“I'm not going...I don't need the hospital wing...I don't want”
He
was gibbering as he tried to pull away from Professor Tofty, who was looking at
Harry with much concern after helping him out into the Entrance Hall with the
students all around them staring.
“I'm—I'm fine, sir,” Harry stammered,
wiping the sweat from his face. “Really...I just fell asleep...had a
nightmare...”
“Pressure of examinations!” said the old wizard
sympathetically, patting Harry shakily on the shoulder. “It happens, young man,
it happens! Now, a cooling drink of water, and perhaps you will be ready to
return to the Great Hall? The examination is nearly over, but you may be able to
round off your last answer nicely?”
“Yes,” said Harry wildly. “I
mean...no...I've done—done as much as I can, I think...”
“Very well, very
well,” said the old wizard gently. “I shall go and collect your examination
paper and I suggest that you go and have a nice lie down.”
“Til do that,”
said Harry, nodding vigorously. “Thanks very much.”
The second that the old
man's heels disappeared over the threshold into the Great Hall, Harry ran up the
marble staircase, hurtled along the corridors so fast the portraits he passed
muttered reproaches, up more flights of stairs, and finally burst like a
hurricane through the double doors of the hospital wing, causing Madam
Pomfrey—who had been spooning some bright blue liquid into Montague's open
mouth—to shriek in alarm.
“Potter, what do you think you're doing?”
“I
need to see Professor McGonagall,” gasped Harry, the breath tearing his lungs.
“Now...it's urgent!”
“She's not here, Potter,” said Madam Pomfrey sadly. “She
was transferred to St Mungo's this morning. Four Stunning Spells straight to the
chest at her age? It's a wonder they didn't kill her.”
“She's...gone?” said
Harry, shocked.
The bell rang just outside the dormitory and he heard the
usual distant rumbling of students starting to flood out into the corridors
above and below him. He remained quite still, looking at Madam Pomfrey. Terror
was rising inside him.
There was nobody left to tell. Dumbledore had gone,
Hagrid had gone, but he had always expected Professor McGonagall to be there,
irascible and inflexible, perhaps, but always dependably, solidly
present...
“I don't wonder you're shocked, Potter,” said Madam Pomfrey, with
a kind of fierce approval in her face. “As if one of them could have Stunned
Minerva McGonagall face-on by daylight! Cowardice, that's what it
was...despicable cowardice...if I wasn't worried what would happen to you
students without me, I'd resign in protest.”
“Yes,” said Harry blankly.
He
wheeled around and strode blindly from the hospital wing into the teeming
corridor where he stood, buffeted by the crowd, panic expanding inside him like
poison gas so that his head swam and he could not think what to do...
Ron and
Hermione, said a voice in his head.
He was running again, pushing students
out of the way, oblivious to their angry protests. He sprinted back down two
floors and was at the top of the marble staircase when he saw them hurrying
towards him.
“Harry!” said Hermione at once, looking very frightened. “What
happened? Are you all right? Are you ill?”
“Where have you been?” demanded
Ron.
“Come with me,” Harry said quickly. “Come on, I've got to tell you
something.”
He led them along the first-floor corridor, peering through
doorways, and at last found an empty classroom into which he dived, closing the
door behind Ron and Hermione the moment they were inside, and leaned against it,
facing them.
“Voldemort's got Sirius.”
“What?”
“How d'you -?”
“Saw
it. Just now. When I fell asleep in the exam.”
“But—but where? How?” said
Hermione, whose face was white.
“I dunno how,” said Harry. “But I know
exactly where. There's a room in the Department of Mysteries full of shelves
covered in these little glass balls and they're at the end of row
ninety-seven...he's trying to use Sirius to get whatever it is he wants from in
there...he's torturing him...says he'll end by killing him!”
Harry found his
voice was shaking, as were his knees. He moved over to a desk and sat down on
it, trying to master himself.
“How're we going to get there?” he asked
them.
There was a moment's silence. Then Ron said, “G-get there?”
“Get to
the Department of Mysteries, so we can rescue Sirius!” Harry said
loudly.
“But—Harry...” said Ron weakly.
“What? What?” said Harry.
He
could not understand why they were both gaping at him as though he was asking
them something unreasonable.
