Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (27 page)

‘Well, what does that mean?’ said Ron impatiently.

‘I’ll tell you what it means,’ said Hermione ominously. ‘It means the Ministry’s interfering at Hogwarts.’

There was a great clattering and banging all around them; Dumbledore had obviously just dismissed the school, because everyone was standing up ready to leave the Hall. Hermione jumped up, looking flustered.

‘Ron, we’re supposed to show the first-years where to go!’

‘Oh yeah,’ said Ron, who had obviously forgotten. ‘Hey – hey, you lot! Midgets!’

‘Ron!’

‘Well, they are, they’re titchy …’

‘I know, but you can’t call them midgets! – First-years!’ Hermione called commandingly along the table. ‘This way, please!’

A group of new students walked shyly up the gap between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables, all of them trying hard not to lead the group. They did indeed seem very small; Harry was sure he had not appeared that young when he had arrived here. He grinned at them. A blond boy next to Euan Abercrombie looked petrified; he nudged Euan and whispered something in his ear. Euan Abercrombie looked equally frightened and stole a horrified look at Harry, who felt the grin slide off his face like Stinksap.

‘See you later,’ he said to Ron and Hermione and he made his way out of the Great Hall alone, doing everything he could to ignore more whispering, staring and pointing as he passed. He kept his eyes fixed ahead as he wove his way through the crowd in the Entrance Hall, then he hurried up the marble staircase, took a couple of concealed short cuts and had soon left most of the crowds behind.

He had been stupid not to expect this, he thought angrily as he walked through the much emptier upstairs corridors. Of course everyone was staring at him; he had emerged from the Triwizard maze two months previously clutching the dead body of a fellow student and claiming to have seen Lord Voldemort return to power. There had not been time last term to explain himself before they’d all had to go home – even if he had felt up to giving the whole school a detailed account of the terrible events in that graveyard.

Harry had reached the end of the corridor to the Gryffindor common room and come to a halt in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady before he realised that he did not know the new password.

‘Er …’ he said glumly, staring up at the Fat Lady, who smoothed the folds of her pink satin dress and looked sternly back at him.

‘No password, no entrance,’ she said loftily.

‘Harry, I know it!’ Someone panted up behind him and he turned to see Neville jogging towards him. ‘Guess what it is? I’m actually going to be able to remember it for once –’ He waved the stunted little cactus he had shown them on the train. ‘
Mimbulus mimbletonia
!’

‘Correct,’ said the Fat Lady, and her portrait swung open towards them like a door, revealing a circular hole in the wall behind, through which Harry and Neville now climbed.

The Gryffindor common room looked as welcoming as ever, a cosy circular tower room full of dilapidated squashy armchairs and rickety old tables. A fire was crackling merrily in the grate and a few people were warming their hands by it before going up to their dormitories; on the other side of the room Fred and George Weasley were pinning something up on the noticeboard. Harry waved good-night to them and headed straight for the door to the boys’ dormitories; he was not in much of a mood for talking at the moment. Neville followed him.

Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan had reached the dormitory first and were in the process of covering the walls beside their beds with posters and photographs. They had been talking as Harry pushed open the door but stopped abruptly the moment they saw him. Harry wondered whether they had been talking about him, then whether he was being paranoid.

‘Hi,’ he said, moving across to his own trunk and opening it.

‘Hey, Harry,’ said Dean, who was putting on a pair of pyjamas in the West Ham colours. ‘Good holiday?’

‘Not bad,’ muttered Harry, as a true account of his holiday would have taken most of the night to relate and he could not face it. ‘You?’

‘Yeah, it was OK,’ chuckled Dean. ‘Better than Seamus’s, anyway, he was just telling me.’

‘Why, what happened, Seamus?’ Neville asked as he placed his
Mimbulus mimbletonia
tenderly on his bedside cabinet.

Seamus did not answer immediately; he was making rather a meal of ensuring that his poster of the Kenmare Kestrels Quidditch team was quite straight. Then he said, with his back still turned to Harry, ‘Me mam didn’t want me to come back.’

‘What?’ said Harry, pausing in the act of pulling off his robes.

‘She didn’t want me to come back to Hogwarts.’

Seamus turned away from his poster and pulled his own pyjamas out of his trunk, still not looking at Harry.

