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

Umbridge’s corridor, OK?’
    Harry didn’t answer, but flung himself out of the room and began to fight his way through the milling crowds outside. Two floors up he met Seamus and Dean, who hailed him jovially and told him they were planning a dusk-till-dawn end-of-exams celebration in the common room. Harry barely heard them. He scrambled through the portrait hole while they were still arguing about how many black-market Butterbeers they would need and was climbing back out of it, the Invisibility Cloak and Sirius’s knife secure in his bag, before they noticed he had left them.
    ‘Harry, d’you want to chip in a couple of Galleons? Harold Dingle reckons he could sell us some Firewhisky –’
    But Harry was already tearing away back along the corridor, and a couple of minutes later was jumping the last few stairs to join Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Luna, who were huddled together at the end of Umbridge’s corridor.
    ‘Got it,’ he panted. ‘Ready to go, then?’
    ‘All right,’ whispered Hermione as a gang of loud sixth-years passed them. ‘So Ron – you go and head Umbridge off … Ginny, Luna, if you can start moving people out of the corridor … Harry and I will get the Cloak on and wait until the coast is clear …’
    Ron strode away, his bright-red hair visible right to the end of the passage; meanwhile Ginny’s equally vivid head bobbed between the jostling students surrounding them in the other direction, trailed by Luna’s blonde one.
    ‘Get over here,’ muttered Hermione, tugging at Harry’s wrist and pulling him back into a recess where the ugly stone head of a medieval wizard stood muttering to itself on a column. ‘Are – are you sure you’re OK, Harry? You’re still very pale.’
    ‘I’m fine,’ he said shortly, tugging the Invisibility Cloak from out of his bag. In truth, his scar was aching, but not so badly that he thought Voldemort had yet dealt Sirius a fatal blow; it had hurt much worse than this when Voldemort had been punishing Avery …
    ‘Here,’ he said; he threw the Invisibility Cloak over both of them and they stood listening carefully over the Latin mumblings of the bust in front of them.
    ‘You can’t come down here!’ Ginny was calling to the crowd. ‘No, sorry, you’re going to have to go round by the swivelling staircase, someone’s let off Garrotting Gas just along here –’
    They could hear people complaining; one surly voice said, ‘I can’t see no gas.’
    ‘That’s because it’s colourless,’ said Ginny in a convincingly exasperated voice, ‘but if you want to walk through it, carry on, then we’ll have your body as proof for the next idiot who doesn’t believe us.’
    Slowly, the crowd thinned. The news about the Garrotting Gas seemed to have spread; people were not coming this way any more. When at last the surrounding area was quite clear, Hermione said quietly, ‘I think that’s as good as we’re going to get, Harry – come on, let’s do it.’
    They moved forwards, covered by the Cloak. Luna was standing with her back to them at the far end of the corridor. As they passed Ginny, Hermione whispered, ‘Good one … don’t forget the signal.’
    ‘What’s the signal?’ muttered Harry, as they approached Umbridge’s door.
    ‘A loud chorus of “Weasley is our King” if they see Umbridge coming,’ replied Hermione, as Harry inserted the blade of Sirius’s knife in the crack between door and wall. The lock clicked open and they entered the office.
    The garish kittens were basking in the late-afternoon sunshine that was warming their plates, but otherwise the office was as still and unoccupied as last time. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief.
    ‘I thought she might have added extra security after the second Niffler.’
    They pulled off the Cloak; Hermione hurried over to the window and stood out of sight, peering down into the grounds with her wand out. Harry dashed over to the fireplace, seized the pot of Floo powder and threw a pinch into the grate, causing emerald flames to burst into life there. He knelt down quickly, thrust his head into the dancing fire and cried, ‘Number twelve, Grimmauld Place!’
    His head began to spin as though he had just got off a fairground ride though his knees remained firmly planted on the cold office floor. He kept his eyes screwed up against the whirling ash and when the spinning stopped he opened them to find himself looking out at the long, cold kitchen of Grimmauld Place.
    There was