“Harry,” said Hermione in a rather frightened
voice, “er...how...how did Voldemort get into the Ministry of Magic without
anybody realising he was there?”
“How do I know?” bellowed Harry. “The
question is how we're going to get in there!”
“But...Harry, think about
this,” said Hermione, taking a step towards him, “it's five o'clock in the
afternoon...the Ministry of Magic must be full of workers...how would Voldemort
and Sirius have got in without being seen? Harry...they're probably the two most
wanted wizards in the world...you think they could get into a building full of
Aurors undetected?”
“I dunno, Voldemort used an Invisibility Cloak or
something!” Harry shouted. “Anyway, the Department of Mysteries has always been
completely empty whenever I've been—”
“You've never been there, Harry,” said
Hermione quietly. “You've dreamed about the place, that's all.”
“They're not
normal dreams!” Harry shouted in her face, standing up and taking a step closer
to her in turn. He wanted to shake her. “How d'you explain Ron's dad then, what
was all that about, how come I knew what had happened to him?”
“He's got a
point,” said Ron quietly, looking at Hermione.
“But this is just—just so
unlikely.” said Hermione desperately. “Harry, how on earth could Voldemort have
got hold of Sirius when he's been in Grimmauld Place all the time?”
“Sirius
might've cracked and just wanted some fresh air,” said Ron, sounding worried.
“He's been desperate to get out of that house for ages—”
“But why,” Hermione
persisted, “why on earth would Voldemort want to use Sirius to get the weapon,
or whatever the thing is?”
“I dunno, there could be loads of reasons!” Harry
yelled at her. “Maybe Sirius is just someone Voldemort doesn't care about seeing
hurt—”
“You know what, I've just thought of something,” said Ron in a hushed
voice. “Sirius's brother was a Death Eater, wasn't he? Maybe he told Sirius the
secret of how to get the weapon!”
“Yeah—and that's why Dumbledore's been so
keen to keep Sirius locked up all the time!” said Harry.
“Look, I'm sorry,”
cried Hermione, “but neither of you is making sense, and we've got no proof for
any of this, no proof Voldemort and Sirius are even there—”
“Hermione,
Harry’s seen them!” said Ron, rounding on her.
“OK,” she said, looking
frightened yet determined, “I've just got to say
this—”
“What?”
“You...this isn't a criticism, Harry! But you do...sort
of...I mean—don't you think you've got a bit of a—a—saving-people thing!” she
said.
He glared at her.
“And what's that supposed to mean, a
"saving-people thing"?”
“Well...you...” she looked more apprehensive than
ever. “I mean...last year, for instance...in the lake...during the
Tournament...you shouldn't have...I mean, you didn't need to save that little
Delacour girl...you got a bit...carried away...”
A wave of hot, prickly anger
swept through Harry’s body; how could she remind him of that blunder now?
“I
mean, it was really great of you and everything,” said Hermione quickly, looking
positively petrified at the look on Harry’s face, “everyone thought it was a
wonderful thing to do—”
“That's funny,” said Harry through gritted teeth,
“because I definitely remember Ron saying I'd wasted time acting the hero ...is
that what you think this is? You reckon I want to act the hero again?”
“No,
no, no!” said Hermione, looking aghast. “That's not what I mean at
all!”
“Well, spit out what you've got to say, because we're wasting time
here!” Harry shouted.
“I'm trying to say—Voldemort knows you, Harry! He took
Ginny down into the Chamber of Secrets to lure you there, it's the kind of thing
he does, he knows you're the—the sort of person who'd go to Sirius's aid! What
if he's just trying to get you into the Department of Myst—?”
“Hermione, it
doesn't matter if he's done it to get me there or not—they've taken McGonagall
to St Mungo's, there isn't anyone from the Order left at Hogwarts who we can
tell, and if we don't go, Sirius is dead!”
“But Harry—what if your dream
was—was just that, a dream?”
Harry let out a roar of frustration. Hermione
actually stepped back from him, looking alarmed.
“You don't get it!” Harry
shouted at her, “I'm not having nightmares, I'm not just dreaming! What d'you
think all the Occlumency was for, why d'you think Dumbledore wanted me prevented
from seeing these things? Because they're REAL, Hermione—Sirius is trapped, I've
seen him. Voldemort's got him, and no one else knows, and that means we're the
only ones who can save him, and if you don't want to do it, fine, but I'm going,
understand? And if I remember rightly, you didn't have a problem with my
saving-people thing when it was you I was saving from the Dementors, or—” he
rounded on Ron “—when it was your sister I was saving from the Basilisk—”
“I
never said I had a problem!” said Ron heatedly.
