“Madam Pomfrey says she’s just in shock,” whispered Hermione.
“Sulking, more like,” said Ginny.
“Yeah, she shows signs of life if you do this,” said Ron, and with his tongue he made soft clip-clopping noises. Umbridge sat bolt upright, looking around wildly.
“Anything wrong, Professor?” called Madam Pomfrey, poking her head around her office door.
“No… no…” said Umbridge, sinking back into her pillows. “No, I must have been dreaming…”
Hermione and Ginny muffled their laughter in the bedclothes.
“Speaking of centaurs,” said Hermione, when she had recovered a little, “who’s Divination teacher now? Is Firenze staying?”
“He’s got to,” said Harry, “the other centaurs won’t take him back, will they?”
“It looks like he and Trelawney are both going to teach,” said Ginny.
“Bet Dumbledore wishes he could’ve got rid of Trelawney for good,” said Ron, now munching on his fourteenth Frog. “Mind you, the whole subject’s useless if you ask me, Firenze isn’t a lot better…”
“How can you say that?” Hermione demanded. “After we’ve just found out that there are real prophecies?”
Harry’s heart began to race. He had not told Ron, Hermione or anyone else what the prophecy had contained. Neville had told them it had smashed while Harry was pulling him up the steps in the Death Room and Harry had not yet corrected this impression. He was not ready to see their expressions when he told them that he must be either murderer or victim, there was no other way…
“It is a pity it broke,” said Hermione quietly, shaking her head.
“Yeah, it is,” said Ron. “Still, at least You-Know-Who never found out what was in it either—where are you going?” he added, looking both surprised and disappointed as Harry stood up.
“Er—Hagrid’s,” said Harry. “You know, he just got back and I promised I’d go down and see him and tell him how you two are.”
“Oh, all right then,” said Ron grumpily, looking out of the dormitory window at the patch of bright blue sky beyond. “Wish we could come.”
“Say hello to him fir us!” called Hermione, as Harry proceeded down the ward. “And ask him what’s happening about… about his little friend!”
Harry gave a wave of his hand to show he had heard and understood as he left the dormitory.
The castle seemed very quiet even for a Sunday. Everybody was clearly out in the sunny grounds, enjoying the end of their exams and the prospect of a last few days of term unhampered by revision or homework. Harry walked slowly along the deserted corridor, peering out of windows as he went; he could see people messing around in the air over the Quidditch pitch and a couple of students swimming in the lake, accompanied by the giant squid.
He was finding it hard to decide whether he wanted to be with people or not; whenever he was in company he wanted to get away and whenever he was alone he wanted company. He thought he might really go and visit Hagrid, though, as he had not talked to him properly since he’d returned…
Harry had just descended the last marble step into the Entrance Hall when Malloy, Crabbe and Goyle emerged from a door on the right that Harry knew led down to the Slytherin common room. Harry stopped dead; so did Malfoy and the others. The only sounds were the shouts, laughter and splashes drifting into the Hall from the grounds through the open front doors.
Malfoy glanced around—Harry knew he was checking for signs of teachers—then he looked back at Harry and said in a low voice, “You’re dead, Potter.”
Harry raised his eyebrows.
“Funny,” he said, “you’d think I’d have stopped walking around…”
Malloy looked angrier than Harry had ever seen him; he felt a kind of detached satisfaction at the sight of his pale, pointed face contorted with rage.
“You’re going to pay,” said Malloy in a voice barely louder than a whisper. “I’m going to make you pay for what you’ve done to my father…”
“Well, I’m terrified now,” said Harry sarcastically. “I ’s’pose Lord Voldemort’s just a warm-up act compared to you three—what’s the matter?” he added, for Malfoy Crabbe and Goyle had all looked stricken at the sound of the name. “He’s a mate of your dad, isn’t he? Not scared of him, are you?”
“You think you’re such a big man, Potter,” said Malfoy, advancing now, Crabbe and Goyle flanking him. “You wait. I’ll have you. You can’t land my father in prison—”
“I thought I just had,” said Harry.
“The Dementors have left Azkaban,” said Malfoy quietly. “Dad and the others’ll be out in no time…”
“Yeah, I expect they will,” said Harry. “Still, at least everyone knows what scumbags they are now—”
Malfoy’s hand flew towards his wand, but Harry was too quick for him; he had drawn his own wand before Malfoy’s fingers had even entered the pocket of his robes.
“Potter!”
The voice rang across the Entrance Hall. Snape had emerged from the staircase leading down to his office and at the sight of him Harry felt a great rush of hatred beyond anything he felt towards Malloy… whatever Dumbledore said, he would never forgive Snape… never…
“What are you doing, Potter?” said Snape, as coldly as ever, as he strode over to the four of them.
“I’m trying to decide what curse to use on Malloy, sir,” said Harry fiercely.
Snape stared at him.
“Put that wand away at once,” he said curtly. “Ten points from Gryff—”
Snape looked towards the giant hour-glasses on the walls and gave a sneering smile.
“Ah. I see there are no longer any points left in the Gryffindor hour-glass to take away. In that case, Potter, we will simply have to—”
“Add some more?”
Professor McGonagall had just stumped up the stone steps into the castle; she was carrying a tartan carpetbag in one hand and leaning heavily on a walking stick with her other, but otherwise looked quite well.
“Professor McGonagall!” said Snape, striding forwards. “Out of St. Mungo’s, I see!”
“Yes, Professor Snape,” said Professor McGonagall, shrugging off her travelling cloak, “I’m quite as good as new. You two—Crabbe—Goyle—”
She beckoned them forwards imperiously and they came, shuffling their large feet and looking awkward.
“Here,” said Professor McGonagall, thrusting her carpetbag into Crabbe’s chest and her cloak into Goyle’s; “take these up to my office for me.”
They turned and stumped away up the marble staircase.
“Right then,” said Professor McGonagall, looking up at the hourglasses on the wall. “Well, I think Potter and his friends ought to have fifty points apiece for alerting the world to the return of You-Know-Who! What say you, Professor Snape?”
“What?” snapped Snape, though Harry knew he had heard perfectly well. “Oh—well—I suppose…”
“So that’s fifty each for Potter, the two Weasleys, Longbottom and Miss Granger,” said Professor McGanagall, and a shower of rubies fell down into the bottom bulb of Gryffindor’s hour-glass as she spoke. “Oh—and fifty for Miss Lovegood, I suppose,” she added, and a number of sapphires fell into Ravenclaw’s glass. “Now, you wanted to take ten from Mr. Potter, I think, Professor Snape—so there we are…”
A few rubies retreated into the upper bulb, leaving a respectable amount below nevertheless.
“Well, Potter, Malfoy—I think you ought to be outside on a glorious day like this,” Professor McGonagall continued briskly.
Harry did not need telling twice—he thrust his wand back inside his robes and headed straight for the front doors without another glance at Snape and Malfoy.
The hot sun hit him with a blast as he walked across the lawns towards Hagrid’s cabin. Students lying around on the grass sunbathing, talking, reading the Sunday Prophet and eating sweets, looked up at him as he passed; some called out to him, or else waved, clearly eager to show that they, like the Prophet, had decided he was something of a hero. Harry said nothing to any of them. He had no idea how much they knew of what had happened three days ago, but he had so far avoided being questioned and preferred to keep it that way.