‘But – why?’ said Harry, astonished. He knew that Seamus’s mother was a witch and could not understand, therefore, why she should have come over so Dursleyish.

Seamus did not answer until he had finished buttoning his pyjamas.

‘Well,’ he said in a measured voice, ‘I suppose … because of you.’

‘What d’you mean?’ said Harry quickly.

His heart was beating rather fast. He felt vaguely as though something was closing in on him.

‘Well,’ said Seamus again, still avoiding Harry’s eye, ‘she … er … well, it’s not just you, it’s Dumbledore, too …’

‘She believes the
Daily Prophet
?’ said Harry. ‘She thinks I’m a liar and Dumbledore’s an old fool?’

Seamus looked up at him.

‘Yeah, something like that.’

Harry said nothing. He threw his wand down on to his bedside table, pulled off his robes, stuffed them angrily into his trunk and pulled on his pyjamas. He was sick of it; sick of being the person who is stared at and talked about all the time. If any of them knew, if any of them had the faintest idea what it felt like to be the one all these things had happened to … Mrs Finnigan had no idea, the stupid woman, he thought savagely.

He got into bed and made to pull the hangings closed around him, but before he could do so, Seamus said, ‘Look … what
did
happen that night when … you know, when … with Cedric Diggory and all?’

Seamus sounded nervous and eager at the same time. Dean, who had been bending over his trunk trying to retrieve a slipper, went oddly still and Harry knew he was listening hard.

‘What are you asking me for?’ Harry retorted. ‘Just read the
Daily Prophet
like your mother, why don’t you? That’ll tell you all you need to know.’

‘Don’t you have a go at my mother,’ Seamus snapped.

‘I’ll have a go at anyone who calls me a liar,’ said Harry.

‘Don’t talk to me like that!’

‘I’ll talk to you how I want,’ said Harry, his temper rising so fast he snatched his wand back from his bedside table. ‘If you’ve got a problem sharing a dormitory with me, go and ask McGonagall if you can be moved … stop your mummy worrying –’

‘Leave my mother out of this, Potter!’

‘What’s going on?’

Ron had appeared in the doorway. His wide eyes travelled from Harry, who was kneeling on his bed with his wand pointing at Seamus, to Seamus, who was standing there with his fists raised.

‘He’s having a go at my mother!’ Seamus yelled.

‘What?’ said Ron. ‘Harry wouldn’t do that – we met your mother, we liked her …’

‘That’s before she started believing every word the stinking
Daily Prophet
writes about me!’ said Harry at the top of his voice.

‘Oh,’ said Ron, comprehension dawning across his freckled face. ‘Oh … right.’

‘You know what?’ said Seamus heatedly, casting Harry a venomous look. ‘He’s right, I don’t want to share a dormitory with him any more, he’s mad.’

‘That’s out of order, Seamus,’ said Ron, whose ears were starting to glow red – always a danger sign.

‘Out of order, am I?’ shouted Seamus, who in contrast with Ron was going pale. ‘You believe all the rubbish he’s come out with about You-Know-Who, do you, you reckon he’s telling the truth?’

‘Yeah, I do!’ said Ron angrily.

‘Then you’re mad, too,’ said Seamus in disgust.

‘Yeah? Well, unfortunately for you, pal, I’m also a prefect!’ said Ron, jabbing himself in the chest with a finger. ‘So unless you want detention, watch your mouth!’

Seamus looked for a few seconds as though detention would be a reasonable price to pay to say what was going through his mind; but with a noise of contempt he turned on his heel, vaulted into bed and pulled the hangings shut with such violence that they were ripped from the bed and fell in a dusty pile to the floor. Ron glared at Seamus, then looked at Dean and Neville.

‘Anyone else’s parents got a problem with Harry?’ he said aggressively.

‘My parents are Muggles, mate,’ said Dean, shrugging. ‘They don’t know nothing about no deaths at Hogwarts, because I’m not stupid enough to tell them.’

‘You don’t know my mother, she’d weasel anything out of anyone!’ Seamus snapped at him. ‘Anyway, your parents don’t get the
Daily Prophet
. They don’t know our Headmaster’s been sacked from the Wizengamot and the International Confederation of Wizards because he’s losing his marbles –’

‘My gran says that’s rubbish,’ piped up Neville. ‘She says it’s the
Daily Prophet
that’s going downhill, not Dumbledore. She’s cancelled our subscription. We believe Harry,’ said Neville simply. He climbed into bed and pulled the covers up to his chin, looking owlishly over them at Seamus. ‘My gran’s always said You-Know-Who would come back one day. She says if Dumbledore says he’s back, he’s back.’

