There was Mad-Eye Moody, looking quite as sinister with his bowler hat pulled low over his magical eye as he would have done without it, his gnarled hands clutching a long staff, his body wrapped in a voluminous travelling cloak. Tonks stood just behind him, her bright bubble-gum-pink hair gleaming in the sunlight filtering through the dirty glass of the station ceiling, wearing heavily patched jeans and a bright purple T-shirt bearing the legend The Weird Sisters.Next to Tonks was Lupin, his face pale, his hair greying, a long and threadbare overcoat covering a shabby jumper and trousers. At the front of the group stood Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, dressed in their Muggle best, and Fred and George, who were both wearing brand-new jackets in some lurid green, scaly material.
‘Ron, Ginny!’ called Mrs. Weasley, hurrying forwards and hugging her children tightly. ‘Oh, and Harry dear—how are you?’
‘Fine,’ lied Harry, as she pulled him into a tight embrace. Over her shoulder he saw Ron goggling at the twins’ new clothes.
‘What are they supposed to be?’ he asked, pointing at the jackets.
‘Finest dragonskin, little bro',’ said Fred, giving his zip a little tweak. ‘Business is booming and we thought we'd treat ourselves.’
‘Hello, Harry,’ said Lupin, as Mrs. Weasley let go of Harry and turned to greet Hermione.
‘Hi,’ said Harry. ‘I didn't expect ... what are you all doing here?’
‘Well,’ said Lupin with a slight smile, ‘we thought we might have a little chat with your aunt and uncle before letting them take you home.’
‘I dunno if that's a good idea,’ said Harry at once.
‘Oh, I think it is,’ growled Moody, who had limped a little closer. ‘That'll be them, will it, Potter?’
He pointed with his thumb over his shoulder; his magical eye was evidently peering through the back of his head and his bowler hat. Harry leaned an inch or so to the left to see where Mad-Eye was pointing and there, sure enough, were the three Dursleys, who looked positively appalled to see Harry's reception committee.
‘Ah, Harry!’ said Mr. Weasley, turning from Hermione's parents, who he had just greeted enthusiastically, and who were now taking it in turns to hug Hermione. ‘Well— shall we do it, then?’
‘Yeah, I reckon so, Arthur,’ said Moody.
He and Mr. Weasley took the lead across the station towards the Dursleys, who were apparently rooted to the floor. Hermione disengaged herself gently from her mother to join the group.
‘Good afternoon,’ said Mr. Weasley pleasantly to Uncle Vernon as he came to a halt right in front of him. ‘You might remember me, my name's Arthur Weasley.’
As Mr. Weasley had single-handedly demolished most of the Dursleys’ living room two years previously, Harry would have been very surprised if Uncle Vernon had forgotten him. Sure enough, Uncle Vernon turned a deeper shade of puce and glared at Mr. Weasley, but chose not to say anything, partly, perhaps, because the Dursleys were outnumbered two to one. Aunt Petunia looked both frightened and embarrassed; she kept glancing around, as though terrified somebody she knew would see her in such company. Dudley, meanwhile, seemed to be trying to look small and insignificant, a feat at which he was failing extravagantly.
‘We thought we'd just have a few words with you about Harry,’ said Mr. Weasley, still smiling.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
‘Goyle's mum'll be really pleased, though,
‘Goyle's mum'll be really pleased, though,’ said Ron, who had come to investigate the source of the commotion. ‘He's loads better-looking now ... anyway, Harry, the food trolley's just stopped if you want anything ...’
Harry thanked the others and accompanied Ron back to their compartment, where he bought a large pile of cauldron cakes and pumpkin pasties. Hermione was reading the Daily Prophet again, Ginny was doing a quiz in The Quibbler and Neville was stroking his Mimbulus mimbletonia, which had grown a great deal over the year and now made odd crooning noises when touched.
Harry and Ron whiled away most of the journey playing wizard chess while Hermione read out snippets from the Prophet.It was now full of articles about how to repel dementors, attempts by the Ministry to track down Death Eaters and hysterical letters claiming that the writer had seen Lord Voldemort walking past their house that very morning ...
‘It hasn't really started yet,’ sighed Hermione gloomily, folding up the newspaper again. ‘But it won't be long now ...’
‘Hey, Harry,’ said Ron softly, nodding towards the glass window on to the corridor.
Harry looked around. Cho was passing, accompanied by Marietta Edgecombe, who was wearing a balaclava. His and Cho's eyes met for a moment. Cho blushed and kept walking. Harry looked back down at the chessboard just in time to see one of his pawns chased off its square by Ron's knight.
‘What's—er— going on with you and her, anyway?’ Ron asked quietly.
‘Nothing,’ said Harry truthfully.
‘I—er—heard she's going out with someone else now,’ said Hermione tentatively.
Harry was surprised to find that this information did not hurt at all. Wanting to impress Cho seemed to belong to a past that was no longer quite connected with him; so much of what he had wanted before Sirius's death felt that way these days ... the week that had elapsed since he had last seen Sirius seemed to have lasted much, much longer; it stretched across two universes, the one with Sirius in it, and the one without.
‘You're well out of it, mate,’ said Ron forcefully. ‘I mean, she's quite good-looking and all that, but you want someone a bit more cheerful.’
‘She's probably cheerful enough with someone else,’ said Harry, shrugging.
‘Who's she with now, anyway?’ Ron asked Hermione, but it was Ginny who answered.
‘Michael Corner,’ she said.
‘Michael—but— ’ said Ron, craning around in his seat to state at her. ‘But you were going out with him!’
‘Not any more,’ said Ginny resolutely. ‘He didn't like Gryffindor beating Ravenclaw at Quidditch, and got really sulky, so I ditched him and he ran off to comfort Cho instead.’ She scratched her nose absently with the end of her quill, turned The Quibbler upside-down and began marking her answers. Ron looked highly delighted.
‘Well, I always thought he was a bit of an idiot,’ he said, prodding his queen forwards towards Harry's quivering castle. ‘Good for you. Just choose someone—better—next time.’
He cast Harry an oddly furtive look as he said it.
‘Well, I've chosen Dean Thomas, would you say he's better?’ asked Ginny vaguely.
‘WHAT?’ shouted Ron, upending the chessboard. Crookshanks went plunging after the pieces and Hedwig and Pigwidgeon twittered and hooted angrily from overhead.
As the train slowed down in the approach to King's Cross, Harry thought he had never wanted to leave it less. He even wondered fleetingly what would happen if he simply refused to get off, but remained stubbornly sitting there until the first of September, when it would take him back to Hogwarts. When it finally puffed to a standstill, however, he lifted down Hedwig's cage and prepared to drag his trunk from the train as usual.
When the ticket inspector signalled to Harry, Ron and Hermione that it was safe to walk through the magical barrier between platforms nine and ten, however, he found a surprise awaiting him on the other side: a group of people standing there to greet him who he had not expected at all.
