Sirius told me the first night I was here ...
There was only one thing for it: he would have to leave Grimmauld Place straightaway. He would spend Christmas at Hogwarts without the others, which would keep them safe over the holidays at least ... but no, that wouldn't do, there were still plenty of people at Hogwarts to maim and injure. What if it was Seamus, Dean or Neville next time? He stopped his pacing and stood staring at Phineas Nigellus's empty frame. A leaden sensation was settling in the pit of his stomach. He had no alternative: he was going to have to return to Privet Drive, cut himself off from other wizards entirely.
Well, if he had to do it, he thought, there was no point hanging around. Trying with all his might not to think how the Dursleys were going to react when they found him on their doorstep six months earlier than they had expected, he strode over to his trunk, slammed the lid shut and locked it, then glanced around automatically for Hedwig before remembering that she was still at Hogwarts—well, her cage would be one less thing to carry—he seized one end of his trunk and had dragged it halfway towards the door when a snide voice said, ‘Running away, are we?’
He looked around. Phineas Nigellus had appeared on the canvas of his portrait and was leaning against the frame, watching Harry with an amused expression on his face.
‘Not running away, no,’ said Harry shortly, dragging his trunk a few more feet across the room.
‘I thought,’ said Phineas Nigellus, stroking his pointed beard, ‘that to belong in Gryffindor house you were supposed to be brave? It looks to me as though you would have been better off in my own house. We Slytherins are brave, yes, but not stupid. For instance, given the choice, we will always choose to save our own necks.’
‘It's not my own neck I'm saving,’ said Harry tersely, tugging the trunk over a patch of particularly uneven, moth-eaten carpet right in front of the door.
‘Oh, I see,’ said Phineas Nigellus, still stroking his beard, ‘this is no cowardly flight—you are being noble.’
Harry ignored him. His hand was on the doorknob when Phineas Nigellus said lazily, ‘I have a message for you from Albus Dumbledore.’
Harry span round.
‘What is it?’
‘"Stay where you are.” ’
‘I haven't moved!’ said Harry, his hand still upon the doorknob. ‘So what's the message?’
‘I have just given it to you, dolt,’ said Phineas Nigellus smoothly. ‘Dumbledore says, “Stay where you are.”’
‘Why?’ said Harry eagerly, dropping the end of his trunk. ‘Why does he want me to stay? What else did he say?’
‘Nothing whatsoever,’ said Phineas Nigellus, raising a thin black eyebrow as though he found Harry impertinent.
Harry's temper rose to the surface like a snake rearing from long grass. He was exhausted, he was confused beyond measure, he had experienced terror, relief, then terror again in the last twelve hours, and still Dumbledore did not want to talk to him!
‘So that's it, is it?’ he said loudly. ‘"Stay where you are”? That's all anyone could tell me after I got attacked by those dementors, too! Just stay put while the grown-ups sort it out, Harry! We won't bother telling you anything, though, because your tiny little brain might not be able to cope with it!’
‘You know,’ said Phineas Nigellus, even more loudly than Harry, ‘this is precisely why I loathed being a teacher! Young people are so infernally convinced that they are absolutely right about everything. Has it not occurred to you, my poor puffed-up popinjay, that there might be an excellent reason why the Headmaster of Hogwarts is not confiding every tiny detail of his plans to you? Have you never paused, while feeling hard-done-by, to note that following Dumbledore's orders has never yet led you into harm? No.No, like all young people, you are quite sure that you alone feel and think, you alone recognise danger, you alone are the only one clever enough to realise what the Dark Lord may be planning—’
‘He is planning something to do with me, then?’ said Harry swiftly.
‘Did I say that?’ said Phineas Nigellus, idly examining his silk gloves. ‘Now, if you will excuse me, I have better things to do than listen to adolescent agonising ... good-day to you.’
And he strolled to the edge of his frame and out of sight.
‘Fine, go then!’ Harry bellowed at the empty frame. ‘And tell Dumbledore thanks for nothing!’
The empty canvas remained silent. Fuming, Harry dragged his trunk back to the foot of his bed, then threw himself face down on the moth-eaten covers, his eyes shut, his body heavy and aching.
He felt as though he had journeyed for miles and miles ... it seemed impossible that less than twenty-four hours ago Cho Chang had been approaching him under the mistletoe ... he was so tired ... he was scared to sleep ... yet he did not know how long he could fight it ... Dumbledore had told him to stay ... that must mean he was allowed to sleep ... but he was scared ... what if it happened again?
He was sinking into shadows ...
It was as though a film in his head had been waiting to start. He was walking down a deserted corridor towards a plain black door, past rough stone walls, torches, and an open doorway on to a flight of stone steps leading downstairs on the left ...
He reached the black door but could not open it... he stood gazing at it, desperate for entry ... something he wanted with all his heart lay beyond ... a prize beyond his dreams ... if only his scar would stop prickling ... then he would be able to think more clearly ...
‘Harry,’ said Ron's voice, from far, far away, ‘Mum says dinners ready, but she'll save you something if you want to stay in bed.’
Harry opened his eyes, but Ron had already left the room.
He doesn't want to be on his own with me, Harry thought. Not after what he heard Moody say.
He supposed none of them would want him there any more, now that they knew what was inside him.
He would not go down to dinner; he would not inflict his company on them. He turned over on to his other side and, after a while, dropped back off to sleep. He woke much later, in the early hours of the morning, his insides aching with hunger and Ron snoring in the next bed. Squinting around the room, he saw the dark outline of Phineas Nigellus standing again in his portrait and it occurred to Harry that Dumbledore had probably sent Phineas Nigellus to watch over him, in case he attacked somebody else.
The feeling of being unclean intensified. He half-wished he had not obeyed Dumbledore ... if this was how life was going to be for him in Grimmauld Place from now on, maybe he would be better off in Privet Drive after all.
Everybody else spent the following morning putting up Christmas decorations. Harry could not remember Sirius ever being in such a good mood; he was actually singing carols, apparently delighted that he was to have company over Christmas. Harry could hear his voice echoing up through the floor in the cold drawing room where he was sitting alone, watching the sky growing whiter outside the windows, threatening snow, all the time feeling a savage pleasure that he was giving the others the opportunity to keep talking about him, as they were bound to be doing. When he heard Mrs. Weasley calling his name softly up the stairs around lunchtime, he retreated further upstairs and ignored her.
Around six o'clock in the evening the doorbell rang and Mrs. Black started screaming again. Assuming that Mundungus or some other Order member had come to call, Harry merely settled himself more comfortably against the wall of Buckbeak's room where he was hiding, trying to ignore how hungry he felt as he fed dead rats to the hippogriff. It came as a slight shock when somebody hammered hard on the door a few minutes later.
‘I know you're in there,’ said Hermione's voice. ‘Will you please come out? I want to talk to you.’
‘What are you doing here?’ Harry asked her, pulling open the door as Buckbeak resumed his scratching at the straw-strewn floor for any fragments of rat he may have dropped. ‘I thought you were skiing with your mum and dad?’ 
‘Well, to tell the truth, skiing's not really my thing,’ said Hermione. ‘So, I've come here for Christmas.’ There was snow in her hair and her face was pink with cold. ‘But don't tell Ron. I told him skiing's really good because he kept laughing so much. Mum and Dad are a bit disappointed, but I've told them that everyone who is serious about the exams is staying at Hogwarts to study. They want me to do well, they'll understand. Anyway,’ she said briskly, ‘let's go to your bedroom, Ron's mum has lit a fire in there and she's sent up sandwiches.’
Harry followed her back to the second floor. When he entered the bedroom, he was rather surprised to see both Ron and Ginny waiting for them, sitting on Ron's bed.
‘I came on the Knight Bus,’ said Hermione airily, pulling off her jacket before Harry had time to speak. ‘Dumbledore told me what had happened first thing this morning, but I had to wait for term to end officially before setting off. Umbridge is already livid that you lot disappeared right under her nose, even though Dumbledore told her Mr. Weasley was in St. Mungo's and he'd given you all permission to visit. So ...’
She sat down next to Ginny, and the two girls and Ron all looked up at Harry.
‘How're you feeling?’ asked Hermione.
‘Fine,’ said Harry stiffly.
‘Oh, don't lie, Harry,’ she said impatiently. ‘Ron and Ginny say you've been hiding from everyone since you got back from St. Mungo's.’
‘They do, do they?’ said Harry, glaring at Ron and Ginny. Ron looked down at his feet but Ginny seemed quite unabashed.
‘Well, you have!’ she said. ‘And you won't look at any of us!’
‘It's you lot who won't look at me!’ said Harry angrily.
‘Maybe you're taking it in turns to look, and keep missing each other,’ suggested Hermione, the corners of her mouth twitching.
‘Very funny,’ snapped Harry, turning away.
‘Oh, stop feeling all misunderstood,’ said Hermione sharply. ‘Look, the others have told me what you overheard last night on the Extendable Ears—’ 
‘Yeah?’ growled Harry, his hands deep in his pockets as he watched the snow now falling thickly outside. ‘All been talking about me, have you? Well, I'm getting used to it.’
‘We wanted to talk toyou, Harry,’ said Ginny, ‘but as you've been hiding ever since we got back—’
‘I didn't want anyone to talk to me,’ said Harry, who was feeling more and more nettled.
‘Well, that was a bit stupid of you,’ said Ginny angrily, ‘seeing as you don't know anyone but me who's been possessed by You-Know-Who, and I can tell you how it feels.’
Harry remained quite still as the impact of these words hit him. Then he wheeled round.
‘I forgot,’ he said.
‘Lucky you,’ said Ginny coolly.
‘I'm sorry,’ Harry said, and he meant it. ‘So ... so, do you think I'm being possessed, then?’
‘Well, can you remember everything you've been doing?’ Ginny asked. ‘Are there big blank periods where you don't know what you've been up to?’
Harry racked his brains.
‘No,’ he said.
‘Then You-Know-Who hasn't ever possessed you,’ said Ginny simply. ‘When he did it to me, I couldn't remember what I'd been doing for hours at a time. I'd find myself somewhere and not know how I got there.’
Harry hardly dared believe her, yet his heart was lightening almost in spite of himself.
‘That dream I had about your dad and the snake, though—’
‘Harry, you've had these dreams before,’ Hermione said. ‘You had flashes of what Voldemort was up to last year.’
‘This was different,’ said Harry, shaking his head. ‘I was inside that snake. It was like I was the snake ... what if Voldemort somehow transported me to London—?’
‘One day,’ said Hermione, sounding thoroughly exasperated, ‘you'll read Hogwarts: A History, and perhaps it will remind you that you can't Apparate or Disapparaie inside Hogwarts. Even Voldemort couldn't just make you fly out of your dormitory, Harry.’
‘You didn't leave your bed, mate,’ said Ron. ‘I saw you thrashing around in your sleep for at least a minute before we could wake you up.’
Harry started pacing up and down the room again, thinking. What they were all saying was not only comforting, it made sense ... without really thinking, he took a sandwich from the plate on the bed and crammed it hungrily into his mouth.
I'm not the weapon after all, thought Harry. His heart swelled with happiness and relief, and he felt like joining in as they heard Sirius tramping past their door towards Buckbeak's room, singing ‘God Rest Ye, Merry Hippogriffs’ at the top of his voice.
How could he have dreamed of returning to Privet Drive for Christmas? Sirius's delight at having the house full again, and especially at having Harry back, was infectious. He was no longer their sullen host of the summer; now he seemed determined that everyone should enjoy themselves as much, if not more than they would have done at Hogwarts, and he worked tirelessly in the run-up to Christmas Day, cleaning and decorating with their help, so that by the time they all went to bed on Christmas Eve the house was barely recognisable. The tarnished chandeliers were no longer hung with cobwebs but with garlands of holly and gold and silver streamers; magical snow glittered in heaps over the threadbare carpets; a great Christmas tree, obtained by Mundungus and decorated with live fairies, blocked Sirius's family tree from view, and even the stuffed elf-heads on the hall wall wore Father Christmas hats and beards.
Harry awoke on Christmas morning to find a stack of presents at the foot of his bed and Ron already halfway through opening his own, rather larger, pile.
‘Good haul this year,’ he informed Harry through a cloud of paper. ‘Thanks for the Broom Compass, it's excellent; beats Hermione's—she got me a homework planner—’
Harry sorted through his presents and found one with Hermione's handwriting on it. She had given him, too, a book that resembled a diary except that every time he opened a page it said aloud things like: ‘Do it today or later you'll pay!’
Sirius and Lupin had given Harry a set of excellent books entitled Practical Defensive Magic and its Use Against the Dark Arts, which had superb, moving colour illustrations of all the counter-jinxes and hexes it described. Harry flicked through the first volume eagerly; he could see it was going to be highly useful in his plans for the DA. Hagrid had sent a furry brown wallet that had fangs, which were presumably supposed to be an anti-theft device, but unfortunately prevented Harry putting any money in without getting his fingers ripped off. Tonks's present was a small, working model of a Firebolt, which Harry watched fly around the room, wishing he still had his full-size version; Ron had given him an enormous box of Every-Flavour Beans, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley the usual hand-knitted jumper and some mince pies, and Dobby a truly dreadful painting that Harry suspected had been done by the elf himself. He had just turned it upside-down to see whether it looked better that way when, with a loud crack, Fred and George Apparated at the foot of his bed.
‘Merry Christmas,’ said George. ‘Don't go downstairs for a bit.’
‘Why not?’ said Ron.
‘Mum's crying again,’ said Fred heavily. ‘Percy sent back his Christmas jumper.’
‘Without a note,’ added George. ‘Hasn't asked how Dad is or visited him or anything.’
‘We tried to comfort her,’ said Fred, moving around the bed to look at Harry's portrait. ‘Told her Percy's nothing more than a humungous pile of rat droppings.’
‘Didn't work,’ said George, helping himself to a Chocolate Frog. ‘So Lupin took over. Best let him cheer her up before we go down for breakfast, I reckon.’
‘What's that supposed to be, anyway?’ asked Fred, squinting at Dobbys painting. ‘Looks like a gibbon with two black eyes.’
‘It's Harry!’ said George, pointing at the back of the picture, ‘says so on the back!’
‘Good likeness,’ said Fred, grinning. Harry threw his new homework diary at him; it hit the wall opposite and fell to the floor where it said happily: ‘If you've dotted the “i"s and crossed the “t"s then you may do whatever you please!’
They got up and dressed. They could hear the various inhabitants of the house calling ‘Merry Christmas’ to one another. On their way downstairs they met Hermione.
Thanks for the book, Harry,’ she said happily. ‘I've been wanting that New Theory of Numerology for ages! And that perfume's really unusual, Ron.’
‘No problem,’ said Ron. ‘Who's that for, anyway?’ he added, nodding at the neatly wrapped present she was carrying.
‘Kreacher,’ said Hermione brightly.
‘It had better not be clothes!’ Ron warned her. ‘You know what Sirius said: Kreacher knows too much, we can't set him free!’
‘It isn't clothes,’ said Hermione, ‘although if I had my way I'd certainly give him something to wear other than that filthy old rag. No, it's a patchwork quilt, I thought it would brighten up his bedroom.’
‘What bedroom?’ said Harry, dropping his voice to a whisper as they were passing the portrait of Sirius's mother.
‘Well, Sirius says it's not so much a bedroom, more a kind of—den,’ said Hermione. ‘Apparently he sleeps under the boiler in that cupboard off the kitchen.’
Mrs. Weasley was the only person in the basement when they arrived there. She was standing at the stove and sounded as though she had a bad head cold as she wished them ‘Merry Christmas', and they all averted their eyes.
‘So, is this Kreacher's bedroom?’ said Ron, strolling over to a dingy door in the corner opposite the pantry. Harry had never seen it open.
‘Yes,’ said Hermione, now sounding a little nervous. ‘Er ... I think we'd better knock.’
Ron rapped on the door with his knuckles but there was no reply.
‘He must be sneaking around upstairs,’ he said, and without further ado pulled open the door. ‘Urgh!’
Harry peered inside. Most of the cupboard was taken up with a very large and old-fashioned boiler, but in the foot of space underneath the pipes Kreacher had made himself something that looked like a nest. A jumble of assorted rags and smelly old blankets were piled on the floor and the small dent in the middle of it showed where Kreacher curled up to sleep every night. Here and there among the material were stale bread crusts and mouldy old bits of cheese. In a far corner glinted small objects and coins that Harry guessed Kreacher had saved, magpie-like, from Sirius's purge of the house, and he had also managed to retrieve the silver-framed family photographs that Sirius had thrown away over the summer. Their glass might be shattered, but still the little black-and-white people inside them peered up at him haughtily, including—he felt a little jolt in his stomach—the dark, heavy-lidded woman whose trial he had witnessed in Dumbledore's Pensieve: Bellatrix Lestrange. By the looks of it, hers was Kreacher's favourite photograph; he had placed it to the fore of all the others and had mended the glass clumsily with Spellotape.
‘I think I'll just leave his present here,’ said Hermione, laying the package neatly in the middle of the depression in the rags and blankets and closing the door quietly. ‘He'll find it later, that'll be fine.’
‘Come to think of it,’ said Sirius, emerging from the pantry carrying a large turkey as they closed the cupboard door, ‘has anyone actually seen Kreacher lately?’
‘I haven't seen him since the night we came back here,’ said Harry. ‘You were ordering him out of the kitchen.’
‘Yeah ...’ said Sirius, frowning. ‘You know, I think that's the last time I saw him, too ... he must be hiding upstairs somewhere.’
‘He couldn't have left, could he?’ said Harry. ‘I mean, when you said “out", maybe he thought you meant get out of the house?’
‘No, no, house-elves can't leave unless they're given clothes. They're tied to their family's house,’ said Sirius.
‘They can leave the house if they really want to,’ Harry contradicted him. ‘Dobby did, he left the Malfoy's’ to give me warnings two years ago. He had to punish himself afterwards, but he still managed it.’
Sirius looked slightly disconcerted for a moment, then said, ‘I'll look for him later, I expect I'll find him upstairs crying his eyes out over my mother's old bloomers or something. Of course, he might have crawled into the airing cupboard and died ... but I mustn't get my hopes up.’
Fred, George and Ron laughed; Hermione, however, looked reproachful.
Once they had eaten their Christmas lunch, the Weasleys, Harry and Hermione were planning to pay Mr. Weasley another visit, escorted by Mad-Eye and Lupin. Mundungus turned up in time for Christmas pudding and trifle, having managed to ‘borrow’ a car for the occasion, as the Underground did not run on Christmas Day. The car, which Harry doubted very much had been taken with the consent of its owner, had been enlarged with a spell like the Weasleys’ old Ford Anglia had once been. Although normally proportioned outside, ten people with Mundungus driving were able to fit into it quite comfortably. Mrs. Weasley hesitated before getting inside—Harry knew her disapproval of Mundungus was battling with her dislike of travelling without magic—but, finally, the cold outside and her children's pleading triumphed, and she settled herself into the back seat between Fred and Bill with good grace.
The journey to St Mungo's was quite quick as there was very little traffic on the roads. A small trickle of witches and wizards was creeping furtively up the otherwise deserted street to visit the hospital. Harry and the others got out of the car, and Mundungus drove off around the corner to wait for them. They strolled casually towards the window where the dummy in green nylon stood, then, one by one, stepped through the glass.
The reception area looked pleasantly festive: the crystal orbs that illuminated St. Mungo's had been coloured red and gold to become gigantic, glowing Christmas baubles; holly hung around every doorway; and shining white Christmas trees covered in magical snow and icicles glittered in every corner, each one topped with a gleaming gold star. It was less crowded than the last time they had been there, although halfway across the room Harry found himself shunted aside by a witch with a satsuma jammed up her left nostril.
‘Family argument, eh?’ smirked the blonde witch behind the desk. ‘You're the third I've seen today ... Spell Damage, fourth floor.’
They found Mr Weasley propped up in bed with the remains of his turkey dinner on a tray on his lap and a rather sheepish expression on his face.
‘Everything all right, Arthur?’ asked Mrs. Weasley, after they had all greeted Mr. Weasley and handed over their presents.
‘Fine, fine,’ said Mr. Weasley, a little too heartily. ‘You—er—haven't seen Healer Smethwyck, have you?’
‘No,’ said Mrs Weasley suspiciously, ‘why?’
‘Nothing, nothing,’ said Mr. Weasley airily, starting to unwrap his pile of gifts. ‘Well, everyone had a good day? What did you all get for Christmas? Oh, Harry— this is absolutely wonderful!’ For he had just opened Harry's gift of fuse-wire and screwdrivers.
Mrs. Weasley did not seem entirely satisfied with Mr. Weasley's answer. As her husband leaned over to shake Harry's hand, she peered at the bandaging under his nightshirt.
‘Arthur,’ she said, with a snap in her voice like a mousetrap, ‘you've had your bandages changed. Why have you had your bandages changed a day early, Arthur? They told me they wouldn't need doing until tomorrow.’
‘What?’ said Mr Weasley, looking rather frightened and pulling the bed covers higher up his chest. ‘No, no—it's nothing—it's—I—’
He seemed to deflate under Mrs. Weasley's piercing gaze.
‘Well—now don't get upset, Molly, but Augustus Pye had an idea ... he's the Trainee Healer, you know, lovely young chap and very interested in ... um ... complementary medicine ... I mean, some of these old Muggle remedies ... well, they're called stitches, Molly, and they work very well on—on Muggle wounds—’
Mrs. Weasley let out an ominous noise somewhere between a shriek and a snarl. Lupin strolled away from the bed and over to the werewolf, who had no visitors and was looking rather wistfully at the crowd around Mr. Weasley; Bill muttered something about getting himself a cup of tea and Fred and George leapt up to accompany him, grinning.
‘Do you mean to tell me,’ said Mrs. Weasley, her voice growing louder with every word and apparently unaware that her fellow visitors were scurrying for cover, ‘that you have been messing about with Muggle remedies?’
‘Not messing about, Molly, dear,’ said Mr. Weasley imploringly, ‘it was just—just something Pye and I thought we'd try—only, most unfortunately—well, with these particular kinds of wounds—it doesn't seem to work as well as we'd hoped—’
‘Meaning?’
‘Well ... well, I don't know whether you know what—what stitches are?’ 
‘It sounds as though you've been trying to sew your skin back together,’ said Mrs. Weasley with a snort of mirthless laughter, ‘but even you, Arthur, wouldn't be that stupid —’
‘I fancy a cup of tea, too,’ said Harry, jumping to his feet.
Hermione, Ron and Ginny almost sprinted to the door with him. As it swung closed behind them, they heard Mrs. Weasley shriek, ‘WHAT DO YOU MEAN, THAT'S THE GENERAL IDEA?’
‘Typical Dad,’ said Ginny, shaking her head as they set off up the corridor. ‘Stitches ... I ask you ...’
‘Well, you know, they do work well on non-magical wounds,’ said Hermione fairly. ‘I suppose something in that snake's venom dissolves them or something. I wonder where the tearoom is?’
‘Fifth floor,’ said Harry, remembering the sign over the welcomewitch's desk.
They walked along the corridor, through a set of double doors and found a rickety staircase lined with more portraits of brutal-looking Healers. As they climbed it, the various Healers called out to them, diagnosing odd complaints and suggesting horrible remedies. Ron was seriously affronted when a medieval wizard called out that he clearly had a bad case of spattergroit.
‘And what's that supposed to be?’ he asked angrily, as the Healer pursued him through six more portraits, shoving the occupants out of the way.
’ ‘Tis a most grievous affliction of the skin, young master, that will leave you pockmarked and more gruesome even than you are now—’
‘Watch who you're calling gruesome!’ said Ron, his ears turning red.
‘—the only remedy is to take the liver of a toad, bind it tight about your throat, stand naked at the full moon in a barrel of eels’ eyes—’
‘I have not got spattergroit!’
‘But the unsightly blemishes upon your visage, young master—’
‘They're freckles!’ said Ron furiously. ‘Now get back in your own picture and leave me alone!’
He rounded on the others, who were all keeping determinedly straight faces.
‘What floor's this?’
‘I think it's the fifth,’ said Hermione.
‘Nah, it's the fourth,’ said Harry, ‘one more—’
But as he stepped on to the landing he came to an abrupt halt, staring at the small window set into the double doors that marked the start of a corridor signposted SPELL DAMAGE. A man was peering out at them all with his nose pressed against the glass. He had wavy blond hair, bright blue eyes and a broad vacant smile that revealed dazzlingly white teeth.
‘Blimey!’ said Ron, also staring at the man.
‘Oh, my goodness,’ said Hermione suddenly, sounding breathless. ‘Professor Lockhart.’
Their ex-Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher pushed open the doors and moved towards them, wearing a long lilac dressing gown.
‘Well, hello there!’ he said. ‘I expect you'd like my autograph, would you?’ 
‘Hasn't changed much, has he?’ Harry muttered to Ginny, who grinned.
‘Er—how are you, Professor?’ said Ron, sounding slightly guilty. It had been Ron's malfunctioning wand that had damaged Professor Lockhart's memory so badly that he had landed in St. Mungo's in the first place, though as Lockhart had been attempting to permanently wipe Harry and Ron's memories at the time, Harry's sympathy was limited.
‘I'm very well indeed, thank you!’ said Lockhart exuberantly, palling a rather battered peacock-feather quill from his pocket. ‘Now, how many autographs would you like? I can do joined-up writing now, you know!’
‘Er—we don't want any at the moment, thanks,’ said Ron, raising his eyebrows at Harry, who asked, ‘Professor, should you be wandering around the corridors? Shouldn't you be in a ward?’
The smile faded slowly from Lockhart's face. For a few moments he gazed intently at Harry, then he said, ‘Haven't we met?’
‘Er ... yeah, we have,’ said Harry. ‘You used to teach us at Hogwarts, remember?’
‘Teach?’ repeated Lockhart, looking faintly unsettled. ‘Me? Did I?’
And then the smile reappeared upon his face so suddenly it was rather alarming.
‘Taught you everything you know, I expect, did I? Well, how about those autographs, then? Shall we say a round dozen, you can give them to all your little friends then and nobody will be left out!’
But just then a head poked out of a door at the far end of the corridor and a voice called, ‘Gilderoy, you naughty boy, where have you wandered off to?’
A motherly-looking Healer wearing a tinsel wreath in her hair came bustling up the corridor, smiling warmly at Harry and the others.
‘Oh, Gilderoy, you've got visitors! How lovely, and on Christmas Day, too! Do you know, he never gets visitors, poor lamb, and I can't think why, he's such a sweetie, aren't you?’
‘We're doing autographs!’ Gilderoy told the Healer with another glittering smile. ‘They want loads of them, won't take no for an answer! I just hope we've got enough photographs!’
‘Listen to him,’ said the Healer, taking Lockhart's arm and beaming fondly at him as though he were a precocious two-year-old. ‘He was rather well known a few years ago; we very much hope that this liking for giving autographs is a sign that his memory might be starting to come back. Will you step this way? He's in a closed ward, you know, he must have slipped out while I was bringing in the Christmas presents, the door's usually kept locked ... not that he's dangerous! But,’ she lowered her voice to a whisper, ‘he's a bit of a danger to himself, bless him ... doesn't know who he is, you see, wanders off and can't remember how to get back ... it is nice of you to have come to see him.’
‘Er,’ said Ron, gesturing uselessly at the floor above, ‘actually, we were just—er—’
But the Healer was smiling expectantly at them, and Ron's feeble mutter of ‘going to have a cup of tea’ trailed away into nothingness. They looked at each other helplessly, then followed Lockhart and his Healer along the corridor.
‘Let's not stay long,’ Ron said quietly.
The Healer pointed her wand at the door of the Janus Thickey Ward and muttered, ‘Alohomora.’ The door swung open and she led the way inside, keeping a firm grasp on Gilderoy's arm until she had settled him into an armchair beside his bed.
‘This is our long-term residents’ ward,’ she informed Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny in a low voice. ‘For permanent spell damage, you know. Of course, with intensive remedial potions and charms and a bit of luck, we can produce some improvement. Gilderoy does seem to be getting back some sense of himself; and we've seen a real improvement in Mr. Bode, he seems to be regaining the power of speech very well, though he isn't speaking any language we recognise yet. Well, I must finish giving out the Christmas presents, I'll leave you all to chat.’
Harry looked around. The ward bore unmistakeable signs of being a permanent home to its residents. They had many more personal effects around their beds than in Mr Weasley's ward; the wall around Gilderoy's headboard, for instance, was papered with pictures of himself, all beaming toothily and waving at the new arrivals. He had autographed many of them to himself in disjointed, childish writing. The moment he had been deposited in his chair by the Healer, Gilderoy pulled a fresh stack of photographs towards him, seized a quill and started signing them all feverishly.
‘You can put them in envelopes,’ he said to Ginny, throwing the signed pictures into her lap one by one as he finished them. ‘I am not forgotten, you know, no, I still receive a very great deal of fan mail ... Gladys Gudgeon writes weekly ... I just wish I knew why ...’ He paused, looking faintly puzzled, then beamed again and returned to his signing with renewed vigour. ‘I suspect it is simply my good looks ...’
A sallow-skinned, mournful-looking wizard lay in the bed opposite staring at the ceiling; he was mumbling to himself and seemed quite unaware of anything around him. Two beds along was a woman whose entire head was covered in fur; Harry remembered something similar happening to Hermione during their second year, although fortunately the damage, in her case, had not been permanent. At the far end of the ward flowery curtains had been drawn around two beds to give the occupants and their visitors some privacy.
‘Here you are, Agnes,’ said the Healer brightly to the furry-faced woman, handing her a small pile of Christmas presents. ‘See, not forgotten, are you? And your son's sent an owl to say he's visiting tonight, so that's nice, isn't it?’
Agnes gave several loud barks.
‘And look, Broderick, you've been sent a pot plant and a lovely calendar with a different fancy hippogriff for each month; they'll brighten things up, won't they?’ said the Healer, bustling along to the mumbling man, setting a rather ugly plant with long, swaying tentacles on the bedside cabinet and fixing the calendar to the wall with her wand. ‘And—oh, Mrs. Longbottom, are you leaving already?’
Harry's head span round. The curtains had been drawn back from the two beds at the end of the ward and two visitors were walking back down the aisle between the beds: a formidable-looking old witch wearing a long green dress, a moth-eaten fox fur and a pointed hat decorated with what was unmistakeably a stuffed vulture and, trailing behind her looking thoroughly depressed—Neville.
With a sudden rush of understanding, Harry realised who the people in the end beds must be. He cast around wildly for some means of distracting the others so that Neville could leave the ward unnoticed and unquestioned, but Ron had also looked up at the sound of the name ‘Longbottom', and before Harry could stop him had called out, ‘Neville!’
Neville jumped and cowered as though a bullet had narrowly missed him.
‘It's us, Neville!’ said Ron brightly, getting to his feet. ‘Have you seen—? Lockhart's here! Who've you been visiting?’
‘Friends of yours, Neville, dear?’ said Neville's grandmother graciously, bearing down upon them all.
Neville looked as though he would rather be anywhere in the world but here. A dull purple flush was creeping up his plump face and he was not making eye contact with any of them.
‘Ah, yes,’ said his grandmother, looking closely at Harry and sticking out a shrivelled, clawlike hand for him to shake. ‘Yes, yes, I know who you are, of course. Neville speaks most highly of you.’
‘Er—thanks,’ said Harry, shaking hands. Neville did not look at him, but surveyed his own feet, the colour deepening in his face all the while.
‘And you two are clearly Weasleys,’ Mrs. Longbottom continued, proffering her hand regally to Ron and Ginny in turn. ‘Yes, I know your parents—not well, of course—but fine people, fine people ... and you must be Hermione Granger?’ 
Hermione looked rather startled that Mrs. Longbottom knew her name, but shook hands all the same.
‘Yes, Neville's told me all about you. Helped him out of a few sticky spots, haven't you? He's a good boy,’ she said, casting a sternly appraising look down her rather bony nose at Neville, ‘but be hasn't got his father's talent, I'm afraid to say.’ And she jerked her head in the direction of the two beds at the end of the ward, so that the stuffed vulture on her hat trembled alarmingly.
‘What?’ said Ron, looking amazed. (Harry wanted to stamp on Ron's foot, but that sort of thing is much harder to bring off unnoticed when you're wearing jeans rather than robes.) ‘Is that your dad down the end, Neville?’
‘What's this?’ said Mrs. Longbottom sharply. ‘Haven't you told your friends about your parents, Neville?’
Neville took a deep breath, looked up at the ceiling and shook his head. Harry could not remember ever feeling sorrier for anyone, but he could not think of any way of helping Neville out of the situation.
‘Well, it's nothing to be ashamed of!’ said Mrs. Longbottom angrily. ‘You should be proud, Neville, proud!They didn't give their health and their sanity so their only son would be ashamed of them, you know!’
‘I'm not ashamed,’ said Neville, very faintly, still looking anywhere but at Harry and the others. Ron was now standing on tiptoe to look over at the inhabitants of the two beds.
‘Well, you've got a funny way of showing it!’ said Mrs. Longbottom. ‘My son and his wife,’ she said, turning haughtily to Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny, ‘were tortured into insanity by You-Know-Who's followers.’
Hermione and Ginny both clapped their hands over their mouths. Ron stopped craning his neck to catch a glimpse of Neville's parents and looked mortified.
‘They were Aurors, you know, and very well respected within the wizarding community,’ Mrs Longbottom went on. ‘Highly gifted, the pair of them. I—yes, Alice dear, what is it?’
Neville's mother had come edging down the ward in her nightdress. She no longer had the plump, happy-looking face Harry had seen in Moody's old photograph of the original Order of the Phoenix. Her face was thin and worn now, her eyes seemed overlarge and her hair, which had turned white, was wispy and dead-looking. She did not seem to want to speak, or perhaps she was not able to, but she made timid motions towards Neville, holding something in her outstretched hand.
‘Again?’ said Mrs Longbottom, sounding slightly weary. ‘Very well, Alice dear, very well— Neville, take it, whatever it is.’
But Neville had already stretched out his hand, into which his mother dropped an empty Drooble's Best Blowing Gum wrapper.
‘Very nice, dear,’ said Neville's grandmother in a falsely cheery voice, patting his mother on the shoulder.
But Neville said quietly, ‘Thanks, Mum.’
His mother tottered away, back up the ward, humming to herself. Neville looked around at the others, his expression defiant, as though daring them to laugh, but Harry did not think he'd ever found anything less funny in his life.
‘Well, we'd better get back,’ sighed Mrs. Longbottom, drawing on long green gloves. ‘Very nice to have met you all. Neville, put that wrapper in the bin, she must have given you enough of them to paper your bedroom by now.’
But as they left, Harry was sure he saw Neville slip the sweet wrapper into his pocket.
The door closed behind them.
‘I never knew,’ said Hermione, who looked tearful.
‘Nor did I,’ said Ron rather hoarsely.
‘Nor me,’ whispered Ginny.
They all looked at Harry.
‘I did,’ he said glumly. ‘Dumbledore told me but I promised I wouldn't tell anyone ... that's what Bellatrix Lestrange got sent to Azkaban for, using the Cruciatus Curse on Neville's parents until they lost their minds.’
‘Bellatrix Lestrange did that?’ whispered Hermione, horrified. ‘That woman Kreacher's got a photo of in his den?’
There was a long silence, broken by Lockhart's angry voice.
‘Look, I didn't learn joined-up writing for nothing, you know!’
这就是丹伯多为什么不再愿意与哈利对视的原因吗？他认为会在哈利的眼睛中看到伏地魔的凝视？也许，他担心那鲜绿色的眼睛会突然变成猩红色，然后象猫一样眯向学生？哈利想起，有一次伏地魔是怎样强行把它的蛇脸从奎勒尔教授的后脑勺上伸出来，然后把奎勒尔教授的手扭到背后的。哈利惶惑地想，如果伏地魔从自己的头盖骨中冒出，会是一种什么感觉。 
　　他感到自己被污染了，很肮脏，就象携带了致命的细菌，根本不配与这些身心都没有受到伏地魔玷污的清白无辜的人们一起坐在这列从医院开回来的地铁上。他不但已经看到过那蛇，而且自己就是那条蛇，现在他明白了。 
　　他突然产生了一种真的很可怕的想法，一段记忆浮现在他的脑海中，使他觉得似乎身体内有一条蛇在翻滚和蠕动。 
　　他接下来该怎么办，摆脱这个寄生者？ 
　　伏地魔只能通过秘密行动来得到他要的东西，就象一件武器。那是他上次没有得到过的。 
　　我就是这武器，哈利暗自思量道，他感到仿佛有一剂毒药流窜在他的血管中，使他浑身发冷，令他在随着火车晃动着穿过黑暗的隧道时大汗淋漓。我是伏地魔想要利用的人，因此，无论我去任何地方，他们都会派人守卫着我，这并不是为了保护我，而是为了保护别人。只是这并不起作用，在霍格沃兹我身边不可能永远有人守卫。昨晚确实是我袭击了威斯里先生，是的，是我。是伏地魔使我这么做的，他也许在我体内，现在正倾听着我的想法…… 
　　"你没事吧？亲爱的哈利。" 在火车"卡嗒卡嗒"地穿过漆黑的隧道时威斯里太太斜过身子，隔着金妮对哈利轻声说道，"你看起来不大对头，你病了吗？"他们都朝他看去，他使劲摇了摇头，然后便目不转睛地看起一张家庭保险的广告来。 
　　"哈利，你确定你没事？" 当他们绕过Grimmauld Place 中央那片零星的草地时，威斯里太太不安地询问哈利，"你的脸色更苍白了，你今天早上真的睡着过？现在到晚餐时间还有几个小时的时间，上楼睡个好觉吧，好吗？"他点点头，现在这儿有个现成的借口可以避免跟别人交谈了，这正是他所希望的。因此当她打开前门的时候，他赶忙径直绕过旋转伞架，走上楼，进了他和罗恩的卧室。 
　　他开始在屋里来回地踱步。走过了两张床和Phineas Nigellus的空画架后，他的大脑被无数的问题和一些更可怕的想法填得满满的，像是要炸开了似的。 
　　他怎么会变成一条蛇呢？也许他是个Animagus。不，那是不可能的，否则的话他会知道。也许伏地魔是个Animagus。是的，哈利想，这就对了，他当然可以变成一条蛇。然后当我被他控制时，我们都变形了。但这也不能解释我为什么会能在去伦敦，并又在五分钟后返回这儿的事啊。但伏地魔算得上是世界上最强大的巫师之一，在这远离丹伯多的地方对人施瞬间转移的法术对他来说应该是小菜一碟。 
　　那么，他的心猛地一揪，他想：虽然这个想法也许很荒谬，但如果伏地魔控制了我，他就会利用我，从而对凤凰令总部了如指掌！他会知道是谁在发号施令，他也会知道天狼星的所在。我已经听了很多我不该听的东西，我来这儿的第一个晚上，天狼星告诉我的那一切都是。 
　　现在他只有一种选择：他只能立即离开Grimmauld Place。他将在霍格沃兹独自度过圣诞节，没有众人的陪伴，这至少能让他们在节日平安。但是，那也没用，霍格沃兹还有足够多的人能供他伤害、袭击。如果下次遇袭的是Seamus、Dean或Neville呢？他停下步子，凝视着Phineas Nigellus的空画架。有一种沉重的感觉郁积在他的心中。他别无选择：他要回女贞路，完全地脱离魔法界。 
　　是的，如果他不得不这样做的话，他想，就不能再犹豫不决了。他尽量不去想当Dursleys一家看到他比预计的要提前六个月出现在门口时，他们会怎样反应。他大踏步走到他的行李箱边，"砰"地关上箱子并将它锁上，他机械地向周围扫视，搜寻着Hedwig，然后才想起它现在仍然呆在霍格沃兹。好的，他可以少带一个笼子了。他抓起箱子的一端，拖着它向门走去，此时，一个声音嘲讽道："我们要潜逃吗？"他四处张望，Phineas Nigellus出现在他肖像的帆布上，斜倚着画框，满脸滑稽地看着哈利。 
　　"不是潜逃，不是。"哈利简要地说，同时又拖着他的行李箱穿过房间走了几步。 
　　Phineas Nigellus抚着他尖尖的胡须说，"我原来以为，作为属于Gryffindor学院的一员，你应该被认为是勇敢的。在我看来，似乎你在我屋里的表现本来应该更好。我们Slytherins是勇敢的，没错，但是并不愚蠢。例如，面对选择，我们总是选择保住自己的生命。""我现在并不是在保自己的命，"哈利一语带过，用力地把行李箱拖过门边一片极不平坦的、虫蛀的地毯。 
　　"哦，我知道了，" Phineas Nigellus仍然抚着他的胡须，"这当然不算胆怯的逃亡—你在表现你的高尚啊。"哈利不理他。当哈利握住门把手的时候，Phineas Nigellus懒洋洋地说道："阿尔巴斯·丹伯多让我带个口信给你。"哈利转过身子： 
　　"他怎么说？" 
　　"'呆着别动。'" 
　　"我没有动！"哈利说，他的手仍然抓着门把，"现在你可以把他的口信告诉我了吧。""我刚刚不是已经告诉你了吗，笨蛋，" Phineas Nigellus平静地说道，"丹伯多说'呆着别动。'""为什么？"哈利放下行李箱，急切地询问道， "为什么他要让我呆在这儿？他还说了别的什么吗？""什么也没有。" Phineas Nigellus扬了扬他那稀疏的眉毛，似乎觉得哈利是无关紧要的。 
　　哈利再也控制不住情绪的外露，就象蛇头在草丛中高高扬起。他已经疲惫透了，又迷惑得不能再迷惑。他经历了恐怖、被解救、最后的十二个小时又再度陷入恐怖，但丹伯多仍然不想跟他交谈。 
　　"就这么句话，是吗？"他大声地说，"'呆着别动。'！在我被Dementors袭击后每个人都这么对我说！'哈利，在大人们解决此事以前呆在原位别动！我们不会费心告诉你任何事，因为你的小脑瓜会应付不来的'！""你要知道，" Phineas Nigellus的声音压过了哈利，"这正是我讨厌成为老师的原因，该死的年轻人总是确信他们所做的任何事都是绝对正确的。你这可怜的骄傲家伙，难道你就从来没有想到，霍格沃兹的校长之所以不把他计划中的所有细节都告诉你，是有其极佳的理由的吗？当你感到受到不公正待遇时，你从来没有停下来想一下，是不是只要按丹伯多的命令去做就永远不会使你自己受到伤害。没有，没有，就像所有的年轻人一样，你太相信只有你才有感觉和思想，只有你才能识别危险，只有你才是唯一聪明到足以知道黑巫师可能正在计划着的事……""那么，他正在计划着和我有关的什么事吗？"哈利即刻问道。 
　　"我这样说了吗？" Phineas Nigellus懒懒地检查他的丝绸手套，"现在，请原谅，我有更重要的事要做，没有时间听青春期少年的烦恼了，祝你日安！"他悠闲地走到他的画框边，从哈利的视野中消失了。 
　　"好极了，你滚吧！"哈利向空画框吼道，"告诉丹伯多我一点儿都不感激他！"空画布保持着沉寂。哈利窝着一肚子火，把行李箱拖回床脚，就势俯倒在虫蛀的箱盖上，闭上眼睛，他感到全身又沉重又疼痛。 
　　他感到像是走了很远很远的路。难以想象就在不到二十四小时前，Cho Chang还曾在槲寄生下靠近过他（在槲寄生下可以亲吻任何人并不被责怪：硕鼠）。他太累了。他不敢睡，但他不知道自己能坚持多久。丹伯多告诉他呆着别动，那一定也就是说他可以睡觉，但他还是感到恐惧。如果那种事再发生呢？ 
　　他沉没在阴暗中。 
　　他的头脑中似乎有一场电影等待着开映。他正穿过一条荒凉的走廊，经过粗糙的石墙，绕过火炬，走下石阶，向着一扇普通的黑门走去。 
　　他到了黑门前，但怎么也打不开它。他站着凝视它，不顾一切地想要进去。他全心全意想要得到的东西就在那后面，是一个他梦中的奖品。要是他的伤疤会停止刺痛的话就好了，那他就可以更清晰地思考了。 
　　"哈利，"罗恩的声音，从很远很远的地方传来，"妈妈说晚餐已经准备好了，但是如果你还想睡的话她会为你保留一些的。"哈利睁开了眼睛，但是罗恩已经离开了房间。 
　　"他不想看见我，"哈利想，"在他听到Moody的话以后。"他设想他们中没有人会希望他再在这儿呆下去了，因为现在他们已经知道他体内潜藏着什么。 
　　他不会下去用餐的；他不会陪伴在他们左右。他翻了个身，不一会，便再度睡去。他起来得很晚，已经是清晨了，他的身心因饥饿和邻床罗恩的鼾声感到疼痛不堪。环顾房间四周，他看到了Phineas Nigellus黑暗的轮廓再次站在他的肖像上，这令哈利想到丹伯多也许派了Phineas Nigellus来监视他，以免他再去袭击别人。 
　　一种不明的情绪在增长着。他有点希望他不曾服从过丹伯多。如果这就是此后他在Grimmauld Place的生活，也许他应该离开这里回到女贞路。 
　　* 
　　其他所有人都把整个早晨花在制作圣诞节装饰品上。哈利想不起来天狼星以前什么时候有过如此好的兴致。事实上，天狼星正在唱圣诞颂歌，显然他很高兴有人陪他过圣诞节。寒冷的客厅里只坐着哈利一个人，哈利可以听到天狼星歌声的回音。看着窗外的天空变得越发苍白，雪花飘飞下来，他感到他正给他们一个不停地谈论他的机会，一想到这里，他就感到一种残忍的快乐。当他听到威斯里夫人在午餐时间在楼下轻柔的叫着他的名字时，他向楼上退了几步，不理她。 
　　晚上六点左右，门铃响了，Black夫人又开始尖叫起来。躲藏在Buckbeak的屋子里的哈利猜想Mundungus或者其他的成员已经来过了，他动了一下，以便让自己靠着墙坐得更舒服点。他用死老鼠喂饲着Hippogriff，试图不理睬他自己有多么饥饿。当有人在几分钟后大声敲门时，哈利吃了一惊。 
　　"我知道你在里面，" 那是荷米恩的声音，"请你出来，我想跟你谈一谈。""你在这儿干什么？"哈利一边问，一边打开了门。这时Buckbeak正重新开始在铺满稻草的地板上搜寻是否有被它漏掉的老鼠肉。"我还以为你现在正在和你爸爸妈妈一起滑雪呢。""好吧，说实话，其实滑雪并不是我的事，" 荷米恩说，"因此，我到这儿来过圣诞节。"她的头上布满了雪花，脸被冻得通红："但别告诉罗恩。因为罗恩老是在笑，所以我跟他说滑雪真好。我的父母有点失望，但是我告诉他们所有重视考试的人现在都呆在霍格沃兹学习。他们希望我好，他们会明白的。不管怎样，" 她精神奕奕地说，"让我们去你的卧室吧。罗恩的母亲在那里生了火，并且派发三明治。 
　　哈利跟着她回到三楼，当他进入卧室时，他惊讶地看到罗恩和金妮都坐在罗恩的床上等他们。 
　　"我是搭Knight公共汽车来的，" 荷米恩欢快地说，一边在哈利有时间说话前脱下她的夹克，"丹伯多早上告诉我今天一大早发生了什么事情，但是我得等到学期正式结束才出发，尽管丹伯多已经向Umbridge说明威斯里夫人在St Mungo并且你们已经得到许可去拜访，Umbridge仍然因你们这帮人从她眼皮底下溜走而感到恼火。"她坐到金妮身边，她们两个女孩和罗恩都看向哈利。 
　　"你感觉怎么样？" 荷米恩问。 
　　"很好，" Harry面无表情。 
　　"噢，别撒谎了，哈利，"她不耐烦地说，"罗恩和金妮说你自从从St Mungo回来后就躲着所有人。""他们这么说？"哈利对罗恩和金妮怒目而视。罗恩低下头看着自己的叫，但是金妮看上去却若无其事。 
　　"你就是这么做的！"她说，"你根本不想看到我们中的任何人！""是你们这帮家伙不想看到我！"哈利怒冲冲地说。 
　　"也许你们都想看到对方，只是都错过了机会。" 荷米恩说，她的嘴角颤搐着。 "真可笑。"哈利猛地说道，转身走了。 
　　"噢，停止一切误解吧！" 荷米恩急忙说道，"听着，已经有人告诉了我你昨晚用窃听耳朵偷听到了什么""是吗？"哈利咆哮道，当他看到外面的雪花飞快地落下时，他把手深埋入自己的衣兜里，"都在谈论我，不是吗？哼，我正在让自己习惯这一切。""我们想跟你谈谈，哈利。"金妮说，"但你从我们回来时一直躲到现在……""我不想跟任何人说话，"哈利感到越来越烦恼。 
　　"嘿，那就是你有点儿蠢的地方！"金妮愤怒地说道，"要知道，除我之外你不认识任何被那个人控制过的人，只有我可以告诉你被控制时的感受！"哈利一言不发，任凭这些词语狠狠地撞击着他。 
　　"我忘了。"他说。 
　　"你很幸运。"金妮不动声色地说。 
　　"对不起，"哈利很认真地说，"原来这样。那么，你认为我被那个人控制了吗？""嗯，你能否记得你做过的所有事？"金妮问，"你的记忆中是否有长时间段的空白，你不知道自己在那段时间里做过什么？"哈利努力地在大脑中搜索着。 
　　"没有。"他说。 
　　"那么那个人还没有控制你。"金妮轻描淡写地说，"当他那样对我做的时候，我每次都有一段时间想不起来在前几个小时中我做过什么，我会发现我在某个地方，但我不知道我是怎样到那里的。"哈利几乎不敢相信她，但不由自主地心里感到亮堂了。 
　　"我做的关于你父亲和那条蛇的梦，虽然……""哈利，你以前早就做过这种梦，" 荷米恩说，"去年你的脑海里就闪现过伏地魔在做什么的场景。""这次不一样，"哈利摇着头说，"我在那条蛇体内。那感觉就象我就是那条蛇。如果是伏地魔为了某种目的把我瞬间转移到伦敦……"荷米恩十分恼火，"当你在某天读到《霍格沃兹，一段校史》时，那或者会提醒你，你无法在霍格沃兹突然出现或突然消失。甚至连伏地魔也不能令你飞离你的宿舍，哈利。""你没有离开过你的床，伙计，"罗恩说，"在我们能够叫醒你之前我至少看到你在睡梦中翻来覆去有一分钟之久。"哈利又开始在屋子里一边来回踱步，一边思考起来。他们所说的一切不仅让他感到安慰，还真有其意义。不及细想，他就从床上的盘子里拿了块三明治，饥饿难耐地将它塞进嘴里。 
　　我到底不是他的武器，哈利想道。他的心里充满了幸福和释然，他想重新回到他伙伴们的队伍。 
　　天狼星大步经过他们的门，走向Buckbeak的屋子，放开了嗓子，一路欢歌："上帝使你们宁静, Hippogriffs快乐"* 
　　他怎么会曾想要回到女贞路过圣诞节呢？天狼星因房子里又聚满了人而深感喜悦，尤其是哈利的归来更加深了这种喜悦，使它极富感染力。他不再是他们夏天的那个闷闷不乐的屋主了；他现在坚决认为每个人都应该像他一样快乐，至少不能比他们在霍格沃兹感受的的快乐要少。他不知疲倦的做着圣诞节前的准备工作，在他们的帮助下打扫并装饰屋子，因此，他们在平安夜上床睡觉时，整间屋子已经焕然一新，几乎让人认不出来。和失去光泽的灯饰悬挂在一起的不再是层层蛛丝，而是花环和冬青树以及金银彩带。成堆的雪花不可思议的在破旧的地毯上闪闪发光。Mundungus弄到的一株巨大的圣诞树被仙女装点一新，遮住了天狼星的家树。甚至连大厅里的stuffed elf-heads也被戴上了圣诞老人的帽子和胡须。 
　　哈利在圣诞节的早晨醒来后，发现他床脚有一大堆礼物。罗恩已经把他自己的礼物拆开了一半，比哈利的更多，是成堆的。 
　　"Good haul this year，"他隔了一大堆纸片向哈利祝福。"太感谢Broom Compass了，这真好；欠揍的荷米恩，她送给我一个家庭作业笔记本。"哈利把他的礼物分了类，并发现其中一个上有荷米恩s的笔迹，她也送了他一份，那是一本很像日记的书，除了每翻一页它就会这么大声说："今天的事今天做，不然你今后仍要补做。"天狼星和卢平送了哈利一套极棒的书，书名是《防御魔法实例》和《用于黑魔法防御》。它们有华丽的封面以及其中记述的所有魔法和法物的彩色活动图解，哈利急切的翻开第一册，他可以看到它将对他的DA计划起很高的实用价值。Hagrid送了一只有齿的棕色皮毛做的皮夹，大概是为了防止被偷窃，但不幸的是，这样一来，哈利也无法在不撕裂自己手指的情况下把钱放进去。Tonkss的礼物是一个小型的Firebolt 活动模型，他看着它在房间里飞来飞去，心中祈祷着希望自己仍能保有完整的version。罗恩送了他一只巨大的Every-Flavour Beans盒子。威斯里夫妇像往常一样赠送了自己织的外套和碎馅饼。多比送了一幅着实可怕的画像，以至于哈利怀疑那是否是Elf的真迹。他拿着它颠来倒去地查看着以找出它怎么放置看起来比较顺眼。这时，随着一记响亮的爆裂声，Fred和George出现在他床脚边。 
　　"圣诞快乐，" George说，"别经常下楼。" 
　　"为什么？"罗恩问道。 
　　"妈妈又在大喊大叫了，" Fred大声说，"Percy把他收到的圣诞外衣退还给了妈妈。""没有来一封短信，" George补充道，"也没有问候爸爸一声，也没有去看看他或者做些别的什么。""我们试图安慰她，告诉她Percy不过是堆巨大的老鼠粪。" Fred边说边围着床走动以便观看哈利手中的肖像，"但那没用，" George说着把一块巧克力蛙塞进自己嘴里，"所以卢平现在正在安慰他。最好他能在我们下楼吃早餐前让她重新打起精神来。"“不管怎样，告诉我那到底是什么？” Fred斜视着Dobby的画作，问哈利，“看上去好象是长着一对黑眼睛的长臂猿。” 
　　“那是哈利！” George画的背面，“背面这么写着。” 
　　“真太像了！” Fred大笑起来，哈利把
Chapter 24 Occlumency
Kreacher, it transpired, had been lurking in the attic. Sirius said he had found him up there, covered in dust, no doubt looking for more relics of the Black family to hide in his cupboard. Though Sirius seemed satisfied with this story, it made Harry uneasy. Kreacher seemed to be in a better mood on his reappearance, his bitter muttering had subsided somewhat and he submitted to orders more docilely than usual, though once or twice Harry caught the house-elf staring at him avidly, but always looking quickly away whenever he saw that Harry had noticed.
Harry did not mention his vague suspicions to Sirius, whose cheerfulness was evaporating fast now that Christmas was over. As the date of their departure back to Hogwarts drew nearer, he became more and more prone to what Mrs. Weasley called ‘fits of the sullens', in which he would become taciturn and grumpy, often withdrawing to Buckbeak's room for hours at a time. His gloom seeped through the house, oozing under doorways like some noxious gas, so that all of them became infected by it.
Harry didn't want to leave Sirius again with only Kreacher for company; in fact, for the first time in his life, he was not looking forward to returning to Hogwarts. Going back to school would mean placing himself once again under the tyranny of Dolores Umbridge, who had no doubt managed to force through another dozen decrees in their absence; there was no Quidditch to look forward to now that he had been banned, there was every likelihood that their burden of homework would increase as the exams drew even nearer; and Dumbledore remained as remote as ever. In fact, if it hadn't been for the DA, Harry thought he might have begged Sirius to let him leave Hogwarts and remain in Grimmauld Place.
Then, on the very last day of the holidays, something happened that made Harry positively dread his return to school.
‘Harry, dear,’ said Mrs. Weasley poking her head into his and Ron's bedroom, where the pair of them were playing wizard chess watched by Hermione, Ginny and Crookshanks, ‘could you come down to the kitchen? Professor Snape would like a word with you.’
Harry did not immediately register what she had said; one of his castles was engaged in a violent tussle with a pawn of Ron's and he was egging it on enthusiastically.
‘Squash him— squash him, he's only a pawn, you idiot. Sorry, Mrs. Weasley, what did you say?’
‘Professor Snape, dear. In the kitchen. He'd like a word.’
Harry's mouth fell open in horror. He looked around at Ron, Hermione and Ginny, all of whom were gaping back at him. Crookshanks, whom Hermione had been restraining with difficulty for the past quarter of an hour, leapt gleefully on to the board and set the pieces running for cover, squealing at the top of their voices.
‘Snape?’ said Harry blankly.
‘Professor Snape, dear,’ said Mrs. Weasley reprovingly. ‘Now come on, quickly, he says he can't stay long.’
‘What's he want with you?’ said Ron, looking unnerved as Mrs. Weasley withdrew from the room. ‘You haven't done anything, have you?’
‘No!’ said Harry indignantly, racking his brains to think what he could have done that would make Snape pursue him to Grimmauld Place. Had his last piece of homework perhaps earned a ‘T'?
A minute or two later, he pushed open the kitchen door to find Sirius and Snape both seated at the long kitchen table, glaring in opposite directions. The silence between them was heavy with mutual dislike. A letter lay open on the table in front of Sirius.
‘Er,’ said Harry, to announce his presence.
Snape looked around at him, his face framed between curtains of greasy black hair.
‘Sit down, Potter.’
‘You know,’ said Sirius loudly, leaning back on his rear chair legs and speaking to the ceiling, ‘I think I'd prefer it if you didn't give orders here, Snape. It's my house, you see.’
An ugly flush suffused Snape's pallid face. Harry sat down in a chair beside Sirius, facing Snape across the table.
‘I was supposed to see you alone, Potter,’ said Snape, the familiar sneer curling his mouth, ‘but Black—’
‘I'm his godfather,’ said Sirius, louder than ever.
‘I am here on Dumbledore's orders.’ said Snape, whose voice, by contrast, was becoming more and more quietly waspish, ‘but by all means stay, Black, I know you like to feel ... involved.’
‘What's that supposed to mean?’ said Sirius, letting his chair fall back on to all four legs with a loud bang.
‘Merely that I am sure you must feel—ah—frustrated by the fact that you can do nothing useful,’ Snape laid a delicate stress on the word, ‘for the Order.’
It was Sirius's turn to flush. Snape's lip curled in triumph as he turned to Harry.
‘The Headmaster has sent me to tell you, Potter, that it is his wish for you to study Occlumency this term.’
‘Study what?’ said Harry blankly.
Snape's sneer became more pronounced.
‘Occlumency, Potter. The magical defence of the mind against external penetration. An obscure branch of magic, but a highly useful one.’
Harry's heart began to pump very fast indeed. Defence against external penetration? But he was not being possessed, they had all agreed on that ...
‘Why do I have to study Occlu—thing?’ he blurted out.
‘Because the Headmaster thinks it a good idea,’ said Snape smoothly. ‘You will receive private lessons once a week, but you will not tell anybody what you are doing, least of all Dolores Umbridge. You understand?’
‘Yes,’ said Harry. ‘Who's going to be teaching me?’
Snape raised an eyebrow.
‘I am,’ he said.
Harry had the horrible sensation that his insides were melting.
Extra lessons with Snape—what on earth had he done to deserve this? He looked quickly round at Sirius for support.
‘Why can't Dumbledore teach Harry?’ asked Sirius aggressively. ‘Why you?’ 
‘I suppose because it is a headmaster's privilege to delegate less enjoyable tasks,’ said Snape silkily. ‘I assure you I did not beg for the job.’ He got to his feet. ‘I will expect you at six o'clock on Monday evening, Potter. My office. If anybody asks, you are taking remedial Potions. Nobody who has seen you in my classes could deny you need them.’
He turned to leave, his black travelling cloak billowing behind him.
‘Wait a moment,’ said Sirius, sitting up straighter in his chair.
Snape turned back to face them, sneering.
‘I am in rather a hurry, Black. Unlike you, I do not have unlimited leisure time.’
‘I'll get to the point, then,’ said Sirius, standing up. He was rather taller than Snape who, Harry noticed, balled his fist in the pocket of his cloak over what Harry was sure was the handle of his wand. ‘If I hear you're using these Occlumency lessons to give Harry a hard time, you'll have me to answer to.’
‘How touching,’ Snape sneered. ‘But surely you have noticed that Potter is very like his father?’
‘Yes, I have,’ said Sirius proudly.
‘Well then, you'll know he's so arrogant that criticism simply bounces off him,’ Snape said sleekly.
Sirius pushed his chair roughly aside and strode around the table towards Snape, pulling out his wand as he went. Snape whipped out his own. They were squaring up to each other, Sirius looking livid, Snape calculating, his eyes darting from Sirius's wand-tip to his face.
‘Sirius!’ said Harry loudly, but Sirius appeared not to hear him.
‘I've warned you, Snivelus,’ said Sirius, his face barely a foot from Snape's, ‘I don't care if Dumbledore thinks you've reformed, I know better—’ 
‘Oh, but why don't you tell him so?’ whispered Snape. ‘Or are you afraid he might not take very seriously the advice of a man who has been hiding inside his mother's house for six months?’
‘Tell me, how is Lucius Malfoy these days? I expect he's delighted his lapdog's working at Hogwarts, isn't he?’
‘Speaking of dogs,’ said Snape softly, ‘did you know that Lucius Malfoy recognised you last time you risked a little jaunt outside? Clever idea, Black, getting yourself seen on a safe station platform ... gave you a cast-iron excuse not to leave your hidey-hole in future, didn't it?’
Sirius raised his wand.
‘NO!’ Harry yelled, vaulting over the table and trying to get in between them. ‘Sirius, don't!’
‘Are you calling me a coward?’ roared Sirius, trying to push Harry out of the way, but Harry would not budge.
‘Why, yes, I suppose I am,’ said Snape.
‘Harry—get— out—of—it!’ snarled Sirius, pushing him aside with his free hand.
The kitchen door opened and the entire Weasley family, plus Hermione, came inside, all looking very happy, with Mr. Weasley walking proudly in their midst dressed in a pair of striped pyjamas covered by a mackintosh.
‘Cured!’ he announced brightly to the kitchen at large. ‘Completely cured!’ 
He and all the other Weasleys froze on the threshold, gazing at the scene in front of them, which was also suspended in mid-action, both Sirius and Snape looking towards the door with their wands pointing into each other's faces and Harry immobile between them, a hand stretched out to each, trying to force them apart.
‘Merlin's beard,’ said Mr. Weasley, the smile sliding off his face, ‘what's going on here?’
Both Sirius and Snape lowered their wands. Harry looked from one to the other. Each wore an expression of utmost contempt, yet the unexpected entrance of so many witnesses seemed to have brought them to their senses. Snape pocketed his wand, turned on his heel and swept back across the kitchen, passing the Weasleys without comment. At the door he looked back.
‘Six o'clock, Monday evening, Potter.’
And he was gone. Sirius glared after him, his wand at his side.
‘What's been going on?’ asked Mr. Weasley again.
‘Nothing, Arthur,’ said Sirius, who was breathing heavily as though he had just run a long distance. ‘Just a friendly little chat between two old school friends.’ With what looked like an enormous effort, he smiled. ‘So ... you're cured? That's great news, really great.’
‘Yes, isn't it?’ said Mrs. Weasley, leading her husband forward to a chair. ‘Healer Smethwyck worked his magic in the end, found an antidote to whatever that snake's got in its fangs, and Arthur's learned his lesson about dabbling in Muggle medicine, haven't you, dear?’ she added, rather menacingly.
‘Yes, Molly dear,’ said Mr. Weasley meekly.
‘That night's meal should have been a cheerful one, with Mr. Weasley back amongst them. Harry could tell Sirius was trying to make it so, yet when his godfather was not forcing himself to laugh loudly at Fred and George's jokes or offering everyone more food, his face fell back into a moody, brooding expression. Harry was separated from him by Mundungus and Mad-Eye, who had dropped in to offer Mr. Weasley their congratulations. He wanted to talk to Sirius, to tell him he shouldn't listen to a word Snape said, that Snape was goading him deliberately and that the rest of them didn't think Sirius was a coward for doing as Dumbledore told him and remaining in Grimmauld Place. But he had no opportunity to do so, and, eyeing the ugly look on Sirius's face, Harry wondered occasionally whether he would have dared to mention it even if he had the chance. Instead, he told Ron and Hermione under his voice about having to take Occlumency lessons with Snape.
‘Dumbledore wants to stop you having those dreams about Voldemort,’ said Hermione at once. ‘Well, you won't be sorry not to have them any more, will you?’
‘Extra lessons with Snape?’ said Ron, sounding aghast. ‘I'd rather have the nightmares!’
They were to return to Hogwarts on the Knight Bus the following day, escorted once again by Tonks and Lupin, both of whom were eating breakfast in the kitchen when Harry, Ron and Hermione came down next morning. The adults seemed to have been mid-way through a whispered conversation as Harry opened the door; all of them looked round hastily and fell silent.
After a hurried breakfast, they all pulled on jackets and scarves against the chilly grey January morning. Harry had an unpleasant constricted sensation in his chest; he did not want to say goodbye to Sirius. He had a bad feeling about this parting; he didn't know when they would next see each other and he felt it was incumbent upon him to say something to Sirius to stop him doing anything stupid—Harry was worried that Snape's accusation of cowardice had stung Sirius so badly he might even now be planning some foolhardy trip beyond Grimmauld Place. Before he could think of what to say, however, Sirius had beckoned him to his side.
‘I want you to take this,’ he said quietly, thrusting a badly wrapped package roughly the size of a paperback book into Harry's hands.
‘What is it?’ Harry asked.
‘A way of letting me know if Snape's giving you a hard time. No, don't open it in here!’ said Sirius, with a wary look at Mrs. Weasley, who was trying to persuade the twins to wear hand-knitted mittens. ‘I doubt Molly would approve—but I want you to use it if you need me, all right?’
‘OK,’ said Harry, stowing the package away in the inside pocket of his jacket, but he knew he would never use whatever it was. It would not be he, Harry, who lured Sirius from his place of safety, no matter how foully Snape treated him in their forthcoming Occlumency classes.
‘Let's go, then,’ said Sirius, clapping Harry on the shoulder and smiling grimly, and before Harry could say anything else, they were heading upstairs, stopping before the heavily chained and bolted front door, surrounded by Weasleys.
‘Goodbye, Harry, take care,’ said Mrs. Weasley, hugging him.
‘See you, Harry, and keep an eye out for snakes for me!’ said Mr. Weasley genially, shaking his hand.
‘Right—yeah,’ said Harry distractedly; it was his last chance to tell Sirius to be careful; he turned, looked into his godfather's face and opened his mouth to speak, but before he could do so Sirius was giving him a brief, one-armed hug, and saying gruffly, ‘Look after yourself, Harry.’ Next moment, Harry found himself being shunted out into the icy winter air, with Tonks (today heavily disguised as a tall, tweedy woman with iron-grey hair) chivvying him down the steps.
The door of number twelve slammed shut behind them. They followed Lupin down the front steps. As he reached the pavement, Harry looked round. Number twelve was shrinking rapidly as those on either side of it stretched sideways, squeezing it out of sight. One blink later, it had gone.
‘Come on, the quicker we get on the bus the better,’ said Tonks, and Harry thought there was nervousness in the glance she threw around the square. Lupin flung out his right arm.
BANG.
A violently purple, triple-decker bus had appeared out of thin air in front of them, narrowly avoiding the nearest lamppost, which jumped backwards out of its way.
A thin, pimply, jug-eared youth in a purple uniform leapt down on to the pavement and said, ‘Welcome to the—’
‘Yes, yes, we know, thank you,’ said Tonks swiftly. ‘On, on, get on—’ 
And she shoved Harry forwards towards the steps, past the conductor, who goggled at Harry as he passed.
’ ‘Ere—it's ‘Arry—!’
‘If you shout his name I will curse you into oblivion,’ muttered Tonks menacingly, now shunting Ginny and Hermione forwards.
‘I've always wanted to go on this thing,’ said Ron happily, joining Harry on board and looking around.
It had been evening the last time Harry had travelled by Knight Bus and its three decks had been full of brass bedsteads. Now, in the early morning, it was crammed with an assortment of mismatched chairs grouped haphazardly around windows. Some of these appeared to have fallen over when the bus stopped abruptly in Grimmauld Place; a few witches and wizards were still getting to their feet, grumbling, and somebody's shopping bag had slid the length of the bus: an unpleasant mixture of frogspawn, cockroaches and custard creams was scattered all over the floor.
‘Looks like we'll have to split up,’ said Tonks briskly, looking a.round for empty chairs. ‘Fred, George and Ginny, if you just take those seats at the back ... Remus can stay with you.’
She, Harry, Ron and Hermione proceeded up to the very top deck, where there were two unoccupied chairs at the very front of the bus and two at the back. Stan Shunpike, the conductor, followed Harry and Ron eagerly to the back. Heads turned as Harry passed and, when he sat down, he saw all the faces flick back to the front again.
As Harry and Ron handed Stan eleven Sickles each, the bus set off again, swaying ominously. It rumbled around Grimmauld Place, weaving on and off the pavement, then, with another tremendous BANG, they were all flung backwards; Ron's chair toppled right over and Pigwidgeon, who had been on his lap, burst out of his cage and flew twittering wildly up to the front of the bus where he fluttered down on to Hermione's shoulder instead. Harry, who had narrowly avoided falling by seizing a candle bracket, looked out of the window: they were now speeding down what appeared to be a motorway.
‘Just outside Birmingham,’ said Stan happily, answering Harry's unasked question as Ron struggled up from the floor. ‘You keepin’ well, then, ‘Arry? I seen your name in the paper loads over the summer, but it weren't never nuffink very nice. I said to Ern, I said, ‘e didn't seem like a nutter when we met ‘im, just goes to show, dunnit?’
He handed over their tickets and continued to gaze, enthralled, at Harry. Apparently, Stan did not care how nutty somebody was, if they were famous enough to be in the paper. The Knight Bus swayed alarmingly, overtaking a line of cars on the inside. Looking towards the front of the bus, Harry saw Hermione cover her eyes with her hands, Pigwidgeon swaying happily on her shoulder.
BANG.
Chairs slid backwards again as the Knight Bus jumped from the Birmingham motorway to a quiet country lane full of hairpin bends. Hedgerows on either side of the road were leaping out of their way as they mounted the verges. From here they moved to a main street in the middle of a busy town, then to a viaduct surrounded by tall hills, then to a windswept road between high-rise flats, each time with a loud BANG.
‘I've changed my mind,’ muttered Ron, picking himself up from the floor for the sixth time, ‘I never want to ride on this thing again.’
‘Listen, it's ‘Ogwarts stop after this,’ said Stan brightly, swaying towards them. ‘That bossy woman up front ‘oo got on with you, she's given us a little tip to move you up the queue. We're just gonna let Madam Marsh off first, though—there was a retching sound from downstairs, followed by a horrible spattering noise— she's not feeling ‘er best.’
A few minutes later, the Knight Bus screeched to a halt outside a small pub, which squeezed itself out of the way to avoid a collision. They could hear Stan ushering the unfortunate Madam Marsh out of the bus and the relieved murmurings of her fellow passengers on the second deck. The bus moved on again, gathering speed, until—
BANG.
They were rolling through a snowy Hogsmeade. Harry caught a glimpse of the Hog's Head down its side street, the severed boar's head sign creaking in the wintry wind. Flecks of snow hit the large window at the front of the bus. At last they rolled to a halt outside the gates to Hogwarts.
Lupin and Tonks helped them off the bus with their luggage, then got off to say goodbye. Harry glanced up at the three decks of the Knight Bus and saw all the passengers staring down at them, noses flat against the windows.
‘You'll be safe once you're in the grounds,’ said Tonks, casting a careful eye around at the deserted road. ‘Have a good term, OK?’
‘Look after yourselves,’ said Lupin, shaking hands all round and reaching Harry last. ‘And listen ...’ he lowered his voice while the rest of them exchanged last-minute goodbyes with Tonks, ‘Harry, I know you don't like Snape, but he is a superb Occlumens and we all—Sirius included—want you to learn to protect yourself, so work hard, all right?’
‘Yeah, all right,’ said Harry heavily, looking up into Lupin's prematurely lined face. ‘See you, then.’
The six of them struggled up the slippery drive towards the castle, dragging their trunks. Hermione was already talking about knitting a few elf hats before bedtime. Harry glanced back when they reached the oaken front doors; the Knight Bus had already gone and he half-wished, given what was coming the following evening, that he was still on board.
Harry spent most of the next day dreading the evening. His morning double-Potions lesson did nothing to dispel his trepidation, as Snape was as unpleasant as ever. His mood was further lowered by the DA members constantly approaching him in the corridors between classes, asking hopefully if there would be a meeting that night.
‘I'll let you know in the usual way when the next one is,’ Harry said over and over again, ‘but I can't do it tonight, I've got to go to—er—remedial Potions.’
‘You take remedial Potions?’ asked Zacharias Smith superciliously, having cornered Harry in the Entrance Hall after lunch. ‘Good Lord, you must be terrible. Snape doesn't usually give extra lessons, does he?’
As Smith strode away in an annoyingly buoyant fashion, Ron glared after him.
‘Shall I jinx him? I can still get him from here,’ he said, raising his wand and taking aim between Smith's shoulder blades.
‘Forget it,’ said Harry dismally. ‘It's what everyone's going to think, isn't it? That I'm really stup—’
‘Hi, Harry,’ said a voice behind him. He turned round and found Cho standing there.
‘Oh,’ said Harry as his stomach leapt uncomfortably. ‘Hi.’
‘We'll be in the library, Harry,’ said Hermione firmly as she seized Ron above the elbow and dragged him off towards the marble staircase.
‘Had a good Christmas?’ asked Cho.
‘Yeah, not bad,’ said Harry.
‘Mine was pretty quiet,’ said Cho. For some reason, she was looking rather embarrassed. ‘Erm ... there's another Hogsmeade trip next month, did you see the notice?’
‘What? Oh, no, I haven't checked the noticeboard since I got back.’
‘Yes, it's on Valentines Day ...’
‘Right,’ said Harry, wondering why she was telling him this. ‘Well, I suppose you want to— ?’
‘Only if you do,’ she said eagerly.
Harry stared. He had been about to say, ‘I suppose you want to know when the next DA meeting is?’ but her response did not seem to fit.
‘I—er—’ he said.
‘Oh, it's OK if you don't,’ she said, looking mortified. ‘Don't worry. I—I'll see you around.’
She walked away. Harry stood staring after her, his brain working frantically. Then something clunked into place.
‘Cho! Hey—CHO!’
He ran after her, catching her halfway up the marble staircase.
‘Er—d'you want to come into Hogsmeade with me on Valentine's Day?’
‘Oooh, yes!’ she said, blushing crimson and beaming at him.
‘Right ... well ... that's settled then,’ said Harry, and feeling that the day was not going to be a complete loss after all, he virtually bounced off to the library to pick up Ron and Hermione before their afternoon lessons.
By six o'clock that evening, however, even the glow of having successfully asked out Cho Chang could not lighten the ominous feelings that intensified with every step Harry took towards Snape's office.
He paused outside the door when he reached it, wishing he were almost anywhere else, then, taking a deep breath, he knocked and entered.
The shadowy room was lined with shelves bearing hundreds of glass jars in which slimy bits of animals and plants were suspended in variously coloured potions. In one corner stood the cupboard full of ingredients that Snape had once accused Harry—not without reason—of robbing. Harry's attention was drawn towards the desk, however, where a shallow stone basin engraved with runes and symbols lay in a pool of candlelight. Harry recognised it at once—it was Dumbledore's Pensieve. Wondering what on earth it was doing there, he jumped when Snape's cold voice came out of the shadows.
‘Shut the door behind you, Potter.’
Harry did as he was told, with the horrible feeling that he was imprisoning himself. When he turned back into the room, Snape had moved into the light and was pointing silently at the chair opposite his desk. Harry sat down and so did Snape, his cold black eyes fixed unblinkingly upon Harry, dislike etched in every line of his face.
‘Well, Potter, you know why you are here,’ he said. ‘The Headmaster has asked me to teach you Occlumency. I can only hope that you prove more adept at it than at Potions.’
‘Right,’ said Harry tersely.
‘This may not be an ordinary class, Potter,’ said Snape, his eyes narrowed malevolently, ‘but I am still your teacher and you will therefore call me “sir” or “Professor” at all times.’
‘Yes ... sir,’ said Harry.
Snape continued to survey him through narrowed eyes for a moment, then said, ‘Now, Occlumency. As I told you back in your dear godfather's kitchen, this branch of magic seals the mind against magical intrusion and influence.’
‘And why does Professor Dumbledore think I need it, sir?’ said Harry looking directly into Snape's eyes and wondering whether Snape would answer.
Snape looked back at him for a moment and then said contemptuously, ‘Surely even you could have worked that out by now, Potter? The Dark Lord is highly skilled at Legilimency —’
‘What's that? Sir?’
‘It is the ability to extract feelings and memories from another person's mind—’
‘He can read minds?’ said Harry quickly, his worst fears confirmed.
‘You have no subtlety, Potter,’ said Snape, his dark eyes glittering. ‘You do not understand fine distinctions. It is one of the shortcomings that makes you such a lamentable potion-maker.’
Snape paused for a moment, apparently to savour the pleasure of insulting Harry, before continuing.
‘Only Muggles talk of “mind-reading". The mind is not a book, to be opened at will and examined at leisure. Thoughts are not etched on the inside of skulls, to be perused by any invader, the mind is a complex and many-layered thing, Potter— or at least, most minds are.’ He smirked. ‘It is true, however, that those who have mastered Legilimency are able, under certain conditions, to delve into the minds of their victims and to interpret their findings correctly. The Dark Lord, for instance, almost always knows when somebody is lying to him. Only those skilled at Occlumency are able to shut down those feelings and memories that contradict the lie, and so can utter falsehoods in his presence without detection.’
Whatever Snape said, Legilimency sounded like mind-reading to Harry, and he didn't like the sound of it at all.
‘So he could know what we're thinking right now? Sir?’
‘The Dark Lord is at a considerable distance and the walls and grounds of Hogwarts are guarded by many ancient spells and charms to ensure the bodily and mental safety of those who dwell within them,’ said Snape. ‘Time and space matter in magic, Potter. Eye contact is often essential to Legilimency.’
‘Well then, why do I have to learn Occlumency?’
Snape eyed Harry, tracing his mouth with one long, thin finger as he did so.
‘The usual rules do not seem to apply with you, Potter. The curse that failed to kill you seems to have forged some kind of connection between you and the Dark Lord. The evidence suggests that at times, when your mind is most relaxed and vulnerable —when you are asleep, for instance—you are sharing the Dark Lord's thoughts and emotions. The Headmaster thinks it inadvisable for this to continue. He wishes me to teach you how to close your mind to the Dark Lord.’
Harry's heart was pumping fast again. None of this added up.
‘But why does Professor Dumbledore want to stop it?’ he asked abruptly. ‘I don't like it much, but it's been useful, hasn't it? I mean ... I saw that snake attack Mr Weasley and if I hadn't, Professor Dumbledore wouldn't have been able to save him, would he? Sir?’
Snape stared at Harry for a few moments, still tracing his mouth with his finger. When he spoke again, it was slowly and deliberately, as though he weighed every word.
‘It appears that the Dark Lord has been unaware of the connection between you and himself until very recently. Up till now it seems that you have been experiencing his emotions, and sharing his thoughts, without his being any the wiser. However, the vision you had shortly before Christmas—’
‘The one with the snake and Mr. Weasley?’
‘Do not interrupt me, Potter,’ said Snape in a dangerous voice. ‘As I was saying, the vision you had shortly before Christmas represented such a powerful incursion upon the Dark Lord's thoughts—’
‘I saw inside the snake's head, not his!’
‘I thought I just told you not to interrupt me, Potter?’
But Harry did not care if Snape was angry; at last he seemed to be getting to the bottom of this business; he had moved forwards in his chair so that, without realising it, he was perched on the very edge, tense as though poised for flight.
‘How come I saw through the snake's eyes if it's Voldemort's thoughts I'm sharing?’
‘Do not say the Dark Lord's name!’ spat Snape.
There was a nasty silence. They glared at each other across the Pensieve.
‘Professor Dumbledore says his name.’ said Harry quietly.
‘Dumbledore is an extremely powerful wizard,’ Snape muttered. ‘While he may feel secure enough to use the name ... the rest of us ...’ He rubbed his left forearm, apparently unconsciously, on the spot where Harry knew the Dark Mark was burned into his skin.
‘I just wanted to know,’ Harry began again, forcing his voice back to politeness, ‘why—’
‘You seem to have visited the snake's mind because that was where the Dark Lord was at that particular moment,’ snarled Snape. ‘He was possessing the snake at the time and so you dreamed you were inside it, too.’
‘And Vol—he— realised I was there?’
‘It seems so,’ said Snape coolly.
‘How do you know?’ said Harry urgently. ‘Is this just Professor Dumbledore guessing, or— ?’
‘I told you,’ said Snape, rigid in his chair, his eyes slits, ‘to call me “sir".
‘Yes, sir,’ said Harry impatiently, ‘but how do you know—'?
‘It is enough that we know,’ said Snape repressively. ‘The important point is that the Dark Lord is now aware that you are gaining access to his thoughts and feelings. He has also deduced that the process is likely to work in reverse; that is to say, he has realised that he might be able to access your thoughts and feelings in return—’
‘And he might try and make me do things?’ asked Harry. ‘Sir?’ he added hurriedly.
‘He might,’ said Snape, sounding cold and unconcerned. ‘Which brings us back to Occlumency.’
Snape pulled out his wand from an inside pocket of his robes and Harry tensed in his chair, but Snape merely raised the wand to his temple and placed its tip into the greasy roots of his hair. When he withdrew it, some silvery substance came away, stretching from temple to wand like a thick gossamer strand, which broke as he pulled the wand away from it and fell gracefully into the Pensieve, where it swirled silvery-white, neither gas nor liquid. Twice more, Snape raised the wand to his temple and deposited the silvery substance into the stone basin, then, without offering any explanation of his behaviour, he picked up the Pensieve carefully, removed it to a shelf out of their way and returned to face Harry with his wand held at the ready.
‘Stand up and take out your wand, Potter.’
Harry got to his feet, feeling nervous. They faced each other with the desk between them.
‘You may use your wand to attempt to disarm me, or defend yourself in any other way you can think of,’ said Snape.
‘And what are you going to do?’ Harry asked, eyeing Snape's wand apprehensively.
‘I am about to attempt to break into your mind,’ said Snape softly. ‘We are going to see how well you resist. I have been told that you have already shown aptitude at resisting the Imperius Curse. You will find that similar powers are needed for this ... brace yourself, now. Legilimens!’
Snape had struck before Harry was ready, before he had even begun to summon any force of resistance. The office swam in front of his eyes and vanished; image after image was racing through his mind like a flickering film so vivid it blinded him to his surroundings.
He was five, watching Dudley riding a new red bicycle, and his heart was bursting with jealousy ... he was nine, and Ripper the bulldog was chasing him up a tree and the Dursleys were laughing below on the lawn ... he was sitting under the Sorting Hat, and it was telling him he would do well in Slytherin ... Hermione was lying in the hospital wing, her face covered with thick black hair ... a hundred dementors were closing in on him beside the dark lake ... Cho Chang was drawing nearer to him under the mistletoe ...
No, said a voice inside Harry's head, as the memory of Cho drew nearer, you're not watching that, you're not watching it, it's private—
He felt a sharp pain in his knee. Snape's office had come back into view and he realised that he had fallen to the floor; one of his knees had collided painfully with the leg of Snape's desk. He looked up at Snape, who had lowered his wand and was rubbing his wrist. There was an angry weal there, like a scorch mark.
‘Did you mean to produce a Stinging Hex?’ asked Snape coolly.
‘No,’ said Harry bitterly, getting up from the floor.
‘I thought not,’ said Snape, watching him closely. ‘You let me get in too far. You lost control.’
‘Did you see everything I saw?’ Harry asked, unsure whether he wanted to hear the answer.
‘Flashes of it,’ said Snape, his lip curling. ‘To whom did the dog belong?’ 
‘My Aunt Marge,’ Harry muttered, hating Snape.
‘Well, for a first attempt that was not as poor as it might have been,’ said Snape, raising his wand once more. ‘You managed to stop me eventually, though you wasted time and energy shouting. You must remain focused. Repel me with your brain and you will not need to resort to your wand.’
‘I'm trying,’ said Harry angrily, ‘but you're not telling me how!’
‘Manners, Potter,’ said Snape dangerously. ‘Now, I want you to close your eyes.’
Harry threw him a filthy look before doing as he was told. He did not like the idea of standing there with his eyes shut while Snape faced him, carrying a wand.
‘Clear your mind, Potter,’ said Snape's cold voice. ‘Let go of all emotion ...’
But Harry's anger at Snape continued to pound through his veins like venom. Let go of his anger? He could as easily detach his legs ...
‘You're not doing it, Potter ... you will need more discipline than this ... focus, now ...’
Harry tried to empty his mind, tried not to think, or remember, or feel ...
‘Let's go again ... on the count of three ... one—two—three—Legilimens!’
A great black dragon was rearing in front of him ... his father and mother were waving at him out of an enchanted mirror ... Cedric Diggory was lying on the ground with blank eyes staring at him ...
‘NOOOOOOO!’
Harry was on his knees again, his face buried in his hands, his brain aching as though someone had been trying to pull it from his skull.
‘Get up!’ said Snape sharply. ‘Get up! You are not trying, you are making no effort. You are allowing me access to memories you fear, handing me weapons!’
Harry stood up again, his heart thumping wildly as though he had really just seen Cedric dead in the graveyard. Snape looked paler than usual, and angrier, though not nearly as angry as Harry was.
‘I—am—making —an—effort,’ he said through clenched teeth.
‘I told you to empty yourself of emotion!’
‘Yeah? Well, I'm finding that hard at the moment,’ Harry snarled.
‘Then you will find yourself easy prey for the Dark Lord!’ said Snape savagely. ‘Fools who wear their hearts proudly on their sleeves, who cannot control their emotions, who wallow in sad memories and allow themselves to be provoked so easily—weak people, in other words—they stand no chance against his powers! He will penetrate your mind with absurd ease, Potter!’
‘I am not weak,’ said Harry in a low voice, fury now pumping through him so that he thought he might attack Snape in a moment.
‘Then prove it! Master yourself!’ spat Snape. ‘Control your anger, discipline your mind! We shall try again! Get ready, now! Legilimens!’ 
He was watching Uncle Vernon hammering the letterbox shut ... a hundred dementors were drifting across the lake in the grounds towards him ... he was running along a windowless passage with Mr. Weasley ... they were drawing nearer to the plain black door at the end of the corridor ... Harry expected to go through it ... but Mr. Weasley led him off to the left, down a flight of stone steps ...
‘I KNOW! I KNOW!’
He was on all fours again on Snape's office floor, his scar was prickling unpleasantly, but the voice that had just issued from his mouth was triumphant. He pushed himself up again to find Snape storing at him, his wand raised. It looked as though, this time, Snape had lifted the spell before Harry had even tried to fight back.
‘What happened then, Potter?’ he asked, eyeing Harry intently.
‘I saw—I remembered,’ Harry panted. ‘I've just realised ...’
‘Realised what?’ asked Snape sharply.
Harry did not answer at once; he was still savouring the moment of blinding realisation as he rubbed his forehead ...
He had been dreaming about a windowless corridor ending in a locked door for months, without once realising that it was a real place. Now, seeing the memory again, he knew that all along he had been dreaming about the corridor down which he had run with Mr. Weasley on the twelfth of August as they hurried to the courtrooms in the Ministry; it was the corridor leading to the Department of Mysteries and Mr. Weasley had been there the night that he had been attacked by Voldemort's snake.
He looked up at Snape.
‘What's in the Department of Mysteries?’
‘What did you say?’ Snape asked quietly and Harry saw, with deep satisfaction, that Snape was unnerved.
‘I said, what's in the Department of Mysteries, sir?’ Harry said.
‘And why,’ said Snape slowly, ‘would you ask such a thing?’
‘Because,’ said Harry, watching Snape's face closely, ‘that corridor I've just seen—I've been dreaming about it for months—I've just recognised it—it leads to the Department of Mysteries ... and I think Voldemort wants something from—’
‘I have told you not to say the Dark Lord's name!’
They glared at each other. Harry's scar seared again, but he did not care. Snape looked agitated; but when he spoke again he sounded as though he was trying to appear cool and unconcerned.
‘There are many things in the Department of Mysteries, Potter, few of which you would understand and none of which concern you. Do I make myself plain?’ 
‘Yes,’ Harry said, still rubbing his prickling scar, which was becoming more painful.
‘I want you back here same time on Wednesday. We will continue work then.’ 
‘Fine,’ said Harry. He was desperate to get out of Snape's office and find Ron and Hermione.
‘You are to rid your mind of all emotion every night before sleep; empty it, make it blank and calm, you understand?’
‘Yes,’ said Harry, who was barely listening.
‘And be warned, Potter ... I shall know if you have not practised ...’
‘Right,’ Harry mumbled. He picked up his schoolbag, swung it over his shoulder and hurried towards the office door. As he opened it, he glanced back at Snape, who had his back to Harry and was scooping his own thoughts out of the Pensieve with the tip of his wand and replacing them carefully inside his own head. Harry left without another word, closing the door carefully behind him, his scar still throbbing painfully.
Harry found Ron and Hermione in the library, where they were working on Umbridge's most recent ream of homework. Other students, nearly all of them fifth-years, sat at lamp-lit tables nearby, noses close to books, quills scratching feverishly, while the sky outside the mullioned windows grew steadily blacker. The only other sound was the slight squeaking of one of Madam Pince's shoes, as the librarian prowled the aisles menacingly, breathing down the necks of those touching her precious books.
Harry felt shivery; his scar was still aching, he felt almost feverish.
When he sat down opposite Ron and Hermione, he caught sight of himself in the window opposite; he was very white and his scar seemed to be showing up more clearly than usual.
‘How did it go?’ Hermione whispered, and then, looking concerned. ‘Are you all right, Harry?’
‘Yeah ... fine ... I dunno,’ said Harry impatiently, wincing as pain shot through his scar again. ‘Listen ... I've just realised something ...’
And he told them what he had just seen and deduced.
‘So ... so are you saying ...’ whispered Ron, as Madam Pince swept past, squeaking slightly ‘that the weapon—the thing You-Know-Who's after—is in the Ministry of Magic?’
‘In the Department of Mysteries, it's got to be,’ Harry whispered. ‘I saw that door when your dad took me down to the courtrooms for my hearing and it's definitely the same one he was guarding when the snake bit him.’
Hermione let out a long, slow sigh.
‘Of course,’ she breathed.
‘Of course what?’ said Ron rather impatiently.
‘Ron, think about it... Sturgis Podmore was trying to get through a door at the Ministry of Magic ... it must have been that one, it's too much of a coincidence!’
‘How come Sturgis was trying to break in when he's on our side?’ said Ron.
‘Well, I don't know,’ Hermione admitted. ‘That is a bit odd ...’
‘So what's in the Department of Mysteries?’ Harry asked Ron. ‘Has your dad ever mentioned anything about it?’
‘I know they call the people who work in there “Unspeakables",’ said Ron, frowning. ‘Because no one really seems to know what they do—weird place to have a weapon.’
‘It's not weird at all, it makes perfect sense,’ said Hermione. ‘It will be something top secret that the Ministry has been developing, I expect ... Harry, are you sure you're all right?’
For Harry had just run both his hands hard over his forehead as though trying to iron it.
‘Yeah ... fine ...’ he said, lowering his hands, which were trembling. ‘I just feel a bit ... I don't like Occlumency much.’
‘I expect anyone would feel snaky if they'd had their mind attacked over and over again,’ said Hermione sympathetically. ‘Look, let's get back to the common room, we'll be a bit more comfortable there.’
But the common room was packed and full of shrieks of laughter and excitement; Fred and George were demonstrating their latest bit of joke shop merchandise.
‘Headless Hats!’ shouted George, as Fred waved a pointed hat decorated with a fluffy pink feather at the watching students. ‘Two Galleons each, watch Fred, now!’
Fred swept the hat on to his head, beaming. For a second he merely looked rather stupid; then both hat and head vanished.
Several girls screamed, but everyone else was roaring with laughter.
‘And off again!’ shouted George, and Fred's hand groped for a moment in what seemed to be thin air over his shoulder; then his head reappeared as he swept the pink-feathered hat from it.
‘How do those hats work, then?’ said Hermione, distracted from her homework and watching Fred and George closely. ‘I mean, obviously it's some kind of Invisibility Spell, but it's rather clever to have extended the field of invisibility beyond the boundaries of the charmed object ... I'd imagine the charm wouldn't have a very long life though.’
Harry did not answer; he was feeling ill.
‘I'm going to have to do this tomorrow,’ he muttered, pushing the books he had just taken out of his bag back inside it.
‘Well, write it in your homework planner then!’ said Hermione encouragingly. ‘So you don't forget!’
Harry and Ron exchanged looks as he reached into his bag, withdrew the planner and opened it tentatively.
‘Don't leave it till later, you big second-rater!’ chided the book as Harry scribbled down Umbridge's homework. Hermione beamed at it.
‘I think I'll go to bed,’ said Harry, stuffing the homework planner back into his bag and making a mental note to drop it in the fire the first opportunity he got.
He walked across the common room, dodging George, who tried to put a Headless Hat on him, and reached the peace and cool of the stone staircase to the boys’ dormitories. He was feeling sick again, just as he had the night he had had the vision of the snake, but thought that if he could just lie down for a while he would be all right.
He opened the door of his dormitory and was one step inside it when he experienced pain so severe he thought that someone must have sliced into the top of his head. He did not know where be was, whether he was standing or lying down, he did not even know his own name.
Maniacal laughter was ringing in his ears ... he was happier than he had been in a very long time ... jubilant, ecstatic, triumphant ... a wonderful, wonderful thing had happened ...
‘Harry? HARRY!’
Someone had hit him around the face. The insane laughter was punctuated with a cry of pain. The happiness was draining out of him, but the laughter continued ...
He opened his eyes and, as he did so, he became aware that the wild laughter was coming out of his own mouth. The moment he realised this, it died away; Harry lay panting on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, the scar on his forehead throbbing horribly. Ron was bending over him, looking very worried.
‘What happened?’ he said.
‘I ... dunno ...’ Harry gasped, sitting up again. ‘He's really happy ... really happy ...’
‘You-Know-Who is?’
‘Something good's happened,’ mumbled Harry. He was shaking as badly as he had done after seeing the snake attack Mr. Weasley and felt very sick. ‘Something he's been hoping for.’
The words came, just as they had back in the Gryffindor changing room, as though a stranger was speaking them through Harry's mouth, yet he knew they were true. He took deep breaths, willing himself not to vomit all over Ron. He was very glad that Dean and Seamus were not here to watch this time.
‘Hermione told me to come and check on you,’ said Ron in a low voice, helping Harry to his feet. ‘She says your defences will be low at the moment, after Snape's been fiddling around with your mind ... still, I suppose it'll help in the long run, won't it?’ He looked doubtfully at Harry as he helped him towards his bed. Harry nodded without any conviction and slumped back on his pillows, aching all over from having fallen to the floor so often that evening, his scar still prickling painfully. He could not help feeling that his first foray into Occlumency had weakened his mind's resistance rather than strengthening it, and he wondered, with a feeling of great trepidation, what had happened to make Lord Voldemort the happiest he had been in fourteen years.
Kreacher，它得知后，在阁楼中潜藏着。 天狼星说他已经在那里的灰尘中发现他， 没有疑问，布莱克家的较多神圣的遗物藏在他的碗柜中。 虽然天狼星对这个房子感到满意，但它使哈利感到不安。 不过当Kreacher 再次出现时似乎有一个不错的心情， 他的苦楚地喃喃自语已经有些平息，而且他比平时更容易服从命令，虽然哈利有一两次看到了家养小精灵在热望地注视 着他， 但是总是在引起哈利的注意之后很快地离开。 
　　哈利并不在意他对天狼星含糊的怀疑， 高兴的心情在圣诞节结束之后快速地散匿了。 当他们回霍格瓦彻的日期一日一日地逼近时，他越来越相信威斯里太太所说的“突如其来的愤怒”，他变得沉默寡言的和暴躁，时常用数小时的时间搬回到巴克比克的房间。他的忧郁飞出屋子，像一些有毒气体一样飞出了房子，所以他们全部都被它传染。 
　　哈利不想再一次孤独地把 Kreacher 留给天狼星；事实上，在他生命中的第一次，他不在想回到霍格瓦彻。回到学校将意谓着将他自己再一次置身在德洛丽丝·昂布瑞吉的压迫统治之下，不用怀疑他能设法逃过他们另外强加的一大堆法令;没有魁地奇的企盼，他已经被禁止了；他们家庭作业的负担会当考试得逼近而与日俱增；而且丹伯多对他保持疏远的状态。事实上，假如它不是为防卫协会（Defence Association），哈利想他应该可以请求天狼星让他离开霍格瓦彻，继续在老房子呆着。 
　　所以，在假日的最后几天，发生的一些事使哈利恐惧他回返到学校。 
　　“哈利，亲爱的，”威斯里太太说道，把头部伸进了他和罗恩的卧室，他们正在玩巫师棋的地方，荷米恩在一旁观看。金妮和克鲁克山，“你可以下去到厨房吗？教授想要对你说一些话。” 
　　哈利并没有马上记住她所说的话；他的一个城堡被罗恩的一个卒猛烈的攻击，而且他在兴奋地耸恿它。 
　　“压扁他——压扁他，他只是一个卒，你真笨。对不起，威斯里太太，你刚才在说什么？” 
　　“斯内普教授，亲爱的。 在厨房中， 他要对你说一些话。” 
　　哈利的嘴极端厌恶地张开了。他在环视着罗恩、荷米恩和金妮，他们正在对他打哈欠。克鲁克山， 那个荷米恩在前十五分钟不容易抑制的，愉快地在会议桌上跳跃，在隐蔽的地方乱跑，发出比别人都大的嚎叫声。 “斯内普？”哈利茫然地说。 
　　“斯内普教授，亲爱的，”威斯里太太责难似地说道。 “现在过去，快点，他说不能呆很久。” “他想对你作什么？”罗恩说，在威斯里太太走出房间之后，他看起来失去了力气。“你没有做任何事，是吗？” 
　　“没有！”哈利愤怒地说，绞尽他的脑汁想他做了什么以至于使斯内普追到老房子来。因为他的最后一次作业得了“T”？ 
　　一两分钟后， 他推开了厨房的门，在长长的厨桌上找到了天狼星和斯内普，坐在相反的方向。他们之间因为互相厌恶对方而出现了沉默。一封信打开着放在天狼星之前桌子上。 “嗯，”哈利说道，来显示他的存在。 
　　斯内普环视着他，他的脸被包围在油腻的黑色头发之间。 
　　“坐下，波特。” 
　　“你知道，”天狼星大声地说道，翘起他椅子后面的脚，对天花板说道，“如果你不是被派到这里，斯内普，我认为我将更喜欢这样。它是我的房子，你知道的。” 
　　一个可怕的晕红遍布了斯内普苍白的脸。哈利坐在天狼星旁边的一张椅子上，穿过桌子面对着斯内普。 
　　“我想单独见你，波特，”斯内普说道，熟悉的冷笑卷曲着他的嘴，“但是布莱克——” 
　　“我是他的教父，”天狼星说道，用比平常大声音调。 
　　“我是因为丹伯多的命令来这儿的，”斯内普说道，相反的，变成越来越安静而易怒，“但是尽所有的方法停留，布莱克，我知道你喜欢凭感觉。这十分棘手。” 
　　“什么是‘推想的认为’？”天狼星说，砰当一声把椅子的四条腿都放回地面。 
　　“不过是我肯定你一定感觉——啊——因为你不能做些有用的事而感到沮丧，”斯内普对他施以一个巧妙的压力，“为凤凰令。” 
　　现在轮到天狼星的脸发红。当他准备带走哈利的时候，嘴唇动了动表示胜利。 
　　“校长已经派遣我告诉你，波特，他希望你学习 思维闭锁术 这个咒语。” 
　　“学习什么？”哈利茫然地说。 
　　斯内普的冷笑变得更加显著。 
　　“思维闭锁术 ，波特。这个心灵的防卫魔法来防卫外侧的入侵。魔术的一个模糊的分支，但是一个高度有用的咒语。” 哈利的心开始快速地抽动。防卫外部的侵入？但是他没有被着魔，他们已经全部决定那了。 
　　“我为什么必须学习 思维闭锁术 ？”他脱口而出。 
　　“因为校长认为那是一个好主意，”斯内普平静地说道。“你一个星期将会接受一次私人的课，但是你不要告诉任何人你是在做什么，至少不要告诉德洛丽丝·昂布瑞吉。知道吗？” 
　　“是的，”哈利说道。“谁要来教我？” 
　　斯内普扬起了一道眉毛。 
　　“我，”他说。 
　　哈利有了一种他的内部在熔化的可怕的感觉。 
　　斯内普的额外课程——他在世上做了什么会应受这个？他快速地看着天狼星来寻求支持。 
　　“丹伯多为什么不教哈利？”天狼星攻击性地问。“为什么是你？” 
　　“我想那是因为校长用特权委派代表并不是一件有趣的事情，”斯内普圆滑地说。“我保证这份工作不是我请求来的。”他站起来。“我希望你在每周一傍晚六点钟时，波特。我的办公室。如果有人问起这件事，你就说补习药剂课。没有在我的班级中看到你的人可以否认你需要那样做。” 
　　他准备离开，他的黑色旅行斗蓬在他身后飞扬。 
　　“等等，”天狼星说道，直直地坐在他的椅子上。 
　　斯内普折回面对他们，嘲笑着。 
　　“我实在是忙，布莱克。不像你，我没有那么多的空闲时间。” 
　　“我只是重点地说一下，”天狼星说道，站起来。他比斯内普更高，哈利注意道，哈利确定他在斗蓬的口袋里攥紧了拳头，抓着魔杖。“如果我听到你用思维闭锁术的课程来惩治哈利，你走着瞧。” 
　　“多么感人啊，”斯内普嘲笑道。“但是你一定注意到波特非常像的他父亲？” 
　　“是的，我注意到了，”天狼星傲慢地说道。 
　　“那么好的，你将会明白他是如此的傲慢以致于批评对他而言只是简单的试探，”斯内普圆滑地说。 
　　天狼星把暴躁地把他的椅子推到了一边，大步绕开桌子走向斯内普，当他出去的时候，他抽出了他的魔杖。斯内普也拿出他自己的。他们彼此对视着对方，天狼星看起来怒气冲冲，斯内普考虑着，他的眼睛正视着天狼星的魔杖的指向他的脸的一端。 
　　“天狼星！”哈利大声地说，但是天狼星叫不要管他。 
　　“我已经警告过你，Snivdlus（应该就是指斯内普），”天狼星说道，他的脸看着斯内普的一只脚，“我不关心如果丹伯多的革新，我知道更好地——” 
　　“哦，但是你为什么不这么告诉他？”斯内普小声地说。“或者是你是害怕他可能不认真地看待一个已经在他母亲的房子躲藏达六个月之久的男人的忠告？” 
　　“告诉我，卢修斯·马尔夫这些几天怎样？ 我希望他使很高兴他的小狗在霍格瓦彻学习，不是吗？” “说到狗，”斯内普柔和地说，“你知道卢修斯·马尔夫上次在你出去走走的时候辨认出你吗？放聪明点，布莱克，让你自己在一个安全的车站月台上被看到。给你一个铸铁的窗口，在以后离开你的藏身洞，不是吗？” 
　　天狼星举起了他的魔杖。 
　　“不！”哈利大叫，跳过桌子，试图走进他们之间。“天狼星，不要！” 
　　“你说我是一个懦夫吗？”天狼星吼道，试着推开哈利，但是哈利并不移开。 
　　“为什么，是的，我想我是的，”斯内普说道。 
　　“哈利——从——这里——出——去！”天狼星疯狂地吼道，用他的另一只手把他推到了一边。 
　　厨房的门打开了，整个的威斯里家庭，加上荷米恩，走了进来，所有的人看起来都非常快乐，和穿着一件被橡皮布复盖的有斑纹的睡衣的威斯里先生一起自豪的走着。 
　　“治好了！”他大声地在厨房里宣告。“完全的治好了！” 
　　他和所有的威斯里一样在开始时惊呆了，呆呆的看着在他们的前面场面，在中间的动作也被中止，天狼星和斯内普看着门，同时他们的魔杖互相指着对方的脸，哈利不动地站在他们之间，一个手指着对方，试着分别地攻击对方。 
　　“默林的胡须，”威斯里先生说道，他的脸上微笑渐渐消失了，“这里在干什么？” 
　　天狼星和斯内普都放下了他们的魔杖。哈利从看了看一个，又看了看另一个。 每个人都带着极度轻视对方的表情，仍然想不到这么多目击者一口气从入口涌进来的感觉。斯内普收起了他的魔杖，转身穿过厨房，没有对威斯里说一句话就走了。在门旁，他回头看了看。 “六点钟，星期一傍晚，波特。” 
　　于是他走了。天狼星在他身后怒目而视，他的魔杖在他的身旁。 
　　“这里在干什么？”威斯里先生再一次问道。 
　　“没什么，亚瑟，”天狼星说道，气喘吁吁地，好像他刚刚跑了很长的距离。“只是在二位学校里的老朋友之间友好地闲谈。”由于看起来像一个巨大的努力一样，他微笑着。“于是，你被治愈了？那是很棒的消息，真的很棒。” 
　　“是的，不是吗？”威斯里太太说，带着他的丈夫向一张椅子走去。“巫医 Smethwyck 最终用他的魔法，制造了一个解毒药来对付毒蛇的尖牙，而且亚瑟学习了麻瓜的药，不是吗，亲爱的？”她补充道，有点不高兴。 “是的，茉莉，亲爱的，”威斯里先生温顺地说道。 
　　那次晚餐十分快活，威斯里先生回来的喜悦笼罩着他们。哈利可以看得出天狼星试着这么做 ，然而当他的教父并没有注意他，为弗来德和乔治的笑话开怀大笑或是提供给大家更多的食物，他的脸上又显现出了忧郁，沉思着脸。哈利已经被蒙顿格斯和疯眼人为的分隔开来，向威斯里先生庆祝。他想和天狼星说话，告诉他不要理斯内普所说的话，斯内普正在故意地刺激他，别人不认为被丹伯多留在老房子里的天狼星是一个懦弱的人。但是他没有机会这么做，并且，注视着天狼星脸上那丑陋的神情，哈利有时想他是否有机会去提起这件事。相反地，他用微小的声音告诉罗恩和荷米恩有关他必须参加斯内普的 思维闭锁术 课程的事情。 “丹伯多希望你不要再做那些有关伏地魔的梦，”荷米恩立刻说道。“嗯，你不会难过失去了那些梦，不是吗？” 
　　“与斯内普上额外课？”罗恩说道，用大为震惊的语调。“我将会宁可有梦魇！” 
　　第二天，他们坐着骑士公共汽车回到了霍格瓦彻，再一次接受唐克斯和露平的护卫，第二天早晨，当哈利、罗恩和荷米恩下来的时候，他们两人都在厨房里次早餐。当哈利打开门时，那些成年人低声地谈着话；他们看起来都十分慌张，迅速回到了沉默。 
　　在一份匆忙的早餐之后，他们都穿上了夹克和围巾，来对抗这寒冷而灰暗的一月早晨。哈利心中有一种不愉快的感觉；他不想对天狼星说再见。他对这有一种不好的感觉；他不知道。当他们下一次看到对方时，他觉得他有义务阻止天狼星做傻事——哈利担忧斯内普对他懦弱的谴责已经深深刺痛了天狼星，这可能使他愚蠢地计划到老房子外做一些旅行。然而，当他想起该说什么之前，天狼星已经到他的身边，向他招手。 
　　“我希望你带着这个，”他平静地说，塞给哈利一个包装粗糙的包袱，大概是一本平装书。 
　　“那是什么？”哈利问道。 
　　“使我了解斯内普让你不好过的一个途径，不，不要在这里打开它！”天狼星说，机警地看着威斯里太太，那个正在劝说双胞胎穿手工编制的手套的人。“我想茉莉不会赞同——但是我希望你在需要我的时候使用他，好吗？” 
　　“好，”哈利说道，把包袱放在他的夹克衫的内口袋中，但是他知道无论它是什么，他也不会去用它。那将不是他，哈利，把天狼星从安全的地方引出来的人，无论斯内普在即将来临的 思维闭锁术 课上对他用多么卑鄙的手段。 
　　“那么我们走吧，”天狼星说道，拍了拍哈利的肩膀，可怕地笑了笑，在哈利说别的东西之前，他们走到二楼，在那上了锁的门前停住了，被威斯里环绕着。 
　　“再见，哈利，小心，”威斯里太太说道，拥抱他。 
　　“再见，哈利，而且为我留意蛇！”威斯里先生亲切地说，摇动他的手。 
　　“好的——是，”哈利心烦意乱地说道；那是他告诉天狼星要小心的最后机会；他转过头，看着他教父的脸，张开了他的嘴说，但在他可以做这些之前，天狼星简短地对他说了些，单手拥抱了他，并且说，“照顾好你自己，哈利。”那一刻，哈利发现他自己变得逃避出去，进入冬天那冰冷的空气，和唐克丝（今天她伪装成一个高个头、穿着粗花呢服装的、有烫平的灰发的人）烦恼地走下了台阶。 
　　十二号的门在他们后面猛然地关上。他们跟随着露平走下了前面的台阶。当他到达了人行道的候，哈利看了看四周。在它伸长的任一边上，十二号正在快速地收缩，消失在视野中。一眨眼后，它已经不见了。 
　　“过来，我们越快上公共汽车越好，”唐克丝说道，哈利想她在正方形的周围的一瞥有写神经过
Chapter 25 The Beetle At Bay
Harry's question was answered the very next morning. When Hermione's Daily Prophet arrived she smoothed it out, gazed for a moment at the front page and gave a yelp that caused everyone in the vicinity to stare at her.
‘What?’ said Harry and Ron together.
For answer she spread the newspaper on the table in front of them and pointed at ten black-and-white photographs that filled the whole of the front page, nine showing wizards’ faces and the tenth, a witch's. Some of the people in the photographs were silently jeering; others were tapping their fingers on the frame of their pictures, looking insolent. Each picture was captioned with a name and the crime for which the person had been sent to Azkaban.
Antonin Dolohov, read the legend beneath a wizard with a long, pale, twisted face who was sneering up at Harry, convicted of the brutal murders of Gideon and Fabian Prewett.
Algernon Rookwood, said the caption beneath a pockmarked man with greasy hair who was leaning against the edge of his picture, looking bored, convicted of leaking Ministry of Magic secrets to He Who Must Not Be Named.
But Harry's eyes were drawn to the picture of the witch. Her face had leapt out at him the moment he had seen the page. She had long, dark hair that looked unkempt and straggly in the picture, though he had seen it sleek, thick and shining. She glared up at him through heavily lidded eyes, an arrogant, disdainful smile playing around her thin mouth. Like Sirius, she retained vestiges of great good looks, but something—perhaps Azkaban—had taken most of her beauty.
Bellatrix Lestrange, convicted of the torture and permanent incapacitation of Frank and Alice Longbottom.
Hermione nudged Harry and pointed at the headline over the pictures, which Harry, concentrating on Bellatrix, had not yet read.
MASS BREAKOUT FROM AZKABAN
MINISTRY FEARS BLACK IS ‘RALLYING POINT’
FOR OLD DEATH EATERS
‘Black?’ said Harry loudly. ‘Not—?’
‘Shhh!’ whispered Hermione desperately. ‘Not so loud—just read it!’
The Ministry of Magic announced late last night that there has been a mass breakout from Azkaban.
Speaking to reporters in his private office, Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, confirmed that ten high-security prisoners escaped in the early hours of yesterday evening and that he has already informed the Muggle Prime Minister of the dangerous nature of these individuals.
‘We find ourselves, most unfortunately, in the same position we were two and a half years ago when the murderer Sirius Black escaped,'said Fudge last night.'Nor do we think the two breakouts are unrelated. An escape of this magnitude suggests outside help, and we must remember that Black, as the first person ever to break out of Azkaban, would be ideally placed to help others follow in his footsteps. We think it likely that these individuals, who include Black's cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange, have rallied around Black as their leader. We are, however, doing all we can to round up the criminals, and we beg the magical community to remain alert and cautious. On no account should any of these individuals be approached.’
‘There you are, Harry,’ said Ron, looking awestruck. ‘That's why he was happy last night.’
‘I don't believe this,’ snarled Harry, ‘Fudge is blaming the breakout on Sirius?’
‘What other options does he have?’ said Hermione bitterly. ‘He can hardly say, “Sorry, everyone, Dumbledore warned me this might happen, the Azkaban guards have joined Lord Voldemort"—stop whimpering,Ron—"and now Voldemort's worst supporters have broken out, too.” I mean, he's spent a good six months telling everyone you and Dumbledore are liars, hasn't he?’
Hermione ripped open the newspaper and began to read the report inside while Harry looked around the Great Hall. He could not understand why his fellow students were not looking scared or at least discussing the terrible piece of news on the front page, but very few of them took the newspaper every day like Hermione. There they all were, talking about homework and Quidditch and who knew what other rubbish, when outside these walls ten more Death Eaters had swollen Voldemort's ranks.
He glanced up at the staff table. It was a different story there: Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall were deep in conversation, both looking extremely grave. Professor Sprout had the Prophet propped against a bottle of ketchup and was reading the front page with such concentration that she was not noticing the gentle drip of egg yolk falling into her lap from her stationary spoon. Meanwhile, at the far end of the table, Professor Umbridge was tucking into a bowl of porridge. For once her pouchy toad's eyes were not sweeping the Great Hall looking for misbehaving students. She scowled as she gulped down her food and every now and then she shot a malevolent glance up the table to where Dumbledore and McGonagall were talking so intently.
‘Oh my—’ said Hermione wonderingly, still staring at the newspaper.
‘What now?’ said Harry quickly; he was feeling jumpy.
‘It's ... horrible,’ said Hermione, looking shaken. She folded back page ten of the newspaper and handed it to Harry and Ron.
TRAGIC DEMISE OF MINISTRY OF MAGIC WORKERSt. Mungo's Hospital promised a full inquiry last night after Ministry of Magic worker Broderich Bode, 49, was discovered dead in his bed, strangled by a pot plant. Healers called to the scene were unable to revive Mr. Bode, who had been injured in a workplace accident some weeks prior to his death.
Healer Miriam Strout, who was in charge of Mr. Bode's ward at the time of the incident, has been suspended on full pay and was unavailable for comment yesterday, but a spokeswizard for the hospital said in a statement:
‘St. Mungo's deeply regrets the death of Mr. Bode, whose health was improving steadily prior to this tragic accident.
‘We have strict guidelines on the decorations permitted on our wards but it appears that Healer Strout, busy over the Christmas period, overlooked the dangers of the plant on Mr. Bode's bedside table. As his speech and mobility improved, Healer Strout encouraged Mr. Bode to look after the plant himself, unaware that it was not an innocent Flitterbloom, but a cutting of Devil's Snare which, when touched by the convalescent Mr. Bode, throttled him instantly.
‘St. Mungo's is as yet unable to account for the presence of the plant on the ward and asks any witch or wizard with information to come forward.’
‘Bode ...’ said Ron. ‘Bode.It rings a bell ...’
‘We saw him,’ Hermione whispered. ‘In St. Mungo's, remember? He was in the bed opposite Lockhart's, just lying there, staring at the ceiling. And we saw the Devil's Snare arrive. She—the Healer—said it was a Christmas present.’
Harry looked back at the story. A feeling of horror was rising like bile in his throat.
‘How come we didn't recognise Devil's Snare? We've seen it before ... we could've stopped this from happening.’
‘Who expects Devil's Snare to turn up in a hospital disguised as a pot plant?’ said Ron sharply. ‘It's not our fault, whoever sent it to the bloke is to blame! They must be a real prat, why didn't they check what they were buying?’
‘Oh, come on, Ron!’ said Hermione shakily. ‘I don't think anyone could put Devil's Snare in a pot and not realise it tries to kill whoever touches it? This—this was murder ... a clever murder, as well ... if the plant was sent anonymously, how's anyone ever going to find out who did it?’
Harry was not thinking about Devil's Snare. He was remembering taking the lift down to the ninth level of the Ministry on the day of his hearing and the sallow-faced man who had got in on the Atrium level.
‘I met Bode,’ he said slowly. ‘I saw him at the Ministry with your dad.’ 
Ron's mouth fell open.
‘I've heard Dad talk about him at home! He was an Unspeakable—he worked in the Department of Mysteries!’
They looked at each other for a moment, then Hermione pulled the newspaper back towards her, closed it, glared for a moment at the pictures of the ten escaped Death Eaters on the front, then leapt to her feet.
‘Where are you going?’ said Ron, startled.
‘To send a letter,’ said Hermione, swinging her bag on to her shoulder. ‘It ... well, I don't know whether ... but it's worth trying ... and I'm the only one who can.’
‘I hate it when she does that,’ grumbled Ron, as he and Harry got up from the table and made their own, slower way out of the Great Hall. ‘Would it kill her to tell us what she's up to for once? It'd take her about ten more seconds—hey, Hagrid!’
Hagrid was standing beside the doors into the Entrance Hall, waiting for a crowd of Ravenclaws to pass. He was still as heavily bruised as he had been on the day he had come back from his mission to the giants and there was a new cut right across the bridge of his nose.
‘All righ', you two?’ he said, trying to muster a smile but managing only a kind of pained grimace.
‘Are you OK, Hagrid?’ asked Harry, following him as he lumbered after the Ravenclaws.
‘Fine, fine,’ said Hagrid with a feeble assumption of airiness; he waved a hand and narrowly missed concussing a frightened-looking Professor Vector, who was passing. ‘Jus’ busy, yeh know, usual stuff—lessons ter prepare— couple o’ salamanders got scale rot—an’ I'm on probation,’ he mumbled.
‘You're on probation?’ said Ron very loudly, so that many of the passing students looked around curiously. ‘Sorry—I mean—you're on probation?’ he whispered.
‘Yeah,’ said Hagrid. ’ ‘S'no more'n I expected, ter tell yer the truth. Yeh migh’ not've picked up on it, bu’ that inspection didn’ go too well, yeh know ... anyway,’ he sighed deeply. ‘Bes’ go an’ rub a bit more chilli powder on them salamanders or their tails'll be hangin’ off ‘em next. See yeh, Harry ... Ron ...’
He trudged away, out of the front doors and down the stone steps into the damp grounds. Harry watched him go, wondering how much more bad news he could stand.
The fact that Hagrid was now on probation became common knowledge within the school over the next few days, but to Harry's indignation, hardly anybody appeared to be upset about it; indeed, some people, Draco Malfoy prominent among them, seemed positively gleeful. As for the freakish death of an obscure Department of Mysteries employee in St. Mungo's, Harry, Ron and Hermione seemed to be the only people who knew or cared. There was only one topic of conversation in the corridors now: the ten escaped Death Eaters, whose story had finally filtered through the school from those few people who read the newspapers. Rumours were flying that some of the convicts had been spotted in Hogsmeade, that they were supposed to be hiding out in the Shrieking Shack and that they were going to break into Hogwarts, just as Sirius Black had once done.
Those who came from wizarding families had grown up hearing the names of these Death Eaters spoken with almost as much fear as Voldemorts; the crimes they had committed during the days of Voldemort's reign of terror were legendary. There were relatives of their victims among the Hogwarts students, who now found themselves the unwilling objects of a gruesome sort of reflected fame as they walked the corridors: Susan Bones, whose uncle, aunt and cousins had all died at the hands of one of the ten, said miserably during Herbology that she now had a good idea what it felt like to be Harry.
‘And I don't know how you stand it—it's horrible,’ she said bluntly, dumping far too much dragon manure on her tray of Screechsnap seedlings, causing them to wriggle and squeak in discomfort.
It was true that Harry was the subject of much renewed muttering and pointing in the corridors these days, yet he thought he detected a slight difference in the tone of the whisperers’ voices. They sounded curious rather than hostile now, and once or twice he was sure he overheard snatches of conversation that, suggested that the speakers were not satisfied with the Prophet's version of how and why ten Death Eaters had managed to break out of the Azkaban fortress. In their confusion and fear, these doubters now seemed to be turning to the only other explanation available to them: the one that Harry and Dumbledore had been expounding since the previous year.
It was not only the students’ mood that had changed. It was now quite common to come across two or three teachers conversing in low, urgent whispers in the corridors, breaking off their conversations the moment they saw students approaching.
‘They obviously can't talk freely in the staff room any more,’ said Hermione in a low voice, as she, Harry and Ron passed Professors McGonagall, Flitwick and Sprout huddled together outside the Charms classroom one day. ‘Not with Umbridge there.’
‘Reckon they know anything new?’ said Ron, gazing back over his shoulder at the three teachers.
‘If they do, we're not going to hear about it, are we?’ said Harry angrily. ‘Not after Decree ... what number are we on now?’ For new notices had appeared on the house noticeboards the morning after news of the Azkaban breakout:
BY ORDER OF THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS
 
Teachers are hereby banned from giving students any information
that is not strictly related to the subjects they are paid to teach.
 
The above is in accordance with Educational Decree
Number Twenty-six.
 
Signed: Dolores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor
This latest Decree had been the subject of a great number of jokes among the students. Lee Jordan had pointed out to Umbridge that by the terms of the new rule she was not allowed to tell Fred and George off for playing Exploding Snap in the back of the class.
‘Exploding Snap's got nothing to do with Defence Against the Dark Arts, Professor! That's not information relating to your subject!’
When Harry next saw Lee, the back of his hand was bleeding rather badly. Harry recommended essence of Murtlap.
Harry had thought the breakout from Azkaban might have humbled Umbridge a little, that she might have been abashed at the catastrophe that had occurred right under the nose of her beloved Fudge. It seemed, however, to have only intensified her furious desire to bring every aspect of life at Hogwarts under her personal control. She seemed determined at the very least to achieve a sacking before long, and the only question was whether it would be Professor Trelawney or Hagrid who went first.
Every single Divination and Care of Magical Creatures lesson was now conducted in the presence of Umbridge and her clipboard. She lurked by the fire in the heavily perfumed tower room, interrupting Professor Trelawney's increasingly hysterical talks with difficult questions about ornithomancy and heptomology, insisting that she predicted students’ answers before they gave them and demanding that she demonstrate her skill at the crystal ball, the tea leaves and the rune stones in turn. Harry thought Professor Trelawney might soon crack under the strain. Several times he passed her in the corridors—in itself a very unusual occurrence as she generally remained in her tower room—muttering wildly to herself, wringing her hands and shooting terrified glances over her shoulder, and all the while giving off a powerful smell of cooking sherry. If he had not been so worried about Hagrid, he would have felt sorry for her—but if one of them was to be ousted from their job, there could be only one choice for Harry as to who should remain.
Unfortunately, Harry could not see that Hagrid was putting up a better show than Trelawney. Though he seemed to be following Hermione's advice and had shown them nothing more frightening than a Crup—a creature indistinguishable from a Jack Russell terrier except for its forked tail—since before Christmas, he too seemed to have lost his nerve. He was oddly distracted and jumpy during lessons, losing the thread of what he was saying to the class, answering questions wrongly, and all the time glancing anxiously at Umbridge. He was also more distant with Harry, Ron and Hermione than he had ever been before, and had expressly forbidden them to visit him after dark.
‘If she catches yeh, it'll be all of our necks on the line,’ he told them flatly, and with no desire to do anything that might jeopardise his job further they abstained from walking down to his hut in the evenings.
It seemed to Harry that Umbridge was steadily depriving him of everything that made his life at Hogwarts worth living: visits to Hagrid's house, letters from Sirius, his Firebolt and Quidditch. He took his revenge the only way he could—by redoubling his efforts for the DA.
Harry was pleased to see that all of them, even Zacharias Smith, had been spurred on to work harder than ever by the news that ten more Death Eaters were now on the loose, but in nobody was this improvement more pronounced than in Neville. The news of his parents’ attackers’ escape had wrought a strange and even slightly alarming change in him. He had not once mentioned his meeting with Harry, Ron and Hermione on the closed ward in St. Mungo's and, taking their lead from him, they had kept quiet about it too. Nor had he said anything on the subject of Bellatrix and her fellow torturers’ escape. In fact, Neville barely spoke during the DA meetings any more, but worked relentlessly on every new jinx and counter-curse Harry taught them, his plump face screwed up in concentration, apparently indifferent to injuries or accidents and working harder than anyone else in the room. He was improving so fast it was quite unnerving and when Harry taught them, the Shield Charm—a means of deflecting minor jinxes so that they rebounded upon the attacker—only Hermione mastered the charm faster than Neville.
Harry would have given a great deal to be making as much progress at Occlumency as Neville was making during the DA meetings. Harry's sessions with Snape, which had started badly enough, were not improving. On the contrary, Harry felt he was getting worse with every lesson.
Before he had started studying Occlumency, his scar had prickled occasionally, usually during the night, or else following one of those strange flashes of Voldemort's thoughts or mood that he experienced every now and then. Nowadays, however, his scar hardly ever stopped prickling, and he often felt lurches of annoyance or cheerfulness that were unrelated to what was happening to him at the time, which were always accompanied by a particularly painful twinge from his scar. He had the horrible impression that he was slowly turning into a kind of aerial that was tuned in to tiny fluctuations in Voldemort's mood, and he was sure he could date this increased sensitivity firmly from his first Occlumency lesson with Snape. What was more, he was now dreaming about walking down the corridor towards the entrance to the Department of Mysteries almost every night, dreams which always culminated in him standing longingly in front of the plain black door.
‘Maybe it's a bit like an illness,’ said Hermione, looking concerned when Harry confided in her and Ron. ‘A fever or something. It has to get worse before it gets better.’
‘The lessons with Snape are making it worse,’ said Harry flatly ‘I'm getting sick of my scar hurting and I'm getting bored with walking down that corridor every night.’ He rubbed his forehead angrily. ‘I just wish the door would open, I'm sick of standing staring at it—’
‘That's not funny,’ said Hermione sharply. ‘Dumbledore doesn't want you to have dreams about that corridor at all, or he wouldn't have asked Snape to teach you Occlumency. You're just going to have to work a bit harder in your lessons.’
‘I am working!’ said Harry, nettled. ‘You try it some time—Snape: trying to get inside your head—it's not a bundle of laughs, you know!’
‘Maybe ...’ said Ron slowly.
‘Maybe what?’ said Hermione, rather snappishly.
‘Maybe it's not Harry's fault he can't close his mind,’ said Ron darkly.
‘What do you mean?’ said Hermione.
‘Well, maybe Snape isn't really trying to help Harry ...’
Harry and Hermione stared at him. Ron looked darkly and meaningfully from one to the other.
‘Maybe,’ he said again, in a lower voice, ‘he's actually trying to open Harry's mind a bit wider ... make it easier for You-Know—
‘Shut up, Ron,’ said Hermione angrily. ‘How many times have you suspected Snape, and when have you ever been right? Dumbledore trusts him, he works for the Order, that ought to be enough.’
‘He used to be a Death Eater,’ said Ron stubbornly. ‘And we've never seen proof that he really swapped sides.’
‘Dumbledore trusts him,’ Hermione repeated. ‘And if we can't trust Dumbledore, we can't trust anyone.’
With so much to worry about and so much to do— startling amounts of homework that frequently kept the fifth-years working until past midnight, secret DA sessions and regular classes with Snape— January seemed to be passing alarmingly fast. Before Harry knew it, February had arrived, bringing with it wetter and warmer weather and the prospect of the second Hogsmeade visit of the year. Harry had had very little time to spare for conversations with Cho since they had agreed to visit the village together, but suddenly found himself facing a Valentine's Day spent entirely in her company.
On the morning of the fourteenth he dressed particularly carefully. He and Ron arrived at breakfast just in time for the arrival of the post owls, Hedwig was not there— not that Harry had expected her—but Hermione was tugging a letter from the beak of an unfamiliar brown owl as they sat down.
‘And about time! If it hadn't come today ...’ she said, eagerly tearing open the envelope and pulling out a small piece of parchment. Her eyes sped from left to right as she read through the message and a grimly pleased expression spread across her face.
‘Listen, Harry,’ she said, looking up at him, ‘this is really important. Do you think you could meet me in the Three Broomsticks around midday?’
‘Well ... I dunno,’ said Harry uncertainly. ‘Cho might be expecting me to spend the whole day with her. We never said what we were going to do.’
‘Well, bring her along if you must,’ said Hermione urgently. ‘But will you come?’
‘Well ... all right, but why?’
‘I haven't got time to tell you now, I've got to answer this quickly.’
And she hurried out of the Great Hall, the letter clutched in one hand and a piece of toast in the other.
‘Are you coming?’ Harry asked Ron, but he shook his head, looking glum.
‘I can't come into Hogsmeade at all; Angelina wants a full day's training. Like it's going to help; we're the worst team I've ever seen. You should see Sloper and Kirke, they're pathetic, even worse than I am.’ He heaved a great sigh. ‘I dunno why Angelina won't just let me resign.’
It's because you're good when you're on form, that's why,’ said Harry irritably.
He found it very hard to be sympathetic to Ron's plight, when he himself would have given almost anything to be playing in the forthcoming match against Hufflepuff. Ron seemed to have noticed Harry's tone, because he did not mention Quidditch again during breakfast, and there was a slight frostiness in the way they said goodbye to each other shortly afterwards. Ron departed for the Quidditch pitch and Harry, after attempting to flatten his hair while staring at his reflection in the back of a teaspoon, proceeded alone to the Entrance Hall to meet Cho, feeling very apprehensive and wondering what on earth they were going to talk about.
She was waiting for him a little to the side of the oak front doors, looking very pretty with her hair tied back in a long pony-tail. Harry's feet seemed to be too big for his body as he walked towards her and he was suddenly horribly aware of his arms and how stupid they must look swinging at his sides.
‘Hi,’ said Cho slightly breathlessly.
‘Hi,’ said Harry.
They stared at each other for a moment, then Harry said, ‘Well—er—shall we go, then?’
‘Oh—yes ...’
They joined the queue of people being signed out by Filch, occasionally catching each other's eye and grinning shiftily, but not talking to each other. Harry was relieved when they reached the fresh air, finding it easier to walk along in silence than just stand about looking awkward. It was a fresh, breezy sort of a day and as they passed the Quidditch stadium Harry glimpsed Ron and Ginny skimming along over the stands and felt a horrible pang that he was not up there with them.
‘You really miss it, don't you?’ said Cho.
He looked round and saw her watching him.
‘Yeah,’ sighed Harry. ‘I do.’
‘Remember the first time we played against each other, in the third year?’ she asked him.
‘Yeah,’ said Harry, grinning. ‘You kept blocking me.’
‘And Wood told you not to be a gentleman and knock me off my broom if you had to,’ said Cho, smiling reminiscently. ‘I heard he got taken on by Pride of Portree, is that right?’
‘Nah, it was Puddlemere United; I saw him at the World Cup last year.’
‘Oh, I saw you there, too, remember? We were on the same campsite. It was really good, wasn't it?’
The subject of the Quidditch World Cup carried them all the way down the drive and out through the gates. Harry could hardly believe how easy it was to talk to her—no more difficult, in fact, than talking to Ron and Hermione—and he was just starting to feel confident and cheerful when a large gang of Slytherin girls passed them, including Pansy Parkinson.
‘Potter and Chang!’ screeched Pansy, to a chorus of snide giggles. ‘Urgh, Chang, I don't think much of your taste ... at least Diggory was good-looking!’ 
The girls sped up, talking and shrieking in a pointed fashion with many exaggerated glances back at Harry and Cho, leaving an embarrassed silence in their wake. Harry could think of nothing else to say about Quidditch, and Cho, slightly flushed, was watching her feet.
‘So ... where d'you want to go?’ Harry asked as they entered Hogsmeade. The High Street was full of students ambling up and down, peering into the shop windows and messing about together on the pavements.
‘Oh ... I don't mind,’ said Cho, shrugging. ‘Um ... shall we just have a look in the shops or something?’
They wandered towards Dervish and Banges. A large poster had been stuck up in the window and a few Hogsmeaders were looking at it. They moved aside when Harry and Cho approached and Harry found himself staring once more at the pictures of the ten escaped Death Eaters. The poster, ‘By Order of the Ministry of Magic', offered a thousand-Galleon reward to any witch or wizard with information leading to the recapture of any of the convicts pictured.
‘It's funny, isn't it,’ said Cho in a low voice, gazing up at the pictures of the Death Eaters, ‘remember when that Sirius Black escaped, and there were dementors all over Hogsmeade looking for him? And now ten Death Eaters are on the loose and there are no dementors anywhere ...’
‘Yeah,’ said Harry, tearing his eyes away from Bellatrix Lestrange's face to glance up and down the High Street. ‘Yeah, that is weird.’
He wasn't sorry that there were no dementors nearby, but now he came to think of it, their absence was highly significant. They had not only let the Death Eaters escape, they weren't bothering to look for them ... it looked as though they really were outside Ministry control now.
The ten escaped Death Eaters were staring out of every shop window he and Cho passed. It started to rain as they passed Scrivenshaft's; cold, heavy drops of water kept hitting Harry's face and the back of his neck.
‘Um ... d'you want to get a coffee?’ said Cho tentatively, as the rain began to fall more heavily.
‘Yeah, all right,’ said Harry, looking around. ‘Where?’
‘Oh, there's a really nice place just up here; haven't you ever been to Madam Puddifoot's?’ she said brightly, leading him up a side road and into a small teashop that Harry had never noticed before. It was a cramped, steamy little place where everything seemed to have been decorated with frills or bows. Harry was reminded unpleasantly of Umbridge's office.
‘Cute, isn't it?’ said Cho happily.
‘Er ... yeah,’ said Harry untruthfully.
‘Look, she's decorated it for Valentine's Day!’ said Cho, indicating a number of golden cherubs that were hovering over each of the small, circular tables, occasionally throwing pink confetti over the occupants.
‘Aaah ...’
They sat down at the last remaining table, which was over by the steamy window. Roger Davies, the Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain, was sitting about a foot and a half away with a pretty blonde girl. They were holding hands. The sight made Harry feel uncomfortable, particularly when, looking around the teashop, he saw that it was full of nothing but couples, all of them holding hands. Perhaps Cho would expect him to hold her hand.
‘What can I get you, m'dears?’ said Madam Puddifoot, a very stout woman with a shiny black bun, squeezing between their table and Roger Davies's with great difficulty.
‘Two coffees, please,’ said Cho.
In the time it took for their coffees to arrive, Roger Davies and his girlfriend had started kissing over their sugar bowl. Harry wished they wouldn't; he felt that Davies was setting a standard with which Cho would soon expect him to compete. He felt his face growing hot and tried staring out of the window, but it was so steamed up he couldn't see the street outside. To postpone the moment when he would have to look at Cho, he stared up at the ceiling as though examining the paintwork and received a handful of confetti in the face from their hovering cherub.
After a few more painful minutes, Cho mentioned Umbridge. Harry seized on the subject with relief and they passed a few happy moments abusing her, but the subject had already been so thoroughly canvassed during DA meetings it did not last very long. Silence fell again. Harry was very conscious of the slurping noises coming from the table next door and cast wildly around for something else to say.
‘Er ... listen, d'you want to come with me to the Three Broomsticks at lunchtime? I'm meeting Hermione Granger there.’
Cho raised her eyebrows.
‘You're meeting Hermione Granger? Today?’
‘Yeah. Well, she asked me to, so I thought I would. D'you want to come with me? She said it wouldn't matter if you did.’
‘Oh ... well ... that was nice of her.’
But Cho did not sound as though she thought it was nice at all. On the contrary, her tone was cold and all of a sudden she looked rather forbidding.
A few more minutes passed in total silence, Harry drinking his coffee so fast that he would soon need a fresh cup. Beside them, Roger Davies and his girlfriend seemed glued together at the tips.
Cho's hand was lying on the table beside her coffee and Harry was feeling a mounting pressure to take hold of it. Just do it, he told himself, as a fount of mingled panic and excitement surged up inside his chest, just reach out and grab it. Amazing, how much more difficult it was to extend his arm twelve inches and touch her hand than it was to snatch a speeding Snitch from midair ...
But just as he moved his hand forwards, Cho took hers off the table. She was now watching Roger Davies kissing his girlfriend with a mildly interested expression.
‘He asked me out, you know,’ she said in a quiet voice. ‘A couple of weeks ago. Roger. I turned him down, though.’
Harry, who had grabbed the sugar bowl to excuse his sudden lunging movement across the table, could not think why she was telling him this. If she wished she were sitting at the next table being heartily kissed by Roger Davies, why had she agreed to come: out with him?
He said nothing. Their cherub threw another handful of confetti over them; some of it landed in the last cold dregs of coffee Harry had been about to drink.
‘I came in here with Cedric last year,’ said Cho.
In the second or so it took for him to take in what she had said, Harry's insides had become glacial. He could not believe she wanted to talk about Cedric now, while kissing couples surrounded them and a cherub floated over their heads.
Cho's voice was rather higher when she spoke again.
‘I've been meaning to ask you for ages ... did Cedric—did he—m—m—mention me at all before he died?’
This was the very last subject on earth Harry wanted to discuss, and least of all with Cho.
‘Well—no—’ he said quietly. ‘There—there wasn't time for him to say anything. Erm ... so ... d'you ... d'you get to see a lot of Quidditch in the holidays? You support the Tornados, right?’
His voice sounded falsely bright and cheery. To his horror, he saw that her eyes were swimming with tears again, just as they had been after the last DA meeting before Christmas.
‘Look,’ he said desperately, leaning in so that nobody else could overhear, ‘let's not talk about Cedric right now ... let's talk about something else ...’ 
But this, apparently, was quite the wrong thing to say.
‘I thought,’ she said, tears spattering down on to the table, ‘I thought you'd u— u—understand! I need to talk about it! Surely you n—need to talk about it t—too! I mean, you saw it happen, d—didn't you?’
Everything was going nightmarishly wrong; Roger Davies's girlfriend had even unglued herself to look round at Cho crying.
‘Well—I have talked about it,’ Harry said in a whisper, ‘to Ron and Hermione, but—’
‘Oh, you'll talk to Hermione Granger!’ she said shrilly, her face now shining with tears. Several more kissing couples broke apart to stare. ‘But you won't talk to me! P —perhaps it would be best if we just ... just p—paid and you went and met up with Hermione G—Granger, like you obviously want to!’ 
Harry stared at her, utterly bewildered, as she seized a frilly napkin and dabbed at her shining face with it.
‘Cho?’ he said weakly, wishing Roger would seize his girlfriend and start kissing her again to stop her goggling at him and Cho.
‘Go on, leave!’ she said, now crying into the napkin. ‘I don't know why you asked me out in the first place if you're going to make arrangements to meet other girls right after me ... how many are you meeting after Hermione?’
‘It's not like that!’ said Harry, and he was so relieved at finally understanding what she was annoyed about that he laughed, which he realised a split second too late was also a mistake.
Cho sprang to her feet. The whole tearoom was quiet and everybody was watching them now.
‘I'll see you around, Harry,’ she said dramatically, and hiccoughing slightly she dashed to the door, wrenched it open and hurried off into the pouring rain.
‘Cho!’ Harry called after her, but the door had already swung shut behind her with a tuneful tinkle.
There was total silence within the teashop. Every eye was on Harry. He threw a Galleon down on to the table, shook pink confetti out of his hair, and followed Cho out of the door.
It was raining hard now and she was nowhere to be seen, he simply did not understand what had happened; half an hour ago they had been getting along fine.
‘Women!’ he muttered angrily, sloshing down the rain-washed street with his hands in his pockets. ‘What did she want to talk about Cedric for, anyway? Why does she always want to drag up a subject that makes her act like a human hosepipe?’
He turned right and broke into a splashy run, and within minutes he was turning into the doorway of the Three Broomsticks. He knew he was too early to meet Hermione, but he thought it likely there would be someone in here with whom he could spend the intervening time. He shook his wet hair out of his eyes and looked around. Hagrid was sitting alone in a corner, looking morose.
‘Hi, Hagrid!’ he said, when he had squeezed through the crammed tables and pulled up a chair beside him.
Hagrid jumped and looked down at Harry as though he barely recognised him. Harry saw that he had two fresh cuts on his face and several new bruises.
‘Oh, it's yeh, Harry,’ said Hagrid. ‘Yeh all righ?’
‘Yeah, I'm fine,’ lied Harry; but, next to this battered and mournful-looking Hagrid, he felt he didn't really have much to complain about. ‘Er—are you OK?’
‘Me?’ said Hagrid. ‘Oh yeah, I'm grand, Harry, grand.’
He gazed into the depths of his pewter tankard, which was the size of a large bucket, and sighed. Harry didn't know what to say to him. They sat side by side in silence for a moment. Then Hagrid said abruptly, ‘In the same boat, yeh an’ me, aren’ we, ‘Arry?’
‘Er—’ said Harry.
‘Yeah ... I've said it before ... both outsiders, like,’ said Hagrid, nodding wisely. ‘An’ both orphans. Yeah ... both orphans.’
He took a great swig from his tankard.
‘Makes a diff'rence, havin’ a decent family,’ he said. ‘Me dad was decent. An’ your mum an’ dad were decent. If they'd lived, life woulda bin diff'rent, eh?’
‘Yeah ... I s'pose,’ said Harry cautiously. Hagrid seemed to be in a very strange mood.
‘Family,’ said Hagrid gloomily. ‘Whatever yeh say, blood's important ...’ 
And he wiped a trickle of it out of his eye.
‘Hagrid,’ said Harry, unable to stop himself, ‘where are you getting all these injuries?’
‘Eh?’ said Hagrid, looking startled. ‘Wha’ injuries?’
‘All those!’ said Harry, pointing at Hagrid's face.
‘Oh ... tha's jus’ normal bumps an’ bruises, Harry,’ said Hagrid dismissively ‘I got a rough job.’
He drained his tankard, set it back on the table and got to his feet.
‘I'll be seein’ yeh, Harry ... take care now.’
And he lumbered out of the pub looking wretched, and disappeared into the torrential rain. Harry watched him go, feeling miserable. Hagrid was unhappy and he was hiding something, but he seemed determined not to accept help. What was going on? But before Harry could think about it any further, he heard a voice calling his name.
‘Harry! Harry, over here!’
Hermione was waving at him from the other side of the room. He got up and made his way towards her through the crowded pub. He was still a few tables away when he realised that Hermione was not alone. She was sitting at a table with the unlikeliest pair of drinking mates he could ever have imagined: Luna Lovegood and none other than Rita Skeeter, ex-journalist on the Daily Prophet and one of Hermione's least favourite people in the world.
‘You're early!’ said Hermione, moving along to give him room to sit down. ‘I thought you were with Cho, I wasn't expecting you for another hour at least!’ 
‘Cho?’ said Rita at once, twisting round in her seat to stare avidly at Harry. ‘A girl?’
She snatched up her crocodile-skin handbag and groped within it.
‘Its none of your business if Harry's been with a hundred girls,’ Hermione told Rita coolly. ‘So you can put that away right now.’
Rita had been on the point of withdrawing an acid-green quill from her bag. Looking as though she had been forced to swallow Stinksap, she snapped her bag shut again.
‘What are you up to?’ Harry asked, sitting down and staring from Rita to Luna to Hermione.
‘Little Miss Perfect was just about to tell me when you arrived.’ said Rita, taking a large slurp of her drink. ‘I suppose I'm allowed to talk to him, am I?’ she shot at Hermione.
‘Yes, I suppose you are,’ said Hermione coldly.
Unemployment did not suit Rita. The hair that had once been set in elaborate curls now hung lank and unkempt around her face. The scarlet paint on her two-inch talons was chipped and there were a couple of false jewels missing from her winged glasses. She took another great gulp of her drink and said out of the corner of her mouth, ‘Pretty girl, is she, Harry?’
‘One more word about Harry's love life and the deal's off and that's a promise,’ said Hermione irritably.
‘What deal?’ said Rita, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. ‘You haven't mentioned a deal yet, Miss Prissy you just told me to turn up. Oh, one of these days ...’ She took a deep shuddering breath.
‘Yes, yes, one of these days you'll write more horrible stories about Harry and me,’ said Hermione indifferently. ‘Find someone who cares, why don't you?’ 
‘They've run plenty of horrible stories about Harry this year without my help,’ said Rita, shooting a sideways look at him over the top of her glass and adding in a rough whisper, ‘How has that made you feel, Harry? Betrayed? Distraught? Misunderstood?’
‘He feels angry, of course,’ said Hermione in a hard, clear voice. ‘Because he's told the Minister for Magic the truth and the Minister's too much of an idiot to believe him.’
‘So you actually stick to it, do you, that He Who Must Not Be Named is back?’ said Rita, lowering her glass and subjecting Harry to a piercing stare while her finger strayed longingly to the clasp of the crocodile bag. ‘You stand by all this garbage Dumbledore's been telling everybody about You-Know-Who returning and you being the sole witness?’
‘I wasn't the sole witness,’ snarled Harry. ‘There were a dozen-odd Death Eaters there as well. Want their names?’
‘I'd love them,’ breathed Rita, now fumbling in her bag once more and gazing at him as though he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. ‘A great bold headline: “Potter Accuses ...” A sub-heading, “Harry Potter Names Death Eaters Still Among Us”. And then, beneath a nice big photograph of you, “Disturbed teenage survivor of You-Know-Who's attack, Harry Potter, 15, caused outrage yesterday by accusing respectable and prominent members of the wizarding community of being Death Eaters ...” ’
The Quick-Quotes Quill was actually in her hand and halfway to her mouth when the rapturous expression on her face died.
‘But of course,’ she said, lowering the quill and looking daggers at Hermione, ‘Little Miss Perfect wouldn't want that story out there, would she?’ 
‘As a matter of fact,’ said Hermione sweetly, ‘that's exactly what Little Miss Perfect does want.’
Rita stared at her. So did Harry. Luna, on the other hand, sang ‘Weasley is our King’ dreamily under her breath and stirred her drink with a cocktail onion on a stick.
‘You want me to report what he says about He Who Must Not Be Named?’ Rita asked Hermione in a hushed voice.
‘Yes, I do,’ said Hermione. ‘The true story. All the facts. Exactly as Harry reports them. He'll give you all the details, he'll tell you the names of the undiscovered Death Eaters he saw there, he'll tell you what Voldemort looks like now—oh, get a grip on yourself,’ she added contemptuously, throwing a napkin across the table, for, at the sound of Voldemort's name, Rita had jumped so badly she had slopped half her glass of Firewhisky down herself.
Rita blotted the front of her grubby raincoat, still staring at Hermione. Then she said baldly, ‘The Prophet wouldn't print it. In case you haven't noticed, nobody believes his cock-and-bull story. Everyone thinks he's delusional. Now, if you let me write the story from that angle—’
‘We don't need another story about how Harry's lost his marbles!’ said Hermione angrily. ‘We've had plenty of those already, thank you! I want him given the opportunity to tell the truth!’
‘There's no market for a story like that,’ said Rita coldly.
‘You mean the Prophet won't print it because Fudge won't let them,’ said Hermione irritably.
Rita gave Hermione a long, hard look. Then, leaning forwards across the table towards her, she said in a businesslike tone, ‘All right, Fudge is leaning on the Prophet, but it comes to the same thing. They won't print a story that shows Harry in a good light. Nobody wants to read it. It's against the public mood. This last Azkaban breakout has got people quite worried enough. People just don't want to believe You-Know-Who's back.’
‘So the Daily Prophet exists to tell people what they want to hear, does it?’ said Hermione scathingly.
Rita sat up straight again, her eyebrows raised, and drained her glass of Firewhisky,
‘The Prophet exists to sell itself, you silly girl,’ she said coldly.
‘My dad thinks it's an awful paper,’ said Luna, chipping into the conversation unexpectedly. Sucking on her cocktail onion, she gazed at Rita with her enormous, protuberant, slightly mad eye. ‘He publishes important stories he thinks the public needs to know. He doesn't care about making money.’
Rita looked disparagingly at Luna.
‘I'm guessing your father runs some stupid little village newsletter?’ she said. ‘Probably, Twenty-five Ways to Mingle With Muggles and the dates of the next Bring and Fly Sale?’
‘No,’ said Luna, dipping her onion back into her Gillywater, ‘he's the editor of The Quibbler.’
Rita snorted so loudly that people at a nearby table looked round in alarm.
‘"Important stories he thinks the public needs to know", eh?’ she said witheringly. ‘I could manure my garden with the contends of that rag.’ 
‘Well, this is your chance to raise the tone of it a bit, isn't it?’ said Hermione pleasantly. ‘Luna says her father's quite happy to take Harry's interview. That's who'll be publishing it.’
Rita stared at them both for a moment, then let out a great whoop of laughter.
‘The Quibbler!’ she said, cackling. ‘You think people will take him seriously if he's published in The Quibbler!’
‘Some people won't,’ said Hermione in a level voice. ‘But the Daily Prophet's version of the Azkaban breakout had some gaping holes in it. I think a lot of people will be wondering whether there isn't a better explanation of what happened, and if there's an alternative story available, even if it is published in a—’ she glanced sideways at Luna, ‘in a—well, an unusual magazine—I think they might be rather keen to read it.’
Rita didn't say anything for a while, but eyed Hermione shrewdly, her head a little to one side.
‘All right, let's say for a moment I'll do it,’ she said abruptly. ‘What kind of fee am I going to get?’
‘I don't think Daddy exactly pays people to write for the magazine,’ said Luna dreamily. ‘They do it because it's an honour and, of course, to see their names in print.’
Rita Skeeter looked as though the taste of Stinksap was strong in her mouth again as she rounded on Hermione.
‘I'm supposed to do this for free?’
‘Well, yes,’ said Hermione calmly, taking a sip of her drink. ‘Otherwise, as you very well know, I will inform the authorities that you are an unregistered Animagus. Of course, the Prophet might give you rather a lot for an insider's account of life in Azkaban.’
Rita looked as though she would have liked nothing better than to seize the paper umbrella sticking out of Hermione's drink and thrust it up her nose.
‘I don't suppose I've got any choice, have I?’ said Rita, her voice shaking slightly. She opened her crocodile bag once more, withdrew a piece of parchment, and raised her Quick-Quotes Quill.
‘Daddy will be pleased,’ said Luna brightly. A muscle twitched in Rita's jaw.
