The Order of the Phoenix Read online

  ‘Hem, hem,’ said Professor Umbridge.

  ‘Yes?’ said Professor McGonagall, turning round, her eyebrows so close together they seemed to form one long, severe line.

  ‘I was just wondering, Professor, whether you received my note telling you of the date and time of your inspec—’

  ‘Obviously I received it, or I would have asked you what you are doing in my classroom,’ said Professor McGonagall, turning her back firmly on Professor Umbridge. Many of the students exchanged looks of glee. ‘As I was saying: today, we shall be practising the altogether more difficult Vanishment of mice. Now, the Vanishing Spell –’

  ‘Hem, hem.’

  ‘I wonder,’ said Professor McGonagall in cold fury, turning on Professor Umbridge, ‘how you expect to gain an idea of my usual teaching methods if you continue to interrupt me? You see, I do not generally permit people to talk when I am talking.’

  Professor Umbridge looked as though she had just been slapped in the face. She did not speak, but straightened the parchment on her clipboard and began scribbling furiously.

  Looking supremely unconcerned, Professor McGonagall addressed the class once more.

  ‘As I was saying: the Vanishing Spell becomes more difficult with the complexity of the animal to be Vanished. The snail, as an invertebrate, does not present much of a challenge; the mouse, as a mammal, offers a much greater one. This is not, therefore, magic you can accomplish with your mind on your dinner. So – you know the incantation, let me see what you can do …’

  ‘How she can lecture me about not losing my temper with Umbridge!’ Harry muttered to Ron under his breath, but he was grinning – his anger with Professor McGonagall had quite evaporated.

  Professor Umbridge did not follow Professor McGonagall around the class as she had followed Professor Trelawney; perhaps she realised Professor McGonagall would not permit it. She did, however, take many more notes while sitting in her corner, and when Professor McGonagall finally told them all to pack away, she rose with a grim expression on her face.

  ‘Well, it’s a start,’ said Ron, holding up a long wriggling mouse-tail and dropping it back into the box Lavender was passing around.

  As they filed out of the classroom, Harry saw Professor Umbridge approach the teacher’s desk; he nudged Ron, who nudged Hermione in turn, and the three of them deliberately fell back to eavesdrop.

  ‘How long have you been teaching at Hogwarts?’ Professor Umbridge asked.

  ‘Thirty-nine years this December,’ said Professor McGonagall brusquely, snapping her bag shut.

  Professor Umbridge made a note.

  ‘Very well,’ she said, ‘you will receive the results of your inspection in ten days’ time.’

  ‘I can hardly wait,’ said Professor McGonagall, in a coldly indifferent voice, and she strode off towards the door. ‘Hurry up, you three,’ she added, sweeping Harry, Ron and Hermione before her.

  Harry could not help giving her a faint smile and could have sworn he received one in return.

  He had thought that the next time he would see Umbridge would be in his detention that evening, but he was wrong. When they walked down the lawns towards the Forest for Care of Magical Creatures, they found her and her clipboard waiting for them beside Professor Grubbly-Plank.

  ‘You do not usually take this class, is that correct?’ Harry heard her ask as they arrived at the trestle table where the group of captive Bowtruckles were scrabbling around for woodlice like so many living twigs.

  ‘Quite correct,’ said Professor Grubbly-Plank, hands behind her back and bouncing on the balls of her feet. ‘I am a substitute teacher standing in for Professor Hagrid.’

  Harry exchanged uneasy looks with Ron and Hermione. Malfoy was whispering with Crabbe and Goyle; he would surely love this opportunity to tell tales on Hagrid to a member of the Ministry.

  ‘Hmm,’ said Professor Umbridge, dropping her voice, though Harry could still hear her quite clearly. ‘I wonder – the Headmaster seems strangely reluctant to give me any information on the matter – can you tell me what is causing Professor Hagrid’s very extended leave of absence?’

  Harry saw Malfoy look up eagerly.

  ‘’Fraid I can’t,’ said Professor Grubbly-Plank breezily. ‘Don’t know anything more about it than you do. Got an owl from Dumbledore, would I like a couple of weeks’ teaching work. I accepted. That’s as much as I know. Well … shall I get started then?’

  ‘Yes, please do,’ said Professor Umbridge, scribbling on her clipboard.

