‘,’ said Harry firmly, fully aware that he had just experienced an exemplary Care of Magical Creatures lesson and was thoroughly annoyed about it.
The door of the nearest greenhouse opened and some fourth-years spilled out of it, including Ginny.
‘Hi,’ she said brightly as she passed. A few seconds later, Luna Lovegood emerged, trailing behind the rest of the class, a smudge of earth on her nose, and her hair tied in a knot on the top of her head. When she saw Harry,
her prominent eyes seemed to bulge excitedly and she made a beeline straight for him. Many of his classmates turned curiously to watch. Luna took a great breath and then said, without so much as a preliminary hello, ‘I
believe He Who Must Not Be Named is back and I believe you fought him and escaped from him.’
‘Er—right,’ said Harry awkwardly. Luna was wearing what looked like a pair of orange radishes for earrings, a fact that Parvati and Lavender seemed to have noticed, as they were both giggling and pointing at her earlobes.
‘You can laugh,’ Luna said, her voice rising, apparently under the impression that Parvati and Lavender were laughing at what she had said rather than what she was wearing, ‘but people used to believe there were no such
things as the Blibbering Humdinger or the Crumple-Horned Snorkack!’
‘Well, they were right, weren't they?’ said Hermione impatiently. There weren't any such things as the Blibbering Humdinger or the Crumple-Horned Snorkack.’
Luna gave her a withering look and flounced away, radishes swinging madly. Parvati and Lavender were not the only ones hooting with laughter now.
‘D'you mind not offending the only people who believe me?’ Harry asked Hermione as they made their way into class.
‘Oh, for heaven's sake, Harry, you can do better than her,’ said Hermione. ‘Ginny's told me all about her; apparently, she'll only believe in things as long as there's no proof at all. Well, I wouldn't expect anything else from
someone whose father runs The Quibbler.’
Harry thought of the sinister winged horses he had seen on the night he had arrived and how Luna had said she could see them too. His spirits sank slightly. Had she been lying? But before he could devote much more
thought to the matter, Ernie Macmillan had stepped up to him.
‘I want you to know, Potter,’ he said in a loud, carrying voice, ‘that it's not only weirdos who support you. I personally believe you one hundred per cent. My family have always stood firm behind Dumbledore, and so do I.’
‘Er—thanks very much, Ernie,’ said Harry, taken aback but pleased. Ernie might be pompous on occasions like this, but Harry was in a mood to deeply appreciate a vote of confidence from somebody who did not have
radishes dangling from their ears. Ernie's words had certainly wiped the smile from Lavender Browns face and as he turned to talk to Ron and Hermione, Harry caught Seamus's expression, which looked both confused and
defiant.
To nobody's surprise, Professor Sprout started their lesson by lecturing them about the importance of OWLs. Harry wished all the teachers would stop doing this; he was starting to get an anxious, twisted feeling in his
stomach every time he remembered how much homework he had to do, a feeling that worsened dramatically when Professor Sprout gave them yet another essay at the end of class. Tired and smelling strongly of dragon
dung, Professor Sprouts preferred type of fertiliser, the Gryffindors trooped back up to the castle an hour and a half later, none of them talking very much; it had been another long day.
As Harry was starving, and he had his first detention with Umbridge at five o'clock, he headed straight for dinner without dropping off his bag in Gryffindor Tower so that he could bolt something down before facing whatever
she had in store for him. He had barely reached the entrance of the Great Hall, however, when a loud and angry voice yelled, ‘Oi, Potter!’
‘What now?’ he muttered wearily, turning to face Angelina Johnson, who looked as though she was in a towering temper.
‘I'll tell you what now,’ she said, marching straight up to him and poking him hard in the chest with her finger. ‘How come you've landed yourself in detention for five o'clock on Friday?’
‘What?’ said Harry. ‘Why ... oh yeah, Keeper tryouts!’
‘Now he remembers!’ snarled Angelina. ‘Didn't I tell you I wanted to do a tryout with the whole team, and find someone who fitted in with everyone?Didn't I tell you I'd booked the Quidditch pitch specially? And now you've
decided you're not going to be there!’
