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

thinner and higher than ever. ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘I mean a reporter asked me questions and I answered them,’ said Harry. ‘Here –’
    And he threw the copy of The Quibbler to her. She caught it and stared down at the cover. Her pale, doughy face turned an ugly, patchy violet.
    ‘When did you do this?’ she asked, her voice trembling slightly.
    ‘Last Hogsmeade weekend,’ said Harry.
    She looked up at him, incandescent with rage, the magazine shaking in her stubby fingers.
    ‘There will be no more Hogsmeade trips for you, Mr Potter,’ she whispered. ‘How you dare … how you could …’ She took a deep breath. ‘I have tried again and again to teach you not to tell lies. The message, apparently, has still not sunk in. Fifty points from Gryffindor and another week’s worth of detentions.’
    She stalked away, clutching The Quibbler to her chest, the eyes of many students following her.
    By mid-morning enormous signs had been put up all over the school, not just on house noticeboards, but in the corridors and classrooms too.
     
    BY ORDER OF THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS
     
    Any student found in possession of the magazine The Quibbler will be expelled.
     
    The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-seven.
     
    Signed: Dolores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor
     
    For some reason, every time Hermione caught sight of one of these signs she beamed with pleasure.
    ‘What exactly are you so happy about?’ Harry asked her.
    ‘Oh, Harry, don’t you see?’ Hermione breathed. ‘If she could have done one thing to make absolutely sure that every single person in this school will read your interview, it was banning it!’
    And it seemed that Hermione was quite right. By the end of the day, though Harry had not seen so much as a corner of The Quibbler anywhere in the school, the whole place seemed to be quoting the interview to each other. Harry heard them whispering about it as they queued up outside classes, discussing it over lunch and in the back of lessons, while Hermione even reported that every occupant of the cubicles in the girls’ toilets had been talking about it when she nipped in there before Ancient Runes.
    ‘Then they spotted me, and obviously they know I know you, so they bombarded me with questions,’ Hermione told Harry, her eyes shining, ‘and Harry, I think they believe you, I really do, I think you’ve finally got them convinced!’
    Meanwhile, Professor Umbridge was stalking the school, stopping students at random and demanding that they turn out their books and pockets: Harry knew she was looking for copies of The Quibbler , but the students were several steps ahead of her. The pages carrying Harry’s interview had been bewitched to resemble extracts from textbooks if anyone but themselves read it, or else wiped magically blank until they wanted to peruse it again. Soon it seemed that every single person in the school had read it.
    The teachers were of course forbidden from mentioning the interview by Educational Decree Number Twenty-six, but they found ways to express their feelings about it all the same. Professor Sprout awarded Gryffindor twenty points when Harry passed her a watering can; a beaming Professor Flitwick pressed a box of squeaking sugar mice on him at the end of Charms, said, ‘Shh!’ and hurried away; and Professor Trelawney broke into hysterical sobs during Divination and announced to the startled class, and a very disapproving Umbridge, that Harry was not going to suffer an early death after all, but would live to a ripe old age, become Minister for Magic and have twelve children.
    But what made Harry happiest was Cho catching up with him as he was hurrying along to Transfiguration the next day. Before he knew what had happened, her hand was in his and she was breathing in his ear, ‘I’m really, really sorry. That interview was so brave … it made me cry.’
    He was sorry to hear she had shed even more tears over it, but very glad they were on speaking terms again, and even more pleased when she gave him a swift kiss on the cheek and hurried off again. And unbelievably, no sooner had he arrived outside Transfiguration than something just as good happened: Seamus stepped out of the queue to face him.
    ‘I just wanted to say,’ he mumbled, squinting at Harry’s left knee, ‘I believe you. And I’ve sent a copy of that magazine to me mam.’
    If anything more was needed to complete Harry’s happiness, it was the reaction