“But Harry, you've just said
it,” said Hermione fiercely, “Dumbledore wanted you to learn to shut these
things out of your mind, if you'd done Occlumency properly you'd never have seen
this—”
“IF YOU THINK I'M JUST GOING TO ACT LIKE I HAVEN'T SEEN—”
“Sirius
told you there was nothing more important than you learning to close your
mind!”
“WELL, I EXPECT HE'D SAY SOMETHING DIFFERENT IF HE KNEW WHAT I'D
JUST—”
The classroom door opened. Harry, Ron and Hermione whipped around.
Ginny walked in, looking curious, closely followed by Luna, who as usual looked
as though she had drifted in accidentally.
“Hi,” said Ginny uncertainly. “We
recognised Harry's voice. What are you yelling about?”
“Never you mind,” said
Harry roughly.
Ginny raised her eyebrows.
“There's no need to take that
tone with me,” she said coolly, “I was only wondering whether I could
help.”
“Well, you can't,” said Harry shortly.
“You're being rather rude,
you know,” said Luna serenely.
Harry swore and turned away. The very last
thing he wanted now was a conversation with Luna Lovegood.
“Wait,” said
Hermione suddenly. “Wait...Harry, they can help.”
Harry and Ron looked at
her.
“Listen,” she said urgently, “Harry, we need to establish whether Sirius
really has left Headquarters.”
“I've told you, I saw—”
“Harry, I'm begging
you, please!” said Hermione desperately. “Please let's just check that Sirius
isn't at home before we go charging off to London. If we find out he's not
there, then I swear I won't try to stop you. I'll come, I'll d—do whatever it
takes to try and save him.”
“Sirius is being tortured NOW!” shouted Harry.
“We haven't got time to waste.”
“But if this is a trick of Voldemort's,
Harry, we've got to check, we've got to.”
“How?” Harry demanded. “How're we
going to check?”
“We'll have to use Umbridge's fire and see if we can contact
him,” said Hermione, who looked positively terrified at the thought. “We'll draw
Umbridge away again, but we'll need lookouts, and that's where we can use Ginny
and Luna.”
Though clearly struggling to understand what was going on, Ginny
said immediately, “Yeah, we'll do it,” and Luna said, “When you say "Sirius",
are you talking about Stubby Boardman?”
Nobody answered her.
“OK,” Harry
said aggressively to Hermione, “OK, if you can think of a way of doing this
quickly, I'm with you, otherwise I'm going to the Department of Mysteries right
now.”
“The Department of Mysteries?” said Luna, looking mildly surprised.
“But how are you going to get there?”
Again, Harry ignored her.
“Right,”
said Hermione, twisting her hands together and pacing up and down between the
desks. “Right...well...one of us has to go and find Umbridge and—and send her
off in the wrong direction, keep her away from her office. They could tell her—I
don't know—that Peeves is up to something awful as usual”
“Til do it,” said
Ron at once. “Til tell her Peeves is smashing up the Transfiguration department
or something, it's miles away from her office. Come to think of it, I could
probably persuade Peeves to do it if I met him on the way.”
It was a mark of
the seriousness of the situation that Hermione made no objection to the smashing
up of the Transfiguration department.
“OK,” she said, her brow furrowed as
she continued to pace. “Now, we need to keep students right away from her office
while we force entry, or some Slytherins bound to go and tip her off.”
“Luna
and I can stand at either end of the corridor,” said Ginny promptly, “and warn
people not to go down there because someone's let off a load of Garrotting Gas.”
Hermione looked surprised at the readiness with which Ginny had come up with
this lie; Ginny shrugged and said, “Fred and George were planning to do it
before they left.”
“OK,” said Hermione. “Well then, Harry, you and I will be
under the Invisibility Cloak and we'll sneak into the office and you can talk to
Sirius—”
“He's not there, Hermione!”
“I mean, you can—can check whether
Sirius is at home or not while I keep watch, I don't think you should be in
there alone, Lee's already proved the windows a weak spot, sending those
Nifflers through it.”
