Chapter One Hundred and Fifteen - Sacking Professor Trelawney
Luna wasn't sure when Harry's story would appear in The Quibbler. Her father was expecting a long article on something called a Crumple-Horned Snorkack, which would naturally take precedence over Lord Voldemort's return.
"Or… I could write to dad and suggest he expedite Harry's story?" Luna had offered after receiving a pointed look from Nell.
Harry had found it surprisingly easy to tell Skeeter about the night Voldemort returned. Perhaps time had worked its effects on old wounds, or perhaps he'd had plenty of practice when he had recounted the same story to Cedric. Either way, he had met Skeeter's probing questions with frankness, telling her everything he could remember.
Harry didn't mind if there would be a delay before the story went public. It gave him more time to brace himself for whatever repercussions would follow. He wondered how people would react to the story. He guessed that many would count him alongside Dumbledore as either a complete nutcase or a power-mad dark wizard in the making. But the breakout of Bellatrix Lestrange and the other Death Eaters prevented him from regretting his decision. He had to do something to fight back.
He had spared no details in his story to Skeeter, with one great exception. Snape's presence in the graveyard that night he had carefully concealed. He had debated with himself over whether the omission was wise. Voldemort and the other Death Eaters knew that Harry had recognized Snape, and it might appear odd to them that he protected the Potions Master. However, Snape was able to convince Lord Voldemort himself that he was merely playing a part in his loyalty to Dumbledore, and that his true allegiance remained with the Dark Lord. It would not be difficult for him to advise the others that he had won Harry's confidence as well.
As for the remaining Death Eaters… Harry had named them all.
When he arrived in the Great Hall for dinner that evening, he stopped by the Gryffindor table. Draco and Theo were seated side by side, directly across from Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas.
"Can we talk?" Harry asked without preamble. He glanced briefly at the door, thinking they would have more privacy in the hall.
Theo, catching the direction of his gaze, said, "Seamus and Dean are alright. What's up?"
Harry thought he hadn't understood him. "It's about your dads," he added in a cautious tone.
Draco turned pale, but Seamus gave a laugh. "Oh, we've heard all about them! What've they done this time? Has one of 'em finally gone and gotten arrested for practicing the Dark Arts?"
"No," said Harry, keeping his eyes on Draco and Theo, "But that might happen soon enough."
With Theo and Draco's encouragement, Harry briefly described his interview with Skeeter while Seamus and Dean listened in.
"So there you have it… Thought I'd just give you a warning. You know, before you both see your family names' in print," he concluded apologetically.
The group was silent for a moment, then Dean said in a voice high with anxiety, "Well… I can't wait to see what Umbridge thinks of that!"
Draco sighed. "I suppose it can't be helped… You did the right thing, Harry. People have got to know what the Dark Lo… What You-Know-Who is capable of."
"And his Death Eaters," Theo added grimly, "I don't care what happens to my old man at this point. But thanks for the heads-up, Harry."
Harry nodded to them both. Scanning the length of the table and finding that Hermione and Neville had not arrived, he turned toward the Slytherin side of the hall, ready to join Blaise and Millie.
"Harry!" Blaise nearly shouted as he waved his arms above his head in a frantic sort of greeting, "I haven't asked you yet! How did things go with Hermione?"
Harry couldn't stop the grin that spread over his face. Recounting the events of his date to Blaise was far more enjoyable than giving an interview to Skeeter, and he indulged in the pleasure with enthusiasm. Millie merely rolled her eyes at their gossip, preferring to eat her dinner in silence, but Blaise was an appreciative audience. He laughed at all the right places, and shared in Harry's horror when he described the décor in Madam Puddifoot's.
"How could you suggest such a place?" Harry said accusingly, "Those stupid cherubs nearly spoiled the whole date!"
"In my defense, I've never actually been there," Blaise admitted, "Daphne's dropped hints about it a few times. I figured if it was good enough for her…"
"Why didn't you take Daphne there, yourself?" Harry asked, "I thought the two of you were getting along again?"
