Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix hp-5, page 59
part #5 of Harry Potter Series
“I know that you have learned the names of the planets and their moons in Astronomy,” said Firenze’s calm voice, “and that you have mapped the stars’ progress through the heavens. Centaurs have unravelled the mysteries of these movements over centuries. Our findings teach us that the future may be glimpsed in the sky above us—”
“Professor Trelawney did astrology with us!” said Parvati excitedly, raising her hand in front of her so that it stuck up in the air as she lay on her back. “Mars causes accidents and burns and things like that, and when it makes an angle to Saturn, like now—” she drew a right-angle in the air above her “—that means people need to be extra careful when handling hot things—”
“That,” said Firenze calmly, “is human nonsense.”
Parvati’s hand fell limply to her side.
“Trivial hurts, tiny human accidents,” said Firenze, as his hooves thudded over the mossy floor. “These are of no more significance than the scurryings of ants to the wide universe, and are unaffected by planetary movements.”
“Professor Trelawney—” began Parvati, in a hurt and indignant voice.
“—is a human,” said Firenze simply. “And is therefore blinkered and fettered by the limitations of your kind.”
Harry turned his head very slightly to look at Parvati. She looked very offended, as did several of the people surrounding her.
“Sybill Trelawney may have Seen, I do not know,” continued Firenze, and Harry heard the swishing of his tail again as he walked up and down before them, “but she wastes her time, in the main, on the self-flattering nonsense humans call fortune-telling. I, however, am here to explain the wisdom of centaurs, which is impersonal and impartial. We watch the skies for the great tides of evil or change that are sometimes marked there. It may take ten years to be sure of what we are seeing.”
Firenze pointed to the red star directly above Harry.
“In the past decade, the indications have been that wizardkind is living through nothing more than a brief calm between two wars. Mars, bringer of battle, shines brightly above us, suggesting that the fight must soon break out again. How soon, centaurs may attempt to divine by the burning of certain herbs and leaves, by the observation of fume and flame…”
It was the most unusual lesson Harry had ever attended. They did indeed burn sage and mallowsweet there on the classroom floor, and Firenze told them to look for certain shapes and symbols in the pungent fumes, but he seemed perfectly unconcerned that not one of them could see any of the signs he described, telling them that humans were hardly ever good at this, that it took centaurs years and years to become competent, and finished by telling them that it was foolish to put too much faith in such things, anyway, because even centaurs sometimes read them wrongly. He was nothing like any human teacher Harry had ever had. His priority did not seem to be to teach them what he knew, but rather to impress upon them that nothing, not even centaurs’ knowledge, was foolproof.
“He’s not very definite on anything, is he?” said Ron in a low voice, as they put out their mallowsweet fire. “I mean, I could do with a few more details about this war we’re about to have, couldn’t you?”
The bell rang right outside the classroom door and everyone jumped; Harry had completely forgotten they were still inside the castle, and quite convinced that he was really in the Forest. The class filed out, looking slightly perplexed.
Harry and Ron were on the point of following them when Firenze called, “Harry Potter, a word, please.”
Harry turned. The centaur advanced a little towards him. Ron hesitated.
“You may stay,” Firenze told him. “But close the door, please.”
Ron hastened to obey.
“Harry Potter, you are a friend of Hagrid’s, are you not?” said the centaur.
“Yes,” said Harry.
“Then give him a warning from me. His attempt is not working. He would do better to abandon it.”
“His attempt is not working?” Harry repeated blankly.
“And he would do better to abandon it,” said Firenze, nodding. “I would warn Hagrid myself, but I am banished—it would be unwise for me to go too near the Forest now—Hagrid has troubles enough, without a centaurs’ battle.”
“But—what’s Hagrid attempting to do?” said Harry nervously.
Firenze surveyed Harry impassively.
“Hagrid has recently rendered me a great service,” said Firenze, “and he has long since earned my respect for the care he shows all living creatures. I shall not betray his secret. But he must be brought to his senses. The attempt is not working. Tell him, Harry Potter. Good-day to you.”