‘OK, Harry?’ said Hermione, turning to him. ‘Ready to tell the public the truth?’
‘I suppose,’ said Harry, watching Rita balancing the Quick-Quotes Quill at the ready on the parchment between them.
‘Fire away, then, Rita,’ said Hermione serenely, fishing a cherry out from the bottom of her glass.
第二天哈利的问题就有了答案。当荷米恩打开《预言家日报》的时候，她刚盯着头版看了一会儿，就猛地叫了起来，弄得旁边的人全都转过头来看她。 
　　“怎么啦？”哈利和罗恩异口同声地问。 
　　作为回答，她把报纸在面前的桌子上摊开，指着头版上满满的十张黑白照片，九张上面是男巫，第十张上是个女巫。一些人无声地嘲弄着什么，另一些人轻轻敲着照片的边缘，看上去非常傲慢无礼。每张照片都附标了姓名和此人被送进阿兹卡班之前所犯的罪行。 
　　“安东宁。多洛霍夫，”哈利念着，这个人有着一张长长的、苍白的、扭曲的脸，正嘲笑地看着哈利。“残忍地杀害了吉迪恩和费比恩。普利维特。” 
　　“阿尔杰农。洛克伍德，”这个人脸上长满了痘疮，头发油腻腻的，正懒洋洋地靠在照片边缘上，“把魔法部的秘密透露给了神秘人。” 
　　但是哈利的视线不由得投向了那个女巫。他看到这一页的时候她的脸就跳了出来。照片上的她有着长长的黑色的头发，看上去蓬乱不堪，不像他过去看到的那样浓密光亮。她在眼睑后面注视着哈利，薄薄的嘴边有一丝傲慢的轻蔑的笑容。和天狼星一样，她的脸上留有过去姣好面容的痕迹，但是有什么—也许是阿兹卡班—带走了她大部分的美丽。 
　　“贝拉特里克斯。雷斯特朗，折磨并导致了弗兰克和爱丽斯。隆巴顿夫妇的精神失常。” 
　　荷米恩用肘部轻轻推了推哈利，指着照片上方一行大字标题，哈利只顾着看贝拉特里克斯而忽略了。 
　　“阿兹卡班大规模的越狱” 
　　“魔法部担心布莱克正在召集老的食死徒” 
　　“布莱克？”哈利大声地说，“不是—” 
　　“嘘——”荷米恩拼命地阻止他，“别那么大声，看就行了！” 
　　“在昨夜晚些时候，魔法部宣布，阿兹卡班发生了大规模的越狱。 
　　魔法部长康纳利。福吉对记者说，十个被高度戒备守卫的犯人在昨晚早些时候逃跑了，他已经通知了麻瓜的首相，告诉他这些人是极度危险的。 
　　‘非常不幸的，我们发现自己又处在了两年半以前，天狼星布莱克越狱时的那种境地。’福吉昨晚说，‘我们认为这两次越狱是有联系的。如此大规模的越狱意味着外面有人接应，而我们必须记得，有史以来第一个越狱者天狼星布莱克，会理所应当地去帮助那些人步他的后尘。我们认为这些人，包括布莱克的堂姐，贝拉特里克斯。雷斯特朗，很有可能已经聚集在首领布莱克的身边。但是我们将竭尽所能去围捕这些罪犯，同时也希望魔法人士能保持警惕。不要去靠近任何一个罪犯。’” 
　　“你看，哈利，”罗恩害怕地说，“所以他昨天晚上那么高兴。” 
　　“我不能相信，”哈利发怒地说，“福吉竟然指责天狼星领导了越狱？” 
　　“他还能有什么别的观点？”荷米恩厉声说，“他不可能说‘对不起，各位，丹伯多警告过我这可能会发生，阿兹卡班的守卫已经投向了伏地魔’——别哼哼，罗恩—‘而现在伏地魔最糟糕的支持者也已经越狱了。’我的意思是，他不是花了整整六个月来告诉每个人你和丹伯多在撒谎吗？” 
　　荷米恩打开报纸去读里面的内容，而哈利则开始环顾四周。他不明白为什么他的同学没有感到害怕，或者至少讨论一下头版上这则可怕的消息，但是只有少数人才像荷米恩那样每天看报。他们都在讨论家庭作业和魁地奇，以及别的乱七八糟的事情，而就在墙的外面，十个食死徒接受了伏地魔的授衔。 
　　他瞥了一眼教工的桌子。那里的情况完全不同：丹伯多正在和麦格教授深入地交谈，看上去表情凝重。斯普劳特教授把报纸靠在一瓶番茄酱上，看得如此专心，以致于没有发现蛋黄正从一动不动的勺子里滴落到腿上。同时，在桌子一端的尽头，昂布瑞吉教授正在使劲地喝一碗麦片粥。只有那么一会儿，她那眼袋下垂的癞蛤蟆似的眼睛没有扫视大厅，寻找行为不端的学生。她板着个脸，一边吞咽，一边不时地朝桌子那边专心谈话的丹伯多和麦格教授恶意地看两眼。 
　　“噢，我的—”荷米恩奇怪地说，仍然看着报纸。 
　　“又怎么啦？”哈利快速地问，他觉得紧张。 
　　“简直—可怕，”荷米恩说，看上去在发抖。她把十个食死徒的反页折起来递给了哈利和罗恩。 
　　“魔法部工作人员悲惨的死亡 
　　在昨天晚上，魔法部的工作人员布罗得里克。伯德，49号，被发现死在了他的病床上，他是被一盆盆栽植物扼死的。圣蒙戈医院承诺将对此作全面的调查。当时医疗者已经赶到了现场，但仍不能救下伯德。死者是几个星期前因为工伤住进医院的。 
　　医疗者米里亚姆。斯特劳特，伯德病房的负责人，昨天已经被留薪停职，并拒绝发表意见。但是医院的发言人声明说： 
　　‘圣蒙戈医院对伯德的死深表遗憾，在此次悲惨的事件之前他的健康已经在稳定地恢复了。 
　　我们对于病房内的装饰物都有严格的规定，但是当时治疗者斯特劳特正忙于圣诞节的事情，忽视了伯德床边那盆植物的危险性。由于伯德的语言和行为能力都在恢复，斯特劳特鼓励他自己来照看那盆植物，丝毫没有意识到那不是一棵无辜的飞来花，而是从恶魔陷井上砍下来的一段，于是当逐渐痊愈的伯德触到它的时候，马上就被无情地扼死了。’圣蒙戈医院仍然不能解释为什么这盆植物会出现在病房内，现在正在请所有知情的巫师提供线索。” 
　　“伯德，”罗恩说，“伯德，好像听到过。” 
　　“我们见过他，”荷米恩低声说。“在圣蒙戈，记得吗？他就在洛克哈特的对面，就躺在那儿，瞪着天花板。那个恶魔的陷井来时我们也看见了，她—那个治疗者—还说它是圣诞节的礼物呢。” 
　　哈利回过去看报道。一种恐惧的感觉像胆汁一样涌上了喉头。 
　　“我们怎么就没认出恶魔的陷井呢？我们见过它，我们本来可以阻止这件事发生的。” 
　　“谁会想到恶魔的陷井会作为盆栽植物出现在病房里呢？”罗恩尖锐地说，“这不是我们的错，应该怪那个送去的人！他们都是些傻瓜，买东西的时候怎么就不检查一下？” 
　　“噢，想想吧，罗恩，”荷米恩颤抖着说，“我不认为谁会把恶魔的陷井栽进盆里，而不知道它会杀死人。这—这是一次谋杀，一次聪明的谋杀。如果这盆植物是被匿名地送去的，又怎么找得出是谁干的呢？” 
　　哈利没去想恶魔的陷井。他记起去魔法部参加听证会的那天，当他乘电梯去第九层的时候，从中庭那里进来过一个面如菜色的男人。 
　　“我见过伯德，”他缓缓地说，“在魔法部里，我和你爸爸在一起。” 
　　罗恩张大了嘴巴。 
　　“我在家里听爸爸谈起过他！他是个难以形容的—他在神秘事物司工作！” 
　　他们面面相觑，然后荷米恩把报纸拉回到自己面前，合起来，朝头版上那十个食死徒的照片看了一会儿，就一下子站了起来。 
　　“你去哪儿？”罗恩吃惊地问。 
　　“送封信，”荷米恩回答，把书包摆到肩上，“这个，嗯，我也不清楚，但值得试一试，我是唯一能做的人。” 
　　“我就是讨厌她这样，”罗恩抱怨，他和哈利正慢慢地走出大厅。“告诉我们她要去干什么，哪怕一次，难道她就会死吗？只需要花十秒钟—嗨，哈格力！” 
　　哈格力正站在门厅的门口，等一群拉文克劳的学生过去。他仍然有很多伤，就像那天他从巨人那里回来一样。他的鼻梁右边有一道新的伤口。 
　　“还好吗，你们两个？”他叫道，试图挤出一个笑容，但努力的结果是一种痛苦的扭曲。 
　　“你好吗，哈格力？”哈利问，跟在他后面随着拉文克劳的学生们一起走。 
　　“好，好，”哈格力用一种虚弱的、一听就是假话的腔调说；他朝经过的维克多教授挥挥手，假装不去看后者那被吓着的表情，“只是，忙，你们知道，平时的那些事—准备上课的内容—那些火怪要掉尾巴了，而且我还要接受调查，”他咕哝着。 
　　“你在接受调查？”罗恩大声地说，旁边经过的学生都好奇地望着他。“对不起—我的意思是—你在接受调查？”他低声说。 
　　“是的，”哈格力说。“不像我想的那样，老实告诉你们。不过你们不用担心，尽管进行地不太好，你们知道，无论如何，”他深深地叹了口气，“也许我该多放点辣椒粉，说不定下次火怪的尾巴就能脱落了。回头见，哈利，罗恩。” 
　　他走下石阶，从泥泞的操场上深一脚浅一脚地走了。哈利看着他，不知道自己还能承受多少坏消息。 
　　在以后的几天里，哈格力被接受调查的事已经在学校里传开了。令哈利愤慨的是，很少有人对次表示不安，实际上，有些人，尤其是马尔夫，似乎对此极为高兴。而对于那个在圣蒙戈医院死掉的魔法部的工作人员，哈利，罗恩和荷米恩似乎是仅有的知道并关心的人。现在走廊里只有一个话题：十个逃跑的食死徒，他们的故事已经被读过报纸的人传遍了学校。有谣言说，其中的一些人已经在霍格莫得村安顿了下来，就藏在尖叫棚屋里，正准备向霍格瓦彻进攻，就像天狼星布莱克曾经做过的那样。 
　　那些来自魔法家庭的学生听到这些食死徒的名字时，就像听到伏地魔一样害怕。那些人在伏地魔的恐怖统治时期所犯下的罪行被引为传奇。霍格瓦彻的学生里头，有一些人与被害人有关系，现在走在走廊里的时候就会被人指指点点：苏珊。波恩斯，她的叔叔、婶婶和表妹都死在其中一个食死徒的手上，在上Herbology的时候悲惨地对哈利说现在她知道哈利的感受了： 
　　“我不知道你怎么能够忍受—简直太恐怖了！”她坦率地说，往她的树苗里加了太多的龙粪，以致与它们扭动了起来，发出难受的吱吱身。 
　　的确，这些天哈利又成为走廊里嘀嘀咕咕和指指点点的目标了，然而他发现那些声音似乎与以往略有不同。听上去是好奇而不是敌对了，有一两次他甚至无意中听到一些对话，对于《预言家日报》关于十个食死徒的越狱方法和原因言之不详表示不满。在他们的困惑和恐惧中，这些怀疑似乎可以用另一种解释类说明：那就是过去一年里哈利和丹伯多所一直坚持的。 
　　不仅仅是学生们的态度改变了。有两三个教师也开始在走廊里低声地、紧张地交谈，看到学生走过来就连忙停止谈话。 
　　“他们显然不能在教师休息室里自由地谈话，”有一天哈利、罗恩和荷米恩看到麦格教授，弗立维教授和斯普劳特教授在咒语课教室外聚在一起时，荷米恩低声说道。“昂布瑞吉在那儿。” 
　　“也许他们知道些新情况？”罗恩说，转过头去看着那三位老师。 
　　“就算有，我们也不会知道，对吗？”哈利生气地说。“在某某法令之后，现在是几啦？”他说的是阿兹卡班越狱事件之后的第二天，学校布告栏上出现的布告： 
　　“霍格瓦彻高级调查员的命令 
　　教师们被禁止向学生们提供任何与教学内容无关的信息以上为第二十六号教育法令” 
　　这个最新的法令在学生中间传为笑谈。李。乔丹向昂布瑞吉指出，根据新的法令，她不能不让弗莱德和乔治在教室后头玩爆炸烟火。 
　　“爆炸烟火和黑魔法防御术没什么关系，教授！它和你的教学内容无关！” 
　　当哈利再见到李的时候，他的手背上正严重地留着血。哈利向他推荐了Murtlap精。 
　　哈利以为阿兹卡班的越狱事件也许会使昂布瑞吉稍有收敛，对于在她所爱的福吉的鼻子底下发生的灾难，她也许会感到不安。然而，唯一的后果似乎是她更狂热地力图将霍格瓦彻生活的所有方面都归与自己控制。她似乎已经决定了不久之后将有一次解雇，唯一的问题是特劳妮教授和哈格力谁会先走。 
　　现在每一次的预言课和神奇动物保护课已经被昂布瑞吉和她的笔记本所控制。她埋伏在香雾缭绕的塔楼房间的炉火边，用一些极难的鸟占术之类的问题打断特劳妮教授越来越兴奋的谈话，坚持她必须在学生们回答问题之前就知道回答的内容，要求她依次用水晶球，茶叶和古文石展示她的才能。哈利认为特劳妮教授在高压之下马上就要崩溃了。有几次他在走廊上看到她—这是很不寻常的，因为她总是待在塔楼上自己的房间里—粗鲁地自言自语，双手湿淋淋的，受惊吓地往旁边看，身上散发着一股雪梨酒的味道。如果哈利不用担心哈格力的话，他就要对她感到抱歉了—如果他们之间有一个人要失去工作的话，谁该留下对于哈利来说只有一个选择。 
　　不幸的是，哈利发现哈格力的情况不比特劳妮好多少。尽管他似乎采纳了荷米恩的意见，不再给他们看比Crup更吓人的动物，但是圣诞节以来，他的勇气也似乎丧失殆尽了。上课的时候他显得心烦意乱，甚至有些神经质，没有了上课的思路，问题都回答错了，还总是不安地看着昂布瑞吉。他和哈利他们也疏远了，还禁止他们天黑之后去看他。 
　　“如果她抓住了你们，我们就都完了。”他无力地说，不想做任何危及他工作的事，当然也包括他们在晚上跑到他的小屋里。 
　　对哈利来说，昂布瑞吉正在剥夺他在霍格瓦彻美好生活里的所有东西：去哈格力的小屋，收天狼星的信，他的火弩箭和魁地奇。他唯一可以作为报复的行动就是—加倍努力地训练DA成员。 
　　哈利很高兴看到所有的人，甚至包括扎卡利亚斯。史密斯，在听到食死徒逃跑的消息之后更努力地训练，但谁的进步也没有纳威显著。攻击他父母的凶手逃跑的消息使他身上发生了一种奇怪的，甚至有些惊人的变化。他一次也没有和哈利，罗恩以及荷米恩提起圣蒙戈医院里的会面，而他们也像他
Chapter 26 Seen And Unforseen
Luna said vaguely that she did not know how soon Rita's interview with Harry would appear in The Quibbler, that her father was expecting a lovely long article on recent sightings of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, ‘—and of course, that'll be a very important story, so Harry's might have to wait for the following issue,’ said Luna.
Harry had not found it an easy experience to talk about the night when Voldemort had returned. Rita had pressed him for every little detail and he had given her everything he could remember, knowing that this was his one big opportunity to tell the world the truth. He wondered how people would react to the story. He guessed that it would confirm a lot of people in the view that he was completely insane, not least because his story would be appearing alongside utter rubbish about Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. But the breakout of Bellatrix Lestrange and her fellow Death Eaters had given Harry a burning desire to do something, whether or not it worked ...
‘Can't wait to see what Umbridge thinks of you going public,’ said Dean, sounding awestruck at dinner on Monday night. Seamus was shovelling down large amounts of chicken and ham pie on Dean's other side, but Harry knew he was listening.
‘It's the right thing to do, Harry,’ said Neville, who was sitting opposite him. He was rather pale, but went on in a low voice, ‘It must have been ... tough ... talking about it ... was it?’
‘Yeah,’ mumbled Harry, ‘but people have got to know what Voldemort's capable of, haven't they?’
‘That's right,’ said Neville, nodding, ‘and his Death Eaters, too ... people should know ...’
Neville left his sentence hanging and returned to his baked potato. Seamus looked up, but when he caught Harry's eye he looked quickly back at his plate again. After a while, Dean, Seamus and Neville departed for the common room, leaving Harry and Hermione at the table waiting for Ron, who had not yet had dinner because of Quidditch practice.
Cho Chang walked into the Hall with her friend Marietta. Harry's stomach gave an unpleasant lurch, but she did not look over at the Gryffindor table, and sat down with her back to him.
‘Oh, I forgot to ask you,’ said Hermione brightly, glancing over at the Ravenclaw table, ‘what happened on your date with Cho? How come you were back so early?’
‘Er ... well, it was ...’ said Harry, pulling a dish of rhubarb crumble towards him and helping himself to seconds, ‘a complete fiasco, now you mention it.’
And he told her what had happened in Madam Puddifoot's teashop.
‘... so then,’ he finished several minutes later, as the final bit of crumble disappeared, ‘she jumps up, right, and says, “I'll see you around, Harry,” and runs out of the place!’ He put down his spoon and looked at Hermione. ‘I mean, what was all that about? What was going on?’
Hermione glanced over at the back of Cho's head and sighed.
‘Oh, Harry,’ she said sadly. ‘Well, I'm sorry but you were a bit tactless.’ 
‘Me, tactless?’ said Harry, outraged. ‘One minute we were getting on fine, next minute she was telling me that Roger Davies asked her out and how she used to go and snog Cedric in that stupid teashop—how was I supposed to feel about that?’
‘Well, you see,’ said Hermione, with the patient air of someone explaining that one plus one equals two to an over-emotional toddler, ‘you shouldn't have told her that you wanted to meet me halfway through your date.’
‘But, but,’ spluttered Harry, ‘but—you told me to meet you at twelve and to bring her along, how was I supposed to do that without telling her?’
‘You should have told her differently,’ said Hermione, still with that maddeningly patient air. ‘You should have said it was really annoying, but I'd made you promise to come along to the Three Broomsticks, and you really didn't want to go, you'd much rather spend the whole day with her, but unfortunately you thought you really ought to meet me and would she please, please come along with you and hopefully you'd be able to get away more quickly. And it might have been a good idea to mention how ugly you think I am, too,’ Hermione added as an afterthought.
‘But I don't think you're ugly,’ said Harry, bemused.
Hermione laughed.
‘Harry, you're worse than Ron ... well, no, you're not,’ she sighed, as Ron himself came stumping into the Hall splattered with mud and looking grumpy. ‘Look—you upset Cho when you said you were going to meet me, so she tried to make you jealous. It was her way of trying to find out how much you liked her.’ 
‘Is that what she was doing?’ said Harry, as Ron dropped onto the bench opposite them and pulled every dish within reach towards him. ‘Well, wouldn't it have been easier if she'd just asked me whether I liked her better than you?’ 
‘Girls don't often ask questions like that,’ said Hermione.
‘Well, they should!’ said Harry forcefully. ‘Then I could've just told her I fancy her, and she wouldn't have had to get herself all worked up again about Cedric dying!’
‘I'm not saying what she did was sensible,’ said Hermione, as Ginny joined them, just as muddy as Ron and looking equally disgruntled. ‘I'm just trying to make you see how she was feeling at the time.’
‘You should write a book,’ Ron told Hermione as he cut up his potatoes, ‘translating mad things girls do so boys can understand them.’
‘Yeah,’ said Harry fervently, looking over at the Ravenclaw table. Cho had just got up, and, still not looking at him, she left the Great Hall. Feeling rather depressed, he looked back at Ron and Ginny. ‘So, how was Quidditch practice?’
‘It was a nightmare,’ said Ron in a surly voice.
‘Oh come on,’ said Hermione, looking at Ginny, ‘I'm sure it wasn't that—’ 
‘Yes, it was,’ said Ginny. ‘It was appalling. Angelina was nearly in tears by the end of it.’
Ron and Ginny went off for baths after dinner; Harry and Hermione returned to the busy Gryffindor common room and their usual pile of homework. Harry had been struggling with a new star-chart for Astronomy for half an hour when Fred and George turned up.
‘Ron and Ginny not here?’ asked Fred, looking around as he pulled up a chair, and when Harry shook his head, he said, ‘Good. We were watching their practice. They're going to be slaughtered. They're complete rubbish without us.’
‘Come on, Ginny's not bad,’ said George fairly, sitting down next to Fred. ‘Actually, I dunno how she got so good, seeing how we never let her play with us.’
‘She's been breaking into your broom shed in the garden since the age of six and taking each of your brooms out in turn when you weren't looking,’ said Hermione from behind her tottering pile of Ancient Rune books.
‘Oh,’ said George, looking mildly impressed. ‘Well—that'd explain it.’ 
‘Has Ron saved a goal yet?’ asked Hermione, peering over the top of Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms.
‘Well, he can do it if he doesn't think anyone's watching him,’ said Fred, rolling his eyes. ‘So all we have to do is ask the crowd to turn their backs and talk among themselves every time the Quaffle goes up his end on Saturday.’ 
He got up again and moved restlessly to the window, staring out across the dark grounds.
‘You know, Quidditch was about the only thing in this place worth staying for.’
Hermione cast him a stern look.
‘You've got exams coming!’
‘Told you already, we're not fussed about NEWTs,’ said Fred. ‘The Snackboxes are ready to roll, we found out how to get rid of those boils, just a couple of drops of Murtlap essence sorts them, Lee put us on to it.’
George yawned widely and looked out disconsolately at the cloudy night sky.
‘I dunno if I even want to watch this match. If Zacharias Smith beats us I might have to kill myself.’
‘Kill him, more like,’ said Fred firmly.
‘That's the trouble with Quidditch,’ said Hermione absent-mindedly, once again bent over her Runes translation, ‘it creates all this bad feeling and tension between the houses.’
She looked up to find her copy of Spellman's Syllabary, and caught Fred, George and Harry all staring at her with expressions of mingled disgust and incredulity on their faces.
‘Well, it does!’ she said impatiently. ‘It's only a game, isn't it?’
‘Hermione,’ said Harry, shaking his head, ‘you're good on feelings and stuff, but you just don't understand about Quidditch.’
‘Maybe not,’ she said darkly, returning to her translation, ‘but at least my happiness doesn't depend on Ron's goalkeeping ability.’
And though Harry would rather have jumped off the Astronomy Tower than admit it to her, by the time he had watched the game the following Saturday he would have given any number of Galleons not to care about Quidditch either.
The very best thing you could say about the match was that it was short; the Gryffindor spectators had to endure only twenty-two minutes of agony. It was hard to say what the worst thing was: Harry thought it was a close-run contest between Ron's fourteenth failed save, Sloper missing the Bludger but hitting Angelina in the mouth with his bat, and Kirke shrieking and falling backwards off his broom when Zacharias Smith zoomed at him carrying the Quaffle. The miracle was that Gryffindor only lost by ten points: Ginny managed to snatch the Snitch from right under Hufflepuff Seeker Summerby's nose, so that the final score was two hundred and forty versus two hundred and thirty.
‘Good catch,’ Harry told Ginny back in the common room, where the atmosphere resembled that of a particularly dismal funeral.
‘I was lucky,’ she shrugged. ‘It wasn't a very fast Snitch and Summerby's got a cold, he sneezed and closed his eyes at exactly the wrong moment. Anyway, once you're back on the team—’
‘Ginny, I've got a lifelong ban.’
‘You're banned as long as Umbridge is in the school,’ Ginny corrected him. ‘There's a difference. Anyway, once you're back, I think I'll, try out for Chaser. Angelina and Alicia are both leaving next year and I prefer goal-scoring to Seeking anyway’
Harry looked over at Ron, who was hunched in a corner, staring at his knees, a bottle of Butlerbeer clutched in his hand.
‘Angelina still won't let him resign,’ Ginny said, as though reading Harry's mind. ‘She says she knows he's got it in him.’
Harry liked Angelina for the faith she was showing in Ron, but at the same time thought it would really be kinder to let him leave the team. Ron had left the pitch to another booming chorus of ‘Weasley is our King’ sung with great gusto by the Slytherins, who were now favourites to win the Quidditch Cup.
Fred and George wandered over.
‘I haven't even got the heart to take the mickey out of him,’ said Fred, looking over at Ron's crumpled figure. ‘Mind you ... when he missed the fourteenth—’
He made wild motions with his arms as though doing an upright doggy-paddle.
‘—well, I'll save it for parties, eh?’
Ron dragged himself up to bed shortly after this. Out of respect for his feelings, Harry waited a while before going up to the dormitory himself, so that Ron could pretend to be asleep if he wanted to. Sure enough, when Harry finally entered the room Ron was snoring a little too loudly to be entirely plausible.
Harry got into bed, thinking about the match. It had been immensely frustrating watching from the sidelines. He was quite impressed by Ginny's performance but he knew if he had been playing he could have caught the Snitch sooner ... there had been a moment when it had been fluttering near Kirke's ankle; if Ginny hadn't hesitated, she might have been able to scrape a win for Gryffindor.
Umbridge had been sitting a few rows below Harry and Hermione. Once or twice she had turned squatly in her seat to look at him, her wide toad's mouth stretched in what he thought had been a gloating smile. The memory of it made him feel hot with anger as he lay there in the dark. After a few minutes, however, he remembered that he was supposed to be emptying his mind of all emotion before he slept, as Snape kept instructing him at the end of every Occlumency lesson.
He tried for a moment or two, but the thought of Snape on top of memories of Umbridge merely increased his sense of grumbling resentment and he found himself focusing instead on how much he loathed the pair of them. Slowly, Ron's snores died away to be replaced by the sound of deep, slow breathing. It took Harry much longer to get to sleep; his body was tired, but it took his brain a long time to close down.
He dreamed that Neville and Professor Sprout were waltzing around the Room of Requirement while Professor McGonagall played the bagpipes. He watched them happily for a while, then decided to go and find the other members of the DA.
But when he left the room he found himself facing, not the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, but a torch burning in its bracket on a stone wall. He turned his head slowly to the left. There, at the far end of the windowless passage, was a plain, black door.
He walked towards it with a sense of mounting excitement. He had the strangest feeling that this time he was going to get lucky at last, and find the way to open it ... he was feet from it, and saw with a leap of excitement that there was a glowing strip of faint blue light down the right-hand side ... the door was ajar ... he stretched out his hand to push it wide and—
Ron gave a loud, rasping, genuine snore and Harry awoke abruptly with his right hand stretched in front of him in the darkness, to open a door that was hundreds of miles away. He let it fall with a feeling of mingled disappointment and guilt. He knew he should not have seen the door, but at the same time felt so consumed with curiosity about what was behind it that he could not help feeling annoyed with Ron ... if only he could have saved his snore for just another minute.
They entered the Great Hall for breakfast at exactly the same moment as the post owls on Monday morning. Hermione was not the only person eagerly awaiting her Daily Prophet: nearly everyone was eager for more news about the escaped Death Eaters, who, despite many reported sightings, had still not been caught. She gave the delivery owl a Knut and unfolded the newspaper eagerly while Harry helped himself to orange juice; as he had only received one note during the entire year, he was sure, when the first owl landed with a thud in front of him, that it had made a mistake.
‘Who're you after?’ he asked it, languidly removing his orange juice from underneath its beak and leaning forwards to see the recipient's name and address:
Harry Potter
Great Hall
Hogwarts School
Frowning, he made to take the letter from the owl, but before he could do so, three, four, five more owls had fluttered down beside it and were jockeying for position, treading in the butter and knocking over the salt as each one attempted to give him their letter first.
‘What's going on?’ Ron asked in amazement, as the whole of Gryffindor table leaned forwards to watch and another seven owls landed amongst the first ones, screeching, hooting and flapping their wings.
‘Harry!’ said Hermione breathlessly, plunging her hands into the feathery mass and pulling out a screech owl bearing a long, cylindrical package. ‘I think I know what this means—open this one first!’
Harry ripped off the brown packaging. Out rolled a tightly furled copy of the March edition of The Quibbler.He unrolled it to see his own face grinning sheepishly at him from the front cover. In large red letters across this picture were the words:
HARRY POTTER SPEAKS OUT AT LAST:
THE TRUTH ABOUT HE WHO MUST NOT BE NAMED
AND THE NIGHT I SAW HIM RETURN
‘It's good, isn't it?’ said Luna, who had drifted over to the Gryffindor table and now squeezed herself on to the bench between Fred and Ron. ‘It came out yesterday, I asked Dad to send you a free copy. I expect all these,’ she waved a hand at the assembled owls still scrabbling around on the table in front of Harry, ‘are letters from readers.’
‘That's what I thought,’ said Hermione eagerly. ‘Harry, d'you mind if we—?’
‘Help yourself,’ said Harry, feeling slightly bemused.
Ron and Hermione both started ripping open envelopes.
‘This one's from a bloke who thinks you're off your rocker,’ said Ron, glancing down his letter. ‘Ah well ...’
‘This woman recommends you try a good course of Shock Spells at St. Mungo's,’ said Hermione, looking disappointed and crumpling up a second.
‘This one looks OK, though,’ said Harry slowly scanning a long letter from a witch in Paisley. ‘Hey she says she believes me!’
‘This one's in two minds,’ said Fred, who had joined in the letter-opening with enthusiasm. ‘Says you don't come across as a mad person, but he really doesn't want to believe You-Know-Who's back so he doesn't know what to think now. Blimey, what a waste of parchment.’
‘Here's another one you've convinced, Harry!’ said Hermione excitedly. ‘Having read your side of the story, I am forced to the conclusion that the Daily Prophet has treated you very unfairly ... little though I want to think that He Who Must Not Be Named has returned, I am forced to accept that you are telling the truth ...Oh, this is wonderful!’
‘Another one who thinks you're barking,’ said Ron, throwing a crumpled letter over his shoulder ‘... but this one says you've got her converted and she now thinks you're a real hero—she's put in a photograph, too—wow!’
‘What is going on here?’ said a falsely sweet, girlish voice.
Harry looked up with his hands full of envelopes. Professor Umbridge was standing behind Fred and Luna, her bulging toad's eyes scanning the mess of owls and letters on the table in front of Harry. Behind her he saw many of the students watching them avidly.
‘Why have you got all these letters, Mr. Potter?’ she asked slowly.
‘Is that a crime now?’ said Fred loudly. ‘Getting mail?’
‘Be careful, Mr Weasley or I shall have to put you in detention,’ said Umbridge. ‘Well, Mr Potter?’
Harry hesitated, but he did not see how he could keep what he had done quiet; it was surely only a matter of time before a copy of The Quibbler came to Umbridge's attention.
‘People have written to me because I gave an interview,’ said Harry. ‘About what happened to me last June.’
For some reason he glanced up at the staff table as he said this. Harry had the strangest feeling that Dumbledore had been watching him a second before, but when he looked towards the Headmaster he seemed to be absorbed in conversation with Professor Flitwick.
‘An interview?’ repeated Umbridge, her voice thinner and higher than ever. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean a reporter asked me questions and I answered them,’ said Harry. ‘Here—’
And he threw the copy of The Quibbler to her. She caught it and stared down at the cover. Her pale, doughy face turned an ugly, patchy violet.
‘When did you do this?’ she asked, her voice trembling slightly.
‘Last Hogsmeade weekend,’ said Harry.
She looked up at him, incandescent with rage, the magazine shaking in her stubby fingers.
‘There will be no more Hogsmeade trips for you, Mr. Potter,’ she whispered. ‘How you dare ... how you could ...’ She took a deep breath. ‘I have tried again and again to teach you not to tell lies. The message, apparently, has still not sunk in. Fifty points from Gryffindor and another week's worth of detentions.’
She stalked away, clutching The Quibbler to her chest, the eyes of many students following her.
By mid-morning enormous signs had been put up all over the school, not just on house noticeboards, but in the corridors and classrooms too.
BY ORDER OF THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS
 
Any student found in possession of the magazine
The Quibblerwill be expelled.
 
The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-seven.
 
Signed: Dolores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor
For some reason, every time Hermione caught sight of one of these signs she beamed with pleasure.
‘What exactly are you so happy about?’ Harry asked her.
‘Oh, Harry, don't you see?’ Hermione breathed. ‘If she could have done one thing to make absolutely sure that every single person in this school will read your interview, it was banning it!’
And it seemed that Hermione was quite right. By the end of the day, though Harry had not seen so much as a corner of The Quibbler anywhere in the school, the whole place seemed to be quoting the interview to each other. Harry heard them whispering about it as they queued up outside classes, discussing it over lunch and in the back of lessons, while Hermione even reported that every occupant of the cubicles in the girls’ toilets had been talking about it when she nipped in there before Ancient Runes.
‘Then they spotted me, and obviously they know I know you, so they bombarded me with questions,’ Hermione told Harry, her eyes shining, ‘and Harry, I think they believe you, I really do. I think you've finally got them convinced!’
Meanwhile, Professor Umbridge was stalking the school, stopping students at random and demanding that they turn out their books and pockets: Harry knew she was looking for copies of The Quibbler, but the students were several steps ahead of her. The pages carrying Harry's interview had been bewitched to resemble extracts from textbooks if anyone but themselves read it, or else wiped magically blank until they wanted to peruse it again. Soon it seemed that every single person in the school had read it.
The teachers were of course forbidden from mentioning the interview by Educational Decree Number Twenty-six, but they found ways to express their feelings about it all the same. Professor Sprout awarded Gryffindor twenty points when Harry passed her a watering can; a beaming Professor Flitwick pressed a box of squeaking sugar mice on him at the end of Charms, said, ‘Shh!’ and hurried away; and Professor Trelawney broke into hysterical sobs during Divination and announced to the startled class, and a very disapproving Umbridge, that Harry was not going to suffer an early death after all, but would live to a ripe old age, become Minister for Magic and have twelve children.
But what made Harry happiest was Cho catching up with him as he was hurrying along to Transfiguration the next day. Before he knew what had happened, her hand was in his and she was breathing in his ear, ‘I'm really, really sorry. That interview was so brave ... it made me cry.’
He was sorry to hear she had shed even more tears over it, but very glad they were on speaking terms again, and even more pleased when she gave him a swift kiss on the cheek and hurried off again. And unbelievably, no sooner had he arrived outside Transfiguration than something just as good happened: Seamus stepped out of the queue to face him.
‘I just wanted to say,’ he mumbled, squinting at Harry's left knee, ‘I believe you. And I've sent a copy of that magazine to me mam.’
If anything more was needed to complete Harry's happiness, it was the reaction he got from Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle. He saw them with their heads together later that afternoon in the library; they were with a weedy-looking boy Hermione whispered was called Theodore Nott. They looked round at Harry as he browsed the shelves for the book he needed on Partial Vanishment. Goyle cracked his knuckles threateningly and Malfoy whispered something undoubtedly malevolent to Crabbe. Harry knew perfectly well why they were acting like this: he had named all of their fathers as Death Eaters.
‘And the best bit,’ whispered Hermione gleefully, as they left the library, ‘is they can't contradict you, because they can't admit they've read the article!’
To cap it all, Luna told him over dinner that no issue of The Quibbler had ever sold out faster.
‘Dad's reprinting!’ she told Harry, her eyes popping excitedly. ‘He can't believe it, he says people seem even more interested in this than the Crumple-Horned Snorkacks!’
Harry was a hero in the Gryffindor common room that night. Daringly, Fred and George had put an Enlargement Charm on the front cover of The Quibbler and hung it on the wall, so that Harry's giant head gazed down upon the proceedings, occasionally saying things like ‘THE MINISTRY ARE MORONS’ and ‘EAT DUNG, UMBRIDGE’ in a booming voice. Hermione did not find this very amusing; she said it interfered with her concentration, and she ended up going to bed early out of irritation. Harry had to admit that the poster was not quite as funny after an hour or two, especially when the talking spell had started to wear off, so that it merely shouted disconnected words like ‘DUNG’ and ‘UMBRIDGE’ at more and more frequent intervals in a progressively higher voice. In fact, it started to make his head ache and his scar began prickling uncomfortably again. To disappointed moans from the many people who were sitting around him, asking him to relive his interview for the umpteenth time, he announced that he too needed an early night.
The dormitory was empty when he reached it. He rested his forehead for a moment against the cool glass of the window beside his bed; it felt soothing against his scar. Then he undressed and got into bed, wishing his headache would go away. He also felt slightly sick. He rolled over on to his side, closed his eyes, and fell asleep almost at once ...
He was standing in a dark, curtained room lit by a single branch of candles. His hands were clenched on the back of a chair in front of him. They were long-fingered and white as though they had not seen sunlight for years and looked like large, pale spiders agairst the dark velvet of the chair.
Beyond the chair, in a pool of light cast upon the floor by the candles, knelt a man in black robes.
‘I have been badly advised, it seems,’ said Harry, in a high, cold voice that pulsed with anger.
‘Master, I crave your pardon,’ croaked the man kneeling on the floor. The back of his head glimmered in the candlelight. He seemed to be trembling.
‘I do not blame you, Rookwood,’ said Harry in that cold, cruel voice.
He relinquished his grip on the chair and walked around it, closer to the man cowering on the floor, until he stood directly over him in the darkness, looking down from a far greater height than usual.
‘You are sure of your facts, Rookwood?’ asked Harry.
‘Yes, My Lord, yes ... I used to work in the Department aftet—after all ...’
‘Avery told me Bode would be able to remove it.’
‘Bode could never have taken it, Master ... Bode would have known he could not ... undoubtedly, that is why he fought so hard against Malfoy's Imperius Curse ...’
‘Stand up, Rookwood,’ whispered Harry.
The kneeling man almost fell over in his haste to obey. His face was pockmarked; the scars were thrown into relief by the candlelight. He remained a little stooped when standing, as though halfway through a bow, and he darted terrified looks up at Harry's face.
‘You have done well to tell me this,’ said Harry. ‘Very well ... I have wasted months on fruitless schemes, it seems ... but no matter ... we begin again, from now. You have Lord Voldemort's gratitude, Rookwood ...’
‘My Lord ... yes, My Lord,’ gasped Rookwood, his voice hoarse with relief.
‘I shall need your help. I shall need all the information you can give me.’ 
‘Of course, My Lord, of course ... anything ...’
‘Very well ... you may go. Send Avery to me.’
Rookwood scurried backwards, bowing, and disappeared through a door.
Left alone in the dark room, Harry turned towards the wall. A cracked, age-spotted mirror hung on the wall in the shadows. Harry moved towards it. His reflection grew larger and clearer in the darkness ... a face whiter than a skull ... red eyes with slits for pupils ...
‘NOOOOOOOOO!’
‘What?’ yelled a voice nearby.
Harry Hailed around madly, became entangled in the hangings and fell out of his bed. For a few seconds he did not know where he was; he was convinced he was about to see the white, skull-like lace looming at him out of the dark again, then very near to him Ron's voice spoke.
‘Will you stop acting like a maniac so I can get you out of here!’
Ron wrenched the hangings apart and Harry stared up at him in the moonlight, flat on his back, his scar searing with pain. Ron looked as though he had just been getting ready for bed; one arm was out of his robes.
‘Has someone been attacked again?’ asked Ron, pulling Harry roughly to his feet. ‘Is it Dad? Is it that snake?’
‘No—everyone's fine—’ gasped Harry, whose forehead felt as though it were on fire. ‘Well ... Avery isn't ... he's in trouble ... he gave him the wrong information ... Voldemort's really angry ...’
Harry groaned and sank, shaking, on to his bed, rubbing his scar.
‘But Rookwood's going to help him now ... he's on the right track again ...’ 
‘What are you talking about?’ said Ron, sounding scared. ‘D'you mean ... did you just see You-Know-Who?’
‘I was You-Know-Who,’ said Harry, and he stretched out his hands in the darkness and held them up to his face, to check that they were no longer deathly white and long-fingered. ‘He was with Rookwood, he's one of the Death Eaters who escaped from Azkaban, remember? Rookwood's just told him Bode couldn't have done it.’
‘Done what?’
‘Remove something ... he said Bode would have known he couldn't have done it ... Bode was under the Imperius Curse ... I think he said Malfoy's dad put it on him.’
‘Bode was bewitched to remove something?’ Ron said. ‘But—Harry, that's got to be—’
‘The weapon,’ Harry finished the sentence for him. ‘I know.’
The dormitory door opened; Dean and Seamus came in. Harry swung his legs back into bed. He did not want to look as though anything odd had just happened, seeing as Seamus had only just stopped thinking Harry was a nutter.
‘Did you say,’ murmured Ron, putting his head close to Harry's on the pretence of helping himself to water from the jug on his bedside table, ‘that you were You-Know-Who?’
‘Yeah,’ said Harry quietly.
Ron took an unnecessarily large gulp of water; Harry saw it spill over his chin on to his chest.
‘Harry,’ he said, as Dean and Seamus clattered around noisily, pulling off their robes and talking, ‘you've got to tell—’
‘I haven't got to tell anyone,’ said Harry shortly. ‘I wouldn't have seen it at all if I could do Occlumency. I'm supposed to have learned to shut this stuff out. That's what they want.’
By ‘they’ he meant Dumbledore. He got back into bed and rolled over on to his side with his back to Ron and after a while he heard Ron's mattress creak as he, too, lay back down. Harry's scar began to burn; he bit hard on his pillow to stop himself making a noise. Somewhere, he knew, Avery was being punished.
Harry and Ron waited until break next morning to tell Hermione exactly what had happened; they wanted to be absolutely sure they could not be overheard. Standing in their usual corner of the cool and breezy courtyard, Harry told her every detail of the dream he could remember. When he had finished, she said nothing at all for a few moments, but stared with a kind of painful intensity at Fred and George, who were both headless and selling their magical hats from under their cloaks on the other side of the yard.
‘So that's why they killed him,’ she said quietly, withdrawing her gaze from Fred and George at last. ‘When Bode tried to steal this weapon, something funny happened to him. I think there must be defensive spells on it, or around it, to stop people touching it. That's why he was in St. Mungos, his brain had gone all funny and he couldn't talk. But remember what the Healer told us? He was recovering. And they couldn't risk him getting better, could they? I mean, the shock of whatever happened when he touched that weapon probably made the Imperius Curse lift. Once he'd got his voice back, he'd explain what he'd been doing, wouldn't he? They would have known he'd been sent to steal the weapon. Of course, it would have been easy for Lucius Malfoy to put the curse on him. Never out of the Ministry, is he?’
‘He was even hanging around that day I had my hearing,’ said Harry. ‘In the—hang on ...’ he said slowly. ‘He was in the Department of Mysteries corridor that day! Your dad said he was probably trying to sneak down and find out what happened in my hearing, but what if—’
‘Sturgis!’ gasped Hermione, looking thunderstruck.
‘Sorry?’ said Ron, looking bewildered.
‘Sturgis Podmore —’ said Hermione breathlessly, ‘arrested for trying to get through a door! Lucius Malfoy must have got him too! I bet he did it the day you saw him there, Harry. Sturgis had Moody's Invisibility Cloak, right? So, what if he was standing guard by the door, invisible, and Malfoy heard him move—or guessed someone was there—or just did the Imperius Curse on the off-chance there'd be a guard there? So, when Sturgis next had an opportunity—probably when it was his turn on guard duty again—he tried to get into the Department to steal the weapon for Voldemort—Ron, be quiet—but he got caught and sent to Azkaban ...’
She gazed at Harry.
‘And now Rookwood's told Voldemort how to get the weapon?’
‘I didn't hear all the conversation, but that's what it sounded like,’ said Harry. ‘Rookwood used to work there ... maybe Voldemort'll send Rookwood to do it?’
Hermione nodded, apparently still lost in thought. Then, quite abruptly, she said, ‘But you shouldn't have seen this at all, Harry.’
‘What?’ he said, taken aback.
‘You're supposed to be learning how to close your mind to this sort of thing,’ said Hermione, suddenly stern.
‘I know I am,’ said Harry. ‘But—’
‘Well, I think we should just try and forget what you saw,’ said Hermione firmly. ‘And you ought to put in a bit more effort on your Occlumency from now on.’
Harry was so angry with her he did not talk to her for the rest of the day, which proved to be another bad one. When people were not discussing the escaped Death Eaters in the corridors, they were laughing at Gryffindor's abysmal performance in their match against Hufflepuff; the Slytherins were singing Weasley is our King’ so loudly and frequently that by sundown Filch had banned it from the corridors out of sheer irritation.
The week did not improve as it progressed. Harry received two more ‘Ds in Potions; he was still on tenterhooks that Hagrid might get the sack; and he couldn't stop himself dwelling on the dream in which he had been Voldemort—though he didn't bring it up with Ron and Hermione again; he didn't want another telling-off from Hermione. He wished very much that he could have talked to Sirius about it, but that was out of the question, so he tried to push the matter to the back of his mind.
Unfortunately, the back of his mind was no longer the secure place it had once been.
‘Get up, Potter.’
A couple of weeks after his dream of Rookwood, Harry was to be found, yet again, kneeling on the floor of Snape's office, trying to clear his head. He had just been forced, yet again, to relive a stream of very early memories he had not even realised he still had, most of them concerning humiliations Dudley and his gang had inflicted upon him in primary school.
‘That last memory,’ said Snape. ‘What was it?’
‘I don't know,’ said Harry, getting wearily to his feet. He was finding it increasingly difficult to disentangle separate memories from the rush of images and sound that Snape kept calling forth. ‘You mean the one where my cousin tried to make me stand in the toilet?’
‘No,’ said Snape softly. ‘I mean the one with a man kneeling in the middle of a darkened room ...’
‘It's ... nothing,’ said Harry.
Snape's dark eyes bored into Harry's. Remembering what Snape had said about eye contact being crucial to Legilimency, Harry blinked and looked away.
‘How do that man and that room come to be inside your head, Potter?’ said Snape.
‘It—’ said Harry, looking everywhere but at Snape, ‘it was—just a dream I had.’
‘A dream?’ repeated Snape.
There was a pause during which Harry stared fixedly at a large dead frog suspended in a jar of purple liquid.
‘You do know why we are here, don't you, Potter?’ said Snape, in a low, dangerous voice. ‘You do know why I am giving up my evenings to this tedious job?’
‘Yes,’ said Harry stiffly.
‘Remind me why we are here, Potter.’
‘So I can learn Occlumency, said Harry, now glaring at a dead eel.
‘Correct, Potter. And dim though you may be—’ Harry looked back at Snape, hating him ‘—I would have thought that after over two months of lessons you might have made some progress. How many other dreams about the Dark Lord have you had?’
‘Just that one,’ lied Harry.
‘Perhaps,’ said Snape, his dark, cold eyes narrowing slightly, ‘perhaps you actually enjoy having these visions and dreams, Potter. Maybe they make you feel special— important?’
‘No, they don't,’ said Harry, his jaw set and his fingers clenched tightly around the handle of his wand.
That is just as well, Potter,’ said Snape coldly, ‘because you are neither special nor important, and it is not up to you to find out what the Dark Lord is saying to his Death Eaters.’
‘No—that's your job, isn't it?’ Harry shot at him.
He had not meant to say it; it had burst out of him in temper. For a long moment they stared at each other, Harry convinced he had gone too far. But there was a curious, almost satisfied expression on Snape's face when he answered.
‘Yes, Potter,’ he said, his eyes glinting. ‘That is my job. Now, if you are ready, we will start again.’
He raised his wand: ‘One—two—three—Legilimens!’
A hundred dementors were swooping towards Harry across the lake in the grounds ... he screwed up his face in concentration ... they were coming closer ... he could see the dark holes beneath their hoods ... yet he could also see Snape standing in front of him, his eyes fixed on Harry's face, muttering under his breath ... and somehow, Snape was growing clearer, and the dementors were growing fainter ...
Harry raised his own wand.
‘Protego!’
Snape staggered— his wand flew upwards, away from Harry—and suddenly Harry's mind was teeming with memories that were not his: a hook-nosed man was shouting at a cowering woman, while a small dark-haired boy cried in a corner ... a greasy-haired teenager sat alone in a dark bedroom, pointing his wand at the ceiling, shooting down flies ... a girl was laughing as a scrawny boy tried to mount a bucking broomstick—
‘ENOUGH!’
Harry felt as though he had been pushed hard in the chest; he staggered several steps backwards, hit some of the shelves covering Snape's walls and heard something crack. Snape was shaking slightly, and was very white in the face.
The back of Harry's robes was damp. One of the jars behind him had broken when he fell against it; the pickled slimy thing within was swirling in its draining potion.
‘Reparo,’ hissed Snape, and the jar sealed itself at once. ‘Well, Potter ... that was certainly an improvement ...’ Panting slightly, Snape straightened the Pensieve in which he had again stored some of his thoughts before starting the lesson, almost as though he was checking they were still there. ‘I don't remember telling you to use a Shield Charm ... but there is no doubt that it was effective ...’
Harry did not speak; he felt that to say anything might be dangerous. He was sure he had just broken into Snape's memories, that he had just seen scenes from Snape's childhood. It was unnerving to think that the little boy who had been crying as he watched his parents shouting was actually standing in front of him with such loathing in his eyes.
‘Let's try again, shall we?’ said Snape.
Harry felt a thrill of dread; he was about to pay for what had just happened, he was sure of it. They moved back into position with the desk between them, Harry feeling he was going to find it much harder to empty his mind this time.
‘On the count of three, then,’ said Snape, raising his wand once more. ‘One—two—’
Harry did not have time to gather himself together and attempt to clear his mind before Snape cried, ‘Legilimens!’
He was hurtling along the corridor towards the Department of Masteries, past the blank stone walls, past the torches—the plain black door was growing ever larger; he was moving so fast he was going to collide with it, he was feet from it and again he could see that chink of faint blue light—
The door had flown open! He was through it at last, inside a black-walled, black-floored circular room lit with blue-flamed candles, and there were more doors all around him—he needed to go on—but which door ought he to take—?
‘P OTTER!’
Harry opened his eyes. He was flat on his back again with no memory of having got there; he was also panting as though his really had run the length of the Department of Mysteries corridor, really had sprinted through the black door and found the circular room.
‘Explain yourself!’ said Snape, who was standing over him, looking furious.
‘I ... dunno what happened,’ said Harry truthfully, standing up. There was a lump on the back of his head from where he had hit the ground and he felt feverish. ‘I've never seen that before. I mean, I told you, I've dreamed about the door ... but it's never opened before ...’
‘You are not working hard enough!’
For some reason, Snape seemed even angrier than he had done two minutes before, when Harry had seen into his teacher's memories.
‘You are lazy and sloppy, Potter, it is small wonder that the Dark Lord—’ 
‘Can you tell me something, sir?’ said Harry, firing up again. ‘Why do you call Voldemort the Dark Lord? I've only ever heard Death Eaters call him that.’ 
Snape opened his mouth in a snarl—and a woman screamed from somewhere outside the room.
Snape's head jerked upwards; he was gazing at the ceiling.
‘What the—?’ he muttered.
Harry could hear a muffled commotion coming from what he thought might be the Entrance Hall. Snape looked round at him, frowning.
‘Did you see anything unusual on your way down here, Potter?’
Harry shook his head. Somewhere above them, the woman screamed again. Snape strode to his office door, his wand still held at the ready, and swept out of sight. Harry hesitated for a moment, then followed.
The screams were indeed coming from the Entrance Hall; they grew louder as Harry ran towards the stone steps leading up from the dungeons. When he reached the top he found the Entrance Hall packed; students had come flooding out of the Great Hall, where dinner was still in progress, to see what was going on; others had crammed themselves on to the marble staircase. Harry pushed forwards through a knot of tall Slytherins and saw that the onlookers had formed a great ring, some of them looking shocked, others even frightened. Professor McGonagall was directly opposite Harry en the other side of the Hall; she looked as though what she was watching made her feel faintly sick.
Professor Trelawney was standing in the middle of the Entrance Hall with her wand in one hand and an empty sherry bottle in the other, looking utterly mad. Her hair was sticking up on end, her glasses were lopsided so that one eye was magnified more than the other; her innumerable shawls and scarves were trailing haphazardly from her shoulders, giving the impression that she was falling apart at the seams. Two large trunks lay on the floor beside her, one of them upside-down; it looked very much as though it had been thrown down the stairs after her. Professor Trelawney was staring, apparently terrified, at something Harry could not see but which seemed to be standing at the foot of the stairs.
‘No!’ she shrieked. ‘NO! This cannot be happening ... it cannot ... I retuse to accept it!’
‘You didn't realise this was coming?’ said a high girlish voice, sounding callously amused, and Harry, moving slightly to his right, saw that Trelawney's terrifying vision was nothing other than Professor Umbridge. ‘Incapable though you are of predicting even tomorrows weather, you must surely have realised that your pitiful performance during my inspections, and lack of any improvement, would make it inevitable that you would be sacked?’
‘You c—can't!’ howled Professor Trelawney, tears streaming down her face from behind her enormous lenses, ‘you c—can't sack me! I've b—been here sixteen years! H— Hogwarts is m—my h—home!’
‘It was your home,’ said Professor Umbridge, and Harry was revolted to see the enjoyment stretching her toadlike face as she watched Professor Trelawney sink, sobbing uncontrollably, on to one of her trunks, ‘until an hour ago, when the Minister for Magic countersigned your Order of Dismissal. Now kindly remove yourself from this Hall. You are embarrassing us.’
But she stood and watched, with an expression of gloating enjoyment, as Professor Trelawney shuddered and moaned, rocking backwards and forwards on her trunk in paroxysms of grief. Harry heard a muffled sob to his left and looked around. Lavender and Parvati were both crying quietly, their arms round each other. Then he heard footsteps. Professor McGonagall had broken away from the spectators, marched straight up to Professor Trelawney and was patting her firmly on the back while withdrawing a large handkerchief from within her robes.
‘There, there, Sybill ... calm down ... blow your nose on this ... it's not as bad as you think, now ... you are not going to have to leave Hogwarts ...’ 
‘Oh really, Professor McGonagall?’ said Umbridge in a deadly voice, taking a few steps forward. ‘And your authority for that statement is ... ?’
‘That would be mine,’ said a deep voice.
The oaken front doors had swung open. Students beside them scuttled out of the way as Dumbledore appeared in the entrance. What he had been doing out in the grounds Harry could not imagine, but there was something impressive about the sight of him framed in the doorway against an oddly misty night. Leaving the doors wide open behind him he strode forwards through the circle of onlookers towards Professor Trelawney, tear-stained and trembling, on her trunk, Professor McGonagall alongside her.
‘Yours, Professor Dumbledore?’ said Umbridge, with a singularly unpleasant little laugh. ‘I'm afraid you do not understand the position. I have here—’ she pulled a parchment scroll from within her robes ‘—an Order of Dismissal signed by myself and the Minister for Magic. Under the terms of Educational Decree Number Twenty-three, the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts has the power to inspect, place upon probation and sack any teacher she—that is to say, I—feel is not performing to the standards required by the Ministry of Magic. I have decided that Professor Trelawney is not up to scratch. I have dismissed her.’
To Harry's very great surprise, Dumbledore continued to smile. He looked down at Professor Trelawney, who was still sobbing and choking on her trunk, and said, ‘You are quite right, of course, Professor Umbridge. As High Inquisitor you have every right to dismiss my teachers. You do not, however, have the authority to send them away from the castle. I am afraid,’ he went on, with a courteous little bow, ‘that the power to do that still resides with the Headmaster, and it is my wish that Professor Trelawney continue to live at Hogwarts.’
At this, Professor Trelawney gave a wild little laugh in which a hiccough was barely hidden.
‘No—no, I'll g —go, Dumbledore! I sh—shall—leave Hogwarts and s—seek my fortune elsewhere—’
‘No,’ said Dumbledore sharply. ‘It is my wish that you remain, Sybill.’
He turned to Professor McGonagall.
‘Might I ask you to escort Sybill back upstairs, Professor McGonagall?’
‘Of course,’ said McGonagall. ‘Up you get, Sybill ...’
Professor Sprout came hurrying forwards out of the crowd and grabbed Professor Trelawney's other arm. Together, they guided her past Umbridge and up the marble stairs. Professor Flitwick went scurrying after them, his wand held out before him; he squeaked ‘Locomotor trunks!’ and Professor Trelawney's luggage rose into the air and proceeded up the staircase after her, Professor Flitwick bringing up the rear.
Professor Umbridge was standing stock still, staring at Dumbledore, who continued to smile benignly.
‘And what,’ she said, in a whisper that carried all around the Eintrance Hall, ‘are you going to do with her once I appoint a new Divination teacher who needs her lodgings?’
‘Oh, that won't be a problem,’ said Dumbledore pleasantly. ‘You see, I have already found us a new Divination teacher, and he will prefer lodgings on the ground floor.’
‘You've found— ?’ said Umbridge shrilly. ‘You've found? Might I remind you, Dumbledore, that under Educational Decree Number Twenty-two—’
‘The Ministry has the right to appoint a suitable candidate if—and only if—the Headmaster is unable to find one,’ said Dumbledore. ‘And I am happy to say that on this occasion I have succeeded. May I introduce you?’
He turned to face the open front doors, through which night mist was now drifting. Harry heard hooves. There was a shocked murmur around the Hall and those nearest the doors hastily moved even further backwards, some of them tripping over in their haste to clear a path for the newcomer.
Through the mist came a face Harry had seen once before on a dark, dangerous night in the Forbidden Forest: white-blond hair and astonishingly blue eyes; the head and torso of a man joined to the palomino body of a horse.
‘This is Firenze,’ said Dumbledore happily to a thunderstruck Umbridge. ‘I think you'll find him suitable.’
露娜含含糊糊地表示，她不知道丽塔采访哈利的文章多会才能出现在《巫师周刊》上，她父亲想要的是一篇关于最近Crumple-Horned Snorkacks的情况的长长的、引人入胜的文章，“—当然，它将是一个很重要的故事，所以哈利得等一段时间才能看到自己的文章发表。”露娜说。 
　　哈利丝毫不觉得谈论伏地魔复活的那个夜晚是一次轻松愉快的经历。丽塔强迫他提供每一个微小的细节，他把他能想起的全都告诉了她，他知道这是一此难得的机会来告诉这个世界事实的真相。他想象着人们的反应，猜想相当一部分人会认为他的的确确是疯了，更何况他的文章还就发表在关于Crumple-Horned Snorkacks的废话旁边。但是贝拉特里克斯和她同伙的越狱给了哈利一种强烈的渴望，他一定要做些什么，不管有没有用。 
　　“我已经等不及想看看昂布瑞吉对你文章的反应了！”星期一晚上晚餐时，迪恩用敬畏的口气叫道。在他旁边西莫斯正叉着鸡快和火腿派，但是哈利知道他正听着呢。 
　　“你做的对，哈利。”纳威就坐在对面，脸色很苍白，但仍低低地说，“谈论这个一定很—艰苦，是吧？” 
　　“是的，”哈利咕哝着，“但是人们必须知道伏地魔能做些什么，对吗？” 
　　“没错，”纳威点头，“还有他的食死徒，人们应该知道。” 
　　纳威话音未落，又开始吃他的烤土豆了。西莫斯抬起头来，但当他遇上哈利的视线时又连忙低下头去看他的盘子。过了一会儿，迪恩、西莫斯和纳威回公共休息室去了，留下哈利和荷米恩等着罗恩。罗恩因为要练习魁地奇，还没有来吃晚饭。 
　　秋张和她的朋友玛丽塔走进了大厅，哈利感到胃里一阵不舒服，但她并没有看格莱芬多的桌子，而是坐下来把背对着他。 
　　“噢，我忘了问你了，”荷米恩看了一眼拉文克劳的桌子，高兴地问道，“你和秋的约会怎么样？你怎么回来得这么早？” 
　　“呃，那个么，”哈利把一盘面包拉过来，拿了一些，“完全一塌糊涂。” 
　　接着他就把在帕迪弗特夫人茶馆里发生的事告诉了她。 
　　“然后，”他吃完面包的时候差不多也说完了，“她跳了起来，说‘我会留意你的，哈利，’接着就跑了出去！”他停下勺子看着荷米恩，“我说，这到底是怎么回事，发生什么事啦？” 
　　荷米恩看了一眼秋的后脑勺，叹了口气。 
　　“噢，哈利，”她遗憾地说，“我很抱歉，但是你真的太不老练了。” 
　　“我？不老练？”哈利生气地说，“前一分钟我们还相处地很好，后一分钟她就告诉我罗杰。戴维斯邀请她出去过，而塞德里克又是怎样和她在那间愚蠢的茶馆里约会接吻—我听了之后该会有什么感觉？” 
　　“噢，你瞧，”荷米恩说，她耐心的口气就好像在向一个情绪化的孩子解释一加一等于二，“你不该在约会到一半的时候告诉她，你要和我见面。” 
　　“但是，但是，”哈利杂乱地说，“你让我十二点的时候和你碰面，而且还带她来，我不告诉她的话又怎么可能做到？” 
　　“你不该那样告诉她，”荷米恩说，仍然用一种另人恼火的耐心的口气。“你应该说这真是很讨厌，但是我硬要你去三把扫帚见面，你根本就不想去，你更情愿和她待一整天。不幸的是你不得不去见我，而她是不是愿意和你一起以使你能够很快地脱身。同时你最好能够提一提你认为我有多么难看。” 
　　“可我不认为你难看。”哈利困惑地说。 
　　荷米恩笑了。 
　　“哈利你比罗恩还要差劲，噢，不，你不是，”她叹口气，这时罗恩跌跌撞撞地走进大厅，浑身泥泞，看上去脾气很坏。“看，你跟秋说要和我见面的事另她不安，所以她想让你妒忌。她试图证明你有多喜欢她。 
　　“她是那样吗？”哈利问，罗恩一屁股坐在对面的凳子上，把所以吃的都拉到面前。“她直接问我喜欢她是不是胜过喜欢你不是更简单吗？” 
　　“女孩子从不那样问。”荷米恩说。 
　　“可她们应该那样！”哈利激烈地说，“我就可以告诉她我有多迷恋她，而她也不必再次为塞德里克的死感到难受！” 
　　“我没说她做得对，”荷米恩说，这时金妮也来了，和罗恩一样浑身泥泞，看上去非常不高兴。“我只是想告诉你她那时候的感受。” 
　　“你该写一本书，”罗恩一边切土豆一边说，“解释一下女孩们不可理解的举动，这样男孩们才会明白。” 
　　“没错，”哈利热诚地说，看了一眼拉文克劳的桌子。秋刚刚站了起来，仍然没看他就走出了大厅。他沮丧地转过来看着罗恩和金妮，“魁地奇练习怎么样？” 
　　“恶梦一场，”罗恩板着面孔说。 
　　“噢，别这样，”荷米恩看着金妮说，“我想还不至于—” 
　　“不，是这样的，”金妮说，“简直难以置信，到最后安吉利娜都快要哭了。” 
　　吃完饭后罗恩和金妮去洗澡了；哈利 和荷米恩回到公共休息室做作业。哈利花了半个小时做一份天文学的星像图，这时弗莱德和乔治来了。 “罗恩和金妮不在？”弗莱德坐在一张椅子上，朝周围看了看，问道。看到荷米恩摇了摇头，他说：“好极了，我们一直在看练习，他们会被杀了的，没有我们他们简直一塌糊涂。” 
　　“别这么说，金妮还不坏，”乔治公平地说，在弗莱德旁边坐了下来，“老实说，我真不知道她怎么会这么棒，我们从来没让她和我们一起玩。” 
　　“她六岁的时候就乘你们不注意，跑到花园里的扫帚房里去，把扫帚一把把地拿出来了。”荷米恩在一大堆摇摇欲坠的古代诗歌书后面说。 
　　“噢，”乔治说，看上去有点感动，“那就可以解释了。” 
　　“罗恩能够救球了吗？”荷米恩问，从一本《魔法象形文字和语标符号》上面投来目光。 
　　“如果他认为没人看着他，他就行。”弗莱德翻着眼睛说，“看来星期六那天，鬼飞球飞过来的时候，我们得让观众统统转过身去。” 
　　他又站了起来，不安地走到窗边，看着黑压压的云层。 
　　“你知道，魁地奇是唯一值得留在这个地方的东西。” 
　　荷米恩严厉地瞥了他一眼。 
　　“你马上就要考试了！” 
　　“不是告诉过你么，我们才不会为了NEWTS大惊小怪。”弗莱德说。“削蛇盒已经准备好了，我们已经知道怎么去掉那些疖子，用几滴MURTLAP就能做到，李教我们的。” 
　　乔治大大地打了个哈欠，闷闷不乐地看着窗外的夜空，“我不知道自己想不想去看这场比赛，如果扎卡利亚斯打败了我们，我很可能会杀了自己的。” 
　　“更可能杀了他。”弗莱德坚决地说。 
　　“这就是魁地奇的问题，”荷米恩心不在焉地说，又向古代诗歌翻译侧过身去，“它在学院之间制造了紧张和不安的情绪。” 
　　她抬起头寻找咒语文字表，发现弗莱德、乔治和哈利都用一种又反感又怀疑的表情看着她。 
　　“噢，它就是那样的！”她不耐烦地说，“不过是一个游戏，对吗？” 
　　“荷米恩，”哈利摇摇头，“你在很多事情上都很在行，但是你根本不懂魁地奇。” 
　　“也许是吧，”她沉着脸说，又回到她的翻译上去，“但最起码我的快乐不会建立在罗恩的救球能力上。” 
　　尽管哈利宁愿从天文观测塔上跳下去，也不愿意同意她的观点，但在他观看即将到来的星期六的那场比赛之前，他情愿付出所有的加隆去丧失对魁地奇的兴趣。 
　　这场比赛最好的一点是它比较短，格莱芬多的观众只要忍受二十二分钟的痛苦。很难说它最坏的一点是什么：哈利想有这些可以候选—罗恩第十四次救球失败，斯洛普错过了布拉杰却打中了安吉丽娜的嘴，当扎卡利亚斯抓住鬼飞球的时候科克尖身叫着从扫帚上摔了下来。格莱芬多只输掉十分真是一个奇迹：金妮从海夫帕夫的找球手萨姆贝的鼻子底下抓到了金色飞贼，然后最后的比分是240对230。 
　　“干得不错，”当金妮回来的时候哈利对她说，此时公共休息室里弥漫着一种令人消沉的类似葬礼的气氛。 
　　“我运气好，”她耸耸肩，“金色飞贼飞得很快，萨姆贝正好感冒了，他打了个喷嚏，在不应该的时候把眼睛闭上了。无论如何，一旦你回到队里—” 
　　“金妮，我得到了终身禁令。” 
　　“你只是在昂布瑞吉在校的时候被禁止了。”金妮纠正他，“那是不同的。不管怎样，如果你回来了，我就去试试追球手，安吉利娜和爱丽西亚明年都要毕业了，我更喜欢得分的感觉。” 
　　哈利看看罗恩，他正弓着身子待在角落里，瞪着自己的膝盖，手里抓着一瓶黄油啤酒。 
　　“安吉利娜还是不让他辞职，”金妮说，好像知道哈利的心思。“她说她知道他会好的。” 
　　哈利为安吉利娜对罗恩的信心感到高兴，但同时也想也许让他离队对他更好些。当斯莱特林高兴地大唱“威斯里是我们的国王”时，罗恩就不知所措了，而前者现在对赢得魁地奇杯充满信心。 
　　弗莱德和乔治走了过来。 
　　“我就知道他会没精神，”弗莱德看着罗恩弯曲的身影说，“我要提醒你们，当他第十四次漏过—” 
　　他用手臂夸张地做了一个小狗滑水的动作。 
　　“—噢，我会救到的，嗯？” 
　　罗恩不久就拖着身体去睡觉了。为了尊重他的感受，哈利等了一会儿才会宿舍，免得罗恩还得假装睡着。可以肯定的是，当哈利最后回到房间的时候，罗恩的打呼声大了那么一点儿，听上去完全是假的。 
　　哈利躺在床上，想着这场比赛。从旁观者的角度来看，这是一次彻底的失败。金妮的表现非常不错，但他知道如果让他来，他能更早抓住金色飞贼。它曾经在科克的脚踝边扑腾了一会儿，如果金妮没有犹豫的话，她可以为格莱芬多赢得胜利。 
　　昂布瑞吉就坐在哈利和荷米恩下面几排，有一两次她转过身来看他，宽宽的蛤蟆似的嘴巴咧开了，也许她认为这是一种心满意足的笑。哈利躺在黑暗里被记忆激起了怒火。然而几分钟后，他想起他必须在睡前清除所以情绪，就像斯内普每节Occlumengcy课后提示他的那样。 
　　他尝试去做，但是想到斯内普反而加深了他对昂布瑞吉的怨恨，他发现他的思绪已经集中在他有多恨这两个人上面。慢慢地，罗恩的鼾声消失了，代之以深沉的、缓慢的呼吸。哈利更难睡着了，他的身体很累，可他的头脑却迟迟不能休息。 
　　他梦到纳威和斯普劳特教授在问讯室的外面跳华尔兹，而麦格教授却在吹奏风笛。他看着他们那愉快的样子，决定去找其他的DA成员。 
　　但是当他离开教室时他发现，他面前的墙上不是Barnabas the Barmy的挂毯，而是一把插在支架上的火把。他把头慢慢转向左边，那里，在长长的没有窗户的通道尽头，是一扇黑乎乎的门。 
　　他朝它走去，兴奋不已。他有种奇怪的感觉，这次他会有足够的好运去打开它。他走它面前，兴奋地发现右手边有一股炽热的淡蓝色的光，门是开着的，他伸出手，把它推开— 
　　罗恩发出一阵响亮的、真实的鼾声，哈利猛地醒过来，发现自己的右手向前面的黑暗里伸着，像是要去开一扇百里以外的门。伴随着失落感和罪恶感，他把手放下。他知道他不可能看见这扇门，但仍有着强烈的好奇心想知道它后面是什么。他不禁有点责怪罗恩的打扰，要是他能控制一下自己的鼾声就
Chapter 27 The Centaur And The Sneak
‘I'll bet you wish you hadn't given up Divination now, don't you, Hermione?’ asked Parvati, smirking.
It was breakfast time, two days after the sacking of Professor Trelawney, and Parvati was curling her eyelashes around her wand and examining the effect in the back of her spoon. They were to have their first lesson with Firenze that morning.
‘Not really,’ said Hermione indifferently, who was reading the Daily Prophet.‘I've never really liked horses.’
She turned a page of the newspaper and scanned its columns.
‘He's not a horse, he's a centaur!’ said Lavender, sounding shocked.
‘A gorgeous centaur ...’ sighed Parvati.
‘Either way, he's still got four legs,’ said Hermione coolly. ‘Anyway, I thought you two were all upset that Trelawney had gone?’
‘We are!’ Lavender assured her. ‘We went up to her office to see her; we took her some daffodils —not the honking ones that Sprout's got, nice ones.’ 
‘How is she?’ asked Harry.
‘Not very good, poor thing,’ said Lavender sympathetically. ‘She was crying and saying she'd rather leave the castle for ever than stay here where Umbridge is, and I don't blame her, Umbridge was horrible to her, wasn't she?’
‘I've got a feeling Umbridge has only just started being horrible,’ said Hermione darkly.
‘Impossible,’ said Ron, who was tucking into a large plate of eggs and bacon. ‘She can't get any worse than she's been already.’
‘You mark my words, she's going to want revenge on Dumbledore for appointing a new teacher without consulting her,’ said Hermione, closing the newspaper. ‘Especially another part-human. You saw the look on her face when she saw Firenze.’
After breakfast Hermione departed for her Arithmancy class as Harry and Ron followed Parvati and Lavender into the Entrance Hall, heading for Divination.
‘Aren't we going up to North Tower?’ asked Ron, looking puzzled, as Parvati bypassed the marble staircase.
Parvati looked at him scornfully over her shoulder.
‘How d'you expect Firenze to climb that ladder? We're in classroom eleven now, it was on the noticeboard yesterday.’
Classroom eleven was on the ground floor along the corridor leading off the Entrance Hall from the opposite side to the Great Hall. Harry knew it was one of those classrooms that were never used regularly, and therefore had the slightly neglected feeling of a cupboard or storeroom. When he entered it right behind Ron, and found himself in the middle of a forest clearing, he was therefore momentarily stunned.
‘What the—?’
The classroom floor had become springily mossy and trees were growing out of it; their leafy branches fanned across the ceiling and windows, so that the room was full of slanting shafts of soft, dappled, green light. The students who had already arrived were sitting on the earthy floor with their backs resting against tree trunks or boulders, arms wrapped around their knees or folded tightly across their chests, and all looking rather nervous. In the middle of the clearing, where there were no trees, stood Firenze.
‘Harry Potter,’ he said, holding out a hand when Harry entered.
‘Er—hi,’ said Harry, shaking hands with the centaur, who surveyed him unblinkingly through those astonishingly blue eyes but did not smile. ‘Er—good to see you,’
‘And you,’ said the centaur, inclining his white-blond head. ‘It was foretold that we would meet again.’
Harry noticed there was the shadow of a hoof-shaped bruise on Firenze's chest. As he turned to join the rest of the class on the ground, he saw they were all looking at him in awe, apparently deeply impressed that he was on speaking terms with Firenze. whom they seemed to find intimidating.
When the door was closed and the last student had sat down on a tree stump beside the wastepaper basket, Firenze gestured around the room.
‘Professor Dumbledore has kindly arranged this classroom for us,’ said Firenze, when everyone had settled down, ‘in imitation of my natural habitat. I would have preferred to teach you in the Forbidden Forest, which was—until Monday—my home ... but that is no longer possible.’
‘Please—er— sir—’ said Parvati breathlessly, raising her hand,—why not? We've been in there with Hagrid, we're not frightened!’
‘It is not a question of your bravery,’ said Firenze, ‘but of my position. I cannot return to the Forest. My herd has banished me.’
‘Herd?’ said Lavender in a confused voice, and Harry knew she was thinking of cows. ‘What— oh!’
Comprehension dawned on her face. ‘There are more of you?’ she said, stunned.
‘Did Hagrid breed you, like the Thestrals?’ asked Dean eagerly.
Firenze turned his head very slowly to face Dean, who seemed to realise at once that he had said something very offensive.
‘I didn't—I meant—sorry,’ he finished in a hushed voice.
‘Centaurs are not the servants or playthings of humans,’ said Firenze quietly. There was a pause, then Parvati raised her hand again.
‘Please, sir ... why have the other centaurs banished you?’
‘Because I have agreed to work for Professor Dumbledore,’ said Firenze. ‘They see this as a betrayal of our kind.’
Harry remembered how, nearly four years ago, the centaur Bane had shouted at Firenze for allowing Harry to ride to safety on his back; he had called him a ‘common mule'. He wondered whether it had been Bane who had kicked Firenze in the chest.
‘Let us begin,’ said Firenze. He swished his long palomino tail, raised his hand towards the leafy canopy overhead, then lowered it slowly, and as he did so, the light in the room dimmed, so that they now seemed to be sitting in a forest clearing by twilight, and stars appeared on the ceiling. There were oohs and gasps and Ron said audibly, ‘Blimey!’
‘Lie back on the floor,’ said Firenze in his calm voice, ‘and observe the heavens. Here is written, for those who can see, the fortune of our races.’ 
Harry stretched out on his back and gazed upwards at the ceiling. A twinkling red star winked at him from overhead.
‘I know that you have learned the names of the planets and their moons in Astronomy,’ said Firenze's calm voice, ‘and that you have mapped the stars’ progress through the heavens. Centaurs have unravelled the mysteries of these movements over centuries. Our findings teach us that the future may be glimpsed in the sky above us—’
‘Professor Trelawney did astrology with us!’ said Parvati excitedly, raising her hand in front of her so that it stuck up in the air as she lay on her back. ‘Mars causes accidents and burns and things like that, and when it makes an angle to Saturn, like now—’ she drew a right-angle in the air above her ‘—that means people need to be extra careful when handling hot things—’ 
‘That,’ said Firenze calmly, ‘is human nonsense.’
Parvati's hand fell limply to her side.
‘Trivial hurts, tiny human accidents,’ said Firenze, as his hooves thudded over the mossy floor. These are of no more significance than the scurryings of ants to the wide universe, and are unaffected by planetary movements.’
‘Professor Trelawney—’ began Parvati, in a hurt and indignant voice.
‘—is a human,’ said Firenze simply. ‘And is therefore blinkered and fettered by the limitations of your kind.’
Harry turned his head very slightly to look at Parvati. She looked very offended, as did several of the people surrounding her.
‘Sybill Trelawney may have Seen, I do not know,’ continued Firenze, and Harry heard the swishing of his tail again as he walked up and down before them, ‘but she wastes her time, in the main, on the self-flattering nonsense humans call fortune-telling. I, however, am here to explain the wisdom of centaurs, which is impersonal and impartial. We watch the skies for the great tides of evil or change that are sometimes marked there. It may take ten years to be sure of what we are seeing.’
Firenze pointed to the red star directly above Harry.
‘In the past decade, the indications have been that wizardkind is living through nothing more than a brief calm between two wars. Mars, bringer of battle, shines brightly above us, suggesting that the fight must soon break out again. How soon, centaurs may attempt to divine by the burning of certain herbs and leaves, by the observation of fume and flame ...’
It was the most unusual lesson Harry had ever attended. They did indeed burn sage and mallowsweet there on the classroom floor, and Firenze told them to look for certain shapes and symbols in the pungent fumes, but he seemed perfectly unconcerned that not one of them could see any of the signs he described, telling them that humans were hardly ever good at this, that it took centaurs years and years to become competent, and finished by telling them that it was foolish to put too much faith in such things, anyway, because even centaurs sometimes read them wrongly. He was nothing like any human teacher Harry had ever had. His priority did not seem to be to teach them what he knew, but rather to impress upon them that nothing, not even centaurs’ knowledge, was foolproof.
‘He's not very definite on anything, is he?’ said Ron in a low voice, as they put out their mallowsweet fire. ‘I mean, I could do with a few more details about this war we're about to have, couldn't you?’
The bell rang right outside the classroom door and everyone jumped; Harry had completely forgotten they were still inside the castle, and quite convinced that he was really in the Forest. The class filed out, looking slightly perplexed.
Harry and Ron were on the point of following them when Firenze called, ‘Harry Potter, a word, please.’
Harry turned. The centaur advanced a little towards him. Ron hesitated.
‘You may stay,’ Firenze told him. ‘But close the door, please.’
Ron hastened to obey.
‘Harry Potter, you are a friend of Hagrid's, are you not?’ said the centaur.
‘Yes,’ said Harry.
‘Then give him a warning from me. His attempt is not working. He would do better to abandon it.’
‘His attempt is not working?’ Harry repeated blankly.
‘And he would do better to abandon it,’ said Firenze, nodding. ‘I would warn Hagrid myself, but I am banished—it would be unwise for me to go too near the Forest now— Hagrid has troubles enough, without a centaurs’ battle.’
‘But—what's Hagrid attempting to do?’ said Harry nervously.
Firenze surveyed Harry impassively.
‘Hagrid has recently rendered me a great service,’ said Firenze, ‘and he has long since earned my respect for the care he shows all living creatures. I shall not betray his secret. But he must be brought to his senses. The attempt is not working. Tell him, Harry Potter. Good-day to you.’
The happiness Harry had felt in the aftermath of The Quibbler interview had long since evaporated. As a dull March blurred into a squally April, his life seemed to have become one long series of worries and problems again.
Umbridge had continued attending all Care of Magical Creatures lessons, so it had been very difficult to deliver Firenze's warning to Hagrid. At last, Harry had managed it by pretending he'd lost his copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, and doubling back after class one day. When he'd repeated Firenze's words, Hagrid gazed at him for a moment through his puffy, blackened eyes, apparently taken aback. Then he seemed to pull himself together.
‘Nice bloke, Firenze,’ he said gruffly ‘but he don’ know what he's talkin’ abou’ on this. The attemp's comin’ on fine.’
‘Hagrid, what're you up to?’ asked Harry seriously. ‘Because you've got to be careful, Umbridge has already sacked Trelawney and, if you ask me, she's on a roll. If you're doing anything you shouldn't be, you'll be—’
‘There's things more importan’ than keepin’ a job,’ said Hagrid. though his hands shook slightly as he said this and a basin full of Knarl droppings crashed to the floor. ‘Don’ worry abou’ me, Harry, jus’ get along now, there's a good lad.’
Harry had no choice but to leave Hagrid mopping up the dung all over his floor, but he felt thoroughly dispirited as he trudged back up to the castle.
Meanwhile, as the teachers and Hermione persisted in reminding them, the OWLs were drawing ever nearer. All the fifth-years were suffering from stress to some degree, but Hannah Abbott became the first to receive a Calming Draught from Madam Pomfrey after she burst into tears during Herbology and sobbed that she was too stupid to take exams and wanted to leave school now.
If it had not been for the DA lessons, Harry thought he would have been extremely unhappy. He sometimes felt he was living for the hours he spent in the Room of Requirement, working hard but thoroughly enjoying himself at the same time, swelling with pride as he looked around at his fellow DA members and saw how far they had come. Indeed, Harry sometimes wondered how Umbridge was going to react when all the members of the DA received ‘Outstanding’ in their Defence Against the Dark Arts OWLs.
They had finally started work on Patronuses, which everybody had been very keen to practise, though, as Harry kept reminding them, producing a Patronus in the middle of a brightly lit classroom when they were not under threat was very different from producing it when confronted by something like a Dementor.
‘Oh, don't be such a killjoy,’ said Cho brightly, watching her silvery swan-shaped Patronus soar around the Room of Requirement during their last lesson before Easter. They're so pretty!’
‘They're not supposed to be pretty, they're supposed to protect you,’ said Harry patiently. ‘What we really need is a boggart or something; that's how I learned, I had to conjure a Patronus while the boggart was pretending to be a Dementor—’
‘But that would be really scary!’ said Lavender, who was shooting puffs of silver vapour out of the end of her wand. ‘And I still—can't—do it!’ she added angrily.
Neville was having trouble, too. His face was screwed up in concentration, but only feeble wisps of silver smoke issued from his wand tip.
‘You've got to think of something happy,’ Harry reminded him.
‘I'm trying,’ said Neville miserably, who was trying so hard his round face was actually shining with sweat.
‘Harry, I think I'm doing it!’ yelled Seamus, who had been brought along to his first ever DA meeting by Dean. ‘Look—ah—it's gone ... but it was definitely something hairy, Harry!’
Hermione's Patronus, a shining silver otter, was gambolling around her.
‘They are sort of nice, aren't they?’ she said, looking at it fondly.
The door of the Room of Requirement opened, and closed. Harry looked round to see who had entered, but there did not seem to be anybody there. It was a few moments before he realised that the people close to the door had fallen silent. Next thing he knew, something was tugging at his robes somewhere near the knee. He looked down and saw, to his very great astonishment, Dobby the house-elf peering up at him from beneath his usual eight woolly hats.
‘Hi, Dobby!’ he said. ‘What are you—What's wrong?’
The elf's eyes were wide with terror and he was shaking. The members of the DA closest to Harry had fallen silent; everybody in the room was watching Dobby. The few Patronuses people had managed to conjure faded away into silver mist, leaving the room looking much darker than before.
‘Harry Potter, sir ...’ squeaked the elf, trembling from head to foot, ‘Harry Potter, sir ... Dobby has come to warn you ... but the house-elves have been warned not to tell ...’
He ran head-first at the wall. Harry, who had some experience of Dobby s habits of self-punishment, made to seize him, but Dobby merely bounced off the stone, cushioned by his eight hats. Hermione and a few of the other girls let out squeaks of fear and sympathy.
‘What's happened, Dobby?’ Harry asked, grabbing the elf's tiny arm and holding him away from anything with which he might seek to hurt himself.
‘Harry Potter ... she ... she ...’
Dobby hit himself hard on the nose with his free fist. Harry seized that, too.
‘Who's “she", Dobby?’
But he thought he knew; surely only one ‘she’ could induce such fear in Dobby? The elf looked up at him, slightly cross-eyed, and mouthed wordlessly.
‘Umbridge?’ asked Harry, horrified.
Dobby nodded, then tried to bang his head on Harry's knees. Harry held him at arm's length.
‘What about her? Dobby—she hasn't found out about this—about us—about the DA?’
He read the answer in the elf's stricken face. His hands held fast by Harry, the elf tried to kick himself and fell to the floor.
‘Is she coming?’ Harry asked quietly.
Dobby let out a howl, and began beating his bare feet hard on the floor.
‘Yes, Harry Potter, yes!’
Harry straightened up and looked around at the motionless, terrified people gazing at the thrashing elf.
‘WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?’ Harry bellowed. ‘RUN!’
They all pelted towards the exit at once, forming a scrum at the door, then people burst through. Harry could hear them sprinting along the corridors and hoped they had the sense not to try and make it all the way to their dormitories. It was only ten to nine; if they just took refuge in the library or the Owlery, which were both nearer—
‘Harry, come on!’ shrieked Hermione from the centre of the knot of people now fighting to get out.
He scooped up Dobby, who was still attempting to do himself serious injury, and ran with the elf in his arms to join the back of the queue.
‘Dobby—this is an order—get back down to the kitchen with the other elves and, if she asks you whether you warned me, lie and say no!’ said Harry. ‘And I forbid you to hurt yourself!’ he added, dropping the elf as he made it over the threshold at last and slammed the door behind him.
‘Thank you, Harry Potter!’ squeaked Dobby, and he streaked off. Harry glanced left and right, the others were all moving so fast he caught only glimpses of flying heels at either end of the corridor before they vanished; he started to run right; there was a boys’ bathroom up ahead, he could pretend he'd been in there all the time if he could just reach it—
‘AAARGH!
Something caught him around the ankles and he fell spectacularly, skidding along on his front for six feet before coming to a halt. Someone behind him was laughing. He rolled over on to his, back and saw Malfoy concealed in a niche beneath an ugly dragon-shaped vase.
‘Trip Jinx, Potter!’ he said. ‘Hey, Professor—PROFESSOR! I've got one!’ 
Umbridge came bustling round the far corner, breathless but wearing a delighted smile.
‘It's him!’ she said jubilantly at the sight of Harry on the floor, ‘Excellent, Draco, excellent, oh, very good—fifty points to Slytherin! I'll take him from here ... stand up, Potter!’
Harry got to his feet, glaring at the pair of them. He had never seen Umbridge looking so happy. She seized his arm in a vice-like grip and turned, beaming broadly, to Malfoy.
‘You hop along and see if you can round up any more of them, Draco,’ she said. ‘Tell the others to look in the library—anybody out of breath—check the bathrooms, Miss Parkinson can do the girls’ ones—off you go—and you,’ she added in her softest, most dangerous voice, as Malfoy walked away, ‘you can come with me to the Headmaster's office, Potter.’
They were at the stone gargoyle within minutes. Harry wondered how many of the others had been caught. He thought of Ron—Mrs. Weasley would kill him—and of how Hermione would feel if she was expelled before she could take her OWLs. And it had been Seamus's very first meeting ... and Neville had been getting so good ...
‘Fizzing Whizzbee,’ sang Umbridge; the stone gargoyle jumped aside, the wall behind split open, and they ascended the moving stone staircase. They reached the polished door with the griffin knocker, but Umbridge did not bother to knock, she strode straight inside, still holding tight to Harry.
The office was full of people. Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, his expression serene, the tips of his long fingers together. Professor McGonagall stood rigidly beside him, her face extremely tense. Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, was rocking backwards and forwards on his toes beside the fire, apparently immensely pleased with the situation; Kingsley Shacklebolt and a tough-looking wizard with very short wiry hair whom Harry did not recognise, were positioned either side of the door like guards, and the freckled, bespectacled form of Percy Weasley hovered excitedly beside the wall, a quill and a heavy scroll of parchment in his hands, apparently poised to take notes.
The portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses were not shamming sleep tonight. All of them were alert and serious, watching what was happening below them. As Harry entered, a few flitted into neighbouring frames and whispered urgently into their neighbour's ear.
Harry pulled himself free of Umbridge's grasp as the door swung shut behind them. Cornelius Fudge was glaring at him with a kind of vicious satisfaction on his face.
‘Well,’ he said. ‘Well, well, well ...’
Harry replied with the dirtiest look he could muster. His heart drummed madly inside him, but his brain was oddly cool and clear.
‘He was heading back to Gryffindor Tower,’ said Umbridge. There was an indecent excitement in her voice, the same callous pleasure Harry had heard as she watched Professor Trelawney dissolving with misery in the Entrance Hall. ‘The Malfoy boy cornered him.’
‘Did he, did he?’ said Fudge appreciatively. ‘I must remember to tell Lucius. Well, Potter ... I expect you know why you are here?’
Harry fully intended to respond with a defiant ‘yes': his mouth had opened and the word was half-formed when he caught sight of Dumbledore's face. Dumbledore was not looking directly at Harry—his eyes were fixed on a point just over his shoulder—but as Harry stared at him, he shook his head a fraction of an inch to each side.
Harry changed direction mid-word.
‘Ye—no.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ said Fudge.
‘No,’ said Harry, firmly.
‘You don't know why you are here?’
‘No, I don't,’ said Harry.
Fudge looked incredulously from Harry to Professor Umbridge. Harry took advantage of his momentary inattention to steal another quick look at Dumbledore, who gave the carpet the tiniest of nods and the shadow of a wink.
‘So you have no idea,’ said Fudge, in a voice positively sagging with sarcasm, ‘why Professor Umbridge has brought you to this office? You are not aware that you have broken any school rules?’
‘School rules?’ said Harry. ‘No.’
‘Or Ministry Decrees?’ amended Fudge angrily.
‘Not that I'm aware of,’ said Harry blandly.
His heart was still hammering very fast. It was almost worth telling these lies to watch Fudges blood pressure rising, but he could not see how on earth he would get away with them; if somebody had tipped off Umbridge about the DA then he, the leader, might as well be packing his trunk right now.
‘So, it's news to you, is it,’ said Fudge, his voice now thick with anger, ‘that an illegal student organisation has been discovered within this school?’ 
‘Yes, it is,’ said Harry, hoisting an unconvincing look of innocent surprise on to his face.
‘I think, Minister,’ said Umbridge silkily from beside him, ‘we might make better progress if I fetch our informant.’
‘Yes, yes, do,’ said Fudge, nodding, and he glanced maliciously at Dumbledore as Umbridge left the room. ‘There's nothing like a good witness, is there, Dumbledore?’
‘Nothing at all, Cornelius,’ said Dumbledore gravely, inclining his head.
There was a wait of several minutes, in which nobody looked at each other, then Harry heard the door open behind him. Umbridge moved past him into the room, gripping by the shoulder Cho's curly-haired friend, Marietta, who was hiding her face in her hands.
‘Don't be scared, dear, don't be frightened,’ said Professor Umbridge softly, patting her on the back, ‘it's quite all right, now. You have done the right thing. The Minister is very pleased with you. He'll be telling your mother what a good girl you've been. Marietta's mother, Minister,’ she added, looking up at Fudge, ‘is Madam Edgecombe from the Department of Magical Transportation, Floo Network office— she's been helping us police the Hogwart's fires, you know.’
‘Jolly good, jolly good!’ said Fudge heartily. ‘Like mother, like daughter, eh? Well, come on, now, dear, look up, don't be shy, let's hear what you've got to—galloping gargoyles!’
As Marietta raised her head, Fudge leapt backwards in shock, nearly landing himself in the fire. He cursed, and stamped on the hem of his cloak which had started to smoke. Marietta gave a wail and pulled the neck of her robes right up to her eyes, but not before everyone had seen that her face was horribly disfigured by a series of close-set purple pustules that had spread across her nose and cheeks to form the word ‘SNEAK'.
‘Never mind the spots now, dear,’ said Umbridge impatiently, ‘just take your robes away from your mouth and tell the Minister—’
But Marietta gave another muffled wail and shook her head frantically.
‘Oh, very well, you silly girl, I'll tell him,’ snapped Umbridge. She hitched her sickly smile back on to her face and said, ‘Well, Minister, Miss Edgecombe here came to my office shortly after dinner this evening and told me she had something she wanted to tell me. She said that if I proceeded to a secret room on the seventh floor, sometimes known as the Room of Requirement, I would find out something to my advantage. I questioned her a little further and she admitted that there was to be some kind of meeting there. Unfortunately, at that point this hex,’ she waved impatiently at Marietta's concealed face, ‘came into operation and upon catching sight of her face in my mirror the girl became too distressed to tell me any more.’
‘Well, now,’ said Fudge, fixing Marietta with what he evidently imagined was a kind and fatherly look, ‘it is very brave of you, my dear, coming to tell Professor Umbridge. You did exactly the right thing. Now, will you tell me what happened at this meeting? What was its purpose? Who was there?’
But Marietta would not speak; she merely shook her head again, her eyes wide and fearful.
‘Haven't we got a counter-jinx for this?’ Fudge asked Umbridge impatiently, gesturing at Marietta's face. ‘So she can speak freely?’
‘I have not yet managed to find one,’ Umbridge admitted grudgingly, and Harry felt a surge of pride in Hermione's jinxing ability ‘But it doesn't matter if she won't speak, I can take up the story from here.
‘You will remember, Minister, that I sent you a report back in October that Potter had met a number of fellow students in the Hog's Head in Hogsmeade—’ 
‘And what is your evidence for that?’ cut in Professor McGonagall.
‘I have testimony from Willy Widdershins, Minerva, who happened to be in the bar at the time. He was heavily bandaged, it is true, but his hearing was quite unimpaired,’ said Umbridge smugly. ‘He heard every word Potter said and hastened straight to the school to report to me—’
‘Oh, so that's why he wasn't prosecuted for setting up all those regurgitating toilets!’ said Professor McGonagall, raising her eyebrows. ‘What an interesting insight into our justice system!’
‘Blatant corruption!’ roared the portrait of the corpulent, red-nosed wizard on the wall behind Dumbledore's desk. ‘The Ministry did not cut deals with petty criminals in my day, no sir, they did not!’
‘Thank you, Fortescue, that will do,’ said Dumbledore softly.
‘The purpose of Potter's meeting with these students,’ continued Professor Umbridge, ‘was to persuade them to join an illegal society, whose aim was to learn spells and curses the Ministry has decided are inappropriate for school-age—’
‘I think you'll find you're wrong there, Dolores,’ said Dumbledore quietly, peering at her over the half-moon spectacles perched halfway down his crooked nose.
Harry stared at him. He could not see how Dumbledore was going to talk him out of this one; if Willy Widdershins had indeed heard every word he had said in the Hog's Head there was simply no escaping it.
‘Oho!’ said Fudge, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet again. ‘Yes, do let's hear the latest cock-and-bull story designed to pull Potter out of trouble! Go on, then, Dumbledore, go on—’
‘Willy Widdershins was lying, was he? Or was it Potter's identical twin in the Hog's Head that day? Or is there the usual simple explanation involving a reversal of time, a dead man coming back to life and a couple of invisible dementors?’
Percy Weasley let out a hearty laugh.
‘Oh, very good, Minister, very good!’
Harry could have kicked him. Then he saw, to his astonishment, that Dumbledore was smiling gently, too.
‘Cornelius, I do not deny—and nor, I am sure, does Harry—that he was in the Hog's Head that day, nor that he was trying to recruit students to a Defence Against the Dark Arts group. I am merely pointing out that Dolores is quite wrong to suggest that such a group was, at that time, illegal. If you remember, the Ministry Decree banning all student societies was not put into effect until two days after Harry's Hogsmeade meeting, so he was not breaking any rules at all in the Hog's Head.’
Percy looked as though he had been struck in the face by something very heavy. Fudge remained motionless in mid-bounce, his mouth hanging open.
Umbridge recovered first.
‘That's all very fine, Headmaster,’ she said, smiling sweetly, ‘but we are now nearly six months on from the introduction of Educational Decree Number Twenty-four. If the first meeting was not illegal, all those that have happened since most certainly are.’
‘Well,’ said Dumbledore, surveying her with polite interest over the top of his interlocked fingers, ‘they certainly would be, if they had continued after the Decree came into effect. Do you have any evidence that any such meetings continued?’
As Dumbledore spoke, Harry heard a rustle behind him and rather thought Kingsley whispered something. He could have sworn, too, that he felt something brush against his side, a gentle something like a draught or bird wings, but looking down he saw nothing there.
‘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 NEWTs—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 ...’
“Til和我打赌说你现在一定后悔放弃了占卜学，对吧，荷米恩？”帕维蒂笑嘻嘻的问道。 
　　这是在特劳妮教授离职两天后的早餐时间，帕维蒂正在用她的魔杖卷着她的睫毛，并且在汤匙背面的影像里检视结果。这个早晨是他们第一回上法兰兹的占卜学课。 
　　“不见得吧？”荷米恩一边读预言家日报，一边漠不关心说，“我可从来没有真正的喜欢过马。” 
　　她翻过一页报纸，并审阅着上面的专栏。 
　　“他不是马，他是半人马！”拉文德惊讶的叫。 
　　“是一个多么美丽的半人马呵！”帕维蒂叹息着。 
　　“无论如何，他总是有四条腿的。”荷米恩冷酷的说“我本来还以为你们两个会为了特劳妮教授的离开而感到心烦意乱呢？” 
　　“我们的确是很难过。”拉文德强调，“我们去了她的办公室，并且为她带了些美丽黄水仙─不是那些?芽教授那些会发出喇叭声的，是正常的。” 
　　“她还好吧？”哈利问。 
　　“不很好，”拉文德同情的说，“她一边哭一边说，她宁愿离开这里，也不愿意待在有温布瑞姬的地方。我一点也不怪她，必竟温布瑞姬对她来说真的是很可怕，你们说不是吗？” 
　　“我觉得温布瑞姬的恐怖才刚刚开始呢！”荷米恩阴沉的说。 
　　“不可能的，”罗恩刚刚吞进一大口的培根和蛋，“她不可能变得比原来更糟了··” 
　　“你记住我说的话吧，她一定会报复丹伯多没有和她商量就指派一位新老师的。”荷米恩一边说一边合上报纸，”特别是一位半人的教授，在看见她看到法兰兹时的脸色就该知道了。” 
　　早餐后荷米恩去上了她的算术预测学课，而罗恩和哈利则随着帕维蒂和拉文德来到了门廊准备上占卜学。 
　　“我们不去北塔吗？”罗恩在帕维蒂绕过大理石梯时困惑的问。 
　　帕维蒂撇过头，从她的肩上轻蔑的望着罗恩。 
　　“你觉得法兰兹要怎么爬上楼梯呢？我们现在是要到第11号教室上课，这昨天早就公布在公布栏上了。” 
　　第11号教室位在一楼由门廊通往另一面的大厅的走道边上，在哈利的记忆里，这是那些很少被使用的教室之一，感觉上就像是容易让人忽略的壁橱或是储藏室。在尾随罗恩进入教室之后，哈利发现自己站在一块森林空地的正中央，不禁愣住了。 
　　“这是？”哈利问着。 
　　这间教室的地板上全是潮湿的青苔跟从地面上长出来的树，这些树茂盛的枝叶满布在天花板和窗户上，使得室内充满了由枝叶间斜射进来斑驳柔和的绿光。 
　　已经进来的同学都看起来有点紧张，他们坐在泥土地上，把背靠着树干或是石块，并且将手臂环住膝盖或是紧紧得抱在胸前。法兰兹就站那块空地的正中央。 
　　“哈利．波特”他一边说，一边在哈利进来时伸出手。 
　　“呃—嗨”哈利和这位半人马握手，而法兰兹正透过他那双蓝得不可思议的眼睛，一眨也不眨的审视着哈利，脸上一丝笑容也没有。“真高兴见到你。” 
　　“嗯··你”这位有着亚麻色头发的半人马，微倾着头说“在预言里说，我们会再次面的。” 
　　哈利注意到，在法兰兹的胸口上有一块蹄形的瘀青。当哈利走向他的同学的时候，发现他们都用一种敬畏的眼神看着他，很显然是因为他们对他和法兰兹的友好印象深刻，因为法兰兹在他们眼里看起来，是很令人害怕的。 
　　当教室的门关上，而最后一个进入的同学也在字纸篓旁边的一个树椿上坐下之后，法兰兹对着所有的人做了一个手势。 
　　“谢谢丹伯多亲切的为我们安排了这间教室”法兰兹在所有的人就坐之后，开口道“依照我的习惯，我是比较喜欢在禁忌森林里头为你们上课的，一直到星期一为止，那里都是我的家，但是这以后是再也不可能的了。” 
　　“教授”帕维蒂举起她的手，屏息地说”为什么不呢？我们曾和哈格力到过那里，我们一点也不害怕。” 
　　“这与你们的勇气无关，”法兰兹说“而是和我的立场有关，我再也不能回到禁忌森森了，因为我已经被我的族人放逐了。” 
　　“族人？”拉文德困惑的说，而哈利知道那个时她正想到乳牛。”什么…·哦··” 
　　她脸上露出理解的表情，吃惊的说“你是说还有更多跟你一样的人？” 
　　“那是不是哈格力把你养大的呢？就像他养大Thestrals一样？”汀热切的问。 
　　法兰兹以很缓慢的速度转过头来看汀，而汀立刻就明白自己问了一个非常不礼貌的问题。“我只是…我是说…真的很抱歉··”他以极低的声音把话说完。 
　　“半人马并不是人类的仆人或是玩物。”法兰兹平静的说。四周突然安静了下来，接着帕维蒂又举起了她的手。 
　　“教授，可以请问为什么你的族人会放逐你吗？” 
　　“因为我答应丹伯多接下这个工作，”法兰兹表示，”而他们视这为对我们族人的一种背叛。” 
　　哈利想起在将近四年以前，当法兰兹让他骑在他的背上，并把他送到安全的地方的时候，法兰兹的族人班（Bane，祸根之意）曾对着法兰兹大吼，并且说法兰兹是“一只粗鄙的骡”。他很想知道，到底是不是班在法兰兹的胸口踢了那一脚。 
　　“让我们开始吧，”法兰兹说，他嗖嗖的挥动他有着淡黄色?毛的尾巴，并且对着头上的树叶顶蓬抬起了他的头，接着再慢慢的把头垂下来，就在他这样做时候，房间里的光线变得更加地昏暗了，使得他们现在看起来好象是坐在曙光中森林里的空地上一样，在这同时，在天花板上出现了星星。教室里充满了惊叹声和喘气声，罗恩用一种大家都听得到音量叹息，“天啊！” 
　　“躺在地上”，法兰兹用一平静的语调说，“观察天空，对那些有能力看到的人来说，这里写着我们命运的祸福。” 
　　哈利将整个背贴在地板上躺着，并且凝视着天花板。一颗闪烁的红色星星正在他头顶上对着他眨眼。 
　　“我知道你们在上天文课时，学过这些行星和他们卫星的名字，”法兰兹沉静地说，“也曾描绘出星体在天空中的运行。半人马在好几个世纪之前就解开了这些星体运动之谜。我们的发现告诉我们，我们可以在我们头顶上的天空， 窥见我们的未来··” “特劳妮教授曾教导过我们占星学，”帕维蒂兴奋的举手说，她躺在地上并在空中伸直她的手，“火星会导致意外或毁灭或者是这一类的事情，而像现在，当它和土星成某一个角度时，”她在她的头上画了一个直角，“这表示人们在处理热的东西时要格外的小心··” 
　　“这些，”法兰兹沉静的说，“都是人们的胡说八道。” 
　　帕维蒂的手无力垂到自己的身边。 
　　“轻微的伤害和细微的意外事故”法兰兹一边说，一边在潮湿的地板上碰碰地跺脚，“这些仅仅会使蚂蚁匆匆忙忙的搬到屋子外头去，并不会影向天体的运行。” 
　　“但是特劳妮教授··”帕维蒂用一种受伤而且愤怒的声音说。 
　　“只是一个人，”法兰兹简单说。“而且是一个被你们种族的限制弄得目光偏陕和绑手绑脚的人。” 
　　哈利轻轻的转过头去看帕维蒂，她和她周围的几个人看起都被触怒了。 
　　“特劳妮教授可能看见了些什么，但是我并不知道，”法兰兹继续说，当他在他们而前走来走去时，哈利听到他尾巴摇摆发出的嗖嗖声，“但是基本上，她浪费了太多时间在一些人类称做为算命的无意义自我阿谀上头。然而，我想在这里阐述的是半人马的智能，是非常客观和公正的。我们观看天空，并寻找有时会显示在那里巨大邪恶或转变的浪潮的象征，但是想要确定我们所看见的可能需要花上十年的时间。” 
　　法兰兹指指哈利正上方的那颗红色星星。 
　　“在过去的十年里，天空里的征兆仅仅表示了巫师们正处在两次战争中的短暂平静里，但是，代表战争的火星，灿烂的在我们头顶闪烁，暗示了战火将在不久后再度燃起。到底有多快呢？我们半人马企图利用观察燃烧某些草本植物和树叶的烧和火焰来预言。” 
　　这是哈利上过最不寻常的课。他们并没有确实的在教室地板上燃烧哲人草和甜锦葵（sage and mallowsweet），法兰兹只是告诉他们关于这些辛辣的烟的某些形状和所代表的象征意义，但是他看起来一点也不意他们之中是不是有人可以看见他所描述的征兆，而只是告诉他们人类对这个领域一向就很不擅长，半人马花了很多年在这个领域有了充分的能力，并且告诫人类不要过度相信这样的事情，因为即使是半人马，对这些讯息的解读有时也是错误的。 他并不像任何一个哈利过去所遇见的人类老师一样，把教导他们放在第一位，反而是想要告诉他们，没有任何事情，即使是半人马的知识，是安全无比的 “他对任何事情都说的不是很明确，对吧？”罗恩一边低声说，一边熄灭他们的甜锦葵火焰。“我是指，我需要一些关于我们即将面对的战争的细节，你也想知道吧？” 
　　这时候下课钟响了，大家都跳了起来。哈利已经完全忘了他们还在城堡里，并确信他正处在森林里。所有的人排成一队前进，并且看起来有些茫然不知所措。 
　　就在当哈利和罗恩要跟着他们排队前进的时候，法兰兹叫道“哈利波特，我有些话要跟你说。” 
　　哈利转过身来，半人马就站在他前面一点的地方，罗恩犹豫着要不要留下来。 
　　“你可以留下。”法兰兹告诉罗恩。“但是请把门关上。”罗恩听从法兰兹的指示，很快的走过去把门关上。 
　　“哈利波特，你有个叫哈格力的朋友，对吗？”半人马说。 
　　“是的。”哈利回答。 
　　“那请你帮我带一个警告给他。他所企图尝试的是不可行的，他必需更努力的去中止它。” 
　　“他所企图尝试的是不可行的。”哈利茫然的覆述着。 
　　“他必需更努力的去中止它。”法兰兹一边点头一边说，“我本来应该亲自去警告他的，但是我被放逐了，对我来说现在接近禁忌林是很不明智的。就算没有和半人马的争斗，哈格力的麻烦也已经够多了。” 
　　“但是，什么是哈格力所企图尝试去做的事呢？”哈利焦虑的问。 
　　法兰兹不带感情的俯视着哈利。 
　　“哈格力最近帮了我一个大忙，”法兰兹说，“而他已经以他对所有生物的关心，赢得我尊敬很久了。我不该出卖他的秘密的，但是他必需要知道，他所企图尝试的是不可行的。哈利波特，请你转告他。日安。” 
　　在The Quibbler interview事件后哈利所感觉到的愉悦，已经消失很久了。随着晦暗的三月进入了风波不断的四月，他的生活又再度陷入一长串的焦虑和麻烦之中。 
　　温布瑞姬继续参与了所有的么法生物照料的课程，这使得哈利想要转告哈格力关于法兰兹的警告变得相当困难。最后，哈利只好在某一天上课时，假装忘记带走他的“珍奇异兽与其出没地点”的讲义，并在下课之后再次回到哈格力那里。当他转告哈格力法兰兹的警告时，哈格力用他硕大的黑眼瞪视着哈利，很明显地，哈格力为此感到震惊。接着，他努力地让自己恢复镇定。 
　　“法兰兹，好小子，”他生硬的说，“在这件事情上，他不明白自己在说些什么。我，我所尝试的事情已经越来越好了。” 
　　“哈格力，你到想做什么？”哈利严肃的问。“你必须要小心点，温布瑞姬己经开除了特劳妮教授。如果你问我的意见，我认为她还在进行着同样的事情。如果你正在做一些你不该做的事，那么你将会…” 
　　“有些事比保有一个工作更加的重要！”哈格力一边说一边轻轻地挥舞着他的手，一个装满木节（Knarl）的脸盆掉到地上，并发出很大的噪音。“别担心我，哈利。你只管好好的过活，你真是个好孩子··” 
　　哈利别无选择，只好离开正在用拖把清理地上粪便的哈格力，但是当他步履艰难地回到城堡后，他觉得非常的沮丧。 
　　在此同时，所有的老师和荷米恩也不断的提醒他们，普通级别巫师检定是越来越接近了。所有的五年级学生都感受到了某种程度的压力。就在汉娜在魔药学上突然放声大哭，并且哽咽的哭诉说她太笨了，一定无法通过考试，并且希望现在立即离开学校之后，她成为了第一个由Pomfrey女士那里拿到镇定药水的人。 
　　如果没有黑魔法防御社（DA）的课程，哈利想自己一定是极端不快乐的。他有的时候会认为自己仅仅是为了在需要之屋的那几个小时而活，在那里他辛苦的工作着，同时完全享受着自己的工作，而且每当他看见环绕在自己身边的黑魔法防御社成员和他们的进步时，他便倍感骄傲。其实，哈利一直很想知道，当所有黑魔法防御社的成员在黑魔法防御的普通级别巫师检定蹄表现杰出时，温布瑞姬会有什么样的反应。 
　　他们最后终于开始学习大家都很期待的护法咒（Patronuses），而期间哈利一直不断的提醒他们，在一个明亮的教室里面召唤护法和在面对像摄魂怪这样的东西时召唤是是有很大的不同的。 
　　“哦，别那么扫兴嘛！”在他们复活节前的最后一堂课上，秋一边看着她的天鹅形护法绕着需要之屋满室飞舞，一边爽朗的说道。 
　　“他们真是美丽！” 
　　“重要是他们能够保护你，而不是他们美不美丽。”，哈利耐心地说。“我想我们需要一只变形怪（Boggart），这就是我学习护法咒时所使用的方法。我曾经在变形怪假扮成一只摄魂怪时，召唤过我的护法。” 
　　“但是这会引起恐慌的！”拉文德说，她正从她的魔杖顶端射出一阵阵银色的烟雾。“而我仍然没有办法—成功的—召唤。”她生气的补充着。 
　　耐威一样遭遇到了困难，他的脸皱成了一团，但是只有一缕微弱的银色烟雾从他的魔杖顶端冒出来。 
　　“你必需想一些让自己快乐的事！”哈利提醒他。 
　　“我正在努力啊！”耐威悲惨说，而他的圆脸上已经沾满了闪闪发光的汗水。 
　　“哈利，我想我成功了！”西米斯（Seamus）高兴地着，他是第一次和汀一起来参加黑魔法防御社的聚会的。“你看—-噢—-他消失了。很明显的，他是一个毛茸茸的东西，哈利！” 
　　荷米恩的护法是一只正绕着她跳跃的银色水濑。 
　　“他们看起来都是很美好的，不是吗？”她温柔地看着她的护法。 
　　需要之屋的门突然打开又?上了。哈利四处张望，想看看到底是谁进来了，但是并没有任何人在那里。一会儿后，在他反应过来之前，所有门边的人都沉默了下来，接着，他发现有人在用力拉扯他膝盖附近的长袍。他往下一看，吃惊的发现家用小精灵多比，正从他平常戴的八顶羊毛帽子下凝视着他。 
　　“你好，多比”，哈利说，“你怎么—-发生什么事了？” 
　　这个家用精灵张大了眼睛，并且不断的发抖。所有的黑魔法防御社的成员向哈利靠拢过来，并且安静了下来，所有的人都看着多比。少数成功召唤护法的人，让他们的护法变成银色的薄雾消失后，让整个房间看起来比原来更昏暗了。 
　　“哈利波特先生”从头到脚都在发抖的小精灵，吱吱的说，“哈利波特先生，多比是来警告你的，但是所有的家用精灵都被警告不许说的。 
　　他把头向着墙冲过去。哈利对于多比的自我惩罚性行为早有经验，尝试着想要抓住他，多比在他戴的那八顶帽子的缓冲下，只是被石墙弹了回来。荷米恩和其它的一些女孩子发出了害怕和同情的尖叫。 
　　“到底发生了什么事，多比？”哈利紧紧地地的抓住小精灵瘦弱的手臂，并让他远离所有他可能会拿来伤害自己的东西。 
　　“哈利波特，她··她…·”多比用那只可以自由活动的手，握拳用力打自己的鼻子。哈利马上也紧紧抓住他的那只手。 
　　“她是谁，多比？” 
　　但是哈利马上就明白了，因为只有一个“她”可以让多比如此的害怕。小精灵无语的抬起头来，微微地斜枧着他。 
　　“温布瑞姬？”哈利惊恐的问
Chapter 29 Careers Advice
‘But why haven't you got Occlumency lessons any more?’ said Hermione, frowning.
‘I've told you,’ Harry muttered. ‘Snape reckons I can carry on by myself now I've got the basics.’
‘So you've stopped having funny dreams?’ said Hermione sceptically.
‘Pretty much,’ said Harry, not looking at her.
‘Well, I don't think Snape should stop until you're absolutely sure you can control them!’ said Hermione indignantly. ‘Harry, I think you should go back to him and ask— ’
‘No,’ said Harry forcefully. ‘Just drop it, Hermione, OK?’
It was the first day of the Easter holidays and Hermione, as was her custom, had spent a large part of the day drawing up revision timetables for the three of them. Harry and Ron had let her do it; it was easier than arguing with her and, in any case, they might come in useful.
Ron had been startled to discover there were only six weeks left until their exams.
‘How can that come as a shock?’ Hermione demanded, as she tapped each little square on Ron's timetable with her wand so that it flashed a different colour according to its subject.
‘I dunno,’ said Ron, ‘there's been a lot going on.’
‘Well, there you are,’ she said, handing him his timetable, ‘if you follow that you should do fine.’
Ron looked down it gloomily, but then brightened.
‘You've given me an evening off every week!’
‘That's for Quidditch practice,’ said Hermione.
The smile faded from Ron's face.
‘What's the point?’ he said dully. ‘We've got about as much chance of winning the Quidditch Cup this year as Dad's got of becoming Minister for Magic.’
Hermione said nothing; she was looking at Harry, who was staring blankly at the opposite wall of the common room while Crookshanks pawed at his hand, trying to get his ears scratched.
‘What's wrong, Harry?’
‘What?’ he said quickly. ‘Nothing.’
He seized his copy of Defensive Magical Theory and pretended to be looking something up in the index. Crookshanks gave him up as a bad job and slunk away under Hermione's chair.
‘I saw Cho earlier,’ said Hermione tentatively. ‘She looked really miserable, too ... have you two had a row again?’
‘Wha—oh, yeah, we have,’ said Harry, seizing gratefully on the excuse.
‘What about?’
‘That sneak friend of hers, Marietta,’ said Harry.
‘Yeah, well, I don't blame you!’ said Ron angrily, setting down his revision timetable. ‘If it hadn't been for her ...’
Ron went into a rant about Marietta Edgecombe, which Harry found helpful; all he had to do was look angry, nod and say ‘Yeah’ and That's right’ whenever Ron drew breath, leaving his mind free to dwell, ever more miserably, on what he had seen in the Pensieve.
He felt as though the memory of it was eating him from inside. He had been so sure his parents were wonderful people that he had never had the slightest difficulty in disbelieving the aspersions Snape cast on his father's character. Hadn't people like Hagrid and Sirius told Harry how wonderful his father had been? (Yeah, well, look what Sirius was like himself, said a nagging voice inside Harry's head ... he was as bad, wasn't he?) Yes, he had once overheard Professor McGonagall saying that his father and Sirius had been troublemakers at school, but she had described them as forerunners of the Weasley twins, and Harry could not imagine Fred and George dangling someone upside-down for the fun of it ... not unless they really loathed them ... perhaps Malfoy or somebody who really deserved it .
Harry tried to make a case for Snape having deserved what he had suffered at James's hands: but hadn't Lily asked, ‘What's he done to you?’ And hadn't James replied, ‘It's more the fact that he exists, if you know what I mean.’ Hadn't James started it all simply because Sirius had said he was bored? Harry remembered Lupin saying back in Grimmauld Place that Dumbledore had made him prefect in the hope that he would be able to exercise some control over James and Sirius ... but in the Pensieve, he had sat there and let it all happen ...
Harry kept reminding himself that Lily had intervened; his mother had been decent. Yet, the memory of the look on her face as she had shouted at James disturbed him quite as much as anything else; she had clearly loathed James, and Harry simply could not understand how they could have ended up married. Once or twice he even wondered whether James had forced her into it ...
For nearly five years the thought of his father had been a source of comfort, of inspiration. Whenever someone had told him he was like James, he had glowed with pride inside. And now ... now he felt cold and miserable at the thought of him.
The weather grew breezier, brighter and warmer as the Easter holidays passed, but Harry, along with the rest of the fifth- and seventh-years, was trapped inside, revising, traipsing back and forth to the library. Harry pretended his bad mood had no other cause but the approaching exams, and as his fellow Gryffindors were sick of studying themselves, his excuse went unchallenged.
‘Harry, I'm talking to you, can you hear me?’
‘Huh?’
He looked round. Ginny Weasley, looking very windswept, had joined him at the library table where he had been sitting alone. It was late on Sunday evening: Hermione had gone back to Gryffindor Tower to revise Ancient Runes, and Ron had Quidditch practice.
‘Oh, hi,’ said Harry, pulling his books towards him. ‘How come you're not at practice?’
‘It's over,’ said Ginny. ‘Ron had to take Jack Sloper up to the hospital wing.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, we're not sure, but we think he knocked himself out with his own bat.’ She sighed heavily. ‘Anyway ... a package just arrived, it's only just got through Umbridge's new screening process.’
She hoisted a box wrapped in brown paper on to the table; it had clearly been unwrapped and carelessly re-wrapped. There was a scribbled note across it in red ink, reading: Inspected and Passed by the Hogwarts High Inquisitor. 
‘It's Easter eggs from Mum,’ said Ginny. ‘There's one for you ... there you go.’
She handed him a handsome chocolate egg decorated with small, iced Snitches and, according to the packaging, containing a bag of Fizzing Whizzbees. Harry looked at it for a moment, then, to his horror, felt a lump rise in his throat.
‘Are you OK, Harry?’ Ginny asked quietly.
‘Yeah, I'm fine,’ said Harry gruffly. The lump in his throat was painful. He did not understand why an Easter egg should have made him feel like this.
‘You seem really down lately,’ Ginny persisted. ‘You know, I'm sure if you just talked to Cho ...’
‘It's not Cho I want to talk to,’ said Harry brusquely.
‘Who is it, then?’ asked Ginny, watching him closely.
‘I ...’
He glanced around to make quite sure nobody was listening. Madam Pince was several shelves away, stamping out a pile cf books for a frantic-looking Hannah Abbott.
‘I wish I could talk to Sirius,’ he muttered. ‘But I know I can't.’
Ginny continued to watch him thoughtfully. More to give himself something to do than because he really wanted any, Harry unwrapped his Easter egg, broke off a large bit and put it into his mouth.
‘Well,’ said Ginny slowly, helping herself to a bit of egg, too, ‘if you really want to talk to Sirius, I expect we could think of a way to do it.’
‘Come on,’ said Harry dully. ‘With Umbridge policing the fires and reading all our mail?’
‘The thing about growing up with Fred and George,’ said Ginny thoughtfully, ‘is that you sort of start thinking anything's possible if you've got enough nerve.’
Harry looked at her. Perhaps it was the effect of the chocolate—Lupin had always advised eating some after encounters with dementors—or simply because he had finally spoken aloud the wish that had been burning inside him for a week, but he felt a bit more hopeful.
‘WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?’
‘Oh damn,’ whispered Ginny, jumping to her feet. ‘I forgot—’
Madam Pince was swooping down on them, her shrivelled face contorted with rage.
‘Chocolate in the library!’ she screamed. ‘Out—out—OUT!’ And whipping out her wand, she caused Harry's books, bag and ink bottle to chase him and Ginny from the library, whacking them repeatedly over the head as they ran.
As though to underline the importance of their upcoming examinations, a batch of pamphlets, leaflets and notices concerning various wizarding careers appeared on the tables in Gryffindor Tower shortly before the end of the holidays, along with yet another notice on the board, which read:
CAREERS ADVICE
All fifth-years are required to attend a short meeting with their
Head of House during the first week of the summer term to discuss
their future careers. Times of individual appointments are listed below.
 
Harry looked down the list and found that he was expected in Professor McGonagall's office at half past two on Monday, which would mean missing most of Divination. He and the other fifth-years spent a considerable part of the final weekend of the Easter break reading all the careers information that had been left there for their perusal.
‘Well, I don't fancy Healing,’ said Ron on the last evening of the holidays. He was immersed in a leaflet that carried the crossed bone-and-wand emblem of St. Mungo's on its front. ‘It says here you need at least “E” at NEWT level in Potions, Herbology, Transfiguration, Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts. I mean ... blimey ... don't want much, do they?’
‘Well, it's a very responsible job, isn't it?’ said Hermione absently.
She was poring over a bright pink and orange leaflet, that was headed, ‘SO YOU THINK YOU'D LIKE TO WORK IN MUGGLE RELATIONS?’ ‘You don't seem to need many qualifications to liaise with Muggles; all they want is an OWL in Muggle Studies: Much more important is your enthusiasm, patience and a good sense of fun!’
‘You'd need more than a good sense of fun to liaise with my uncle,’ said Harry darkly. ‘Good sense of when to duck, more like.’ He was halfway through a pamphlet on wizard banking. ‘Listen to this: Are you seeking a challenging career involving travel, adventure and substantial, danger-related treasure bonuses? Then consider a position with Gringotts Wizarding Bank, who are currently recruiting Curse-Breakers for thrilling opportunities abroad ...They want Arithmancy, though; you could do it, Hermione!’
‘I don't much fancy banking,’ said Hermione vaguely, now immersed in: ‘HAVE YOU GOT WHAT IT TAKES TO TRAIN SECURITY TROLLS?’
‘Hey,’ said a voice in Harry's ear. He looked round; Fred and George had come to join them. ‘Ginny's had a word with us about you,’ said Fred, stretching out his legs on the table in front of them and causing several booklets on careers with the Ministry of Magic to slide off on to the floor. ‘She says you need to talk to Sirius?’
‘What?’ said Hermione sharply, freezing with her hand halfway towards picking up ‘MAKE A BANG AT THE DEPARTMENT OF MAGICAL ACCIDENTS AND CATASTROPHES'.
‘Yeah ...’ said Harry, trying to sound casual, ‘yeah, I thought I'd like—’
‘Don't be so ridiculous,’ said Hermione, straightening up and looking at him as though she could not believe her eyes. ‘With Umbridge groping around in the fires and frisking all the owls?’
‘Well, we think we can find a way around that,’ said George, stretching and smiling. ‘It's a simple matter of causing a diversion. Now, you might have noticed that we have been rather quiet on the mayhem front during the Easter holidays?’
‘What was the point, we asked ourselves, of disrupting leisure time?’ continued Fred. ‘No point at all, we answered ourselves. And of course, we'd have messed up people's revision, too, which would be the very last thing we'd want to do.’
He gave Hermione a sanctimonious little nod. She looked rather taken aback by this thoughtfulness.
‘But it's business as usual from tomorrow,’ Fred continued briskly. ‘And if we're going to be causing a bit of uproar, why not do it so that Harry can have his chat with Sirius?’
‘Yes, but still,’ said Hermione, with an air of explaining something very simple to somebody very obtuse, ‘even if you do cause a diversion, how is Harry supposed to talk to him?’
‘Umbridge's office,’ said Harry quietly.
He had been thinking about it for a fortnight and could come up with no alternative. Umbridge herself had told him that the only fire that was not being watched was her own.
‘Are—you— insane?’ said Hermione in a hushed voice.
Ron had lowered his leaflet on jobs in the Cultivated Fungus Trade and was watching the conversation warily.
‘I don't think so,’ said Harry, shrugging.
‘And how are you going to get in there in the first place?’
Harry was ready for this question.
‘Sirius's knife,’ he said.
‘Excuse me?’
‘Christmas before last Sirius gave me a knife that'll open any lock,’ said Harry. ‘So even if she's bewitched the door so Alahomora won't work, which I bet she has— ’
‘What do you think about this?’ Hermione demanded of Ron, and Harry was reminded irresistibly of Mrs. Weasley appealing to her husband during Harry's first dinner in Grimmauld Place.
‘I dunno,’ said Ron, looking alarmed at being asked to give an opinion. ‘If Harry wants to do it, it's up to him, isn't it?’
‘Spoken like a true friend and Weasley,’ said Fred, clapping Ron hard on the back. ‘Right, then. We're thinking of doing it tomorrow, just after lessons, because it should cause maximum impact in everybody's in the corridors—Harry, we'll set it off in the east wing somewhere, draw her right away from her own office—I reckon we should be able to guarantee you, what, twenty minutes?’ he said, looking at George.
‘Easy,’ said George.
‘What sort of diversion is it?’ asked Ron.
‘You'll see, little bro', said Fred, as he and George got up again. ‘At least, you will if you trot along to Gregory the Smarmy's corridor round about five o'clock tomorrow.’
Harry awoke very early the next day, feeling almost as anxious as he had done on the morning of his disciplinary hearing at the Ministry of Magic. It was not only the prospect of breaking into Umbridge's office and using her fire to speak to Sirius that was making him feel nervous, though that was certainly bad enough; today also happened to be the first time Harry would be in close proximity to Snape since Snape had thrown him out of his office.
After lying in bed for a while thinking about the day ahead, Harry got up very quietly and moved across to the window beside Neville's bed, and stared out on a truly glorious morning. The sky was a clear, misty, opalescent blue. Directly ahead of him, Harry could see the towering beech tree below which his father had once tormented Snape. He was not sure what Sirius could possibly say to him that would make up for what he had seen in the Pensieve, but he was desperate to hear Sirius's own account of what had happened, to know of any mitigating factors there might have been, any excuse at all for his father's behaviour ...
Something caught Harry's attention: movement on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Harry squinted into the sun and saw Hagrid emerging from between the trees. He seemed to be limping. As Harry watched, Hagrid staggered to the door of his cabin and disappeared inside it. Harry watched the cabin for several minutes. Hagrid did not emerge again, but smoke furled from the chimney, so Hagrid could not be so badly injured that he was unequal to stoking the fire.
Harry turned away from the window, headed back to his trunk and started to dress.
With the prospect of forcing entry into Umbridge's office ahead. Harry had never expected the day to be a restful one, but he had not reckoned on Hermione's almost continual attempts to dissuade him from what he was planning to do at five o'clock. For the first time ever, she was at least as inattentive to Professor Binns in History of Magic as Harry and Ron were, keeping up a stream of whispered admonitions that Harry tried very hard to ignore.
‘... and if she does catch you there, apart from being expelled, she'll be able to guess you've been talking to Snuffles and this time I expect she'll force you to drink Veritaserum and answer her questions ...’
‘Hermione,’ said Ron in a low and indignant voice, ‘are you going to stop telling Harry off and listen to Binns, or am I going to have to take my own notes?’
‘You take notes for a change, it won't kill you!’
By the time they reached the dungeons, neither Harry nor Ron was speaking to Hermione. Undeterred, she took advantage of their silence to maintain an uninterrupted flow of dire warnings, all uttered under her breath in a vehement hiss that caused Seamus to waste five whole minutes checking his cauldron for leaks.
Snape, meanwhile, seemed to have decided to act as though Harry were invisible. Harry was, of course, well-used to this tactic, as it was one of Uncle Vernon's favourites, and on the whole was grateful he had to suffer nothing worse. In fact, compared to what he usually had to endure from Snape in the way of taunts and snide remarks, he found the new approach something of an improvement, and was pleased to find that when left well alone, he was able to concoct an Invigoration Draught quite easily. At the end of the lesson he scooped some of the potion into a flask, corked it and took it up to Snape's desk for marking, feeling that he might at last have scraped an ‘E'.
He had just turned away when he heard a smashing noise. Malfoy gave a gleeful yell of laughter. Harry whipped around. His potion sample lay in pieces on the floor and Snape was surveying him with a look of gloating pleasure.
‘Whoops,’ he said softly. ‘Another zero, then, Potter.’
Harry was too incensed to speak. He strode back to his cauldron, intending to fill another flask and force Snape to mark it, but saw to his horror that the rest of the contents had vanished.
‘I'm sorry!’ said Hermione, with her hands over her mouth. ‘I'm really sorry, Harry. I thought you'd finished, so I cleared up!’
Harry could not bring himself to answer. When the bell rang, he hurried out of the dungeon without a backwards glance, and made sure that he found himself a seat between Neville and Seamus for lunch so that Hermione could not start nagging him again about using Umbridge's office.
He was in such a bad mood by the time he got to Divination that he had quite forgotten his careers appointment with Professor McGonagall, remembering it only when Ron asked him why he wasn't in her office. He hurtled back upstairs and arrived out of breath, only a few minutes late.
‘Sorry, Professor,’ he panted, as he closed the door. ‘I forgot.’
‘No matter, Potter,’ she said briskly, but as she spoke, somebody else sniffed from the corner. Harry looked round.
Professor Umbridge was sitting there, a clipboard on her knee, a fussy little pie-frill around her neck and a small, horribly smug smile on her face.
‘Sit down, Potter,’ said Professor McGonagall tersely. Her hands shook slightly as she shuffled the many pamphlets littering her desk.
Harry sat down with his back to Umbridge and did his best to pretend he could not hear the scratching of her quill on her clipboard.
‘Well, Potter, this meeting is to talk over any career ideas you might have, and to help you decide which subjects you should continue into the sixth and seventh years,’ said Professor McGonagall. ‘Have you had any thoughts about what you would like to do after you leave Hogwarts?’
‘Er—’ said Harry.
He was finding the scratching noise from behind him very distracting.
‘Yes?’ Professor McGonagall prompted Harry.
‘Well, I thought of, maybe, being an Auror,’ Harry mumbled.
‘You'd need top grades for that,’ said Professor McGonagall, extracting a small, dark leaflet from under the mass on her desk and opening it. ‘They ask for a minimum of five NEWTs, and nothing under “Exceeds Expectations” grade, I see. Then you would be required to undergo a stringent series of character and aptitude tests at the Auror office. It's a difficult career path, Potter, they only take the best. In fact, I don't think anybody has been taken on in the last three years.’
At this moment, Professor Umbridge gave a very tiny cough, as though she was trying to see how quietly she could do it. Professor McGonagall ignored her.
‘You'll want to know which subjects you ought to take, I suppose?’ she went on, talking a little louder than before.
‘Yes,’ said Harry. ‘Defence Against the Dark Arts, I suppose?’
‘Naturally,’ said Professor McGonagall crisply. ‘I would also advise—’ 
Professor Umbridge gave another cough, a little more audible this time. Professor McGonagall closed her eyes for a moment, opened them again, and continued as though nothing had happened.
‘I would also advise Transfiguration, because Aurors frequently need to Transfigure or Untransfigure in their work. And I ought to tell you now, Potter, that I do not accept students into my NEWT classes unless they have achieved “Exceeds Expectations” or higher at Ordinary Wizarding Level. I'd say you're averaging “Acceptable” at the moment, so you'll need to put in some good hard work before the exams to stand a chance of continuing. Then you ought to do Charms, always useful, and Potions. Yes, Potter, Potions,’ she added, with the merest flicker of a smile. ‘Poisons and antidotes are essential study for Aurors. And I must tell you that Professor Snape absolutely refuses to take students who get anything other than “Outstanding” in their OWLs, so —’
Professor Umbridge gave her most pronounced cough yet.
‘May I offer you a cough drop, Dolores?’ Professor McGonagall asked curtly, without looking at Professor Umbridge.
‘Oh, no, thank you very much,’ said Umbridge, with that simpering laugh Harry hated so much. ‘I just wondered whether I could make the teensiest interruption, Minerva?’
‘I daresay you'll find you can,’ said Professor McGonagall through tightly gritted teeth.
‘I was just wondering whether Mr. Potter has quite the temperament for an Auror?’ said Professor Umbridge sweetly.
‘Were you?’ said Professor McGonagall haughtily. ‘Well, Potter,’ she continued, as though there had been no interruption, ‘if you are serious in this ambition, I would advise you to concentrate hard on bringing your Transfiguration and Potions up to scratch. I see Professor Flitwick has graded you between “Acceptable” and “Exceeds Expectations” for the last two years, so your Charmwork seems satisfactory. As for Defence Against the Dark Arts, your marks have been generally high, Professor Lupin in particular thought you—are you quite sure you wouldn't like a cough drop, Dolores?’
‘Oh, no need, thank you, Minerva,’ simpered Professor Umbridge, who had just coughed her loudest yet. ‘I was just concerned that you might not have Harry's most recent Defence Against the Dark Arts marks in front of you. I'm quite sure I slipped in a note.’
‘What, this thing?’ said Professor McGonagall in a tone of revulsion, as she pulled a sheet of pink parchment from between the leaves of Harry's folder. She glanced down it, her eyebrows slightly raised, then placed it back into the folder without comment.
‘Yes, as I was saying, Potter, Professor Lupin thought you showed a pronounced aptitude for the subject, and obviously for an Auror—’
‘Did you not understand my note, Minerva?’ asked Professor Umbndge in honeyed tones, quite forgetting to cough.
‘Of course I understood it,’ said Professor McGonagall, her teeth clenched so tightly the words came out a little muffled.
‘Well, then, I am confused ... I'm afraid I don't quite understand how you can give Mr. Potter false hope that—’
‘False hope?’ repeated Professor McGonagall, still refusing to look round at Professor Umbridge. ‘He has achieved high marks in all his Defence Against the Dark Arts tests—’
‘I'm terribly sorry to have to contradict you, Minerva, but as you will see from my note, Harry has been achieving very poor results in his classes with me—’
‘I should have made my meaning plainer,’ said Professor McGonagall, turning at last to look Umbridge directly in the eyes. ‘He has achieved high marks in all Defence Against the Dark Arts tests set by a competent teacher.’
Professor Umbridge's smile vanished as suddenly as a light bulb blowing. She sat back in her chair, turned a sheet on her clipboard and began scribbling very fast indeed, her bulging eyes rolling from side to side. Professor McGonagall turned back to Harry, her thin nostrils flared, her eyes burning.
‘Any questions, Potter?’
‘Yes,’ said Harry. ‘What sort of character and aptitude tests do the Ministry do on you, if you get enough NEWTs?’
‘Well, you'll need to demonstrate the ability to react well to pressure and so forth,’ said Professor McGonagall, ‘perseverance and dedication, because Auror training takes a further three years, not to mention very high skills in practical Defence. It will mean a lot more study even after you've left school, so unless you're prepared to—’
‘I think you'll also find,’ said Umbridge, her voice very cold now, ‘that the Ministry looks into the records of those applying to be Aurors. Their criminal records.’
‘—unless you're prepared to take even more exams after Hogwarts, you should really look at another—’
‘Which means that this boy has as much chance of becoming an Auror as Dumbledore has of ever returning to this school.’
‘A very good chance, then,’ said Professor McGonagall.
‘Potter has a criminal record,’ said Umbridge loudly.
‘Potter has been cleared of all charges,’ said McGonagall, even more loudly.
Professor Umbridge stood up. She was so short that this did not make a great deal of difference, but her fussy, simpering demeanour had given place to a hard fury that made her broad, flabby face look oddly sinister.
‘Potter has no chance whatsoever of becoming an Auror!’
Professor McGonagall got to her feet, too, and in her case this was a much more impressive move: she towered over Professor Umbridge.
‘Potter,’ she said in ringing tones, ‘I will assist you to become an Auror if it is the last thing I do! If I have to coach you nightly, I will make sure you achieve the required results!’
‘The Minister for Magic will never employ Harry Potter!’ said Umbridge, her voice rising furiously.
‘There may well be a new Minister for Magic by the time Potter is ready to join!’ shouted Professor McGonagall.
‘Aha! shrieked Professor Umbridge, pointing a stubby linger at McGonagall. ‘Yes! Yes, yes, yes! Of course! That's what you want, isn't it, Minerva McGonagall? You want Cornelius Fudge replaced by Albus Dumbledore! You think you'll be where I am, don't you: Senior Undersecretary to the Minister and Headmistress to boot!’
‘You are raving,’ said Professor McGonagall, superbly disdainful. ‘Potter, that concludes our careers consultation.’
Harry swung his bag over his shoulder and hurried out of the room, not daring to look at Professor Umbridge. He could hear her and Professor McGonagall continuing to shout at each other all the way back along the corridor.
Professor Umbridge was still breathing as though she had just run a race when she strode into their Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson that afternoon.
‘I hope you've thought better of what you were planning to do, Harry,’ Hermione whispered, the moment they had opened their books to ‘Chapter Thirty-four, Non-Retaliation and Negotiation'. ‘Umbridge looks like she's in a really bad mood already ...’
Every now and then Umbridge shot glowering looks at Harry, who kept his head down, staring at Defensive Magical Theory, his eyes unfocused, thinking ...
He could just imagine Professor McGonagall's reaction if he was caught trespassing in Professor Umbridge's office mere hours after she had vouched for him ... there was nothing to stop him simply going back to Gryffindor Tower and hoping that some time during the next summer holidays he would have a chance to ask Sirius about the scene he had witnessed in the Pensieve ... nothing, except that the thought of taking this sensible course of action made him feel as though a lead weight had dropped into his stomach ... and then there was the matter of Fred and George, whose diversion was already planned, not to mention the knife Sirius had given him, which was currently residing in his schoolbag along with his father's old Invisibility Cloak.
But the fact remained that if he was caught ...
‘Dumbledore sacrificed himself to keep you in school, Harry!’ whispered Hermione, raising her book to hide her face from Umbridge. ‘And if you get thrown out today it will all have been for nothing!’
He could abandon the plan and simply learn to live with the memory of what his father had done on a summer's day more than twenty years ago ...
And then he remembered Sirius in the fire upstairs in the Gryffindor common room ...
You're less like your father than I thought ... the risk would've been what made it fun for James ...
But did he want to be like his father any more?
‘Harry, don't do it, please don't do it!’ Hermione said in anguished tones as the bell rang at the end of the class.
He did not answer; he did not know what to do.
Ron seemed determined to give neither his opinion nor his advice; he would not look at Harry, though when Hermione opened her mouth to try dissuading Harry some more, he said in a low voice, ‘Give it a rest, OK? He can make up his own mind.’
Harry's heart beat very fast as he left the classroom. He was halfway along the corridor outside when he heard the unmistakeable sounds of a diversion going off in the distance. There were screams and yells reverberating from somewhere above them; people exiting the classrooms all around Harry were stopping in their tracks and looking up at the ceiling fearfully—
Umbridge came pelting out of her classroom as fast as her short legs would carry her. Pulling out her wand, she hurried off in the opposite direction: it was now or never.
‘Harry—please!’ Hermione pleaded weakly.
But he had made up his mind; hitching his bag more securely on to his shoulder, he set off at a run, weaving in and out of students now hurrying in the opposite direction to see what all the fuss was about in the east wing.
Harry reached the corridor to Umbridge's office and found it deserted. Dashing behind a large suit of armour whose helmet creaked around to watch him, he pulled open his bag, seized Sirius's knife and donned the Invisibility Cloak. He then crept slowly and carefully back out from behind the suit of armour and along the corridor until he reached Umbridge's door.
He inserted the blade of the magical knife into the crack around it and moved it gently up and down, then withdrew it. There was a tiny click, and the door swung open. He ducked inside the office, closed the door quickly behind him and looked around.
Nothing was moving except the horrible kittens that were still frolicking on the wall plates above the confiscated broomsticks.
Harry pulled off his Cloak and, striding over to the fireplace, found what he was looking for within seconds: a small box containing glittering Floo powder.
He crouched down in front of the empty grate, his hands shaking. He had never done this before, though he thought he knew how it must work. Sticking his head into the fireplace, he took a large pinch of powder and dropped it on to the logs stacked neatly beneath him. They exploded at once into emerald green flames.
‘Number twelve, Grimmauld Place!’ Harry said loudly and clearly.
It was one of the most curious sensations he had ever experienced. He had travelled by Floo powder before, of course, but then it had been his entire body that had spun around and around in the flames through the network of wizarding fireplaces that stretched over the country. This time, his knees remained firm upon the cold floor of Umbridge's office, and only his head hurtled through the emerald fire ...
And then, as abruptly as it had begun, the spinning stopped. Feeling rather sick and as though he were wearing an exceptionally hot muffler around his head, Harry opened his eyes to find that he was looking up out of the kitchen fireplace at the long, wooden table, where a man sat poring over a piece of parchment.
‘Sirius?’
The man jumped and looked around. It was not Sirius, but Lupin.
‘Harry!’ he said, looking thoroughly shocked. ‘What are you—what's happened, is everything all right?’
‘Yeah,’ said Harry. ‘I just wondered—I mean, I just fancied a—a chat with Sirius.’
‘I'll call him,’ said Lupin, getting to his feet, still looking perplexed, ‘he went upstairs to look for Kreacher, he seems to be hiding in the attic again ...’
And Harry saw Lupin hurry out of the kitchen. Now he was left with nothing to look at but the chair and table legs. He wondered why Sirius had never mentioned how very uncomfortable it was to speak out of the fire; his knees were already objecting painfully to their prolonged contact with Umbridge's hard stone floor.
Lupin returned with Sirius at his heels moments later.
‘What is it?’ said Sirius urgently, sweeping his long dark hair out of his eyes and dropping to the ground in front of the fire, so that he and Harry were on a level. Lupin knelt down too, looking very concerned. ‘Are you all right? Do you need help?’
‘No,’ said Harry, ‘it's nothing like that ... I just wanted to talk ... about my dad.’
They exchanged a look of great surprise, but Harry did not have time to feel awkward or embarrassed; his knees were becoming sorer by the second and he guessed five minutes had already passed from the start of the diversion; George had only guaranteed him twenty. He therefore plunged immediately into the story of what he had seen in the Pensieve.
When he had finished, neither Sirius nor Lupin spoke for a moment. Then Lupin said quietly, ‘I wouldn't like you to judge your father on what you saw there, Harry. He was only fifteen—’
‘I'm fifteen,’ said Harry heatedly.
‘Look, Harry’ said Sirius placatingly, ‘James and Snape hated each other from the moment they set eyes on each other, it was just one of those things, you can understand that, can't you? I think James was everything Snape wanted to be—he was popular, he was good at Quidditch—good at pretty much everything. And Snape was just this little oddball who was up to his eyes in the Dark Arts, and James—whatever else he may have appeared to you, Harry—always hated the Dark Arts.’
‘Yeah,’ said Harry, ‘but he just attacked Snape for no good reason, just because—well, just because you said you were bored,’ he finished, with a slightly apologetic note in his voice.
‘I ‘m not proud of it,’ said Sirius quickly.
Lupin looked sideways at Sirius, then said, ‘Look, Harry, what you've got to understand is that your father and Sirius were the best in the school at whatever they did— everyone thought they were the height of cool—if they sometimes got a bit carried away—’
‘If we were sometimes arrogant little berks, you mean,’ said Sirius.
Lupin smiled.
‘He kept messing up his hair,’ said Harry in a pained voice.
Sirius and Lupin laughed.
‘I'd forgotten he used to do that,’ said Sirius affectionately.
‘Was he playing with the Snitch?’ said Lupin eagerly.
‘Yeah,’ said Harry, watching uncomprehendingly as Sirius and Lupin beamed reminiscently. ‘Well ... I thought he was a bit of an idiot.’
‘Of course he was a bit of an idiot!’ said Sirius bracingly, ‘we were all idiots! Well— not Moony so much,’ he said fairly, looking at Lupin.
But Lupin shook his head. ‘Did I ever tell you to lay off Snape?’ he said. ‘Did I ever have the guts to tell you I thought you were out of order?’
‘Yeah, well,’ said Sirius, ‘you made us feel ashamed of ourselves sometimes ... that was something ...’
‘And,’ said Harry doggedly, determined to say everything that was on his mind now he was here, ‘he kept looking over at the girls by the lake, hoping they were watching him!’
‘Oh, well, he always made a fool of himself whenever Lily was around,’ said Sirius, shrugging, ‘he couldn't stop himself showing off whenever he got near her.’
‘How come she married him?’ Harry asked miserably. ‘She hated him!’
‘Nah, she didn't,’ said Sirius.
‘She started going out with him in seventh year,’ said Lupin.
‘Once James had deflated his head a bit,’ said Sirius.
‘And stopped hexing people just for the fun of it,’ said Lupin.
‘Even Snape?’ said Harry.
‘Well,’ said Lupin slowly, ‘Snape was a special case. I mean, he never lost an opportunity to curse James so you couldn't really expect James to take that lying down, could you?’
‘And my mum was OK with that?’
‘She didn't know too much about it, to tell you the truth,’ said Sirius. ‘I mean, James didn't take Snape on dates with her and jinx him in front of her, did he?’
Sirius frowned at Harry, who was still looking unconvinced.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘your father was the best friend I ever had and he was a good person. A lot of people are idiots at the age of fifteen. He grew out of it.’
‘Yeah, OK,’ said Harry heavily. ‘I just never thought I'd feel sorry for Snape.’
‘Now you mention it,’ said Lupin, a faint crease between his eyebrows, ‘how did Snape react when he found you'd seen all this?’
‘He told me he'd never teach me Occlumency again,’ said Harry indifferently, ‘like that's a big disappoint—’
‘He WHAT?’ shouted Sirius, causing Harry to jump and inhale a mouthful of ashes.
‘Are you serious, Harry?’ said Lupin quickly. ‘He's stopped giving you lessons?’
‘Yeah,’ said Harry, surprised at what he considered a great over-reaction. ‘But it's OK, I don't care, it's a bit of a relief to tell you the—’
‘I'm coming up there to have a word with Snape!’ said Sirius forcefully, and he actually made to stand up, but Lupin wrenched him back down again.
‘If anyone's going to tell Snape it will be me!’ he said firmly. ‘But Harry, first of all, you're to go back to Snape and tell him that on no account is he to stop giving you lessons—when Dumbledore hears—’
‘I can't tell him that, he'd kill me!’ said Harry, outraged. ‘You didn't see him when we got out of the Pensieve.’
‘Harry there is nothing so important as you learning Occlumency!’ said Lupin sternly. ‘Do you understand me? Nothing!’
‘OK, OK,’ said Harry, thoroughly discomposed, not to mention annoyed. ‘I'll ... I'll try and say something to him ... but it won't be—’
He fell silent. He could hear distant footsteps.
‘Is that Kreacher coming downstairs?’
‘No,’ said Sirius, glancing behind him. ‘It must be somebody your end.’
Harry's heart skipped several beats.
‘I'd better go!’ he said hastily and pulled his head backwards out of the Grimmauld Place fire. For a moment his head seemed to be revolving on his shoulders, then he found himself kneeling in front of Umbridge's fire with it firmly back on and watching the emerald flames flicker and die.
‘Quickly, quickly!’ he heard a wheezy voice mutter right outside the office door. ‘Ah, she's left it open—’
Harry dived for the Invisibility Cloak and had just managed to pull it back over himself when Filch burst into the office. He looked absolutely delighted about something and was talking to himself feverishly as he crossed the room, pulled open a drawer in Umbridge's desk and began rifling through the papers inside it.
‘Approval for Whipping ... Approval for Whipping ... I can do it at last ... they've had it coming to them for years ...’
He pulled out a piece of parchment, kissed it, then shuffled rapidly back out of the door, clutching it to his chest.
Harry leapt to his feet and, making sure he had his bag and that the Invisibility Cloak was completely covering him, he wrenched open the door and hurried out of the office after Filch, who was hobbling along faster than Harry had ever seen him go.
One landing down from Umbridge's office, Harry thought it was safe to become visible again. He pulled off the Cloak, shoved it in his bag and hurried onwards. There was a great deal of shouting and movement coming from the Entrance Hall. He ran down the marble staircase and found what looked like most of the school assembled there.
It was just like the night when Trelawney had been sacked. Students were standing all around the walls in a great ring (some of them, Harry noticed, covered in a substance that looked very like Stinksap); teachers and ghosts were also in the crowd. Prominent among the onlookers were members of the Inquisitorial Squad, who were all looking exceptionally pleased with themselves, and Peeves, who was bobbing overhead, gazed down at Fred and George who stood in the middle of the floor with the unmistakeable look of two people who had just been cornered.
‘So!’ said Umbridge triumphantly. Harry realised she was standing just a few stairs in front of him, once more looking down upon her prey. ‘So—you think it amusing to turn a school corridor into a swamp, do you?’
‘Pretty amusing, yeah,’ said Fred, looking up at her without the slightest sign of fear.
Filch elbowed his way closer to Umbridge, almost crying with happiness.
‘I've got the form, Headmistress,’ he said hoarsely, waving the piece of parchment Harry had just seen him take from her desk. ‘I've got the form and I've got the whips waiting ... oh, let me do it now ...’
‘Very good, Argus,’ she said. ‘You two,’ she went on, gazing down at Fred and George, ‘are about to learn what happens to wrongdoers in my school.’
‘You know what?’ said Fred. ‘I don't think we are.’
He turned to his twin.
‘George,’ said Fred, ‘I think we've outgrown full-time education.’
‘Yeah, I've been feeling that way myself,’ said George lightly.
‘Time to test our talents in the real world, d'you reckon?’ asked Fred.
‘Definitely,’ said George.
And before Umbridge could say a word, they raised their wands and said together:
‘Accio brooms!’
Harry heard a loud crash somewhere in the distance. Looking to his left, he ducked just in time. Fred and George's broomsticks, one still trailing the heavy chain and iron peg with which Umbridge had fastened them to the wall, were hurtling along the corridor towards their owners; they turned left, streaked down the stairs and stopped sharply in front of the twins, the chain clattering loudly on the flagged stone floor.
‘We won't be seeing you,’ Fred told Professor Umbridge, swinging his leg over his broomstick.
‘Yeah, don't bother to keep in touch,’ said George, mounting his own.
Fred looked around at the assembled students, at the silent, watchful crowd.