Harry thanked the others and accompanied Ron back to their compartment, where he bought a large pile of cauldron cakes and pumpkin pasties. Hermione was reading the Daily Prophet again, Ginny was doing a quiz in The Quibbler and Neville was stroking his Mimbulus mimbletonia, which had grown a great deal over the year and now made odd crooning noises when touched.
Harry and Ron whiled away most of the journey playing wizard chess while Hermione read out snippets from the Prophet.It was now full of articles about how to repel dementors, attempts by the Ministry to track down Death Eaters and hysterical letters claiming that the writer had seen Lord Voldemort walking past their house that very morning ...
‘It hasn't really started yet,’ sighed Hermione gloomily, folding up the newspaper again. ‘But it won't be long now ...’
‘Hey, Harry,’ said Ron softly, nodding towards the glass window on to the corridor.
Harry looked around. Cho was passing, accompanied by Marietta Edgecombe, who was wearing a balaclava. His and Cho's eyes met for a moment. Cho blushed and kept walking. Harry looked back down at the chessboard just in time to see one of his pawns chased off its square by Ron's knight.
‘What's—er— going on with you and her, anyway?’ Ron asked quietly.
‘Nothing,’ said Harry truthfully.
‘I—er—heard she's going out with someone else now,’ said Hermione tentatively.
Harry was surprised to find that this information did not hurt at all. Wanting to impress Cho seemed to belong to a past that was no longer quite connected with him; so much of what he had wanted before Sirius's death felt that way these days ... the week that had elapsed since he had last seen Sirius seemed to have lasted much, much longer; it stretched across two universes, the one with Sirius in it, and the one without.
‘You're well out of it, mate,’ said Ron forcefully. ‘I mean, she's quite good-looking and all that, but you want someone a bit more cheerful.’
‘She's probably cheerful enough with someone else,’ said Harry, shrugging.
‘Who's she with now, anyway?’ Ron asked Hermione, but it was Ginny who answered.
‘Michael Corner,’ she said.
‘Michael—but— ’ said Ron, craning around in his seat to state at her. ‘But you were going out with him!’
‘Not any more,’ said Ginny resolutely. ‘He didn't like Gryffindor beating Ravenclaw at Quidditch, and got really sulky, so I ditched him and he ran off to comfort Cho instead.’ She scratched her nose absently with the end of her quill, turned The Quibbler upside-down and began marking her answers. Ron looked highly delighted.
‘Well, I always thought he was a bit of an idiot,’ he said, prodding his queen forwards towards Harry's quivering castle. ‘Good for you. Just choose someone—better—next time.’
He cast Harry an oddly furtive look as he said it.
‘Well, I've chosen Dean Thomas, would you say he's better?’ asked Ginny vaguely.
‘WHAT?’ shouted Ron, upending the chessboard. Crookshanks went plunging after the pieces and Hedwig and Pigwidgeon twittered and hooted angrily from overhead.
As the train slowed down in the approach to King's Cross, Harry thought he had never wanted to leave it less. He even wondered fleetingly what would happen if he simply refused to get off, but remained stubbornly sitting there until the first of September, when it would take him back to Hogwarts. When it finally puffed to a standstill, however, he lifted down Hedwig's cage and prepared to drag his trunk from the train as usual.
When the ticket inspector signalled to Harry, Ron and Hermione that it was safe to walk through the magical barrier between platforms nine and ten, however, he found a surprise awaiting him on the other side: a group of people standing there to greet him who he had not expected at all.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Chapter 30 Grawp
Chapter 30 Grawp
The story of Fred and George's flight to freedom was retold so often over the next few days that Harry could tell it would soon become the stuff of Hogwart's legend: within a week, even those who had been eye-witnesses were half-convinced they had seen the twins dive-bomb Umbridge on their brooms and pelt her with Dungbombs before zooming out of the doors. In the immediate aftermath of their departure there was a great wave of talk about copying them. Harry frequently heard students saying things like, ‘Honestly, some days I just feel like jumping on my broom and leaving this place,’ or else, ‘One more lesson like that and I might just do a Weasley.’
Fred and George had made sure nobody was likely to forget them too soon. For one thing, they had not left instructions on how to remove the swamp that now filled the corridor on the fifth floor of the east wing. Umbridge and Filch had been observed trying different means of removing it but without success. Eventually, the area was roped off and Filch, gnashing his teeth furiously, was given the task of punting students across it to their classrooms. Harry was certain that teachers like McGonagall or Flitwick could have removed the swamp in an instant but, just as in the case of Fred and George's Wildfire Whiz-bangs, they seemed to prefer to watch Umbridge struggle.
Then there were the two large broom-shaped holes in Umbridge's office door, through which Fred and George's Cleansweeps had smashed to rejoin their masters. Filch fitted a new door and removed Harry's Firebolt to the dungeons where, it was rumoured, Umbridge had set an armed security troll to guard it. However, her troubles were far from over.
Inspired by Fred and George's example, a great number of students were now vying for the newly vacant positions of Troublemakers-in-Chief. In spite of the new door, somebody managed to slip a hairy-snouted Niffler into Umbridge's office, which promptly tore the place apart in its search for shiny objects, leapt on Umbridge when she entered and tried to gnaw the rings off her stubby fingers. Dungbombs and Stink Pellets were dropped so frequently in the corridors that it became the new fashion for students to perform Bubble-Head Charms on themselves before leaving lessons, which ensured them a supply of fresh air, even though it gave them all the peculiar appearance of wearing upside-down goldfish bowls on their heads.
Filch prowled the corridors with a horsewhip ready in his hands, desperate to catch miscreants, but the problem was that there were now so many of them he never knew which way to turn. The Inquisitorial Squad was attempting to help him, but odd things kept happening to its members. Warrington of the Slytherin Quidditch team reported to the hospital wing with a horrible skin complaint that made him look as though he had been coated in cornflakes; Pansy Parkinson, to Hermione's delight, missed all her lessons the following day as she had sprouted antlers.
Meanwhile, it became clear just how many Skiving Snackboxes Fred and George had managed to sell before leaving Hogwarts. Umbridge only had to enter her classroom for the students assembled there to faint, vomit, develop dangerous fevers or else spout blood from both nostrils. Shrieking with rage and frustration, she attempted to trace the mysterious symptoms to their source, but the students told her stubbornly they were suffering from ‘Umbridge—itis'. After putting four successive classes in detention and failing to discover their secret, she was forced to give up and allow the bleeding, swooning, sweating and vomiting students to leave her classes in droves.
The story of Fred and George's flight to freedom was retold so often over the next few days that Harry could tell it would soon become the stuff of Hogwart's legend: within a week, even those who had been eye-witnesses were half-convinced they had seen the twins dive-bomb Umbridge on their brooms and pelt her with Dungbombs before zooming out of the doors. In the immediate aftermath of their departure there was a great wave of talk about copying them. Harry frequently heard students saying things like, ‘Honestly, some days I just feel like jumping on my broom and leaving this place,’ or else, ‘One more lesson like that and I might just do a Weasley.’
