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

orange juice; as he had only received one note during the entire year, he was sure, when the first owl landed with a thud in front of him, that it had made a mistake.
    ‘Who’re you after?’ he asked it, languidly removing his orange juice from underneath its beak and leaning forwards to see the recipient’s name and address:
     
    Harry Potter
    Great Hall
    Hogwarts School
     
    Frowning, he made to take the letter from the owl, but before he could do so, three, four, five more owls had fluttered down beside it and were jockeying for position, treading in the butter and knocking over the salt as each one attempted to give him their letter first.
    ‘What’s going on?’ Ron asked in amazement, as the whole of Gryffindor table leaned forwards to watch and another seven owls landed amongst the first ones, screeching, hooting and flapping their wings.
    ‘Harry!’ said Hermione breathlessly, plunging her hands into the feathery mass and pulling out a screech owl bearing a long, cylindrical package. ‘I think I know what this means – open this one first!’
    Harry ripped off the brown packaging. Out rolled a tightly furled copy of the March edition of The Quibbler. He unrolled it to see his own face grinning sheepishly at him from the front cover. In large red letters across this picture were the words:
     
    HARRY POTTER SPEAKS OUT AT LAST: THE TRUTH ABOUT HE WHO MUST NOT BE NAMED AND THE NIGHT I SAW HIM RETURN
     
    ‘It’s good, isn’t it?’ said Luna, who had drifted over to the Gryffindor table and now squeezed herself on to the bench between Fred and Ron. ‘It came out yesterday, I asked Dad to send you a free copy. I expect all these,’ she waved a hand at the assembled owls still scrabbling around on the table in front of Harry, ‘are letters from readers.’
    ‘That’s what I thought,’ said Hermione eagerly. ‘Harry, d’you mind if we –?’
    ‘Help yourself,’ said Harry, feeling slightly bemused.
    Ron and Hermione both started ripping open envelopes.
    ‘This one’s from a bloke who thinks you’re off your rocker,’ said Ron, glancing down his letter. ‘Ah well …’
    ‘This woman recommends you try a good course of Shock Spells at St Mungo’s,’ said Hermione, looking disappointed and crumpling up a second.
    ‘This one looks OK, though,’ said Harry slowly, scanning a long letter from a witch in Paisley. ‘Hey, she says she believes me!’
    ‘This one’s in two minds,’ said Fred, who had joined in the letter-opening with enthusiasm. ‘Says you don’t come across as a mad person, but he really doesn’t want to believe You-Know-Who’s back so he doesn’t know what to think now. Blimey, what a waste of parchment.’
    ‘Here’s another one you’ve convinced, Harry!’ said Hermione excitedly. ‘ Having read your side of the story, I am forced to the conclusion that the Daily Prophet has treated you very unfairly … little though I want to think that He Who Must Not Be Named has returned, I am forced to accept that you are telling the truth … Oh, this is wonderful!’
    ‘Another one who thinks you’re barking,’ said Ron, throwing a crumpled letter over his shoulder ‘… but this one says you’ve got her converted and she now thinks you’re a real hero – she’s put in a photograph, too – wow!’
    ‘What is going on here?’ said a falsely sweet, girlish voice.
    Harry looked up with his hands full of envelopes. Professor Umbridge was standing behind Fred and Luna, her bulging toad’s eyes scanning the mess of owls and letters on the table in front of Harry. Behind her he saw many of the students watching them avidly.
    ‘Why have you got all these letters, Mr Potter?’ she asked slowly.
    ‘Is that a crime now?’ said Fred loudly. ‘Getting mail?’
    ‘Be careful, Mr Weasley, or I shall have to put you in detention,’ said Umbridge. ‘Well, Mr Potter?’
    Harry hesitated, but he did not see how he could keep what he had done quiet; it was surely only a matter of time before a copy of The Quibbler came to Umbridge’s attention.
    ‘People have written to me because I gave an interview,’ said Harry. ‘About what happened to me last June.’
    For some reason he glanced up at the staff table as he said this. Harry had the strangest feeling that Dumbledore had been watching him a second before, but when he looked towards the Headmaster he seemed to be absorbed in conversation with Professor Flitwick.
    ‘An interview?’ repeated Umbridge, her voice