The Order of the Phoenix Read online

  When they entered the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom they found Professor Umbridge already seated at the teacher’s desk, wearing the fluffy pink cardigan of the night before and the black velvet bow on top of her head. Harry was again reminded forcibly of a large fly perched unwisely on top of an even larger toad.

  The class was quiet as it entered the room; Professor Umbridge was, as yet, an unknown quantity and nobody knew how strict a disciplinarian she was likely to be.

  ‘Well, good afternoon!’ she said, when finally the whole class had sat down.

  A few people mumbled ‘good afternoon’ in reply.

  ‘Tut, tut,’ said Professor Umbridge. ‘That won’t do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply “Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge”. One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!’

  ‘Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge,’ they chanted back at her.

  ‘There, now,’ said Professor Umbridge sweetly. ‘That wasn’t too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please.’

  Many of the class exchanged gloomy looks; the order ‘wands away’ had never yet been followed by a lesson they had found interesting. Harry shoved his wand back inside his bag and pulled out quill, ink and parchment. Professor Umbridge opened her handbag, extracted her own wand, which was an unusually short one, and tapped the blackboard sharply with it; words appeared on the board at once:

  Defence Against the Dark Arts

  A Return to Basic Principles

  ‘Well now, your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn’t it?’ stated Professor Umbridge, turning to face the class with her hands clasped neatly in front of her. ‘The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your O.W.L. year.

  ‘You will be pleased to know, however, that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory-centred, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year. Copy down the following, please.’

  She rapped the blackboard again; the first message vanished and was replaced by the ‘Course Aims’.

  1. Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic.

  2. Learning to recognise situations in which defensive magic can legally be used.

  3. Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use.

  For a couple of minutes the room was full of the sound of scratching quills on parchment. When everyone had copied down Professor Umbridge’s three course aims she asked, ‘Has everybody got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?’

  There was a dull murmur of assent throughout the class.

  ‘I think we’ll try that again,’ said Professor Umbridge. ‘When I ask you a question, I should like you to reply, “Yes, Professor Umbridge”, or “No, Professor Umbridge”. So: has everyone got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?’

  ‘Yes, Professor Umbridge,’ rang through the room.

  ‘Good,’ said Professor Umbridge. ‘I should like you to turn to page five and read “Chapter One, Basics for Beginners”. There will be no need to talk.’

  Professor Umbridge left the blackboard and settled herself in the chair behind the teacher’s desk, observing them all with those pouchy toad’s eyes. Harry turned to page five of his copy of Defensive Magical Theory and started to read.

  It was desperately dull, quite as bad as listening to Professor Binns. He felt his concentration sliding away from him; he had soon read the same line half a dozen times without taking in more than the first few words. Several silent minutes passed. Next to him, Ron was absent-mindedly turning his quill over and over in his fingers, staring at the same spot on the page. Harry looked right and received a surprise to shake him out of his torpor. Hermione had not even opened her copy of Defensive Magical Theory. She was staring fixedly at Professor Umbridge with her hand in the air.

  Harry could not remember Hermione ever neglecting to read when instructed to, or indeed resisting the temptation to open any book that came under her nose. He looked at her enquiringly, but she merely shook her head slightly to indicate that she was not about to answer questions, and continued to stare at Professor Umbridge, who was looking just as resolutely in another direction.

  After several more minutes had passed, however, Harry was not the only one watching Hermione. The chapter they had been instructed to read was so tedious that more and more people were choosing to watch Hermione’s mute attempt to catch Professor Umbridge’s eye rather than struggle on with ‘Basics for Beginners’.

  When more than half the class were staring at Hermione rather than at their books, Professor Umbridge seemed to decide that she could ignore the situation no longer.

  ‘Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?’ she asked Hermione, as though she had only just noticed her.

  ‘Not about the chapter, no,’ said Hermione.

  ‘Well, we’re reading just now,’ said Professor Umbridge, showing her small pointed teeth. ‘If you have other queries we can deal with them at the end of class.’

  ‘I’ve got a query about your course aims,’ said Hermione.

  Professor Umbridge raised her eyebrows.

  ‘And your name is?’

  ‘Hermione Granger,’ said Hermione.

  ‘Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully,’ said Professor Umbridge in a voice of determined sweetness.

  ‘Well, I don’t,’ said Hermione bluntly. ‘There’s nothing written up there about using defensive spells.’

  There was a short silence in which many members of the class turned their heads to frown at the three course aims still written on the blackboard.

  ‘Using defensive spells?’ Professor Umbridge repeated with a little laugh. ‘Why, I can’t imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren’t expecting to be attacked during class?’

  ‘We’re not going to use magic?’ Ron exclaimed loudly.

  ‘Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr –?’

  ‘Weasley,’ said Ron, thrusting his hand into the air.

  Professor Umbridge, smiling still more widely, turned her back on him. Harry and Hermione immediately raised their hands too. Professor Umbridge’s pouchy eyes lingered on Harry for a moment before she addressed Hermione.