‘It anyone fancies buying a Portable Swamp, as demonstrated upstairs, come to number ninety-three, Diagon Alley—Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes,’ he said in a loud voice. ‘Our new premises!’
‘Special discounts to Hogwart's students who swear they're going to use our products to get rid of this old bat,’ added George, pointing at Professor Umbridge.
‘STOP THEM!’ shrieked Umbridge, but it was too late. As the Inquisitorial Squad closed in, Fred and George kicked off from the floor, shooting fifteen feet into the air, the iron peg swinging dangerously below. Fred looked across the hall at the poltergeist bobbing on his level above the crowd.
‘Give her hell from us, Peeves.’
And Peeves, who Harry had never seen take an order from a student before, swept his belled hat from his head and sprang to a salute as Fred and George wheeled about to tumultuous applause from the students below and sped out of the open front doors into the glorious sunset.
“但是为什么你不再上思维闭锁术？” 荷米恩皱着眉头说。 “我告诉过你，”哈利喃喃自语。“斯内普想我已经基本掌握了，所以我能自学。” 
　　“那么你那些好笑的梦也停止了？”荷米恩怀疑地说。 
　　“好多了，”哈利说，没看着她。 
　　“好吧，我不认为斯内普应该在你能完全控制它们之前停止！” 荷米恩愤怒地说。“哈利, 我认为你应该回去问他——” “不，”哈利激动地说。“别再谈它了，荷米恩，好吗？” 
　　今天是复活节假日第一天，荷米恩象往常一样，花了很多时间修改他们三个的时间表。哈利和罗恩就让她这么做；因为这比和她争吵容易得多，无论如何，它们也可能派得上用场。 
　　罗恩震惊地发现他们离考试只有六个星期了。 
　　“这也能算是震惊吗？”荷米恩查询般地说，她用魔杖轻敲罗恩的时间表上的方格，它就会依照自己的科目显示出不同的颜色。 
　　“我不知道，”罗恩说，“有很多事情发生。” 
　　”好的，这给你，“她说，把他的时间表给他，“如果你照它做的话就能考好。” 
　　罗恩沮丧地低下头看它, 但是马上就高兴起来。 “你把每个星期的晚上都给了我！” 
　　“那是为了魁地奇练习，”荷米恩说。 
　　微笑从罗恩的脸上退去。 
　　“那有什么用？”他迟钝地说。“我们今年嬴得魁地奇杯的机会和爸爸被从魔法部开除的机会一样多。” 
　　荷米恩什么也没说；她正在看着哈利, 哈利正茫然地看着公共休息室对面的墙壁，当克鲁克山正抓住他的手，试图抓他的耳朵时。 “怎么了，哈利？” 
　　“什么，”他很快地说。“没事——” 
　　他抓住他抄的《魔法防御理论》并假装在看标题。克鲁克山放开了他并逃到荷米恩的椅子底下。 
　　“我看见早些时候看到秋了，”荷米恩试验性地说。“她看起来真的很可怜。有你们两个又吵架了？” 
　　“什——哦，是的，我们有，”哈利，感激地抓住这个借口。 
　　“关于什么？” 
　　“她那鬼鬼祟祟的朋友, 玛丽埃塔，”哈利说。 “哦，好的，我并不责备你！' 罗恩愤怒地说，放下他的时间表。“如果它没发生在她身上。” 罗恩开始了一个关于玛丽埃塔·埃吉康布的激烈演讲，哈利发现这很又帮助；他只用做出生气的样子，每当罗恩喘气时点头或说“是的”或说“那很对”，让他的思想自由的踌躇，或更悲惨，想一下他在冥想盆里看到的。 
　　他感觉它的记忆似乎在身体里吃他。他是那么的相信他的父母是完美的人，以至于他在他父亲的特性上从来没有相信过斯内普的诽谤。像哈格力和天狼星难道没告诉他他的父亲是多么完美吗？（哦，好吧，看看天狼星就像他那样，一个唠叨的声音在哈利的脑子里说。他很坏，不是吗？）是啊，他曾经偷听到麦格教授说他的父亲和天狼星是学校的捣乱者，但她把他们描述成威斯里双胞胎的先驱者，哈利不能想象弗莱德和乔治能把人上下颠倒过来当娱乐。除非他们实在是恨他们。也许马尔夫，或其他人应该这样。 
　　哈利想为斯内普在詹姆的手下受折磨的那一段是他应该的：但莉莉不是问了他，“他对你做了什么？” 
　　然而詹姆没回答，“事实上主要是因为他的存在，如果你懂我的意思的话。”难道詹姆开始它完全只是因为天狼星说他很无聊？哈利想起卢平以前在格里曼迪街对他说丹伯多会按排他作级长是因为他能练习控制詹姆和天狼星。但在冥想盆里，他坐在那里然后让它全部发生。 
　　哈利提醒自己莉莉也干涉了；他的妈妈很有分寸。然而，在记忆里看到她脸上，当她对詹姆喊的时候像是扰乱了他；她很明面憎恨詹姆，然而哈利不能理解为什么最后他们结婚了。一次或两次他甚至想到詹姆是不是强迫她。 
　　近5年来他认为他的父亲是安慰的来源，或灵感。不论何时某人告诉他他很像詹姆，他都会从心底升起一股自豪感。但现在，他想的时候感到寒冷和悲哀。 
　　在复活节假日过后，天气变得舒适，明亮且温暖，但哈利，沿着静止的第5—和第7—年，掉进了陷阱里，修改，漫步回图书馆又出去。哈利假装他的坏心情只是因为渐渐逼近的考试，当他的格兰芬多的同伴都在为学习而困扰的时候，他的借口也就不成问题了。 
　　“哈利，我在和你说话，你听得到我吗？” 
　　“恩？” 
　　他往四周看。金妮·威斯里，看起来被大风吹过，当他独自坐在图书馆的桌子旁加入了他。这时是星期天的晚上：荷米恩已经回格兰芬多塔去订正古代诗歌，罗恩去练习魁地奇了。 
　　“哦，嗨，”哈利说，把书拉到自己旁边。“为什么你不在练习呢？” 
　　“它结束了，”金妮说。“罗恩要带杰克斯洛普（格兰芬多的击球手）去医院。” 
　　“为什么？” 
　　“好，我们不确定，但我们想他用自己的棍子打到了自己。”她重重地叹息。“总之。刚刚一个包裹到了，它只是通过了昂布瑞吉新的检测程序。” 
　　她拿起一个用棕色纸包着的盒子；它显然已经被打开又被粗心地重包装。在它上面用红色墨水潦草地写道：由霍格瓦彻高级检查官检查并通过。 
　　“它是妈妈做的复活节鸡蛋，”金妮说。“这有一个给你。给你。” 
　　她递给他一个挺好看的巧克力鸡蛋并装饰着冰冻的一些东西，包装上说，包含着一包会叫的东西。哈利看着它，然后，他最讨厌的，感到一个肿块从他的喉咙升起。 
　　“你还好吧，哈利？”金妮平静地问。 
　　“哦，我很好，”哈利粗声说。在他喉咙里的肿块很痛。他不知道为什么一个复活节鸡蛋会让他有这样的感觉。 
　　“你近来似乎不好，”金妮坚持地说。“你知道，我确定如果你只和秋说话。” 
　　“我不想和秋说话，”哈利唐突地说。 
　　“那么，是谁？”金妮问，接近地看着他。 
　　“我。” 
　　他向周围匆匆地扫视了一下，确保没人在听。平斯夫人在几个架子外，为一个看起来疯狂的哈那阿泊特踩住一堆书。 
　　“我希望我能和天狼星说话，”他咕哝道。“但我知道我不能。” 
　　金妮继续仔细地望着他。他希望给自己更多的事情做，哈利打开他的复活节鸡蛋，撕了一点下来然后放进嘴里。 
　　“好吧，”金妮慢慢地说，也开始吃鸡蛋。“如果你真想和天狼星说话，我想我们能想出来怎么做到。” 
　　“继续，”哈利迟钝地说。“通过昂布瑞吉监视着的火炉还有读我们所有的信？” 
　　“这件事关于长大的弗莱德和乔治，”金妮仔细地说，“如果你有足够的勇气就能认为任何事情都有可能。” 
　　哈利看着她。也许是巧克力的作用——卢平总是建议在遭到摄魂怪之后吃一些——或者只是他最终大声地说出憋在他心里一个星期的愿望，但他感到有点帮助。 
　　“你认为你在干什么？” 
　　“哦，真是的，”金妮低声说，跳了起来。“我忘了——”平斯夫人正向他们冲过来，她压瘪的脸上带着扭曲的愤怒。 
　　“巧克力在图书馆！”她尖叫道。“出去—出去—出去！”随着她的魔杖的挥动，她抓起哈利的书，书包和墨水瓶来把他和金妮赶出图书馆，当他们跑的时候还再三恐吓。 
　　* 
　　就像要提醒他们考试的重要性一样，一包包的小册子，就在假日快结束的时候，关于各种巫师职业的传单和布告出现在格兰芬多塔，在它们中间有另外一条消息： 
　　所有5年级的必需出席和他们的院长出席一个短暂的会议在夏季的学期的第一个星期来讨论 
　　他们未来的职业。特别指定的约会在下面列出。 
　　哈利往下看，找到他要在星期一下午2点半去麦格教授的办公室，这就意味着预言课要失去很多。他和其他5年级的学生在复活节假日的最后一个周末用了相当多的时间，来读他们留下来要熟读的职业消息。 
　　“好吧，我不喜欢医疗，”罗恩在假日的最后一个晚上说。他陷入了一个传单，上面有圣芒克医院的象征，骨头和魔杖相交的十字。“它说你最少要得‘E’在终极巫师等级考试中的药剂、草药、变形、魔咒和黑魔法防御。我的意思是。啊呀。不想那么多，不是吗？” 
　　“好啊，它是一个可靠的工作，不是吗？”荷米恩心不在焉地说。 
　　“好吧，我不喜欢医疗，”罗恩在假日的最后一个晚上说。他陷入了一个传单，上面有圣芒克医院的象征，骨头和魔杖相交的十字。“它说你最少要得‘E’在终极巫师等级考试中的药剂、草药、变形、魔咒和黑魔法防御。我的意思是。啊呀。不想那么多，不是吗？” 
　　“好啊，它是一个可靠的工作，不是吗？”荷米恩心不在焉地说。 
　　她正在凝视着一个粉色和橙色的传单，标题是：那么你想你喜欢在麻瓜亲戚中工作吗？ 
　　“你不需要很多条件来和麻瓜保持联络；他们需要的只是一个麻瓜研究的普通巫师等级证书：最重要的是你的热心，耐性和很好的判断力。” 
　　“和我的舅父保持联络需要的不止是好的判断力，”哈利阴暗地说。“对人的判断力，更像。” 
　　他看的巫师银行的小册子看了一半。“听这个：你在寻找一个有挑战性的职业并包括旅行，冒险和充实的，危险叙述的奖金？那么考虑在古灵阁银行的职业吧，我们普遍征集咒语阻断者去国外找时机。他们想要数字算命，所以；你能做这个，荷米恩！” 
　　“我不喜欢银行业，”荷米恩含糊地说，现在又陷入了：你试过训练安全的旋转吗？ 
　　“嘿，”一个声音在哈利耳边说。他往周围看；弗莱德和乔治已经来了。“金妮告诉我们一点你的消息，”弗莱德说，往前伸出他的腿，这使得许多关于魔法部的职业的书滑到了地板上。“她说你需要和天狼星谈话？” 
　　“什么？”荷米恩急忙说，她正在拿“在魔法事故和灾祸部门工作”的时候停了下来。 
　　“是啊。”哈利说，想把声音显得很随意，“是啊，我想我——” 
　　“别那么荒唐，”荷米恩说，站起来看着他就像她不能相信她的眼睛一样。“现在昂布瑞吉正在监视着所有的火炉并拦截所有的猫头鹰？” 
　　“好吧，我想我们能找到一个办法绕开那些，”乔治说，微笑着。“要转移很简单。现在，你可能注意到了，我们宁可在复活节假日安静些？” 
　　“那又什么用，我们问自己，中断空闲时间吗？”弗莱德接着说。“那没用，我们回答自己。当然了，我们把人们的修改弄乱了，一样，这可能是我们想做的最后一件事了。” 
　　他向荷米恩假装神圣的点了点头。她看起来宁可慎重地接受这个。 
　　“但它的生意明天还是一样的，”弗莱德继续精神勃勃地说。“如果我们将引起一场骚动，为什么不接着干下去，那么哈利就不就能和天狼星谈话了吗？” 
　　“是的，但仍然，”荷米恩说，带着一种向白痴解释某种简单的东西的那种表情，“如果你把注意力转移了，哈利怎么和他谈话呢？” 
　　“昂布瑞吉的办公室，”哈利平静地说。 
　　他为这个已经想了两个星期，现在来了就不能选择了。昂布瑞吉曾自己告诉过他，她的火炉是唯一一个没被监视的火炉。 
　　“你——是——疯了吗？”荷米恩用安静的声音说。 
　　罗恩把他的关于种植蘑菇贸易的小册子放低了，然后警惕地看着这场谈话。 
　　“我不这样想，”哈利耸耸肩。 
　　“然而你怎么进去这个房间？” 
　　哈利已经准备好这个问题。 
　　“天狼星的刀子，”他说。 
　　“对不起？” 
　　“圣诞节前天狼星给了我一把刀子，它能打开任何锁，”哈利说。“所以她尽管在门上施了魔法而阿拉霍洞开又不起作用时，我打赌她——” 
　　“你对这个怎么想？”荷米恩问罗恩，哈利想起他在格里曼迪街的第一个晚餐上威斯里夫人对她丈夫进行的无法抵御的哭诉。 
　　“我不知道，”罗恩说，看起来被问到自己的意见显得很惊恐。“如果哈利想做它，就让他去吧，不是吗？” 
　　“说得像一个忠诚的朋友和威斯里，”弗莱德说，在罗恩的背上猛推了一下。“好的，那么。我们想明天就做，只是在课后，因为如果有太多人在走廊它可能会造成很大的冲击—哈利，我们会让它在东面某个地方爆炸，直接引她离开她的办公室—我猜想我们能保证你，什么，20分钟？” 
　　他说，看着乔治。 
　　“容易，”乔治说。 
　　“那是什么种类的转移？”罗恩问。 
　　“你会看到，小弟弟，”弗莱德说，当他和乔治再次起身。“最少，你会的，如果你明天5点小跑到烦人的杰格瑞的走廊那里。” 
　　哈利第二天很晚才起床，当他早晨听到魔法部的训诫后很担忧。这不仅仅是到昂布瑞吉的办公室用她的火炉来和天狼星谈话使他感到不安，虽然那已经够坏了；今天哈利还要接近斯内普，自从斯内普把他从他的办公室里扔出去以来的第一次。 
　　在床上躺了一会想今天会怎样之后，哈利很快地起床然后走到纳威床边的窗子，注视着真实且光荣的早晨。天空很空旷，有薄雾，乳白色的蓝。就在他的前面，哈利能看见高耸的山毛榉就在底下，那里他爸爸曾经折磨过斯内普。他不确定天狼星会对他说什么来弥补他在冥想盆里看到的，但他极想听到天狼星自己描述发生了什么，来知道可能会减轻一些，所有的借口都是为了他父亲的行为。 
　　有些事情吸引了哈利的注意力：在禁林边上的动作。哈利斜视着太阳，看见哈格力在树中浮现出来。他似乎是在跛行。当哈利看的时候，哈格力蹒跚地走向他的小屋的门然后消失了。哈利看着小屋几分钟。哈格力没再出现，但从烟囱里冒出的烟不见了，因为哈格力不可能受伤得那么厉害，他再管着火炉就不公平了。 
　　哈利从窗子旁走开，回到他的箱子旁边开始穿衣服。 
　　伴随着能进昂布瑞吉的办公室的期望，哈利从来没期盼过这天会宁静，但他没想到荷米恩会持续不断地企图让他放弃他计划在5点钟要做的事情。第一次，她在魔法史课上忽疏了宾斯教授当哈利和罗恩正在，持续地发出低声的警告当哈利努力去不理睬。 
　　“—还有如果她在那里抓到你，除了消失，她肯定会想到你正在和天狼星谈话，这时我想她会让你喝吐真剂来让你回答她的问题。” 
　　“荷米恩，”罗恩用小声但愤怒的声音说，“你不能停止告诉哈利然后听宾斯，或者我要记我自己的笔记吗？” 
　　“你改变一下，记一回笔记不会杀了你的！” 
　　当他们到达地牢时，哈利和罗恩都没和荷米恩说话。然而，她利用他们的安静继续像河水一样滔滔不绝地给他们发出可怕的警告，在她说话的时候，他们发出嘘嘘的声音，这使得西姆斯白白浪费5分钟检查他的大气锅有没漏洞。 
　　斯内普，上课时，似乎决定要当哈利不存在。哈利是，当然，很好的利用了谋略，这是维能姨夫的爱好，然而最值得感激的是他不用忍受任何不愉快的事情。实际上，他通常要忍耐斯内普的嘲弄和不公平的评论，他找到了新的改进方法，然后很高兴的找到什么时候独自呆着好，他已经可以很容易地调制鼓舞药剂。在课程快结束地时候他把一些药剂倒到瓶子里，用木塞塞住它，然后把它放到斯内普地桌子上等待评分，他感到自己最后很可能会是一个‘？’。 
　　他刚刚转身当他听到东西粉碎的声音。马尔夫愉快地笑了一声。哈利突然转过身。他的药剂已经裂成碎片躺在地板上，斯内普正心满意足地打量着他。 
　　“哎哟，”他柔和地说。“那么，另一个零分，波特。” 
　　哈利愤怒得不能说话。他大步回到他的大气锅旁边，想再乘一个瓶子给斯内普打分，但看见他最憎恨的事情，他的药已经被清理了。 
　　“对不起！”荷米恩说，她的手捂住嘴。“我真的很抱歉，哈利。我想你已经完成了，所以我就清理了！” 
　　哈利不知道让自己怎么回答。当铃声响起，他匆忙走出地牢甚至没回头看一眼，这样就能确保他坐在纳威和西姆斯的中间吃饭，所以荷米恩就不能再向他唠叨关于使用昂布瑞吉的办公室。 
　　他的心情是那么的糟糕透顶以致于他去上预言课的时候忘了他和麦格教授的职业会议，他在罗恩问他为什么不在麦格教授的办公室时才想起来。他飞快地下了楼梯，只晚了几分钟。 
　　“对不起，教授，”他喘着气说，当他关上门
Chapter 30 Grawp
The story of Fred and George's flight to freedom was retold so often over the next few days that Harry could tell it would soon become the stuff of Hogwart's legend: within a week, even those who had been eye-witnesses were half-convinced they had seen the twins dive-bomb Umbridge on their brooms and pelt her with Dungbombs before zooming out of the doors. In the immediate aftermath of their departure there was a great wave of talk about copying them. Harry frequently heard students saying things like, ‘Honestly, some days I just feel like jumping on my broom and leaving this place,’ or else, ‘One more lesson like that and I might just do a Weasley.’
Fred and George had made sure nobody was likely to forget them too soon. For one thing, they had not left instructions on how to remove the swamp that now filled the corridor on the fifth floor of the east wing. Umbridge and Filch had been observed trying different means of removing it but without success. Eventually, the area was roped off and Filch, gnashing his teeth furiously, was given the task of punting students across it to their classrooms. Harry was certain that teachers like McGonagall or Flitwick could have removed the swamp in an instant but, just as in the case of Fred and George's Wildfire Whiz-bangs, they seemed to prefer to watch Umbridge struggle.
Then there were the two large broom-shaped holes in Umbridge's office door, through which Fred and George's Cleansweeps had smashed to rejoin their masters. Filch fitted a new door and removed Harry's Firebolt to the dungeons where, it was rumoured, Umbridge had set an armed security troll to guard it. However, her troubles were far from over.
Inspired by Fred and George's example, a great number of students were now vying for the newly vacant positions of Troublemakers-in-Chief. In spite of the new door, somebody managed to slip a hairy-snouted Niffler into Umbridge's office, which promptly tore the place apart in its search for shiny objects, leapt on Umbridge when she entered and tried to gnaw the rings off her stubby fingers. Dungbombs and Stink Pellets were dropped so frequently in the corridors that it became the new fashion for students to perform Bubble-Head Charms on themselves before leaving lessons, which ensured them a supply of fresh air, even though it gave them all the peculiar appearance of wearing upside-down goldfish bowls on their heads.
Filch prowled the corridors with a horsewhip ready in his hands, desperate to catch miscreants, but the problem was that there were now so many of them he never knew which way to turn. The Inquisitorial Squad was attempting to help him, but odd things kept happening to its members. Warrington of the Slytherin Quidditch team reported to the hospital wing with a horrible skin complaint that made him look as though he had been coated in cornflakes; Pansy Parkinson, to Hermione's delight, missed all her lessons the following day as she had sprouted antlers.
Meanwhile, it became clear just how many Skiving Snackboxes Fred and George had managed to sell before leaving Hogwarts. Umbridge only had to enter her classroom for the students assembled there to faint, vomit, develop dangerous fevers or else spout blood from both nostrils. Shrieking with rage and frustration, she attempted to trace the mysterious symptoms to their source, but the students told her stubbornly they were suffering from ‘Umbridge—itis'. After putting four successive classes in detention and failing to discover their secret, she was forced to give up and allow the bleeding, swooning, sweating and vomiting students to leave her classes in droves.
But not even the users of the Snackboxes could compete with that master of chaos, Peeves, who seemed to have taken Fred's parting words deeply to heart. Cackling madly, he soared through the school, upending tables, bursting out of blackboards, toppling statues and vases; twice he shut Mrs. Norris inside a suit of armour, from which she was rescued, yowling loudly, by the furious caretaker. Peeves smashed lanterns and snuffed out candles, juggled burning torches over the heads of screaming students, caused neatly stacked piles of parchment to topple into fires or out of windows; flooded the second floor when he pulled off all the taps in the bathrooms, dropped a bag of tarantulas in the middle of the Great Hall during breakfast and, whenever he fancied a break, spent hours at a time floating along after Umbridge and blowing loud raspberries every time she spoke.
None of the staff but Filch seemed to be stirring themselves to help her. Indeed, a week after Fred and George's departure Harry witnessed Professor McGonagall walking right past Peeves, who was determinedly loosening a crystal chandelier, and could have sworn he heard her tell the poltergeist out of the corner of her mouth, ‘It unscrews the other way.’
To cap matters, Montague had still not recovered from his sojourn in the toilet; he remained confused and disorientated and his parents were to be observed one Tuesday morning striding up the front drive, looking extremely angry.
‘Should we say something?’ said Hermione in a worried voice, pressing her cheek against the Charms window so that she could see Mr. and Mrs. Montague marching inside. ‘About what happened to him? In case it helps Madam Pomfrey cure him?’
‘Course not, he'll recover,’ said Ron indifferently.
‘Anyway, more trouble for Umbridge, isn't it?’ said Harry in a satisfied voice.
He and Ron both tapped the teacups they were supposed to be charming with their wands. Harry's spouted four very short legs that could not reach the desk and wriggled pointlessly in midair. Ron's grew four very thin spindly legs that hoisted the cup off the desk with great difficulty, trembled for a few seconds, then folded, causing the cup to crack into two.
‘Reparo,’ said Hermione quickly, mending Ron's cup with a wave of her wand. ‘That's all very well, but what if Montague's permanently injured?’
‘Who cares?’ said Ron irritably, while his teacup stood up drunkenly again, trembling violently at the knees. ‘Montague shouldn't have tried to take all those points from Gryffindor, should he? If you want to worry about anyone, Hermione, worry about me!’
‘You?’ she said, catching her teacup as it scampered happily away across the desk on four sturdy little willow-patterned legs, and replacing it in front of her. ‘Why should I be worried about you?’
‘When Mum's next letter finally gets through Umbridge's screening process,’ said Ron bitterly, now holding his cup up while its frail legs tried feebly to support its weight, ‘I'm going to be in deep trouble. I wouldn't be surprised if she's sent another Howler.’
‘But—’
‘It'll be my fault Fred and George left, you wait,’ said Ron darkly. ‘She'll say I should've stopped them leaving, I should've grabbed the ends of their brooms and hung on or something ... yeah, it'll be all my fault.’
‘Well, if she doe's say that it'll be very unfair, you couldn't have done anything! But I'm sure she won't, I mean, if it's really true they've got premises in Diagon Alley, they must have been planning this for ages.’
‘Yeah, but that's another thing, how did they get premises?’ said Ron, hitting his teacup so hard with his wand that its legs collapsed again and it lay twitching before him. ‘It's a bit dodgy, isn't it? They'll need loads of Galleons to afford the rent on a place in Diagon Alley. She'll want to know what they've been up to, to get their hands on that sort of gold.’
‘Well, yes, that occurred to me, too,’ said Hermione, allowing her teacup to jog in neat little circles around Harry's, whose stubby little legs were still unable to touch the desktop, ‘I've been wondering whether Mundungus has persuaded them to sell stolen goods or something awful.’
‘He hasn't,’ said Harry curtly.
‘How do you know?’ said Ron and Hermione together.
‘Because—’ Harry hesitated, but the moment to confess finally seemed to have come. There was no good to be gained in keeping silent if it meant anyone suspected that Fred and George were criminals. ‘Because they got the gold from me. I gave them my Triwizard winnings last June.’
There was a shocked silence, then Hermione's teacup jogged right over the edge of the desk and smashed on the floor.
‘Oh, Harry, you didn't!’ she said.
‘Yes, I did,’ said Harry mutinously. ‘And I don't regret it, either. I didn't need the gold and they'll be great at running a joke shop.’
‘But this is excellent!’ said Ron, looking thrilled. ‘It's all your fault, Harry—Mum can't blame me at all! Can I tell her?’
‘Yeah, I suppose you'd better,’ said Harry dully, ’ ‘specially if she thinks they're receiving stolen cauldrons or something.’
Hermione said nothing at all for the rest of the lesson, but Harry had a shrewd suspicion that her self-restraint was bound to crack before long. Sure enough, once they had left the castle for break and were standing around in the weak May sunshine, she fixed Harry with a beady eye and opened her mouth with a determined air.
Harry interrupted her before she had even started.
‘It's no good nagging me, it's done,’ he said firmly. ‘Fred and George have got the gold— spent a good bit of it, too, by the sounds of it—and I can't get it back from them and I don't want to. So save your breath, Hermione.’
‘I wasn't going to say anything about Fred and George!’ she said in an injured voice.
Ron snorted disbelievingly and Hermione threw him a very dirty look.
‘No, I wasn't!’ she said angrily. ‘As a matter of fact, I was going to ask Harry when he's going to go back to Snape and ask for more Occlumency lessons!’ 
Harry's heart sank. Once they had exhausted the subject of Fred and George's dramatic departure, which admittedly had taken many hours, Ron and Hermione had wanted to hear news of Sirius. As Harry had not confided in them the reason he had wanted to talk to Sirius in the first place, it had been hard to think of what to tell them; he had ended up saying, truthfully, that Sirius wanted Harry to resume Occlumency lessons. He had been regretting this ever since; Hermione would not let the subject drop and kept reverting to it when Harry least expected it.
‘You can't tell me you've stopped having funny dreams,’ Hermione said now, ‘because Ron told me you were muttering in your sleep again last night.’
Harry threw Ron a furious look. Ron had the grace to look ashamed of himself.
‘You were only muttering a bit,’ he mumbled apologetically. ‘Something about “just a bit further".’
‘I dreamed I was watching you lot play Quidditch,’ Harry lied brutally. ‘I was trying to get you to stretch out a bit further to grab the Quaffle.’
Ron's ears went red. Harry felt a kind of vindictive pleasure; he had not, of course, dreamed anything of the sort.
Last night, he had once again made the journey along the Department of Mysteries corridor. He had passed through the circular room, then the room full of clicking and dancing light, until he found himself again inside that cavernous room full of shelves on which were ranged dusty glass spheres.
He had hurried straight towards row number ninety-seven, turned left and run along it ... it had probably been then that he had spoken aloud ... just a bit further ... for he felt his conscious self struggling to wake ... and before he had reached the end of the row, he had found himself lying in bed again, gazing up at the canopy of his four-poster.
‘You are trying to block your mind, aren't you?’ said. Hermione, looking beadily at Harry. ‘You are keeping going with your Occlumency?’
‘Of course I am,’ said Harry, trying to sound as though this question was insulting, but not quite meeting her eye. The truth was he was so intensely curious about what was hidden in that room full of dusty orbs, that he was quite keen for the dreams to continue.
The problem was that with just under a month to go until the exams and every free moment devoted to revision, his mind seemed so saturated with information when he went to bed he found it very difficult to get to sleep at all; and when he did, his overwrought brain presented him most nights with stupid dreams about the exams. He also suspected that part of his mind—the part that often spoke in Hermione's voice—now felt guilty on the occasions it strayed down that corridor ending in the black door, and sought to wake him before he could reach the journey's end.
‘You know,’ said Ron, whose ears were still flaming red, ‘if Montague doesn't recover before Slytherin play Hufflepuff, we might be in with a chance of winning the Cup.’
‘Yeah, I s'pose so,’ said Harry, glad of a change of subject.
‘I mean, we've won one, lost one—if Slytherin lose to Hufflepuff next Saturday—’
‘Yeah, that's right,’ said Harry, losing track of what he was agreeing to. Cho Chang had just walked across the courtyard, determinedly not looking at him.
The final match of the Quidditch season, Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw, was to take place on the last weekend of May. Although Slytherin had been narrowly defeated by Hufflepuff in their last match, Gryffindor were not daring to hope for victory, due mainly (though of course nobody said it to him) to Ron's abysmal goal-keeping record. He, however, seemed to have found a new optimism.
‘I mean, I can't get any worse, can I?’ he told Harry and Hermione grimly over breakfast on the morning of the match. ‘Nothing to lose now, is there?’ 
‘You know,’ said Hermione, as she and Harry walked down to the pitch a little later in the midst of a very excitable crowd, ‘I think Ron might do better without Fred and George around. They never exactly gave him a lot of confidence.’
Luna Lovegood overtook them with what appeared to be a live eagle perched on top of her head.
‘Oh, gosh, I forgot!’ said Hermione, watching the eagle flapping its wings as Luna walked serenely past a group of cackling and pointing Slytherins. ‘Cho will be playing, won't she?’
Harry, who had not forgotten this, merely grunted.
They found seats in the topmost row of the stands. It was a fine, ckar day; Ron could not wish for better, and Harry found himself hoping against hope that Ron would not give the Slytherins cause for more rousing choruses of ‘Weasley is our King'.
Lee Jordan, who had been very dispirited since Fred and George had left, was commentating as usual. As the teams zoomed out on to the pitch he named the players with something less than his usual gusto.
‘... Bradley ... Davies ... Chang,’ he said, and Harry felt his stomach perform, less of a back flip, more a feeble lurch as Cho walked out on to the pitch, her shiny black hair rippling in the slight breeze.He was not sure what he wanted to happen any more, except that he could not stand any more rows. Even the sight of her chatting animatedly to Roger Davies as they prepared to mount their brooms caused him only a slight twinge of jealousy.
‘And they're off!’ said Lee. ‘And Davies takes the Quaffle immediately, Ravenclaw Captain Davies with the Quaffle, he dodges Johnson, he dodges Bell, he dodges Spinnet as well ... he's going straight for goal! He's going to shoot—and—and—’ Lee swore very loudly. ‘And he's scored.’
Harry and Hermione groaned with the rest of the Gryffindors. Predictably, horribly the Slytherins on the other side of the stands began to sing:
‘Weasley cannot save a thing
He cannot block a single ring ... ’
‘Harry,’ said a hoarse voice in Harry's ear. ‘Hermione ...’
Harry looked round and saw Hagrid's enormous bearded face sticking between the seats. Apparently, he had squeezed his way all along the row behind, for the first- and second-years he had just passed had a ruffled, flattened look about them. For some reason, Hagrid was bent double as though anxious not to be seen, though he was still at least four feet taller than everybody else.
‘Listen,’ he whispered, ‘can yeh come with me? Now? While ev'ryone's watchin’ the match?’
‘Er ... can't it wait, Hagrid?’ asked Harry. ‘Till the match is over?’
‘No,’ said Hagrid. ‘No, Harry, it's gotta be now ... while ev'ryone's lookin’ the other way ... please?’
Hagrid's nose was gently dripping blood. His eyes were both blackened. Harry had not seen him this close-up since his return to the school; he looked utterly woebegone.
‘Course,’ said Harry at once, ‘course we'll come.’
He and Hermione edged back along their row of seats, causing much grumbling among the students who had to stand up for them. The people in Hagrid's row were not complaining, merely attempting to make themselves as small as possible.
‘I ‘ppreciate this, you two, I really do,’ said Hagrid as they reached the stairs. He kept looking around nervously as they descended towards the lawn below. ‘I jus’ hope she doesn’ notice us goin'.’
‘You mean Umbridge?’ said Harry. ‘She won't, she's got her whole Inquisitorial Squad sitting with her, didn't you see? She must be expecting trouble at the match.’
‘Yeah, well, a bit o’ trouble wouldn’ hurt,’ said Hagrid, pausing to peer around the edge of the stands to make sure the stretch of lawn between there and his cabin was deserted. ‘Give us more time.’
‘What is it, Hagrid?’ said Hermione, looking up at him with a concerned expression on her face as they hurried across the grass towards the edge of the Forest.
‘Yeh—yeh'll see in a mo',’ said Hagrid, looking over his shoulder as a great roar rose from the stands behind them. ‘Hey—did someone jus’ score?’ 
‘It'll be Ravenclaw,’ said Harry heavily.
‘Good ... good ...’ said Hagrid distractedly. ‘Tha's good ...’
They had to jog to keep up with him as he strode across the lawn, looking around with every other step. When they reached his cabin, Hermione turned automatically left towards the front door. Hagrid, however, walked straight past it into the shade of the trees on the outermost edge of the Forest, where he picked up a crossbow that was leaning against a tree. When he realised they were no longer with him, he turned.
‘We're goin’ in here,’ he said, jerking his shaggy head behind him.
‘Into the Forest?’ said Hermione, perplexed.
‘Yeah,’ said Hagrid. ‘C'mon now, quick, before we're spotted!’
Harry and Hermione looked at each other, then ducked into the cover of the trees behind Hagrid, who was already striding away from them into the green gloom, his crossbow over his arm. Harry and Hermione ran to catch up with him.
‘Hagrid, why are you armed?’ said Harry.
‘Jus’ a precaution,’ said Hagrid, shrugging his massive shoulders.
‘You didn't bring your crossbow the day you showed us the Thestrals,’ said Hermione timidly.
‘Nah, well, we weren’ goin’ in so far then,’ said Hagrid. ‘An’ anyway, tha’ was before Firenze left the Forest, wasn’ it?’
‘Why does Firenze leaving make a difference?’ asked Hermione curiously.
’ ‘Cause the other centaurs are good an’ riled at me, tha's why,’ said Hagrid quietly, glancing around. ‘They used ter be—well, yeh couldn’ call ‘em friendly—but we got on all righ'. Kept ‘emselves to ‘emselves, bu’ always turned up if I wanted a word. Not any more.’
He sighed deeply.
‘Firenze said they're angry because he went to work for Dumbledore,’ Harry said, tripping on a protruding root because he was busy watching Hagrid's profile.
‘Yeah,’ said Hagrid heavily. ‘Well, angry doesn’ cover it. Ruddy livid. If I hadn’ stepped in, I reckon they'd've kicked Firenze ter death—’
‘They attacked him?’ said Hermione, sounding shocked.
‘Yep,’ said Hagrid gruffly, forcing his way through several low-hanging branches. ‘He had half the herd on to him.’
‘And you stopped it?’ said Harry, amazed and impressed. ‘By yourself?’
‘Course I did, couldn't stand by an’ watch ‘em kill ‘im, could I?’ said Hagrid. ‘Lucky I was passin', really ... an’ I'd've thought Firenze mighta remembered tha’ before he started sendin’ me stupid warnin's!’ he added hotly and unexpectedly.
Harry and Hermione looked at each other, startled, but Hagrid, scowling, did not elaborate.
‘Anyway,’ he said, breathing a little more heavily than usud, ‘since then the other centaurs've bin livid with me, an’ the trouble is they've got a lot of influence in the Forest ... cleverest creatures in here.’
‘Is that why we're here, Hagrid?’ asked Hermione. ‘The centaurs?’
‘Ah, no,’ said Hagrid, shaking his head dismissively, ‘no, it's not them. Well, o’ course, they could complicate the problem, yeah ... but yeh'll see what I mean in a bit.’
On this incomprehensible note he fell silent and forged a little ahead, taking one stride for every three of theirs, so that they had great trouble keeping up with him.
The path was becoming increasingly overgrown and the trees grew so closely together as they walked further and further into the Forest that it was as dark as dusk. They were soon a long way past the clearing where Hagrid had shown them the Thestrals, but Harry felt no sense of unease until Hagrid stepped unexpectedly off the path and began wending his way in and out of trees towards the dark heart of the Forest.
‘Hagrid!’ said Harry, fighting his way through thickly knotted brambles, over which Hagrid had stepped with ease, and remembering very vividly what had happened to him on the other occasion he had stepped off the Forest path. ‘Where are we going?’
‘Bit further,’ said Hagrid over his shoulder. ‘C'mon, Harry ... we need ter keep together now.’
It was a great struggle to keep up with Hagrid, what with branches and thickets of thorn through which Hagrid marched as easily as if they were cobwebs, but which snagged Harry and Hermione's robes, frequently entangling them so severely that they had to stop for minutes at a time to free themselves. Harry's arms and legs were soon covered in small cuts and scratches. They were so deep in the Forest now that sometimes all Harry could see of Hagrid in the gloom was a massive dark shape ahead of him. Any sound seemed threatening in the muffled silence. The breaking of a twig echoed loudly and the tiniest rustle of movement, even though it might have been made by an innocent sparrow, caused Harry to peer through the gloom for a culprit. It occurred to him that he had never managed to get this far into the Forest without meeting some kind of creature; their absence struck him as rather ominous.
‘Hagrid, would it be all right if we lit our wands?’ said Hermione quietly.
‘Er ... all righ',’ Hagrid whispered back. ‘In fact—’
He stopped suddenly and turned around; Hermione walked right into him and was knocked over backwards. Harry caught her just before she hit the Forest floor.
‘Maybe we bes’ jus’ stop fer a momen', so I can ... fill yeh in,’ said Hagrid. ‘Before we ge’ there, like.’
‘Good!’ said Hermione, as Harry set her back on her feet. They both murmured ‘Lumos!’ and their wand-tips ignited. Hagrid's face swam through the gloom by the light of the two wavering beams and Harry saw again that he looked nervous and sad.
‘Righ',’ said Hagrid. ‘Well ... see ... the thing is ...’
He took a great breath.
‘Well, there's a good chance I'm goin’ ter be gettin’ the sack any day now,’ he said.
Harry and Hermione looked at each other, then back at him.
‘But you've lasted this long—’ Hermione said tentatively. ‘What makes you think—’
‘Umbridge reckons it was me that put tha’ Niffler in her office.’
‘And was it?’ said Harry, before he could stop himself.
‘No, it ruddy well wasn'!’ said Hagrid indignantly. ‘On'y any-thin’ ter do with magical creatures an’ she thinks it's got somethin’ ter do with me. Yeh know she's bin lookin’ fer a chance ter get rid of me ever since I got back. I don’ wan’ ter go, o’ course, but if it wasn’ fer ... well ... the special circumstances I'm abou’ ter explain to yeh, I'd leave righ’ now, before she's go’ the chance ter do it in front o’ the whole school, like she did with Trelawney.’
Harry and Hermione both made noises of protest, but Hagrid overrode them with a wave of one of his enormous hands.
‘It's not the end o’ the world, I'll be able ter help Dumbledore once I'm outta here, I can be useful ter the Order. An you lot'll have Grubbly-Plank, yeh'll—yeh'll get through yer exams fine ...’
His voice trembled and broke.
‘Don’ worry abou’ me,’ he said hastily, as Hermione made to pat his arm. He pulled his enormous spotted handkerchief from the pocket of his waistcoat and mopped his eyes with it. ‘Look, I wouldn’ be tellin’ yer this at all if I didn’ have ter. See, if I go ... well, I can’ leave withou’ ... withou’ tellin’ someone ... because I'll—I'll need yeh two ter help me. An’ Ron, if he's willin'.’
‘Of course we'll help you,’ said Harry at once. ‘What do you want us to do?’ 
Hagrid gave a great sniff and patted Harry wordlessly on the shoulder with such force Harry was knocked sideways into a tree.
‘I knew yeh'd say yes,’ said Hagrid into his handkerchief, ‘but I won’ ... never ... forget ... well ... c'mon ... jus’ a little bit further through here ... watch yerselves, now, there's nettles ...’
They walked on in silence for another fifteen minutes; Harry had opened his mouth to ask how much further they had to go when Hagrid threw out his right arm to signal that they should stop.
‘Really easy,’ he said softly. ‘Very quiet, now ...’
They crept forwards and Harry saw that they were facing a large, smooth mound of earth nearly as tall as Hagrid that he thought, with a jolt of dread, was sure to be the lair of some enormous animal. Trees had been ripped up at the roots all around the mound, so that it stood on a bare patch of ground surrounded by heaps of trunks and boughs that formed a kind of fence or barricade, behind which Harry, Hermione and Hagrid now stood.
‘Sleepin',’ breathed Hagrid.
Sure enough, Harry could hear a distant, rhythmic rumbling that sounded like a pair of enormous lungs at work. He glanced sideways at Hermione, who was gazing at the mound with her mouth slightly open. She looked utterly terrified.
‘Hagrid,’ she said in a whisper barely audible over the sound of the sleeping creature, ‘who is he?’
Harry found this an odd question ... ‘What is it?’ was the one he; had been planning on asking.
‘Hagrid, you told us—’ said Hermione, her wand now shaking in her hand, ‘you told us none of them wanted to come!’
Harry looked from her to Hagrid and then, as realisation hit him, he looked back at the mound with a small gasp of horror.
The great mound of earth, on which he, Hermione and Hagrid could easily have stood, was moving slowly up and down in time with the deep, grunting breathing. It was not a mound at all. ‘It was the curved back of what was clearly—’ 
‘Well—no—he didn’ want ter come,’ said Hagrid, sounding desperate. ‘But I had ter bring him, Hermione, I had ter!’
‘But why?’ asked Hermione, who sounded as though she wanted to cry. ‘Why—what—oh, Hagrid!’
‘I knew if I jus’ got him back,’ said Hagrid, sounding close to tears himself, ‘an'—an’ taught him a few manners—I'd be able ter take him outside an’ show ev'ryone he's harmless!’
‘Harmless!’ said Hermione shrilly, and Hagrid made frantic hushing noises with his hands as the enormous creature before them grunted loudly and shifted in its sleep. ‘He's been hurting you all this time, hasn't he? That's why you've had all these injuries!’
‘He don’ know his own strength!’ said Hagrid earnestly. ‘An’ he's gettin’ better, he's not fightin’ so much any more—’
‘So, this is why it took you two months to get home!’ said Hermione distractedly. ‘Oh, Hagrid, why did you bring him back if he didn't want to come? Wouldn't he have been happier with his own people?’
‘They were all bullyin’ him, Hermione, ‘cause he's so small!’ said Hagrid.
‘Small?’ said Hermione. ‘Small?’
‘Hermione, I couldn’ leave him,’ said Hagrid, tears now trickling down his bruised face into his beard. ‘See—he's my brother!’
Hermione simply stared at him, her mouth open.
‘Hagrid, when you say “brother",’ said Harry slowly, ‘do you mean—?’
‘Well— half-brother,’ amended Hagrid. ‘Turns out me mother took up with another giant when she left me dad, an’ she went an’ had Grawp here—’
‘Grawp?’ said Harry.
‘Yeah ... well, tha's what it sounds like when he says his name,’ said Hagrid anxiously. ‘He don’ speak a lot of English ... I've bin tryin’ ter teach him ... anyway, she don’ seem ter have liked him much more'n she liked me. See, with giantesses, what counts is producin’ good big kids, and he's always been a bit on the runty side fer a giant—on'y sixteen foot—’
‘Oh, yes, tiny!’ said Hermione, with a kind of hysterical sarcasm. ‘Absolutely minuscule!’
‘He was bein’ kicked aroun’ by all o’ them—I jus’ couldn’ leave him—’ 
‘Did Madame Maxime want to bring him back?’ asked Harry.
‘She—well, she could see it was right importan’ ter me,’ said Hagrid, twisting his enormous hands. ‘Bu'—bu’ she got a bit tired o’ him after a while, I must admit ... so we split up on the journey home ... she promised not ter tell anyone, though ...’
‘How on earth did you get him back without anyone noticing?’ said Harry.
‘Well, tha's why it took so long, see,’ said Hagrid. ‘Could on'y travel by nigh’ an’ through wild country an’ stuff. Course, he covers the ground pretty well when he wants ter, but he kep’ wantin’ ter go back.’
‘Oh, Hagrid, why on earth didn't you let him!’ said Hermione, flopping down on to a ripped up tree and burying her face in her hands. ‘What do you think you're going to do with a violent giant who doesn't even want to be here!’
‘Well, now— “violent"—tha's a bit harsh,’ said Hagrid, still twisting his hands agitatedly. ‘I'll admit he mighta taken a couple o’ swings at me when he's bin in a bad mood, but he's gettin’ better, loads better, settlin’ down well.’
‘What are those ropes for, then?’ Harry asked.
He had just noticed ropes thick as saplings stretching from around the trunks of the largest nearby trees towards the place where Grawp lay curled on the ground with his back to them.
‘You have to keep him tied up?’ said Hermione faintly.
‘Well ... yeah ...’ said Hagrid, looking anxious. ‘See—it's like I say—he doesn’ really know ‘is own strength.’
Harry understood now why there had been such a suspicious lack of any other living creature in this part of the Forest.
‘So, what is it you want Harry and Ron and me to do?’ Hermione asked apprehensively.
‘Look after him,’ said Hagrid croakily. ‘After I'm gone.’
Harry and Hermione exchanged miserable looks, Harry uncomfortably aware that he had already promised Hagrid that he would do whatever he asked.
‘What—what does that involve, exactly?’ Hermione enquired.
‘Not food or anythin'!’ said Hagrid eagerly. ‘He can get his own food, no problem. Birds an’ deer an’ stuff ... no, it's company he needs. I xxjus’ knew someone was carryin on trying ter help him a bit ... teachin’ him, yeh know.’ 
Harry said nothing, but turned to look back at the gigantic form lying asleep on the ground in front of them. Unlike Hagrid, who simply looked like an oversized human, Grawp looked strangely misshapen. What Harry had taken to be a vast mossy boulder to the left of the great earthen mound he now recognised as Grawp's head. It was much larger in proportion to the body than a human head, and was almost perfectly round and covered with tightly curling, close-growing hair the colour of bracken. The rim of a single large, fleshy ear was visible on top of the head, which seemed to sit, rather like Uncle Vernon's, directly upon the shoulders with little or no neck in between. The back, under what looked like a dirty brownish smock comprised of animal skins sewn roughly together, was very broad; and as Grawp slept, it seemed to strain a little at the rough seams of the skins. The legs were curled up under the body. Harry could see the soles of enormous, filthy, bare feet, large as sledges, resting one on top of the other on the earthy Forest floor.
‘You want us to teach him,’ Harry said in a hollow voice. He now understood what Firenze's warning had meant. His attempt is not working. He would do better to abandon it.Of course, the other creatures who lived in the Forest would have heard Hagrid's fruitless attempts to teach Grawp English.
‘Yeah—even if yeh jus’ talk ter him a bit,’ said Hagrid hopefully. ’ ‘Cause I reckon, if he can talk ter people, he'll understand more that we all like ‘im really, an’ want ‘im ter stay.’
Harry looked at Hermione, who peered back at him from between the fingers over her face.
‘Kind of makes you wish we had Norbert back, doesn't it?’ he said, and she gave a very shaky laugh.
‘Yeh'll do it, then?’ said Hagrid, who did not seem to have caugit what Harry had just said.
‘We'll ...’ said Harry, already bound by his promise. ‘We'll try, Hagrid.’ 
‘I knew I could count on yeh, Harry,’ Hagrid said, beaming in a very watery way and dabbing at his face with his handkerchief again. ‘An’ I don’ wan’ yeh ter put yerself out too much, like ... I know yeh've got exams ... if yeh could jus’ nip down here in yer Invisibility Cloak maybe once a week an’ have a little chat with ‘im. I'll wake ‘im up, then—introduce yeh—’
‘Wha—no!’ said Hermione, jumping up. ‘Hagrid, no, don't wake him, really, we don't need—’
But Hagrid had already stepped over the great tree trunk in front of them and was proceeding towards Grawp. When he was about ten feet away, he lifted a long, broken bough from the ground, smiled reassuringly over his shoulder at Harry and Hermione, then poked Grawp hard in the middle of the back with the end of the bough.
The giant gave a roar that echoed around the silent Forest; birds in the treetops overhead rose twittering from their perches and soared away. In front of Harry and Hermione, meanwhile, the gigantic Grawp was rising from the ground, which shuddered as he placed an enormous hand upon it to push himself on to his knees. He turned his head to see who and what had disturbed him.
‘All righ', Grawpy?’ said Hagrid, in a would-be cheery voice, backing away with the long bough raised, ready to poke Grawp again. ‘Had a nice sleep, eh?’ 
Harry and Hermione retreated as far as they could while still keeping the giant within their sights. Grawp knelt between two trees he had not yet uprooted. They looked up into his startlingly huge face that resembled a grey full moon swimming in the gloom of the clearing. It was as though the features had been hewn on to a great stone ball. The nose was stubby and shapeless, the mouth lopsided and full of misshapen yellow teeth the size of half-bricks; the eyes, small by giant standards, were a muddy greenish-brown and just now were half-gummed together with sleep. Grawp raised dirty knuckles, each as big as a cricket ball, to his eyes, rubbed vigorously, then, without warning, pushed himself to his feet with surprising speed and agility.
‘Oh my!’ Harry heard Hermione squeal, terrified, beside him.
The trees to which the other ends of the ropes around Grawp's wrists and ankles were attached creaked ominously. He was, as Hagrid had said, at least sixteen feet tall. Gazing blearily around, Grawp reached out a hand the size of a beach umbrella, seized a bird's nest from the upper branches of a towering pine and turned it upside-down with a roar of apparent displeasure that there was no bird in it; eggs fell like grenades towards the ground and Hagrid threw his arms over his head to protect himself.
‘Anyway, Grawpy,’ shouted Hagrid, looking up apprehensively in case of further falling eggs, ‘I've brought some friends ter meet yeh. Remember, I told yeh I might? Remember, when I said I might have ter go on a little trip an’ leave them ter look after yeh fer a bit? Remember that, Grawpy?’
But Grawp merely gave another low roar; it was hard to say whether he was listening to Hagrid or whether he even recognised the sounds Hagrid was making as speech. He had now seized the top of the pine tree and was pulling it towards him, evidently for the simple pleasure of seeing how far it would spring back when he let go.
‘Now, Grawpy, don’ do that!’ shouted Hagrid. ‘Tha's how you ended up pullin’ up the others— ’
And sure enough, Harry could see the earth around the tree's roots beginning to crack.
‘I got company for yeh!’ Hagrid shouted. ‘Company, see! Look down, yeh big buffoon, I brought yeh some friends!’
‘Oh, Hagrid, don't,’ moaned Hermione, but Hagrid had already raised the bough again and gave Grawp's knee a sharp poke.
The giant let go of the top of the tree, which swayed alarmingly and deluged Hagrid with a rain of pine needles, and looked down.
‘This,’ said Hagrid, hastening over to where Harry and Herrmone stood, ‘is Harry, Grawp! Harry Potter! He migh’ be comin’ ter visit yeh if I have ter go away, understand?’
The giant had only just realised that Harry and Hermione were there. They watched, in great trepidation, as he lowered his huge boulder of a head so that he could peer blearily at them.
‘An’ this is Hermione, see? Her—’ Hagrid hesitated. Turning to Hermione, he said, ‘Would yeh mind if he called yeh Hermy, Hermione? On'y it's a difficult name fer him ter remember.’
‘No, not at all,’ squeaked Hermione.
‘This is Hermy, Grawp! An’ she's gonna be comin’ an’ all! Is'n’ tha’ nice? Eh? Two friends fer yeh ter—GRAWPY, NO!’
Grawp's hand had shot out of nowhere towards Hermione; Harry seized her and pulled her backwards behind the tree, so that Grawp's fist scraped the trunk but closed on thin air.
‘BAD BOY, GRAWPY!’ they heard Hagrid yelling, as Hermione clung to Harry behind the tree, shaking and whimpering. ‘VERY BAD BOY! YEH DON’ GRAB—OUCH!’
Harry poked his head out from around the trunk and saw Hagrid lying on his back, his hand over his nose. Grawp, apparently losing interest, had straightened up and was again engaged in pulling back the pine as far as it would go.
‘Righ',’ said Hagrid thickly, getting up with one hand pinching his bleeding nose and the other grasping his crossbow, ‘well ... there yeh are ... yeh've met him an’ —an’ now he'll know yeh when yeh come back. Yeah ... well ...’
He looked up at Grawp, who was now pulling back the pine with an expression of detached pleasure on his boulderish face; the roots were creaking as he ripped them away from the ground.
‘Well, I reckon tha's enough fer one day,’ said Hagrid. ‘We'll—'er—we'll go back now, shall we?’
Harry and Hermione nodded. Hagrid shouldered his crossbow again and, still pinching his nose, led the way back into the trees.
Nobody spoke for a while, not even when they heard the distant crash that meant Grawp had pulled over the pine tree at last. Hermione's face was pale and set. Harry could not think of a single thing to say. What on earth was going to happen when somebody found out that Hagrid had hidden Grawp in the Forbidden Forest? And he had promised that he, Ron and Hermione would continue Hagrid's totally pointless attempts to civilise the giant. How could Hagrid, even with his immense capacity to delude himself that fanged monsters were loveably harmless, fool himself that Grawp would ever be fit to mix with humans?
‘Hold it,’ said Hagrid abruptly, just as Harry and Hermione were struggling through a patch of thick knotgrass behind him. He pulled an arrow out of the quiver over his shoulder and fitted it into the crossbow. Harry and Hermione raised their wands; now that they had stopped walking, they, too, could hear movement close by.
‘Oh, blimey,’ said Hagrid quietly.
‘I thought we told you, Hagrid,’ said a deep male voice, ‘That you are no longer welcome here?’
A man's naked torso seemed for an instant to be floating towards them through the dappled green half-light; then they saw that his waist joined smoothly into a horse's chestnut body. This centaur had a proud, high-cheekboned face and long black hair. Like Hagrid, he was armed; a quiverful of arrows and a longbow were slung over his shoulders.
‘How are yeh, Magorian?’ said Hagrid warily.
The trees behind the centaur rustled and four or five more centaurs emerged behind him. Harry recognised the black-bodied and bearded Bane, whom he had met nearly four years ago on the same night he had met Firenze. Bane gave no sign that he had ever seen Harry before.
‘So,’ he said, with a nasty inflection in his voice, before turning immediately to Magorian. ‘We agreed, I think, what we would do if this human ever showed his face in the Forest again?’
‘"This human” now, am I?’ said Hagrid testily. ‘Jus’ fer stoppin’ all of yeh committin’ murder?’
‘You ought not to have meddled, Hagrid,’ said Magorian. ‘Our ways are not yours, nor are our laws. Firenze has betrayed and dishonoured us.’
‘I dunno how yeh work that out,’ said Hagrid impatiently. ‘He's done nothin’ except help Albus Dumbledore—’
‘Firenze has entered into servitude to humans,’ said a grey centaur with a hard, deeply lined face.
‘Servitude!’ said Hagrid scathingly. ‘He's doin’ Dumbledore a favour is all—’
‘He is peddling our knowledge and secrets among humans,’ said Magorian quietly. ‘There can be no return from such disgrace.’
‘If yeh say so,’ said Hagrid, shrugging, ‘but personally I think yeh're makin’ a big mistake—’
‘As are you, human,’ said Bane, ‘coming back into our Forest when we warned you—’
‘Now, yeh listen ter me,’ said Hagrid angrily. ‘I'll have less of the “our” Forest, if it's all the same ter yeh. It's not up ter yeh who comes an’ goes in here—’
‘No more is it up to you, Hagrid,’ said Magorian smoothly. ‘I shall let you pass today because you are accompanied by your young—’
‘They're not his!’ interrupted Bane contemptuously. ‘Students, Magorian, from up at the school! They have probably already profited from the traitor Firenze's teachings.’
‘Nevertheless,’ said Magorian calmly, ‘the slaughter of foals is a terrible crime—we do not touch the innocent. Today, Hagrid, you pass. Henceforth, stay away from this place. You forfeited the friendship of the centaurs when you helped the traitor Firenze escape us.’
‘I won’ be kept outta the Fores’ by a bunch o’ old mules like yeh!’ said Hagrid loudly.
‘Hagrid,’ said Hermione in a high-pitched and terrified voice, as both Bane and the grey centaur pawed at the ground, ‘let's go, please let's go!’
Hagrid moved forwards, but his crossbow was still raised and his eyes were still fixed threateningly upon Magorian.
‘We know what you are keeping in the Forest, Hagrid!’ Magorian called after them, as the centaurs slipped out of sight. ‘And our tolerance is waning!’
Hagrid turned and gave every appearance of wanting to walk straight back to Magorian.
‘Yeh'll tolerate ‘im as long as he's here, it's as much his Forest as yours!’ he yelled, as Harry and Hermione both pushed with all their might against Hagrid's moleskin waistcoat in an effort to keep him moving forwards. Still scowling, he looked down; his expression changed to mild surprise at the sight of them both pushing him; he seemed not to have felt it.
‘Calm down, you two,’ he said, turning to walk on while they parted along behind him. ‘Ruddy old mules, though, eh?’
‘Hagrid,’ said Hermione breathlessly, skirting the patch of nettles they had passed on their way there, ‘if the centaurs don't want humans in the Forest, it doesn't really look as though Harry and I will be able—’
‘Ah, you heard what they said,’ said Hagrid dismissively, ‘they wouldn't hurt foals—I mean, kids. Anyway, we can’ let ourselves be pushed aroun’ by that lot.’
‘Nice try,’ Harry murmured to Hermione, who looked crestfallen.
At last they rejoined the path and, after another ten minutes, the trees began to thin; they were able to see patches of clear blue sky again and, in the distance, the definite sounds of cheering and shouting.
‘Was that another goal?’ asked Hagrid, pausing in the shelter of the trees as the Quidditch stadium came into view. ‘Or d'yeh reckon the match is over?’
‘I don't know,’ said Hermione miserably. Harry saw that she looked much the worse for wear; her hair was full of twigs and leaves, her robes were ripped in several places and there were numerous scratches on her face and arms. He knew he must look little better.
‘I reckon it's over, yeh know!’ said Hagrid, still squinting towards the stadium. ‘Look— there's people comin’ out already—if yeh two hurry yeh'll be able ter blend in with the crowd an’ no one'll know yeh weren't there!’
‘Good idea,’ said Harry. ‘Well ... see you later, then, Hagrid.’
‘I don't believe him,’ said Hermione in a very unsteady voice, the moment they were out of earshot of Hagrid. ‘I don't believe him. I really don't believe him.’
‘Calm down,’ said Harry.
‘Calm down!’ she said feverishly. ‘A giant! A giant in the Forest! And we're supposed to give him English lessons! Always assuming, of course, we can get past the herd of murderous centaurs on the way in and out! I—don't—believe— him!’
‘We haven't got to do anything yet!’ Harry tried to reassure her in a quiet voice, as they joined a stream of jabbering Hufflepuffs heading back towards the castle. ‘He's not asking us to do anything unless he gets chucked out and that might not even happen.’
‘Oh, come off it, Harry!’ said Hermione angrily, stopping dead in her tracks so that the people behind had to swerve to avoid her. ‘Of course he's going to be chucked out and, to be perfectly honest, after what we've just seen, who can blame Umbridge?’
There was a pause in which Harry glared at her, and her eyes filled slowly with tears.
‘You didn't mean that,’ said Harry quietly.
‘No ... well ... all right ... I didn't,’ she said, wiping her eyes angrily. ‘But why does he have to make life so difficult for himself—for us?’
‘I dunno—’
‘Weasley is our King,
Weasley is our King,
He didn't let the Quaffle in,
Weasley is our King ...’
 
‘And I wish they'd stop singing that stupid song,’ said Hermione miserably, ‘haven't they gloated enough?’
A great tide of students was moving up the sloping lawns from the pitch.
‘Oh, let's get in before we have to meet the Slytherins,’ said Hermione.
‘Weasley can save anything,
He never leaves a single ring,
That's why Gryffindors all sing:
Weasley is our King. ’
‘Hermione ...’ said Harry slowly.
The song was growing louder, but it was issuing not from a crowd of green-and-silver-clad Slytherins, but from a mass of red and gold moving slowly towards the castle, bearing a solitary figure upon its many shoulders.
‘Weasley is our King,
Weasley is our King,
He didn't let the Quaffle in,
Weasley is our King ...’
‘No?’ said Hermione in a hushed voice.
‘YES!’ said Harry loudly.
‘HARRY! HERMIONE!’ yelled Ron, waving the silver Quidditch cup in the air and looking quite beside himself. ‘WE DID IT! WE WON!’
They beamed up at him as he passed. There was a scrum at the door of the castle and Ron's head got rather badly bumped on the lintel, but nobody seemed to want to put him down. Still singing, the crowd squeezed itself into the Entrance Hall and out of sight. Harry and Hermione watched them go, beaming, until the last echoing strains of ‘Weasley is our King’ died away. Then they turned to each other, their smiles fading.
‘We'll save our news till tomorrow, shall we?’ said Harry.
‘Yes, all right,’ said Hermione wearily. ‘I'm not in any hurry.’
They climbed the steps together. At the front doors both instinctively looked back at the Forbidden Forest. Harry was not sure whether or not it was his imagination, but he rather thought he saw a small cloud of birds erupting into the air over the tree tops in the distance, almost as though the tree in which they had been nesting had just been pulled up by the roots.
在接下来的几天里，人们总是重复着弗来德和乔治出逃寻找自由的消息，哈利敢说这将成为日后格兰芬多传说的一部分。用了一周时间，甚至那些曾经目击过的人才有些相信双胞胎骑在扫帚上对着Umbridge俯冲过去，并在迅速回升出门前往她身上砸了一个粪弹。他们离开的直接后果是，大家都在讨论着要不要学习他们。哈利经常听到大家这样说：“说真的，有些时候我也真骑上扫帚离开这鬼地方。”或者“假如再上一节这样的课，我就要像威斯里那样干了。” 
　　弗来德和乔治坚信没人会很快忘记他们的。起码，他们并没有说明怎样移开那些现在填满五楼走廊的淤泥。Umbridge和费尔奇看起来已经试过了各种不同的方法去移开它们，但没有成功。最后，那块地方被围了起来，费尔奇狂暴地磨着他的牙齿——他被分配去撑船护送学生通过那儿去教室。哈利确信像麦格或者Flitwick那样的老师们可以在瞬间移开那些污泥。但是，因为弗来德和乔治留下的的鬼火爆竹，他们似乎更喜欢观看Umbridge在那儿独自挣扎。 
　　在Umbridge办公室的门上留着两个巨大的扫帚形的洞，那是弗来德和乔治的扫帚回到主人身边时撞出来的。费尔奇做了一个新门，并把哈利的火弩箭移到了地牢里。有谣传说，Umbridge添置了有暗器的安全门去守卫它。但是，她的麻烦还远远没有结束。 
　　受到弗来德和乔治例子的启发，大批学生现在正在激烈地竞争着“捣乱大王”的空缺。由于对那个新门的憎恨，有人把一个毛茸茸的嗅嗅塞进Umbridge的办公室里，喜欢寻觅闪光东西的它一来就迅速地把那里搜了遍。它在Umbridge刚进门时就跳到她身上，并咬住了她又短又粗戴着戒指的手指。 
　　粪弹和臭球被频繁地扔到了走廊上，以至于学生们在离开教室前对着自己念泡头咒变成了一种新时尚——这样可以确保新鲜空气的供给，尽管这样让他们看起来像在头上倒扣了一个金鱼缸。 
　　费尔奇拿着鞭子不停地在走廊里巡视，不顾一切地想抓住那些捣蛋鬼。但问题是，他们的太多了，以至于他都不知道该走哪条路。审讯班曾试图去帮他，但意外事件持续在它的成员身上发生。传闻说斯莱特林魁地奇队的Warrington被送往医院时全身覆盖着可怕的皮肤，他抱怨说那使他看起来好象他身上涂了一层脆玉米片；让荷米恩高兴的是，潘西 帕金森在她长了鹿角后错过了所有的课。 其间，可以很清楚地看到到底弗来德和乔治在离开霍格瓦彻之前卖了多少切削蛇盒。Umbridge刚进教室，就得处理学生们集体晕倒、呕吐、严重的高烧或者从两个鼻孔往外喷血。她恼羞成怒地尖叫着，试图找出学生们神秘生病的原因，但是大家倔强地告诉她，他们是因为Umbridge她本人才生病的。在连续扣留了四个班仍没有发现大家的秘密后，她完全放弃了，开始允许出血、昏倒、大量出汗和呕吐的学生们成群结队地离开她的课堂。 
　　但即使那些那些使用削蛇盒的学生们也比不过现在一片混乱局面的祸首——别忘了还有铭记住弗来德离开时说的话的皮皮鬼。他疯狂地喋喋不休着飞过学校、掀翻桌子、炸毁黑板、推倒雕像和花瓶；他两次把Norris夫人关在盔甲里——当她被救出来时，还狂怒地在管理员身边痛骂了一顿。他打烂灯笼、吹灭蜡烛，变出像火炬一样的魔法火焰放在大家头上，使得大量码得整整齐齐的羊皮纸纷飞燃烧或飘出窗外；他还打开浴室里所有的水龙头，淹了整个二楼；早餐时在礼堂中央扔了一个装满狼蛛的大袋子。他不想犯规时，就花上几个小时紧跟着Umbridge，在每次她说话时发出轻蔑的响亮咂舌声。 
　　老师中除了费尔奇，看起来没人在积极地帮助她。甚至，在弗来德和乔治离开后一周，哈利亲眼看见麦格教授目不斜视地走过正在把一盏水晶装饰灯往下拧的皮皮鬼，并发誓他听见麦格教授亲口提示他说，“应该往反方向拧。” 
　　因为帽子事件，Montague现在还没有重新获得在厕所里逗留的权利；让他很困惑和烦恼的是有人看见他爸妈星期二早上大步走上车道，而且看起来非常地生气。 
　　“我们是不是应该说些什么呢？”荷米恩担忧地说，一边把脸紧贴在窗户上以便能看见看窗子里Montague夫妇走动。“关于他怎么了？万一这能帮助Pomfrey夫人治疗他呢？” 
　　“当然不能，他会没事的。”罗恩漠不关心地说。 
　　“无论如何，Umbridge有更多的麻烦了，不是吗？”哈利满意地说。 
　　他和罗恩都拿魔杖轻敲着一个水杯练习咒语。哈利的杯子上冒出四条根本够不到桌子的短腿，它们正在半空中毫无意义地扭动。罗恩的则长出四条锥形的细腿，它们艰难地把杯子从桌上撑起来，颤抖地保持了几秒种，然后彻底失败，杯子被摔成了两半儿。 
　　“修复如初，”荷米恩迅速念道，挥手把罗恩的杯子修好。“这很好，但万一Montague受到了永久性的伤害呢？” 
　　“那又有谁在乎呢？” 罗恩暴燥地说道，他的杯子又站起来了，但关节抖得厉害，像喝醉了一样摇摇晃晃的。“Montague应该还没有从格兰芬多拿走全部的分数，不是吗？你假如想担心谁的话，荷米恩，那就担心担心我吧！” 
　　“你？”她说，一边抓住正用四条健壮的腿在桌上欢快地奔跑的杯子，并把它拿到自己跟前。“我为什么要担心你？” 
　　“当妈妈的下一封信最终通过了Umbridge的筛选程序时”罗恩痛苦地说，一边扶着他没法用柔弱的细腿支撑自身重量的杯子，“我的麻烦就大了。假如她再发一封吼叫信的话，我一点也不会奇怪。” 
　　“但是——” 
　　“弗来德和乔治的出走是我的错，你等着看吧，”罗恩阴郁地说，“她会说我本来可以阻止他们走的，我本来可以抓着他们的扫帚尾巴吊在下面或者别的什么。好吧，那全是我的错。” 
　　“呃，假如她真的那样说的话就太不公平了，你根本无能为力！但我敢肯定她不会的，我是说，假如他们真的在对角巷弄到了铺子，那肯定已经计划很长时间了。” 
　　“没错，但这是令一回事，他们怎么弄到铺子的？”罗恩说道，一边拼命用魔杖敲杯子以至于它的腿又软了，倒在他面前抽搐。“这有点奇怪不是吗？他们需要成堆的金加隆来支付对角巷的房租。假如她知道他们有那么多的钱的话，它就知道他们要干什么了。” 
　　“对，我也想到了，”荷米恩说道，一边让她的杯子灵巧地在哈利杯子周围绕圈——哈利杯子的短腿仍然够不到桌子。“我想知道Mundungus到底有没有说服他们去偷东西或者干别的什么坏事。” 
　　“他没有，”哈利简略地说。 
　　“你怎么知道的？”罗恩和荷米恩一起问道。 
　　“因为——”哈利犹豫着，但也许是坦白的时候了。假如这让人怀疑弗来德和乔治犯了罪的话，再沉默下去就没有任何好处了。“因为那些钱是我给他们的。我把去年六月把三强争霸赛的奖金给了他们。” 
　　一段震惊的静默，然后荷米恩的杯子慢步走过桌子边缘，然后在地上摔了个粉碎。 
　　“哦，哈利，你没有！”她说。 
　　“不，我有，”哈利反驳道，“而且我一点也不后悔。我不需要那些钱，但他们却能开一家成功的搞笑商店。” 
　　“但这简直棒极了！”罗恩说道，看起来有点发抖。“这全是你的错了，哈利——妈妈这下完全不能责怪我了！我能告诉她吗？” 
　　“是的，我想你最好告诉她，”哈利迟疑地说，“特别是如果她认为他们接受了偷来的坩埚或别的什么。” 
　　剩下的时间里，荷米恩什么也没说，但是哈利怀疑她的自制力就快要控制不住了。果真，当他们一离开城堡在五月淡淡的阳光下休息时，她瞪着眼睛盯着哈利，下定决心张开了嘴。 
　　但哈利在她还没开口前就打断了她。 
　　“别对我唠叨，事情已经发生了，”他坚定地说。“弗来德和乔治得到了那些金加隆——也很合理地用了一些，听到这些消息——我不能从他们手里要回那些钱，我也不想。所以什么也别说了，荷米恩。” 
　　“我并不是要说关于弗来德和乔治的事！”她委屈地说。 
　　罗恩怀疑地用鼻子哼了一声，荷米恩对他摆出了一张臭脸。 
　　“不，我不是！”她生气地说。“事实上，我是想问哈利他打算什么时候去找斯内普重新上Occlumency课！” 
　　哈利低下头。一旦他们讨论完弗来德和乔治戏剧性的出走——这无可否认地花了很长时间，罗恩和荷米恩就开始想听听关于天狼星的消息。因为哈利并没有向他们吐露他想和天狼星首先交谈的原因，他现在很难想出该告诉他们什么。哈利什么也没说。事实上，天狼星也希望他重新开始Occlumency课。他对此一直很遗憾。荷米恩可不会放弃这个话题，她一直重复问他。 
　　“你可别说你已经停止做那些奇怪的梦了，”荷米恩说，“因为罗恩告诉我你昨晚睡觉时又在那儿嘀咕了。” 
　　哈利狂怒地看了罗恩一眼。罗恩有点不自然。 
　　“你只嘀咕了一小会儿，”他咕哝着辩解到，“像是说‘再往前一点’。” 
　　“我梦见我正在看你打魁地奇，”哈利无情地撒谎道，“我正让你再把手往前伸长一点去抓金飞贼” 
　　罗恩的耳朵变红了。哈利感到了一种报复的喜悦；他没有——当然了——梦到过这类事。 
　　昨天晚上，他又一次梦到了他走在神奇事物部的走廊上。他穿过圆形的房间，在那时，房间里充满了滴答做响的闪烁的灯光，他发现自己又来到了那个像洞穴的房间——里面满是摆着并列的落满灰尘的玻璃球的架子。 
　　他匆忙地径直飞奔向第97排，向左转，然后沿着它跑。他当时也许说得太大声了。再往前一点。他觉得他的自我意识正在努力地叫醒他。在他到达那排架子的尽头前，他发现自己又躺在了床上，凝视着四柱床的顶蓬。 
　　“你正试图去封闭你的思想，不是吗？”荷米恩瞪着哈利说，“你会去接着上Occlumency课吧？” 
　　“我当然会，”哈利说，试着让人听起来好象这个问题对他很无礼，但是躲着她的眼睛。事实上，他非常好奇那间满是蒙着灰尘的玻璃球的房间里到底藏了什么，所以他十分热切地希望那个梦能继续下去。 
　　问题是，只有一个月就要考试了，他把每一秒课余时间都用来复习，他的大脑已经被所学的知识填满了。他上床时发现根本就睡不着！一旦睡着了，大多数晚上，他过度紧张的大脑呈现给他的都是傻兮兮的的关于考试的梦。他还怀疑他大脑的一部分——常以荷米恩声音说话的那一部分——现在在他到达那个走廊尽头的黑门时感觉很心虚，并且在他到达终点前就叫醒他。 
　　“你知道的，”罗恩说，他的耳朵仍是红的，“假如Montague在斯莱特林对赫奇帕奇比赛时还不能痊愈的话，我们就有可能夺得学院杯。” 
　　“当然，但愿如此”哈利说，对换了个话题感到很高兴。 
　　“我的意思是，我们赢了一场，输了一场——假如斯莱特林在下周六对赫奇帕奇比赛里输了的话——” 
　　“对，没错，”哈利说——他已经忘了他同意什么了。秋张刚刚从院子里穿过，断然地不去看他。 
　　* 
　　魁地奇赛季的决赛——格兰芬多对拉文克劳，将在五月的最后一个周末举行。虽然斯莱特林在他们最后一次比赛中被赫奇帕奇勉强击败了，格兰芬多也不再奢望胜利了。主要是由于（当然并没有人告诉他）罗恩时好时坏的守球纪录。不过他看起来似乎找到了一种新的乐观主义。 
　　“我是说，我也不可能再更差了，不是吗？”在比赛那天的早饭时，罗恩对哈利和荷米恩说，“已经没什么东西可以失去了，是吧？” 
　　“你知道的，”当他们夹在异常兴奋的人群中去球场时，荷米恩说道，“我想弗来德和乔治不在身边时，罗恩也许会干得漂亮些。他们从来没给过他信心。” 
　　璐娜追上了他们——她头上蹲着一只活生生的老鹰。 
　　“哦！天哪，我忘了！”荷米恩说，一边看着沉着地走过一群咯咯笑着指指点点的斯莱特林的璐娜——她头上的老鹰不住地拍打着翅膀。“秋会参赛，不是吗？” 
　　哈利当然没忘记，不过他只哼了一声。 
　　他们在看台的顶端找到了座位。那是个晴空万里的好天气。罗恩不能想到更好的了。哈利发现自己还抱着一线希望：罗恩不会再给斯莱特林那些活跃的合唱团以理由高唱“罗恩是我们的王牌”。 
　　李乔丹像往常一样是评论员——他因为弗来德和乔治的离去而非常沮丧。当队员升起来的时候，他开始介绍参赛者，但并不像平时那么兴趣盎然。 
Chapter 31 Owls
Ron's euphoria at helping Gryffindor scrape the Quidditch cup was such that he couldn't settle to anything next day. All he wanted to do was talk over the match, so Harry and Hermione found it very difficult to find an opening in which to mention Grawp. Not that either of them tried very hard; neither was keen to be the one to bring Ron back to reality in quite such a brutal fashion. As it was another fine, warm day, they persuaded him to join them in revising under the beech tree at the edge of the lake, where they had less chance of being overheard than in the common room. Ron was not particularly keen on this idea at first—he was thoroughly enjoying being patted on the back by every Gryffindor who walked past his chair, not to mention the occasional outbursts of ‘Weasley is our King'—but after a while he agreed that some fresh air might do him good.
They spread their books out in the shade of the beech tree and sat down while Ron talked them through his first save of the match for what felt like the dozenth time.
‘Well, I mean, I'd already let in that one of Davies's, so I wasn't feeling all that confident, but I dunno, when Bradley came towards me, just out of nowhere, I thought—you can do this! And I had about a second to decide which way to fly, you know, because he looked like he was aiming for the right goalhoop— my right, obviously, his left—but I had a funny feeling that he was feinting, and so I took the chance and flew left—his right, I mean—and—well—you saw what happened,’ he concluded modestly, sweeping his hair back quite unnecessarily so that it looked interestingly windswept and glancing around to see whether the people nearest to them—a bunch of gossiping third-year Hufflepuffs—had heard him. ‘And then, when Chambers came at me about five minutes later—What?’ Ron asked, having stopped mid-sentence at the look on Harry's face. ‘Why are you grinning?’
‘I'm not,’ said Harry quickly, and looked down at his Transfiguration notes, attempting to straighten his lace. The truth was that Ron had just reminded Harry forcibly of another Gryffindor Quidditch player who had once sat rumpling his hair under this very tree. ‘I'm just glad we won, that's all.’
‘Yeah,’ said Ron slowly, savouring the words, ‘we won.Did you see the look on Chang's face when Ginny got the Snitch right out from under her nose?’ 
‘I suppose she cried, did she?’ said Harry bitterly.
‘Well, yeah— more out of temper than anything, though ...’ Ron frowned slightly. ‘But you saw her chuck her broom away when she got back to the ground, didn't you?’
‘Er—’ said Harry.
‘Well, actually ... no, Ron,’ said Hermione with a heavy sigh, putting down her book and looking at him apologetically. ‘As a matter of fact, the only bit of the match Harry and I saw was Davies's first goal.’
Ron's carefully ruffled hair seemed to wilt with disappointment. ‘You didn't watch?’ he said faintly, looking from one to the other. ‘You didn't see me make any of those saves?’
‘Well—no,’ said Hermione, stretching out a placatory hand towards him. ‘But Ron, we didn't want to leave—we had to!’
‘Yeah?’ said Ron, whose face was growing rather red. ‘How come?’
‘It was Hagrid,’ said Harry. ‘He decided to tell us why he's been covered in injuries ever since he got back from the giants. He wanted us to go into the Forest with him, we had no choice, you know how he gets. Anyway ...’
The story was told in five minutes, by the end of which Ron's indignation had been replaced by a look of total incredulity.
‘He brought one back and hid it in the Forest?’
‘Yep,’ said Harry grimly.
‘No,’ said Ron, as though by saying this he could make it untrue. ‘No, he can't have.’
‘Well, he has,’ said Hermione firmly. ‘Grawp's about sixteen feet tall, enjoys ripping up twenty-foot pine trees, and knows me,’ she snorted, ‘as Hermy.’
Ron gave a nervous laugh.
‘And Hagrid wants us to ... ?’
‘Teach him English, yeah,’ said Harry.
‘He's lost his mind,’ said Ron in an almost awed voice.
‘Yes,’ said Hermione irritably, turning a page of Intermediate Transfiguration and glaring at a series of diagrams showing an owl turning into a pair of opera glasses. ‘Yes, I'm starting to think he has. But, unfortunately, he made Harry and me promise.’
‘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 OWLs 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 OWLs from Harry's mind, though he did wonder occasionally during Potions lessons whether Lupin had ever told Snape that he must continue giving Harry Ooclumency 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 OWLs 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. Eights 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 everthing ...’
‘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 Malfoy's.’
‘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’ OWLs 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 OWLs 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 OWLs 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 Professcr 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 OWL results. Well, he thought dully, 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 it Dumbledore doesn't want to be found! I should know ... examined him personally in Transfiguration and Charms when he did NEWTs ... 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 OWLs; 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.
‘Potter, is it?’ said Professor Tofty, consulting his notes and peering over his pince-nez at Harry as he approached. ‘The famous Potter?’
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry distinctly saw Malfoy throw a scathing look over at him; the wine-glass Malfoy had been levitating fell to the floor and smashed. Harry could not suppress a grin; Professor Tofty smiled back at him encouragingly.
‘That's it,’ he said in his quavery old voice, ‘no need to be nervous. Now, if I could ask you to take this egg cup and make it do some cartwheels for me.’ 
On the whole, Harry thought it went rather well. His Levitation Charm was certainly much better than Malfoy's had been, though he wished he had not mixed up the incantations for Colour Change and Growth Charms, so that the rat he was supposed to be turning orange swelled shockingly and was the size of a badger before Harry could rectify his mistake. He was glad Hermione had not been in the Hall at the time and neglected to mention it to her afterwards. He could tell Ron, though; Ron had caused a dinner plate to mutate into a large mushroom and had no idea how it had happened.
There was no time to relax that night; they went straight to the common room after dinner and submerged themselves in revision for Transfiguration next day; Harry went to bed with his head buzzing with complex spell models and theories.
He forgot the definition of a Switching Spell during his written paper next morning but thought his practical could have been a lot worse. At least he managed to Vanish the whole of his iguana, whereas poor Hannah Abbott lost her head completely at the next table and somehow managed to multiply her ferret into a flock of flamingos, causing the examination to be halted for ten minute; while the birds were captured and carried out of the Hall.
They had their Herbology exam on Wednesday (other than a small bite from a Fanged Geranium, Harry felt he had done reasonably well); and then, on Thursday, Defence Against the Dark Arts. Here, for the first time, Harry felt sure he had passed. He had no problem with any of the written questions and took particular pleasure, during the practical examination, in performing all the counter-jinxes and defensive spells right in front of Umbridge, who was watching coolly from near the doors into the Entrance Hall.
‘Oh, bravo!’ cried Professor Tolty, who was examining Harry again, when Harry demonstrated a perfect boggart banishing spell. ‘Very good indeed! Well, I think that's all, Potter ... unless ...’
He leaned forwards a little.
‘I heard, from my dear friend Tiberius Ogden, that you can produce a Patronus? For a bonus point ... ?’
Harry raised his wand, looked directly at Umbridge and imagined her being sacked.
‘Expecto patronum!’
His silver stag erupted from the end of his wand and cantered the length of the Hall. All of the examiners looked around to watch its progress and when it dissolved into silver mist Professor Tofty clapped his veined and knotted hands enthusiastically.
‘Excellent!’ he said. ‘Very well, Potter, you may go!’
As Harry passed Umbridge beside the door, their eyes met. There was a nasty smile playing around her wide, slack mouth, but he did not care. Unless he was very much mistaken (and he was not planning on telling anybody, in case he was), he had just achieved an ‘Outstanding’ OWL.
On Friday, Harry and Ron had a day off while Hermione sat her Ancient Runes exam, and as they had the whole weekend in front of them they permitted themselves a break from revision. They stretched and yawned beside the open window, through which warm summer air was wafting as they played wizard chess. Harry could see Hagrid in the distance, teaching a class on the edge of the Forest. He was trying to guess what creatures they were examining—he thought it must be unicorns, because the boys seemed to be standing back a little—when the portrait hole opened and Hermione clambered in, looking thoroughly bad-tempered.
‘How were the Runes?’ said Ron, yawning and stretching.
‘I mis-translated ehwaz,’ said Hermione furiously. ‘It means partnership, not defence,I mixed it up with eihwaz.’
‘Ah well,’ said Ron lazily, ‘that's only one mistake, isn't it, you'll still get—’
‘Oh, shut up!’ said Hermione angrily. ‘It could be the one mistake that makes the difference between a pass and a fail. And what's more, someone's put another Niffler in Umbridge's office. I don't know how they got it through that new door, but I just walked past there and Umbridge is shrieking her head off—by the sound of it, it tried to take a chunk out of her leg—’
‘Good,’ said Harry and Ron together.
‘It is not good!’ said Hermione hotly. ‘She thinks it's Hagrid doing it, remember? And we do not want Hagrid chucked out!’
‘He's teaching at the moment; she can't blame him,’ said Harry, gesturing out of the window.
‘Oh, you're so naive sometimes, Harry. You really think Umbridge will wait for proof?’ said Hermione, who seemed determined to be in a towering temper, and she swept off towards the girls’ dormitories, banging the door behind her.
‘Such a lovely, sweet-tempered girl,’ said Ron, very quietly, prodding his queen forward to beat up one of Harry's knights.
Hermione's bad mood persisted for most of the weekend, though Harry and Ron found it quite easy to ignore as they spent most of Saturday and Sunday revising for Potions on Monday, the exam which Harry had been looking forward to least—and which he was sure would be the downfall of his ambitions to become an Auror. Sure enough, he found the written paper difficult, though he thought he might have got full marks on the question about Polyjuice Potion; he could describe its effects accurately, having taken it illegally in his second year.
The afternoon practical was not as dreadful as he had expected, it to be. With Snape absent from the proceedings, he found that he was much more relaxed than he usually was while making potions. Neville, who was sitting very near Harry, also looked happier than Harry had ever seen him during a Potions class. When Professor Marchbanks said, ‘Step away from your cauldrons, please, the examination is over,’ Harry corked his sample flask feeling that he might not have achieved a good grade but he had, with luck, avoided a fail.
‘Only four exams left,’ said Parvati Patil wearily as they headed back to Gryffindor common room.
‘Only!’ said Hermione snappishly. ‘I've got Arithmancy and it's probably the toughest subject there is!’
Nobody was foolish enough to snap back, so she was unable to vent her spleen on any of them and was reduced to telling off some first-years for giggling too loudly in the common room.
Harry was determined to perform well in Tuesday's Care of Magical Creatures exam so as not to let Hagrid down. The practical examination took place in the afternoon on the lawn on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where students were required to correctly identify the Knarl hidden among a dozen hedgehogs (the trick was to offer them all milk in turn: Knarls, highly suspicious creatures whose quills had many magical properties, generally went berserk at what they saw as an attempt to poison them); then demonstrate correct handling of a Bowtruckle; feed and clean out a Fire Crab without sustaining serious burns; and choose, from a wide selection of food, the diet they would give a sick unicorn.
Harry could see Hagrid watching anxiously out of his cabin window. When Harry's examiner, a plump little witch this time, smiled at him and told him he could leave, Harry gave Hagrid a fleeting thumbs-up before heading back to the castle.
The Astronomy theory paper on Wednesday morning went well enough. Harry was not convinced he had got the names of all Jupiter's moons right, but was at least confident that none of them was inhabited by mice. They had to wait until evening for their practical Astronomy; the afternoon was devoted instead to Divination.
Even by Harry's low standards in Divination, the exam went very badly. He might as well have tried to see moving pictures on the desktop as in the stubbornly blank crystal ball; he lost his head completely during tea-leaf reading, saying it looked to him as though Professor Marchbanks would shortly be meeting a round, dark, soggy stranger, and rounded off the whole fiasco by mixing up the life and head lines on her palm and informing her that she ought to have died the previous Tuesday.
‘Well, we were always going to fail that one,’ said Ron gloomily as they ascended the marble staircase. He had just made Harry feel rather better by telling him how he had told the examiner in detail about the ugly man with a wart on his nose in his crystal ball, only to look up and realise he had been describing his examiner's reflection.
‘We shouldn't have taken the stupid subject in the first place,’ said Harry.
‘Still, at least we can give it up now.’
‘Yeah,’ said Harry. ‘No more pretending we care what happens when Jupiter and Uranus get too friendly.’
‘And from now on, I don't care if my tea-leaves spell die, Ron, die—I'm just chucking them in the bin where they belong.’
Harry laughed just as Hermione came running up behind them. He stopped laughing at once, in case it annoyed her.
‘Well, I think I've done all right in Arithmancy,’ she said, and Harry and Ron both sighed with relief. ‘Just time for a quick look over our star-charts before dinner, then ...’
When they reached the top of the Astronomy Tower at eleven o'clock, they found a perfect night for stargazing, cloudless and still. The grounds were bathed in silvery moonlight and there was a slight chill in the air. Each of them set up his or her telescope and, when Professor Marchbanks gave the word, proceeded to fill in the blank star-chart they had been given.
Professors Marchbanks and Tofty strolled among them, watching as they entered the precise positions of the stars and planets they were observing. All was quiet except for the rustle of parchment, the occasional creak of a telescope as it was adjusted on its stand, and the scribbling of many quills. Half an hour passed, then ar hour; the little squares of reflected gold light flickering on the: ground below started to vanish as lights in the castle windows were extinguished.
As Harry completed the constellation Orion on his chart, however, the front doors of the castle opened directly below the parapet where he was standing, so that light spilled down the stone steps a little way across the lawn. Harry glanced down as he made a slight adjustment to the position of his telescope and saw five or six elongated shadows moving over the brightly lit grass before the doors swung shut and the lawn became a sea of darkness once more.
Harry put his eye back to his telescope and refocused it, now examining Venus. He looked down at his chart to enter the planet there, but something distracted him; pausing with his quill suspended over the parchment, he squinted down into the shadowy grounds and saw half a dozen figures walking over the lawn. If they had not been moving, and the moonlight had not been gilding the tops of their heads, they would have been indistinguishable from the dark ground on which they walked. Even at this distance, Harry had a funny feeling he recognised the walk of the squattest of them, who seemed to be leading the group.
He could not think why Umbridge would be taking a stroll outside after midnight, much less accompanied by five others. Then somebody coughed behind him, and he remembered that he was halfway through an exam. He had quite forgotten Venus's position. Jamming his eye to his telescope, he found it again and was once more about to enter it on his chart when, alert for any odd sound, he heard a distant knock which echoed through the deserted grounds, followed immediately by the muffled barking of a large dog.
He looked up, his heart hammering. There were lights on in Hagrid's windows and the people he had observed crossing the lawn were now silhouetted against them. The door opened and he distinctly saw six sharply defined figures walk over the threshold. The door closed again and there was silence.
Harry felt very uneasy. He glanced around to see whether Ron or Hermione had noticed what he had, but Professor Marchbanks came walking behind him at that moment and, not wanting to look as though he was sneaking looks at anyone else's work, Harry hastily bent over his star-chart and pretended to be adding notes to it while really peering over the top of the parapet towards Hagrid's cabin. Figures were now moving across the cabin windows, temporarily blocking the light.
He could feel Professor Marchbanks's eyes on the back of his neck and pressed his eye again to his telescope, staring up at the moon though he had marked its position an hour ago, but as Professor Marchbanks moved on he heard a roar from the distant cabin that echoed through the darkness right to the top of the Astronomy Tower. Several of the people around Harry ducked out from behind their telescopes and peered instead in the direction of Hagrid's cabin.
Professor Tofty gave another dry little cough.
‘Try and concentrate, now, boys and girls,’ he said softly.
Most people returned to their telescopes. Harry looked to his left. Hermione was gazing transfixed at Hagrid's cabin.
‘Ahem—twenty minutes to go,’ said Professor Tofty.
Hermione jumped and returned at once to her star-chart; Harry looked down at his own and noticed that he had mis-labelled Venus as Mars. He bent to correct it.
There was a loud BANG from the grounds. Several people cried ‘Ouch!’ when they poked themselves in the face with the ends of their telescopes as they hastened to see what was going on below.
Hagrid's door had burst open and by the light flooding out of the cabin they saw him quite clearly, a massive figure roaring and brandishing his fists, surrounded by six people, all of whom, judging by the tiny threads of red light they were casting in his direction, seemed to be attempting to Stun him.
‘No!’ cried Hermione.
‘My dear!’ said Professor Tofty in a scandalised voice. ‘This is an examination!’
But nobody was paying the slightest attention to their star-charts any more. Jets of red light were still flying about beside Hagrid's cabin, yet somehow they seemed to be bouncing off him; he was still upright and still, as far as Harry could see, fighting. Cries and yells echoed across the grounds; a man yelled, ‘Be reasonable, Hagrid!’
Hagrid roared, ‘Reasonable be damned, yeh won’ take me like this, Dawlish!’ 
Harry could see the tiny outline of Fang, attempting to defend Hagrid, leaping repeatedly at the wizards surrounding him until a Stunning Spell caught him and he fell to the ground. Hagrid gave a howl of fury, lifted the culprit bodily from the ground and threw him; the man flew what looked like ten feet and did not get up again. Hermione gasped, both hands over her mouth; Harry looked round at Ron and saw that he, too, was looking scared. None of them had ever seen Hagrid in a real temper before.
‘Look!’ squealed Parvati, who was leaning over the parapet and pointing to the foot of the castle where the front doors had opened again; more light was spilling out on to the dark lawn and a single long black shadow was now rippling across the lawn.
‘Now, really!’ said Professor Tofty anxiously. ‘Only sixteen minutes left, you know!’
But nobody paid him the slightest attention: they were watching the person now sprinting towards the battle beside Hagrid's cabin.
‘How dare you!’ the figure shouted as she ran. ‘How dare you!’
‘It's McGonagall!’ whispered Hermione.
‘Leave him alone! Alone,I say!’ said Professor McGonagall's voice through the darkness. ‘On what grounds are you attacking him? He has done nothing, nothing to warrant such—’
Hermione, Parvati and Lavender all screamed. The figures around the cabin had shot no fewer than four Stunners at Professor McGonagall. Halfway between cabin and castle the red beams collided with her; for a moment she looked luminous and glowed an eerie red, then she lifted right off her feet, landed hard on her back, and moved no more.
‘Galloping gargoyles!’ shouted Professor Tofty, who also seemed to have forgotten the exam completely. ‘Not so much as a warning! Outrageous behaviour!’
‘COWARDS!’ bellowed Hagrid; his voice carried clearly to the top of the tower, and several lights flickered back on inside the castle. ‘RUDDY COWARDS! HAVE SOME O’ THAT— AN’ THAT—’
‘Oh my—’ gasped Hermione.
Hagrid took two massive swipes at his closest attackers; judging by their immediate collapse, they had been knocked cold. Harry saw Hagrid double over, and thought he had finally been overcome by a spell. But, on the contrary, next moment Hagrid was standing again with what appeared to be a sack on his back—then Harry realised that bangs limp body was draped around his shoulders.
‘Get him, get him!’ screamed Umbridge, but her remaining helper seemed highly reluctant to go within reach of Hagrid's fists; indeed, he was backing away so fast he tripped over one of his unconscious colleagues and fell over. Hagrid had turned and begun to run with Fang still hung around his neck. Umbridge sent one last Stunning Spell after him but it missed; and Hagrid, running full-pelt towards the distant gates, disappeared into the darkness.
There was a long minute's quivering silence as everybody gazed open-mouthed into the grounds. Then Professor Tofty's voice said feebly, ‘Um ... five minutes to go, everybody.’
Though he had only filled in two-thirds of his chart, Harry was desperate for the exam to end. When it came at last he, Ron and Hermione forced their telescopes haphazardly back into their holders and dashed back down the spiral staircase. None of the students were going to bed; they were all talking loudly and excitedly at the foot of the stairs about what they had witnessed.
‘That evil woman!’ gasped Hermione, who seemed to be having difficulty talking due to rage. ‘Trying to sneak up on Hagrid in the dead of night!’
‘She clearly wanted to avoid another scene like Trelawney's,’ said Ernie Macmillan sagely, squeezing over to join them.
‘Hagrid did well, didn't he?’ said Ron, who looked more alarmed than impressed. ‘How come all the spells bounced off him?’
‘It'll be his giant blood,’ said Hermione shakily. ‘Its very hard to Stun a giant, they're like trolls, really tough ... but poor Professor McGonagall ... four Stunners straight in the chest and she's not exactly young, is she?’ 
‘Dreadful, dreadful,’ said Ernie, shaking his head pompously. ‘Well, I'm off to bed. Night, all.’
People around them were drifting away, still talking excitedly about what they had just seen.
‘At least they didn't get to take Hagrid off to Azkaban,’ said Ron. ‘I ‘spect he's gone to join Dumbledore, hasn't he?’
‘I suppose so,’ said Hermione, who looked tearful. ‘Oh, this is awful, I really thought Dumbledore would be back before long, but now we've lost Hagrid too.’
They traipsed back to the Gryffindor common room to find it full. The commotion out in the grounds had woken several people, who had hastened to rouse their friends. Seamus and Dean, who had arrived ahead of Harry, Ron and Hermione, were now telling everyone what they had seen and heard from the top of the Astronomy Tower.
‘But why sack Hagrid now?’ asked Angelina Johnson, shaking her head. ‘It's not like Trelawney; he's been teaching much better than usual this year!’
‘Urnbridge hates part-humans,’ said Hermione bitterly, flopping down into an armchair. ‘She was always going to try and get Hagrid out.’
‘And she thought Hagrid was putting Nifflers in her office,’ piped up Katie Bell.
‘Oh, blimey,’ said Lee Jordan, covering his mouth. ‘It's me who's been putting the Nifflers in her office. Fred and George left me a couple; I've been levitating them in through her window.’
‘She'd have sacked him anyway,’ said Dean. ‘He was too close to Dumbledore.’ 
‘That's true,’ said Harry, sinking into an armchair beside Hermione's.
‘I just hope Professor McGonagall's all right,’ said Lavender tearfully.
‘They carried her back up to the castle, we watched through the dormitory window,’ said Colin Creevey. ‘She didn't look very well.’
‘Madam Pomfrey will sort her out,’ said Alicia Spinnet firmly. ‘She's never failed yet.’
It was nearly four in the morning before the common room cleared. Harry felt wide awake; the image of Hagrid sprinting away into the dark was haunting him; he was so angry with Umbridge he could not think of a punishment bad enough for her, though Ron's suggestion of having her fed to a box of starving Blast-Ended Skrewts had its merits. He fell asleep contemplating hideous revenges and arose from bed three hours later feeling distinctly unrested.
Their final exam, History of Magic, was not to take place until that afternoon. Harry would very much have liked to go back to bed after breakfast, but he had been counting on the morning for a spot of last-minute revision, so instead he sat with his head in his hands by the common-room window, trying hard not to doze off as he read through some of the three-and-a-half-feet-high stack of notes that Hermione had lent him.
The fifth-years entered the Great Hall at two o'clock and took their places in front of their face-down examination papers. Harry felt exhausted. He just wanted this to be over, so that he could go and sleep; then tomorrow, he and Ron were going to go down to the Quidditch pitch—he was going to have a fly on Ron's broom—and savour their freedom from revision.
‘Turn over your papers,’ said Professor Marchbanks from the front of the Hall, flicking over the giant hour-glass. ‘You may begin ’
Harry stared fixedly at the first question. It was several seconds before it occurred to him that he had not taken in a word of it; there was a wasp buzzing distractingly against one of the high windows. Slowly, tortuously, he at last began to write an answer.
He was finding it very difficult to remember names and kept confusing dates. He simply skipped question four (In your opinion, did wand legislation contribute to, or lead to better control of, goblin riots of the eighteenth century?), thinking that he would go back to it if he had time at the end. He had a stab at question five (How was the Statute of Secrecy breached in 1749 and what measures were introduced to prevent a recurrence?) but had a nagging suspicion that he had missed several important points; he had a feeling vampires had come into the story somewhere.
He looked ahead for a question he could definitely answer and his eyes alighted upon number ten: Describe the circumstances that led to the formation of the International Confederation of Wizards and explain why the warlocks of Liechtenstein refused to join.
I know this, Harry thought, though his brain felt torpid and slack. He could visualise a heading, in Hermione's handwriting: The formation of the International Confederation of Wizards ... he had read those notes only this morning.
He began to write, looking up now and again to check the large hour-glass on the desk beside Professor Marchbanks. He was sitting right behind Parvati Patil, whose long dark hair fell below the back of her chair. Once or twice he found himself staring at the tiny golden lights that glistened in it when she moved her head slightly, and had to give his own head a little shake to clear it.
... the first Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards was Pierre Bonaccord, but his appointment was contested by the wizarding community of Liechtenstein, because—
All around Harry quills were scratching on parchment like scurrying, burrowing rats. The sun was very hot on the back of his head. What was it that Bonaccord had done to offend the wizards of Liechtenstein? Harry had a feeling it had something to do with trolls ... he gazed blankly at the back of Parvati's head again. If he could only perform Legilimency and open a window in the back of her head and see what it was about trolls that had caused the breach between Pierre Bonaccord and Liechtenstein ...
Harry closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands, so that the glowing red of his eyelids grew dark and cool. Bonaccord had wanted to stop troll-hunting and give the trolls rights ... but Liechtenstein was having problems with a tribe of particularly vicious mountain trolls ... that was it.
He opened his eyes; they stung and watered at the sight of the blazing white parchment. Slowly, he wrote two lines about the trolls, then read through what he had done so far. It did not seem very informative or detailed, yet he was sure Hermione's notes on the Confederation had gone on for pages and pages.
He closed his eyes again, trying to see them, trying to remember ... the Confederation had met for the first time in France, yes, he had written that already ...
Goblins had tried to attend and been ousted ... he had written that, too ...
And nobody from Liechtenstein had wanted to come ...
Think, he told himself, his face in his hands, while all around him quills scratched out never-ending answers and the sand trickled through the hour-glass at the front ...
He was walking along the cool, dark corridor to the Department of Mysteries again, walking with a firm and purposeful tread, breaking occasionally into a run, determined to reach his destination at last ... the black door swung open for him as usual, and here he was in the circular room with its many doors ...
Straight across the stone floor and through the second door ... patches of dancing light on the walls and floor and that odd mechanical clicking, but no time to explore, he must hurry ...
He jogged the last few feet to the third door, which swung open just like the others ...
Once again he was in the cathedral-sized room full of shelves and glass spheres ... his heart was beating very fast now ... he was going to get there this time ... when he reached number ninety-seven he turned left and hurried along the aisle between two rows ...
But there was a shape on the floor at the very end, a black shape moving on the floor like a wounded animal ... Harry's stomach contracted with fear ... with excitement ...
A voice issued from his own mouth, a high, cold voice empty of any human kindness ...
‘Take it for me ... lift it down, now ... I cannot touch it ... but you can ...’
The black shape on the floor shifted a little. Harry saw a long-fingered white hand clutching a wand rise at the end of his own arm ... heard the high, cold voice say ‘Crucio!’
The man on the floor let out a scream of pain, attempted to stand but fell back, writhing. Harry was laughing. He raised his wand, the curse lifted and the figure groaned and became motionless.
‘Lord Voldemort is waiting ...’
Very slowly, his arms trembling, the man on the ground raised his shoulders a few inches and lifted his head. His face was bloodstained and gaunt, twisted in pain yet rigid with defiance ...
‘You'll have to kill me,’ whispered Sirius.
‘Undoubtedly I shall in the end,’ said the cold voice. ‘But you will fetch it for me first, Black ... you think you have felt pain thus far? Think again ... we have hours ahead of us and nobody to hear you scream ...’
But somebody screamed as Voldemort lowered his wand again; somebody yelled and fell sideways off a hot desk on to the cold stone floor; Harry awoke as he hit the ground, still yelling, his scar on fire, as the Great Hall erupted all around him.
罗恩对自己帮助格兰芬多赢得魁地奇奖杯感到如此的高兴，以至于在第二天他都不能安下心来做任何事。他想做的一切事就只有不断的讨论那场比赛，所以哈利和荷米恩都发现很难找到一个切入点来谈谈格拉普。他们两个都没有竭力的这么做，也都不想成为用那么残忍的手段把罗恩拉回到现实中的人。在另一个有着晴朗温暖好天气的日子里，他们在湖边的山毛榉树下成功的劝说他加入到他们的讨论中去，在那个地方，他们被偷听的机会要比在公共休息室中少。罗恩一开始对这个主意并不特别热心——他很喜欢被那些经过他椅子的格兰芬多轮流拍拍背，他们更不会时不时的唱出“威斯里是我们的国王”??但是过了一会儿，他同意一点新鲜空气对他有益。 
　　当他们在山毛榉树的树荫里展开他们的书本坐下之后，罗恩第12次的告诉他们他在比赛中第一次救球的情况。 
　　“好了，我的意思是，我已经漏过了戴维斯的那个球，所以我还没有感到自信的程度，但是，我不知道，当布拉德利向我冲过来时，无处可走了，我想到———你能做到的！然后我花了大概一秒钟的时间决定往那个方向飞，你知道的，因为他的表情看上去象是在瞄准右边的球环——－我的右边，那很明显，他的左边??于是他在做作的时候我做了一个滑稽的表情，然后我抓住机会向左飞去，??我的意思是他的右边－然后－很棒－你看见了发生了什么。”他谨慎的推断，把他的头发不必要的向后一掳为的是让它看起来被风吹过般的有趣，同时来回扫视看看是否有人在向他们接近———一串嚼舌的3年级赫奇帕奇??已经在听他说话。“然后，当钱伯斯5分钟后到达我那里时??什么？”罗恩问，他看着哈利的脸把话说到一半。“你为什么要笑？” 
　　“我没有。”哈利迅速的说，低下头去看他的变形笔记，试图来绷直他的脸。事实上，罗恩刚才让哈利想起了另一个强悍的魁地奇选手，他也曾在这颗树下弄乱过他的头发。“我刚才为我们赢了而高兴，就这些。” 
　　“是啊”罗恩慢慢的说，打开了话盒子，“我们赢了，你看见昌斯脸上的表情了吗？金妮在她鼻子底下轻松的抓到了飞贼？” 
　　“我猜她哭了，是吗？”哈利痛苦的说。 
　　“是啊，的确－虽然要比一般的事要生气。”罗恩微微有些皱眉，“但你看见她在回地面时把她扫帚扔了的事了吗？ 
　　“呃－“哈利说 
　　“好吧，确实没有，罗恩。”荷米恩深深的叹了口气，放下他的书抱歉的看着罗恩。“事实是，我和哈利只看了戴维斯进第一个球的那部分比赛。” 
　　似乎是伴随着失望罗恩小心打理的头发褶了起来。“你们没看？”他模糊的说，从这个看到另一个，“你们没有看到我救的那些球？” 
　　“好吧－没有”荷米恩说，安慰性的向他伸出一只手，“但是，罗恩，我们并不想离开??我们必须走！” 
　　“是吗？”罗恩说，他的脸变得更红了，“怎么回事？” 
　　“是因为哈格力”，哈利说，“他决定要告诉我们为什么他从巨人那里回来后带着伤。他要我们和他一起去禁林，总之，我们别无选择，你知道他是怎么回事吗？ 
　　故事讲了整整5分钟，结束后，罗恩的愤怒被完全怀疑的表情所取代。 
　　“他带了一个回来还养在森林里？” 
　　“是的”，哈利阴森的说。 
　　“不”罗恩说，他仿佛认为所说的是不真实的，“不，他不可能这么做。” 
　　“是的，他真的这么做了。“荷米恩坚定的说，“格拉普有大概16英尺高，喜欢撕开20米左右的树，而且现在认识我们了。”她简短的说“比如荷米恩。” 
　　罗恩露出了一个神经质的笑容。 
　　“那么哈格力要我们——” 
　　“教他英语，是的”哈利说。 
　　“他丧失了理智，”罗恩用几乎惊骇的声音说。 
　　“是的”荷米恩暴躁的说，翻出一页《中级变形术》盯着一系列演示把猫头鹰变成一副小型双筒望远镜的图表。“是的，我开始认识到他是丧失了理智，但是，很不幸，他要哈利和我做出了保证。” 
　　“是的，你们应该做的是不得不去违背你们的誓言了，这就是一切。”罗恩顽固的说，“我的意思是，来吧，我们要考试了，我们要避免——”他伸出了他的手打了个动人的响值“被从这里开除，而且，无论如何，记得诺伯吗？记得阿拉戈克吗？我们最好还是别和哈格力的怪物伙计混在一起不是吗？” 
　　“我知道，只不过－我们答应了。”荷米恩用微弱的声音说。 
　　罗恩有一次把她的头发抚平，表情是全神贯注的。 
　　“是啊”他叹息道，“哈格力现在还没被解雇不是吗？他会呆的更长些，可能他会坚持到学期结束然后我们就不用不得不靠近格拉普了。” 
　　城堡的场地闪出仿佛春天的色泽，课程被全部专注于教师们认为最有可能出现在考试中的主题上。 
　　除了OWLs所有的东西都从哈利的脑子中被赶走了，有目的的，兴奋的氛围在渐渐的临近，虽然他有时会在魔药课时想是否卢平曾经告诉过斯内普他必须要继续给哈利上思维闭锁术的课，如果他这么做了，那么斯内普现在象彻底忽略哈利一样彻底的忽略了卢平。这对哈利很好。没有和斯内普的额外加课他就已经够忙够紧张得了。让他欣慰的是，荷米恩这几天太全神贯注了以至于不再强迫他练习思维闭锁术；她现在花很多时间对着她自己嘀嘀咕咕，而且也没再为小精灵做衣服。 
　　而她不是唯一因为OWLs的临近而行为古怪的人。厄尼麦克米兰已经养成了问别人他们复习时间的可恶习惯。 
　　“你们认为你们每天复习几个小时？”当哈利和罗恩在草药课外面排队时，他问他们，在他的眼里闪着狂躁的微光。 
　　“我不知道，”罗恩说，“就一会儿。” 
　　“比八个小时多还是少？” 
　　“我猜要少。”罗恩说，看上去有些惊慌。 
　　“我花八小时，”厄尼说，他的胸口突了起来。“八到九个小时，每天吃早饭之前我用一个小时。我的平均水平是八小时。我可以在一个有益的周末花上十个小时。我在星期一花了九个半小时。不象在星期二－只有七小时一刻钟。而在星期三————” 
　　哈利深深的感激在三点钟斯普劳特教授引着他们进入温室，强迫厄尼结束他的陈述。 
　　其间，德拉科马尔夫找到了一个不同寻常的方法来制造恐慌。 
　　“当然，这不是你们所知道的那个。”他被人听见就在考试开始前的几天，在魔药课教室外对克拉布和高尔说，“你们知道的。现在，爸爸已经和巫师考试的权威友好相处了好多年了??老格瑞索达－马区班克教授??我们已经请她来吃晚餐解决了一切。““你们认为那是真的吗？”荷米恩惊慌的小声对哈利和罗恩说。 
　　“如果那是真的我们无能为力。”罗恩沮丧的说。 
　　“我认为那不是真的。”纳威在他们后面安静的说，“因为格瑞索达－马区班克教授是我奶奶的一个朋友，而她从没提过马尔夫家。” 
　　“她的爱好是什么？纳威？”荷米恩立刻问，“她严厉吗？” 
　　“很象奶奶，真的”纳威用压抑的声音说。 
　　“可是她不会剥夺你的机会，不是吗？”罗恩鼓励他说。 
　　“欧，我认为这没有什么不同。”纳威说，更加凄惨了，“奶奶总是告诉马区班克教授我不如我爸爸这么好，是啊，象你们在圣芒戈看到的一样。” 
　　纳威呆呆的盯着地板。哈利、罗恩和荷米恩彼此看看，都不知道该说什么。这是第一次纳威承认他们在巫师医院遇到过。 
　　同时，黑市的药品交易正在欣欣向荣的发展着，增加智力的和治疗失眠的药在五年级和七年级中卖的很好。哈利和罗恩被瓶由一名叫埃迪考瑞麦克六年级拉文克劳所提供的补脑剂所深深诱惑住了，他现在正在发誓这药是他在去年夏天明显进步并在OWLs中取得九个“O”的唯一原因而且整整一品脱只要12个加隆。罗恩向哈利保证在他从霍格瓦彻毕业找到一份工作后会还他另一半钱的，但在他们完成这个交易之前，荷米恩已经从考瑞麦克那里没收了瓶子倒进了卫生间。 
　　“荷米恩，我们想买那个的！”罗恩叫道。 
　　“别傻了，”她吼道，“你还不如弄一点哈罗德丁格的龙爪粉来对付一下。” 
　　“丁格弄到了龙爪粉？”罗恩急切的说。 
　　“不是很多。”荷米恩说，“而且我也没收了。这些东西都没有真的作用，你知道的。” 
　　“龙爪是有作用的！”罗恩说“你这个假设令人难以置信，它真的会给你的脑子一点推动，你会调动全部的智能在数个小时内。荷米恩，给我一撮吧，来吧，它不可能伤害——” 
　　“这个材料能。”荷米恩可怕的说，“我已经看过了，它实际上是导克斯的干粪。” 
　　这个消息使得哈利和罗恩对刺激大脑的渴望渐渐减弱了。 
　　在他们的下一节变形课上，他们得知了考试时间表和OWLs手续的详细资料。 
　　“正如你们所看到的。”麦格教授当全班都把黑板上的考试时间和日期抄下来时说，“你们的OWLs将会持续整整两周。你们将在上午在纸上表述理论而在下午进行实践。当然了，你们的天文学实践考试是在晚上。 
　　现在，我必须最迫切的警告你们的是反欺诈的咒语已经施在了你们的考卷上。自动回答的羽毛笔在考试的大厅里是被禁的，诸如此类的还有可以用来记忆、分拆、抄袭的衣服翻边以及自动修正的墨水。每年，我恐怕得讲，好像都有至少一个学生认为他或她能够传颂巫师考试权威的法则。我只能希望在格兰芬多没有。我们的新－女校长－”麦格教授说这话的时候脸上明显带着和当帕尤妮亚姨妈沉思一块特别顽固的污垢时一摸一样的的表情，“已经告诉了学院的院长通知他们的学生欺骗将会受到最严厉的惩罚。因为，当然，你们考试的结果会反映出女校长在学校的新制度——” 
　　麦格教授发出一声轻微的叹息；哈利看到她尖尖的鼻子张开了鼻孔。 
　　“－然而，这不是你们不能做到最好的理由。你们已经有你们自己的未来要考虑了。” 
　　“请问，教授。”荷米恩说，她的手举在里空中，“什么时候我们可以看到我们的成绩？” 
　　“一场中级巫师考试的成绩将在七月份送到你的手里。”麦格教授说。 
　　“很好”迪安托马斯用听得见的耳语声说，“所以我们直到假期都不用担心了。” 
　　哈利想象自己坐在女贞路自己的卧室六个星期，为的是等待他的OWL成绩。好吧，他迟钝的想，至少他会在暑假里受到一封信了。 
　　他们的第一场考试，魔咒理论，被定在了星期一的早上。哈利同意在星期天午餐时测试荷米恩，但是几乎立刻就后悔了；她是如此的激动不安而且不断的要求他翻开书来确认她是否回答的完全正确，最后用《迷人的成就》的边角狠狠的打中了他的鼻子。 
　　“为什么你刚才不自己做呢？”哈利顽固的说，给书递还给她，他的眼睛流出了眼泪。 
　　与此同时，罗恩正用手指指着默读二年级时的咒语笔记，他的嘴唇无声的翻动着，西莫斐尼甘正仰天躺在地板上，背诵着《一个真正的咒语解说》，而迪安在核对《标准咒语5级》；帕瓦迪和拉文德在练习基础的移动咒语，她们正试图让她们的笔袋绕着桌角边彼此追逐。 
　　那天晚上的晚餐是很压抑的。哈利和罗恩除了爱吃的东西外没有多谈，他们已经认真学习了一整天了。在另一方面，荷米恩不停的用她的刀叉切呀切的还一直往她放在桌子底下的袋子看去，由此看来，她想以此来对这本书有个大概粗略的认识。罗恩刚告诉她应该适当的吃点饭，要不她今晚会睡不着的，她的叉子正好从她柔软的手中滑了出去摔在她的盘子里发出了响亮的叮当声。 
　　“欧，我的上帝，”她盯着门厅模糊的说，“他们是什么人？是主考官吗？” 
　　哈利和罗恩在他们的椅子上象被鞭子抽到了。透过通往大厅的那扇门，他们能看见昂布瑞奇和一小群古板表情的女巫男巫站在一起。昂布瑞奇，哈利很高兴的看到，她看上去很紧张。 
　　“我们要不要走近点看看呢？”罗恩问。 
　　哈利和荷米恩点点头而后他们加倍匆忙的走到了门厅处的大门，然后以慢到极限的速度从主考官们的身边走过。哈利认为马区班克教授是个瘦小而又有些驼背的女巫，而她脸上的皱纹看上去就象是窗帘上的蜘蛛网，昂布瑞奇正谦卑的和她说话。马区班克教授似乎有一点耳背，考虑到她们只相据一步之遥她回答昂布瑞奇教授的声音过于响亮了。 
　　“旅途很顺利，旅途很顺利，我们提早了很多时间到达！”她没有耐性的说，“到现在，我还没有听到丹伯多的近况！”她补充到，怀疑在大厅里扫视好像希望他会突然从一个放扫帚的碗柜里出现。“我猜，没人知道他在哪里吧？” 
　　“一个都没有。”昂布瑞奇恶意的瞅了一眼哈利，罗恩和荷米恩，他们现在在楼梯口闲逛而罗恩假装在系他的鞋带。“但我料想魔法部会在足够迅速的时间内把他抓获的，” 
　　“我怀疑”马区班克教授轻轻叫道，“如果丹伯多不想被发现的话没人可以抓他。我应该了解的，当他在考NEWTs时，是我亲自考他的变形和咒语的，在那之前我从没见过有人能用魔杖做到那样的事。” 
　　“是的，好吧”当哈利、罗恩和荷米恩用慢的好像他们受到惊吓似的速度爬楼梯时，昂布瑞奇说，“让我领您到教研室。我猜您会喜欢的在您的旅行之后来喝一杯茶的。” 
　　那是个令人不舒服的夜晚。每个人都想在临睡前的最后几分钟作些什么但是却有似乎没人想做长一些。哈利早早的上了床但是他清醒的躺力好几个小时。他记得他的职业咨询和麦格教授狂暴的宣布她要做的最后一件事就是她会帮助他成为一个傲罗。他希望他现在能表达出他对考试临近更大的雄心壮志。他知道他不是唯一清醒的躺着的人，但是在宿舍没有其他人最后还在说话的，一个接一个的，他们全都睡着了。 
　　第二天吃早饭时，没有一个五年级是谈的很多的。每一个都是，帕瓦迪当她被在她前面的盐管打痛时她正在练习她的咒语；荷米恩如此迅速的重读《迷人的成就》以至于她的眼睛越来越模糊了；而纳威让他的刀叉飘了起来咔哒咔哒的在果酱中穿梭。 
　　早餐一结束，当其他学生消失去上课时五年级的和七年级的在门厅里到处游走，然后，在九点半时，他们被一个班级一个班级的被叫道大厅中，那里确实已经被的整理成了就像哈利在冥想盆中看到的他的爸爸，天狼星和斯内普做他们自己的OWLs的那个样子；四张学院桌已经被拿走了
Chapter 33 Fight And Flight
Harry had no idea what Hermione was planning, or even whether she had a plan. He walked half a pace behind her as they headed down the corridor outside Umbridge's office, knowing it would look very suspicious if he appeared not to know where they were going. He did not dare attempt to talk to her; Umbridge was walking so closely behind them that he could hear her ragged breathing.
Hermione led the way down the stairs into the Entrance Hall. The din of loud voices and the clatter of cutlery on plates echoed from out of the double doors to the Great Hall—it seemed incredible to Harry that twenty feet away were people who were enjoying dinner, celebrating the end of exams, not a care in the world ...
Hermione walked straight out of the oak front doors and down the stone steps into the balmy evening air. The sun was falling towards the tops of the trees in the Forbidden Forest now, and as Hermione marched purposefully across the grass—Umbridge jogging to keep up—their long dark shadows rippled over the grass behind them like cloaks.
‘It's hidden in Hagrid's hut, is it?’ said Umbridge eagerly in Harry's ear.
‘Of course not,’ said Hermione scathingly. ‘Hagrid might have set it off accidentally.’
‘Yes,’ said Umbridge, whose excitement seemed to be mounting. ‘Yes, he would have done, of course, the great half-breed oaf.’
She laughed. Harry felt a strong urge to swing round and seize her by the throat, but resisted. His scar was throbbing in the soft evening air but it had not yet burned white-hot, as he knew it would if Voldemort had moved in for the kill.
‘Th en ... where is it? asked Umbridge, with a hint or uncertainty in her voice as Hermione continued to stride towards the Forest.
‘In there, of course,’ said Hermione, pointing into the dark trees. ‘It had to be somewhere that students weren't going to find it accidentally, didn't it?’ 
‘Of course,’ said Umbridge, though she sounded a little apprehensive now. ‘Of course ... very well, then ... you two stay ahead of me.’
‘Can we have your wand, then, if we're going first?’ Harry asked her.
‘No, I don't think so, Mr. Potter,’ said Umbridge sweetly, poking him in the back with it. ‘The Ministry places a rather higher value on my life than yours, I'm afraid.’
As they reached the cool shade of the first trees, Harry tried to catch Hermione's eye; walking into the Forest without wands seemed to him to be more foolhardy than anything they had done so far this evening. She, however, merely gave Umbridge a contemptuous glance and plunged straight into the trees, moving at such a pace that Umbridge, with her shorter legs, had difficulty in keeping up.
‘Is it very far in?’ Umbridge asked, as her robe ripped on a bramble.
‘Oh yes,’ said Hermione, ‘yes, it's well hidden.’
Harry's misgivings increased. Hermione was not taking the path they had followed to visit Grawp, but the one he followed three years ago to the lair of the monster Aragog. Hermione had not been with him on that occasion; he doubted she had any idea what danger lay at the end of it.
‘Er—are you sure this is the right way?’ he asked her pointedly.
‘Oh yes,’ she said in a steely voice, crashing through the undergrowth with what he thought was a wholly unnecessary amount of noise. Behind them, Umbridge tripped over a fallen sapling. Neither of them paused to help her up again; Hermione merely strode on, calling loudly over her shoulder, ‘It's a bit further in!’
‘Hermione, keep your voice down,’ Harry muttered, hurrying to catch up with her. ‘Anything could be listening in here—’
‘I want us heard,’ she answered quietly, as Umbridge jogged noisily after them. ‘You'll see ...’
They walked on for what seemed a long time, until they were once again so deep into the Forest that the dense tree canopy blocked out all light. Harry had the feeling he had had before in the Forest, one of being watched by unseen eyes.
‘How much further?’ demanded Umbridge angrily from behind him.
‘Not far now!’ shouted Hermione, as they emerged into a dim, dank clearing. ‘Just a little bit —’
An arrow flew through the air and landed with a menacing thud in the tree just over her head. The air was suddenly full of the sound of hooves; Harry could feel the Forest floor trembling; Umbridge gave a little scream and pushed him in front of her like a shield—
He wrenched himself free of her and turned. Around fifty centaurs were emerging on every side, their bows raised and loaded, pointing at Harry, Hermione and Umbridge. They backed slowly into the centre of the clearing, Umbridge uttering odd little whimpers of terror. Harry looked sideways at Hermione. She was wearing a triumphant smile.
‘Who are you?’ said a voice.
Harry looked left. The chestnut-bodied centaur called Magorian was walking towards them out of the circle: his bow, like those of the others, was raised. On Harry's right, Umbridge was still whimpering, her wand trembling violently as she pointed it at the advancing centaur.
‘I asked you who are you, human,’ said Magorian roughly.
‘I am Dolores Umbridge!’ said Umbridge in a high-pitched, terrified voice. ‘Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic and Headmistress and High Inquisitor of Hogwarts!’
‘You are from the Ministry of Magic?’ said Magorian, as many of the centaurs in the surrounding circle shifted restlessly.
‘That's right!’ said Umbridge, in an even higher voice, ‘so be very careful! By the laws laid down by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, any attack by half-breeds such as yourselves on a human—’ 
‘What did you call us?’ shouted a wild-looking black centaur, whom Harry recognised as Bane. There was a great deal of angry muttering and tightening of bowstrings around them.
‘Don't call them that!’ Hermione said furiously, but Umbridge did not appear to have heard her. Still pointing her shaking wand at Magorian, she continued, ‘Law Fifteen “B” states clearly that “any attack by a magical creature who is deemed to have near-human intelligence, and therefore considered responsible for its actions—’
‘"Near-human intelligence"?’ repeated Magorian, as Bane and several others roared with rage and pawed the ground. ‘We consider that a great insult, human! Our intelligence, thankfully, far outstrips your own.’
‘What are you doing in our Forest?’ bellowed the hard-faced grey centaur Harry and Hermione had seen on their last trip into the Forest. ‘Why are you here?’
‘Your Forest?’ said Umbridge, shaking now not only with fright but also, it seemed, with indignation. ‘I would remind you that you live here only because the Ministry of Magic permits you certain areas of land—’
An arrow flew so close to her head that it caught at her mousy hair in passing: she let out an ear-splitting scream and threw her hands over her head, while some of the centaurs bellowed their approval and others laughed raucously. The sound of their wild, neighing laughter echoing around the dimly lit clearing and the sight of their pawing hooves was extremely unnerving.
‘Whose Forest is it now, human?’ bellowed Bane.
‘Filthy half-breeds!’ she screamed, her hands still tight over her head. ‘Beasts! Uncontrolled animals!’
‘Be quiet!’ shouted Hermione, but it was too late: Umbridge pointed her wand at Magorian and screamed, ‘Incarcerous!’
Ropes flew out of midair like thick snakes, wrapping themselves tightly around the centaur's torso and trapping his arms: he gave a cry of rage and reared on to his hind legs, attempting to free himself, while the other centaurs charged.
Harry grabbed Hermione and pulled her to the ground; face down on the Forest floor, he knew a moment of terror as hooves thundered around him, but the centaurs leapt over and around them, bellowing and screaming with rage.
‘Nooooo!’ he heard Umbridge shriek. ‘Noooooo ... I am Senior Undersecretary ... you cannot—Unhand me, you animals ... nooooo!’
Harry saw a flash of red light and knew she had attempted to Stun one of them; then she screamed very loudly. Lifting his head a few inches, Harry saw that Umbridge had been seized from behind by Bane and lifted high into the air, wriggling and yelling with fright. Her wand fell from her hand to the ground, and Harry's heart leapt. If he could just reach it—’
But as he stretched out a hand towards it, a centaur's hoof descended upon the wand and it broke cleanly in half.
‘Now!’ roared a voice in Harry's ear and a thick hairy arm descended from thin air and dragged him upright. Hermione, too, had been pulled to her feet. Over the plunging, many-coloured backs and heads of the centaurs, Harry saw Umbridge being borne away through the trees by Bane. Screaming non-stop, her voice grew fainter and fainter until they could no longer hear it over the trampling of hooves surrounding them.
‘And these?’ said the hard-faced, grey centaur holding Hermione.
‘They are young,’ said a slow, doleful voice from behind Harry. ‘We do not attack foals.’
‘They brought her here, Ronan,’ replied the centaur who had such a firm grip on Harry. ‘And they are not so young ... he is nearing manhood, this one.’
He shook Harry by the neck of his robes.
‘Please,’ said Hermione breathlessly, ‘please, don't attack us, We don't think like her, we aren't Ministry of Magic employees! We only came in here because we hoped you'd drive her off for us.’
Harry knew at once, from the look on the face of the grey centaur holding Hermione, that she had made a terrible mistake in saying this. The grey centaur threw back his head, his back legs stamping furiously, and bellowed, ‘You see, Ronan? They already have the arrogance of their kind! So we were to do your dirty work, were we, human girl? We were to act as your servants, drive away your enemies like obedient hounds?’
‘No!’ said Hermione in a horrorstruck squeak. ‘Please—I didn't mean that! I just hoped you'd be able to—to help us—’
But she seemed to be going from bad to worse.
‘We do not help humans!’ snarled the centaur holding Harry, tightening his grip and rearing a little at the same time, so that Harry's feet left the ground momentarily. ‘We are a race apart and proud to be so. We will not permit you to walk from here, boasting that we did your bidding!’
‘We're not going to say anything like that!’ Harry shouted. ‘We know you didn't do what you did because we wanted you to—’
But nobody seemed to be listening to him.
A bearded centaur towards the back of the crowd shouted, ‘They came here unasked, they must pay the consequences!’
A roar of approval met these words and a dun-coloured centaur shouted, ‘They can join the woman!’
‘You said you didn't hurt the innocent!’ shouted Hermione, real tears sliding down her face now. ‘We haven't done anything to hurt you, we haven't used wands or threats, we just want to go back to school, please let us go back—’
‘We are not all like the traitor Firenze, human girl!’ shouted the grey centaur, to more neighing roars of approval from his fellows. ‘Perhaps you thought us pretty talking horses? We are an ancient people who will not stand wizard invasions and insults! We do not recognise your laws, we do not acknowledge your superiority, we are—’
But they did not hear what else centaurs were, for at that moment there came a crashing noise on the edge of the clearing so loud that all of them, Harry, Hermione and the fifty or so centaurs filling the clearing, looked around. Harry's centaur let him fall to the ground again as his hands flew to his bow and quiver of arrows. Hermione had been dropped, too, and Harry hurried towards her as two thick tree trunks parted ominously and the monstrous form of Grawp the giant appeared in the gap.
The centaurs nearest him backed into those behind; the clearing was now a forest of bows and arrows waiting to be fired, all pointing upwards at the enormous greyish face now looming over them from just beneath the thick canopy of branches. Grawp's lopsided mouth was gaping stupidly; they could see his bricklike yellow teeth glimmering in the half-light, his dull sludge-coloured eyes narrowed as he squinted down at the creatures at his feet. Broken ropes trailed from both ankles.
He opened his mouth even wider.
‘Hagger.’
Harry did not know what ‘hagger’ meant, or what language it was from, nor did he much care; he was watching Grawp's feet, which were almost as long as Harry's whole body. Hermione gripped his arm tightly; the centaurs were quite silent, staring up at the giant, whose huge, round head moved from side to side as he continued to peer amongst them as though looking for something he had dropped.
‘Hagger!’ he said again, more insistently.
‘Get away from here, giant!’ called Magorian. ‘You are not welcome among us!’
These words seemed to make no impression whatsoever on Grawp. He stooped a little (the centaurs’ arms tensed on their bows), then bellowed, ‘HAGGER!’
A few of the centaurs looked worried now. Hermione, however, gave a gasp.
‘Harry!’ she whispered. ‘I think he's trying to say “Hagrid"!’ 
At this precise moment Grawp caught sight of them, the only two humans in a sea of centaurs. He lowered his head another foot or so, staring intently at them. Harry could feel Hermione shaking as Grawp opened his mouth wide again and said, in a deep, rumbling voice, ‘Hermy.’
‘Goodness,’ said Hermione, gripping Harry's arm so tightly it was growing numb and looking as though she was about to faint, ‘he—he remembered!’
‘HERMY!’ roared Grawp. ‘WHERE HAGGER?’
‘I don't know!’ squealed Hermione, terrified. ‘I'm sorry, Grawp, I don't know!’
‘GRAWP WANT HAGGER!’
One of the giants massive hands reached down. Hermione let out a real scream, ran a few steps backwards and fell over. Devoid of a wand, Harry braced himself to punch, kick, bite or whatever else it took as the hand swooped towards him and knocked a snow-white centaur off his legs.
It was what the centaurs had been waiting for—Grawp's outstretched fingers were a foot from Harry when fifty arrows soared through the air at the giant, peppering his enormous face, causing him to howl with pain and rage and straighten up, rubbing his face with his enormous hands, breaking off the arrow shafts but forcing the arrowheads in still deeper.
He yelled and stamped his enormous feet and the centaur; scattered out of the way; pebble-sized droplets of Grawp's blood showered Harry as he pulled Hermione to her feet and the pair of them ran as fast as they could for the shelter of the trees. Once there they looked back; Grawp was snatching blindly at the centaurs as blood ran down his face; they were retreating in disorder, galloping away through the trees on the other side of the clearing. Harry and Hermione watched Grawp give another roar of fury and plunge after them, smashing more trees aside as he went.
‘Oh no,’ said Hermione, quaking so badly that her knees gave way. ‘Oh, that was horrible. And he might kill them all.’
‘I'm not that fussed, to be honest,’ said Harry bitterly.
The sounds of the galloping centaurs and the blundering giant grew fainter and fainter. As Harry listened to them, his scar gave another great throb and a wave of terror swept over him.
They had wasted so much time—they were even further from rescuing Sirius than they had been when he had had the vision. Not only had Harry managed to lose his wand but they were stuck in the middle of the Forbidden Forest with no means of transport whatsoever.
‘Smart plan,’ he spat at Hermione, having to release some of his fury. ‘Really smart plan. Where do we go from here?’
‘We need to get back up to the castle,’ said Hermione faintly.
‘By the time we've done that, Sirius'll probably be dead!’ said Harry, kicking a nearby tree in temper. A high-pitched chattering started up overhead and he looked up to see an angry Bowtruckle flexing its long twiglike fingers at him.
‘Well, we can't do anything without wands,’ said Hermione hopelessly, dragging herself up again. ‘Anyway, Harry, how exactly were you planning to get all the way to London?’
‘Yeah, we were just wondering that.’ said a familiar voice from behind her.
Harry and Hermione moved together instinctively and peered through the trees.
Ron came into sight, closely followed by Ginny, Neville and Luna. All of them looked a little the worse for wear—there were several long scratches running the length of Ginny's cheek; a large purple lump was swelling above Neville's right eye; Ron's lip was bleeding worse than ever—but all were looking rather pleased with themselves.
‘So,’ said Ron, pushing aside a low-hanging branch and holding out Harry's wand, ‘had any ideas?’
‘How did you get away?’ asked Harry in amazement, taking his wand from Ron.
‘Couple of Stunners, a Disarming Charm, Neville brought off a really nice little Impediment Jinx,’ said Ron airily, now handing back Hermione's wand, too. ‘But Ginny was best, she got Malfoy—Bat Bogey Hex—it was superb, his whole face was covered in the great flapping things. Anyway, we saw you out of the window heading into the Forest and followed. What've you done with Umbridge?’ 
‘She got carried away,’ said Harry. ‘By a herd of centaurs.’
‘And they left you behind?’ asked Ginny, looking astonished.
‘No, they got chased off by Grawp,’ said Harry.
‘Who's Grawp?’ Luna asked interestedly.
‘Hagrid's little brother,’ said Ron promptly. ‘Anyway, never mind that now. Harry, what did you find out in the fire? Has You-Know-Who got Sirius or—?’ 
‘Yes,’ said Harry, as his scar gave another painful prickle, ‘and I'm sure Sirius is still alive, but I can't see how we're going to get there to help him.’
They all fell silent, looking rather scared; the problem facing them seemed insurmountable.
‘Well, we'll have to fly, won't we?’ said Luna, in the closest thing to a matter-of-fact voice Harry had ever heard her use.
‘OK,’ said Harry irritably, rounding on her. ‘First of all, “we” aren't doing anything if you're including yourself in that, and second of all, Ron's me only one with a broomstick that isn't being guarded by a security troll, so—’
‘I've got a broom!’ said Ginny.
‘Yeah, but you're not coming,’ said Ron angrily.
‘Excuse me, but I care what happens to Sirius as much as you do!’ said Ginny, her jaw set so that her resemblance to Fred and George was suddenly striking.
‘You're too—’ Harry began, but Ginny said fiercely, ‘I'm three years older than you were when you fought You-Know-Who over the Philosophers Stone, and it's because of me that Malfoy's stuck back in Umbridge's office with giant flying bogies attacking him—’
‘Yeah, but—’
‘We were all in the DA together,’ said Neville quietly. ‘It was all supposed to be about fighting You-Know-Who, wasn't it? And this is the first chance we've had to do something real—or was that all just a game or something?’ 
‘No—of course it wasn't—’ said Harry impatiently.
‘Then we should come too,’ said Neville simply. ‘We want to help.’
‘That's right,’ said Luna, smiling happily.
Harry's eyes met Ron's. He knew Ron was thinking exactly what he was: if he could have chosen any members of the DA, in addition to himself, Ron and Hermione, to join him in the attempt to rescue Sirius, he would not have picked Ginny, Neville or Luna.
‘Well, it doesn't matter, anyway,’ said Harry through gritted teeth, ‘because we still don't know how to get there—’
‘I thought we'd settled that,’ said Luna maddeningly. ‘We're flying!’
‘Look,’ said Ron, barely containing his anger, ‘you might be able to fly without a broomstick but the rest of us can't sprout wings whenever we—’
‘There are ways of flying other than with broomsticks,’ said Luna serenely.
‘I s'pose we're going to ride on the back of the Kacky Snorgle or whatever it is?’ Ron demanded.
‘The Crumple-Horned Snorkack can't fly,’ said Luna in a dignified voice, ‘but they can, and Hagrid says they're very good at finding places their riders are looking for.’
Harry whirled round. Standing between two trees, their white eyes gleaming eerily, were two Thestrals, watching the whispered conversation as though they understood every word.
‘Yes!’ he whispered, moving towards them. They tossed their reptilian heads, throwing back long black manes, and Harry stretched out his hand eagerly and patted the nearest one's shining neck; how could he ever have thought them ugly? 
‘Is it those mad horse things?’ said Ron uncertainly, staring at a point slightly to the left of the Thestral Harry was patting. ‘Those ones you can't see unless you've watched someone snuff it?’
‘Yeah,’ said Harry.
‘How many?’
‘Just two.’
‘Well, we need three,’ said Hermione, who was still looking a little shaken, but determined just the same.
‘Four, Hermione,’ said Ginny, scowling.
‘I think there are six of us, actually,’ said Luna calmly, counting.
‘Don't be stupid, we can't all go!’ said Harry angrily. ‘Look, you three—’ he pointed at Neville, Ginny and Luna, ‘you're not involved in this, you're not—’
They burst into more protests. His scar gave another, more painful, twinge. Every moment they delayed was precious; he did not have time to argue.
‘OK, fine, it's your choice,’ he said curtly, ‘but unless we can find more Thestrals you're not going to be able—’
‘Oh, more of them will come,’ said Ginny confidently, who like Ron was squinting in quite the wrong direction, apparently under the impression that she was looking at the horses.
‘What makes you think that?’
‘Because, in case you hadn't noticed, you and Hermione are both covered in blood,’ she said coolly, ‘and we know Hagrid lures Thestrals with raw meat. That's probably why these two turned up in the first place.’
Harry felt a soft tug on his robes at that moment and looked down to see the closest Thestral licking his sleeve, which was damp with Grawp's blood.
‘OK, then,’ he said, a bright idea occurring, ‘Ron and I will take these two and go ahead, and Hermione can stay here with you three and she'll attract more Thestrals—’
‘I'm not staying behind!’ said Hermione furiously.
‘There's no need,’ said Luna, smiling. ‘Look, here come more now ... you two must really smell ...’
Harry turned: no fewer than six or seven Thestrals were picking their way through the trees, their great leathery wings folded tight to their bodies, their eyes gleaming through the darkness. He had no excuse now.
‘All right,’ he said angrily, ‘pick one and get on, then.’
