‘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 N.E.W.T.s – 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 …’
— CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT —
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 firsthand 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, followed by Crabbe and Goyle. His pale, pointed face was alight with malice.
‘Afraid I’m going to have to dock a few points from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff,’ he drawled.
‘You can’t take points from fellow prefects, Malfoy,’ said Ernie at once.
‘I know prefects can’t dock points from each other,’ sneered Malfoy. 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 hourglasses.
‘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 land
ing 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.
The Order of the Phoenix Page 61