"I had to take Neville to Zonko's, didn't I?" Blaise reminded him. "You know what they say, bros before…" Millie directed a sharp glance at him, and Blaise quickly concluded, "... Lovely women who are deserving of our respect and esteem. But never mind that! What did Hermione say about the decorations?"
Harry continued his description of what happened next, but when he reached the part where they had run out into the rain, he hesitated. Blaise, like a shark smelling blood in the water, caught on instantly.
"Hang on… Did you kiss her?"
"Merlin's Beard, Blaise!" Millie exclaimed, unable to maintain her silence any longer, "You can't just ask if…"
But Harry's sheepish smile had already betrayed him, and with a loud whoop of pride, Blaise clapped Harry on the back. Millie rolled her eyes and muttered something about boys being immature, though Harry could tell she was just as happy for him.
She had soon changed the subject, however, mentioning with some urgency the date of their next Marauder's meeting.
"After Skeeter's article comes out, I expect there will be more people eager to join," she said, "It would be good to get some more practices planned. Maybe you should talk to the current members before the article is released? I'm sure people will have questions. We ought to give the Marauders some talking points…"
"I've already spoken to Draco and Theo," Harry informed her, "Seamus and Dean heard the news, as well. You know how these things are. They'll have told Ron, and by this time tomorrow, every one of the Marauders will know."
In the meantime, the Marauders would have to wait. The next quidditch match against Hufflepuff was coming up, and Harry would be too busy with practice to join any meetings for the rest of the week. Of course, Harry graciously suggested that they continue their practice sessions without him. He wasn't needed for teaching, and Blaise could assist with demonstrations. It wasn't necessary to postpone any lessons on his account.
Millie sighed. "I forgot about quidditch. It's alright, Harry. Everyone on the Slytherin team is also a Marauder. There's no sense in having a meeting with a fourth of our current membership missing."
She made a good point. Not only was Slytherin's team busy with practice, they were to play Hufflepuff. Harry would soon be competing against Cedric again.
When Saturday came, it was nearly perfect for their match. The sun was shining, the air was cool, and there was only a slight, chill breeze to remind them all that it was still February. Harry had to listen to Warrington's usual list of the Hufflepuff team's strengths and weaknesses while he changed into his uniform.
"It's just Hufflepuff!" complained Baddock after Warrington had lectured them for nearly ten minutes without pause, "How hard can they be to beat?"
"Bad," Warrington said warningly, "You think because they're the house of warm hugs and friendship they won't knock you off your broom if it meant victory? Think again! This is quidditch, and Hufflepuff is the hardest-working team we've got to face. Diggory runs drills like he's training soldiers for war. Their teamwork is unparalleled. So we'll have to rely on our speed. Hit 'em hard and fast and hope we can rack up enough points to keep the score close while Harry catches the snitch!"
Speed they certainly had. Montague, Warrington, and Bletchley were all on the Nimbus 2001s Draco had used to buy his way onto the team during his second year, while Draco himself still rode Harry's old Firebolt. Once or twice, Harry had considered asking for it back. It had been offered to Draco as a bribe for his testimony in favor of Buckbeak the hippogriff. But since he appeared to have turned over a new leaf, perhaps he would consider returning it? Harry always dismissed this idea, however. They had made an Unbreakable Vow over the deal, and Harry was sure that Draco wasn't going to risk death by undoing the trade. For now, Harry's trusted Nimbus 2000, a gift from Mrs. Zabini, served him well.
But speed wasn't everything, as Harry soon found out. Warrington had been right about Hufflepuff's teamwork. The quaffle changed hands so often among their chasers, Bletchley struggled to follow which players to block. It wasn't uncommon for one to feint toward a goal, quaffle in hand, only to pass it to another chaser at the last moment. Hufflepuff had no problem letting their fellow teammates have all the glory, a quality few on the Slytherin team shared.
