Harry Potter 05 - Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

set free whether they wanted to be or not, Harry uncorked his ink bottle, dipped his quill into it, then held it suspended an inch above the smooth yellowish surface of his parchment, thinking hard … but after a minute or so he found himself staring into the empty grate, at a complete loss for what to say.
    He could now appreciate how hard it had been for Ron and Hermione to write him letters over the summer. How was he supposed to tell Sirius everything that had happened over the past week and pose all the questions he was burning to ask without giving potential letter-thieves a lot of information he did not want them to have?
    He sat quite motionless for a while, gazing into the fireplace, then, finally coming to a decision, he dipped his quill into the ink bottle once more and set it resolutely on the parchment.
     
    Dear Snuffles,
    Hope you’re OK, the first week back here’s been terrible, I’m really glad it’s the weekend.
    We’ve got a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Umbridge. She’s nearly as nice as your mum. I’m writing because that thing I wrote to you about last summer happened again last night when I was doing a detention with Umbridge.
    We’re all missing our biggest friend, we hope he’ll be back soon.
    Please write back quickly.
    Best,
    Harry
     
    Harry reread the letter several times, trying to see it from the point of view of an outsider. He could not see how they would know what he was talking about – or who he was talking to – just from reading this letter. He did hope Sirius would pick up the hint about Hagrid and tell them when he might be back. Harry did not want to ask directly in case it drew too much attention to what Hagrid might be up to while he was not at Hogwarts.
    Considering it was a very short letter, it had taken a long time to write; sunlight had crept halfway across the room while he had been working on it and he could now hear distant sounds of movement from the dormitories above. Sealing the parchment carefully, he climbed through the portrait hole and headed off for the Owlery.
    ‘I would not go that way if I were you,’ said Nearly Headless Nick, drifting disconcertingly through a wall just ahead of Harry as he walked down the passage. ‘Peeves is planning an amusing joke on the next person to pass the bust of Paracelsus halfway down the corridor.’
    ‘Does it involve Paracelsus falling on top of the person’s head?’ asked Harry.
    ‘Funnily enough, it does ,’ said Nearly Headless Nick in a bored voice. ‘Subtlety has never been Peeves’s strong point. I’m off to try and find the Bloody Baron … he might be able to put a stop to it … see you, Harry …’
    ‘Yeah, bye,’ said Harry and instead of turning right, he turned left, taking a longer but safer route up to the Owlery. His spirits rose as he walked past window after window showing brilliantly blue sky; he had training later, he would be back on the Quidditch pitch at last.
    Something brushed his ankles. He looked down and saw the caretaker’s skeletal grey cat, Mrs Norris, slinking past him. She turned lamplike yellow eyes on him for a moment before disappearing behind a statue of Wilfred the Wistful.
    ‘I’m not doing anything wrong,’ Harry called after her. She had the unmistakeable air of a cat that was off to report to her boss, yet Harry could not see why; he was perfectly entitled to walk up to the Owlery on a Saturday morning.
    The sun was high in the sky now and when Harry entered the Owlery the glassless windows dazzled his eyes; thick silvery beams of sunlight criss-crossed the circular room in which hundreds of owls nestled on rafters, a little restless in the early-morning light, some clearly just returned from hunting. The straw-covered floor crunched a little as he stepped across tiny animal bones, craning his neck for a sight of Hedwig.
    ‘There you are,’ he said, spotting her somewhere near the very top of the vaulted ceiling. ‘Get down here, I’ve got a letter for you.’
    With a low hoot she stretched her great white wings and soared down on to his shoulder.
    ‘Right, I know this says Snuffles on the outside,’ he told her, giving her the letter to clasp in her beak and, without knowing exactly why, whispering, ‘but it’s for Sirius, OK?’
    She blinked her amber eyes once and he took that to mean that she understood.
    ‘Safe flight, then,’ said Harry and he carried her to one of the windows; with a moment’s pressure on his