Fred and George had made sure nobody was likely to forget them too soon. For one thing, they had not left instructions on how to remove the swamp that now filled the corridor on the fifth floor of the east wing. Umbridge and Filch had been observed trying different means of removing it but without success. Eventually, the area was roped off and Filch, gnashing his teeth furiously, was given the task of punting students across it to their classrooms. Harry was certain that teachers like McGonagall or Flitwick could have removed the swamp in an instant but, just as in the case of Fred and George's Wildfire Whiz-bangs, they seemed to prefer to watch Umbridge struggle.
Then there were the two large broom-shaped holes in Umbridge's office door, through which Fred and George's Cleansweeps had smashed to rejoin their masters. Filch fitted a new door and removed Harry's Firebolt to the dungeons where, it was rumoured, Umbridge had set an armed security troll to guard it. However, her troubles were far from over.
Inspired by Fred and George's example, a great number of students were now vying for the newly vacant positions of Troublemakers-in-Chief. In spite of the new door, somebody managed to slip a hairy-snouted Niffler into Umbridge's office, which promptly tore the place apart in its search for shiny objects, leapt on Umbridge when she entered and tried to gnaw the rings off her stubby fingers. Dungbombs and Stink Pellets were dropped so frequently in the corridors that it became the new fashion for students to perform Bubble-Head Charms on themselves before leaving lessons, which ensured them a supply of fresh air, even though it gave them all the peculiar appearance of wearing upside-down goldfish bowls on their heads.
Filch prowled the corridors with a horsewhip ready in his hands, desperate to catch miscreants, but the problem was that there were now so many of them he never knew which way to turn. The Inquisitorial Squad was attempting to help him, but odd things kept happening to its members. Warrington of the Slytherin Quidditch team reported to the hospital wing with a horrible skin complaint that made him look as though he had been coated in cornflakes; Pansy Parkinson, to Hermione's delight, missed all her lessons the following day as she had sprouted antlers.
Meanwhile, it became clear just how many Skiving Snackboxes Fred and George had managed to sell before leaving Hogwarts. Umbridge only had to enter her classroom for the students assembled there to faint, vomit, develop dangerous fevers or else spout blood from both nostrils. Shrieking with rage and frustration, she attempted to trace the mysterious symptoms to their source, but the students told her stubbornly they were suffering from ‘Umbridge—itis'. After putting four successive classes in detention and failing to discover their secret, she was forced to give up and allow the bleeding, swooning, sweating and vomiting students to leave her classes in droves.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
The twins and Ginny were staring at him
The twins and Ginny were staring at him. Kreacher's footsteps had stopped on the stairs outside.
‘It was—’ Harry began; this was even worse than telling McGonagall and Dumbledore. ‘I had a—a kind of—vision ...’
And he told them all that he had seen, though he altered the story so that it sounded as though he had watched from the sidelines as the snake attacked, rather than from behind the snake's own eyes. Ron, who was still very
white, gave him a fleeting look, but did not speak. When Harry had finished, Fred, George and Ginny continued to stare at him for a moment. Harry did not know whether he was imagining it or not, but he fancied there was
something accusatory in their looks. Well, if they were going to blame him just for seeing the attack, he was glad he had not told them that he had been inside the snake at the time.
‘Is Mum here?’ said Fred, turning to Sirius.
‘She probably doesn't even know what's happened yet,’ said Sirius. ‘The important thing was to get you away before Umbridge could interfere. I expect Dumbledore's letting Molly know now.’
‘We've got to go to St. Mungos,’ said Ginny urgently, She looked around at her brothers; they were of course still in their pyjamas. ‘Sirius, can you lend us cloaks or anything?’
‘Hang on, you can't go tearing off to St. Mungo's!’ said Sirius.
‘Course we can go to St. Mungo's if we want,’ said Fred, with a mulish expression. ‘He's our dad!’
‘And how are you going to explain how you knew Arthur was attacked before the hospital even let his wife know?’
‘What does that matter?’ said George hotly.
‘It matters because we don't want to draw attention to the fact that Harry is having visions of things that are happening hundreds of miles away!’ said Sirius angrily. ‘Have you any idea what the Ministry would make off that
information?’
Fred and George looked as though they could not care less what the Ministry made of anything. Ron was still ashen-faced and silent.
Ginny said, ‘Somebody else could have told us ... we could have heard it somewhere other than Harry.’
‘Like who?’ said Sirius impatiently. ‘Listen, your dad's been hurt while on duty for the Order and the circumstances are fishy enough without his children knowing about it seconds after it happened, you could seriously damage
the Order's—’
‘We don't care about the dumb Order!’ shouted Fred.
‘It's our dad dying we're talking about!’ yelled George.
‘Your father knew what he was getting into and he won't thank you for messing things up for the Order!’ said Sirius, equally angry. ‘This is how it is—this is why you're not in the Order—you don't understand—there are things
worth dying for!’
‘Easy for you to say, stuck here!’ bellowed Fred. ‘I don't see you risking your neck!’
The little colour remaining in Sirius's face drained from it. He looked for a moment as though he would quite like to hit Fred, but when he spoke, it was in a voice of determined calm.
‘I know it's hard, but we've all got to act as though we don't know anything yet. We've got to stay put, at least until we hear from your mother, all right?’
Fred and George still looked mutinous. Ginny, however, took a few steps over to the nearest chair and sank into it. Harry looked at Ron, who made a funny movement somewhere between a nod and a shrug, and they sat
down too. The twins glared at Sirius for another minute, then took seats either side of Ginny.
‘That's right,’ said Sirius encouragingly, ‘come on, lets all ... let's all have a drink while we're waiting. Accio Butterbeer!’
He raised his wand as he spoke and half a dozen bottles came flying towards them out of the pantry, skidded along the table, scattering the debris of Sirius's meal, and stopped neatly in front of the six of them. They all drank,
and for a while the only sounds were those of the crackling of the kitchen fire and the soft thud of their bottles on the table.
Harry was only drinking to have something to do with his hands. His stomach was full of horrible hot, bubbling guilt. They would not be here if it were not for him; they would all still be asleep in bed. And it was no good telling
himself that by raising the alarm he had ensured that Mr. Weasley was found, because there was also the inescapable business of it being he who had attacked Mr. Weasley in the first place.
Don't be stupid, you haven't got fangs, he told himself, trying to keep calm, though the hand on his Butterbeer bottle was shaking, you were lying in bed, you weren't attacking anyone ...
But then, what just happened in Dumbledore's office? he asked himself. I felt like I wanted to attack Dumbledore, too ...
He put the bottle down a little harder than he meant to, and it slopped over on to the table. No one took any notice. Then a burst of fire in midair illuminated the dirty plates in front of them and, as they gave cries of shock, a
scroll of parchment fell with a thud on to the table, accompanied by a single golden phoenix tail feather.
