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