‘I didn't decide not to be there!’ said Harry, stung by the injustice of these words. ‘I got detention from that Umbridge woman, just because I told her the truth about You-Know-Who.’
‘Well, you can just go straight to her and ask her to let you off en Friday,’ said Angelina fiercely, ‘and I don't care how you do it. Tell her You-Know-Who's a figment of your imagination if you like, just make sure you're there!’
She turned on her heel and stormed away.
‘You know what.?’ Harry said to Ron and Hermione as they entered the Great Hall. ‘I think we'd better check with Puddlemere United whether Oliver Wood's been killed during a training session, because Angelina seems to be
channelling his spirit.’
‘What d'you reckon are the odds of Umbridge letting you off on Friday?’ said Ron sceptically, as they sat down at the Gryffindor table.
‘Less than zero,’ said Harry glumly, tipping lamb chops on to his plate and starting to eat. ‘Better try, though, hadn't I? I'll offer to do two more detentions or something, I dunno ...’ He swallowed a mouthful of potato and added,
‘I hope she doesn't keep me too long this evening. You realise we've got to write three essays, practise Vanishing Spells for McGonagall, work out a counter-charm for Flitwick, finish the Bowtruckle drawing and start that
stupid dream diary for Trelawney?’
Ron moaned and for some reason glanced up at the ceiling.
‘And it looks like it's going to rain.’
‘What's that got to do with our homework?’ said Hermione, her eyebrows raised.
‘Nothing,’ said Ron at once, his ears reddening.
At five to five Harry bade the other two goodbye and set off for Umbridge's office on the third floor. When he knocked on the door she called, ‘Come in,’ in a sugary voice. He entered cautiously, looking around.
He had known this office under three of its previous occupants.
In the days when Gilderoy Lockhart had lived here it had been plastered in beaming portraits of himself. When Lupin had occupied it, it was likely you would meet some fascinating Dark creature in a cage or tank if you came
to call. In the impostor Moody's days it had been packed with various instruments and artefacts for the detection of wrongdoing and concealment.
Now, however, it looked totally unrecognisable. The surfaces had all been draped in lacy covers and cloths. There were several vases full of dried flowers, each one residing on its own doily, and on one of the walls was a
collection of ornamental plates, each decorated with a large technicolour kitten wearing a different bow around its neck. These were so foul that Harry stared at them, transfixed, until Professor Umbridge spoke again.
‘Good evening, Mr Potter.’
Harry started and looked around. He had not noticed her at first because she was wearing a luridly flowered set of robes that blended only too well with the tablecloth on the desk behind her.
‘Evening, Professor Umbridge,’ Harry said stiffly.
‘Well, sit down,’ she said, pointing towards a small table draped in lace beside which she had drawn up a straight-backed chair. A piece of blank parchment lay on the table, apparently waiting for him.
‘Er,’ said Harry, without moving. ‘Professor Umbridge. Er—before we start, I—I wanted to ask you a ... a favour.’
Her bulging eyes narrowed.
‘Oh, yes?’
‘Well, I'm ... I'm in the Gryffindor Quidditch team. And I was supposed to be at the tryouts for the new Keeper at five o'clock on Friday and I was—was wondering whether I could skip detention that night and do it—do it another
night ... instead ...’
He knew long before he reached the end of his sentence that it was no good.
‘Oh, no,’ said Umbridge, smiling so widely that she looked as though she had just swallowed a particularly juicy fly. ‘Oh, no, no, no. This is your punishment for spreading evil, nasty, attention-seeking stories, Mr. Potter, and
punishments certainly cannot be adjusted to suit the guilty one's convenience. No, you will come here at five o'clock tomorrow, and the next day, and on Friday too, and you will do your detentions as planned. I think it rather a
good thing that you are missing something you really want to do. It ought to reinforce the lesson I am trying to teach you.’
Harry felt the blood surge to his head and heard a thumping noise in his ears. So he told ‘evil, nasty, attention-seeking stones', did he?
She was watching him with her head slightly to one side, still smiling widely, as though she knew exactly what he was thinking and was waiting to see whether he would start shouting again. With a massive effort, Harry looked
away from her, dropped his schoolbag beside the straight-backed chair and sat down.
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