哈利对荷米恩正在计划着什么一无所知，他甚至不知道她是否有过计划。他隔着半步之遥的距离跟在荷米恩身后，跟她一起穿过昂布瑞吉办公室外面的走廊。免得被昂布瑞吉知道他根本不明白他们要去哪里。他不敢跟她说话，因为昂布瑞吉正紧跟在他们身后，近得能让哈利听到她粗重的呼吸声。 
　　荷米恩领着他们走下楼梯，进入门廊。高声的喧嚣和盘子上的餐具发出的“哗啦”声穿过双重门，在门廊里回响。哈利简直难以置信，在二十步远的地方竟有人正享用着晚餐，庆祝着测验的结束，而对其他的一切都漠不关心。 
　　荷米恩径直穿过几道橡胶门，走下石梯，进入傍晚温和的空气中。现在，太阳正向着禁林中最高的树丛缓缓西沉。荷米恩果断地穿过草地，昂布瑞吉在后面慢跑着跟上她。他们身后的长长的影子象黑色的斗篷般掠过草地。 
　　“它曾被藏在哈格力的小屋里，对吗？” 昂布瑞吉急切地在哈利耳边说。 “当然不是，” 荷米恩义正辞严地说，“哈格力也许是不小心把它放走的。” “是的。” 昂布瑞吉说，她开始激动起来，“是的，他确实可能这么做，当然，那个畸形的大块头混血儿！” 她笑了起来。哈利感到一种想转过身来掐住她脖子的强烈欲望，但他忍住了。他额头上的疤痕在柔和的晚风里抽痛着，但是相较起他感应到伏地魔正周旋在他身边想要杀害他时的那种灼痛，这还不算什么。 
　　当荷米恩继续大步走向森林时，昂布瑞吉的嗓音中透出一丝怀疑：“那么，它在哪里？” 
　　“当然就在那里。” 荷米恩指着黑黝黝的树木说，“那得是个不会因意外而被学生们发现的地方，不是吗？” “当然，” 昂布瑞吉感到有些理解了，“当然，很好，那么，你们两个走在我前面。” “如果要让我们先进去，那么，把你的魔杖交给我们好吗？”哈利问她。 
　　“不，我可不那么认为，波特先生，” 昂布瑞吉一边甜甜地说，一边用魔杖指着哈利的脊背，“我恐怕得说，对魔法部而言，我的生命的价值比你们的要高得多。” 当他们到达第一棵树阴冷的影子下时，哈利试着想吸引荷米恩的注意；在他看来，不带魔杖就进入这片森林是他们迄今为止所做过的最愚勇的事了。而她却只是轻蔑地瞥了昂布瑞吉一眼便径直跳入树丛中。她走得很快，长着一双短腿的昂布瑞吉只能勉强跟上她的速度。 
　　当昂布瑞吉的长袍一株荆棘割裂后，她终于忍不住问“那还很远吗？” 
　　“是的，” 荷米恩答道，“它被隐藏得很好。” 哈利的不安在渐渐增加。荷米恩走的那条路不是去Grawp的那条，而是他三年前走过的那条通向怪兽Aragog的巢穴的路。那一次荷米恩并不在场；他开始怀疑她是否知道有什么危险在路的那头等待着她。 
　　“恩，你确定我们走对了路？”他突兀地问道。 
　　“哦，是的，”她坚定地说道，一边穿过下层丛生，发出他认为完全不必要的巨大噪音。他们身后的昂布瑞吉被一棵小树苗绊了一跤，但他们都没有停下来扶她，荷米恩只是继续大步前行，同时越过她的肩大声喊道，“很快就到了！” 
　　“荷米恩，别那么大声。”哈利一边咕哝，一边匆匆赶上她，“这里的所有东西都可能正在倾听着……” 
　　“我正想让我们的声音被听到，”她不动声色地说道，这时，昂布瑞吉正吵闹地从后面慢跑向上来。“你会知道的。” 她补充说。 他们又走了很长一段时间，直到他们又一次进入了被浓密的树阴遮住所有光亮的禁林深处。哈利又感到了那种他在这个森林里曾有过的感觉——那种被许多看不见的眼睛注视着的感觉。 
　　“还有多远？” 昂布瑞吉在他身后愤怒地问道。 “现在不远了！” 荷米恩叫喊道，他们走到了一块暗淡而又潮湿的空地上，“只有一点……” 一支箭破空而来，惊险地从她头上飞过，重重地击到树上。空气中突然充满了蹄声；哈利可以感觉到禁林的地面正在颤动着；昂布瑞吉发出一声惊叫，把哈利推到自己身前作为挡箭牌。 
　　哈利奋力挣扎，从她手中逃脱了。大约五十头半人马兽从四面八方浮现。他们举起弓，上好箭，瞄准了哈利、荷米恩和昂布瑞吉。他们缓缓向空地中间行进。昂布瑞吉只余下因恐惧而发出呜咽的力气了。哈利看向一旁的荷米恩，她脸上正绽放着胜利的微笑。 
　　“你是谁？”一个声音问道。 
　　哈利看向左边，为首（chestnut-bodied）的一只叫Magorian的半人马兽正离开包围圈向他们走来。他象其他半人马兽一样，高举着弓。哈利右侧的昂布瑞吉仍然呜咽着，她指向面前的半人马兽的魔杖剧烈地抖动着。 
　　“我问你是谁，人类。” Magorian粗暴地说。 
　　“我是Dolores 昂布瑞吉！” 昂布瑞吉用她那尖锐的、受了惊的嗓音说道，“魔法部高级副部长兼Hogwarts的副校长和高级检查官。” 
　　“你是魔法部的？” Magorian说道，此时许多包围圈中的半人马兽慌张地移动起来。 
　　“没错！” 昂布瑞吉把声音提得更高了，“所以给我小心点！根据神奇生物管理和调节部门颁布的条例，任何像你们这样的混血生物对人类进行攻击都……” “你管我们叫什么？”一只看起来很狂野的黑色半人马吼道，哈利认出了他，他是Bane。他们周围响起了一片愤怒的低吼，密密麻麻的弓箭齐刷刷指向他们。 
　　“别这么叫他们！” 荷米恩急切地说道，但看来昂布瑞吉似乎没有听到她的话。 她仍然瑟瑟发抖地用魔杖指着Magorian，继续说道，“第十五条法令的‘B’项清楚的写着：‘任何被认为有近乎人类智慧的神奇生物对人类的袭击都……’” 
　　“‘近乎人类智慧’？” Magorian重复道，Bane和其他的半人马兽都愤怒地咆哮起来，用脚掌使劲蹬着地。“我们认为这对我们而言是一个极大的侮辱，人类！我们的智慧，谢天谢地，远在人类之上！” 
　　“你们在我们的林子里干什么？”一头面目可憎的灰色人马兽对他们吼道：“你们为什么来这儿？” 
　　“你们的林子？” 昂布瑞吉现在不只因为害怕而战栗了，她看起来还带点愤怒：“我想提醒你，你们可以在这里生活是因为魔法部允许让你们在某块领域……” 一支箭向着她的头飞了过来，插到她鼠臭的发丝中。她发出了一声震耳欲聋的尖叫，把手甩过自己的头。一些半人马兽吼叫着表示赞许，另外一些粗声大笑起来。他们狂野的、如马嘶声般的笑声在微光的空地上回荡着，他们蹬着蹄子，令人观之丧胆。 
　　“现在，这是谁的林子啊，人类？” Bane吼道。 
　　“五十个混血杂种！”她尖叫着，她的手仍死死地捂着自己的头，“畜生！不服管的动物！” 
　　“住嘴！” 荷米恩喊道。但已经太迟了：昂布瑞吉把魔杖指向Magorian，叫道：“Incarcerous！” 
　　绳索像粗蛇一样纷纷从半空中飞来，自动地把半人马兽的躯体捆得紧紧的，使他的胳膊动弹不得。他发出一声怒吼，用后腿人立起来，试图挣脱枷锁，其他的半人马兽们都为之动容。 
　　哈利一把抓过荷米恩，把她拉倒在地，跟她一起俯卧到森林地被物上。在像响雷似的蹄声在他四围响起时，他有那么一瞬间感到了恐怖。但半人马兽们从他们身上跃了过去，愤怒地咆哮着，恼火地尖叫着。 
　　“不~~~！”他听到昂布瑞吉的尖声叫喊，“不~~~~。我是个高级副部长，你们不能…！放开我，你们这些畜生。不~~~~~！” 
　　哈利看到红光一闪，于是知道她刚才曾试图使一只半人马兽晕眩过去。然后她大声尖叫起来。哈利把头抬高了几英尺，看到昂布瑞吉已经被Bane从后面抓住，并被高高地举了起来，她正惊骇地在半空中扭动着、呼喊着。她的魔杖从她手中掉到了地上。哈利心中一动：如果他可以碰到它…… 
　　但当他将手伸向它时，一只半人马兽的蹄子向魔杖踩了下来，它一下子就断成了两截。 
　　“好了！”哈利的耳中传来一声怒吼，接着，一只毛茸茸的粗手臂从稀薄的空气中伸下来，扶起了哈利。Hermione也同样被扶起来，站直了身子。哈利看到，在跃进着的半人马兽杂色背部和头部上方，被Bane扔出的昂布瑞吉正在不停地尖叫着飞越过树丛，她的声音越来越微弱，最后终于被周围的蹄声所淹没了。 
　　“这些家伙要怎么处理？”那头抓着荷米恩的难看的灰色半人马兽问。 
　　“他们是年轻人，”一个阴郁的声音在哈利背后缓缓说道，“我们不攻击幼驹。” 
　　“是他们把她带来的，Ronan。”那只紧抓着哈利的半人马兽说道，“他们也并不太年轻。他都快成年了，我是说这个家伙。” 
　　他揪着哈利的长袍领子，拎起他晃了晃。 
　　“拜托你们，” 荷米恩喘息着说，“请不要攻击我们。我们并不喜欢她，我们也不是魔法部的雇员！我们进入这里只不过是为了想要借助你们来摆脱她。” 哈利马上从抓着荷米恩的那只灰色半人马兽脸上的表情看出她刚刚说那些话是犯了一个天大的错误。那只灰色半人马兽立即转过头，他暴跳如雷地吼道：“你看到了吗，Ronan？他们身上已经出现了成年人的傲慢态度！那么说我们刚才是在为你做那些肮脏的事喽，是吗，人类女孩？我们刚刚就好象你的仆人一样，像驯服的猎犬一样为你们驱走敌人。” 
　　“不！” 荷米恩被吓坏了，她惶恐地尖声说道：“请……我刚才不是那个意思！我只是希望你们能够…能够帮助我们…” 但情况看来越来越糟。 
　　“我们不帮助人类！”抓着哈利的半人马兽咆哮道，同时他又将哈利抓紧了一点并稍微直起了身子，哈利的脚立刻离开了地面。“我们是一个不同于人类的种族，我们也为此感到很骄傲。我们不会允许你们走出这里，去向他人夸耀你们曾经得到过我们的邀请。” 
　　“我们才不会那样说呢！”哈利叫喊道，“我们知道刚刚你们不是因为我们的意愿才去做你们刚才做的事……” 
　　但似乎没有人在听他讲话。 
　　一只长着胡须的半人马兽在兽群后面叫喊道：“他们不经允许就闯入这里，他们必须对此付出代价！” 
　　兽群爆发出一阵赞同的咆哮声，一只暗褐色的半人马兽吼道：“让他们跟那个女人一样！” 
　　“你们说过你们从不伤害无辜！” 荷米恩叫嚷道，几行清泪正从她脸上滑落下来，“我们没有做过任何伤害你们的事，我们没有对你们使用魔杖或威胁恐吓，我们只是想返回学校，请放我们回去。” “我们并不都像Firenze那个叛逆者一样，人类女孩！”灰色半人马兽咆哮道，他的同伴爆发出一阵更响亮的赞同的吼声，“你们把我们当作一群漂亮的会说话的马？我们是一个古老的种族，我们不会对巫师的入侵和凌辱逆来顺受！我们不承认你们的法令，我们也不承认你们的优越性，我们是……” 
　　但他们没有听到半人马兽到底是什么，因为那时空地边缘处传来了一声巨响。他们所有人，包括哈利、荷米恩以及大约五十只半人马兽都挤到了空地上，向四周张望。原本抓着哈利的那只半人马兽送开手去取他的弓箭，害得哈利重重地跌倒在地。荷米恩也被丢到了地上。当哈利匆匆向她走去时，两棵粗大的树干却象中了邪似的分开了，裂开处出现了巨兽Grawp的恐怖形象。 
　　他左近的半人马兽纷纷回到了后面的半人马兽群中，空旷地现在变成了一片弓和箭的海洋，齐刷刷指向正从树篷中向他们迫近的那张巨大的灰色脸孔，形势一触即发。Grawp的歪嘴愚蠢地大张着。他们可以看到他象砖头一样的黄牙正在暗光中微微地发亮。当他向下斜视那些在他脚边的半人马兽时，他那呆滞的、淤泥色的眼睛眯成了一条缝。他的两个脚踝上都有绳索断裂的痕迹。 
　　他把嘴张得更大了。 
　　“哈格。” 
　　哈利并不清楚“哈格”是什么意思，也不知道它来自于何种语言，其实他对这也并不非常在意。他正看着Grawp的脚，它几乎跟哈利的整个身子一样长。荷米恩抓紧了他的胳膊。半人马兽群一片寂静，他们向上凝视着Grawp，他继续向他们中间窥视着，那颗巨大的圆形头颅不停地从一侧转向另外一侧，好象在找他遗落了的什么东西。 
　　“哈格！”他又一次叫道，声音更加强硬。 
　　“离开这儿，巨兽！” Magorian说，“你不受我们的欢迎！” 
　　这些话似乎完全没有对Grawp造成任何影响。他微微俯下身子（半人马兽用手紧拉开弓），然后吼叫道，“哈格！” 
　　为数不多的几只半人马兽脸上出现了紧张的神色。荷米恩倒吸了一口气。 
　　“哈利！”她耳语道，“我认为他想说的是‘哈格力’！” 
　　正在此时，Grawp看到了他们这两个半人马兽海洋中仅有的人类。他又把头低下了一英尺左右，专注地盯着他们。当Grawp再次张大了他的嘴，用低沉的、带着隆隆声的嗓音说“赫米”时，哈利可以感觉到身边的荷米恩正发着抖。 
　　“天哪！” 荷米恩说道，哈利的胳膊快要被她抓得失去知觉了，而她看起来象是快要昏厥过去，“他—他还记得！” “赫米！” Grawp吼叫道，“哈格在哪里？” 
　　“我不知道，” 受了惊的荷米恩长声尖叫道，“我很抱歉，Grawp，我不知道！” 
　　“GRAWP想要哈格！” 
　　Giant突然把一只手向下伸来，荷米恩发出了一声真正的尖叫，向后跑了不几步便摔倒在地。但哈利看到那只手把一头雪白的半人马兽撞翻在地，正向他伸来，没带魔杖的哈利竭尽踢、咬、撞等一切所能，避免被Giant捉走。 
　　这正是一个半人马兽群等待已久的时机。当Grawp伸出的手指离哈利还有一英尺远时，半人马兽群万箭齐发，射向巨兽，刺痛了他那巨大的脸孔，他痛苦地怒吼着直起身，用巨大的手摩擦着他的脸，却只折断了箭杆，反而让箭头更深的进入他的皮肤。 
　　他跺着脚大声吼叫，半人马兽四处奔散。当哈利一把拉开荷米恩时，Grawp豆大的血滴溅到了他的头上。哈利和荷米恩用他们所能达到的最快速度，跑向树丛的遮蔽处。他们躲在那儿，回头观望，只见Grawp脸上滴着血，正盲目地向半人马兽抓去。他们混乱无序地撤退着，向空地另一边的树丛飞奔而去。哈利和荷米恩看到Grawp再次怒吼一声，跳到半人马兽群的后面，追逐着他们，一旁的树木在追逐过程中被他踩得粉碎。 
　　“噢，不！” 荷米恩说道，她因为地面的剧烈震动而站不稳脚，“噢！那真可怕，他也许会把他们杀光的！” “坦白说，我对此并不会感到惊讶。” Harry勉力站立着说。 
　　半人马兽的奔驰声和巨兽笨拙的脚步声渐渐远去，当他听着他们远去时，他的额上的疤痕又一次剧烈地抽痛起来，他的心头扫过一种不祥的感觉。 
　　他们已经浪费了太多的时间——他们已在不知不觉中远离了拯救天狼星的初衷。不仅哈利失去了他的魔杖，他们还被困在了禁林中央，而这里是不可能找到任何运输工具的。 
　　“好主意，”他对荷米恩大喊大叫，发泄着心中的怒气，“真是个好主意。我们现在要到去哪里？” 
　　“我们必须返回那个城堡，” 荷米恩心虚地含糊说道。 “等我们回到那儿的时候，天狼星大概都已经死了！”哈利一边说，一边怒气冲冲地踢向身旁的树木。一声尖锐的鸟鸣在他头顶上响起，他抬起头，看到一只愤怒的Bowtruckle正把它那长长的、看起来象树枝似的手指曲向自己。 
　　“是的，没有了魔杖，我们不能做任何事。” 荷米恩绝望地说道，然后她又直起身来，“不管怎样，哈利，请你详细告诉我，你本来是打算怎样一路到伦敦的？” “哦，我们刚才也在思考这个问题。”一个熟悉的声音从她背后传来。 
　　哈利和荷米恩本能地紧靠在一起，凝视着树丛。 
　　罗恩出现在他们眼前，紧跟在他身后的是金妮、奈威还有露娜。他们的穿着看起来都有些不妙——金妮的脸颊上有几道很长的划痕，奈威的右眼上肿了一块；更糟糕的是，罗恩的嘴唇正在流着血——但是他们看起来都非常高兴。 
　　“那么，”罗恩把一根低垂下来的树枝推到一边，将哈利的魔杖交到他的手上，“想出什么主意了没有？” 
　　“你们怎么跑出来的？”哈利一边从罗恩手中接过魔杖，一边惊讶地说道。 
　　“我们有一对出色的人儿，和解除武器的魔咒，奈威施了一个绝妙的障碍重重咒，”罗恩快活地说着，一边把荷米恩的魔杖交回她手中，“但金妮是最棒的，她对马尔夫施了蝙蝠妖怪咒——那棒极了，他的整个脸都被那些鼓翼而飞的大怪物给覆盖了。总之，我们从窗户里看到你们走进了森林，因此尾随而来。你们对昂布瑞吉做了什么？” 
　　“她被赶走了，”哈利说，“被一群半人马兽。” 
　　“然后他们把你们留在这里？” 金妮一脸惊讶。 “不，他们被Grawp追逐着逃走了。”哈利说。 
　　“Grawp是谁？” 露娜感兴趣地问道 
　　“哈格力的小兄弟，”罗恩迅速答道，“不管怎样，现在那已经不重要了。哈利，你在火中找到了什么？那个人已经捉到了天狼星还是……” 
　　“是的，”哈利说，他的疤痕又一次抽痛了，“我坚信天狼星还活着，但是我不知道我们怎样才能到那儿去救他。” 
　　谁也没有说话，他们都一脸惊惧，他们面临着一个难以解决的问题。 
　　“那么，我们只好用飞的，不是吗？” 露娜用哈利以前经常听到的自以为是的嗓音说道。 “好吧，”哈利暴躁地反驳她道，“首先，如果你把你也包括在‘我们’中的话，我们就什么事也做不成。其次，罗恩是唯一一个拥有飞天扫帚的人，而且他的扫帚没有安全装置的保护，因此……” 
　　“我有一把飞天扫帚！” 金妮说。 
　　“是的，但是你不一起去。”罗恩生气地说道。 
　　“对不起，但是我对天狼星的关心程度并不亚于你们！”金妮说道，她撅起下巴的样子暴露出她与弗来德和乔治惊人的相似之处。 
　　“你太……”哈利刚一开口，金妮就激动地打断了他，“我现在已经比你们在Philosopher的密室里对付那个人的时候长大了三岁，而且也是因为我马尔夫才因受到巨大的飞行怪的袭击而被困回在昂布瑞吉的办公室里。……” 
　　“是的，但是……” 
　　“我们都是DA组织的一员，” 奈威镇定自若地说道，“我们之所以创建这个组织是为了和那个人抗争，不是吗？那么这就是我们第一次要真刀真枪地干些正事的时候了——还是说那难道只是一个游戏或别的什么？” “不，当然不是。”哈利不耐烦地说道。 
　　“那么，我们也要一起去，” 奈威简单的说，“我们想要帮助你们。” “是的！” 露娜开心地笑起来。 
　　哈利跟罗恩对视了片刻，便明白罗恩跟他的想法一样：如果他可以在DA的成员中任意挑选营救天狼星的人员的话，除自己外，他会选择罗恩和荷米恩，而不会选择金妮、奈威或者露娜。 
　　“好的，不管怎么说，现在这并不重要。”哈利咬着牙说，“因为我们仍然不知道怎样才能到达那儿…” 
　　“我认为这是明摆着的，” 露娜再次令人恼火地说道，“我们可以用飞的！” “看看吧！”罗恩几乎忍不住要发火了，“你不用飞天扫帚就可以飞行，但是我们其余的人可长不出翅膀来，不论何时都…” 
　　“有个方法不用飞天扫帚也能让你们飞起来。” 露娜沉着地说道。 “骑在Kacky Snorgle或者其他什么能飞行的生物身上？” 罗恩一脸嘲讽地挖苦道。 “Crumple-Horned Snorkack是不会飞的，” 露娜用一种威严的声调说道，“但是Thestrals可以，哈格力说它们很善于寻找骑者想去的地方。” 
　　哈利迅速转过身，看到两头Thestrals正站在树丛中，他们白色的眼睛泛着微光，注视着他们谈话，象是能听懂每个字似的。 
　　“太好了！”他低语着向他们走去。它们晃着爬虫似的脑袋，抖动着长长的黑色棕毛。哈利急切地向离自己较近的一只伸出了手，拍了拍它光亮的脖子；他以前怎么会认为它们丑陋呢？ 
　　“那是疯马之类的东西吗？”罗恩盯着正被哈利拍打着的那头Thestral，一脸狐疑地问道，“就是那些只有目睹过死亡的人才能看见的东西？” 
　　“是的。”哈利说道。 
　　“有几只？” 
　　“只有两只。” 
　　“但是我们需要三只。” 尽管荷米恩看起来还在轻微地颤抖着，但她依然坚决如常。 “是四只，荷米恩。” 金妮闷闷不乐地说。 “实际上，我认为这里有六个人。” 露娜一边说，一边认真的计算着人数。 “别傻了，我们不能都去！”哈利生气地说道，“听着，你们三个…”他指向了奈威、金妮和露娜，“你们并没有被牵涉在内，你们并不……” 
　　他们提出了更多的抗议。他的疤痕突然又抽痛起来，这次比前两次要更疼。现在每一秒都很宝贵，他没有时间跟他们争辩了。 
　　“好了，这仅仅是你们的意愿，”他简单地说，“但是除非我们能找到更多的Thestrals，否则你们就不能……” 
　　“噢，会有更多的Thestrals到这儿来的。”金妮自信满满地说道。 
　　“为什么你会那么想？” 
　　“因为，你没有留意到，你和荷米恩都浑身是血，”她气定神闲地说，“而我们都知道哈格力是用生肉来喂食Thestral的。也许这就是这两头Thestrals出现在这里的原因。” 
　　这时哈利突然感到好象有什么东西在拖住他的长袍，于是他低下头，看到离他较近的那头Thestral正在舔着他那只被Grawp的血液润湿了的袖子。 
　　“好吧，那么，”他马上有了主意，“罗恩和我骑在这两头Thestral身上先走。荷米恩和你们留在这里，她会吸引来更多的Thestral……” 
　　“我不要呆在这里！” 荷米恩狂暴地说道。 “而且现在也已经没有必要了，” 露娜笑着说道，“看，已经有更多的Thestral过来了，看来你们两个身上的血腥味真的很浓。” 
　　哈利转过身，看到不下七头Thestral正奔过树丛，它们象皮革似的巨大翅膀收拢在身体两侧，它们的眼睛在黑暗中闪闪发光。他现在没有任何借口了。 
　　“好吧，”他怒气冲冲地说，“那么，捉住它们，然后骑到它们身上。” 
Chapter 34 The Department Of Mysteries
Harry wound his hand tightly into the mane of the nearest Thestral, placed a foot on a stump nearby and scrambled clumsily on to the horse's silken back. It did not object, but twisted its head around, fangs bared, and attempted to continue its eager licking of his robes.
He found there was a way of lodging his knees behind the wing joints that made him feel more secure, then looked around at the others. Neville had heaved himself over the back of the next Thestral and was now attempting to swing one short leg over the creature's back. Luna was already in place, sitting side-saddle and adjusting her robes as though she did this every day. Ron, Hermione and Ginny, however, were still standing motionless on the spot, open-mouthed and staring.
‘What?’ he said.
‘How're we supposed to get on?’ said Ron faintly. ‘When we can't see the things?’
‘Oh, it's easy,’ said Luna, sliding obligingly from her Thestral and marching over to him, Hermione and Ginny. ‘Come here ...’
She pulled them over to the other Thestrals standing around and one by one managed to help them on to the back of their mount. All three looked extremely nervous as she wound their hands into their horses mane and told them to grip tightly before she got back on to her own steed.
‘This is mad,’ Ron murmured, moving his free hand gingerly up and down his horse's neck. ‘Mad ... if I could just see it—’
‘You'd better hope it stays invisible,’ said Harry darkly. ‘We all ready, then?’
They all nodded and he saw live pairs of knees tighten beneath their robes.
‘OK ...’
He looked down at the back of his Thestral's glossy black head and swallowed.
‘Ministry of Magic, visitors’ entrance, London, then,’ he said uncertainly. ‘Er ... if you know ... where to go ...’
For a moment Harry's Thestral did nothing at all; then, with a sweeping movement that nearly unseated him, the wings on either side extended; the horse crouched slowly, then rocketed upwards so fast and so steeply that Harry had to clench his arms and legs tightly around the horse to avoid sliding backwards over its bony rump. He closed his eyes and pressed his face down into the horses silky mane as they burst through the topmost branches of the trees and soared out into a blood-red sunset.
Harry did not think he had ever moved so fast: the Thestral streaked over the castle, its wide wings hardly beating; the cooling air was slapping Harry's face; eyes screwed up against the rushing wind, he looked round and saw his five fellows soaring along behind him, each of them bent as low as possible into the neck of their Thestral to protect themselves from his slipstream.
They were over the Hogwarts grounds, they had passed Hogsmeade; Harry could see mountains and gullies below them. As the daylight began to fail, Harry saw small collections of lights as they passed over more villages, then a winding road on which a single car was beetling its way home through the hills ...
‘This is bizarre!’ Harry barely heard Ron yell from somewhere behind him, and he imagined how it must feel to be speeding along at this height with no visible means of support.
Twilight fell: the sky was turning to a light, dusky purple littered with tiny silver stars, and soon only the lights of Muggle towns gave them any clue of how far from the ground they were, or how very fast they were travelling. Harry's arms were wrapped tightly around his horse's neck as he willed it to go even faster. How much time had elapsed since he had seen Sirius lying on the Department of Mysteries floor? How much longer would Sirius be able to resist Voldemort? All Harry knew for sure was that his godfather had neither done as Voldemort wanted, nor died, for he was convinced that either outcome would have caused him to feel Voldemort's jubilation or fury course through his own body, making his scar sear as painfully as it had on the night Mr. Weasley was attacked.
On they flew through the gathering darkness; Harry's face felt stiff and cold, his legs numb from gripping the Thestral's sides so tightly, but he did not dare shift his position lest he slip ... he was deaf from the thundering rush of air in his ears, and his mouth was dry and frozen from the cold night wind. He had lost all sense of how far they had come; all his faith was in the beast beneath him, still streaking purposefully through the night, barely flapping its wings as it sped ever onwards.
If they were too late ...
He's still alive, he's still fighting, I can feel it ...
If Voldemort decided Sirius was not going to crack ...
I'd know ...
Harry's stomach gave a jolt; the Thestral's head was suddenly pointing towards the ground and he actually slid forwards a few inches along its neck. They were descending at last ... he thought he heard a shriek behind him and twisted around dangerously, but could see no sign of a falling body ... presumably they had all received a shock from the change of direction, just as he had.
And now bright orange lights were growing larger and rounder on all sides; they could see the tops of buildings, streams of headlights like luminous insect eyes, squares of pale yellow that were windows. Quite suddenly, it seemed, they were hurtling towards the pavement; Harry gripped the Thestral with every last ounce of his strength, braced for a sudden impact, but the horse touched the dark ground as lightly as a shadow and Harry slid from its back, looking around at the street where the overflowing skip still stood a short way from the vandalised telephone box, both drained of colour in the flat orange glare of the streetlights.
Ron landed a short way off and toppled immediately from his Thestral on to the pavement.
‘Never again,’ he said, struggling to his feet. He made as though to stride away from his Thestral, but, unable to see it, collided with its hindquarters and almost fell over again. Never, ever again ... that was the worst—’
Hermione and Ginny touched down on either side of him: both slid off their mounts a little more gracefully than Ron, though with similar expressions of relief at being back on firm ground; Neville jumped down, shaking; and Luna dismounted smoothly.
‘Where do we go from here, then?’ she asked Harry in a politely interested voice, as though this was all a rather interesting day-trip.
‘Over here,’ he said. He gave his Thestral a quick, grateful pat, then led the way quickly to the battered telephone box and opened the door. ‘Come on!’ he urged the others, as they hesitated.
Ron and Ginny marched in obediently; Hermione, Neville and Luna squashed themselves in after them; Harry took one glance back at the Thestrals, now foraging for scraps of rotten food inside the skip, then forced himself into the box after Luna.
‘Whoever's nearest the receiver, dial six two four four two!’ he said.
Ron did it, his arm bent bizarrely to reach the dial; as it whirred back into place the cool female voice sounded inside the box.
‘Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business.’ 
‘Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger,’ Harry said very quickly, ‘Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood ... we're here to save someone, unless your Ministry can do it first!’
‘Thank you,’ said the cool female voice. ‘Visitors, please take the badges and attach them to the front of your robes.’
Half a dozen badges slid out of the metal chute where returned coins normally appeared. Hermione scooped them up and handed them mutely to Harry over Ginny's head; he glanced at the topmost one, Harry Potter,Rescue Mission.
‘Visitors to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wands for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium.’
‘Fine!’ Harry said loudly, as his scar gave another throb. ‘Now can we move?’
The floor of the telephone box shuddered and the pavement rose up past its glass windows; the scavenging Thestrals were sliding out of sight; blackness closed over their heads and with a dull grinding noise they sank down into the depths of the Ministry of Magic.
A chink of soft golden light hit their feet and, widening, rose up their bodies. Harry bent his knees and held his wand as ready as he could in such cramped conditions as he peered through the glass to see whether anybody was waiting for them in the Atrium, but it seemed, to be completely empty. The light was dimmer than it had been by day; there were no fires burning under the mantelpieces set into the walls, but as the lift slid smoothly to a halt he saw that golden symbols continued to twist sinuously in the dark blue ceiling.
‘The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant evening,’ said the woman's voice.
The door of the telephone box burst open; Harry toppled out of it, closely followed by Neville and Luna. The only sound in the Atrium was the steady rush of water from the golden fountain, where jets from the wands of the witch and wizard, the point of the centaur's arrow, the tip of the goblin's hat and the house-elf's ears continued to gush into the surrounding pool.
‘Come on, said Harry quietly and the six of them sprinted off down the hall, Harry in the lead, past the fountain towards the desk where the watchwizard who had weighed Harry's wand had sat, and which was now deserted.
Harry felt sure there ought to be a security person there, sure their absence was an ominous sign, and his feeling of foreboding increased as they passed through the golden gates to the lifts. He pressed the nearest ‘down’ button and a lift clattered into sight almost immediately, the golden grilles slid apart with a great, echoing clanking and they dashed inside. Harry stabbed the number nine button; the grilles closed with a bang and the lift began to descend, jangling and rattling. Harry had not realised how noisy the lifts were on the day he had come with Mr. Weasley; he was sure the din would raise every security person within the building, yet when the lilt halted, the cool female voice said, ‘Department of Mysteries,’ and the grilles slid open. They stepped out into the corridor where nothing was moving out but the nearest torches, flickering in the rush of air from the lift.
Harry turned towards the plain black door. After months and months of dreaming about it, he was here at last.
‘Let's go,’ he whispered, and he led the way down the corridor, Luna right behind him, gazing around with her mouth slightly open.
‘OK, listen,’ said Harry, stopping again within six feet of the door. ‘Maybe ... maybe a couple of people should stay here as a—as a lookout, and—’ 
‘And how're we going to let you know something's coming?’ asked Ginny, her eyebrows raised. ‘You could be miles away.’
‘We're coming with you, Harry,’ said Neville.
‘Let's get on with it,’ said Ron firmly.
Harry still did not want to take them all with him, but it seemed he had no choice. He turned to face the door and walked forwards ... just as it had in his dream, it swung open and he marched over the threshold, the others at his heels.
They were standing in a large, circular room. Everything in here was black including the floor and ceiling; identical, unmarked, handleless black doors were set at intervals all around the black walls, interspersed with branches of candles whose flames burned blue; their cool, shimmering light reflected in the shining marble floor made it look as though there was dark water underfoot.
‘Someone shut the door,’ Harry muttered.
He regretted giving this order the moment Neville had obeyed it. Without the long chink of light from the torchlit corridor behind them, the place became so dark that for a moment the only things they could see were the bunches of shivering blue flames on the walls and their ghostly reflections in the floor.
In his dream, Harry had always walked purposefully across this room to the door immediately opposite the entrance and walked on. But there were around a dozen doors here. Just as he was gazing ahead at the doors opposite him, trying to decide which was the right one, there was a great rumbling noise and the candles began to move sideways. The circular wall was rotating.
Hermione grabbed Harry's arm as though frightened the floor might move, too, but it did not. For a few seconds, the blue flames around them were blurred to resemble neon lines as the wall sped around; then, quite as suddenly as it had started, the rumbling stopped and everything became stationary once again.
Harry's eyes had blue streaks burned into them; it was all he could see.
‘What was that about?’ whispered Ron fearfully.
‘I think it was to stop us knowing which door we came in through,’ said Ginny in a hushed voice.
Harry realised at once she was right: he could no sooner identify the exit door than locate an ant on the jet-black floor; and the door through which they needed to proceed could be any one of the dozen surrounding them.
‘How're we going to get back out?’ said Neville uncomfortably.
‘Well, that doesn't matter now,’ said Harry forcefully, blinking to try to erase the blue lines from his vision, and clutching his wand tighter than ever, ‘we won't need to get out till we've found Sirius—’
‘Don't go calling for him, though!’ Hermione said urgently; but Harry had never needed her advice less, his instinct was to keep as quiet as possible.
‘Where do we go, then, Harry?’ Ron asked.
‘I don't—’ Harry began. He swallowed. ‘In the dreams I went through the door at the end of the corridor from the lifts into a dark room—that's this one—and then I went through another door into a room that kind of ... glitters. We should try a few doors,’ he said hastily, ‘I'll know the right way when I see it. C'mon.’
He marched straight at the door now facing him, the others following close behind him, set his left hand against its cool, shining surface, raised his wand ready to strike the moment it opened, and pushed.
It swung open easily.
After the darkness of the first room, the lamps hanging low on golden chains from this ceiling gave the impression that this long rectangular room was much brighter, though there were no glittering, shimmering lights as Harry had seen in his dreams. The place was quite empty except for a few desks and, in the very middle of the room, an enormous glass tank of deep green liquid, big enough for all of them to swim in; a number of pearly-white objects were drifting around lazily in it.
‘What're those things?’ whispered Ron.
‘Dunno,’ said Harry.
‘Are they fish?’ breathed Ginny.
‘Aquavirius Maggots!’ said Luna excitedly. ‘Dad said the Ministry were breeding—’
‘No,’ said Hermione. She sounded odd. She moved forward to look through the side of the tank. ‘They're brains.’
‘Brains?’
‘Yes ... I wonder what they're doing with them?’
Harry joined her at the tank. Sure enough, there could be no mistake now he saw them at close quarters. Glimmering eerily, they drifted in and out of sight in the depths of the green liquid, looking something like slimy cauliflowers.
‘Let's get out of here,’ said Harry. ‘This isn't right, we need to try another door.’
‘There are doors here, too,’ said Ron, pointing around the walls. Harry's heart sank; how big was this place?
‘In my dream I went through that dark room into the second one,’ he said. ‘I think we should go back and try from there.’
So they hurried back into the dark, circular room; the ghostly shapes of the brains were now swimming before Harry's eyes instead of the blue candle flames.
‘Wait!’ said Hermione sharply, as Luna made to close the door of the brain room behind them. ‘Flagrate!’
She drew with her wand in midair and a fiery ‘X’ appeared on the door. No sooner had the door clicked shut behind them than there was a great rumbling, and once again the wall began to revolve very fast, but now there was a great red-gold blur in amongst the faint blue and, when all became still again, the fiery cross still burned, showing the door they had already tried.
‘Good thinking,’ said Harry. ‘OK, let's try this one—’
Again, he strode directly at the door facing him and pushed it open, his wand still raised, the others at his heels.
This room was larger than the last, dimly lit and rectangular, and the centre of it was sunken, forming a great stone pit some twenty feet deep. They were standing on the topmost tier of what seemed to be stone benches running all around the room and descending in steep steps like an amphitheatre, or the courtroom in which Harry had been tried by the Wizengamot. Instead, of a chained chair, however, there was a raised stone dais in the centre of the pit, on which stood a stone archway that looked so ancient, cracked and crumbling that Harry was amazed the thing was still standing. Unsupported by any surrounding wall, the archway was hung with a tattered black curtain or veil which, despite the complete stillness of the cold surrounding air, was fluttering very slightly as though it had just been touched.
‘Who's there?’ said Harry, jumping down on to the bench below. There was no answering voice, but the veil continued to flutter and sway.
‘Careful!’ whispered Hermione.
Harry scrambled down the benches one by one until he reached the stone bottom of the sunken pit. His footsteps echoed loudly as he walked slowly towards the dais. The pointed archway looked much taller from where he now stood than it had when he'd been looking down on it from above. Still the veil swayed gently, as though somebody had just passed through it.
‘Sirius?’ Harry spoke again, but more quietly now that he was nearer.
He had the strangest feeling that there was someone standing right behind the veil on the other side of the archway. Gripping his wand very tightly, he edged around the dais, but there was nobody there; all that could be seen was the other side of the tattered black veil.
‘Let's go,’ called Hermione from halfway up the stone steps. ‘This isn't right, Harry, come on, let's go.’
She sounded scared, much more scared than she had in the room where the brains swam, yet Harry thought the archway had a kind of beauty about it, old though it was. The gently rippling veil intrigued him; he felt a very strong inclination to climb up on the dais and walk through it.
‘Harry, let's go, OK?’ Said Hermione more forcefully.
‘OK,’ he said, but did not move. He had just heard something. There were faint whispering, murmuring noises coming from the other side of the veil.
‘What are you saying?’ he said, very loudly, so that his words echoed all around the stone benches.
‘Nobody's talking, Harry!’ said Hermione, now moving over to him.
‘Someone's whispering behind there,’ he said, moving out of her reach and continuing to frown at the veil. ‘Is that you, Ron?’
‘I'm here, mate,’ said Ron, appearing around the side of the archway.
‘Can't anyone else hear it?’ Harry demanded, for the whispering and murmuring was becoming louder; without really meaning to put it there, he found his foot was on the dais.
‘I can hear them too,’ breathed Luna, joining them around the side of the archway and gazing at the swaying veil. ‘There are people in there!’ 
‘What do you mean, “in there”?’ demanded Hermione, jumping down from the bottom step and sounding much angrier than the occasion warranted, ‘there isn't any “in there", it's just an archway, there's no room for anybody to be there. Harry, stop it, come away—’
She grabbed his arm and pulled, but he resisted.
‘Harry, we are supposed to be here for Sirius!’ she said in a high-pitched, strained voice.
‘Sirius,’ Harry repeated, still gazing, mesmerised, at the continuously swaying veil. ‘Yeah ...’
Something finally slid back into place in his brain; Sirius, captured, bound and tortured, and he was staring at this archway ...
He took several paces back from the dais and wrenched his eyes from the veil.
‘Let's go,’ he said.
‘That's what I've been trying to—well, come on, then!’ said Hermione, and she led the way back around the dais. On the other side, Ginny and Neville were staring, apparently entranced, at the veil too. Without speaking, Hermione took hold of Ginny's arm,
Ron grabbed Neville's, and they marched them firmly back to the lowest stone bench and clambered all the way back up to the door.
‘What d'you reckon that arch was?’ Harry asked Hermione as they regained the dark circular room.
‘I don't know, but whatever it was, it was dangerous,’ she said firmly, again inscribing a fiery cross on the door.
Once more, the wall span and became still again. Harry approached another door at random and pushed. It did not move.
‘What's wrong?’ said Hermione.
‘It's ... locked ...’ said Harry, throwing his weight at the door, but it didn't budge.
‘This is it, then, isn't it?’ said Ron excitedly, joining Harry in the attempt to force the door open. ‘Bound to be!’
‘Get out of the way!’ said Hermione sharply. She pointed her wand at the place where a lock would have been on an ordinary door and said, ‘Alohomora!’
Nothing happened.
‘Sirius's knife!’ said Harry. He pulled it out from inside his robes and slid it into the crack between the door and the wall. The others all watched eagerly as he ran it from top to bottom, withdrew it and then flung his shoulder again at the door. It remained as firmly shut as ever. What was more, when Harry looked down at the knife, he saw the blade had melted.
‘Right, we're leaving that room,’ said Hermione decisively.
‘But what if that's the one?’ said Ron, staring at it with a mixture of apprehension and longing.
‘It can't be, Harry could get through all the doors in his dream,’ said Hermione, marking the door with another fiery cross as Harry replaced the now-useless handle of Sirius's knife in his pocket.
‘You know what could be in there?’ said Luna eagerly, as the wall started to spin yet again.
‘Something blibbering, no doubt,’ said Hermione under her breath and Neville gave a nervous little laugh.
The wall slid to a halt and Harry, with a feeling of increasing desperation, pushed the next door open.
‘This is it!’
He knew it at once by the beautiful, dancing, diamond-sparkling light. As Harry's eyes became accustomed to the brilliant glare, he saw clocks gleaming from every surface, large and small, grandfather and carriage, hanging in spaces between the bookcases or standing on desks ranging the length of the room, so that a busy, relentless ticking filled the place like thousands of minuscule, marching footsteps. The source of the dancing, diamond-bright light was a towering crystal bell jar that stood at the far end of the room.
‘This way!’
Harry's heart was pumping frantically now that he knew they were on the right track; he led the way down the narrow space between the lines of desks, heading, as he had done in his dream, for the source of the light, the crystal bell jar quite as tall as he was that stood on a desk and appeared to be full of a billowing, glittering wind.
‘Oh, took!’ said Ginny, as they drew nearer, pointing at the very heart of the bell jar.
Drifting along in the sparkling current inside was a tiny, jewel-bright egg. As it rose in the jar, it cracked open and a hummingbird emerged, which was carried to the very top of the jar, but as it fell on the draught its feathers became bedraggled and damp again, and by the time it had been borne back to the bottom of the jar it had been enclosed once more in its egg.
‘Keep going!’ said Harry sharply, because Ginny showed signs of wanting to stop and watch the egg's progress back into a bird.
‘You dawdled enough by that old arch!’ she said crossly, but followed him past the bell jar to the only door behind it.
‘This is it,’ Harry said again, and his heart was now pumping so hard and fast he felt it must interfere with his speech, ‘it's through here—’
He glanced around at them all; they had their wands out and looked suddenly serious and anxious. He looked back at the door and pushed. It swung open.
They were there, they had found the place: high as a church and full of nothing but towering shelves covered in small, dusty glass orbs. They glimmered dully in the light issuing from more candle-brackets set at intervals along the shelves. Like those in the circular room behind them, their flames were burning blue. The room was very cold.
Harry edged forward and peered down one of the shadowy aisles between two rows of shelves. He could not hear anything or see the slightest sign of movement.
‘You said it was row ninety-seven,’ whispered Hermione.
‘Yeah,’ breathed Harry, looking up at the end of the closest row. Beneath the branch of blue-glowing candles protruding from it glimmered the silver figure fifty-three.
‘We need to go right, I think,’ whispered Hermione, squinting to the next row. ‘Yes ... that's fifty-four ...’
‘Keep your wands ready,’ Harry said softly.
They crept forward, glancing behind them as they went on down the long alleys of shelves, the further ends of which were in near-total darkness. Tiny, yellowing labels had been stuck beneath each glass orb on the shelves. Some of them had a weird, liquid glow; others were as dull and dark within as blown light bulbs.
They passed row eighty-four ... eighty-five ... Harry was listening hard for the slightest sound of movement, but Sirius might be gagged now, or else unconscious ... or, said an unbidden voice inside his head, he might already be dead ... 
I'd have felt it, he told himself, his heart now hammering against his Adam's apple, I'd already know ...
‘Ninety-seven!’ whispered Hermione.
They stood grouped around the end of the row, gazing down the alley beside it. There was nobody there.
‘He's right down at the end,’ said Harry, whose mouth had become slightly dry. ‘You can't see properly from here.’
And he led them between the towering rows of glass balls, some of which glowed softly as they passed ...
‘He should be near here,’ whispered Harry, convinced that every step was going to bring the ragged form of Sirius into view on the darkened floor. ‘Anywhere here ... really close ...’
‘Harry?’ said Hermione tentatively, but he did not want to respond. His mouth was very dry.
‘Somewhere about ... here ...’ he said.
They had reached the end of the row and emerged into more dim candlelight, There was nobody there. All was echoing, dusty silence.
‘He might be ...’ Harry whispered hoarsely, peering down the next alley. ‘Or maybe ...’ He hurried to look down the one beyond that.
‘Harry?’ said Hermione again.
‘What?’ he snarled.
‘I ... I don't think Sirius is here.’
Nobody spoke. Harry did not want to look at any of them. He felt sick. He did not understand why Sirius was not here. He had to be here. This was where he, Harry, had seen him ...
He ran up the space at the end of the rows, staring down them. Empty aisle after empty aisle flickered past. He ran the other way, back past his staring companions. There was no sign of Sirius anywhere, nor any hint of a struggle.
‘Harry?’ Ron called.
‘What?’
He did not want to hear what Ron had to say; did not want to hear Ron tell him he had been stupid or suggest that they ought to go back to Hogwarts, but the heat was rising in his face and he felt as though he would like to skulk down here in the darkness for a long while before facing the brightness of the Atrium above and the others’ accusing stares ...
‘Have you seen this?’ said Ron.
‘What?’ said Harry, but eagerly this time—it had to be a sign that Sirius had been there, a clue. He strode back to where they were all standing, a little way down row ninety-seven, but found nothing except Ron staring at one of the dusty glass spheres on the shelf.
‘What?’ Harry repeated glumly.
‘It's—it's got your name on,’ said Ron.
Harry moved a little closer. Ron was pointing at one of the small glass spheres that glowed with a dull inner light, though it was very dusty and appeared not to have been touched for many years.
‘My name?’ said Harry blankly.
He stepped forwards. Not as tall as Ron, he had to crane his neck to read the yellowish label affixed to the shelf right beneath the dusty glass ball. In spidery writing was written a date of some sixteen years previously, and below that:
S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D.
Dark Lord
and (?)Harry Potter
Harry stared at it.
‘What is it?’ Ron asked, sounding unnerved. ‘What's your name doing down here?’
He glanced along at the other labels on that stretch of shelf.
‘I'm not here,’ he said, sounding perplexed. ‘None of the rest of us are here.’
‘Harry, I don't think you should touch it,’ said Hermione sharply, as he stretched out his hand.
‘Why not?’ he said. ‘It's something to do with me, isn't it?’
‘Don't, Harry,’ said Neville suddenly. Harry looked at him. Neville's round face was shining slightly with sweat. He looked as though he could not take much more suspense.
‘It's got my name on,’ said Harry.
And feeling slightly reckless, he closed his fingers around the dusty ball's surface. He had expected it to feel cold, but it did not. On the contrary, it felt as though it had been lying in the sun for hours, as though the glow of light within was warming it. Expecting, even hoping, that something dramatic was going to happen, something exciting that might make their long and dangerous journey worth while after all, Harry lifted the glass ball down from its shelf and stared at it.
Nothing whatsoever happened. The others moved in closer around Harry, gazing at the orb as he brushed it free of the clogging dust.
And then, from right behind them, a drawling voice spoke.
‘Very good, Potter. Now turn around, nice and slowly, and give that to me.’
哈利紧紧的抓住最近的一头Thestral的鬃毛, 一脚睬在一个附近的树桩上，笨拙的爬到它那柔软光滑的背上。它没有拒绝，但它扭过头，露出它的尖牙，还想接着舔哈利的袍子。 他在双翼后面找到个地方放他的膝盖，这让他觉得更安全，然后看看周围其他人的情况。纳威已经趴在了下一头Thestral的背上，正想把一条腿荡到那马的另一边。露那已经横坐在马上了，就象她往常一样整理着她的袍子。罗恩, 荷米恩和金妮, 却站在那儿一动不动，瞠目结舌。 “怎么了？”他说。 
　　“我们该怎么做？”罗恩喃喃说着，“我们根本看不见那东西。” 
　　“哦，那很容易”露那说着从她的Thestral 上滑了下来走向他们，“来这儿”。 她把他们一个一个推扯到了周围站着的其他Thestrals的背上。他们仨紧张兮兮的让她把他们的手缠进他们的坐骑的鬃毛里，她让他们抓紧了，然后才回到她自己的战马上。 
　　“这真是疯了”，罗恩咕哝着，用一只手小心翼翼的摸索着他的马的脖子，“真刺激，要是我能看见它——” 
　　“你还是看不见它们的好”，哈利低沉的说。“那么大家都准备好了吗？” 
　　他们都点了点头，哈利看见五双膝盖都在他们的袍子下夹紧了。 
　　'好的。' 
　　他看了看身下Thestral的光滑的黑色的脑袋，喉头一动。 
　　“那么，伦敦，魔法部，来访者接待处”，他不确定的说道，“恩，如果你知道在哪儿。” 
　　好一会，哈利的Thestral纹丝不动；然后，两边的翅膀都猛地一动，伸展开，差点把他们掀下去；那马先慢慢地蹲伏下来，然后一冲向天，急速的危险让哈利不得不用他的四肢紧紧扒住它，以防从它那瘦骨嶙峋的臀上滑下来。他闭上了眼，把头埋在马鬃里，它们穿过了最高的树杈，翱翔在血红的黄昏里。 
　　哈利从没想到他会飞的这么快：Thestral飞过城堡，它的宽阔的翅膀剧烈的拍打着，冷风刮着哈利的脸：在狂风中他使劲睁开眼寻找他的5个同伴，他们跟在他后面，每个人都尽量的低伏在自己的马背上，在急速的气流中保护着自己。 
　　他们飞越Hogwarts，他们已经飞过了Hogsmeade；哈利能看见他们下面的山脉和溪谷。夜晚渐渐来临，当他们飞越多个小村落时，哈利看见一簇簇一点点的灯火，在蜿蜒的路上有一辆孤独的汽车翻过一座座小山回家。 
　　“奇异啊！”哈利几乎听不见罗恩在哪儿发出的喊声，他可以想象飞得这么高这么快而没有任何看的见的东西托着你是种什么感觉。 
　　黄昏也落幕了：明亮朦胧的紫色中点缀着少许银色的星星，不久就只有Muggle镇的灯火能给他们点线索来证实他们飞得有多高，已经有多远。哈利的胳膊紧紧抱住他的马的脖子，希望它能飞的再快点。自从他看见天狼星躺在神秘事物司的地上到现在，已经过去多少时间了？天狼星还能抵抗伏地魔多久？哈利只知道他的教父没向伏地魔屈服也还没有死，因为他确信任何一个结果会让伏地魔欣喜若狂或愤怒，而他能够通过自己的身体和伤疤的疼痛感受的到，就象上次威斯来先生被攻击时发生的一样。 
　　他们继续在浓浓的黑暗中飞翔；哈利的脸冻僵了，他的腿也因一直紧紧夹着Thestrals而麻木了，但他一动也不敢动，怕滑下马，他的耳朵被一直轰轰的气流声震聋了，他的嘴也被夜晚的风冻结了，又冷又干。他没有任何感觉他们已经飞了多远，他只能相信他骑着的那头拍着翅膀勇往直前的兽，正穿过黑暗向目的地飞驰。 
　　如果他们已经晚了呢？ 
　　他还活着，他还在战斗。我能感觉到。 
　　如果伏地魔决定不把天狼星撕裂。 
　　我会知道的。 
　　哈利的肚子一阵晃动， Thestrals的头突然把头指向地面，结果他沿着它的脖子向前滑了几英寸。最后他们在下降。他觉得听到身后传来一声尖叫并且开始危险地摇晃, 却看不到有任何落体的迹象。 … 大概其他人都从另一个方向收到了一个震动, 就象他自己感觉到的一样。 现在明亮的橙色光线从各个方向变得更大更圆; 他们能够看到建筑物的顶端，象昆虫的眼睛一样发光的前灯的光束，苍白发黄的方格是窗户。看起来一下子静了下来，他们向人行道急飞下来; 哈利用尽力气抓住Thestral, 积极准备突然的冲击。 然而那马触到黑暗的地面时却象影子一样无声无息，哈利从它的背上滑下来，在大街上环顾四周，那还在溢着水的罐车仍然离损坏的电话亭有一段距离, 在淡橙色的耀街光中都失去了颜色。 罗恩落在了旁边的一个地方，接着便一下子从 Thestral 身上跌到地上。 '我受够了,' 他说, 挣扎着站起来。他想做出从Thestral上大跨步下来的样子，但因为看不见，撞在了它的臀部，几乎又跌倒在地。'再, 再也不想来了· 真是受不了-'荷米恩 和 金妮从他的两侧触地: 两人都比罗恩文雅地从坐骑上滑下来，尽管都有相似的脚踏实地的解脱感; 纳威跳下来，摇晃着; 露娜平静地下了马。 '接下来要到哪儿？？' 她用礼貌而关心的声音问哈利, 就象这是一个相当有趣的往返旅行。 '那里,' 他说· 他敏捷的、感激地拍了一下Thestral, 接着就带路到那个敲碎的电话亭，开了门。'快过来！' 他招呼着其他人, 而他们有些犹豫。 罗恩和金妮顺从地跟在后面; 荷米恩, 纳威和露娜挤在一起跟在他们后面; 哈利回瞄了一眼 Thestrals, 它正在搜寻腐烂食物的碎片, 接着跟着露娜把他自己挤进电话亭。 '哪位离听筒最近，请拨'62442！' 他说。 
　　罗恩拨了, 他胳膊奇怪地弯曲着去拨号; 当发出嗡嗡声时，一个冰冷的发性声音从盒子里发出来。 '欢迎来到魔法部。请陈述你们的名字和事由。''哈利 波特, 罗恩 威斯利， 荷米恩 格朗格,' 哈利 说得很快， '金妮 威斯利, 纳威 朗波特, 露娜 拉古得。 我们来这里解救一个人，除非你们部门能先做这件事！'谢谢,' 那个冰冷的女人说。 '来宾们, 请拿好徽章把它别在你们的长袍的前面。'6只徽章从金属槽里滑出来，从那里回的硬币露了出来。 荷米恩把它们掘起来，经过金妮的头，无声地递给哈利; 他扫了一眼最高处的一个，哈利 波特, 拯救使命。 '魔法部的宾客们，你们需要接受一个搜查，把你们的魔杖带到安全台去登记, 它在中庭最深处。''太好了！' 哈利 大声叫着, 以致他的伤疤又来了一阵痛· '现在我们可以走了么？'电话亭的地板抖动着，地面上升到玻璃窗的上面; 吃腐肉的Thestrals 从视线中消失; 黑暗淹没了他们的头部，随着一声沉闷 的吱嘎声，他们沉入到魔法神职界的深处。 
　　裂缝里透出一束金色的光打在他们的脚上，逐渐变宽, 抬高了他们的身体。哈利弯下膝盖，握紧他的魔杖，以便在这样狭促的条件下。。。。通过窥视玻璃去看中庭里是否有人在等他们, 但那看起来完全是空的。光线逐渐变暗;嵌在墙壁上的壁炉架下面没有火在烧, 但当升降梯平稳地停下时，他看见各种金色的符号还在暗蓝色的天花板上无规律的转动着。 “魔法部祝愿你们有一个愉快的夜晚,' 女人的声音说道。 电话亭的门砰地打开; 哈利倾倒出去，紧接是纳威和露娜· 中庭里唯一发出声音的是从金山上持续冲下来的水流，它是来自女巫和男巫的权杖，半人马的箭尖，小妖精的帽尖和家养小精灵的耳朵，持续地涌进周边的池塘。 
　　'快过来,'哈利平静地说，六个人飞快地跑到大厅里, 哈利领头, 经过喷泉奔向桌子，那个称过哈利魔杖的守护男巫曾坐在那儿，现在桌子旁却没人。 哈利确信那里会应该有一个安全人员，确信无人在那是一个恶兆, 当他们经过金色的门去升降梯时，这种预感在增强· 他按一下最近的“下”按钮，一个升降梯卡搭卡搭地几乎立即出现在眼前, 金色的铁栅栏伴着一声巨大的回响分开了，他们一下子冲进去。哈利戳了一下9号按钮; 铁栅栏砰地关上了，升降梯开始下降， 叮叮咣咣直响。哈利在白天随威斯里先生来进还没注意到升降梯有这么吵; 他相信这么嘈杂的声音能够吵醒大楼里的随便哪个安全人员, 然而当升降梯停下来时，冰冷的女人声音说“神秘事物司”。铁栅栏滑动着开了。他们走出来进入走廊，四周一片静寂，只有火把在升降梯带出的气流中闪动。 哈利转向黑色的平板门· 经过日日夜夜的梦想，他终于来到了这里。 '我们走,' 他耳语道, 带路走向走廊, 露娜立即跟在他后面, 微张着嘴看着周围。 'OK, 听着' 哈利说，并在离门有6英尺的地方停下。“也许，也许一群人在这里做看守, 并且” '我们怎么可能知道什么事会发生？'金妮问, 她眉毛一扬· '也许还远着呢·''我们跟着你, 哈利,' 纳威说· 
　　'让我们继续走,'罗恩坚定地说· 
　　哈利仍然不希望把他们都带进来,但看起来没有别的选择· 他转身面向门并向前走去。正如他梦里一样，门旋转开，他越过门槛，其他人跟在后面。 他们站在一个很大的圆形的房子· 这里的一切东西都是黑的,包括门和天花板; 相同的,没有标记的,没有手柄的门,被间隔着安装在墙的四周·, 点缀着一些发着蓝光的蜡烛; 它们冷冷的微弱的光反射在闪光的大理石地面上,看上去好象脚下就是黑色的水·。 
　　'关一下门,' 哈利嘀咕着。 
　　纳威一把门关上，他又后悔让他这么做了。从长走廊的火把上映过来的微弱的光线消失了，这个地方变的那么暗，他们只能看见墙上的几束颤抖的兰色火焰和地面上它们鬼魅般的倒影。 
　　在梦中，哈利总是直穿过这个房间，通过入口对面的门继续向前走。但现在这儿有十多个门。正当他凝视着他面前的那些门，想找出正确的那个时，出现一阵辘辘声，那些蜡烛开始移动到门边。环形的墙壁开始旋转起来荷米恩抓住哈利的胳膊，仿佛害怕地面也会移动，但地没动。几秒钟，他们周围的兰色火焰就随着墙壁的快速转动形成了模糊的氖光线条；随后，墙壁又忽然停止转动，辘辘声也停了下来，一切又恢复了原来静止的状态。 
　　哈利的眼睛都花了，只能看见那些兰色的条纹。 
　　“那是怎么了？”罗恩轻声说。 
　　“我认为那是不想让我们知道该进哪个门”金妮平静的说。 
　　哈利立刻认识到她是对的：要想找到那个该走出去的门比在黑玉的地面上找到只蚂蚁还难，这十多个门中的任何一个都有可能。 
　　“我们该怎么出去呢？’纳威不安的说。 
　　“哦，那个现在并不重要”，哈利坚定的说，眨着眼，想抹去视觉中那些兰色的线条，比以往更紧的握住了他的魔杖，“我们要直到救出天狼星后才会离开。” 
　　“但别再叫他的名字了！”荷米恩急切的说，但哈利不需要再听这个建议了，他的本能让他尽量保持安静。 
　　“那么，我们该去哪儿，哈利？”罗恩问道。 
　　“我也不知道——”哈利开始说话了。他咽了下口水，“在梦里，我从升降梯出来，穿过走廊尽头的门，到了一个黑暗的房间——就是现在这个——然后我穿过了另一个门进入了有几点闪烁光的房间。我们恐怕得试一些门，”他急忙说，“我会知道该走哪条路的，如果我看见它。来吧。” 
　　他一直走向现正面对他的那个门，其他人紧跟在他后面，他把左手放在冰凉的门上，举起他的魔杖准备好，然后推门。 
　　门轻轻地转开了。 
　　习惯了刚才的黑暗，那从天花板上的金色链条吊下的灯让他们觉得这个长矩形房间分外明亮，但这儿没有象哈利梦中所见的那些闪烁的微光。这地方几乎是空的，除了几张桌子和房间正中央的一个装着深绿色液体的巨大的玻璃桶，大的足够他们都在里面游泳，一些珍珠白色的物体在里面懒洋洋地漂流。 
　　“那些是什么？”罗恩小声说。 
　　“不知道，”哈利说。 
　　“他们是鱼吗？”金妮吸了口气。 
　　“白兰地蛆（Aquavirius Maggots）！”露那兴奋地说。“我父亲说神秘事物司在养——” 
　　“不对，”荷米恩说。她的声音很古怪。她走上前从玻璃桶边沿看着，“他们是脑髓”。 
　　“脑髓？” 
　　“是的。我不知道他们用这些做什么？” 
　　哈利也站到她那儿。绝对的，毫无疑问，他在这么近，看的很清楚。发出可怕的微光，他们在深绿色的液体里漂着，忽隐忽现，就象粘糊糊的花椰菜。 
　　“我们回去吧，”哈利说，“房间不是的。我们得试试其他的。” 
　　“这儿也有很多门，”罗恩说，指着周围的墙。哈利心一沉，这个地方到底有多大？'“在我梦里，我通过了那个黑暗的房间就到了第二个房间，”他说，“我想我们该回去试那儿的门。” 
　　于是他们急忙回到了那个黑暗的圆形房间；哈利眼前还浮现着那些奇形怪状的脑髓，直到他又看见了那些蜡烛的兰色火焰。 
　　“等等！”荷米恩忽然叫道，跟在最后的露那正想关上那个有脑子的房间的门，“标记即现！” 
　　她的魔杖指在半空中，一个燃烧的“X”出现在那扇门上。就在那扇门在他们身后关上的瞬间，辘辘声又响起，墙又开始急速旋转，但现在在微弱的蓝光中又夹了一点火红的金色，当一切回复平静，那个血红的交叉还在燃烧，标出了他们已经试过了的那个门。 
　　“好点子，”哈利说。“好，让我们来试这扇——” 
　　他又走向了他面前的那扇门，推开门，仍然举着魔杖，其他人紧跟着他。 
　　这个房间比刚才那个更大，灯光昏暗，长方形，房子中间陷了下去，形成了一个大约20英尺深的坑。石头长椅沿着房间的形状一排排陡峭地下沉，象一个阶梯教室，或是那个哈利被福吉审问过的审讯室，而他们站在最上层。没有带锁链的椅子，在这个沉坑的中央，生起了一个石头讲台，上面还立着一个看起来很古老的破碎的石拱门，摇摇欲坠。周围没有任何墙的支撑，那拱门还挂着一个破破烂烂的门帘子，在寒冷和完全静止的空气中，却轻微地飘动着，就象刚被人动过。 
　　“谁在那儿？”哈利说，跳到了下面的长椅上。没有回音，但那幕帘还在继续飘摇。 
　　“小心点！”荷米恩低声说。 
　　哈利爬下一层层椅子直到坑的最底部。当他慢慢向讲台走去时，他的脚步声明亮地回响着。那突出的拱门从他现在站的地方看起来比他刚才从上面看下来要高的多。门帘还在轻轻地摆动，就好象有人刚从那儿进去。 
　　“天狼星？”哈利又喊了一声，但他越接近就更安静了。 
　　他有一种强烈的感觉，有人正站在帘子后面拱门的另一边。他紧紧握住魔杖，他慢慢绕到讲台的另一边，但那儿也没人；只能看见那个破黑帘子的另一面。 
　　“我们走吧，”荷米恩在石阶上去一半的地方喊着。“不是这儿，哈利，上来吧。我们还是走吧。” 
　　她的声音听起来很恐惧，甚于刚才在那个有脑髓游泳的房间，但哈利觉得那个拱门是什么美好的东西，虽然很古老了。那微微飘动的帘子吸引着他；他有种强烈的欲望，想爬上讲台，穿过帘子走过去。 
　　“哈利，我们走吧，行吗？”荷米恩更激动了。 
　　“好，”他说，但没动。他好象听到了什么。有微弱的喃喃低语从帘子那边传过来。 
　　“你在说什么？”他非常大声地说，以致于他的声音在石头台阶四周回荡。 
　　“没人在说话，哈利！”荷米恩说着向他走过去。 
　　“那后面有人在悄悄说话，”他说，转过身继续对那帘子皱起眉，“是你吗，罗恩？” 
　　“我在这儿，伙计，”罗恩说，他出现在拱门旁边。 
　　“你们其他人没听到吗？”哈利问，喃喃低语声更大了，不知不觉，他发现他的一只脚已经踩上了讲台。 
　　“我也听到了，”露那喘了口气，和他们一起站在拱门边的周围，盯着摆动的帘子。“那里面有人！” 
　　“‘那里面’是什么意思？”，荷米恩问道，从最后的台阶上跳了下来，非常生气，“‘那里面’什么也没有，它只是一道拱门，没地方让任何人呆着，哈利，别管它了，离开吧——” 
　　她抓住他的胳膊拉他走，但他抗拒了。 
　　“哈利，我们来这儿是要救天狼星！”她高声尖叫着。 
　　“天狼星，”哈利重复着，仍然盯着那不短飘摇的帘子，被催眠似的。“对呀。” 
　　什么东西又滑回了他的脑海；天狼星，被抓住了，被绑了起来，被拷打，他正看着那拱门。 
　　他从讲台后退了好几步，用力把眼神扭开那帘子。 
　　“我们走吧，”他说。 
　　“这正是我一直试图做的——好了，那么我们走吧！”荷米恩说，她从讲台边领头望回走。在另一面，金妮和纳威也在面露喜色地看着那帘子。荷米恩没说话，抓住了金妮的胳膊，而罗恩也抓住了纳威的，他们坚定地走回石头台阶，爬回到了门边。 
　　“你认为那拱门是什么？”当他们回到黑暗的环形房间时，哈利问荷米恩。 
　　“我不知道，但无论它是什么都很危险，”她坚决地说，又在门上划了个燃烧的交叉。 
　　又一次，墙旋转又静止了下来。哈利随便走近了另一扇门，一推。门没动。 
　　“怎么回事？”荷米恩说。 
　　“被锁上了。”哈利说着，把他的体重都压在了门上，但门仍然不动。 
　　“那么，是这个门，是吗？”罗恩兴奋地说，加入哈利，试图顶开门。“接着干！” 
　　“让开道！”荷米恩尖声说。她把魔杖指向一般的门装锁的位置，念道， “阿拉霍洞开！” 什么也没发生。 
　　“天狼星的刀！” 哈利说。他把刀从长袍里抽出，插进门和墙之间的裂缝。其他人都急切地注视着他把刀从上划到下，抽出刀，又用肩膀猛撞门。 门还和原来一样紧闭着。更糟糕的是，哈利低头看见那把刀的刀刃都卷了。 
　　“好了，我们离开这房间吧，”荷米恩决断地说。 
　　“但如果就是这个呢？”罗恩说，渴望而忧虑的盯着那扇门。 
　　“不会是这个，哈利在梦里能直接穿过所有的门，”荷米恩说，又在门上做了个燃烧的交叉标记，哈利把天狼星的那把现在已没用了的刀的刀把收在了他的口袋里。 
　　“你知道那里面会是什么吗？”露那急切地说，墙壁又开始旋转。 
　　“一些气泡，毫无疑问，”荷米恩说完，纳威还有点紧张地笑了一下。 
　　墙停止了旋转，伴着一种递增的绝望感，哈利推开了另一扇门。 
　　就是这个！ 
　　他立刻认出了那美丽的跳动着的钻石般闪烁的光芒。 当哈利的已经开始适应这闪耀的光芒时，他看见各种各样闪光的钟，巨大的，小的，古老的，机械的，有的挂在书架之间，有的在房间里散落的桌子上，于是一阵忙碌的无情的滴答声填满了整个空间，就象成千上万的行进中的细碎的脚步声。那跳动的钻石般闪耀的光是源自房间远远尽头的一个高大的水晶钟罐。 这边！ 
　　哈利心脏疯狂的跳着，他知道他们找到了正确的路；他领着路，带头穿过一排排的桌子和标题间的窄空，就象在梦里那样，走向那口有他站在桌子上那么高的大水晶钟罐，看上去里面盛满了翻滚的闪光的酒。 
　　“哦，看哪！”当他们走近了，金妮指着大钟罐的中心说。 
　　在闪烁的液体中漂流的是一个小小的宝石一样明亮的蛋。它从钟罐里升起，升到钟罐的最顶上时，裂开，出来了一只蜂鸟，但它一旦碰到了水流，它的翅膀湿透了又沉下去，即刻，蛋又包住了它，沉到了钟罐的最底部。 
　　金妮做了个手势让大家停下来看那个蛋怎么再变成鸟，哈利急忙喊“接着走！” 
　　“你在破拱门那儿已经玩够了！”她故意说，但还是跟着他走过钟罐到了后面唯一的一扇门前。 
　　“就是这扇，”哈利又说了一次，他的心跳的那么快和强烈，让他感到自己的声音都颤抖了，“就是从这里过去——” 
　　他环视他们，他们都拔出了魔杖，忽然变的严肃和紧张。他看着后面的门，去推。门滑开了。 
　　他们到了，他们找到了那个地方：象教堂那么高，空荡荡的，只有一些高耸的架子，上面放满了落着灰尘的小玻璃球。他们在沿着架子间隔支出的很多只蜡烛的光芒中隐隐闪烁，蜡烛的火焰燃烧呈兰色，就象他们后面那个圆形房间里的一样。 
　　哈利低头凝视着两排架子之间的过道，慢慢往前走。他没听见任何声音，没看见什么最轻微的运动的迹象。 
　　“你说过它在97排，”荷米恩悄悄说。 
　　“是的，”哈利吸了口气，抬头看最近一排的末尾。在兰色火焰的蜡烛支架下面，闪烁着银色的数字53。 
　　“我认为，我们得向右走，”荷米恩低语，瞥着下一排，“是的，那是54。” 
　　“准备好用你的魔杖，”哈利柔声说。 
　　他们蹑手蹑脚向前走，不时瞥瞥身后，沿着架子之间长长的过道，而远处几乎是完全黑暗的。泛黄的小标签被贴在每个玻璃球下的架子上。一些发出神秘的流动的光，另一些里面黑暗且凝滞，象吹制出的发光的洋葱头。 
　　他们走过了84排，85排。哈利使劲听着哪怕最细微的动作的声音，但天狼星的嘴也许被塞住了，或是不省人世，或是，一个不速之音在他脑子里说，他也许已经死了。 
　　我会感觉到的，他对自己说，他的心锤打着他的‘亚当的苹果’，我应该已经知道的。 
　　“97！”荷米恩轻轻说。 
　　他们聚在那一排的末尾，盯着旁边的走道。那儿一个人也没有。 
　　“他就躺在那后面，” 哈利说，他的口发干，“你们从这里看不见的。” 他带着他们从玻璃球的高架子之间穿过，当他们经过时，一些玻璃球发出柔和的光。 
　　“他应该就在这附近，”哈利低语，确信再多一步就能在黑暗的地面上看见天狼星衣衫褴褛的样子，“就在这里的什么地方，真的很靠近了。” 
　　“哈利？”荷米恩试探地说，但他不想回答。他的嘴巴非常干。 
　　“在这儿，附近的什么地方，”他说。 
　　他们已走到了这一排的尽头，烛光更暗淡了。没有人。只有回声和满是灰尘的寂静。 
　　“他应该在，”哈利嘶哑的低语，凝视着下条走道。“或者也许，”他望着远处的另一条走道。 
　　“哈利？”荷米恩又叫他。 
　　“什么？” 他厉声说。 
　　“我想，我想天狼星不在这儿。” 
　　没有人说话。哈利不想看他们中任何一个。他觉得恶心。他不懂为什么天狼星会不在这儿。这儿就是他，哈利，看见他的地方。 
　　他一直跑到一排排架子的尽头，盯着看下面。一道又一道空的过道闪过。他又从另一条路跑回来，还盯着下面看。没有任何天狼星在的迹象，也没有任何搏斗的痕迹。 
　　“哈利？”罗恩喊道。 
　　“什么？” 
　　他不想听到罗恩会说的那些话；不想听罗恩告诉他他是多么的傻或建议他们应该回Hogwarts，但他的脸发热了，他感觉他好象情愿在这黑暗中躲藏好一会子，再去面对上面中庭的亮光和其他人责难的眼神。 
　　“你看见这个了吗？”罗恩说。 
　　“什么？”哈利说，这次语气很急切，——一定是有什么迹象表明天狼星曾到过那儿，一个线索。他大步走到他们站的地方，97排过去一点，但什么也没有，只是罗恩正盯着架子上的一个积满灰尘的玻璃球。 
　　“是什么？”哈利郁闷地回答。 
　　“那——那上面有你的名字，”罗恩说。 
　　哈利走近了一点。罗恩指着一个小玻璃球，很脏但从里面发出黯淡的光，估计已有很多年没有人碰过了。 
　　“有我的名字？”哈利茫然道。 
　　他一直走向前。他没罗恩个子高，得伸长脖子才能读到那个脏玻璃球正下面的架子上贴的泛黄的标签。一个像蜘蛛腿一样细长的字体写着一个16年前的日期，下面写着： 
　　S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D. 
　　黑君主和哈利·波特 
　　哈利凝视着。 
　　“这是什么？”罗恩问道，声音失常，“把你的名字写在这儿干吗？” 
　　他沿着搁板看其他的标签。 
　　“我不在上面，”他疑惑地说，“我们其他人的名字都不在这上面。” 
　　“哈利，我认为你不能碰它，”荷米恩看见他伸出手，急忙说。 
　　“为什么不行？”他说，“这东西和我有关，不是吗？” 
　　“哈利，别，”纳威突然说。哈利看着他。纳威的圆脸上闪着点点汗珠。他看上去担心的不得了。 
　　“上面有我的名字，”哈利说。 
　　有一点鲁莽，他把手指罩在了那个脏球的表面上。那不象他原以为的那么冰冷。相反，摸起来就好象被放在阳光下晒了很久，就好象被里面发出的光照暖了。哈利期待着，甚至希望着，一些戏剧性的事情，一些能让他们这次漫长而危险的旅行变得值得的，激动人心的事情会发生，于是他从架子上拿起了那个球，凝视着。 
　　无论什么还是没有发生。其他几个走近哈利身边，盯着那个球，看他拂去球上裹着的灰尘。 
　　就在那时，就在他们后面，一个慢吞吞的声音说，“非常好，波特。现在，好好的，慢慢地转身，把它给我。”
Chapter 35 Beyond The Veil
Black shapes were emerging out of thin air all around them, blocking their way left and right; eyes glinted through slits in hoods, a dozen lit wand tips were pointing directly at their hearts; Ginny gave a gasp of horror.
‘To me, Potter,’ repeated the drawling voice of Lucius Malfoy as he held out his hand, palm up.
Harry's insides plummeted sickeningly. They were trapped, and outnumbered two to one.
‘To me,’ said Malfoy yet again.
‘Where's Sirius?’ Harry said.
Several of the Death Eaters laughed; a harsh female voice from the midst of the shadowy figures to Harry's left said triumphantly, ‘The Dark Lord always knows!’
‘Always,’ echoed Malfoy softly. ‘Now, give me the prophecy, Potter.’
‘I want to know where Sirius is!’
‘I want to know where Sirius is!’ mimicked the woman to his left.
She and her fellow Death Eaters had closed in so that they were mere feet away from Harry and the others, the light from their wands dazzling Harry's eyes.
‘You've got him,’ said Harry, ignoring the rising panic in his chest, the dread he had been fighting since they had first entered the ninety-seventh row. ‘He's here. I know he is.’
‘The little baby woke up fwightened and fort what it dweamed was twoo,’ said the woman in a horrible, mock baby voice. Harry felt Ron stir beside him.
‘Don't do anything,’ Harry muttered. ‘Not yet—’
The woman who had mimicked him let out a raucous scream of laughter.
‘You hear him? You hear him?Giving instructions to the other children as though he thinks of fighting us!’
‘Oh, you don't know Potter as I do, Bellatrix,’ said Malfoy softly. ‘He has a great weakness for heroics; the Dark Lord understands this about him. Now give me the prophecy, Potter.’
‘I know Sirius is here,’ said Harry, though panic was causing his chest to constrict and he felt as though he could not breathe properly. ‘I know you've got him!’
More of the Death Eaters laughed, though the woman laughed loudest of all.
‘It's time you learned the difference between life and dreams, Potter,’ said Malfoy. ‘Now give me the prophecy, or we start using wands.’
‘Go on, then,’ said Harry, raising his own wand to chest height. As he did so, the five wands of Ron, Hermione, Neville, Ginny and Luna rose on either side of him. The knot in Harry's stomach tightened. If Sirius really was not here, he had led his friends to their deaths for no reason at all ...
But the Death Eaters did not strike.
‘Hand over the prophecy and no one need get hurt,’ said Malfoy coolly.
It was Harry's turn to laugh.
‘Yeah, right!’ he said. ‘I give you this—prophecy, is it? And you'll just let us skip off home, will you?’
The words were hardly out of his mouth when the female Death Eater shrieked: ‘Accio proph —’
Harry was just ready for her: he shouted ‘Protego’ before she had finished her spell, and though the glass sphere slipped to the tips of his fingers he managed to cling on to it.
‘Oh, he knows how to play, little bitty baby Potter,’ she said, her mad eyes staring through the slits in her hood. ‘Very well, then—’
‘I TOLD YOU, NO!’ Lucius Malfoy roared at the woman. ‘If you smash it—!’ 
Harry's mind was racing. The Death Eaters wanted this dusty spun-glass sphere. He had no interest in it. He just wanted to get them all out of this alive, to make sure none of his friends paid a terrible price for his stupidity ...
The woman stepped forward, away from her fellows, and pulled off her hood. Azkaban had hollowed Bellatrix Lestrange's face, making it gaunt and skull-like, but it was alive with a feverish, fanatical glow.
‘You need more persuasion?’ she said, her chest rising and falling rapidly. ‘Very well—take the smallest one,’ she ordered the Death Eaters beside her. ‘Let him watch while we torture the little girl. I'll do it.’
Harry felt the others close in around Ginny; he stepped sideways so that he was right in front of her, the prophecy held up to his chest.
‘You'll have to smash this if you want to attack any of us,’ he told Bellatrix. ‘I don't think your boss will be too pleased if you come back without it, will he?’
She did not move; she merely stared at him, the tip of her tongue moistening her thin mouth.
‘So,’ said Harry, ‘what kind of prophecy are we talking about, anyway?’
He could not think what to do but to keep talking. Neville's arm was pressed against his, and he could feel him shaking; he could feel one of the others’ quickened breath on the back of his head. He was hoping they were all thinking hard about ways to get out of this, because his mind was blank.
‘What kind of prophecy?’ repeated Bellatrix, the grin fading from her face. ‘You jest, Harry Potter.’
‘Nope, not jesting,’ said Harry, his eyes flicking from Death Eater to Death Eater, looking for a weak link, a space through which they could escape. ‘How come Voldemort wants it?
Several of the Death Eaters let out low hisses.
‘You dare speak his name?’ whispered Bellatrix.
‘Yeah,’ said Harry, maintaining his tight grip on the glass ball, expecting another attempt to bewitch it from him. ‘Yeah, I've got no problem with saying Vol—
‘Shut your mouth!’ Bellatrix shrieked. ‘You dare speak his name with your unworthy lips, you dare besmirch it with your half-blood's tongue, you dare—’ 
‘Did you know he's a half-blood too?’ said Harry recklessly. Hermione gave a little moan in his ear. ‘Voldemort? Yeah, his mother was a witch but his dad was a Muggle—or has he been telling you lot he's pure-blood?’
‘STUPEF—’
‘NO!’
A jet of red light had shot from the end of Bellatrix Lestrange's wand, but Malfoy had deflected it; his spell caused hers to hit the shelf a foot to the left of Harry and several of the glass orbs there shattered.
Two figures, pearly-white as ghosts, fluid as smoke, unfurled themselves from the fragments of broken glass upon the floor and each began to speak; their voices vied with each other, so that only fragments of what they were saying could be heard over Malfoy and Bellatrix's shouts.
‘... at the solstice will come a new ...’ said the figure of an old, bearded man.
‘DO NOT ATTACK! WE NEED THE PROPHECY!’
‘He dared—he dares—’ shrieked Bellatrix incoherently, ‘he stands there—filthy half-blood —’
‘WAIT UN'I'LL WE'VE GOT THE PROPHECY!’ bawled Malfoy.
‘... and none will come after ...’ said the figure of a young woman.
The two figures that had burst from the shattered spheres had melted into thin air. Nothing remained of them or their erstwhile homes but fragments of glass upon the floor. They had, however, given Harry an idea. The problem was going to be conveying it to the others.
‘You haven't told me what's so special about this prophecy I'm supposed to be handing over,’ he said, playing for time. He moved his foot slowly sideways, feeling around for someone else's.
‘Do not play games with us, Potter,’ said Malfoy.
‘I'm not playing games,’ said Harry, half his mind on the conversation, half on his wandering foot. And then he found someone's toes and pressed down upon them. A sharp intake of breath behind him told him they were Hermione's.
‘What?’ she whispered.
‘Dumbledore never told you the reason you bear that scar was hidden in the bowels of the Department of Mysteries?’ Malfoy sneered.
‘I—what?’ said Harry. And for a moment he quite forgot his plan. ‘What about my scar?’
‘What?’ whispered Hermione more urgently behind him.
‘Can this be?’ said Malfoy, sounding maliciously delighted; some of the Death Eaters were laughing again, and under cover of their laughter, Harry hissed to Hermione, moving his lips as little as possible, ‘Smash shelves—’ 
‘Dumbledore never told you?’ Malfoy repeated. ‘Well, this explains why you didn't come earlier, Potter, the Dark Lord wondered why—’
‘—when I say now— ’
‘—you didn't come running when he showed you the place where it was hidden in your dreams. He thought natural curiosity would make you want to hear the exact wording ...’
‘Did he?’ said Harry. Behind him he felt rather than heard Hermione passing his message to the others and he sought to keep talking, to distract the Death Eaters. ‘So he wanted me to come and get it, did he? Why?’
‘Why?’ Malfoy sounded incredulously delighted. ‘Because the only people who are permitted to retrieve a prophecy from the Department of Mysteries, Potter, are those about whom it was made, as the Dark Lord discovered when he attempted to use others to steal it for him.’
‘And why did he want to steal a prophecy about me?’
‘About both of you, Potter, about both of you ... haven't you ever wondered why the Dark Lord tried to kill you as a baby?’
Harry stared into the slitted eye-holes through which Malfoy's grey eyes were gleaming. Was this prophecy the reason Harry's parents had died, the reason he carried his lightning-bolt scar? Was the answer to all of this clutched in his hand?
‘Someone made a prophecy about Voldemort and me?’ he said quietly, gazing at Lucius Malfoy, his fingers tightening over the warm glass sphere in his hand. It was hardly larger than a Snitch and still gritty with dust. ‘And he's made me come and get it for him? Why couldn't he come and get it himself?’
‘Get it himself?’ shrieked Bellatrix, over a cackle of mad laughter.
‘The Dark Lord, walk into the Ministry of Magic, when they are so sweetly ignoring his return? The Dark Lord, reveal himself to the Aurors, when at the moment they are wasting their time on my dear cousin?’
‘So, he's got you doing his dirty work for him, has he?’ said Harry. ‘Like he tried to get Sturgis to steal it—and Bode?’
‘Very good, Potter, very good ...’ said Malfoy slowly. ‘But the Dark Lord knows you are not unintell—
‘NOW!’ yelled Harry.
Five different voices behind him bellowed, ‘REDUCTO!’ Five curses flew in five different directions and the shelves opposite them exploded as they hit; the towering structure swayed as a hundred glass spheres burst apart, pearly-white figures unfurled into the air and floated there, their voices echoing from who knew what long-dead past amid the torrent of crashing glass and splintered wood now raining down upon the floor—
‘RUN!’ Harry yelled, as the shelves swayed precariously and more glass spheres began to fall from above. He seized a handful of Hermione's robes and dragged her forwards, holding one arm over his head as chunks of shelf and shards of glass thundered down upon them. A Death Eater lunged forwards through the cloud of dust and Harry elbowed him hard in the masked face; they were all yelling, there were cries of pain, and thunderous crashes as the shelves collapsed upon themselves, weirdly echoing fragments of the Seers unleashed from their spheres—
Harry found the way ahead clear and saw Ron, Ginny and Luna sprint past him, their arms over their heads; something heavy struck him on the side of the face but he merely ducked his head and sprinted onwards; a hand caught him by the shoulder; he heard Hermione shout, ‘Stupefy!’ The hand released him at once—
They were at the end of row ninety-seven; Harry turned right and began to sprint in earnest; he could hear footsteps right behind him and Hermione's voice urging Neville on; straight ahead, the door through which they had come was ajar; Harry could see the glittering light of the bell jar; he pelted through the doorway, the prophecy still clutched tight and safe in his hand, and waited for the others to hurtle over the threshold before slamming the door behind them—
‘Colloportus!’ gasped Hermione and the door sealed itself with an odd squelching noise.
‘Where—where are the others?’ gasped Harry.
He had thought Ron, Luna and Ginny were ahead of them, that they would be waiting in this room, but there was nobody there.
‘They must have gone the wrong way!’ whispered Hermione, terror in her face.
‘Listen!’ whispered Neville.
Footsteps and shouts echoed from behind the door they had just sealed; Harry put his ear close to the door to listen and heard Lucius Malfoy roar, ‘Leave Nott, leave him, I say— his injuries will be nothing to the Dark Lord compared to losing that prophecy. Jugson, come back here, we need to organise! We'll split into pairs and search, and don't forget, be gentle with Potter until we've got the prophecy, you can kill the others if necessary—Bellatrix, Rodolphus, you take the left; Crabbe, Rabastan, go right—Jugson, Dolohov, the door straight ahead—Macnair and Avery, through here—Rookwood, over there— Mulciber, come with me!’
‘What do we do?’ Hermione asked Harry, trembling from head to foot.
‘Well, we don't stand here waiting for them to find us, for a start,’ said Harry. ‘Let's get away from this door.’
They ran as quietly as they could, past the shimmering bell jar where the tiny egg was hatching and unhatching, towards the exit into the circular hallway at the far end of the room. They were almost there when Harry heard something large and heavy collide with the door Hermione had charmed shut.
‘Stand aside!’ said a rough voice. ‘Alohomora!’
As the door flew open, Harry, Hermione and Neville dived under desks. They could see the bottom of the two Death Eaters’ robes drawing nearer, their feet moving rapidly.
‘They might've run straight through to the hall,’ said the rough voice.
‘Check under the desks,’ said another.
Harry saw the knees of the Death Eaters bend; poking his wand out from under the desk, he shouted, ‘STUPEFY!’
A jet of red light hit the nearest Death Eater; he fell backwards into a grandfather clock and knocked it over; the second Death Eater, however, had leapt aside to avoid Harry's spell and was pointing his own wand at Hermione, who was crawling out from under the desk to get a better aim.
‘Avada—’
Harry launched himself across the floor and grabbed the Death Eater around the knees, causing him to topple and his aim to go awry. Neville overturned a desk in his anxiety to help; and pointing his wand wildly at the struggling pair, he cried:
‘EXPELLIARMUS!’
Both Harry's and the Death Eater's wands flew out of their hands and soared back towards the entrance to the Hall of Prophecy; both scrambled to their feet and charged after them, the Death Eater in front, Harry hot on his heels, and Neville bringing up the rear, plainly horrorstruck by what he had done.
‘Get out of the way, Harry!’ yelled Neville, clearly determined to repair the damage.
Harry flung himself sideways as Neville took aim again and shouted:
‘STUPEFY!’
The jet of red light flew right over the Death Eaters shoulder and hit a glass-fronted cabinet on the wall full of variously shaped hour-glasses; the cabinet fell to the floor and burst apart, glass flying everywhere, sprang back up on to the wall, fully mended, then fell down again, and shattered—
The Death Eater had snatched up his wand, which lay on the floor beside the glittering bell jar. Harry ducked down behind another desk as the man turned; his mask had slipped so that he couldn't see. He ripped it off with his free hand and shouted: ‘STUP—’
‘STUPEFY!’ screamed Hermione, who had just caught up with them. The jet of red light hit the Death Eater in the middle of his chest: he froze, his arm still raised, his wand fell to the floor with a flatter and he collapsed backwards towards the bell jar. Harry expected to hear a clunk, for the man to hit solid glass and slide off the jar on to the floor, but instead, his head sank through the surface of the bell jar as though it were nothing but a soap bubble and he came to rest, sprawled on his back on the table, with his head lying inside the jar full of glittering wind.
‘Accio wand!’ cried Hermione. Harry's wand flew from a dark corner into her hand and she threw it to him.
‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘Right, let's get out of—’
‘Look out!’ said Neville, horrified. He was staring at the Death Eater's head in the bell jar.
All three of them raised their wands again, but none of them struck: they were all gazing, open-mouthed, appalled, at what was happening to the man's head.
It was shrinking very fast, growing balder and balder, the black hair and stubble retracting into his skull; his cheeks becoming smooth, his skull round and covered with a peachlike fuzz ...
A baby's head now sat grotesquely on top of the thick, muscled neck of the Death Eater as he struggled to get up again; but even as they watched, their mouths open, the head began to swell to its previous proportions again; thick black hair was sprouting from the pate and chin ...
‘It's Time,’ said Hermione in an awestruck voice. ‘Time ...’
The Death Eater shook his ugly head again, trying to clear it, but before he could pull himself together it began to shrink back to babyhood once more ...
There was a shout from a room nearby, then a crash and a scream.
‘RON?’ Harry yelled, turning quickly from the monstrous transformation taking place before them. ‘GINNY? LUNA?’
‘Harry!’ Hermione screamed.
The Death Eater had pulled his head out of the bell jar. His appearance was utterly bizarre, his tiny baby's head bawling loudly while his thick arms flailed dangerously in all directions, narrowly missing Harry, who had ducked. Harry raised his wand but to his amazement Hermione seized his arm.
‘You can't hurt a baby!’
There was no time to argue the point; Harry could hear more footsteps growing louder from the Hall of Prophecy and knew, too late, that he ought not to have shouted and given away their position.
‘Come on!’ he said, and leaving the ugly baby-headed Death Eater staggering behind them they took off for the door that stood open at the other end of the room, leading back into the black hallway.
They had run halfway towards it when Harry saw through the open door two more Death Eaters running across the black room towards them; veering left, he burst instead into a small, dark, cluttered office and slammed the door behind them.
‘Collo—’ began Hermione, but before she could complete the spell the door had burst open and the two Death Eaters had come hurtling inside.
With a cry of triumph, both yelled:
‘IMPEDIMENTA!’
Harry, Hermione and Neville were all knocked backwards off their feet; Neville was thrown over the desk and disappeared from view; Hermione smashed into a bookcase and was promptly deluged in a cascade of heavy books; the back of Harry's head slammed into the stone wall behind him, tiny lights burst in front of his eyes and for a moment he was too dizzy and bewildered to react.
‘WE'VE GOT HIM!’ yelled the Death Eater nearest Harry. ‘IN AN OFFICE OFF—’
‘Silencio!’ cried Hermione and the man's voice was extinguished. He continued to mouth through the hole in his mask, but no sound came out. He was thrust aside by his fellow Death Eater.
‘Petrificus Totalus!’ shouted Harry, as the second Death Eater raised his wand. His arms and legs snapped together and he fell forwards, face down on to the rug at Harry's feet, stiff as a board and unable to move.
‘Well done, Ha—’
But the Death Eater Hermione had just struck dumb made a sudden slashing movement with his wand; a streak of what looked like purple flame passed right across Hermione's chest. She gave a tiny ‘Oh!’ as though of surprise and crumpled on to the floor, where she lay motionless.
‘HERMIONE!’
Harry fell to his knees beside her as Neville crawled rapidly towards her from under the desk, his wand held up in front of him. The Death Eater kicked out hard at Neville's head as he emerged—his foot broke Neville's wand in two and connected with his face. Neville gave a howl of pain and recoiled, clutching his mouth and nose. Harry twisted around, his own wand held high, and saw that the Death Eater had ripped off his mask and was pointing his wand directly at Harry, who recognised the long, pale, twisted face from the Daily Prophet:Antonin Dolohov, the wizard who had murdered the Prewetts.
Dolohov grinned. With his free hand, he pointed from the prophecy still clutched in Harry's hand, to himself, then at Hermione. Though he could no longer speak, his meaning could not have been clearer. Give me the prophecy, or you get the same as her ...
‘Like you won't kill us all anyway, the moment I hand it over!’ said Harry.
A whine of panic inside his head was preventing him thinking properly: he had one hand on Hermione's shoulder, which was still warm, yet did not dare look at her properly. Don't let her be dead, don't let her be dead, it's my fault if she's dead ...
‘Whaddever you do, Harry,’ said Neville fiercely from under the desk, lowering his hands to show a clearly broken nose and blood pouring down his mouth and chin, ‘don'd gib it to him!’
Then there was a crash outside the door and Dolohov looked over his shoulder—the baby-headed Death Eater had appeared in the doorway, his head bawling, his great fists still flailing uncontrollably at everything around him. Harry seized his chance:
‘PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!’
The spell hit Dolohov before he could block it and he toppled forwards across his comrade, both of them rigid as boards and unable to move an inch.
‘Hermione,’ Harry said at once, shaking her as the baby-headed Death Eater blundered out of sight again. ‘Hermione, wake up ...’
‘Whaddid he do to her?’ said Neville, crawling out from under the desk to kneel at her other side, blood streaming from his rapidly swelling nose.
‘I dunno ...’
Neville groped for Hermione's wrist.
‘Dat's a pulse, Harry, I'b sure id is.’
Such a powerful wave of relief swept through Harry that for a moment he felt light-headed.
‘She's alive?’
‘Yeah, I dink so.’
There was a pause in which Harry listened hard for the sound of more footsteps, but all he could hear were the whimpers and blunderings of the baby-headed Death Eater in the next room.
‘Neville, we're not far from the exit,’ Harry whispered, ‘we're right next to that circular room ... if we can just get you across it and find the right door before any more Death Eaters come, I'll bet you can get Hermione up the corridor and into the lift ... then you could find someone ... raise the alarm ...’
‘And whad are you going do do?’ said Neville, mopping his bleeding nose with his sleeve and frowning at Harry.
‘I've got to find the others,’ said Harry.
‘Well, I'b going do find dem wid you,’ said Neville firmly.
‘But Hermione—’
‘We'll dake her wid us,’ said Neville firmly. ‘I'll carry her—you're bedder at fighding dem dan I ab—
He stood up and seized one of Hermione's arms, glaring at Harry, who hesitated, then grabbed the other and helped hoist Hermione's limp form over Neville's shoulders.
‘Wait,’ said Harry, snatching up Hermione's wand from the floor and shoving it into Neville's hand, ‘you'd better take this.’
Neville kicked aside the broken fragments of his own wand as they walked slowly towards the door.
‘My gran's going do kill be,’ said Neville thickly, blood spattering from his nose as he spoke, ‘dat was by dad's old wand.’
Harry stuck his head out of the door and looked around cautiously. The baby-headed Death Eater was screaming and banging into things, toppling grandfather clocks and overturning desks, bawling and confused, while the glass-fronted cabinet that Harry now suspected had contained Time-Turners continued to fall, shatter and repair itself on the wall behind them.
‘He's never going to notice us,’ he whispered. ‘C'mon ... keep close behind me ...’
They crept out of the office and back towards the door into the black hallway, which now seemed completely deserted. They walked a few steps forwards, Neville tottering slightly due to Hermione's weight; the door of the Time Room swung shut behind them and the walls began to rotate once more. The recent blow on the back of Harry's head seemed to have unsteadied him; he narrowed his eyes, swaying slightly, until the walls stopped moving again. With a sinking heart, Harry saw that Hermione's fiery crosses had faded from the doors.
‘So which way d'you reck—?’
But before they could make a decision as to which way to try, a door to their right sprang open and three people fell out of it.
‘Ron!’ croaked Harry, dashing towards them. ‘Ginny—are you all—?’
‘Harry,’ said Ron, giggling weakly, lurching forwards, seizing the front of Harry's robes and gazing at him with unfocused eyes, ‘there you are ... ha ha ha ... you look funny, Harry ... you're all messed up ...’
Ron's face was very white and something dark was trickling from the corner of his mouth. Next moment his knees had given way, but he still clutched the front of Harry's robes, so that Harry was pulled into a kind of bow.
‘Ginny?’ Harry said fearfully. ‘What happened?’
But Ginny shook her head and slid down the wall into a sitting position, panting and holding her ankle.
‘I think her ankle's broken, I heard something crack,’ whispered Luna, who was bending over her and who alone seemed to be unhurt. ‘Four of them chased us into a dark room full of planets; it was a very odd place, some of the time we were just floating in the dark—’
‘Harry, we saw Uranus up close!’ said Ron, still giggling feebly. ‘Get it, Harry? We saw Uranus—ha ha ha—’
A bubble of blood grew at the corner of Ron's mouth and burst.
‘—anyway, one of them grabbed Ginny's foot, I used the Reductor Curse and blew up Pluto in his face, but ...’
Luna gestured hopelessly at Ginny, who was breathing in a very shallow way, her eyes still closed.
‘And what about Ron?’ said Harry fearfully, as Ron continued to giggle, still hanging off the front of Harry's robes.
‘I don't know what they hit him with,’ said Luna sadly, ‘but he's gone a bit funny, I could hardly get him along at all.’
‘Harry,’ said Ron, pulling Harry's ear down to his mouth and still giggling weakly, ‘you know who this girl is, Harry? She's Loony ... Loony Lovegood ... ha ha ha ...’
‘We've got to get out of here,’ said Harry firmly. ‘Luna, can you help Ginny?’
‘Yes,’ said Luna, sticking her wand behind her ear for safekeeping, then putting an arm around Ginny's waist and pulling her up.
‘It's only my ankle, I can do it myself!’ said Ginny impatiently, but next moment she had collapsed sideways and grabbed Luna for support. Harry pulled Ron's arm over his shoulder just as, so many months ago, he had pulled Dudley's. He looked around: they had a one in twelve chance of getting the exit right first time—
He heaved Ron towards a door; they were within a few feet of it when another door across the hall burst open and three Death Eaters sped in, led by Bellatrix Lestrange.
‘There they are!’ she shrieked.
Stunning Spells shot across the room: Harry smashed his way through the door ahead, flung Ron unceremoniously from him and ducked back to help Neville in with Hermione: they were all over the threshold just in time to slam the door against Bellatrix.
‘Colloportus!’ shouted Harry, and he heard three bodies slam into the door on the other side.
‘It doesn't matter!’ said a man's voice. ‘There are other ways in—WE'VE GOT THEM, THEY'RE HERE!’
Harry span around; they were back in the Brain Room and, sure enough, there were doors all around the walls. He could hear footsteps in the hall behind them as more Death Eaters came running to join the first.
‘Luna—Neville— help me!’
The three of them tore around the room, sealing the doors as they went; Harry crashed into a tbale and rolled over the top of it in his haste to reach the next door:
‘Colloportus!’
There were footsteps running along behind the doors, every now and then another heavy body would launch itself against one, so it creaked and shuddered; Luna and Neville were bewitching the doors along the opposite wall—then, as Harry reached the very top of the room, he heard Luna cry:
‘Collo—aaaaaaaaargh ...’
He turned in time to see her flying through the air; five Death Eaters were surging into the room through the door she had not reached in time; Luna hit a desk, slid over its surface and on to the floor on the other side where she lay sprawled, as still as Hermione.
‘Get Potter!’ shrieked Bellatrix, and she ran at him; he dodged her and sprinted back up the room; he was safe as long as they thought they might hit the prophecy—
‘Hey!’ said Ron, who had staggered to his feet and was now tottering drunkenly towards Harry, giggling. ‘Hey, Harry, there are brains in here, ha ha ha, isn't that weird, Harry?’
‘Ron, get out of the way, get down—’
But Ron had already pointed his wand at the tank.
‘Honest, Harry, they're brains—look—Accio brain!’
The scene seemed momentarily frozen. Harry, Ginny and Neville and each of the Death Eaters turned in spite of themselves to watch the top of the tank as a brain burst from the green liquid like a leaping fish: for a moment it seemed suspended in midair, then it soared towards Ron, spinning as it came, and what looked like ribbons of moving images flew from it, unravelling like rolls of film—
‘Ha ha ha, Harry, look at it—’ said Ron, watching it disgorge its gaudy innards, ‘Harry, come and touch it; bet it's weird—’
‘RON, NO!’
Harry did not know what would happen if Ron touched the tentacles of thought now flying behind the brain, but he was sure it would not be anything good. He darted forwards but Ron had already caught the brain in his outstretched hands.
The moment they made contact with his skin, the tentacles began wrapping themselves around Ron's arms like ropes.
‘Harry, look what's happen—No—no—I don't like it—no, stop—stop—’
But the thin ribbons were spinning around Ron's chest now; he tugged and tore at them as the brain was pulled tight against him like an octopus's body.
‘Diffindo!’ yelled Harry, trying to sever the feelers wrapping themselves tightly around Ron before his eyes, but they would not break. Ron fell over, still thrashing against his bonds.
‘Harry, it'll suffocate him!’ screamed Ginny, immobilised by her broken ankle on the floor— then a jet of red light flew from one of the Death Eater's wands and hit her squarely in the face. She keeled over sideways and lay there unconscious.
‘STUBEFY!’ shouted Neville, wheeling around and waving Hermione's wand at the oncoming Death Eaters, ‘STUBEFY, STUBEFY!’
But nothing happened.
One of the Death Eaters shot their own Stunning Spell at Neville; it missed him by inches. Harry and Neville were now the only two left fighting the five Death Eaters, two of whom sent off streams of silver light like arrows which missed but left craters in the wall behind them. Harry ran for it as Bellatrix Lestrange raced right at him: holding the prophecy high above his head, he sprinted back up the room; all he could think of doing was to draw the Death Eaters away from the others.
It seemed to have worked; they streaked after him, knocking chairs and tables flying but not daring to bewitch him in case they hurt the prophecy, and he dashed through the only door still open, the one through which the Death Eaters themselves had come; inwardly praying that Neville would stay with Ron and find some way of releasing him. He ran a few feet into the new room and felt the floor vanish—
He was falling down steep stone step after steep stone step, bouncing on every tier until at last, with a crash that knocked all the breath out of his body, he landed flat on his back in the sunken pit where the stone archway stood on its dais. The whole room was ringing with the Death Eater's laughter: he looked up and saw the five who had been in the Brain Room descending towards him, while as many more emerged through other doorways and began leaping from bench to bench towards him. Harry got to his feet though his legs were trembling so badly they barely supported him: the prophecy was still miraculously unbroken in his left hand, his wand clutched tightly in his right. He backed away, looking around, trying to keep all the Death Eaters within his sight. The back of his legs hit something solid: he had reached the dais where the archway stood. He climbed backwards onto it.
The Death Eaters all halted, gazing at him. Some were panting as hard as he was. One was bleeding badly; Dolohov, freed of the Body-Bind Curse, was leering, his wand pointing straight at Harry's face.
‘Potter, your race is run,’ drawled Lucius Malfoy, pulling off his mask, ‘now hand me the prophecy like a good boy.’
‘Let—let the others go, and I'll give it to you!’ said Harry desperately.
A few of the Death Eaters laughed.
‘You are not in a position to bargain, Potter,’ said Lucius Malfoy, his pale face flushed with pleasure. ‘You see, there are ten of us and only one of you ... or hasn't Dumbledore ever taught you how to count?’
‘He's dot alone!’ shouted a voice from above them. ‘He's still god be!’ 
Harry's heart sank: Neville was scrambling down the stone benches towards them, Hermione's wand held fast in his trembling hand.
‘Neville—no— go back to Ron—’
‘STUBEFY!’ Neville shouted again, pointing his wand at each Death Eater in turn. ‘STUBEFY! STUBE—’
One of the largest Death Eaters seized Neville from behind, pinioning his arms to his sides. He struggled and kicked; several of the Death Eaters laughed.
‘It's Longbottom, isn't it?’ sneered Lucius Malfoy. ‘Well, your grandmother is used to losing family members to our cause ... your death will not come as a great shock.’
‘Longbottom?’ repeated Bellatrix, and a truly evil smile lit her gaunt face. ‘Why, I have had the pleasure of meeting your parents, boy.’
‘I DOE YOU HAB!’ roared Neville, and he fought so hard against his captor's encircling grip that the Death Eater shouted, ‘Someone Stun him!’
‘No, no, no,’ said Bellatrix. She looked transported, alive with excitement as she glanced at Harry, then back at Neville. ‘No, let's see how long Longbottom lasts before he cracks like his parents ... unless Potter wants to give us the prophecy.’
‘DON'D GIB ID DO DEM!’ roared Neville, who seemed beside himself, kicking and writhing as Bellatrix drew nearer to him and his captor, her wand raised. ‘DON'D GIB ID DO DEM, HARRY!’
Bellatrix raised her wand. ‘Crucio!’
Neville screamed, his legs drawn up to his chest so that the Death Eater holding him was momentarily holding him off the ground. The Death Eater dropped him and he fell to the floor, twitching and screaming in agony.
‘That was just a taster!’ said Bellatrix, raising her wand so that Neville's screams stopped and he lay sobbing at her feet. She turned and gazed up at Harry. ‘Now, Potter, either give us the prophecy, or watch your little friend die the hard way!’
Harry did not have to think; there was no choice. The prophecy was hot with the heat of his clutching hand as he held it out. Malfoy jumped forwards to take it.
Then, high above them, two more doors burst open and five more people sprinted into the room: Sirius, Lupin, Moody, Tonks and Kingsley.
Malfoy turned, and raised his wand, but Tonks had already sent a Stunning Spell right at him. Harry did not wait to see whether it had made contact, but dived off the dais out of the way. The Death Eaters were completely distracted by the appearance of the members of the Order, who were now raining spells down upon them as they jumped from step to step towards the sunken floor. Through the darting bodies, the flashes of light, Harry could see Neville crawling along. He dodged another jet of red light and flung himself flat on the ground to reach Neville.
‘Are you OK?’ he yelled, as another spell soared inches over their heads.
‘Yes,’ said Neville, trying to pull himself up.
‘And Ron?’
‘I dink he's all righd—he was still fighding de brain when I lefd—’ 
The stone floor between them exploded as a spell hit it, leaving a crater right where Neville's hand had been only seconds before; both scrambled away from the spot, then a thick arm came out of nowhere, seized Harry around the neck and pulled him upright, so that his toes were barely touching the floor.
‘Give it to me,’ growled a voice in his ear, ‘give me the prophecy—’
The man was pressing so tightly on Harry's windpipe that he could not breathe. Through watering eyes he saw Sirius duelling with a Death Eater some ten feet away; Kingsley was fighting two at once; Tonks, still halfway up the tiered seats, was firing spells down at Bellatrix—nobody seemed to realise that Harry was dying. He turned his wand backwards towards the man's side, but had no breath to utter an incantation, and the man's free hand was groping towards the hand in which Harry was grasping the prophecy—’
‘AARGH!’
Neville had come lunging out of nowhere; unable to articulate a spell, he had jabbed Hermione's wand hard into the eyehole of the Death Eater's mask. The man relinquished Harry at once with a howl of pain. Harry whirled around to face him and gasped:
‘STUPEFY!’
The Death Eater keeled over backwards and his mask slipped off: it was Macnair, Buckbeak's would-be killer, one of his eyes now swollen and bloodshot.
‘Thanks!’ Harry said to Neville, pulling him aside as Sirius and his Death Eater lurched past, duelling so fiercely that their wands were blurs; then Harry's foot made contact with something round and hard and he slipped. For a moment he thought he had dropped the prophecy, but then he saw Moody's magical eye spinning away across the floor.
Its owner was lying on his side, bleeding from the head, and his attacker was now bearing down upon Harry and Neville: Dolohov, his long pale face twisted with glee.
‘Tarantallegra!’ he shouted, his wand pointing at Neville, whose legs went immediately into a kind of frenzied tap-dance, unbalancing him and causing him to fall to the floor again. ‘Now, Potter—’
He made the same slashing movement with his wand that he had used on Hermione just as Harry yelled, ‘Protego!’
Harry felt something streak across his face like a blunt knife; the force of it knocked him sideways and he fell over Neville's jerking legs, but the Shield Charm had stopped the worst of the spell.
Dolohov raised his wand again. ‘Accio proph—’
Sirius had hurtled out of nowhere, rammed Dolohov with his shoulder and sent him flying out of the way. The prophecy had again flown to the tips of Harry's fingers but he had managed to cling on to it. Now Sirius and Dolohov were duelling, their wands flashing like swords, sparks flying from their wand-tips—
Dolohov drew back his wand to make the same slashing movement he had used on Harry and Hermione. Springing up, Harry yelled, ‘Petrificus Totalus!’ Once again, Dolohov's arms and legs snapped together and he keeled over backwards, landing with a crash on his back.
‘Nice one!’ shouted Sirius, forcing Harry's head down as a pair of Stunning Spells flew towards them. ‘Now I want you to get out of—’
They both ducked again; a jet of green light had narrowly missed Sirius. Across the room Harry saw Tonks fall from halfway up the stone steps, her limp form toppling from stone seat to stone seat and Bellatrix, triumphant, running back towards the fray.
‘Harry, take the prophecy, grab Neville and run!’ Sirius yelled, dashing to meet Bellatrix. Harry did not see what happened next: Kingsley swayed across his field of vision, battling with the pockmarked and no longer masked Rookwood; another jet of green light flew over Harry's head as he launched himself towards Neville—
‘Can you stand?’ he bellowed in Neville's ear, as Neville's legs jerked and twitched uncontrollably. ‘Put your arm round my neck—’
Neville did so— Harry heaved—Neville's legs were still lying in every direction, they would not support him, and then, out of nowhere, a man lunged at them: both fell backwards, Neville's legs waving wildly like an overturned beetle's, Harry with his left arm held up in the air to try to save the small glass ball from being smashed.
‘The prophecy, give me the prophecy, Potter!’ snarled Lucus Malfoy's voice in his ear, and Harry felt the tip of Malfoy's wand pressing hard between his ribs.
‘No—get—off— me ... Neville—catch it!’
Harry flung the prophecy across the floor, Neville span himself around on his back and scooped the ball to his chest. Malfoy pointed the wand instead at Neville, but Harry jabbed his own wand back over his shoulder and yelled, ‘Impedimenta!’
Malfoy was blasted off his back. As Harry scrambled up again he looked around and saw Malfoy smash into the dais on which Sirius and Bellatrix were now duelling. Malfoy aimed his wand at Harry and Neville again, but before he could draw breath to strike, Lupin had jumped between them.
‘Harry, round up the others and GO!’
Harry seized Neville by the shoulder of his robes and lifted him bodily on to the first tier of stone steps; Neville's legs twitched and jerked and would not support his weight; Harry heaved again with all the strength he possessed and they climbed another step—’
A spell hit the stone bench at Harry's heel; it crumbled away and he fell back to the step below. Neville sank to the ground, his legs still jerking and thrashing, and he thrust the prophecy into his pocket.
‘Come on!’ said Harry desperately, hauling at Neville's robes. ‘Just try and push with your legs—’
He gave another stupendous heave and Neville's robes tore all along the left seam—the small spun-glass ball dropped from his pocket and, before either of them could catch it, one of Neville's floundering feet kicked it: it flew some ten feet to their right and smashed on the step beneath them. As both of them stared at the place where it had broken, appalled at what had happened, a pearly-white figure with hugely magnified eyes rose into the air, unnoticed by any but them. Harry could see its mouth moving, but in all the crashes and screams and yells surrounding them, not one word of the prophecy could he hear. The figure stopped speaking and dissolved into nothingness.
‘Harry, I'b sorry!’ cried Neville, his face anguished as his legs continued to flounder. ‘I'b so sorry, Harry, I didn'd bean do—’
‘It doesn't matter!’ Harry shouted. ‘Just try and stand, let's get out of—’
‘Dubbledore!’ said Neville, his sweaty face suddenly transported, staring over Harry's shoulder.
‘What?’
‘DUBBLEDORE!’
Harry turned to look where Neville was staring. Directly above them, framed in the doorway from the Brain Room, stood Albus Dumbledore, his wand aloft, his face white and furious. Harry felt a kind of electric charge surge through every particle of his body—they were saved.
Dumbledore sped down the steps past Neville and Harry, who had no more thoughts of leaving. Dumbledore was already at the foot of the steps when the Death Eaters nearest realised he was there and yelled to the others. One of the Death Eaters ran for it, scrabbling like a monkey up the stone steps opposite. Dumbledore's spell pulled him back as easily and effortlessly as though he had hooked him with an invisible line—
Only one pair was still battling, apparently unaware of the new arrival. Harry saw Sirius duck Bellatrix's jet of red light: he was laughing at her.
‘Come on, you can do better than that!’ he yelled, his voice echoing around the cavernous room.
The second jet of light hit him squarely on the chest.
The laughter had not quite died from his face, but his eyes widened in shock.
Harry released Neville, though he was unaware of doing so. He was jumping down the steps again, pulling out his wand, as Dumbledore, too, turned towards the dais.
It seemed to take Sirius an age to fall: his body curved in a graceful arc as he sank backwards through the ragged veil hanging from the arch.
Harry saw the look of mingled fear and surprise on his godfather's wasted, once-handsome face as he fell through the ancient doorway and disappeared behind the veil, which fluttered for a moment as though in a high wind, then fell back into place.
Harry heard Bellatrix Lestrange's triumphant scream, but knew it meant nothing—Sirius had only just fallen through the archway, he would reappear from the other side any second ...
But Sirius did not reappear.
‘SIRIUS!’ Harry yelled. ‘SIRIUS!’
He had reached the floor, his breath coming in searing gasps. Sirius must be just behind the curtain, he, Harry, would pull him back out ...
But as he reached the ground and sprinted towards the dais, Lupin grabbed Harry around the chest, holding him back.
‘There's nothing you can do, Harry—’
‘Get him, save him, he's only just gone through!’
‘—it's too late, Harry.’
‘We can still reach him—’ Harry struggled hard and viciously, but Lupin would not let go ...
‘There's nothing you can do, Harry ... nothing ... he's gone.’
在他们周围，黑色的身影显现出来，堵住了他们的去路。这些人的眼睛在兜帽后闪着，十二根发亮的魔杖直指着他们的心脏。金妮倒吸了一口冷气。 
　　“给我，波特。”卢修斯？马尔夫边伸出手，边用那有气无力的声音重复道。 
　　哈利的心一沉，他们被捆住了，而且食死徒的人数比他们两倍还多。 
　　“给我。”马尔夫又说了一遍。 
　　“天狼星在哪？”哈利问道。 
　　有几个食死徒笑了；哈利左侧的那些黑影中间传来一个刺耳的女人声，她得意地说道：“黑魔头对一切了如指掌！” 
　　“是啊，他总是这样。”马尔夫轻声符合着。“现在，把那个预言给我，波特！” 
　　“我要知道天狼星在哪！” 
　　“‘我要知道天狼星在哪！’”他左边的那个女人学着他的声音重复道 。 她和她的食死徒同伴们围了上来，使得他们与哈利以及其他人的距离仅有几英尺，从他们魔杖发出来的光照得哈利眼睛晕眩。 
　　“你们已经抓住他了。”哈利说道，他顾不得恐惧在他心里升级，“他在这儿。我知道他在。” 
　　“小男孩从梦中吓醒，还认为他所梦到的是真的。”那个女人用可怕的婴儿腔调说到。哈利感觉到罗恩在他旁边愤怒得动了一下。 
　　“什么也不要做”哈利咕哝道，“还不是时候……” 
　　那个学他说话的女人发出了一阵沙哑刺耳的大笑。 
　　“你们听到他了吗？你们听到了吗？他向其他孩子发号施令好像他们要攻击我们！” 
　　“哦，你不像我一样了解波特，博拉特里克斯？莱斯特兰。”马尔夫轻声说道，“他在英雄主义上有一个极大的弱点。快把预言给我，波特” 
　　“我知道天狼星在这儿”哈利说，尽管恐慌正在使他觉得他不能正常呼吸，“我知道你们抓住了他！” 
　　更多的食死徒在笑，其中那个女人笑声最响。 
　　“你到了该懂得现实和梦境的区别的时候了，波特。”马尔夫说，“快给我预言，否则我们就要使用魔杖了。” 
　　“那就来吧。”哈利说着把他自己的魔杖举在胸前。与此同时罗恩、荷米恩、纳威、金妮和璐娜的五根魔杖也在他身边举了起来。哈利心头一紧。如果天狼星真的不在这儿，那他就把他的朋友们毫无理由的引向了死亡。 
　　但事食死徒们没有攻击。 
　　“把预言递过来就不会有人受伤。”马尔夫冷冷地说。 
　　这回轮到哈利大笑了。 
　　“是的，没错！”他说，“我给你这个—预言，是吧？然后你就让我们回家，是吗？” 
　　他的话还没说完，那个女食死徒吼道：“预言飞—-” 
　　哈利早有准备：他在她说完咒语之前喊道：“咒语返回！”同时，尽管玻璃球滑到了他的指尖，他还是抓住了那个预言。 
　　“哦，他知道怎么做游戏，小可爱波特。”她疯狂的眼睛透过兜帽的孔瞪视着，“这很好…” 
　　“我告诉过你，不要这样！”卢修斯？马尔夫对那个女人吼道，“如果你打碎它！——” 
　　哈里飞快地思考着。食死徒想要这个满是灰尘的旋转着的玻璃球。他对这个东西可没有兴趣。他只是想使他们活着离开这儿，而且保证他的朋友们没有一个因为他的愚蠢而付出惨痛的代价。 
　　那个女人向前走了一步，脱下了她的兜帽。阿兹卡班中博拉特里克斯？莱斯特兰的面容出现了，只是有些憔悴消瘦，但因为兴奋而充满活力。 
　　“你需要更多的劝说吗？”她说道，他的胸脯快速的起伏着。“好吧，从最小的下手，”她命令身旁的食死徒们。“让他看着我们折磨这个小女孩。我来干。” 
　　哈利其他人向金妮围过来；他横跨一步，因此来到了金妮的正前方，他把预言举在胸前。 
　　“如果你们想要攻击我们之中的任何一个，你们就不得不把这个打碎。”她告诉莱斯特兰。“我认为如果你们没有拿着这个回去，你们的主人是不会高兴的，不是吗？” 
　　她没有动，只是瞪着他，她的舌尖舔着自己薄薄的嘴唇。 
　　“那么，”哈利说，“我们谈论的是什么样的预言呢？” 
　　他除了继续说话想不出应该干什么。纳威的胳膊紧贴着他的，而且能感觉到他在发抖。他能感觉到另一个人呼吸加速。他希望他们都在努力思考怎样逃脱，因为他的脑子已经一片空白。 
　　“什么样的预言？”莱斯特兰重复道，笑容在她脸上消失了，“你开玩笑，哈利波特。” 
　　“不，不是开玩笑，”哈利说，他快速扫视着每一个食死徒，寻找着一个薄弱环节，一个它们可以逃脱的间隙。“伏地魔为什么想要它？” 
　　几个食死徒发出了低低的嘘声。 
　　“你敢说出他的名字？”莱斯特兰低声说。 
　　“是的，”哈利说道，他的手紧握着玻璃球，怕还有人会施墨法把球抢走。“是的，对于我来说，直呼伏地—-” 
　　“闭上你的嘴！”莱斯特兰吼道。“你竟敢用你那卑贱的嘴唇说出他的名字，你竟敢用你那混血种的舌头来玷污他，你竟敢—-” 
　　“你知不知道他也是一混血种？”哈利不顾一切地说。荷米恩在她耳边发出了一丝呻吟声。“伏地魔？是的，他妈妈是一个女巫但他爸爸是一个麻瓜，莫非他一直告诉你们说他是一个纯种？” 
　　“昏昏到地！” 
　　“不！” 
　　一道红光从莱斯特兰的魔杖射出，但是马尔夫使它偏离了目标，他的咒语使得她的击中了哈利左侧的书架腿，上面的几个玻璃球打碎了。 
　　两个像鬼魂一样泛着珍珠白色的人影从破碎的玻璃中显现出来，随后各自在地上说起话来。他们的声音相互参杂着，所以只有一些片断才能透过马尔夫和莱斯特兰的争吵声被人听到：“在至日时会出现新的。”一个上了年纪留着胡子的人影说道。 
　　“不要攻击！我们要拿到那个预言！” 
　　“他竟敢-他敢—”莱斯特兰语无伦次地吼道，“他就站在这儿-下流的混血种—” 
　　“等我们拿到预言！”马尔夫喝道。 
　　“-而且之后什么也不会发生。”那个年轻女人的人影说。 
　　那两个从破碎的球中出现的人影消失在稀薄的空气中。他们原来所在之处只剩下一些碎玻璃。然而，他们却是哈利想出了一个主意。问题是怎样把他的想法告诉其他人。“你们还没有告诉我，我手上拿着的这个预言有什么特别之处。”他说道，他在拖延时间。他慢慢向一旁移动。 
　　“不要耍我们，波特，”马尔夫说。 
　　“我没开玩笑。”哈利说，一边注意着他们的对话，一边挪动着他的脚。然后他发现了莫个人的脚趾，就踩了一脚。一阵急促的喘息声告诉他，这是荷米恩的脚。 
　　“什么？”她低声说。 
　　“丹伯多从来都没跟你说过你具有那个伤疤的原因就藏在神秘事务司吗？”马尔夫冷笑道。 
　　“我-什么？”哈利说道。有一阵他彻底忘记了他的计划。“和我的伤疤有什么关系？” 
　　“什么？”荷米恩在他身后更急切地小声问。 
　　“这可能吗？”马尔夫以一种带有敌意的快乐的语气说道；一些食死徒又大笑起来了，同时，在他们的笑声的保护下，哈利轻声对荷米恩说，“把书架推倒。” 
　　“丹伯多从没有告诉过你？”马尔夫重复道。“好吧，这就解释了你为什么没有早早的来，波特，黑魔头想知道为什么—” 
　　“—我说的是现在—” 
　　“他在你的梦中展示给你那个预言的储藏之处后，你并没有跑来。他认为天生的好奇心会使你想听到准确的信息。” 
　　“是这样的吗？”哈利说道。在他身后，他感觉到而不是听到荷米恩正在传递他的命令，同时，他也在维持着谈话，从而分散食死徒的注意力。“也就是说他想让我来这里拿到那个预言，是这样吧？为什么？” 
　　“为什么？”马尔夫开心地说道。“因为唯一被允许从神秘事务司找回预言的人，波特，是那些预言中所提到的人，所以黑魔头试图借助他人把预言搞到手。” 
　　“那为什么他想偷一个关于我的预言？” 
　　“关于你们两个人的，波特，是你们两个人的。难道你就从来也不想知道为什么黑魔头要在你还是个婴儿的时候杀死你呢？” 
　　哈利盯着马尔夫灰色的闪烁的眼睛。这个预言解释了哈利的双亲死去的原因，还是解释了他为什么会有那条闪电形的伤疤？这一切的大案都攥在他手中吗？ 
　　“有人做了一个关于我和伏地魔的预言？”他小声说，盯着卢修斯？马尔夫，他的手指紧紧握着被握热了的玻璃球。它还没有一个金色飞贼大，而且仍然覆盖着尘土。“他还是我来这儿帮他拿到这个？为什么他自己不来拿呢？” 
　　“自己拿？”莱斯特兰尖声笑到。“在人们如此忽视他复活的时候，黑魔头闯入魔法部？当敖罗们正在费时间逮捕我的表弟的时候，黑魔头会使他自己暴露在敖罗手上吗？” 
　　“所以，他让你们来帮他敢这些肮脏的勾当，是吗？”哈利说道。“就像他试图让Sturgis和Bode来偷预言一样。” 
　　“非常棒，波特，非常棒。”马尔夫慢慢地说。“但是黑魔头知道你并不傻—” 
　　“就现在！！”哈利喊道。 
　　在他后面的五个不同的声音喊道：“粉身碎骨！”五个魔咒从五个不同的方向朝书架飞去，书架被粉碎了，上百个玻璃球摔碎在地上，泛着珍珠白色的人影从碎片中出现漂浮在空气中。他们的声音夹杂在玻璃和木头的破碎声中。 
　　“快跑！”哈利喊道。随着架子的剧烈摇晃，更多的玻璃球从其上面滑落。它抓了荷米恩的长袍拉着他往前跑，并抬起胳膊保护着头不被架子和玻璃砸伤。一个食死徒从灰尘中出现，哈利狠狠地用胳膊肘打了他那带着面具的脸。他们都在喊叫着，有由于疼痛的哭泣声，有暑假到他的破碎声，也有从玻璃碎片中出现的预言家的古怪声音。 
　　哈利发现他前面的路没有障碍，同时看到罗恩、金妮和璐娜超过了他，他们的胳膊也都抱着脑袋。某个很重的东西打在了他的背上，但他只是躲开它继续飞奔。一只手抓住了他的肩膀，他听到荷米恩吼道：“昏昏倒地！”那只手立即松开了他。 
　　他们已经跑到第九十七排的排尾了，哈利向右转用心倾听着，他能听到在他后面的脚步声和荷米恩催促纳威跟上的声音。正前方，他们来时走过的门开了一条缝。哈利能看到闪闪发光的钟形玻璃盖子。他快速通过门口，预言仍旧紧紧地、安全地攥在他手里。他等到其他人都从门口通过，就要把门关上。 
　　“门窗紧闭！”荷米恩气喘吁吁地说，于是们自己就关上了，并发出了一阵古怪的声响。 
　　“其他人在哪—哪？”哈利喘着气说。 
　　他一直以为罗恩、璐娜和金妮在他们前面，也就是说他们应该在这间屋里等着，但是那却一个人也没有。 
　　“他们肯定是走错路了！”荷米恩满脸恐惧低声说。 
　　“听！”纳威小声说。 
　　脚步声和叫喊声从他们刚刚关死的门后传来。哈利把耳朵贴在门上，听到卢修斯？马尔夫在吼叫：“别管诺特了，我说别管他了，对于黑魔头来说，他受伤和丢失那个预言比起来根本就不算什么。Jugson回来，我们需要组织起来，我们分组行动！别忘了，对波特客气点儿直到我们拿到预言。如果有必要的话你们可以杀掉其他人。—Bellatrix, Rodolphus, 你们往左走；Grabbe,Rabstan,向右；Jungson,Dolohov,走正前面那个门；麦柯尼尔和埃弗里，从这儿走；卢克伍德，去那边；Mulciber跟我走！” 
　　“我们该怎么办？”荷米恩问哈利，浑身打着颤。 
　　“我们不能在这等着他们找到我们，”哈利说，“我们先从这扇门出去。”他们尽可能的敲敲地跑，经过微微发亮的钟罩，向通往房间最远端的圆形走廊的出口跑去。在他们马上就到娜的时候，哈利听到荷米恩刚刚用咒语锁上的门有剧烈的撞击声。 
　　“让开！”一个粗野的声音说。 
　　“阿拉霍洞开！” 
　　当们被打开的时候，哈利、荷米恩和纳威钻到了桌子底下。他们能看到两个食死徒的长袍底儿正向他们迅速靠近。 
　　“他们可能已经跑到走廊去了。”那个粗野的声音说。 
　　“查查桌子底下，”另一个说。 
　　哈利看到了食死徒的膝盖，从桌下抽出魔杖，喊道：“昏昏倒地！” 
　　一束红光击中了邻近的食死徒，他向后倒去撞倒了一做老爷钟；然而，另一个食死徒跳到一边躲开了哈利的咒语，并用自己的魔杖指着荷米恩。而荷米恩正从桌子下爬出来以便能更好的瞄准。 
　　“阿瓦达—-” 
　　哈利从地上跃起抱住食死徒的膝盖，使他跌倒在地，咒语也没有瞄准。纳威由于急于帮忙撞翻了一个写字台，用自己的魔杖指着搏斗的人喊道：“除你武器！” 
　　哈利和食死徒的魔杖从各自的手中飞出并向预言大厅的入口飞去；都爬着去见魔杖，食死徒在前，哈利拉着他的脚，纳威在后面，很明显对他刚才所做得十分震惊。 
　　“离开那儿，哈利！”纳威吼道。很明显他决定弥补他的过失。 
　　哈利猛地闪到一边，这时纳威再一次瞄准并喊道：“昏昏倒地！” 
　　一道红光正好从食死徒肩头飞过集中了在墙上装着各种各样玻璃钟表的柜子。柜子掉在地上摔开了，里面的玻璃飞得到处都是，弹到墙上有掉下来摔碎了。 
　　那个食死徒已经拣起了魔杖。哈利在那个人转过来的时候多到了另一张桌子下。那人的兜帽滑到了一边，所以他看不见了。他用另一只手把帽子扯下来，喊道：“昏昏倒—” 
　　“昏昏倒地！”荷米恩喊道，她刚刚赶上来。一束红光正好击中了食死徒的胸部，他不动了，胳膊还举着，魔杖掉到了地上，随后他向后面的钟罩倒去。哈利本以为会听到一阵撞击声，因为那个人会撞在玻璃上并把罩子撞倒在地。但是结果却是：他的头穿过钟罩就好像钟罩是一个肥皂泡一样。他昏过去了，仰面朝天的躺在桌子上，他的头还在满是发光的气体里飘着。 
　　“魔杖飞来！”荷米恩喊道。哈利的魔杖从一个黑暗的角落飞到她手里，荷米恩把魔杖扔给了他。 
　　“谢谢，”他说，“好吧，我们离开—-” 
　　“小心！”纳威害怕地说。他正盯着钟罩里面的头看。 
　　他们三个都再一次举起魔杖，但没有一个念咒。他们都张着嘴，惊骇地盯着那个人的脑袋发生了什么？ 
　　它正快速的收缩，变得越来越光秃；黑头发缩进了头骨；他的面颊便光滑了；他的头顶被一层软毛覆盖着。 
　　一个婴儿头正怪异的安在粗壮的、满是肌肉的食死徒的脖子上。他正在挣扎着站起来。即使是他们亲眼所见，他们也不敢相信，那颗头有膨胀到先前的比例；浓密的黑发又从头皮里和下巴钻了出来。 
　　“这是时间，”荷米恩用一种敬畏的口气说，“时间——” 
　　食死徒摇摇他那肮脏的头并试图挣脱出来，但在他把头拔出之前，他的又有变成了婴儿的了。 
　　从邻近的一间屋里传来一阵吼叫声和破碎声。 
　　“罗恩？”哈利吼道，迅速离开那怪异的变形场面。“金妮？璐娜？” 
　　“哈利！”荷米恩惊叫道。 
　　食死徒已经把他的头从钟罩里拔出来了。他的外表绝对是奇特的。他的婴儿头正大声哭喊着，而他粗壮的手臂正胡乱拍打着，差点儿打到哈利。哈利举起魔杖，但令他惊讶的是，荷米恩抓住他的手臂。 
　　“你不能伤害一个婴儿！” 
　　现在没有时间争论这一点。哈利能听到更多的脚步声并且越来越大，这时他意识到，他
Chapter 36 The Only One He Ever Feared
‘He hasn't gone!’ Harry yelled.
He did not believe it; he would not believe it; still he fought Lupin with every bit of strength he had. Lupin did not understand; people hid behind that curtain; Harry had heard them whispering the first time he had entered the room. Sirius was hiding, simply lurking out of sight—
‘SIRIUS!’ he bellowed. ‘SIRIUS!’
‘He can't come back, Harry,’ said Lupin, his voice breaking as he struggled to contain Harry. ‘He can't come back, because he's d—
‘HE—IS—NOT— DEAD!’ roared Harry. ‘SIRIUS!’
There was movement going on around them, pointless bustling, the flashes of more spells. To Harry it was meaningless noise, the deflected curses flying past them did not matter, nothing mattered except that Lupin should stop pretending that Sirius—who was standing feet from them behind that old curtain—was not going to emerge at any moment, shaking back his dark hair and eager to re-enter the battle.
Lupin dragged Harry away from the dais. Harry still staring at the archway, was angry at Sirius now for keeping him waiting—
But some part of him realised, even as he fought to break free from Lupin, that Sirius had never kept him waiting before ... Sirius had risked everything, always, to see Harry to help him ... if Sirius was not reappearing out of that archway when Harry was yelling for him as though his life depended on it, the only possible explanation was that he could not come back ... that he really was—
Dumbledore had most of the remaining Death Eaters grouped in the middle of the room, seemingly immobilised by invisible ropes; Mad-Eye Moody had crawled across the room to where Tonks lay, and was attempting to revive her; behind the dais there were still flashes of light, grunts and cries—Kingsley had run forward to continue Sirius's duel with Bellatrix.
‘Harry?’
Neville had slid down the stone benches one by one to the place where Harry stood. Harry was no longer struggling against Lupin, who maintained a precautionary grip on his arm nevertheless.
‘Harry ... I'b really sorry ...’ said Neville. His legs were still dancing uncontrollably. ‘Was dad man—was Sirius Black a—a friend of yours?’
Harry nodded.
‘Here,’ said Lupin quietly, and pointing his wand at Neville's legs he said, ‘Finite.’ The spell was lifted: Neville's legs fell back to the floor and remained still. Lupin's face was pale. ‘Let's—let's find the others. Where are they all, Neville?’
Lupin turned away from the archway as he spoke. It sounded as though every word was causing him pain.
‘Dey're all back dere,’ said Neville. ‘A brain addacked Ron bud I dink he's all righd—and Herbione's unconscious, bud we could feel a bulse—’
There was a loud bang and a yell from behind the dais. Harry saw Kingsley hit the ground yelling in pain: Bellatrix Lestrange turned tail and ran as Dumbledore whipped around. He aimed a spell at her but she deflected it; she was halfway up the steps now —
‘Harry—no!’ cried Lupin, but Harry had already ripped his arm from Lupin's slackened grip.
‘SHE KILLED SIRIUS!’ bellowed Harry. ‘SHE KILLED HIM—I'LL KILL HER!’
And he was off, scrambling up the stone benches; people were shouting behind him but he did not care. The hem of Bellatrix's robes whipped out of sight ahead and they were back in the room where the brains were swimming ...
She aimed a curse over her shoulder. The tank rose into the air and tipped. Harry was deluged in the foul-smelling potion within: the brains slipped and slid over him and began spinning their long coloured tentacles, but he shouted, ‘Wingardium Leviosa!’ and they flew off him up into the air. Slipping and sliding, he ran on towards the door; he leapt over Luna, who was groaning on the floor, past Ginny, who said, ‘Harry—what—?', past Ron, who giggled feebly, and Hermione, who was still unconscious. He wrenched open the door into the circular black hall and saw Bellatrix disappearing through a door on the other side of the room; beyond her was the corridor leading back to the lifts.
He ran, but she had slammed the door behind her and the walls were already rotating. Once more, he was surrounded by streaks of blue light from the whirling candelabra.
‘Where's the exit?’ he shouted desperately, as the wall rumbled to a halt again. ‘Where's the way out?’
The room seemed to have been waiting for him to ask. The door right behind him flew open and the corridor towards the lifts stretched ahead of him, torch-lit and empty. He ran ...
He could hear a lift clattering ahead; he sprinted up the passageway, swung around the corner and slammed his fist on to the button to call a second lift. It jangled and banged lower and lower; the grilles slid open and Harry dashed inside, now hammering the button marked ‘Atrium'. The doors slid shut and he was rising ...
He forced his way out of the lift before the grilles were fully open and looked around. Bellatrix was almost at the telephone lift at the other end of the hall, but she looked back as he sprinted towards her and aimed another spell at him. He dodged behind the Fountain of Magical Brethren: the spell zoomed past him and hit the wrought-gold gates at the other end of the Atrium so that they rang like bells. There were no more footsteps. She had stopped running. He crouched behind the statues, listening.
‘Come out, come out, little Harry!’ she called in her mock baby voice, which echoed off the polished wooden floors. ‘What did you come after me for, then? I thought you were here to avenge my dear cousin!’
‘I am!’ shouted Harry, and a score of ghostly Harry's seemed to chorus I am! I am! I am! all around the room.
‘Aaaaaah ... did you love him, little baby Potter?’
Hatred rose in Harry such as he had never known before; he flung himself out from behind the fountain and bellowed, ‘Crucio!’
Bellatrix screamed: the spell had knocked her off her feet, but she did not writhe and shriek with pain as Neville had—she was already back on her feet, breathless, no longer laughing. Harry dodged behind the golden fountain again. Her counter-spell hit the head of the handsome wizard, which was blown off and landed twenty feet away, gouging long scratches into the wooden floor.
‘Never used an Unforgivable Curse before, have you, boy?’ she yelled. She had abandoned her baby voice now. ‘You need to mean them, Potter! You need to really want to cause pain—to enjoy it—righteous anger won't hurt me for long—I'll show you how it is done, shall I? I'll give you a lesson—’
Harry was edging around the fountain on the other side when she screamed, ‘Crucio!’ and he was forced to duck down again as the centaur's arm, holding its bow, span off and landed with a crash on the floor a short distance from the golden wizard's head.
‘Potter, you cannot win against me!’ she cried.
He could hear her moving to the right, trying to get a clear shot of him. He backed around the statue away from her, crouching behind the centaur's legs, his head level with the house-elf's.
‘I was and am the Dark Lord's most loyal servant. I learned the Dark Arts from him, and I know spells of such power that you, pathetic little boy, can never hope to compete— ’
‘Stupefy!’ yelled Harry. He had edged right around to where the goblin stood beaming up at the now headless wizard and taken aim at her back as she peered around the fountain. She reacted so fast he barely had time to duck.
‘Protego!’
The jet of red light, his own Stunning Spell, bounced back at him. Harry scrambled back behind the fountain and one of the goblin's ears went flying across the room.
‘Potter, I'm going to give you one chance!’ shouted Bellatrix. ‘Give me the prophecy—roll it out towards me now—and I may spare your life!’
‘Well, you're going to have to kill me, because it's gone!’ Harry roared and, as he shouted it, pain seared across his forehead; his scar was on fire again, and he felt a surge of fury that was quite unconnected with his own rage. ‘And he knows!’ said Harry, with a mad laugh to match Bellatrix's own. ‘Your dear old mate Voldemort knows it's gone! He's not going to be happy with you, is he?’
‘What? What do you mean?’ she cried, and for the first time there was fear in her voice.
‘The prophecy smashed when I was trying to get Neville up the steps! What do you think Voldemort'll say about that, then?’
His scar seared and burned ... the pain of it was making his eyes stream ...
‘LIAR!’ she shrieked, but he could hear the terror behind the anger now. ‘YOU'VE GOT IT, POTTER, AND YOU WILL GIVE IT TO ME! Accio prophecy! ACCIO PROPHECY!’
Harry laughed again because he knew it would incense her, the pain building in his head so badly he thought his skull might burst. He waved his empty hand from behind the one-eared goblin and withdrew it quickly as she sent another jet of green light flying at him.
‘Nothing there!’ he shouted. ‘Nothing to summon! It smashed and nobody heard what it said, tell your boss that!’
‘No!’ she screamed. ‘It isn't true, you're lying! MASTER, I TRIED, I TRIED—DO NOT PUNISH ME—’
‘Don't waste your breath!’ yelled Harry, his eyes screwed up against the pain in his scar, now more terrible than ever. ‘He can't hear you from here!’
‘Can't I, Potter?’ said a high, cold voice.
Harry opened his eyes.
Tall, thin and black-hooded, his terrible snakelike face white and gaunt, his scarlet, slit-pupilled eyes staring ... Lord Voldemort had appeared in the middle of the hall, his wand pointing at Harry who stood frozen, quite unable to move.
‘So, you smashed my prophecy?’ said Voldemort softly, staring at Harry with those pitiless red eyes. ‘No, Bella, he is not lying ... I see the truth looking at me from within his worthless mind ... months of preparation, months of effort ... and my Death Eaters have let Harry Potter thwart me again ...’ 
‘Master, I am sorry, I knew not, I was fighting the Animagus Black!’ sobbed Bellatrix, flinging herself down at Voldemort's feet as he paced slowly nearer. ‘Master, you should know—’
‘Be quiet, Bella,’ said Voldemort dangerously. ‘I shall deal with you in a moment. Do you think I have entered the Ministry of Magic to hear your snivelling apologies?’
‘But Master—he is here—he is below—’
Voldemort paid no attention.
‘I have nothing more to say to you, Potter,’ he said quietly. ‘You have irked me too often, for too long. AVADA KEDAVRA!’
Harry had not even opened his mouth to resist; his mind was blank, his wand pointing uselessly at the floor.
But the headless golden statue of the wizard in the fountain had sprung alive, leaping from its plinth to land with a crash on the floor between Harry and Voldemort. The spell merely glanced off its chest as the statue flung out its arms to protect Harry.
‘What—?’ cried Voldemort, staring around. And then he breathed, ‘Dumbledore!’
Harry looked behind him, his heart pounding. Dumbledore was standing in front of the golden gates.
Voldemort raised his wand and another jet of green light streaked at Dumbledore, who turned and was gone in a whirling of his cloak. Next second, he had reappeared behind Voldemort and waved his wand towards the remnants of the fountain. The other statues sprang to life. The statue of the witch ran at Bellatrix, who screamed and sent spells streaming uselessly off its chest, before it dived at her, pinning her to the floor. Meanwhile, the goblin and the house-elf scuttled towards the fireplaces set along the wall and the one-armed centaur galloped at Voldemort, who vanished and reappeared beside the pool. The headless statue thrust Harry backwards, away from the fight, as Dumbledore advanced on Voldemort and the golden centaur cantered around them both.
‘It was foolish to come here tonight, Tom,’ said Dumbledore calmly. ‘The Aurors are on their way—’
‘By which time I shall be gone, and you will be dead!’ spat Voldemort. He sent another killing curse at Dumbledore but missed, instead hitting the security guard's desk, which burst into flame.
Dumbledore flicked his own wand: the force of the spell that emanated from it was such that Harry, though shielded by his golden guard, felt his hair stand on end as it passed and this time Voldemort was forced to conjure a shining silver shield out of thin air to deflect it. The spell, whatever it was, caused no visible damage to the shield, though a deep, gong-like note reverberated from it—an oddly chilling sound.
‘You do not seek to kill me, Dumbledore?’ called Voldemort, his scarlet eyes narrowed over the top of the shield. ‘Above such brutality, are you?’
‘We both know that there are other ways of destroying a man, Tom,’ Dumbledore said calmly, continuing to walk towards Voldemort as though he had not a fear in the world, as though nothing had happened to interrupt his stroll up the hall. ‘Merely taking your life would not satisfy me, I admit—’
‘There is nothing worse than death, Dumbledore!’ snarled Voldemort.
‘You are quite wrong,’ said Dumbledore, still closing in upon Voldemort and speaking as lightly as though they were discussing the matter over drinks. Harry felt scared to see him walking along, undefended, shieldless; he wanted to cry out a warning, but his headless guard kept shunting him backwards towards the wall, blocking his every attempt to get out from behind it. ‘Indeed, your failure to understand that there are things much worse than death has always been your greatest weakness—’
Another jet of green light flew from behind the silver shield. This time it was the one-armed centaur, galloping in front of Dumbledore, that took the blast and shattered into a hundred pieces, but before the fragments had even hit the floor, Dumbledore had drawn back his wand and waved it as though brandishing a whip. A long thin flame flew from the tip; it wrapped itself around Voldemort, shield and all. For a moment, it seemed Dumbledore had won, but then the fiery rope became a serpent, which relinquished its hold on Voldemort at once and turned, hissing furiously, to face Dumbledore.
Voldemort vanished; the snake reared from the floor, ready to strike—
There was a burst of flame in midair above Dumbledore just as Voldemort reappeared, standing on the plinth in the middle of the pool where so recently the five statues had stood.
‘Look out!’ Harry yelled.
But even as he shouted, another jet of green light flew at Dumbledore from Voldemort's wand and the snake struck—
Fawkes swooped down in front of Dumbledore, opened his beak wide and swallowed the jet of green light whole: he burst into flame and fell to the floor, small, wrinkled and flightless. At the same moment, Dumbledore brandished his wand in one long, fluid movement—the snake, which had been an instant from sinking its fangs into him, flew high into the air and vanished in a wisp of dark smoke; and the water in the pool rose up and covered Voldemort like a cocoon of molten glass.
For a few seconds Voldemort was visible only as a dark, rippling, faceless figure, shimmering and indistinct upon the plinth, clearly struggling to throw off the suffocating mass—
Then he was gone and the water fell with a crash back into its pool, slopping wildly over the sides, drenching the polished floor.
‘MASTER!’ screamed Bellatrix.
Sure it was over, sure Voldemort had decided to flee, Harry made to run out from behind his statue guard, but Dumbledore bellowed: ‘Stay where you are, Harry!’
For the first time, Dumbledore sounded frightened. Harry could not see why: the hall was quite empty but for themselves, the sobbing Bellatrix still trapped under the witch statue, and the baby phoenix Fawkes croaking feebly on the floor—’
Then Harry's scar burst open and he knew he was dead: it was pain beyond imagining, pain past endurance—
He was gone from the hall, he was locked in the coils of a creature with red eyes, so tightly bound that Harry did not know where his body ended and the creatures began: they were fused together, bound by pain, and there was no escape—
And when the creature spoke, it used Harry's mouth, so that in his agony he felt his jaw move ...
‘Kill me now, Dumbledore ...’
Blinded and dying, every part of him screaming for release, Harry felt the creature use him again ...
‘If death is nothing, Dumbledore, kill the boy ...’
Let the pain stop, thought Harry ... let him kill us ... end it, Dumbledore ... death is nothing compared to this ...
And I'll see Sirius again ...
And as Harry's heart filled with emotion, the creatures coils loosened, the pain was gone; Harry was lying face down on the floor, his glasses gone, shivering as though he lay upon ice, not wood ...
And there were voices echoing through the hall, more voices than there should have been ... Harry opened his eyes, saw his glasses lying by the heel of the headless statue that had been guarding him, but which now lay flat on its back, cracked and immobile. He put them on and raised his head a little to find Dumbledore's crooked nose inches from his own.
‘Are you all right, Harry?’
‘Yes,’ said Harry, shaking so violently he could not hold his head up properly. ‘Yeah, I'm —where's Voldemort, where—who are all these—what's—’
The Atrium was full of people; the floor was reflecting the emerald green flames that had burst into fire in all the fireplaces along one wall; and streams of witches and wizards were emerging from them. As Dumbledore pulled him back to his feet, Harry saw the tiny gold statues of the house-elf and the goblin, leading a stunned-looking Cornelius Fudge forward.
‘He was there!’ shouted a scarlet-robed man with a ponytail, who was pointing at a pile of golden rubble on the other side of the hall, where Bellatrix had lain trapped only moments before. ‘I saw him, Mr. Fudge, I swear it was You-Know-Who, he grabbed a woman and Disapparated!’
‘I know, Williamson, I know, I saw him too!’ gibbered Fudge, who was wearing pyjamas under his pinstriped cloak and was gasping as though he had just run miles. ‘Merlin's beard—here—here!— in the Ministry of Magic!—great heavens above—it doesn't seem possible—my word—how can this be—?’
‘If you proceed downstairs into the Department of Mysteries, Cornelius,’ said Dumbledore— apparently satisfied that Harry was all right, and walking forwards so that the newcomers realised he was there for the first time (a few of them raised their wands; others simply looked amazed; the statues of the elf and goblin applauded and Fudge jumped so much that his slipper-clad feet left the floor)—'you will find several escaped Death Eaters contained in the Death Chamber, bound by an Anti-Disapparation Jinx and awaiting your decision as to what to do with them.’
‘Dumbledore!’ gasped Fudge, beside himself with amazement. ‘You—here—I—I—’
He looked wildly around at the Aurors he had brought with him and it could not have been clearer that he was in half a mind to cry, ‘Seize him!’
‘Cornelius, I am ready to fight your men—and win, again!’ said Dumbledore in a thunderous voice. ‘But a few minutes ago you saw proof, with your own eyes, that I have been telling you the truth for a year. Lord Voldemort has returned, you have been chasing the wrong man for twelve months, and it is time you listened to sense!’
‘I—don't—well —’ blustered Fudge, looking around as though hoping somebody was going to tell him what to do. When nobody did, he said, ‘Very well—Dawlish! Williamson! Go down to the Department of Mysteries and see ... Dumbledore, you—you will need to tell me exactly—the Fountain of Magical Brethren—what happened?’ he added in a kind of whimper, staring around at the floor, where the remains of the statues of the witch, wizard and centaur now lay scattered.
‘We can discuss that after I have sent Harry back to Hogwarts,’ said Dumbledore.
‘Harry—Harry Potter?’
Fudge wheeled around and stared at Harry, who was still standing against the wall beside the fallen statue that had guarded him during Dumbledore and Voldemort's duel.
‘He—here?’ said Fudge, goggling at Harry. ‘Why—what's all this about?’ 
‘I shall explain everything,’ repeated Dumbledore, ‘when Harry is back at school.’
He walked away from the pool to the place where the golden wizard's head lay on the floor. He pointed his wand at it and muttered, ‘Portus.’ The head glowed blue and trembled noisily against the wooden floor for a few seconds, then became still once more.
‘Now see here, Dumbledore!’ said Fudge, as Dumbledore picked up the head and walked back to Harry carrying it. ‘You haven't got authorisation for that Portkey! You can't do things like that right in front of the Minister for Magic, you—you—’
His voice faltered as Dumbledore surveyed him magisterially over his half-moon spectacles.
‘You will give the order to remove Dolores Umbridge from Hogwarts,’ said Dumbledore. ‘You will tell your Aurors to stop searching for my Care of Magical Creatures teacher so that he can return to work. I will give you ...’ Dumbledore pulled a watch with twelve hands from his pocket and surveyed it...'half an hour of my time tonight, in which I think we shall be more than able to cover the important points of what has happened here. After that, I shall need to return to my school. If you need more help from me you are, of course, more than welcome to contact me at Hogwarts. Letters addressed to the Headmaster will find me.’
Fudge goggled worse than ever; his mouth was open and his round face grew pinker under his rumpled grey hair.
‘I—you—’
Dumbledore turned his back on him.
‘Take this Portkey, Harry.’
He held out the golden head of the statue and Harry placed his hand on it, past caring what he did next or where he went.
‘I shall see you in half an hour,’ said Dumbledore quietly. ‘One ... two ... three ...’
Harry felt the familiar sensation of a hook being jerked behind his navel. The polished wooden floor was gone from beneath his feet; the Atrium, Fudge and Dumbledore had all disappeared and he was flying forwards in a whirlwind of colour and sound ...
“他没有走！”哈利喊道。 
　　他不相信；他根本不会相信；他仍然用他所有的力气反抗卢平。卢平不了解，那些藏在帘子后面的人们，哈利在第一次来到这个房间的时候听到他们在低声说话。天狼星藏在那儿，只不过是看不见他罢了。 
　　“天狼星！”他喊道。“天狼星！” 
　　“他不会回来了，哈利，”卢平说，他的声音由于他奋力抓住哈利而断断续续，“他不会回来了，因为他——-” 
　　“他—没—有—死—！”哈利吼道。“天狼星！” 
　　在他们周围，搏斗在毫无意义地继续着。对于哈利来说那些声音都是没有意义的，咒语从他们身旁飞过根本没有关系，一切的一切都没有关系只是卢平不应该假装认为——站在离他们几英尺的帘子后面的天狼星——再也不会出现了，再也不会甩着他黑黑的头发，再也不会渴望着重新投入战斗了。 
　　卢平拉着哈利离开了台子。哈利依旧盯着拱门，他十分生气天狼星让他这样等着。 
　　但是他有些明白了，即使他从卢平手里挣脱了，天狼星也从来没有让他这样等待。天狼星总是为了见哈利，帮助哈利冒着任何危险。如果天狼星在哈利如此声嘶力竭的呼喊着他的名字的时候仍然不从那个拱门后面出来，唯一合理的解释是他会不来了，他真的会不来了。 
　　丹伯多已经把剩下来的大部分食死徒在屋子中央堆成了一堆儿，看上去像是被看不见的绳子捆上了一样；疯眼汉穆迪爬到了Tonks躺着的地方，试图把她就醒；在台子后面仍然有决斗的声音—Kingsley接着天狼星和莱斯特兰继续决斗。 
　　“哈利？” 
　　纳威从石椅上滑了下来，到了哈利面前。哈利不再与卢平抗争了，然而卢平仍然抓着他的胳膊防止他挣脱。 
　　“哈利。我真的很抱歉。”纳威说。他的腿仍然情不自禁的跳着舞。“那个人—-天狼星布莱克是你的一个朋友吗？” 
　　哈利点了点头。 
　　“哦，”卢平安静的说，并用魔杖指着纳威的腿说道，“咒立停！”诅咒消失了；纳威的腿稳稳地站在了地面上。卢平的脸色很苍白。“我们—我们得找到其他人。他们都在哪儿，纳威？” 
　　卢平说话时转过身去背对着拱门。听上去他说出每一个字都会引起他极大的痛苦。 
　　“他们都在那儿。”纳威说。“一个大脑攻击了罗恩，不过我想他还好—荷米恩昏迷不醒，但是我们可以感到——” 
　　突然从台子后面传来一声巨响。哈利看见Kingsley重重地摔在地上，痛苦的喊着；莱斯特兰看到丹伯多向她冲来后，转身想溜。丹伯多向她发射了一条咒语，但她使它偏离了；她现在已经爬了一半的楼梯了。 
　　“哈利—不！”卢平喊道，但是哈利的胳膊已经从卢平松懈的双手中抽了出来。 
　　“他杀死了天狼星！”哈利大叫道，“她杀了他，我要杀死她！” 
　　随即，他开始追赶她了。他爬上石椅；人们在他身后呼喊着，但他不在乎。莱斯特兰的长袍在前面消失了，他们又回到了大脑室。 
　　她转过头施了一个咒语。水池升到了空中，倾斜了。哈利身上被浇了又脏又臭的药水；大脑们滑向他，并伸出它们的触手，但是他叫道：“羽加迪姆 勒维奥萨！（Wingardium Leviosa！）”随后它们离开他漂浮到空中。他三步并两步向门冲去；他跳过在地上呻吟着的璐娜，经过金妮，经过怪笑着的罗恩，经过仍然昏迷不醒的荷米恩。他猛地拧开门进入了圆形黑色的大厅，看见莱斯特兰从屋子的另一端的一扇门消失了；在她后面是通向电梯的走廊。 
　　他飞奔着，但是她已经把门关上了，随即墙又开始了转动。他又一次被闪着蓝光的烛台围绕着。 
　　“出口在哪儿？”他绝望的喊着，此时墙停止了转动。“出口在哪儿？” 
　　好像房间正等着他问这个问题一样。他正后方的门开了，通往电梯的走廊出现在他面前。走廊里空空的，点着灯。他继续狂跑。 
　　他能听见前面有电梯运行的声音；他加快速度，奔过拐角，拳头砸在按钮上叫另一个电梯。电梯缓缓下落；铁门刚开，哈利就闪了进去，现在用拳头砸标有‘大厅’的按钮。门关上了，他现在在上升。 
　　还没等电梯的门完全开开，他就挤着冲了出去。莱斯特兰几乎到了电话亭的那个电梯了，但是当哈利向她飞奔过去的时候，她回过头来施了一个咒语。他躲到‘魔法同胞喷泉’身后；咒语飞过他击中了大厅另一端的那扇大门，使得它们向门铃一样响了起来。这里没有楼梯了。她听了下来。他蜷缩在雕像后面，谛听着。 
　　“出来吧，出来呀，小哈利！”他用婴儿的腔调叫唤着，她的声音在大厅里回响着。“你来找我是为了什么呀？我觉得你来是为了要给我亲爱的表弟报仇，是吧！” 
　　“是的，没错！”哈利喊道，随着一阵回音，听上去像是哈利在一遍遍的叫着：“没错！没错！没错！没错！” 
　　“哈哈哈哈哈~~~~~~~~~！你爱他吗，小可爱波特？” 
　　从未有过的仇恨感在哈利胸中升起；他从喷泉后面冲了出来，喊道：“钻心剜骨！” 
　　莱斯特兰尖叫起来；这道咒语使她摔倒在地，但是她并没有像纳威那样痛苦的抽搐着，她已经气喘吁吁的站稳了，脸上不再有笑容。哈利又一次躲到金色喷泉的后面。她的咒语击中了英俊巫师的头，它的头飞到了20英尺以外的地上。 
　　“你从来没有用过不可饶恕咒吧，是吗，孩子？”她吼道。她放弃了她的婴儿腔调。“你是故意的，波特。你确实想要引起我的疼痛—你伤不了我的—我会展示给你看的，我会给你上一课—-” 
　　当她喊道：“钻心剜骨！”的时候，哈利已经躲到了喷泉的另一边，他被迫再一次低下头，因为马人拿着弓的胳膊掉了下来。 
　　“波特，你不会打赢我的！”她喊道。 
　　他能听到她在向右移动，试图瞄得准些。他仍旧躲着她，蜷缩在马人的腿后，他的头与家养小精灵相平。 
　　“我过去是，现在也是黑魔王最忠诚的仆人。我从他那里学习黑魔法，而且我所会的魔咒所拥有的力量是如此强大，以至于你这个可怜的小男孩永远也别想与之抗衡——” 
　　“昏昏倒地！”哈利吼道。当她盯着喷泉到处看的时候，他已经挪到了妖精站的地方，举起魔杖瞄准了她。她反应的如此之快以至于他几乎没有时间趴下。 
　　“咒语返回！” 
　　他自己发射的昏迷咒，向他反弹回来。哈利爬回到喷泉背后，与此同时妖精的一个耳朵飞了出去。 
　　“波特，我再给你一次机会！”莱斯特兰喊道，“把预言给我—把它扔给我—我回放你一条生路！” 
　　“那么你就把我杀了吧，因为，它不见了！”哈利吼道，正当他喊的时候，疼痛在他的前额燃烧了起来；他的伤疤又疼起来了，他感到一股与自己的愤怒毫无关系的狂怒涌上心头。“他也知道了！”哈利说着，发出了一阵可以与莱斯特兰相比的疯狂的大笑。“你的老伙计伏地魔知道它不见了！他不会对你满意的，是吗？” 
　　“什么？你么意思？”他喊道，她的声音里第一次透着恐惧。 
　　“预言在我帮纳威上楼的时候打碎了！你认为伏地魔对于这个会说些什么呢？” 
　　他的伤疤又疼又烧，剧烈的疼痛使得他的眼泪流了出来。 
　　“你胡说！”她尖叫道，但他现在能听到愤怒后的恐惧了。“你拿着它，波特，你得把它给我！预言飞来！预言飞来！” 
　　哈利又一次大笑起来，因为他知道这样会激怒她，他头上的疼痛是如此的剧烈，以至于他认为自己的头会裂开。当又一束绿光超他飞来时，他迅速用空闲的手把一只耳朵的妖精雕像拉了过来挡住了咒语。 
　　“这儿什么也没有！”他喊道，“没有什么可以召唤的！它摔碎了，没人知道它说了什么，告诉你的头儿！” 
　　“不！”她尖叫道。“这不是真的，你在撒谎！主人，我尽力了，我尽力了—不要惩罚我—-” 
　　“别费力气了！”哈利喊道，他的眼睛由于前所未有的疼痛眯了起来，“在这里，他是听不到你的！” 
　　“真的吗，波特？”一个凄厉、尖尖的声音说道。 
　　哈利睁开了他的眼睛。 
　　一个又高又瘦、戴着黑头巾、有着像蛇一样苍白憔悴的脸的人用他猩红色的眼睛盯着哈利。伏地魔在大厅中央出现了，他的魔杖直指一动不动的哈利。 
　　“那么，你打碎了我的预言？”伏地魔轻轻的说，用他那冷漠的红眼睛盯着哈利。“不，Bella,他没有说谎。我通过他毫无价值的脑子看到了事实。几个月的准备，几个月的努力，然而我的食死徒们又一次让哈利波特阻止了我。我—” 
　　“主人，我抱歉我不知道，我正在和阿尼玛格斯布莱克决斗！”莱斯特兰呜咽地说，她爬向伏地魔的脚边。“主人，你应该知道—” 
　　“闭嘴，Bella,”伏地魔威胁的说。“我马上会处置你的。你认为我来到魔法部是来听你的道歉的吗？” 
　　“但是主人—他在这儿—他在下面—” 
　　伏地魔没有理会。 
　　“我对你无话可说，波特，”他安静的说。“你让我厌烦了很久了。阿瓦达索命！” 
　　哈利都没有张开嘴抵抗；他脑子里一片空白，他的魔杖毫无用处的指着地板。 
　　但是喷泉里的金色无头巫师雕像突然变活了，从自己的底座一跃而起落到了哈利和伏地魔之间。当雕像伸出自己的胳膊保护哈利时，那个咒语仅仅从它的胸口擦过。 
　　“什么—？”伏地魔喊道，环顾四周。然后，他倒吸了一口冷气，“丹伯多！” 
　　哈利越过伏地魔看着，他的心在狂跳。丹伯多正站在金色大门前。 
　　伏地魔举起他的魔杖，紧接着又一道绿光射向丹伯多。丹伯多旋转着他的斗篷，消失了。一转眼，他又在伏地魔身后重现，并向喷泉里剩下的雕像挥舞着魔杖。剩下的雕像也变活了。那个女巫的雕像向莱斯特兰冲去。在它压住她之前，莱斯特兰尖叫着向它的胸口发射着不起作用的咒语。雕像把她钉在了地上。与此同时，妖精和家养小精灵的雕像冲向墙边的火炉，独臂的马人向伏地魔飞奔过去，但是他消失了紧接着又在水池旁出现。无头的雕像使劲推着哈利往后走，远离战斗，同时，丹伯多向伏地魔走去，金色的马人围绕着他们慢跑着。 
　　“今晚到这里来是很愚蠢的，汤姆，”丹伯多平静地说。“敖罗们正在来这儿的路上—” 
　　“等他们到的时候我已经走了，而你已经死了！”伏地魔吼道。他又向丹伯多发了一道死咒但是没有击中，而是击中了保安的写字台，写字台着火了。 
　　丹伯多突然晃动着自己的魔杖；当咒语经过的时候，它散发出来的力量之大就连被保护着的哈利也感到他的头发立了起来。这次伏地魔被迫凭空变出了一个银色的闪闪发亮的盾牌来阻挡它。不管那个咒语是什么，它并没有对盾牌造成明显的破坏，只是发出了敲锣的声音—一种奇怪的颤抖的声音。 
　　“你不想杀我，丹伯多？”伏地魔说道，他猩红色的眼睛在盾牌上面眯成了一道缝。“仅仅是残忍的折磨我，是吗？” 
　　“我们都知道，毁掉一个人还有其它的方法，汤姆，”丹伯多平静地说着，继续朝伏地魔走去，就好像这个世界上没有什么能让他害怕，就好像什么也阻挡不了他一样。“我承认，只取你的性命不会使我满足的—” 
　　“没有什么比死亡还要糟的，丹伯多！”伏地魔咆哮道。 
　　“你大错特错了，”丹伯多仍旧向伏地魔走去而且用轻声地说着，就好像他们在喝酒时讨论问题一样。哈利看到他这么不顾一切的往前走，觉得有些害怕。他想发出一声警告，但是他的无头保镖把他紧紧地按在墙上，阻止他冲出去。“确实如此啊，你对于‘这世界上有比死亡还要糟糕的事情’的不理解是你身上最大的弱点——” 
　　有一道绿光从银色盾牌后飞了出来。这次是独臂马人，冲到丹伯多之前，结果被炸成了成百上千个碎片。但是还没等碎片落地，丹伯多抽出他的魔杖挥舞起来，就好像他在舞动一只鞭子。一条细长的火焰从杖尖儿飞了出来；它把伏地魔和他的盾牌围了起来。有一阵，丹伯多好像已经赢了，但是随后，火绳变成了一条蛇。蛇从伏地魔身上脱离下来转向丹伯多，发出嘶嘶的声音。 
　　伏地魔消失了；蛇从地上跃起准备攻击。 
　　当伏地魔重现的时候，在丹伯多上空有一阵爆炸声。伏地魔站在水池中央的，原来五个雕像站着的那个底座上。 
　　“小心！”哈利喊道。 
　　然而就在他喊的一刹那，另一到绿光从伏地魔的魔杖飞向丹伯多，同时，蛇也发起了攻击。 
　　福克斯突然飞到丹伯多前面，张开它的喙吞掉了整个绿光；他掉到地上燃烧起来，在灰烬中重生了。与此同时，丹伯多流畅地挥舞着他的魔杖—-那只马上就要把毒牙插入到他身体中的蛇，飞到了高高的空中变成了一缕黑烟，消失了。同时，水池中的水升了起来把伏地魔覆盖住了。 
　　有一阵子，伏地魔变成了黑黑的、看不见脸的、闪闪发光、模模糊糊的影像；很明显，他在试图把水弄开。 
　　然后他走了，水柱落回到了水池中，溅出来的水打湿了地板。 
　　“主人！”莱斯特兰尖叫道。 
　　很明显一切都结束了，很明显伏地魔决定逃走了，哈利试图从雕像后面出来，但是丹伯多吼道：“待在哪儿，哈利！” 
　　丹伯多的声音里第一次透着恐惧。哈利不明白为什么；大厅里空荡荡的只有他们，啜泣的莱斯特兰仍然困在女巫雕像下，新生的福克斯在地板上柔弱的叫着。 
　　突然，哈利的伤疤裂开了，他知道他要死了；这是难以想象的疼痛，无法忍受的疼痛。 
　　他离开了大厅，他被一个有着红眼睛的人盘绕着，他们连得如此紧密，以至于哈利不知道他们各自的身体在哪里；他们成了一体，由痛苦相连着，他逃都逃不掉。 
　　这时，那个人说话了，他用的是哈利的嘴，所以在极度的痛苦中，哈利觉得他的下巴在动。 
　　“杀了我吧，丹伯多。” 
　　哈利什么都看不见，他快死了，他身体的每一部分都渴望着解脱，哈利感到那个人又在使用他了。 
　　“如果死没有什么，丹伯多，那么就杀死这个孩子吧！” 
　　让疼痛停止吧，哈利想。让它杀了我把。结束它吧，丹伯多。死和这个比起来根本算不了什么。 
　　然后我就可以看到天狼星了。 
　　正当哈利的心里想着死去的时候，那个和他缠绕在一起的人松开了他，疼痛消失了；哈利的脸朝下爬在地上，他的眼镜不见了。他剧烈的颤抖着，好像他是躺在冰上而不是木头上。 
　　然后，大厅里有了声音。哈利睁开眼睛，看到眼镜放在无头保镖的脚后跟旁，然而无头雕像却静静的平躺在地上。他戴上眼镜抬起头，看到丹伯多的鹰勾鼻离他的鼻子仅有几英寸远。 
　　“你还好吗，哈利？” 
　　“是的，”哈利说道，他如此剧烈的抖动着，使得他无法正常的抬着头。“是的，我—伏地魔在哪儿，在哪儿—他们是谁—是什—-” 
　　大厅里挤满了人；地板映着墨绿色的火焰；男巫和女巫在屋里走来走去。当丹伯多把哈利拉起来的时候，他看到了妖精和家养小精灵雕像旁的惊呆了的康奈利福吉。 
　　“他在那儿！”一个穿着猩红色长袍梳着马尾辫的男人喊道。他指着屋子另一边的一堆金色的碎片，那儿正是莱斯特兰刚刚被困住的地方。“我看到他了，福吉先生，我发誓他是神秘人，他拉着一个女人然后幻影移形了！” 
　　“我知道，威廉森，我知道，我也看到他了！”福吉嘟囔着，他在长袍里穿着睡衣，大口的喘着气就好像他刚跑完好几英里似的。“我的天呐—竟会在这儿—这儿！—在魔法部里！—我的上帝—这看上去根本不可能啊—我的天—怎么会有这样的事—？” 
　　“如果你到楼下的神秘事务司去，康奈利，”丹伯多说道，很明显他对哈利没受伤感到高兴。他向前走来，所以信赖的人都意识到他在这儿（一些人举起了魔杖；还有一些人只是很吃惊；妖精和家养小精灵的雕像拍手喝彩；福吉惊讶得跳了起来，他的拖鞋掉在了地上）—“你会发现几个在逃的食死徒被困在死亡密室里，他们被‘抗-幻影移形’魔咒帮了起来，等待着你的发落。” 
　　“丹伯多！”福吉喘着气惊讶地说道，“你在这儿—我—我—” 
　　他环视四周，看着他带来的敖罗们，这在明显不过了，他想要喊：“抓住他！” 
　　“康奈利，我准备好了和你的人决斗—而且再一次胜利！”丹伯多用雷鸣般的声音说道，“但是几分钟之前你亲眼看到了，我这一年来一直告诉你的真相。伏地魔回来了，你这十二个月都追错人了，现在到了你该理智一点儿的时候了！” 
　　“我没有—好吧—”福吉咆哮道，他四周看了看，像是希望哪个人能站出来告诉他该怎么做。当没有一个人站出来时，他说道：“很好—Dawolish！威廉森！到神秘事务司去看看。丹伯多，你—你得详细地告诉我—魔法兄弟喷泉—发生了什么？”他的语气中加入了一丝呜咽，盯着地上剩下的女巫、男巫和马人的雕像。 
　　“我们可以在我把哈利送回霍格瓦彻之后再谈，”丹伯多说。 
　　“哈利—哈利波特？” 
　　福吉转过身盯着哈利，哈利仍然挨着丹伯多和伏地魔决斗时保护他的雕像，靠墙站着。 
　　“他—在这儿？”福吉等着哈利说着。“为什么—这到底是怎么回事？” 
　　“在哈利回到霍格沃此后，”丹伯多重复道，“我会解释一切的。” 
　　他离开水池边，来到男巫的头所在的地方。他用魔杖指着它，念道：“门钥匙。”那颗头发出蓝色的光并在地板上吵闹的抖动了一阵，然后又归于平静。 
　　“看这儿，丹伯多！”当丹伯多时期那颗头向哈利走去时，福吉说道：“你没有权利使用那个门钥匙！你不能在魔法部长面前这样行事，你—你—” 
　　丹伯多透过半月形的眼镜不屑地注视着他的时候，他的声音变得支支吾吾了。 
　　“你得下令把Dolores Umbridge从霍格瓦彻开除，”丹伯多说道，“你得命令你的敖罗停止追捕我的保护神奇生物课老师，让他回来工作。今晚我会给你—”丹伯多从口袋里掏出一个有十二根指针的手表，看了看。“—半个小时的时间，在这段时间里我想我们可以研究一下这里发生的一切。在这之后，我要回到我的学校去。如果你需要我给你更多的帮助，当然，欢迎你到霍格瓦彻来与我联系。在信件的地址上写上‘校长’就可以找到我了。” 
　　福吉的眼睛瞪得更圆了；他的嘴张着，他乱糟糟的头发下的圆脸泛着粉色。 
　　“我-你—” 
　　丹伯多住过身来看着哈利。 
　　“拿着这个门钥匙，哈利。” 
　　他拿出那颗金色的头，哈利把他的手放在它上方，并不关心自己接下来会做什么或者回去什么地方。 
　　“我会在半小时后见你，”丹伯多轻声说，“一、二、三。” 
　　哈利又感到了熟悉的感觉——一个钩子钩着他的肚脐把他想前猛拉过去。光亮的木地板在他脚下消失了；大厅，福吉和丹伯多都消失了，他在一阵绚丽多彩的旋风中向前飞着。 
Chapter 37  The Lost Prophecy 
Harry's feet hit solid ground; his knees buckled a little and the golden wizard's head fell with a resounding clunk to the floor. He looked around and saw that he had arrived in Dumbledore's office.