Harry couldn't watch the match. He had to focus on finding the Golden Snitch. For every score Slytherin made, it seemed Hufflepuff scored two more. The longer he waited, the more opportunities Hufflepuff would have to widen the gap.
He circled the field, making quick darts and dives, hoping to catch Cedric's attention from where he hovered across the pitch. Cedric didn't fall for his feints, however, and continued his own eagle-eyed search for the Snitch while still managing to offer occasional instructions to his team.
Without warning, Cedric shot upward at breakneck speed. Harry thought he might be trying a distraction of his own, but cursed when he saw the Snitch above him, fluttering several yards above his head.
Too soon… Harry thought to himself. Hufflepuff was too far ahead of them. But there was no helping it. Cedric had forced his hand. Harry laid himself flat against his broom, rocketing upward as fast as he could, then veering hard to the left as the elusive snitch banked suddenly in another direction. Lucky for him, the ball had zoomed away from Cedric's outstretched hand, flying closer toward Harry. In another moment, the snitch was in his palm, and the game was over.
Harry's head swerved to the crowd, searching for the score. Shaking his head, he cursed under his breath. Slytherin had lost by a mere ten points.
"Sorry, Harry!" Cedric called cheekily. "It was a great catch, though!"
"You did that on purpose!" Harry called back.
Cedric shrugged, "I know I'm no match against you in a race… But the game had to end eventually!"
In truth, Harry held no hard feelings. He knew exactly where Cedric was coming from. Like the rest of his team, he cared little for personal victory. It didn't matter to Cedric who caught the snitch in the end, so long as Hufflepuff led by enough points to win. It was clever of him to force Harry to capture the snitch when he did. Harry grinned as he followed Cedric back down to solid earth. He'd have to remember that trick for his next game.
Warrington smacked Harry hard on the back as they made their way toward the locker room, leaving the cheers of the ecstatic Hufflepuffs behind.
"You couldn't have waited ten minutes to catch the snitch, Harry?" he asked teasingly, "I could have scored us another point if you'd given me more time."
"Cedric spotted it before me," said Harry, "What was I supposed to do? Let them win by over one hundred and fifty points?"
"I don't suppose you could have hexed him? Performed a sneaky little Confundus Charm?"
"No… I really couldn't."
"Relax, Potter!" Warrington said with a laugh. For a captain whose team had just lost, he was in a surprisingly cheerful mood, "I'm only joking! I knew we were never actually gonna beat Hufflepuff. They're just too good this year! But Davies has Ravenclaw in top form. They'll trounce Hufflepuff in the next match, and I like my chances better in a match against them. Anyway, we can settle things with Hufflepuff in the next Marauder's meeting! I can't wait to curse Cedric's handsome smile off his smug face... Or is it the other way around?"
The flames danced within the sconce set in the stone wall. Harry watched their shifting light for a moment, then turned to look down the length of a windowless passage. At the far end there was a plain, black door.
He was dreaming again. Even asleep, a part of him understood that this wasn't real, that he was seeing what Voldemort must be thinking of at that moment. He felt guilty. He had practiced emptying his mind that night, but as usual, this precaution had failed. Now he was walking toward the door, his feelings of guilt replaced with mounting excitement. He was feet away from the door when he saw a glowing strip of faint blue light down the side. It was ajar. He was finally going to see what was inside! He stretched out his hand…
"Harry?" What are you doing?"
Harry opened his eyes. The lights of their dormitory were lit, and Blaise was already out of bed. He was looking at Harry oddly, perhaps because Harry had lifted his arm in front of him.
He sighed and lowered his arm to his chest. "It's nothing," he said to Blaise, but privately he was ashamed. He knew he shouldn't be having these dreams, but at least no one had been hurt this time. The fear and shame he should feel was becoming quickly overshadowed by curiosity. He wondered if Voldemort had succeeded in getting within the Department of Mysteries at last.
