Chapter 28 Snape's Worst Memory

Chapter 28 Snape's Worst Memory

BY ORDER OF THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC



Dolores Jane Umbridge (High Inquisitor) has replaced

Albus Dumbledore as Head of Hogwarts School of

Witchcraft and Wizardry.



The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-eight.



Signed: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister for Magic

The notices had gone up all around the school overnight, but they did not explain how every single person within the castle seemed to know that Dumbledore had overcome two Aurors, the High Inquisitor, the Minister for

Magic and his Junior Assistant to escape. No matter where Harry went within the castle, the sole topic of conversation was Dumbledore's flight, and though some of the details may have gone awry in the retelling (Harry

overheard one second-year girl assuring another that Fudge was now lying in St. Mungo's with a pumpkin for a head) it was surprising how accurate the rest of their information was. Everybody knew, for instance, that Harry

and Marietta were the only students to have witnessed the scene in Dumbledore's office and, as Marietta was now in the hospital wing, Harry found himself besieged with requests to give a first-hand account.

‘Dumbledore will be back before long,’ said Ernie Macmillan confidently on the way back from Herbology, after listening intently to Harry's story. ‘They couldn't keep him away in our second year and they won't be able to this

time. The Fat Friar told me—’ he dropped his voice conspiratorially, so that Harry, Ron and Hermione had to lean closer to him to hear ‘—that Umbridge tried to get back into his office last night after they'd searched the castle

and grounds for him. Couldn't get past the gargoyle. The Head's office has sealed itself against her.’ Ernie smirked. ‘Apparently, she had a right little tantrum.’

‘Oh, I expect she really fancied herself sitting up there in the Head's office,’ said Hermione viciously, as they walked up the stone steps into the Entrance Hall. ‘Lording it over all the other teachers, the stupid puffed-up, power

-crazy old—’

‘Now, do you really want to finish that sentence, Granger?’












58.
Draco Malfoy had slid out from behind the door, closely followed by Crabbe and Goyle. His pale, pointed face was alight w th malice.

‘Afraid I'm going to have to dock a few points from Gryffincor and Hufflepuff,’ he drawled.

‘It's only teachers who can dock points from houses, Malfoy,’ said Ernie at once.

‘Yeah, we're prefects, too, remember?’ snarled Ron.

‘I know prefects can't dock points, Weasel King,’ sneered Maltby. Crabbe and Goyle sniggered. ‘But members of the Inquisitorial Squad—’

‘The what?’ said Hermione sharply.

‘The Inquisitorial Squad, Granger,’ said Malfoy, pointing towards a tiny silver ‘I’ on his robes just beneath his prefect's badge. ‘A select group of students who are supportive of the Ministry of Magic, hand-picked by Professor

Umbridge. Anyway, members of the Inquisitorial Squad do have the power to dock points ... so, Granger, I'll have five from you for being rude about our new Headmistress. Macmillan, five for contradicting me. Five because I

don't like you, Potter. Weasley, your shirt's untucked, so I'll have another five for that. Oh yeah, I forgot, you're a Mudblood, Granger, so ten off for that.’

Ron pulled out his wand, but Hermione pushed it away, whispering, ‘Don't!’

‘Wise move, Granger,’ breathed Malfoy. ‘New Head, new times ... be good now, Potty ... Weasel King ...’

Laughing heartily, he strode away with Crabbe and Goyle.

‘He was bluffing,’ said Ernie, looking appalled. ‘He can't be allowed to dock points ... that would be ridiculous ... it would completely undermine the prefect system.’

But Harry, Ron and Hermione had turned automatically towards the giant hour-glasses set in niches along the wall behind them, which recorded the house-points. Gryffindor and Ravenclaw had been neck and neck in the

lead that morning. Even as they watched, stones flew upwards, reducing the amounts in the lower bulbs. In fact, the only glass that seemed unchanged was the emerald-filled one of Slytherin.