Even through his anger and impatience, Harry recognised
Hermione’s offer to accompany him into Umbridge's office as a sign of solidarity
and loyalty.
“I...OK, thanks,” he muttered.
“Right, well, even if we do
all of that, I don't think we're going to be able to bank on more than five
minutes,” said Hermione, looking relieved that Harry seemed to have accepted the
plan, “not with Filch and the wretched Inquisitorial Squad floating
around.”
“Five minutes'll be enough,” said Harry. “C'mon, let's
go—”
“Now?” said Hermione, looking shocked.
“Of course now!” said Harry
angrily. “What did you think, we're going to wait until after dinner or
something? Hermione, Sirius is being tortured right now!”
“I—oh, all right,”
she said desperately. “You go and get the Invisibility Cloak and we'll meet you
at the end of Umbridge's corridor, OK?”
Harry didn't answer, but flung
himself out of the room and began to fight his way through the milling crowds
outside. Two floors up he met Seamus and Dean, who hailed him jovially and told
him they were planning a dusk-till-dawn end-of-exams celebration in the common
room. Harry barely heard them. He scrambled through the portrait hole while they
were still arguing about how many black-market Butterbeers they would need and
was climbing back out of it, the Invisibility Cloak and Sirius's knife secure in
his bag, before they noticed he had left them.
“Harry, d'you want to chip in
a couple of Galleons? Harold Dingle reckons he could sell us some
Firewhisky—”
But Harry was already tearing away back along the corridor, and
a couple of minutes later was jumping the last few stairs to join Ron, Hermione,
Ginny and Luna, who were huddled together at the end of Umbridge's
corridor.
“Got it,” he panted. “Ready to go, then?”
“All right,”
whispered Hermione as a gang of loud sixth-years passed them. “So Ron—you go and
head Umbridge off...Ginny, Luna, if you can start moving people out of the
corridor...Harry and I will get the Cloak on and wait until the coast is
clear...”
Ron strode away, his bright-red hair visible right to the end of
the passage; meanwhile Ginny’s equally vivid head bobbed between the jostling
students surrounding them in the other direction, trailed by Luna's blonde
one.
“Get over here,” muttered Hermione, tugging at Harry's wrist and pulling
him back into a recess where the ugly stone head of a medieval wizard stood
muttering to itself on a column. “Are—are you sure you're OK, Harry? You're
still very pale.”
“I'm fine,” he said shortly, tugging the Invisibility Cloak
from out of his bag. In truth, his scar was aching, but not so badly that he
thought Voldemort had yet dealt Sirius a fatal blow; it had hurt much worse than
this when Voldemort had been punishing Avery...
“Here,” he said; he threw the
Invisibility Cloak over both of them and they stood listening carefully over the
Latin mumblings of the bust in front of them.
“You can't come down here!”
Ginny was calling to the crowd. “No, sorry, you're going to have to go round by
the swivelling staircase, someone's let off Garrotting Gas just along
here—”
“They could hear people complaining; one surly voice said, “I can't
see no gas.”
That's because it's colourless,” said Ginny in a convincingly
exasperated voice, “but if you want to walk through it, carry on, then we'll
have your body as proof for the next idiot who doesn't believe us.”
Slowly,
the crowd thinned. The news about the Garrotting Gas seemed to have spread;
people were not coming this way any more. When at last the surrounding area was
quite clear, Hermione said quietly, “I think that's as good as we're going to
get, Harry—come on, let's do it.”
They moved forwards, covered by the Cloak.
Luna was standing with her back to them at the far end of the corridor. As they
passed Ginny, Hermione whispered, “Good one...don't forget the
signal.”
“What's the signal?” muttered Harry, as they approached Umbridge's
door.
“A loud chorus of "Weasley is our King" if they see Umbridge coming,”
replied Hermione, as Harry inserted the blade of Sirius's knife in the crack
between door and wall. The lock clicked open and they entered the office.
The
garish kittens were basking in the late-afternoon sunshine that was warming
their plates, but otherwise the office was as still and unoccupied as last time.
Hermione breathed a sigh of relief.
“I thought she might have added extra
security after the second Niffler.”