‘Fawkes!’ said Sirius at once, snatching up the parchment. ‘That's not Dumbledore's writing— it must be a message from your mother—here—’
He thrust the letter into George's hand, who ripped it open and read aloud: ‘Dad is still alive. I am setting out for St. Mungo's now. Stay where you are. I will send news as soon as I can. Mum.’
George looked around the table.
‘Still alive ...’ he said slowly. ‘But that makes it sound ...’
He did not need to finish the sentence. It sounded to Harry, too, as though Mr. Weasley was hovering somewhere between life and death. Still exceptionally pale, Ron stared at the back of his mother's letter as though it might
speak words of comfort to him. Fred pulled the parchment out of George's hands and read it for himself, then looked up at Harry, who felt his hand shaking on his Butterbeer bottle again and clenched it more tightly to stop
the trembling.
If Harry had ever sat through a longer night than this one, he could not remember it. Sirius suggested once, without any real conviction, that they all go to bed, but the Weasleys’ looks of disgust were answer enough. They
mostly sat in silence around the table, watching the candle wick sinking lower and lower into liquid wax, occasionally raising a bottle to their lips, speaking only to check the time, to wonder aloud what was happening, and to
reassure each other that if there was bad news, they would know straightaway, for Mrs. Weasley must long since have arrived at St. Mungo's.
Fred fell into a doze, his head lolling sideways on to his shoulder. Ginny was curled like a cat on her chair, but her eyes were open; Harry could see them reflecting the firelight. Ron was sitting with his head in his hands,
whether awake or asleep it was impossible to tell. Harry and Sirius looked at each other every so often, intruders upon the family grief, waiting ... waiting ...
At ten past five in the morning by Ron's watch, the kitchen door swung open and Mrs. Weasley entered the kitchen. She was extremely pale, but when they all turned to look at her, Fred, Ron and Harry half rising from their
chairs, she gave a wan smile.
‘He's going to be all right,’ she said, her voice weak with tiredness. ‘He's sleeping. We can all go and see him later. Bill's sitting with him now; he's going to take the morning off work.’
Fred fell back into his chair with his hands over his face. George and Ginny got up, walked swiftly over to their mother and hugged her. Ron gave a very shaky laugh and downed the rest of his Butterbeer in one.
‘Breakfast!’ said Sirius loudly and joyfully, jumping to his feet. ‘Where's that accursed house-elf? Kreacher! KREACHER!’
But Kreacher did not answer the summons.
‘Oh, forget it, then,’ muttered Sirius, counting the people in front of him. ‘So, it's breakfast for—let's see—seven ... bacon and eggs, I think, and some tea, and toast—’
Harry hurried over to the stove to help. He did not want to intrude on the Weasleys’ happiness and he dreaded the moment when Mrs. Weasley would ask him to recount his vision. However, he had barely taken plates from
the dresser when Mrs Weasley lifted them out of his hands and pulled him into a hug.
‘I don't know what would have happened if it hadn't been for you, Harry’ she said in a muffled voice. ‘They might not have found Arthur for hours, and then it would have been too late, but thanks to you he's alive and
Dumbledore's been able to think up a good cover story for Arthur being where he was, you've no idea what trouble he would have been in otherwise, look at poor Sturgis ...’
Harry could hardly bear her gratitude, but fortunately she soon released him to turn to Sirius and thank him for looking after her children through the night. Sirius said he was very pleased to have been able to help, and
hoped they would all stay with him as long as Mr. Weasley was in hospital.
‘Oh, Sirius, I'm so grateful ... they think he'll be there a little while and it would be wonderful to be nearer ... of course, that might mean we're here for Christmas.’
‘The more the merrier!’ said Sirius with such obvious sincerity that Mrs. Weasley beamed at him, threw on an apron and began to help with breakfast.
‘Sirius,’ Harry muttered, unable to stand it a moment longer. ‘Can I have a quick word? Er— now?’
He walked into the dark pantry and Sirius followed. Without preamble, Harry told his godfather every detail of the vision he had had, including the fact that he himself had been the snake who had attacked Mr. Weasley.
When he paused for breath, Sirius said, ‘Did you tell Dumbledore this?’
‘Yes,’ said Harry impatiently,’ but he didn't tell me what it meant. Well, he doesn't tell me anything any more.’
‘I ‘m sure he would have told you if it was anything to worry about,’ said Sirius steadily.
‘But that's not all,’ said Harry, in a voice only a little above a whisper. ‘Sirius, I ... I think I'm going mad. Back in Dumbledore's office, just before we took the Portkey ... for a couple of seconds there I thought I was a snake, I felt
like one—my scar really hurt when I was looking at Dumbledore—Sirius, I wanted to attack him!’
He could only see a sliver of Sirius's face; the rest was in darkness.
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‘It was—’ Harry began; this was even worse than telling McGonagall and Dumbledore. ‘I had a—a kind of—vision ...’
And he told them all that he had seen, though he altered the story so that it sounded as though he had watched from the sidelines as the snake attacked, rather than from behind the snake's own eyes. Ron, who was still very
white, gave him a fleeting look, but did not speak. When Harry had finished, Fred, George and Ginny continued to stare at him for a moment. Harry did not know whether he was imagining it or not, but he fancied there was
something accusatory in their looks. Well, if they were going to blame him just for seeing the attack, he was glad he had not told them that he had been inside the snake at the time.
‘Is Mum here?’ said Fred, turning to Sirius.
‘She probably doesn't even know what's happened yet,’ said Sirius. ‘The important thing was to get you away before Umbridge could interfere. I expect Dumbledore's letting Molly know now.’
‘We've got to go to St. Mungos,’ said Ginny urgently, She looked around at her brothers; they were of course still in their pyjamas. ‘Sirius, can you lend us cloaks or anything?’
‘Hang on, you can't go tearing off to St. Mungo's!’ said Sirius.
‘Course we can go to St. Mungo's if we want,’ said Fred, with a mulish expression. ‘He's our dad!’
‘And how are you going to explain how you knew Arthur was attacked before the hospital even let his wife know?’
‘What does that matter?’ said George hotly.
‘It matters because we don't want to draw attention to the fact that Harry is having visions of things that are happening hundreds of miles away!’ said Sirius angrily. ‘Have you any idea what the Ministry would make off that
information?’
Fred and George looked as though they could not care less what the Ministry made of anything. Ron was still ashen-faced and silent.
Ginny said, ‘Somebody else could have told us ... we could have heard it somewhere other than Harry.’
‘Like who?’ said Sirius impatiently. ‘Listen, your dad's been hurt while on duty for the Order and the circumstances are fishy enough without his children knowing about it seconds after it happened, you could seriously damage
the Order's—’
‘We don't care about the dumb Order!’ shouted Fred.
‘It's our dad dying we're talking about!’ yelled George.
‘Your father knew what he was getting into and he won't thank you for messing things up for the Order!’ said Sirius, equally angry. ‘This is how it is—this is why you're not in the Order—you don't understand—there are things
worth dying for!’
