‘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 O.W.L.s. 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 Fudge’s 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 Hogwarts 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.
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