The Order of the Phoenix Read online

  At the end of an hour, Harry called a halt.

  ‘You’re getting really good,’ he said, beaming around at them. ‘When we get back from the holidays we can start doing some of the big stuff – maybe even Patronuses.’

  There was a murmur of excitement. The room began to clear in the usual twos and threes; most people wished Harry a ‘Happy Christmas’ as they went. Feeling cheerful, he collected up the cushions with Ron and Hermione and stacked them neatly away. Ron and Hermione left before he did; he hung back a little, because Cho was still there and he was hoping to receive a ‘Merry Christmas’ from her.

  ‘No, you go on,’ he heard her say to her friend Marietta and his heart gave a jolt that seemed to take it into the region of his Adam’s apple.

  He pretended to be straightening the cushion pile. He was quite sure they were alone now and waited for her to speak. Instead, he heard a hearty sniff.

  He turned and saw Cho standing in the middle of the room, tears pouring down her face.

  ‘Wha—?’

  He didn’t know what to do. She was simply standing there, crying silently.

  ‘What’s up?’ he said, feebly.

  She shook her head and wiped her eyes on her sleeve.

  ‘I’m – sorry,’ she said thickly. ‘I suppose … it’s just … learning all this stuff … it just makes me … wonder whether … if he’d known it all … he’d still be alive.’

  Harry’s heart sank right back past its usual spot and settled somewhere around his navel. He ought to have known. She wanted to talk about Cedric.

  ‘He did know this stuff,’ Harry said heavily. ‘He was really good at it, or he could never have got to the middle of that maze. But if Voldemort really wants to kill you, you don’t stand a chance.’

  She hiccoughed at the sound of Voldemort’s name, but stared at Harry without flinching.

  ‘You survived when you were just a baby,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Yeah, well,’ said Harry wearily, moving towards the door, ‘I dunno why, nor does anyone else, so it’s nothing to be proud of.’

  ‘Oh, don’t go!’ said Cho, sounding tearful again. ‘I’m really sorry to get all upset like this … I didn’t mean to …’

  She hiccoughed again. She was very pretty even when her eyes were red and puffy. Harry felt thoroughly miserable. He’d have been so pleased with just a ‘Merry Christmas’.

  ‘I know it must be horrible for you,’ she said, mopping her eyes on her sleeve again. ‘Me mentioning Cedric, when you saw him die … I suppose you just want to forget about it?’

  Harry did not say anything to this; it was quite true, but he felt heartless saying it.

  ‘You’re a r-really good teacher, you know,’ said Cho, with a watery smile. ‘I’ve never been able to Stun anything before.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Harry awkwardly.

  They looked at each other for a long moment. Harry felt a burning desire to run from the room and, at the same time, a complete inability to move his feet.

  ‘Mistletoe,’ said Cho quietly, pointing at the ceiling over his head.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Harry. His mouth was very dry. ‘It’s probably full of Nargles, though.’

  ‘What are Nargles?’

  ‘No idea,’ said Harry. She had moved closer. His brain seemed to have been Stunned. ‘You’d have to ask Loony. Luna, I mean.’

  Cho made a funny noise halfway between a sob and a laugh. She was even nearer to him now. He could have counted the freckles on her nose.

  ‘I really like you, Harry.’

  He could not think. A tingling sensation was spreading through him, paralysing his arms, legs and brain.

  She was much too close. He could see every tear clinging to her eyelashes …

  *

  He returned to the common room half an hour later to find Hermione and Ron in the best seats by the fire; nearly everybody else had gone to bed. Hermione was writing a very long letter; she had already filled half a roll of parchment, which was dangling from the edge of the table. Ron was lying on the hearthrug, trying to finish his Transfiguration homework.

  ‘What kept you?’ he asked, as Harry sank into the armchair next to Hermione’s.

  Harry didn’t answer. He was in a state of shock. Half of him wanted to tell Ron and Hermione what had just happened, but the other half wanted to take the secret with him to the grave.

  ‘Are you all right, Harry?’ Hermione asked, peering at him over the tip of her quill.

  Harry gave a half-hearted shrug. In truth, he didn’t know whether he was all right or not.

