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

handkerchief from within her robes.
    ‘There, there, Sybill … calm down … blow your nose on this … it’s not as bad as you think, now … you are not going to have to leave Hogwarts …’
    ‘Oh really, Professor McGonagall?’ said Umbridge in a deadly voice, taking a few steps forward. ‘And your authority for that statement is … ?’
    ‘That would be mine,’ said a deep voice.
    The oaken front doors had swung open. Students beside them scuttled out of the way as Dumbledore appeared in the entrance. What he had been doing out in the grounds Harry could not imagine, but there was something impressive about the sight of him framed in the doorway against an oddly misty night. Leaving the doors wide open behind him he strode forwards through the circle of onlookers towards Professor Trelawney, tear-stained and trembling, on her trunk, Professor McGonagall alongside her.
    ‘Yours, Professor Dumbledore?’ said Umbridge, with a singularly unpleasant little laugh. ‘I’m afraid you do not understand the position. I have here –’ she pulled a parchment scroll from within her robes ‘– an Order of Dismissal signed by myself and the Minister for Magic. Under the terms of Educational Decree Number Twenty-three, the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts has the power to inspect, place upon probation and sack any teacher she – that is to say, I – feel is not performing to the standards required by the Ministry of Magic. I have decided that Professor Trelawney is not up to scratch. I have dismissed her.’
    To Harry’s very great surprise, Dumbledore continued to smile. He looked down at Professor Trelawney, who was still sobbing and choking on her trunk, and said, ‘You are quite right, of course, Professor Umbridge. As High Inquisitor you have every right to dismiss my teachers. You do not, however, have the authority to send them away from the castle. I am afraid,’ he went on, with a courteous little bow, ‘that the power to do that still resides with the Headmaster, and it is my wish that Professor Trelawney continue to live at Hogwarts.’
    At this, Professor Trelawney gave a wild little laugh in which a hiccough was barely hidden.
    ‘No – no, I’ll g – go, Dumbledore! I sh – shall – leave Hogwarts and s – seek my fortune elsewhere –’
    ‘No,’ said Dumbledore sharply. ‘It is my wish that you remain, Sybill.’
    He turned to Professor McGonagall.
    ‘Might I ask you to escort Sybill back upstairs, Professor McGonagall?’
    ‘Of course,’ said McGonagall. ‘Up you get, Sybill …’
    Professor Sprout came hurrying forwards out of the crowd and grabbed Professor Trelawney’s other arm. Together, they guided her past Umbridge and up the marble stairs. Professor Flitwick went scurrying after them, his wand held out before him; he squeaked ‘ Locomotor trunks! ’ and Professor Trelawney’s luggage rose into the air and proceeded up the staircase after her, Professor Flitwick bringing up the rear.
    Professor Umbridge was standing stock-still, staring at Dumbledore, who continued to smile benignly.
    ‘And what,’ she said, in a whisper that carried all around the Entrance Hall, ‘are you going to do with her once I appoint a new Divination teacher who needs her lodgings?’
    ‘Oh, that won’t be a problem,’ said Dumbledore pleasantly. ‘You see, I have already found us a new Divination teacher, and he will prefer lodgings on the ground floor.’
    ‘You’ve found –?’ said Umbridge shrilly. ‘ You’ve found? Might I remind you, Dumbledore, that under Educational Decree Number Twenty-two –’
    ‘The Ministry has the right to appoint a suitable candidate if – and only if – the Headmaster is unable to find one,’ said Dumbledore. ‘And I am happy to say that on this occasion I have succeeded. May I introduce you?’
    He turned to face the open front doors, through which night mist was now drifting. Harry heard hooves. There was a shocked murmur around the Hall and those nearest the doors hastily moved even further backwards, some of them tripping over in their haste to clear a path for the newcomer.
    Through the mist came a face Harry had seen once before on a dark, dangerous night in the Forbidden Forest: white-blond hair and astonishingly blue eyes; the head and torso of a man joined to the palomino body of a horse.
    ‘This is Firenze,’ said Dumbledore happily to a thunderstruck Umbridge. ‘I think you’ll find him suitable.’

 
     
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