‘Noticed, have you?’ said Fred's voice.

He and George had just come down the marble staircase and joined Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ernie in front of the hour-glasses.

‘Malfoy just docked us all about fifty points,’ said Harry furiously, as they watched several more stones fly upwards from the Gryffindor hour-glass.

‘Yeah, Montague tried to do us during break,’ said George.

‘What do you mean, “tried"?’ said Ron quickly.

‘He never managed to get all the words out,’ said Fred, ‘due to the fact that we forced him head-first into that Vanishing Cabinet on the first floor.’

Hermione looked very shocked.

‘But you'll get into terrible trouble!’

‘Not until Montague reappears, and that could take weeks, I dunno where we sent him,’ said Fred coolly. ‘Anyway ... we've decided we don't care about getting into trouble any more.’

‘Have you ever?’ asked Hermione.

‘Course we have,’ said George. ‘Never been expelled, have we?’

‘We've always known where to draw the line,’ said Fred.

‘We might have put a toe across it occasionally,’ said George.

‘But we've always stopped short of causing real mayhem,’ said Fred.

‘But now?’ said Ron tentatively.

‘Well, now—’ said George.

‘—what with Dumbledore gone—’ said Fred.

‘—we reckon a bit of mayhem—’ said George.

‘—is exactly what our dear new Head deserves,’ said Fred.

‘You mustn't!’ whispered Hermione. ‘You really mustn't! She'd love a reason to expel you!’

‘You don't get it, Hermione, do you?’ said Fred, smiling at her. ‘We don't care about staying any more. We'd walk out right now if we weren't determined to do our bit for Dumbledore first. So, anyway,’ he checked his watch,

‘phase one is about to begin. I'd get in the Great Hall for lunch, if I were you, that way the teachers will see you can't have had anything to do with it.’

‘Anything to do with what?’ said Hermione anxiously.

‘You'll see,’ said George. ‘Run along, now.’

Fred and George turned away and disappeared into the swelling crowd descending the stairs towards lunch. Looking highly disconcerted, Ernie muttered something about unfinished Transfiguration homework and scurried

away.

‘I think we should get out of here, you know,’ said Hermione nervously. ‘Just in case ...’

‘Yeah, all right,’ said Ron, and the three of them moved towards the doors to the Great Hall, but Harry had barely glimpsed the day's ceiling of scudding white clouds when somebody tapped him on the shoulder and, turning,

he found himself almost nose-to-nose with Filch the caretaker. He took several hasty steps backwards; Filch was best viewed at a distance.

‘The Headmistress would like to see you, Potter,’ he leered.

‘I didn't do it,’ said Harry stupidly, thinking of whatever Fred and George were planning. Filch's jowls wobbled with silent laughter.

‘Guilty conscience, eh?’ he wheezed. ‘Follow me.’









59.
Harry glanced back at Ron and Hermione, who were both looking worried. He shrugged, and followed Filch back into the Entrance Hall, against the tide of hungry students.

Filch seemed to be in an extremely good mood; he hummed creakily under his breath as they climbed the marble staircase. As they reached the first landing he said, ‘Things are changing around here, Potter.’

‘I've noticed,’ said Harry coldly.

‘Yerse ... I've been telling Dumbledore for years and years he's too soft with you all,’ said Filch, chuckling nastily. ‘You filthy little beasts would never have dropped Stink Pellets if you'd known I had it in my power to whip you

raw, would you, now? Nobody would have thought of throwing Fanged Frisbees down the corridors if I could've strung you up by the ankles in my office, would they? But when Educational Decree Number Twenty-nine comes

in, Potter, I'll be allowed to do them things ... and she's asked the Minister to sign an order for the expulsion of Peeves ... oh, things are going to be very different around here with her in charge ...’

Umbridge had obviously gone to some lengths to get Filch on her side, Harry thought, and the worst of it was that he would probably prove an important weapon; his knowledge of the school's secret passageways and hiding

places was probably second only to that of the Weasley twins.