  ‘What’s up?’ said Ron, hoisting himself up on his elbow to get a clearer view of Harry. ‘What’s happened?’

  Harry didn’t quite know how to set about telling them, and still wasn’t sure whether he wanted to. Just as he had decided not to say anything, Hermione took matters out of his hands.

  ‘Is it Cho?’ she asked in a businesslike way. ‘Did she corner you after the meeting?’

  Numbly surprised, Harry nodded. Ron sniggered, breaking off when Hermione caught his eye.

  ‘So – er – what did she want?’ he asked in a mock casual voice.

  ‘She –’ Harry began, rather hoarsely; he cleared his throat and tried again. ‘She – er –’

  ‘Did you kiss?’ asked Hermione briskly.

  Ron sat up so fast he sent his ink bottle flying all over the rug. Disregarding this completely, he stared avidly at Harry.

  ‘Well?’ he demanded.

  Harry looked from Ron’s expression of mingled curiosity and hilarity to Hermione’s slight frown, and nodded.

  ‘HA!’

  Ron made a triumphant gesture with his fist and went into a raucous peal of laughter that made several timid-looking second-years over beside the window jump. A reluctant grin spread over Harry’s face as he watched Ron rolling around on the hearthrug. Hermione gave Ron a look of deep disgust and returned to her letter.

  ‘Well?’ Ron said finally, looking up at Harry. ‘How was it?’

  Harry considered for a moment.

  ‘Wet,’ he said truthfully.

  Ron made a noise that might have indicated jubilation or disgust, it was hard to tell.

  ‘Because she was crying,’ Harry continued heavily.

  ‘Oh,’ said Ron, his smile fading slightly. ‘Are you that bad at kissing?’

  ‘Dunno,’ said Harry, who hadn’t considered this, and immediately felt rather worried. ‘Maybe I am.’

  ‘Of course you’re not,’ said Hermione absently, still scribbling away at her letter.

  ‘How do you know?’ said Ron very sharply.

  ‘Because Cho spends half her time crying these days,’ said Hermione vaguely. ‘She does it at mealtimes, in the loos, all over the place.’

  ‘You’d think a bit of kissing would cheer her up,’ said Ron, grinning.

  ‘Ron,’ said Hermione in a dignified voice, dipping the point of her quill into her inkpot, ‘you are the most insensitive wart I have ever had the misfortune to meet.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ said Ron indignantly. ‘What sort of person cries while someone’s kissing them?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Harry, slightly desperately, ‘who does?’

  Hermione looked at the pair of them with an almost pitying expression on her face.

  ‘Don’t you understand how Cho’s feeling at the moment?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ said Harry and Ron together.

  Hermione sighed and laid down her quill.

  ‘Well, obviously, she’s feeling very sad, because of Cedric dying. Then I expect she’s feeling confused because she liked Cedric and now she likes Harry, and she can’t work out who she likes best. Then she’ll be feeling guilty, thinking it’s an insult to Cedric’s memory to be kissing Harry at all, and she’ll be worrying about what everyone else might say about her if she starts going out with Harry. And she probably can’t work out what her feelings towards Harry are, anyway, because he was the one who was w
ith Cedric when Cedric died, so that’s all very mixed up and painful. Oh, and she’s afraid she’s going to be thrown off the Ravenclaw Quidditch team because she’s been flying so badly.’

  A slightly stunned silence greeted the end of this speech, then Ron said, ‘One person can’t feel all that at once, they’d explode.’

  ‘Just because you’ve got the emotional range of a teaspoon doesn’t mean we all have,’ said Hermione nastily, picking up her quill again.

  ‘She was the one who started it,’ said Harry. ‘I wouldn’t’ve – she just sort of came at me – and next thing she’s crying all over me – I didn’t know what to do –’

  ‘Don’t blame you, mate,’ said Ron, looking alarmed at the very thought.

  ‘You just had to be nice to her,’ said Hermione, looking up anxiously. ‘You were, weren’t you?’

  ‘Well,’ said Harry, an unpleasant heat creeping up his face, ‘I sort of – patted her on the back a bit.’

  Hermione looked as though she was restraining herself from rolling her eyes with extreme difficulty.