  Umbridge took a different tack in this class and wandered amongst the students, questioning them on magical creatures. Most people were able to answer well and Harry’s spirits lifted somewhat; at least the class was not letting Hagrid down.

  ‘Overall,’ said Professor Umbridge, returning to Professor Grubbly-Plank’s side after a lengthy interrogation of Dean Thomas, ‘how do you, as a temporary member of staff – an objective outsider, I suppose you might say – how do you find Hogwarts? Do you feel you receive enough support from the school management?’

  ‘Oh, yes, Dumbledore’s excellent,’ said Professor Grubbly-Plank heartily. ‘Yes, I’m very happy with the way things are run, very happy indeed.’

  Looking politely incredulous, Umbridge made a tiny note on her clipboard and went on, ‘And what are you planning to cover with this class this year – assuming, of course, that Professor Hagrid does not return?’

  ‘Oh, I’ll take them through the creatures that most often come up in O.W.L.,’ said Professor Grubbly-Plank. ‘Not much left to do – they’ve studied unicorns and Nifflers, I thought we’d cover Porlocks and Kneazles, make sure they can recognise Crups and Knarls, you know …’

  ‘Well, you seem to know what you’re doing, at any rate,’ said Professor Umbridge, making a very obvious tick on her clipboard. Harry did not like the emphasis she put on ‘you’ and liked it even less when she put her next question to Goyle. ‘Now, I hear there have been injuries in this class?’

  Goyle gave a stupid grin. Malfoy hastened to answer the question.

  ‘That was me,’ he said. ‘I was slashed by a Hippogriff.’

  ‘A Hippogriff?’ said Professor Umbridge, now scribbling frantically.

  ‘Only because he was too stupid to listen to what Hagrid told him to do,’ said Harry angrily.

  Both Ron and Hermione groaned. Professor Umbridge turned her head slowly in Harry’s direction.

  ‘Another night’s detention, I think,’ she said softly. ‘Well, thank you very much, Professor Grubbly-Plank, I think that’s all I need here. You will be receiving the results of your inspection within ten days.’

  ‘Jolly good,’ said Professor Grubbly-Plank, and Professor Umbridge set off back across the lawn to the castle.

  *

  It was nearly midnight when Harry left Umbridge’s office that night, his hand now bleeding so severely that it was staining the scarf he had wrapped around it. He expected the common room to be empty when he returned, but Ron and Hermione had sat up waiting for him. He was pleased to see them, especially as Hermione was disposed to be sympathetic rather than critical.

  ‘Here,’ she said anxiously, pushing a small bowl of yellow liquid towards him, ‘soak your hand in that, it’s a solution of strained and pickled Murtlap tentacles, it should help.’

  Harry placed his bleeding, aching hand into the bowl and experienced a wonderful feeling of relief. Crookshanks curled around his legs, purring loudly, then leapt into his lap and settled down.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said gratefully, scratching behind Crookshanks’s ears with his left hand.

  ‘I still reckon you should complain about this,’ said Ron in a low voice.

  ‘No,’ said Harry flatly.

  ‘McGonagall would go nuts if she knew –’

  ‘Yeah, she probably would,’ said Harry. ‘And how long do you reckon it’d take Umbridge to pass another decree saying anyone who complains about the High Inquisitor gets sacked immediately?’
/>   Ron opened his mouth to retort but nothing came out and, after a moment, he closed it again, defeated.

  ‘She’s an awful woman,’ said Hermione in a small voice. ‘Awful. You know, I was just saying to Ron when you came in … we’ve got to do something about her.’

  ‘I suggested poison,’ said Ron grimly.

  ‘No … I mean, something about what a dreadful teacher she is, and how we’re not going to learn any Defence from her at all,’ said Hermione.

  ‘Well, what can we do about that?’ said Ron, yawning. ‘’S too late, isn’t it? She’s got the job, she’s here to stay. Fudge’ll make sure of that.’

  ‘Well,’ said Hermione tentatively. ‘You know, I was thinking today …’ she shot a slightly nervous look at Harry and then plunged on, ‘I was thinking that – maybe the time’s come when we should just – just do it ourselves.’

