The portraits of old headmasters

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 Fudges 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 DA 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. Marietta's mother, Minister,’ she added, looking up at Fudge, ‘is Madam Edgecombe from the Department of Magical Transportation, Floo Network office— she's been helping us police the

Hogwart's fires, you know.’

‘Jolly good, jolly good!’ said Fudge heartily. ‘Like mother, like daughter, eh? Well, come on, now, dear, look up, don't be shy, let's hear what you've got to—galloping gargoyles!’

As Marietta raised her head, Fudge leapt backwards in shock, nearly landing himself in the fire. He cursed, and stamped on the hem of his cloak which had started to smoke. Marietta gave a wail and pulled the neck of her

robes right up to her eyes, but not before everyone had seen that her face was horribly disfigured by a series of close-set purple pustules that had spread across her nose and cheeks to form the word ‘SNEAK'.

‘Never mind the spots now, dear,’ said Umbridge impatiently, ‘just take your robes away from your mouth and tell the Minister—’

But Marietta gave another muffled wail and shook her head frantically.

‘Oh, very well, you silly girl, I'll tell him,’ snapped Umbridge. She hitched her sickly smile back on to her face and said, ‘Well, Minister, Miss Edgecombe here came to my office shortly after dinner this evening and told me she

had something she wanted to tell me. She said that if I proceeded to a secret room on the seventh floor, sometimes known as the Room of Requirement, I would find out something to my advantage. I questioned her a little

further and she admitted that there was to be some kind of meeting there. Unfortunately, at that point this hex,’ she waved impatiently at Marietta's concealed face, ‘came into operation and upon catching sight of her face in

my mirror the girl became too distressed to tell me any more.’

‘Well, now,’ said Fudge, fixing Marietta with what he evidently imagined was a kind and fatherly look, ‘it is very brave of you, my dear, coming to tell Professor Umbridge. You did exactly the right thing. Now, will you tell me what

happened at this meeting? What was its purpose? Who was there?’