  ‘Well, I suppose it could have been worse,’ she said. ‘Are you going to see her again?’

  ‘I’ll have to, won’t I?’ said Harry. ‘We’ve got DA meetings, haven’t we?’

  ‘You know what I mean,’ said Hermione impatiently.

  Harry said nothing. Hermione’s words opened up a whole new vista of frightening possibilities. He tried to imagine going somewhere with Cho – Hogsmeade, perhaps – and being alone with her for hours at a time. Of course, she would have been expecting him to ask her out after what had just happened … the thought made his stomach clench painfully.

  ‘Oh well,’ said Hermione distantly, buried in her letter once more, ‘you’ll have plenty of opportunities to ask her.’

  ‘What if he doesn’t want to ask her?’ said Ron, who had been watching Harry with an unusually shrewd expression on his face.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Hermione vaguely, ‘Harry’s liked her for ages, haven’t you, Harry?’

  He did not answer. Yes, he had liked Cho for ages, but whenever he had imagined a scene involving the two of them it had always featured a Cho who was enjoying herself, as opposed to a Cho who was sobbing uncontrollably into his shoulder.

  ‘Who’re you writing the novel to, anyway?’ Ron asked Hermione, trying to read the bit of parchment now trailing on the floor. Hermione hitched it up out of sight.

  ‘Viktor.’

  ‘Krum?’

  ‘How many other Viktors do we know?’

  Ron said nothing, but looked disgruntled. They sat in silence for another twenty minutes, Ron finishing his Transfiguration essay with many snorts of impatience and crossings-out, Hermione writing steadily to the very end of the parchment, rolling it up carefully and sealing it, and Harry staring into the fire, wishing more than anything that Sirius’s head would appear there and give him some advice about girls. But the fire merely crackled lower and lower, until the red-hot embers crumbled into ash and, looking around, Harry saw that they were, yet again, the last ones in the common room.

  ‘Well, night,’ said Hermione, yawning widely as she set off up the girls’ staircase.

  ‘What does she see in Krum?’ Ron demanded, as he and Harry climbed the boys’ stairs.

  ‘Well,’ said Harry, considering the matter, ‘I s’pose he’s older, isn’t he … and he’s an international Quidditch player …’

  ‘Yeah, but apart from that,’ said Ron, sounding aggravated. ‘I mean, he’s a grouchy git, isn’t he?’

  ‘Bit grouchy, yeah,’ said Harry, whose thoughts were still on Cho.

  They pulled off their robes and put on pyjamas in silence; Dean, Seamus and Neville were already asleep. Harry put his glasses on his bedside table and got into bed but did not pull the hangings closed around his four-poster; instead, he stared at the patch of starry sky visible through the window next to Neville’s bed. If he had known, this time last night, that in twenty-four hours’ time he would have kissed Cho Chang …

  ‘Night,’ grunted Ron, from somewhere to his right.

  ‘Night,’ said Harry.

  Maybe next time … if there was a next time … she’d be a bit happier. He ought to have asked her out; she had probably been expecting it and was now really angry with him … or was she lying in bed, still crying about Cedric? He did not know what to think. Hermione’s explanation had made it all seem more complicated rather than easier to understand.

  That’s what they should teach us here, he thought, turning over on to his side, how girls’ brains work … it’d be more useful than Divination, anyway …

  Neville snuffled in his sleep. An owl hooted somewhere out in the night.

  Harry dreamed he was back in the DA room. Cho was accusing him of luring her there under false pretences; she said he had promised her a hundred and fifty Chocolate Frog Cards if she showed up. Harry protested … Cho shouted, ‘Cedric gave me loads of Chocolate Frog Cards, look!’ And she pulled out fistfuls of Cards from inside her robes and threw them into the air. Then she turned into Hermione, who said, ‘You did promise her, you know, Harry … I think you’d better give her something else instead … how about your Firebolt?’ And Harry was protesting that he could not give Cho his Firebolt, because Umbridge had it, and anyway the whole thing was ridiculous, he’d only come to the DA room to put up some Christmas baubles shaped like Dobby’s head …

