He shook Harry by the neck of his robes.

He shook Harry by the neck of his robes.

‘Please,’ said Hermione breathlessly, ‘please, don't attack us, We don't think like her, we aren't Ministry of Magic employees! We only came in here because we hoped you'd drive her off for us.’

Harry knew at once, from the look on the face of the grey centaur holding Hermione, that she had made a terrible mistake in saying this. The grey centaur threw back his head, his back legs stamping furiously, and bellowed, ‘You see, Ronan? They already have the arrogance of their kind! So we were to do your dirty work, were we, human girl? We were to act as your servants, drive away your enemies like obedient hounds?’

‘No!’ said Hermione in a horrorstruck squeak. ‘Please—I didn't mean that! I just hoped you'd be able to—to help us—’

But she seemed to be going from bad to worse.

‘We do not help humans!’ snarled the centaur holding Harry, tightening his grip and rearing a little at the same time, so that Harry's feet left the ground momentarily. ‘We are a race apart and proud to be so. We will not permit you to walk from here, boasting that we did your bidding!’

‘We're not going to say anything like that!’ Harry shouted. ‘We know you didn't do what you did because we wanted you to—’

But nobody seemed to be listening to him.

A bearded centaur towards the back of the crowd shouted, ‘They came here unasked, they must pay the consequences!’

A roar of approval met these words and a dun-coloured centaur shouted, ‘They can join the woman!’

‘You said you didn't hurt the innocent!’ shouted Hermione, real tears sliding down her face now. ‘We haven't done anything to hurt you, we haven't used wands or threats, we just want to go back to school, please let us go back—’

‘We are not all like the traitor Firenze, human girl!’ shouted the grey centaur, to more neighing roars of approval from his fellows. ‘Perhaps you thought us pretty talking horses? We are an ancient people who will not stand wizard invasions and insults! We do not recognise your laws, we do not acknowledge your superiority, we are—’

But they did not hear what else centaurs were, for at that moment there came a crashing noise on the edge of the clearing so loud that all of them, Harry, Hermione and the fifty or so centaurs filling the clearing, looked around. Harry's centaur let him fall to the ground again as his hands flew to his bow and quiver of arrows. Hermione had been dropped, too, and Harry hurried towards her as two thick tree trunks parted ominously and the monstrous form of Grawp the giant appeared in the gap.

The centaurs nearest him backed into those behind; the clearing was now a forest of bows and arrows waiting to be fired, all pointing upwards at the enormous greyish face now looming over them from just beneath the thick canopy of branches. Grawp's lopsided mouth was gaping stupidly; they could see his bricklike yellow teeth glimmering in the half-light, his dull sludge-coloured eyes narrowed as he squinted down at the creatures at his feet. Broken ropes trailed from both ankles.

He opened his mouth even wider.

‘Hagger.’

Harry did not know what ‘hagger’ meant, or what language it was from, nor did he much care; he was watching Grawp's feet, which were almost as long as Harry's whole body. Hermione gripped his arm tightly; the centaurs were quite silent, staring up at the giant, whose huge, round head moved from side to side as he continued to peer amongst them as though looking for something he had dropped.

‘Hagger!’ he said again, more insistently.

‘Get away from here, giant!’ called Magorian. ‘You are not welcome among us!’

These words seemed to make no impression whatsoever on Grawp. He stooped a little (the centaurs’ arms tensed on their bows), then bellowed, ‘HAGGER!’

A few of the centaurs looked worried now. Hermione, however, gave a gasp.

‘Harry!’ she whispered. ‘I think he's trying to say “Hagrid"!’

At this precise moment Grawp caught sight of them, the only two humans in a sea of centaurs. He lowered his head another foot or so, staring intently at them. Harry could feel Hermione shaking as Grawp opened his mouth wide again and said, in a deep, rumbling voice, ‘Hermy.’

‘Goodness,’ said Hermione, gripping Harry's arm so tightly it was growing numb and looking as though she was about to faint, ‘he—he remembered!’

‘HERMY!’ roared Grawp. ‘WHERE HAGGER?’

Angelina won't just let me resign.’

Angelina won't just let me resign.’

It's because you're good when you're on form, that's why,’ said Harry irritably.