  ‘Do what ourselves?’ said Harry suspiciously, still floating his hand in the essence of Murtlap tentacles.

  ‘Well – learn Defence Against the Dark Arts ourselves,’ said Hermione.

  ‘Come off it,’ groaned Ron. ‘You want us to do extra work? D’you realise Harry and I are behind on homework again and it’s only the second week?’

  ‘But this is much more important than homework!’ said Hermione.

  Harry and Ron goggled at her.

  ‘I didn’t think there was anything in the universe more important than homework!’ said Ron.

  ‘Don’t be silly, of course there is,’ said Hermione, and Harry saw, with an ominous feeling, that her face was suddenly alight with the kind of fervour that S.P.E.W. usually inspired in her. ‘It’s about preparing ourselves, like Harry said in Umbridge’s first lesson, for what’s waiting for us out there. It’s about making sure we really can defend ourselves. If we don’t learn anything for a whole year –’

  ‘We can’t do much by ourselves,’ said Ron in a defeated voice. ‘I mean, all right, we can go and look jinxes up in the library and try and practise them, I suppose –’

  ‘No, I agree, we’ve gone past the stage where we can just learn things out of books,’ said Hermione. ‘We need a teacher, a proper one, who can show us how to use the spells and correct us if we’re going wrong.’

  ‘If you’re talking about Lupin …’ Harry began.

  ‘No, no, I’m not talking about Lupin,’ said Hermione. ‘He’s too busy with the Order and, anyway, the most we could see him is during Hogsmeade weekends and that’s not nearly often enough.’

  ‘Who, then?’ said Harry, frowning at her.

  Hermione heaved a very deep sigh.

  ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ she said. ‘I’m talking about you, Harry.’

  There was a moment’s silence. A light night breeze rattled the windowpanes behind Ron, and the fire guttered.

  ‘About me what?’ said Harry.

  ‘I’m talking about you teaching us Defence Against the Dark Arts.’

  Harry stared at her. Then he turned to Ron, ready to exchange the exasperated looks they sometimes shared when Hermione elaborated on far-fetched schemes like S.P.E.W. To Harry’s consternation, however, Ron did not look exasperated.

  He was frowning slightly, apparently thinking. Then he said, ‘That’s an idea.’

  ‘What’s an idea?’ said Harry.

  ‘You,’ said Ron. ‘Teaching us to do it.’

  ‘But …’

  Harry was grinning now, sure the pair of them were pulling his leg.

  ‘But I’m not a teacher, I can’t –’

  ‘Harry, you’re the best in the year at Defence Against the Dark Arts,’ said Hermione.

  ‘Me?’ said Harry, now grinning more broadly than ever. ‘No I’m not, you’ve beaten me in every test –’

  ‘Actually, I haven’t,’ said Hermione coolly. ‘You beat me in our third year – the only year we both sat the test and had a teacher who actually knew the subject. But I’m not talking about test results, Harry. Think what you’ve done!’

  ‘How d’you mean?’

  ‘You know what, I’m not sure I want someone this stupid teaching me,’ Ron said to Hermione, smirking slightly. He turned to Harry.

  ‘Let’s think,’ he said, pulling a face like Goyle concentrating. ‘Uh … first year – you saved the Philosopher’s Stone from You-Know-Who.’

  ‘But that was luck,’ said Harry, ‘it wasn’t skill –’

  ‘Second year,’ Ron interrupted, ‘you killed the Basilisk and destroyed Riddle.’

  ‘Yeah, but if Fawkes hadn’t turned up, I –’

  ‘Third year,’ said Ron, louder still, ‘you fought off about a hundred Dementors at once –’

  ‘You know that was a fluke, if the Time-Turner hadn’t –’

  ‘Last year,’ Ron said, almost shouting now, ‘you fought off You-Know-Who again –’

  ‘Listen to me!’ said Harry, almost angrily, because Ron and Hermione were both smirking now. ‘Just listen to me, all right? It sounds great when you say it like that, but all that stuff was luck – I didn’t know what I was doing half the time, I didn’t plan any of it, I just did whatever I could think of, and I nearly always had help –’

  Ron and Hermione were still smirking and Harry felt his temper rise; he wasn’t even sure why he was feeling so angry.