They pulled off the Cloak; Hermione
hurried over to the window and stood out of sight, peering down into the grounds
with her wand out. Harry dashed over to the fireplace, seized the pot of Floo
powder and threw a pinch into the grate, causing emerald flames to burst into
life there. He knelt down quickly, thrust his head into the dancing fire and
cried, “Number twelve, Grimmauld Place!”
His head began to spin as though he
had just got off a lair-ground ride though his knees remained firmly planted on
the cold office floor. He kept his eyes screwed up against the whirling ash and
when the spinning stopped he opened them to find himself looking out at the
long, cold kitchen of Grimmauld Place.
There was nobody there. He had
expected this, yet was not prepared for the molten wave of dread and panic that
seemed to burst through his stomach at the sight of the deserted
room.
“Sirius?” he shouted. “Sirius, are you there?”
His voice echoed
around the room, but there was no answer except a tiny scuffing sound to the
right of the fire.
“Who's there?” he called, wondering whether it was just a
mouse.
Kreacher the house-elf crept into view. He looked highly delighted
about something, though he seemed to have recently sustained a nasty injury to
both hands, which were heavily bandaged.
“It's the Potter boy's head in the
fire,” Kreacher informed the empty kitchen, stealing furtive, oddly triumphant
glances at Harry. “What has he come for, Kreacher wonders?”
“Where's Sirius,
Kreacher?” Harry demanded.
The house-elf gave a wheezy chuckle.
“Master
has gone out, Harry Potter.”
“Where's he gone? Where's he gone,
Kreacher?”
Kreacher merely cackled.
“I'm warning you!” said Harry, fully
aware that his scope for inflicting punishment upon Kreacher was almost
non-existent in this position. “What about Lupin? Mad-Eye? Any of them, are any
of them there?”
“Nobody here but Kreacher!” said the elf gleefully, and
turning away from Harry he began to walk slowly towards the door at the end of
the kitchen. “Kreacher thinks he will have a little chat with his mistress now,
yes, he hasn't had a chance in a long time, Kreacher's master has been keeping
him away from her—”
“Where has Sirius gone?” Harry yelled after the elf.
“Kreacher, has he gone to the Department of Mysteries?”
Kreacher stopped in
his tracks. Harry could just make out the back of his bald head through the
forest of chair legs before him.
“Master does not tell poor Kreacher where he
is going,” said the elf quietly.
“But you know!” shouted Harry. “Don't you?
You know where he is!”
There was a moment's silence, then the elf let out his
loudest cackle yet.
“Master will not come back from the Department of
Mysteries!” he said gleefully. “Kreacher and his mistress are alone
again!”
And he scurried forwards and disappeared through the door to the
hall.
“You -!”
But before he could utter a single curse or insult, Harry
felt a great pain at the top of his head; he inhaled a lot of ash and, choking,
found himself being dragged backwards through the flames, until with a horrible
abruptness he was staring up into the wide, pallid face of Professor Umbridge
who had dragged him backwards out of the fire by the hair and was now bending
his neck back as far as it would go, as though she were going to slit his
throat.
“You think,” she whispered, bending Harry's neck back even further,
so that he was looking up at the ceiling, “that after two Nifflers I was going
to let one more foul, scavenging little creature enter my office without my
knowledge? I had Stealth Sensoring Spells placed all around my doorway after the
last one got in, you foolish boy. Take his wand,” she barked at someone he could
not see, and he felt a hand grope inside the chest pocket of his robes and
remove the wand. “Hers, too.”
Harry heard a scuffle over by the door and knew
that Hermione had also just had her wand wrested from her.
“I want to know
why you are in my office,” said Umbridge, shaking the fist clutching his hair so
that he staggered.
“I was—trying to get my Firebolt!” Harry
croaked.
“Liar.” She shook his head again. “Your Firebolt is under strict
guard in the dungeons, as you very well know, Potter. You had your head in my
fire. With whom have you been communicating?”
“No one—” said Harry, trying to
pull away from her. He felt several hairs part company with his
scalp.
“Liar!” shouted Umbridge. She threw him from her and he slammed into
the desk. Now he could see Hermione pinioned against the wall by Millicent
Bulstrode. Malfoy was leaning on the windowsill, smirking as he threw Harry's
wand into the air one-handed and caught it again.