  ‘Yes, Miss Granger? You wanted to ask something else?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Hermione. ‘Surely the whole point of Defence Against the Dark Arts is to practise defensive spells?’

  ‘Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?’ asked Professor Umbridge, in her falsely sweet voice.

  ‘No, but –’

  ‘Well then, I’m afraid you are not qualified to decide what the “whole point” of any class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised our new programme of study. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way –’

  ‘What use is that?’ said Harry loudly. ‘If we’re going to be attacked, it won’t be in a –’

  ‘Hand, Mr Potter!’ sang Professor Umbridge.

  Harry thrust his fist in the air. Again, Professor Umbridge promptly turned away from him, but now several other people had their hands up, too.

  ‘And your name is?’ Professor Umbridge said to Dean.

  ‘Dean Thomas.’

  ‘Well, Mr Thomas?’

  ‘Well, it’s like Harry said, isn’t it?’ said Dean. ‘If we’re going to be attacked, it won’t be risk free.’

  ‘I repeat,’ said Professor Umbridge, smiling in a very irritating fashion at Dean, ‘do you expect to be attacked during my classes?’

  ‘No, but –’

  Professor Umbridge talked over him. ‘I do not wish to criticise the way things have been run in this sc
hool,’ she said, an unconvincing smile stretching her wide mouth, ‘but you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class, very irresponsible indeed – not to mention,’ she gave a nasty little laugh, ‘extremely dangerous half-breeds.’

  ‘If you mean Professor Lupin,’ piped up Dean angrily, ‘he was the best we ever –’

  ‘Hand, Mr Thomas! As I was saying – you have been introduced to spells that have been complex, inappropriate to your age group and potentially lethal. You have been frightened into believing that you are likely to meet Dark attacks every other day –’

  ‘No we haven’t,’ Hermione said, ‘we just –’

  ‘Your hand is not up, Miss Granger!’

  Hermione put up her hand. Professor Umbridge turned away from her.

  ‘It is my understanding that my predecessor not only performed illegal curses in front of you, he actually performed them on you.’

  ‘Well, he turned out to be a maniac, didn’t he?’ said Dean hotly. ‘Mind you, we still learned loads.’

  ‘Your hand is not up, Mr Thomas!’ trilled Professor Umbridge. ‘Now, it is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be more than sufficient to get you through your examination, which, after all, is what school is all about. And your name is?’ she added, staring at Parvati, whose hand had just shot up.

  ‘Parvati Patil, and isn’t there a practical bit in our Defence Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.? Aren’t we supposed to show that we can actually do the counter-curses and things?’

  ‘As long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there is no reason why you should not be able to perform the spells under carefully controlled examination conditions,’ said Professor Umbridge dismissively.

  ‘Without ever practising them beforehand?’ said Parvati incredulously. ‘Are you telling us that the first time we’ll get to do the spells will be during our exam?’

  ‘I repeat, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough –’

  ‘And what good’s theory going to be in the real world?’ said Harry loudly, his fist in the air again.

  Professor Umbridge looked up.

  ‘This is school, Mr Potter, not the real world,’ she said softly.

  ‘So we’re not supposed to be prepared for what’s waiting for us out there?’

  ‘There is nothing waiting out there, Mr Potter.’

  ‘Oh, yeah?’ said Harry. His temper, which seemed to have been bubbling just beneath the surface all day, was reaching boiling point.

  ‘Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?’ enquired Professor Umbridge in a horribly honeyed voice.

  ‘Hmm, let’s think …’ said Harry in a mock thoughtful voice. ‘Maybe … Lord Voldemort?’

  Ron gasped; Lavender Brown uttered a little scream; Neville slipped sideways off his stool. Professor Umbridge, however, did not flinch. She was staring at Harry with a grimly satisfied expression on her face.

  ‘Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr Potter.’

  The classroom was silent and still. Everyone was staring at either Umbridge or Harry.

  ‘Now, let me make a few things quite plain.’

  Professor Umbridge stood up and leaned towards them, her stubby-fingered hands splayed on her desk.

  ‘You have been told that a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead –’

  ‘He wasn’t dead,’ said Harry angrily, ‘but yeah, he’s returned!’

  ‘Mr-Potter-you-have-already-lost-your-house-ten-points-do-not-make-matters-worse-for-yourself,’ said Professor Umbridge in one breath without looking at him. ‘As I was saying, you have been informed that a certain Dark wizard is at large once again. This is a lie.’

  ‘It is NOT a lie!’ said Harry. ‘I saw him, I fought him!’

  ‘Detention, Mr Potter!’ said Professor Umbridge triumphantly. ‘Tomorrow evening. Five o’clock. My office. I repeat, this is a lie. The Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard. If you are still worried, by all means come and see me outside class hours. If someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn Dark wizards, I would like to hear about it. I am here to help. I am your friend. And now, you will kindly continue your reading. Page five, “Basics for Beginners”.’

  Professor Umbridge sat down behind her desk. Harry, however, stood up. Everyone was staring at him; Seamus looked half-scared, half-fascinated.