After rolling out of bed and following Blaise down to the common room, the joined Millie and proceeded toward the Great Hall. They crossed the threshold just as the Owl Post arrived for the morning. Harry took his seat without glancing up at the birds. He didn't expect any mail. He had been making special trips to the Owlery just to visit Hedwig. Otherwise, there was no one to whom he could write without fear of the letter being intercepted. All of his correspondence had been on hold since the holidays.
When the first owl landed in front of him as he helped himself to toast, he thought it must be some mistake. Then a second, third, and fourth owl landed on the table, jostling for position as several others joined the fray.
"Harry!" exclaimed Hermione as she and Neville came to join them, "What's going on?"
"I have no idea," Harry said, mystified. He had noticed that the envelopes the owls bore were indeed addressed to him, but he couldn't imagine why so many strangers were writing to him all at once.
"Aha!" cried Millie, pulling a cylindrical package from the talon of one of the owls. It nipped at her, but quickly settled down when it saw that she had passed the parcel to Harry. "I think I can guess… Open this one first, Harry!"
Inside the package was a tightly rolled copy of The Quibbler. On the front page was a picture of Harry, smiling shyly at the camera under a bold heading which read Harry Potter Speaks Out at Last: The Truth of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and The Night I Saw Him Return.
"When did they take this picture?" Harry mused aloud.
"It's good, isn't it?" said Luna, who had just floated over from the Ravenclaw table and settled herself between Blaise and Neville. She seemed quite comfortable on her own among the Slytherins. Harry got the impression that she was the kind of person at ease in any group of people, and he smiled at her with secret admiration. Luna, perhaps interpreting his grin as approval of the magazine, brightly advised him, "I asked Dad to send you a copy. I expect these will be letters from readers…"
While she spoke, she languidly picked up a letter from the stack that had accumulated as the owls gave up, dropped their envelopes in a heap, and flew away. She tore open the first envelope without waiting for permission, scanned the message, and concluded, "As I thought, this person says you don't sound mad, but they really don't want to believe You-Know-Who has returned, so now they don't know what to believe… See, this is what Daddy always says about people resisting an inconvenient truth..."
Harry exchanged a glance with the rest of his friends, and they began to seize handfuls of envelopes, tearing them open and perusing the contents.
"Here's one from someone who thinks you're insane," Millie said, setting the letter aflame with her wand.
"I've found one you've managed to convince!" Hermione cried joyfully.
"This one recommends a course of Shock Spells at St. Mungo's," commented Neville, "Not a bad idea, actually. Think we could practice that one at the next Marauders' meeting?"
"Here's another you've converted," said Blaise, "She's enclosed a photo, too. Wow, not bad…"
"I'll take that!" Hermione declared, snatching the photo out of Blaise's hand before Harry could catch a glimpse of his admirer. She passed the picture to Millie to receive the same treatment as the rude letters.
"What's all this?" asked a falsely sweet, girlish voice.
Harry looked up into Umbridge's toad-like face. She was standing behind Neville and Luna, staring at the letters on the table in front of Harry. Across the Great Hall, several students had turned in their seats, watching the scene about to unfold with interest.
"Why have you got all these letters, Mr. Potter?"
Knowing it would be pointless to lie now, Harry replied, "People are writing to me because I gave an interview."
"And what sort of interview was this?"
Harry wordlessly handed her his copy of The Quibbler. She glanced down at the cover, then up at him, then back down to the magazine again. Her pale, doughy face slowly turned an ugly shade of violet. She was clearly furious.
"I had thought," she began slowly, her hands shaking as she gripped the magazine so hard she nearly ripped it in two, "That you were a mere victim of Dumbledore's tyrannical hold over Hogwarts… I now see that you are a full-fledged accomplice! When did this interview take place?"
"Last Hogsmeade weekend," Harry informed her boldly.