He found it very hard to be sympathetic to Ron's plight, when he himself would have given almost anything to be playing in the forthcoming match against Hufflepuff. Ron seemed to have noticed Harry's tone, because he did

not mention Quidditch again during breakfast, and there was a slight frostiness in the way they said goodbye to each other shortly afterwards. Ron departed for the Quidditch pitch and Harry, after attempting to flatten his hair

while staring at his reflection in the back of a teaspoon, proceeded alone to the Entrance Hall to meet Cho, feeling very apprehensive and wondering what on earth they were going to talk about.

She was waiting for him a little to the side of the oak front doors, looking very pretty with her hair tied back in a long pony-tail. Harry's feet seemed to be too big for his body as he walked towards her and he was suddenly

horribly aware of his arms and how stupid they must look swinging at his sides.

‘Hi,’ said Cho slightly breathlessly.

‘Hi,’ said Harry.

They stared at each other for a moment, then Harry said, ‘Well—er—shall we go, then?’

‘Oh—yes ...’

They joined the queue of people being signed out by Filch, occasionally catching each other's eye and grinning shiftily, but not talking to each other. Harry was relieved when they reached the fresh air, finding it easier to walk

along in silence than just stand about looking awkward. It was a fresh, breezy sort of a day and as they passed the Quidditch stadium Harry glimpsed Ron and Ginny skimming along over the stands and felt a horrible pang

that he was not up there with them.

‘You really miss it, don't you?’ said Cho.

He looked round and saw her watching him.

‘Yeah,’ sighed Harry. ‘I do.’

‘Remember the first time we played against each other, in the third year?’ she asked him.

‘Yeah,’ said Harry, grinning. ‘You kept blocking me.’

‘And Wood told you not to be a gentleman and knock me off my broom if you had to,’ said Cho, smiling reminiscently. ‘I heard he got taken on by Pride of Portree, is that right?’

‘Nah, it was Puddlemere United; I saw him at the World Cup last year.’

‘Oh, I saw you there, too, remember? We were on the same campsite. It was really good, wasn't it?’

The subject of the Quidditch World Cup carried them all the way down the drive and out through the gates. Harry could hardly believe how easy it was to talk to her—no more difficult, in fact, than talking to Ron and Hermione

—and he was just starting to feel confident and cheerful when a large gang of Slytherin girls passed them, including Pansy Parkinson.

‘Potter and Chang!’ screeched Pansy, to a chorus of snide giggles. ‘Urgh, Chang, I don't think much of your taste ... at least Diggory was good-looking!’

The girls sped up, talking and shrieking in a pointed fashion with many exaggerated glances back at Harry and Cho, leaving an embarrassed silence in their wake. Harry could think of nothing else to say about Quidditch, and

Cho, slightly flushed, was watching her feet.

‘So ... where d'you want to go?’ Harry asked as they entered Hogsmeade. The High Street was full of students ambling up and down, peering into the shop windows and messing about together on the pavements.

‘Oh ... I don't mind,’ said Cho, shrugging. ‘Um ... shall we just have a look in the shops or something?’

They wandered towards Dervish and Banges. A large poster had been stuck up in the window and a few Hogsmeaders were looking at it. They moved aside when Harry and Cho approached and Harry found himself staring

once more at the pictures of the ten escaped Death Eaters. The poster, ‘By Order of the Ministry of Magic', offered a thousand-Galleon reward to any witch or wizard with information leading to the recapture of any of the

convicts pictured.

‘It's funny, isn't it,’ said Cho in a low voice, gazing up at the pictures of the Death Eaters, ‘remember when that Sirius Black escaped, and there were dementors all over Hogsmeade looking for him? And now ten Death Eaters

are on the loose and there are no dementors anywhere ...’

‘Yeah,’ said Harry, tearing his eyes away from Bellatrix Lestrange's face to glance up and down the High Street. ‘Yeah, that is weird.’

He wasn't sorry that there were no dementors nearby, but now he came to think of it, their absence was highly significant. They had not only let the Death Eaters escape, they weren't bothering to look for them ... it looked as

though they really were outside Ministry control now.

The ten escaped Death Eaters were staring out of every shop window he and Cho passed. It started to rain as they passed Scrivenshaft's; cold, heavy drops of water kept hitting Harry's face and the back of his neck.