  ‘Don’t sit there grinning like you know better than I do, I was there, wasn’t I?’ he said heatedly. ‘I know what went on, all right? And I didn’t get through any of that because I was brilliant at Defence Against the Dark Arts, I got through it all because – because help came at the right time, or because I guessed right – but I just blundered through it all, I didn’t have a clue what I was doing – STOP LAUGHING!’

  The bowl of Murtlap essence fell to the floor and smashed. He became aware that he was on his feet, though he couldn’t remember standing up. Crookshanks streaked away under a sofa. Ron and Hermione’s smiles had vanished.

  ‘You don’t know what it’s like! You – neither of you – you’ve never had to face him, have you? You think it’s just memorising a bunch of spells and throwing them at him, like you’re in class or something? The whole time you know there’s nothing between you and dying except your own – your own brain or guts or whatever – like you can think straight when you know you’re about a nanosecond from being murdered, or tortured, or watching your friends die – they’ve never taught us that in their classes, what it’s like to deal with things like that – and you two sit there acting like I’m a clever little boy to be standing here, alive, like Diggory was stupid, like he messed up – you just don’t get it, that could just as easily have been me, it would have been if Voldemort hadn’t needed me –’

  ‘We weren’t saying anything like that, mate,’ said Ron, looking aghast. ‘We weren’t having a go at Diggory, we didn’t – you’ve got the wrong end of the –’

  He looked helplessly at Hermione, whose face was stricken.

  ‘Harry,’ she said timidly, ‘don’t you see? This … this is exactly why we need you … we need to know what it’s r-really like … facing him … facing V-Voldemort.’

  It was the first time she had ever said Voldemort’s name and it was this, more than anything else, that calmed Harry. Still breathing hard, he sank back into his chair, becoming aware as he did so that his hand was throbbing horribly again. He wished he had not smashed the bowl of Murtlap essence.

  ‘Well … think about it,’ said Hermione quietly. ‘Please?’

  Harry could not think of anything to say. He was feeling ashamed of his outburst already. He nodded, hardly aware of what he was agreeing to.

  Hermione stood up.

  ‘Well, I’m off to bed,’ she said, in a voice that was clearly as natural as she could make it. ‘Erm … night.’

  Ron had got to his feet, too.

  ‘Coming?’ he said awkwardly to Harry.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Harry. ‘In … in a minute. I’ll just clear this up.’

  He indicated the smashed bowl on the floor. Ron nodd
ed and left.

  ‘Reparo,’ Harry muttered, pointing his wand at the broken pieces of china. They flew back together, good as new, but there was no returning the Murtlap essence to the bowl.

  He was suddenly so tired he was tempted to sink back into his armchair and sleep there, but instead he forced himself to his feet and followed Ron upstairs. His restless night was punctuated once more by dreams of long corridors and locked doors and he awoke next day with his scar prickling again.

  — CHAPTER SIXTEEN —

  In the Hog’s Head

  Hermione made no mention of Harry giving Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons for two whole weeks after her original suggestion. Harry’s detentions with Umbridge were finally over (he doubted whether the words now etched into the back of his hand would ever fade entirely); Ron had had four more Quidditch practices and not been shouted at during the last two; and all three of them had managed to Vanish their mice in Transfiguration (Hermione had actually progressed to Vanishing kittens), before the subject was broached again, on a wild, blustery evening at the end of September, when the three of them were sitting in the library, looking up potion ingredients for Snape.

  ‘I was wondering,’ Hermione said suddenly, ‘whether you’d thought any more about Defence Against the Dark Arts, Harry.’

  ‘Course I have,’ said Harry grumpily, ‘can’t forget it, can we, with that hag teaching us –’

  ‘I meant the idea Ron and I had –’ Ron cast her an alarmed, threatening kind of look. She frowned at him, ‘– Oh, all right, the idea I had, then – about you teaching us.’

  Harry did not answer at once. He pretended to be perusing a page of Asiatic Anti-Venoms, because he did not want to say what was in his mind.

  He had given the matter a great deal of thought over the past fortnight. Sometimes it seemed an insane idea, just as it had on the night Hermione had proposed it, but at others, he had found himself thinking about the spells that had served him best in his various encounters with Dark creatures and Death Eaters – found himself, in fact, subconsciously planning lessons …