There was a commotion
outside and several large Slytherins entered, each gripping Ron, Ginny, Luna
and—to Harry's bewilderment—Neville, who was trapped in a stranglehold by Crabbe
and looked in imminent danger of suffocation. All four of them had been
gagged.
“Got ‘em all,” said Warrington, shoving Ron roughly forwards into the
room. That one,” he poked a thick finger at Neville, “tried to stop me taking
her,” he pointed at Ginny, who was trying to kick the shins of the large
Slytherin girl holding her, “so I brought him along too.”
“Good, good,” said
Umbridge, watching Ginny's struggles. “Well, it looks as though Hogwarts will
shortly be a Weasley-free zone, doesn't it?”
Malfoy laughed loudly and
sycophantically. Umbridge gave her wide, complacent smile and settled herself
into a chintz-covered armchair, blinking up at her captives like a toad in a
flowerbed.
“So, Potter,” she said. “You stationed lookouts around my office
and you sent this buffoon,” she nodded at Ron—Malfoy laughed even louder—“to
tell me the poltergeist was wreaking havoc in the Transfiguration department
when I knew perfectly well that he was busy smearing ink on the eyepieces of all
the school telescopes -Mr Filch having just informed me so.”
“Clearly, it was
very important for you to talk to somebody. Was it Albus Dumbledore? Or the
half-breed, Hagrid? I doubt it was Minerva McGonagall, I hear she is still too
ill to talk to anyone.”
Malfoy and a few of the other members of the
Inquisitorial Squad laughed some more at that. Harry found he was so full of
rage and hatred he was shaking.
“It's none of your business who I talk to,”
he snarled.
Umbridge's slack face seemed to tighten.
“Very well,” she said
in her most dangerous and falsely sweet voice. “Very well, Mr Potter...I offered
you the chance to tell me freely. You refused. I have no alternative but to
force you. Draco - fetch Professor Snape.”
Malfoy stowed Harry's wand inside
his robes and left the room smirking, but Harry hardly noticed. He had just
realised something; he could not believe he had been so stupid as to forget it.
He had thought that all the members of the Order, all those who could help him
save Sirius, were gone—but he had been wrong. There was still a member of the
Order of the Phoenix at Hogwarts- Snape.
There was silence in the office
except for the fidgetings and scuf-flings resulting from the Slytherins” efforts
to keep Ron and the others under control. Ron's lip was bleeding on to
Umbridge's carpet as he struggled against Warrington's half-nelson; Ginny was
still trying to stamp on the feet of the sixth-year girl who had both her upper
arms in a tight grip; Neville was turning steadily more purple in the face while
tugging at Crabbe's arms; and Hermione was attempting, in vain, to throw
Millicent Bulstrode off her. Luna, however, stood limply by the side of her
captor, gazing vaguely out of the window as though rather bored by the
proceedings.
Harry looked back at Umbridge, who was watching him closely. He
kept his face deliberately smooth and blank as footsteps were heard in the
corridor outside and Draco Malfoy entered the room, closely followed by
Snape.
“You wanted to see me, Headmistress?” said Snape, looking around at
all the pairs of struggling students with an expression of complete
indifference.
“Ah, Professor Snape,” said Umbridge, smiling widely and
standing up again. “Yes, I would like another bottle of Veritaserum, as quick as
you can, please.”
“You took my last bottle to interrogate Potter,” he said,
surveying her coolly through his greasy curtains of black hair. “Surely you did
not use it all? I told you that three drops would be sufficient.”
Umbridge
flushed.
“You can make some more, can't you?” she said, her voice becoming
more sweetly girlish as it always did when she was furious.
“Certainly,” said
Snape, his lip curling. “It takes a full moon-cycle to mature, so I should have
it ready for you in around a month.”
“A month?” squawked Umbridge, swelling
toadishly. “A month? But I need it this evening, Snape! I have just found Potter
using my fire to communicate with a person or persons unknown!”
“Really?”
said Snape, showing his first, faint sign of interest as he looked round at
Harry. “Well, it doesn't surprise me. Potter has never shown much inclination to
follow school rules.”
His cold, dark eyes were boring into Harry's, who met
his gaze unflinchingly, concentrating hard on what he had seen in his dream,
willing Snape to read it in his mind, to understand...