‘Um ... d'you want to get a coffee?’ said Cho tentatively, as the rain began to fall more heavily.

‘Yeah, all right,’ said Harry, looking around. ‘Where?’

‘Oh, there's a really nice place just up here; haven't you ever been to Madam Puddifoot's?’ she said brightly, leading him up a side road and into a small teashop that Harry had never noticed before. It was a cramped, steamy

little place where everything seemed to have been decorated with frills or bows. Harry was reminded unpleasantly of Umbridge's office.

‘Cute, isn't it?’ said Cho happily.

‘Er ... yeah,’ said Harry untruthfully.

‘Look, she's decorated it for Valentine's Day!’ said Cho, indicating a number of golden cherubs that were hovering over each of the small, circular tables, occasionally throwing pink confetti over the occupants.

‘Aaah ...’

They sat down at the last remaining table, which was over by the steamy window. Roger Davies, the Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain, was sitting about a foot and a half away with a pretty blonde girl. They were holding hands.

The sight made Harry feel uncomfortable, particularly when, looking around the teashop, he saw that it was full of nothing but couples, all of them holding hands. Perhaps Cho would expect him to hold her hand.
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Chapter 18 Dumbledore's Army

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'll tell you what it means,’

‘I'll tell you what it means,’ said Hermione through gritted teeth. ‘It means the Ministry's interfering at Hogwarts.’

There was a great clattering and banging all around them; Dumbledore had obviously just dismissed the school, because everyone was standing up ready to leave the Hall. Hermione jumped up, looking flustered.

‘Ron, we're supposed to show the first-years where to go!’

‘Oh yeah,’ said Ron, who had obviously forgotten. ‘Hey—hey, you lot! Midgets!’

‘Ron!’

‘Well, they are, they're titchy ...’

‘I know, but you can't call them midgets!—First-years!’ Hermione called commandingly along the table. ‘This way, please!’

A group of new students walked shyly up the gap between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables, all of them trying hard not to lead the group. They did indeed seem very small; Harry was sure he had not appeared that young when he had arrived here. He grinned at them. A blond boy next to Euan Abercrombie looked petrified; he nudged Euan and whispered something in his ear. Euan Abercrombie looked equally frightened and stole a horrified look at Harry, who felt the grin slide off his face like Stinksap.

‘See you later,’ he said dully to Ron and Hermione and he made his way out of the Great Hall alone, doing everything he could to ignore more whispering, staring and pointing as he passed. He kept his eyes fixed ahead as he wove his way through the crowd in the Entrance Hall, then he hurried up the marble staircase, took a couple of concealed short cuts and had soon left most of the crowds behind.

He had been stupid not to expect this, he thought angrily as he walked through the much emptier upstairs corridors. Of course everyone was staring at him; he had emerged from the Triwizard maze two months previously clutching the dead body of a fellow student and claiming to have seen Lord Voldemort return to power. There had not been time last term to explain himself before they'd all had to go home—even if he had felt up to giving the whole school a detailed account of the terrible events in that graveyard.

Harry had reached the end of the corridor to the Gryffindor common room and come to a halt in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady before he realised that he did not know the new password.

‘Er ...’ he said glumly, staring up at the Fat Lady, who smoothed the folds of her pink satin dress and looked sternly back at him.

‘No password, no entrance,’ she said loftily.

‘Harry, I know it!’ Someone panted up behind him and he turned to see Neville jogging towards him. ‘Guess what it is? I'm actually going to be able to remember it for once— ’ He waved the stunted little cactus he had shown them on the train. ‘Mimbuius mimbletonia!’

‘Correct,’ said the Fat Lady, and her portrait swung open towards them like a door, revealing a circular hole in the wall behind, through which Harry and Neville now climbed.

The Gryffindor common room looked as welcoming as ever, a cosy circular tower room full of dilapidated squashy armchairs and rickety old tables. A fire was crackling merrily in the grate and a few people were warming their hands by it before going up to their dormitories; on the other side of the room Fred and George Weasley were pinning something up on the noticeboard. Harry waved goodnight to them and headed straight for the door to the boys’ dormitories; he was not in much of a mood for talking at the moment. Neville followed him.

Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan had reached the dormitory first and were in the process of covering the walls beside their beds with posters and photographs. They had been talking as Harry pushed open the door but stopped abruptly the moment they saw him. Harry wondered whether they had been talking about him, then whether he was being paranoid.

