The Order of the Phoenix

by J. K. Rowling

  ‘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!’

  — CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR —

  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, Snivellus,’ 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 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 midway 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 around 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.