* * *
The happiness Harry had felt in the aftermath of The Quibbler interview had long since evaporated. As a dull March blurred into a squally April, his life seemed to have become one long series of worries and problems again.
Umbridge had continued attending all Care of Magical Creatures lessons, so it had been very difficult to deliver Firenze’s warning to Hagrid. At last, Harry had managed it by pretending he’d lost his copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, and doubling back after class one day. When he’d repeated Firenze’s words, Hagrid gazed at him for a moment through his puffy, blackened eyes, apparently taken aback. Then he seemed to pull himself together.
“Nice bloke, Firenze,” he said gruffly, “but he don’ know what he’s talkin’ abou’ on this. The attemp’s comin’ on fine.”
“Hagrid, what’re you up to?” asked Harry seriously. “Because you’ve got to be careful, Umbridge has already sacked Trelawney and, if you ask me, she’s on a roll. If you’re doing anything you shouldn’t be, you’ll be—”
“There’s things more importan’ than keepin’ a job,” said Hagrid, though his hands shook slightly as he said this and a basin full of Knarl droppings crashed to the floor. “Don’ worry abou’ me, Harry, jus’ get along now, there’s a good lad.”
Harry had no choice but to leave Hagrid mopping up the dung all over his floor, but he felt thoroughly dispirited as he trudged back up to the castle.
Meanwhile, as the teachers and Hermione persisted in reminding them, the O.W.L.s were drawing ever nearer. All the fifth-years were suffering from stress to some degree, but Hannah Abbott became the first to receive a Calming Draught from Madam Pomfrey after she burst into tears during Herbology and sobbed that she was too stupid to take exams and wanted to leave school now.
If it had not been for the D.A. lessons, Harry thought he would have been extremely unhappy. He sometimes felt he was living for the hours he spent in the Room of Requirement, working hard but thoroughly enjoying himself at the same time, swelling with pride as he looked around at his fellow D.A. members and saw how far they had come. Indeed, Harry sometimes wondered how Umbridge was going to react when all the members of the D.A. received “Outstanding” in their Defence Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.s.
They had finally started work on Patronuses, which everybody had been very keen to practise, though, as Harry kept reminding them, producing a Patronus in the middle of a brightly lit classroom when they were not under threat was very different from producing it when confronted by something like a Dementor.
“Oh, don’t be such a killjoy,” said Cho brightly, watching her silvery swan-shaped Patronus soar around the Room of Requirement during their last lesson before Easter. “They’re so pretty!”
“They’re not supposed to be pretty, they’re supposed to protect you,” said Harry patiently. “What we really need is a Boggart or something; that’s how I learned, I had to conjure a Patronus while the Boggart was pretending to be a Dementor—”
“But that would be really scary!” said Lavender, who was shooting puffs of silver vapour out of the end of her wand. “And I still—can’t—do it!” she added angrily.
Neville was having trouble, too. His face was screwed up in concentration, but only feeble wisps of silver smoke issued from his wand tip.
“You’ve got to think of something happy,” Harry reminded him.
“I’m trying,” said Neville miserably, who was trying so hard his round face was actually shining with sweat.
“Harry, I think I’m doing it!” yelled Seamus, who had been brought along to his first ever D.A. meeting by Dean. “Look—ah—it’s gone… but it was definitely something hairy, Harry!”
Hermione’s Patronus, a shining silver otter, was gambolling around her.
“They are sort of nice, aren’t they?” she said, looking at it fondly.
The door of the Room of Requirement opened, and closed. Harry looked round to see who had entered, but there did not seem to be anybody there. It was a few moments before he realised that the people close to the door had fallen silent. Next thing he knew, something was tugging at his robes somewhere near the knee. He looked down and saw, to his very great astonishment, Dobby the house-elf peering up at him from beneath his usual eight woolly hats.
“Hi, Dobby!” he said. “What are you—What’s wrong?”
The elf’s eyes were wide with terror and he was shaking. The members of the D.A. closest to Harry had fallen silent; everybody in the room was watching Dobby. The few Patronuses people had managed to conjure faded away into silver mist, leaving the room looking much darker than before.