‘Hi,’ he said, moving across to his own trunk and opening it.

‘Hey, Harry,’ said Dean, who was putting on a pair of pyjamas in the West Ham colours. ‘Good holiday?’

‘Well, now that we are all digesting another magnificent feast

‘Well, now that we are all digesting another magnificent feast, I beg a few moments of your attention for the usual start-of-term notices,’ said Dumbledore. ‘First-years ought to know that the Forest in the grounds is out-of-bounds to students—and a few of our older students ought to know by now, too.’ (Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged smirks.)

‘Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me, for what he tells me is the four-hundred-and-sixty-second time, to remind you all that magic is not permitted in corridors between classes, nor are a number of other things, all of which can be checked on the extensive list now fastened to Mr. Filch's office door.

‘We have had two changes in staffing this year. We are very pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking Care of Magical Creatures lessons; we are also delighted to introduce Professor Umbridge, our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.’

There was a round of polite but fairly unenthusiastic applause, during which Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged slightly panicked looks; Dumbledore had not said for how long Grubbly-Plank would be teaching.

Dumbledore continued, ‘Tryouts for the house Quidditch teams will take place on the—’

He broke off, looking enquiringly at Professor Umbridge. As she was not much taller standing than sitting, there was a moment when nobody understood why Dumbledore had stopped talking, but then Professor Umbridge cleared her throat, ‘Hem, hem,’ and it became clear that she had got to her feet and was intending to make a speech.

Dumbledore only looked taken aback for a moment, then he sat down smartly and looked alertly at Professor Umbridge as though he desired nothing better than to listen to her talk. Other members of staff were not as adept at hiding their surprise. Professor Sprout's eyebrows had disappeared into her flyaway hair and Professor McGonagall's mouth was as thin as Harry had ever seen it. No new teacher had ever interrupted Dumbledore before. Many of the students were smirking; this woman obviously did not know how things were done at Hogwarts.

‘Thank you, Headmaster,’ Professor Umbridge simpered, ‘for those kind words of welcome.’

Her voice was high-pitched, breathy and little-girlish and, again, Harry felt a powerful rush of dislike that he could not explain to himself; all he knew was that he loathed everything about her, from her stupid voice to her fluffy pink cardigan. She gave another little throat-clearing cough ('hem, hem') and continued.

‘Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say!’ She smiled, revealing very pointed teeth. ‘And to see such happy little faces looking up at me!’

Harry glanced around. None of the faces he could see looked happy. On the contrary, they all looked rather taken-aback at being addressed as though they were five years old.

‘I am very much looking forward to getting to know you all and I'm sure we'll be very good friends!’

Students exchanged looks at this; some of them were barely concealing grins.

‘I'll be her friend as long as I don't have to borrow that cardigan,’ Parvati whispered to Lavender, and both of them lapsed into silent giggles.

Professor Umbridge cleared her throat again ('hem, hem'), but when she continued, some of the breathiness had vanished from her voice. She sounded much more businesslike and now her words had a dull learned-by-heart sound to them.

The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance. The rare gifts with which you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction. The ancient skills unique to the wizarding community must be passed down the generations lest we lose them for ever. The treasure trove of magical knowledge amassed by our ancestors must be guarded, replenished and polished by those who have been called to the noble profession of teaching.’

Professor Umbridge paused here and made a little bow to her fellow staff members, none of whom bowed back to her. Professor McGonagall's dark eyebrows had contracted so that she looked positively hawklike, and Harry distinctly saw her exchange a significant glance with Professor Sprout as Umbridge gave another little ‘hem, hem’ and went on with her speech.

‘What were you saying before the Sorting?’

‘What were you saying before the Sorting?’ Hermione asked the ghost. ‘About the Hat giving warnings?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Nick, who seemed glad of a reason to turn away from Ron, who was now eating roast potatoes with almost indecent enthusiasm. ‘Yes, I have heard the Hat give several warnings before, always at times when it detects periods of great danger for the school. And always, of course, its advice is the same: stand together, be strong from within.’

‘Ow kunnit nofe skusin danger ifzat?’ said Ron.

His mouth was so full Harry thought it was quite an achievement for him to make any noise at all.