‘Easy for you to say, stuck here!’ bellowed Fred. ‘I don't see you risking your neck!’
The little colour remaining in Sirius's face drained from it. He looked for a moment as though he would quite like to hit Fred, but when he spoke, it was in a voice of determined calm.
‘I know it's hard, but we've all got to act as though we don't know anything yet. We've got to stay put, at least until we hear from your mother, all right?’
Fred and George still looked mutinous. Ginny, however, took a few steps over to the nearest chair and sank into it. Harry looked at Ron, who made a funny movement somewhere between a nod and a shrug, and they sat
down too. The twins glared at Sirius for another minute, then took seats either side of Ginny.
‘That's right,’ said Sirius encouragingly, ‘come on, lets all ... let's all have a drink while we're waiting. Accio Butterbeer!’
He raised his wand as he spoke and half a dozen bottles came flying towards them out of the pantry, skidded along the table, scattering the debris of Sirius's meal, and stopped neatly in front of the six of them. They all drank,
and for a while the only sounds were those of the crackling of the kitchen fire and the soft thud of their bottles on the table.
Harry was only drinking to have something to do with his hands. His stomach was full of horrible hot, bubbling guilt. They would not be here if it were not for him; they would all still be asleep in bed. And it was no good telling
himself that by raising the alarm he had ensured that Mr. Weasley was found, because there was also the inescapable business of it being he who had attacked Mr. Weasley in the first place.
Don't be stupid, you haven't got fangs, he told himself, trying to keep calm, though the hand on his Butterbeer bottle was shaking, you were lying in bed, you weren't attacking anyone ...
But then, what just happened in Dumbledore's office? he asked himself. I felt like I wanted to attack Dumbledore, too ...
He put the bottle down a little harder than he meant to, and it slopped over on to the table. No one took any notice. Then a burst of fire in midair illuminated the dirty plates in front of them and, as they gave cries of shock, a
scroll of parchment fell with a thud on to the table, accompanied by a single golden phoenix tail feather.
‘Fawkes!’ said Sirius at once, snatching up the parchment. ‘That's not Dumbledore's writing— it must be a message from your mother—here—’
He thrust the letter into George's hand, who ripped it open and read aloud: ‘Dad is still alive. I am setting out for St. Mungo's now. Stay where you are. I will send news as soon as I can. Mum.’
George looked around the table.
‘Still alive ...’ he said slowly. ‘But that makes it sound ...’
He did not need to finish the sentence. It sounded to Harry, too, as though Mr. Weasley was hovering somewhere between life and death. Still exceptionally pale, Ron stared at the back of his mother's letter as though it might
speak words of comfort to him. Fred pulled the parchment out of George's hands and read it for himself, then looked up at Harry, who felt his hand shaking on his Butterbeer bottle again and clenched it more tightly to stop
the trembling.
If Harry had ever sat through a longer night than this one, he could not remember it. Sirius suggested once, without any real conviction, that they all go to bed, but the Weasleys’ looks of disgust were answer enough. They
mostly sat in silence around the table, watching the candle wick sinking lower and lower into liquid wax, occasionally raising a bottle to their lips, speaking only to check the time, to wonder aloud what was happening, and to
reassure each other that if there was bad news, they would know straightaway, for Mrs. Weasley must long since have arrived at St. Mungo's.
Fred fell into a doze, his head lolling sideways on to his shoulder. Ginny was curled like a cat on her chair, but her eyes were open; Harry could see them reflecting the firelight. Ron was sitting with his head in his hands,
whether awake or asleep it was impossible to tell. Harry and Sirius looked at each other every so often, intruders upon the family grief, waiting ... waiting ...
At ten past five in the morning by Ron's watch, the kitchen door swung open and Mrs. Weasley entered the kitchen. She was extremely pale, but when they all turned to look at her, Fred, Ron and Harry half rising from their
chairs, she gave a wan smile.
‘He's going to be all right,’ she said, her voice weak with tiredness. ‘He's sleeping. We can all go and see him later. Bill's sitting with him now; he's going to take the morning off work.’
Fred fell back into his chair with his hands over his face. George and Ginny got up, walked swiftly over to their mother and hugged her. Ron gave a very shaky laugh and downed the rest of his Butterbeer in one.
‘Breakfast!’ said Sirius loudly and joyfully, jumping to his feet. ‘Where's that accursed house-elf? Kreacher! KREACHER!’
But Kreacher did not answer the summons.
‘Oh, forget it, then,’ muttered Sirius, counting the people in front of him. ‘So, it's breakfast for—let's see—seven ... bacon and eggs, I think, and some tea, and toast—’
Harry hurried over to the stove to help. He did not want to intrude on the Weasleys’ happiness and he dreaded the moment when Mrs. Weasley would ask him to recount his vision. However, he had barely taken plates from
the dresser when Mrs Weasley lifted them out of his hands and pulled him into a hug.
‘I don't know what would have happened if it hadn't been for you, Harry’ she said in a muffled voice. ‘They might not have found Arthur for hours, and then it would have been too late, but thanks to you he's alive and
Dumbledore's been able to think up a good cover story for Arthur being where he was, you've no idea what trouble he would have been in otherwise, look at poor Sturgis ...’
Harry could hardly bear her gratitude, but fortunately she soon released him to turn to Sirius and thank him for looking after her children through the night. Sirius said he was very pleased to have been able to help, and
hoped they would all stay with him as long as Mr. Weasley was in hospital.
‘Oh, Sirius, I'm so grateful ... they think he'll be there a little while and it would be wonderful to be nearer ... of course, that might mean we're here for Christmas.’
‘The more the merrier!’ said Sirius with such obvious sincerity that Mrs. Weasley beamed at him, threw on an apron and began to help with breakfast.
‘Sirius,’ Harry muttered, unable to stand it a moment longer. ‘Can I have a quick word? Er— now?’
He walked into the dark pantry and Sirius followed. Without preamble, Harry told his godfather every detail of the vision he had had, including the fact that he himself had been the snake who had attacked Mr. Weasley.
When he paused for breath, Sirius said, ‘Did you tell Dumbledore this?’
‘Yes,’ said Harry impatiently,’ but he didn't tell me what it meant. Well, he doesn't tell me anything any more.’
‘I ‘m sure he would have told you if it was anything to worry about,’ said Sirius steadily.
‘But that's not all,’ said Harry, in a voice only a little above a whisper. ‘Sirius, I ... I think I'm going mad. Back in Dumbledore's office, just before we took the Portkey ... for a couple of seconds there I thought I was a snake, I felt
like one—my scar really hurt when I was looking at Dumbledore—Sirius, I wanted to attack him!’
He could only see a sliver of Sirius's face; the rest was in darkness.
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Tuesday, November 16, 2010
‘Wizengamot elders Griselda Marchbanks
‘Wizengamot elders Griselda Marchbanks and Tiberius Ogden have resigned in protest at the introduction of the post of Inquisitor to Hogwarts.