“Harry Potter, sir…” squeaked the elf, trembling from head to foot, “Harry Potter, sir… Dobby has come to warn you… but the house-elves have been warned not to tell…”
He ran head-first at the wall. Harry, who had some experience of Dobby’s habits of self-punishment, made to seize him, but Dobby merely bounced off the stone, cushioned by his eight hats. Hermione and a few of the other girls let out squeaks of fear and sympathy.
“What’s happened, Dobby?” Harry asked, grabbing the elf’s tiny arm and holding him away from anything with which he might seek to hurt himself.
“Harry Potter… she… she…”
Dobby hit himself hard on the nose with his free fist. Harry seized that, too.
“Who’s ‘she’, Dobby?”
But he thought he knew; surely only one “she” could induce such fear in Dobby? The elf looked up at him, slightly cross-eyed, and mouthed wordlessly.
“Umbridge?” asked Harry, horrified.
Dobby nodded, then tried to bang his head on Harry’s knees. Harry held him at arm’s length.
“What about her? Dobby—she hasn’t found out about this—about us—about the D.A.?”
He read the answer in the elf’s stricken face. His hands held fast by Harry, the elf tried to kick himself and fell to the floor.
“Is she coming?” Harry asked quietly.
Dobby let out a howl, and began beating his bare feet hard on the floor.
“Yes, Harry Potter, yes!”
Harry straightened up and looked around at the motionless, terrified people gazing at the thrashing elf.
“WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?” Harry bellowed. “RUN!”
They all pelted towards the exit at once, forming a scrum at the door, then people burst through. Harry could hear them sprinting along the corridors and hoped they had the sense not to try and make it all the way to their dormitories. It was only ten to nine; if they just took refuge in the library or the Owlery, which were both nearer—
“Harry, come on!” shrieked Hermione from the centre of the knot of people now fighting to get out.
He scooped up Dobby, who was still attempting to do himself serious injury, and ran with the elf in his arms to join the back of the queue.
“Dobby—this is an order—get back down to the kitchen with the other elves and, if she asks you whether you warned me, lie and say no!” said Harry. “And I forbid you to hurt yourself!” he added, dropping the elf as he made it over the threshold at last and slammed the door behind him.
“Thank you, Harry Potter!” squeaked Dobby, and he streaked off. Harry glanced left and right, the others were all moving so fast he caught only glimpses of flying heels at either end of the corridor before they vanished; he started to run right; there was a boys’ bathroom up ahead, he could pretend he’d been in there all the time if he could just reach it—
“AAARGH!”
Something caught him around the ankles and he fell spectacularly, skidding along on his front for six feet before coming to a halt. Someone behind him was laughing. He rolled over on to his back and saw Malfoy concealed in a niche beneath an ugly dragon-shaped vase.
“Trip Jinx, Potter!” he said. “Hey Professor—PROFESSOR! I’ve got one!”
Umbridge came bustling round the far corner, breathless but wearing a delighted smile.
“It’s him!” she said jubilantly at the sight of Harry on the floor. “Excellent, Draco, excellent, oh, very good—fifty points to Slytherin! I’ll take him from here… stand up, Potter!”
Harry got to his feet, glaring at the pair of them. He had never seen Umbridge looking so happy. She seized his arm in a vice-like grip and turned, beaming broadly, to Malfoy.
“You hop along and see if you can round up any more of them, Draco,” she said. “Tell the others to look in the library—anybody out of breath—check the bathrooms, Miss Parkinson can do the girls’ ones—off you go—and you,” she added in her softest, most dangerous voice, as Malfoy walked away, “you can come with me to the Headmaster’s office, Potter.”
