A streak of silver light flashed around the room; there was a bang like a gunshot and the floor trembled; a hand grabbed the scruff of Harry’s neck and forced him down on the floor as a second silver flash went off; several of the portraits yelled, Fawkes screeched and a cloud of dust filled the air. Coughing in the dust, Harry saw a dark figure fall to the ground with a crash in front of him; there was a shriek and a thud and somebody cried, “No!”; then there was the sound of breaking glass, frantically scuffling footsteps, a groan… and silence.
Harry struggled around to see who was half-strangling him and saw Professor McGonagall crouched beside him; she had forced both him and Marietta out of harm’s way. Dust was still floating gently down through the air on to them. Panting slightly, Harry saw a very tall figure moving towards them.
“Are you all right?” Dumbledore asked.
“Yes!” said Professor McGonagall, getting up and dragging Harry and Marietta with her.
The dust was clearing. The wreckage of the office loomed into view: Dumbledore’s desk had been overturned, all of the spindly tables had been knocked to the floor, their silver instruments in pieces. Fudge, Umbridge, Kingsley and Dawlish lay motionless on the floor. Fawkes the phoenix soared in wide circles above them, singing softly.
“Unfortunately, I had to hex Kingsley too, or it would have looked very suspicious,” said Dumbledore in a low voice. “He was remarkably quick on the uptake, modifying Miss Edgecombe’s memory like that while everyone was looking the other way—thank him, for me, won’t you, Minerva?
“Now, they will all awake very soon and it will be best if they do not know that we had time to communicate—you must act as though no time has passed, as though they were merely knocked to the ground, they will not remember—”
“Where will you go, Dumbledore?” whispered Professor McGonagall. “Grimmauld Place?”
“Oh no,” said Dumbledore, with a grim smile, “I am not leaving to go into hiding. Fudge will soon wish he’d never dislodged me from Hogwarts, I promise you.”
“Professor Dumbledore…” Harry began.
He did not know what to say first: how sorry he was that he had started the D.A. in the first place and caused all this trouble, or how terrible he felt that Dumbledore was leaving to save him from expulsion? But Dumbledore cut him off before he could say another word.
“Listen to me, Harry,” he said urgently. “You must study Occlumency as hard as you can, do you understand me? Do everything Professor Snape tells you and practise it particularly every night before sleeping so that you can close your mind to bad dreams—you will understand why soon enough, but you must promise me—”
The man called Dawlish was stirring. Dumbledore seized Harry’s wrist.
“Remember—close your mind—”
But as Dumbledore’s fingers closed over Harry’s skin, a pain shot through the scar on his forehead and he felt again that terrible, snakelike longing to strike Dumbledore, to bite him, to hurt him—
“—you will understand,” whispered Dumbledore.
Fawkes circled the office and swooped low over him. Dumbledore released Harry, raised his hand and grasped the phoenix’s long golden tail. There was a flash of fire and the pair of them were gone.
“Where is he?” yelled Fudge, pushing himself up from the floor. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know!” shouted Kingsley, also leaping to his feet.
“Well, he can’t have Disapparated!” cried Umbridge. “You can’t do it from inside this school—”
“The stairs!” cried Dawlish, and he flung himself upon the door, wrenched it open and disappeared, followed closely by Kingsley and Umbridge. Fudge hesitated, then got slowly to his feet, brushing dust from his front. There was a long and painful silence.
“Well, Minerva,” said Fudge nastily, straightening his torn shirtsleeve, “I’m afraid this is the end of your friend Dumbledore.”
“You think so, do you?” said Professor McGonagall scornfully.
Fudge seemed not to hear her. He was looking around at the wrecked office. A few of the portraits hissed at him; one or two even made rude hand gestures.
“You’d better get those two off to bed,” said Fudge, looking back at Professor McGonagall with a dismissive nod towards Harry and Marietta.
Professor McGonagall said nothing, but marched Harry and Marietta to the door. As it swung closed behind them, Harry heard Phineas Nigellus’s voice.
“You know, Minister, I disagree with Dumbledore on many counts… but you cannot deny he’s got style…”
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?”
Draco Malfoy had slid out from behind the door, closely followed by Crabbe and Goyle. His pale, pointed face was alight with malice.
“Afraid I’m going to have to dock a few points from Gryffindor 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 Malfoy. 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 shirts untucked, so I’ll have another five for that. Oh yeah, I forgot, you’re a Mudblood, Granger, so ten off for that.”