‘Here we are,’ he said, leering down at Harry as he rapped three times on Professor Umbridge's door and pushed it open. ‘The Potter boy to see you, Ma'am.’

Umbridge's office, so very familiar to Harry from his many detentions, was the same as usual except for the large wooden block lying across the front of her desk on which golden letters spelled the word: HEADMISTRESS.

Also, his Firebolt and Fred and George's Cleansweeps, which he saw with a pang, were chained and padlocked to a stout iron peg in the wall behind the desk.

Umbridge was sitting behind the desk, busily scribbling on some of her pink parchment, but she looked up and smiled widely at their entrance.

‘Thank you, Argus,’ she said sweetly.

‘Not at all, Ma'am, not at all,’ said Filch, bowing as low as his rheumatism would permit, and exiting backwards.

‘Sit,’ said Umbridge curtly, pointing towards a chair. Harry sat. She continued to scribble for a few moments. He watched some of the foul kittens gambolling around the plates over her head, wondering what fresh horror she

had in store for him.

‘Well, now,’ she said finally, setting down her quill and surveying him complacently, like a toad about to swallow a particularly juicy fly. ‘What would you like to drink?’

‘What? said Harry, quite sure he had misheard her.

‘To drink, Mr Potter,’ she said, smiling still more widely. Tea? Coffee? Pumpkin juice?’

As she named each drink, she gave her short wand a wave, and a cup or glass of it appeared on her desk.

‘Nothing, thank you,’ said Harry.

‘I wish you to have a drink with me,’ she said, her voice becoming dangerously sweet. ‘Choose one.’

‘Fine ... tea then,’ said Harry shrugging.

She got up and made quite a performance of adding milk with her back to him. She then bustled around the desk with it, smiling in a sinisterly sweet fashion.

‘There,’ she said, handing it to him. ‘Drink it before it gets cold, won't you? Well, now, Mr Potter ... I thought we ought to have a little chat, after the distressing events of last night.’

He said nothing. She settled herself back into her seat and waited. When several long moments had passed in silence, she said gaily, ‘You're not drinking up!’

He raised the cup to his lips and then, just as suddenly, lowered it. One of the horrible painted kittens behind Umbridge had great round blue eyes just like Mad-Eye Moody's magical one and it had just occurred to Harry what

Mad-Eye would say if he ever heard that Harry had drunk anything offered by a known enemy.

‘What's the matter?’ said Umbridge, who was still watching him closely. ‘Do you want sugar?’

‘No,’ said Harry.

He raised the cup to his lips again and pretended to take a sip, though keeping his mouth tightly closed. Umbridge's smile widened.





60.
Good,’ she whispered. ‘Very good. Now then ...’ She leaned forwards a little. ‘Where is Albus Dumbledore?’

‘No idea,’ said Harry promptly.

‘Drink up, drink up,’ she said, still smiling. ‘Now, Mr. Potter, let us not play childish games. I know that you know where he has gone. You and Dumbledore have been in this together from the beginning. Consider your position,

Mr. Potter ...’

‘I don't know where he is,’ Harry repeated.

He pretended to drink again. She was watching him very closely.

‘Very well,’ she said, though she looked displeased. ‘In that case, you will kindly tell me the whereabouts of Sirius Black.’

Harry's stomach turned over and his hand holding the teacup shook so that it rattled in its saucer. He tilted the cup to his mouth with his lips pressed together, so that some of the hot liquid trickled down on to his robes.

‘I don't know,’ he said, a little too quickly.

‘Mr. Potter,’ said Umbridge, ‘let me remind you that it was I who almost caught the criminal Black in the Gryffindor fire in October. I know perfectly well it was you he was meeting and if I had had any proof neither of you would

be at large today, I promise you. I repeat, Mr. Potter ... where is Sirius Black?’