‘"Hogwarts is a school, not an outpost of Cornelius Fudge's office,” said Madam Marchbanks. “This is a further, disgusting attempt to discredit Albus Dumbledore.” ‘(For a full account of Madam Marchbanks's alleged links to subversive goblin groups, turn to page seventeen.)’
Hermione finished reading and looked across the table at the other two.
‘So now we know how we ended up with Umbridge! Fudge passed this “Educational Decree” and forced her on us! And now he's given her the power to inspect the other teachers!’ Hermione was breathing fast and her eyes were very bright. ‘I can't believe this. It's outrageous!’
‘I know it is,’ said Harry. He looked down at his right hand, clenched on the table-top, and saw the faint white outline of the words Umbridge had forced him to cut into his skin.
But a grin was unfurling on Ron's face.
‘What?’ said Harry and Hermione together, staring at him.
‘Oh, I can't wait to see McGonagall inspected,’ said Ron happily. ‘Umbridge won't know what's hit her.’
‘Well, come on,’ said Hermione, jumping up, ‘we'd better get going, if she's inspecting Binns's class we don't want to be late ...’
But Professor Umbridge was not inspecting their History of Magic lesson, which was just as dull as the previous Monday, nor was she in Snape's dungeon when they arrived for double Potions, where Harry's moonstone essay was handed back to him with a large, spiky black ‘D’ scrawled in an upper corner.
‘I have awarded you the grades you would have received if you presented this work in your OWL,’ said Snape with a smirk, as he swept among them, passing back their homework. ‘This should give you a realistic idea of what to expect in the examination.’
Snape reached the front of the class and turned on his heel to face them.
‘The general standard of this homework was abysmal. Most of you would have failed had this been your examination. I expect to see a great deal more effort for this week's essay on the various varieties of venom antidotes, or I shall have to start handing out detentions to those dunces who get a “D".’
He smirked as Malfoy sniggered and said in a carrying whisper, ‘Some people got a “D"? Ha!’
Harry realised that Hermione was looking sideways to see what grade he had received; he slid his moonstone essay back into his bag as quickly as possible, feeling that he would rather keep that information private.
Determined not to give Snape an excuse to tail him this lesson, Harry read and reread every line of instructions on the blackboard at least three times before acting on them. His Strengthening Solution was not precisely the clear turquoise shade of Hermione's but it was at least blue rather than pink, like Neville's, and he delivered a flask of it to Snape's desk at the end of the lesson with a feeling of mingled defiance and relief.
‘Well, that wasn't as bad as last week, was it?’ said Hermione, as they climbed the steps out of the dungeon and made their way across the Entrance Hall towards lunch. ‘And the homework didn't go too badly, either, did it?’
When neither Ron nor Harry answered, she pressed on, ‘I mean, all right, I didn't expect the top grade, not if he's marking to OWL standard, but a pass is quite encouraging at this stage, wouldn't you say?’
Harry made a non-committal noise in his throat.
‘Of course, a lot can happen between now and the exam, we've got plenty of time to improve, but the grades we're getting now are a sort of baseline, aren't they? Something we can build on ...’
They sat down together at the Gryffindor table.
‘Obviously, I'd have been thrilled if I'd got an “O"— ’
‘Hermione,’ said Ron sharply, ‘if you want to know what grades we got, ask.’
‘I don't—I didn't mean—well, if you want to tell me—’
‘I got a “P",’ said Ron, ladling soup into his bowl. ‘Happy?’
‘Well, that's nothing to be ashamed of,’ said Fred, who had just arrived at the table with George and Lee Jordan and was sitting down on Harry's right. ‘Nothing wrong with a good healthy “P".’
‘But,’ said Hermione, ‘doesn't “P” stand for ...’
‘"Poor", yeah,’ said Lee Jordan. ‘Still, better than “D", isn't it? “Dreadful"?’
Harry felt his face grow warm and faked a small coughing fit over his roll. When he emerged from this he was sorry to find that Hermione was still in full flow about OWL grades.
‘So top grade's “O” for “Outstanding",’ she was saying, ‘and then there's “A"—’
‘No, “E",’ George corrected her, ‘"E” for “Exceeds Expectations". And I've always thought Fred and I should've got “E” in everything, because we exceeded expectations just by turning up for the exams.’
They all laughed except Hermione, who ploughed on, ‘So, after “E” it's “A” for “Acceptable", and that's the last pass grade, isn't it?’
‘Yep,’ said Fred, dunking an entire roll in his soup, transferring it to his mouth and swallowing it whole.
‘Then you get “P” for “Poor"—’ Ron raised both his arms in mock celebration—'and “D” for “Dreadful".
‘And then “T",’ George reminded her.
‘"T"?’ asked Hermione, looking appalled. ‘Even lower than a “D"? What on earth does “T” stand for?’
‘"Troll",’ said George promptly.
Harry laughed again, though he was not sure whether or not George was joking. He imagined trying to conceal from Hermione that he had received ‘T's in all his OWLs and immediately resolved to work harder from now on.
‘You lot had an inspected lesson yet?’ Fred asked them.
‘No,’ said Hermione at once. ‘Have you?’
‘Just now, before lunch,’ said George. ‘Charms.’
‘What was it like?’ Harry and Hermione asked together.
‘"Hogwarts is a school, not an outpost of Cornelius Fudge's office,” said Madam Marchbanks. “This is a further, disgusting attempt to discredit Albus Dumbledore.” ‘(For a full account of Madam Marchbanks's alleged links to subversive goblin groups, turn to page seventeen.)’
Hermione finished reading and looked across the table at the other two.
‘So now we know how we ended up with Umbridge! Fudge passed this “Educational Decree” and forced her on us! And now he's given her the power to inspect the other teachers!’ Hermione was breathing fast and her eyes were very bright. ‘I can't believe this. It's outrageous!’
‘I know it is,’ said Harry. He looked down at his right hand, clenched on the table-top, and saw the faint white outline of the words Umbridge had forced him to cut into his skin.
But a grin was unfurling on Ron's face.
‘What?’ said Harry and Hermione together, staring at him.
‘Oh, I can't wait to see McGonagall inspected,’ said Ron happily. ‘Umbridge won't know what's hit her.’
‘Well, come on,’ said Hermione, jumping up, ‘we'd better get going, if she's inspecting Binns's class we don't want to be late ...’
But Professor Umbridge was not inspecting their History of Magic lesson, which was just as dull as the previous Monday, nor was she in Snape's dungeon when they arrived for double Potions, where Harry's moonstone essay was handed back to him with a large, spiky black ‘D’ scrawled in an upper corner.
‘I have awarded you the grades you would have received if you presented this work in your OWL,’ said Snape with a smirk, as he swept among them, passing back their homework. ‘This should give you a realistic idea of what to expect in the examination.’
Snape reached the front of the class and turned on his heel to face them.