“I wish to interrogate
him!” repeated Umbridge angrily, and Snape looked away from Harry back into her
furiously quivering face. “I wish you to provide me with a potion that will
force him to tell me the truth!”
“I have already told you,” said Snape
smoothly, “that I have no further stocks of Veritaserum. Unless you wish to
poison Potter -and I assure you I would have the greatest sympathy with you if
you did—I cannot help you. The only trouble is that most venoms act too fast to
give the victim much time for truth-telling.”
Snape looked back at Harry, who
stared at him, frantic to communicate without words.
Voldemort's got Sirius
in the Department of Mysteries, he thought desperately. Voldemort's got
Sirius—
“You are on probation!” shrieked Professor Umbridge, and Snape looked
back at her, his eyebrows slightly raised. “You are being deliberately
unhelpful! I expected better, Lucius Malfoy always speaks most highly of you!
Now get out of my office!”
Snape gave her an ironic bow and turned to leave.
Harry knew his last chance of letting the Order know what was going on was
walking out of the door.
“He's got Padfoot!” he shouted. “He's got Padfoot at
the place where it's hidden!”
Snape had stopped with his hand on Umbridges
door handle.
“Padfoot?” cried Professor Umbridge, looking eagerly from Harry
to Snape. “What is Padfoot? Where what is hidden? What does he mean,
Snape?”
Snape looked round at Harry. His face was inscrutable. Harry could
not tell whether he had understood or not, but he did not dare speak more
plainly in front of Umbridge.
“I have no idea,” said Snape coldly. “Potter,
when I want nonsense shouted at me I shall give you a Babbling Beverage. And
Crabbe, loosen your hold a little. If Longbottom suffocates it will mean a lot
of tedious paperwork and I am afraid I shall have to mention it on your
reference if ever you apply for a job.”
He closed the door behind him with a
snap, leaving Harry in a state of worse turmoil than before: Snape had been his
very last hope. He looked at Umbridge, who seemed to be feeling the same way;
her chest was heaving with rage and frustration.
“Very well,” she said, and
she pulled out her wand. “Very well...I am left with no alternative...this is
more than a matter of school discipline...this is an issue of Ministry
security...yes...yes...”
She seemed to be talking herself into something. She
was shifting her weight nervously from foot to foot, staring at Harry, beating
her wand against her empty palm and breathing heavily. As he watched her, Harry
felt horribly powerless without his own wand.
“You are forcing me, Potter...I
do not want to,” said Umbridge, still moving restlessly on the spot, “but
sometimes circumstances justify the use...I am sure the Minister will understand
that I had no choice”
Malfoy was watching her with a hungry expression on his
face.
“The Cruciatus Curse ought to loosen your tongue,” said Umbridge
quietly.
“No!” shrieked Hermione. “Professor Umbridge—it's illegal.”
But
Umbridge took no notice. There was a nasty, eager, excited look on her face that
Harry had never seen before. She raised her wand.
“The Minister wouldn't want
you to break the law, Professor Umbridge!” cried Hermione.
“What Cornelius
doesn't know won't hurt him,” said Umbridge, who was now panting slightly as she
pointed her wand at different parts of Harry's body in turn, apparently trying
to decide where it would hurt most. “He never knew I ordered Dementors to go
after Potter last summer, but he was delighted to be given the chance to expel
him, all the same.”
“It was you” gasped Harry. “You sent the Dementors after
me?”
“Somebody had to act,” breathed Umbridge, as her wand came to rest
pointing directly at Harry’s forehead. “They were all bleating about silencing
you somehow—discrediting you—but I was the one who actually did something about
it...only you wriggled out of that one, didn't you, Potter? Not today though,
not now—” And taking a deep breath, she cried, “Cruc—”
“NO!” shouted Hermione
in a cracked voice from behind Millicent Bulstrode. “No—Harry—we'll have to tell
her!”
“No way!” yelled Harry, staring at the little of Hermione he could
see.
“We'll have to, Harry, she'll force it out of you anyway,
what's...what's the point?”
And Hermione began to cry weakly into the back of
Millicent Bulstrode's robes. Millicent stopped trying to squash her against the
wall immediately and dodged out of her way looking disgusted.
“Well, well,
well!” said Umbridge, looking triumphant. “Little Miss Question-all is going to
give us some answers! Come on then, girl, come on!”