  The dream changed …

  His body felt smooth, powerful and flexible. He was gliding between shining metal bars, across dark, cold stone … he was flat against the floor, sliding along on his belly … it was dark, yet he could see objects around him shimmering in strange, vibrant colours … he was turning his head … at first glance the corridor was empty … but no … a man was sitting on the floor ahead, his chin drooping on to his chest, his outline gleaming in the dark …

  Harry put out his tongue … he tasted the man’s scent on the air … he was alive but drowsy … sitting in front of a door at the end of the corridor …

  Harry longed to bite the man … but he must master the impulse … he had more important work to do …

  But the man was stirring … a silver Cloak fell from his legs as he jumped to his feet; and Harry saw his vibrant, blurred outline towering above him, saw a wand withdrawn from a belt … he had no choice … he reared high from the floor and struck once, twice, three times, plunging his fangs deeply into the man’s flesh, feeling his ribs splinter beneath his jaws, feeling the warm gush of blood …

  The man was yelling in pain … then he fell silent … he slumped backwards against the wall … blood was splattering on to the floor …

  His forehead hurt terribly … it was aching fit to burst …

  ‘Harry! HARRY!’

  He opened his eyes. Every inch of his body was covered in icy sweat; his bed covers were twisted all around him like a straitjacket; he felt as though a white-hot poker were being applied to his forehead.

  ‘Harry!’

  Ron was standing over him looking extremely frightened. There were more figures at the foot of Harry’s bed. He clutched his head in his hands; the pain was blinding him … he rolled right over and vomited over the edge of the mattress.

  ‘He’s really ill,’ said a scared voice. ‘Should we call someone?’

  ‘Harry! Harry!’

  He had to tell Ron, it was very important that he tell him … taking great gulps of air, Harry pushed himself up in bed, willing himself not to throw up again, the pain half-blinding him.

  ‘Your dad,’ he panted, his chest heaving. ‘Your dad’s … been attacked …’

  ‘What?’ said Ron uncomprehendingly.

  ‘Your dad! He’s been bitten, it’s serious, there was blood everywhere …’

  ‘I’m going for help,’ said the same scared voice, and Harry heard footsteps running out of the dormitory.

  ‘Harry, mate,’ said Ron uncertainly, ‘you … you were just dreaming …’

 
‘No!’ said Harry furiously; it was crucial that Ron understand.

  ‘It wasn’t a dream … not an ordinary dream … I was there, I saw it … I did it …’

  He could hear Seamus and Dean muttering but did not care. The pain in his forehead was subsiding slightly, though he was still sweating and shivering feverishly. He retched again and Ron leapt backwards out of the way.

  ‘Harry, you’re not well,’ he said shakily. ‘Neville’s gone for help.’

  ‘I’m fine!’ Harry choked, wiping his mouth on his pyjamas and shaking uncontrollably. ‘There’s nothing wrong with me, it’s your dad you’ve got to worry about – we need to find out where he is – he’s bleeding like mad – I was – it was a huge snake.’

  He tried to get out of bed but Ron pushed him back into it; Dean and Seamus were still whispering somewhere nearby. Whether one minute passed or ten, Harry did not know; he simply sat there shaking, feeling the pain recede very slowly from his scar … then there were hurried footsteps coming up the stairs and he heard Neville’s voice again.

  ‘Over here, Professor.’

  Professor McGonagall came hurrying into the dormitory in her tartan dressing gown, her glasses perched lopsidedly on the bridge of her bony nose.

  ‘What is it, Potter? Where does it hurt?’

  He had never been so pleased to see her; it was a member of the Order of the Phoenix he needed now, not someone fussing over him and prescribing useless potions.

  ‘It’s Ron’s dad,’ he said, sitting up again. ‘He’s been attacked by a snake and it’s serious, I saw it happen.’

  ‘What do you mean, you saw it happen?’ said Professor McGonagall, her dark eyebrows contracting.

  ‘I don’t know … I was asleep and then I was there …’

  ‘You mean you dreamed this?’

  ‘No!’ said Harry angrily; would none of them understand? ‘I was having a dream at first about something completely different, something stupid … and then this interrupted it. It was real, I didn’t imagine it. Mr Weasley was asleep on the floor and he was attacked by a gigantic snake, there was a load of blood, he collapsed, someone’s got to find out where he is …’