‘The general standard of this homework was abysmal. Most of you would have failed had this been your examination. I expect to see a great deal more effort for this week's essay on the various varieties of venom antidotes, or I shall have to start handing out detentions to those dunces who get a “D".’
He smirked as Malfoy sniggered and said in a carrying whisper, ‘Some people got a “D"? Ha!’
Harry realised that Hermione was looking sideways to see what grade he had received; he slid his moonstone essay back into his bag as quickly as possible, feeling that he would rather keep that information private.
Determined not to give Snape an excuse to tail him this lesson, Harry read and reread every line of instructions on the blackboard at least three times before acting on them. His Strengthening Solution was not precisely the clear turquoise shade of Hermione's but it was at least blue rather than pink, like Neville's, and he delivered a flask of it to Snape's desk at the end of the lesson with a feeling of mingled defiance and relief.
‘Well, that wasn't as bad as last week, was it?’ said Hermione, as they climbed the steps out of the dungeon and made their way across the Entrance Hall towards lunch. ‘And the homework didn't go too badly, either, did it?’
When neither Ron nor Harry answered, she pressed on, ‘I mean, all right, I didn't expect the top grade, not if he's marking to OWL standard, but a pass is quite encouraging at this stage, wouldn't you say?’
Harry made a non-committal noise in his throat.
‘Of course, a lot can happen between now and the exam, we've got plenty of time to improve, but the grades we're getting now are a sort of baseline, aren't they? Something we can build on ...’
They sat down together at the Gryffindor table.
‘Obviously, I'd have been thrilled if I'd got an “O"— ’
‘Hermione,’ said Ron sharply, ‘if you want to know what grades we got, ask.’
‘I don't—I didn't mean—well, if you want to tell me—’
‘I got a “P",’ said Ron, ladling soup into his bowl. ‘Happy?’
‘Well, that's nothing to be ashamed of,’ said Fred, who had just arrived at the table with George and Lee Jordan and was sitting down on Harry's right. ‘Nothing wrong with a good healthy “P".’
‘But,’ said Hermione, ‘doesn't “P” stand for ...’
‘"Poor", yeah,’ said Lee Jordan. ‘Still, better than “D", isn't it? “Dreadful"?’
Harry felt his face grow warm and faked a small coughing fit over his roll. When he emerged from this he was sorry to find that Hermione was still in full flow about OWL grades.
‘So top grade's “O” for “Outstanding",’ she was saying, ‘and then there's “A"—’
‘No, “E",’ George corrected her, ‘"E” for “Exceeds Expectations". And I've always thought Fred and I should've got “E” in everything, because we exceeded expectations just by turning up for the exams.’
They all laughed except Hermione, who ploughed on, ‘So, after “E” it's “A” for “Acceptable", and that's the last pass grade, isn't it?’
‘Yep,’ said Fred, dunking an entire roll in his soup, transferring it to his mouth and swallowing it whole.
‘Then you get “P” for “Poor"—’ Ron raised both his arms in mock celebration—'and “D” for “Dreadful".
‘And then “T",’ George reminded her.
‘"T"?’ asked Hermione, looking appalled. ‘Even lower than a “D"? What on earth does “T” stand for?’
‘"Troll",’ said George promptly.
Harry laughed again, though he was not sure whether or not George was joking. He imagined trying to conceal from Hermione that he had received ‘T's in all his OWLs and immediately resolved to work harder from now on.
‘You lot had an inspected lesson yet?’ Fred asked them.
‘No,’ said Hermione at once. ‘Have you?’
‘Just now, before lunch,’ said George. ‘Charms.’
‘What was it like?’ Harry and Hermione asked together.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Ron was standing there with his mouth half-open,
clearly stunned and at a loss for anything to say, whilst Hermione looked on the verge of tears.
‘BUT WHY SHOULD I KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON? WHY SHOULD ANYONE BOTHER TO TELL ME WHAT'S BEEN HAPPENING?’
‘Harry, we wanted to tell you, we really did—’ Hermione began.
‘CAN'T'VE WANTED TO THAT MUCH, CAN YOU, OR YOU'D HAVE SENT ME AN OWL, BUT DUMBLEDORE MADE YOU SWEAR—’
‘Well, he did—’
‘FOUR WEEKS I'VE BEEN STUCK IN PRIVET DRIVE, NICKING PAPERS OUT OF BINS TO TRY AND FIND OUT WHAT'S BEEN GOING ON—’
‘We wanted to—
‘I SUPPOSE YOU'VE BEEN HAVING A REAL LAUGH, HAVEN'T YOU, ALL HOLED UP HERE TOGETHER—’
‘No, honest—’
‘Harry, we're really sorry!’ said Hermione desperately, her eyes now sparkling with tears. ‘You're absolutely right, Harry— I'd be furious if it was me!’
Harry glared at her, still breathing deeply, then turned away from them again, pacing up and down. Hedwig hooted glumly from the top of the wardrobe. There was a long pause, broken only by the mournful creak of the floorboards below Harry's feet.
‘What is this place, anyway?’ he shot at Ron and Hermione.
‘Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix,’ said Ron at once.
‘Is anyone going to bother telling me what the Order of the Phoenix—?’
‘It's a secret society,’ said Hermione quickly. ‘Dumbledore's in charge, he founded it. It's the people who fought against You-Know-Who last time.’
‘Who's in it?’ said Harry coming to a halt with his hands in his pockets.
‘Quite a few people—’
‘We've met about twenty of them,’ said Ron, ‘but we think there are more.’
Harry glared at them.
‘Well?’ he demanded, looking from one to the other.
‘Er,’ said Ron. ‘Well what?’
‘Voldemort!’ said Harry furiously, and both Ron and Hermione winced. ‘What's happening? What's he up to? Where is he? What are we doing to stop him?’
‘We've told you, the Order don't let us in on their meetings,’ said Hermione nervously. ‘So we don't know the details—but we've got a general idea—’ she added hastily, seeing the look on Harry's face.
‘Fred and George have invented Extendable Ears, see,’ said Ron. ‘They're really useful.’
‘Extendable—?’
‘Ears, yeah. Only we've had to stop using them lately because Mum found out and went berserk. Fred and George had to hide them all to stop Mum binning them. But we got a good bit of use out of them before Mum realised what was going on. We know some of the Order are following known Death Eaters, keeping tabs on them, you know—’
‘—some of them are working on recruiting more people to the Order—’ said Hermione.
‘—and some of them are standing guard over something,’ said Ron. ‘They're always talking about guard duty.’
‘Couldn't have been me, could it?’ said Harry sarcastically.
‘BUT WHY SHOULD I KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON? WHY SHOULD ANYONE BOTHER TO TELL ME WHAT'S BEEN HAPPENING?’
‘Harry, we wanted to tell you, we really did—’ Hermione began.