They were at the stone gargoyle within minutes. Harry wondered how many of the others had been caught. He thought of Ron—Mrs. Weasley would kill him—and of how Hermione would feel if she was expelled before she could take her O.W.L.s. And it had been Seamus’s very first meeting… and Neville had been getting so good…
“Fizzing Whizzbee,” sang Umbridge; the stone gargoyle jumped aside, the wall behind split open, and they ascended the moving stone staircase. They reached the polished door with the griffin knocker, but Umbridge did not bother to knock, she strode straight inside, still holding tight to Harry.
The office was full of people. Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, his expression serene, the tips of his long fingers together. Professor McGonagall stood rigidly beside him, her face extremely tense. Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, was rocking backwards and forwards on his toes beside the fire, apparently immensely pleased with the situation; Kingsley Shacklebolt and a tough-looking wizard with very short wiry hair whom Harry did not recognise, were positioned either side of the door like guards, and the freckled, bespectacled form of Percy Weasley hovered excitedly beside the wall, a quill and a heavy scroll of parchment in his hands, apparently poised to take notes.
The portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses were not shamming sleep tonight. All of them were alert and serious, watching what was happening below them. As Harry entered, a few flitted into neighbouring frames and whispered urgently into their neighbour’s ear.
Harry pulled himself free of Umbridge’s grasp as the door swung shut behind them. Cornelius Fudge was glaring at him with a kind of vicious satisfaction on his face.
“Well,” he said. “Well, well, well…”
Harry replied with the dirtiest look he could muster. His heart drummed madly inside him, but his brain was oddly cool and clear.
“He was heading back to Gryffindor Tower,” said Umbridge. There was an indecent excitement in her voice, the same callous pleasure Harry had heard as she watched Professor Trelawney dissolving with misery in the Entrance Hall. “The Malfoy boy cornered him.”
“Did he, did he?” said Fudge appreciatively. “I must remember to tell Lucius. Well, Potter… I expect you know why you are here?”
Harry fully intended to respond with a defiant “yes”: his mouth had opened and the word was half-formed when he caught sight of Dumbledore’s face. Dumbledore was not looking directly at Harry—his eyes were fixed on a point just over his shoulder—but as Harry stared at him, he shook his head a fraction of an inch to each side.
Harry changed direction mid-word.
“Ye—no.”
“I beg your pardon?” said Fudge.
“No,” said Harry, firmly.
“You don’t know why you are here?”
“No, I don’t,” said Harry.
Fudge looked incredulously from Harry to Professor Umbridge. Harry took advantage of his momentary inattention to steal another quick look at Dumbledore, who gave the carpet the tiniest of nods and the shadow of a wink.
“So you have no idea,” said Fudge, in a voice positively sagging with sarcasm, “why Professor Umbridge has brought you to this office? You are not aware that you have broken any school rules?”
“School rules?” said Harry. “No.”
“Or Ministry Decrees?” amended Fudge angrily.
“Not that I’m aware of,” said Harry blandly.
His heart was still hammering very fast. It was almost worth telling these lies to watch Fudge’s blood pressure rising, but he could not see how on earth he would get away with them; if somebody had tipped off Umbridge about the D.A. then he, the leader, might as well be packing his trunk right now.
“So, it’s news to you, is it,” said Fudge, his voice now thick with anger, “that an illegal student organisation has been discovered within this school?”
“Yes, it is,” said Harry, hoisting an unconvincing look of innocent surprise on to his face.
“I think, Minister,” said Umbridge silkily from beside him, “we might make better progress if I fetch our informant.”
“Yes, yes, do,” said Fudge, nodding, and he glanced maliciously at Dumbledore as Umbridge left the room. “There’s nothing like a good witness, is there, Dumbledore?”
“Nothing at all, Cornelius,” said Dumbledore gravely, inclining his head.
There was a wait of several minutes, in which nobody looked at each other, then Harry heard the door open behind him. Umbridge moved past him into the room, gripping by the shoulder Cho’s curly-haired friend, Marietta, who was hiding her face in her hands.
“Don’t be scared, dear, don’t be frightened,” said Professor Umbridge softly, patting her on the back, “it’s quite all right, now. You have done the right thing. The Minister is very pleased with you. He’ll be telling your mother what a good girl you’ve been.”