Everything seemed to have repaired itself during the Headmasters absence. The delicate silver instruments stood once more on the spindle-legged tables, puffing and whirring serenely. The portraits of the headmasters and headmistresses were snoozing in their frames, heads lolling back in armchairs or against the edge of the picture. Harry looked through the window. There was a cool line of pale green along the horizon: dawn was approaching.
The silence and the stillness, broken only by the occasional grunt or snuffle of a sleeping portrait, was unbearable to him. If his surroundings could have reflected the feelings inside him, the pictures would have been screaming in pain. He walked around the quiet, beautiful office, breathing quickly, trying not to think. But he had to think ... there was no escape ...
It was his fault Sirius had died; it was all his fault. If he, Harry, had not been stupid enough to fall for Voldemort's trick, if he had not been so convinced that what he had seen in his dream was real, if he had only opened his mind to the possibility that Voldemort was, as Hermione had said, banking on Harry's love of playing the hero ...
It was unbearable, he would not think about it, he could not stand it ... there was a terrible hollow inside him he did not want to feel or examine, a dark hole where Sirius had been, where Sirius had vanished; he did not want to have to be alone with that great, silent space, he could not stand it—
A picture behind him gave a particularly loud grunting snore, and a cool voice said, ‘Ah ... Harry Potter ...’
Phineas Nigellus gave a long yawn, stretching his arms as he surveyed Harry out of shrewd, narrow eyes.
‘And what brings you here in the early hours of the morning?’ said Phineas eventually. ‘This office is supposed to be barred to all but the rightful Headmaster. Or has Dumbledore sent you here? Oh, don't tell me ...’ He gave another shuddering yawn. ‘Another message for my worthless great-great-grandson?’
Harry could not speak. Phineas Nigellus did not know that Sirius was dead, but Harry could not tell him. To say it aloud would be to make it final, absolute, irretrievable.
A few more of the portraits had stirred now. Terror of being interrogated made Harry stride across the room and seize the doorknob.
It would not turn. He was shut in.
‘I hope this means,’ said the corpulent, red-nosed wizard who hung on the wall behind the Headmasters desk, ‘that Dumbledore will soon be back among us?’ 
Harry turned. The wizard was surveying him with great interest. Harry nodded. He tugged again on the doorknob behind his back, but it remained immovable.
‘Oh good,’ said the wizard. ‘It has been very dull without him, very dull indeed.’
He settled himself on the throne-like chair on which he had been painted and smiled benignly upon Harry.
‘Dumbledore thinks very highly of you, as I am sure you know,’ he said comfortably. ‘Oh yes. Holds you in great esteem.’
The guilt filling the whole of Harry's chest like some monstrous, weighty parasite, now writhed and squirmed. Harry could not stand this, he could not stand being himself any more ... he had never felt more trapped inside his own head and body, never wished so intensely that he could be somebody, anybody else ...
The empty fireplace burst into emerald green flame, making Harry leap away from the door, staring at the man spinning inside the grate. As Dumbledore's tall form unfolded itself from the fire, the wizards and witches on the surrounding walls jerked awake, many of them giving cries of welcome.
‘Thank you,’ said Dumbledore softly.
He did not look at Harry at first, but walked over to the perch beside the door and withdrew, from an inside pocket of his robes, the tiny, ugly, featherless Fawkes, whom he placed gently on the tray of soft ashes beneath the golden post where the full-grown Fawkes usually stood.
‘Well, Harry,’ said Dumbledore, finally turning away from the baby bird, ‘you will be pleased to hear that none of your fellow students are going to suffer lasting damage from the night's events.’
Harry tried to say, ‘Good,’ but no sound came out. It seemed to him that Dumbledore was reminding him of the amount of damage he had caused, and although Dumbledore was for once looking at him directly, and although his expression was kindly rather than accusatory, Harry could not bear to meet his eyes.
‘Madam Pomfrey is patching everybody up,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Nymphadora Tonks may need to spend a little time in St. Mungos, but it seems she will make a full recovery.’
Harry contented himself with nodding at the carpet, which was growing lighter as the sky outside grew paler. He was sure all the: portraits around the room were listening closely to every word Dumbledore spoke, wondering where Dumbledore and Harry had been, and why there had been injuries.
‘I know how you're feeling, Harry,’ said Dumbledore very quietly.
‘No, you don't,’ said Harry, and his voice was suddenly loud and strong; white-hot anger leapt inside him; Dumbledore knew nothing about his feelings.
‘You see, Dumbledore?’ said Phineas Nigellus slyly. ‘Never try to understand the students. They hate it. They would much rather be tragically misunderstood, wallow in self-pity, stew in their own—’
‘That's enough, Phineas,’ said Dumbledore.
Harry turned his back on Dumbledore and stared determinedly out of the window. He could see the Quidditch stadium in the distance. Sirius had appeared there once, disguised as the shaggy black dog, so he could watch Harry play ... he had probably come to see whether Harry was as good as James had been ... Harry had never asked him ...
‘There is no shame in what you are feeling, Harry,’ said Dumbledore's voice. ‘On the contrary ... the fact that you can feel pain like this is your greatest strength.’
Harry felt the white-hot anger lick his insides, blazing in the terrible emptiness, filling him with the desire to hurt Dumbledore for his calmness and his empty words.
‘My greatest strength, is it?’ said Harry, his voice shaking as he stared out at the Quidditch stadium, no longer seeing it. ‘You haven't got a clue ... you don't know ...’
‘What don't I know?’ asked Dumbledore calmly.
It was too much. Harry turned around, shaking with rage.
‘I don't want to talk about how I feel, all right?’
‘Harry, suffering like this proves you are still a man! This pain is part of being human—’
‘THEN—I—DON'T —WANT—TO—BE—HUMAN!’ Harry roared, and he seized the delicate silver instrument from the spindle-legged table beside him and flung it across the room; it shattered into a hundred tiny pieces against the wall. Several of the pictures let out yells of anger and fright, and the portrait of Armando Dippet said, ‘Really!’
‘I DON'T CARE!’ Harry yelled at them, snatching up a lunascope and throwing it into the fireplace. ‘I'VE HAD ENOUGH, I'VE SEEN ENOUGH, I WANT OUT, I WANT IT TO END, I DON'T CARE ANY MORE—’
He seized the table on which the silver instrument had stood and threw that, too. It broke apart on the floor and the legs rolled in different directions.
‘You do care,’ said Dumbledore. He had not flinched or made a single move to stop Harry demolishing his office. His expression was calm, almost detached. ‘You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it.’
‘I—DON'T!’ Harry screamed, so loudly that he felt his throat might tear, and for a second he wanted to rush at Dumbledore and break him, too; shatter that calm old face, shake him, hurt him, make him feel some tiny part of the horror inside himself.
‘Oh, yes, you do,’ said Dumbledore, still more calmly. ‘You have now lost your mother, your father, and the closest thing to a parent you have ever known. Of course you care.’
‘YOU DON'T KNOW HOW I FEEL!’ Harry roared. ‘YOU—STANDING THERE—YOU—’
But words were no longer enough, smashing things was no more help; he wanted to run, he wanted to keep running and never look back, he wanted to be somewhere he could not see the clear blue eyes staring at him, that hatefully calm old face. He turned on his heel and ran to the door, seized the doorknob again and wrenched at it.
But the door would not open.
Harry turned back to Dumbledore.
‘Let me out,’ he said. He was shaking from head to foot.
‘No,’ said Dumbledore simply.
For a few seconds they stared at each other.
‘Let me out,’ Harry said again.
‘No,’ Dumbledore repeated.
‘If you don't— if you keep me in here—if you don't let me—’
‘By all means continue destroying my possessions,’ said Dumbledore serenely. ‘I daresay I have too many.’
He walked around his desk and sat down behind it, watching Harry.
‘Let me out,’ Harry said yet again, in a voice that was cold and almost as calm as Dumbledore's.
‘Not until I have had my say,’ said Dumbledore.
‘Do you—do you think I want to—do you think I give a—I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU'VE GOT TO SAY!’ Harry roared. ‘I don't want to hear anything you've got to say!’
‘You will,’ said Dumbledore steadily. ‘Because you are not nearly as angry with me as you ought to be. If you are to attack me, as I know you are close to doing, I would like to have thoroughly earned it.’
‘What are you talking—?’
‘It is my fault that Sirius died,’ said Dumbledore clearly. ‘Or should I say, almost entirely my fault—I will not be so arrogant as to claim responsibility for the whole. Sirius was a brave, clever and energetic man, and such men are not usually content to sit at home in hiding while they believe others to be in danger. Nevertheless, you should never have believed for an instant that there was any necessity for you to go to the Department of Mysteries tonight. If I had been open with you, Harry, as I should have been, you would have known a long time ago that Voldemort might try and lure you to the Department of Mysteries, and you would never have been tricked into going there tonight. And Sirius would not have had to come after you. That blame lies with me, and with me alone.’
Harry was still standing with his hand on the doorknob but was unaware of it. He was gazing at Dumbledore, hardly breathing, listening yet barely understanding what he was hearing.
‘Please sit down,’ said Dumbledore. It was not an order, it was a request.
Harry hesitated, then walked slowly across the room now littered with silver cogs and fragments of wood, and took the seat facing Dumbledore's desk.
‘Am I to understand,’ said Phineas Nigellus slowly from Harry's left, ‘that my great-great-grandson—the last of the Blacks—is dead?’
‘Yes, Phineas,’ said Dumbledore.
‘I don't believe it,’ said Phineas brusquely.
Harry turned his head in time to see Phineas marching out of his portrait and knew that he had gone to visit his other painting in Grimmauld Place. He would walk, perhaps, from portrait to portrait, calling for Sirius through the house ...
‘Harry, I owe you an explanation,’ said Dumbledore. ‘An explanation of an old man's mistakes. For I see now that what I have done, and not done, with regard to you, bears all the hallmarks of the failings of age. Youth cannot know how age thinks and feels. But old men are guilty if they forget what it was to be young ... and I seem to have forgotten, lately ...’
The sun was rising properly now; there was a rim of dazzling orange visible over the mountains and the sky above it was colourless and bright. The light fell upon Dumbledore, upon the silver of his eyebrows and beard, upon the lines gouged deeply into his lace.
‘I guessed, fifteen years ago,’ said Dumbledore, ‘when I saw the scar on your forehead, what it might mean. I guessed that it might be the sign of a connection forged between you and Voldemort.’
‘You've told me this before, Professor,’ said Harry bluntly. He did not care about being rude. He did not care about anything very much any more.
‘Yes,’ said Dumbledore apologetically. ‘Yes, but you see—it is necessary to start with your scar. For it became apparent, shortly after you rejoined the magical world, that I was correct, and that your scar was giving you warnings when Voldemort was close to you, or else feeling powerful emotion.’
‘I know,’ said Harry wearily.
‘And this ability of yours—to detect Voldemort's presence, even when he is disguised, and to know what he is feeling when his emotions are roused—has become more and more pronounced since Voldemort returned to his own body and his full powers.’
Harry did not bother to nod. He knew all of this already.
‘More recently,’ said Dumbledore, ‘I became concerned that Voldemort might realise that this connection between you exists. Sure enough, there came a time when you entered so far into his mind and thoughts that he sensed your presence. I am speaking, of course, of the night when you witnessed the attack on Mr. Weasley.’
‘Yeah, Snape told me,’ Harry muttered.
‘Professor Snape, Harry,’ Dumbledore corrected him quietly. ‘But did you not wonder why it was not I who explained this to you? Why I did not teach you Occlumency? Why I had not so much as looked at you for months?’
Harry looked up. He could see now that Dumbledore looked sad and tired.
‘Yeah,’ Harry mumbled. ‘Yeah, I wondered.’
‘You see,’ Dumbledore continued, ‘I believed it could not be long before Voldemort attempted to force his way into your mind, to manipulate and misdirect your thoughts, and I was not eager to give him more incentives to do so. I was sure that if he realised that our relationship was—or had ever been—closer than that of headmaster and pupil, he would seize his chance to use you as a means to spy on me. I feared the uses to which he would put you, the possibility that he might try and possess you. Harry, I believe I was right to think that Voldemort would have made use of you in such a way. On those rare occasions when we had close contact, I thought I saw a shadow of him stir behind your eyes ...’
Harry remembered the feeling that a dormant snake had risen in him, ready to strike, in those moments when he and Dumbledore had made eye-contact.
‘Voldemort's aim in possessing you, as he demonstrated tonight, would not have been my destruction. It would have been yours. He hoped, when he possessed you briefly a short while ago, that I would sacrifice you in the hope of killing him. So you see, I have been trying, in distancing myself from you, to protect you, Harry. An old man s mistake ...’
He sighed deeply. Harry was letting the words wash over him. He would have been so interested to know all this a few months ago, but now it was meaningless compared to the gaping chasm inside him that was the loss of Sirius; none of it mattered ...
‘Sirius told me you felt Voldemort awake inside you the very night that you had the vision of Arthur Weasley's attack. I knew at once that my worst fears were correct: Voldemort had realised he could use you. In an attempt to arm you against Voldemort's assaults on your mind, I arranged Occlumency lessons with Professor Snape.’
He paused. Harry watched the sunlight, which was sliding slowly across the polished surface of Dumbledore's desk, illuminate a silver ink pot and a handsome scarlet quill. Harry could tell that the portraits all around them were awake and listening raptly to Dumbledore's explanation; he could hear the occasional rustle of robes, the slight clearing of a throat. Phineas Nigellus had still not returned ...
‘Professor Snape discovered,’ Dumbledore resumed, ‘that you had been dreaming about the door to the Department of Mysteries for months. Voldemort, of course, had been obsessed with the possibility of hearing the prophecy ever since he regained his body; and as he dwelled on the door, so did you, though you did not know what it meant.
‘And then you saw Rookwood, who worked in the Department of Mysteries before his arrest, telling Voldemort what we had known all along—that the prophecies held in the Ministry of Magic are heavily protected. Only the people to whom they refer can lift them from the shelves without suffering madness: in this case, either Voldemort himself would have to enter the Ministry of Magic, and risk revealing himself at last—or else you would have to take it for him. It became a matter of even greater urgency that you should master Occlumency.’
‘But I didn't,’ muttered Harry. He said it aloud to try and ease the dead weight of guilt inside him: a confession must surely relieve some of the terrible pressure squeezing his heart. ‘I didn't practise, I didn't bother, I could've stopped myself having those dreams, Hermione kept telling me to do it, if I had he'd never have been able to show me where to go, and—Sirius wouldn't—Sirius wouldn't—’
Something was erupting inside Harry's head: a need to justify himself, to explain—
‘I tried to check he'd really taken Sirius, I went to Umbridge's office, I spoke to Kreacher in the fire and he said Sirius wasn't there, he said he'd gone!’
‘Kreacher lied,’ said Dumbledore calmly. ‘You are not his master, he could lie to you without even needing to punish himself. Kreacher intended you to go to the Ministry of Magic.’
‘He—he sent me on purpose?’
‘Oh yes. Kreacher, I am afraid, has been serving more than one master for months.’
‘How?’ said Harry blankly. ‘He hasn't been out of Grimmauld Place for years.’
‘Kreacher seized his opportunity shortly before Christmas,’ said Dumbledore, ‘when Sirius, apparently, shouted at him to “get out". He took Sirius at his word, and interpreted this as an order to leave the house. He went to the only Black family member for whom he had any respect left ... Black's cousin Narcissa, sister of Bellatrix and wife of Lucius Malfoy.’
‘How do you know all this?’ Harry said. His heart was beating very fast. He felt sick. He remembered worrying about Kreacher's odd absence over Christmas, remembered him turning up again in the attic ...
‘Kreacher told me last night,’ said Dumbledore. ‘You see, when you gave Professor Snape that cryptic warning, he realised that you had had a vision of Sirius trapped in the bowels of the Department of Mysteries. He, like you, attempted to contact Sirius at once. I should explain that members of the Order of the Phoenix have more reliable methods of communicating than the fire in Dolores Umbridge's office. Professor Snape found that Sirius was alive and safe in Grimmauld Place.
‘When, however, you did not return from your trip into the Forest with Dolores Umbridge, Professor Snape grew worried that you still believed Sirius to be a captive of Lord Voldemort's. He alerted certain Order members at once.’ 
Dumbledore heaved a great sigh and continued, ‘Alastor Moody, Nymphadora Tonks, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Remus Lupin were at Headquarters when he made contact. All agreed to go to your aid at once. Professor Snape requested that Sirius remain behind, as he needed somebody to remain at Headquarters to tell me what had happened, for I was due there at any moment. In the meantime he, Professor Snape, intended to search the Forest for you.
‘But Sirius did not wish to remain behind while the others went to search for you. He delegated to Kreacher the task of telling me what had happened. And so it was that when I arrived in Grimmauld Place shortly after they had all left for the Ministry, it was the elf who told me—laughing fit to burst—where Sirius had gone.’
‘He was laughing?’ said Harry in a hollow voice.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Dumbledore. ‘You see, Kreacher was not able to betray us totally. He is not Secret Keeper for the Order, he could not give the Malfoy's our whereabouts, or tell them any of the Order's confidential plans that he had been forbidden to reveal. He was bound by the enchantments of his kind, which is to say that he could not disobey a direct order from his master, Sirius. But he gave Narcissa information of the sort that is very valuable to Voldemort, yet must have seemed much too trivial for Sirius to think of banning him from repeating it.’
‘Like what?’ said Harry.
‘Like the fact that the person Sirius cared most about in the world was you,’ said Dumbledore quietly. ‘Like the fact that you were coming to regard Sirius as a mixture of father and brother. Voldemort knew already, of course, that Sirius was in the Order, and that you knew where he was—but Kreacher's information made him realise that the one person for whom you would go to any lengths to rescue was Sirius Black.’
Harry's lips were cold and numb.
‘So ... when I asked Kreacher if Sirius was there last night ...’
‘The Malfoy's— undoubtedly on Voldemort's instructions—had told him he must find a way of keeping Sirius out of the way once you had seen the vision of Sirius being tortured. Then, if you decided to check whether Sirius was at home or not, Kreacher would be able to pretend he was not. Kreacher injured Buckbeak the hippogriff yesterday, and, at the moment when you made your appearance in the fire, Sirius was upstairs tending to him.’
There seemed to be very little air in Harry's lungs; his breathing was quick and shallow.
‘And Kreacher told you all this ... and laughed?’ he croaked.
‘He did not wish to tell me,’ said Dumbledore. ‘But I am a sufficiently accomplished Legilimens myself to know when I am being lied to and I—persuaded him—to tell me the full story, before I left for the Department of Mysteries.’
‘And,’ whispered Harry, his hands curled in cold fists on his knees, ‘and Hermione kept telling us to be nice to him—’
‘She was quite right, Harry,’ said Dumbledore. ‘I warned Sirius when we adopted twelve Grimmauld Place as our Headquarters that Kreacher must be treated with kindness and respect. I also told him that Kreacher could be dangerous to us. I do not think Sirius took me very seriously, or that he ever saw Kreacher as a being with feelings as acute as a human's—’
‘Don't you blame —don't you—talk—about Sirius like—’ Harry's breath was constricted, he could not get the words out properly; but the rage that had subsided briefly flared in him again: he would not let Dumbledore criticise Sirius. ‘Kreacher's a lying—foul—he deserved—’
‘Kreacher is what he has been made by wizards, Harry,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Yes, he is to be pitied. His existence has been as miserable as your friend Dobby's. He was forced to do Sirius's bidding, because Sirius was the last of the family to which he was enslaved, but he felt no true loyalty to him. And whatever Kreacher's faults, it must be admitted that Sirius did nothing to make Kreacher's lot easier—’
‘DON'T TALK ABOUT SIRIUS LIKE THAT!’ Harry yelled.
He was on his feet again, furious, ready to fly at Dumbledore, who had plainly not understood Sirius at all, how brave he was, how much he had suffered ...
‘What about Snape?’ Harry spat. ‘You're not talking about him, are you? When I told him Voldemort had Sirius he just sneered at me as usual—’
‘Harry you know Professor Snape had no choice but to pretend not to take you seriously in front of Dolores Umbridge,’ said Dumbledore steadily, ‘but as I have explained, he informed the Order as soon as possible about what you had said. It was he who deduced where you had gone when you did not return from the Forest. It was he, too, who gave Professor Umbridge fake Veritaserum when she was attempting to force you to tell her Sirius's whereabouts.’
Harry disregarded this; he felt a savage pleasure in blaming Snape, it seemed to be easing his own sense of dreadful guilt, and he wanted to hear Dumbledore agree with him.
‘Snape—Snape g —goaded Sirius about staying in the house—he made out Sirius was a coward— ’
‘Sirius was much too old and clever to have allowed such feeble taunts to hurt him,’ said Dumbledore.
‘Snape stopped giving me Occlumency lessons!’ Harry snarled. ‘He threw me out of his office!’
‘I am aware of it,’ said Dumbledore heavily. ‘I have already said that it was a mistake for me not to teach you myself, though I was sure, at the time, that nothing could have been more dangerous than to open your mind even further to Voldemort while in my presence—’
‘Snape made it worse, my scar always hurt worse after lessons with him—’ Harry remembered Ron's thoughts on the subject and plunged on ‘—how do you know he wasn't trying to soften me up for Voldemort, make it easier for him to get inside my— ’
‘I trust Severus Snape,’ said Dumbledore simply. ‘But I forgot—another old man's mistake— that some wounds run too deep for the healing. I thought Professor Snape could overcome his feelings about your father—I was wrong.’ 
‘But that's OK, is it?’ yelled Harry, ignoring the scandalised faces and disapproving mutterings of the portraits on the walls. ‘It's OK for Snape to hate my dad, but it's not OK for Sirius to hate Kreacher?’
‘Sirius did not hate Kreacher,’ said Dumbledore. ‘He regarded him as a servant unworthy of much interest or notice. Indifference and neglect often do much more damage than outright dislike ... the fountain we destroyed tonight told a lie. We wizards have mistreated and abused our fellows for too long, and we are now reaping our reward.’
‘SO SIRIUS DESERVED WHAT HE GOT, DID HE?’ Harry yelled.
‘I did not say that, nor will you ever hear me say it,’ Dumbledore replied quietly. ‘Sirius was not a cruel man, he was kind to house-elves in general. He had no love for Kreacher, because Kreacher was a living reminder of the home Sirius had hated.’
‘Yeah, he did hate it!’ said Harry, his voice cracking, turning his back on Dumbledore and walking away. The sun was bright inside the room now and the eyes of all the portraits followed him as he walked, without realising what he was doing, without seeing the office at all. ‘You made him stay shut up in that house and he hated it, that's why he wanted to get out last night—’
‘I was trying to keep Sirius alive,’ said Dumbledore quietly.
‘People don't like being locked up!’ Harry said furiously, rounding on him. ‘You did it to me all last summer—’
Dumbledore closed his eyes and buried his face in his long-fingered hands. Harry watched him, but this uncharacteristic sign of exhaustion, or sadness, or whatever it was from Dumbledore, did not soften him. On the contrary, he felt even angrier that Dumbledore was showing signs of weakness. He had no business being weak when Harry wanted to rage and storm at him.
Dumbledore lowered his hands and surveyed Harry through his half-moon glasses.
‘It is time,’ he said, ‘for me to tell you what I should have told you five years ago, Harry. Please sit down. I am going to tell you everything. I ask only a little patience. You will have your chance to rage at me—to do whatever you like— when I have finished. I will not stop you.’
Harry glared at him for a moment, then flung himself back into the chair opposite Dumbledore and waited.
Dumbledore stared for a moment at the sunlit grounds outside the window, then looked back at Harry and said, ‘Five years ago you arrived at Hogwarts, Harry, safe and whole, as I had planned and intended. Well—not quite whole. You had suffered. I knew you would when I left you on your aunt and uncle's doorstep. I knew I was condemning you to ten dark and difficult years.’
He paused. Harry said nothing.
‘You might ask— and with good reason—why it had to be so. Why could some wizarding family not have taken you in? Many would have done so more than gladly, would have been honoured and delighted to raise you as a son.
‘My answer is that my priority was to keep you alive. You were in more danger than perhaps anyone but I realised. Voldemort had been vanquished hours before, but his supporters—and many of them are almost as terrible as he—were still at large, angry, desperate and violent. And I had to make my decision, too, with regard to the years ahead. Did I believe that Voldemort was gone for ever? No. I knew not whether it would be ten, twenty or fifty years before he returned, but I was sure he would do so, and I was sure, too, knowing him as I have done, that he would not rest until he killed you.
‘I knew that Voldemort's knowledge of magic is perhaps more extensive than any wizard alive. I knew that even my most complex and powerful protective spells and charms were unlikely to be invincible if he ever returned to full power.
‘But I knew, too, where Voldemort was weak. And so I made my decision. You would be protected by an ancient magic of which he knows, which he despises, and which he has always, therefore, underestimated—to his cost. I am speaking, of course, of the fact that your mother died to save you. She gave you a lingering protection he never expected, a protection that flows in your veins to this day. I put my trust, therefore, in your mother's blood. I delivered you to her sister, her only remaining relative.’
‘She doesn't love me,’ said Harry at once. ‘She doesn't give a damn—’ 
‘But she took you,’ Dumbledore cut across him. ‘She may have taken you grudgingly, furiously, unwillingly, bitterly, yet still she took you, and in doing so, she sealed the charm I placed upon you. Your mother's sacrifice made the bond of blood the strongest shield I could give you.’
‘I still don't— ’
‘While you can still call home the place where your mother's blood dwells, there you cannot be touched or harmed by Voldemort. He shed her blood, but it lives on in you and her sister. Her blood became your refuge. You need return there only once a year, but as long as you can still call it home, whilst you are there he cannot hurt you. Your aunt knows this. I explained what I had done in the letter I left, with you, on her doorstep. She knows that allowing you houseroom may well have kept you alive for the past fifteen years.’
‘Wait,’ said Harry. ‘Wait a moment.’
He sat up straighter in his chair, staring at Dumbledore.
‘You sent that Howler. You told her to remember—it was your voice—’ 
‘I thought,’ said Dumbledore, inclining his head slightly, ‘that she might need reminding of the pact she had sealed by taking you. I suspected the Dementor attack might have awoken her to the dangers of having you as a surrogate son.’
‘It did,’ said Harry quietly. ‘Well—my uncle more than her. He wanted to chuck me out, but after the Howler came she—she said I had to stay.’
He stared at the floor for a moment, then said, ‘But what's this got to do with—’
He could not say Sirius's name.
‘Five years ago, then,’ continued Dumbledore, as though he had not paused in his story, ‘you arrived at Hogwarts, neither as happy nor as well-nourished as I would have liked, perhaps, yet alive and healthy. You were not a pampered little prince, but as normal a boy as I could have hoped under the circumstances. Thus far, my plan was working well.
‘And then ... well, you will remember the events of your first year at Hogwarts quite as clearly as I do. You rose magnificently to the challenge that faced you and sooner—much sooner—than I had anticipated, you found yourself face to face with Voldemort. You survived again. You did more. You delayed his return to full power and strength. You fought a man's fight. I was ... prouder of you than I can say.
‘Yet there was a flaw in this wonderful plan of mine,’ said Dumbledore. ‘An obvious flaw that I knew, even then, might be the undoing of it all. And yet, knowing how important it was that my plan should succeed, I told myself that I would not permit this flaw to ruin it. I alone could prevent this, so I alone must be strong. And here was my first test, as you lay in the hospital wing, weak from your struggle with Voldemort.’
‘I don't understand what you're saying,’ said Harry.
‘Don't you remember asking me, as you lay in the hospital wing, why Voldemort had tried to kill you when you were a baby?’
Harry nodded.
‘Ought I to have told you then?’
Harry stared into the blue eyes and said nothing, but his heart was racing again.
‘You do not see the flaw in the plan yet? No ... perhaps not. Well, as you know, I decided not to answer you. Eleven, I told myself, was much too young to know. I had never intended to tell you when you were eleven. The knowledge would be too much at such a young age.
‘I should have recognised the danger signs then. I should have asked myself why I did not feel more disturbed that you had already asked me the question to which I knew, one day, I must give a terrible answer. I should have recognised that I was too happy to think that I did not have to do it on that particular day ... you were too young, much too young.
‘And so we entered your second year at Hogwarts. And once again you met challenges even grown wizards have never faced; once again you acquitted yourself beyond my wildest dreams. You did not ask me again, however, why Voldemort had left that mark on you. We discussed your scar, oh yes ... we came very, very close to the subject. Why did I not tell you everything?
‘Well, it seemed to me that twelve was, after all, hardly better than eleven to receive such information. I allowed you to leave my presence, bloodstained, exhausted but exhilarated, and if I felt a twinge of unease that I ought, perhaps, to have told you then, it was swiftly silenced. You were still so young, you see, and I could not find it in myself to spoil that night of triumph ...
‘Do you see, Harry? Do you see the flaw in my brilliant plan now? I had fallen into the trap I had foreseen, that I had told myself I could avoid, that I must avoid.’
‘I don't—’
‘I cared about you too much,’ said Dumbledore simply. ‘I cared more for your happiness than your knowing the truth, more for your peace of mind than my plan, more for your life than the lives that might be lost if the plan failed. In other words, I acted exactly as Voldemort expects we fools who love to act.
‘Is there a defence? I defy anyone who has watched you as I have—and I have watched you more closely than you can have imagined—not to want to save you more pain than you had already suffered. What did I care if numbers of nameless and faceless people and creatures were slaughtered in the vague future, if in the here and now you were alive, and well, and happy? I never dreamed that I would have such a person on my hands.
‘We entered your third year. I watched from afar as you struggled to repel dementors, as you found Sirius, learned what he was and rescued him. Was I to tell you then, at the moment when you had triumphantly snatched your godfather from the jaws of the Ministry? But now, at the age of thirteen, my excuses were running out. Young you might be, but you had proved you were exceptional. My conscience was uneasy, Harry. I knew the time must come soon ...
‘But you came out of the maze last year, having watched Cedric Diggory die, having escaped death so narrowly yourself ... and I did not tell you, though I knew, now Voldemort had returned, I must do it soon. And now, tonight, I know you have long been ready for the knowledge I have kept from you for so long, because you have proved that I should have placed the burden upon you before this. My only defence is this: I have watched you struggling under more burdens than any student who has ever passed through this school and I could not bring myself to add another—the greatest one of all.’
Harry waited, but Dumbledore did not speak.
‘I still don't understand.’
‘Voldemort tried to kill you when you were a child because of a prophecy made shortly before your birth. He knew the prophecy had been made, though he did not know its full contents. He set out to kill you when you were still a baby, believing he was fulfilling the terms of the prophecy. He discovered, to his cost, that he was mistaken, when the curse intended to kill you backfired. And so, since his return to his body, and particularly since your extraordinary escape from him last year, he has been determined to hear that prophecy in its entirety. This is the weapon he has been seeking so assiduously since his return: the knowledge of how to destroy you.’
The sun had risen fully now: Dumbledore's office was bathed in it. The glass case in which the sword of Godric Gryffindor resided gleamed white and opaque, the fragments of the instruments Harry had thrown to the floor glistened like raindrops, and behind him, the baby Fawkes made soft chirruping noises in his nest of ashes.
‘The prophecy's smashed,’ Harry said blankly. ‘I was pulling Neville up those benches in the— the room where the archway was, and I ripped his robes and it fell ...’
‘The thing that smashed was merely the record of the prophecy kept by the Department of Mysteries. But the prophecy was made to somebody, and that person has the means of recalling it perfectly.’
‘Who heard it?’ asked Harry, though he thought he knew the answer already.
‘I did,’ said Dumbledore. ‘On a cold, wet night sixteen years ago, in a room above the bar at the Hog's Head inn. I had gone there to see an applicant for the post of Divination teacher, though it was against my inclination to allow the subject of Divination to continue at all. The applicant, however, was the great-great-granddaughter of a very famous, very gifted Seer and I thought it common politeness to meet her. I was disappointed. It seemed to me that she had not a trace of the gift herself. I told her, courteously I hope, that I did not think she would be suitable for the post. I turned to leave.’
Dumbledore got to his feet and walked past Harry to the black cabinet that stood beside Fawkes's perch. He bent down, slid back a catch and took from inside it the shallow stone basin, carved with runes around the edges, in which Harry had seen his father tormenting Snape. Dumbledore walked back to the desk, placed the Pensieve upon it, and raised his wand to his own temple. From it, he withdrew silvery, gossamer-fine strands of thought clinging to the wand and deposited them into the basin. He sat back down behind his desk and watched his thoughts swirl and drift inside the Pensieve for a moment. Then, with a sigh, he raised his wand and prodded the silvery substance with its tip.
A figure rose out of it, draped in shawls, her eyes magnified to enormous size behind her glasses, and she revolved slowly, her feet in the basin. But when Sybill Trelawney spoke, it was not in her usual ethereal, mystic voice, but in the harsh, hoarse tones Harry had heard her use once before:
‘The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ...’
The slowly revolving Professor Trelawney sank back into the silver mass below and vanished.
The silence within the office was absolute. Neither Dumbledore nor Harry nor any of the portraits made a sound. Even Fawkes had fallen silent.
‘Professor Dumbledore?’ Harry said very quietly, for Dumbledore, still staring at the Pensieve, seemed completely lost in thought. ‘It ... did that mean ... what did that mean?’
‘It meant,’ said Dumbledore, ‘that the person who has the only chance of conquering Lord Voldemort for good was born at the end of July, nearly sixteen years ago. This boy would be born to parents who had already defied Voldemort three times.’
Harry felt as though something was closing in on him. His breathing seemed difficult again.
‘It means—me?’
Dumbledore surveyed him for a moment through his glasses.
‘The odd thing, Harry,’ he said softly, ‘is that it may not have meant you at all. Sybill's prophecy could have applied to two wizard boys, both born at the end of July that year, both of whom had parents in the Order of the Phoenix, both sets of parents having narrowly escaped Voldemort three times. One, of course, was you. The other was Neville Longbottom.’
‘But then ... but then, why was it my name on the prophecy and not Neville's?’
‘The official record was re-labelled after Voldemort's attack on you as a child,’ said Dumbledore. ‘It seemed plain to the keeper of the Hall of Prophecy that Voldemort could only have tried to kill you because he knew you to be the one to whom Sybill was referring.’
‘Then—it might not be me?’ said Harry.
‘I am afraid,’ said Dumbledore slowly, looking as though every word cost him a great effort, ‘that there is no doubt that it is you.’
‘But you said— Neville was born at the end of July, too—and his mum and dad—’
‘You are forgetting the next part of the prophecy, the final identifying feature of the boy who could vanquish Voldemort ... Voldemort himself would mark him as his equal.And so he did, Harry. He chose you, not Neville. He gave you the scar that has proved both blessing and curse.’
‘But he might have chosen wrong!’ said Harry. ‘He might have marked the wrong person!’
‘He chose the boy he thought most likely to be a danger to him,’ said Dumbledore. ‘And notice this, Harry: he chose, not the pure-blood (which, according to his creed, is the only kind of wizard worth being or knowing) but the half-blood, like himself. He saw himself in you before he had ever seen you, and in marking you with that scar, he did not kill you, as he intended, but gave you powers, and a future, which have fitted you to escape him not once, but four times so far— something that neither your parents, nor Neville's parents, ever achieved.’
‘Why did he do it, then?’ said Harry, who felt numb and cold. ‘Why did he try and kill me as a baby? He should have waited to see whether Neville or I looked more dangerous when we were older and tried to kill whoever it was then—’
‘That might, indeed, have been the more practical course,’ said Dumbledore, ‘except that Voldemort's information about the prophecy was incomplete. The Hog's Head inn, which Sybill chose for its cheapness, has long attracted, shall we say, a more interesting clientele than the Three Broomsticks. As you and your friends found out to your cost, and I to mine that night, it is a place where it is never safe to assume you are not being overheard. Of course, I had not dreamed, when I set out to meet Sybill Trelawney, that I would hear anything worth overhearing. My—our—one stroke of good fortune was that the eavesdropper was detected only a short way into the prophecy and thrown from the building.’
‘So he only heard —?’
‘He heard only the beginning, the part foretelling the birth of a boy in July to parents who had thrice defied Voldemort. Consequently, he could not warn his master that to attack you would be to risk transferring power to you, and marking you as his equal. So Voldemort never knew that there might be danger in attacking you, that it might be wise to wait, to learn more. He did not know that you would have power the Dark Lord knows not—’
‘But I don't!’ said Harry, in a strangled voice. ‘I haven't any powers he hasn't got, I couldn't fight the way he did tonight, I can't possess people or—or kill them —’
‘There is a room in the Department of Mysteries,’ interrupted Dumbledore, ‘that is kept locked at all times. It contains a force that is at once more wonderful and more terrible than death, than human intelligence, than the forces of nature. It is also, perhaps, the most mysterious of the many subjects for study that reside there. It is the power held within that room that you possess in such quantities and which Voldemort has not at all. That power took you to save Sirius tonight. That power also saved you from possession by Voldemort, because he could not bear to reside in a body so full of the force he detests. In the end, it mattered not that you could not close your mind. It was your heart that saved you.’
Harry closed his eyes. If he had not gone to save Sirius, Sirius would not have died ... More to stave off the moment when he would have to think of Sirius again, Harry asked, without caring much about the answer, ‘The end of the prophecy ... it was something about ... neither can live ...’
‘... while the other survives,’ said Dumbledore.
‘So,’ said Harry, dredging up the words from what felt like a deep well of despair inside him, ‘so does that mean that ... that one of us has got to kill the other one ... in the end?’
‘Yes,’ said Dumbledore.
For a long time, neither of them spoke. Somewhere far beyond the office walls, Harry could hear the sound of voices, students heading down to the Great Hall for an early breakfast, perhaps. It seemed impossible that there could be people in the world who still desired food, who laughed, who neither knew nor cared that Sirius Black was gone for ever. Sirius seemed a million miles away already; even now a part of Harry still believed that if he had only pulled back that veil, he would have found Sirius looking back at him, greeting him, perhaps, with his laugh like a bark ...
‘I feel I owe you another explanation, Harry,’ said Dumbledore hesitantly. ‘You may, perhaps, have wondered why I never chose you as a prefect? I must confess ... that I rather thought ... you had enough responsibility to be going on with.’
Harry looked up at him and saw a tear trickling down Dumbledore's face into his long silver beard.
哈利的脚触到实地，他的膝盖轻微弯曲着而金巫师的头跌落在地上。他四下巡视发现自己到了丹伯多的办公室。 校长不在的时候所有一切都已经修复如初，那个精致的银色仪器重新放到了纺垂型腿的桌子上, 静静地在烟雾中旋转着，校长们的肖像在画框中打着盹，他们的头或是后垂到扶手椅上或者是依靠在画框边沿。哈利向窗外望去，远处的天边呈现出绿色分界线：黎明正在到来。安静，只有肖像们睡梦中偶尔的呼噜声打破的这种安静，对于他来说无法承受，如果环境能够发射出他的内心感受的话，肖像们应该会痛苦的尖叫。他在这安静、美丽的办公室内漫步着，急迫的呼吸，试着什么也不想。然而他必须想……无法逃避…… 因为他的错误使希利斯死了；全都是他的错。如果他，哈利，不这么愚蠢的落入伏地魔的轨迹，如果他不是那么确信他梦中见到的事情是真实发生的，如果他听荷米恩的劝告考虑伏地魔了解了哈利喜欢做英雄的可能性…… 
　　无法承受，他无法想象这些，他无法承受忍受这些……他内心中有一个可怕的不想感到或检查的洞，一个关于希利斯的黑洞，希利斯在那儿消失了；他不想呆在那个沉重且安静的地方，他无法忍受…… 
　　他旁边的一幅肖像发出一声巨大的鼾声，冷冷的说，“阿……哈利·波特……” 
　　费涅斯·尼古拉斯大了一个长长的哈欠，当他看到哈利时展开了双臂，眯着双眼。 
　　“什么事情这么早把你带来了呢？”，尼古拉斯说，“这间屋子对除正确的校长之外的人是保密的，或者是登不多尔送你来的？哦，不要告诉我……”，他又打了一个打哈欠，“另一个关于我那无用的孙子的消息？” 
　　哈利无法说话。非涅斯·尼古拉斯还不知道希利斯已经死了，而哈利无法告诉他，高声说出它毕将导致最终的，绝对的绝路。 
　　更多的肖像骚动起来，被审问的恐惧使哈利穿过房间抓住门把手。 
　　无法转动，他被关在屋里了。 
　　“我希望这意味着”， 校长桌子上一个肥胖的红鼻子巫师说，“丹伯多很快就回到我们中间了？” 哈利转身，那个巫师很感兴趣的看着他。哈利点点头，他再次用力拉身后的门把手,然而仍旧无法转动。 
　　“好极了”，那个巫师说，“他不在很无聊，事实上非常之无聊。” 
　　他坐在一个君王似的椅子上，善良的微笑着看着哈利，“丹伯多对你评价很高，我想你知道”，他舒服地说，“是的，他非常尊重你。” 
　　哈利胸中那巨大的内疚感现在如寄生虫一般蠕动起来，他已经不再是自己了……从未有过的感觉更深地捕获了他的身心，从没有这样强烈希望他最好是其他什么人，任何其他人…… 
　　空荡荡的壁炉突然闪现出绿色的火焰，哈利从门口快速离开，他盯着炉火中出现的男人。丹伯多高大的身影走了出来，四周墙上的巫师（画像）们立刻醒来，其中很多人高声欢迎着。 
　　“谢谢”，丹伯多柔和的说。 
　　他起初并没有看哈利，只是走到门边的高架旁，从礼服内兜里掏出弗克斯（凤凰）那细小、丑陋、没有羽毛的身体并轻轻地放到本来弗克斯停放的架子边的灰烬上。 
　　“好吧，哈利”，丹伯多终于从小凤凰边离开，“你会感到很高兴你的所有同伴中昨夜事件中没人持续受到伤害。” 
　　哈利试着说“好”但却没有发出任何声音，对他来说似乎丹伯多在提醒他自己带来的伤害，而且尽管丹伯多一度直接看着他，尽管他的神情很温和而没有任何指控的味道， 哈利仍旧无法忍受与他的视线相接。 “珀弗瑞夫人会修复所有人”，丹伯多说，“纳菲达拉·坦克可能需要在圣·蒙戈医院住一段时间，但看上去她会恢复如初。” 
　　哈利满足的朝地毯点着头，由于外面的天空渐渐变亮地毯看上去也清晰了很多。他确信屋子里的所有巫师都仔细听着丹伯多说的每一个字，疑惑丹伯多和哈利去了什么地方，还有为什么会有人受伤。 
　　“我了解你的感受，哈利”，丹伯多平静的说。 
　　“不，你不了解”，哈利猛然高声说到，内心中的烈火爆发了，丹伯多一点儿也不了解他的感受。 
　　“你知道，丹伯多？”，非涅斯·尼古拉斯悄悄地说，“不要试图去了解学生，他们恨这个。他们更希望哪怕是悲剧性的误解，在自怜中打滚，把自己闷在心里。” 
　　“够了，尼古拉斯”，丹伯多说。 
　　哈利转过身，背对着丹伯多，看着窗外。他可以看到远方的奎第奇球场。希利斯曾经变形成一条黑狗到那儿看哈利打球……大概是想要来看看哈利是不是打得和它的父亲一样好……哈利还没来得及问过…… 
　　“不必感到内疚，哈利”，丹伯多说，“相反……感守这种悲伤的事实正是你的最大力量。” 
　　哈利感到胸中的火焰席卷着， 在恐惧的空虚中燃烧着，使他充满想要伤害显得平静地说着空洞的话的丹伯多的愿望。 “我最大的力量吗？”,他看着奎地奇球场却视而不见，声音颤抖着，“你不明白……你不知道……” 
　　“我不知道什么？丹伯多平静地问。 
　　太多了，哈利转身，暴躁地颤栗着。 
　　“我现在不想谈论自己的感受，好吗？” 
　　“哈利，经受这些保证你成为一个男人！这种痛苦是成为人地一部分……” 
　　“那么，我不想做人！”，哈利咆哮着，抓起旁边的银色仪器扔出去，仪器撞到墙上变成碎片落到地上，一些肖像惊怒地叫起来，阿莫多……迪派特的肖像说，“真的！” 
　　“我不在意！”，哈利对他们大吼，抓起一个用亮镜并把它扔到火炉里，“我受够了，我看够了，我想出去，我想一切结束，我只想一切都结束，我不再关心他……” 
　　他抓起那张摆放银色仪器的桌子并扔出去，桌子跌落在地上，桌子腿散向各个方向。 
　　“你确实关心，”丹伯多说，他没有畏缩，没有一点举动来阻止哈利破坏他的房间，他的神情仍旧那么平静，甚至是有些冷漠。“你非常关心以至于由于这种痛苦你甚至想要死。” 
　　“我不是！”，哈利尖叫，如此大声以至于他感到自己的喉咙可能撕裂，一段时间他甚至想要冲向丹伯多并攻击他，打碎他那张平静的脸，伤害他，使他内心感到少许的恐慌。 
　　“是的，你是”，邓多不儿更加平静，“你现在失去了你的母亲，你的父亲，还有你所知道的父亲的所有隐秘的东西，你当然关心！” 
　　“你不知道我的感觉！”，哈利大喊，“你站在这儿，你……” 
　　然而语言已不够，打碎东西也毫无帮助，他想要跑开，再也不想回头，他想要到一个再也看不到面前这双注视着他的明亮的蓝色眼睛的地方，还有那张可恨的平静的老脸。他转身冲向门，抓住门把手并努力扭转它。 
　　门仍旧无法被打来。 
　　哈利回身面对丹伯多。 
　　“让我出去”，他说，从头到脚颤抖不止。 
　　“不”，丹伯多简单的说。 
　　他们彼此对视了一段时间。 
　　“让我出去”，哈利再说。 
　　“不”，丹伯多重复。 
　　“如果你不……如果你继续把我关在这儿……如果你不让我……” 
　　“随便继续破坏我的房间”，丹伯多说，“我敢说我有太多了。” 
　　他走向自己的椅子坐下来，之后看着哈利。 
　　“让我出去”，哈利再次说，语气很冷甚至象丹伯多一样平静。 
　　“直到听我说完”，丹伯多说 
　　“你……你以为我想……你想我给……我不关心你想说的事！”，哈利咆哮，“不想听你说的任何事！” 
　　“你会的”,丹伯多平静的说，“因为你并不象你应该的那样生气我，如果你真的想要攻击我，象我知道你差点那样做的那次，我会完完全全的知道。” 
　　“你说什么……” 
　　“希利斯的死是我的错误”，丹伯多说，“或者我该说，差不多全是我的错误……我不该如此高傲的相信自己处理所有事情的能力。希利斯是一个勇敢、聪明、热血的男人，那样的人不会满足于他们确信同伴处于危险时自己仍旧坐在屋子里，然而，假如我先公开告诉你的话，你将不会相信对于你来说今夜去神秘事务部是确实急迫的，哈利，我其实应该那样，你应该早点知道伏地魔很早以前就想引诱你去神秘事务部，那样今夜你就不会中计前往了，希里斯也就不用跟着去了，过失在我，仅仅在于我一个人。” 
　　哈利仍旧站在门边，手仍旧扶在把手上，但他已经无法意识到这些了。他凝视着丹伯多，几乎无法呼吸，几乎无法理解自己听到的话。 
　　“请坐”，丹伯多说。这不是命令，这是请求。 
　　哈利犹豫片刻，之后慢慢走过一片杂乱的房间，坐到面对丹伯多的椅子上。 
　　“我是否可以这样理解”，非涅斯·尼古拉斯在哈利的左边慢慢说，“我的小孙子，布莱克家族最后的一员，已经死了？” 
　　“是的，非涅斯”，丹伯多说。 
　　“我无法相信”，非涅斯直率的说。 
　　哈利转身，看到菲涅斯离开了它的画框，知道他肯定是去拜访格里墨德家（希里斯老家，凤凰令总部）的他的另一幅画象去了，可能他在家里的所有画框中漫步，呼唤希里斯的名字。 
　　“哈利，我欠你一个解释”，丹伯多说，“一个有关老人的错误的说明。因为我现在发现我其实应该早些这样做，事实上却没有，因而对你非常抱歉，这个错误是由于年老造成的，你不会了解老年人的感受和想法，但是老人若忘记了他们也曾经年轻却是犯罪……而我恰恰是忘记了” 
　　太阳此刻正在升起，山峰被勾上了一圈明显的橙色边沿，上面的天空则颜色渐少只是越发地明亮起来。光芒照射到丹伯多，照到他银白色的眉毛和胡须，照到他脸上深深的皱纹。 
　　“我猜想，十五年前”，丹伯多说，“当我看到你额头上的伤痕时，我猜这是你和伏地魔之间的一种纽带。” 
　　“你以前告诉过我这些，教授！”，哈利坦率的说，他不介意显得粗鲁，他不再介意任何事情。 
　　“是的”，丹伯多道歉，“是的，可是你看，必须从你的伤疤开始说起。明显的，当你重返魔法社会后，我的猜测被证明是对的，当伏地魔接近你或是他情绪激动的时候，你的伤疤给你预警。” 
　　“我知道”，哈利厌倦的说。 
　　“这是你的能力—探测伏地魔的存在，即使是他伪装起来，并且当他情绪激动的时候可以知道他的想法。当伏地魔取回他的身体并恢复魔力之后，这就越来越明显。” 
　　哈利厌倦点头，这些他早就知道。 
　　“最近”，丹伯多说，“我开始担心伏地魔可能它与你之间存在这种联系，很显然，你多次进入他的思想使其可以注意到这点，当然，我想说的就是那夜你目睹魏斯利先生受到攻击的那次。” 
　　“嗯，斯内普告诉我了，”，哈利低语。 
　　“斯内普教授，哈利”，丹伯多纠正他，“你是否想过为什么直到现在我才象你解释这些？为什么我不亲自教你心灵防卫术？为什么我数月都不去看你呢？” 
　　哈利望过去，他可以看出现在丹伯多有些悲伤和疲倦。 
　　“是的”，哈利低语，“我想过。” 
　　“你知道”，丹伯多接着说，“我相信不用多久伏地魔就会试图进入你的内心，操作并误导你的思维，我不能再给他这样做的激励，我想象如果他知道你我之间的关系不仅仅是校长和学生，他将抓住机会通过你探测我。我担心他对你的用法，他可能尝试用来控制你的可能性，我想有一天或者当我们过于接近的时候伏地魔会控制你并使用你的想法是正确的。我想我在你的眼中看到了他的影子……” 
　　哈利记起那天当他与丹伯多的视线想遇时他感到一条睡眠中的蛇似乎从内心中升起、准备好攻击的感觉，“伏地魔支配你的目标，就象他今夜演示的那样，并不会带来我的毁灭，但是将会带给你毁灭。他希望，简单控制你一段时间时，我会牺牲你以试图消灭他，所以你看，我试图与你保持距离来保护你，哈利，一个老人的错误……” 
　　他深深地叹息。哈利让这些话语流淌而过，如果一个月前听到这些他会非常感兴趣，然而现在与内心中因为希利斯的死带来的裂痕相比这显得毫无意义，一定也不重要…… 
　　“希利斯告诉我当你梦到阿瑟·威斯利先生遭到攻击的那夜你感到伏地魔从你内心中醒来了，我立刻就想到我的担心是正确的，伏地魔已经认识到他可以利用你，为了避免你被伏地魔操控，我安排了斯内普教授的心灵防卫课。” 
　　他暂停下来，哈利看着在丹伯多精致桌子上缓缓流动的阳光，阳光照亮银色的墨水瓶和红色的羽毛笔。哈利知道他们身边的所有肖像都清醒的倾听着丹伯多的解说，他可以听到礼服偶尔发出的摩擦声，轻轻的咳嗽声。 
　　菲涅斯·尼古拉斯仍旧没有回来…… 
　　“斯内普教授发现”，丹伯多接着说，“你曾经梦到神秘事务部的房门。当然，伏地魔重新获得声体后已经听到过那个预言，所以他知道那扇门，所以你也知道了，尽管你并不知道这究竟意味着什么。” 
　　“接着，你看到了被捕前在神秘事务部工作的卢克伍德告诉伏地魔之前我们都知道的事情，即是魔法部预言球的保护非常严格，只有那些具体所指的人才可以从架子上不用忍受疯狂地拿起它们，这样，或者伏地魔冒着暴露的危险亲自进入魔法部，或者是你替他去拿。这样你必须学会心灵防卫术就显得尤其紧迫了。” 
　　“可是我没学会”，哈利抱怨道。他说地尽量大声以试着释放出心中沉重的内疚，坦白明显减轻了他心中可怕的压力，“我没有练习，我不耐烦，我应该让自己不再做那些梦，就象荷米恩劝告我的那样，假如我没有梦到我该去哪里，希利斯也就不会……希利斯也就不会……” 
　　什么东西在哈利头脑中爆发了，需要替自己辩护，需要解释…… 
　　“我尽量验证他是不是真的抓住了希利斯，我去了安柏芝教授的办公室，通过炉火与克里奇（希利斯家的精灵）谈了话，他告诉我希利斯不在而且说他已经去了！” 
　　“克里奇说了慌”，丹伯多平静地说，“你并不是它的主人，他不用惩罚自己就可以对你撒谎，克里奇希望你去魔法部。” 
　　“他……他故意让我去？” 
　　“是的，恐怕克里奇数月来就不服侍一个主人了。” 
　　“怎么可能？”，哈利茫然地说，“他好几年没离开过格里墨德了。” 
　　“圣诞节前不久克里奇找到了机会”，邓多不尔说，“当希利斯表面上对他说‘出去！’的时候，他故意曲解了希利斯的话，假装这是让他离开房间的命令，他去了另一个他更加尊敬的布莱克家族成员那里—希利斯的堂妹纳希雅，贝拉赛斯的妹妹，同时也是卢希思·麦非伊的妻子。” 
　　“你怎么会知道这些？”，哈利说，他的心跳得很快，他感到不舒服。他记起圣诞节时对克里奇缺席的担心，记起了他在阁楼里的重新出现。 
　　“克里奇昨夜告诉我的”，丹伯多说，“你知道，当你给了斯内普教授警告之后，他体会到你梦到西利斯被抓到了神秘事务部，他，象你一样，立刻试着和希利斯联络，我解释一下凤凰令组织成员之间有比安柏芝房间中
Chapter 38 The Second War Begins
HE WHO MUST NOT BE NAMED RETURNS‘In a brief statement on Friday night, Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge confirmed that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned to this country and is once more active.
‘“It is with great regret that I must confirm that the wizard styling himself Lord—well, you know who I mean—is alive and among us again,” said Fudge, looking tired and flustered as he addressed reporters. “It is with almost equal regret that we report the mass revolt of the dementors of Azkaban, who have shown themselves averse to continuing in the Ministry's employ. We believe the dementors are currently taking direction from Lord— Thingy.
‘“We urge the magician population to remain vigilant. The Ministry is currently publishing guides to elementary home and personal defence which will be delivered free to all wizarding homes within the coming month.”
‘The Minister's statement was met with dismay and alarm from the wizarding community, which as recently as last Wednesday was receiving Ministry assurances that there was “no truth whatsoever in these persistent rumours that You-Know-Who is operating amongst us once more.”
‘Details of the events that led to the Ministry turnaround are still hazy, though it is believed that He Who Must Not Be Named and a select band of followers (known as Death Eaters) gained entry to the Ministry of Magic itself on Thursday evening.
‘Albus Dumbledore, newly reinstated Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, reinstated member of the International Confederation of Wizards and reinstated Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, has so far been unavailable for comment. He has insisted over the past year that You-Know-Who is not dead, as was widely hoped and believed, but is recruiting followers once more for afresh attempt to seize power. Meanwhile, the “Boy Who Lived”—’
‘There you are, Harry, I knew they'd drag you into it somehow,’ said Hermione, looking over the top of the paper at him.
They were in the hospital wing. Harry was sitting on the end of Ron's bed and they were both listening to Hermione read the front page of the Sunday Prophet.Ginny, whose ankle had been mended in a trice by Madam Pomfrey, was curled up at the foot of Hermione's bed; Neville, whose nose had likewise been returned to its normal size and shape, was in a chair between the two beds; and Luna, who had dropped in to visit, clutching the latest edition of The Quibbler, was reading the magazine upside-down and apparently not taking in a word Hermione was saying.
‘He's the “boy who lived” again now, though, isn't he?’ said Ron darkly. ‘Not such a deluded show-off any more, eh?’
He helped himself to a handful of Chocolate Frogs from the immense pile on his bedside cabinet, threw a few to Harry, Ginny and Neville and ripped off the wrapper of his own with his teeth. There were still deep welts on his forearms where the brain's tentacles had wrapped around him. According to Madam Pomfrey, thoughts could leave deeper scarring than almost anything else, though since she had started applying copious amounts of Dr. Ubbly's Oblivious Unction there seemed to have been some improvement.
‘Yes, they're very complimentary about you now, Harry,’ said Hermione, scanning down the article. ‘“A lone voice of truth ... perceived as unbalanced, yet never wavered in his story ... forced to bear ridicule and slander ...”Hmmm,’ she said, frowning, ‘I notice they don't mention the fact that it was them doing all the ridiculing and slandering in the Prophet ...’
She winced slightly and put a hand to her ribs. The curse Dolohov had used on her, though less effective than it would have been had he been able to say the incantation aloud, had nevertheless caused, in Madam Pomfrey's words, ‘quite enough damage to be going on with'. Hermione was having to take ten different types of potion every day, was improving greatly, and was already bored with the hospital wing.
‘You-Know-Who's Last Attempt to Take Over, pages two to Jour, What the Ministry Should Have Told Us, page five, Why Nobody Listened to Albus Dumbledore, pages six to eight, Exclusive Interview with Harry Potter, page nine ...Well,’ said Hermione, folding up the newspaper and throwing it aside, ‘it's certainly given them lots to write about. And that interview with Harry isn't exclusive, it's the one that was in The Quibbler months ago ...’ 
‘Daddy sold it to them,’ said Luna vaguely, turning a page of The Quibbler.‘He got a very good price for it, too, so we're going to go on an expedition to Sweden this summer to see if we can catch a Crumple-Horned Snorkack.’
‘Hermione seemed to struggle with herself for a moment, then said, That sounds lovely.’
Ginny caught Harry's eye and looked away quickly, grinning.
‘So, anyway,’ said Hermione, sitting up a little straighter and wincing again, ‘what's going on in school?’
‘Well, Flitwick's got rid of Fred and George's swamp,’ said Ginny, ‘he did it in about three seconds. But he left a tiny patch under the window and he's roped it off—’
‘Why?’ said Hermione, looking startled.
‘Oh, he just says it was a really good bit of magic,’ said Ginny, shrugging.
‘I think he left it as a monument to Fred and George,’ said Ron, through a mouthful of chocolate. ‘They sent me all these, you know,’ he told Harry, pointing at the small mountain of Frogs beside him. ‘Must be doing all right out of that joke shop, eh?’
Hermione looked rather disapproving and asked, ‘So has all the trouble stopped now Dumbledore's back?’
‘Yes,’ said Neville, ‘everything's settled right back to normal.’
‘I s'pose Filch is happy, is he?’ asked Ron, propping a Chocolate Frog Card featuring Dumbledore against his water jug.
‘Not at all,’ said Ginny. ‘He's really, really miserable, actually ...’ She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘He keeps saying Umbridge was the best thing that ever happened to Hogwarts ...’
All six of them looked around. Professor Umbridge was lying in a bed opposite them, gazing up at the ceiling. Dumbledore had strode alone into the Forest to rescue her from the centaurs; how he had done it—how he had emerged from the trees supporting Professor Umbridge without so much as a scratch on him—nobody knew, and Umbridge was certainly not telling. Since she had returned to the castle she had not, as far as any of them knew, uttered a single word. Nobody really knew what was wrong with her, either. Her usually neat mousy hair was very untidy and there were still bits of twigs and leaves in it, but otherwise she seemed to be quite unscathed.
‘Madam Pomfrey says she's just in shock,’ whispered Hermione.
‘Sulking, more like,’ said Ginny.
‘Yeah, she shows signs of life if you do this,’ said Ron, and with his tongue he made soft clip-clopping noises. Umbridge sat bolt upright, looking around wildly.
‘Anything wrong, Professor?’ called Madam Pomfrey, poking her head around her office door.
‘No ... no ...’ said Umbridge, sinking back into her pillows. ‘No, I must have been dreaming ...’
Hermione and Ginny muffled their laughter in the bedclothes.
‘Speaking of centaurs,’ said Hermione, when she had recovered a little, ‘who's Divination teacher now? Is Firenze staying?’
‘He's got to,’ said Harry, ‘the other centaurs won't take him back, will they?’
‘It looks like he and Trelawney are both going to teach,’ said Ginny.
‘Bet Dumbledore wishes he could've got rid of Trelawney for good,’ said Ron, now munching on his fourteenth Frog. ‘Mind you, the whole subject's useless if you ask me, Firenze isn't a lot better ...’
‘How can you say that?’ Hermione demanded. ‘After we've just found out that there are real prophecies?’
Harry's heart began to race. He had not told Ron, Hermione or anyone else what the prophecy had contained. Neville had told them it had smashed while Harry was pulling him up the steps in the Death Room and Harry had not yet corrected this impression. He was not ready to see their expressions when he told them that he must be either murderer or victim, there was no other way ...
‘It is a pity it broke,’ said Hermione quietly, shaking her head.
‘Yeah, it is,’ said Ron. ‘Still, at least You-Know-Who never found out what was in it either— where are you going?’ he added, looking both surprised and disappointed as Harry stood up.
‘Er—Hagrid's,’ said Harry. ‘You know, he just got back and I promised I'd go down and see him and tell him how you two are.’
‘Oh, all right then,’ said Ron grumpily, looking out of the dormitory window at the patch of bright blue sky beyond. ‘Wish we could come.’
‘Say hello to him for us!’ called Hermione, as Harry proceeded down the ward. ‘And ask him what's happening about ... about his little friend!’
Harry gave a wave of his hand to show he had heard and understood as he left the dormitory.
The castle seemed very quiet even for a Sunday. Everybody was clearly out in the sunny grounds, enjoying the end of their exams and the prospect of a last few days of term unhampered by revision or homework. Harry walked slowly along the deserted corridor, peering out of windows as he went; he could see people messing around in the air over the Quidditch pitch and a couple of students swimming in the lake, accompanied by the giant squid.
He was finding it hard to decide whether he wanted to be with people or not; whenever he was in company he wanted to get away and whenever he was alone he wanted company. He thought he might really go and visit Hagrid, though, as he had not talked to him properly since he'd returned ...
Harry had just descended the last marble step into the Entrance Hall when Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle emerged from a door on the right that Harry knew led down to the Slytherin common room. Harry stopped dead; so did Malfoy and the others. The only sounds were the shouts, laughter and splashes drifting into the Hall from the grounds through the open front doors.
Malfoy glanced around—Harry knew he was checking for signs of teachers—then he looked back at Harry and said in a low voice, ‘You're dead, Potter.’
Harry raised his eyebrows.
‘Funny.’ he said, ‘you'd think I'd have stopped walking around ...’
Malfoy looked angrier than Harry had ever seen him; he felt a kind of detached satisfaction at the sight of his pale, pointed face contorted with rage.
‘You're going to pay,’ said Malfoy, in a voice barely louder than a whisper. ‘I'm going to make you pay for what you've done to my father ...’
‘Well, I'm terrified now,’ said Harry sarcastically. ‘I s'pose Lord Voldemort's just a warm-up act compared to you three—what's the matter?’ he added, for Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle had all looked stricken at the sound of the name. ‘He's a mate of your dad, isn't he? Not scared of him, are you?’
‘You think you're such a big man, Potter,’ said Malfoy, advancing now, Crabbe and Goyle flanking him. ‘You wait. I'll have you. You can't land my father in prison—’
‘I thought I just had,’ said Harry.
‘The dementors have left Azkaban,’ said Malfoy quietly. ‘Dad and the others'll be out in no time ...’
‘Yeah, I expect they will,’ said Harry. ‘Still, at least everyone knows what scumbags they are now—’
Malfoy's hand flew towards his wand, but Harry was too quick for him; he had drawn his own wand before Malfoy's fingers had even entered the pocket of his robes.
‘Potter!’
The voice rang across the Entrance Hall. Snape had emerged from the staircase leading down to his office and at the sight of him Harry felt a great rush of hatred beyond anything he felt towards Malfoy ... whatever Dumbledore said, he would never forgive Snape . . . never ...
‘What are you doing, Potter?’ said Snape, as coldly as ever, as he strode over to the four of them.
‘I'm trying to decide what curse to use on Malfoy, sir,’ said Harry fiercely.
Snape stared at him.
‘Put that wand away at once,’ he said curtly. ‘Ten points from Gryff—’ 
Snape looked towards the giant hour-glasses on the walls and gave a sneering smile.
‘Ah. I see there are no longer any points left in the Gryffindor hour-glass to take away. In that case, Potter, we will simply have to—’
‘Add some more?’
Professor McGonagall had just stumped up the stone, steps into the castle; she was carrying a tartan carpetbag in one hand and leaning heavily on a walking stick with her other, but otherwise looked quite well.
‘Professor McGonagall!’ said Snape, striding forwards. ‘Out of St. Mungo's, I see!’
‘Yes, Professor Snape,’ said Professor McGonagall. shrugging off her travelling cloak, ‘I'm quite as good as new. You two—Crabbe—Goyle—’ 
She beckoned them forwards imperiously and they came, shuffling their large feet and looking awkward.
‘Here,’ said Professor McGonagall, thrusting her carpetbag into Crabbe's chest and her cloak into Goyle's, ‘take these up to my office for me.’
They turned and stumped away up the marble staircase.
‘Right then,’ said Professor McGonagall, looking up at the hourglasses on the wall. ‘Well, I think Potter and his friends ought to have fifty points apiece for alerting the world to the return of You-Know-Who! What say you, Professor Snape?’
‘What?’ snapped Snape, though Harry knew he had heard perfectly well. ‘Oh—well—I suppose ...’
‘So that's fifty each for Potter, the two Weasleys, Longbottom and Miss Granger,’ said Professor McGonagall, and a shower of rubies fell down into the bottom bulb of Gryffindor s hour-glass as she spoke. ‘Oh—and fifty for Miss Lovegood, I suppose,’ she added, and a number of sapphires fell into Ravenclaw's glass. ‘Now, you wanted to take ten from Mr. Potter, I think, Professor Snape—so there we are ...’
A few rubies retreated into the upper bulb, leaving a respectable amount below nevertheless.
‘Well, Potter, Malfoy, I think you ought to be outside on a glorious day like this,’ Professor McGonagall continued briskly.
Harry did not need telling twice; he thrust his wand back inside his robes and headed straight for the front doors without another glance at Snape and Malfoy.
The hot sun hit him with a blast as he walked across the lawns towards Hagrid's cabin. Students lying around on the grass sunbathing, talking, reading the Sunday Prophet and eating sweets, looked up at him as he passed; some called out to him, or else waved, clearly eager to show that they, like the Prophet, had decided he was something of a hero. Harry said nothing to any of them. He had no idea how much they knew of what had happened three days ago, but he had so far avoided being questioned and preferred to keep it that way.
He thought at first when he knocked on Hagrid's cabin door that he was out, but then Fang came charging around the corner and almost bowled him over with the enthusiasm of his welcome. Hagrid, it transpired, was picking runner beans in his back garden.
‘All righ', Harry!’ he said, beaming, when Harry approached the fence. ‘Come in, come in, we'll have a cup o’ dandelion juice ...
‘How's things?’ Hagrid asked him, as they settled down at his wooden table with a glass apiece of iced juice. ‘Yeh—er—feelin’ all righ', are yeh?’ 
Harry knew from the look of concern on Hagrid's face that he was not referring to Harry's physical well-being.
‘I'm fine,’ Harry said quickly, because he could not bear to discuss the thing that he knew was in Hagrid's mind. ‘So, where've you been?’
‘Bin hidin’ out in the mountains,’ said Hagrid. ‘Up in a cave, like Sirius did when he—’
Hagrid broke off, cleared his throat gruffly, looked at Harry, and took a long draught of juice.
‘Anyway, back now,’ he said feebly.
‘You—you look better,’ said Harry, who was determined to keep the conversation moving away from Sirius.
‘Wha?’ said Hagrid, raising a massive hand and feeling his face. ‘Oh—oh yeah. Well, Grawpy's loads better behaved now, loads. Seemed right pleased ter see me when I got back, ter tell yeh the truth. He's a good lad, really ... Ive bin thinkin abou tryin ter find him a lady friend, actually ...’
Harry would normally have tried to persuade Hagrid out of this idea at once; the prospect of a second giant taking up residence in the Forest, possibly even wilder and more brutal than Grawp, was positively alarming, but somehow Harry could not muster the energy necessary to argue the point. He was starting to wish he was alone again, and with the idea of hastening his departure he took several large gulps of his dandelion juice, half-emptying his glass.
‘Ev'ryone knows yeh've bin tellin’ the truth now, Harry’ said Hagrid softly and unexpectedly. He was watching Harry closely. ‘Tha's gotta be better, hasn’ it?’
Harry shrugged.
‘Look ...’ Hagrid leaned towards him across the table, ‘I knew Sirius longer ‘n yeh did ... he died in battle, an tha's the way he'd've wanted ter go—’ 
‘He didn't want to go at all!’ said Harry angrily.
Hagrid bowed his great shaggy head.
‘Nah, I don’ reckon he did,’ he said quietly. ‘But still, Harry ... he was never one ter sit aroun’ at home an’ let other people do the fightin'. He couldn've lived with himself if he hadn’ gone ter help—’
Harry leapt up.
‘I've got to go and visit Ron and Hermione in the hospital wing,’ he said mechanically.
‘Oh,’ said Hagrid, looking rather upset. ‘Oh ... all righ’ then, Harry ... take care o’ yerself then, an’ drop back in if yeh've got a mo ...’
‘Yeah ... right ...’
Harry crossed to the door as fast as he could and pulled it open; he was out in the sunshine again before Hagrid had finished saying goodbye, and walking away across the lawn. Once again, people called out to him as he passed. He closed his eyes for a few moments, wishing they would all vanish, that he could open his eyes and find himself alone in the grounds ...
A few days ago, before his exams had finished and he had seen the vision Voldemort had planted in his mind, he would have given almost anything for the wizarding world to know he had been telling the truth, for them to believe that Voldemort was back, and to know that he was neither a liar nor mad. Now, however ...
He walked a short way around the lake, sat down on its bank, sheltered from the gaze of passers-by behind a tangle of shrubs, and stared out over the gleaming water, thinking ...
Perhaps the reason he wanted to be alone was because he had felt isolated from everybody since his talk with Dumbledore. An invisible barrier separated him from the rest of the world. He was—he had always been—a marked man. It was just that he had never really understood what that meant ...
And yet sitting here on the edge of the lake, with the terrible weight of grief dragging at him, with the loss of Sirius so raw and fresh inside, he could not muster any great sense of fear. It was sunny, and the grounds around him were full of laughing people, and even though he felt as distant from them as though he belonged to a different race, it was still very hard to believe as he sat here that his life must include, or end in, murder ...
He sat there for a long time, gazing out at the water, trying not to think about his godfather or to remember that it was directly across from here, on the opposite bank, that Sirius had once collapsed trying to fend off a hundred dementors ...
The sun had set before he realised he was cold. He got up and returned to the castle, wiping his face on his sleeve as he went.
Ron and Hermione left the hospital wing completely cured three days before the end of term. Hermione kept showing signs of wanting to talk about Sirius, but Ron tended to make ‘hushing’ noises every time she mentioned his name. Harry was still not sure whether or not he wanted to talk about his godfather yet; his wishes varied with his mood. He knew one thing, though: unhappy as he felt at the moment, he would greatly miss Hogwarts in a few days’ time when he was back at number four, Privet Drive. Even though he now understood exactly why he had to return there every summer, he did not feel any better about it. Indeed, he had never dreaded his return more.
Professor Umbridge left Hogwarts the day before the end of term. It seemed she had crept out of the hospital wing during dinnertime, evidently hoping to depart undetected, but unfortunately for her, she met Peeves on the way, who seized his last chance to do as Fred had instructed, and chased her gleefully from the premises whacking her alternately with a walking stick and a sock full of chalk. Many students ran out into the Entrance Hall to watch her running away down the path and the Heads of Houses tried only half-heartedly to restrain them. Indeed, Professor McGonagall sank back into her chair at the staff table after a few feeble remonstrances and was clearly heard to express a regret that she could not run cheering after Umbridge herself, because Peeves had borrowed her walking stick.
Their last evening at school arrived; most people had finished packing and were already heading down to the end-of-term leaving feast, but Harry had not even started.
‘Just do it tomorrow!’ said Ron, who was waiting by the door of their dormitory. ‘Come on, I'm starving.’
‘I won't be long ... look, you go ahead ...’
But when the dormitory door closed behind Ron, Harry made no effort to speed up his packing. The very last thing he wanted to do was to attend the Leaving Feast. He was worried that Dumbledore would make some reference to him in his speech. He was sure to mention Voldemort's return; he had talked to them about it last year, after all ...
Harry pulled some crumpled robes out of the very bottom of his trunk to make way for folded ones and, as he did so, noticed a badly wrapped package lying in a corner of it. He could not think what it was doing there. He bent down, pulled it out from underneath his trainers and examined it.
He realised what it was within seconds. Sirius had given it to him just inside the front door of number twelve Grimmauld Place. ‘Use it if you need me, all right?’
Harry sank down on to his bed and unwrapped the package. Out fell a small, square mirror. It looked old; it was certainly dirty. Harry held it up to his face and saw his own reflection looking back at him.
He turned the mirror over. There on the reverse side was a scribbled note from Sirius.
This is a two-way mirror, I've got the other one of the pair. If you need to speak to me, just say my name into it; you'll appear in my mirror and I'll be able to talk in yours. James and I used to use them when we were in separate detentions.
Harry's heart began to race. He remembered seeing his dead parents in the Mirror of Erised four years ago. He was going to be able to talk to Sirius again, right now, he knew it—
He looked around to make sure there was nobody else there; the dormitory was quite empty. He looked back at the mirror, raised it in front of his face with trembling hands and said, loudly and clearly, ‘Sirius.’
His breath misted the surface of the glass. He held the mirror even closer, excitement flooding through him, but the eyes blinking back at him through the fog were definitely his own.
He wiped the mirror clear again and said, so that every syllable rang clearly through the room:
‘Sirius Black!’
Nothing happened. The frustrated face looking back out of the mirror was still, definitely, his own ...
Sirius didn't have his mirror on him when he went through the archway, said a small voice in Harry's head. That's why it's not working ...
Harry remained quite still for a moment, then hurled the mirror back into the trunk where it shattered. He had been convinced, for a whole, shining minute, that he was going to see Sirius, talk to him again ...
Disappointment was burning in his throat; he got up and began throwing his things pell-mell into the trunk on top of the broken mirror—
But then an idea struck him ... a better idea than a mirror ... a much bigger, more important idea ... how had he never thought of it before—why had he never asked?
He was sprinting out of the dormitory and down the spiral staircase, hitting the walls as he ran and barely noticing; he hurtled across the empty common room, through the portrait hole and off along the corridor, ignoring the Fat Lady, who called after him: ‘The feast is about to start, you know, you're cutting it very fine!’
But Harry had no intention of going to the feast ...
How could it be that the place was full of ghosts whenever you didn't need one, yet now ...
He ran down staircases and along corridors and met nobody either alive or dead. They were all, clearly, in the Great Hall. Outside his Charms classroom he came to a halt, panting and thinking disconsolately that he would have to wait until later, until after the end of the feast ...
But just as he had given up hope, he saw it—a translucent somebody drifting across the end of the corridor.
‘Hey—hey, Nick! NICK!’
The ghost stuck its head back out of the wall, revealing the extravagantly plumed hat and dangerously wobbling head of Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington.
‘Good evening,’ he said, withdrawing the rest of his body from the solid stone and smiling at Harry. ‘I am not the only one who is late, then? Though,’ he sighed, ‘in a rather different sense, of course ...’
‘Nick, can I ask you something?’
A most peculiar expression stole over Nearly Headless Nick's face as he inserted a finger in the stiff ruff at his neck and tugged it a little straighter, apparently to give himself thinking time. He desisted only when his partially severed neck seemed about to give way completely.
‘Er—now, Harry?’ said Nick, looking discomfited. ‘Can't it wait until after the feast?’
‘No—Nick— please,’ said Harry, ‘I really need to talk to you. Can we go in here?’
Harry opened the door of the nearest classroom and Nearly Headless Nick sighed.
‘Oh, very well,’ he said, looking resigned. ‘I can't pretend I haven't been expecting it.’
Harry was holding the door open for him, but he drifted through the wall instead.
‘Expecting what?’ Harry asked, as he closed the door.
‘You to come and find me,’ said Nick, now gliding over to the window and looking out at the darkening grounds. ‘It happens, sometimes ... when somebody has suffered a ... loss.’
‘Well,’ said Harry, refusing to be deflected. ‘You were right, I've—I've come to find you.’
Nick said nothing.
‘It's—’ said Harry, who was finding this more awkward than he had anticipated, ‘it's just— you're dead. But you're still here, aren't you?’ 
Nick sighed and continued to gaze out at the grounds.
‘That's right, isn't it?’ Harry urged him. ‘You died, but I'm talking to you ... you can walk around Hogwarts and everything, can't you?’
‘Yes,’ said Nearly Headless Nick quietly, ‘I walk and talk, yes.’
‘So, you came back, didn't you?’ said Harry urgently. ‘People can come back, right? As ghosts. They don't have to disappear completely. Well?’ he added impatiently, when Nick continued to say nothing.
Nearly Headless Nick hesitated, then said, ‘Not everyone can come back as a ghost.’
‘What d'you mean?’ said Harry quickly.
‘Only ... only wizards.’
‘Oh,’ said Harry, and he almost laughed with relief. ‘Well, that's OK then, the person I'm asking about is a wizard. So he can come back, right?’
Nick turned away from the window and looked mournfully at Harry.
‘He won't come back.’
‘Who?’
‘Sirius Black,’ said Nick.
‘But you did!’ said Harry angrily. ‘You came back—you're dead and you didn't disappear—’
‘Wizards can leave an imprint of themselves upon the earth, to walk palely where their living selves once trod,’ said Nick miserably. ‘But very few wizards choose that path.’
‘Why not?’ said Harry. ‘Anyway—it doesn't matter—Sirius won't care if it's unusual, he'll come back, I know he will!’
And so strong was his belief, Harry actually turned his head to check the door, sure, for a split second, that he was going to see Sirius, pearly-white and transparent but beaming, walking through it towards him.
‘He will not come back,’ repeated Nick. ‘He will have ... gone on.’
‘What d'you mean, “gone on"?’ said Harry quickly. ‘Gone on where? Listen—what happens when you die, anyway? Where do you go? Why doesn't everyone come back? Why isn't this place full of ghosts? Why—?’
‘I cannot answer,’ said Nick.
‘You're dead, aren't you?’ said Harry exasperatedly. ‘Who can answer better than you?’
‘I was afraid of death,’ said Nick softly. ‘I chose to remain behind. I sometimes wonder whether I oughtn't to have ... well, that is neither here nor there ... in fact, I am neither here nor there ...’ He gave a small sad chuckle. ‘I know nothing of the secrets of death, Harry, for I chose my feeble imitation of life instead. I believe learned wizards study the matter in the Department of Mysteries—’
‘Don't talk to me about that place!’ said Harry fiercely.
‘I am sorry not to have been more help,’ said Nick gently. ‘Well ... well, do excuse me ... the feast, you know ...’
And he left the room, leaving Harry there alone, gazing blankly at the wall through which Nick had disappeared.
Harry felt almost as though he had lost his godfather all over again in losing the hope that he might be able to see or speak to him once more. He walked slowly and miserably back up through the empty castle, wondering whether he would ever feel cheerful again.
He had turned the corner towards the Fat Lady's corridor when he saw somebody up ahead fastening a note to a board on the wall. A second glance showed him it was Luna. There were no good hiding places nearby, she was bound to have heard his footsteps, and in any case, Harry could hardly muster the energy to avoid anyone at the moment.
‘Hello,’ said Luna vaguely, glancing around at him as she stepped back from the notice.
‘How come you're not at the feast?’ Harry asked.
‘Well, I've lost most of my possessions,’ said Luna serenely. ‘People take them and hide them, you know. But as it's the last night, I really do need them back, so I've been putting up signs.’
She gestured towards the noticeboard, upon which, sure enough, she had pinned a list of all her missing books and clothes, with a plea for their return.
An odd feeling rose in Harry; an emotion quite different from the anger and grief that had filled him since Sirius's death. It was a few moments before he realised that he was feeling sorry for Luna.
‘How come people hide your stuff?’ he asked her, frowning.
‘Oh ... well ...’ she shrugged. ‘I think they think I'm a bit odd, you know. Some people call me “Loony” Lovegood, actually.’
Harry looked at her and the new feeling of pity intensified rather painfully.
‘That's no reason for them to take your things,’ he said flatly. ‘D'you want help finding them?’
‘Oh, no,’ she said, smiling at him. ‘They'll come back, they always do in the end. It was just that I wanted to pack tonight. Anyway ... why aren't you at the feast?’
Harry shrugged. ‘Just didn't feel like it.’
‘No,’ said Luna, observing him with those oddly misty, protuberant eyes. ‘I don't suppose you do. That man the Death Eaters killed was your godfather, wasn't he? Ginny told me.’
Harry nodded curtly, but found that for some reason he did not mind Luna talking about Sirius. He had just remembered that she, too, could see Thestrals.
‘Have you ...’ he began. ‘I mean, who ... has anyone you known ever died?’ 
‘Yes,’ said Luna simply, ‘my mother. She was a quite extraordinary witch, you know, but she did like to experiment and one of her spells went rather badly wrong one day. I was nine.’
‘I'm sorry,’ Harry mumbled.
‘Yes, it was rather horrible,’ said Luna conversationally. ‘I still feel very sad about it sometimes. But I've still got Dad. And anyway, it's not as though I'll never see Mum again, is it?’
‘Er—isn't it?’ said Harry uncertainly.
She shook her head in disbelief.
‘Oh, come on. You heard them, just behind the veil, didn't you?’
‘You mean ...’
‘In that room with the archway. They were just lurking out of sight, that's all. You heard them.’
They looked at each other. Luna was smiling slightly. Harry did not know what to say, or to think; Luna believed so many extraordinary things ... yet he had been sure he had heard voices behind the veil, too.
‘Are you sure you don't want me to help you look for your stuff?’ he said.
‘Oh, no,’ said Luna. ‘No, I think I'll just go down and have some pudding and wait for it all to turn up ... it always does in the end ... well, have a nice holiday, Harry.’
‘Yeah ... yeah, you too.’
She walked away from him and, as he watched her go, he found that the terrible weight in his stomach seemed to have lessened slightly.
The journey home on the Hogwarts Express next day was eventful in several ways. Firstly, Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, who had clearly been waiting all week for the opportunity to strike without teacher witnesses, attempted to ambush Harry halfway down the train as he made his way back from the toilet. The attack might have succeeded had it not been for the fact that they unwittingly chose to stage the attack right outside a compartment full of DA members, who saw what was happening through the glass and rose as one to rush to Harry's aid. By the time Ernie Macmillan, Hannah Abbott, Susan Bones, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Anthony Goldstein and Terry Boot, had finished using a wide variety of the hexes and jinxes Harry had taught them, Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle resembled nothing so much as three gigantic slugs squeezed into Hogwarts uniform as Harry, Ernie and Justin hoisted them into the luggage rack and left them there to ooze.
‘I must say, I'm looking forward to seeing Malfoy's mother's face when he gets off the train,’ said Ernie, with some satisfaction, as he watched Malfoy squirm above him. Ernie had never quite got over the indignity of Malfoy docking points from Hufflepuff during his brief spell as a member of the Inquisitorial Squad.
‘Goyle's mum'll be really pleased, though,’ said Ron, who had come to investigate the source of the commotion. ‘He's loads better-looking now ... anyway, Harry, the food trolley's just stopped if you want anything ...’ 
Harry thanked the others and accompanied Ron back to their compartment, where he bought a large pile of cauldron cakes and pumpkin pasties. Hermione was reading the Daily Prophet again, Ginny was doing a quiz in The Quibbler and Neville was stroking his Mimbulus mimbletonia, which had grown a great deal over the year and now made odd crooning noises when touched.
Harry and Ron whiled away most of the journey playing wizard chess while Hermione read out snippets from the Prophet.It was now full of articles about how to repel dementors, attempts by the Ministry to track down Death Eaters and hysterical letters claiming that the writer had seen Lord Voldemort walking past their house that very morning ...
‘It hasn't really started yet,’ sighed Hermione gloomily, folding up the newspaper again. ‘But it won't be long now ...’
‘Hey, Harry,’ said Ron softly, nodding towards the glass window on to the corridor.
Harry looked around. Cho was passing, accompanied by Marietta Edgecombe, who was wearing a balaclava. His and Cho's eyes met for a moment. Cho blushed and kept walking. Harry looked back down at the chessboard just in time to see one of his pawns chased off its square by Ron's knight.
‘What's—er— going on with you and her, anyway?’ Ron asked quietly.
‘Nothing,’ said Harry truthfully.
‘I—er—heard she's going out with someone else now,’ said Hermione tentatively.
Harry was surprised to find that this information did not hurt at all. Wanting to impress Cho seemed to belong to a past that was no longer quite connected with him; so much of what he had wanted before Sirius's death felt that way these days ... the week that had elapsed since he had last seen Sirius seemed to have lasted much, much longer; it stretched across two universes, the one with Sirius in it, and the one without.
‘You're well out of it, mate,’ said Ron forcefully. ‘I mean, she's quite good-looking and all that, but you want someone a bit more cheerful.’
‘She's probably cheerful enough with someone else,’ said Harry, shrugging.
‘Who's she with now, anyway?’ Ron asked Hermione, but it was Ginny who answered.
‘Michael Corner,’ she said.
‘Michael—but— ’ said Ron, craning around in his seat to state at her. ‘But you were going out with him!’
‘Not any more,’ said Ginny resolutely. ‘He didn't like Gryffindor beating Ravenclaw at Quidditch, and got really sulky, so I ditched him and he ran off to comfort Cho instead.’ She scratched her nose absently with the end of her quill, turned The Quibbler upside-down and began marking her answers. Ron looked highly delighted.
‘Well, I always thought he was a bit of an idiot,’ he said, prodding his queen forwards towards Harry's quivering castle. ‘Good for you. Just choose someone—better—next time.’
He cast Harry an oddly furtive look as he said it.
‘Well, I've chosen Dean Thomas, would you say he's better?’ asked Ginny vaguely.
‘WHAT?’ shouted Ron, upending the chessboard. Crookshanks went plunging after the pieces and Hedwig and Pigwidgeon twittered and hooted angrily from overhead.
As the train slowed down in the approach to King's Cross, Harry thought he had never wanted to leave it less. He even wondered fleetingly what would happen if he simply refused to get off, but remained stubbornly sitting there until the first of September, when it would take him back to Hogwarts. When it finally puffed to a standstill, however, he lifted down Hedwig's cage and prepared to drag his trunk from the train as usual.
When the ticket inspector signalled to Harry, Ron and Hermione that it was safe to walk through the magical barrier between platforms nine and ten, however, he found a surprise awaiting him on the other side: a group of people standing there to greet him who he had not expected at all.
There was Mad-Eye Moody, looking quite as sinister with his bowler hat pulled low over his magical eye as he would have done without it, his gnarled hands clutching a long staff, his body wrapped in a voluminous travelling cloak. Tonks stood just behind him, her bright bubble-gum-pink hair gleaming in the sunlight filtering through the dirty glass of the station ceiling, wearing heavily patched jeans and a bright purple T-shirt bearing the legend The Weird Sisters.Next to Tonks was Lupin, his face pale, his hair greying, a long and threadbare overcoat covering a shabby jumper and trousers. At the front of the group stood Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, dressed in their Muggle best, and Fred and George, who were both wearing brand-new jackets in some lurid green, scaly material.
‘Ron, Ginny!’ called Mrs. Weasley, hurrying forwards and hugging her children tightly. ‘Oh, and Harry dear—how are you?’
‘Fine,’ lied Harry, as she pulled him into a tight embrace. Over her shoulder he saw Ron goggling at the twins’ new clothes.
‘What are they supposed to be?’ he asked, pointing at the jackets.
‘Finest dragonskin, little bro',’ said Fred, giving his zip a little tweak. ‘Business is booming and we thought we'd treat ourselves.’
‘Hello, Harry,’ said Lupin, as Mrs. Weasley let go of Harry and turned to greet Hermione.
‘Hi,’ said Harry. ‘I didn't expect ... what are you all doing here?’
‘Well,’ said Lupin with a slight smile, ‘we thought we might have a little chat with your aunt and uncle before letting them take you home.’
‘I dunno if that's a good idea,’ said Harry at once.
‘Oh, I think it is,’ growled Moody, who had limped a little closer. ‘That'll be them, will it, Potter?’
He pointed with his thumb over his shoulder; his magical eye was evidently peering through the back of his head and his bowler hat. Harry leaned an inch or so to the left to see where Mad-Eye was pointing and there, sure enough, were the three Dursleys, who looked positively appalled to see Harry's reception committee.
‘Ah, Harry!’ said Mr. Weasley, turning from Hermione's parents, who he had just greeted enthusiastically, and who were now taking it in turns to hug Hermione. ‘Well— shall we do it, then?’
‘Yeah, I reckon so, Arthur,’ said Moody.
He and Mr. Weasley took the lead across the station towards the Dursleys, who were apparently rooted to the floor. Hermione disengaged herself gently from her mother to join the group.
‘Good afternoon,’ said Mr. Weasley pleasantly to Uncle Vernon as he came to a halt right in front of him. ‘You might remember me, my name's Arthur Weasley.’ 
As Mr. Weasley had single-handedly demolished most of the Dursleys’ living room two years previously, Harry would have been very surprised if Uncle Vernon had forgotten him. Sure enough, Uncle Vernon turned a deeper shade of puce and glared at Mr. Weasley, but chose not to say anything, partly, perhaps, because the Dursleys were outnumbered two to one. Aunt Petunia looked both frightened and embarrassed; she kept glancing around, as though terrified somebody she knew would see her in such company. Dudley, meanwhile, seemed to be trying to look small and insignificant, a feat at which he was failing extravagantly.
‘We thought we'd just have a few words with you about Harry,’ said Mr. Weasley, still smiling.
‘Yeah,’ growled Moody. ‘About how he's treated when he's at your place.’ 
Uncle Vernon's moustache seemed to bristle with indignation. Possibly because the bowler hat gave him the entirely mistaken impression that he was dealing with a kindred spirit, he addressed himself to Moody.
‘I am not aware that it is any of your business what goes on in my house—’ 
‘I expect what you're not aware of would fill several books, Dursley,’ growled Moody.
‘Anyway, that's not the point,’ interjected Tonks, whose pink hair seemed to offend Aunt Petunia more than all the rest put together, for she closed her eyes rather than look at her. ‘The point is, if we find out you've been horrible to Harry— ’
‘—And make no mistake, we'll hear about it,’ added Lupin pleasantly.
‘Yes,’ said Mr Weasley, ‘even if you won't let Harry use the felly-tone—’ 
‘Telephone,’ whispered Hermione.
‘—Yeah, if we get any hint that Potter's been mistreated in any way, you'll have us to answer to,’ said Moody.
Uncle Vernon swelled ominously. His sense of outrage seemed to outweigh even his fear of this bunch of oddballs.
‘Are you threatening me, sir?’ he said, so loudly that passers-by actually turned to stare.
‘Yes, I am,’ said Mad-Eye, who seemed rather pleased that Uncle Vernon had grasped this fact so quickly.
‘And do I look like the kind of man who can be intimidated?’ barked Uncle Vernon.
‘Well ...’ said Moody, pushing back his bowler hat to reveal his sinisterly revolving magical eye. Uncle Vernon leapt backwards in horror and collided painfully with a luggage trolley. ‘Yes, I'd have to say you do, Dursley.’
He turned away from Uncle Vernon to survey Harry.
‘So, Potter ... give us a shout if you need us. If we don't hear from you for three days in a row, we'll send someone along ...’
Aunt Petunia whimpered piteously. It could not have been plainer that she was thinking of what the neighbours would say if they caught sight of these people marching up the garden path.
‘Bye, then, Potter,’ said Moody, grasping Harry's shoulder for a moment with a gnarled hand.
‘Take care, Harry,’ said Lupin quietly. ‘Keep in touch.’
‘Harry, we'll have you away from there as soon as we can,’ Mrs. Weasley whispered, hugging him again.
‘We'll see you soon, mate,’ said Ron anxiously, shaking Harry's hand.
‘Really soon, Harry,’ said Hermione earnestly. ‘We promise.’
Harry nodded. He somehow could not find words to tell them what it meant to him, to see them all ranged there, on his side. Instead, he smiled, raised a hand in farewell, turned around and led the way out of the station towards the sunlit street, with Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Dudley hurrying along in his wake.
在星期五晚上一次简短的发言中，魔法部长康纳利斯。福吉确认，神秘人已经回到了这个国家，并再一次地处于活动之中。 
　　“我很遗憾地宣布，那个自诩为某某大人的巫师—你们知道我指的是谁—还活着并再次回到了我们中间。”福吉，看上去疲倦且狼狈不堪地对记者说。“我同时还要遗憾地宣布，阿兹卡班的摄魂怪发生了大规模的反抗，他们不愿意继续接受魔法部的雇佣。我们相信摄魂怪现在正服从于神秘人的指挥。” 
　　“我们强烈要求所有的巫师保持警惕。魔法部正在印刷家庭和个人初级防御的小册子，并将在接下来的一个月内免费发放到各个巫师家庭。” 
　　魔法部的声明引起了巫师人群的恐慌，就在上个星期三，他们还刚刚得到魔法部的保证：“所有关于神秘人正在我们中间活动的说法都是一派胡言”。 
　　是什么导致了魔法部一百八十度大转弯目前还不得而知，现在所掌握的情况是，就在星期四晚上，神秘人带着一伙他的忠实信徒（即食死徒）得以进入魔法部内部。 
　　新近刚刚恢复霍格沃兹魔法学校校长头衔、国际魔法联盟成员头衔、巫师协会主席头衔的艾伯斯。丹伯多，迄今为止没有发表任何看法。在过去的一年里，他一直坚持神秘人并没有像广泛希望及相信的那样死去，而是正在再次招募信徒以图东山再起。期间，那个“死里逃生的男孩”— 
　　“说的是你，哈利。我就知道他们会把你牵扯进去。”荷米恩从报纸上方看着哈利说道。 
　　他们正在学校的医院里。哈利坐在罗恩的床尾，两个人一起听着荷米恩读《预言家日报》的头版。金妮则蜷缩在荷米恩的床尾，她的脚踝已经被庞弗类夫人治好了；纳威的鼻子已经恢复了原来的样子，他坐在两张床中间的椅子上；而露娜，作为一次顺便的造访，正抓着一本最新出版的《吹毛求疵》杂志，上下颠倒地看着，显然没有去听荷米恩在说什么。 
　　“他现在又是“死里逃生的男孩”了，是吗？”罗恩沉着脸说道。“不再是蛊惑人心的瞎炫耀了，嗯？” 
　　他从床边橱柜上一大堆的东西了抓了一把巧克力青蛙，扔了些给哈利、金妮和纳威，又用自己的牙齿撕开了包装纸。他的前臂上依然有几条很深的伤痕，那是“脑袋”的触须缠绕着他时留下的。根据庞弗雷夫人的说法，“思想”总是能够比其他的东西留下更深的印记，尽管当她开始使用乌布里医生的遗忘药膏后，那些伤痕已经好多了。 
　　“是的，现在他们对你赞不绝口，哈利。”荷米恩说道，一边浏览着那篇文章。“呼吁真相的孤独的声音，还被认为是精神错乱，从不动摇他的立场，被迫忍受嘲弄和诽谤。”“恩，”她皱着眉，“我想他们没提，事实上正是他们在《预言家日报》上进行嘲弄和诽谤。” 
　　她轻微地缩了一下，把一只手放在她的肋骨上。多洛霍夫咒语击中了她，尽管它的作用已经被减轻了，用庞弗雷夫人的话来说，仍然“有足够多的伤处需要对付”。荷米恩每天要服十副药剂，她的情况已大大好转，以致厌倦了继续留在医院里。 
　　神秘人的最后一次图谋被消灭—第二到第四页；魔法部本应该告诉我们什么—第五页；为什么没有人听艾伯斯。丹伯多的—第六到第八页；哈利。波特的独家采访—第九页。看起来，”荷米恩把报纸折起扔到一边，“他们现在可有东西要写了。那篇采访也不是独家的，早在几个月前就在《吹毛求疵》刊登了。” 
　　“爸爸把它卖给了他们，”露娜翻了一页杂志，含糊不清地说，“他卖了个好价钱，我们这个夏天能去瑞典，看看能不能赶上Crumple-Horned Snorkack。” 
　　荷米恩似乎作了一会儿思想斗争，最后说了句：“那听上去很不错。” 
　　金妮笑了，看了一眼哈利的眼睛又赶紧移开。 
　　“那么，”荷米恩坐直了一些，又缩了一下，“学校里怎么样？” 
　　“弗立维教授把弗莱德和乔治的沼泽给弄掉了，只用了三秒钟。但他在窗下面留了一小块，还用绳子围了起来。—” 
　　“为什么？”荷米恩惊讶地问。 
　　“他说那是了不起的魔法。”金妮耸了耸肩。 
　　“我想他把那留着，当作弗莱德和乔治的纪念碑。”罗恩说，他塞了满满一嘴的巧克力。“他们把这些都给我了，”他指着旁边一大堆巧克力青蛙对哈利说，“除了魔法玩笑商店总得做点别的，对吧？” 
　　荷米恩看上去不以为然，“那么，丹伯多回来以后麻烦都没有了吗？” 
　　“是的，”纳威说，“一切都回到原来正常的样子了。” 
　　“我想这下费尔奇高兴了，对吗？”罗恩问道，把一张丹伯多的扑克牌靠在他的水壶上。 
　　“恰恰相反，”金妮说，“实际上他真的真的非常失望，”她把声音压得很低，“他一直说安布里奇是霍格沃兹有史以来最好的一样东西。” 
　　他们六个一齐把头转了过去。安布里奇教授就躺在对面的一张床上，眼睛直直地瞪着天花板。丹伯多一个人跑到黑森林里面去，把她从人马那里解救了出来。至于他是怎么做的—怎么从那些树里面毫发不伤地把安布里奇教授救出来的—没有人知道，当然安布里奇教授也不可能说。自从她回到城堡之后，她没有—至少就他们所知—说过一个字。也没有人知道她到底发生了什么事。她那总是非常整洁的鼠灰色的头发现在变得乱七八糟，上面甚至还有一些树枝和叶子，但她似乎毫不在意。 
　　“庞弗雷夫人说她吓坏了，”荷米恩低低地说。 
　　“不如说是气坏了，”金妮说。 
　　“不错，如果你试试看，会发现她还活着。”罗恩说着，嘴里发出骨碌骨碌的声音。安布里奇教授直挺挺地坐起来，朝四周张望。 
　　“有什么事吗，安布里奇教授？”庞弗雷夫人从伸出脑袋问。 
　　“不，不。” 安布里奇重又跌落到枕头里，“我一定是做了个梦。” 荷米恩和金妮一边笑一边用床单捂住了嘴。 
　　“说到人马，”荷米恩稍稍笑停一些之后问，“现在谁是我们的预言课老师？佛罗伦萨还在吗？” 
　　“他会留下来的，”哈利说，“别的人马肯定不欢迎他回去，对吗？” 
　　“好像他和特里劳妮一起教。”金妮说。 
　　“我打赌，丹伯多希望最好永远别再见到特里劳妮。”罗恩说，一边嚼着他的第十四个巧克力青蛙。“我提醒你们，如果问我预言课有什么不是垃圾的话，我要说佛罗伦萨还不是那么糟糕。” 
　　“你怎么能这么说？”荷米恩质问他，“在我们发现确实存在真实的预言之后？” 
　　哈利的心跳突然加快了。他还没有告诉罗恩、荷米恩或者任何其他的人预言球的含义。纳威告诉了他们，当哈利在死亡房间里拖他上去的时候，预言球被打碎了。哈利没有纠正他。他不想看到，当他告诉他们他将不可避免地成为一个凶手或被杀者时他们的表情。 
　　“真遗憾它碎了。”荷米恩摇了摇头，轻轻地说。 
　　“没错，”罗恩说，“不过，最起码神秘人也不可能知道里面是什么了—你去哪儿？”他补充了一句，又惊讶又失望地看着哈利站起来。 
　　“呃，去哈格力那儿，”哈利说，“你知道他刚回来，而我答应会去看他，告诉他你们俩怎么样了。” 
　　“噢，好吧，”罗恩闷闷不乐地说，看着窗外湛蓝的天空，“真希望我们也能去。” 
　　“代我们问他好！”荷米恩喊道，看着哈利往外走去，“问问他关于、关于他那个小朋友的事！” 
　　哈利挥了挥手，表示听到，然后离开了房间。 
　　即使是星期天，城堡也显得太安静了。每个人都跑了出去，在布满阳光的操场上，享受考试结束的愉快，以及对学期最后几天没有家庭作业的期待。哈利缓缓地走过空无一人的走廊，一边看着窗外；他可以看到人们三三两两地散布在魁地奇球场上，还有一些人在湖里面和巨大的鱿鱼一起游泳。 
　　他发现很难确定自己是否愿意和人们待在一起；当他和他们在一起时他想离开，而当他一个人时他又想和他们在一起。他想他也许真的应该去看看哈格力，自从他回来后他们还没有好好的谈谈。 
　　当哈利走下最后一个阶梯进入门廊时，他看到马尔夫、克拉伯和高尔从右边通往斯莱特林公共休息室的门里面出来。哈利站住了，马尔夫他们也站住了。此刻唯一可以听到的声音是从操场上传进来的叫喊声和笑声。 
　　马尔夫朝周围看了看—哈利知道他是在检查有没有老师—然后他看着哈利，低声说：“你死定了，波特。” 
　　哈利挑起眉毛，“有意思，”他说，“你预料到了我不会躲避。” 
　　马尔夫看上去比任何时候都愤怒；哈利看着他那张苍白的、被愤怒扭曲了的脸，感到一阵痛快。 
　　“你必须付出代价，”马尔夫用低的不能再低的声音说道，“我要让你为你对我父亲所做的事情付出代价！” 
　　“我害怕了，”哈利讽刺地说，“我想比起你们三个，伏地魔大人不过是刚刚热了个身—怎么了？”他补充道，看到马尔夫他们被那个名字吓了一跳。“他不是你父亲的朋友么？你不应该害怕他，对吗？” 
　　“你认为你有多了不起，波特，”马尔夫说，慢慢地往前走，克拉伯和高尔在两旁跟着。“你等着，我会让你知道。你不能让我父亲待在监狱里-” 
　　“我想我知道，”哈利说。 
　　“摄魂怪已经离开了阿兹卡班，”马尔夫轻轻地说，“父亲和其他人很快就会出来。” 
　　“是的，我想他们会，”哈利说，“不过，至少现在每个人都知道他们是些卑鄙的家伙-” 
　　马尔夫飞快地去抽他的魔杖，但是哈利比他更快；他在马尔夫的手指刚刚伸进长袍的口袋时抽出了自己的魔杖。 
　　“波特！” 
　　一个声音穿过门廊。斯内普出现在通往他的办公室的楼梯上，看着哈利。哈利感到一阵强烈的憎恨，远远超过他对马尔夫的。无论丹伯多说什么，他都不会原谅斯内普，永远不。 
　　“你在干什么，波特？”斯内普的声音和平时一样冷酷，他朝他们四个大步走了过来。 
　　“我正在想用在马尔夫身上的咒语，先生，”哈利厉声说道。 
　　斯内普瞪着他。 
　　“马上把你的魔杖放下，”他快速地说，“扣除格莱芬多十分—” 
　　斯内普看着墙上巨大的记分器，轻蔑地笑了。 
　　“啊，我发现记分器上格莱芬多已经没什么分可以扣了。那么，波特，我只能简单地—” 
　　“加上一些分数？” 
　　麦格教授一瘸一拐地从石阶上走进城堡，一只手提着一个格子呢的旅行袋，身体歪斜地靠着另一只手中的手杖，气色看上去很不错。 
　　“麦格教授！”斯内普叫道，大踏步地走了过去，“你从圣蒙格医院出来了！” 
　　“是的，斯内普教授，”麦格教授说，一边脱去了她的旅行斗蓬，“我已经焕然一新了。你们两个-克拉伯-高尔-” 
　　她高傲地向他们招了招手，那两个人走了过来，磨磨蹭蹭地拖着脚步。 
　　“拿着，”她把旅行袋塞到克拉伯怀里，斗蓬塞给了高尔，“把它们拿到我办公室去。” 
　　克拉伯和高尔转过身去，跌跌撞撞地走上了楼梯。 
　　“那么好吧，”麦格教授说，抬头看着墙上的记分器，“嗯，我想波特和他的朋友必须每人加上五十分，因为他们向世人警告了神秘人的归来！你看怎么样，斯内普教授？” 
　　“什么？”斯内普吃惊地问，哈利觉得他肯定听得清清楚楚。“噢-好吧-我想是的。” 
　　“那么给波特加五十分，还有两个威斯里家的孩子，隆巴顿和格林佐，”麦格教授说着，格莱芬多记分器里一大堆红宝石哗啦哗啦掉了下来。“噢，我想还有拉夫格，”她补充道，“卫文克劳的记分器里兰宝石洒落了下来。“现在，我想你可以扣波特十分了，斯内普教授—就想我们看到的。” 
　　记分器里飞起了一些红宝石，不过留在下面的仍然相当可观。 
　　“那么，波特，马尔夫，我想你们是不是该出去了？外面那么好的天气。”麦格教授神采奕奕地说。 
　　哈利不需要听她说第二遍了—他把魔杖塞进长袍里，径直朝着前门走过去，一眼都没多看斯内普和马尔夫。 
　　太阳的热气包围了他，他穿过草坪，朝哈格力的小屋走去。草坪上的学生们正在享受着阳光，互相谈论着，有的在看《预言家日报》，有的在吃零食，当他走过去的时候他们都瞧着他；有一些人在叫他，或者向他挥手，迫切地想表示他们，就像《预言家日报》上的提的，把他当成了英雄。哈利没和任何一个人说话。他不知道他们对于过去的三天里发生的事知道多少，但他现在或以后都不想被人问东问西的。 
　　他在巧哈格力的门时想了一下，但是牙牙从转角处跑了过来，并且带着极大的热情向他扑了过来，告诉哈利哈格力正在菜园里摘豆子。 
　　“太好了，哈利！”哈格力高兴地嚷嚷，哈利朝栅栏走过去，“来吧，来吧，让我们喝一杯蒲公英汁。” 
　　“怎么样？”哈格力问，他们坐在他的木桌旁，一人拿着一杯冰冻果汁。“呃-感觉还不错吧？” 
　　哈利看着哈格力关心的神情，知道他并非在问自己的身体是否健康。 
　　“我很好，”哈利快速地说，不想讨论哈格力脑海里在想的事，“你怎么样？” 
　　“一直躲在山里，”哈格力说，“就像那时候天狼星—” 
　　哈格力停住了，他清了清喉咙，看了看哈利，一口气喝了好几口果汁。 
　　“不管怎么样，总算回来了，”他轻轻地说。 
　　“你-你看上去好多了，”哈利说，下定决心要把话题从天狼星身上移开。 
　　“是吗？”哈格力问，举起一只大手摸摸自己的脸，“噢-对。格洛普也好多了。我回来后见了他三次，他把事情跟我说了三遍。他是个好家伙，真的。我想该给他找个女朋友了。” 
　　哈利想跟哈格力说并非如此，要是在黑森林里面再住上一个巨人，也许比格洛普更糊涂更粗鲁，那将是一件令人担忧的事。但是哈利没有精力去讨论这件事情。他开始希望自己能一个人待着了，这种想法促使他大口地喝了些蒲公英汁，喝得杯子里只剩下半杯，这样他可以快点离开。 
　　“现在每个人都知道你说的是实话了，哈利，”哈格力突然柔声地说。他靠近哈利，看着他。“这样是不是好多了？” 
　　哈利耸耸肩。 
　　“看，”哈格力靠在桌子上说，“我知道天狼星死了，死于一场战斗，那正是他所希望的方式-” 
　　“他根本不希望那样！”哈利生气地说。 
　　哈格力低下了他那乱蓬蓬的头。 
　　“嗯，我想他不会，”他轻轻地说，“但是，哈利，他绝对不会自己坐在家里而让别人去战斗。他不可能忍受只能接受别人的帮助-” 
　　哈利跳了起来。 
　　“我要去看看罗恩和荷米恩，他们还在医院里。”他生硬地说。 
　　“噢，”哈格力不安地说，“那-好吧，哈利。哈好照顾你自己，如果你-” 
　　“好的。” 
　　哈利飞快地打开门冲了出去，哈格力还没来得及说再见，哈利就已经穿过草坪了。大家又一次招呼他。他闭上眼睛，希望他们都能够消失，让他睁开眼后能一个人待着。 
　　几天前，就在考试结束前，他看到了伏地魔留在他脑海的幻像，他愿意付出所有的一切，只要这个魔法世界里的人相信他说的是真话，相信伏地魔回来了，相信他既没有撒谎也没有疯。但是现在— 
　　他在湖边走了一会儿，然后在岸上坐了下来，躲在一丛灌木丛后面以避开人们的目光，看着闪闪发光的湖面，默默地想着。 
　　也许他想一个人待着的原因是在他和丹伯多谈话后，他感觉和其他的人隔离了。一道看不见的障碍把他和这个世界的其他部分隔开了。他是—就像以前一样—一个被做了记号的人。而他一直不理解这意味着什么。 
　　他坐在湖边，悲痛沉甸甸地压着他，失去天狼星的痛楚在他体内弥漫，他甚至感觉不到恐惧。此刻阳光灿烂，周围的操场上人们正在欢笑，他好像和他们处在两个世界，彼此之间有着难以逾越的距离，但即使这样，他仍然很难相信他的结局将会是一个凶手，或者被其影
Chapter 32 Out Of The Fire
‘I'm not going ... I don't need the hospital wing ... I don't want ...’ 
He was gibbering as he tried to pull away from Professor Tofty, who was looking at Harry with much concern after helping him out into the Entrance Hall with the students all around them staring.
I'm—I'm fine, sir,’ Harry stammered, wiping the sweat from his face. ‘Really ... I just fell asleep ... had a nightmare ...’
‘Pressure of examinations!’ said the old wizard sympathetically, patting Harry shakily on the shoulder. ‘It happens, young man, it happens! Now, a cooling drink of water, and perhaps you will be ready to return to the Great Hall? The examination is nearly over, but you may be able to round off your last answer nicely?’
‘Yes,’ said Harry wildly. ‘I mean ... no ... I've done—done as much as I can, I think ...’
‘Very well, very well,’ said the old wizard gently. ‘I shall go and collect your examination paper and I suggest that you go and have a nice lie down.’
‘I'll do that,’ said Harry, nodding vigorously. ‘Thanks very much.’
The second that the old man's heels disappeared over the threshold into the Great Hall, Harry ran up the marble staircase, hurtled along the corridors so fast the portraits he passed muttered reproaches, up more flights of stairs, and finally burst like a hurricane through the double doors of the hospital wing, causing Madam Pomfrey—who had been spooning some bright blue liquid into Montague's open mouth—to shriek in alarm.
‘Potter, what do you think you're doing?’
‘I need to see Professor McGonagall,’ gasped Harry, the breath tearing his lungs. ‘Now ... it's urgent!’
‘She's not here, Potter,’ said Madam Pomfrey sadly. ‘She was transferred to St. Mungo's this morning. Four Stunning Spells straight to the chest at her age? It's a wonder they didn't kill her.’
‘She's ... gone?’ said Harry, shocked.
The bell rang just outside the dormitory and he heard the usual distant rumbling of students starting to flood out into the corridors above and below him. He remained quite still, looking at Madam Pomfrey. Terror was rising inside him.
There was nobody left to tell. Dumbledore had gone, Hagrid had gone, but he had always expected Professor McGonagall to be there, irascible and inflexible, perhaps, but always dependably, solidly present ...
‘I don't wonder you're shocked, Potter,’ said Madam Pomfrey, with a kind of fierce approval in her face. ‘As if one of them could have Stunned Minerva McGonagall face-on by daylight! Cowardice, that's what it was ... despicable cowardice ... if I wasn't worried what would happen to you students without me, I'd resign in protest.’
‘Yes,’ said Harry blankly.
He wheeled around and strode blindly from the hospital wing into the teeming corridor where he stood, buffeted by the crowd, panic expanding inside him like poison gas so that his head swam and he could not think what to do ...
Ron and Hermione, said a voice in his head.
He was running again, pushing students out of the way, oblivious to their angry protests. He sprinted, back down two floors and was at the top of the marble staircase when he saw them hurrying towards him.
‘Harry!’ said Hermione at once, looking very frightened. ‘What happened? Are you all right? Are you ill?’
‘Where have you been?’ demanded Ron.
‘Come with me,’ Harry said quickly. ‘Come on, I've got to tell you something.’
He led them along the first-floor corridor, peering through doorways, and at last found an empty classroom into which he dived, closing the door behind Ron and Hermione the moment they were inside, and leaned against it, facing them.
‘Voldemorts got Sirius.’
‘What?’
‘How d'you—?’
‘Saw it. Just now. When I fell asleep in the exam.’
‘But—but where? How?’ said Hermione, whose face was white.
‘I dunno how,’ said Harry. ‘But I know exactly where. There's a room in the Department of Mysteries full of shelves covered in these little glass balls and they're at the end of row ninety-seven ... he's trying to use Sirius to get whatever it is he wants from in there ... he's torturing him ... says he'll end by killing him!’
Harry found his voice was shaking, as were his knees. He moved over to a desk and sat down on it, trying to master himself.
‘How're we going to get there?’ he asked them.
There was a moment's silence. Then Ron said, ‘G-get there?’
‘Get to the Department of Mysteries, so we can rescue Sirius!’ Harry said loudly.
‘But—Harry ...’ said Ron weakly.
‘What? What?’ said Harry.
He could not understand why they were both gaping at him as though he was asking them something unreasonable.
‘Harry,’ said Hermione in a rather frightened voice, ‘er ... how ... how did Voldemort get into the Ministry of Magic without anybody realising he was there?’
‘How do I know?’ bellowed Harry. ‘The question is how we're going to get in there!’
‘But ... Harry, think about this,’ said Hermione, taking a step towards him, ‘it's five o'clock in the afternoon ... the Ministry of Magic must be full of workers ... how would Voldemort and Sirius have got in without being seen? Harry ... they're probably the two most wanted wizards in the world ... you think they could get into a building full of Aurors undetected?’
‘I dunno, Voldemort used an Invisibility Cloak or something!’ Harry shouted. ‘Anyway, the Department of Mysteries has always been completely empty whenever I've been—’
‘You've never been there, Harry,’ said Hermione quietly. ‘You've dreamed about the place, that's all.’
‘They're not normal dreams!’ Harry shouted in her face, standing up and taking a step closer to her in turn. He wanted to shake her. ‘How d'you explain Ron's dad then, what was all that about, how come I knew what had happened to him?’
‘He's got a point,’ said Ron quietly, looking at Hermione.
‘But this is just —just so unlikely!’ said Hermione desperately. ‘Harry, how on earth could Voldemort have got hold of Sirius when he's been in Grimmauld Place all the time?’
‘Sirius might've cracked and just wanted some fresh air,’ said Ron, sounding worried. ‘He's been desperate to get out of that house for ages—’
‘But why,’ Hermione persisted, ‘why on earth would Voldemort want to use Sirius to get the weapon, or whatever the thing is?’
‘I dunno, there could be loads of reasons!’ Harry yelled at her. ‘Maybe Sirius is just someone Voldemort doesn't care about seeing hurt—’
‘You know what, I've just thought of something,’ said Ron in a hushed voice. ‘Sirius's brother was a Death Eater, wasn't he? Maybe he told Sirius the secret of how to get the weapon!’
‘Yeah—and that's why Dumbledore's been so keen to keep Sirius locked up all the time!’ said Harry.
‘Look, I'm sorry,’ cried Hermione, ‘but neither of you is making sense, and we've got no proof for any of this, no proof Voldemort and Sirius are even there—’
‘Hermione, Harry's seen them!’ said Ron, rounding on her.
‘OK,’ she said, looking frightened yet determined, ‘I've just got to say this—’
‘What?’
‘You ... this isn't a criticism, Harry! But you do ... sort of ... I mean—don't you think you've got a bit of a—a—saving-people thing?’ she said.
He glared at her.
‘And what's that supposed to mean, a “saving-people thing"?’
‘Well ... you ...’ she looked more apprehensive than ever. ‘I mean ... last year, for instance ... in the lake ... during the Tournament ... you shouldn't have ... I mean, you didn't need to save that little Delacour girl ... you got a bit ... carried away ...’
A wave of hot, prickly anger swept through Harry's body; now could she remind him of that blunder now?
‘I mean, it was really great of you and everything,’ said Hermione quickly, looking positively petrified at the look on Harry's face, ‘everyone thought it was a wonderful thing to do—’
‘That's funny,’ said Harry through gritted teeth, ‘because I definitely remember Ron saying I'd wasted time acting the hero ... is that what you think this is? You reckon I want to act the hero again?’
‘No, no, no!’ said Hermione, looking aghast. ‘That's not what I mean at all!’
‘Well, spit out what you've got to say, because we're wasting time here!’ Harry shouted.
‘I'm trying to say —Voldemort knows you, Harry! He took Ginny down into the Chamber of Secrets to lure you there, it's the kind of thing he does, he knows you're the—the sort of person who'd go to Sirius's aid! What if he's just trying to get you into the Department of Myst—?’
‘Hermione, it doesn't matter if he's done it to get me there or not—they've taken McGonagall to St. Mungo's, there isn't anyone from the Order left at Hogwarts who we can tell, and if we don't go, Sirius is dead!’ 
‘But Harry—what if your dream was—was just that, a dream?’
Harry let out a roar of frustration. Hermione actually stepped back from him, looking alarmed.
‘You don't get it!’ Harry shouted at her, ‘I'm not having nightmares, I'm not just dreaming! What d'you think all the Occlumency was for, why d'you think Dumbledore wanted me prevented from seeing these things? Because they're REAL, Hermione—Sirius is trapped, I've seen him. Voldemort's got him, and no one else knows, and that means we're the only ones who can save him, and if you don't want to do it, fine, but I'm going, understand? And if I remember rightly, you didn't have a problem with my saving-people thing when it was you I was saving from the dementors, or—he rounded on Ron—when it was your sister I was saving from the Basilisk—’
‘I never said I had a problem!’ said Ron heatedly.
‘But Harry, you've just said it,’ said Hermione fiercely, ‘Dumbledore wanted you to learn to shut these things out of your mind, if you'd done Occlumency properly you'd never have seen this—’
‘IF YOU THINK I'M JUST GOING TO ACT LIKE I HAVEN'T SEEN—’
‘Sirius told you there was nothing more important than you learning to close your mind!’
‘WELL, I EXPECT HE'D SAY SOMETHING DIFFERENT IF HE KNEW WHAT I'D JUST—’ 
The classroom door opened. Harry, Ron and Hermione whipped around. Ginny walked in, looking curious, closely followed by Luna, who as usual looked as though she had drifted in accidentally.
‘Hi,’ said Ginny uncertainly. ‘We recognised Harry's voice. What are you yelling about?’
‘Never you mind,’ said Harry roughly.
Ginny raised her eyebrows.
‘There's no need to take that tone with me,’ she said coolly, ‘I was only wondering whether I could help.’
‘Well, you can't,’ said Harry shortly.
‘You're being rather rude, you know,’ said Luna serenely.
Harry swore and turned away. The very last thing he wanted now was a conversation with Luna Lovegood.
‘Wait,’ said Hermione suddenly. ‘Wait ... Harry, they can help.’ 
Harry and Ron looked at her.
‘Listen,’ she said urgently, ‘Harry, we need to establish whether Sirius really has left Headquarters.’
‘I've told you, I saw—’
‘Harry, I'm begging you, please!’ said Hermione desperately. ‘Please let's just check that Sirius isn't at home before we go charging off to London. If we find out he's not there, then I swear I won't try to stop you. I'll come, I'll d—do whatever it takes to try and save him.’
‘Sirius is being tortured NOW!’ shouted Harry. ‘We haven't got time to waste.’
‘But if this is a trick of Voldemort's, Harry, we've got to check, we've got to.’
‘How?’ Harry demanded. ‘How're we going to check?’
‘We'll have to use Umbridge's fire and see if we can contact him, said Hermione, who looked positively terrified at the thought. ‘We'll draw Umbridge away again, but we'll need lookouts, and that's where we can use Ginny and Luna.’
Though clearly struggling to understand what was going on, Ginny said immediately, ‘Yeah, we'll do it,’ and Luna said, ‘When you say “Sirius", are you talking about Stubby Boardman?’
Nobody answered her.
‘OK,’ Harry said aggressively to Hermione, ‘OK, if you can think of a way of doing this quickly, I'm with you, otherwise I'm going to the Department of Mysteries right now.’
‘The Department of Mysteries?’ said Luna, looking mildly surprised. ‘But how are you going to get there?’
Again, Harry ignored her.
‘Right,’ said Hermione, twisting her hands together and pacing up and down between the desks. ‘Right ... well ... one of us has to go and find Umbridge and—and send her off in the wrong direction, keep her away from her office. They could tell her—I don't know—that Peeves is up to something awful as usual ...’
‘I'll do it,’ said Ron at once. ‘I'll tell her Peeves is smashing up the Transfiguration department or something, it's miles away from her office. Come to think of it, I could probably persuade Peeves to do it if I met him on the way.’
It was a mark of the seriousness of the situation that Hermione made no objection to the smashing up of the Transfiguration department.
‘OK,’ she said, her brow furrowed as she continued to pace. ‘Now, we need to keep students right away from her office while we force entry, or some Slytherin's bound to go and tip her off.’
‘Luna and I can stand at either end of the corridor,’ said Ginny promptly, ‘and warn people not to go down there because someone's let off a load of Garrotting Gas.’ Hermione looked surprised at the readiness with which Ginny had come up with this lie; Ginny shrugged and said, ‘Fred and George were planning to do it before they left.’
‘OK,’ said Hermione. ‘Well then, Harry, you and I will be under the Invisibility Cloak and we'll sneak into the office and you can talk to Sirius—’
‘He's not there, Hermione!’
‘I mean, you can —can check whether Sirius is at home or not while I keep watch, I don't think you should be in there alone, Lee's already proved the windows a weak spot, sending those Nifflers through it.’
Even through his anger and impatience, Harry recognised Hermione's offer to accompany him into Umbridge's office as a sign of solidarity and loyalty.
‘I ... OK, thanks,’ he muttered.
‘Right, well, even if we do all of that, I don't think we're going to be able to bank on more than five minutes,’ said Hermione, looking relieved that Harry seemed to have accepted the plan, ‘not with Filch and the wretched Inquisitorial Squad floating around.’
‘Five minutes'll be enough,’ said Harry ‘C'mon, let's go—’
‘Now?’ said Hermione, looking shocked.
‘Of course now!’ said Harry angrily. ‘What did you think, we're going to wait until after dinner or something? Hermione, Sirius is being tortured right now!’
‘I—oh, all right,’ she said desperately. ‘You go and get the Invisibility Cloak and we'll meet you at the end of Umbridge's corridor, OK?’
Harry didn't answer, but flung himself out of the room and began to fight his way through the milling crowds outside. Two floors up he met Seamus and Dean, who hailed him jovially and told him they were planning a dusk-till-dawn end-of-exams celebration in the common room. Harry barely heard them. He scrambled through the portrait hole while they were still arguing about how many black-market Butterbeers they would need and was climbing back out of it, the Invisibility Cloak and Sirius's knife secure in his bag, before they noticed he had left them.
‘Harry, d'you want to chip in a couple of Galleons? Harold Dingle reckons he could sell us some Firewhisky—’
But Harry was already tearing away back along the corridor, and a couple of minutes later was jumping the last few stairs to join Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Luna, who were huddled together at the end of Umbridge's corridor.
‘Got it,’ he panted. ‘Ready to go, then?’
‘All right,’ whispered Hermione as a gang of loud sixth-years passed them. ‘So Ron—you go and head Umbridge off ... Ginny, Luna, if you can start moving people out of the corridor ... Harry and I will get the Cloak on and wait until the coast is clear ...’
Ron strode away, his bright-red hair visible right to the end of the passage; meanwhile Ginny's equally vivid head bobbed between the jostling students surrounding them in the other direction, trailed by Luna's blonde one.
‘Get over here,’ muttered Hermione, tugging at Harry's wrist and pulling him back into a recess where the ugly stone head of a medieval wizard stood muttering to itself on a column. ‘Are—are you sure you're OK, Harry? You're still very pale.’
‘I'm fine,’ he said shortly, tugging the Invisibility Cloak from out of his bag. In truth, his scar was aching, but not so badly that he thought Voldemort had yet dealt Sirius a fatal blow; it had hurt much worse than this when Voldemort had been punishing Avery ...
‘Here,’ he said; he threw the Invisibility Cloak over both of them and they stood listening carefully over the Latin mumblings of the bust in front of them.
‘You can't come down here!’ Ginny was calling to the crowd. ‘No, sorry, you're going to have to go round by the swivelling staircase, someone's let off Garrotting Gas just along here—’
They could hear people complaining; one surly voice said, ‘I can't see no gas.’
‘That's because it's colourless,’ said Ginny in a convincingly exasperated voice, ‘but if you want to walk through it, carry on, then we'll have your body as proof for the next idiot who doesn't believe us.’
Slowly, the crowd thinned. The news about the Garrotting Gas seemed to have spread; people were not coming this way any more. When at last the surrounding area was quite clear, Hermione said quietly, ‘I think that's as good as we're going to get, Harry—come on, let's do it.’
They moved forwards, covered by the Cloak. Luna was standing with her back to them at the far end of the corridor. As they passed Ginny, Hermione whispered, ‘Good one ... don't forget the signal.’
‘What's the signal?’ muttered Harry, as they approached Umbridge's door.
‘A loud chorus of “Weasley is our King” if they see Umbridge coming,’ replied Hermione, as Harry inserted the blade of Sirius's knife in the crack between door and wall. The lock clicked open and they entered the office.
The garish kittens were basking in the late-afternoon sunshine that was warming their plates, but otherwise the office was as still and unoccupied as last time. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief.
‘I thought she might have added extra security after the second Niffler.’ 
They pulled off the Cloak; Hermione hurried over to the window and stood out of sight, peering down into the grounds with her wand out. Harry dashed over to the fireplace, seized the pot of Floo powder and threw a pinch into the grate, causing emerald flames to burst into life there. He knelt down quickly, thrust his head into the dancing fire and cried, ‘Number twelve, Grimmauld Place!’
His head began to spin as though he had just got off a fairground ride though his knees remained firmly planted on the cold office floor. He kept his eyes screwed up against the whirling ash and when the spinning stopped he opened them to find himself looking out at the long, cold kitchen of Grimmauld Place.
There was nobody there. He had expected this, yet was not prepared for the molten wave of dread and panic that seemed to burst through his stomach at the sight of the deserted room.
‘Sirius?’ he shouted. ‘Sirius, are you there?’
His voice echoed around the room, but there was no answer except a tiny scuffing sound to the right of the fire.
‘Who's there?’ he called, wondering whether it was just a mouse.
Kreacher the house-elf crept into view. He looked highly delighted about something, though he seemed to have recently sustained a nasty injury to both hands, which were heavily bandaged.
‘It's the Potter boy's head in the fire,’ Kreacher informed the empty kitchen, stealing furtive, oddly triumphant glances at Harry. ‘What has he come for, Kreacher wonders?’
‘Where's Sirius, Kreacher?’ Harry demanded.
The house-elf gave a wheezy chuckle.
‘Master has gone out, Harry Potter.’
‘Where's he gone? Where's he gone, Kreacher?’
Kreacher merely cackled.
‘I'm warning you!’ said Harry, fully aware that his scope for inflicting punishment upon Kreacher was almost non-existent in this position. ‘What about Lupin? Mad-Eye? Any of them, are any of them there?’
‘Nobody here but Kreacher!’ said the elf gleefully, and turning away from Harry he began to walk slowly towards the door at the end of the kitchen. ‘Kreacher thinks he will have a little chat with his mistress now, yes, he hasn't had a chance in a long time, Kreacher's master has been keeping him away from her—’
‘Where has Sirius gone?’ Harry yelled after the elf. ‘Kreacher, has he gone to the Department of Mysteries?’
Kreacher stopped in his tracks. Harry could just make out the back of his bald head through the forest of chair legs before him.
‘Master does not tell poor Kreacher where he is going,’ said the elf quietly.
‘But you know!’ shouted Harry. ‘Don't you? You know where he is!’
There was a moment's silence, then the elf let out his loudest cackle yet.
‘Master will not come back from the Department of Mysteries!’ he said gleefully. ‘Kreacher and his mistress are alone again!’
And he scurried forwards and disappeared through the door to the hall.
‘You—'!’
But before he could utter a single curse or insult, Harry felt a great pain at the top of his head; he inhaled a lot of ash and, choking, found himself being dragged backwards through the flames, until with a horrible abruptness he was staring up into the wide, pallid face of Professor Umbridge who had dragged him backwards out of the fire by the hair and was now bending his neck back as far as it would go, as though she were going to slit his throat.
‘You think,’ she whispered, bending Harry's neck back even further, so that he was looking up at the ceiling, ‘that after two Nifflers I was going to let one more foul, scavenging little creature enter my office without my knowledge? I had Stealth Sensoring Spells placed all around my doorway after the last one got in, you foolish boy. Take his wand,’ she barked at someone he could not see, and he felt a hand grope inside the chest pocket of his robes and remove the wand. ‘Hers, too.’
Harry heard a scuffle over by the door and knew that Hermione had also just had her wand wrested from her.
‘I want to know why you are in my office,’ said Umbridge, shaking the fist clutching his hair so that he staggered.
‘I was—trying to get my Firebolt!’ Harry croaked.
‘Liar.’ She shook his head again. ‘Your Firebolt is under strict guard in the dungeons, as you very well know, Potter. You had your head in my fire. With whom have you been communicating?’
‘No one—’ said Harry, trying to pull away from her. He felt several hairs part company with his scalp.
‘Liar!’ shouted Umbridge. She threw him from her and he slammed into the desk. Now he could see Hermione pinioned against the wall by Millicent Bulstrode. Malfoy was leaning on the windowsill, smirking as he threw Harry's wand into the air one-handed and caught it again.
There was a commotion outside and several large Slytherins entered, each gripping Ron, Ginny, Luna and—to Harry's bewilderment—Neville, who was trapped in a stranglehold by Crabbe and looked in imminent danger of suffocation. All four of them had been gagged.
‘Got ‘em all,’ said Warrington, shoving Ron roughly forwards into the room. ‘That one,’ he poked a thick finger at Neville, ‘tried to stop me taking her,’ he pointed at Ginny, who was trying to kick the shins of the large Slytherin girl holding her, ‘so I brought him along too.’
‘Good, good,’ said Umbridge, watching Ginny's struggles. ‘Well, it looks as though Hogwarts will shortly be a Weasley-free zone, doesn't it?’
Malfoy laughed loudly and sycophantically. Umbridge gave her wide, complacent smile and settled herself into a chintz-covered armchair, blinking up at her captives like a toad in a flowerbed.
‘So, Potter,’ she said. ‘You stationed lookouts around my office and you sent this buffoon,’ she nodded at Ron—Malfoy laughed even louder—'to tell me the poltergeist was wreaking havoc in the Transfiguration department when I knew perfectly well that he was busy smearing ink on the eyepieces of all the school telescopes— Mr. Filch having just informed me so.’
‘Clearly, it was very important for you to talk to somebody. Was it Albus Dumbledore? Or the half-breed, Hagrid? I doubt it was Minerva McGonagall, I hear she is still too ill to talk to anyone.’
Malfoy and a few of the other members of the Inquisitorial Squad laughed some more at that. Harry found he was so full of rage and hatred he was shaking.
‘It's none of your business who I talk to,’ he snarled.
Umbridge's slack face seemed to tighten.
‘Very well,’ she said in her most dangerous and falsely sweet voice. ‘Very well, Mr. Potter ... I offered you the chance to tell me freely. You refused. I have no alternative but to force you. Draco— fetch Professor Snape.’
Malfoy slowed Harry's wand inside his robes and left the room smirking, but Harry hardly noticed. He had just realised something; he could not believe he had been so stupid as to forget it. He had thought that all the members of the Order, all those who could help him save Sirius, were gone—but he had been wrong. There was still a member of the Order of the Phoenix at Hogwarts—Snape.
There was silence in the office except for the fidgetings and scufflings resulting from the Slytherins’ efforts to keep Ron and the others under control. Ron's lip was bleeding on to Umbridge's carpet as he struggled against Warrington's half-nelson; Ginny was still trying to stamp on the feel of the sixth-year girl who had both her upper arms in a tight grip; Neville was turning steadily more purple in the face while lugging at Crabbe's arms; and Hermione was attempting, in vain, to throw Millicent Bulstrode off her. Luna, however, stood limply by the side of her captor, gazing vaguely out of the window as though rather bored by the proceedings.
Harry looked back at Umbridge, who was watching him closely. He kept his face deliberately smooth and blank as footsteps were heard in the corridor outside and Draco Malfoy entered the room, closely followed by Snape.
‘You wanted to see me, Headmistress?’ said Snape, looking around at all the pairs of struggling students with an expression of complete indifference.
‘Ah, Professor Snape,’ said Umbridge, smiling widely and standing up again. ‘Yes, I would like another bottle of Veritaserum, as quick as you can, please.’ 
‘You took my last bottle to interrogate Potter,’ he said, surveying her coolly through his greasy curtains of black hair. ‘Surely you did not use it all? I told you that three drops would be sufficient.’
Umbridge flushed.
‘You can make some more, can't you?’ she said, her voice becoming more sweetly girlish as it always did when she was furious.
‘Certainly,’ said Snape, his lip curling. ‘It takes a full moon-cycle to mature, so I should have it ready for you in around a month.’
‘A month?’ squawked Umbndge, swelling toadishly. ‘A month!But I need it this evening, Snape! I have just found Potter using my fire to communicate with a person or persons unknown!’
‘Really?’ said Snape, showing his first, faint sign of interest as he looked round at Harry. ‘Well, it doesn't surprise me. Potter has never shown much inclination to follow school rules.’
His cold, dark eyes were boring into Harry's, who met his gaze unflinchingly, concentrating hard on what he had seen in his dream, willing Snape to read it in his mind, to understand ...
‘I wish to interrogate him!’ repeated Umbridge angrily, and Snape looked away from Harry back into her furiously quivering lace. ‘I wish you to provide me with a potion that will force him to tell me the truth!’
‘I have already told you,’ said Snape smoothly, ‘that I have no further stocks of Veritaserum. Unless you wish to poison Potter—and I assure you I would have the greatest sympathy with you if you did—I cannot help you. The only trouble is that most venoms act too fast to give the victim much lime for truth-telling.’
Snape looked back at Harry, who stared at him, frantic to communicate without words.
Voldemort's got Sirius in the Department of Mysteries, he thought desperately. Voldemort's got Sirius—’
‘You are on probation!’ shrieked Professor Umbridge, and Snape looked back at her, his eyebrows slightly raised. ‘You arc being deliberately unhelpful! I expected better, Lucius Malfoy always speaks most highly of you! Now get out of my office!’
Snape gave her an ironic bow and turned to leave. Harry knew his last chance of letting the Order know what was going on was walking out of the door.
‘He's got Padfoot!’ he shouted. ‘He's got Padfoot at the place where it's hidden!’
Snape had stopped with his hand on Umbridge's door handle.
‘Padfoot?’ cried Professor Umbridge, looking eagerly from Harry to Snape. ‘What is Padfoot? Where what is hidden? What does he mean, Snape?’
Snape looked round at Harry. His face was inscrutable. Harry could not tell whether he had understood or not, but he did not dare speak more plainly in front of Umbridge.
‘I have no idea,’ said Snape coldly. ‘Potter, when I want nonsense shouted at me I shall give you a Babbling Beverage. And Crabbe, loosen your hold a little. If Longbottom suffocates it will mean a lot of tedious paperwork and I am afraid I shall have to mention it on your reference if ever you apply for a job.’
He closed the door behind him with a snap, leaving Harry in a state of worse turmoil than before: Snape had been his very last hope. He looked at Umbridge, who seemed to be feeling the same way; her chest was heaving with rage and frustration.
‘Very well,’ she said, and she pulled out her wand. ‘Very well ... I am left with no alternative ... this is more than a matter of school discipline ... this is an issue of Ministry security ... yes ... yes ...’
She seemed to be talking herself into something. She was shifting her weight nervously from foot to foot, staring at Harry, beating her wand against her empty palm and breathing heavily As he watched her, Harry felt horribly powerless without his own wand.
‘You are forcing me, Potter ... I do not want to,’ said Umbridge, still moving restlessly on the spot, ‘but sometimes circumstances justify the use ... I am sure the Minister will understand that I had no choice ...’
Malfoy was watching her with a hungry expression on his face.
‘The Cruciatus Curse ought to loosen your tongue,’ said Umbridge quietly.
‘No!’ shrieked Hermione. ‘Professor Umbridge—it's illegal.’
But Umbridge took no notice. There was a nasty eager, excited look on her face that Harry had never seen before. She raised her wand.
‘The Minister wouldn't want you to break the law, Professor Umbridge!’ cried Hermione.
‘What Cornelius doesn't know won't hurt him,’ said Umbridge, who was now panting slightly as she pointed her wand at different parts of Harry's body in turn, apparently trying to decide where it would hurt most. ‘He never knew I ordered dementors to go after Potter last summer, but he was delighted to be given the chance to expel him, all the same.’
‘It was you?’ gasped Harry. ‘You sent the dementors after me?’
‘Somebody had to act,’ breathed Umbridge, as her wand came to rest pointing directly at Harry's forehead. They were all bleating about silencing you somehow—discrediting you —but I was the one who actually did something about it ... only you wriggled out of that one, didn't you, Potter? Not today though, not now—’ And taking a deep breath, she cried, ‘Cruc—’
‘NO!’ shouted Hermione in a cracked voice from behind Millicent Bulstrode. ‘No—Harry— we'll have to tell her!’
‘No way!’ yelled Harry, staring at the little of Hermione he could see.
‘We'll have to, Harry, she'll force it out of you anyway, what's ... what's the point?’
And Hermione began to cry weakly into the back of Millicent Bulstrode's robes. Millicent stopped trying to squash her against the wall immediately and dodged out of her way looking disgusted.
‘Well, well, well!’ said Umbridge, looking triumphant. ‘Little Miss Question-all is going to give us some answers! Come on then, girl, come on!’ 
‘Er—my—nee— no!’ shouted Ron through his gag.
Ginny was staring at Hermione as though she had never seen her before. Neville, still choking for breath, was gazing at her, too. But Harry had just noticed something. Though Hermione was sobbing desperately into her hands, there was no trace of a tear.
‘I'm—I'm sorry everyone,’ said Hermione. ‘But—I can't stand it—’ 
‘That's right, that's right, girl!’ said Umbridge, seizing Hermione by the shoulders, thrusting her into the abandoned chintz chair and leaning over her. ‘Now then ... with whom was Potter communicating just now?’
‘Well,’ gulped Hermione into her hands, ‘well, he was trying to speak to Professor Dumbledore.’
Ron froze, his eyes wide; Ginny stopped trying to stamp on her Slytherin captor's toes; and even Luna looked mildly surprised. Fortunately, the attention of Umbridge and her minions was focused too exclusively upon Hermione to notice these suspicious signs.
‘Dumbledore?’ said Umbridge eagerly. ‘You know where Dumbledore is, then?’ 