‘No idea,’ said Harry loudly. ‘Haven't got a clue.’

They stared at each other so long that Harry felt his eyes watering. Then Umbridge stood up.

‘Very well, Potter, I will take your word for it this time, but be warned: the might of the Ministry stands behind me. All channels of communication in and out of this school are being monitored. A Floo Network Regulator is

keeping watch over every fire in Hogwarts—except my own, of course. My Inquisitorial Squad is opening and reading all owl post entering and leaving the castle. And Mr. Filch is observing all secret passages in and out of the

castle. If I find a shred of evidence ...’

BOOM!

The very floor of the office shook. Umbridge slipped sideways, clutching her desk for support, and looking shocked.

‘What was—?’

She was gazing towards the door. Harry took the opportunity to empty his almost-full cup of tea into the nearest vase of dried flowers. He could hear people running and screaming several floors below.

‘Back to lunch you go, Potter!’ cried Umbridge, raising her wand and dashing out of the office. Harry gave her a few seconds’ start, then hurried after her to see what the source of all the uproar was.

It was not difficult to find. One floor down, pandemonium reigned. Somebody (and Harry had a very shrewd idea who) had set off what seemed to be an enormous crate of enchanted fireworks.

Dragons comprised entirely of green and gold sparks were soaring up and down the corridors, emitting loud fiery blasts and bangs as they went; shocking-pink Catherine wheels five feet in diameter were whizzing lethally

through the air like so many flying saucers; rockets with long tails of brilliant silver stars were ricocheting off the walls; sparklers were writing swear words in midair of their own accord; firecrackers were exploding like mines

everywhere Harry looked, and instead of burning themselves out, fading from sight or fizzling to a halt, these pyrotechnical miracles seemed to be gaining in energy and momentum the longer he watched.







61.Filch and Umbridge were standing, apparently transfixed in horror, halfway down the stairs. As Harry watched, one of the larger Catherine wheels seemed to decide that what it needed was more room to manoeuvre; it

whirled towards Umbridge and Filch with a sinister ‘wheeeeeeeeee'. They both yelled with fright and ducked, and it soared straight out of the window behind them and off across the grounds. Meanwhile, several of the dragons

and a large purple bat that was smoking ominously took advantage of the open door at the end of the corridor to escape towards the second floor.

‘Hurry, Filch, hurry!’ shrieked Umbridge, ‘they'll be all over the school unless we do something—Stupefy!’

A jet of red light shot out of the end of her wand and hit one of the rockets. Instead of freezing in midair, it exploded with such force that it blasted a hole in a painting of a soppy-looking witch in the middle of a meadow; she

ran for it just in time, reappearing seconds later squashed into the next painting, where a couple of wizards playing cards stood up hastily to make room for her.

‘Don't Stun them, Filch!’ shouted Umbridge angrily, for all the world as though it had been his incantation.

‘Right you are, Headmistress!’ wheezed Filch, who as a Squib could no more have Stunned the fireworks than swallowed them. He dashed to a nearby cupboard, pulled out a broom and began swatting at the fireworks in

midair; within seconds the head of the broom was ablaze.

Harry had seen enough; laughing, he ducked down low, ran to a door he knew was concealed behind a tapestry a little way along the corridor and slipped through it to find Fred and George hiding just behind it, listening to

Umbridge and Filch's yells and quaking with suppressed mirth.

‘Impressive,’ Harry said quietly, grinning. ‘Very impressive ... you'll put Dr. Filibuster out of business, no problem ...’

‘Cheers,’ whispered George, wiping tears of laughter from his face. ‘Oh, I hope she tries Vanishing them next ... they multiply by ten every time you try.’

The fireworks continued to burn and to spread all over the school that afternoon. Though they caused plenty of disruption, particularly the firecrackers, the other teachers didn't seem to mind them very much.

