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

that night was not a pleasant experience for Harry. The news about his shouting match with Umbridge had travelled exceptionally fast even by Hogwarts’ standards. He heard whispers all around him as he sat eating between Ron and Hermione. The funny thing was that none of the whisperers seemed to mind him overhearing what they were saying about him. On the contrary, it was as though they were hoping he would get angry and start shouting again, so that they could hear his story firsthand.
    ‘He says he saw Cedric Diggory murdered …’
    ‘He reckons he duelled with You-Know-Who …’
    ‘Come off it …’
    ‘Who does he think he’s kidding?’
    ‘Pur- lease …’
    ‘What I don’t get,’ said Harry in a shaking voice, laying down his knife and fork (his hands were trembling too much to hold them steady), ‘is why they all believed the story two months ago when Dumbledore told them …’
    ‘The thing is, Harry, I’m not sure they did,’ said Hermione grimly. ‘Oh, let’s get out of here.’
    She slammed down her own knife and fork; Ron looked longingly at his half-finished apple pie but followed suit. People stared at them all the way out of the Hall.
    ‘What d’you mean, you’re not sure they believed Dumbledore?’ Harry asked Hermione when they reached the first-floor landing.
    ‘Look, you don’t understand what it was like after it happened,’ said Hermione quietly. ‘You arrived back in the middle of the lawn clutching Cedric’s dead body … none of us saw what happened in the maze … we just had Dumbledore’s word for it that You-Know-Who had come back and killed Cedric and fought you.’
    ‘Which is the truth!’ said Harry loudly.
    ‘I know it is, Harry, so will you please stop biting my head off?’ said Hermione wearily. ‘It’s just that before the truth could sink in, everyone went home for the summer, where they spent two months reading about how you’re a nutcase and Dumbledore’s going senile!’
    Rain pounded on the windowpanes as they strode along the empty corridors back to Gryffindor Tower. Harry felt as though his first day had lasted a week, but he still had a mountain of homework to do before bed. A dull pounding pain was developing over his right eye. He glanced out of a rain-washed window at the dark grounds as they turned into the Fat Lady’s corridor. There was still no light in Hagrid’s cabin.
    ‘ Mimbulus mimbletonia ,’ said Hermione, before the Fat Lady could ask. The portrait swung open to reveal the hole behind it and the three of them scrambled through it.
    The common room was almost empty; nearly everyone was still down at dinner. Crookshanks uncoiled himself from an armchair and trotted to meet them, purring loudly, and when Harry, Ron and Hermione took their three favourite chairs at the fireside he leapt lightly on to Hermione’s lap and curled up there like a furry ginger cushion. Harry gazed into the flames, feeling drained and exhausted.
    ‘ How can Dumbledore have let this happen?’ Hermione cried suddenly, making Harry and Ron jump; Crookshanks leapt off her, looking affronted. She pounded the arms of her chair in fury, so that bits of stuffing leaked out of the holes. ‘How can he let that terrible woman teach us? And in our O.W.L. year, too!’
    ‘Well, we’ve never had great Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers, have we?’ said Harry. ‘You know what it’s like, Hagrid told us, nobody wants the job; they say it’s jinxed.’
    ‘Yes, but to employ someone who’s actually refusing to let us do magic! What’s Dumbledore playing at?’
    ‘And she’s trying to get people to spy for her,’ said Ron darkly. ‘Remember when she said she wanted us to come and tell her if we hear anyone saying You-Know-Who’s back?’
    ‘Of course she’s here to spy on us all, that’s obvious, why else would Fudge have wanted her to come?’ snapped Hermione.
    ‘Don’t start arguing again,’ said Harry wearily, as Ron opened his mouth to retaliate. ‘Can’t we just … let’s just do that homework, get it out of the way …’
    They collected their schoolbags from a corner and returned to the chairs by the fire. People were coming back from dinner now. Harry kept his face averted from the portrait hole, but could still sense the stares he was attracting.
    ‘Shall we do Snape’s stuff first?’ said Ron, dipping his quill into his ink. ‘“ The properties … of moonstone … and its uses … in potion-making …” ’ he