  ‘Harry, no!’ Hermione whispered in a warning voice, tugging at his sleeve, but Harry jerked his arm out of her reach.

  ‘So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?’ Harry asked, his voice shaking.

  There was a collective intake of breath from the class, for none of them, apart from Ron and Hermione, had ever heard Harry talk about what had happened on the night Cedric had died. They stared avidly from Harry to Professor Umbridge, who had raised her eyes and was staring at him without a trace of a fake smile on her face.

  ‘Cedric Diggory’s death was a tragic accident,’ she said coldly.

  ‘It was murder,’ said Harry. He could feel himself shaking. He had hardly spoken to anyone about this, least of all thirty eagerly listening classmates. ‘Voldemort killed him and you know it.’

  Professor Umbridge’s face was quite blank. For a moment, Harry thought she was going to scream at him. Then she said, in her softest, most sweetly girlish voice, ‘Come here, Mr Potter, dear.’

  He kicked his chair aside, strode around Ron and Hermione and up to the teacher’s desk. He could feel the rest of the class holding its breath. He felt so angry he did not care what happened next.

  Professor Umbridge pulled a small roll of pink parchment out of her handbag, stretched it out on the desk, dipped her quill into a bottle of ink and started scribbling, hunched over so that Harry could not see what she was writing. Nobody spoke. After a minute or so she rolled up the parchment and tapped it with her wand; it sealed itself seamlessly so that he could not open it.

  ‘Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear,’ said Professor Umbridge, holding out the note to him.

  He took it from her without saying a word and left the room, not even looking back at Ron and Hermione, slamming the classroom door shut behind him. He walked very fast along the corridor, the note to McGonagall clutched tight in his hand, and turning a corner walked slap into Peeves the poltergeist, a wide-mouthed little man floating on his back in midair, juggling several inkwells.

  ‘Why, it’s Potty Wee Potter!’ cackled Peeves, allowing two of the inkwells to fall to the ground where they smashed and spattered the walls with ink; Harry jumped backwards out of the way with a snarl.

  ‘Get out of it, Peeves.’

  ‘Oooh, Crackpot’s feeling cranky,’ said Peeves, pursuing Harry along the corridor, leering as he zoomed along above him. ‘What is it this time, my fine Potty friend? Hearing voices? Seeing visions? Speaking in –’ Peeves blew a gigantic raspberry ‘– tongues?’

  ‘I said, leave me ALONE!’ Harry shouted, running down the nearest flight of stairs, but Peeves merely slid down the banister on his back beside him.

  ‘Oh, most think he’s barking, the potty wee lad,

  But some are more kindly and think he’s just sad,

  But Peevesy knows better and says that he’s mad –’

  ‘SHUT UP!’

  A door to his left flew open and Professor McGonagall emerged from her office looking grim and slightly harassed.

  ‘What on earth are you shouting about, Potter?’ she snapped, as Peeves cackled gleefully and zoomed out of sight. ‘Why aren’t you in class?’

  ‘I’ve been sent to see you,’ said Harry stiffly.

  ‘Sent? What do you mean, sent?’

  He held out the note from Professor Umbridge. Professor McGonagall took it from him, frowning, slit it open with a tap of her wand, stretched it out and began to read. Her eyes zoomed from side to side behind their square spectacles as she read what Umbridge had written, and with each line they became narrower
.

  ‘Come in here, Potter.’

  He followed her inside her study. The door closed automatically behind him.

  ‘Well?’ said Professor McGonagall, rounding on him. ‘Is this true?’

  ‘Is what true?’ Harry asked, rather more aggressively than he had intended. ‘Professor?’ he added, in an attempt to sound more polite.

  ‘Is it true that you shouted at Professor Umbridge?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Harry.

  ‘You called her a liar?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You told her He Who Must Not Be Named is back?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Professor McGonagall sat down behind her desk, frowning at Harry. Then she said, ‘Have a biscuit, Potter.’

  ‘Have – what?’

  ‘Have a biscuit,’ she repeated impatiently, indicating a tartan tin lying on top of one of the piles of papers on her desk. ‘And sit down.’

  There had been a previous occasion when Harry, expecting to be caned by Professor McGonagall, had instead been appointed by her to the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He sank into a chair opposite her and helped himself to a Ginger Newt, feeling just as confused and wrong-footed as he had done on that occasion.

  Professor McGonagall set down Professor Umbridge’s note and looked very seriously at Harry.

  ‘Potter, you need to be careful.’

  Harry swallowed his mouthful of Ginger Newt and stared at her. Her tone of voice was not at all what he was used to; it was not brisk, crisp and stern; it was low and anxious and somehow much more human than usual.

  ‘Misbehaviour in Dolores Umbridge’s class could cost you much more than house points and a detention.’

  ‘What do you –?’

  ‘Potter, use your common sense,’ snapped Professor McGonagall, with an abrupt return to her usual manner. ‘You know where she comes from, you must know to whom she is reporting.’

  The bell rang for the end of the lesson. Overhead and all around came the elephantine sounds of hundreds of students on the move.