"Then there will be no more Hogsmeade trips for you! Nor any other Hogwarts student, if I have a say! Once I speak to the Minister… How dare you… How could you…? Fifty points will be taken from Slytherin for these heinous lies, and I'll see you in my office every afternoon for a week of detention!"
She stormed away, taking The Quibbler with her. All things considered, Harry thought he'd gotten off rather easy.
By the middle of the day, an enormous sign had been posted all over the school, not just on notice boards, but in the hallways and classrooms, as well.
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.
In spite of this ban, or rather because of it, the magazine spread like wildfire. Hermione excitedly reported that the Gryffindor girls had been bombarding her with questions, knowing that she and Harry were close. They seemed to believe Harry's story. Millie and Nell were receiving similar attention among the students of Slytherin and Ravenclaw.
Things were a little different for Draco and Theo. Their fathers had been named as Death Eaters, and while no one could openly confront them due to the ban on the magazine, they were given a wide berth in the halls.
Draco didn't seem to mind. When he spoke to Harry during class, he said in a sort of awful whisper, "I never knew… I mean, I thought I did, from what my father told me… But the things you described in that article… I think the hat must have made a mistake putting you in Slytherin, Harry. You seemed destined to be in Gryffindor…"
Harry was sure he meant to compliment his bravery, but the sentiment made him uncomfortable. Unfortunately, Theo's feelings were much the same. When Harry tried to apologize for naming his father, Theo warmly protested, "If he didn't want to be exposed, he shouldn't have been a Death Eater in the first place! Let him live with the consequences!"
They were not the only sons of the Death Eaters in the school. Crabbe and Goyle glared malevolently at Harry whenever he passed them. When Millie happened to be nearby, he felt safe enough from a possible surprise attack, but sharing a dorm was another story.
"We might want to put some protection wards around your bed, just in case," Blaise recommended.
The teachers couldn't voice their approval outright, as the last educational decree prohibited it, but they did find ways of showing their approbation of Harry's actions. Professor Flitwick granted superfluous points to Slytherin when Harry handed him the wand he had dropped on purpose, while Professor McGonagall astonishingly offered him a tin of biscuits after class. Snape alone remained unchanged during Potions, though Harry sullenly thought he might have at least thanked him for leaving his name out of the article.
Harry was pleased with the reception, but it was a relief to climb into bed that night. In the security of their common room, the Slytherins had pestered him with questions, begging him to relive the interview again. He had finally pleaded exhaustion, and went up to his dormitory, followed by disappointed groans that were quickly silenced by Millie and Blaise, ever his defenders. After making sure the protective wards Millie had put in place were intact, Harry fell onto his pillow, falling asleep almost instantly…
He was standing in a dark, curtained room lit by a single candelabra. His hands, thin and white, gripped the back of the chair in front of him. A man knelt before him, bathed in a pool of light cast by the candles.
"I have been badly advised, it seems," said Harry in a high, cold voice.
"Master, I crave your pardon…" croaked the man kneeling on the floor. The back of his balding head glimmered in the candlelight. His black robes could not conceal the fact that his whole body was trembling.
"I do not blame you, Rookwood," said Harry in the same tone. He relinquished his grip on the chair and moved toward the man cowering before him. Standing above him, he then asked, "You are sure of your facts?"
"Yes, My Lord. I used to work in the department…"
"Avery told me Bode could remove it."
"Bode could never have taken it, Master! Bode would have known he could not… That was why he fought so hard against Malfoy's Imperius Curse…"
"Stand up, Rookwood," demanded Harry in a chilling whisper.
The kneeling man almost fell over in his haste to obey. He remained a little stooped when standing, as though halfway through a bow. He did not dare to look into Harry's face.
"You have done well to tell me this," said Harry, "It seems I have wasted months on fruitless schemes… Very well, we will begin again. You have Lord Voldemort's gratitude, Rookwood. Now go, and send Avery to me…"
Rookwood, muttering incoherent words of thanks, scrambled backward, bowing as he disappeared through a door.