‘Well ... no!’ sobbed Hermione. ‘We've tried the Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley and the Three Broomsticks and even the Hog's Head—’
‘Idiot girl— Dumbledore won't be sitting in a pub when the whole Ministry's looking for him!’ shouted Umbridge, disappointment etched in every sagging line of her face.
‘But—but we needed to tell him something important!’ wailed Hermione, holding her hands more tightly over her face, not, Harry knew, out of anguish, but to disguise the continued absence of tears.
‘Yes?’ said Umbridge with a sudden resurgence of excitement. ‘What was it you wanted to tell him?’
‘We ... we wanted to tell him it's r—ready!’ choked Hermione.
‘What's ready?’ demanded Umbridge, and now she grabbed Hermione's shoulders again and shook her slightly. ‘What's ready, girl?’
‘The ... the weapon,’ said Hermione.
‘Weapon? Weapon?’ said Umbridge, and her eyes seemed to pop with excitement. ‘You have been developing some method of resistance? A weapon you could use against the Ministry? On Professor Dumbledore's orders, of course?’ 
‘Y—y—yes,’ gasped Hermione, ‘but he had to leave before it was finished and n—n—now we've finished it for him, and we c—c—can't find him t—t—to tell him!’
‘What kind of weapon is it?’ said Umbridge harshly, her stubby hands still tight on Hermione's shoulders.
‘We don't r—r— really understand it,’ said Hermione, sniffing loudly. ‘We j—j—just did what P—P—Professor Dumbledore told us t—t—to do.’
Umbridge straightened up, looking exultant.
‘Lead me to the weapon,’ she said.
‘I'm not showing ... them,’ said Hermione shrilly, looking around at the Slytherins through her fingers.
‘It is not for you to set conditions,’ said Professor Umbridge harshly.
‘Fine,’ said Hermione, now sobbing into her hands again. ‘Fine ... let them see it, I hope they use it on you! In fact, I wish you'd invite loads and loads of people to come and see! Th—that would serve you right—oh, I'd love it if the wh— whole school knew where it was, and how to u—use it, and then if you annoy any of them they'll, be able to s—sort you out!’
These words had a powerful impact on Umbridge: she glanced swiftly and suspiciously around at her Inquisitorial Squad, her bulging eyes resting for a moment on Malfoy, who was too slow to disguise the look of eagerness and greed that had appeared on his face.
Umbridge contemplated Hermione for another long moment, then spoke in what she clearly thought was a motherly voice.
‘All right, dear, let's make it just you and me ... and we'll take Potter, too, shall we? Get up, now.’
‘Professor,’ said Malfoy eagerly, ‘Professor Umbridge, I think some of the Squad should come with you to look after—’
‘I am a fully qualified Ministry official, Malfoy, do you really think I cannot manage two wandless teenagers alone?’ asked Umbridge sharply. ‘In any case, it does not sound as though this weapon is something that schoolchildren should see. You will remain here until I return and make sure none of these—’ she gestured around at Ron, Ginny, Neville and Luna ‘—escape.’ 
‘All right,’ said Malfoy, looking sulky and disappointed.
‘And you two can go ahead of me and show me the way,’ said Umbridge, pointing at Harry and Hermione with her wand. ‘Lead on.’
“我不去，我不需要去医院的病房，我不想－” 
　　他正不断的尽力劝说Tofty教授离他远一点，。此时教授正带着哈利在周围学生的注视下穿越门厅，而他正以比往常更关切的表情看着哈利。 
　　“我很好，先生，”哈利结巴的说，擦着脸上的汗，“我刚才只是睡着了做了个恶梦。““考试的压力！”老巫师用怜悯的口吻说，用手在哈利肩上无力的拍拍，“已经过去了，年轻人，过去了，现在，来点清凉的饮料，你可能已经差不多可以回大厅去了。考试差不多要结束了，但你否已经完美的回答了最后的一个问题了？ 
　　“是的”哈利野蛮的说，“我的意思是我想我已经尽我的全力了。” 
　　“非常好，非常好”老巫师轻轻的说，“我得走了而且要受走你的试卷，我建议你好好的躺一会儿。” 
　　“我会的”哈利用力的点点头，“非常感谢！” 
　　老人的脚后跟刚在大厅里消失的那一秒，哈利就立刻跳上了大理石阶，飞速的沿着走廊中嘀咕着不停的肖像们奔跑，他一步跨上好几阶楼梯，象一阵猛烈的飓风冲到了医院病房的门口，弄的正在给张开大嘴的montague灌一种蓝色液体的庞弗雷夫人发出警告的大叫：“波特，你以为你在干吗？” 
　　“我要见麦格教授”哈利气喘吁吁的说，空气正在撕扯着他的肺，“现在，很紧急。” 
　　“他不在这里，波特。”庞弗雷夫人悲伤的说：“今天一早，她被转移到了圣芒戈魔法病院了。四个昏迷咒一起打中她的胸口，在她这个年纪，没有杀死她真是个奇迹。” 
　　“她－已经走了？”哈利震惊的说。 
　　宿舍外的铃声响了，他可以听见从远处地板上传来的通常学生走出教室来到走廊上而发出的隆隆声。他仍然在盯着庞弗雷夫人，他内心的恐惧上升了。 
　　这里没有可以告诉他们什么事的人了。丹伯多走了。哈格力走了。但他总是希望麦格教授能在这里，她可能是易怒和顽固的，但却总是可以依赖的坚强后盾。 
　　“我对你的震惊并不惊讶，波特。”庞弗雷夫人说，在她脸上带着一种强烈赞同的神情，“假如他们敢在白天这么干的话大概已经被米勒娃麦格击晕了。胆小鬼！这就是他们这么干的原因，卑劣的胆小鬼！如果我不是担心没有我的话你们这些学生怎么办的话，我早就辞职了。” 
　　“是的。”哈利面无表情的说。 
　　他无神的踱出了病房来到他所在的走廊，被人群来回碰撞，恐慌象毒气一样在他体内扩散，以至于他的头开始感到眩晕而不能思考该做些什么。 
　　罗恩和荷米恩的声音突然出现在他的脑海中。 
　　他又跑了起来，冲撞着学生们为他让出一条道来而忽视他们愤怒的抗议。当他在大理石楼梯口看见他们向他匆忙赶来时，他又往回跑了两层。 
　　“哈利”荷米恩立刻说，表情很恐惧，“发生了什么？你都好吗？你病了吗？” 
　　“你上哪里去了？”罗恩问。 
　　“跟我来。”哈利飞快的说，“进来吧。我要告诉你们一些事。” 
　　他领着他们走过一楼的走廊，警惕的穿过门口，最后他找到了一间空教室冲了进去，并在罗恩和荷米恩进来的那一刻马上关上门，斜靠着门，面对着他们说： 
　　“伏地魔抓到了天狼星。” 
　　“什么” 
　　“你是怎么——” 
　　“看到的。刚才，当我在考试中睡着时。” 
　　“但－但在哪里？怎么样发生的？”荷米恩问，她的脸发白了。 
　　“我不知道。”哈利，“但我知道确切的地点，那是魔法部的一个放满了玻璃球架子的房间，他们在97排的尽头，他正试着利用天狼星来获取一个他想从那里得到的东西，他正在拷问他，扬言他要杀了他而让他完蛋。” 
　　哈利发现他的声音和他的膝盖在发抖。他搬了一把椅子坐下来试图控制他自己。 
　　“我们怎么去那里？”他问他们。 
　　片刻的寂静。然后罗恩说：“去－去哪里？” 
　　“去神秘事务司，这样我们才能救天狼星。”哈利响亮的叫了起来。 
　　“但，哈利。”罗恩无力的说。 
　　“什么？什么？”哈利说。 
　　他不能理解为什么他们都凝视着他好像他在说什么不可思议的话似的。 
　　“哈利”荷米恩用一种更惊骇的声音说：“呃，怎么？伏地魔是怎么潜入魔法部而没有任何人意识到他在那里的？” 
　　“我怎么知道！”哈利咆哮道：“问题是我们怎么进去！” 
　　“但，哈利，考虑一下。”荷米恩说，向他走进了一步，“现在是下午5点，魔法部一定挤满了官员。伏地魔和天狼星怎么可能闯进去却又没有被看见呢？哈利，他们可是他们在这个世界上最想抓的巫师啊，你认为他们能闯进一栋挤满了傲罗的建筑物而没被发现吗？” 
　　“我不知道，伏地魔用了一件隐形衣或别的什么！”哈利叫道，“总之，我在无论什么时候总是看到神秘事务司彻底是空的。” 
　　“你从没到过那里，哈利”荷米恩安静的说，“你只不过曾梦到过那个地方。” 
　　“那不是普通的梦！”哈利冲着她的脸大叫，也站起来向她走了一步，他想摇摇她，“你怎么解释罗恩爸爸的事？这就说明了一切，否则我是怎么知道他发生了什么事的？” 
　　“他说得对。”罗恩静静地看着荷米恩说。 
　　“但这是－是如此的靠不住。”荷米恩拼命的说，“当天狼星总是呆在格里曼迪街时，伏地魔究竟怎么能控制他呢？” 
　　“天狼星可能会想大叫一番和呼吸一下新鲜空气。”罗恩说，声音十分担忧，“他可能会不顾一切的离开那所老房子。” 
　　“但为什么？”荷米恩坚持道，“究竟是为什么？伏地魔想利用天狼星来得到这件武器或任何他想要得到的东西呢？” 
　　“我不知道，这里有好几种理由。”哈利对她大叫：“可能天狼星刚巧是个伏地魔能够毫不在乎的看着他被折磨的人吧！” 
　　“你知道吗，我刚才想到的。”罗恩用一种平淡的口吻说，“天狼星的表哥是个食死徒，不是吗？可能他告诉过天狼星如何得到那件武器的秘密。” 
　　“是啊！———这就是为什么丹伯多总希望他被禁锢住的原因！”哈利说。 
　　“看吧！对不起！”荷米恩哭了，“但你们失去理智了，我们没有任何相关的证据，没有伏地魔和天狼星曾在那里的证据。” 
　　“荷米恩，哈利看到他们了！”罗恩说丢了她一眼说。 
　　“很好”她说，看上去更惊慌了，“我刚才说过了。” 
　　“什么？” 
　　“你，这不是批评，哈利！但是你做过那种事，我的意思是，你不觉的“救人的事”你做的太多了吗？”她说。 
　　“好啊，你所谓的“救人的事”指的是什么？” 
　　“好吧，你。”她的表情比起刚才更明确了，“我的意思是，举个例子，去年，三强争霸赛期间，在湖里时，你就不该，我的意思是，你不需要救那个小姑娘德拉库尔的，把她带回来，你做的过多了。” 
　　一股灼人的怒气在哈利体内穿梭，现在她怎么可以再提他的过失呢？ 
　　“我的意思是，你的一切都是这么杰出。”她看到哈利脸上的表情后被真的吓呆了，荷米恩飞快的补充，“每个人都认为那件事干的太棒了—” 
　　“那真是滑稽！”哈利咬着牙说，“因为我明明记得罗恩说我在浪费时间充英雄，你就是这么想的吧？你猜我想再演一次英雄？” 
　　“不，不，不！”荷米恩说，看上去惊骇极了，“我一点也没有这个意思！” 
　　“好的，把你想说的都吐出来吧，因为我们在这里浪费时间。”哈利大叫道。 
　　“我想说的是——伏地魔了解你，哈利！他利用金妮把你引到密室，这种事他做过了，他知道你是——那种一定会去帮助天狼星的人。那么如果他正试图引诱你吐神秘事务司怎么办——？” 
　　“荷米恩，无论他是否这么干想在那里抓我们都无关紧要——他们已经把麦格教授送去圣芒戈，在霍格瓦彻再也没有留下凤凰令的人了，如果我们不去，天狼星会死的！” 
　　“但是，哈利——如果你的梦——只是一个梦呢？” 
　　哈利发出一个失败的嚎叫。荷米恩现在一步步的远离他，表情什么惊慌。 
　　“你不了解”哈利对她大叫，“我没有做恶梦，我刚才不是在做梦！你认为思维闭锁术是什么？你认为为什么丹伯多要我防备看到的那些事？因为那是真的，荷米恩—天狼星被抓了，我看见他了。伏地魔抓到了他，没有别人知道了，这就是说只有我们能救他了，而且，如果你不愿意干的话，那好，但我会去的，明白吗？还有，我没记错的话，当我从摄魂怪那里救了你时或者”他转向了罗恩，“当我从蛇怪手中救出你妹妹时，你们没有对我“救人的事”表示异议……” 
　　“我从来没说我有过异议！”罗恩激烈的说。 
　　“但是哈利，你刚才说了，”荷米恩猛地说，“丹伯多要你学习把这些东西从你的思维中剔除，如果你用了思维闭锁术你就不会看到这些了。” 
　　“假如你认为我在假装我看见了一些我没看见的——” 
　　“天狼星告诉过你没有任何事比封闭你的思想更重要的了！” 
　　“好啊，我想他会说些别的的，假如他知道我刚才——” 
　　教室的门被打开了。哈利，罗恩和荷米恩象被鞭子抽了一下。金妮走了进来，看上去很好奇，她后面跟着露娜，她带着她通常的那种怪异表情。 
　　“hi”金妮不确定的说，“我们听出了哈利的声音。你在喊什么？” 
　　“和你无关”哈利粗鲁的说。 
　　金妮扬起了她的眉毛。 
　　“别用这种口气和我说话。”她沉着的说，“我只想知道是否有什么我能帮忙的。” 
　　“好的，但你帮不了。”哈利简短的说。 
　　“你知道吗？你现在很粗鲁。”露娜安详的说。 
　　哈利一惊转过身去。现在他最后想做的就是和露娜洛夫古德谈一谈。 
　　“等一下，”荷米恩突然说，“等一下，哈利，她们能帮上忙！” 
　　哈利和罗恩都看着她。 
　　“听着，”她急切得说，‘哈利，我们需要确定是否天狼星真的已经离开了司令部。” 
　　“我已经告诉你了，我看见——” 
　　“哈利，我请求你。”荷米恩绝望的说，“在我们整装待发前往伦敦之前，请让我们确认一下天狼星不在家。如果我们发现她不在那里，我发誓我不会来阻止你。我也会做任何事情来尽力救他。” 
　　“天狼星正在被折磨！”哈利喊道，“我们没有可以浪费的时间了！” 
　　“但是如果这是一个伏地魔得骗局呢？哈利，我们要先检查再去。” 
　　“怎么检查？”哈利问，“我们怎么样才能去检查呢？” 
　　“我们不得不使用昂布瑞奇的火炉了，看看我们能否和他取得联系。“荷米恩说，看得出在她心里既坚定又害怕，“我们要再一次的把昂布瑞奇引远一点，但我们需要望风的，这就是我们要用到金妮和露娜的地方了。” 
　　金妮很快弄清了即将发生的事，立刻说：“好的，我们会干的。”而露娜说：“当你说”天狼星“时，是在谈论那个著名的布景大师吗？” 
　　没人回答她。 
　　“很好，”哈利进攻性的对荷米恩说，“很好，如果你认为这么做是快捷的话，我和你一起干，否则，我现在就去神秘事务司！” 
　　“神秘事务司？”露娜说，表情有点奇怪，“但你怎么去那里啊？” 
　　哈利又一次忽视了她。 
　　“对，”荷米恩说，双手交叉着在桌子之间走来走去,“正确，好的。我们中的一个必须去找到昂布瑞奇，并且把她带往错误的方向，保证她远离她的办公室。他们可以告诉她—我不知道－通常是皮皮鬼让东西飞起来的。 
　　“就这么干！”罗恩立刻说，“去告诉她皮皮鬼在破坏变形课的教室和东西，那里离她的办公室有几英里远呢。我想起来了，刚才我在走廊里遇到他，应该劝他去的！” 
　　荷米恩没有对破坏变形课教室表示异议这就标志了情况的严肃性。 
　　“好的。”她说，她的脸上的皱纹想她的步伐一样不断延伸，“现在，我们需要保证当我们闯进去时学生们远离她的办公室，免得斯莱特林们跑去给她报讯。” 
　　“露娜和我可以守在走廊的两头”金妮迅速地说，“并且警告人们别从那里走，因为有人在那里释放了绞杀气体。”荷米恩对金妮已经编好了这么一个谎言使得事情都准备就绪了感到惊讶，金妮耸耸肩说：“弗来德和乔治在他们走之前就计划这么干得。” 
　　“好了”荷米恩说，“都好了，哈利，你和我藏在隐形衣下面，我们会顺利地溜进办公室，你能同天狼星讲话了。““他不在那里，荷米恩！” 
　　“我的意思是，你可以——当我把风地时候确认天狼星是否在家，我认为你不该一个人在那里，李乔丹已经证实了窗户是个弱点，把这些Nifflers塞进去。” 
　　虽然哈利又气又急，但他承认荷米恩和他一起溜进昂布瑞奇的办公室真的是团结和忠诚的标志。 
　　“我，好的。谢谢。”他嘀咕了一声。 
　　“对了，这就好了，即使我们全做到了，我也不指望能超过5分钟。”荷米恩说，看到哈利似乎接受了这个计划，她的表情放松了，“不要碰到费尔奇在身边游荡来做那些令人讨厌的问询。” 
　　“5分钟就很够了。”哈利说，“赶快，我们走。” 
　　“现在？”荷米恩问，有点震惊。 
　　“当然是现在！”哈利愤怒的说，“你是怎么想的？我们要等到晚餐还是什么之后呢？荷米恩，天狼星正在被折磨！” 
　　“我—欧，好吧。”她失望地说。“你去拿隐形衣我们在昂布瑞奇地那个走廊碰面，行吗？” 
　　哈利没有回答，而是猛冲出房间开始奋力推开混乱地人群。向上跑了两层他遇见了西莫和迪安，他们愉快地欢迎他并且告诉他他们正在计划在公共休息室办一场通过考试地庆祝会。哈利几乎没听。当他们还在讨论他们需要多少黑市地黄油啤酒时，哈利从肖像里的洞爬了进去，而在他们还没有注意到他之前，他已经把装隐形衣和天狼星刀的包带走了。 
　　“哈利，你想下两个加隆吗？哈罗德丁吉说他能卖给我们一些火焰威士忌。” 
　　但哈利已经痛苦的来到了外面的走廊（他们的走廊真差劲总是那么的人想走快点都不行），一两分钟后，他跳上了最后几级台阶加入到罗恩，荷米恩，金妮和露娜中来，他们全都挤在昂布瑞奇的走廊尽头。 
　　“走啊”他气喘的说，“准备进去了吧。” 
　　“不错。”当一伙吵闹的6年纪从他们身边走过时，荷米恩耳语道，“所以罗恩－你去监视昂布瑞奇。金妮，露娜，如果你们能把走动的人群赶出走廊的话，我和哈利就可以顺利的穿上隐形衣了。” 
　　罗恩走了，他鲜艳的红发消失在了右边通道的尽头。同时，金妮用她有着同样一束头发的脑袋开始以不同的方向冲撞着周围的学生，露娜用她金色的脑袋跟着她。 
　　“在这里穿”荷米恩小声嘀咕道，牵着哈利的手腕，把他带到了一个对自己不停说话的中世纪丑陋男巫的石像凹处，“你肯定你都准备好了吗？哈利？你的脸色还是很苍白。” 
　　“我还行。”他简短的说，把他的隐形衣从包里拿了出来。事实上，他的伤疤在疼，但还没有剧烈到他认为伏地魔已经给予天狼星以致命的打击了。当伏地魔惩罚埃弗里是，那要疼的多了。 
　　“在这里”他说，他把隐形衣盖住他们两个，小心的站起来穿过在他们面前的嘀咕着拉丁文的半身象。 
　　“你们不能进入这里！”金妮向人群喊道，“不，对不起，你们不得不绕到旋转楼梯了。刚才有人在这里释放了绞杀气体！” 
　　他们听见人们大声地抱怨，一个确定地声音说：“我没有看见气体。” 
　　“这是因为那是无色的。”金妮用令人信以为真的愤怒声音说，“但是如果你想走过去，请吧，然后，我们会看到你的尸体成为给下一个不相信我们的傻瓜的证据了。” 
　　慢慢的，人群变少了。关于绞杀气体的消息似乎已经开始传播了，再也没有人到这条路来了。当周围的区域变得彻底的空旷后，荷米恩平静的说，“我认为我们最好进去了，哈利，－进来，快点！” 
　　他们被斗篷盖着向前移动。露娜正在远处走廊的尽头站着，背对着他们，当他们走过金妮身边时，荷米恩小声说：“干得好，别忘了信号。” 
　　“信号是什么？”当他们逼近昂布瑞奇的门时，哈利咕哝道。 
　　“如果他们看见昂布瑞奇来了，就大声合唱“威斯里是我们的国王”！当哈利把天狼星的刀插入墙和门之间的裂缝时，荷米恩回答道。门滴答一声开了，他们进入了办公室。 
　　那些小猫的装饰品正在享受着午后的阳光还一边暖着它们的盘子，然而这间办公室在别的方面还是想上次一样的寂静空旷。荷米恩透了一口长气。 
　　“我认为她可能已经在第二个niffler之外添加了额外的安全措施。” 
　　他们扯下了斗篷；荷米恩迅速地走到窗口别人从外面站着看不见的地方，好奇的把她的魔杖伸出去，对着地上。哈利走进壁炉，抓了一把飞路粉扔进了火里，绿色的火苗一下子窜了起来。他知道要快，把他的头钻进火里然后叫道：“格里曼迪大街12号！” 
　　他的头开始旋转仿佛他的整个身躯已经融入了火里，虽然他的膝盖还安稳的跪在办公室冰冷的地板上。他一直把眼睛闭着来应付旋转的灰尘，当旋转结束时，他睁开了眼睛来留意一下周围，是格里曼迪冰冷的厨房。 
　　这里没有人。他料到了，但是在看到荒芜的厨房之后，恐惧和惊慌毫不准备的在他的胃里滋长。 
　　“天狼星？”他叫道，“天狼星，你在这里吗？” 
　　他的声音在房间里回荡，但除了火炉右边的一个细微的刮擦声没有回答。 
　　“谁在那里？”他问道，怀疑那是否是只老鼠。 
　　家养小精灵克瑞切出现在他的视野中。他看上去为什么事而很高兴，虽然最近他似乎对他的双手一直在做巨大的伤害，那里现在包着厚厚的绷带。 
　　“男孩波特的头在火里。”克瑞切在空空的厨房大声说，他的行为鬼鬼祟祟的，古怪的用胜利的眼神撇了哈利一眼，“克瑞切想知道他来干什么？” 
　　“天狼星在哪里？”哈利询问道。 
　　家养小精灵气喘的吃吃笑了。 
　　“主人出去了，哈利波特。” 
　　“他去哪儿了？他到那里去了？克瑞切？” 
　　克瑞切仅仅是格格大笑。 
　　“我警告你！”哈利说，他充分认识到在现在这个位置，他超出底线来惩罚克瑞切是不可能的。“卢平怎么样了？魔眼呢？他们中的任何人，有谁在这里？” 
　　“除了克瑞切没人在这里！”小精灵兴高采烈的说，然后背传身子慢慢的远离哈利向厨房的门口走去。“克瑞切认为他将有些话要和他的女主人说了，现在，是的，他没有机会再说了，克瑞切的主人已经要他远离他。” 
　　“天狼星去了哪里？”哈利在小精灵身后大声的喊，“克瑞切，他去了神秘事务司了吗？” 
　　克瑞切停下了脚步。哈利仅仅能透过在他面前的木桌脚看到克瑞切光秃的后脑。 
　　“主人没有告诉可怜的克瑞切他去了那里。”家养小精灵平静的说。 
　　“但你知道！”哈利叫道，“不是吗？你知道他在哪里！” 
　　片刻的寂静。然后小精灵发出他最大的笑声。 
　　“主人不会从神秘事务司回来了！”他欢天喜地的说，“克瑞切和他的女主人又是两个人了！” 
　　他急忙的向前跑去，消失在通向大厅的那扇门里。 
　　“你——” 
　　但在哈利能发出一声诅咒和辱骂之前，他感到他的前额突然剧烈的疼痛；而且他吸了很多灰，那几乎透不过气来，他发现自己被向后拉回到火焰中，直到伴随着一个粗鲁的动作，他看到了昂布瑞奇教授苍白的脸，她用她的头发把他尽可能远的拉出火焰而现在她在他后面用力掐他的脖子，仿佛她准备撕裂他的喉咙。 
　　“你认为。”她低声说，更用力的扭哈利的脖子，为的是让他盯着天花板，“在两个NIFFLERS之后我会让另一个肮脏的东西，弄些小生物带进我的办公室而我会不知情？在最后一个人进来后，我在门口附近布满了秘密感观咒，你这个愚蠢的男孩，拿走他的魔杖。”她冲着他看不见的一个人喊，然后他感到一只手在他长袍胸口的口袋摸索着拿走了他的魔杖。“她的也一样。” 
　　哈利听到门口有一场混战，他知道了荷米恩也被夺走了魔杖。 
　　“我想要知道为什么你在我的办公室，”昂布瑞奇说，抓着她的头发乱摇为了让他也不停的摇动。 
　　“我是－想找到我的火努箭！”哈利嘶哑的说。 
　　“撒谎的家伙”她又摇了一下他的头。“你的火努箭被严格的锁在了地牢，你很清楚，波特。你把你的头放在火里。你在和谁联系？” 
　　“没有人－”哈利说，试着摆脱她。他感到好几缕头发连着他的头皮。 
　　“骗子！”昂布瑞奇叫道，她把他从她身边扔了出去，他撞在了书桌上。现在他能看见了荷米恩被Millicent Bulstrode绑着靠在墙上。马尔夫正靠在窗台上，得意的把哈利的魔杖抛到半空再接住。 
　　外面一阵骚乱，几个人高马大的斯莱特林进来了，他们架着罗恩，金妮，露娜和——哈利很迷惑－纳威，他正被克拉布狠狠的束缚住，脸色因为即将到来的危险而窒息。他们四个都被塞住了嘴。 
　　“全部进去”Warrington说，一边粗鲁的把罗恩推进房间。“那个”他伸出粗粗的手指指着纳威，“试图阻止我抓她”他指着金妮，她正在尽力踢抓着她的大个子斯莱特林女孩，“所以我把他也带来了。” 
　　“好，好”昂布瑞奇说，注视着金妮的努力挣扎，“好啊，看上去霍格瓦彻不久要变成『威斯里家族自由区』了，不是吗？” 
　　马尔夫响亮响亮奉承的大笑。昂布瑞奇给了她一下，满意的微笑起来并把她固定在了覆盖着棉布的扶手椅上，而无视在她俘虏中有一只蛤蟆趴在她的花床上。 
　　“所以，波特”她说，“你在我的办公室周围设置望风的再派这个小丑。”她向罗恩点了点－马尔夫笑得更响了。“来告诉我皮皮鬼在发泄大肆破坏变形课教室，而当时我完全知道他在忙着用墨水来弄脏学校所以望远镜的目镜——费尔奇先生刚好告诉了我。” 
　　“很明显，你和某人的谈话很重要。那是艾伯斯丹伯多？或者浑血的，哈格力？我怀疑那是米勒娃麦格，我听到她还是太虚弱了而不能责备任何人。” 
　　马尔夫和他的斯莱特林成员笑得更欢了。哈利发现他是这么的暴怒和憎恨他在被人摇。 
　　“我不和你谈任何条件。”他咆哮道。 
　　昂布瑞奇松弛的脸似乎
Chapter 11 The Sorting Hat's New Song
Harry did not want to tell the others that he and Luna were having the same hallucination, if that was what it was, so he said nothing more about the horses as he sat down inside the carriage and slammed the door behind him. Nevertheless, he could not help watching the silhouettes of the horses moving beyond the window.
‘Did everyone see that Grubbly-Plank woman?’ asked Ginny. ‘What's she doing back here? Hagrid can't have left, can he?’
‘I'll be quite glad if he has,’ said Luna, ‘he isn't a very good teacher, is he?’
‘Yes, he is!’ said Harry, Ron and Ginny angrily.
Harry glared at Hermione. She cleared her throat and quickly said, ‘Erm ... yes ... he's very good.’
‘Well, we in Ravenclaw think he's a bit of a joke,’ said Luna, unfazed.
‘You've got a rubbish sense of humour then,’ Ron snapped, as the wheels below them creaked into motion.
Luna did not seem perturbed by Ron's rudeness; on the contrary, she simply watched him for a while as though he were a mildly interesting television programme.
Rattling and swaying, the carriages moved in convoy up the road. When they passed between the tall stone pillars topped with winged boars on either side of the gates to the school grounds, Harry leaned forwards to try and see whether there were any lights on in Hagrid's cabin by the Forbidden Forest, but the grounds were in complete darkness. Hogwarts Castle, however, loomed ever closer: a towering mass of turrets, jet black against the dark sky, here and there a window blazing fiery bright above them.
The carriages jingled to a halt near the stone steps leading up to the oak front doors and Harry got out of the carriage first. He turned again to look for lit windows down by the Forest, but there was definitely no sign of life within Hagrid's cabin. Unwillingly, because he had half-hoped they would have vanished, he turned his eyes instead upon the strange, skeletal creatures standing quietly in the chill night air, their blank white eyes gleaming.
Harry had once before had the experience of seeing something that Ron could not, but that had been a reflection in a mirror, something much more insubstantial than a hundred very solid-looking beasts strong enough to pull a fleet of carriages. If Luna was to be believed, the beasts had always been there but invisible. Why, then, could Harry suddenly see them, and why could Ron not?
‘Are you coming or what?’ said Ron beside him.
‘Oh ... yeah,’ said Harry quickly and they joined the crowd hurrying up the stone steps into the castle.
The Entrance Hall was ablaze with torches and echoing with footsteps as the students crossed the flagged stone floor for the double doors to the right, leading to the Great Hall and the start-of-term feast.
The four long house tables in the Great Hall were filling up under the starless black ceiling, which was just like the sky they could glimpse through the high windows. Candles floated in midair all along the tables, illuminating the silvery ghosts who were dotted about the Hall and the faces of the students talking eagerly, exchanging summer news, shouting greetings at friends from other houses, eyeing one another's new haircuts and robes. Again, Harry noticed people putting their heads together to whisper as he passed; he gritted his teeth and tried to act as though he neither noticed nor cared.
Luna drifted away from them at the Ravenclaw table. The moment they reached Gryffindor's, Ginny was hailed by some fellow fourth-years and left to sit with them; Harry, Ron, Hermione and Neville found seats together about halfway down the table between Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor house ghost, and Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown, the last two of whom gave Harry airy, overly-friendly greetings that made him quite sure they had stopped talking about him a split second before. He had more important things to worry about, however: he was looking over the students’ heads to the staff table that ran along the top wall of the Hall.
‘He's not there.’
Ron and Hermione scanned the staff table too, though there was no real need; Hagrid's size made him instantly obvious in any lineup.
‘He can't have left,’ said Ron, sounding slightly anxious.
‘Of course he hasn't,’ said Harry firmly.
‘You don't think he's ... hurt, or anything, do you?’ said Hermione uneasily.
‘No,’ said Harry at once.
‘But where is he, then?’
There was a pause, then Harry said very quietly, so that Neville, Parvati and Lavender could not hear, ‘Maybe he's not back yet. You know—from his mission—the thing he was doing over the summer for Dumbledore.’
‘Yeah ... yeah, that'll be it,’ said Ron, sounding reassured, but Hermione bit her lip, looking up and down the staff table as though hoping for some conclusive explanation of Hagrid's absence.
‘Who's that?’ she said sharply, pointing towards the middle of the staff table.
Harry's eyes followed hers. They lit first upon Professor Dumbledore, sitting in his high-backed golden chair at the centre of the long staff table, wearing deep-purple robes scattered with silvery stars and a matching hat. Dumbledore's head was inclined towards the woman sitting next to him, who was talking into his ear. She looked, Harry thought, like somebody's maiden aunt: squat, with short, curly, mouse-brown hair in which she had placed a horrible pink Alice band that matched the fluffy pink cardigan she wore over her robes. Then she turned her face slightly to take a sip from her goblet and he saw, with a shock of recognition, a pallid, toadlike face and a pair of prominent, pouchy eyes.
‘It's that Umbridge woman!’
‘Who?’ said Hermione.
‘She was at my hearing, she works for Fudge!’
‘Nice cardigan,’ said Ron, smirking.
‘She works for Fudge!’ Hermione repeated, frowning. ‘What on earth's she doing here, then?’
‘Dunno ...’
Hermione scanned the staff table, her eyes narrowed.
‘No,’ she muttered, ‘no, surely not ...’
Harry did not understand what she was talking about but did not ask; his attention had been caught by Professor Grubbly-Plank who had just appeared behind the staff table; she worked her way along to the very end and took the seat that ought to have been Hagrid's. That meant the first-years must have crossed the lake and reached the castle, and sure enough, a few seconds later, the doors from the Entrance Hall opened. A long line of scared-looking first-years entered, led by Professor McGonagall, who was carrying a stool on which sat an ancient wizards hat, heavily patched and darned with a wide rip near the frayed brim.
The buzz of talk in the Great Hall faded away. The first-years lined up in front of the staff table facing the rest of the students, and Professor McGonagall placed the stool carefully in front of them, then stood back.
The first-years’ faces glowed palely in the candlelight. A small boy right in the middle of the row looked as though he was trembling. Harry recalled, fleetingly, how terrified he had felt when he had stood there, waiting for the unknown test that would determine to which house he belonged.
The whole school waited with bated breath. Then the rip near the hat's brim opened wide like a mouth and the Sorting Hat burst into song:
In times of old when I was new
And Hogwarts barely started
The founders of our noble school
Thought never to be parted:
United by a common goal,
They had the selfsame yearning,
To make the world's best magic school
And pass along their learning.
‘Together we will build and teach!’
The four good friends decided
And never did they dream that they
Might some day be divided,
For were there such friends anywhere
As Slytherin and Gryffindor?
Unless it was the second pair
Of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw?
So how could it have gone so wrong?
How could such friendships fail?
Why, I was there and so can tell
The whole sad, sorry tale.
Said Slytherin, ‘We'll teach just those
Whose ancestry is purest.’
Said Ravenclaw, ‘We'll teach those whose
Intelligence is surest. ’
Said Gryffindor, ‘We'll teach all those
With brave deeds to their name, ’
Said Hufflepuff, ‘I'll teach the lot,
And treat them just the same. ’
These differences caused little strife
When first they came to light,
For each of the four founders had
A house in which they might
Take only those they wanted, so,
For instance, Slytherin
Took only pure-blood wizards
Of great cunning, just like him,
And only those of sharpest mind
Were taught by Ravenclaw
While the bravest and the boldest
Went to daring Gryffindor.
Good Hufflepuff, she took the rest,
And taught them all she knew,
Thus the houses and their founders
Retained friendships firm and true.
So Hogwarts worked in harmony
For several happy years,
But then discord crept among us
Feeding on our faults and fears.
The houses that, like pillars four,
Had once held up our school,
Now turned upon each other and,
Divided, sought to rule.
And for a while it seemed the school
Must meet an early end,
What with duelling and with fighting
And the clash of friend on friend
And at last there came c morning
When old Slytherin departed
And though the fighting then died out
He left us quite downhearted.
And never since the founders four
Were whittled down to three
Have the houses been united
As they once were meant to be.
And now the Sorting Hat is here
And you all know the score:
I sort you into houses
Because that is what I'm for,
But this year I'll go further,
Listen closely to my song:
Though condemned I am to split you
Still I worry that it's wrong,
Though I must fulfil my duty
And must quarter every year
Still I wonder whether Sorting
May not bring the end I fear.
Oh, know the perils, read the signs,
The warning history shows,
For our Hogwarts is in danger
From external, deadly foes
And we must unite inside her
Or we'll crumble from within
I have told you, I have warned you ...
Let the Sorting now begin.
 
The Hat became motionless once more; applause broke out, though it was punctured, for the first time in Harry's memory, with muttering and whispers. All across the Great Hall students were exchanging remarks with their neighbours, and Harry, clapping along with everyone else, knew exactly what they were talking about.
‘Branched out a bit this year, hasn't it?’ said Ron, his eyebrows raised.
‘Too right it has,’ said Harry.
The Sorting Hat usually confined itself to describing the different qualities looked for by each of the four Hogwarts houses and its own role in Sorting them. Harry could not remember it ever trying to give the school advice before.
‘I wonder if it's ever given warnings before?’ said Hermione, sounding slightly anxious.
‘Yes, indeed,’ said Nearly Headless Nick knowledgeably, leaning across Neville towards her (Neville winced; it was very uncomfortable to have a ghost lean through you). ‘The Hat feels itself honour-bound to give the school due warning whenever it feels—’
But Professor McGonagall, who was waiting to read out the list of first-years’ names, was giving the whispering students the sort of look that scorches. Nearly Headless Nick placed a see-through finger to his lips and sat primly upright again as the muttering came to an abrupt end. With a last frowning look that swept the lour house tables, Professor McGonagall lowered her eyes to her long piece of parchment and called out the first name.
‘Abercrombie, Euan.’
The terrified-looking boy Harry had noticed earlier stumbled forwards and put the Hat on his head; it was only prevented from falling right down to his shoulders by his very prominent ears. The Hat considered for a moment, then the rip near the brim opened again and shouted:
‘Gryffindor!’
Harry clapped loudly with the rest of Gryffindor house as Euan Abercrombie staggered to their table and sat down, looking as though he would like very much to sink through the floor and never be looked at again.
Slowly, the long line of first-years thinned. In the pauses between the names and the Sorting Hat's decisions, Harry could hear Ron's stomach rumbling loudly. Finally, ‘Zeller, Rose’ was Sorted into Hufflepuff, and Professor McGonagall picked up the Hat and stool and marched them away as Professor Dumbledore rose to his feet.
Whatever his recent bitter feelings had been towards his Headmaster, Harry was somehow soothed to see Dumbledore standing before them all. Between the absence of Hagrid and the presence of those dragonish horses, he had felt that his return to Hogwarts, so long anticipated, was full of unexpected surprises, like jarring notes in a familiar song. But this, at least, was how it was supposed to be: their Headmaster rising to greet them all before the start-of-term feast.
‘To our newcomers,’ said Dumbledore in a ringing voice, his arms stretched wide and a beaming smile on his lips, ‘welcome! To our old hands—welcome back! There is a time for speech-making, but this is not it. Tuck in!’
There was an appreciative laugh and an outbreak of applause as Dumbledore sat down neatly and threw his long beard over his shoulder so as to keep it out of the way of his plate—for food had appeared out of nowhere, so that the five long tables were groaning under joints and pies and dishes of vegetables, bread and sauces and flagons of pumpkin juice.
‘Excellent,’ said Ron, with a kind of groan of longing, and he seized the nearest plate of chops and began piling them on to his plate, watched wistfully by Nearly Headless Nick.
‘What were you saying before the Sorting?’ Hermione asked the ghost. ‘About the Hat giving warnings?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Nick, who seemed glad of a reason to turn away from Ron, who was now eating roast potatoes with almost indecent enthusiasm. ‘Yes, I have heard the Hat give several warnings before, always at times when it detects periods of great danger for the school. And always, of course, its advice is the same: stand together, be strong from within.’
‘Ow kunnit nofe skusin danger ifzat?’ said Ron.
His mouth was so full Harry thought it was quite an achievement for him to make any noise at all.
‘I beg your pardon?’ said Nearly Headless Nick politely, while Hermione looked revolted. Ron gave an enormous swallow and said, ‘How can it know if the school's in danger if it's a Hat?’
‘I have no idea,’ said Nearly Headless Nick. ‘Of course, it lives in Dumbledore's office, so I daresay it picks things up there.’
‘And it wants all the houses to be friends?’ said Harry, looking over at the Slytherin table, where Draco Malfoy was holding court. ‘Fat chance.’
‘Well, now, you shouldn't take that attitude,’ said Nick reprovingly. ‘Peaceful co-operation, that's the key. We ghosts, though we belong to separate houses, maintain links of friendship. In spite of the competitiveness between Gryffindor and Slytherin, I would never dream of seeking an argument with the Bloody Baron.’
‘Only because you're terrified of him,’ said Ron.
Nearly Headless Nick looked highly affronted.
‘Terrified? I hope I, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, have never been guilty of cowardice in my life! The noble blood that runs in my veins—’
‘What blood?’ asked Ron. ‘Surely you haven't still got—?’
‘It's a figure of speech!’ said Nearly Headless Nick, now so annoyed his head was trembling ominously on his partially severed neck. ‘I assume I am still allowed to enjoy the use of whichever words I like, even if the pleasures of eating and drinking are denied me! But I am quite used to students poking fun at my death, I assure you!’
‘Nick, he wasn't really laughing at you!’ said Hermione, throwing a furious look at Ron.
Unfortunately, Ron's mouth was packed to exploding point again and all he could manage was ‘Node iddum eentup sechew,’ which Nick did not seem to think constituted an adequate apology. Rising into the air, he straightened his feathered hat and swept away from them to the other end of the table, coming to rest between the Creevey brothers, Colin and Dennis.
‘Well done, Ron,’ snapped Hermione.
‘What?’ said Ron indignantly, having managed, finally, to swallow his food. ‘I'm not allowed to ask a simple question?’
‘Oh, forget it,’ said Hermione irritably, and the pair of them spent the rest of the meal in huffy silence.
Harry was too used to their bickering to bother trying to reconcile them; he felt it was a better use of his time to eat his way steadily through his steak and kidney pie, then a large plateful of his favourite treacle tart.
When all the students had finished eating and the noise level in the Hall was starting to creep upwards again, Dumbledore got to his feet once more. Talking ceased immediately as all turned to face the Headmaster. Harry was feeling pleasantly drowsy now. His four-poster bed was waiting somewhere above, wonderfully warm and soft ...
‘Well, now that we are all digesting another magnificent feast, I beg a few moments of your attention for the usual start-of-term notices,’ said Dumbledore. ‘First-years ought to know that the Forest in the grounds is out-of-bounds to students—and a few of our older students ought to know by now, too.’ (Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged smirks.)
‘Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me, for what he tells me is the four-hundred-and-sixty-second time, to remind you all that magic is not permitted in corridors between classes, nor are a number of other things, all of which can be checked on the extensive list now fastened to Mr. Filch's office door.
‘We have had two changes in staffing this year. We are very pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking Care of Magical Creatures lessons; we are also delighted to introduce Professor Umbridge, our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.’
There was a round of polite but fairly unenthusiastic applause, during which Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged slightly panicked looks; Dumbledore had not said for how long Grubbly-Plank would be teaching.
Dumbledore continued, ‘Tryouts for the house Quidditch teams will take place on the—’
He broke off, looking enquiringly at Professor Umbridge. As she was not much taller standing than sitting, there was a moment when nobody understood why Dumbledore had stopped talking, but then Professor Umbridge cleared her throat, ‘Hem, hem,’ and it became clear that she had got to her feet and was intending to make a speech.
Dumbledore only looked taken aback for a moment, then he sat down smartly and looked alertly at Professor Umbridge as though he desired nothing better than to listen to her talk. Other members of staff were not as adept at hiding their surprise. Professor Sprout's eyebrows had disappeared into her flyaway hair and Professor McGonagall's mouth was as thin as Harry had ever seen it. No new teacher had ever interrupted Dumbledore before. Many of the students were smirking; this woman obviously did not know how things were done at Hogwarts.
‘Thank you, Headmaster,’ Professor Umbridge simpered, ‘for those kind words of welcome.’
Her voice was high-pitched, breathy and little-girlish and, again, Harry felt a powerful rush of dislike that he could not explain to himself; all he knew was that he loathed everything about her, from her stupid voice to her fluffy pink cardigan. She gave another little throat-clearing cough ('hem, hem') and continued.
‘Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say!’ She smiled, revealing very pointed teeth. ‘And to see such happy little faces looking up at me!’
Harry glanced around. None of the faces he could see looked happy. On the contrary, they all looked rather taken-aback at being addressed as though they were five years old.
‘I am very much looking forward to getting to know you all and I'm sure we'll be very good friends!’
Students exchanged looks at this; some of them were barely concealing grins.
‘I'll be her friend as long as I don't have to borrow that cardigan,’ Parvati whispered to Lavender, and both of them lapsed into silent giggles.
Professor Umbridge cleared her throat again ('hem, hem'), but when she continued, some of the breathiness had vanished from her voice. She sounded much more businesslike and now her words had a dull learned-by-heart sound to them.
The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance. The rare gifts with which you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction. The ancient skills unique to the wizarding community must be passed down the generations lest we lose them for ever. The treasure trove of magical knowledge amassed by our ancestors must be guarded, replenished and polished by those who have been called to the noble profession of teaching.’
Professor Umbridge paused here and made a little bow to her fellow staff members, none of whom bowed back to her. Professor McGonagall's dark eyebrows had contracted so that she looked positively hawklike, and Harry distinctly saw her exchange a significant glance with Professor Sprout as Umbridge gave another little ‘hem, hem’ and went on with her speech.
‘Every headmaster and headmistress of Hogwarts has brought something new to the weighty task of governing this historic school, and that is as it should be, for without progress there will be stagnation and decay. There again, progress for progress's sake must be discouraged, for our tried and tested traditions often require no tinkering. A balance, then, between old and new, between permanence and change, between tradition and innovation ...’
Harry found his attentiveness ebbing, as though his brain was slipping in and out of tune. The quiet that always filled the Hall when Dumbledore was speaking was breaking up as students put their heads together, whispering and giggling. Over on the Ravenclaw table Cho Chang was chatting animatedly with her friends. A few seats along from Cho, Luna Lovegood had got out The Quibbler again. Meanwhile, at the Hufflepuff table Ernie Macmillan was one of the few still staring at Professor Umbridge, but he was glassy-eyed and Harry was sure he was only pretending to listen in an attempt to live up to the new prefect's badge gleaming on his chest.
Professor Umbridge did not seem to notice the restlessness of her audience. Harry had the impression that a full-scale riot could have broken out under her nose and she would have ploughed on with her speech. The teachers, however, were still listening very attentively, and Hermione seemed to be drinking in every word Umbridge spoke, though, judging by her expression, they were not at all to her taste.
‘... because some changes will be for the better, while others will come, in the fullness of time, to be recognised as errors of judgement. Meanwhile, some old habits will be retained, and rightly so, whereas others, outmoded and outworn, must be abandoned. Let us move forward, then, into a new era of openness, effectiveness and accountability, intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited.’
She sat down. Dumbledore clapped. The staff followed his lead, though Harry noticed that several of them brought their hands together only once or twice before stopping. A few students joined in, but most had been taken unawares by the end of the speech, not having listened to more than a few words of it, and before they could start applauding properly, Dumbledore had stood up again.
‘Thank you very much, Professor Umbridge, that was most illuminating,’ he said, bowing to her. ‘Now, as I was saying, Quidditch tryouts will be held ...’
‘Yes, it certainly was illuminating,’ said Hermione in a low voice.
‘You're not telling me you enjoyed it?’ Ron said quietly, turning a glazed face towards Hermione. ‘That was about the dullest speech I've ever heard, and I grew up with Percy.’
‘I said illuminating, not enjoyable,’ said Hermione. ‘It explained a lot.’
‘Did it?’ said Harry in surprise. ‘Sounded like a load of waffle to me.’
There was some important stuff hidden in the waffle,’ said Hermione grimly.
‘Was there?’ said Ron blankly.
‘How about: “progress for progress's sake must be discouraged"? How about: “pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited"?’
‘Well, what does that mean?’ said Ron impatiently.
‘I'll tell you what it means,’ said Hermione through gritted teeth. ‘It means the Ministry's interfering at Hogwarts.’
There was a great clattering and banging all around them; Dumbledore had obviously just dismissed the school, because everyone was standing up ready to leave the Hall. Hermione jumped up, looking flustered.
‘Ron, we're supposed to show the first-years where to go!’
‘Oh yeah,’ said Ron, who had obviously forgotten. ‘Hey—hey, you lot! Midgets!’
‘Ron!’
‘Well, they are, they're titchy ...’
‘I know, but you can't call them midgets!—First-years!’ Hermione called commandingly along the table. ‘This way, please!’
A group of new students walked shyly up the gap between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables, all of them trying hard not to lead the group. They did indeed seem very small; Harry was sure he had not appeared that young when he had arrived here. He grinned at them. A blond boy next to Euan Abercrombie looked petrified; he nudged Euan and whispered something in his ear. Euan Abercrombie looked equally frightened and stole a horrified look at Harry, who felt the grin slide off his face like Stinksap.
‘See you later,’ he said dully to Ron and Hermione and he made his way out of the Great Hall alone, doing everything he could to ignore more whispering, staring and pointing as he passed. He kept his eyes fixed ahead as he wove his way through the crowd in the Entrance Hall, then he hurried up the marble staircase, took a couple of concealed short cuts and had soon left most of the crowds behind.
He had been stupid not to expect this, he thought angrily as he walked through the much emptier upstairs corridors. Of course everyone was staring at him; he had emerged from the Triwizard maze two months previously clutching the dead body of a fellow student and claiming to have seen Lord Voldemort return to power. There had not been time last term to explain himself before they'd all had to go home—even if he had felt up to giving the whole school a detailed account of the terrible events in that graveyard.
Harry had reached the end of the corridor to the Gryffindor common room and come to a halt in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady before he realised that he did not know the new password.
‘Er ...’ he said glumly, staring up at the Fat Lady, who smoothed the folds of her pink satin dress and looked sternly back at him.
‘No password, no entrance,’ she said loftily.
‘Harry, I know it!’ Someone panted up behind him and he turned to see Neville jogging towards him. ‘Guess what it is? I'm actually going to be able to remember it for once— ’ He waved the stunted little cactus he had shown them on the train. ‘Mimbuius mimbletonia!’
‘Correct,’ said the Fat Lady, and her portrait swung open towards them like a door, revealing a circular hole in the wall behind, through which Harry and Neville now climbed.
The Gryffindor common room looked as welcoming as ever, a cosy circular tower room full of dilapidated squashy armchairs and rickety old tables. A fire was crackling merrily in the grate and a few people were warming their hands by it before going up to their dormitories; on the other side of the room Fred and George Weasley were pinning something up on the noticeboard. Harry waved goodnight to them and headed straight for the door to the boys’ dormitories; he was not in much of a mood for talking at the moment. Neville followed him.
Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan had reached the dormitory first and were in the process of covering the walls beside their beds with posters and photographs. They had been talking as Harry pushed open the door but stopped abruptly the moment they saw him. Harry wondered whether they had been talking about him, then whether he was being paranoid.
‘Hi,’ he said, moving across to his own trunk and opening it.
‘Hey, Harry,’ said Dean, who was putting on a pair of pyjamas in the West Ham colours. ‘Good holiday?’
‘Not bad,’ muttered Harry, as a true account of his holiday would have taken most of the night to relate and he could not face it. ‘You?’
‘Yeah, it was OK,’ chuckled Dean. ‘Better than Seamus's, anyway, he was just telling me.’
‘Why, what happened, Seamus?’ Neville asked as he placed his Mimbuius mimbletonia tenderly on his bedside cabinet.
Seamus did not answer immediately; he was making rather a meal of ensuring that his poster of the Kenmare Kestrels Quidditch team was quite straight. Then he said, with his back still turned to Harry, ‘Me mam didn't want me to come back.’
‘What?’ said Harry, pausing in the act of pulling off his robes.
‘She didn't want me to come back to Hogwarts.’
Seamus turned away from his poster and pulled his own pyjamas out of his trunk, still not looking at Harry.
‘But—why?’ said Harry, astonished. He knew that Seamus's mother was a witch and could not understand, therefore, why she should have come over so Dursleyish.
Seamus did not answer until he had finished buttoning his pyjamas.
‘Well,’ he said in a measured voice, ‘I suppose ... because of you.’
‘What d'you mean?’ said Harry quickly.
His heart was beating rather fast. He felt vaguely as though something was closing in on him.
‘Well,’ said Seamus again, still avoiding Harry's eye, she ... er ... well, it's not just you, it's Dumbledore, too ...’
‘She believes the Daily Prophet?’ said Harry. ‘She thinks I'm a liar and Dumbledore's an old fool?’
Seamus looked up at him.
‘Yeah, something like that.’
Harry said nothing. He threw his wand down on to his bedside table, pulled off his robes, stuffed them angrily into his trunk and pulled on his pyjamas. He was sick of it: sick of being the person who is stared at and talked about all the time. If any of them knew, if any of them had the faintest idea what it felt like to be the one all these things had happened to ... Mrs. Finnigan had no idea, the stupid woman, he thought savagely.
He got into bed and made to pull the hangings closed around him, but before he could do so, Seamus said, ‘Look ... what did happen that night when ... you know, when ... with Cedric Diggory and all?’
Seamus sounded nervous and eager at the same time. Dean, who had been bending over his trunk trying to retrieve a slipper, went oddly still and Harry knew he was listening hard.
‘What are you asking me for?’ Harry retorted. ‘Just read the Daily Prophet like your mother, why don't you? That'll tell you all you need to know.’
‘Don't you have a go at my mother,’ Seamus snapped.
‘I'll have a go at anyone who calls me a liar,’ said Harry.
‘Don't talk to me like that!’
‘I'll talk to you how I want,’ said Harry, his temper rising so fast he snatched his wand back from his bedside table. ‘If you've got a problem sharing a dormitory with me, go and ask McGonagall if you can be moved ... stop your mummy worrying— ’
‘Leave my mother out of this, Potter!’
‘What's going on?’
Ron had appeared in the doorway. His wide eyes travelled from Harry, who was kneeling on his bed with his wand pointing at Seamus, to Seamus, who was standing there with his fists raised.
‘He's having a go at my mother!’ Seamus yelled.
‘What?’ said Ron. ‘Harry wouldn't do that—we met your mother, we liked her ...’
‘That's before she started believing every word the stinking Daily Prophet writes about me!’ said Harry at the top of his voice.
‘Oh,’ said Ron, comprehension dawning across his freckled face. ‘Oh ... right.’
‘You know what?’ said Seamus heatedly, casting Harry a venomous look. ‘He's right, I don't want to share a dormitory with him any more, he's mad.’
‘That's out of order, Seamus,’ said Ron, whose ears were starting to glow red—always a danger sign.
‘Out of order, am I?’ shouted Seamus, who in contrast with Ron was going pale. ‘You believe all the rubbish he's come out with about You-Know-Who, do you, you reckon he's telling the truth?’
‘Yeah, I do!’ said Ron angrily.
‘Then you're mad, too,’ said Seamus in disgust.
‘Yeah? Well, unfortunately for you, pal, I'm also a prefect!’ said Ron, jabbing himself in the chest with a finger. ‘So unless you want detention, watch your mouth!’
Seamus looked for a few seconds as though detention would be a reasonable price to pay to say what was going through his mind; but with a noise of contempt he turned on his heel, vaulted into bed and pulled the hangings shut with such violence that they were ripped from the bed and fell in a dusty pile to the floor. Ron glared at Seamus, then looked at Dean and Neville.
‘Anyone else's parents got a problem with Harry?’ he said aggressively.
‘My parents are Muggles, mate,’ said Dean, shrugging. ‘They don't know nothing about no deaths at Hogwarts, because I'm not stupid enough to tell them.’
‘You don't know my mother, she'd weasel anything out of anyone!’ Seamus snapped at him. ‘Anyway, your parents don't get the Daily Prophet.They don't know our Headmaster's been sacked from the Wizengamot and the International Confederation of Wizards because he's losing his marbles—’
‘My gran says that's rubbish,’ piped up Neville. ‘She says it's the Daily Prophet that's going downhill, not Dumbledore. She's cancelled our subscription. We believe Harry,’ said Neville simply. He climbed into bed and pulled the covers up to his chin, looking owlishly over them at Seamus. ‘My grans always said You-Know-Who would come back one day. She says if Dumbledore says he's back, he's back.’
Harry felt a rush of gratitude towards Neville. Nobody else said anything. Seamus got out his wand, repaired the bed hangings and vanished behind them. Dean got into bed, rolled over and fell silent. Neville, who appeared to have nothing more to say either, was gazing fondly at his moonlit cactus.
Harry lay back on his pillows while Ron bustled around the next bed, putting his things away. He fell, shaken by the argument with Seamus, whom he had always liked very much. How many more people were going to suggest that he was lying, or unhinged?
Had Dumbledore suffered like this all summer, as first the Wizengamot, then the International Confederation of Wizards had thrown him from their ranks? Was it anger at Harry, perhaps, that had stopped Dumbledore getting in touch with him for months? The two of them were in this together, after all; Dumbledore had believed Harry, announced his version of events to the whole school and then to the wider wizarding community. Anyone who thought Harry was a liar had to think that Dumbledore was, too, or else that Dumbledore had been hoodwinked ...
They'll know we're right in the end, thought Harry miserably, as Ron got into bed and extinguished the last candle in the dormitory. But he wondered how many more attacks like Seamus's he would have to endure before that time came.
　如果那就是事实真相的话，哈利不想告诉其他人他和露娜具有相同的幻觉，因此当他坐进车里并重重的关上车门之后，他再也没有说过任何关于那些马的事情了。但是，他还是忍不住从移动的前窗看着这些马一样的生物的侧影。
　　“大家都看见那个格拉普兰教授了吧？”金妮问道，“她回到这里干什么呢？哈格力不会离开吧，是吗？”
　　“如果哈格力离开我会很高兴的，”露娜说道，“他不是一个好老师，是吗？”
　　“是，他是个好老师！”哈利、罗恩和金妮都愤怒的说道。
　　哈利瞪着荷米恩。她清了清喉咙很快说道：“恩…是的…他是很优秀。”
　　“好吧，不过我们拉文克劳学院的人都认为他有点可笑。”露娜狼狈不堪的说道。
　　“那么你们的幽默感完全是垃圾，”当他们身下吱吱作响的轮子运动的时候，罗恩突然叫道。
　　露娜看来并没有为罗恩的粗鲁感到不安；正相反，她仅仅是看了罗恩一眼就好象是在看一部很有趣的电视节目。
　　这辆马车喀哒作响并且摇晃着在路上移动着。当他们经过霍格瓦彻校门口两边雕刻着高大飞猪的石柱的时候，哈利身体前倾想要尽力看清禁林旁边哈格力的小屋是否有灯光，但是那个地方漆黑一片。但是，霍格瓦彻城堡却是越来越近了：这是一座满是小塔的高塔，通体乌黑指向黑色的夜空，在它上面到处都有窗户闪烁着明亮的光芒。
　　马车象喝醉酒一样摇摇晃晃的在接近城堡石头台阶的地方停住了，正对着橡木制成的前门。哈利首先跳下了车。他再次转头看看禁林旁边的小窗户，但是很显然哈格力小屋中没有任何生命的迹象。因为他有一半希望那些生物消失掉，所以哈利很不情愿的将目光再次移动到那些奇怪的，瘦的皮包骨头的生物身上，这些生物安静的站在寒冷夜晚的空气中，他们空洞的白眼睛闪闪发光。
　　哈利以前曾经有过一次看见某些罗恩看不见的东西的经历，但是那次是从一面镜子的反射中看见的。而现在某种非实体的生物却比一百头看的见的生物更强壮，它们可以飞快的拉着马车。如果事情果然如同露娜相信的那样，这些生物总是在那里拉车，只不过它们是隐形的。那么为什么哈利突然看见了这种生物，而又为什么罗恩看不见呢？
　　“你是进来还是想干点别的？”罗恩在哈利旁边问道。
　　“哦…是的，”哈利很快回答说道。接着他们就加入了匆匆茫忙忙走上石头台阶进入城堡的人流之中。
　　入口处的大厅火炬光线摇曳；学生们穿过标记好的石头地板去右边第二道门的时候，大厅里回荡着脚步声，这道门通往主厅和开学典礼举行的地方。
　　在主厅之中四个长桌正在暗无星光的黑色天花板下闪闪发光，其景象正如他们通过高窗看见的夜空。蜡烛沿着长桌漂浮在半空中，照亮了星罗棋布在大厅中游荡的银色幽灵，学生们一脸兴奋的交谈着，交流着暑假的新闻，大声对其他学院的朋友们打着招呼，品评着一个又一个新发型和新款式的长袍。再一次，哈利注意到当他经过的时候人们将头凑在一起窃窃私语；他磨着牙齿并尽力表现出自己好象既没注意也不介意的样子。
　　露娜在拉文克劳的长桌前与他们道别。当他们抵达格兰芬多的长桌时，金妮被她的四年级同学欢呼着接过去并坐在同学们中间；哈利、罗恩、荷米恩与纳威一起在桌子中段靠近无头尼克的地方找到座位。无头尼克是格兰芬多的幽灵，另外还有帕瓦提 帕提尔和拉文德 布朗，后面两只幽灵向哈利愉快的，超出朋友热情的打招呼，这使得哈利十分确定他们刚刚停下对自己的谈论。不过，他有更重要的东西要担心：哈利越过学生们的头顶仔细的搜索着大厅另一端靠墙的教师座位。
　　“哈格力不在那里。”
　　尽管这么做没有任何现实的必要，罗恩与荷米恩也扫了一遍教工座位；哈格力的身材使他在一排人里面很快就能够辨认出来。
　　“他不会离开的，”罗恩的声音听起来有点紧张。
　　“他当然不会，”哈利坚定的说。
　　“你们不认为他…受到伤害，或者其他什么事，是吗？”荷米恩困难的说道。
　　“不，”哈利立刻反驳道。
　　“但是他在哪里呢？”
　　他们都沉默了，然后哈利非常小声的开口了，纳威、帕瓦提和拉文德都听不见他说什么，“也许他还没有回来。你知道的 —来自于他的任务—他在是、整个夏天为丹伯多做的事情。” “是的…是的，一定是这样的，”罗恩的声音恢复了信心，不过荷米恩咬着嘴唇，在教工席上下搜寻，仿佛希望就哈格力的缺席得出某种结论。
　　“那是谁？”荷米恩大声叫道并用手指着教工席的中间。
　　哈利顺着荷米恩的手看过去。他们第一眼看见的是丹伯多，他正坐在长桌正中那张高背的金色椅子上，身上穿着紫色长袍，长袍上点缀着银色的星星，并戴着一顶相配的帽子。丹伯多的头偏向一个坐在身边的妇女，后者正在对着他的耳朵说话。哈利认为她看起来象某人的纯情姨妈：她蹲在椅子上，有着短而卷曲的老鼠一样的栗色头发，头发上面还带了一只恐怖的粉红色的爱丽丝蝴蝶结，以配合她穿在长袍外面的粉红色开襟羊毛衫。接着她把脸稍稍转过来吸吮了一下面前的高脚杯，哈利为她的相貌感到震惊，一张苍白的，青蛙一样的脸，加上一对显著突起的，松垂的眼睛。
　　“那就是那个来自乌姆桥的的妇女！”
　　“谁？”荷米恩问道。
　　“她参加了我的听证会，她是为福格工作的！”
　　“很漂亮的开襟羊毛衫，”罗恩傻笑着说道。
　　“她为福格工作！”荷米恩皱着眉头重复道，“那么她究竟来这里干什么呢？”
　　“不知道…”
　　荷米恩再度扫描了教工席，她的眼睛变小了。
　　“没有，”她喃喃自语道，“没有，肯定没有…”
　　哈利不懂荷米恩说的话，不过他也没有问；他的注意力已经被格拉普兰教授吸引住了，普兰克教授正出现在教工席的后方；她以自己的方式走到非常靠边的地方坐下，而那个位置原本是哈格力的。那意味着一年级新生已经通过了湖面并抵达城堡，更加坚定这种想法的是，几秒钟之后，大厅入口处的门打开了。一个由一年级新生组成的长队走了进来，他们一个个面色紧张，由麦格教授（霍格瓦彻魔法学校副校长，格兰芬多学院院长，魔法变形课教师）带领。麦格教授的手上拿着一个凳子，凳子的上面就是那顶古老的分院帽，这顶帽子缀满补丁，在接近帽子破损的边缘处有一条宽阔的裂缝。
　　大厅里的嗡嗡声逐渐消失。一年级的新生们在面对其余学生的长桌前站成一排，麦格教授仔细的将凳子放在他们的面前，然后站到后面去了。
　　整个学校的师生都屏息等待。然后帽子边缘的裂缝象一张嘴巴一样张开了，分院帽发出了一阵歌声：
　　古老的时候我很新
　　霍格瓦彻刚开张
　　高贵学校的创立者
　　尽管从未被分开：
　　为一个共同的目标聚集在一起
　　他们有着完全相同的理想
　　那就是创造世界上最好的魔法学校
　　并且根据其所学
　　聚在一起建与教
　　四个好友决定了
　　从位想过会分离
　　这样的朋友哪里找
　　斯莱特林还是格兰芬多？
　　除非那是双胞胎
　　就象赫奇帕奇与拉文克劳？
　　因此为何这样错？
　　为什么朋友们会失败？
　　为什么我在这里能说话？
　　整个的遗憾，难过的故事
　　斯莱特林说：“我们只教那些祖先血统最纯者。”
　　拉文克劳说：“我们只教那些最有智慧者。”
　　格兰芬多说：“我们只教那些最勇敢者。”
　　赫奇帕奇说：“我谁都教，而且一视同仁。”
　　第一次公开时，这些差异造成小冲突
　　每个创造者有个楼
　　录取他们满意的人
　　举个例子这么说
　　斯莱特林只录纯血统
　　还要象他最狡猾
　　那些头脑最灵者
　　全部交给拉文克劳
　　最为勇敢大胆者
　　肯定投奔格兰芬多
　　优秀学院赫奇帕奇，剩下学院它都要
　　尽心尽力教学生
　　这就是学院与创始者
　　保持的友谊坚又真
　　霍格瓦彻真融洽
　　过了快乐好几年
　　他们之间猛吵架
　　互相揭短不留情
　　学院象柱子一分四
　　一度支撑本学校
　　现在各自分道飚
　　眼看学校要早夭
　　决斗战斗为了啥
　　朋友之间起冲突
　　最后到了第三天
　　斯莱特林离开了
　　尽管战斗已绝迹
　　留给我们大难题
　　如果没有四祖先
　　这个房子怎么合
　　他们一度想办法
　　分院帽因此就在这
　　你们都知道总得分
　　我分你们进学院
　　因为这是我工作
　　但是今年我走远
　　凑过身来听我歌
　　尽管我被你责难
　　我还是担心这首歌
　　尽管我须完任务
　　每年都要写新歌
　　我还是不知怎么分
　　也许最后会害怕
　　哦。知道危险读签名
　　历史的警告在眼前
　　霍格瓦彻有危机
　　来自外面的死敌
　　我们必须要团结
　　哦，否则内部要崩溃
　　我必须告诉你，我必须警告你…。
　　现在分类就开始
　　分院帽再一次变的静止；大厅里爆发出一阵欢呼声，尽管在哈利的记忆里第一次分院帽的歌中被掺入了抱怨和谣言。所有大厅里面的人都在和邻座的人交换着看法，而哈利与其他人一样拍着手，他很清楚大家正在谈论的事情。
　　“今年有点不同，不是吗？”罗恩的眉毛抬了起来。
　　“你说的太对了，”哈利说道。
　　分院帽通常情况下都会自我限制，仅仅描述四个学院的不同品质，以及它自己在分类中的任务。哈利从不记得它会在分类之前给学校提建议。
　　“我怀疑它从前是否提出过警告？”荷米恩的声音听起来有点紧张。
　　“是的，确实，”几乎无头的尼克聪明的侧身和纳威说话，（纳威则不断的向后退缩，因为一个幽灵和你近距离交谈确实使人非常的不舒服。）“无论何时它感觉到，它就会以它的光荣义务向学校发出警告。”
　　但是麦格教授正在宣读一年级的名单，这使得小声讨论的人渐渐的少了。几乎无头的尼克做了一个明显的噤声的动作，然后就笔直呆滞的坐着知道窃窃私语声完全停止。随着四张桌子最后一名抱怨的学生停下来，麦格教授才低头看着那张长长的羊皮纸，并叫出了第一个名字。
　　“阿伯克罗比，尤安。”
　　这是一个哈利早些时候注意过的长的很恐怖的男孩，他犹豫不决的走上前并将分院帽戴到头上；分院帽仅仅是因为他突出的耳朵阻隔才没有罩到他的肩膀上。分院帽考虑了几秒钟，然后那条裂缝再次张开并叫道：
　　“格兰芬多！”
　　当那个男孩走向格兰芬多这一桌并坐下的时候，哈利和其他格兰芬多的老生一起使劲的鼓掌，男孩看上去恨不得地板上有个洞让他钻进去，并且再也不想抬起头来。
　　慢慢的，一年级新生的长队减少了。在宣读姓名和分院帽作出决定的间隙，哈利能够听见罗恩的胃响亮的咕咕叫着。最后，“泽勒，罗斯”被分到赫奇帕奇。接着当丹伯多教授站起来的时候，麦格教授收起分院帽和凳子并将它们拿走。
　　无论他最近对自己的校长有多少怀恨的感觉，在某种程度上丹伯多站在大家面前对哈利还是一种安慰。回想哈格力的缺席以及那些凶暴的马的出现，哈利感到他长期以来预想的回到霍格瓦彻的情景，充满了想不到的奇怪事件，就象一首熟悉的歌词上写的那样。但是至少现在，事情是按照预想的发展：他们的校长在新学期开学典礼宴会前向全体学生致辞。
　　“对我们的新成员而言，”丹伯多以一种响亮的声音说道，他的胳膊伸的很开，脸上洋溢着喜悦的微笑，“欢迎你们。对我们的老成员来说—欢迎你们回来！本来有个演讲时间，不过现在没有了！开动！”
　　当丹伯多优美的坐下并将他的长胡子甩到肩膀上以避免它掉到盘子里的时候，大厅里爆发出一阵欣赏的笑声，以及一阵响亮的欢呼声—现在食物已经出现了，因此五张桌子的人都在尽情的享用馅饼、各种蔬菜、面包、调味料以及大杯的南瓜汁。
　　“棒极了，”罗恩的声音里充满了渴望的呻吟，他抓起最近的碟子里面的食物，并且开始把食物堆在盘子里，几乎无头的尼克用另一种渴望的眼神看着他。
　　“在分类之前你说了什么？”荷米恩问这个幽灵道。“关于这顶帽子提出警告的事情？”
　　“哦，是的，”尼克看起来很高兴有个理由背对罗恩，后者正在以几乎不象话的狂热狼吞虎咽着烤土豆。“是的，我从前听过几次分院帽提出警告的情况，通常是当它在学校之中觉察到一个长期的巨大的危险的时候。当然，它的建议都是相同的：团结起来，从内部坚强起来。”
　　“如果它只是一顶帽子的话它又如何知道学校面临危险呢？”罗恩说道。
　　罗恩的嘴里塞满了食物，哈利认为他能够发出这些含糊不清的噪音是个了不起的成就。
　　“我没听清楚，再重复一遍好吗？”当荷米恩的脸上一片厌恶之色的时候，几乎无头的尼克（尼克是格兰芬多的鬼魂，本意是要完全砍头以方便参加鬼魂界的头球比赛，但是刽子手却没有将他的头完全砍断，结果尼克的头便无法取下来，这使得尼克伤心欲绝，故书中以幽默笔调称之为几乎无头的尼克，简称无头尼克）礼貌的问道。罗恩做了一个巨大的吞咽动作然后说道，“如果那仅仅是一顶帽子它又是如何得知学校正面临危机呢？”
　　“我对此一无所知，”无头尼克说道，“当然，分院帽一直住在丹伯多的办公室，我敢说它从那里听到了什么。”
　　“而且它要求所有的学院都成为朋友？”哈利仔细的观察着斯莱特林的桌子说道，在那里小马尔夫正在接受其他人的奉承，“毫无机会。”
　　“好吧，现在，你不应该采取那种态度，”尼克责备的说道，“和平合作，这是关键。尽管我们这些鬼魂来自不同的学院，但是却保持着友谊。虽然在格兰芬多与斯莱特林之间存在竞争，但是我从没想过与血人巴隆（斯莱特林的鬼魂，尼克最畏惧的人）就此事争吵。”
　　“那仅仅是因为你害怕他，”罗恩说道。
　　无头尼克看来象是被严重侮辱的样子。
　　“害怕？我希望我还有害怕的感觉，尼古拉斯 德 米木斯—波平顿先生在一生中还从来没有过胆怯害怕的时候！流淌在我的血管中的高贵血液—”
　　“什么血液？”罗恩问道，“请确认一下你还有血液吗？”
　　“这是一个比方！”无头尼克现在是如此恼火，他的只有几块皮连着的头正在正在气的发抖，“我认为我仍然被允许使用任何我喜欢的话，甚至包括享受吃饭与喝酒的乐趣我都毫不否认！而且我警告你，我决不允许学生用我的死亡开玩笑！”
　　“尼克，他不是真的嘲笑你！”荷米恩扔了一个责备的眼神给罗恩然后说道。
　　很不走运的是，罗恩的嘴巴再次塞满了食物，因而他所能够努力发出的也就是一些含糊的呜呜声，在尼克看来这显然不是一个充分的道歉。尼克直接飞到空中离开他们加入了桌子的另一端，坐在了克雷文兄弟、柯林和丹尼斯之间的空位上。
　　“干的好，罗恩。”荷米恩气鼓鼓的咆哮道。
　　“什么？”罗恩恼火的说道，他正在尽最后的努力吞咽食物。“难道就不允许问一个简单的问题吗？”
　　“哦，忘了它吧，”荷米恩暴躁的说道，然后这对活宝就把剩下的时间变成了愤怒的沉默用餐时间。
　　哈利对他们的争吵太司空见惯了以至于都懒得为他们调解；他觉得将精力花在美味的食物上面是个更好的选择，然后一大碟他喜欢的甜点就出现了。
　　当所有学生都吃完了，而大厅里的噪音水平开始再度上升的时候，丹伯多又一次从椅子上站了起来。议论的声音立刻停止了，所有学生都转头看着校长。哈利现在感到心情愉快的昏昏欲睡。他的四脚床正在楼上某个地方等着他，那张床非常温暖柔和…
　　“好的，现在我们又一次度过了一个盛大的宴会，我希望大家集中注意力，我们现在进行一般性的开学通告，”丹伯多说道，“一年级的新生必须明白空地上的树林是禁止学生进入的—而有一些老生也应该再次明了这一点。”（哈利、罗恩与荷米恩交换、了一个傻笑的表情。）
　　“管理员费弛先生已经要求我，他和我说了四百六十秒钟，以提醒你们在教室之间的走廊不允许使用任何魔法，还有其他很多规定，所有的详细清单现在都张贴在费弛先生的办公室门上。”
　　“今年我们的教师有两个变化。我们非常高兴的欢迎格拉普兰教授的归来，她将负责魔法生物课；我也很高兴的介绍乌姆布瑞杰女士，她将担任我们新的黑魔法防御课教师。”
　　大厅里响起一阵礼貌但完全缺乏热心的欢呼声，哈利、罗恩与荷米恩此时轻轻交换了一个不妙的眼神，丹伯多并没有说格拉普兰教授要教多长时间。
　　丹伯多继续说道：“学院魁地奇预赛将举行—”
　　他停了下来，疑惑的看着乌姆布瑞杰教授。这个女人站着比坐着高不了多少，有一刻没人知道丹伯多为何停下来，但是接着乌姆布瑞杰教授清清嗓子说道：“恩，恩，”事情变的清楚了原来是她已经站起来要发表一段演讲。
　　丹伯多仅仅向后看了一眼，然后就潇洒的坐下并留意的看着乌姆布瑞杰教授，好象他最大的期望就是听乌教授讲话。其他教师就无法掩盖其惊讶了。斯内普教授的眉毛已经被刘海挡住了，而麦格教授的嘴变到哈利有史以来看过的最薄状态。以前从来没有新老师打断丹伯多教授的讲话。许多学生都在傻笑；这个女人很显然不知道在霍格瓦彻应当怎样做事。
　　“谢谢你，校长，” 乌姆布瑞杰教授假笑着说道，“为我们致欢迎词。” 她的声音再次高亢，急促还带着少女味，哈利无法解释的涌起一股强烈的厌恶感；哈利所知道的就是自己厌恶她的一切：从她的愚蠢的声音到她蓬松的粉红色开襟羊毛衫。她又咳嗽了一下继续说道。
　　“好吧，我必须说很高兴回到霍格瓦彻！”她露出十分突出的牙齿笑着说道，“还有看着这么多愉快的小脸！”
　　哈利扫了一眼四周。没有一张他看见的脸是愉快的。相反，他们看起来都像是回到了五岁大的时候。
　　“我施肥渴望认识你们每个人，我确定我们会成为好朋友！”
　　学生们彼此交换眼神；有一些已经几乎要笑出声了。
　　“只要不会借她的开襟羊毛衫，我愿意一直做她的朋友，”帕瓦提对拉文德小声说道，然后两个人都开始吃吃的傻笑。
　　乌姆布瑞杰教授再次清清喉咙，但是当她再次开口的时候，一些急促声从她的声音里面消失了。现在她的话是以一种枯燥的声音传达的。
　　“魔法部一直认为教育年轻的巫师和女巫是十分重要的。伴随你们出生的珍贵礼物如果不加以细心的教育与知道将化为乌有。巫师组织的古老独特技能必须由后代继承，以免失传。我们的祖先发现的魔法知识的宝藏必须被守护、补充和完善，担当这一责任的就是高贵的教师们。”
　　乌姆布瑞杰教授在这里停顿了一下，并向在坐的同僚微微鞠躬，但是没有一个教师还礼。麦格教授的黑眉毛已经收缩起来，因此她的样子看起来就象是一只老鹰一样，哈利清楚的看见麦格教授与斯内普教授交换了一个意味深长的眼神，而同时乌姆布瑞杰教授再次清清嗓子并继续发表演讲。
　　“霍格瓦彻的历任校长都带来了某些新东西来胜任这所历史悠久的学校繁重的管理任务。那是理所当然的，因为没有进步就会停滞腐烂。不过，为进步而进步的兴趣必须停止，我们奋斗和检验的传统经常是完美的。那么这就是一个新与旧、永恒与改变、传统与创新之间的平衡…”
　　哈利发现他的注意力正在分散，仿佛他的大脑渐渐松弛并游离物外。当丹伯多讲话时出现在大厅的安静现在再度打破，学生们把头凑到一起，窃窃私语并吃吃的笑着。在拉文克劳的桌子那边，卓正在和朋友们兴致勃勃的聊天。卓旁边几个位子远的地方，露娜又掏出了她的那本杂志。与此同时，在赫奇帕奇的桌子那里安聂 麦克兰是少数几个仍然在盯着乌姆布瑞杰教授的学生，但是他两眼无神，哈利确信他仅仅是在假装听着，以保持胸前那枚闪闪发光的级长徽章。 乌姆布瑞杰教授看来完全没有注意到下面那些吵闹的听众。哈利甚至觉得如果有一场大规模骚动能够在她眼皮子底下爆发，也许可以让她收起那套长篇大论。然而，那些老师们到是在认真的听着，荷米恩也在认真理解她说的每一句话，尽管从表情上看，荷米恩并不同意她的某些观点。
　　“…因为有些改变很好，于是其他人就会跟风，在一个很长的时间里，这些被看成是判断错误。与此同时，有些老习惯将被保留，并且正因如此，所以其他的习惯，那些过时的，陈旧的，都应该被废除。那么，让我们前行，进入一个开放、高效、负责的新时代，保留那些应当保留的，完善那些需要完善的，并且修改那些我们在实践当中发现应当禁止的。”
　　她终于坐下了。丹伯多开始鼓掌。全体教师跟着丹伯多一起鼓掌，不过哈利看见有几个教师仅仅象征性的拍了一两下就停下来了。有几个学生也跟着鼓了几下掌，不过大部分的学生对演讲的结束一无所觉，也根本没听几个字。当他们反映过来要开始鼓掌的时候，丹伯多已经再次站了起来。
　　“非常感谢乌姆布瑞杰教授，很有启发性的演讲，”丹伯多说着弯了一下腰。“现在听我说，魁地奇预赛将举行…”
　　“是的，这篇演讲当然具有启发性，”荷米恩低声说道。
　　“你不会告诉我们你喜欢这篇演讲吧？”罗恩白了荷米恩一眼说道。“那是我所听过的最枯燥无味的演讲，而且我是和珀西一起长大的。”
　　“我说具有启发性，并没有说我喜欢，”荷米恩说道，“这篇演讲解释了许多事情。”
　　“是吗？”罗恩惊奇的
Chapter 15 The Hogwart's High Inquisitor
They had expected to have to comb Hermione's Daily Prophet carefully next morning to find the article Percy had mentioned in his letter. However, the departing delivery owl had barely cleared the top of the milk jug when Hermione let out a huge gasp and flattened the newspaper to reveal a large photograph of Dolores Umbridge, smiling widely and blinking slowly at them from beneath the headline.
MINISTRY SEEKS EDUCATIONAL REFORM
DOLORES UMBRIDGE APPOINTED
FIRST EVER HIGH INQUISITOR
‘High Inquisitor?’ said Harry darkly, his half-eaten piece of toast slipping from his fingers. ‘What does that mean?’
Hermione read aloud:
‘In a surprise move last night the Ministry of Magic passed new legislation giving itself an unprecedented level of control at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
‘"The Minister has been growing uneasy about goings-on at Hogwarts for some time,” said Junior Assistant to the Minister, Percy Weasley. “He is now responding to concerns, voiced by anxious parents, who feel the school may be moving in a direction they do not approve of.”
‘This is not the first time in recent weeks that the Minister, Cornelius Fudge, has used new laws to effect improvements at the wizarding school. As recently as 30th August, Educational Decree Number Twenty-two was passed, to ensure that, in the event of the current Headmaster being unable to provide a candidate for a teaching post, the Ministry should select an appropriate person.
‘"That's how Dolores Umbridge came to be appointed to the teaching staff at Hogwarts,” said Weasley last night. “Dumbledore couldn't find anyone so the Minister put in Umbridge, and of course, she's been an immediate success—” ’
‘She's been a WHAT?’ said Harry loudly.
‘Wait, there's more,’ said Hermione grimly.
‘"—an immediate success, totally revolutionising the teaching of Defence Against the Dark Arts and providing the Minister with on-the-ground feedback about what's really happening at Hogwarts.”
‘It is this last function that the Ministry has now formalised with the passing of Educational Decree Number Twenty-three, which creates the new position of Hogwarts High Inquisitor.
‘"This is an exciting new phase in the Minister's plan to get to grips with what some are calling the falling standards at Hogwarts,” said Weasley. “The Inquisitor will have powers to inspect her fellow educators and make sure that they are coming up to scratch. Professor Umbridge has been offered this position in addition to her own teaching post and we are delighted to say that she has accepted.”
‘The Ministry's new moves have received enthusiastic support from parents of students at Hogwarts.
‘"I feel much easier in my mind now that I know Dumbledore is being subjected to fair and objective evaluation,” said Mr. Lucius Malfoy, 41, speaking from his Wiltshire mansion last night. “Many of us with our children's best interests at heart have been concerned about some of Dumbledore's eccentric decisions in the last few years and are glad to know that the Ministry is keeping an eye on the situation.”
‘Among those eccentric decisions are undoubtedly the controversial staff appointments previously described in this newspaper, which have included the employment of werewolf Remus Lupin, half-giant Rubeus Hagrid and delusional ex-Auror, “Mad-Eye” Moody.
‘Rumours abound, of course, that Albus Dumbledore, once Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, is no longer up to the task of managing the prestigious school of Hogwarts.
‘"I think the appointment of the Inquisitor is a first step towards ensuring that Hogwarts has a headmaster in whom we can all repose our confidence,” said a Ministry insider last night.
‘Wizengamot elders Griselda Marchbanks and Tiberius Ogden have resigned in protest at the introduction of the post of Inquisitor to Hogwarts.
‘"Hogwarts is a school, not an outpost of Cornelius Fudge's office,” said Madam Marchbanks. “This is a further, disgusting attempt to discredit Albus Dumbledore.” ‘(For a full account of Madam Marchbanks's alleged links to subversive goblin groups, turn to page seventeen.)’
Hermione finished reading and looked across the table at the other two.
‘So now we know how we ended up with Umbridge! Fudge passed this “Educational Decree” and forced her on us! And now he's given her the power to inspect the other teachers!’ Hermione was breathing fast and her eyes were very bright. ‘I can't believe this. It's outrageous!’
‘I know it is,’ said Harry. He looked down at his right hand, clenched on the table-top, and saw the faint white outline of the words Umbridge had forced him to cut into his skin.
But a grin was unfurling on Ron's face.
‘What?’ said Harry and Hermione together, staring at him.
‘Oh, I can't wait to see McGonagall inspected,’ said Ron happily. ‘Umbridge won't know what's hit her.’
‘Well, come on,’ said Hermione, jumping up, ‘we'd better get going, if she's inspecting Binns's class we don't want to be late ...’
But Professor Umbridge was not inspecting their History of Magic lesson, which was just as dull as the previous Monday, nor was she in Snape's dungeon when they arrived for double Potions, where Harry's moonstone essay was handed back to him with a large, spiky black ‘D’ scrawled in an upper corner.
‘I have awarded you the grades you would have received if you presented this work in your OWL,’ said Snape with a smirk, as he swept among them, passing back their homework. ‘This should give you a realistic idea of what to expect in the examination.’
Snape reached the front of the class and turned on his heel to face them.
‘The general standard of this homework was abysmal. Most of you would have failed had this been your examination. I expect to see a great deal more effort for this week's essay on the various varieties of venom antidotes, or I shall have to start handing out detentions to those dunces who get a “D".’
He smirked as Malfoy sniggered and said in a carrying whisper, ‘Some people got a “D"? Ha!’
Harry realised that Hermione was looking sideways to see what grade he had received; he slid his moonstone essay back into his bag as quickly as possible, feeling that he would rather keep that information private.
Determined not to give Snape an excuse to tail him this lesson, Harry read and reread every line of instructions on the blackboard at least three times before acting on them. His Strengthening Solution was not precisely the clear turquoise shade of Hermione's but it was at least blue rather than pink, like Neville's, and he delivered a flask of it to Snape's desk at the end of the lesson with a feeling of mingled defiance and relief.
‘Well, that wasn't as bad as last week, was it?’ said Hermione, as they climbed the steps out of the dungeon and made their way across the Entrance Hall towards lunch. ‘And the homework didn't go too badly, either, did it?’
When neither Ron nor Harry answered, she pressed on, ‘I mean, all right, I didn't expect the top grade, not if he's marking to OWL standard, but a pass is quite encouraging at this stage, wouldn't you say?’
Harry made a non-committal noise in his throat.
‘Of course, a lot can happen between now and the exam, we've got plenty of time to improve, but the grades we're getting now are a sort of baseline, aren't they? Something we can build on ...’
They sat down together at the Gryffindor table.
‘Obviously, I'd have been thrilled if I'd got an “O"— ’
‘Hermione,’ said Ron sharply, ‘if you want to know what grades we got, ask.’
‘I don't—I didn't mean—well, if you want to tell me—’
‘I got a “P",’ said Ron, ladling soup into his bowl. ‘Happy?’
‘Well, that's nothing to be ashamed of,’ said Fred, who had just arrived at the table with George and Lee Jordan and was sitting down on Harry's right. ‘Nothing wrong with a good healthy “P".’
‘But,’ said Hermione, ‘doesn't “P” stand for ...’
‘"Poor", yeah,’ said Lee Jordan. ‘Still, better than “D", isn't it? “Dreadful"?’
Harry felt his face grow warm and faked a small coughing fit over his roll. When he emerged from this he was sorry to find that Hermione was still in full flow about OWL grades.
‘So top grade's “O” for “Outstanding",’ she was saying, ‘and then there's “A"—’
‘No, “E",’ George corrected her, ‘"E” for “Exceeds Expectations". And I've always thought Fred and I should've got “E” in everything, because we exceeded expectations just by turning up for the exams.’
They all laughed except Hermione, who ploughed on, ‘So, after “E” it's “A” for “Acceptable", and that's the last pass grade, isn't it?’
‘Yep,’ said Fred, dunking an entire roll in his soup, transferring it to his mouth and swallowing it whole.
‘Then you get “P” for “Poor"—’ Ron raised both his arms in mock celebration—'and “D” for “Dreadful".
‘And then “T",’ George reminded her.
‘"T"?’ asked Hermione, looking appalled. ‘Even lower than a “D"? What on earth does “T” stand for?’
‘"Troll",’ said George promptly.
Harry laughed again, though he was not sure whether or not George was joking. He imagined trying to conceal from Hermione that he had received ‘T's in all his OWLs and immediately resolved to work harder from now on.
‘You lot had an inspected lesson yet?’ Fred asked them.
‘No,’ said Hermione at once. ‘Have you?’
‘Just now, before lunch,’ said George. ‘Charms.’
‘What was it like?’ Harry and Hermione asked together.
Fred shrugged.
‘Not that bad. Umbridge just lurked in the corner making notes on a clipboard. You know what Flitwick's like, he treated her like a guest, didn't seem to bother him at all. She didn't say much. Asked Alicia a couple of questions about what the classes are normally like, Alicia told her they were really good, that was it.’
‘I can't see old Flitwick getting marked down,’ said George, ‘he usually gets everyone through their exams all right.’
‘Who've you got this afternoon?’ Fred asked Harry.
‘Trelawney—’
‘A “T” if ever I saw one.’
‘—and Umbridge herself.’
‘Well, be a good boy and keep your temper with Umbridge today,’ said George. ‘Angelina'll do her nut if you miss any more Quidditch practices.’
But Harry did not have to wait for Defence Against the Dark Arts to meet Professor Umbridge. He was pulling out his dream diary in a seat at the very back of the shadowy Divination room when Ron elbowed him in the ribs and, looking round, he saw Professor Umbridge emerging through the trapdoor in the floor. The class, which had been talking cheerily, fell silent at once. The abrupt fall in the noise level made Professor Trelawney, who had been wafting about handing out copies of The Dream Oracle, look round.
‘Good afternoon, Professor Trelawney,’ said Professor Umbridge with her wide smile. ‘You received my note, I trust? Giving the time and date of your inspection?’
Professor Trelawney nodded curtly and, looking very disgruntled, turned her back on Professor Umbridge and continued to give out books. Still smiling, Professor Umbridge grasped the back of the nearest armchair and pulled it to the front of the class so that it was a few inches behind Professor Trelawney's seat. She then sat down, took her clipboard from her flowery bag and looked up expectantly, waiting for the class to begin.
Professor Trelawney pulled her shawls tight about her with slightly trembling hands and surveyed the class through her hugely magnifying lenses.
‘We shall be continuing our study of prophetic dreams today,’ she said in a brave attempt at her usual mystic tones, though her voice shook slightly. ‘Divide into pairs, please, and interpret each others latest night-time visions with the aid of the Oracle.’
She made as though to sweep back to her seat, saw Professor Umbridge sitting right beside it, and immediately veered left towards Parvati and Lavender, who were already deep in discussion about Parvati's most recent dream.
Harry opened his copy of The Dream Oracle, watching Umbridge covertly. She was already making notes on her clipboard. After a few minutes she got to her feet and began to pace the room in ‘Trelawney's wake, listening to her conversations with students and posing questions here and there. Harry bent his head hurriedly over his book.
‘Think of a dream, quick,’ he told Ron, ‘in case the old toad comes our way.’
‘I did it last time,’ Ron protested, ‘it's your turn, you tell me one.’
‘Oh, I dunno ...’ said Harry desperately, who could not remember dreaming anything at all over the last few days. ‘Let's say I dreamed I was ... drowning Snape in my cauldron. Yeah, that'll do ...’
Ron chortled as he opened his Dream Oracle.
‘OK, we've got to add your age to the date you had the dream, the number of letters in the subject ... would that be “drowning” or “cauldron” or “Snape"?’
‘It doesn't matter, pick any of them,’ said Harry, chancing a glance behind him. Professor Umbridge was now standing at Professor Trelawney's shoulder making notes while the Divination teacher questioned Neville about his dream diary.
‘What night did you dream this again?’ Ron said, immersed in calculations.
‘I dunno, last night, whenever you like,’ Harry told him, trying to listen to what Umbridge was saying to Professor Trelawney. They were only a table away from him and Ron now. Professor Umbridge was making another note on her clipboard and Professor Trelawney was looking extremely put out.
‘Now,’ said Umbridge, looking up at Trelawney, ‘you've been in this post how long, exactly?’
Professor Trelawney scowled at her, arms crossed and shoulders hunched as though wishing to protect herself as much as possible from the indignity of the inspection. After a slight pause in which she seemed to decide that the question was not so offensive that she could reasonably ignore it, she said in a deeply resentful tone, ‘Nearly sixteen years.’
‘Quite a period,’ said Professor Umbridge, making a note on her clipboard. ‘So it was Professor Dumbledore who appointed you?’
‘That's right,’ said Professor Trelawney shortly.
Professor Umbridge made another note.
‘And you are a great-great-granddaughter of the celebrated Seer Cassandra Trelawney?’
‘Yes,’ said Professor Trelawney, holding her head a little higher.
Another note on the clipboard.
‘But I think— correct me if I am mistaken—that you are the first in your family since Cassandra to be possessed of Second Sight?’
‘These things often skip—er—three generations,’ said Professor Trelawney.
Professor Umbridge's toadlike smile widened.
‘Of course,’ she said sweetly, making yet another note. ‘Well, if you could just predict something for me, then?’ And she looked up enquiringly, still smiling.
Professor Trelawney stiffened as though unable to believe her ears. ‘I don't understand you,’ she said, clutching convulsively at the shawl around her scrawny neck.
‘I'd like you to make a prediction for me,’ said Professor Umbridge very clearly.
Harry and Ron were not the only people now watching and listening sneakily from behind their books. Most of the class were staring transfixed at Professor Trelawney as she drew herself up to her lull height, her beads and bangles clinking.
‘The Inner Eye does not See upon command!’ she said in scandalised tones.
‘I see,’ said Professor Umbridge softly, making yet another note on her clipboard.
‘I—but—but ... wait!’ said Professor Trelawney suddenly, in an attempt at her usual ethereal voice, though the mystical effect was ruined somewhat by the way it was shaking with anger. ‘I ... I think I do see something ... something that concerns you ... why, I sense something ... something dark ... some grave peril ...’
Professor Trelawney pointed a shaking finger at Professor Umbridge who continued to smile blandly at her, eyebrows raised.
‘I am afraid ... I am afraid that you are in grave danger!’ Professor Trelawney finished dramatically.
There was a pause. Professor Umbridge surveyed Professor Trelawney.
‘Right,’ she said softly, scribbling on her clipboard once more. ‘Well, if that's really the best you can do ...’
She turned away, leaving Professor Trelawney standing rooted to the spot, her chest heaving. Harry caught Ron's eye and knew that Ron was thinking exactly the same as he was: they both knew that Professor Trelawney was an old fraud, but on the other hand, they loathed Umbridge so much that they felt very much on Trelawney's side—until she swooped down on them a few seconds later, that is.
‘Well?’ she said, snapping her long fingers under Harry's nose, uncharacteristically brisk. ‘Let me see the start you've made on your dream diary, please.’
And by the time she had interpreted Harry's dreams at the top of her voice (all of which, even the ones that involved eating porridge, apparently foretold a gruesome and early death), he was feeling much less sympathetic towards her. All the while, Professor Umbridge stood a few feet away, making notes on that clipboard, and when the bell rang she descended the silver ladder first and was waiting for them all when they reached their Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson ten minutes later.
She was humming and smiling to herself when they entered the room. Harry and Ron told Hermione, who had been in Arithmancy, exactly what had happened in Divination while they all took out their copies of Defensive Magical Theory, but before Hermione could ask any questions Professor Umbridge had called them all to order and silence fell.
‘Wands away,’ she instructed them all with a smile, and those people who had been hopeful enough to take them out, sadly returned them to their bags. ‘As we finished Chapter One last lesson, I would like you all to turn to page nineteen today and commence “Chapter Two, Common Defensive Theories and their Derivation". There will be no need to talk.’
Still smiling her wide, self-satisfied smile, she sat down at her desk. The class gave an audible sigh as it turned, as one, to page nineteen. Harry wondered dully whether there were enough chapters in the book to keep them reading through all this years lessons and was on the point of checking the contents page when he noticed that Hermione had her hand in the air again.
Professor Umbridge had noticed, too, and what was more, she seemed to have worked out a strategy for just such an eventuality. Instead of trying to pretend she had not noticed Hermione she got to her feet and walked around the front row of desks until they were face to face, then she bent down and whispered, so that the rest of the class could not hear, ‘What is it this time, Miss Granger?’
‘I've already read Chapter Two,’ said Hermione.
‘Well then, proceed to Chapter Three.’
‘I've read that too. I've read the whole book.’
Professor Umbridge blinked but recovered her poise almost instantly.
‘Well, then, you should be able to tell me what Slinkhard says about counter-jinxes in Chapter Fifteen.’
‘He says that counter-jinxes are improperly named,’ said Hermione promptly. ‘He says “counter-jinx” is just a name people give their jinxes when they want to make them sound more acceptable.’
Professor Umbridge raised her eyebrows and Harry knew she was impressed, against her will.
‘But I disagree,’ Hermione continued.
Professor Umbridge's eyebrows rose a little higher and her gaze became distinctly colder.
‘You disagree?’ she repeated.
‘Yes, I do,’ said Hermione, who, unlike Umbridge, was not whispering, but speaking in a clear, carrying voice that had by now attracted the attention of the rest of the class. ‘Mr. Slinkhard doesn't like jinxes, does he? But I think they can be very useful when they're used defensively.’
‘Oh, you do, do you?’ said Professor Umbridge, forgetting to whisper and straightening up. ‘Well, I'm afraid it is Mr. Slinkhard's opinion, and not yours, that matters within this classroom, Miss Granger.’
‘But—’ Hermione began.
‘That is enough,’ said Professor Umbridge. She walked back to the front of the class and stood before them, all the jauntiness she had shown at the beginning of the lesson gone. ‘Miss Granger, I am going to take five points from Gryffindor house.’
There was an outbreak of muttering at this.
‘What for?’ said Harry angrily.
‘Don't you get involved!’ Hermione whispered urgently to him.
‘For disrupting my class with pointless interruptions,’ said Professor Umbridge smoothly. ‘I am here to teach you using a Ministry-approved method that does not include inviting students to give their opinions on matters about which they understand very little. Your previous teachers in this subject may have allowed you more licence, but as none of them—with the possible exception of Professor Quirrell, who did at least appear to have restricted himself to age-appropriate subjects—would have passed a Ministry inspection—’
‘Yeah, Quirrell was a great teacher,’ said Harry loudly, ‘there was just that minor drawback of him having Lord Voldemort sticking out of the back of his head.’
This pronouncement was followed by one of the loudest silences Harry had ever heard. Then—
‘I think another week's detentions would do you some good, Mr. Potter,’ said Umbridge sleekly.
The cut on the back of Harry's hand had barely healed and, by the following morning, it was bleeding again. He did not complain during the evening's detention; he was determined not to give Umbridge the satisfaction; over and over again he wrote I must not tell lies and not a sound escaped his lips, though the cut deepened with every letter.
The very worst part of this second week's worth of detentions v/as, just as George had predicted, Angslina's reaction. She cornered him just as he arrived at the Gryffindor table for breakfast on Tuesday and shouted so loudly that Professor McGonagall came sweeping down upon the pair of them from the staff table.
‘Miss Johnson, how dare you make such a racket in the Great Hall! Five points from Gryffindor!’
‘But Professor— he's gone and landed himself in detention again—’
‘What's this, Potter?’ said Professor McGonagall sharply, rounding on Harry. ‘Detention? From whom?’
‘From Professor Umbridge,’ muttered Harry, not meeting Professor McGonagall's beady, square-framed eyes.
‘Are you telling me,’ she said, lowering her voice so that the group of curious Ravenclaws behind them could not hear, that after the warning I gave you last Monday you lost your temper in Professor Umbridge's class again?’
‘Yes,’ Harry muttered, speaking to the floor.
‘Potter, you must get a grip on yourself! You are heading for serious trouble! Another five points from Gryffindor!’
‘But—what—? Professor, no!’ Harry said, furious at this injustice, ‘I'm already being punished by her, why do you have to take points as well?’
‘Because detentions do not appear to have any effect on you whatsoever!’ said Professor McGonagall tartly. ‘No, not another word of complaint, Potter! And as for you, Miss Johnson, you will confine your shouting matches to the Quidditch pitch in future or risk losing the team captaincy!’
Professor McGonagall strode back towards the staff table. Angelina gave Harry a look of deepest disgust and stalked away, upon which he flung himself on to the bench beside Ron, fuming.
‘She's taken points off Gryffindor because I'm having my hand sliced open every night! How is that fair, how?’
‘I know, mate,’ said Ron sympathetically, tipping bacon on to Harry's plate, ‘she's bang out of order.’
Hermione, however, merely rustled the pages of her Daily Prophet and said nothing.
‘You think McGonagall was right, do you?’ said Harry angrily to the picture of Cornelius Fudge obscuring Hermione's face.
‘I wish she hadn't taken points from you, but I think she's right to warn you not to lose your temper with Umbridge,’ said Hermione's voice, while Fudge gesticulated forcefully from the front page, clearly giving some kind of speech.
Harry did not speak to Hermione all through Charms, but when they entered Transfiguration he forgot about being cross with her. Professor Umbridge and her clipboard were sitting in a corner and the sight of her drove the memory of breakfast right out of his head.
‘Excellent,’ whispered Ron, as they sat down in their usual seats. ‘Let's see Umbridge get what she deserves.’
Professor McGonagall marched into the room without giving the slightest indication that she knew Professor Umbridge was there.
‘That will do,’ she said and silence fell immediately. ‘Mr. Finnigan, kindly come here and hand back the homework—Miss Brown, please take this box of mice—don't be silly, girl, they won't hurt you—and hand one to each student—’
‘Hem, hem,’ said Professor Umbridge, employing the same silly little cough she had used to interrupt Dumbledore on the first night of term. Professor McGonagall ignored her. Seamus handed back Harry's essay; Harry took it without looking at him and saw, to his relief, that he had managed an ‘A'.
‘Right then, everyone, listen closely—Dean Thomas, if you do that to the mouse again I shall put you in detention—most of you have now successfully Vanished your snails and even those who were left with a certain amount of shell have got the gist of the spell. Today, we shall be—’
‘Hem, hem,’ said Professor Umbridge.
‘Yes?’ said Professor McGonagall, turning round, her eyebrows so close together they seemed to form one long, severe line.
‘I was just wondering, Professor, whether you received my note telling you of the date and time of your inspec—’
‘Obviously I received it, or I would have asked you what you are doing in my classroom,’ said Professor McGonagall, turning her back firmly on Professor Umbridge. Many of the students exchanged looks of glee. ‘As I was saying: today, we shall be practising the altogether more difficult Vanishment of mice. Now, the Vanishing Spell—’
‘Hem, hem.’
‘I wonder,’ said Professor McGonagall in cold fury, turning on Professor Umbridge, ‘how you expect to gain an idea of my usual teaching methods if you continue to interrupt me? You see, I do not generally permit people to talk when I am talking.’
Professor Umbridge looked as though she had just been slapped in the face. She did not speak, but straightened the parchment on her clipboard and began scribbling furiously.
Looking supremely unconcerned, Professor McGonagall addressed the class once more.
‘As I was saying: the Vanishing Spell becomes more difficult with the complexity of the animal to be Vanished. The snail, as an invertebrate, does not present much of a challenge; the mouse, as a mammal, offers a much greater one. This is not, therefore, magic you can accomplish with your mind on your dinner. So— you know the incantation, let me see what you can do ...’
‘How she can lecture me about not losing my temper with Umbridge!’ Harry muttered to Ron under his breath, but he was grinning—his anger with Professor McGonagall had quite evaporated.
Professor Umbridge did not follow Professor McGonagall around the class as she had followed Professor Trelawney; perhaps she realised Professor McGonagall would not permit it. She did, however, take many more notes while sitting in her corner, and when Professor McGonagall finally told them all to pack away, she rose with a grim expression on her face.
‘Well, it's a start,’ said Ron, holding up a long wriggling mouse-tail and dropping it back into the box Lavender was passing around.
As they filed out of the classroom, Harry saw Professor Umbndge approach the teachers desk; he nudged Ron, who nudged Hermione in turn, and the three of them deliberately fell back to eavesdrop.
‘How long have you been teaching at Hogwarts?’ Professor Umbridge asked.
‘Thirty-nine years this December,’ said Professor McGonagall brusquely, snapping her bag shut.
Professor Umbridge made a note.
‘Very well,’ she said, ‘you will receive the results of your inspection in ten days’ time.’
‘I can hardly wait,’ said Professor McGonagall, in a coldly indifferent voice, and she strode off towards the door. ‘Hurry up, you three,’ she added, sweeping Harry, Ron and Hermione before her.
Harry could not help giving her a faint smile and could have sworn he received one in return.
He had thought that the next time he would see Umbridge would be in his detention that evening, but he was wrong. When they walked down the lawns towards the Forest for Care of Magical Creatures, they found her and her clipboard waiting for them beside Professor Grubbly-Plank.
‘You do not usually take this class, is that correct?’ Harry heard her ask as they arrived at the trestle table where the group of captive Bowtruckles were scrabbling around for woodlice like so many living twigs.
‘Quite correct,’ said Professor Grubbly-Plank, hands behind her back and bouncing on the balls of her feet. ‘I am a substitute teacher standing in for Professor Hagrid.’
Harry exchanged uneasy looks with Ron and Hermione. Malfoy was whispering with Crabbe and Goyle; he would surely love this opportunity to tell tales on Hagrid to a member of the Ministry.
‘Hmm,’ said Professor Umbridge, dropping her voice, though Harry could still hear her quite clearly. ‘I wonder—the Headmaster seems strangely reluctant to give me any information on the matter—can you tell me what is causing Professor Hagrid's very extended leave of absence?’
Harry saw Malfoy look up eagerly and watch Umbridge and Grubbly-Plank closely.
’ ‘Fraid I can't,’ said Professor Grubbly-Plank breezily. ‘Don't know anything more about it than you do. Got an owl from Dumbledore, would I like a couple of weeks’ teaching work. I accepted. That's as much as I know. Well ... shall I get started then?’
‘Yes, please do,’ said Professor Umbridge, scribbling on her clipboard.
Umbridge took a different tack in this class and wandered amongst the students, questioning them on magical creatures. Most people were able to answer well and Harry's spirits lifted somewhat; at least the class was not letting Hagrid down.
‘Overall,’ said Professor Umbridge, returning to Professor Grubbly-Plank's side after a lengthy interrogation of Dean Thomas, ‘how do you, as a temporary member of staff—an objective outsider, I suppose you might say—how do you find Hogwarts? Do you feel you receive enough support from the school management?’
‘Oh, yes, Dumbledore's excellent,’ said Professor Grubbly-Plank heartily. ‘Yes, I'm very happy with the way things are run, very happy indeed.’
Looking politely incredulous, Umbridge made a tiny note on her clipboard and went on, ‘And what are you planning to cover with this class this year—assuming, of course, that Professor Hagrid does not return?’
‘Oh, I'll take them through the creatures that most often come up in OWL,’ said Professor Grubbly-Plank. ‘Not much left to do—they've studied unicorns and Nifflers, I thought we'd cover Porlocks and Kneazles, make sure they can recognise Crups and Knarls, you know ...’
‘Well, you seem to know what you're doing, at any rate,’ said Professor Umbridge, making a very obvious tick on her clipboard. Harry did not like the emphasis she put on ‘you’ and liked it even less when she put her next question to Goyle. ‘Now, I hear there have been injuries in this class?’
Goyle gave a stupid grin. Malfoy hastened to answer the question.
‘That was me,’ he said. ‘I was slashed by a hippogriff.’
‘A hippogriff?’ said Professor Umbridge, now scribbling frantically.
‘Only because he was too stupid to listen to what Hagrid told him to do,’ said Harry angrily.
Both Ron and Hermione groaned. Professor Umbridge turned her head slowly in Harry's direction.
‘Another night's detention, I think,’ she said softly. ‘Well, thank you very much, Professor Grubbly-Plank, I think that's all I need here. You will be receiving the results of your inspection within ten days.’
‘Jolly good,’ said Professor Grubbly-Plank, and Professor Umbridge set off back across the lawn to the castle.
It was nearly midnight when Harry left Umbridge's office that night, his hand now bleeding so severely that it was staining the scarf he had wrapped around it. He expected the common room to be empty when he returned, but Ron and Hermione had sat up waiting for him. He was pleased to see them, especially as Hermione was disposed to be sympathetic rather than critical.
‘Here,’ she said anxiously, pushing a small bowl of yellow liquid towards him, ‘soak your hand in that, it's a solution of strained and pickled Murtlap tentacles, it should help.’
Harry placed his bleeding, aching hand into the bowl and experienced a wonderful feeling of relief. Crookshanks curled around his legs, purring loudly, then leapt into his lap and settled down.
‘Thanks,’ he said gratefully, scratching behind Crookshanks's ears with his left hand.
‘I still reckon you should complain about this,’ said Ron in a low voice.
‘No,’ said Harry flatly.
‘McGonagall would go nuts if she knew—’
‘Yeah, she probably would,’ said Harry dully. ‘And how long do you reckon it'd take Umbridge to pass another decree saying anyone who complains about the High Inquisitor gets sacked immediately?’
Ron opened his mouth to retort but nothing came out and, after a moment, he closed it again, defeated.
‘She's an awful woman,’ said Hermione in a small voice. ‘Awful.You know, I was just saying to Ron when you came in ... we've got to do something about her.’
‘I suggested poison,’ said Ron grimly.
‘No ... I mean, something about what a dreadful teacher she is, and how we're not going to learn any Defence from her at all,’ said Hermione.
‘Well, what can we do about that?’ said Ron, yawning. ’ ‘S too late, isn't it? She's got the job, she's here to stay. Fudge'll make sure of that.’
‘Well,’ said Hermione tentatively. ‘You know, I was thinking today ...’ she shot a slightly nervous look at Harry and then plunged on, ‘I was thinking that— maybe the time's come when we should just—just do it ourselves.’
‘Do what ourselves?’ said Harry suspiciously, still floating his hand in the essence of Murtlap tentacles.
‘Well—learn Defence Against the Dark Arts ourselves, said Hermione.
‘Come off it,’ groaned Ron. ‘You want us to do extra work? D'you realise Harry and I are behind on homework again and it's only the second week?’
‘But this is much more important than homework!’ said Hermione.
Harry and Ron goggled at her.
‘I didn't think there was anything in the universe more important than homework!’ said Ron.
‘Don't be silly, of course there is,’ said Hermione, and Harry saw, with an ominous feeling, that her face was suddenly alight with the kind of fervour that SPEW usually inspired in her. ‘It's about preparing ourselves, like Harry said in Umbridge's first lesson, for what's waiting for us out there. It's about making sure we really can defend ourselves. If we don't learn anything for a whole year—’
‘We can't do much by ourselves,’ said Ron in a defeated voice. ‘I mean, all right, we can go and look jinxes up in the library and try and practise them, I suppose—’
‘No, I agree, we've gone past the stage where we can just learn things out of books,’ said Hermione. ‘We need a teacher, a proper one, who can show us how to use the spells and correct us if we're going wrong.’
‘If you're talking about Lupin ...’ Harry began.
‘No, no, I'm not talking about Lupin,’ said Hermione. ‘He's too busy with the Order and, anyway, the most we could see him is during Hogsmeade weekends and that's not nearly often enough.’
‘Who, then?’ said Harry, frowning at her.
Hermione heaved a very deep sigh.
‘Isn't it obvious?’ she said. ‘I'm talking about you,Harry.’
There was a moment's silence. A light night breeze rattled the windowpanes behind Ron, and the fire guttered.
‘About me what?’ said Harry.
‘I'm talking about you teaching us Defence Against the Dark Arts.’
Harry stared at her. Then he turned to Ron, ready to exchange the exasperated looks they sometimes shared when Hermione elaborated on far-fetched schemes like SPEW. To Harry's consternation, however, Ron did not look exasperated.
He was frowning slightly, apparently thinking. Then he said, ‘That's an idea.’
‘What's an idea?’ said Harry.
‘You,’ said Ron. ‘Teaching us to do it.’
‘But ...’
Harry was grinning now, sure the pair of them were pulling his leg.
‘But I'm not a teacher, I can't—’
‘Harry, you're the best in the year at Defence Against the Dark Arts,’ said Hermione.
‘Me?’ said Harry now grinning more broadly than ever. ‘No, I'm not, you've beaten me in every test—’
‘Actually I haven't,’ said Hermione coolly. ‘You beat me in our third year—the only year we both sat the test and had a teacher who actually knew the subject. But I'm not talking about test results, Harry. Think what you've done!’
‘How d'you mean?’
‘You know what, I'm not sure I want someone this stupid teaching me,’ Ron said to Hermione, smirking slightly. He turned to Harry.
‘Let's think,’ he said, pulling a face like Goyle concentrating. ‘Uh ... first year—you saved the Philosopher's Stone from You-Know-Who.’
‘But that was luck,’ said Harry, ‘it wasn't skill—’
‘Second year,’ Ron interrupted, ‘you killed the Basilisk and destroyed Riddle.’
‘Yeah, but if Fawkes hadn't turned up, I—’
‘Third year,’ said Ron, louder still, ‘you fought off about a hundred dementors at once—’
‘You know that was a fluke, if the Time-Turner hadn't—’
‘Last year,’ Ron said, almost shouting now, ‘you fought off You-know-Who again—’
‘Listen to me!’ said Harry, almost angrily, because Ron and Hermione were both smirking now. ‘Just listen to me, all right? It sounds great when you say it like that, but all that stuff was luck—I didn't know what I was doing half the time, I didn't plan any of it, I just did whatever I could think of, and I nearly always had help—’
Ron and Hermione were still smirking and Harry felt his temper rise; he wasn't even sure why he was feeling so angry.
‘Don't sit there grinning like you know better than I do, I was there, wasn't I?’ he said heatedly. ‘I know what went on, all right? And I didn't get through any of that because I was brilliant at Defence Against the Dark Arts, I got through it all because— because help came at the right time, or because I guessed right—but I just blundered through it all, I didn't have a clue what I was doing—STOP LAUGHING!’
The bowl of Murtlap essence fell to the floor and smashed. He became aware that he was on his feet, though he couldn't remember standing up. Crookshanks streaked away under a sofa. Ron and Hermione's smiles had vanished.
‘You don't know what it's like!You—neither of you—you've never had to face him, have you? You think it's just memorising a bunch of spells and throwing them at him, like you're in class or something? The whole time you're sure you know there's nothing between you and dying except your own—your own brain or guts or whatever—like you can think straight when you know you're about a nanosecond from being murdered, or tortured, or watching your friends die— they've never taught us that in their classes, what it's like to deal with things like that—and you two sit there acting like I'm a clever little boy to be standing here, alive, like Diggory was stupid, like he messed up—you just don't get it, that could just as easily have been me, it would have been if Voldemort hadn't needed me—’
‘We weren't saying anything like that, mate,’ said Ron, looking aghast. ‘We weren't having a go at Diggory, we didn't—you've got the wrong end of the—’
He looked helplessly at Hermione, whose face was stricken.
‘Harry,’ she said timidly, ‘don't you see? This ... this is exactly why we need you ... we need to know what it's r-really like ... facing him ... facing V-Voldemort.’
It was the first time she had ever said Voldemort's name and it was this, more than anything else, that calmed Harry. Still breathing hard, he sank back into his chair, becoming aware as he did so that his hand was throbbing horribly again. He wished he had not smashed the bowl of Murtlap essence.
‘Well ... think about it,’ said Hermione quietly. ‘Please?’
Harry could not think of anything to say. He was feeling ashamed of his outburst already. He nodded, hardly aware of what he was agreeing to.
Hermione stood up.
‘Well, I'm off to bed,’ she said, in a voice that was clearly as natural as she could make it. ‘Erm ... night.’
Ron had got to his feet, too.
‘Coming?’ he said awkwardly to Harry.
‘Yeah,’ said Harry. ‘In ... in a minute. I'll just clear this up.’
He indicated the smashed bowl on the floor. Ron nodded and left.
‘Reparo,’ Harry muttered, pointing his wand at the broken pieces of china. They flew back together, good as new, but there was no returning the Murtlap essence to the bowl.
He was suddenly so tired he was tempted to sink back into his armchair and sleep there, but instead he forced himself to his feet and followed Ron upstairs. His restless night was punctuated once more by dreams of long corridors and locked doors and he awoke next day with his scar prickling again.
　　他们仔细查阅着荷米恩订阅的《预言家日报》，期望能够找到珀西在信中所提及的事情。然而，还没有来得及清除牛奶壶顶端上那些猫头鹰弄的奶渍的时候，荷米恩大喘了口气，将报纸展平，上面露出多洛瑞声？昂布瑞吉的一张照片，此时，昂布瑞吉正在大标题下冲着他们微笑的眨着眼睛。
　　“政府在探索教育改革，昂布瑞吉被指派成为第一位高级检察官 。” “昂布瑞吉-高级检察官？”哈利的脸色暗了下来，吃了一半的土司面包从他的手指间滑落，“这是什么意思？”
　　荷米恩大声朗读道，“一个惊奇的改动，昨晚魔法部通过了新的立法，是针对霍格瓦彻学校在魔法方面的加强管理的条例”
　　“近一段时间以来，部长对霍格瓦彻产生的变化深感不安”年轻的部长助理，珀西•威斯里说道，“许多家长对学校的这些变化感到不满，部长已经开始对这种情况作出反应。”
　　“在最近几个星期， 部长康奈斯？福吉一直通过采用新的立法来影响改进魔法学校，这种情况已经不是第一次了。最近8月30日刚颁布的第二十二号教育法令，就是用来确保现任校长如果不能找到合适的人选，部长会亲自挑选合适的人来担当”“那就是为什么多洛瑞声？昂布瑞吉能够被任命为霍格瓦彻的教职员工”威斯里接着说道，“丹伯多找不到合适的人选，所以部长安排昂布瑞吉，当然，她的工作是卓有成效的——。”
　　“她-怎么？？？”哈利大声的说，“别打岔，还有更多的东西呢。”荷米恩严肃的说。
　　“——卓有成效，总的来说，除了教授黑魔法防御课以外，同时向部长提供霍格瓦彻学校发生的事情的第一手资料。
　　这是魔法部通过颁布的二十三号教育法令的获得的最新的职能，这创造了一个新的职位——霍格瓦彻高级检察官。”
　　“这是部长的计划中令人感到兴奋的新阶段，在这个计划中将对霍格瓦彻学校中人们感到降低标准的地方进行改正，”威斯里接着说，“检察官将有权利对她的同行教授们进行检查，从而确保他们能够达到标准。目前看来，昂布瑞吉教授是能够胜任这项工作的，我们很高兴的看到她也倍受欢迎。”
　　魔法部的这项最新改动获得了霍格瓦彻在校生的家长们的强烈支持。
　　“我的思想能够轻松的感受到丹伯多正在受到公正，客观的评价。”41岁的卢修斯？马尔夫先生在威尔特郡的府邸说，“在过去的这几年中，我们中的大多数，还有我们的孩子，都对丹伯多的那些匪夷所思的决策很关注，现在很高兴的发现魔法部也开始对这方面的情形重视了，在这些古怪的决定中主要体现在先前富有争议的职员聘用，其中包括狼人卢平，具有巨人血统的哈格力，以及疯疯癫癫的前任傲罗——穆迪。
　　富有传闻，当然，丹伯多，一度的国际联邦的最伟大的男巫， 国际巫师联合会主席主席已经不再胜任享有声望的霍格瓦彻学校的校长职务了” 一位魔法部的内部官员昨天透露“我认为安插检察官是确保霍格瓦彻的校长的行为能够让我们放松的第一步”
　　资深巫师Griselda Marchbanks和Tiberius Ogden因为抗议在霍格瓦彻安插检察官而辞职，“霍格瓦彻是一所学校，它不是康奈斯？福吉办公室的前哨！”Marchbanks夫人说道，“这是对丹伯多不信任的一种令人厌恶的尝试”（关于Marchbanks女士—一个从事颠覆活动的小丑团体的详细报道）
　　荷米恩读完了这段报道，目光略过桌子，看着他们两个。
　　现在我们知道为什么昂布瑞吉会出现在这里了！康奈斯？福吉居然通过教育法令来迫使她来监督我们！而现在他居然给她监督检查其他教授的权利！”荷米恩的呼吸有些急促，她的眼睛一亮，“真难以置信！真让人难以忍受！”
　　“确实，”哈利说。他低下头，看着正在紧紧握着桌子顶端的右手，看着那些昂布瑞吉罚他写字后依然留在他皮肤上的发白的伤痕。
　　但是，露齿笑正在罗恩的脸上展开。
　　“怎么？”荷米恩和哈利盯着他说，
　　“哦，我已经等不及看见麦格教授被检查了，”罗恩快乐的说，昂布瑞吉还不知道自己将要面对什么呢。”
　　“很好，快点，”荷米恩从椅子上跃起，接着说，“我们最好快点到，赶在昂布瑞吉检查宾斯的课之前。
　　但是，昂布瑞吉教授没有检查他们的魔法历史课——一门在周一上的枯燥的课程，也没有在斯内普上课的地下室———在那里哈利看到了他的月长石的报告，象道钉一般的黑色的“D”潦草的写在上面的一个角落。
　　“我将按照等级考试那样给你们评分”斯内普假笑着，目光扫过他们，同时看着交上来的作业，你应该对考试的预期有个比较现实的概念！”斯内普走到教室门口，转过身面对着他们，“家庭作业的标准是难以预测的，对于你大部分将会面临失败，这就是考试，我想，这将给关于毒液解毒剂的多样性的报告带来巨大影响了，或许我应该开始将那些得“D”的劣等生关禁闭了？
　　他和马尔夫一样窃笑，补充道“一些人得到了“D”，哈”
　　哈利明白了，这时荷米恩也在往他这边看，试图看清他得到的是哪个等级。他尽可能快的把他的关于月长石的报告放进书包，这样可以自欺欺人的感觉还保留着个人隐私。
　　为了不给斯内普任何借口使自己这门课不及格，哈利在进行操作前对黑板上的每一条指令至少对三遍。他的这种谨慎做法并没有使得颜色完全象荷米恩做的绿松色，但是它至少不是想纳威那样的粉红色，当他在课结束的时候把试剂交到斯内普的讲桌上时，他感到了斯内普那原来混有蔑视的目光中，轻蔑的成分减轻了。
　　当他们从地下室走出来，一边爬台阶，荷米恩一边说，“干的好，至少不象上个星期那样糟糕了，不是吗？”他们向大厅入口走去，准备吃午饭“看起来这个家庭作业还不赖，不是吗？”
　　罗恩和哈利都一言不发，她接着说，“我的意思是，当然，我并不期望一定得到最高的成绩，如果他按照等级考试的标准来要求的话，不过能通过他的要求的话，也是一种对自己的成绩的一种肯定，不是吗？”
　　哈利觉得自己的嗓子很不舒服。
　　“当然了，现在的具体操作与真正考试的时候相比，会有很多无法预料的事情发生，不过，我们有充分的时间来改进，就是说，我们现在得到的等级是我们的基准线，我们可以在这个基础上努力，对吧“他们一起坐在格莱芬多的桌旁。
　　“很明显，如果我得了‘O’,我将会很震颤的。”
　　“荷米恩，”罗恩尖锐的说，“如果你想知道我们得了什么等级，就直接问好了。”
　　“我没有啊，我的意思是，好吧，如果你们能告诉我的话。。。”
　　“我得到的是‘P’,”罗恩一边用勺子往碗里舀汤，一边说道，“怎么样？高兴了吧？”
　　“可是，那没有什么让人感到惭愧的啊，”乔治，约旦和弗来德也到他们这边来了，弗来德坐到哈利的右边，接着说，“得个’P’也没什么啊。”
　　“但是，”荷米恩反问道，“难道’P’不代表什么吗？”
　　“贫穷，是吧？”约旦说，“可是比的 ‘D’要好的多了，不是吗？那个代表‘可怕‘？”
　　哈利感到他的脸有点红热，不由得轻轻咳嗽了一下来掩饰自己，然而，他发现荷米恩仍然还沉浸在关于巫师等级考试的话题当中。
　　“那就是说，最高等级的’O’代表‘杰出的‘，”她说，“后面的‘A’——…”
　　“不，‘E’，”乔治纠正道，“‘E’代表‘超出期待’，弗来德和我经常在各方面得到‘E’，因为我们总能够让考试成绩令人觉得超出预期。”
　　除了勤奋的荷米恩外，其他人都被逗的大笑，“那就是说，‘E’的后面才是’A’，表示‘勉强可以接受’，成为最后一个等级，对吧？”荷米恩说道。
　　“当然了，”弗来德一边转着碗，小心的喝着热汤，一边答道。
　　“如果你得了’P’代表‘贫穷’，”罗恩举起双臂模仿着 ，“‘D’代表着‘可怕的’？ ” “还有‘T’呢。”乔治提醒道。
　　“‘T’？”荷米恩有些不解，惊讶的问，“难道还有比‘D’低的吗？那么‘T’究竟代表什么呢？”
　　“放声高歌。”乔治敏捷的说。
　　哈利被逗乐了，虽然他不能确定乔治是不是在开玩笑，他想象着和荷米恩隐瞒自己在等级考试中得‘T’的样子，不过还是马上下决心从现在开始要努力了。
　　“你们有没有被那个高级检察官检查？”弗来德接着问道。
　　“没有啊，”荷米恩马上回答道，“怎么？你们被检查了？”
　　“刚刚，就是在午饭前”乔治说，“魔法课。”
　　“那她都作什么了？”哈利和荷米恩异口同声的问弗来德耸耸肩，“没什么，昂布瑞吉只是坐在一个小角落里，不时的用笔作些记录，你也知道弗立维是个什么样的老师，他把她当成客人，一点也没有干扰他上课，而且，她也没多问些什么。只是简单的问了问Alicia两个关于课程的问题，Alicia告诉她课很不错，事实上也是这样，对吧。”
　　“我觉得对老弗立维的评价应该不会太低，”乔治说，“他总是让我们大家每一个人都能通过考试。”
　　“下午有谁的课？”弗来德问哈利
　　“特里劳妮”
　　“我可看到了一个‘T’。”
　　“当然还有昂布瑞吉她自己”
　　“很好啊，做个好男孩，对昂布瑞吉，你要控制好你的脾气哦。”乔治说。
　　“如果你还要错过更多的魁地奇的训练的话，安吉丽娜会很生气的。”
　　但是，哈利甚至没到上黑魔法防御课就见到昂布瑞吉教授了。在阴暗的占卜课上，哈利正在拿出他的记录一个月的梦的本子时，罗恩用胳膊肘推了推哈利的肋骨。哈利茫然的看看四周，结果发现昂布瑞吉教授的身影出现在教室的门口。原来还很愉快的的气氛一下子消失的无影无踪，变得很安静。这突然的变化，打断了特里劳妮教授的思路，她正在喃喃的读着交上来的有关梦的报告的，她抬起头，向四周望。
　　“下午好啊，特里劳妮教授” 昂布瑞吉微笑着说，“我想，你一定已经收到了我的字条了吧？什么时间接受我的检查呢？” 特里劳妮大致意思的点了点头，显得对此很不高兴，注意力很快从昂布瑞吉教授身上移开，接着看着报告。
　　昂布瑞吉教授依旧保持着微笑，随手抓住了最近的扶手椅的后背，把椅子拿到教室的前面，离特里劳妮教授大概只有几英寸。
　　她坐下来，从她的花色的袋子里拿出夹着纸张的文件夹，看上去，有点热切的期待着开始上课。
　　特里劳妮教授透过她那有些夸张的眼镜审视了整个班级，同时用她微微颤抖的手拉紧了披巾。
　　“今天，我们将继续进行对富含预言的梦的研究”，她试图镇定下来，尝试着用她往常的语调，那种带者神秘，低沉，又有点轻微的颤音说着“具体的细分，对最近的时间的梦境仔细的分析，这样有助于体会到梦所代表的预言”
　　她站起身，发现昂布瑞吉教授就坐在她右边，她立即转过身向左边的Parvati和Lavender走去，他们两个正在对Parvati最近的梦展开热烈的讨论。
　　哈利一边打开他的《梦的预言》报告，一边偷偷的观察昂布瑞吉教授，她正在全神贯注的做着记录，一会儿，她注意到特里劳妮在教室里走来走去，不时的听着学生们的讨论，并且对一些问题进行解答。
　　哈利急忙低下头，假装在看书，“快点，想一个梦，”他对罗恩说，“应付万一那个讨厌的家伙过来。”
　　“上次就是我，”罗恩抗议道，“这回该你了”
　　“哦，天啊，我不知道。”哈利失望的说，他几乎不记得最近几天做过的梦。
　　“如果让我说我做的梦——就是梦见斯内普在我的坩埚里淹死！”
　　“好吧，就这么办吧。”罗恩笑着打开他的梦的预言。
　　“好的，我们应该在你的梦里加上你的年龄和发生的日期，这样可以增加可信度”，“是说‘淹死’？‘坩埚’？还是‘斯内普’？”
　　“无所谓，随便选一个吧。”哈利一边说一边向后看昂布瑞吉教授正站在特里劳妮教授身旁，记录着占卜老师询问纳威关于他的梦的一些问题。
　　“你又梦到这个了？”罗恩完全沉浸在计算中。
　　“我不知道，可能是昨天晚上，如果你喜欢的话可以这么认为，”哈利一边回答，一边试图听请昂布瑞吉教授询问特里劳妮教授的问题。此时，她们离他和罗恩只有一张桌子那么远。昂布瑞吉教授不时的记录着，而特里劳妮教授看起来非常厌烦。
　　“迄今为止，”昂布瑞吉抬头问特里劳妮，“你在这个职位上多久了？能确切点吗？”
　　特里劳妮皱着眉头，胳膊交叉，紧抱着肩，似乎希望这样做能够使自己在这个让她感到受到侮辱的检查中有安全感，略微停顿了一下，她还是决定回答问题，但是没有掩饰自己强烈的反感，她用愤怒的语调回答道“差不多十六年了。”
　　“相当长的一段时间，” 昂布瑞吉教授一边说着，一边在她的本子上做着记录，“是丹伯多任命你的？” “当然。”特里劳妮教授很快的回答。
　　昂布瑞吉教授接着做记录，“你是那个伟大的预言家Seer Cassandra Trelawney的曾曾曾孙女？”
　　“是的，”特里劳妮教授扬起头说。
　　昂布瑞吉接着记录着，
　　“有个问题，如果我说错了的话，请你纠正。你是你们家族自从Cassandra拥有这种能力的第二个人，对吗？” 昂布瑞吉继续问， “这种事情不是很能确定的，不是每一代都有这种能力，呃， 呃，差不多3代吧。” 特里劳妮回答。 昂布瑞吉教授微笑着，“也是啊。”她甜甜的笑着说，并不时的记录着什么。“很好，那么，你是否能为我预言些什么呢？”她看起来有点怀疑，但是依旧笑着问特里劳妮教授身子僵硬了一下，似乎不相信自己的耳朵，“我不明白你的意思。”一边说着，一边用颤抖的手拉了拉披巾，将它紧紧绕在自己瘦瘦的脖子上。
　　“我的意思是，希望你能给我做个预言。” 昂布瑞吉教授清晰的说着。 这时，不只是哈利，罗恩小心的观察她们并仔细听着她们的谈话。
　　这时，大多数的同学都已经注意到了，此时，特里劳妮教授挺胸站着，腕上的链珠叮当响着。她愤慨的说“这种能力不是普通人都能看到的！”
　　“当然，我知道。” 昂布瑞吉教授温和的说着，记录着。 “我——，但是，——但是，——停下来！！！” 特里劳妮教授突然说，她试图使自己的语调向平时那样轻微，而且略带有些神秘，然而这一切都被愤怒打破了。 “我，我想，我确实能够预知些东西！一些与你有密切关系的东西，可是，为什么，我感觉到的是些邪恶，阴暗的，甚至还有一些死亡的危机？” 特里劳妮教授的手指略有些颤动的指着昂布瑞吉教授，而昂布瑞吉教授依旧温和的笑着，只是眉毛有些上扬。 “我恐怕，恐怕，你现在已经处在极度危险
Chapter 16 In the Hog's Head
Hermione made no mention of Harry giving Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons for two whole weeks after her original suggestion. Harry's detentions with Umbridge were finally over (he doubted whether the words now etched into the back of his hand would ever fade entirely); Ron had had four more Quidditch practices and not been shouted at during the last two; and all three of them had managed to Vanish their mice in Transfiguration (Hermione had actually progressed to Vanishing kittens), before the subject was broached again, on a wild, blustery evening at the end of September, when the three of them were sitting in the library, looking up potion ingredients for Snape.
‘I was wondering,’ Hermione said suddenly, ‘whether you'd thought any more about Defence Against the Dark Arts, Harry.’
‘Course I have,’ said Harry grumpily, ‘can't forget it, can we, with that hag teaching us—’
‘I meant the idea Ron and I had—’ Ron cast her an alarmed, threatening kind of look. She frowned at him, ‘—Oh, all right, the idea I had, then—about you teaching us.’
Harry did not answer at once. He pretended to be perusing a page of Asiatic Anti-Venoms, because he did not want to say what was in his mind.
He had given the matter a great deal of thought over the past fortnight. Sometimes it seemed an insane idea, just as it had on the night Hermione had proposed it, but at others, he had found himself thinking about the spells that had served him best in his various encounters with Dark creatures and Death Eaters—found himself, in fact, subconsciously planning lessons ...
‘Well,’ he said slowly, when he could no longer pretend to find Asiatic Anti-Venoms interesting, ‘yeah, I—I've thought about it a bit.’
‘And?’ said Hermione eagerly.
‘I dunno,’ said Harry, playing for time. He looked up at Ron.
‘I thought it was a good idea from the start,’ said Ron, who seemed keener to join in this conversation now that he was sure Harry was not going to start shouting again.
Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
‘You did listen to what I said about a load of it being luck, didn't you?’
‘Yes, Harry,’ said Hermione gently, ‘but all the same, there's no point pretending that you're not good at Defence Against the Dark Arts, because you are. You were the only person last year who could throw off the Imperius Curse completely, you can produce a Patronus, you can do all sorts of stuff that full-grown wizards can't, Viktor always said—’
Ron looked round at her so fast he appeared to crick his neck. Rubbing it, he said, ‘Yeah? What did Vicky say?’
‘Ho ho,’ said Hermione in a bored voice. ‘He said Harry knew how to do stuff even he didn't, and he was in the final year at Durmstrang.’
Ron was looking at Hermione suspiciously.
‘You're not still in contact with him, are you?’
‘So what if I am?’ said Hermione coolly, though her face was a little pink. ‘I can have a pen-pal if I—’
‘He didn't only want to be your pen-pal,’ said Ron accusingly.
Hermione shook her head exasperatedly and, ignoring Ron, who was continuing to watch her, said to Harry, ‘Well, what do you think? Will you teach us?’
‘Just you and Ron, yeah?’
‘Well,’ said Hermione, looking a mite anxious again. ‘Well ... now, don't fly off the handle again, Harry, please ... but I really think you ought to teach anyone who wants to learn. I mean, we're talking about defending ourselves against V-Voldemort. Oh, don't be pathetic, Ron. It doesn't seem fair if we don't offer the chance to other people.’
Harry considered this for a moment, then said, ‘Yeah, but I doubt anyone except you two would want to be taught by me. I'm a nutter, remember?’
‘Well, I think you might be surprised how many people would be interested in hearing what you've got to say,’ said Hermione seriously. ‘Look,’ she leaned towards him— Ron, who was still watching her with a frown on his face, leaned forwards to listen too—'you know the first weekend in October's a Hogsmeade weekend? How would it be if we tell anyone who's interested to meet us in the village and we can talk it over?’
‘Why do we have to do it outside school?’ said Ron.
‘Because,’ said Hermione, returning to the diagram of the Chinese Chomping Cabbage she was copying, ‘I don't think Umbridge would be very happy if she found out what we were up to.’
Harry had been looking forward to the weekend trip into Hogsmeade, but there was one thing worrying him. Sirius had maintained a stony silence since he had appeared in the fire at the beginning of September; Harry knew they had made him angry by saying they didn't want him to come—but he still worried from time to time that Sirius might throw caution to the winds and turn up anyway. What were they going to do if the great black dog came bounding up the street towards them in Hogsmeade, perhaps under the nose of Draco Malfoy?
‘Well, you can't blame him for wanting to get out and about,’ said Ron, when Harry discussed his fears with him and Hermione. ‘I mean, he's been on the run for over two years, hasn't he, and I know that can't have been a laugh, but at least he was free, wasn't he? And now he's just shut up all the time with that ghastly elf.’
Hermione scowled at Ron, but otherwise ignored the slight on Kreacher.
‘The trouble is,’ she said to Harry, ‘until V-Voldemort—oh, for heaven's sake,Ron— comes out into the open, Sirius is going to have to stay hidden, isn't he? I mean, the stupid Ministry isn't going to realise Sirius is innocent until they accept that Dumbledore's been telling the truth about him all along. And once the fools start catching real Death Eaters again, it'll be obvious Sirius isn't one ... I mean, he hasn't got the Mark, for one thing.’
‘I don't reckon he'd be stupid enough to turn up,’ said Ron bracingly. ‘Dumbledore'd go mad if he did and Sirius listens to Dumbledore even if he doesn't like what he hears.’
When Harry continued to look worried, Hermione said, ‘Listen, Ron and I have been sounding out people who we thought might want to learn some proper Defence Against the Dark Arts, and there are a couple who seem interested. We've told them to meet us in Hogsmeade.’
‘Right,’ said Harry vaguely, his mind still on Sirius.
‘Don't worry, Harry,’ Hermione said quietly. ‘You've got enough on your plate without Sirius, too.’
She was quite right, of course, he was barely keeping up with his homework, though he was doing much better now that he was no longer spending every evening in detention with Umbridge. Ron was even further behind with his work than Harry, because while they both had Quidditch practice twice a week, Ron also had his prefect duties. However, Hermione, who was taking more subjects than either of them, had not only finished all her homework but was also finding time to knit more elf clothes. Harry had to admit that she was getting better; it was now almost always possible to distinguish between the hats and the socks.
The morning of the Hogsmeade visit dawned bright but windy. Alter breakfast they queued up in front of Filch, who matched their names to the long list of students who had permission from their parents or guardian to visit the village. With a slight pang, Harry remembered that if it hadn't been for Sirius, he would not have been going at all.
When Harry reached Filch, the caretaker gave a great sniff as though trying to detect a whiff of something from Harry. Then he gave a curt nod that set his jowls aquiver again and Harry walked on, out on to the stone steps and the cold, sunlit day.
‘Er—why was Filch sniffing you?’ asked Ron, as he, Harry and Hermione set off at a brisk pace down the wide drive to the gates.
‘I suppose he was checking for the smell of Dungbombs,’ said Harry with a small laugh. ‘I forgot to tell you ...’
And he recounted the story of sending his letter to Sirius and Filch bursting in seconds later, demanding to see the letter. To his slight surprise, Hermione found this story highly interesting, much more, indeed, than he did himself.
‘He said he was tipped off you were ordering Dungbombs? But who tipped him off?’
‘I dunno,’ said Harry, shrugging. ‘Maybe Malfoy he'd think it was a laugh.’
They walked between the tall stone pillars topped with winged boars and turned left on to the road into the village, the wind whip-, ping their hair into their eyes.
‘Malfoy?’ said Hermione, sceptically. ‘Well ... yes ... maybe ...’
And she remained deep in thought all the way into the outskirts of Hogsmeade.
‘Where are we going, anyway?’ Harry asked. ‘The Three Broomsticks?’
‘Oh—no,’ said Hermione, coming out of her reverie, ‘no, it's always packed and really noisy. I've told the others to meet us in the Hog's Head, that other pub, you know the one, it's not on the main road. I think it's a bit ... you know ... dodgy ... but students don't normally go in there, so I don't think we'll be overheard.’
They walked down the main street past Zonko's Wizarding Joke Shop, where they were not surprised to see Fred, George and Lee Jordan, past the post office, from which owls issued at regular intervals, and turned up a side-street at the top of which stood a small inn. A battered wooden sign hung from a rusty bracket over the door, with a picture on it of a wild boar's severed head, leaking blood on to the white cloth around it. The sign creaked in the wind as they approached. All three of them hesitated outside the door.
‘Well, come on,’ said Hermione, slightly nervously. Harry led the way inside.
It was not at all like the Three Broomsticks, whose large bar gave an impression of gleaming warmth and cleanliness. The Hog's Head bar comprised one small, dingy and very dirty room that smelled strongly of something that might have been goats. The bay windows were so encrusted with grime that very little daylight could permeate the room, which was lit instead with the stubs of candles sitting on rough wooden tables. The floor seemed at first glance to be compressed earth, though as Harry stepped on to it he realised that there was stone beneath what seemed to be the accumulated filth of centuries.
Harry remembered Hagrid mentioning this pub in his first year: ‘Yeh get a lot o’ funny folk in the Hog's Head,’ he had said, explaining how he had won a dragon's egg from a hooded stranger there. At the time Harry had wondered why Hagrid had not found it odd that the stranger kept his face hidden throughout their encounter; now he saw that keeping your face hidden was something of a fashion in the Hog's Head. There was a man at the bar whose whole head was wrapped in dirty grey bandages, though he was still managing to gulp endless glasses of some smoking, fiery substance through a slit over his mouth; two figures shrouded in hoods sat at a table in one of the windows; Harry might have thought them dementors if they had not been talking in strong Yorkshire accents, and in a shadowy corner beside the fireplace sat a witch with a thick, black veil that fell to her toes. They could just see the tip of her nose because it caused the veil to protrude slightly.
‘I don't know about this, Hermione,’ Harry muttered, as they crossed to the bar. He was looking particularly at the heavily veiled witch. ‘Has it occurred to you Umbridge might be under that?’
Hermione cast an appraising eye over the veiled figure.
‘Umbridge is shorter than that woman,’ she said quietly. ‘And anyway, even if Umbridge does come in here there's nothing she can do to stop us, Harry, because I've double- and triple-checked the school rules. We're not out of bounds; I specifically asked Professor Flitwick whether students were allowed to come in the Hog's Head, and he said yes, but he advised me strongly to bring our own glasses. And I've looked up everything I can think of about study groups and homework groups and they're definitely allowed. I just don't think it's a good idea if we parade what we're doing.’
‘No,’ said Harry drily, ‘especially as it's not exactly a homework group you're planning, is it?’
The barman sidled towards them out of a back room. He was a grumpy-looking old man with a great deal of long grey hair and beard. He was tall and thin and looked vaguely familiar to Harry.
‘What?’ he grunted.
‘Three Butterbeers, please,’ said Hermione.
The man reached beneath the counter and pulled up three very dusty, very dirty bottles, which he slammed on the bar.
‘Six Sickles,’ he said.
‘I'll get them,’ said Harry quickly, passing over the silver. The barman's eyes travelled over Harry, resting for a fraction of a second on his scar. Then he turned away and deposited Harry's money in an ancient wooden till whose drawer slid open automatically to receive it. Harry, Ron and Hermione retreated to the furthest table from the bar and sat down, looking around. The man in the dirty grey bandages rapped the counter with his knuckles and received another smoking drink from the barman.
‘You know what?’ Ron murmured, looking over at the bar with enthusiasm. ‘We could order anything we liked in here. I bet that bloke would sell us anything, he wouldn't care. I've always wanted to try Firewhisky—’
‘You—are—a—prefect,’ snarled Hermione.
‘Oh,’ said Ron, the smile fading from his face. ‘Yeah ...’
‘So, who did you say is supposed to be meeting us?’ Harry asked, wrenching open the rusty top of his Butterbeer and taking a swig.
‘Just a couple of people,’ Hermione repeated, checking her watch and looking anxiously towards the door. ‘I told them to be here about now and I'm sure they all know where it is—oh, look, this might be them now.’
The door of the pub had opened. A thick band of dusty sunlight split the room in two for a moment and then vanished, blocked by the incoming rush of a crowd of people.
First came Neville with Dean and Lavender, who were closely followed by Parvati and Padma Patil with (Harry's stomach did a back-flip) Cho and one of her usually-giggling girlfriends, then (on her own and looking so dreamy she might have walked in by accident) Luna Lovegood; then Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet and Angelina Johnson, Colin and Dennis Creevey Ernie Macmillan, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Hannah Abbott, a Hufflepuff girl with a long plait clown her back whose name Harry did not know; three Ravenclaw boys he was pretty sure were called Anthony Goldstein, Michael Corner and Terry Boot, Ginny, closely followed by a tall skinny blond boy with an upturned nose whom Harry recognised vaguely as being a member of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team and, bringing up the rear, Fred and George Weasley with their friend Lee Jordan, all three of whom were carrying large paper bags crammed with Zonko's merchandise.
‘A couple of people?’ said Harry hoarsely to Hermione. ‘A couple of people?’
‘Yes, well, the idea seemed quite popular,’ said Hermione happily. ‘Ron, do you want to pull up some more chairs?’
The barman had frozen in the act of wiping out a glass with a rag so filthy it looked as though it had never been washed. Possibly, he had never seen his pub so full.
‘Hi,’ said Fred, reaching the bar first and counting his companions quickly, ‘could we have ... twenty-five Butterbeers, please?’
The barman glared at him for a moment, then, throwing down his rag irritably as though he had been interrupted in something very important, he started passing up dusty Butterbeers from under the bar.
‘Cheers,’ said Fred, handing them out. ‘Cough up, everyone, I haven't got enough gold for all of these ...’
Harry watched numbly as the large chattering group took their beers from Fred and rummaged in their robes to find coins. He could not imagine what all these people had turned up for until the horrible thought occurred to him that they might be expecting same kind of speech, at which he rounded on Hermione.
‘What have you been telling people?’ he said in a low voice. ‘What are they expecting?’
‘I've told you, they just want to hear what you've got to say,’ said Hermione soothingly; but Harry continued to look at her so furiously that she added quickly, ‘you don't have to do anything yet, I'll speak to them first.’
‘Hi, Harry,’ said Neville, beaming and taking a seat opposite him.
Harry tried to smile back, but did not speak; his mouth was exceptionally dry. Cho had just smiled at him and sat down on Ron's right. Her friend, who had curly reddish-blonde hair, did not smile, but gave Harry a thoroughly mistrustful look which plainly told him that, given her way, she would not be here at all.
In twos and threes the new arrivals settled around Harry, Ron and Hermione, some looking rather excited, others curious, Luna Lovegood gazing dreamily into space. When everybody had pulled up a chair, the chatter died out. Every eye was upon Harry.
‘Er,’ said Hermione, her voice slightly higher than usual out of nerves. ‘Well—er—hi.’
The group focused its attention on her instead, though eyes continued to dart back regularly to Harry.
‘Well ... erm ... well, you know why you're here. Erm ... well, Harry here had the idea—I mean’ (Harry had thrown her a sharp look) ‘I had the idea—that it might be good if people who wanted to study Defence Against the Dark Arts—and I mean, really study it, you know, not the rubbish that Umbridge is doing with us— ‘(Hermione's voice became suddenly much stronger and more confident) ‘— because nobody could call that Defence Against the Dark Arts—’ ('Hear, hear,’ said Anthony Goldstein, and Hermione looked heartened) ‘—Well, I thought it would be good if we, well, took matters into our own hands.’
She paused, looked sideways at Harry and went on, ‘And by that I mean learning how to defend ourselves properly, not just in theory but doing the real spells—’
‘You want to pass your Defence Against the Dark Arts OWL too, though, I bet?’ said Michael Corner, who was watching her closely.
‘Of course I do,’ said Hermione at once. ‘But more than that, I want to be properly trained in defence because ... because ...’ she took a great breath and finished, ‘because Lord Voldemort is back.’
The reaction was immediate and predictable. Cho's friend shrieked and slopped Butterbeer down herself; Terry Boot gave a kind of involuntary twitch; Padma Patil shuddered, and Neville gave an odd yelp that he managed to turn into a cough. All of them, however, looked fixedly, even eagerly, at Harry.
‘Well ... that's the plan, anyway,’ said Hermione. ‘If you want to join us, we need to decide how we're going to—’
‘Where's the proof You-Know-Who's back?’ said the blond Hufflepuff player in a rather aggressive voice.
‘Well, Dumbledore believes it—’ Hermione began.
‘You mean, Dumbledore believes him,’ said the blond boy, nodding at Harry.
‘Who are you?’ said Ron, rather rudely.
‘Zacharias Smith,’ said the boy, ‘and I think we've got the right to know exactly what makes him say You-Know-Who's back.’
‘Look,’ said Hermione, intervening swiftly, ‘that's really not what this meeting was supposed to be about—’
‘It's OK, Hermione,’ said Harry.
It had just dawned on him why there were so many people there. He thought Hermione should have seen this coming. Some of these people—maybe even most of them—had turned up in the hopes of hearing Harry's story firsthand.
‘What makes me say You-Know-Who's back?’ he repeated, looking Zacharias straight in the face. ‘I saw him. But Dumbledore told the whole school what happened last year, and if you didn't believe him, you won't believe me, and I'm not wasting an afternoon trying to convince anyone.’
The whole group seemed to have held its breath while Harry spoke. Harry had the impression that even the barman was listening. He was wiping the same glass with the filthy rag, making it steadily dirtier.
Zacharias said dismissively, ‘All Dumbledore told us last year was that Cedric Diggory got killed by You-Know-Who and that you brought Diggory's body back to Hogwarts. He didn't give us details, he didn't tell us exactly how Diggory got murdered, I think we'd all like to know—’
‘If you've come to hear exactly what it looks like when Voldemort murders someone I can't help you,’ Harry said. His temper, always so close to the surface these days, was rising again. He did not take his eyes from Zacharias Smith's aggressive face, and was determined not to look at Cho. ‘I don't want to talk about Cedric Diggory, all right? So if that's what you're here for, you might as well clear out.’
He cast an angry look in Hermione's direction. This was, he felt, all her fault; she had decided to display him like some sort of freak and of course they had all turned up to see just now wild his story was. But none of them left their seats, not even Zacharias Smith, though he continued to gaze intently at Harry.
‘So,’ said Hermione, her voice very high-pitched again. ‘So ... like I was saying ... if you want to learn some defence, then we need to work out how we're going to do it, how often we're going to meet and where we're going to—’
‘Is it true,’ interrupted the girl with the long plait down her back, looking at Harry, ‘that you can produce a Patronus?’
There was a murmur of interest around the group at this.
‘Yeah,’ said Harry slightly defensively.
‘A corporeal Patronus?’