Harry felt a rush of gratitude towards Neville. Nobody else said anything. Seamus got out his wand, repaired the bed hangings and vanished behind them. Dean got into bed, rolled over and fell silent. Neville, who appeared to have nothing more to say either, was gazing fondly at his moonlit cactus.

Harry lay back on his pillows while Ron bustled around the next bed, putting his things away. He felt shaken by the argument with Seamus, whom he had always liked very much. How many more people were going to suggest that he was lying, or unhinged?

Had Dumbledore suffered like this all summer, as first the Wizengamot, then the International Confederation of Wizards had thrown him from their ranks? Was it anger at Harry, perhaps, that had stopped Dumbledore getting in touch with him for months? The two of them were in this together, after all; Dumbledore had believed Harry, announced his version of events to the whole school and then to the wider wizarding community. Anyone who thought Harry was a liar had to think that Dumbledore was, too, or else that Dumbledore had been hoodwinked …

They’ll know we’re right in the end, thought Harry miserably, as Ron got into bed and extinguished the last candle in the dormitory. But he wondered how many more attacks like Seamus’s he would have to endure before that time came.

Seamus dressed at top speed next morning and left the dormitory before Harry had even put on his socks.

‘Does he think he’ll turn into a nutter if he stays in a room with me too long?’ asked Harry loudly, as the hem of Seamus’s robes whipped out of sight.

‘Don’t worry about it, Harry,’ Dean muttered, hoisting his schoolbag on to his shoulder, ‘he’s just …’

But apparently he was unable to say exactly what Seamus was, and after a slightly awkward pause followed him out of the room.

Neville and Ron both gave Harry an it’s-his-problem-not-yours look, but Harry was not much consoled. How much more of this would he have to take?

‘What’s the matter?’ asked Hermione five minutes later, catching up with Harry and Ron halfway across the common room as they all headed towards breakfast. ‘You look absolutely – Oh for heaven’s sake.’

She was staring at the common-room noticeboard, where a large new sign had been put up.

GALLONS OF GALLEONS!

Pocket money failing to keep pace with your outgoings? Like to earn a little extra gold?

Contact Fred and George Weasley, Gryffindor common room, for simple, part-time, virtually painless jobs.

(We regret that all work is undertaken at applicant’s own risk.)

‘They are the limit,’ said Hermione grimly, taking down the sign, which Fred and George had pinned up over a poster giving the date of the first Hogsmeade weekend, which was to be in October. ‘We’ll have to talk to them, Ron.’

Ron looked positively alarmed.

‘Why?’

‘Because we’re prefects!’ said Hermione, as they climbed out through the portrait hole. ‘It’s up to us to stop this kind of thing!’

Ron said nothing; Harry could tell from his glum expression that the prospect of stopping Fred and George doing exactly what they liked was not one he found inviting.

‘Anyway, what’s up, Harry?’ Hermione continued, as they walked down a flight of stairs lined with portraits of old witches and wizards, all of whom ignored them, being engrossed in their own conversation. ‘You look really angry about something.’

‘Seamus reckons Harry’s lying about You-Know-Who,’ said Ron succinctly, when Harry did not respond.

Hermione, who Harry had expected to react angrily on his behalf, sighed.

‘Yes, Lavender thinks so too,’ she said gloomily.

‘Been having a nice little chat with her about whether or not I’m a lying, attention-seeking prat, have you?’ Harry said loudly.

‘No,’ said Hermione calmly. ‘I told her to keep her big fat mouth shut about you, actually. And it would be quite nice if you stopped jumping down our throats, Harry, because in case you haven’t noticed, Ron and I are on your side.’

There was a short pause.

‘Sorry,’ said Harry in a low voice.

‘That’s quite all right,’ said Hermione with dignity. Then she shook her head. ‘Don’t you remember what Dumbledore said at the last end-of-term feast?’

Harry and Ron both looked at her blankly and Hermione sighed again.

‘About You-Know-Who. He said his “gift for spreading discord and enmity is very great. We can fight it only by showing an equally strong bond of friendship and trust –”’