Left alone in the dark room, Harry turned toward the wall. A cracked, age-spotted mirror hung nearby, veiled in shadow. As Harry moved toward it, his reflection grew larger, looming out of the dark. A face whiter than a skull… Red eyes with thin pupils… And two thin slits where a nose should have been…
Not for the first time, Harry woke up screaming. He flailed around madly, becoming entangled in the hangings around his bed.
"Harry? What's wrong?" called a voice nearby.
His bed curtains were wrenched apart, and Harry found himself staring up at Draco.
"Has someone been attacked again?" he asked anxiously, "My mother…?"
"No, everyone's fine… Well, Avery isn't. He's in trouble. He gave him the wrong information, and now he's really angry…" Harry groaned, rubbing his scar as the thoughts and feelings rushed through him again.
"Wait… Avery?" Draco asked, sounding perturbed, "I know that name…"
"From one of your father's parties, I expect," Harry replied.
"Yeah… Yeah, now that you mention it. But what are you talking about? You had another dream, right? Did you just see You-Know-Who?"
"I was You-Know-Who," Harry replied without thinking, "He was talking to Rookwood. One of the Death Eaters that escaped Azkaban. And Rookwood told him that Bode couldn't do what Avery said…"
"Do what?"
"I'm not sure… Remove something… But Bode knew it couldn't be done. He was put under the Imperius Curse… by your father…"
He paused and stared up at Draco. He seemed to be processing everything he'd just heard. At that moment, Crabbe and Goyle stalked into the room. They cast their usual angry looks at Harry, but Draco blocked their view as he turned his back toward them. Lowering his voice, he said, "Did you say you were You-Know-Who?"
"Yeah…" Harry admitted.
"You've got to tell someone!"
Harry scoffed, "Like who? Dumbledore? He already knows!"
"What about Snape?"
Harry scoffed louder. Snape would only scold him for failing to practice Occlumency before bed. But Draco didn't know about his private lessons. No, Harry wouldn't tell. No one had been hurt this time. No one except a Death Eater, anyway. He rolled over as Draco and the others climbed into their beds, ignoring the stinging in his scar and knowing that somewhere, Avery was being punished.
It was Harry's intention to keep this latest incident a secret from Snape, but unfortunately for him, he hadn't made enough progress in Occlumency to shut Snape out. After he was forced to once again relive a stream of memories, most of them from early childhood, Snape asked, "What was that last memory, Potter?"
I don't know," said Harry, climbing wearily to his feet. "Was it when my cousin tried to make me stand in the toilet? Or when my Aunt Petunia locked me in the cupboard and forgot to let me out for supper?"
"No," said Snape softly, "I mean the one concerning a man kneeling in the middle of a darkened room."
Harry avoided his gaze, remembering that Snape told him Legilimency often required eye contact. Feeling intensely guilty, he admitted, "It's nothing… Just a dream I had."
"A dream," repeated Snape.
He sounded calm, but he was obviously angry. Ironically, the more Harry failed to improve in Occlumency, the better he became at reading Snape's emotions, as if he were becoming a true Legilimens.
"Need I remind you that I'm giving up my evenings to teach you Occlumency?"
"Right, as if you had better plans," Harry remarked unwisely.
Snape's eyes flashed with anger. "I am trying to help you guard your mind against the Dark Lord. Perhaps if you spent more time practicing and less time giving interviews..."
Harry knew he was right, but the comment still rankled. "I have been following your instructions! Maybe the problem isn't me, but your teaching!"
Snape, not bothering to conceal his irritation, replied, "Perhaps you aren't applying yourself because you enjoy these visions? You think it makes you special, seeing into his mind? Let me remind you, Potter, that it is not your job to know what the Dark Lord says to his Death Eaters!"
"No, that's your job," Harry said coldly.
"Exactly! I put myself at risk every day so that I can protect you! The least you can do is show a little interest in your own safety, you ungrateful brat!"