‘I beg your pardon?’ said Nearly Headless Nick politely, while Hermione looked revolted. Ron gave an enormous swallow and said, ‘How can it know if the school's in danger if it's a Hat?’

‘I have no idea,’ said Nearly Headless Nick. ‘Of course, it lives in Dumbledore's office, so I daresay it picks things up there.’

‘And it wants all the houses to be friends?’ said Harry, looking over at the Slytherin table, where Draco Malfoy was holding court. ‘Fat chance.’

‘Well, now, you shouldn't take that attitude,’ said Nick reprovingly. ‘Peaceful co-operation, that's the key. We ghosts, though we belong to separate houses, maintain links of friendship. In spite of the competitiveness between Gryffindor and Slytherin, I would never dream of seeking an argument with the Bloody Baron.’

‘Only because you're terrified of him,’ said Ron.

Nearly Headless Nick looked highly affronted.

‘Terrified? I hope I, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, have never been guilty of cowardice in my life! The noble blood that runs in my veins—’

‘What blood?’ asked Ron. ‘Surely you haven't still got—?’

‘It's a figure of speech!’ said Nearly Headless Nick, now so annoyed his head was trembling ominously on his partially severed neck. ‘I assume I am still allowed to enjoy the use of whichever words I like, even if the pleasures of eating and drinking are denied me! But I am quite used to students poking fun at my death, I assure you!’

‘Nick, he wasn't really laughing at you!’ said Hermione, throwing a furious look at Ron.

Unfortunately, Ron's mouth was packed to exploding point again and all he could manage was ‘Node iddum eentup sechew,’ which Nick did not seem to think constituted an adequate apology. Rising into the air, he straightened his feathered hat and swept away from them to the other end of the table, coming to rest between the Creevey brothers, Colin and Dennis.

‘Well done, Ron,’ snapped Hermione.

‘What?’ said Ron indignantly, having managed, finally, to swallow his food. ‘I'm not allowed to ask a simple question?’

‘Oh, forget it,’ said Hermione irritably, and the pair of them spent the rest of the meal in huffy silence.

Harry was too used to their bickering to bother trying to reconcile them; he felt it was a better use of his time to eat his way steadily through his steak and kidney pie, then a large plateful of his favourite treacle tart.

When all the students had finished eating and the noise level in the Hall was starting to creep upwards again, Dumbledore got to his feet once more. Talking ceased immediately as all turned to face the Headmaster. Harry was feeling pleasantly drowsy now. His four-poster bed was waiting somewhere above, wonderfully warm and soft ...

The bell rang for the end of the lesson

. Overhead and all around came the elephantine sounds of hundreds of students on the move.

‘It says here she's given you detention every evening this week, starting tomorrow,’ Professor McGonagall said, looking down at Umbridge's note again.

‘Every evening this week!’ Harry repeated, horrified. ‘But, Professor, couldn't you—?’

‘No, I couldn't,’ said Professor McGonagall flatly.

‘But—’

‘She is your teacher and has every right to give you detention. You will go to her room at five o'clock tomorrow for the first one. Just remember: tread carefully around Dolores Umbridge.’

‘But I was telling the truth!’ said Harry, outraged. ‘Voldemort is back, you know he is; Professor Dumbledore knows he is—’

‘For heaven's sake, Potter!’ said Professor McGonagall, straightening her glasses angrily (she had winced horribly when he had used Voldemort's name). ‘Do you really think this is about truth or lies? It's about keeping your

head down and your temper under control!’

She stood up, nostrils wide and mouth very thin, and Harry stood up, too.

‘Have another biscuit,’ she said irritably, thrusting the tin at him.

‘No, thanks,’ said Harry coldly.

‘Don't be ridiculous,’ she snapped.

He took one.

‘Thanks,’ he said grudgingly.

‘Didn't you listen to Dolores Umbridge's speech at the start-of-term feast, Potter?’

‘Yeah,’ said Harry. ‘Yeah ... she said ... progress will be prohibited or ... well, it meant that ... that the Ministry of Magic is trying to interfere at Hogwarts.’

Professor McGonagall eyed him closely for a moment, then sniffed, walked around her desk and held open the door for him.

‘Well, I'm glad you listen to Hermione Granger at any rate,’ she said, pointing him out of her office.
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