The phrase stirred something in Harry's memory.
‘Er—you don't know Madam Bones, do you?’ he asked.
The girl smiled.
‘She's my auntie,’ she said. ‘I'm Susan Bones. She told me about your hearing. So—is it really true? You make a stag Patronus?’
‘Yes,’ said Harry.
‘Blimey, Harry!’ said Lee, looking deeply impressed. ‘I never knew that!’
‘Mum told Ron not to spread it around,’ said Fred, grinning at Harry. ‘She said you got enough attention as it was.’
‘She's not wrong,’ mumbled Harry, and a couple of people laughed.
The veiled witch sitting alone shifted very slightly in her seat.
‘And did you kill a Basilisk with that sword in Dumbledore's office?’ demanded Terry Boot. ‘That's what one of the portraits on the wall told me when I was in there last year ...’
‘Er—yeah, I did, yeah,’ said Harry.
Justin Finch-Fletchley whistled; the Creevey brothers exchanged awestruck looks and Lavender Brown said ‘Wow!’ softly. Harry was feeling slightly hot around the collar now; he was determinedly looking anywhere but at Cho.
‘And in our first year,’ said Neville to the group at large, ‘he saved that Philological Stone— ’
‘Philosopher's,’ hissed Hermione.
‘Yes, that—from You-Know-Who,’ finished Neville.
Hannah Abbotts eyes were as round as Galleons.
‘And that's not to mention,’ said Cho (Harry's eyes snapped across to her; she was looking at him, smiling; his stomach did another somersault) ‘all the tasks he had to get through in the Triwizard Tournament last year—getting past dragons and merpeople and Acromantula and things ...’
There was a murmur of impressed agreement around the table. Harry's insides were squirming. He was trying to arrange his face so that he did not look too pleased with himself. The fact that Cho had just praised him made it much, much harder for him to say the thing he had sworn to himself he would tell them.
‘Look,’ he said, and everyone fell silent at once, ‘I ... I don't want to sound like I'm trying to be modest or anything, but ... I had a lot of help with all that stuff ...’
‘Not with the dragon, you didn't,’ said Michael Corner at once. ‘That was a seriously cool bit of flying ...’
‘Yeah, well—’ said Harry, feeling it would be churlish to disagree.
‘And nobody helped you get rid of those dementors this summer,’ said Susan Bones.
‘No,’ said Harry, ‘no, OK, I know I did bits of it without help, but the point I'm trying to make is—’
‘Are you trying to weasel out of showing us any of this stuff?’ said Zacharias Smith.
‘Here's an idea,’ said Ron loudly, before Harry could speak, ‘why don't you shut your mouth?’
Perhaps the word ‘weasel’ had affected Ron particularly strongly. In any case, he was now looking at Zacharias as though he would like nothing better than to thump him. Zacharias flushed.
‘Well, we've all turned up to learn from him and now he's telling us he can't really do any of it,’ he said.
‘That's not what he said,’ snarled Fred.
‘Would you like us to clean out your ears for you?’ enquired Greorge, pulling a long and lethal-looking metal instrument from inside one of the Zonko's bags.
‘Or any part of your body, really, we're not fussy where we stick this,’ said Fred.
‘Yes, well,’ said Hermione hastily, moving on ...'the point is, are we agreed we want to take lessons from Harry?’
There was a murmur of general agreement. Zacharias folded his arms and said nothing, though perhaps this was because he was too busy keeping an eye on the instrument in Fred's hand.
‘Right,’ said Hermione, looking relieved that something had at last been settled. ‘Well, then, the next question is how often we do it. I really don't think there's any point in meeting less than once a week—’
‘Hang on,’ said Angelina, ‘we need to make sure this doesn't clash with our Quidditch practice.’
‘No,’ said Cho, ‘nor with ours.’
‘Nor ours,’ added Zacharias Smith.
‘I'm sure we can find a night that suits everyone,’ said Hermione, slightly impatiently, ‘but you know, this is rather important, we're talking about learning to defend ourselves against V-Voldemort's Death Eaters—’
‘Well said!’ barked Ernie Macmillan, who Harry had been expecting to speak long before this. ‘Personally, I think this is really important, possibly more important than anything else we'll do this year, even with our OWLs coming up!’
He looked around impressively, as though waiting for people to cry ‘Surely not!’ When nobody spoke, he went on, ‘I, personally, am at a loss to see why the Ministry has foisted such a useless teacher on us at this critical period. Obviously, they are in denial about the return of You-Know-Who, but to give us a teacher who is trying to actively prevent us from using defensive spells—’
‘We think the reason Umbridge doesn't want us trained in Defence Against the Dark Arts,’ said Hermione, ‘is that she's got some ... some mad idea that Dumbledore could use the students in the school as a kind of private army. She thinks he'd mobilise us against the Ministry.’
Nearly everybody looked stunned at this news; everybody except Luna Lovegood, who piped up, ‘Well, that makes sense. After all, Cornelius Fudge has got his own private army.’
‘What?’ said Harry, completely thrown by this unexpected piece of information.
‘Yes, he's got an army of Heliopaths,’ said Luna solemnly.
‘No, he hasn't,’ snapped Hermione.
‘Yes, he has,’ said Luna.
‘What are Heliopaths?’ asked Neville, looking blank.
‘They're spirits of fire,’ said Luna, her protuberant eyes widening so that she looked madder than ever, ‘great tall flaming creatures that gallop across the ground burning everything in front of—’
‘They don't exist, Neville,’ said Hermione tartly.
‘Oh, yes, they do!’ said Luna angrily.
‘I'm sorry, but where's the proof of that?’ snapped Hermione.
‘There are plenty of eye-witness accounts. Just because you're so narrow-minded you need to have everything shoved under your nose before you—’
‘Hem, hem,’ said Ginny, in such a good imitation of Professor Umbridge that several people looked around in alarm and then laughed. ‘Weren't we trying to decide how often we're going to meet and have defence lessons?’
‘Yes,’ said Hermione at once, ‘yes, we were, you're right, Ginny.’
‘Well, once a week sounds cool,’ said Lee Jordan.
‘As long as—’ began Angelina.
‘Yes, yes, we know about the Quidditch,’ said Hermione in a tense voice. ‘Well, the other thing to decide is where we're going to meet ...’
This was rather more difficult; the whole group fell silent.
‘Library?’ suggested Katie Bell after a few moments.
‘I can't see Madam Pince being too chuffed with us doing jinxes in the library,’ said Harry.
‘Maybe an unused classroom?’ said Dean.
‘Yeah,’ said Ron, ‘McGonagall might let us have hers, she did when Harry was practising for the Tri wizard.’
But Harry was pretty certain that McGonagall would not be so accommodating this time. For all that Hermione had said about study and homework groups being allowed, he had the distinct feeling that this one might be considered a lot more rebellious.
‘Right, well, we'll try to find somewhere,’ said Hermione. ‘We'll send a message round to everybody when we've got a time and a place for the first meeting.’
She rummaged in her bag and produced parchment and a quill, then hesitated, rather as though she was steeling herself to say something.
‘I—I think everybody should write their name down, just so we know who was here. But I also think,’ she took a deep breath, ‘that we all ought to agree not to shout about what we're doing. So if you sign, you're agreeing not to tell Umbridge or anybody else what we're up to.’
Fred reached out for the parchment and cheerfully wrote his signature, but Harry noticed at once that several people looked less than happy at the prospect of putting their names on the list.
‘Er ...’ said Zacharias slowly, not taking the parchment that George was trying to pass to him, ‘well ... I'm sure Ernie will tell me when the meeting is.’
But Ernie was looking rather hesitant about signing, too. Hermione raised her eyebrows at him.
‘I—well, we are prefects,’ Ernie burst out. ‘And if this list was found ... well, I mean to say ... you said yourself, if Umbridge finds out—’
‘You just said this group was the most important thing you'd do this year,’ Harry reminded him.
‘I—yes,’ said Ernie, ‘yes, I do believe that, it's just—’
‘Ernie, do you really think I'd leave that list lying around?’ said Hermione testily.
‘No. No, of course not,’ said Ernie, looking slightly less anxious. ‘I—yes, of course I'll sign.’
Nobody raised objections after Ernie, though Harry saw Cho's friend give her a rather reproachful look before adding her own name. When the last person—Zacharias— had signed, Hermione took the parchment back and slipped it carefully into her bag. There was an odd feeling in the group now. It was as though they had just signed some kind of contract.
‘Well, time's ticking on,’ said Fred briskly, getting to his feet. ‘George, Lee and I have got items of a sensitive nature to purchase, we'll be seeing you all later.’
In twos and threes the rest of the group took their leave, too.
Cho made rather a business of fastening the catch on her bag before leaving, her long dark curtain of hair swinging forwards to hide her face, but her friend stood beside her, arms folded, clicking her tongue, so that Cho had little choice but to leave with her. As her friend ushered her through the door, Cho looked back and waved at Harry.
‘Well, I think that went quite well,’ said Hermione happily, as she, Harry and Ron walked out of the Hog's Head into the bright sunlight a few moments later. Harry and Ron were clutching their bottles of Butterbeer.
‘That Zacharias bloke's a wart,’ said Ron, who was glowering after the figure of Smith, just discernible in the distance.
‘I don't like him much, either,’ admitted Hermione, ‘but he overheard me talking to Ernie and Hannah at the Hufflepuff table and he seemed really interested in coming, so what could I say? But the more people the better really—I mean, Michael Corner and his friends wouldn't have come if he hadn't been going out with Ginny—’
Ron, who had been draining the last few drops from his Butterbeer bottle, gagged and sprayed Butterbeer down his front.
‘He's WHAT?’ spluttered Ron, outraged, his ears now resembling curls of raw beef. ‘She's going out with—my sister's going—what d'you mean, Michael Corner?’
‘Well, that's why he and his friends came, I think—well, they're obviously interested in learning defence, but if Ginny hadn't told Michael what was going on—’
‘When did this— when did she—?’
‘They met at the Yule Ball and got together at the end of last year,’ said Hermione composedly. They had turned into the High Street and she paused outside Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop, where there was a handsome display of pheasant feather quills in the window. ‘Hmm ... I could do with a new quill.’
She turned into the shop. Harry and Ron followed her.
‘Which one was Michael Corner?’ Ron demanded furiously.
‘The dark one,’ said Hermione.
‘I didn't like him,’ said Ron at once.
‘Big surprise,’ said Hermione under her breath.
‘But,’ said Ron, following Hermione along a row of quills in copper pots, ‘I thought Ginny fancied Harry!’
Hermione looked at him rather pityingly and shook her head.
‘Ginny used to fancy Harry, but she gave up on him months ago. Not that she doesn't like you, of course,’ she added kindly to Harry while she examined a long black and gold quill.
Harry, whose head was still full of Cho's parting wave, did not find this subject quite as interesting as Ron, who was positively quivering with indignation, but it did bring something home to him that until now he had not really registered.
‘So that's why she talks now?’ he asked Hermione. ‘She never used to talk in front of me.’
‘Exactly,’ said Hermione. ‘Yes, I think I'll have this one ...’
She went up to the counter and handed over fifteen Sickles and two Knuts, with Ron still breathing down her neck.
‘Ron,’ she said severely as she turned and trod on his feet, ‘this is exactly why Ginny hasn't told you she's seeing Michael, she knew you'd take it badly. So don't harp on about it, for heaven's sake.’
‘What d'you mean? Who's taking anything badly? I'm not going to harp on about anything ...’ Ron continued to chunter under his breath all the way down the street.
Hermione rolled her eyes at Harry and then said in an undertone, while Ron was still muttering imprecations about Michael Corner, ‘And talking about Michael and Ginny ... what about Cho and you?’
‘What d'you mean?’ said Harry quickly.
It was as though boiling water was rising rapidly inside him; a burning sensation that was causing his face to smart in the cold—had he been that obvious?
‘Well,’ said Hermione, smiling slightly, ‘she just couldn't keep her eyes off you, could she?’
Harry had never before appreciated just how beautiful the village of Hogsmeade was.
　　在最初那次提议由哈利来教授大家黑魔法防御课以后，整整二周荷米恩再也没有提起过这事。Umbridge给哈利的禁闭也终于结束了（他怀疑现在那个蚀刻进他手背的词是不是还会完全褪去。）。
　　罗恩又上了四次魁地奇训练课，并且在后两次里没人再对他发火了。而且他们三个人都成功的在变形课上让他们的老鼠消失了（荷米恩甚至成功地让一些小猫消失了）。在九月底一个狂风暴雨的夜晚，当他们三个坐在图书馆里，寻找斯内普要求的药剂成分时，这个话题又被提起了。
　　“我想，” 荷米恩突然说：“你是否考虑过黑魔法防御课，哈利？” “当然想过，”哈利粗暴的说：“忘得了吗，我们？有那个老巫婆来教我们——”
　　“我说的是上次罗恩和我提过的那个主意——”罗恩警惕又带点威胁地看了她一眼。
　　荷米恩对他皱了皱眉头，“——恩，好吧，我提过的那个主意，就是由你来教我们。”
　　哈利没有立刻回答。
　　他假装在仔细阅读亚洲解毒剂（Asiatic Anti-Venoms）的一页，因为他不想说出来他所想的。
　　在过去两周里他已经仔仔细细地考虑过了这个问题。有时候这看起来是个极愚蠢的主意，就象那天晚上荷米恩刚提出来时他觉得的那样，但另一方面，他不由想到当他在不同场合和黑魔王以及食死徒们遭遇的时候，那些咒语起了很大作用，事实上，他潜意识里打算去教……
　　“唔，”当再也不能假装在寻找亚洲解毒剂（Asiatic Anti-Venoms）时，他慢吞吞地说，“是的，我。。我想过一点”。
　　“然后呢？”荷米恩热切地说。
　　“我不知道，”哈利说，拖延着时间。他抬起头看着罗恩。
　　“我觉得这从一开始就是一个好主意，”罗恩说，既然已经确定哈利不会再大喊大叫了，现在他看上去更热心地加入这场讨论。
　　哈利象是不舒服似地在椅子上挪动了一下。
　　“你已经听我说过很多次了，那只是走运罢了，不是吗？”
　　“是的，哈利，”荷米恩轻声说：“但同样的，没必要装的你不擅长黑魔法防御术，你很擅长。在去年你是唯一一个能throw off the Imperius Curse的人，你能召唤来守护神（Patronus），你能做很多成年巫师也不能做的事，维特（VIKTOR）经常说—— ” 罗恩猛的转过头去看着她，动作太猛了他的脖子好象抽筋了。罗恩一边抚摩着脖子一边说：“是吗？维特说什么了？”
　　“噢，没什么，”荷米恩不耐烦的说：“他说哈利甚至能做一些他也作不到的事，要知道他已经在丹姆斯安（Durmstrang）读最后一年了。”
　　罗恩怀疑地看着荷米恩。
　　“你现在和他没联系了，是吧？”
　　“如果有联系又怎么样？”荷米恩冷冷地说，尽管她的脸有一点儿红：“我可以有一个笔友如果我——”
　　“他不仅仅想当你的笔友，”罗恩责难地说。
　　荷米恩恼火地摇了摇头，尽管罗恩依然盯着她，她不再理会罗恩，转而对哈利说：“那么，你在想什么？你会教我们吗？”
　　“只是你和罗恩，是吧？”
　　“唔，”荷米恩说，看上去又有一点紧张。“唔。。。现在，你别再控制不住自己了，哈利，求你了。。。不过我真的认为你应该教每一个想学的人。我的意思是，我们在谈的是怎么从伏地魔那里保护自己。哦，别闹情绪，罗恩。如果我们不把这个机会提供给每一个人这是不公平的。”
　　哈利考虑了一会，然后说：“好吧，但我怀疑除了你们还有没有人想跟我学，我是个疯子，记得吗？”
　　“唔，我想等知道有多少人对你将要说的话有兴趣，你会吃惊的。”荷米恩严肃地说。“那么，”她凑向罗恩——罗恩一直带着不满的表情看着她，这时也凑了上来——“你知道在十月的第一个周末我们将去霍格马得？你看如果我们告诉每个有兴趣的人，我们在村里碰面然后讨论这件事怎么样？”
　　“为什么我们必须在学校外做这件事情？”罗恩说。
　　“因为，”荷米恩回到她在摹写的中国咬人白菜（Chinese Chomping Cabbage）上，“我不认为Umbridge会很高兴，如果她知道我们想做什么的话。”
　　哈利开始盼望着这个周末到霍格马得去，但还有一件事困饶着他。自从九月初在壁炉的火中出现以后，天狼星一直没有音讯，哈利知道他们说不希望他来的话已经惹恼了他——但他仍时时担心天狼星会把谨慎扔到脑后，无论如何都要出现。如果那个大黑狗在霍格马得向他们跑来的话，甚至可能就在马尔夫的眼皮底下，那他们该怎么办呢？
　　“唔，你不应该责备他想出来或别的什么，”当哈利把担心的事和罗恩及荷米恩讨论的时候，罗恩说：“我的意思是，他已经逃亡两年多了，是吧。我知道这不会是什么好玩的事，但至少他是自由的，不是吗？可现在他却一直和那个可怕的小精灵关在一起。”
　　荷米恩怒视着罗恩，但却忽略了他对Kreacher的诬蔑。
　　“问题是，”她对哈利说：“直到伏地魔——哦，看在老天爷份上，罗恩——现身为止，天狼星不得不藏起来，不是吗？我的意思是，愚蠢的魔法部不可能认识到天狼星是清白的，除非他们承认丹伯多一直都在说真话。而一旦那些傻瓜又开始追捕真正的食死徒，很明显天狼星并不是其中之一。。。我是说，不管怎么样，他没有那个标记。”
　　“我不认为他会蠢到过来，”罗恩振奋的说：“如果他来的话，丹伯多会气疯的，而天狼星听丹伯多的，不管他爱不爱听。”
　　但哈利看上去还是很担心，荷米恩说：“听着，罗恩和我已经试探了一些可能想学些真正的黑魔法防御术的人，有几个人看上去感兴趣。我已经告诉他们在霍格马得和我们碰面。”
　　“好，”哈利含糊的说，他仍然想着天狼星的事。
　　“别担心，哈利。”荷米恩镇定地说：“即使不考虑天狼星，你也已经有太多事情要做了。”
　　她说的很对，显然，他几乎跟不上他的功课，尽管现在他不再每个晚上都被Umbridge关禁闭，已经好了很多。罗恩落下的功课比哈利还要多，因为他们都有每周两次的魁地奇练习，罗恩还要尽到级长的责任。而荷米恩尽管比他们两个选的科目都要多，却不仅作完了所有的功课，还总能挤出时间来编织更多的小精灵衣服。哈利不得不承认她已经做的好多了，现在几乎已经总能区分出帽子和袜子了。
　　去霍格马得的那天黎明，天气晴朗但是刮着风。吃完早饭，他们在费格（Filch）面前排起长队，他从一张长长的名单上核对他们的名字，那上面列着所有得到父母或监护人许可去村里的人的名字。哈利感到一点良心不安，他想到要不是天狼星，他根本就不能去。
　　当哈利排到费格面前，这个管理员狠狠的闻了闻他，就象想从哈利身上查出什么味似的，然后他简单的点了点头，又扬起了下巴，哈利走过他，踏上了寒冷而阳光普照的石头路上。
　　“恩——为什么费格要那样闻你？”当他、哈利、荷米恩轻快地走在通向大门的马路上时罗恩问道。
　　“我想他在查臭弹的味道，”哈利微笑了一下：“我忘记告诉你了。。。”
　　然后他讲了他给天狼星发信，然后几秒钟后费格冲进来，要求看那封信的事。让他有点惊讶的是，荷米恩对他说的事非常感兴趣，甚至比他自己都更有兴趣。
　　“他说他得到消息你订购了臭弹？但谁告诉他的？”
　　“我不知道，”哈利耸了耸肩说：“也许是马尔夫，他会觉得这很可笑。”
　　他们从顶上装饰着有翼兽（winged boars） 的高高的石柱中间走过，然后右转走上了通向村里的路，风把他们的头发吹进了他们的眼睛里。 “马尔夫？”荷米恩怀疑地说：“恩。。是的。。也许。。。”
　　直到进入霍格马得的一路上她都在沉思着。
　　“我们到底去哪里？”哈利问：“三把扫帚（The Three Broomsticks）？”
　　“哦——不，”荷米恩说，从沉思中醒来：“不，那里总是挤满了人，而且很吵。我已经告诉其他人在猪头（Hog's Head）和我们会合，那是另一个酒吧，你知道的，它不在大路上。我想它有点。。。你知道。。。隐蔽。。。但学生通常不会去，所以我想不会有人偷听。”
　　他们沿大路走下去，经过了佐科玩笑商店（Zonko's Wizarding Joke Shop），毫不意外地，在那里他们遇见了弗来德、乔治和李？乔丹，路过了邮局，那里的猫头鹰会定时出发，然后拐入了一条小路，在它的尽头有一个小酒馆。一个碎裂的木头招牌挂在门上方一个生锈的支架上，上面画着一个严厉的野猪头，它的血滴在周围的白布上。当他们走近时，那招牌在风中吱吱作响，他们三个在门口犹豫住了。
　　“恩，来吧，”荷米恩有点紧张地说，哈利带头走了进去。
　　这里和三把扫帚完全不同，那里的大酒吧给人一种闪亮地温暖、清洁的感觉。而猪头酒吧是一个狭小、黑暗并且非常脏的房间，闻起来有一股强烈的类似山羊的味道。酒吧的窗户上有一层厚厚的污垢，因此只有一点微弱的日光能透进来，作为替代，房里粗糙的木头桌上点着短而秃的蜡烛。地板初看起来觉得是压紧的泥地，但当哈利一走上去就知道其实是石头地面，上面好象堆积了上千年的尘垢。
　　哈利记得在第一年里哈格力提过这个酒吧：“在猪头遇到了很多有趣的家伙”他曾经这样说过，来解释他怎么样从一个蒙着头巾的陌生人那里赢得了一个龙蛋。那时哈利曾经疑惑过，对于那个陌生人始终蒙着脸，哈格力怎么不感到奇怪，现在他发觉把脸蒙起来似乎在猪头很流行。酒吧里有个男人，他整个脑袋都被肮脏的灰色绷带绑着，可他还能成功地从嘴上的一个小口子里吞下无数杯冒烟的、炽热的东西。窗边的一张桌旁坐着两个把轮廓隐藏在头巾下的人，要不是他们用很浓的约克郡口音谈着话，哈利还以为他们是摄魂怪呢。在壁炉旁一个有阴影的角落坐着一个女巫，戴着厚的、黑色的直垂到脚的面纱。他们只能看见她的鼻子尖，因为它把面纱顶的微微突出。
　　“我不知道，荷米恩，”当他们穿过酒吧时，哈利咕哝着。他尤其注意那个戴着厚面纱的女巫：“你想到那个面纱下的可能是Umbridge了吗？”
　　荷米恩打量了那个戴面纱的女巫一眼。
　　“Umbridge比她矮，”她平静地说。“而且不管怎么样，即使Umbridge来了，她也没办法阻止我们，哈利，因为我再三查过了学校的规定。我们没有犯规，我还问了弗立维 （Flitwick）教授是不是允许学生到猪头来，他说可以，但是他强烈建议我们带上自己的杯子。而且我查了我能想到的所有关于学习社团和进修小组的规定，这是完全允许的。我只是认为我们不应该张扬我们所做的事。”
　　“不该，”哈利干巴巴地说，“特别当它并不是严格意义上的所谓学习小组，不是吗？”
　　酒吧招待从里间出来，悄悄走近他们。他是一个看起来性情暴躁的老头，留着长长的灰色头发和胡子。他又高又瘦而且暧昧的看着哈利，好象很熟悉他似的。
　　“要什么？”他咕哝着。
　　“请来三杯黄油啤酒，”哈利说。
　　那人伸手到柜台底下，拿出三个非常脏、满是灰尘的瓶子，砰的一声放在吧台上。
　　“六个镰刀币，”他说。
　　“谢了，”哈利很快地说，给了他银币。酒吧招待的目光扫视着哈利，在他的伤疤上停留了几秒钟。然后转身走开了，把哈利的钱放进了一个古老的木头柜里，那个柜子的抽屉会自动滑开来收钱。罗恩和荷米恩退到离吧台最远的一张桌子坐了下来，环顾四周。那个裹着肮脏的灰色绷带的男人用指关节敲着柜台，又从酒吧招待那里拿到一杯冒烟的饮料。
　　“你知道吗？”罗恩低声说，热中地望着整个酒吧。“在这里我们可以点任何想要的东西。我打赌那个伙计会卖给我们任何东西，他才不在乎呢。我一直想尝试一下火焰威士忌（Firewhisky）——”
　　“你——是——一个级长，”荷米恩不高兴的说。
　　“哦，”罗恩的笑容褪去了。“是啊。。。”
　　“那么，你说谁要在这里和我们会面？”哈利问，使劲拧开黄油啤酒生锈的盖子，喝了一大口。
　　“就几个人，”荷米恩重复说，看了看手表，又焦急的望着门外。“我让他们大概这个时候来这里，我想他们都认识，——喔，看，那大概是他们。”
　　酒吧的门开了，一团混着微尘的阳光把房间一分为二，几秒钟后又消失了，被一群进来的人挡住了。
　　最先进拉的是纳威、Dean和Lavender，后面紧跟着Parvati、Padma Patil和（哈利的胃猛的一紧）秋以及一个一直和她在一起唧唧喳喳的女孩子，然后是（她看起来就好象在梦中偶然走进来似的）Luna Lovegood， 然后是Katie Bell、Alicia Spinnet和Angelina Johnson，Colin和Dennis Creevey、Ernie Macmillan、Justin Finch-Fletchley、Hannah Abbott，一个哈利不知道名字的留着长辫子的赫夫帕夫女孩，三个拉文克劳男孩，哈利确信他们叫Anthony Goldstein、Michael Corner和Terry Boot，金妮，一个高个子金发碧眼，长个朝天鼻的男孩紧跟着他，哈利隐约记得他是赫夫帕夫魁地奇队的一员，队伍的最后是弗来德？威斯里、乔治？威斯里和他们的朋友李？乔丹，他们三个都抱着装的满满的佐科的大纸袋。
　　“几个人，”哈利嘶哑地对荷米恩说，“几个人？”
　　“是啊，哦，这个主意看上去相当受欢迎，”荷米恩高兴地说：“罗恩，你可以再去拖几把椅子过来吗？”
　　那个酒吧招待呆住了，他正在用一块肮脏的，好象从来没洗过似的擦布擦拭一个玻璃杯，他还从没见过他的酒吧里来这么多人。
　　“好啊，”弗来德说，他第一个来到吧台边，飞快地数着同来的人，“请给我们。。。25杯黄油啤酒，可以吗？”
　　那个酒吧招待看了他一会，然后，暴躁地扔下他的擦布，好象他正在做什么重要的事而被打断了一样，他开始从柜台下取出肮脏的黄油啤酒来。
　　“干杯，”弗来德说，分发起啤酒来，“不过说起来，大伙，我没有足够的钱来付这么多。。。”
　　哈利呆呆地看着那些唧唧喳喳的人们从弗来德手里接过啤酒，并在长袍里摸索着钱币。他想象不出这么多人到这里来干什么，突然一个可怕的想法出现在他脑海里，他们也许期待着一个演讲什么的，想到这里他赶忙转向荷米恩。
　　“你跟他们说什么了？”他低声说。“他们期待什么？”
　　“我已经告诉过你了，他们只想听你将要说的，”荷米恩安慰的说。但哈利仍那样激烈的看着她，所以她很快补充说，“你不需要做任何事，我会先发言的。”
　　“嗨，哈利，”纳威说，喜气洋洋地在他对面坐下了。
　　哈利努力对他笑笑，但没说话。他的嘴里非常干。秋刚刚对他微笑并坐在罗恩的右边了。她的朋友，长着一头卷曲的红色头发，没有笑，十分怀疑地看了他一眼，那眼神很明白的表示，如果有办法的话，她才不会来这儿呢。
　　新来的人三三两两地坐在了哈利、罗恩和荷米恩周围，有些人看起来相当兴奋，还有的人很好奇，Luna Lovegood做梦似地望着上空。当所有的人都找到座位后，议论声平息了，大家都望着哈利。
　　“恩，”荷米恩说，出于紧张她的声音比平时高一点。“那么——哦——大家好。”
　　大家的注意力又转到了她身上，尽管目光仍不时的瞄着哈利。
　　“那么。。。恩。。。那么，大家都知道为什么来这里。恩。。。那么，哈利的那个主意——我是说（哈利尖锐地看了她一眼），我的那个主意——对那些想学习黑魔法防御术的人来说这可能是个好主意——我是说，真正的学习，你们知道，不是Umbridge教我们的垃圾”（荷米恩的声音突然变得更强也更自信了一点）——因为没有人能叫它黑魔法防御术——（“好哇！说得对！”Anthony Goldstein说，荷米恩看起来受到了鼓舞）——那么，我想那样会很好，如果我们，哦，把情况掌握在自己手里。”
　　她停住了，看了看旁边的哈利，接着说，“因此我打算学习怎么样正确地保护自己，不仅仅是理论上的，而是练习真正的咒语——”
　　“但是，我打赌你也想通过你黑魔法防御课的普通巫师等级考试吧？”Michael Corner说，紧盯着她。
　　“当然，”荷米恩立即说。“但更重要的，我想得到正确的防御训练，因为。。因为。。”她深吸了一口气说，“因为黑魔王伏地魔已经回来了。”
　　大家即时的反应是可预见的。秋的朋友尖叫着，把黄油啤酒溅到了身上。Terry Boot无意识地抽搐着，Padma Patil颤抖着，纳威发出了一声奇怪的喊声，他成功的把它转成了一阵咳嗽。总之，所有的人，都专注地，更加热切地看着哈利。
　　“恩。。。计划就是这样，不管怎么样”荷米恩说。“如果你想加入我们，我们需要决定怎么干——”
　　“有什么证据证明那个人回来了？”赫夫帕夫的金发魁地奇队员用一种攻击性地语调说。
　　“恩，丹伯多相信——”荷米恩开口道。
　　“你是说，丹伯多相信他，”金发男孩对哈利点了点头。
　　“你是谁？”罗恩相当粗鲁地说。
　　“Zacharias Smith，”那男孩说，“我想我们有权知道到底是什么让他认为那个人已经回来了。”
　　“看，”荷米恩很快打断他说，“这不是我们这次会议将要讨论的——”
　　“好了，荷米恩”哈利说。
　　他刚开始明白这里为什么会有这么多人。他认为荷米恩应该想到的。一些人——也许是大多数人——来是希望能听到他的第一手故事。
　　“是什么让我认为那个人回来了？”他重复说，直盯着Zacharias，“我看见了他。丹伯多告诉了全校发生了什么，如果你不相信他的话，你不必相信我，我也不会浪费一个下午来试图说服任何人。”
　　当哈利说话时，所有的人看上去都屏住了呼吸。哈利有个感觉，甚至那个酒吧招待也在听。他用那块肮脏的擦布擦着同一个玻璃杯，使它更脏了。
　　Zacharias轻视地说：“丹伯多去年只是告诉我们塞德里克•迪戈里 被那个人杀了，而你把迪戈里 的尸体带回了霍格瓦兹。他没告诉我们细节，他没说迪戈里 到底是怎么被谋杀的，我想我们都想知道——” “如果你来这里是想听到底伏地魔是怎么谋杀一个人的，我不能帮你，”哈利说。他的脾气，这些天来一直都很容易发作，这时又升了起来，他没把眼睛从Zacharias Smith挑衅的脸上挪开，并决定不去看秋。“我不想谈论塞德里克•迪戈里 ，知道吗？如果你来这里是为了这个，你最好赶快离开。” 他愤怒地往荷米恩那看了一眼，这全部，他感到，都是她的错。她决定把他当成一个怪人来展示，当然他们都会来看他的故事到底多么荒诞。但没有人离开他们的座位，连Zacharias Smith都没有，尽管他一直专心盯着哈利的脸。
　　“那么，”荷米恩说，她的音调又高了上去。“那么。。。就象我说的。。。如果你们想学防御术，那我们需要计划出我们怎么学，我们多长时间碰头一次以及我们在哪里学——”
　　“那是真的吗，”那个有褐色长辫子的女孩打断了她，看着哈利：“你能召唤守护神？”
　　人群中发出一阵感兴趣的议论声。
　　“是的，”哈利有点自卫的说。
　　“一个有形状的守护神？”
　　这句话勾起了哈利的一些记忆。
　　“恩——你不认识Bones吧，认识吗？”他问。
　　那女孩笑了。
　　“她是我姑妈，”她说，“我是Susan Bones，她跟我说了你的听证会。所以——那是真的吗？你召唤了一个牡鹿守护神？”
　　“是的，”哈利说。
　　“啊呀，哈利，”李说，看上去深受震动，“我完全不知道这个！”
　　“妈妈叫罗恩不要到处传扬这个，”弗来德说，对哈利裂嘴笑着。“她说那样会有很多人注意你。”
　　“她说的没错，”哈利说，很多人笑了。
　　那个戴面纱独自坐着的女巫在座位上稍微挪动了一点。
　　“那么你是不是用丹伯多办公室里的宝剑杀了一条蛇怪？”Terry Boot问：“这是去年我在那儿的时候，墙上的一副肖像告诉我的。。。。”
　　“恩——是的，我做过，是的，”哈利说。
　　Justin Finch-Fletchley吹了声口哨，Creevey兄弟交换了一个敬畏的眼神，Lavender Brown轻叫了一声“太绝了！”哈利感到耳根有点发热，他决然地望着其他任何地方，只要不是秋。
　　“在他一年级的时候，”纳威大声对大家说，“他保护了魔法石——”
　　“哲人之石”荷米恩订正说。
　　“是的，从那个人手里，”纳威最后说。
　　Hannah Abbott的眼睛瞪的和帆船币一样大。
　　“更别说，”秋说（哈利猛的看向她，她正微笑地看着他，他的胃里又一阵翻腾）“去年他在勇士比赛中他完成的所有任务了，通过了龙、merpeople和Acromantula还有别的。”
　　桌旁响起了一阵赞同的议论声。哈利的肠胃在蠕动着，他试着调整表情以使自己看上去不那么兴高采烈。刚才秋对他的赞扬使他曾对自己发誓要告诉他们的事变的更加、更加难以出口。
　　“瞧，”他说，大家又立刻陷入了沉静，“我。。。我不想让我听起来好象在谦虚或什么的，但是。。。我从其他人那里得到了很多帮助。。。”
　　“通过龙的时候没有，”Michael Corner立刻说。“飞过去的时候真是相当酷。。。”
　　“是啊，唔——”哈利说，感到要否认的话会是很无礼的。
　　“而且今年夏天没人帮你除掉那些摄魂怪，”Susan Bones说。
　　“不，”哈利说：“不，好吧，我知道没人帮我的时候我做了一些事，不过我想说的重点是——”
　　“你是想逃避不向我们展示什么吗？”Zacharias Smith说。
　　“我有个主意，”在哈利开口前，罗恩大声说，“你为什么不闭嘴？”
　　也许“逃
Chapter 18 Dumbledore's Army
‘Umbridge has been reading your mail, Harry. There's no other explanation.’
‘You think Umbridge attacked Hedwig?’ he said, outraged.
‘I'm almost certain of it,’ said Hermione grimly. ‘Watch your frog, it's escaping.’
Harry pointed his wand at the bullfrog that had been hopping hopefully towards the other side of the table—‘Accio!'— and it zoomed gloomily back into his hand.
Charms was always one of the best lessons in which to enjoy a private chat; there was generally so much movement and activity that the danger of being overheard was very slight. Today, with the room full of croaking bullfrogs and cawing ravens, and with a heavy downpour of rain clattering and pounding against the classroom windows, Harry, Ron and Hermione's whispered discussion about how Umbridge had nearly caught Sirius went quite unnoticed.
‘I've been suspecting this ever since Filch accused you of ordering Dungbombs, because it seemed such a stupid lie,’ Hermione whispered. ‘I mean, once your letter had been read it would have been quite clear you weren't ordering them, so you wouldn't have been in trouble at all—it's a bit of a feeble joke, isn't it? But then I thought, what if somebody just wanted an excuse to read your mail? Well then, it would be a perfect way for Umbridge to manage it —tip off Filch, let him do the dirty work and confiscate the letter, then either find a way of stealing it from him or else demand to see it—I don't think Filch would object, when's he ever stuck up for a student's rights? Harry, you're squashing your frog.’
Harry looked down; he was indeed squeezing his bullfrog so tightly its eyes were popping; he replaced it hastily upon the desk.
‘It was a very, very close call last night,’ said Hermione. ‘I just wonder if Umbridge knows how close it was. Silencio.’
The bullfrog on which she was practising her Silencing Charm was struck dumb mid-croak and glared at her reproachfully.
‘If she'd caught Snuffles—’
Harry finished the sentence for her.
‘—He'd probably be back in Azkaban this morning.’ He waved his wand without really concentrating; his bullfrog swelled like a green balloon and emitted a high-pitched whistle.
‘Silencio!’ said Hermione hastily, pointing her wand at Harry's frog, which deflated silently before them. ‘Well, he mustn't do it again, that's all. I just don't know how we're going to let him know. We can't send him an owl.’
‘I don't reckon he'll risk it again,’ said Ron. ‘He's not stupid, he knows she nearly got him. Silencio.’
The large and ugly raven in front of him let out a derisive caw.
‘Silencio. SILENCIO!’
The raven cawed more loudly.
‘It's the way you're moving your wand,’ said Hermione, watching Ron critically, ‘you don't want to wave it, it's more a sharp jab.’
‘Ravens are harder than frogs,’ said Ron through clenched teeth.
‘Fi ne, let's swap,’ said Hermione, seizing Ron's raven and replacing it with her own fat bullfrog. ‘Silencio!’ The raven continued to open and close its sharp beak, but no sound came out.
‘Very good, Miss Granger!’ said Professor Flitwick's squeaky little voice, making Harry, Ron and Hermione all jump. ‘Now, let me see you try, Mr. Weasley’
‘Wha—? Oh—oh, right,’ said Ron, very flustered. ‘Er—silencio!’
He jabbed at the bullfrog so hard he poked it in the eye: the frog gave a deafening croak and leapt off the desk.
It came as no surprise to any of them that Harry and Ron were given additional practice of the Silencing Charm for homework.
They were allowed to remain inside over break due to the downpour outside. They found seats in a noisy and overcrowded classroom on the first floor in which Peeves was floating dreamily up near the chandelier, occasionally blowing an ink pellet at the top of somebody's head. They had barely sat down when Angelina came struggling towards them through the groups of gossiping students.
‘I've got permission!’ she said. ‘To re-form the Quidditch team!’
‘Excellent!’ said Ron and Harry together.
‘Yeah,’ said Angelina, beaming. ‘I went to McGonagall and I think she might have appealed to Dumbledore. Anyway, Umbridge had to give in. Ha! So I want you down at the pitch at seven o'clock tonight, all right, because we've got to make up time. You realise we're only three weeks away from our first match?’
She squeezed away from them, narrowly dodged an ink pellet from Peeves, which hit a nearby first-year instead, and vanished from sight.
Ron's smile slipped slightly as he looked out of the window, which was now opaque with hammering rain.
‘Hope this clears up. What's up with you, Hermione?’
She, too, was gazing at the window, but not as though she really saw it. Her eyes were unfocused and there was a frown on her face.
‘Just thinking ...’ she said, still frowning at the rain-washed window.
‘About Siri— Snuffles?’ said Harry.
‘No ... not exactly ...’ said Hermione slowly. ‘More ... wondering ... I suppose we're doing the right thing ... I think ... aren't we?’
Harry and Ron looked at each other.
‘Well, that clears that up,’ said Ron. ‘It would've been really annoying if you hadn't explained yourself properly.’
Hermione looked at him as though she had only just realised he was there.
‘I was just wondering,’ she said, her voice stronger now, ‘whether we're doing the right thing, starting this Defence Against the Dark Arts group.’
‘What?’ said Harry and Ron together.
‘Hermione, it was your idea in the first place!’ said Ron indignantly.
‘I know,’ said Hermione, twisting her fingers together. ‘But after talking to Snuffles ...’
‘But he's all for it,’ said Harry.
‘Yes,’ said Hermione, staring at the window again. ‘Yes, that's what made me think maybe it wasn't a good idea after all ...’
Peeves floated over them on his stomach, peashooter at the ready; automatically all three of them lifted their bags to cover their heads until he had passed.
‘Let's get this straight,’ said Harry angrily, as they put their bags back on the floor, ‘Sirius agrees with us, so you don't think we should do it any more?’
Hermione looked tense and rather miserable. Now staring at her own hands, she said, ‘Do you honestly trust his judgement?’
‘Yes, I do!’ said Harry at once. ‘He's always given us great advice!’
An ink pellet whizzed past them, striking Katie Bell squarely in the ear. Hermione watched Katie leap to her feet and start throwing things at Peeves; it was a few moments before Hermione spoke again and it sounded as though she was choosing her words very carefully.
‘You don't think he has become ... sort of ... reckless ... since he's been cooped up in Grimmauld Place? You don't think he's ... kind of ... living through us?’
‘What d'you mean, “living through us"?’ Harry retorted.
‘I mean ... well, I think he'd love to be forming secret Defence societies right under the nose of someone from the Ministry ... I think he's really frustrated at how little he can do where he is ... so I think he's keen to kind of ... egg us on.’
Ron looked utterly perplexed.
‘Sirius is right,’ he said, ‘you do sound just like my mother.’
Hermione bit her lip and did not answer. The bell rang just as Peeves swooped down on Katie and emptied an entire ink bottle over her head.
The weather did not improve as the day wore on, so that at seven o'clock that evening, when Harry and Ron went down to the Quidditch pitch for practice, they were soaked through within minutes, their feet slipping and sliding on the sodden grass. The sky was a deep, thundery grey and it was a relief to gain the warmth and light of the changing rooms, even if they knew the respite was only temporary. They found Fred and George debating whether to use one of their own Skiving Snackboxes to get out of flying.
‘... but I bet she'd know what we'd done,’ Fred said out of the corner of his mouth. ‘If only I hadn't offered to sell her some Puking Pastilles yesterday.’
‘We could try the Fever Fudge,’ George muttered, ‘no one's seen that yet—’
‘Does it work?’ enquired Ron hopefully, as the hammering of rain on the roof intensified and wind howled around the building.
‘Well, yeah,’ said Fred, ‘your temperature'll go right up.’
‘But you get these massive pus-filled boils, too,’ said George, ‘and we haven't worked out how to get rid of them yet.’
‘I can't see any boils,’ said Ron, staring at the twins.
‘No, well, you wouldn't,’ said Fred darkly, ‘they're not in a place we generally display to the public.’
‘But they make sitting on a broom a right pain in the—’
‘All right, everyone, listen up,’ said Angelina loudly, emerging from the Captain's office. ‘I know it's not ideal weather, but there's a chance we'll be playing Slytherin in conditions like this so it's a good idea to work out how we're going to cope with them. Harry, didn't you do something to your glasses to stop the rain fogging them up when we played Hufflepuff in that storm?’
‘Hermione did it,’ said Harry. He pulled out his wand, tapped his glasses and said, ‘Impervius!’
‘I think we all ought to try that,’ said Angelina. ‘If we could just keep the rain off our faces it would really help visibility—all together, come on—Impervius!OK. Let's go.’
They all stowed their wands back in the inside pockets of their robes, shouldered their brooms and followed Angelina out of the changing rooms.
They squelched through the deepening mud to the middle of the pitch; visibility was still very poor even with the Impervius Charm; light was fading fast and curtains of rain were sweeping the grounds.
‘All right, on my whistle,’ shouted Angelina.
Harry kicked off from the ground, spraying mud in all directions, and shot upwards, the wind pulling him slightly off course.
He had no idea how he was going to see the Snitch in this weather; he was having enough difficulty seeing the one Bludger with which they were practising; a minute into the practice it almost unseated him and he had to use the Sloth Grip Roll to avoid it. Unfortunately, Angelina did not see this. In fact, she did not appear to be able to see anything; none of them had a clue what the others were doing. The wind was picking up; even at a distance Harry could hear the swishing, pounding sounds of the rain pummelling the surface of the lake.
Angelina kept them at it for nearly an hour before conceding defeat. She led her sodden and disgruntled team back into the changing rooms, insisting that the practice had not been a waste of time, though without any real conviction in her voice. Fred and George were looking particularly annoyed; both were bandy-legged and winced with every movement. Harry could hear them complaining in low voices as he towelled his hair dry.
‘I think a few of mine have ruptured,’ said Fred in a hollow voice.
‘Mine haven't,’ said George, through clenched teeth, ‘they're throbbing like mad ... feel bigger if anything.’
‘OUCH!’ said Harry.
He pressed the towel to his face, his eyes screwed tight with pain. The scar on his forehead had seared again, more painfully than it had in weeks.
‘What's up?’ said several voices.
Harry emerged from behind his towel; the changing room was blurred because he was not wearing his glasses, but he could still tell that everyone's face was turned towards him.
‘Nothing,’ he muttered, ‘I—poked myself in the eye, that's all.’
But he gave Ron a significant look and the two of them hung back as the rest of the team filed back outside, muffled in their cloaks, their hats pulled low over their ears.
‘What happened?’ said Ron, the moment Alicia had disappeared through the door. ‘Was it your scar?’
Harry nodded.
‘But ...’ looking scared, Ron strode across to the window and stared out into the rain, ‘he—he can't be near us now, can he?’
‘No,’ Harry muttered, sinking on to a bench and rubbing his forehead. ‘He's probably miles away. It hurt because ... he's ... angry.’
Harry had not meant to say that at all, and heard the words as though a stranger had spoken them—yet knew at once that they were true. He did not know how he knew it, but he did; Voldemort, wherever he was, whatever he was doing, was in a towering temper.
‘Did you see him?’ said Ron, looking horrified. ‘Did you ... get a vision, or something?’
Harry sat quite still, staring at his feet, allowing his mind and his memory to relax in the aftermath of the pain.
A confused tangle of shapes, a howling rush of voices ...
‘He wants something done, and it's not happening fast enough,’ he said.
Again, he felt surprised to hear the words coming out of his mouth, and yet was quite certain they were true.
‘But ... how do you know?’ said Ron.
Harry shook his head and covered his eyes with his hands, pressing down upon them with his palms. Little stars erupted in them. He felt Ron sit down on the bench beside him and knew Ron was staring at him.
‘Is this what it was about last time?’ said Ron in a hushed voice. ‘When your scar hurt in Umbridge's office? You-Know-Who was angry?’
Harry shook his head.
‘What is it, then?’
Harry was thinking himself back. He had been looking into Umbridge's face ... his scar had hurt ... and he had had that odd feeling in his stomach ... a strange, leaping feeling ... a happy feeling ... but of course, he had not recognised it for what it was, as he had been feeling so miserable himself ...
‘Last time, it was because he was pleased,’ he said. ‘Really pleased. He thought ... something good was going to happen. And the night before we came back to Hogwarts ...’ he thought back to the moment when his scar had hurt so badly in his and Ron's bedroom in Grimmauld Place ... he was furious.
He looked round at Ron, who was gaping at him.
‘You could take over from Trelawney, mate,’ he said in an awed voice.
‘I'm not making prophecies,’ said Harry.
‘No, you know what you're doing?’ Ron said, sounding both scared and impressed. ‘Harry, you're reading You-Know-Who's mind!’
‘No,’ said Harry, shaking his head. ‘It's more like ... his mood, I suppose. I'm just getting flashes of what mood he's in. Dumbledore said something like this was happening last year. He said that when Voldemort was near me, or when he was feeling hatred, I could tell. Well, now I'm feeling it when he's pleased, too ...’
There was a pause. The wind and rain lashed at the building.
‘You've got to tell someone,’ said Ron.
‘I told Sirius last time.’
‘Well, tell him about this time!’
‘Can't, can I?’ said Harry grimly. ‘Umbridge is watching the owls and the fires, remember?’
‘Well then, Dumbledore.’
‘I've just told you, he already knows,’ said Harry shortly, getting to his feet, taking his cloak off his peg and swinging it around him. ‘There's no point telling him again.’
Ron did up the fastening of his own cloak, watching Harry thoughtfully.
‘Dumbledore'd want to know,’ he said.
Harry shrugged.
‘C'mon ... we've still got Silencing Charms to practise.’
They hurried back through the dark grounds, sliding and stumbling up the muddy lawns, not talking. Harry was thinking hard. What was it that Voldemort wanted done that was not happening quickly enough?
‘... he's got other plans ... plans he can put into operation very quietly indeed ... stuff he can only get by stealth ... like a weapon. Something he didn't have last time.’
Harry had not thought about those words in weeks; he had been too absorbed in what was going on at Hogwarts, too busy dwelling on the ongoing battles with Umbridge, the injustice of all the Ministry interference ... but now they came back to him and made him wonder ... Voldemort's anger would make sense if he was no nearer to laying hands on the weapon, whatever it was. Had the Order thwarted him, stopped him from seizing it? Where was it kept? Who had it now?
‘Mimbulus mimbletonia,’ said Ron's voice and Harry came back to his senses just in time to clamber through the portrait hole into the common room.
It appeared that Hermione had gone to bed early, leaving Crookshanks curled in a nearby chair and an assortment of knobbly knitted elf hats lying on a table by the fire. Harry was rather grateful that she was not around, because he did not much want to discuss his scar hurting and have her urge him to go to Dumbledore, too. Ron kept throwing him anxious glances, but Harry pulled out his Charms books and set to work on finishing his essay, though he was only pretending to concentrate and by the time Ron said he was going up to bed, too, he had written hardly anything.
Midnight came and went while Harry was reading and rereading a passage about the uses of scurvy-grass, lovage and sneezewort and not taking in a word of it.
These plantes are moste efficacious in the inflaming of the braine, and are therefore much used in Confusing and Befuddlement Draughts, where the wizard is desirous of producing hot-headedness and recklessness ...
... Hermione said Sirius was becoming reckless cooped up in Grimmauld Place ...
... moste efficacious in the inflaming of the braine, and are therefore much used ...
... the Daily Prophet would think his brain was inflamed if they found out that he knew what Voldemort was feeling ...
... therefore much used in Confusing and Befuddlement Draughts ...
... confusing was the word, all right; why did he know what Voldemort was feeling? What was this weird connection between them, which Dumbledore had never been able to explain satisfactorily?
... where the wizard is desirous ...
... how Harry would like to sleep ...
... of producing hot-headedness ...
... it was warm and comfortable in his armchair before the fire, with the rain still beating heavily on the windowpanes, Crookshanks purring, and the crackling of the flames ...
The book slipped from Harry's slack grip and landed with a dull thud on the hearthrug. His head lolled sideways ...
He was walking once more along a windowless corridor, his footsteps echoing in the silence. As the door at the end of the passage loomed larger, his heart beat fast with excitement ... if he could only open it ... enter beyond ...
He stretched out his hand ... his fingertips were inches from it ...
‘Harry Potter, sir!’
He awoke with a start. The candles had all been extinguished in the common room, but there was something moving close by.
‘Whozair?’ said Harry, sitting upright in his chair. The fire was almost out, the room very dark.
‘Dobby has your owl, sir!’ said a squeaky voice.
‘Dobby?’ said Harry thickly, peering through the gloom towards the source of the voice.
Dobby the house-elf was standing beside the table on which Hermione had left half a dozen of her knitted hats. His large, pointed ears were now sticking out from beneath what looked like all the hats Hermione had ever knitted; he was wearing one on top of the other, so that his head seemed elongated by two or three feet, and on the very topmost bobble sat Hedwig, hooting serenely and obviously cured.
‘Dobby volunteered to return Harry Potter's owl,’ said the elf squeakily, with a look of positive adoration on his face, ‘Professor Grubbly-Plank says she is all well now, sir.’ He sank into a deep bow so that his pencil-like nose brushed the threadbare surface of the hearthrug and Hedwig gave an indignant hoot and fluttered on to the arm of Harry's chair.
‘Thanks, Dobby!’ said Harry, stroking Hedwig's head and blinking hard, trying to rid himself of the image of the door in his dream ... it had been very vivid. Surveying Dobby more closely, he noticed that the elf was also wearing several scarves and innumerable socks, so that his feet looked far too big for his body.
‘Er ... have you been taking all the clothes Hermione's been leaving out?’
‘Oh, no, sir,’ said Dobby happily. ‘Dobby has been taking some for Winky, too, sir.’
‘Yeah, how is Winky?’ asked Harry.
Bobby's ears drooped slightly.
‘Winky is still drinking lots, sir,’ he said sadly, his enormous round green eyes, large as tennis balls, downcast. ‘She still does not care for clothes, Harry Potter. Nor do the other house-elves. None of them will clean Gryffindor Tower any more, not with the hats and socks hidden everywhere, they finds them insulting, sir. Dobby does it all himself, sir, but Dobby does not mind, sir, for he always hopes to meet Harry Potter and tonight, sir, he has got his wish!’ Dobby sank into a deep bow again. ‘But Harry Potter does not seem happy,’ Dobby went on, straightening up again and kicking timidly at Harry. ‘Dobby heard him muttering in his sleep. Was Harry Potter having bad dreams?’
‘Not really bad,’ said Harry, yawning and rubbing his eyes. ‘I've had worse.’
The elf surveyed Harry out of his vast, orb-like eyes. Then he said very seriously, his ears drooping, ‘Dobby wishes he could help Harry Potter, for Harry Potter set Dobby free and Dobby is much, much happier now.’
Harry smiled.
‘You can't help me, Dobby, but thanks for the offer.’
He bent and picked up his Potions book. He'd have to try to finish the essay tomorrow. He closed the book and as he did so the firelight illuminated the thin white scars on the back of his hand—the result of his detentions with Umbridge ...
‘Wait a moment— there is something you can do for me, Dobby,’ said Harry slowly.
The elf looked round, beaming.
‘Name it, Harry Potter, sir!’
‘I need to find a place where twenty-eight people can practise Defence Against the Dark Arts without being discovered by any of the teachers. Especially,’ Harry clenched his hand on the book, so that the scars shone pearly white, ‘Professor Umbridge.’
He expected the elf's smile to vanish, his ears to droop; he expected him to say it was impossible, or else that he would try to find somewhere, but his hopes were not high. What he had not expected was for Dobby to give a little skip, his ears waggling cheerfully, and clap his hands together.
‘Dobby knows the perfect place, sir!’ he said happily. ‘Dobby heard tell of it from the other house-elves when he came to Hogwarts, sir. It is known by us as the Come and Go Room, sir, or else as the Room of Requirement!’
‘Why?’ said Harry curiously.
‘Because it is a room that a person can only enter,’ said Dobby seriously, ‘when they have real need of it. Sometimes it is there, and sometimes it is not, but when it appears, it is always equipped for the seeker's needs. Dobby has used it, sir,’ said the elf, dropping his voice and looking guilty, ‘when Winky has been very drunk; he has hidden her in the Room of Requirement and he has found antidotes to Butterbeer there, and a nice elf-sized bed to settle her on while she sleeps it off, sir ... and Dobby knows Mr. Filch has found extra cleaning materials there when he has run short, sir, and—’
‘And if you really needed a bathroom,’ said Harry, suddenly remembering something Dumbledore had said at the Yule Ball the previous Christmas, ‘would it fill itself with chamber pots?’
‘Dobby expects so, sir,’ said Dobby, nodding earnestly. ‘It is a most amazing room, sir.’
‘How many people know about it?’ said Harry, sitting up straight er in his chair.
‘Very few, sir. Mostly people stumbles across it when they needs it, sir, but often they never finds it again, for they do not know that it is always there waiting to be called into service, sir.’
‘It sounds brilliant,’ said Harry, his heart racing. ‘It sounds perfect, Dobby. When can you show me where it is?’
‘Any time, Harry Potter, sir,’ said Dobby, looking delighted at Harry's enthusiasm. ‘We could go now, if you like!’
For a moment Harry was tempted to go with Dobby. He was halfway out of his seat, intending to hurry upstairs for his Invisibility Cloak when, not for the first time, a voice very much like Hermione's whispered in his ear: reckless.It was, after all, very late, he was exhausted, and had Snape's essay to finish.
‘Not tonight, Dobby,’ said Harry reluctantly, sinking back into his chair. ‘This is really important ... I don't want to blow it, it'll need proper planning. Listen, can you just tell me exactly where this Room of Requirement is, and how to get in there?’
Their robes billowed and swirled around them as they splashed across the flooded vegetable patch to double Herbology where they could hardly hear what Professor Sprout was saying over the hammering of raindrops hard as hailstones on the greenhouse roof. The afternoon's Care of Magical Creatures lesson was to be relocated from the storm-swept grounds to a free classroom on the ground floor and, to their intense relief, Angelina had sought out her team at lunch to tell them that Quidditch practice was cancelled.
‘Good,’ said Harry quietly, when she. told him, ‘because we've found somewhere to have our first Defence meeting. Tonight, eight o'clock, seventh floor opposite that tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy being clubbed by those trolls. Can you tell Katie and Alicia?’
She looked slightly taken aback but promised to tell the others. Harry returned hungrily to his sausages and mash. When he looked up to take a drink of pumpkin juice, he found Hermione watching him.
‘What?’ he said thickly.
‘Well ... it's just that Dobby's plans aren't always that safe. Don't you remember when he lost you all the bones in your arm?’
‘This room isn't just some mad idea of Dobby's; Dumbledore knows about it, too, he mentioned it to me at the Yule Ball.’
Hermione's expression cleared.
‘Dumbledore told you about it?’
‘Just in passing,’ said Harry, shrugging.
‘Oh, well, that's all right then,’ said Hermione briskly and raised no more objections.
Together with Ron they had spent most of the day seeking out those people who had signed their names to the list in the Hog's Head and telling them where to meet that evening. Somewhat to Harry's disappointment, it was Ginny who managed to find Cho Chang and her friend first; however, by the end of dinner he was confident that the news had been passed to every one of the twenty-five people who had turned up in the Hog's Head.
At half past seven Harry, Ron and Hermione left the Gryffindor common room, Harry clutching a certain piece of aged parchment in his hand. Fifth-years were allowed to be out in the corridors until nine o'clock, but all three of them kept looking around nervously as they made their way along the seventh floor.
‘Hold it,’ Harry warned, unfolding the piece of parchment at the top of the last staircase, tapping it with his wand and muttering, ‘I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.’
A map of Hogwarts appeared on the blank surface of the parchment. Tiny black moving dots, labelled with names, showed where various people were.
‘Filch is on the second floor,’ said Harry, holding the map close to his eyes, ‘and Mrs. Norris is on the fourth.’
‘And Umbridge?’ said Hermione anxiously.
‘In her office,’ said Harry, pointing. ‘OK, let's go.’
They hurried along the corridor to the place Dobby had described to Harry, a stretch of blank wall opposite an enormous tapestry depicting Barnabas the Barmy's foolish attempt to train trolls for the ballet.
‘OK,’ said Harry quietly, while a moth-eaten troll paused in his relentless clubbing of the would-be ballet teacher to watch them. ‘Dobby said to walk past this bit of wall three times, concentrating hard on what we need.’
They did so, turning sharply at the window just beyond the blank stretch of wall, then at the man-sized vase on its other side. Ron had screwed up his eyes in concentration; Hermione was whispering something under her breath; Harry's fists were clenched as he stared ahead of him.
We need somewhere to learn to fight ... he thought. Just give us a place to practise ... somewhere they can't find us ...
‘Harry!’ said Hermione sharply, as they wheeled around after their third walk past.
A highly polished door had appeared in the wall. Ron was staring at it, looking slightly wary. Harry reached out, seized the brass handle, pulled open the door and led the way into a spacious room lit with flickering torches like those that illuminated the dungeons eight floors below.
The walls were lined with wooden bookcases and instead of chairs the re were large silk cushions on the floor. A set of shelves at the far end of the room carried a range of instruments such as Sneakoscopes, Secrecy Sensors and a large, cracked Foe-Glass that Harry was sure had hung, the previous year, in the fake Moody's office.
‘These will be good when we're practising Stunning,’ said Ron enthusiastically, prodding one of the cushions with his foot.
‘And just look at these books!’ said Hermione excitedly, running a finger along the spines of the large leather-bound tomes. ‘A Compendium of Common Curses and their Counter-Actions ... The Dark Arts Outsmarted ... Self-Defensive Spellwork ... wow ...’ She looked around at Harry, her face glowing, and he saw that the presence of hundreds of books had finally convinced Hermione that what they were doing was right. ‘Harry, this is wonderful, there's everything we need here!’
And without further ado she slid Jinxes for the Jinxed from its shelf, sank on to the nearest cushion and began to read.
There was a gentle knock on the door. Harry looked round. Ginny, Neville, Lavender, Parvati and Dean had arrived.
‘Whoa,’ said Dean, staring around, impressed. ‘What is this place?’
Harry began to explain, but before he had finished more people had arrived and he had to start all over again. By the time eight o'clock arrived, every cushion was occupied. Harry moved across to the door and turned the key protruding from the lock; it clicked in a satisfyingly loud way and everybody fell silent, looking at him. Hermione carefully marked her page of Jinxes for the Jinxed and set the book aside.
‘Well,’ said Harry, slightly nervously. ‘This is the place we've found for practice sessions, and you've—er—obviously found it OK.’
‘It's fantastic!’ said Cho, and several people murmured their agreement.
‘It's bizarre,’ said Fred, frowning around at it. ‘We once hid from Filch in here, remember, George? But it was just a broom cupboard then.’
‘Hey, Harry, what's this stuff?’ asked Dean from the rear of the room, indicating the Sneakoscopes and the Foe-Glass.
‘Dark detectors,’ said Harry, stepping between the cushions to reach them. ‘Basically they all show when Dark wizards or enemies are around, but you don't want to rely on them too much, they can be fooled ...’
He gazed for a moment into the cracked Foe-Glass; shadowy figures were moving around inside it, though none was recognisable. He turned his back on it.
‘Well, I've been thinking about the sort of stuff we ought to do first and—er—’ He noticed a raised hand. ‘What, Hermione?’
‘I think we ought to elect a leader,’ said Hermione.
‘Harry's leader,’ said Cho at once, looking at Hermione as though she were mad.
Harry's stomach did yet another back-flip.
‘Yes, but I think we ought to vote on it properly,’ said Hermione, unperturbed. ‘It makes it formal and it gives him authority. So—everyone who thinks Harry ought to be our leader?’
Everybody put up their hand, even Zacharias Smith, though he did it very half-heartedly.
‘Er—right, thanks,’ said Harry, who could feel his face burning. ‘And—what,Hermione?’
‘I also think we ought to have a name,’ she said brightly, her hand still in the air. ‘It would promote a feeling of team spirit and unity, don't you think?’
‘Can we be the Anti-Umbridge League?’ said Angelina hopefully.
‘Or the Ministry of Magic are Morons Group?’ suggested Fred.
‘I was thinking,’ said Hermione, frowning at Fred, ‘more of a name that didn't tell everyone what we were up to, so we can refer to it safely outside meetings.’
‘The Defence Association?’ said Cho. ‘The DA for short, so nobody knows what we're talking about?’
‘Yeah, the DA's good,’ said Ginny. ‘Only let's make it stand for Dumbledore's Army, because that's the Ministry's worst fear, isn't it?’
There was a good deal of appreciative murmuring and laughter at this.
‘All in favour of the DA?’ said Hermione bossily, kneeling up on her cushion to count. ‘That's a majority—motion passed!’
She pinned the piece of parchment with all of their signatures on it on to the wall and wrote across the top in large letters:
DUMBLEDORE'S ARMY
‘Right,’ said Harry, when she had sat down again, ‘shall we get practising then? I was thinking, the first thing we should do is Expelliarmus, you know, the Disarming Charm. I know it's pretty basic but I've found it really useful—’
‘Oh, please,’ said Zacharias Smith, rolling his eyes and folding his arms. ‘I don't think Expelliarmus is exactly going to help us against You-Know-Who, do you?’
‘I've used it against him,’ said Harry quietly. ‘It saved my life in June.’
Smith opened his mouth stupidly. The rest of the room was very quiet.
‘But if you think it's beneath you, you can leave,’ Harry said.
Smith did not move. Nor did anybody else.
‘OK,’ said Harry, his mouth slightly drier than usual with all these eyes upon him, ‘I reckon we should all divide into pairs and practise.’
It felt very odd to be issuing instructions, but not nearly as odd as seeing them followed. Everybody got to their feet at once and divided up. Predictably, Neville was left partnerless.
‘You can practise with me,’ Harry told him. ‘Right—on the count of three, then—one, two, three—’
The room was suddenly full of shouts of Expelliarmus.Wands flew in all directions; missed spells hit books on shelves and sent them flying into the air. Harry was too quick for Neville, whose wand went spinning out of his hand, hit the ceiling in a shower of sparks and landed with a clatter on top of a bookshelf, from which Harry retrieved it with a Summoning Charm. Glancing around, he thought he had been right to suggest they practise the basics first; there was a lot of shoddy spellwork going on; many people were not succeeding in Disarming their opponents at all, but merely causing them to jump backwards a few paces or wince as their feeble spell whooshed over them.
‘Expelliarmus!’ said Neville, and Harry, caught unawares, felt his wand fly out of his hand.
‘I DID IT!’ said Neville gleefully. ‘I've never done it before—I DID IT!’
‘Good one!’ said Harry encouragingly, deciding not to point out that in a real duel Neville's opponent was unlikely to be staring in the opposite direction with his wand held loosely at his side. ‘Listen, Neville, can you take it in turns to practise with Ron and Hermione for a couple of minutes so I can walk around and see how the rest are doing?’
Harry moved off into the middle of the room. Something very odd was happening to Zacharias Smith. Every time he opened his mouth to disarm Anthony Goldstein, his own wand would fly out of his hand, yet Anthony did not seem to be making a sound. Harry did not have to look far to solve the mystery: Fred and George were several feet from Smith and taking it in turns to point their wands at his back.
‘Sorry Harry,’ said George hastily, when Harry caught his eye. ‘Couldn't resist.’
Harry walked around the other pairs, trying to correct those who were doing the spell wrong. Ginny was teamed with Michael Corner; she was doing very well, whereas Michael was either very bad or unwilling to jinx her. Ernie Macmillan was flourishing his wand unnecessarily, giving his partner time to get in under his guard; the Creevey brothers were enthusiastic but erratic and mainly responsible for all the books leaping off the shelves around them; Luna Lovegood was similarly patchy, occasionally sending Justin Finch-Fletchleys wand spinning out of his hand, at other times merely causing his hair to stand on end.
‘OK, stop!’ Harry shouted. ‘Stop. STOP!’
I need a whistle, he thought, and immediately spotted one lying on top of the nearest row of books. He caught it up and blew hard. Everyone lowered their wands.
‘That wasn't bad,’ said Harry, ‘but there's definite room for improvement.’ Zacharias Smith glared at him. ‘Let's try again.’
He moved off around the room again, stopping here and there to make suggestions. Slowly, the general performance improved.
He avoided going near Cho and her friend for a while, but after walking twice around every other pair in the room felt he could not ignore them any longer.
‘Oh no,’ said Cho rather wildly as he approached. ‘Expelliarmious!I mean, Expellimellius! I—oh, sorry, Marietta!’
Her curly-haired friend's sleeve had caught fire; Marietta extinguished it with her own wand and glared at Harry as though it was his fault.
‘You made me nervous, I was doing all right before then!’ Cho told Harry ruefully.
‘That was quite good,’ Harry lied, but when she raised her eyebrows he said, ‘Well, no, it was lousy, but I know you can do it properly, I was watching from over there.’
She laughed. Her friend Marietta looked at them rather sourly and turned away.
‘Don't mind her,’ Cho muttered. ‘She doesn't really want to be here but I made her come with me. Her parents have forbidden her to do anything that might upset Umbridge. You see—her mum works for the Ministry.’
‘What about your parents?’ asked Harry.
‘Well, they've forbidden me to get on the wrong side of Umbridge, too,’ said Cho, drawing herself up proudly. ‘But if they think I'm not going to fight You-Know-Who after what happened to Cedric—’
She broke off, looking rather confused, and an awkward silence fell between them; Terry Boot's wand went whizzing past Harry's ear and hit Alicia Spinnet hard on the nose.
‘Well, my dad is very supportive of any anti-Ministry action!’ said Luna Lovegood proudly from just behind Harry; evidently she had been eavesdropping on his conversation while Justin Finch—'Fletchley attempted to disentangle himself from the robes that had flown up over his head. ‘He's always saying he'd believe anything of Fudge; I mean, the number of goblins Fudge has had assassinated! And of course he uses the Department of Mysteries to develop terrible poisons, which he secretly feeds to anybody who disagrees with him. And then there's his Umgubular Slashkilter—’
‘Don't ask,’ Harry muttered to Cho as she opened her mouth, looking puzzled. She giggled.
‘Hey, Harry,’ Hermione called from the other end of the room, ‘have you checked the time?’
He looked down at his watch and was shocked to see it was already ten past nine, which meant they needed to get back to their common rooms immediately or risk being caught and punished by Filch for being out of bounds. He blew his whistle; everybody stopped shouting ‘Expelliarmus’ and the last couple of wands clattered to the floor.
‘Well, that was pretty good,’ said Harry, ‘but we've overrun, we'd better leave it here. Same time, same place next week?’
‘Sooner!’ said Dean Thomas eagerly and many people nodded in agreement.
Angelina, however, said quickly, ‘The Quidditch season's about to start, we need team practices too!’
‘Let's say next Wednesday night, then,’ said Harry, ‘we can decide on additional meetings then. Come on, we'd better get going.’
He pulled out the Marauder's Map again and checked it carefully for signs of teachers on the seventh floor. He let them all leave in threes and fours, watching their tiny dots anxiously to see that they returned safely to their dormitories: the Hufflepuffs to the basement corridor that also led to the kitchens; the Ravenclaws to a tower on the west side of the castle, and the Gryffindors along the corridor to the Fat Lady's portrait.
‘That was really, really good, Harry,’ said Hermione, when finally it was just her, Harry and Ron who were left.
‘Yeah, it was!’ said Ron enthusiastically, as they slipped out of the door and watched it melt back into stone behind them. ‘Did you see me disarm Hermione, Harry?’
‘Only once,’ said Hermione, stung. ‘I got you loads more than you got me—’
‘I did not only get you once, I got you at least three times—’
‘Well, if you're counting the one where you tripped over your own feet and knocked the wand out of my hand—’
They argued all the way back to the common room, but Harry was not listening to them. He had one eye on the Marauder's Map, but he was also thinking of Cho saying he made her nervous.
　　“阿不莱吉读了你的邮件，哈利！这还能怎么解释呢！”
　　“所以你觉得是阿不莱吉袭击了海维？”他愤愤地说。
　　“我几乎可以肯定。”荷米恩冷冷说道，“看看你的蛙儿吧，他要逃走了。”
　　哈利拿起魔杖指着那个正在努力逃离桌子的信念坚定的牛蛙。“飞来飞去！”于是牛蛙嗖地飞了回来，跌回哈利的手心，沮丧得一塌糊涂。
　　咒语总是私人谈话中最好的话题；通常为了使被偷听的危险降至最低，人们总是要做很多保护工作，比如移来移去。然而，今天有天赐的良机：咕咕叫的牛蛙和呱呱叫的乌鸦塞满了整间屋子；屋外大雨滂沱，雨点撞击在教室的窗户上发出咚咚的声响。哈利、罗恩和荷米恩的关于阿不莱吉怎么会几乎抓到天狼星的小声谈话竟然一点也没有被注意到。
　　“我从费尔奇报告说你看不起哑炮那时候就开始怀疑了。因为这实在是个蠢极了的谎话！”荷米恩低声说着，“就是说，只要读了你的信，就会很清楚地知道你根本没有看不起他们！那么就不会有那么多麻烦找上门来！一个低级玩笑是么？但是，那个人干嘛为了看看你的信而找个借口？但是这对阿不莱吉来说却是一个不错的办法：告诉费尔奇，让他来下手没收你的信，然后想法子从他那儿偷过来，或者干脆就这样要过来看看！费尔奇绝对不会反对——他什么时候会维护一个学生的利益！噢哈利，你快要把你的蛙儿碾碎了。”
　　哈利低头一看：对噢，他的手正紧紧攥着那只牛蛙，它的眼珠子都要爆出来了。他赶紧把它丢到桌子上。
　　“昨晚真是千钧一发，”荷米恩说，“我真想知道到底阿不莱吉知不知道那有多可怕。寂静无声！”
　　那只被她用来试验“寂静无声”的牛蛙立刻哑掉了，还悻悻地瞪着她。
　　“如果她抓到了嗅鼻子……”
　　哈利接过荷米恩的话。
　　“那么很可能今天早上他就给遣送回阿兹卡班了！”他挥舞着他的魔杖，但是没有聚焦；他的牛蛙把自己鼓成了一个绿色气球，发出尖尖的哓叫声。
　　“寂静无声！”荷米恩急忙喊道。就在荷米恩的魔杖发出咒语的一瞬间，哈利的牛蛙漏了气。“好了，他不会再有下一次了，够了。我真不知道我们怎么才能让他知道。我们又不能派猫头鹰送信。”
　　“我想他不会再冒这么一次险了。”罗恩说，“他又不苯，他知道那个女人差点抓到他。寂静无声！”（荷米恩和罗恩的“他”都是前一个指哈利的牛蛙后一个指天狼星。）
　　他面前的那只又大又丑的乌鸦发出一声呱呱的嘲笑声。
　　“寂静无声！！寂静无声！！！！！！”
　　那个乌鸦叫得更开心了。
　　“你挥舞的方法不对！”荷米恩不满意地望着罗恩，“事实上你根本不是在挥舞它。这是拿它戳人！”
　　“乌鸦要比牛蛙难！”罗恩从牙缝里挤出话。
　　“好啊，那我们换换？”荷米恩一把抓过罗恩的乌鸦，然后把她的肥牛蛙丢给他。“寂静无声！”那乌鸦还在一张一合着它的尖嘴，只是什么都没叫出来。
　　“很好，格林佐小姐！”弗立维教授尖细的声音把他们吓了一跳。“现在让我来看看你做得怎样？威斯里先生？”
　　“什…什……哦…哦，好，好的。”罗恩狼狈极了。“嗯……寂静蛙声！”
　　他直戳下去差点捅破那牛蛙的眼睛；牛蛙大叫一声摔下了桌子。
　　于是毫无疑问哈利和罗恩给布置了额外的家庭作业。
　　因为雨太大了，学生们可以留在这里直到下课。教室里很嘈杂，皮皮鬼在一楼拥挤的教室里游荡，不时往某个学生的头上丢个墨水球什么的。他们三个刚坐下就看见安吉利娜正拨开扎堆儿的人群朝他们走来。
　　“我拿到许可了！”她叫道，“重开魁地奇球赛！”
　　“太棒了！”罗恩和荷米恩异口同声地说。
　　“对啊对啊！”安吉利娜容光焕发，“我去求麦格而且我想她也去求了邓布利多。反正不管怎么说，阿不莱吉得罢手了！哈哈！所以我想你们今晚七点在球场集合。是的，我们要定一下时间表。明白吗，我们离今年第一场比赛只有三个星期了！”
　　她挤出人群，躲开了皮皮鬼扔过去的墨水球，消失在视线外。那个墨水球找到了替代目标，击中一个一年级的。
　　罗恩望向窗外，脸上的笑容渐渐退去。窗外都是倾盆的大雨。
　　“希望天快点放晴……你怎么了，荷米恩？”
　　她同样正凝视着窗外，但是似乎什么也没有真正的看着。眼神很茫然，然而眉头紧琐。
　　“想想……”她说。仍然皱着眉望着雨水冲洗着窗玻璃。
　　“天狼…呃，嗅鼻子？”哈利问。
　　“不是…不完全是……”荷米恩缓缓地说，“更多些……我想知道…我觉得我们做的是对的…我想…嗯，不是么？”
　　哈利和罗恩莫名其妙地互相望了望。
　　“好了，什么乱七八糟的，”罗恩说，“你得说明白些。”
　　荷米恩回头看着罗恩，就像她刚刚发现他呆在那儿。
　　“我只是想知道，”她的语气明白了些，“我们组建这个黑魔法防御社，到底对不对？”
　　“什么？！”哈利和罗恩一齐说道。
　　“荷米恩！这一开始就是你的主意！”罗恩气愤地说。
　　“我知道，”荷米恩翘起她的手指搭在一起，“但是和嗅鼻子谈过之后…”
　　“但是他完全赞成啊！”哈利说。
　　“嗯，”荷米恩又一次凝视着窗外，“嗯，这就是我为什么开始觉得那实际上，并不是个好主意…”
　　皮皮鬼飘到了他们头上，拿着玩具枪；他们三个不约而同地举起书包挡着脑袋，一直等到他又飘走。
　　“我们要说清楚，”放下书包，哈利气愤地说，“天狼星同意了，所以你觉得我们不能干了？”
　　荷米恩看起来很紧张而且很为难。她盯着放在桌上的手说：“你们都一无反顾地相信他的决断？”
　　“是的！我！当然！”哈利马上说道，“他总是能给我们极好的建议和指示！”
　　一个墨水球绕过了他们，正好击中了卡蒂•贝尔的耳朵。荷米恩看着卡蒂跳出来开始拿东西砸皮皮鬼；她沉默着，似乎正小心地寻找适当的词。
　　“难道你不觉得他开始…有点…不计后果…就是自从他被软禁在格林玛德？你觉不觉得他…有点…造活？”
　　“什么？‘造活’？？？”哈利不喜欢她的话。
　　“我是说…嗯，我觉得他是希望我们在魔法部的人的鼻子底下建一个秘密的防御社…我想…他是对于在那儿他什么也做不成…而感到…失落所以…他在…急切地…怂恿我们。”
　　罗恩显得彻底的不知所措。
　　“天狼星是对的！”他说，“你说起话来像我妈！”
　　荷米恩咬着嘴唇没有说话。皮皮鬼刚冲下来把整整一瓶墨水倒在卡蒂的头上，下课铃响了。
　　*
　　这样的天气根本看不出时间。很快的，七点了。哈利和罗恩飞快地吃完晚饭赶到魁地奇球场做练习。他们被雨淋得浑身透湿，脚上沉甸甸的，只能在草地上滑着走。天空泛着深灰色，似乎快要打雷了。弗来德和乔治正在争论着到底要不要用他们的药箱里的东西来逃避今天的飞行。这可真是雨夜里的一剂良方，即使只是这么一刻，哈利他们还是觉得心情好多了。
　　“…但是我打赌她一定已经知道我们做的那些事了，”弗来德从嘴角挤出话，“如果我昨天没有答应卖给她那些呕吐含片就好了。”
　　“我们可以试试发热奶糖，”乔治嘀咕着，“没人见过那个。”
　　“有用么？”罗恩挺积极地问道。雨太大了，像棒槌一样打在屋顶上；风在房子周围呼啸。
　　“呃，对，”弗来德说，“你的体温会??地往上涨！”
　　“但是你也生了一堆大脓包！”乔治说，“而且我们还没有搞清楚怎么才能把它们弄掉。”
　　“脓包？在哪儿？”罗恩盯着双胞胎说。
　　“哦，这个…你当然看不到，”弗来德一副臭脸，“它们长在了一个我们…不会常常给别人看的地方。”
　　“但是当你坐上飞天扫帚…”
　　“好了，大伙儿，听着，”安吉利娜大声说，她的身影渐渐由队长室那里显现出来，“我知道这不是个理想的天气，但是它也是一个好机会！如果对斯莱特林的比赛遇到这种情况，我们就有准备了！哈利，你最好用那个上次在对赫奇帕奇的比赛中用过的咒语把你的眼镜处理处理。”
　　“哦，荷米恩教过我的。”哈利抽出魔杖，指着自己的眼镜：“防水防湿！”
　　“我想我们都得用用这个，”安吉利娜说，“我们只要不让脸上沾上那么多的水，就太不错了！来！大家一起！防水防湿！！好了，出发！”
　　他们一个个把魔杖塞进袍子的最里层的口袋，扛着飞天扫帚跟着安吉利娜走出更衣室。
　　他们淌着泥浆走到球场中央；即使施了防水咒，视线还是一片模糊；光线昏暗，大雨扫荡着球场。
　　“好吧！听我的哨声！”安吉利娜喊着说。
　　哈利用力一蹬地，泥水向四面八方飞溅开，他冲向高空，大风吹得他完全无法控制方向。
　　他根本不知道怎么去抓那个金色飞贼，看都看不见；他只能勉强看到练习用的游走球掠过；练习只一分钟他就差点摔下去，所以只好用自动操纵杆。不过，安吉利娜没看见这个。事实上，她什么也看不见；大家谁也看不见别人在做什么。风更猛烈了；哈利可以听见飕飕的摩擦声，和雨水击打在湖面上的轰轰声。
　　安吉利娜让他们这么呆了几乎整整一个小时才终于放弃。她带着她湿透的而且是怀有极大不满的球队回到更衣室，坚持强调说这绝不是浪费时间，但显然她的语气并没那么自信。弗来德和乔治看起来是最难过的；他们都夹着腿躲到后面。哈利假装擦着头发，听他们在小声抱怨着。
　　“我觉得我给撕成两半了！”弗来德万分痛苦地说。
　　“我不是这个，” 乔治紧咬着牙，“它们疯了似的抽筋…比你的还恐怖！” “啊哟！”哈利大叫一声。
　　他用毛巾捂着脸，眉毛绞在一起。他前额的伤疤又灼痛起来，比几周前的还要痛。
　　“怎么了？！”好几个声音说。
　　哈利从毛巾中抬起头；更衣室变得模糊，因为他没戴眼镜，但是他仍能看见每个人都焦急地望着他。
　　“没事，”他小声回答，“我不小心扎到眼睛了，就是这样。”
　　但是他给了罗恩一个意味深长的眼神。场外休息时间，他们俩躲在一起，用斗篷遮着，并把帽子拉得低低的。
　　“怎么回事？”当艾丽西娅也消失在门外，罗恩问道，“又是那个疤？”
　　哈利点了点头。
　　“但是…”望了望那个伤疤，罗恩大步走到窗边，看着窗外的雨，“他…他并不在附近啊，不是吗？”
　　“是啊，”哈利坐到一张长椅上，摸着他的伤疤，轻声说道，“他大概还在几公里以外呢。可能是因为他…生气了吧。”
　　哈利突然觉得奇怪，那就像是一个陌生人在告诉他一样。然而他又一下子发现的确是这样啊。他不知道自己是怎么知道的，但是他就是知道了；伏地魔，不管他在哪儿，不管他在做什么，他一定很狂躁。
　　“你看见他了？”罗恩一副惊恐的表情，“你…看见影像…或者什么了么？”
　　哈利静静地坐着，凝视着他的脚，想让思绪和回忆在剧烈的疼痛之后平静下来。
　　一切混乱，尖叫着奔跑的声音……
　　“他想完成一件什么事，但是事情进展的很慢。”他说。
　　又一次，他惊讶地发现说出了一些自己不知道的话，然后又突然发现的确是那个样子。
　　“但是…你…怎么知道的呢？”罗恩说。
　　哈利摇了摇头。他用手捂住脸，将眼睛轻轻按了按。眼睛里冒出金色的星星。他感觉到罗恩在他身边坐下，知道他正望着他。
　　“这是之后的第一次吗？”罗恩安静地说，“自从在阿不莱吉的办公室的那一次？神秘人…生气了？”
　　哈利又摇了摇头。
　　“那么是怎么回事呢？”
　　哈利回忆着。阿不莱吉的脸…他的疤疼了起来…胃里有种奇怪的感觉…一种奇异的、跳动的感觉…很愉快……但是当然，他还不明白到底那是一种什么感觉，很凄惨。
　　“最近的那次，是因为他很开心。”他说，“真的十分开心。他觉得……就要有好事发生了。还有就在我们来霍格瓦彻之前的那晚…”他回忆起在格林玛德他的疤又疼了，疼得很厉害…“他很暴躁。”
　　他转过头看着罗恩，罗恩打了个呵欠。
　　“你比特里劳妮厉害多了，伙计。”罗恩用一种充满崇拜尊敬的语气说。
　　“我不是在作预言！”哈利说。
　　“不！你知道你在做什么吗？”罗恩恐惧而又兴奋地说，“哈利！你在读神秘人的思想！！”（“读心术”）
　　“不是，”哈利摇摇头，“这个更像是……他的心情，我想。只是有他的心情这样一闪而过。邓布利多说过，去年也有这样的事。他说如果伏地魔就在附近，或者他开始憎恨什么，那么我就知道。所以，我现在有感觉，同样因为他现在很开心……”
　　一阵停顿。风和雨像鞭子一样抽打着整幢房子。
　　“你应该告诉他们！”罗恩说。
　　“我上次告诉天狼星了。”
　　“好吧，那这次也告诉他！”
　　“不行！不是么？”哈利狠狠地说，“阿不莱吉正在监视猫头鹰和壁炉，记得吗？”
　　“好吧那就，邓布利多好了。”
　　“我刚才不是说了嘛，他早就知道了。”哈利立刻说道。他把斗篷拿了下来抖了抖：“没必要再说一遍。”
　　罗恩也解开斗篷。他望着哈利，心里在想着什么。
　　“邓布利多一定想知道。”他说。
　　哈利耸耸肩。
　　“好吧…来！我们…还要练习‘寂静无声’呢。”
　　他们匆匆穿过黑暗的球场，不时滑倒在泥泞的草地上，一句话也没有说。哈利正急速地思索着。什么事是伏地魔希望发生而又没有及时发生的呢？
　　“…他另有计划…一个真正很快就能赴诸实施的计划…只能秘密行动…比如一件武器。是他上次没有得到的。”
　　哈利已经几个星期没有想过这些问题了；他把精力都放在了霍格瓦彻的事情上，为了和阿不莱吉的斗法而忙碌着，还有毫无道理的魔法部的干涉……但是现在这些问题又回来了，使他特别想知道…伏地魔的狂躁是不是意味着他要寻找新的武器？不管那是什么。凤凰令有没有阻挠到他，打乱他的计划？还有那个东西它在哪儿？在谁手里？
　　“假正经。”罗恩的声音。哈利这才回过神来，跟着罗恩通过肖像洞爬进公共休息室。（“假正经”是休息室口令）
　　荷米恩好像很早就睡觉去了，留下克鲁克山蜷缩在壁炉边的椅子上，桌上放着一堆五颜六色的粗毛线小精灵帽子。哈利真是庆幸她没在这儿，这样就不用和她说起他的疤又疼了然后她又会劝他马上去告诉邓布利多。罗恩不时担忧地望望他，于是哈利拿出咒语书开始写他的论文。但是他只是假装在那里专心致志，直到罗恩说想上楼睡觉他还没有动笔写一个字。
　　午夜来临，然后又过去。哈利把他的书读了一遍又一遍，可总是在那一段：坏血草、拉维纪草以及珠蓍的用法。并且一句都没读进去。
　　“这些植物对大脑的燃烧十分有效，因此经常被用在混乱药剂和迷失剂之中。如果你想头脑发热或者失去理智…”
　　…荷米恩说天狼星被软禁在格林玛德开始失去理智…
　　“…对大脑的燃烧十分有效，因此经常被…”
　　…预言家日报会说他的大脑被烧掉了，如果他说他能知道伏地魔的感觉…
　　“…因此经常被用在混乱药剂和迷失剂…”
　　…混乱的是讲的话，好吧；他为什么会知道伏地魔感觉到什么？而且这个邓布利多都说不清楚的神秘的关系，到底是怎么回事？
　　“…如果你想…”
　　…哈利真想睡觉…
　　“…头脑发热…”
　　…这个壁炉边上的位子真是暖和，而且舒服。雨还在敲打着窗玻璃，克鲁克山打着呼噜，火堆发出噼噼啪啪的声音…
　　书从哈利手中滑落，跌在炉前的地毯上。他的脑袋慢慢耷拉下来……
　　他又来到那个黑暗的走廊，脚步声在周围回荡。尽
Chapter 20 Hagrid's Tale
Harry sprinted up to the boys’ dormitories to fetch the Invisibility Cloak and the Marauder's Map from his trunk; he was so quick that he and Ron were ready to leave at least five minutes before Hermione hurried back down from the girls’ dormitories, wearing scarf, gloves and one of her own knobbly elf hats.
‘Well, it's cold out there!’ she said defensively, as Ron clicked his tongue impatiently.
They crept through the portrait hole and covered themselves hastily in the Cloak—Ron had grown so much he now needed to crouch to prevent his feet showing—then, moving slowly and cautiously, they proceeded down the many staircases, pausing at intervals to check on the map for signs of Filch or Mrs. Morris. They were lucky; they saw nobody but Nearly Headless Nick, who was gliding along absent-mindedly humming something that sounded horribly like ‘Weasley is our King'. They crept across the Entrance Hall and out into the silent, snowy grounds. With a great leap of his heart, Harry saw little golden squares of light ahead and smoke coiling up from Hagrid's chimney. He set off at a quick march, the other two jostling and bumping along behind him. They crunched excitedly through the thickening snow until at last they reached the wooden front door. When Harry raised his fist and knocked three times, a dog started barking frantically inside.
‘Hagrid, it's us!’ Harry called through the keyhole.
‘Shoulda known!’ said a gruff voice.
They beamed at each other under the Cloak; they could tell by Hagrid's voice that he was pleased. ‘Bin home three seconds ... out the way, Fang ... out the way, yeh dozy dog ...’
The bolt was drawn back, the door creaked open and Hagrid's head appeared in the gap.
Hermione screamed.
‘Merlin's beard, keep it down!’ said Hagrid hastily, staring wildly over their heads. ‘Under that Cloak, are yeh? Well, get in, get in!’
‘I'm sorry!’ Hermione gasped, as the three of them squeezed past Hagrid into the house and pulled the Cloak off themselves so he could see them. ‘I just—oh, Hagrid!’
‘It's nuthin', it's nuthin'!’ said Hagrid hastily, shutting the door behind them and hurrying to close all the curtains, but Hermione continued to gaze up at him in horror.
Hagrid's hair was matted with congealed blood and his left eye had been reduced to a puffy slit amid a mass of purple and black bruising. There were many cuts on his face and hands, some of them still bleeding, and he was moving gingerly, which made Harry suspect broken ribs. It was obvious that he had only just got home: a thick black travelling cloak lay over the back of a chair and a haversack large enough to carry several small children leaned against the wall inside the door. Hagrid himself, twice the size of a normal man, was now limping over to the fire and placing a copper kettle over it.
‘What happened to you?’ Harry demanded, while Fang danced around them all, trying to lick their faces.
‘Told yeh, nuthin',’ said Hagrid firmly. ‘Want a cuppa?’
‘Come off it,’ said Ron, ‘you're in a right state!’
‘I'm tellin’ yeh, I'm fine,’ said Hagrid, straightening up and turning to beam at them all, but wincing. ‘Blimey, it's good ter see yeh three again—had good summers, did yeh?’
‘Hagrid, you've been attacked!’ said Ron.
‘Fer the las’ time, it's nuthin'!’ said Hagrid firmly.
‘Would you say it was nothing if one of us turned up with a pound of mince instead of a face?’ Ron demanded.
‘You ought to go and see Madam Pomfrey, Hagrid,’ said Hermione anxiously, ‘some of those cuts look nasty.’
‘I'm dealin’ with it, all righ?’ said Hagrid repressively.
He walked across to the enormous wooden table that stood in the middle of his cabin and twitched aside a tea towel that had been lying on it. Underneath was a raw, bloody, green-tinged steak slightly larger than the average car tyre.
‘You're not going to eat that, are you, Hagrid?’ said Ron, leaning in for a closer look. ‘It looks poisonous.’
‘It's s'posed ter look like that, it's dragon meat,’ Hagrid said. ‘An’ I didn’ get it ter eat.’
He picked up the steak and slapped it over the left side of his face. Greenish blood trickled down into his beard as he gave a soft moan of satisfaction.
‘Tha's better. It helps with the stingin', yeh know.’
‘So, are you going to tell us what's happened to you?’ Harry asked.
‘Can't, Harry. Top secret. More'n me job's worth ter tell yeh that.’
‘Did the giants beat you up, Hagrid?’ asked Hermione quietly.
Hagrid's fingers slipped on the dragon steak and it slid squelchily on to his chest.
‘Giants?’ said Hagrid, catching the steak before it reached his belt and slapping it back over his face, ‘who said anythin’ abou’ giants? Who yeh bin talkin’ to? Who's told yeh what I've—who's said I've bin—eh?’
‘We guessed,’ said Hermione apologetically.
‘Oh, yeh did, did yeh?’ said Hagrid, surveying her sternly with the eye that was not hidden by the steak.
‘It was kind of ... obvious,’ said Ron. Harry nodded.
Hagrid glared at them, then snorted, threw the steak back on to the table and strode over to the kettle, which was now whistling.
‘Never known kids like you three fer knowin’ more'n yeh oughta,’ he muttered, splashing boiling water into three of his bucket-shaped mugs. ‘An’ I'm not complimentin’ yeh, neither. Nosy, some'd call it. Interferin'.’
But his beard twitched.
‘So you have been to look for giants?’ said Harry, grinning as he sat down at the table.
Hagrid set tea in front of each of them, sat down, picked up his steak again and slapped it back over his face.
‘Yeah, all righ',’ he grunted, ‘I have.’
‘And you found them?’ said Hermione in a hushed voice.
‘Well, they're not that difficult ter find, ter be honest, said Hagrid. ‘Pretty big, see.’
‘Where are they?’ said Ron.
‘Mountains,’ said Hagrid unhelpfully.
‘So why don't Muggles—?’
‘They do,’ said Hagrid darkly. ‘On'y their deaths are always put down ter mountaineerin’ accidents, aren’ they?’
He adjusted the steak a little so that it covered the worst of the bruising.
‘Come on, Hagrid, tell us what you've been up to!’ said Ron. ‘Tell us about being attacked by the giants and Harry can tell you about being attacked by the dementors—’
Hagrid choked in his mug and dropped his steak at the same time; a large quantity of spit, tea and dragon blood was sprayed over the table as Hagrid coughed and spluttered and the steak slid, with a soft splat, on to the floor.
‘Whadda yeh mean, attacked by dementors?’ growled Hagrid.
‘Didn't you know?’ Hermione asked him, wide-eyed.
‘I don’ know any thin’ that's bin happenin’ since I left. I was on a secret mission, wasn’ I, didn’ wan’ owls followin’ me all over the place—ruddy dementors! Yeh're not serious?’
‘Yeah, I am, they turned up in Little Whinging and attacked my cousin and me, and then the Ministry of Magic expelled me—’
‘WHAT?’
‘—and I had to go to a hearing and everything, but tell us about the giants first.’
‘You were expelled!’
‘Tell us about your summer and I'll tell you about mine.’
Hagrid glared at him through his one open eye. Harry looked right back, an expression of innocent determination on his face.
‘Oh, all righ',’ Hagrid said in a resigned voice.
He bent down and tugged the dragon steak out of Fang's mouth.
‘Oh, Hagrid, don't, it's not hygien—’ Hermione began, but Hagrid had already slapped the meat back over his swollen eye.
He took another fortifying gulp of tea, then said, ‘Well, we set off righ’ after term ended—’
‘Madame Maxime went with you, then?’ Hermione interjected.
‘Yeah, tha's righ',’ said Hagrid, and a softened expression appeared on the few inches of face that were not obscured by beard or green steak. ‘Yeah, it was jus’ the pair of us. An’ I'll tell yeh this, she's not afraid of roughin’ it, Olympe. Yeh know, she's a fine, well-dressed woman, an’ knowin’ where we was goin’ I wondered ‘ow she'd feel abou’ clamberin’ over boulders an’ sleepin’ in caves an’ tha', bu’ she never complained once.’
‘You knew where you were going?’ Harry repeated. ‘You knew where the giants were?’
‘Well, Durnbledore knew, an’ he told us,’ said Hagrid.
‘Are they hidden?’ asked Ron. ‘Is it a secret, where they are?’
‘Not really,’ said Hagrid, shaking his shaggy head. ‘It's jus’ that mos’ wizards aren’ bothered where they are, ‘s'long as it's a good long way away. But where they are's very difficult ter get ter, fer humans anyway, so we needed Dumbledore's instructions. Took us abou’ a month ter get there—’
‘A month?’ said Ron, as though he had never heard of a journey lasting such a ridiculously long time. ‘But—why couldn't you just grab a Portkey or something?’
There was an odd expression in Hagrid's unobscured eye as he surveyed Ron; it was almost pitying.
‘We're bein’ watched, Ron,’ he said gruffly.
‘What d'you mean?’
‘Yeh don’ understand,’ said Hagrid. ‘The Ministry's keepin’ an eye on Dumbledore an’ anyone they reckon's in league with ‘im, an'—’
‘We know about that,’ said Harry quickly, keen to hear the rest of Hagrid's story, ‘we know about the Ministry watching Dumbledore—’
‘So you couldn't use magic to get there?’ asked Ron, looking thunderstruck, ‘you had to act like Muggles all the way?’
‘Well, not exactly all the way,’ said Hagrid cagily. ‘We jus’ had ter be careful, ‘cause Olympe an’ me, we stick out a bit—’
Ron made a stifled noise somewhere between a snort and a sniff and hastily took a gulp of tea.
‘—so we're not hard ter follow. We was pretendin’ we was goin’ on holiday together, so we got inter France an’ we made like we was headin’ fer where Olympe's school is, ‘cause we knew we was bein’ tailed by someone from the Ministry. We had to go slow, ‘cause I'm not really s'posed ter use magic an’ we knew the Ministry'd be lookin’ fer a reason ter run us in. But we managed ter give the berk tailin’ us the slip round abou’ Dee-John—’
‘Ooooh, Dijon?’ said Hermione excitedly. ‘I've been there on holiday, did you see—?’
She fell silent at the look on Ron's face.
‘We chanced a bit o’ magic after that an’ it wasn’ a bad journey. Ran inter a couple o’ mad trolls on the Polish border an’ I had a sligh’ disagreement with a vampire in a pub in Minsk, bu’ apart from tha’ couldn't'a bin smoother.
‘An’ then we reached the place, an’ we started trekkin’ up through the mountains, lookin’ fer signs of ‘em ...
‘We had ter lay off the magic once we got near ‘em. Partly ‘cause they don’ like wizards an’ we didn’ want ter put their backs up too soon, an’ partly ‘cause Dumbledore had warned us You-Know-Who was bound ter be after the giants an’ all. Said it was odds on he'd sent a messenger off ter them already. Told us ter be very careful of drawin’ attention ter ourselves as we got nearer in case there was Death Eaters around.’
Hagrid paused for a long draught of tea.
‘Go on!’ said Harry urgently.
‘Found ‘em,’ said Hagrid baldly. ‘Went over a ridge one nigh’ an’ there they was, spread ou’ underneath us. Little fires burnin’ below an’ huge shadows ... it was like watchin’ bits o’ the mountain movin'.’
‘How big are they?’ asked Ron in a hushed voice.
’ ‘Bout twenty feet,’ said Hagrid casually. ‘Some o’ the bigger ones mighta bin twenty-five.’
‘And how many were there?’ asked Harry.
‘I reckon abou’ seventy or eighty,’ said Hagrid.
‘Is that all?’ said Hermione.
‘Yep,’ said Hagrid sadly, ‘eighty left, an’ there was loads once, musta bin a hundred diff'rent tribes from all over the world. Bu’ they've bin dyin’ out fer ages. Wizards killed a few, o’ course, bu’ mostly they killed each other, an’ now they're dyin’ out faster than ever. They're not made ter live bunched up together like tha'. Dumbledore says it's our fault, it was the wizards who forced ‘em to go an’ made ‘em live a good long way from us an’ they had no choice bu’ ter stick together fer their own protection.’
‘So,’ said Harry, ‘you saw them and then what?’
‘Well, we waited till morning, didn’ want ter go sneakin’ up on ‘em in the dark, fer our own safety,’ said Hagrid. ’ ‘Bout three in the mornin’ they fell asleep jus’ where they was sittin'. We didn’ dare sleep. Fer one thing, we wanted ter make sure none of ‘em woke up an’ came up where we were, an’ fer another, the snorin’ was unbelievable. Caused an avalanche near mornin'.
‘Anyway once it was light we wen’ down ter see ‘em.’
‘Just like that?’ said Ron, looking awestruck. ‘You just walked right into a giant camp?’
‘Well, Dumbledore'd told us how ter do it,’ said Hagrid. ‘Give the Gurg gifts, show some respect, yeh know.’
‘Give the what gifts?’ asked Harry.
‘Oh, the Gurg— means the chief.’
‘How could you tell which one was the Gurg?’ asked Ron.
Hagrid grunted in amusement.
‘No problem,’ he said. ‘He was the biggest, the ugliest and the laziest. Sittin’ there waitin’ ter be brought food by the others. Dead goats an’ such like. Name o’ Karkus. I'd put him at twenty-two, twenty-three feet an’ the weight o’ a couple o’ bull elephants. Skin like rhino hide an’ all.’
‘And you just walked up to him?’ said Hermione breathlessly.
‘Well ... down ter him, where he was lyin’ in the valley. They was in this dip between four pretty high mountains, see, beside a mountain lake, an’ Karkus was lyin’ by the lake roarin’ at the others ter feed him an’ his wife. Olympe an’ I went down the mountainside—’
‘But didn't they try and kill you when they saw you?’ asked Ron incredulously.
‘It was def'nitely on some o’ their minds,’ said Hagrid, shrugging, ‘but we did what Dumbledore told us ter do, which was ter hold our gift up high an’ keep our eyes on the Gurg an’ ignore the others. So tha's what we did. An’ the rest of ‘em went quiet an’ watched us pass an’ we got right up ter Karkuss leet an we bowed an’ put our present down in front o’ him.’
‘What do you give a giant?’ asked Ron eagerly. ‘Food?’
‘Nah, he can get food all righ’ fer himself,’ said Hagrid. ‘We took him magic. Giants like magic, jus’ don’ like us usin’ it against ‘em. Anyway, that firs’ day we gave ‘im a branch o’ Gubraithian fire.’
Hermione said, ‘Wow!’ softly, but Harry and Ron both frowned in puzzlement.
‘A branch of—?’
‘Everlasting fire,’ said Hermione irritably, ‘you ought to know that by now. Professor Flitwick's mentioned it at least twice in class!’
‘Well, anyway,’ said Hagrid quickly, intervening before Ron could answer back, ‘Dumbledore'd bewitched this branch to burn fer evermore, which isn’ somethin’ any wizard could do, an’ so I lies it down in the snow by Karkuss feet and says, “A gift to the Gurg of the giants from Albus Dumbledore, who sends his respectful greetings.” ’
‘And what did Karkus say?’ asked Harry eagerly.
‘Nothin',’ said Hagrid. ‘Didn’ speak English.’
‘You're kidding!’
‘Didn’ matter,’ said Hagrid imperturbably, ‘Dumbledore had warned us tha’ migh’ happen. Karkus knew enough to yell fer a couple o’ giants who knew our lingo an’ they translated fer us.’
‘And did he like the present?’ asked Ron.
‘Oh yeah, it went down a storm once they understood what it was,’ said Hagrid, turning his dragon steak over to press the cooler side to his swollen eye. ‘Very pleased. So then I said, “Albus Dumbledore asks the Gurg to speak with his messenger when he returns tomorrow with another gift.” ’
‘Why couldn't you speak to them that day?’ asked Hermione.
‘Dumbledore wanted us ter take it very slow,’ said Hagrid. ‘Let ‘em see we kept our promises. We'll come back tomorrow with another present, an’ then we do come back with another present—gives a good impression, see? An’ gives them time ter test out the firs’ present an’ fnd out it's a good one, an’ get ‘em eager fer more. In any case, giants like Karkus—overload ‘em with information an’ they'll kill yeh jus’ to simplify things. So we bowed outta the way an’ went off an’ found ourselves a nice little cave ter spend that night in an’ the followin’ mornin’ we went back an’ this time we found Karkus sittin’ up waitin’ fer us lookin’ all eager.’
‘And you talked to him?’
‘Oh yeah. Firs’ we presented him with a nice battle helmet—goblin-made an’ indestructible, yeh know—an’ then we sat down an’ we talked.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Not much,’ said Hagrid. ‘Listened mostly. Bu’ there were good signs. He'd heard o’ Dumbledore, heard he'd argued against the killin’ o’ the last giants in Britain. Karkus seemed ter be quite int'rested in what Dumbledore had ter say. An’ a few o’ the others, ‘specially the ones who had some English, they gathered round an’ listened too. We were hopeful when we left that day. Promised ter come back next mornin’ with another present.
‘Bu’ that night it all wen’ wrong.’
‘What d'you mean?’ said Ron quickly.
‘Well, like I say, they're not meant ter live together, giants,’ said Hagrid sadly. ‘Not in big groups like that. They can’ help themselves, they half kill each other every few weeks. The men fight each other an’ the women fight each other; the remnants of the old tribes fight each other, an’ that's even without squabbles over food an’ the best fires an’ sleepin’ spots. Yeh'd think, seein’ as how their whole race is abou’ finished, they'd lay off each other, bu’ ...’
Hagrid sighed deeply.
‘That night a fight broke out, we saw it from the mouth of our cave, lookin’ down on the valley. Went on fer hours, yeh wouldn’ believe the noise. An’ when the sun came up the snow was scarlet an’ his head was lyin’ at the bottom o’ the lake.’
‘Whose head?’ gasped Hermione.
‘Karkus's,’ said Hagrid heavily. ‘There was a new Gurg, Golgomath.’ He sighed deeply. ‘Well, we hadn’ bargained on a new Gurg two days after we'd made friendly contact with the firs’ one, an’ we had a funny feelin’ Golgomath wouldn’ be so keen ter listen to us, bu’ we had ter try.’
‘You went to speak to him?’ asked Ron incredulously. ‘After you'd watched him rip off another giant's head?’
‘Course we did,’ said Hagrid, ‘we hadn’ gone all that way ter give up after two days! We wen’ down with the next present we'd meant ter give ter Karkus.
‘I knew it was no go before I'd opened me mouth. He was sitting there wearin’ Karkus's helmet, leerin’ at us as we got nearer. He's massive, one o’ the biggest ones there. Black hair an’ matchin’ teeth an’ a necklace o’ bones. Human-lookin’ bones, some of ‘em. Well, I gave it a go—held out a great roll o’ dragon skin—an’ said, “A gift fer the Gurg of the giants—'” Nex’ thing I knew, I was hangin’ upside-down in the air by me feet, two of his mates had grabbed me.’
Hermione clapped her hands to her mouth.
‘How did you get out of that?’ asked Harry.
‘Wouldn'ta done if Olympe hadn’ bin there,’ said Hagrid. ‘She pulled out her wand an’ did some o’ the fastes’ spellwork I've ever seen. Ruddy marvellous. Hit the two holdin’ me right in the eyes with Conjunctivitus Curses an’ they dropped me straightaway—'bu’ we were in trouble then, ‘cause we'd used magic against ‘em, an’ that's what giants hate abou’ wizards. We had ter leg it an’ we knew there was no way we was going ter be able ter march inter the camp again.’
‘Blimey, Hagrid,’ said Ron quietly.
‘So, how come it's taken you so long to get home if you were only there for three days?’ asked Hermione.
‘We didn’ leave after three days!’ said Hagrid, looking outraged. ‘Dumbledore was relyin’ on us!’
‘But you've just said there was no way you could go back!’
‘Not by daylight we couldn', no. We just had ter rethink a bit. Spent a couple o’ days lyin’ low up in the cave an’ watchin'. An’ wha’ we saw wasn’ good.’
‘Did he rip off more heads?’ asked Hermione, sounding squeamish.
‘No,’ said Hagrid, ‘I wish he had.’
‘What d'you mean?’
‘I mean we soon found out he didn’ object ter all wizards—'just us.’
‘Death Eaters?’ said Harry quickly.
‘Yep,’ said Hagrid darkly. ‘Couple oi ‘em were visitin’ him ev'ry day, bringin’ gifts ter the Gurg, an’ he wasn’ dangling them upside-down.’
‘How d'you know they were Death Eaters?’ said Ron.
‘Because I recognised one of ‘em,’ Hagrid growled. ‘Macnair, remember him? Bloke they sent ter kill Buckbeak? Maniac, he is. Likes killin’ as much as Golgomath; no wonder they were gettin’ on so well.’
‘So Macnair's persuaded the giants to join You-Know-Who?’ said Hermione desperately.
‘Hold yer hippogriffs, I haven’ finished me story yet!’ said Hagrid indignantly, who, considering he had not wanted to tell them anything in the first place, now seemed to be rather enjoying himself. ‘Me an’ Olympe talked it over an’ we agreed, jus’ ‘cause the Gurg looked like favourin’ You-Know-Who didn’ mean all of ‘em would. We had ter try an’ persuade some o’ the others, the ones who hadn’ wanted Golgomath as Gurg.’
‘How could you tell which ones they were?’ asked Ron.
‘Well, they were the ones bein’ beaten to a pulp, weren’ they?’ said Hagrid patiently. ‘The ones with any sense were keepin’ outta Golgomath's way, hidin’ out in caves roun’ the gully jus’ like we were. So we decided we'd go pokin’ round the caves by night an’ see if we couldn’ persuade a few o’ them.’
‘You went poking around dark caves looking for giants?’ said Ron, with awed respect in his voice.
‘Well, it wasn’ the giants who worried us most,’ said Hagrid. ‘We were more concerned abou’ the Death Eaters. Dumbledore had told us before we wen’ not ter tangle with ‘em if we could avoid it, an’ the trouble was they knew we was around—'spect Golgomath told ‘em abou’ us. At night, when the giants were sleepin’ an’ we wanted ter be creepin’ inter the caves, Macnair an’ the other one were sneakin’ round the mountains lookin’ fer us. I was hard put to stop Olympe jumpin’ out at ‘em,’ said Hagrid, the corners of his mouth lifting his wild beard, ‘she was rarin’ ter attack ‘em ... she's somethin’ when she's roused, Olympe ... fiery, yeh know ...'spect it's the French in her ...’
Hagrid gazed misty-eyed into the fire. Harry allowed him thirty seconds of reminiscence before clearing his throat loudly.
‘So, what happened? Did you ever get near any of the other giants?’
‘What? Oh ... oh, yeah, we did. Yeah, on the third night after Karkus was killed we crept outta the cave we'd bin hidin’ in an’ headed back down inter the gully, keepin’ our eyes skinned fer the Death Eaters. Got inside a few o’ the caves, no go— then, in abou’ the sixth one, we found three giants hidin'.’
‘Cave must've been cramped,’ said Ron.
‘Wasn’ room ter swing a Kneazle,’ said Hagrid.
‘Didn't they attack you when they saw you?’ asked Hermione.
‘Probably woulda done if they'd bin in any condition,’ said Hagrid, ‘but they was badly hurt, all three o’ them; Golgomath's lot had beaten ‘em unconscious; they'd woken up an’ crawled inter the nearest shelter they could find. Anyway, one o’ them had a bit of English an’ ‘e translated fer the others, an’ what we had ter say didn’ seem ter go down too badly. So we kep’ goin’ back, visitin’ the wounded ... I reckon we had abou’ six or seven o’ them convinced at one poin'.’
‘Six or seven?’ said Ron eagerly. ‘Well that's not bad—are they going to come over here and start fighting You-Know-Who with us?’
But Hermione said, ‘What do you mean “at one point", Hagrid?’
Hagrid looked at her sadly.
‘Golgomath's lot raided the caves. The ones tha’ survived didn’ wan’ no more ter to do with us after that.’
‘So ... so there aren't any giants coming?’ said Ron, looking disappointed.
‘Nope,’ said Hagrid, heaving a deep sigh as he turned over his steak and applied the cooler side to his face, ‘but we did wha’ we meant ter do, we gave ‘em Dumbledore's message an’ some o’ them heard it an’ I spect some o’ them'll remember it. Jus’ maybe, them that don’ want ter stay around Golgomath'll move outta the mountains, an’ there's gotta be a chance they'll remember Dumbledore's friendly to ‘em ... could be they'll come.’
Snow was filling up the window now. Harry became aware that the knees of his robes were soaked through: Fang was drooling with his head in Harry's lap.
‘Hagrid?’ said Hermione quietly after a while.
‘Mmm?’
‘Did you ... was there any sign of ... did you hear anything about your ... your ... mother while you were there?’
Hagrids unobscured eye rested upon her and Hermione looked rather scared.
‘I'm sorry ... I ... forget it—’
‘Dead,’ Hagrid grunted. ‘Died years ago. They told me.’
‘Oh ... I'm ... I'm really sorry,’ said Hermione in a very small voice. Hagrid shrugged his massive shoulders.
‘No need,’ he said shortly. ‘Can't remember her much. Wasn’ a great mother.’
They were silent again. Hermione glanced nervously at Harry and Ron, plainly wanting them to speak.
‘But you still haven't explained how you got in this state, Hagrid,’ Ron said, gesturing towards Hagrid's bloodstained face.
‘Or why you're back so late,’ said Harry. ‘Sirius says Madame Maxime got back ages ago—’
‘Who attacked you?’ said Ron.
‘I haven’ bin attacked!’ said Hagrid emphatically. ‘I—’
But the rest of his words were drowned in a sudden outbreak of rapping on the door. Hermione gasped; her mug slipped through her fingers and smashed on the floor; Fang yelped. All four of them stared at the window beside the doorway. The shadow of somebody small and squat rippled across the thin curtain.
‘It's her!’ Ron whispered.
‘Get under here!’ Harry said quickly, seizing the Invisibility Cloak, he whirled it over himself and Hermione while Ron tore around the table and dived under the Cloak as well. Huddled together, they backed away into a corner. Fang was barking madly at the door. Hagrid looked thoroughly confused.
‘Hagrid, hide our mugs!’
Hagrid seized Harry and Ron's mugs and shoved them under the cushion in Fang's basket. Fang was now leaping up at the door; Hagrid pushed him out of the way with his foot and pulled it open.
Professor Umbridge was standing in the doorway wearing her green tweed cloak and a matching hat with earflaps. Lips pursed, she leaned back so as to see Hagrid's face; she barely reached his navel.
‘So,’ she said slowly and loudly, as though speaking to somebody deaf. ‘You're Hagrid, are you?’
Without waiting for an answer she strolled into the room, her bulging eyes rolling in every direction.
‘Get away,’ she snapped, waving her handbag at Fang, who had bounded up to her and was attempting to lick her face.
‘Er—I don’ want ter be rude,’ said Hagrid, staring at her, ‘but who the ruddy hell are you?’
‘My name is Dolores Umbridge.’
Her eyes were sweeping the cabin. Twice they stared directly into the corner where Harry stood, sandwiched between Ron and Hermione.
‘Dolores Umbridge?’ Hagrid said, sounding thoroughly confused. ‘I thought you were one o’ them Ministry—don’ you work with Fudge?’
‘I was Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, yes,’ said Umbridge, now pacing around the cabin, taking in every tiny detail within, from the haversack against the wall to the abandoned travelling cloak. ‘I am now the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher—’
‘Tha's brave of yeh,’ said Hagrid, ‘there's not many'd take tha’ job any more.’
‘—and Hogwarts High Inquisitor,’ said Umbridge, giving no sign that she had heard him.
‘Wha's that?’ said Hagrid, frowning.
‘Precisely what I was going to ask,’ said Umbridge, pointing at the broken shards of china on the floor that had been Hermione's mug.
‘Oh,’ said Hagrid, with a most unhelpful glance towards the corner where Harry, Ron and Hermione stood hidden, ‘oh, tha’ was ... was Fang. He broke a mug. So I had ter use this one instead.’
Hagrid pointed to the mug from which he had been drinking, one hand still clamped over the dragon steak pressed to his eye. Umbridge stood facing him now, taking in every detail of his appearance instead of the cabins.
‘I heard voices,’ she said quietly.
‘I was talkin’ ter Fang,’ said Hagrid stoutly.
‘And was he talking back to you?’
‘Well ... in a manner o’ speakin',’ said Hagrid, looking uncomfortable. ‘I sometimes say Fang's near enough human—’
‘There are three sets of footprints in the snow leading from the castle doors to your cabin,’ said Umbridge sleekly.
Hermione gasped; Harry clapped a hand over her mouth. Luckily, Fang was sniffing loudly around the hem of Professor Umbridge's robes and she did not appear to have heard.
‘Well, I on'y jus’ got back,’ said Hagrid, waving an enormous hand at the haversack. ‘Maybe someone came ter call earlier an’ I missed ‘em.’
‘There are no footsteps leading away from your cabin door.’
‘Well, I ... I don’ know why that'd be ...’ said Hagrid, tugging nervously at his beard and again glancing towards the corner where Harry, Ron and Hermione stood, as though asking for help. ‘Erm ...’
Umbridge wheeled round and strode the length of the cabin, looking around carefully. She bent and peered under the bed. She opened Hagrid's cupboards. She passed within two inches of where Harry, Ron and Hermione stood pressed against the wall; Harry actually pulled in his stomach as she walked by. After looking carefully inside the enormous cauldron Hagrid used for cooking, she wheeled round again and said, ‘What has happened to you? How did you sustain those injuries?’
Hagrid hastily removed the dragon steak from his face, which in Harry's opinion was a mistake, because the black and purple bruising all around his eye was now clearly visible, not to mention the large amount of fresh and congealed blood on his face. ‘Oh, I ... had a bit of an accident,’ he said lamely.
‘What sort of accident?’
‘I—I tripped.’
‘You tripped,’ she repeated coolly.
‘Yeah, tha's right. Over ... over a friends broomstick. I don’ fly, meself. Well, look at the size o’ me, I don’ reckon there's a broomstick that'd hold me. Friend o’ mine breeds Abraxan horses, I dunno if you ve ever seen em, big beasts, winged, yer know, I've had a bit of a ride on one o’ them an’ it was—’
‘Where have you been?’ asked Umbridge, cutting coolly through Hagrid's babbling.
‘Where've I—?’
‘Been, yes,’ she said. ‘Term started two months ago. Another teacher has had to cover your classes. None of your colleagues has been able to give me any information as to your whereabouts. You left no address. Where have you been?’
There was a pause in which Hagrid stared at her with his newly uncovered eye. Harry could almost hear his brain working furiously.
‘I—I've been away for me health,’ he said.
‘For your health,’ repeated Professor Umbridge. Her eyes travelled over Hagrid's discoloured and swollen face; dragon blood dripped gently and silently on to his waistcoat. ‘I see.’
‘Yeah,’ said Hagrid, ‘bit o'—o’ fresh air, yeh know—’
‘Yes, as gamekeeper fresh air must be so difficult to come by’ said Umbridge sweetly. The small patch of Hagrid's face that was not black or purple, flushed.
‘Well—change o’ scene, yeh know—’
‘Mountain scenery?’ said Umbridge swiftly.
She knows, Harry thought desperately.
‘Mountains?’ Hagrid repeated, clearly thinking fast. ‘Nope, South o’ France fer me. Bit o’ sun an’ ... an’ sea.’
‘Really?’ said Umbridge. ‘You don't have much of a tan.’
‘Yeah ... well ... sensitive skin,’ said Hagrid, attempting an ingratiating smile. Harry noticed that two of his teeth had been knocked out. Umbridge looked at him coldly; his smile faltered. Then she hoisted her handbag a little higher into the crook of her arm and said, ‘I shall, of course, be informing the Minister of your late return.’
‘Righ',’ said Hagrid, nodding.
‘You ought to know, too, that as High Inquisitor it is my unfortunate but necessary duty to inspect my fellow teachers. So I daresay we shall meet again soon enough.’
She turned sharply and marched back to the door.
‘You're inspectin’ us?’ Hagrid repeated blankly, looking after her.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Umbridge softly, looking back at him with her hand on the door handle. ‘The Ministry is determined to weed out unsatisfactory teachers, Hagrid. Goodnight.’
She left, closing the door behind her with a snap. Harry made to pull off the Invisibility Cloak but Hermione seized his wrist.
‘Not yet,’ she breathed in his ear. ‘She might not be gone yet.’
Hagrid seemed to be thinking the same way; he stumped across the room and pulled back the curtain an inch or so.
‘She's goin’ back ter the castle,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Blimey ... inspectin’ people, is she?’
‘Yeah,’ said Harry, pulling off the Cloak. ‘Trelawney's on probation already ...’
‘Um ... what sort of thing are you planning to do with us in class, Hagrid?’ asked Hermione.
‘Oh, don’ you worry abou’ that, I've got a great load o’ lessons planned,’ said Hagrid enthusiastically, scooping up his dragon steak from the table and slapping it over his eye again. ‘I've bin keepin’ a couple o’ creatures saved fer yer OWL year; you wait, they're somethin’ really special.’
‘Erm ... special in what way?’ asked Hermione tentatively.
‘I'm not sayin',’ said Hagrid happily. ‘I don’ want ter spoil the surprise.’
‘Look, Hagrid,’ said Hermione urgently, dropping all pretence, ‘Professor Umbridge won't be at all happy if you bring anything to class that's too dangerous.’
‘Dangerous?’ said Hagrid, looking genially bemused. ‘Don’ be silly, I wouldn’ give yeh anythin’ dangerous! I mean, all righ', they can look after themselves—’
‘Hagrid, you've got to pass Umbridge's inspection, and to do that it would really be better if she saw you teaching us how to look after Porlocks, how to tell the difference between Knarls and hedgehogs, stuff like that!’ said Hermione earnestly.
‘But tha's not very interestin', Hermione,’ said Hagrid. ‘The stuff I've got's much more impressive. I've bin bringin’ ‘em on fer years, I reckon I've got the on'y domestic herd in Britain.’
‘Hagrid ... please ...’ said Hermione, a note of real desperation in her voice. ‘Umbridge is looking for any excuse to get rid of teachers she thinks are too close to Dumbledore. Please, Hagrid, teach us something dull that's bound to come up in our OWL.’
But Hagrid merely yawned widely and cast a one-eyed look of longing towards the vast bed in the corner.
‘Lis'en, it's bin a long day an’ it's late,’ he said, patting Hermione gently on the shoulder, so that her knees gave way and hit the floor with a thud. ‘Oh—sorry—’ He pulled her back up by the neck of her robes. ‘Look, don’ you go worryin’ abou’ me, I promise yeh I've got really good stuff planned fer yer lessons now I'm back ... now you lot had better get back up to the castle, an’ don’ forget ter wipe yer tootprints out behind yeh!’
‘I dunno if you got through to him,’ said Ron a short while later when, having checked that the coast was clear, they walked back up to the castle through the thickening snow, leaving no trace behind them due to the Obliteration Charm Hermione was performing as they went.
‘Then I'll go back again tomorrow,’ said Hermione determinedly. ‘I'll plan his lessons for him if I have to. I don't care if she throws out Trelawney but she's not getting rid of Hagrid!’
　　哈利全速跑到男生宿舍拿出他的隐形衣和活点地图；他是如此的快以致於他和罗恩在女生宿舍门口等了五分钟，看到荷米恩带着她编织的头巾和手套！
　　看到罗恩露出不耐烦的情子，她谨慎地说：“外面可是很冷的！我们应该有充分的准备！”
　　他们匆忙的披上隐形衣爬出了肖像门洞，罗恩长高了很多，他现在不得不蹲下慢慢小心的移动才能避免他的脚碰到障碍！他们向楼下走去，不时的停下来查看活点地图，看费格和诺里斯夫人在什么地方。他们非常的幸运，除了差点没头的尼克没有遇到任何人。尼克一边飘走一边莫名其妙的说着什么“威斯里是大王”。他们走出大厅来到了外面，虽然正下着雪，但哈利看到哈格力小木屋的烟囱冒出的烟，他的心快速的跳跃着。他飞快的跑了起来，使罗恩和荷米恩在后面跌跌撞撞的跟他着跑。最后他们兴奋的踩着嘎扎嘎扎的厚雪来到了小屋的门前！当哈利用他的拳头敲了三次门后，里面传了一阵狗的狂吠声！
　　“哈格力, 是我们！”哈利大声喊道！
　　“等一下！”一个粗卤的声音说。
　　他们在斗缝下互相看着，他们从哈格力的声音中听出他非常的高兴。
　　三秒中后他们听见拔门闩的声音,门吱的一声开了，门缝中露出了哈格力的脸！
　　荷米恩尖叫了一声。
　　“我的天呀,小点声！”哈格力匆忙地说,忽忙躲来开他们的注视。 “你们是披着隐形衣对吧？好了,快进来,快来进吧！”
　　“对不起！”荷米恩气喘嘘嘘地说,紧跟着他们三个走进了哈格力的屋子。他们摘下斗蓬好让哈格力能看到他们 “我真的 - 哦,哈格力！'“是意外,意外”哈格力匆忙地说,在他们进屋之后关上了门和所有的窗, 但是荷米恩看到了他脸上惊恐的表情。 哈格力的头发被凝固的血粘在一起，他的左眼有一条肿胀的伤痕并且还有一块被打成了紫黑色。在他的脸和手上有许多处伤痕，有的还在渗血，从他小心翼翼的动作上看， 哈利怀疑他还伤到了肋骨。显然，他是刚刚到家，他黑色的大斗蓬和帆布背包正放在门后的椅子上。足有两个人大的哈格力正把一个铜荷壶放到炉子上。 “你发生了什么事？” 哈利问道, 尖牙正在他们周围乱蹦乱跳，并不断的想舔他们的脸。。 “是意外！”哈格力坚持地说。“要喝杯茶吗？”
　　“别骗人了”，罗恩说,“说实话吧！”
　　“我告诉你们了, 没事,”哈格力看着他们，并且准备给他们一个微笑，但是却畏缩的转开了脸。
　　“嗨！能够看到你们真好！真是一个愉快的夏天，对不对？”
　　“哈格力,你被袭击！”罗恩说道。
　　“我刚才就告诉你们了,是意外！”哈格力坚持地说。
　　“你认为我们会一点都看不出来，你的脸被打过吗？”罗恩说。
　　“你应该让庞弗雷夫人给你看看, 哈格力,”荷米恩担心地说,“你的伤口看来很脏！”
　　“它们不会要了我的命,没关系的”哈格力压抑地说。
　　他走到小屋中央的大木桌子旁，猛的掀开盖在上面的抹布。下面放着一块淌绿色的血像汽车轮胎那么大的牛排。
　　“哈格力，你不是要吃这个吧？”罗恩说，他靠近桌子伏下身看了看那肉，“它看起来好像有毒。”
　　“它是只看起来有毒，它是龙肉”，哈格力说。“啊，我不会吃它的！”
　　他拿起一块龙肉在他的左脸颊上轻轻的拍打着。当他发出一声满足的呻吟时，那绿色的血正沿着他的胡须往下滴。
　　“这样好多了，它们对治疗伤口很有效。”
　　“那么，你会告诉我们，你发生什么事吗？”哈利问道“不能，哈利，这是最高机密，我的工作不允许我告诉你们”
　　“是巨人打了你吗，哈格力？”荷米恩平静地问道。
　　哈格力手上的龙肉一下子掉到了他的胸口上。
　　“巨人？”哈格力说，他极快地捡起龙肉，并把它放回脸上，“谁告诉你关于巨人的事了？谁告诉你们我被巨人打了？”
　　“我们猜的”荷米恩辩解地说。
　　“哦，猜的！你们是怎么猜到的？”哈格力用没被龙肉盖着的眼睛严厉的看着她说。
　　“这很…明显”罗恩说， 哈利点头表示同意。 哈格力盯着他们，然后叹了口气，将龙肉丢回桌子上，然后走过去拿下正在嘘嘘尖叫的壶。
　　“从来没见过像你们三个那么爱管闲事的小孩。”他嘀咕着把三个杯子倒满，“可不是在夸你们。”
　　然而他的胡子却在一跳一跳的。
　　“就是说你们确实是去找巨人了？”哈利坐到桌子上，咧开嘴笑起来。
　　哈格力把杯子放到三个人面前，然后坐下，拿起龙肉又贴到脸上。
　　“对，是的。”他说，“没错。”
　　“找到他们了？”荷米恩静静地说。
　　“嗯，他们倒没那么难找，这是真的。”哈格力说，“因为很大，知道吧。”
　　“他们都在哪儿？”罗恩说。
　　“山上。”哈格力明白地说。
　　“那那些麻瓜们怎么没…？”
　　“实际上他们找到过。”哈格力说“他们常常说那些死掉的人都是因为山体滑坡之类的事故…”
　　他轻轻的把龙肉放到脸上最严重的伤口上。
　　“哈格力，告诉我们到底发生了什么事！”罗恩说，“告诉我们巨人为什么攻击你，然后让哈利告诉你关于他被摄魂怪袭击的事！”
　　哈格力手里的杯子和脸上的龙肉一下子都掉了下来，嘴里的茶水和龙血溅得桌子和地板上到处都是，他一边不停的咳嗽一边说，“你们在说什么？被摄魂怪袭击？”哈格力生气的大吼道。
　　“你没有听说吗？”荷米恩睁大眼睛问道。
　　“自从我去了离开这后就根本不知道这里发生了什么事，我在执行一个秘密的任务，也没有收到任务猫头鹰信，摄魂怪没有伤到你吧？”
　　“他们没有伤到我，一天他们在街道上出现并且要攻击我和我的表兄，我使用了魔法，魔法部想要将我驱逐出学校……”
　　“怎么会这样？”
　　“而且我必须出席听证会，告诉他们我为什么使用魔法, 别管这些了，你先告诉我们关于巨人的事吧。” “你被驱逐！”
　　“差不多是这样，你告诉我们，这个夏天你到底做了些什么，然后我再告诉你关于我的事”
　　哈利坚决地看着怒气冲冲的哈格力。
　　“哦，好吧”哈格力认命的说。
　　他伏下身子，用力的把龙肉从尖牙的嘴里抢出来。
　　“哦，哈格力，是不是发生了什么……”荷米恩首先开始发问，而哈格力却拿起龙肉在他那肿起的眼睛上开始轻拍。
　　他重新给他们三人倒上了茶水，然后说：“是的，我们在放假后就出发了……”
　　“和马克西姆夫人一起，然后呢？”荷米恩插嘴问道“是的，我们一起”哈格力回答，在那满是胡须的脸上露出了温柔的表情，“没错，当时就是我们俩。我会告诉你们的，Olympe（奥林派，马克西姆夫人的名字）她也不会介意的。你们知道，她是个不错的女人，很有品味。而且知道我们要去哪儿，从来没抱怨过那些糟糕的环境。”
　　“你们知道要去哪儿？”哈利问道“知道巨人在哪儿？”
　　“是的，丹伯多校长告诉我们的！”哈格力说“他们藏起来了对吗？”罗恩问道，“他们藏在一个没的知道的地方对不对？”
　　“并不是这样”哈格力摇了摇头回答道，“他们只是不想被其它的巫师打扰，他们一直不喜欢与人接触，所在人们很难找到他们，这是因为是样，我们在接受丹伯多校长的指令后，用了一个月的时间才找到他们。”
　　“一个月？”罗恩说，他大概没有想到这次旅程要用这么长的时间“可是，你们不是知道他们大概在什么地方吗？”
　　他开始了解哈格力的处境了，他几乎是同情地看着他。
　　“我们迷路了，罗恩”，他粗暴地说
　　“你们迷路了，怎么会呢？”
　　“你们不明白”哈格力说，“魔法部一直在监视丹伯多校长和与他有关的所有人”
　　“我们都知道这件事”哈利急于听完哈格力的经历，“我们知道魔法部在监视丹伯多校长”
　　“所以你们不敢使用魔法去那里？”罗恩吃惊地说“你们必须用其他的任何方法呀”
　　“没错，用任何方法”，哈格力小心地说，“为了不引起怀疑，我们只能慢慢的走。”
　　罗恩趁哈格力喘粗气的时候，匆忙地喝了一口茶。
　　“因为他们很容易跟踪我们，所以我们只好假装在法国旅行，使他们认为我们是要去马克西姆夫人的学校去渡假。” “我们认为有人跟踪我们，所以我们不能使用魔法，我们用了很长时间才到达第戎” “哦，第戎”荷米恩兴奋地说“我曾在那里渡假，你记得吗？”
　　当她看到罗恩脸上落默的表情后，马上不在说话了。
　　“这次旅程也不是完全糟糕的，我们偶尔也会使用一些魔法。期间我们看到澳大利亚（皇家）海军埋葬一对波兰夫妇后不停的唱歌，还有一次我们在一个酒馆里遇到一个吸血鬼，……”
　　“然后，我们达到了目的地，我们开始往山里走，看有没有巨人们留下的标志”。
　　“我们停止使用魔法，好让他们接近我们，他们不喜欢巫师，我们不想让他们从背后攻击我们，丹伯多校长警告我们，魔法部一直对巨人进行限止，他已经找人通知巨人了，他让我们必须非常小心，因为在我们去的地方附近发生过死人的案例。”
　　哈格力停下来，喝了口水。
　　“继续说呀！”哈利急切地说。
　　“我们发现了他们”哈格力坦率地说。“我们在附近仔细地找，他们在真的那，利特尔举办了一个热情的宴会招待我们，”
　　“他们有多大？”罗恩插嘴问道。
　　“大概有二十尺”哈格力不在意的说“还有一些更大的，差不多有二十五尺。”
　　“有多少人？”哈利问
　　“我计算了一下，大概七十到八十人吧”哈格力说。
　　“是全部的巨人了吗？”荷米恩问。
　　“是的，所有的”哈格力悲伤地说，“八十人，他们部落最多时有一百多人，但一些上了年纪的都死了，可能是巫师杀了他们，也可能是他们自己杀的，他们死的比以前快。丹伯多校长说那是他们自己的过失，他们曾与巫师为敌，以前他们一直友好相处，巨人们没有好很的自我保护方法。”
　　“是这样，”哈利说“你见到他们之后呢？”
　　“很好呀，我们一直等到早晨，想去和他们谈谈，他们在黄昏时才起床，当时他们正在睡觉，为了让他们起来，结果引起了一次雪崩。”
　　“无论如何，当光线进来后他们就看见我们了。”
　　“真的是这样吗？”罗恩说，他对哈格力肃然起敬“你们真的找到了巨人的部落？”
　　“是这样的，丹伯多校长告诉我们，如何与他们相处，”哈格力说“你们要送他们酋长礼物并对他们表示尊敬。”
　　“你送了什么礼物给那个酋长？”罗恩问。
　　“这很容易，”他说“一些食物和其他东西。一只非常大的死山羊，我估计他有非常的重，还有一块像是犀牛皮的兽皮。”
　　“你们和他真的走到一起了？”荷米恩有些喘不过气地说。
　　“当然了，他们在一个四周都是高山的美丽山谷之中，在山附近有一个湖，我们和他还有他的妻子。”
　　“可是，他们刚发现你们的时候，没有要杀死你们吗”罗恩怀疑地问。
　　“他们中有一些这么想”哈格力耸耸肩，“但我们照着丹伯多校长告诉我们的那样做，送给酋长礼物后，他便不理会他们了，其它巨人也就不在这么想了。”
　　“告诉你们我们是怎么做的吧，我们向他们鞠躬，并到礼物放倒他们的脚下”。
　　'但是当他们看见了你的时候 , 他们没有试而且杀你吗？'罗恩怀疑地。
　　“你给巨人什么礼物？”罗恩热心地问：“食物吗？”
　　“不，他们自己能找到任何食物，”哈格力说“我们给他们的是有魔力的东西，他们非常喜欢魔法，不是普通的魔法，是一支永远燃烧的树枝。”
　　“噢！”荷米恩非常羡慕，但哈利和罗恩却迷惑不解。
　　“那是什么？”
　　“永恒之火”荷米恩回答道“你们应该知道的，弗立维教授在上课时提到过两次呢！”
　　“没错，是那样”哈格力很快地说，使罗恩没法顶嘴。
　　“丹伯多校长给这支树施了魔法，让它永远燃烧，这可不是每个巫师都能办到的，所以当我把火把放在雪地上时，酋长表示了对丹伯多校长的尊敬和问候！”
　　“那么他说了什么？”哈利热心地问
　　“不知道”哈格力说“他说的不是英语。”
　　“你在开玩笑！”
　　“那没关系，”哈格力泰然地说“丹伯多校长告诉过我们巨人们会这么做。他们夫妇大笑了好久，但是我们听不懂巨人的语言，他们有翻译给我们听。”
　　“那么他们喜欢这份礼物吗？”罗恩问
　　“当然了，有了这个火把，他们就不怕下雨了”哈格力说，他把龙肉翻了一下个又放到肿起的眼睛上。“他们非常高兴，所以我告诉他们，丹伯多校长希望他们能有所回抱和能与他们联系。”
　　“你没跟他们说需要他们的帮助吗？”荷米恩问道“丹伯多校长让我们慢慢来，”哈格力说“让他们答应明天会回送我们礼物之后再说，然后我们再送给他们另外一个礼物给，这样好留下好印象，再让他们有时间去发现这些礼物是多么的好，巨人都特别喜欢收到更多的礼物。”
　　“如果只送简单的礼物给他们的话，他们会杀了你们的，因此我们采用了迂回的方法。那天晚上他们热心的为我们准备了一个非常舒适的洞穴让我们休息，”
　　“那么你和他们说了吗？”
　　“说了，在我们把妖精制造的永远不会损坏的钢盔送给他们之后，我和他们说了！”
　　'而且你和他说话？'
　　“他们怎么说？”
　　“不是很好”哈格力说“大部分不同意，他们听说丹伯多校长，他们认为丹伯多校长曾和英国的一些巫师参与杀死了英国最后一个巨人我们以为当我们离开的那天晚上可以得到他们的同意。”
　　“但我们错了。”
　　“这是什么意思”罗恩急切地问道
　　“就是这个意思，巨人们不愿意生活在一起”哈格力悲伤地说“他们不团结，他们不相互帮助，在没有食物的时候，他们数个星期都在互相残杀，男人杀男人，女人杀女人，老人杀老人，他们互相竞争，将对方杀死。”
　　哈格力深深地叹了一口气。
　　“那天夜晚爆发了战争，从我们休息的洞口看到了山谷里发生的一切，战争持续了好几个小时，到处都是惨叫声，地上的雪就全都染红了，他的头被扔到了湖底。”
　　“谁的头？”荷米恩喘着气问。
　　“酋长的”哈格力沉重地说“产生了新的酋长Golgomath。”他深深的叹了口气“我们用了两天时间来偿试与新的酋长修好，但他对我们并不友好。”
　　“你去了他谈话？”罗恩怀疑地问“在你看到他杀了酋长成为新酋长之后？”
　　“我必须完全我的任务”哈格力说“我们以为两天后他们会因为我们送给他们的礼物而不会与我们为敌。”
　　“在我开口前，他正坐在那里看老酋长的钢盔，他很强壮，有一头黑色的头发，带着一串用骨头做的项链，我给了他一块非常好的龙皮做为礼物，我对他说了我们的要求，结果他的两个仆人抓住了我的脚，把我倒吊起来。”
　　荷米恩用手捂住了嘴，差点尖叫。
　　“你是怎么脱险的？”哈利问道
　　“是马克西姆夫人救了我”哈格力说“她用魔棒发出咒语，打中了正在打我的两个巨人的眼睛，他们立刻放开了我。但这一下子就麻烦了，我们使用了魔法攻击他们，他们特别恨攻击他们的巫师，我们不可能再和他们谈和了，我们只能离开。”
　　“天呀！哈格力”罗恩轻轻地声。
　　“但是，你为什么这么久在回到这里呢？”荷米恩问我们没有在三天之后离开！” 哈格力说，看起来有些愤慨，“邓布里多还得靠我们呢！” “但你刚刚不是说你们已经不能回去了吗！”
　　“不，白天不行。我们只是需要重新考虑一下。花了几天时间躺在洞穴里观察，我们所见到的并不好。”
　　“它又拧下更多的脑袋？” 荷米恩恶心地问。 “没，” 哈格力说。“但是我倒是希望他那么做。” “为什么？”
　　“我是说我们很快发现，他并不拒绝所有的巫师 — 只是我们。”
　　“你是指食死徒？” 哈里很快地问道。
　　“是的，” 哈格力黑着脸说。“他们中的几个每天都来拜访，带礼物给Gurg，Gurg也不把他们倒吊起来。
　　“你怎么知道他们是食死徒呢？” 罗恩问。 “因为我认出他们其中一个，” 哈格力粗声说。“Macnair，还记得他吗？那次派来杀Buckbeak的小子？他是个，疯子。像Golgomath 一样喜欢杀人，难怪他们相处得那么好。” “所以 Macnairs 说服巨人们去加入You-know-who？”荷米恩绝望的问。
　　“暂停你的疯狂的想法，我还没说完我的故事呢！”哈格力不满的说，那个原本不打算告诉他们任何事的人，现在看起来好像很享受。“我和Olympe谈过之后觉得虽然Gurg看起来拥护You-know-who不等于所有人都同意。我们应该试着说服那些不想让Golgomath当Gurg的人。”
　　“你怎么是到那些人不拥护Golgomath呢？”罗恩问。
　　“哦，他们是被打得血肉模糊的那些，不是吗？”哈格力耐心的说。“那些有些理智的都被扔到一边，像我们一样藏在山洞和沟渠里。所以我们决定在晚上的时候刺探山洞，看看是不是能说服任何人。”
　　“你在黑暗里到处刺探巨人？”罗恩说，声音中充满敬畏与崇敬。
　　“嗯，我们当时最担心的并不是那些巨人们，”哈格力说。“我们关注的是那些食死徒们。丹伯多曾经告诉过我们最好不要和他们纠缠如果我们可以避免的话，可是麻烦就是他们知道我们在周围-想是Golgomath告诉他们的。我们想在晚上那些巨人都睡觉的时候爬近洞，Macnair那伙人在周围蹑手蹑脚的寻找我们。我勉强的阻止Olympe跳出来，”哈格力说，他的嘴角带动着周围的乱胡子上扬。“她特别渴望攻击他们，她被刺激之后很暴躁的，你知道的。我想应该是因为她的法国血统。”
　　哈格力出神的盯着火堆。给了他30秒回忆之后，哈利大声的清
Chapter 22 St. Mungo's Hosptial for Magical Maladies and Inju
Harry was so relieved she was taking him seriously that he did not hesitate, but jumped out of bed at once, pulled on his dressing gown and pushed his glasses back on to his nose.
‘Weasley, you ought to come too,’ said Professor McGonagall.
They followed Professor McGonagall past the silent figures of Neville, Dean and Seamus, out of the dormitory down the spiral stairs into the common room, through the portrait hole and off along the Fat Lady's moonlit corridor. Harry felt as though the panic inside him might spill over at any moment; he wanted to run, to yell for Dumbledore; Mr. Weasley was bleeding as they walked along so sedately and what if those fangs (Harry tried hard not to think ‘my fangs') had been poisonous? They passed Mrs. Norris, who turned her lamplike eyes upon them and hissed faintly but Professor McGonagall said, ‘Shoo!’ Mrs. Norris slunk away into the shadows, and in a few minutes they had reached the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore s office.
‘Fizzing Whizzbee,’ said Professor McGonagall.
The gargoyle sprang to life and leapt aside; the wall behind it split in two to reveal a stone staircase that was moving continually upwards like a spiral escalator. The three of them stepped on to the moving stairs; the wall closed behind them with a thud and they were moving upwards in tight circles until they reached the highly polished oak door with the brass knocker shaped like a griffin.
Though it was now well past midnight there were voices coming from inside the room, a positive babble of them. It sounded as though Dumbledore was entertaining at least a dozen people.
Professor McGonagall rapped three times with the griffin knocker and the voices ceased abruptly as though someone had switched them all off. The door opened of its own accord and Professor McGonagall led Harry and Ron inside.
The room was in half-darkness; the strange silver instruments standing on tables were silent and still rather than whirring and emitting puffs of smoke as they usually did; the portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses covering the walls were all snoozing in their frames. Behind the door, a magnificent red and gold bird the size of a swan dozed on its perch with its head under its wing.
‘Oh, it's you, Professor McGonagall ... and ... ah.’
Dumbledore was sitting in a high-backed chair behind his desk; he leaned forward into the pool of candlelight illuminating the papers laid out before him. He was wearing a magnificently embroidered purple and gold dressing gown over a snowy white nightshirt, but seemed wide-awake, his penetrating light blue eyes fixed intently upon Professor McGonagall.
‘Professor Dumbledore, Potter has had a ... well, a nightmare,’ said Professor McGonagall. ‘He says ...’
‘It wasn't a nightmare,’ said Harry quickly.
Professor McGonagall looked round at Harry, frowning slightly.
‘Very well, then, Potter, you tell the Headmaster about it.’
‘I ... well, I was asleep ...’ said Harry and, even in his terror and his desperation to make Dumbledore understand, he felt slightly irritated that the Headmaster was not looking at him, but examining his own interlocked fingers. ‘But it wasn't an ordinary dream ... it was real ... I saw it happen ...’ He took a deep breath, ‘Ron's dad—Mr. Weasley—has been attacked by a giant snake.’
The words seemed to reverberate in the air after he had said them, sounding slightly ridiculous, even comic. There was a pause in which Dumbledore leaned back and stared meditatively at the ceiling. Ron looked from Harry to Dumbledore, white-faced and shocked.
‘How did you see this?’ Dumbledore asked quietly, still not looking at Harry.
‘Well ... I don't know,’ said Harry, rather angrily—what did it matter? ‘Inside my head, I suppose—’
‘You misunderstand me,’ said Dumbledore, still in the same calm tone. ‘I mean ... can you remember—er—where you were positioned as you watched this attack happen? Were you perhaps standing beside the victim, or else looking down on the scene from above?’
This was such a curious question that Harry gaped at Dumbledore; it was almost as though he knew ...
‘I was the snake,’ he said. ‘I saw it all from the snake's point of view.’
Nobody else spoke for a moment, then Dumbledore, now looking at Ron who was still whey-faced, asked in a new and sharper voice, ‘Is Arthur seriously injured?’
‘Yes,’ said Harry emphatically—why were they all so slow on the uptake, did they not realise how much a person bled when fangs that long pierced their side? And why could Dumbledore not do him the courtesy of looking at him?
But Dumbledore stood up, so quickly it made Harry jump, and addressed one of the old portraits hanging very near the ceiling. ‘Everard?’ he said sharply. ‘And you too, Dilys!’
A sallow-faced wizard with a short black fringe and an elderly witch with long silver ringlets in the frame beside him, both of whom seemed to have been in the deepest of sleeps, opened their eyes immediately.
‘You were listening?’ said Dumbledore.
The wizard nodded; the witch said, ‘Naturally.’
‘The man has red hair and glasses,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Everard, you will need to raise the alarm, make sure he is found by the right people—’
Both nodded and moved sideways out of their frames, but instead of emerging in neighbouring pictures (as usually happened at Hogwarts) neither reappeared. One frames now contained nothing but a backdrop of dark curtain, the other a handsome leather armchair. Harry noticed that many of the other headmasters and mistresses on the walls, though snoring and drooling most convincingly, kept sneaking peeks at him from under their eyelids, and he suddenly understood who had been talking when they had knocked.
‘Everard and Dilys were two of Hogwartss most celebrated Heads,’ Dumbledore said, now sweeping around Harry, Ron and Professor McGonagall to approach the magnificent sleeping bird on his perch beside the door. ‘Their renown is such that both have portraits hanging in other important wizarding institutions. As they are free to move between their own portraits, they can tell us what may be happening elsewhere ...’
‘But Mr. Weasley could be anywhere!’ said Harry.
‘Please sit down, all three of you,’ said Dumbledore, as though Harry had not spoken, ‘Everard and Dilys may not be back for several minutes. Professor McGonagall, if you could draw up extra chairs.’
Professor McGonagall pulled her wand from the pocket of her dressing gown and waved it; three chairs appeared out of thin air, straight-backed and wooden, quite unlike the comfortable chintz armchairs that Dumbledore had conjured up at Harry's hearing. Harry sat down, watching Dumbledore over his shoulder. Dumbledore was now stroking Fawkes's plumed golden head with one finger. The phoenix awoke immediately. He stretched his beautiful head high and observed Dumbledore through bright, dark eyes.
‘We will need,’ Dumbledore said very quietly to the bird, ‘a warning.’
There was a flash of fire and the phoenix had gone.
Dumbledore now swooped down upon one of the fragile silver instruments whose function Harry had never known, carried it over to his desk, sat down facing them again and tapped it gently with the tip of his wand.
The instrument tinkled into life at once with rhythmic clinking noises. Tiny puffs of pale green smoke issued from the minuscule silver tube at the top. Dumbledore watched the smoke closely, his brow furrowed. After a few seconds, the tiny puffs became a steady stream of smoke that thickened and coiled in the air ... a serpent's head grew out of the end of it, opening its mouth wide. Harry wondered whether the instrument was confirming his story: he looked eagerly at Dumbledore for a sign that he was right, but Dumbledore did not look up.
‘Naturally, naturally,’ murmured Dumbledore apparently to himself, still observing the stream of smoke without the slightest sign of surprise. ‘But in essence divided?’
Harry could make neither head nor tail of this question. The smoke serpent, however, split itself instantly into two snakes, both coiling and undulating in the dark air. With a look of grim satisfaction, Dumbledore gave the instrument another gentle tap with his wand: the clinking noise slowed and died and the smoke serpents grew faint, became a formless haze and vanished.
Dumbledore replaced the instrument on its spindly little table. Harry saw many of the old headmasters in the portraits follow him with their eyes, then, realising that Harry was watching them, hastily pretend to be sleeping again. Harry wanted to ask what the strange silver instrument was for, but before he could do so, there was a shout from the top of the wall to their right; the wizard called Everard had reappeared in his portrait., panting slightly.
‘Dumbledore!’
‘What news?’ said Dumbledore at once.
‘I yelled until someone came running,’ said the wizard, who was mopping his brow on the curtain behind him, ‘said I'd heard something moving downstairs—they weren't sure whether to believe me but went down to check—you know there are no portraits down there to watch from. Anyway, they carried him up a few minutes later. He doesn't look good, he's covered in blood, I ran along to Elfrida Cragg's portrait to get a good view as they left—’
‘Good,’ said Dumbledore as Ron made a convulsive movement. ‘I take it Dilys will have seen him arrive, then—’
And moments later, the silver-ringleted witch had reappeared in her picture, too; she sank, coughing, into her armchair and said, ‘Yes, they've taken him to St. Mungo's, Dumbledore ... they carried him past my portrait ... he looks bad ...’
‘Thank you,’ said Dumbledore. He looked round at Professor McGonagall.
‘Minerva, I need you to go and wake the other Weasley children.’
‘Of course ...’
Professor McGonagall got up and moved swiftly to the door. Harry cast a sideways glance at Ron, who was looking terrified.
‘And Dumbledore— what about Molly?’ said Professor McGonagall, pausing at the door.