“Er—my—nee—no!” shouted
Ron through his gag.
Ginny was staring at Hermione as though she had never
seen her before. Neville, still choking for breath, was gazing at her, too. But
Harry had just noticed something. Though Hermione was sobbing desperately into
her hands, there was no trace of a tear.
“I'm—I'm sorry everyone,” said
Hermione. “But—I can't stand it—”
That's right, that's right, girl!” said
Umbridge, seizing Hermione by the shoulders, thrusting her into the abandoned
chintz chair and leaning over her. “Now then...with whom was Potter
communicating just now?”
“Well,” gulped Hermione into her hands, “well, he
was trying to speak to Professor Dumbledore.”
Ron froze, his eyes wide; Ginny
stopped trying to stamp on her Slytherin captor's toes; and even Luna looked
mildly surprised. Fortunately, the attention of Umbridge and her minions was
focused too exclusively upon Hermione to notice these suspicious
signs.
“Dumbledore?” said Umbridge eagerly. “You know where Dumbledore is,
then?”
“Well...no!” sobbed Hermione. “We've tried the Leaky Cauldron in
Diagon Alley and the Three Broomsticks and even the Hog's Head—”
“Idiot
girl—Dumbledore won't be sitting in a pub when the whole Ministry's looking lor
him!” shouted Umbridge, disappointment etched in every sagging line of her
face.
“But—but we needed to tell him something important!” wailed Hermione,
holding her hands more tightly over her face, not, Harry knew, out of anguish,
but to disguise the continued absence of tears.
“Yes?” said Umbridge with a
sudden resurgence of excitement. “What was it you wanted to tell
him?”
“We...we wanted to tell him it's r—ready!” choked Hermione.
“What's
ready?” demanded Umbridge, and now she grabbed Hermione's shoulders again and
shook her slightly. What's ready, girl?”
“The...the weapon,” said
Hermione.
“Weapon? Weapon?” said Umbridge, and her eyes seemed to pop with
excitement. “You have been developing some method of resistance? A weapon you
could use against the Ministry? On Professor Dumbledore's orders, of
course?”
“Y—y—yes,” gasped Hermione, “but he had to leave before it was
finished and n—n—now we've finished it for him, and we c—c—can't find him't
-'t—to tell him!”
“What kind of weapon is it?” said Umbridge harshly, her
stubby hands still tight on Hermione's shoulders.
“We don't r—r—really
understand it,” said Hermione, sniffing loudly. “We j—j—just did what
P—P—Professor Dumbledore told us't -'t—to do.”
Umbridge straightened up,
looking exultant.
“Lead me to the weapon,” she said.
“I'm not
showing...them,” said Hermione shrilly, looking around at the Slytherins through
her fingers.
“It is not for you to set conditions,” said Professor Umbridge
harshly.
“Fine,” said Hermione, now sobbing into her hands again. “Fine...let
them see it, I hope they use it on you! In fact, I wish you'd invite loads and
loads of people to come and see! Th—that would serve you right—oh, I'd love it
if the wh—whole school knew where it was, and how to u—use it, and then if you
annoy any of them they'll be able to's—sort you out!”
These words had a
powerful impact on Umbridge: she glanced swiftly and suspiciously around at her
Inquisitorial Squad, her bulging eyes resting for a moment on Malfoy, who was
too slow to disguise the look of eagerness and greed that had appeared on his
face.
Umbridge contemplated Hermione for another long moment, then spoke in
what she clearly thought was a motherly voice.
“All right, dear, let's make
it just you and me...and we'll take Potter, too, shall we? Get up,
now.”
“Professor,” said Malfoy eagerly, “Professor Umbridge, I think some of
the Squad should come with you to look after—”
“I am a fully qualified
Ministry official, Malfoy, do you really think I cannot manage two wandless
teenagers alone?” asked Umbridge sharply. “In any case, it does not sound as
though this weapon is something that schoolchildren should see. You will remain
here until I return and make sure none of these—” she gestured around at Ron,
Ginny, Neville and Luna “—escape.”
“All right,” said Malfoy, looking sulky
and disappointed.
“And you two can go ahead of me and show me the way” said
Umbridge, pointing at Harry and Hermione with her wand. “Lead on.