‘Dear, dear,’ said Professor McGonagall sardonically, as one of the dragons soared around her classroom, emitting loud bangs and exhaling flame. ‘Miss Brown, would you mind running along to the Headmistress and

informing her that we have an escaped firework in our classroom?’

The upshot of it all was that Professor Umbridge spent her first afternoon as Headmistress running all over the school answering the summonses of the other teachers, none of whom seemed able to rid their rooms of the

fireworks without her. When the final bell rang and they were heading back to Gryffindor Tower with their bags, Harry saw, with immense satisfaction, a dishevelled and soot-blackened Umbridge tottering sweaty-faced from

Professor Flitwick's classroom.

‘Thank you so much, Professor!’ said Professor Flitwick in his squeaky little voice. ‘I could have got rid of the sparklers myself, of course, but I wasn't sure whether or not I had the authority.’

Beaming, he closed his classroom door in her snarling face.

Fred and George were heroes that night in the Gryffindor common room. Even Hermione fought her way through the excited crowd to congratulate them.

‘They were wonderful fireworks,’ she said admiringly.

‘Thanks,’ said George, looking both surprised and pleased. ‘Weasleys’ Wildfire Whiz-bangs. Only thing is, we used our whole stock; we're going to have to start again from scratch now.’

‘It was worth it, though,’ said Fred, who was taking orders from clamouring Gryffindors. ‘If you want to add your name to the waiting list, Hermione, it's five Galleons for your Basic Blaze box and twenty for the Deflagration

Deluxe ...’

Hermione returned to the table where Harry and Ron were sitting staring at their schoolbags as though hoping their homework would spring out and start doing itself.

‘Oh, why don't we have a night off?’ said Hermione brightly, as a silver-tailed Weasley rocket zoomed past the window. ‘After all, the Easter holidays start on Friday, we'll have plenty of time then.’

‘Are you feeling all right?’ Ron asked, staring at her in disbelief.

‘Now you mention it,’ said Hermione happily, ‘d'you know ... I think I'm feeling a bit ... rebellious.’

Harry could still hear the distant bangs of escaped firecrackers when he and Ron went up to bed an hour later; and as he got undressed a sparkler floated past the tower, still resolutely spelling out the word ‘POO'.

He got into bed, yawning. With his glasses off, the occasional firework passing the window had become blurred, looking like sparkling clouds, beautiful and mysterious against the black sky. He turned on to his side, wondering

how Umbridge was feeling about her first day in Dumbledore's job, and how Fudge would react when he heard that the school had spent most of the day in a state of advanced disruption. Smiling to himself, Harry closed his

eyes ...

The whizzes and bangs of escaped fireworks in the grounds seemed to be growing more distant ... or perhaps he was simply speeding away from them ...

He had fallen right into the corridor leading to the Department of Mysteries. He was speeding towards the plain black door ... let it open ... let it open ...







62.
It did. He was inside the circular room lined with doors ... he crossed it, placed his hand on an identical door and it swung inwards ...

Now he was in a long, rectangular room full of an odd mechanical clicking. There were dancing flecks of light on the walls but he did not pause to investigate ... he had to go on ...

There was a door at the far end ... it, too, opened at his touch ...

And now he was in a dimly lit room as high and wide as a church, full of nothing but rows and rows of towering shelves, each laden with small, dusty, spun-glass spheres ... now Harry's heart was beating fast with excitement ...

he knew where to go ... he ran forwards, but his footsteps made no noise in the enormous, deserted room ...

There was something in this room he wanted very, very much ...

Something he wanted ... or somebody else wanted ...

His scar was hurting ...

BANG!

Harry awoke instantly, confused and angry. The dark dormitory was full of the sound of laughter.

‘Cool!’ said Seamus, who was silhouetted against the window. ‘I think one of those Catherine wheels hit a rocket and it's like they mated, come and see!’

Harry heard Ron and Dean scramble out of bed for a better look. He lay quite still and silent while the pain in his scar subsided and disappointment washed over him. He felt as though a wonderful treat had been snatched

from him at the very last moment ... he had got so close that time.