‘CAN'T'VE WANTED TO THAT MUCH, CAN YOU, OR YOU'D HAVE SENT ME AN OWL, BUT DUMBLEDORE MADE YOU SWEAR—’
‘Well, he did—’
‘FOUR WEEKS I'VE BEEN STUCK IN PRIVET DRIVE, NICKING PAPERS OUT OF BINS TO TRY AND FIND OUT WHAT'S BEEN GOING ON—’
‘We wanted to—
‘I SUPPOSE YOU'VE BEEN HAVING A REAL LAUGH, HAVEN'T YOU, ALL HOLED UP HERE TOGETHER—’
‘No, honest—’
‘Harry, we're really sorry!’ said Hermione desperately, her eyes now sparkling with tears. ‘You're absolutely right, Harry— I'd be furious if it was me!’
Harry glared at her, still breathing deeply, then turned away from them again, pacing up and down. Hedwig hooted glumly from the top of the wardrobe. There was a long pause, broken only by the mournful creak of the floorboards below Harry's feet.
‘What is this place, anyway?’ he shot at Ron and Hermione.
‘Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix,’ said Ron at once.
‘Is anyone going to bother telling me what the Order of the Phoenix—?’
‘It's a secret society,’ said Hermione quickly. ‘Dumbledore's in charge, he founded it. It's the people who fought against You-Know-Who last time.’
‘Who's in it?’ said Harry coming to a halt with his hands in his pockets.
‘Quite a few people—’
‘We've met about twenty of them,’ said Ron, ‘but we think there are more.’
Harry glared at them.
‘Well?’ he demanded, looking from one to the other.
‘Er,’ said Ron. ‘Well what?’
‘Voldemort!’ said Harry furiously, and both Ron and Hermione winced. ‘What's happening? What's he up to? Where is he? What are we doing to stop him?’
‘We've told you, the Order don't let us in on their meetings,’ said Hermione nervously. ‘So we don't know the details—but we've got a general idea—’ she added hastily, seeing the look on Harry's face.
‘Fred and George have invented Extendable Ears, see,’ said Ron. ‘They're really useful.’
‘Extendable—?’
‘Ears, yeah. Only we've had to stop using them lately because Mum found out and went berserk. Fred and George had to hide them all to stop Mum binning them. But we got a good bit of use out of them before Mum realised what was going on. We know some of the Order are following known Death Eaters, keeping tabs on them, you know—’
‘—some of them are working on recruiting more people to the Order—’ said Hermione.
‘—and some of them are standing guard over something,’ said Ron. ‘They're always talking about guard duty.’
‘Couldn't have been me, could it?’ said Harry sarcastically.
‘We told Dumbledore we wanted to tell you what was going on,’
said Ron. ‘We did, mate. But he's really busy now, we've only seen him twice since we came here and he didn't have much time, he just made us swear not to tell you important stuff when we wrote, he said the owls might be intercepted—’
‘He could still've kept me informed if he'd wanted to,’ Harry said shortly. ‘You're not telling me he doesn't know ways to send messages without owls.’
Hermione glanced at Ron and then said, ‘I thought that, too. But he didn't want you to know anything.’
‘Maybe he thinks I can't be trusted,’ said Harry, watching their expressions.
‘Don't be thick,’ said Ron, looking highly disconcerted.
‘Or that I can't take care of myself.’
‘Of course he doesn't think that!’ said Hermione anxiously.
‘So how come I have to stay at the Dursleys’ while you two get to join in everything that's going on here?’ said Harry, the words tumbling over one another in a rush, his voice growing louder with every word. ‘How come you two are allowed to know everything that's going on?’
‘We're not!’ Ron interrupted. ‘Mum won't let us near the meetings, she says we're too young—’
But before he knew it, Harry was shouting.
‘SO YOU HAVEN'T BEEN IN THE MEETINGS, BIG DEAL! YOU'VE STILL BEEN HERE, HAVEN'T YOU? YOU'VE STILL BEEN TOGETHER! ME, I'VE BEEN STUCK AT THE DURSLEYS’ FOR A MONTH! AND I'VE HANDLED MORE THAN YOU TWO'VE EVER MANAGED AND DUMBLEDORE KNOWS IT— WHO SAVED THE PHILOSOPHER'S STONE? WHO GOT RID OF RIDDLE? WHO SAVED BOTH YOUR SKINS FROM THE DEMENTORS?’
Every bitter and resentful thought Harry had had in the past month was pouring out of him: his frustration at the lack of news, the hurt that they had all been together without him, his fury at being followed and not told about it: All the feelings he was half-ashamed of finally burst their boundaries. Hedwig took fright at the noise and soared off to the top of the wardrobe again; Pigwidgeon twittered in alarm and zoomed even faster around their heads.
‘WHO HAD TO GET PAST DRAGONS AND SPHINXES AND EVERY OTHER FOUL THING LAST YEAR? WHO SAW HIM> COME BACK? WHO HAD TO ESCAPE FROM HIM? ME!’
‘He could still've kept me informed if he'd wanted to,’ Harry said shortly. ‘You're not telling me he doesn't know ways to send messages without owls.’
Hermione glanced at Ron and then said, ‘I thought that, too. But he didn't want you to know anything.’
‘Maybe he thinks I can't be trusted,’ said Harry, watching their expressions.
‘Don't be thick,’ said Ron, looking highly disconcerted.
‘Or that I can't take care of myself.’
‘Of course he doesn't think that!’ said Hermione anxiously.
‘So how come I have to stay at the Dursleys’ while you two get to join in everything that's going on here?’ said Harry, the words tumbling over one another in a rush, his voice growing louder with every word. ‘How come you two are allowed to know everything that's going on?’
‘We're not!’ Ron interrupted. ‘Mum won't let us near the meetings, she says we're too young—’
But before he knew it, Harry was shouting.
‘SO YOU HAVEN'T BEEN IN THE MEETINGS, BIG DEAL! YOU'VE STILL BEEN HERE, HAVEN'T YOU? YOU'VE STILL BEEN TOGETHER! ME, I'VE BEEN STUCK AT THE DURSLEYS’ FOR A MONTH! AND I'VE HANDLED MORE THAN YOU TWO'VE EVER MANAGED AND DUMBLEDORE KNOWS IT— WHO SAVED THE PHILOSOPHER'S STONE? WHO GOT RID OF RIDDLE? WHO SAVED BOTH YOUR SKINS FROM THE DEMENTORS?’
Every bitter and resentful thought Harry had had in the past month was pouring out of him: his frustration at the lack of news, the hurt that they had all been together without him, his fury at being followed and not told about it: All the feelings he was half-ashamed of finally burst their boundaries. Hedwig took fright at the noise and soared off to the top of the wardrobe again; Pigwidgeon twittered in alarm and zoomed even faster around their heads.
‘WHO HAD TO GET PAST DRAGONS AND SPHINXES AND EVERY OTHER FOUL THING LAST YEAR? WHO SAW HIM> COME BACK? WHO HAD TO ESCAPE FROM HIM? ME!’
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