‘That will be a job for Fawkes when he has finished keeping a lookout for anybody approaching,’ said Dumbledore. ‘But she may already know ... that excellent clock of hers ...’
Harry knew Dumbledore was referring to the clock that told, not the time, but the whereabouts and conditions of the various Weasley family members, and with a pang he thought that Mr. Weasley's hand must, even now, be pointing at mortal peril.But it was very late. Mrs. Weasley was probably asleep, not watching the clock. Harry felt cold as he remembered Mrs. Weasley's boggart turning into Mr. Weasley's lifeless body, his glasses askew, blood running down his face ... but Mr. Weasley wasn't going to die ... he couldn't ...
Dumbledore was now rummaging in a cupboard behind Harry and Ron. He emerged from it carrying a blackened old kettle, which he placed carefully on his desk. He raised his wand and murmured, ‘Portus!’ For a moment the kettle trembled, glowing with an odd blue light; then it quivered to rest, as solidly black as ever.
Dumbledore marched over to another portrait, this time of a clever-looking wizard with a pointed beard, who had been painted wearing the Slytherin colours of green and silver and was apparently sleeping so deeply that he could not hear Dumbledore's voice when he attempted to rouse him.
‘Phineas. Phineas.’
The subjects of the portraits lining the room were no longer pretending to be asleep; they were shifting around in their frames, the better to watch what was happening. When the clever-looking wizard continued to feign sleep, some of them shouted his name, too.
‘Phineas! Phineas! PHINEAS!’
He could not pretend any longer; he gave a theatrical jerk and opened his eyes wide.
‘Did someone call?’
‘I need you to visit your other portrait again, Phineas,’ said Dumbledore. ‘I've got another message.’
‘Visit my other portrait?’ said Phineas in a reedy voice, giving a long, fake yawn (his eyes travelling around the room and focusing on Harry). ‘Oh, no, Dumbledore, I am too tired tonight.’
Something about Phineas's voice was familiar to Harry, where had he heard it before? But before he could think, the portraits on the surrounding walls broke into a storm of protest.
‘Insubordination, sir!’ roared a corpulent, red-nosed wizard, brandishing his fists. ‘Dereliction of duty!’
‘We are honour-bound to give service to the present Headmaster of Hogwarts!’ cried a frail-looking old wizard whom Harry recognised as Dumbledore's predecessor, Armando Dippet. ‘Sharne on you, Phineas!’
‘Shall I persuade him, Dumbledore?’ called a gimlet-eyed witch, raising an unusually thick wand that looked not unlike a birch rod.
‘Oh, very well,’ said the wizard called Phineas, eyeing the wand with mild apprehension, ‘though he may well have destroyed my picture by now, he's done away with most of the family—’
‘Sirius knows not to destroy your portrait,’ said Dumbledore, and Harry realised immediately where he had heard Phineas's voice before: issuing from the apparently empty frame in his bedroom in Grimmauld Place. ‘You are to give him the message that Arthur Weasley has been gravely injured and that his wife, children and Harry Potter will be arriving at his house shortly. Do you understand?’
‘Arthur Weasley, injured, wife and children and Harry Potter coming to stay,’ repeated Phineas in a bored voice. ‘Yes, yes ... very well ...’
He sloped away into the frame of the portrait and disappeared from view at the very moment the study door opened again. Fred, George and Ginny were ushered inside by Professor McGonagall, all three of them looking dishevelled and shocked, still in their night things.
‘Harry—what's going on?’ asked Ginny, who looked frightened. ‘Professor McGonagall says you saw Dad get hurt—’
‘Your father has been injured in the course of his work for the Order of the Phoenix,’ said Dumbledore, before Harry could speak. ‘He has been taken to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. I am sending you back to Sirius's house, which is much more convenient for the hospital than The Burrow. You will meet your mother there.’
‘How're we going?’ asked Fred, looking shaken. ‘Floo powder?’
‘No,’ said Dumbledore, ‘Floo powder is not safe at the moment, the Network is being watched. You will be taking a Portkey.’ He indicated the old kettle lying innocently on his desk. ‘We are just waiting for Phineas Nigellus to report back ... I want to be sure that the coast is clear before sending you—’
There was a flash of flame in the very middle of: the office, leaving behind a single golden feather that floated gently to the floor.
‘It is Fawkes's warning,’ said Dumbledore, catching the feather as it fell. ‘Professor Umbridge must know you're out of your beds ... Minerva, go and head her off—tell her any story—’
Professor McGonagall was gone in a swish of tartan.
‘He says he'll be delighted,’ said a bored voice behind Dumbledore; the wizard called Phineas had reappeared in front of his Slytherin banner. ‘My great-great-grandson has always had an odd taste in house-guests.’
‘Come here, then,’ Dumbledore said to Harry and the Weasleys. ‘And quickly, before anyone else joins us.’
Harry and the others gathered around Dumbledore's desk.
‘You have all used a Portkey before?’ asked Dumbledore, and they nodded, each reaching out to touch some part of the blackened kettle. ‘Good. On the count of three, then ... one ... two ...’
It happened in a fraction of a second: in the infinitesimal pause before Dumbledore said ‘three', Harry looked up at him—they were very close together—and Dumbledore's clear blue gaze moved from the Portkey to Harry's face.
At once, Harry's scar burned white-hot, as though the old wound had burst open again—and unbidden, unwanted, but terrifyingly strong, there rose within Harry a hatred so powerful he felt, for that instant, he would like nothing better than to strike—to bite—to sink his fangs into the man before him—
‘... three.’
Harry felt a powerful jerk behind his navel, the ground vanished from beneath his feet, his hand was glued to the kettle; he was banging into the others as they all sped forwards in a swirl of colours and a rush of wind, the kettle pulling them onwards ... until his feet hit the ground so hard his knees buckled, the kettle clattered to the ground, and somewhere close at hand a voice said:
‘Back again, the blood-traitor brats. Is it true their father's dying?’
‘OUT!’ roared a second voice.
Harry scrambled to his feet and looked around; they had arrived in the gloomy basement kitchen of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. The only sources of light were the fire and one guttering candle, which illuminated the remains of a solitary supper. Kreacher was disappearing through the door to the hall, looking back at them malevolently as he hitched up his loincloth; Sirius was hurrying towards them all, looking anxious. He was unshaven and still in his day clothes; there was also a slightly Mundungus-like whiff of stale drink about him.
‘What's going on?’ he said, stretching out a hand to help Ginny up. ‘Thineas Nigellus said Arthur's been badly injured—’
‘Ask Harry,’ said Fred.
‘Yeah, I want to hear this for myself,’ said George.
The twins and Ginny were staring at him. Kreacher's footsteps had stopped on the stairs outside.
‘It was—’ Harry began; this was even worse than telling McGonagall and Dumbledore. ‘I had a—a kind of—vision ...’
And he told them all that he had seen, though he altered the story so that it sounded as though he had watched from the sidelines as the snake attacked, rather than from behind the snake's own eyes. Ron, who was still very white, gave him a fleeting look, but did not speak. When Harry had finished, Fred, George and Ginny continued to stare at him for a moment. Harry did not know whether he was imagining it or not, but he fancied there was something accusatory in their looks. Well, if they were going to blame him just for seeing the attack, he was glad he had not told them that he had been inside the snake at the time.
‘Is Mum here?’ said Fred, turning to Sirius.
‘She probably doesn't even know what's happened yet,’ said Sirius. ‘The important thing was to get you away before Umbridge could interfere. I expect Dumbledore's letting Molly know now.’
‘We've got to go to St. Mungos,’ said Ginny urgently, She looked around at her brothers; they were of course still in their pyjamas. ‘Sirius, can you lend us cloaks or anything?’
‘Hang on, you can't go tearing off to St. Mungo's!’ said Sirius.
‘Course we can go to St. Mungo's if we want,’ said Fred, with a mulish expression. ‘He's our dad!’
‘And how are you going to explain how you knew Arthur was attacked before the hospital even let his wife know?’
‘What does that matter?’ said George hotly.
‘It matters because we don't want to draw attention to the fact that Harry is having visions of things that are happening hundreds of miles away!’ said Sirius angrily. ‘Have you any idea what the Ministry would make off that information?’
Fred and George looked as though they could not care less what the Ministry made of anything. Ron was still ashen-faced and silent.
Ginny said, ‘Somebody else could have told us ... we could have heard it somewhere other than Harry.’
‘Like who?’ said Sirius impatiently. ‘Listen, your dad's been hurt while on duty for the Order and the circumstances are fishy enough without his children knowing about it seconds after it happened, you could seriously damage the Order's—’
‘We don't care about the dumb Order!’ shouted Fred.
‘It's our dad dying we're talking about!’ yelled George.
‘Your father knew what he was getting into and he won't thank you for messing things up for the Order!’ said Sirius, equally angry. ‘This is how it is—this is why you're not in the Order—you don't understand—there are things worth dying for!’
‘Easy for you to say, stuck here!’ bellowed Fred. ‘I don't see you risking your neck!’
The little colour remaining in Sirius's face drained from it. He looked for a moment as though he would quite like to hit Fred, but when he spoke, it was in a voice of determined calm.
‘I know it's hard, but we've all got to act as though we don't know anything yet. We've got to stay put, at least until we hear from your mother, all right?’
Fred and George still looked mutinous. Ginny, however, took a few steps over to the nearest chair and sank into it. Harry looked at Ron, who made a funny movement somewhere between a nod and a shrug, and they sat down too. The twins glared at Sirius for another minute, then took seats either side of Ginny.
‘That's right,’ said Sirius encouragingly, ‘come on, lets all ... let's all have a drink while we're waiting. Accio Butterbeer!’
He raised his wand as he spoke and half a dozen bottles came flying towards them out of the pantry, skidded along the table, scattering the debris of Sirius's meal, and stopped neatly in front of the six of them. They all drank, and for a while the only sounds were those of the crackling of the kitchen fire and the soft thud of their bottles on the table.
Harry was only drinking to have something to do with his hands. His stomach was full of horrible hot, bubbling guilt. They would not be here if it were not for him; they would all still be asleep in bed. And it was no good telling himself that by raising the alarm he had ensured that Mr. Weasley was found, because there was also the inescapable business of it being he who had attacked Mr. Weasley in the first place.
Don't be stupid, you haven't got fangs, he told himself, trying to keep calm, though the hand on his Butterbeer bottle was shaking, you were lying in bed, you weren't attacking anyone ...
But then, what just happened in Dumbledore's office? he asked himself. I felt like I wanted to attack Dumbledore, too ...
He put the bottle down a little harder than he meant to, and it slopped over on to the table. No one took any notice. Then a burst of fire in midair illuminated the dirty plates in front of them and, as they gave cries of shock, a scroll of parchment fell with a thud on to the table, accompanied by a single golden phoenix tail feather.
‘Fawkes!’ said Sirius at once, snatching up the parchment. ‘That's not Dumbledore's writing— it must be a message from your mother—here—’
He thrust the letter into George's hand, who ripped it open and read aloud: ‘Dad is still alive. I am setting out for St. Mungo's now. Stay where you are. I will send news as soon as I can. Mum.’
George looked around the table.
‘Still alive ...’ he said slowly. ‘But that makes it sound ...’
He did not need to finish the sentence. It sounded to Harry, too, as though Mr. Weasley was hovering somewhere between life and death. Still exceptionally pale, Ron stared at the back of his mother's letter as though it might speak words of comfort to him. Fred pulled the parchment out of George's hands and read it for himself, then looked up at Harry, who felt his hand shaking on his Butterbeer bottle again and clenched it more tightly to stop the trembling.
If Harry had ever sat through a longer night than this one, he could not remember it. Sirius suggested once, without any real conviction, that they all go to bed, but the Weasleys’ looks of disgust were answer enough. They mostly sat in silence around the table, watching the candle wick sinking lower and lower into liquid wax, occasionally raising a bottle to their lips, speaking only to check the time, to wonder aloud what was happening, and to reassure each other that if there was bad news, they would know straightaway, for Mrs. Weasley must long since have arrived at St. Mungo's.
Fred fell into a doze, his head lolling sideways on to his shoulder. Ginny was curled like a cat on her chair, but her eyes were open; Harry could see them reflecting the firelight. Ron was sitting with his head in his hands, whether awake or asleep it was impossible to tell. Harry and Sirius looked at each other every so often, intruders upon the family grief, waiting ... waiting ...
At ten past five in the morning by Ron's watch, the kitchen door swung open and Mrs. Weasley entered the kitchen. She was extremely pale, but when they all turned to look at her, Fred, Ron and Harry half rising from their chairs, she gave a wan smile.
‘He's going to be all right,’ she said, her voice weak with tiredness. ‘He's sleeping. We can all go and see him later. Bill's sitting with him now; he's going to take the morning off work.’
Fred fell back into his chair with his hands over his face. George and Ginny got up, walked swiftly over to their mother and hugged her. Ron gave a very shaky laugh and downed the rest of his Butterbeer in one.
‘Breakfast!’ said Sirius loudly and joyfully, jumping to his feet. ‘Where's that accursed house-elf? Kreacher! KREACHER!’
But Kreacher did not answer the summons.
‘Oh, forget it, then,’ muttered Sirius, counting the people in front of him. ‘So, it's breakfast for—let's see—seven ... bacon and eggs, I think, and some tea, and toast—’
Harry hurried over to the stove to help. He did not want to intrude on the Weasleys’ happiness and he dreaded the moment when Mrs. Weasley would ask him to recount his vision. However, he had barely taken plates from the dresser when Mrs Weasley lifted them out of his hands and pulled him into a hug.
‘I don't know what would have happened if it hadn't been for you, Harry’ she said in a muffled voice. ‘They might not have found Arthur for hours, and then it would have been too late, but thanks to you he's alive and Dumbledore's been able to think up a good cover story for Arthur being where he was, you've no idea what trouble he would have been in otherwise, look at poor Sturgis ...’
Harry could hardly bear her gratitude, but fortunately she soon released him to turn to Sirius and thank him for looking after her children through the night. Sirius said he was very pleased to have been able to help, and hoped they would all stay with him as long as Mr. Weasley was in hospital.
‘Oh, Sirius, I'm so grateful ... they think he'll be there a little while and it would be wonderful to be nearer ... of course, that might mean we're here for Christmas.’
‘The more the merrier!’ said Sirius with such obvious sincerity that Mrs. Weasley beamed at him, threw on an apron and began to help with breakfast.
‘Sirius,’ Harry muttered, unable to stand it a moment longer. ‘Can I have a quick word? Er— now?’
He walked into the dark pantry and Sirius followed. Without preamble, Harry told his godfather every detail of the vision he had had, including the fact that he himself had been the snake who had attacked Mr. Weasley.
When he paused for breath, Sirius said, ‘Did you tell Dumbledore this?’
‘Yes,’ said Harry impatiently,’ but he didn't tell me what it meant. Well, he doesn't tell me anything any more.’
‘I ‘m sure he would have told you if it was anything to worry about,’ said Sirius steadily.
‘But that's not all,’ said Harry, in a voice only a little above a whisper. ‘Sirius, I ... I think I'm going mad. Back in Dumbledore's office, just before we took the Portkey ... for a couple of seconds there I thought I was a snake, I felt like one—my scar really hurt when I was looking at Dumbledore—Sirius, I wanted to attack him!’
He could only see a sliver of Sirius's face; the rest was in darkness.
‘It must have been the aftermath of the vision, that's all,’ said Sirius. ‘You were still thinking of the dream or whatever it was and—’
‘It wasn't that,’ said Harry, shaking his head, ‘it was like something rose up inside me, like there's a snake inside me.’
‘You need to sleep,’ said Sirius firmly. ‘You're going to have breakfast, then go upstairs to bed, and after lunch you can go and see Arthur with the others. You're in shock, Harry; you're blaming yourself for something you only witnessed, and it's lucky you did witness it or Arthur might have died. Just stop worrying.’
He clapped Harry on the shoulder and left the pantry, leaving Harry standing alone in the dark.
Everyone but Harry spent the rest of the morning sleeping. He went up to the bedroom he and Ron had shared over the last few weeks of summer, but while Ron crawled into bed and was asleep within minutes, Harry sat fully clothed, hunched against the cold metal bars of the bedstead, keeping himself deliberately uncomfortable, determined not to fall into a doze, terrified that he might become the serpent again in his sleep and wake to find that he had attacked Ron, or else slithered through the house after one of the others ...
When Ron woke up, Harry pretended to have enjoyed a refreshing nap too. Their trunks arrived from Hogwarts while they were eating lunch, so they could dress as Muggles for the trip to St. Mungo's. Everybody except Harry was riotously happy and talkative as they changed out of their robes into jeans and sweatshirts. When Tonks and Mad-Eye turned up to escort them across London, they greeted them gleefully, laughing at the bowler hat Mad-Eye was wearing at an angle to conceal his magical eye and assuring him, truthfully, that Tonks, whose hair was short and bright pink again, would attract far less attention on the Underground.
Tonks was very interested in Harry's vision of the attack on Mr. Weasley, something Harry was not remotely interested in discussing.
‘There isn't any Seer blood in your family, is there?’ she enquired curiously, as they sat side by side on a train rattling towards the heart of the city.
‘No,’ said Harry thinking of Professor Trelawney and feeling insulted.
‘No,’ said Tonks musingly, ‘no, I suppose it's not really prophecy you're doing, is it? I mean, you're not seeing the future, you're seeing the present ... it's odd, isn't it? Useful, though ...’
Harry didn't answer; fortunately, they got out at the next stop, a station in the very heart of London, and in the bustle of leaving the train he was able to allow Fred and George to get between himself and Tonks, who was leading the way. They all followed her up the escalator, Moody clunking along at the back of the group, his bowler tilted low and one gnarled hand stuck in between the buttons of his coat, clutching his wand. Harry thought he sensed the concealed eye staring hard at him. Trying to avoid any more questions about his dream, he asked Mad-Eye where St. Mungo's was hidden.
‘Not far from here,’ grunted Moody as they stepped out into the wintry air on a broad store-lined street packed with Christmas shoppers. He pushed Harry a little ahead of him and stumped along just behind; Harry knew the eye was rolling in all directions under the tilted hat. ‘Wasn't easy to find a good location for a hospital. Nowhere in Diagon Alley was big enough and we couldn't have it underground like the Ministry—wouldn't be healthy. In the end they managed to get hold of a building up here. Theory was, sick wizards could come and go and just blend in with the crowd.’
He seized Harry's shoulder to prevent them being separated by a gaggle of shoppers plainly intent on nothing but making it into a nearby shop full of electrical gadgets.
‘Here we go,’ said Moody a moment later.
They had arrived outside a large, old-fashioned, red-brick department store called Purge & Dowse Ltd. The place had a shabby, miserable air; the window displays consisted of a few chipped dummies with their wigs askew, standing at random and modelling fashions at least ten years out of date. Large signs on all the dusty doors read: ‘Closed for Refurbishment'. Harry distinctly heard a large woman laden with plastic shopping bags say to her friend as they passed, ‘It's never open, that place ...’
‘Right,’ said Tonks, beckoning them towards a window displaying nothing but a particularly ugly female dummy. Its false eyelashes were hanging off and it was modelling a green nylon pinafore dress. ‘Everybody ready?’
They nodded, clustering around her. Moody gave Harry another shove between the shoulder blades to urge him forward and Tonks leaned close to the glass, looking up at the very ugly dummy, her breath steaming up the glass. ‘Wotcher,’ she said, ‘we're here to see Arthur Weasley.’
Harry thought how absurd it was for Tonks to expect the dummy to hear her talking so quietly through a sheet of glass, with buses rumbling along behind her and all the racket of a street full of shoppers. Then he reminded himself that dummies couldn't hear anyway. Next second, his mouth opened in shock as the dummy gave a tiny nod and beckoned with its jointed finger, and Tonks had seized Ginny and Mrs. Weasley by the elbows, stepped right through the glass and vanished.
Fred, George and Ron stepped after them. Harry glanced around at the jostling crowd; not one of them seemed to have a glance to spare for window displays as ugly as those of Purge & Dowse Ltd; nor did any of them seem to have noticed that six people had just melted into thin air in front of them.
‘C'mon,’ growled Moody, giving Harry yet another poke in the back, and together they stepped forward through what felt like a sheet of cool water, emerging quite warm and dry on the other side.
There was no sign of the ugly dummy or the space where she had stood. They were in what seemed to be a crowded reception area where rows of witches and wizards sat upon rickety wooden chairs, some looking perfectly normal and perusing out-of-date copies of Witch Weekly, others sporting gruesome disfigurements such as elephant trunks or extra hands sticking out of their chests. The room was scarcely less quiet than the street outside, for many of the patients were making very peculiar noises: a sweaty-faced witch in the centre of the front row, who was fanning herself vigorously with a copy of the Daily Prophet, kept letting off a high-pitched whistle as steam came pouring out of her mouth; a grubby-looking warlock in the corner clanged like a bell every time he moved and, with each clang, his head vibrated horribly so that he had to seize himself by the ears to hold it steady.
Witches and wizards in lime-green robes were walking up and down the rows, asking questions and making notes on clipboards like Umbridge's. Harry noticed the emblem embroidered on their chests: a wand and bone, crossed.
‘Are they doctors?’ he asked Ron quietly.
‘Doctors?’ said Ron, looking startled. ‘Those Muggle nutters that cut people up? Nah, they're Healers.’
‘Over here!’ called Mrs. Weasley, above the renewed clanging of the warlock in the corner, and they followed her to the queue in front of a plump blonde witch seated at a desk marked Enquiries.The wall behind her was covered in notices and posters saying things like: A CLEAN CAULDRON KEEPS POTIONS FROM BECOMING POISONS and ANTIDOTES ARE ANTI-DON'TS UNLESS APPROVED BY A QUALIFIED HEALER. There was also a large portrait of a witch with long silver ringlets which was labelled:
Dilys Derwent
St. Mungo's Healer 1722-1741
Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
1741-1768
Dilys was eyeing the Weasley party closely as though counting them; when Harry caught her eye she gave a tiny wink, walked sideways out of her portrait and vanished.
Meanwhile, at the front of the queue, a young wizard was performing an odd on-the-spot jig and trying, in between yelps of pain, to explain his predicament to the witch behind the desk.
‘It's these— ouch—shoes my brother gave me—ow—they re eating my—OUCH—feet—look at them, there must be some kind of—AARGH—jinx on them and I can't— AAAAARGH—get them off.’ He hopped from one foot to the other as though dancing on hot coals.
‘The shoes don't prevent you reading, do they?’ said the blonde witch, irritably pointing at a large sign to the left of her desk. ‘You want Spell Damage, fourth floor. Just like it says on the floor guide. Next!’
As the wizard hobbled and pranced sideways out of the way, the Weasley party moved forward a few steps and Harry read the floor guide:
ARTEFACT ACCIDENTS...................................... Ground floor
Cauldron explosion, wand backfiring, broom
crashes, etc.
CREATURE-INDUCED INJURIES........................ First floor
Bites, stings, burns, embedded spines, etc.
MAGICAL BUGS.................................................... Second floor
Contagious maladies, e.g. dragon pox,
vanishing sickness, scrofungulus, etc.
POTION AND PLANT POISONING...................... Third floor
Rashes, regurgitation, uncontrollable
giggling, etc.
SPELL DAMAGE..................................................... Fourth floor
Unliftable jinxes, hexes, incorrectly
applied charms, etc.
VISITORS’ TEAROOM / HOSPITAL SHOP.......... Fifth floor

IF YOU ARE UNSURE WHERE TO GO, INCAPABLE OF NORMAL SPEECH OR UNABLE TO REMEMBER WHY YOU ARE HERE, OUR WELCOMEWITCH WILL BE PLEASED TO HELP.
A very old, stooped wizard with a hearing trumpet had shuffled to the front of the queue now. ‘I'm here to see Broderick Bode!’ he wheezed.
‘Ward forty-nine, but I'm afraid you're wasting your time,’ said the witch dismissively. ‘He's completely addled, you know—still thinks he's a teapot. Next!’
A harassed-looking wizard was holding his small daughter tightly by the ankle while she flapped around his head using the immensely large, feathery wings that had sprouted right out through the back of her romper suit.
‘Fourth floor,’ said the witch, in a bored voice, without asking, and the man disappeared through the double doors beside the desk, holding his daughter like an oddly shaped balloon. ‘Next!’
Mrs. Weasley moved forward to the desk.
‘Hello,’ she said, ‘my husband, Arthur Weasley, was supposed to be moved to a different ward this morning, could you tell us—?’
‘Arthur Weasley?’ said the witch, running her finger down a long list in front of her. ‘Yes, first floor, second door on the right, Dai Llewellyn Ward.’
Thank you,’ said Mrs. Weasley. ‘Come on, you lot.’
They followed her through the double doors and along the narrow corridor beyond, which was lined with more portraits of famous Healers and lit by crystal bubbles full of candles that floated up on the ceiling, looking like giant soapsuds. More witches and wizards in lime-green robes walked in and out of the doors they passed; a foul-smelling yellow gas wafted into the passageway as they passed one door, and every now and then they heard distant wailing. They climbed a flight of stairs and entered the Creature-Induced Injuries corridor, where the second door on the right bore the words: ‘Dangerous’ Dai Llewellyn Ward: Serious Bites.Underneath this was a card in a brass holder on which had been handwritten: Healer-in-Charge: Hippocrates Smethwyck. Trainee Healer: Augustus Pye.
‘We'll wait outside, Molly,’ Tonks said. ‘Arthur won't want too many visitors at once ... it ought to be just the family first.’
Mad-Eye growled his approval of this idea and set himself with his back against the corridor wall, his magical eye spinning in all directions. Harry drew back, too, but Mrs Weasley reached out a hand and pushed him through the door, saying, ‘Don't be silly, Harry, Arthur wants to thank you.’
The ward was small and rather dingy, as the only window was narrow and set high in the wall facing the door. Most of the light came from more shining crystal bubbles clustered in the middle of the ceiling. The walls were of panelled oak and there was a portrait of a rather vicious-looking wizard on the wall, captioned: Urquhart Rackharrow, 1612-1697, Inventor of the Entrail-expelling Curse.
There were only three patients. Mr. Weasley was occupying the bed at the far end oi the ward beside the tiny window. Harry was pleased and relieved to see that he was propped up on several pillows and reading the Daily Prophet by the solitary ray of sunlight falling on to his bed. He looked up as they walked towards him and, seeing who it was, beamed.
‘Hello!’ he called, throwing the Prophet aside. ‘Bill just left, Molly, had to get back to work, but he says he'll drop in on you later.’
‘How are you, Arthur?’ asked Mrs. Weasley, bending down to kiss his cheek and looking anxiously into his face. ‘You're still looking a bit peaky.’
‘I feel absolutely fine,’ said Mr. Weasley brightly, holding out his good arm to give Ginny a hug. ‘If they could only take the bandages off, I'd be fit to go home.’
‘Why can't they take them off, Dad?’ asked Fred.
‘Well, I start bleeding like mad every time they try,’ said Mr. Weasley cheerfully, reaching across for his wand, which lay on his bedside cabinet, and waving it so that six extra chairs appeared at his bedside to seat them all. ‘It seems there was some rather unusual kind of poison in that snake's fangs that keeps wounds open. They're sure they'll find an antidote, though; they say they've had much worse cases than mine, and in the meantime I just have to keep taking a Blood-Replenishing Potion every hour. But that fellow over there,’ he said, dropping his voice and nodding towards the bed opposite in which a man lay looking green and sickly and staring at the ceiling. ‘Bitten by a werewolf, poor chap. No cure at all.’
‘A werewolf?’ whispered Mrs. Weasley, looking alarmed. ‘Is he safe in a public ward? Shouldn't he be in a private room?’
‘It's two weeks till full moon,’ Mr. Weasley reminded her quietly. ‘They've been talking to him this morning, the Healers, you know, trying to persuade him he'll be able to lead an almost normal life. I said to him—didn't mention names, of course— but I said I knew a werewolf personally, very nice man, who finds the condition quite easy to manage.’
‘What did he say?’ asked George.
‘Said he'd give me another bite if I didn't shut up,’ said Mr. Weasley sadly. ‘And that woman over there,’ he indicated the only other occupied bed, which was right beside the door, ‘won't tell the Healers what bit her, which makes us all think it must have been something she was handling illegally. Whatever it was took a real chunk out of her leg, very nasty smell when they take off the dressings.’
‘So, you going to tell us what happened, Dad?’ asked Fred, pulling his chair closer to the bed.
‘Well, you already know, don't you?’ said Mr. Weasley, with a significant smile at Harry. ‘It's very simple—I'd had a very long day, dozed off, got sneaked up on and bitten.’
‘Is it in the Prophet, you being attacked?’ asked Fred, indicating the newspaper Mr. Weasley had cast aside.
‘No, of course not,’ said Mr. Weasley, with a slightly bitter smile, ‘the Ministry wouldn't want everyone to know a dirty great serpent got—’
‘Arthur!’ Mrs Weasley warned him.
‘—got—er— me,’ Mr. Weasley said hastily, though Harry was quite sure that was not what he had meant to say.
‘So where were you when it happened, Dad?’ asked George.
‘That's my business,’ said Mr. Weasley, though with a small smile. He snatched up the Daily Prophet, shook it open again and said, ‘I was just reading about Willy Widdershins's arrest when you arrived. You know Willy turned out to be behind those regurgitating toilets back in the summer? One of his jinxes backfired, the toilet exploded and they found him lying unconscious in the wreckage covered from head to foot in—’
‘When you say you were “on duty",’ Fred interrupted in a low voice, ‘what were you doing?’
‘You heard your father,’ whispered Mrs. Weasley, ‘we are not discussing this here! Go on about Willy Widdershins, Arthur.’
‘Well, don't ask me how, but he actually got off the toilet charge,’ said Mr. Weasley grimly. ‘I can only suppose gold changed hands—’
‘You were guarding it, weren't you?’ said George quietly. ‘The weapon? The thing You-Know-Who's after?’
‘George, be quiet!’ snapped Mrs. Weasley.
‘Anyway,’ said Mr Weasley, in a raised voice, ‘this time Willy's been caught selling biting doorknobs to Muggles and I don't think he'll be able to worm his way out of it because, according to this article, two Muggles have lost fingers and are now in St. Mungo's for emergency bone re-growth and memory modification. Just think of it, Muggles in St. Mungo's! I wonder which ward they're in?’
And he looked eagerly around as though hoping to see a signpost.
‘Didn't you say You-Know-Who's got a snake, Harry?’ asked Fred, looking at his father for a reaction. ‘A massive one? You saw it the night he returned, didn't you?’
‘That's enough,’ said Mrs. Weasley crossly. ‘Mad-Eye and Tonks are outside, Arthur, they want to come and see you. And you lot can wait outside,’ she added to her children and Harry. ‘You can come and say goodbye afterwards. Go on.’
They trooped back into the corridor. Mad-Eye and Tonks went in and closed the door of the ward behind them. Fred raised his eyebrows.
‘Fine,’ he said coolly, rummaging in his pockets, ‘be like that. Don't tell us anything.’
‘Looking for these?’ said George, holding out what looked like a tangle of flesh-coloured string.
‘You read my mind,’ said Fred, grinning. ‘Let's see if St. Mungo's puts Imperturbable Charms on its ward doors, shall we?’
He and George disentangled the string and separated five Extendable Ears from each other. Fred and George handed them around. Harry hesitated to take one.
‘Go on, Harry, take it! You saved Dad's life. If anyone's got the right to eavesdrop on him, it's you.’
Grinning in spite of himself, Harry took the end of the string and inserted it into his ear as the twins had done.
‘OK, go!’ Fred whispered.
The flesh-coloured strings wriggled like long skinny worms and snaked under the door. At first, Harry could hear nothing, then he jumped as he heard Tonks whispering as clearly as though she were standing right beside him.
‘... they searched the whole area but couldn't find the snake anywhere. It just seems to have vanished after it attacked you, Arthur ... but You-Know-Who can't have expected a snake to get in, can he?’
‘I reckon he sent it as a lookout,’ growled Moody, ’ ‘cause he's not had any luck so far, has he? No, I reckon he's trying to get a clearer picture of what he's facing and if Arthur hadn't been there the beast would've had a lot more time to look around. So, Potter says he saw it all happen?’
‘Yes,’ said Mrs Weasley. She sounded rather uneasy. ‘You know, Dumbledore seems almost to have been waiting for Harry to see something like this.’
‘Yeah, well,’ said Moody, ‘there's something funny about the Potter kid, we all know that.’
‘Dumbledore seemed worried about Harry when I spoke to him this morning,’ whispered Mrs Weasley.
’ ‘Course he's worried,’ growled Moody. ‘The boy's seeing things from inside You-Know-Who's snake. Obviously, Potter doesn't realise what that means, but if You-Know-Who's possessing him—’
Harry pulled the Extendable Ear out of his own, his heart hammering very fast and heat rushing up his face. He looked around at the others. They were all staring at him, the strings still trailing from their ears, looking suddenly fearful.
　因为她认真对待他，哈利十分放心，一点也没犹豫不决。他立刻从床跳出来，穿上袍子并且把他的眼镜推回到他的鼻子。
　　“威斯里，你也来，”麦格教授说。
　　他们跟随麦格教授，经过熟睡的Neville, Dean and Seamus, 走出宿舍，沿着螺旋形的楼梯走进公共休息室，穿过肖像，沿着月光普照的胖夫人走廊离开。哈利仿佛觉得心中的恐惧随时可能爆发，他想要飞跑着去告诉丹伯多一切，当他们如此镇静地漫步时，威斯里先生正在流血，如果那些尖利的牙齿（哈利努力尝试不去想：“我的牙齿”有毒，怎么办？他们经过诺里斯太太，它圆亮的眼睛上下打量着他们，发出微弱的嘶嘶声。麦格教授说，“ 嘘！”诺里斯太太窜进了阴影中逃开了，在几分钟后，他们到达石头怪兽守卫的丹伯多办公室门口。
　　“Fizzing Whizzbee，” 麦格教授说。
　　怪兽活过来跳到一旁，墙向两边裂开一条缝，出现了一条向上移动的螺旋形石头阶梯。 他们三个踏上移动楼梯，墙“砰”地一声在他们后面关上，他们在狭窄的通道内向上移动，最后来到饰有黄铜兽头的华丽栎木门前。 虽然已经时过午夜，房间里仍传出喋喋不休的声音，听起来好象丹伯多至少有一打的客人。
　　麦格教授握着兽头门环轻击三次，里面的声音突然安静下来。大门自动打开，麦格教授领着哈利和罗恩走了进去。
　　房间里半明半暗，各种奇异的银制仪器安静地待在桌上，而不是象平常那样飕飕地飞来飞去发出阵阵烟雾，老校长和女校长的肖像全部正在墙上的像框里小睡。门旁，一只巨大的、有着壮丽的红、黄色羽毛的鸟，头靠在翅膀下，停在栖木上打瞌睡。
　　“噢，是你，麦格教授，和，啊。”
　　丹伯多正坐在书桌后的一把高靠背椅子里；他俯身到闪烁的烛光下，一张文件摆在他的面前。他穿着一件白色的睡衣，外着披着件镶有刺绣的紫金色外套， 但是看起来十分清醒，他淡蓝色的眼睛注视着麦格教授。 “丹伯多教授，哈利做了一个恶梦，”麦格教授说。“他告诉了我。”
　　“这不是一个梦，”哈利快速说道。
　　麦格教授看着哈利，微微皱眉。
　　“很好，那么，哈利，请把它告诉校长。”
　　“我睡着了，”哈利说，努力使丹伯多理解他的恐怖和绝望。他感到稍微激怒，校长并没有看他，而是审视自己的手指。“但是这不是一个普通的梦。它是真实的。我看见它发生。”他深呼吸，“罗恩的爸爸-威斯里先生-被一条巨蛇攻击。”
　　他说完后，这些话语好像仍在空中回响，听起来有点可笑，就象喜剧。丹伯多停顿了一下，身体后仰，凝视着天花板。罗恩的眼神在哈利和丹伯多身上游移不定，脸色苍白，浑身颤抖。
　　“你怎样看到的？”丹伯多平静地问，看也不看哈利一眼。
　　“我不知道，”哈利说，他十分愤怒，这有什么关系？“在我的脑子里面，我认为 -”
　　语调仍然十分平静，“你误会了我的意思，” 丹伯多说。“我的意思是，你是否记得，-呃-，当你看到攻击发生时，你站在什么位置？你或许正站在受害者的旁边，要不然从现场的上方向下看？”
　　这个问题如此古怪，以致于哈利瞪着丹伯多，好象他知道似的。
　　“我是蛇，”他说。“我从蛇的视点看见事情经过。”
　　有一段时间没有人说话，然后丹伯多，看着仍然无法接受事实的罗恩，用一种不同的尖利声音问，“亚瑟受伤严重吗？”
　　“是，”哈利强调，- 他们为什么如此反应迟钝，他们不明白被尖牙刺透的人会出多少血吗？丹伯多为什么不能为着礼貌的原因看他一眼？ 但是丹伯多站起来，他动作如此迅速，哈利吓了一跳，把悬挂在天花板附近的一张旧肖像撞到一边。“埃弗拉德？”他迅速地说。“你也是，Dilys！”
　　黑色短发、黄色面孔的男巫师与银色卷发的老巫婆站在他身边的像框里，他们张开了眼睛，仿佛都从最深沉的睡眠中醒来。
　　“你在听吗？”丹伯多说。
　　巫师点点头，女巫道，“当然。”
　　“那个人长着红头发，戴着眼镜，”丹伯多说。“埃弗拉德，你发个警报，确保可靠的人找到他-”
　　两人点了点头，离开原来的像框。他们没有出现在相邻照片里，（在霍格瓦彻通常是这样） ，而是消失了。二幅像框背景里，只剩下黑色的窗帘和一把漂亮的皮扶手椅。 哈利注意到，其它大多数墙上的校长和夫人似乎令人信服地打着鼾和流着口水，但都从眼皮底下偷偷看他。他突然猜到当他们已经敲门时，谁一直在交谈。
　　“埃弗拉德和Dilys是霍格瓦彻最有名的校长，”丹伯多 说，他扫了一眼哈利、罗恩和麦格教授，他们站在门旁，旁边是一只睡在栖木上的壮丽的鸟。“他们名望如此之高，以至他们的肖像悬挂在许多其他重要的巫师机构。所以他们可以自由地在他们自己的肖像之间移动，告诉我们其他地方正在发生什么事情。” “但是威斯里先生可能在任何地方！”哈利说。
　　“你们三位请坐下，” 丹伯多说，不理会哈利说的话，“埃弗拉德和Dilys可能不会马上回来。麦格教授，请你再多变几张椅子。”
　　麦格教授从她的长袍口袋中掏出魔杖挥了一下，空气中出现三把木制直背椅，它们与丹伯多在哈利听证会上变出来的舒适的印花棉布扶手椅有些不同。哈利坐了下来，越过椅背看着丹伯多。丹伯多用一只手指抚摸着福克斯金色的头。福克斯立即醒过来。它扬起美丽的头，用明亮、乌黑的眼睛注视着丹伯多。
　　“我们需要，”丹伯多轻声对鸟儿说，“一个警告。”
　　火光闪动，福克斯已经飞走了。
　　丹伯多俯下身体，把一些哈利从未听说过用途的银色仪器放到书桌上，坐下来再次看着它们，用魔杖的末端温柔地击中它。
　　仪器发出有节奏的叮呤响声，活动起来。一缕淡绿色的轻烟从银色的管中冒出来。丹伯多皱着眉，仔细看着烟气。几秒钟后，烟雾由稀变浓，在空气中纠结在一起。 烟雾尽头伸出一只蛇头，嘴巴大张。哈利感到有些疑惑，仪器是否在验证他的故事，他急切地看着丹伯多，希望看到一点暗示，但是丹伯多没有抬头看他。 “自然，自然，”丹伯多低声地自言自语道，目光中不带一丝惊奇，继续观察着烟雾的变化。“本质有什么不同吗？”
　　哈利不知该怎么回答这个问题。烟蛇分裂成两条蛇，在黑色的空气中卷曲盘旋。 丹伯多露出冷峻、满意的表情，又挥了一下魔杖，叮呤的响声渐渐消失，烟蛇变得模糊，最后消失在空气中。 丹伯多把仪器放回狭长的小桌子。哈利看见肖像内的大多数老校长的目光一直追随着他，当他们意识到哈利看着他们，又急忙再次假装睡觉。哈利正想要问奇怪的银仪器是干什么的，他们右边的墙上传来一阵呼喊声，名叫埃弗拉德的巫师轻微地喘气，重新出现在他的肖像里。
　　“丹伯多！”
　　“有什么消息？”丹伯多立即问。
　　“我一直叫到有人跑过来，”巫师说，用他背后的窗帘擦擦眉毛，”我说听到有东西从楼上下来 - 他们不太相信，但是去做了检查 - 你知道在那里没有肖像，因此我无法前去查看。几分钟后，他们把他背了上来，他看起来不太好，浑身是血，他们离开时，我沿着Elfrida克拉格肖像，以便看得仔细一点。”
　　罗恩一阵痉挛。“ 好，”丹伯多说。 '我想Dilys可能看见他回来，那时-”
　　片刻之后，银色卷发的女巫也在她的照片内重新出现； 她咳嗽着坐回她的扶手椅，说，“是，他们把他带到St Mungo's，丹伯多。他们带着他经过我的肖像。他看起来不太好。”
　　“谢谢，”丹伯多说。他看了麦格教授一眼，“米纳瓦，请你去叫醒威斯里的其他孩子。”
　　“当然。”麦格教授站起来，迅速走到门旁。哈利匆匆瞥了一眼罗恩，他起来十分害怕。
　　“丹伯多，莫莉怎么办？”麦格教授说，在门口停住脚步。
　　“等福克斯完成警戒后，这项工作就交给它了。”丹伯多说。“但是她可能已经知道。她的那台极好的钟。”
　　哈利知道丹伯多指的那台钟，它指示的并非时间，而是威斯里不同家庭成员的下落和地点，他内心沉痛地想，威斯里先生的指针现在一定正指向致命的危险。但是时间已经很晚了，威斯里太太或许睡着，没有看钟。想到威斯里太太走近卫斯理先生毫无生气的身体，哈利感到一阵寒冷，眼镜歪在一旁，血涌上他的面颊。威斯里先生不会死。他不能死。
　　丹伯多在哈利和罗恩背后的一个碗柜里翻寻。他从那里找出一只熏黑的旧水壶，小心地把它放在他的书桌上。他举起魔杖低声说，“波特斯！”过了一会儿，这把水壶摇晃着，发出古怪的蓝光，然后平息下来，恢复以前一样的黑色。
　　丹伯多走到另一幅肖像前，这次是个留着尖胡子，看起来十分聪明的巫师，衣服的颜色是斯莱特林的绿色和银色，他睡得如此深，以致于没听到丹伯多试图唤醒他的声音。
　　“菲尼亚斯，菲尼亚斯。”
　　房间里一排肖像不再假装睡着，他们在他们的像框里到处移动，以便看清正发生什么。当样子聪明的巫师继续假睡时，他们中的一些也大叫他的名字。
　　“菲尼亚斯！ 菲尼亚斯！菲尼亚斯！”
　　他不能再装睡，他装做突然醒来并且瞪大眼睛。
　　“在叫我吗？”
　　“我需要你再次访问你的其他肖像，菲尼亚斯，”丹伯多说。“我收到另一条消息。”
　　“访问我的其他肖像吗？”菲尼亚斯咕哝道，假装打了一个长长的呵欠，（他眼睛在房间里看来看去，最后落在哈利身上）。“噢，不，丹伯多，我今晚太疲倦。”
　　菲尼亚斯的声音中的某些东西是哈利里所熟悉，他以前在哪里听到过？他正想仔细回忆，墙上的肖像爆发出暴风雨般的抗议。
　　“违抗命令，先生！”一名肥胖、红色鼻子的巫师吼叫道，挥舞他的拳头。“玩忽职守！”
　　“我们以为霍格瓦彻的现任校长服务为光荣！”一名外表瘦弱的老巫师叫道。哈利认出是丹伯多的前辈，Armando Dippet，“你让我们蒙受羞耻，菲尼亚斯！”
　　“我来劝劝他，丹伯多？” 一名眼睛gimlet的巫婆说，她举起一根特别粗的、不象是桦树杆制成的魔杖。
　　“噢，非常好，”，被叫做菲尼亚斯的巫师说，隐隐担忧地注视这根魔杖，“虽然他现在可能已经破坏我的照片了，他已不被大多数家庭承认-。”
　　“天狼星知道不要破坏你的肖像，”，丹伯多说，哈利立即意识到以前在哪里听到过菲尼亚斯的声音：从Grimmauld他卧室的空像框里。“告诉他，亚瑟•威斯里严重受伤，他的妻子、孩子们和哈利•波特不久将去他家。你明白吗？”
　　“亚瑟•威斯里受伤，妻子、孩子和哈利•波特将到那里，”菲尼亚斯用一种厌烦的声音重复。“是，是。非常好。”
　　他倾斜离开这幅肖像的像框，消失。就在这时，门被再次打开，麦格教授领着弗来德、乔治和金妮走进来，三个人看起来衣衫不整、睡眼惺松、十分震惊。
　　“哈利-发生什么事？”金妮问，看起来十分害怕。“麦格教授说你看见爸爸受伤了-”
　　“你父亲在为凤凰令工作时受伤，”丹伯多在哈利能讲话前回答，
Chapter 28 Snape's Worst Memory
BY ORDER OF THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC
 
Dolores Jane Umbridge (High Inquisitor) has replaced
Albus Dumbledore as Head of Hogwarts School of
Witchcraft and Wizardry.
 
The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-eight.
 
Signed: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister for Magic
The notices had gone up all around the school overnight, but they did not explain how every single person within the castle seemed to know that Dumbledore had overcome two Aurors, the High Inquisitor, the Minister for Magic and his Junior Assistant to escape. No matter where Harry went within the castle, the sole topic of conversation was Dumbledore's flight, and though some of the details may have gone awry in the retelling (Harry overheard one second-year girl assuring another that Fudge was now lying in St. Mungo's with a pumpkin for a head) it was surprising how accurate the rest of their information was. Everybody knew, for instance, that Harry and Marietta were the only students to have witnessed the scene in Dumbledore's office and, as Marietta was now in the hospital wing, Harry found himself besieged with requests to give a first-hand account.
‘Dumbledore will be back before long,’ said Ernie Macmillan confidently on the way back from Herbology, after listening intently to Harry's story. ‘They couldn't keep him away in our second year and they won't be able to this time. The Fat Friar told me—’ he dropped his voice conspiratorially, so that Harry, Ron and Hermione had to lean closer to him to hear ‘—that Umbridge tried to get back into his office last night after they'd searched the castle and grounds for him. Couldn't get past the gargoyle. The Head's office has sealed itself against her.’ Ernie smirked. ‘Apparently, she had a right little tantrum.’
‘Oh, I expect she really fancied herself sitting up there in the Head's office,’ said Hermione viciously, as they walked up the stone steps into the Entrance Hall. ‘Lording it over all the other teachers, the stupid puffed-up, power-crazy old—’
‘Now, do you really want to finish that sentence, Granger?’
Draco Malfoy had slid out from behind the door, closely followed by Crabbe and Goyle. His pale, pointed face was alight w th malice.
‘Afraid I'm going to have to dock a few points from Gryffincor and Hufflepuff,’ he drawled.
‘It's only teachers who can dock points from houses, Malfoy,’ said Ernie at once.
‘Yeah, we're prefects, too, remember?’ snarled Ron.
‘I know prefects can't dock points, Weasel King,’ sneered Maltby. Crabbe and Goyle sniggered. ‘But members of the Inquisitorial Squad—’
‘The what?’ said Hermione sharply.
‘The Inquisitorial Squad, Granger,’ said Malfoy, pointing towards a tiny silver ‘I’ on his robes just beneath his prefect's badge. ‘A select group of students who are supportive of the Ministry of Magic, hand-picked by Professor Umbridge. Anyway, members of the Inquisitorial Squad do have the power to dock points ... so, Granger, I'll have five from you for being rude about our new Headmistress. Macmillan, five for contradicting me. Five because I don't like you, Potter. Weasley, your shirt's untucked, so I'll have another five for that. Oh yeah, I forgot, you're a Mudblood, Granger, so ten off for that.’
Ron pulled out his wand, but Hermione pushed it away, whispering, ‘Don't!’
‘Wise move, Granger,’ breathed Malfoy. ‘New Head, new times ... be good now, Potty ... Weasel King ...’
Laughing heartily, he strode away with Crabbe and Goyle.
‘He was bluffing,’ said Ernie, looking appalled. ‘He can't be allowed to dock points ... that would be ridiculous ... it would completely undermine the prefect system.’
But Harry, Ron and Hermione had turned automatically towards the giant hour-glasses set in niches along the wall behind them, which recorded the house-points. Gryffindor and Ravenclaw had been neck and neck in the lead that morning. Even as they watched, stones flew upwards, reducing the amounts in the lower bulbs. In fact, the only glass that seemed unchanged was the emerald-filled one of Slytherin.
‘Noticed, have you?’ said Fred's voice.
He and George had just come down the marble staircase and joined Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ernie in front of the hour-glasses.
‘Malfoy just docked us all about fifty points,’ said Harry furiously, as they watched several more stones fly upwards from the Gryffindor hour-glass.
‘Yeah, Montague tried to do us during break,’ said George.
‘What do you mean, “tried"?’ said Ron quickly.
‘He never managed to get all the words out,’ said Fred, ‘due to the fact that we forced him head-first into that Vanishing Cabinet on the first floor.’
Hermione looked very shocked.
‘But you'll get into terrible trouble!’
‘Not until Montague reappears, and that could take weeks, I dunno where we sent him,’ said Fred coolly. ‘Anyway ... we've decided we don't care about getting into trouble any more.’
‘Have you ever?’ asked Hermione.
‘Course we have,’ said George. ‘Never been expelled, have we?’
‘We've always known where to draw the line,’ said Fred.
‘We might have put a toe across it occasionally,’ said George.
‘But we've always stopped short of causing real mayhem,’ said Fred.
‘But now?’ said Ron tentatively.
‘Well, now—’ said George.
‘—what with Dumbledore gone—’ said Fred.
‘—we reckon a bit of mayhem—’ said George.
‘—is exactly what our dear new Head deserves,’ said Fred.
‘You mustn't!’ whispered Hermione. ‘You really mustn't! She'd love a reason to expel you!’
‘You don't get it, Hermione, do you?’ said Fred, smiling at her. ‘We don't care about staying any more. We'd walk out right now if we weren't determined to do our bit for Dumbledore first. So, anyway,’ he checked his watch, ‘phase one is about to begin. I'd get in the Great Hall for lunch, if I were you, that way the teachers will see you can't have had anything to do with it.’
‘Anything to do with what?’ said Hermione anxiously.
‘You'll see,’ said George. ‘Run along, now.’
Fred and George turned away and disappeared into the swelling crowd descending the stairs towards lunch. Looking highly disconcerted, Ernie muttered something about unfinished Transfiguration homework and scurried away.
‘I think we should get out of here, you know,’ said Hermione nervously. ‘Just in case ...’
‘Yeah, all right,’ said Ron, and the three of them moved towards the doors to the Great Hall, but Harry had barely glimpsed the day's ceiling of scudding white clouds when somebody tapped him on the shoulder and, turning, he found himself almost nose-to-nose with Filch the caretaker. He took several hasty steps backwards; Filch was best viewed at a distance.
‘The Headmistress would like to see you, Potter,’ he leered.
‘I didn't do it,’ said Harry stupidly, thinking of whatever Fred and George were planning. Filch's jowls wobbled with silent laughter.
‘Guilty conscience, eh?’ he wheezed. ‘Follow me.’
Harry glanced back at Ron and Hermione, who were both looking worried. He shrugged, and followed Filch back into the Entrance Hall, against the tide of hungry students.
Filch seemed to be in an extremely good mood; he hummed creakily under his breath as they climbed the marble staircase. As they reached the first landing he said, ‘Things are changing around here, Potter.’
‘I've noticed,’ said Harry coldly.
‘Yerse ... I've been telling Dumbledore for years and years he's too soft with you all,’ said Filch, chuckling nastily. ‘You filthy little beasts would never have dropped Stink Pellets if you'd known I had it in my power to whip you raw, would you, now? Nobody would have thought of throwing Fanged Frisbees down the corridors if I could've strung you up by the ankles in my office, would they? But when Educational Decree Number Twenty-nine comes in, Potter, I'll be allowed to do them things ... and she's asked the Minister to sign an order for the expulsion of Peeves ... oh, things are going to be very different around here with her in charge ...’
Umbridge had obviously gone to some lengths to get Filch on her side, Harry thought, and the worst of it was that he would probably prove an important weapon; his knowledge of the school's secret passageways and hiding places was probably second only to that of the Weasley twins.
‘Here we are,’ he said, leering down at Harry as he rapped three times on Professor Umbridge's door and pushed it open. ‘The Potter boy to see you, Ma'am.’
Umbridge's office, so very familiar to Harry from his many detentions, was the same as usual except for the large wooden block lying across the front of her desk on which golden letters spelled the word: HEADMISTRESS. Also, his Firebolt and Fred and George's Cleansweeps, which he saw with a pang, were chained and padlocked to a stout iron peg in the wall behind the desk.
Umbridge was sitting behind the desk, busily scribbling on some of her pink parchment, but she looked up and smiled widely at their entrance.
‘Thank you, Argus,’ she said sweetly.
‘Not at all, Ma'am, not at all,’ said Filch, bowing as low as his rheumatism would permit, and exiting backwards.
‘Sit,’ said Umbridge curtly, pointing towards a chair. Harry sat. She continued to scribble for a few moments. He watched some of the foul kittens gambolling around the plates over her head, wondering what fresh horror she had in store for him.
‘Well, now,’ she said finally, setting down her quill and surveying him complacently, like a toad about to swallow a particularly juicy fly. ‘What would you like to drink?’
‘What? said Harry, quite sure he had misheard her.
‘To drink, Mr Potter,’ she said, smiling still more widely. Tea? Coffee? Pumpkin juice?’
As she named each drink, she gave her short wand a wave, and a cup or glass of it appeared on her desk.
‘Nothing, thank you,’ said Harry.
‘I wish you to have a drink with me,’ she said, her voice becoming dangerously sweet. ‘Choose one.’
‘Fine ... tea then,’ said Harry shrugging.
She got up and made quite a performance of adding milk with her back to him. She then bustled around the desk with it, smiling in a sinisterly sweet fashion.
‘There,’ she said, handing it to him. ‘Drink it before it gets cold, won't you? Well, now, Mr Potter ... I thought we ought to have a little chat, after the distressing events of last night.’
He said nothing. She settled herself back into her seat and waited. When several long moments had passed in silence, she said gaily, ‘You're not drinking up!’
He raised the cup to his lips and then, just as suddenly, lowered it. One of the horrible painted kittens behind Umbridge had great round blue eyes just like Mad-Eye Moody's magical one and it had just occurred to Harry what Mad-Eye would say if he ever heard that Harry had drunk anything offered by a known enemy.
‘What's the matter?’ said Umbridge, who was still watching him closely. ‘Do you want sugar?’
‘No,’ said Harry.
He raised the cup to his lips again and pretended to take a sip, though keeping his mouth tightly closed. Umbridge's smile widened.
‘Good,’ she whispered. ‘Very good. Now then ...’ She leaned forwards a little. ‘Where is Albus Dumbledore?’
‘No idea,’ said Harry promptly.
‘Drink up, drink up,’ she said, still smiling. ‘Now, Mr. Potter, let us not play childish games. I know that you know where he has gone. You and Dumbledore have been in this together from the beginning. Consider your position, Mr. Potter ...’
‘I don't know where he is,’ Harry repeated.
He pretended to drink again. She was watching him very closely.
‘Very well,’ she said, though she looked displeased. ‘In that case, you will kindly tell me the whereabouts of Sirius Black.’
Harry's stomach turned over and his hand holding the teacup shook so that it rattled in its saucer. He tilted the cup to his mouth with his lips pressed together, so that some of the hot liquid trickled down on to his robes.
‘I don't know,’ he said, a little too quickly.
‘Mr. Potter,’ said Umbridge, ‘let me remind you that it was I who almost caught the criminal Black in the Gryffindor fire in October. I know perfectly well it was you he was meeting and if I had had any proof neither of you would be at large today, I promise you. I repeat, Mr. Potter ... where is Sirius Black?’
‘No idea,’ said Harry loudly. ‘Haven't got a clue.’
They stared at each other so long that Harry felt his eyes watering. Then Umbridge stood up.
‘Very well, Potter, I will take your word for it this time, but be warned: the might of the Ministry stands behind me. All channels of communication in and out of this school are being monitored. A Floo Network Regulator is keeping watch over every fire in Hogwarts—except my own, of course. My Inquisitorial Squad is opening and reading all owl post entering and leaving the castle. And Mr. Filch is observing all secret passages in and out of the castle. If I find a shred of evidence ...’
BOOM!
The very floor of the office shook. Umbridge slipped sideways, clutching her desk for support, and looking shocked.
‘What was—?’
She was gazing towards the door. Harry took the opportunity to empty his almost-full cup of tea into the nearest vase of dried flowers. He could hear people running and screaming several floors below.
‘Back to lunch you go, Potter!’ cried Umbridge, raising her wand and dashing out of the office. Harry gave her a few seconds’ start, then hurried after her to see what the source of all the uproar was.
It was not difficult to find. One floor down, pandemonium reigned. Somebody (and Harry had a very shrewd idea who) had set off what seemed to be an enormous crate of enchanted fireworks.
Dragons comprised entirely of green and gold sparks were soaring up and down the corridors, emitting loud fiery blasts and bangs as they went; shocking-pink Catherine wheels five feet in diameter were whizzing lethally through the air like so many flying saucers; rockets with long tails of brilliant silver stars were ricocheting off the walls; sparklers were writing swear words in midair of their own accord; firecrackers were exploding like mines everywhere Harry looked, and instead of burning themselves out, fading from sight or fizzling to a halt, these pyrotechnical miracles seemed to be gaining in energy and momentum the longer he watched.
Filch and Umbridge were standing, apparently transfixed in horror, halfway down the stairs. As Harry watched, one of the larger Catherine wheels seemed to decide that what it needed was more room to manoeuvre; it whirled towards Umbridge and Filch with a sinister ‘wheeeeeeeeee'. They both yelled with fright and ducked, and it soared straight out of the window behind them and off across the grounds. Meanwhile, several of the dragons and a large purple bat that was smoking ominously took advantage of the open door at the end of the corridor to escape towards the second floor.
‘Hurry, Filch, hurry!’ shrieked Umbridge, ‘they'll be all over the school unless we do something—Stupefy!’
A jet of red light shot out of the end of her wand and hit one of the rockets. Instead of freezing in midair, it exploded with such force that it blasted a hole in a painting of a soppy-looking witch in the middle of a meadow; she ran for it just in time, reappearing seconds later squashed into the next painting, where a couple of wizards playing cards stood up hastily to make room for her.
‘Don't Stun them, Filch!’ shouted Umbridge angrily, for all the world as though it had been his incantation.
‘Right you are, Headmistress!’ wheezed Filch, who as a Squib could no more have Stunned the fireworks than swallowed them. He dashed to a nearby cupboard, pulled out a broom and began swatting at the fireworks in midair; within seconds the head of the broom was ablaze.
Harry had seen enough; laughing, he ducked down low, ran to a door he knew was concealed behind a tapestry a little way along the corridor and slipped through it to find Fred and George hiding just behind it, listening to Umbridge and Filch's yells and quaking with suppressed mirth.
‘Impressive,’ Harry said quietly, grinning. ‘Very impressive ... you'll put Dr. Filibuster out of business, no problem ...’
‘Cheers,’ whispered George, wiping tears of laughter from his face. ‘Oh, I hope she tries Vanishing them next ... they multiply by ten every time you try.’
The fireworks continued to burn and to spread all over the school that afternoon. Though they caused plenty of disruption, particularly the firecrackers, the other teachers didn't seem to mind them very much.
‘Dear, dear,’ said Professor McGonagall sardonically, as one of the dragons soared around her classroom, emitting loud bangs and exhaling flame. ‘Miss Brown, would you mind running along to the Headmistress and informing her that we have an escaped firework in our classroom?’
The upshot of it all was that Professor Umbridge spent her first afternoon as Headmistress running all over the school answering the summonses of the other teachers, none of whom seemed able to rid their rooms of the fireworks without her. When the final bell rang and they were heading back to Gryffindor Tower with their bags, Harry saw, with immense satisfaction, a dishevelled and soot-blackened Umbridge tottering sweaty-faced from Professor Flitwick's classroom.
‘Thank you so much, Professor!’ said Professor Flitwick in his squeaky little voice. ‘I could have got rid of the sparklers myself, of course, but I wasn't sure whether or not I had the authority.’
Beaming, he closed his classroom door in her snarling face.
Fred and George were heroes that night in the Gryffindor common room. Even Hermione fought her way through the excited crowd to congratulate them.
‘They were wonderful fireworks,’ she said admiringly.
‘Thanks,’ said George, looking both surprised and pleased. ‘Weasleys’ Wildfire Whiz-bangs. Only thing is, we used our whole stock; we're going to have to start again from scratch now.’
‘It was worth it, though,’ said Fred, who was taking orders from clamouring Gryffindors. ‘If you want to add your name to the waiting list, Hermione, it's five Galleons for your Basic Blaze box and twenty for the Deflagration Deluxe ...’
Hermione returned to the table where Harry and Ron were sitting staring at their schoolbags as though hoping their homework would spring out and start doing itself.
‘Oh, why don't we have a night off?’ said Hermione brightly, as a silver-tailed Weasley rocket zoomed past the window. ‘After all, the Easter holidays start on Friday, we'll have plenty of time then.’
‘Are you feeling all right?’ Ron asked, staring at her in disbelief.
‘Now you mention it,’ said Hermione happily, ‘d'you know ... I think I'm feeling a bit ... rebellious.’
Harry could still hear the distant bangs of escaped firecrackers when he and Ron went up to bed an hour later; and as he got undressed a sparkler floated past the tower, still resolutely spelling out the word ‘POO'.
He got into bed, yawning. With his glasses off, the occasional firework passing the window had become blurred, looking like sparkling clouds, beautiful and mysterious against the black sky. He turned on to his side, wondering how Umbridge was feeling about her first day in Dumbledore's job, and how Fudge would react when he heard that the school had spent most of the day in a state of advanced disruption. Smiling to himself, Harry closed his eyes ...
The whizzes and bangs of escaped fireworks in the grounds seemed to be growing more distant ... or perhaps he was simply speeding away from them ...
He had fallen right into the corridor leading to the Department of Mysteries. He was speeding towards the plain black door ... let it open ... let it open ...
It did. He was inside the circular room lined with doors ... he crossed it, placed his hand on an identical door and it swung inwards ...
Now he was in a long, rectangular room full of an odd mechanical clicking. There were dancing flecks of light on the walls but he did not pause to investigate ... he had to go on ...
There was a door at the far end ... it, too, opened at his touch ...
And now he was in a dimly lit room as high and wide as a church, full of nothing but rows and rows of towering shelves, each laden with small, dusty, spun-glass spheres ... now Harry's heart was beating fast with excitement ... he knew where to go ... he ran forwards, but his footsteps made no noise in the enormous, deserted room ...
There was something in this room he wanted very, very much ...
Something he wanted ... or somebody else wanted ...
His scar was hurting ...
BANG!
Harry awoke instantly, confused and angry. The dark dormitory was full of the sound of laughter.
‘Cool!’ said Seamus, who was silhouetted against the window. ‘I think one of those Catherine wheels hit a rocket and it's like they mated, come and see!’
Harry heard Ron and Dean scramble out of bed for a better look. He lay quite still and silent while the pain in his scar subsided and disappointment washed over him. He felt as though a wonderful treat had been snatched from him at the very last moment ... he had got so close that time.
Glittering pink and silver winged piglets were now soaring past the windows of Gryffindor Tower. Harry lay and listened to the appreciative whoops of Gryffindors in the dormitories below them. His stomach gave a sickening jolt as he remembered that he had Occlumency the following evening.
Harry spent the whole of the next day dreading what Snape was going to say if he found out how much further into the Department of Mysteries Harry had penetrated during his last dream. With a surge of guilt he realised that he had not practised Occlumency once since their last lesson: there had been too much going on since Dumbledore had left; he was sure he would not have been able to empty his mind even if he had tried. He doubted, however, whether Snape would accept that excuse.
He attempted a little last-minute practice during classes that day, but it was no good. Hermione kept asking him what was wrong whenever he fell silent trying to rid himself of all thought and emotion and, after all, the best moment to empty his brain was not while teachers were firing revision questions at the class.
Resigned to the worst, he set off for Snape's office after dinner. Halfway across the Entrance Hall, however, Cho came hurrying up to him.
‘Over here,’ said Harry, glad of a reason to postpone his meeting with Snape, and beckoning her across to the corner of the Entrance Hall where the giant hour-glasses stood. Gryffindor's was now almost empty. ‘Are you OK? Umbridge hasn't been asking you about the DA, has she?’
‘Oh, no,’ said Cho hurriedly. ‘No, it was only ... well, I just wanted to say ... Harry, I never dreamed Marietta would tell . .’
‘Yeah, well,’ said Harry moodily. He did feel Cho might have chosen her friends a bit more carefully; it was small consolation that the last he had heard, Marietta was still up in the hospital wing and Madam Pomfrey had not been able to make the slightest improvement to her pimples.
‘She's a lovely person really,’ said Cho. ‘She just made a mistake—’
Harry looked at her incredulously.
‘A lovely person who made a mistake?She sold us all out, including you!’
‘Well ... we all got away, didn't we?’ said Cho pleadingly. ‘You know, her mum works for the Ministry, it's really difficult for her—’
‘Ron's dad works for the Ministry too!’ Harry said furiously. ‘And in case you hadn't noticed, he hasn't got sneak written across his face—’
‘That was a really horrible trick of Hermione Granger's,’ said Cho fiercely. ‘She should have told us she'd jinxed that list—’
‘I think it was a brilliant idea,’ said Harry coldly. Cho flushed and her eyes grew brighter.
‘Oh yes, I forgot —of course, if it was darling Hermione‘s idea—’
‘Don't start crying again,’ said Harry warningly.
‘I wasn't going to!’ she shouted.
‘Yeah ... well ... good,’ he said. ‘I've got enough to cope with at the moment.’
‘Go and cope with it then!’ Cho said furiously, turning on her heel and stalking off.
Fuming, Harry descended the stairs to Snape's dungeon and, though he knew from experience how much easier it would be for Snape to penetrate his mind if he arrived angry and resentful, he succeeded in nothing but thinking of a few more things he should have said to Cho about Marietta before reaching the dungeon door.
‘You're late, Potter,’ said Snape coldly, as Harry closed the door behind him.
Snape was standing with his back to Harry, removing, as usual, certain of his thoughts and placing them carefully in Dumbledore's Pensieve. He dropped the last silvery strand into the stone basin and turned to face Harry.
‘So,’ he said. ‘Have you been practising?’
‘Yes,’ Harry lied, looking carefully at one of the legs of Snape's desk.
‘Well, we'll soon find out, won't we?’ said Snape smoothly. ‘Wand out, Potter.’
Harry moved into his usual position, facing Snape with the desk between them. His heart was pumping last with anger at Cho and anxiety about how much Snape was about to extract from his mind.
‘On the count of three then,’ said Snape lazily. ‘One—two—’
Snape's office door banged open and Draco Malfoy sped in.
‘Professor Snape, sir—oh—sorry—’
Malfoy was looking at Snape and Harry in some surprise.
‘It's all right, Draco,’ said Snape, lowering his wand. ‘Potter is here for a little remedial Potions.’
Harry had not seen Malfoy look so gleeful since Umbridge had turned up to inspect Hagrid.
‘I didn't know,’ he said, leering at Harry, who knew his face was burning. He would have given a great deal to be able to shout the truth at Malfoy—or, even better, to hit him with a good curse.
‘Well, Draco, what is it?’ asked Snape.
‘It's Professor Umbridge, sir—she needs your help,’ said Malfoy.
‘They've found Montague, sir, he's turned up jammed inside a toilet on the fourth floor.’
‘How did he get in there?’ demanded Snape.
‘I don't know, sir, he's a bit confused.’
‘Very well, very well. Potter,’ said Snape, ‘we shall resume this lesson tomorrow evening.’
He turned and swept from his office. Malfoy mouthed, ‘Remedial Potions?’ at Harry behind Snape's back before following him.
Seething, Harry replaced his wand inside his robes and made to leave the room. At least he had twenty-four more hours in which to practise; he knew he ought to feel grateful for the narrow escape, though it was hard that it came at the expense of Malfoy telling the whole school that he needed remedial Potions.
He was at the office door when he saw it: a patch of shivering light dancing on the doorframe. He stopped, and stood looking at it, reminded of something ... then he remembered: it was a little like the lights he had seen in his dream last night, the lights in the second room he had walked through on his journey through the Department of Mysteries.
He turned around. The light was coming from the Pensieve sitting on Snape's desk. The silver-white contents were ebbing and swirling within. Snape's thoughts ... things he did not want Harry to see if he broke through Snape's defences accidentally ...
Harry gazed at the Pensieve, curiosity welling inside him ... what was it that Snape was so keen to hide from Harry?
The silvery lights shivered on the wall ... Harry took two steps towards the desk, thinking hard. Could it possibly be information about the Department of Mysteries that Snape was determined to keep from him?
Harry looked over his shoulder, his heart now pumping harder and faster than ever. How long would it take Snape to release Montague from the toilet? Would he come straight back to his office afterwards, or accompany Montague to the hospital wing? Surely the latter ... Montague was Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, Snape would want to make sure he was all right.
Harry walked the remaining few feet to the Pensieve and stood over it, gazing into its depths. He hesitated, listening, then pulled out his wand again. The office and the corridor beyond were completely silent. He gave the contents of the Pensieve a small prod with the end of his wand.
The silvery stuff within began to swirl very fast. Harry leaned forwards over it and saw that it had become transparent. He was, once again, looking down into a room as though through a circular window in the ceiling ... in fact, unless he was much mistaken, he was looking down into the Great Hall.
His breath was actually fogging the surface of Snape's thoughts ... his brain seemed to be in limbo ... it would be insane to do the thing he was so strongly tempted to do ... he was trembling ... Snape could be back at any moment ... but Harry thought of Cho's anger, of Malfoy's jeering face, and a reckless daring seized him.
He took a great gulp of breath, and plunged his face into the surface of Snape's thoughts. At once, the floor of the office lurched, tipping Harry head-first into the Pensieve ...
He was falling through cold blackness, spinning furiously as he went, and then—’
He was standing in the middle of the Great Hall, but the four house tables were gone. Instead, there were more than a hundred smaller tables, all facing the same way, at each of which sat a student, head bent low, scribbling on a roll of parchment. The only sound was the scratching of quills and the occasional rustle as somebody adjusted their parchment. It was clearly exam time.
Sunshine was streaming through the high windows on to the bent heads, which shone chestnut and copper and gold in the bright light. Harry looked around carefully. Snape had to be here somewhere ... this was his memory ...
And there he was, at a table right behind Harry. Harry stared. Snape-the-teenager had a stringy, pallid look about him, like a plant kept in the dark. His hair was lank and greasy and was flopping on to the table, his hooked nose barely half an inch from the surface of the parchment as he scribbled. Harry moved around behind Snape and read the heading of the examination paper: DEFENCE AGAINST THE DARK ARTS—ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVEL.
So Snape had to be fifteen or sixteen, around Harry's own age. His hand was flying across the parchment; he had written at least a foot more than his closest neighbours, and yet his writing was minuscule and cramped.
‘Five more minutes!’
The voice made Harry jump. Turning, he saw the top of Professor Flitwick's head moving between the desks a short distance away. Professor Flitwick was walking past a boy with untidy black hair ... very untidy black hair ...
Harry moved so quickly that, had he been solid, he would have knocked desks flying. Instead he seemed to slide, dreamlike, across two aisles and up a third. The back of the black-haired boy's head drew nearer and ... he was straightening up now, putting down his quill, pulling his roll of parchment towards him so as to reread what he had written ...
Harry stopped in front of the desk and gazed down at his fifteen-year-old father.
Excitement exploded in the pit of his stomach: it was as though he was looking at himself but with deliberate mistakes. James's eyes were hazel, his nose was slightly longer than Harry's and there was no scar on his forehead, but they had the same thin face, same mouth, same eyebrows; James's hair stuck up at the back exactly as Harry's did, his hands could have been Harry's and Harry could tell that, when James stood up, they would be within an inch of each other in height.
James yawned hugely and rumpled up his hair, making it even messier than it had been. Then, with a glance towards Professor Flitwick, he turned in his seat and grinned at a boy sitting four seats behind him.
With another shock of excitement, Harry saw Sirius give James the thumbs-up. Sirius was lounging in his chair at his ease, tilting it back on two legs. He was very good-looking; his dark hair fell into his eyes with a sort of casual elegance neither James's nor Harry's could ever have achieved, and a girl sitting behind him was eyeing him hopefully, though he didn't seem to have noticed. And two seats along from this girl—Harry's stomach gave another pleasurable squirm— was Remus Lupin. He looked rather pale and peaky (was the full moon approaching?) and was absorbed in the exam: as he reread his answers, he scratched his chin with the end of his quill, frowning slightly.
So that meant Wormtail had to be around here somewhere, too ... and sure enough, Harry spotted him within seconds: a small, mousy-haired boy with a pointed nose. Wormtail looked anxious; he was chewing his fingernails, staring down at his paper, scuffing the ground with his toes. Every now and then he glanced hopefully at his neighbour's paper. Harry stared at Wormtail for a moment, then back at James, who was now doodling on a bit of scrap parchment. He had drawn a Snitch and was now tracing the letters ‘L.E.'. What did they stand for?
‘Quills down, please!’ squeaked Professor Flitwick. ‘That means you too, Stebbins! Please remain seated while I collect your parchment! Accio!’
Over a hundred rolls of parchment zoomed into the air and into Professor Flitwick's outstretched arms, knocking him backwards off his feet. Several people laughed. A couple of students at the front desks got up, took hold of Professor Flitwick beneath the elbows and lifted him back on to his feet.
‘Thank you ... thank you,’ panted Professor Flitwick. ‘Very well, everybody, you're free to go!’
Harry looked down at his father, who had hastily crossed out the ‘L.E.’ he had been embellishing, jumped to his feet, stuffed his quill and the exam paper into his bag, which he slung over his back, and stood waiting for Sirius to join him.
Harry looked around and glimpsed Snape a short way away, moving between the tables towards the doors to the Entrance Hall, still absorbed in his own exam paper. Round-shouldered yet angular, he walked in a twitchy manner that recalled a spider, and his oily hair was jumping about his face.
A gang of chattering girls separated Snape from James, Sirius and Lupin, and by planting himself in their midst, Harry managed to keep Snape in sight while straining his ears to catch the voices of James and his friends.
‘Did you like question ten, Moony?’ asked Sirius as they emerged into the Entrance Hall.
‘Loved it, said Lupin briskly. ‘Give five signs that identify the werewolf.Excellent question.’
‘D'you think you managed to get all the signs?’ said James in tones of mock concern.
‘Think I did,’ said Lupin seriously, as they joined the crowd thronging around the front doors eager to get out into the sunlit grounds. ‘One: he's sitting on my chair. Two: he's wearing my clothes. Three: his name's Remus Lupin.’
Wormtail was the only one who didn't laugh.
‘I got the snout shape, the pupils of the eyes and the tufted tail,’ he said anxiously, ‘but I couldn't think what else—’
‘How thick are you, Wormtail?’ said James impatiently. ‘You run round with a werewolf once a month—’
‘Keep your voice down,’ implored Lupin.
Harry looked anxiously behind him again. Snape remained close by, still buried in his exam questions—but this was Snape's memory and Harry was sure that if Snape chose to wander off in a different direction once outside in the grounds, he, Harry, would not be able to follow James any further. To his intense relief, however, when James and his three friends strode off down the lawn towards the lake, Snape followed, still poring over the exam paper and apparently with no fixed idea of where he was going. By keeping a little ahead of him, Harry managed to maintain a close watch on James and the others.
‘Well, I thought that paper was a piece of cake,’ he heard Sirius say. ‘I'll be surprised if I don't get “Outstanding” on it at least.’
‘Me too,’ said James. He put his hand in his pocket and took out a struggling Golden Snitch.
‘Where'd you get that?’
‘Nicked it,’ said James casually. He started playing with the Snitch, allowing it to fly as much as a foot away before seizing it again; his reflexes were excellent. Wormtail watched him in awe.
They stopped in the shade of the very same beech tree on the edge of the lake where Harry, Ron and Hermione had once spent a Sunday finishing their homework, and threw themselves down on the grass. Harry looked over his shoulder yet again and saw, to his delight, that Snape had settled himself on the grass in the dense shadow of a clump of bushes. He was as deeply immersed in the OWL paper as ever, which left Harry free to sit down on the grass between the beech and the bushes and watch the foursome under the tree. The sunlight was dazzling on the smooth surface of the lake, on the bank of which the group of laughing girls who had just left the Great Hall were sitting, with their shoes and socks off, cooling their feet in the water.
Lupin had pulled out a book and was reading. Sirius stared around at the students milling over the grass, looking rather haughty and bored, but very handsomely so. James was still playing with the Snitch, letting it zoom further and further away, almost escaping but always grabbed at the last second. Wormtail was watching him with his mouth open. Every time James made a particularly difficult catch, Wormtail gasped and applauded. After five minutes of this, Harry wondered why James didn't tell Wormtail to get a grip on himself, but James seemed to be enjoying the attention. Harry noticed that his father had a habit of rumpling up his hair as though to keep it from getting too tidy, and he also kept looking over at the girls by the water's edge.
‘Put that away, will you,’ said Sirius finally, as James made a fine catch and Wormtail let out a cheer, ‘before Wormtail wets himself with excitement.’
Wormtail turned slightly pink, but James grinned.
‘If it bothers you,’ he said, stuffing the Snitch back in his pocket. Harry had the distinct impression that Sirius was the only one for whom James would have stopped showing off.
‘I'm bored,’ said Sirius. ‘Wish it was full moon.’
‘You might,’ said Lupin darkly from behind his book. ‘We've still got Transfiguration, if you're bored you could test me. Here ...’ and he held out his book.
But Sirius snorted. ‘I don't need to look at that rubbish, I know it all.’
‘This'll liven you up, Padfoot,’ said James quietly. ‘Look who it is.’ Sirius's head turned. He became very still, like a dog that has scented a rabbit.
‘Excellent,’ he said softly. ‘Snivellus.’
Harry turned to see what Sirius was looking at.
Snape was on his feet again, and was stowing the OWL paper in his bag. As he left the shadows of the bushes and set off across the grass, Sirius and James stood up.
Lupin and Wormtail remained sitting: Lupin was still staring down at his book, though his eyes were not moving and a faint frown line had appeared between his eyebrows; Wormtail was looking from Sirius and James to Snape with a look of avid anticipation on his face.
‘All right, Snivellus?’ said James loudly.
Snape reacted so fast it was as though he had been expecting an attack: dropping his bag, he plunged his hand inside his robes and his wand was halfway into the air when James shouted, ‘Expelliarmus!’
Snape's wand flew twelve feet into the air and fell with a little thud in the grass behind him. Sirius let out a bark of laughter.
‘Impedimenta!’ he said, pointing his wand at Snape, who was knocked off his feet halfway through a dive towards his own fallen wand.
Students all around had turned to watch. Some of them had got to their feet and were edging nearer. Some looked apprehensive, others entertained.
Snape lay panting on the ground. James and Sirius advanced on him, wands raised, James glancing over his shoulder at the girls at the water's edge as he went. Wormtail was on his feet now, watching hungrily, edging around Lupin to get a clearer view.
‘How'd the exam go, Snivelly?’ said James.
‘I was watching him, his nose was touching the parchment,’ said Sirius viciously. ‘There'll be great grease marks all over it, they won't be able to read a word.’
Several people watching laughed; Snape was clearly unpopular. Wormtail sniggered shrilly. Snape was trying to get up, but the jinx was still operating on him; he was struggling, as though bound by invisible ropes.
‘You—wait,’ he panted, staring up at James with an expression of purest loathing, ‘you— wait!’
‘Wait for what?’ said Sirius coolly. ‘What're you going to do, Snivelly, wipe your nose on us?’
Snape let out a stream of mixed swear words and hexes, but with his wand ten feet away nothing happened.
‘Wash out your mouth,’ said James coldly. ‘Scourgify!’
Pink soap bubbles streamed from Snape's mouth at once; the froth was covering his lips, making him gag, choking him—’
‘Leave him ALONE!’
James and Sirius looked round. James's free hand immediately jumped to his hair.
It was one of the girls from the lake edge. She had thick, dark red hair that fell to her shoulders, and startlingly green almond-shaped eyes—Harry's eyes.
Harry's mother.
‘All right, Evans?’ said James, and the tone of his voice was suddenly pleasant, deeper, more mature.
‘Leave him alone,’ Lily repeated. She was looking at James with every sign of great dislike. ‘What's he done to you?’
‘Well,’ said James, appearing to deliberate the point, ‘it's more the fact that he exists, if you know what I mean ...’
Many of the surrounding students laughed, Sirius and Wormtail included, but Lupin, still apparently intent on his book, didn't, and nor did Lily.
‘You think you're funny,’ she said coldly. ‘But you're just an arrogant, bullying toerag, Potter. Leave him alone.’
‘I will if you go out with me, Evans,’ said James quickly. ‘Go on ... go out with me and I'll never lay a wand on old Snivelly again.’
Behind him, the Impediment Jinx was wearing off. Snape was beginning to inch towards his fallen wand, spitting out soapsuds as he crawled.
‘I wouldn't go out with you if it was a choice between you and the giant squid,’ said Lily.
‘Bad luck, Prongs,’ said Sirius briskly, and turned back to Snape. ‘OI!’
But too late; Snape had directed his wand straight at James; there was a flash of light and a gash appeared on the side of James's face, spattering his robes with blood. James whirled about: a second flash of light later, Snape was hanging upside-down in the air, his robes falling over his head to reveal skinny, pallid legs and a pair of greying underpants.
Many people in the small crowd cheered; Sirius, James and Wormtail roared with laughter.
Lily, whose furious expression had twitched for an instant as though she was going to smile, said, ‘Let him down!’
‘Certainly,’ said James and he jerked his wand upwards; Snape fell into a crumpled heap on the ground. Disentangling himself from his robes he got quickly to his feet, wand up, but Sirius said, ‘Petrificus Totalus!’ and Snape keeled over again, rigid as a board.
‘LEAVE HIM ALONE!’ Lily shouted. She had her own wand out now. James and Sirius eyed it warily.
‘Ah, Evans, don't make me hex you,’ said James earnestly.
‘Take the curse off him, then!’
James sighed deeply, then turned to Snape and muttered the counter-curse.
‘There you go,’ he said, as Snape struggled to his feet. ‘You're lucky Evans was here, Snivellus— ’
‘I don't need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!’
Lily blinked.
‘Fine,’ she said coolly. ‘I won't bother in future. And I'd wash your pants if I were you, Snivellus.’
‘Apologise to Evans!’ James roared at Snape, his wand pointed threateningly at him.
‘I don't want you to make him apologise,’ Lily shouted, rounding on James. ‘You're as bad as he is.’
‘What?’ yelped James. ‘I'd NEVER call you a—you-know-what!’
‘Messing up your hair because you think it looks cool to look like you've just got off your broomstick, showing off with that stupid Snitch, walking down corridors and hexing anyone who annoys you just because you can—I'm surprised your broomstick can get off the ground with that fat head on it. You make me SICK.’
She turned on her heel and hurried away.
‘Evans!’ James shouted after her. ‘Hey, EVANS!’
But she didn't look back.
‘What is it with her?’ said James, trying and failing to look as though this was a throwaway question of no real importance to him.
‘Reading between the lines, I'd say she thinks you're a bit conceited, mate,’ said Sirius.
‘Right,’ said James, who looked furious now, ‘right—’
There was another flash of light, and Snape was once again hanging upside-down in the air.
‘Who wants to see me take off Snivelly's pants?’
But whether James really did take off Snape's pants, Harry never found out. A hand had closed tight over his upper arm, closed with a pincer-like grip. Wincing, Harry looked round to see who had hold of him, and saw, with a thrill of horror, a fully grown, adult-sized Snape standing right beside him, white with rage.
‘Having fun?’
Harry felt himself rising into the air; the summer's day evaporated around him; he was floating upwards through icy blackness, Snape's hand still tight upon his upper arm. Then, with a swooping feeling as though he had turned head-over-heels in midair, his feet hit the stone floor of Snape's dungeon and he was standing again beside the Pensieve on Snape's desk in the shadowy, present-day Potion master's study.
‘So,’ said Snape, gripping Harry's arm so tightly Harry's hand was starting to feel numb. ‘So ... been enjoying yourself, Potter?’
‘N-no,’ said Harry, trying to free his arm.
It was scary: Snape's lips were shaking, his face was white, his teeth were bared.
‘Amusing man, your father, wasn't he?’ said Snape, shaking Harry so hard his glasses slipped down his nose.
‘I—didn't—’
Snape threw Harry from him with all his might. Harry fell hard on to the dungeon floor.
‘You will not repeat what you saw to anybody!’ Snape bellowed.
‘No,’ said Harry, getting to his feet as far from Snape as he could. ‘No, of course I w—’
‘Get out, get out, I don't want to see you in this office ever again!’
And as Harry hurtled towards the door, a jar of dead cockroaches exploded over his head. He wrenched the door open and Hew along the corridor, stopping only when he had put three floors between himself and Snape. There he leaned against the wall, panting, and rubbing his bruised arm.
He had no desire at all to return to Gryffindor Tower so early, nor to tell Ron and Hermione what he had just seen. What was making Harry feel so horrified and unhappy was not being shouted at or having jars thrown at him; it was that he knew how it felt to be humiliated in the middle of a circle of onlookers, knew exactly how Snape had felt as his father had taunted him, and that judging from what he had just seen, his father had been every bit as arrogant as Snape had always told him.
　魔法部的命令
　　多丽斯•简•昂布瑞吉（最高检察官）代替
　　艾伯斯•丹伯多成为霍格瓦彻魔法学校的
　　校长
　　上面的内容与第28条法令一样
　　签名：康奈斯 奥斯沃德 福吉，魔法部
　　前一天晚上，这条消息就在学校内传遍了，但他们没有解释为什么每一个在城堡的人好象都知道丹伯多战胜过2个傲罗，最高检察官，魔法部部长和他的年少的助理趋于逃亡。不管哈利在城堡的哪里，唯一的谈话主题就是丹伯多的逃走，可是，某些细节可能在一遍遍的重复中漏掉了（哈利无意中听到一个2年级的女孩自信地说，另一个福吉现在正躺在圣芒克医院，头上戴着南瓜），令人惊奇的就是其余准确的消息是什么。每个人都知道，例如，哈利和Marietta是学生中唯一在丹伯多的办公室看到了这见事的，还有，Marietta现在正在医院里，哈利觉得自己被邀请包围住了，人们都想知道第一手的描述。
　　“等不利多不久以后会回来，”Ernie Macmillan在从草药课回来的路上有把握地说，当他专心地听完哈利的故事后。“他们2年级时都没把他赶出去，今年也不能。
　　那个胖修道士告诉我——”他有阴谋地降低了声调，所以哈利，罗恩和荷米恩不得不更加靠近他，“——昂布瑞吉昨天晚上试图进入他的办公室，当他们搜索整个城堡要找到他之后。她不能通过那只怪兽，校长的办公室自己封锁上了。”Ernie得意地笑了。“当然，她很正常地发了脾气。”
　　“噢，我希望她正坐在校长的办公室里幻想，”荷米恩恶意地说，当他们正在上楼梯要回大礼堂时。
　　“统治着其他所有的教师，愚蠢的骄傲，疯狂的老——”
　　“现在，你真的想说完你的话吗，格林佐？”
　　德科拉•马尔夫出现在门后面，后面紧跟着克拉布和高尔。他苍白，尖尖的脸上带着恶意。
　　“恐怕我要扣格兰芬多和赫奇帕奇一些分，”他懒洋洋地说。
　　“只有教师才能扣学院的分数，马尔夫，” Ernie立刻说。
　　“哈，我们也是级长，记得吗？”罗恩咆哮着说。
　　“我知道级长不能扣分，Weasel King，”马尔夫冷笑着说。克拉布和高尔吃吃地窃笑。“但询问组的成员——”
　　荷米恩严厉地说了声‘T’
　　“询问组，格林佐，”马尔夫说，指着一块很小的银子“在我的礼服上级长的徽章后面，”“在魔法部的支持下，挑选出来的最好的学生，昂布瑞吉教授亲自挑选的。总之，询问组的成员可以扣分，所以，格林佐，我会从你那扣除5分因为你侮辱女校长。Macmillan，因为你反驳我，所以扣5分。扣5分那是因为我不喜欢你，波特。威斯里，你的衬衫分开了，所以再扣5分。哦，对，我忘记了，你是一个泥巴种，格林佐，所以扣10分。”
　　罗恩拿出他的魔杖，但荷米恩把他的魔杖拉开，低声说，“不！”
　　“聪明的动作，格林佐，”马尔夫喘着气说。“新的校长，新的时代。乖点，波特，Weasel King。”
　　伴随着恶意的笑声，他大步地和克拉布还有高尔走了。
　　“他是在吓唬人，” Ernie说，看起来很惊骇。“他不能扣分，那会完全破坏级长的系统的。”
　　但哈利，罗恩和荷米恩机械地朝他们身后巨大的计分器转过身。格兰芬多和拉文克劳早上还是并驾齐驱，都是最高的。甚至当他们看的时候，石头向上飞，总分也减少了，实际上，唯一一个似乎没变的就是充满着绿宝石的斯莱特林的砂漏。
　　“你，注意到了吗？”弗莱德的声音说。
　　他和乔治刚刚从大理石楼梯上下来，加入了哈利，罗恩，荷米恩和Ernie，一起在计分器前站着。
　　“马尔夫刚刚扣了我们差不多50分，”哈利狂怒地说，当他们看到更多的石头向上飞离格兰芬多的砂漏。
　　“是啊，Montague试图分裂我们，”乔治说。
　　“你的意思是什么，试图？”罗恩快速地说。
　　“他从来没有命令，”弗莱德说，“这应归于他逼我们进入一楼的消失的橱柜。”
　　荷米恩看起来很震惊。
　　“但你会有麻烦的。”
　　“不，那应该要到Montague再出现，还有几格星期呢，我不知道我们把他送到哪里了，”弗莱德沉着地说。“总之，我们选择不再关心是不是有麻烦。”
　　“你曾经吗？”荷米恩问。
　　“当然了，”乔治说。“从来没被开除，有吗？”
　　“我们总是知道该怎么办，”弗莱德说。
　　“我们偶而会有点小小的困难，”乔治说。
　　“但我们总是短暂地停一下，因为有蓄意的破坏，”弗莱德说。
　　“但现在——”罗恩试探着说。
　　“好的。现在——”乔治说。
　　“——因为丹伯多走了——”弗莱德说。
　　“——我们猜想那些蓄意的破坏——”乔治说。
　　“——绝对是我们亲爱的新校长应得的报答，”弗莱德说。
　　“你不能！”荷米恩低声说。“你真的不能！她正在努力地找个理由开除你！”
　　“你没得到它，荷米恩，不是吗？”弗莱德说，微笑着看着她。“我们不会再关心能在这里待多久。我们要离开这里如果我们不想再为丹伯多做点什么事。所以，总之，”他看了看他的手表，“正在开始逐步进行中。我要去礼堂吃中饭了，如果我是你，你一直站在这里会让教师看见你没任何事情和它做的。”
　　“一些事情和谁做？”荷米恩忧虑地说。
　　“你会看到，”乔治说，“向前跑，现在。”
　　弗莱德和乔治转身离开了，并消失在向下行去吃饭地人群中。看起来非常困惑，Ernie小声地说了些关于还没完成的变形课的作业然后就急忙跑开了。
　　“我想我们应该离开这里，你知道，”荷米恩不安地说。“只是——”
　　“哦，好吧，”罗恩说，然后他们3个向着去礼堂的门走去，但哈利被匆忙行走的人轻轻地打了一下肩时甚至没看一下，然后转身，他发现自己几乎是跟费奇鼻子对鼻子站在一起。他匆匆地后退了几步；费奇在这个距离看得最清楚。
　　“女校长要见你，波特，”他恶意的看着他。
　　“我没那样做，”哈利笨拙地说，想象着弗莱德和乔治正在计划什么。费奇笑得更厉害了。
　　“对不起自己的良心，呃？”他喘息着说。“跟着我。”
　　“我注意到了，”哈利冷淡地说。
　　哈利回头看着罗恩和荷米恩，他们都行担心。他耸耸肩，然后跟着费奇离开礼堂，和那些饥饿学生正好相反。
　　费奇似乎有极好的心情；他在爬大理石楼梯时不停地发出嗡嗡的声音。当他们第一次停下来时，他说，“这里周围的东西都变了，波特。”
　　“是啊。我每年都对丹伯多说对你管得太松了，”费奇说，吃吃地笑了。“你的那些丑恶的小习惯始终改不了，如果你知道我会鞭打你呢，会改吗，现在如果我把你们脚朝上倒挂起来，还会有人对在走廊里扔有毒牙的飞盘没感触吗？但当第29条教育法令出现时，波特，我就可以那些事情。还有她问部长能不能为麻烦的事物签署一个程序。哦, 由于她的掌管这里的事物正在变得非常不同。 昂布瑞吉明显已经控制了费奇,哈利想，而且最坏的是他或许会证明一个重要的武器;他在学校知道的秘密通道或许只有威斯里双胞胎和他才知道。
　　“我们来了，”他说, 哈利敲了昂布瑞吉教授的门并推开它。“波特来了，夫人。” 昂布瑞吉的办公室, 由于哈利已经受过许多禁闭，这个办公室对他来说很熟悉, 一样是木制的一段木头横躺在她的书桌前像往常一样但却写着: 女校长。同时,他的火弩箭还有弗莱德和乔治的横扫扫帚, 他由于一阵剧痛而看见,在书桌后的墙壁上用铁链锁住而且锁着强壮的铁钉。
　　昂布瑞吉正坐在书桌后面,忙碌地在她的粉红色羊皮纸之上潦草地书写，但是她马上抬起头并且向他们微笑。
　　“谢谢你,阿格斯,”她柔和地说。
　　“不, 夫人用, 不用，” 费奇说, 鞠了一躬，如果他的风湿症会允许, 然后向后离开。 “坐下,”昂布瑞吉简略地说, 指向一张椅子。哈利坐下。她继续潦草地书写。他看着在她的头的后面一些污秽的碟子上的小猫,觉得她很奇怪。
　　她最后说“很好, 现在，”，放下她的羽毛笔然后看着他, 像一个蟾蜍不能忍受飞行一样。“你愿意喝什么吗？” “什么 ？” 哈利说, 确信他听清楚了她的话。 “要喝什么，波特先生,”她说,笑得更厉害。“茶？ 咖啡？ 南瓜汁？”
　　当她说出了每种饮料的名字的时候,她就挥一下她的魔杖，然后茶杯或玻璃杯就在她的书桌上出现。
　　“不,谢谢你,”哈利说。
　　“我希望你和我喝杯茶,”她说, 她的声音变成危险而甜蜜。“选择一个。” “好吧。茶,”哈利耸耸肩说。
　　她起身并增加了点牛奶后又回来。然后她一边喝一边在书桌周围走来走去,带着恶意的微笑。
　　“在那里,”她说,把它给他。“在它没冷之前, 喝吧,不是吗？ 好,现在,波特先生。我想我们应该谈一下,在昨晚的痛苦事件之后。”
　　他什么也没说。她坐进她的位子之后就等着。安静的几分钟过去了,她突然说,“你不在喝！”
　　他端起杯子对着他的嘴唇,突然,放下它。在昂布瑞吉的后面，一个画了小猫的画象里的蓝眼睛，就象疯眼汉的那只有魔法的眼睛一样，这提醒了哈利，疯眼汉曾告诉他不要喝敌人给的任何东西。
　　“怎么了？” 昂布瑞吉说, 仍然看着他。“你想要糖吗？” “不，”哈利说。
　　他再次端起杯子对着他的嘴唇并假装在啜饮,虽然紧紧地将他的嘴闭上。昂布瑞吉的微笑更大了。
　　“好的，” 她耳语道。“非常好。现在。”她稍微转了下身。“艾伯斯•丹伯多在哪里？” “不知道，” 哈利敏捷地说。
　　“喝吧, 喝吧,”她说, 仍然微笑着。“现在，波特先生，我们不玩天真的游戏。我知道你已经知道他去了哪里。你和丹伯多一开始就是在一起的。“考虑你的立场，波特先生。” “我不知道他在哪里,” 哈利重复道。
　　他再次假装喝。她正在非常近地看着他。
　　“非常好，” 她说，虽然她看起来不高兴。“如果在那种情况下，你将会很快的告诉我天狼星布莱克的下落。” 哈利的胃翻转了，他的手握住茶杯以便它不在茶碟中嘎嘎响得太厉害。他把杯子倾斜并对他的嘴, 但一些热的液体滴到他的宽松长袍上。 “我不知道，”他说，有点儿快。
　　“波特先生，”昂布瑞吉说，“让我提醒一下你，在十月我在格兰芬多的火炉里几乎捉到了他。我完全知道它是来见你, 他遇见你了，如果我有证明，那么你今天不会是自由自在的了，我答应你。我重复一遍，波特先生。天狼星布莱克在哪里？'“不清楚，”哈利大声地说。“没有任何线索。”
　　他们盯着彼此看如此长的时间，哈利感到他的眼睛似乎湿了。 然后昂布瑞吉站了起来
Chapter 32 Out of the Fire
‘I'm not going ... I don't need the hospital wing ... I don't want ...’
He was gibbering as he tried to pull away from Professor Tofty, who was looking at Harry with much concern after helping him out into the Entrance Hall with the students all around them staring.
I'm—I'm fine, sir,’ Harry stammered, wiping the sweat from his face. ‘Really ... I just fell asleep ... had a nightmare ...’
‘Pressure of examinations!’ said the old wizard sympathetically, patting Harry shakily on the shoulder. ‘It happens, young man, it happens! Now, a cooling drink of water, and perhaps you will be ready to return to the Great Hall? The examination is nearly over, but you may be able to round off your last answer nicely?’
‘Yes,’ said Harry wildly. ‘I mean ... no ... I've done—done as much as I can, I think ...’
‘Very well, very well,’ said the old wizard gently. ‘I shall go and collect your examination paper and I suggest that you go and have a nice lie down.’
‘I'll do that,’ said Harry, nodding vigorously. ‘Thanks very much.’
The second that the old man's heels disappeared over the threshold into the Great Hall, Harry ran up the marble staircase, hurtled along the corridors so fast the portraits he passed muttered reproaches, up more flights of stairs, and finally burst like a hurricane through the double doors of the hospital wing, causing Madam Pomfrey—who had been spooning some bright blue liquid into Montague's open mouth—to shriek in alarm.
‘Potter, what do you think you're doing?’
‘I need to see Professor McGonagall,’ gasped Harry, the breath tearing his lungs. ‘Now ... it's urgent!’
‘She's not here, Potter,’ said Madam Pomfrey sadly. ‘She was transferred to St. Mungo's this morning. Four Stunning Spells straight to the chest at her age? It's a wonder they didn't kill her.’
‘She's ... gone?’ said Harry, shocked.
The bell rang just outside the dormitory and he heard the usual distant rumbling of students starting to flood out into the corridors above and below him. He remained quite still, looking at Madam Pomfrey. Terror was rising inside him.
There was nobody left to tell. Dumbledore had gone, Hagrid had gone, but he had always expected Professor McGonagall to be there, irascible and inflexible, perhaps, but always dependably, solidly present ...
‘I don't wonder you're shocked, Potter,’ said Madam Pomfrey, with a kind of fierce approval in her face. ‘As if one of them could have Stunned Minerva McGonagall face-on by daylight! Cowardice, that's what it was ... despicable cowardice ... if I wasn't worried what would happen to you students without me, I'd resign in protest.’
‘Yes,’ said Harry blankly.
He wheeled around and strode blindly from the hospital wing into the teeming corridor where he stood, buffeted by the crowd, panic expanding inside him like poison gas so that his head swam and he could not think what to do ...
Ron and Hermione, said a voice in his head.
He was running again, pushing students out of the way, oblivious to their angry protests. He sprinted, back down two floors and was at the top of the marble staircase when he saw them hurrying towards him.
‘Harry!’ said Hermione at once, looking very frightened. ‘What happened? Are you all right? Are you ill?’
‘Where have you been?’ demanded Ron.
‘Come with me,’ Harry said quickly. ‘Come on, I've got to tell you something.’
He led them along the first-floor corridor, peering through doorways, and at last found an empty classroom into which he dived, closing the door behind Ron and Hermione the moment they were inside, and leaned against it, facing them.
‘Voldemorts got Sirius.’
‘What?’
‘How d'you—?’
‘Saw it. Just now. When I fell asleep in the exam.’
‘But—but where? How?’ said Hermione, whose face was white.
‘I dunno how,’ said Harry. ‘But I know exactly where. There's a room in the Department of Mysteries full of shelves covered in these little glass balls and they're at the end of row ninety-seven ... he's trying to use Sirius to get whatever it is he wants from in there ... he's torturing him ... says he'll end by killing him!’
Harry found his voice was shaking, as were his knees. He moved over to a desk and sat down on it, trying to master himself.
‘How're we going to get there?’ he asked them.
There was a moment's silence. Then Ron said, ‘G-get there?’
‘Get to the Department of Mysteries, so we can rescue Sirius!’ Harry said loudly.
‘But—Harry ...’ said Ron weakly.
‘What? What?’ said Harry.
He could not understand why they were both gaping at him as though he was asking them something unreasonable.
‘Harry,’ said Hermione in a rather frightened voice, ‘er ... how ... how did Voldemort get into the Ministry of Magic without anybody realising he was there?’
‘How do I know?’ bellowed Harry. ‘The question is how we're going to get in there!’
‘But ... Harry, think about this,’ said Hermione, taking a step towards him, ‘it's five o'clock in the afternoon ... the Ministry of Magic must be full of workers ... how would Voldemort and Sirius have got in without being seen? Harry ... they're probably the two most wanted wizards in the world ... you think they could get into a building full of Aurors undetected?’
‘I dunno, Voldemort used an Invisibility Cloak or something!’ Harry shouted. ‘Anyway, the Department of Mysteries has always been completely empty whenever I've been—’
‘You've never been there, Harry,’ said Hermione quietly. ‘You've dreamed about the place, that's all.’
‘They're not normal dreams!’ Harry shouted in her face, standing up and taking a step closer to her in turn. He wanted to shake her. ‘How d'you explain Ron's dad then, what was all that about, how come I knew what had happened to him?’
‘He's got a point,’ said Ron quietly, looking at Hermione.
‘But this is just —just so unlikely!’ said Hermione desperately. ‘Harry, how on earth could Voldemort have got hold of Sirius when he's been in Grimmauld Place all the time?’
‘Sirius might've cracked and just wanted some fresh air,’ said Ron, sounding worried. ‘He's been desperate to get out of that house for ages—’
‘But why,’ Hermione persisted, ‘why on earth would Voldemort want to use Sirius to get the weapon, or whatever the thing is?’
‘I dunno, there could be loads of reasons!’ Harry yelled at her. ‘Maybe Sirius is just someone Voldemort doesn't care about seeing hurt—’
‘You know what, I've just thought of something,’ said Ron in a hushed voice. ‘Sirius's brother was a Death Eater, wasn't he? Maybe he told Sirius the secret of how to get the weapon!’
‘Yeah—and that's why Dumbledore's been so keen to keep Sirius locked up all the time!’ said Harry.
‘Look, I'm sorry,’ cried Hermione, ‘but neither of you is making sense, and we've got no proof for any of this, no proof Voldemort and Sirius are even there—’
‘Hermione, Harry's seen them!’ said Ron, rounding on her.
‘OK,’ she said, looking frightened yet determined, ‘I've just got to say this—’
‘What?’
‘You ... this isn't a criticism, Harry! But you do ... sort of ... I mean—don't you think you've got a bit of a—a—saving-people thing?’ she said.
He glared at her.
‘And what's that supposed to mean, a “saving-people thing"?’
‘Well ... you ...’ she looked more apprehensive than ever. ‘I mean ... last year, for instance ... in the lake ... during the Tournament ... you shouldn't have ... I mean, you didn't need to save that little Delacour girl ... you got a bit ... carried away ...’
A wave of hot, prickly anger swept through Harry's body; now could she remind him of that blunder now?
‘I mean, it was really great of you and everything,’ said Hermione quickly, looking positively petrified at the look on Harry's face, ‘everyone thought it was a wonderful thing to do—’
‘That's funny,’ said Harry through gritted teeth, ‘because I definitely remember Ron saying I'd wasted time acting the hero ... is that what you think this is? You reckon I want to act the hero again?’
‘No, no, no!’ said Hermione, looking aghast. ‘That's not what I mean at all!’
‘Well, spit out what you've got to say, because we're wasting time here!’ Harry shouted.
‘I'm trying to say —Voldemort knows you, Harry! He took Ginny down into the Chamber of Secrets to lure you there, it's the kind of thing he does, he knows you're the—the sort of person who'd go to Sirius's aid! What if he's just trying to get you into the Department of Myst—?’
‘Hermione, it doesn't matter if he's done it to get me there or not—they've taken McGonagall to St. Mungo's, there isn't anyone from the Order left at Hogwarts who we can tell, and if we don't go, Sirius is dead!’
‘But Harry—what if your dream was—was just that, a dream?’
Harry let out a roar of frustration. Hermione actually stepped back from him, looking alarmed.
‘You don't get it!’ Harry shouted at her, ‘I'm not having nightmares, I'm not just dreaming! What d'you think all the Occlumency was for, why d'you think Dumbledore wanted me prevented from seeing these things? Because they're REAL, Hermione—Sirius is trapped, I've seen him. Voldemort's got him, and no one else knows, and that means we're the only ones who can save him, and if you don't want to do it, fine, but I'm going, understand? And if I remember rightly, you didn't have a problem with my saving-people thing when it was you I was saving from the dementors, or—he rounded on Ron—when it was your sister I was saving from the Basilisk—’
‘I never said I had a problem!’ said Ron heatedly.
‘But Harry, you've just said it,’ said Hermione fiercely, ‘Dumbledore wanted you to learn to shut these things out of your mind, if you'd done Occlumency properly you'd never have seen this—’
‘IF YOU THINK I'M JUST GOING TO ACT LIKE I HAVEN'T SEEN—’
‘Sirius told you there was nothing more important than you learning to close your mind!’
‘WELL, I EXPECT HE'D SAY SOMETHING DIFFERENT IF HE KNEW WHAT I'D JUST—’
The classroom door opened. Harry, Ron and Hermione whipped around. Ginny walked in, looking curious, closely followed by Luna, who as usual looked as though she had drifted in accidentally.
‘Hi,’ said Ginny uncertainly. ‘We recognised Harry's voice. What are you yelling about?’
‘Never you mind,’ said Harry roughly.
Ginny raised her eyebrows.
‘There's no need to take that tone with me,’ she said coolly, ‘I was only wondering whether I could help.’
‘Well, you can't,’ said Harry shortly.
‘You're being rather rude, you know,’ said Luna serenely.
Harry swore and turned away. The very last thing he wanted now was a conversation with Luna Lovegood.
‘Wait,’ said Hermione suddenly. ‘Wait ... Harry, they can help.’
Harry and Ron looked at her.
‘Listen,’ she said urgently, ‘Harry, we need to establish whether Sirius really has left Headquarters.’
‘I've told you, I saw—’
‘Harry, I'm begging you, please!’ said Hermione desperately. ‘Please let's just check that Sirius isn't at home before we go charging off to London. If we find out he's not there, then I swear I won't try to stop you. I'll come, I'll d—do whatever it takes to try and save him.’
‘Sirius is being tortured NOW!’ shouted Harry. ‘We haven't got time to waste.’
‘But if this is a trick of Voldemort's, Harry, we've got to check, we've got to.’
‘How?’ Harry demanded. ‘How're we going to check?’
‘We'll have to use Umbridge's fire and see if we can contact him, said Hermione, who looked positively terrified at the thought. ‘We'll draw Umbridge away again, but we'll need lookouts, and that's where we can use Ginny and Luna.’
Though clearly struggling to understand what was going on, Ginny said immediately, ‘Yeah, we'll do it,’ and Luna said, ‘When you say “Sirius", are you talking about Stubby Boardman?’
Nobody answered her.
‘OK,’ Harry said aggressively to Hermione, ‘OK, if you can think of a way of doing this quickly, I'm with you, otherwise I'm going to the Department of Mysteries right now.’
‘The Department of Mysteries?’ said Luna, looking mildly surprised. ‘But how are you going to get there?’
Again, Harry ignored her.
‘Right,’ said Hermione, twisting her hands together and pacing up and down between the desks. ‘Right ... well ... one of us has to go and find Umbridge and—and send her off in the wrong direction, keep her away from her office. They could tell her—I don't know—that Peeves is up to something awful as usual ...’
‘I'll do it,’ said Ron at once. ‘I'll tell her Peeves is smashing up the Transfiguration department or something, it's miles away from her office. Come to think of it, I could probably persuade Peeves to do it if I met him on the way.’
It was a mark of the seriousness of the situation that Hermione made no objection to the smashing up of the Transfiguration department.
‘OK,’ she said, her brow furrowed as she continued to pace. ‘Now, we need to keep students right away from her office while we force entry, or some Slytherin's bound to go and tip her off.’
‘Luna and I can stand at either end of the corridor,’ said Ginny promptly, ‘and warn people not to go down there because someone's let off a load of Garrotting Gas.’ Hermione looked surprised at the readiness with which Ginny had come up with this lie; Ginny shrugged and said, ‘Fred and George were planning to do it before they left.’
‘OK,’ said Hermione. ‘Well then, Harry, you and I will be under the Invisibility Cloak and we'll sneak into the office and you can talk to Sirius—’
‘He's not there, Hermione!’
‘I mean, you can —can check whether Sirius is at home or not while I keep watch, I don't think you should be in there alone, Lee's already proved the windows a weak spot, sending those Nifflers through it.’
Even through his anger and impatience, Harry recognised Hermione's offer to accompany him into Umbridge's office as a sign of solidarity and loyalty.
‘I ... OK, thanks,’ he muttered.
‘Right, well, even if we do all of that, I don't think we're going to be able to bank on more than five minutes,’ said Hermione, looking relieved that Harry seemed to have accepted the plan, ‘not with Filch and the wretched Inquisitorial Squad floating around.’
‘Five minutes'll be enough,’ said Harry ‘C'mon, let's go—’
‘Now?’ said Hermione, looking shocked.
‘Of course now!’ said Harry angrily. ‘What did you think, we're going to wait until after dinner or something? Hermione, Sirius is being tortured right now!’
‘I—oh, all right,’ she said desperately. ‘You go and get the Invisibility Cloak and we'll meet you at the end of Umbridge's corridor, OK?’
Harry didn't answer, but flung himself out of the room and began to fight his way through the milling crowds outside. Two floors up he met Seamus and Dean, who hailed him jovially and told him they were planning a dusk-till-dawn end-of-exams celebration in the common room. Harry barely heard them. He scrambled through the portrait hole while they were still arguing about how many black-market Butterbeers they would need and was climbing back out of it, the Invisibility Cloak and Sirius's knife secure in his bag, before they noticed he had left them.
‘Harry, d'you want to chip in a couple of Galleons? Harold Dingle reckons he could sell us some Firewhisky—’
But Harry was already tearing away back along the corridor, and a couple of minutes later was jumping the last few stairs to join Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Luna, who were huddled together at the end of Umbridge's corridor.
‘Got it,’ he panted. ‘Ready to go, then?’
‘All right,’ whispered Hermione as a gang of loud sixth-years passed them. ‘So Ron—you go and head Umbridge off ... Ginny, Luna, if you can start moving people out of the corridor ... Harry and I will get the Cloak on and wait until the coast is clear ...’
Ron strode away, his bright-red hair visible right to the end of the passage; meanwhile Ginny's equally vivid head bobbed between the jostling students surrounding them in the other direction, trailed by Luna's blonde one.
‘Get over here,’ muttered Hermione, tugging at Harry's wrist and pulling him back into a recess where the ugly stone head of a medieval wizard stood muttering to itself on a column. ‘Are—are you sure you're OK, Harry? You're still very pale.’
‘I'm fine,’ he said shortly, tugging the Invisibility Cloak from out of his bag. In truth, his scar was aching, but not so badly that he thought Voldemort had yet dealt Sirius a fatal blow; it had hurt much worse than this when Voldemort had been punishing Avery ...
‘Here,’ he said; he threw the Invisibility Cloak over both of them and they stood listening carefully over the Latin mumblings of the bust in front of them.
‘You can't come down here!’ Ginny was calling to the crowd. ‘No, sorry, you're going to have to go round by the swivelling staircase, someone's let off Garrotting Gas just along here—’
They could hear people complaining; one surly voice said, ‘I can't see no gas.’
‘That's because it's colourless,’ said Ginny in a convincingly exasperated voice, ‘but if you want to walk through it, carry on, then we'll have your body as proof for the next idiot who doesn't believe us.’
Slowly, the crowd thinned. The news about the Garrotting Gas seemed to have spread; people were not coming this way any more. When at last the surrounding area was quite clear, Hermione said quietly, ‘I think that's as good as we're going to get, Harry—come on, let's do it.’
They moved forwards, covered by the Cloak. Luna was standing with her back to them at the far end of the corridor. As they passed Ginny, Hermione whispered, ‘Good one ... don't forget the signal.’
‘What's the signal?’ muttered Harry, as they approached Umbridge's door.
‘A loud chorus of “Weasley is our King” if they see Umbridge coming,’ replied Hermione, as Harry inserted the blade of Sirius's knife in the crack between door and wall. The lock clicked open and they entered the office.
The garish kittens were basking in the late-afternoon sunshine that was warming their plates, but otherwise the office was as still and unoccupied as last time. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief.
‘I thought she might have added extra security after the second Niffler.’
They pulled off the Cloak; Hermione hurried over to the window and stood out of sight, peering down into the grounds with her wand out. Harry dashed over to the fireplace, seized the pot of Floo powder and threw a pinch into the grate, causing emerald flames to burst into life there. He knelt down quickly, thrust his head into the dancing fire and cried, ‘Number twelve, Grimmauld Place!’
His head began to spin as though he had just got off a fairground ride though his knees remained firmly planted on the cold office floor. He kept his eyes screwed up against the whirling ash and when the spinning stopped he opened them to find himself looking out at the long, cold kitchen of Grimmauld Place.
There was nobody there. He had expected this, yet was not prepared for the molten wave of dread and panic that seemed to burst through his stomach at the sight of the deserted room.
‘Sirius?’ he shouted. ‘Sirius, are you there?’
His voice echoed around the room, but there was no answer except a tiny scuffing sound to the right of the fire.
‘Who's there?’ he called, wondering whether it was just a mouse.
Kreacher the house-elf crept into view. He looked highly delighted about something, though he seemed to have recently sustained a nasty injury to both hands, which were heavily bandaged.
‘It's the Potter boy's head in the fire,’ Kreacher informed the empty kitchen, stealing furtive, oddly triumphant glances at Harry. ‘What has he come for, Kreacher wonders?’
‘Where's Sirius, Kreacher?’ Harry demanded.
The house-elf gave a wheezy chuckle.
‘Master has gone out, Harry Potter.’
‘Where's he gone? Where's he gone, Kreacher?’
Kreacher merely cackled.
‘I'm warning you!’ said Harry, fully aware that his scope for inflicting punishment upon Kreacher was almost non-existent in this position. ‘What about Lupin? Mad-Eye? Any of them, are any of them there?’
‘Nobody here but Kreacher!’ said the elf gleefully, and turning away from Harry he began to walk slowly towards the door at the end of the kitchen. ‘Kreacher thinks he will have a little chat with his mistress now, yes, he hasn't had a chance in a long time, Kreacher's master has been keeping him away from her—’
‘Where has Sirius gone?’ Harry yelled after the elf. ‘Kreacher, has he gone to the Department of Mysteries?’
Kreacher stopped in his tracks. Harry could just make out the back of his bald head through the forest of chair legs before him.
‘Master does not tell poor Kreacher where he is going,’ said the elf quietly.
‘But you know!’ shouted Harry. ‘Don't you? You know where he is!’
There was a moment's silence, then the elf let out his loudest cackle yet.
‘Master will not come back from the Department of Mysteries!’ he said gleefully. ‘Kreacher and his mistress are alone again!’
And he scurried forwards and disappeared through the door to the hall.
‘You—'!’
But before he could utter a single curse or insult, Harry felt a great pain at the top of his head; he inhaled a lot of ash and, choking, found himself being dragged backwards through the flames, until with a horrible abruptness he was staring up into the wide, pallid face of Professor Umbridge who had dragged him backwards out of the fire by the hair and was now bending his neck back as far as it would go, as though she were going to slit his throat.
‘You think,’ she whispered, bending Harry's neck back even further, so that he was looking up at the ceiling, ‘that after two Nifflers I was going to let one more foul, scavenging little creature enter my office without my knowledge? I had Stealth Sensoring Spells placed all around my doorway after the last one got in, you foolish boy. Take his wand,’ she barked at someone he could not see, and he felt a hand grope inside the chest pocket of his robes and remove the wand. ‘Hers, too.’
Harry heard a scuffle over by the door and knew that Hermione had also just had her wand wrested from her.
‘I want to know why you are in my office,’ said Umbridge, shaking the fist clutching his hair so that he staggered.
‘I was—trying to get my Firebolt!’ Harry croaked.
‘Liar.’ She shook his head again. ‘Your Firebolt is under strict guard in the dungeons, as you very well know, Potter. You had your head in my fire. With whom have you been communicating?’
‘No one—’ said Harry, trying to pull away from her. He felt several hairs part company with his scalp.
‘Liar!’ shouted Umbridge. She threw him from her and he slammed into the desk. Now he could see Hermione pinioned against the wall by Millicent Bulstrode. Malfoy was leaning on the windowsill, smirking as he threw Harry's wand into the air one-handed and caught it again.
There was a commotion outside and several large Slytherins entered, each gripping Ron, Ginny, Luna and—to Harry's bewilderment—Neville, who was trapped in a stranglehold by Crabbe and looked in imminent danger of suffocation. All four of them had been gagged.
‘Got ‘em all,’ said Warrington, shoving Ron roughly forwards into the room. ‘That one,’ he poked a thick finger at Neville, ‘tried to stop me taking her,’ he pointed at Ginny, who was trying to kick the shins of the large Slytherin girl holding her, ‘so I brought him along too.’
‘Good, good,’ said Umbridge, watching Ginny's struggles. ‘Well, it looks as though Hogwarts will shortly be a Weasley-free zone, doesn't it?’
Malfoy laughed loudly and sycophantically. Umbridge gave her wide, complacent smile and settled herself into a chintz-covered armchair, blinking up at her captives like a toad in a flowerbed.
‘So, Potter,’ she said. ‘You stationed lookouts around my office and you sent this buffoon,’ she nodded at Ron—Malfoy laughed even louder—'to tell me the poltergeist was wreaking havoc in the Transfiguration department when I knew perfectly well that he was busy smearing ink on the eyepieces of all the school telescopes— Mr. Filch having just informed me so.’
‘Clearly, it was very important for you to talk to somebody. Was it Albus Dumbledore? Or the half-breed, Hagrid? I doubt it was Minerva McGonagall, I hear she is still too ill to talk to anyone.’
Malfoy and a few of the other members of the Inquisitorial Squad laughed some more at that. Harry found he was so full of rage and hatred he was shaking.
‘It's none of your business who I talk to,’ he snarled.
Umbridge's slack face seemed to tighten.
‘Very well,’ she said in her most dangerous and falsely sweet voice. ‘Very well, Mr. Potter ... I offered you the chance to tell me freely. You refused. I have no alternative but to force you. Draco— fetch Professor Snape.’
Malfoy slowed Harry's wand inside his robes and left the room smirking, but Harry hardly noticed. He had just realised something; he could not believe he had been so stupid as to forget it. He had thought that all the members of the Order, all those who could help him save Sirius, were gone—but he had been wrong. There was still a member of the Order of the Phoenix at Hogwarts—Snape.
There was silence in the office except for the fidgetings and scufflings resulting from the Slytherins’ efforts to keep Ron and the others under control. Ron's lip was bleeding on to Umbridge's carpet as he struggled against Warrington's half-nelson; Ginny was still trying to stamp on the feel of the sixth-year girl who had both her upper arms in a tight grip; Neville was turning steadily more purple in the face while lugging at Crabbe's arms; and Hermione was attempting, in vain, to throw Millicent Bulstrode off her. Luna, however, stood limply by the side of her captor, gazing vaguely out of the window as though rather bored by the proceedings.
Harry looked back at Umbridge, who was watching him closely. He kept his face deliberately smooth and blank as footsteps were heard in the corridor outside and Draco Malfoy entered the room, closely followed by Snape.
‘You wanted to see me, Headmistress?’ said Snape, looking around at all the pairs of struggling students with an expression of complete indifference.
‘Ah, Professor Snape,’ said Umbridge, smiling widely and standing up again. ‘Yes, I would like another bottle of Veritaserum, as quick as you can, please.’
‘You took my last bottle to interrogate Potter,’ he said, surveying her coolly through his greasy curtains of black hair. ‘Surely you did not use it all? I told you that three drops would be sufficient.’
Umbridge flushed.
‘You can make some more, can't you?’ she said, her voice becoming more sweetly girlish as it always did when she was furious.
‘Certainly,’ said Snape, his lip curling. ‘It takes a full moon-cycle to mature, so I should have it ready for you in around a month.’
‘A month?’ squawked Umbndge, swelling toadishly. ‘A month!But I need it this evening, Snape! I have just found Potter using my fire to communicate with a person or persons unknown!’
‘Really?’ said Snape, showing his first, faint sign of interest as he looked round at Harry. ‘Well, it doesn't surprise me. Potter has never shown much inclination to follow school rules.’
His cold, dark eyes were boring into Harry's, who met his gaze unflinchingly, concentrating hard on what he had seen in his dream, willing Snape to read it in his mind, to understand ...
‘I wish to interrogate him!’ repeated Umbridge angrily, and Snape looked away from Harry back into her furiously quivering lace. ‘I wish you to provide me with a potion that will force him to tell me the truth!’
‘I have already told you,’ said Snape smoothly, ‘that I have no further stocks of Veritaserum. Unless you wish to poison Potter—and I assure you I would have the greatest sympathy with you if you did—I cannot help you. The only trouble is that most venoms act too fast to give the victim much lime for truth-telling.’
Snape looked back at Harry, who stared at him, frantic to communicate without words.
Voldemort's got Sirius in the Department of Mysteries, he thought desperately. Voldemort's got Sirius—’
‘You are on probation!’ shrieked Professor Umbridge, and Snape looked back at her, his eyebrows slightly raised. ‘You arc being deliberately unhelpful! I expected better, Lucius Malfoy always speaks most highly of you! Now get out of my office!’
Snape gave her an ironic bow and turned to leave. Harry knew his last chance of letting the Order know what was going on was walking out of the door.
‘He's got Padfoot!’ he shouted. ‘He's got Padfoot at the place where it's hidden!’
Snape had stopped with his hand on Umbridge's door handle.
‘Padfoot?’ cried Professor Umbridge, looking eagerly from Harry to Snape. ‘What is Padfoot? Where what is hidden? What does he mean, Snape?’
Snape looked round at Harry. His face was inscrutable. Harry could not tell whether he had understood or not, but he did not dare speak more plainly in front of Umbridge.
‘I have no idea,’ said Snape coldly. ‘Potter, when I want nonsense shouted at me I shall give you a Babbling Beverage. And Crabbe, loosen your hold a little. If Longbottom suffocates it will mean a lot of tedious paperwork and I am afraid I shall have to mention it on your reference if ever you apply for a job.’
He closed the door behind him with a snap, leaving Harry in a state of worse turmoil than before: Snape had been his very last hope. He looked at Umbridge, who seemed to be feeling the same way; her chest was heaving with rage and frustration.
‘Very well,’ she said, and she pulled out her wand. ‘Very well ... I am left with no alternative ... this is more than a matter of school discipline ... this is an issue of Ministry security ... yes ... yes ...’
She seemed to be talking herself into something. She was shifting her weight nervously from foot to foot, staring at Harry, beating her wand against her empty palm and breathing heavily As he watched her, Harry felt horribly powerless without his own wand.
‘You are forcing me, Potter ... I do not want to,’ said Umbridge, still moving restlessly on the spot, ‘but sometimes circumstances justify the use ... I am sure the Minister will understand that I had no choice ...’
Malfoy was watching her with a hungry expression on his face.
‘The Cruciatus Curse ought to loosen your tongue,’ said Umbridge quietly.
‘No!’ shrieked Hermione. ‘Professor Umbridge—it's illegal.’
But Umbridge took no notice. There was a nasty eager, excited look on her face that Harry had never seen before. She raised her wand.
‘The Minister wouldn't want you to break the law, Professor Umbridge!’ cried Hermione.
‘What Cornelius doesn't know won't hurt him,’ said Umbridge, who was now panting slightly as she pointed her wand at different parts of Harry's body in turn, apparently trying to decide where it would hurt most. ‘He never knew I ordered dementors to go after Potter last summer, but he was delighted to be given the chance to expel him, all the same.’
‘It was you?’ gasped Harry. ‘You sent the dementors after me?’
‘Somebody had to act,’ breathed Umbridge, as her wand came to rest pointing directly at Harry's forehead. They were all bleating about silencing you somehow—discrediting you —but I was the one who actually did something about it ... only you wriggled out of that one, didn't you, Potter? Not today though, not now—’ And taking a deep breath, she cried, ‘Cruc—’
‘NO!’ shouted Hermione in a cracked voice from behind Millicent Bulstrode. ‘No—Harry— we'll have to tell her!’
‘No way!’ yelled Harry, staring at the little of Hermione he could see.
‘We'll have to, Harry, she'll force it out of you anyway, what's ... what's the point?’
And Hermione began to cry weakly into the back of Millicent Bulstrode's robes. Millicent stopped trying to squash her against the wall immediately and dodged out of her way looking disgusted.
‘Well, well, well!’ said Umbridge, looking triumphant. ‘Little Miss Question-all is going to give us some answers! Come on then, girl, come on!’
‘Er—my—nee— no!’ shouted Ron through his gag.
Ginny was staring at Hermione as though she had never seen her before. Neville, still choking for breath, was gazing at her, too. But Harry had just noticed something. Though Hermione was sobbing desperately into her hands, there was no trace of a tear.
‘I'm—I'm sorry everyone,’ said Hermione. ‘But—I can't stand it—’
‘That's right, that's right, girl!’ said Umbridge, seizing Hermione by the shoulders, thrusting her into the abandoned chintz chair and leaning over her. ‘Now then ... with whom was Potter communicating just now?’
‘Well,’ gulped Hermione into her hands, ‘well, he was trying to speak to Professor Dumbledore.’
Ron froze, his eyes wide; Ginny stopped trying to stamp on her Slytherin captor's toes; and even Luna looked mildly surprised. Fortunately, the attention of Umbridge and her minions was focused too exclusively upon Hermione to notice these suspicious signs.
‘Dumbledore?’ said Umbridge eagerly. ‘You know where Dumbledore is, then?’
‘Well ... no!’ sobbed Hermione. ‘We've tried the Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley and the Three Broomsticks and even the Hog's Head—’
‘Idiot girl— Dumbledore won't be sitting in a pub when the whole Ministry's looking for him!’ shouted Umbridge, disappointment etched in every sagging line of her face.
‘But—but we needed to tell him something important!’ wailed Hermione, holding her hands more tightly over her face, not, Harry knew, out of anguish, but to disguise the continued absence of tears.
‘Yes?’ said Umbridge with a sudden resurgence of excitement. ‘What was it you wanted to tell him?’
‘We ... we wanted to tell him it's r—ready!’ choked Hermione.
‘What's ready?’ demanded Umbridge, and now she grabbed Hermione's shoulders again and shook her slightly. ‘What's ready, girl?’
‘The ... the weapon,’ said Hermione.
‘Weapon? Weapon?’ said Umbridge, and her eyes seemed to pop with excitement. ‘You have been developing some method of resistance? A weapon you could use against the Ministry? On Professor Dumbledore's orders, of course?’
‘Y—y—yes,’ gasped Hermione, ‘but he had to leave before it was finished and n—n—now we've finished it for him, and we c—c—can't find him t—t—to tell him!’
‘What kind of weapon is it?’ said Umbridge harshly, her stubby hands still tight on Hermione's shoulders.
‘We don't r—r— really understand it,’ said Hermione, sniffing loudly. ‘We j—j—just did what P—P—Professor Dumbledore told us t—t—to do.’
Umbridge straightened up, looking exultant.
‘Lead me to the weapon,’ she said.
‘I'm not showing ... them,’ said Hermione shrilly, looking around at the Slytherins through her fingers.
‘It is not for you to set conditions,’ said Professor Umbridge harshly.
‘Fine,’ said Hermione, now sobbing into her hands again. ‘Fine ... let them see it, I hope they use it on you! In fact, I wish you'd invite loads and loads of people to come and see! Th—that would serve you right—oh, I'd love it if the wh— whole school knew where it was, and how to u—use it, and then if you annoy any of them they'll, be able to s—sort you out!’
These words had a powerful impact on Umbridge: she glanced swiftly and suspiciously around at her Inquisitorial Squad, her bulging eyes resting for a moment on Malfoy, who was too slow to disguise the look of eagerness and greed that had appeared on his face.
Umbridge contemplated Hermione for another long moment, then spoke in what she clearly thought was a motherly voice.
‘All right, dear, let's make it just you and me ... and we'll take Potter, too, shall we? Get up, now.’
‘Professor,’ said Malfoy eagerly, ‘Professor Umbridge, I think some of the Squad should come with you to look after—’
‘I am a fully qualified Ministry official, Malfoy, do you really think I cannot manage two wandless teenagers alone?’ asked Umbridge sharply. ‘In any case, it does not sound as though this weapon is something that schoolchildren should see. You will remain here until I return and make sure none of these—’ she gestured around at Ron, Ginny, Neville and Luna ‘—escape.’
‘All right,’ said Malfoy, looking sulky and disappointed.
‘And you two can go ahead of me and show me the way,’ said Umbridge, pointing at Harry and Hermione with her wand. ‘Lead on.’
　　“我不去，我不需要去医院的病房，我不想－”
　　他正不断的尽力劝说Tofty教授离他远一点，。此时教授正带着哈利在周围学生的注视下穿越门厅，而他正以比往常更关切的表情看着哈利。
　　“我很好，先生，”哈利结巴的说，擦着脸上的汗，“我刚才只是睡着了做了个恶梦。““考试的压力！”老巫师用怜悯的口吻说，用手在哈利肩上无力的拍拍，“已经过去了，年轻人，过去了，现在，来点清凉的饮料，你可能已经差不多可以回大厅去了。考试差不多要结束了，但你否已经完美的回答了最后的一个问题了？
　　“是的”哈利野蛮的说，“我的意思是我想我已经尽我的全力了。”
　　“非常好，非常好”老巫师轻轻的说，“我得走了而且要受走你的试卷，我建议你好好的躺一会儿。”
　　“我会的”哈利用力的点点头，“非常感谢！”
　　老人的脚后跟刚在大厅里消失的那一秒，哈利就立刻跳上了大理石阶，飞速的沿着走廊中嘀咕着不停的肖像们奔跑，他一步跨上好几阶楼梯，象一阵猛烈的飓风冲到了医院病房的门口，弄的正在给张开大嘴的montague灌一种蓝色液体的庞弗雷夫人发出警告的大叫：“波特，你以为你在干吗？”
　　“我要见麦格教授”哈利气喘吁吁的说，空气正在撕扯着他的肺，“现在，很紧急。”
　　“他不在这里，波特。”庞弗雷夫人悲伤的说：“今天一早，她被转移到了圣芒戈魔法病院了。四个昏迷咒一起打中她的胸口，在她这个年纪，没有杀死她真是个奇迹。”
　　“她－已经走了？”哈利震惊的说。
　　宿舍外的铃声响了，他可以听见从远处地板上传来的通常学生走出教室来到走廊上而发出的隆隆声。他仍然在盯着庞弗雷夫人，他内心的恐惧上升了。
　　这里没有可以告诉他们什么事的人了。丹伯多走了。哈格力走了。但他总是希望麦格教授能在这里，她可能是易怒和顽固的，但却总是可以依赖的坚强后盾。
　　“我对你的震惊并不惊讶，波特。”庞弗雷夫人说，在她脸上带着一种强烈赞同的神情，“假如他们敢在白天这么干的话大概已经被米勒娃麦格击晕了。胆小鬼！这就是他们这么干的原因，卑劣的胆小鬼！如果我不是担心没有我的话你们这些学生怎么办的话，我早就辞职了。”
　　“是的。”哈利面无表情的说。
　　他无神的踱出了病房来到他所在的走廊，被人群来回碰撞，恐慌象毒气一样在他体内扩散，以至于他的头开始感到眩晕而不能思考该做些什么。
　　罗恩和荷米恩的声音突然出现在他的脑海中。
　　他又跑了起来，冲撞着学生们为他让出一条道来而忽视他们愤怒的抗议。当他在大理石楼梯口看见他们向他匆忙赶来时，他又往回跑了两层。
　　“哈利”荷米恩立刻说，表情很恐惧，“发生了什么？你都好吗？你病了吗？”
　　“你上哪里去了？”罗恩问。
　　“跟我来。”哈利飞快的说，“进来吧。我要告诉你们一些事。”
　　他领着他们走过一楼的走廊，警惕的穿过门口，最后他找到了一间空教室冲了进去，并在罗恩和荷米恩进来的那一刻马上关上门，斜靠着门，面对着他们说：
　　“伏地魔抓到了天狼星。”
　　“什么”
　　“你是怎么——”
　　“看到的。刚才，当我在考试中睡着时。”
　　“但－但在哪里？怎么样发生的？”荷米恩问，她的脸发白了。
　　“我不知道。”哈利，“但我知道确切的地点，那是魔法部的一个放满了玻璃球架子的房间，他们在97排的尽头，他正试着利用天狼星来获取一个他想从那里得到的东西，他正在拷问他，扬言他要杀了他而让他完蛋。”
　　哈利发现他的声音和他的膝盖在发抖。他搬了一把椅子坐下来试图控制他自己。
　　“我们怎么去那里？”他问他们。
　　片刻的寂静。然后罗恩说：“去－去哪里？”
　　“去神秘事务司，这样我们才能救天狼星。”哈利响亮的叫了起来。
　　“但，哈利。”罗恩无力的说。
　　“什么？什么？”哈利说。
　　他不能理解为什么他们都凝视着他好像他在说什么不可思议的话似的。
　　“哈利”荷米恩用一种更惊骇的声音说：“呃，怎么？伏地魔是怎么潜入魔法部而没有任何人意识到他在那里的？”
　　“我怎么知道！”哈利咆哮道：“问题是我们怎么进去！”
　　“但，哈利，考虑一下。”荷米恩说，向他走进了一步，“现在是下午5点，魔法部一定挤满了官员。伏地魔和天狼星怎么可能闯进去却又没有被看见呢？哈利，他们可是他们在这个世界上最想抓的巫师啊，你认为他们能闯进一栋挤满了傲罗的建筑物而没被发现吗？”
　　“我不知道，伏地魔用了一件隐形衣或别的什么！”哈利叫道，“总之，我在无论什么时候总是看到神秘事务司彻底是空的。”
　　“你从没到过那里，哈利”荷米恩安静的说，“你只不过曾梦到过那个地方。”
　　“那不是普通的梦！”哈利冲着她的脸大叫，也站起来向她走了一步，他想摇摇她，“你怎么解释罗恩爸爸的事？这就说明了一切，否则我是怎么知道他发生了什么事的？”
　　“他说得对。”罗恩静静地看着荷米恩说。
　　“但这是－是如此的靠不住。”荷米恩拼命的说，“当天狼星总是呆在格里曼迪街时，伏地魔究竟怎么能控制他呢？”
　　“天狼星可能会想大叫一番和呼吸一下新鲜空气。”罗恩说，声音十分担忧，“他可能会不顾一切的离开那所老房子。”
　　“但为什么？”荷米恩坚持道，“究竟是为什么？伏地魔想利用天狼星来得到这件武器或任何他想要得到的东西呢？”
　　“我不知道，这里有好几种理由。”哈利对她大叫：“可能天狼星刚巧是个伏地魔能够毫不在乎的看着他被折磨的人吧！”
　　“你知道吗，我刚才想到的。”罗恩用一种平淡的口吻说，“天狼星的表哥是个食死徒，不是吗？可能他告诉过天狼星如何得到那件武器的秘密。”
　　“是啊！———这就是为什么丹伯多总希望他被禁锢住的原因！”哈利说。
　　“看吧！对不起！”荷米恩哭了，“但你们失去理智了，我们没有任何相关的证据，没有伏地魔和天狼星曾在那里的证据。”
　　“荷米恩，哈利看到他们了！”罗恩说丢了她一眼说。
　　“很好”她说，看上去更惊慌了，“我刚才说过了。”
　　“什么？”
　　“你，这不是批评，哈利！但是你做过那种事，我的意思是，你不觉的“救人的事”你做的太多了吗？”她说。
　　“好啊，你所谓的“救人的事”指的是什么？”
　　“好吧，你。”她的表情比起刚才更明确了，“我的意思是，举个例子，去年，三强争霸赛期间，在湖里时，你就不该，我的意思是，你不需要救那个小姑娘德拉库尔的，把她带回来，你做的过多了。”
　　一股灼人的怒气在哈利体内穿梭，现在她怎么可以再提他的过失呢？
　　“我的意思是，你的一切都是这么杰出。”她看到哈利脸上的表情后被真的吓呆了，荷米恩飞快的补充，“每个人都认为那件事干的太棒了—”
　　“那真是滑稽！”哈利咬着牙说，“因为我明明记得罗恩说我在浪费时间充英雄，你就是这么想的吧？你猜我想再演一次英雄？”
　　“不，不，不！”荷米恩说，看上去惊骇极了，“我一点也没有这个意思！”
　　“好的，把你想说的都吐出来吧，因为我们在这里浪费时间。”哈利大叫道。
　　“我想说的是——伏地魔了解你，哈利！他利用金妮把你引到密室，这种事他做过了，他知道你是——那种一定会去帮助天狼星的人。那么如果他正试图引诱你吐神秘事务司怎么办——？”
　　“荷米恩，无论他是否这么干想在那里抓我们都无关紧要——他们已经把麦格教授送去圣芒戈，在霍格瓦彻再也没有留下凤凰令的人了，如果我们不去，天狼星会死的！”
　　“但是，哈利——如果你的梦——只是一个梦呢？”
　　哈利发出一个失败的嚎叫。荷米恩现在一步步的远离他，表情什么惊慌。
　　“你不了解”哈利对她大叫，“我没有做恶梦，我刚才不是在做梦！你认为思维闭锁术是什么？你认为为什么丹伯多要我防备看到的那些事？因为那是真的，荷米恩—天狼星被抓了，我看见他了。伏地魔抓到了他，没有别人知道了，这就是说只有我们能救他了，而且，如果你不愿意干的话，那好，但我会去的，明白吗？还有，我没记错的话，当我从摄魂怪那里救了你时或者”他转向了罗恩，“当我从蛇怪手中救出你妹妹时，你们没有对我“救人的事”表示异议……”
　　“我从来没说我有过异议！”罗恩激烈的说。
　　“但是哈利，你刚才说了，”荷米恩猛地说，“丹伯多要你学习把这些东西从你的思维中剔除，如果你用了思维闭锁术你就不会看到这些了。”
　　“假如你认为我在假装我看见了一些我没看见的——”
　　“天狼星告诉过你没有任何事比封闭你的思想更重要的了！”
　　“好啊，我想他会说些别的的，假如他知道我刚才——”
　　教室的门被打开了。哈利，罗恩和荷米恩象被鞭子抽了一下。金妮走了进来，看上去很好奇，她后面跟着露娜，她带着她通常的那种怪异表情。
　　“hi”金妮不确定的说，“我们听出了哈利的声音。你在喊什么？”
　　“和你无关”哈利粗鲁的说。
　　金妮扬起了她的眉毛。
　　“别用这种口气和我说话。”她沉着的说，“我只想知道是否有什么我能帮忙的。”
　　“好的，但你帮不了。”哈利简短的说。
　　“你知道吗？你现在很粗鲁。”露娜安详的说。
　　哈利一惊转过身去。现在他最后想做的就是和露娜洛夫古德谈一谈。
　　“等一下，”荷米恩突然说，“等一下，哈利，她们能帮上忙！”
　　哈利和罗恩都看着她。
　　“听着，”她急切得说，‘哈利，我们需要确定是否天狼星真的已经离开了司令部。”
　　“我已经告诉你了，我看见——”
　　“哈利，我请求你。”荷米恩绝望的说，“在我们整装待发前往伦敦之前，请让我们确认一下天狼星不在家。如果我们发现她不在那里，我发誓我不会来阻止你。我也会做任何事情来尽力救他。”
　　“天狼星正在被折磨！”哈利喊道，“我们没有可以浪费的时间了！”
　　“但是如果这是一个伏地魔得骗局呢？哈利，我们要先检查再去。”
　　“怎么检查？”哈利问，“我们怎么样才能去检查呢？”
　　“我们不得不使用昂布瑞奇的火炉了，看看我们能否和他取得联系。“荷米恩说，看得出在她心里既坚定又害怕，“我们要再一次的把昂布瑞奇引远一点，但我们需要望风的，这就是我们要用到金妮和露娜的地方了。”
　　金妮很快弄清了即将发生的事，立刻说：“好的，我们会干的。”而露娜说：“当你说”天狼星“时，是在谈论那个著名的布景大师吗？”
　　没人回答她。
　　“很好，”哈利进攻性的对荷米恩说，“很好，如果你认为这么做是快捷的话，我和你一起干，否则，我现在就去神秘事务司！”
　　“神秘事务司？”露娜说，表情有点奇怪，“但你怎么去那里啊？”
　　哈利又一次忽视了她。
　　“对，”荷米恩说，双手交叉着在桌子之间走来走去,“正确，好的。我们中的一个必须去找到昂布瑞奇，并且把她带往错误的方向，保证她远离她的办公室。他们可以告诉她—我不知道－通常是皮皮鬼让东西飞起来的。
　　“就这么干！”罗恩立刻说，“去告诉她皮皮鬼在破坏变形课的教室和东西，那里离她的办公室有几英里远呢。我想起来了，刚才我在走廊里遇到他，应该劝他去的！”
　　荷米恩没有对破坏变形课教室表示异议这就标志了情况的严肃性。
　　“好的。”她说，她的脸上的皱纹想她的步伐一样不断延伸，“现在，我们需要保证当我们闯进去时学生们远离她的办公室，免得斯莱特林们跑去给她报讯。”
　　“露娜和我可以守在走廊的两头”金妮迅速地说，“并且警告人们别从那里走，因为有人在那里释放了绞杀气体。”荷米恩对金妮已经编好了这么一个谎言使得事情都准备就绪了感到惊讶，金妮耸耸肩说：“弗来德和乔治在他们走之前就计划这么干得。”
　　“好了”荷米恩说，“都好了，哈利，你和我藏在隐形衣下面，我们会顺利地溜进办公室，你能同天狼星讲话了。““他不在那里，荷米恩！”
　　“我的意思是，你可以——当我把风地时候确认天狼星是否在家，我认为你不该一个人在那里，李乔丹已经证实了窗户是个弱点，把这些Nifflers塞进去。”
　　虽然哈利又气又急，但他承认荷米恩和他一起溜进昂布瑞奇的办公室真的是团结和忠诚的标志。
　　“我，好的。谢谢。”他嘀咕了一声。
　　“对了，这就好了，即使我们全做到了，我也不指望能超过5分钟。”荷米恩说，看到哈利似乎接受了这个计划，她的表情放松了，“不要碰到费尔奇在身边游荡来做那些令人讨厌的问询。”
　　“5分钟就很够了。”哈利说，“赶快，我们走。”
　　“现在？”荷米恩问，有点震惊。
　　“当然是现在！”哈利愤怒的说，“你是怎么想的？我们要等到晚餐还是什么之后呢？荷米恩，天狼星正在被折磨！”
　　“我—欧，好吧。”她失望地说。“你去拿隐形衣我们在昂布瑞奇地那个走廊碰面，行吗？”
　　哈利没有回答，而是猛冲出房间开始奋力推开混乱地人群。向上跑了两层他遇见了西莫和迪安，他们愉快地欢迎他并且告诉他他们正在计划在公共休息室办一场通过考试地庆祝会。哈利几乎没听。当他们还在讨论他们需要多少黑市地黄油啤酒时，哈利从肖像里的洞爬了进去，而在他们还没有注意到他之前，他已经把装隐形衣和天狼星刀的包带走了。
　　“哈利，你想下两个加隆吗？哈罗德丁吉说他能卖给我们一些火焰威士忌。”
　　但哈利已经痛苦的来到了外面的走廊（他们的走廊真差劲总是那么的人想走快点都不行），一两分钟后，他跳上了最后几级台阶加入到罗恩，荷米恩，金妮和露娜中来，他们全都挤在昂布瑞奇的走廊尽头。
　　“走啊”他气喘的说，“准备进去了吧。”
　　“不错。”当一伙吵闹的6年纪从他们身边走过时，荷米恩耳语道，“所以罗恩－你去监视昂布瑞奇。金妮，露娜，如果你们能把走动的人群赶出走廊的话，我和哈利就可以顺利的穿上隐形衣了。”
　　罗恩走了，他鲜艳的红发消失在了右边通道的尽头。同时，金妮用她有着同样一束头发的脑袋开始以不同的方向冲撞着周围的学生，露娜用她金色的脑袋跟着她。
　　“在这里穿”荷米恩小声嘀咕道，牵着哈利的手腕，把他带到了一个对自己不停说话的中世纪丑陋男巫的石像凹处，“你肯定你都准备好了吗？哈利？你的脸色还是很苍白。”
　　“我还行。”他简短的说，把他的隐形衣从包里拿了出来。事实上，他的伤疤在疼，但还没有剧烈到他认为伏地魔已经给予天狼星以致命的打击了。当伏地魔惩罚埃弗里是，那要疼的多了。
　　“在这里”他说，他把隐形衣盖住他们两个，小心的站起来穿过在他们面前的嘀咕着拉丁文的半身象。
　　“你们不能进入这里！”金妮向人群喊道，“不，对不起，你们不得不绕到旋转楼梯了。刚才有人在这里释放了绞杀气体！”
　　他们听见人们大声地抱怨，一个确定地声音说：“我没有看见气体。”
　　“这是因为那是无色的。”金妮用令人信以为真的愤怒声音说，“但是如果你想走过去，请吧，然后，我们会看到你的尸体成为给下一个不相信我们的傻瓜的证据了。”
　　慢慢的，人群变少了。关于绞杀气体的消息似乎已经开始传播了，再也没有人到这条路来了。当周围的区域变得彻底的空旷后，荷米恩平静的说，“我认为我们最好进去了，哈利，－进来，快点！”
　　他们被斗篷盖着向前移动。露娜正在远处走廊的尽头站着，背对着他们，当他们走过金妮身边时，荷米恩小声说：“干得好，别忘了信号。”
　　“信号是什么？”当他们逼近昂布瑞奇的门时，哈利咕哝道。
　　“如果他们看见昂布瑞奇来了，就大声合唱“威斯里是我们的国王”！当哈利把天狼星的刀插入墙和门之间的裂缝时，荷米恩回答道。门滴答一声开了，他们进入了办公室。
　　那些小猫的装饰品正在享受着午后的阳光还一边暖着它们的盘子，然而这间办公室在别的方面还是想上次一样的寂静空旷。荷米恩透了一口长气。
　　“我认为她可能已经在第二个niffler之外添加了额外的安全措施。”
　　他们扯下了斗篷；荷米恩迅速地走到窗口别人从外面站着看不见的地方，好奇的把她的魔杖伸出去，对着地上。哈利走进壁炉，抓了一把飞路粉扔进了火里，绿色的火苗一下子窜了起来。他知道要快，把他的头钻进火里然后叫道：“格里曼迪大街12号！”
　　他的头开始旋转仿佛他的整个身躯已经融入了火里，虽然他的膝盖还安稳的跪在办公室冰冷的地板上。他一直把眼睛闭着来应付旋转的灰尘，当旋转结束时，他睁开了眼睛来留意一下周围，是格里曼迪冰冷的厨房。
　　这里没有人。他料到了，但是在看到荒芜的厨房之后，恐惧和惊慌毫不准备的在他的胃里滋长。
　　“天狼星？”他叫道，“天狼星，你在这里吗？”
　　他的声音在房间里回荡，但除了火炉右边的一个细微的刮擦声没有回答。
　　“谁在那里？”他问道，怀疑那是否是只老鼠。
　　家养小精灵克瑞切出现在他的视野中。他看上去为什么事而很高兴，虽然最近他似乎对他的双手一直在做巨大的伤害，那里现在包着厚厚的绷带。
　　“男孩波特的头在火里。”克瑞切在空空的厨房大声说，他的行为鬼鬼祟祟的，古怪的用胜利的眼神撇了哈利一眼，“克瑞切想知道他来干什么？”
　　“天狼星在哪里？”哈利询问道。
　　家养小精灵气喘的吃吃笑了。
　　“主人出去了，哈利波特。”
　　“他去哪儿了？他到那里去了？克瑞切？”
　　克瑞切仅仅是格格大笑。
　　“我警告你！”哈利说，他充分认识到在现在这个位置，他超出底线来惩罚克瑞切是不可能的。“卢平怎么样了？魔眼呢？他们中的任何人，有谁在这里？”
　　“除了克瑞切没人在这里！”小精灵兴高采烈的说，然后背传身子慢慢的远离哈利向厨房的门口走去。“克瑞切认为他将有些话要和他的女主人说了，现在，是的，他没有机会再说了，克瑞切的主人已经要他远离他。”
　　“天狼星去了哪里？”哈利在小精灵身后大声的喊，“克瑞切，他去了神秘事务司了吗？”
　　克瑞切停下了脚步。哈利仅仅能透过在他面前的木桌脚看到克瑞切光秃的后脑。
　　&