Silence fell between them. Snape seemed conscious of admitting something he found very embarrassing. Harry's fists were still clenched at his sides with residual indignation, but the feeling was ebbing away. Snape was doing this… for him?
"Alright," Harry said, breaking the silence first, "I'll try harder."
They took their positions again. Snape, with his back to the strange stone basin that rested on his desk, and Harry standing opposite. Snape raised his wand, and Harry braced himself.
"Legilimens!"
A hundred dementors were swooping toward him from across the Black Lake. Sirius, unconscious, was lying before him. At his side, Snape had cast his patronus. He was ordering Harry to do the same…
Only that wasn't quite true. Snape wasn't by his side, he was standing before him, muttering something under his breath. And suddenly the Snape in front of him was growing clearer while the dementors faded away.
Harry pictured an invisible shield surrounding and protecting him from harm. Forcing his mouth open, he cried, "Protego!"
Snape staggered as if he had been pushed back. His wand flew upward, and all at once new images flew into Harry's mind. A hook-nosed man was shouting at a cowering woman, while a small, dark-haired boy cried in a corner… A greasy-haired teenager was lying on his back, aiming his wand at the ceiling as he shot down spiders and flies… A red-haired girl was laughing as a scrawny boy dumped a pile of wildflowers in her lap… She gathered them between her delicate fingers, tying knots for a daisy chain…
"Enough!"
Harry felt as though someone had pushed him hard in the chest. He snapped back to the present. Snape was checking the stone basin, as if making sure the memories he stored there at the start of every lesson had not escaped. Turning back to Harry, he asked, "How did you manage to cast the shield charm?"
Harry knew what he was driving at. He had managed to cast another spell without lifting his wand. He deflected Snape's question by asking one of his own. "That red-haired girl… Who was she?"
Snape frowned at him, an expression that only deepened when Harry added, "Was she my mother?"
Snape's stubborn silence answered his question. Harry felt disturbed. He hadn't realized Snape knew his mother from such an early age. He had assumed they met at Hogwarts. But in that brief memory, she couldn't have been older than nine or ten…
"Let's try again, shall we?" said Snape.
Harry did not have time to prepare himself. His mind was wide open to attack when Snape cried, "Legilimens!"
He was hurtling along the corridor toward the Department of Mysteries. The black door was growing ever larger. He was moving so fast he was sure he was going to collide with it… But no, he could see the sliver of blue light again… The door was open! He was through it at last, inside a black, circular room lit with blue-flamed candles. More doors were set at even intervals in the wall, each identical to the last. But which door should he take?
"POTTER!"
Harry opened his eyes. He was laying flat on the floor, panting and feverish. Snape stood over him, looking really furious this time.
"Explain yourself!" he demanded.
"I… I don't know what happened," said Harry, slowly sitting up. He felt a painful throbbing on the back of his head where he'd hit the ground. Touching the bump that was growing there, he flinched. "I've never seen that room before. I mean, I've dreamed about the door, but it's never opened…"
Snape opened his mouth as if he was going to tell Harry off again, but at that moment, they heard a woman scream.
Snape's head jerked upward. He was gazing at the ceiling. Harry listened intently. He could hear a muffled commotion, loud enough to reach them even in the dungeons. It seemed to be coming from the entrance hall. Snape looked down at Harry, frowning.
"Did you see anything unusual on your way down here?"
Harry shook his head. Somewhere above them, the woman screamed again.
"Wand at the ready this time," Snape advised, helping Harry to his feet before sweeping through his office door, "And stay behind me."
Harry followed him up the stairs to the entrance hall. A large crowd had gathered in a rough semicircle around the foot of the staircase leading to the upper floors. Despite Snape's advice, Harry spotted Warrington and Montague among the onlookers and broke away, coming to stand between them.
"What's going on?" he asked.
"It's Trelawney," Warrington replied darkly, "Umbridge is giving her the sack."