Glittering pink and silver winged piglets were now soaring past the windows of Gryffindor Tower. Harry lay and listened to the appreciative whoops of Gryffindors in the dormitories below them. His stomach gave a sickening jolt

as he remembered that he had Occlumency the following evening.

Harry spent the whole of the next day dreading what Snape was going to say if he found out how much further into the Department of Mysteries Harry had penetrated during his last dream. With a surge of guilt he realised that

he had not practised Occlumency once since their last lesson: there had been too much going on since Dumbledore had left; he was sure he would not have been able to empty his mind even if he had tried. He doubted,

however, whether Snape would accept that excuse.

He attempted a little last-minute practice during classes that day, but it was no good. Hermione kept asking him what was wrong whenever he fell silent trying to rid himself of all thought and emotion and, after all, the best

moment to empty his brain was not while teachers were firing revision questions at the class.

Resigned to the worst, he set off for Snape's office after dinner. Halfway across the Entrance Hall, however, Cho came hurrying up to him.

‘Over here,’ said Harry, glad of a reason to postpone his meeting with Snape, and beckoning her across to the corner of the Entrance Hall where the giant hour-glasses stood. Gryffindor's was now almost empty. ‘Are you OK?

Umbridge hasn't been asking you about the DA, has she?’

‘Oh, no,’ said Cho hurriedly. ‘No, it was only ... well, I just wanted to say ... Harry, I never dreamed Marietta would tell . .’

‘Yeah, well,’ said Harry moodily. He did feel Cho might have chosen her friends a bit more carefully; it was small consolation that the last he had heard, Marietta was still up in the hospital wing and Madam Pomfrey had not

been able to make the slightest improvement to her pimples.

‘She's a lovely person really,’ said Cho. ‘She just made a mistake—’

Harry looked at her incredulously.

‘A lovely person who made a mistake?She sold us all out, including you!’

‘Well ... we all got away, didn't we?’ said Cho pleadingly. ‘You know, her mum works for the Ministry, it's really difficult for her—’

‘Ron's dad works for the Ministry too!’ Harry said furiously. ‘And in case you hadn't noticed, he hasn't got sneak written across his face—’

‘That was a really horrible trick of Hermione Granger's,’ said Cho fiercely. ‘She should have told us she'd jinxed that list—’

‘I think it was a brilliant idea,’ said Harry coldly. Cho flushed and her eyes grew brighter.

‘Oh yes, I forgot —of course, if it was darling Hermione‘s idea—’

‘Don't start crying again,’ said Harry warningly.

‘I wasn't going to!’ she shouted.

‘Yeah ... well ... good,’ he said. ‘I've got enough to cope with at the moment.’

‘Go and cope with it then!’ Cho said furiously, turning on her heel and stalking off.

Fuming, Harry descended the stairs to Snape's dungeon and, though he knew from experience how much easier it would be for Snape to penetrate his mind if he arrived angry and resentful, he succeeded in nothing but

thinking of a few more things he should have said to Cho about Marietta before reaching the dungeon door.

‘You're late, Potter,’ said Snape coldly, as Harry closed the door behind him.

Snape was standing with his back to Harry, removing, as usual, certain of his thoughts and placing them carefully in Dumbledore's Pensieve. He dropped the last silvery strand into the stone basin and turned to face Harry.

‘So,’ he said. ‘Have you been practising?’

‘Yes,’ Harry lied, looking carefully at one of the legs of Snape's desk.

‘Well, we'll soon find out, won't we?’ said Snape smoothly. ‘Wand out, Potter.’

Harry moved into his usual position, facing Snape with the desk between them. His heart was pumping last with anger at Cho and anxiety about how much Snape was about to extract from his mind.

‘On the count of three then,’ said Snape lazily. ‘One—two—’

Snape's office door banged open and Draco Malfoy sped in.