Professor Trelawney, the Divination Teacher, stood in the middle of the hall, holding her wand in one hand and an empty bottle of sherry in the other. Her hair was sticking up on end, her glasses were askew, and her various shawls and scarves trailed from her shoulders to the floor, giving Harry the impression of a woman coming apart at the seams.
"No!" she shrieked, directing her voice to the top of the staircase, "No! This cannot be happening! I refuse to accept it!"
Harry was not surprised to see Umbridge standing above Trelawney, looking positively ecstatic in her role.
"You didn't realize this was coming?" she said in a mocking tone, "Incapable though you are of predicting even tomorrow's weather, surely you could have guessed that your pitiful performance and lack of any improvement during my inspections would make your termination at Hogwarts inevitable?"
"I've been here sixteen years!" Trelawney howled, tears streaming from behind her lopsided glasses, "You can't do this! Hogwarts is my home!"
"It was your home," Umbridge replied, reveling in this opportunity to flaunt her authority in front of everyone. Harry was revolted. She actually seemed to enjoy causing Professor Trelawney's suffering, "Until an hour ago, when the Minister of Magic countersigned the order for your dismissal. Now kindly remove yourself from this hall. You are embarrassing yourself."
Professor Trelawney sank onto her trunks, overturned and opened as they were, as if they had been thrown down the stairs after her. She began to moan as she rocked herself back and forth. It was at this point that Professor McGonagall broke away from the spectators. Harry watched, transfixed by the scene, as she marched directly up to Professor Trelawney and began to comfort her.
"There now, Sibyll… Have a handkerchief. It's not as bad as you think. You're not going to have to leave Hogwarts."
"And what is your authority for saying so?" Umbridge demanded.
"That would be mine."
Everyone's attention pivoted toward the oak doors of the school's main entrance. They were standing open, and Dumbledore majestically strolled forward. Students scuttled to make way as he strode toward Professor Trelawney and stood alongside Professor McGonagall.
"You, Professor Dumbledore?" Umbridge said with a high, unpleasant laugh. A muscle in one of her flabby cheeks twitched. "I am afraid you do not understand the position I have here. Under the terms of Educational Decree Number Twenty-Three…"
"You have the authority to dismiss any of my teachers of whom you do not approve," Dumbledore concluded for her, perhaps unwilling to endure her voice longer than necessary, "But you do not have the right to dismiss them from the castle. That power, I believe, still resides with the headmaster, and it is my wish that Professor Trelawney remain at Hogwarts."
Harry did not wonder why Dumbledore was defending Trelawney. By reputation, she was nothing but an old fraud, but if protecting her meant defying Umbridge, Harry didn't blame the headmaster for wanting to intervene.
"And what do you plan to do once I appoint a new divination teacher who requires her lodgings?" Umbridge asked shrilly as Professor McGonagall, aided by Professors Sprout and Flitwick, assisted Trelawney back upstairs.
"Oh, that won't be a problem," Dumbledore replied pleasantly, "I have found a replacement who prefers lodgings on the ground floor."
"You've found…? Might I remind you that under Educational Decree Number Twenty-Two…"
"The Ministry may appoint a suitable candidate if, and only if, the headmaster is unable to find one," interrupted Dumbledore once more, "And I am happy to say on this occasion, I have been more successful in this than in the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. May I introduce you?"
He turned to face the open front doors. Harry heard the sound of hooves before he saw the new professor. There was a shocked murmur as those nearest the doors moved even further backward.
"Wicked…" Warrington murmured next to Harry.
He recognized the face that came into view above the heads of the astonished students. He had seen it once before, on a trip through the Forbidden Forest, when it came to rescue both he and Neville from a swarm of giant spiders. White blond hair, piercing blue eyes, and the head and torso of a man joined with the palomino body of a horse.
"This is Firenze," said Dumbledore happily to a thunderstruck Umbridge. "I think you'll find him capable."