Adventures of Harriet Potter

Educational Decree Number Twenty Four

Harriet felt happier for the rest of the weekend than she had done all term. She and Ron spent much of Sunday catching up with all their homework again, and although this could hardly be called fun, the last burst of autumn sunshine persisted, so rather than sitting hunched over tables in the common room, they took their work outside and lounged in the shade of a large beech tree on the edge of the lake. Hermione, who of course was up to date with all her work, brought more wool outside with her and bewitched her knitting needles so that they flashed and clicked in midair beside her, producing more hats and scarves.
The knowledge that they were doing something to resist Umbridge and the Ministry, and that he was a key part of the rebellion, gave Harriet a feeling of immense satisfaction. She kept reliving Saturday's meeting in her mind: all those people, coming to her to learn Defense Against the Dark Arts . . . and the looks on their faces as they had heard some of the things she had done . . . and Cho praising her performance in the Triwizard Tournament. . . . The knowledge that all those people did not think her a lying weirdo, but someone to be admired, buoyed her up so much that she was still cheerful on Monday morning, despite the imminent prospect of all her least favorite classes.
She and Ron headed downstairs from their dormitories together, discussing Angelina's idea that they were to work on a new move called the Sloth Grip Roll during that night's Quidditch practice upon reaching the common room, and not until they were halfway across the sunlit common room did they notice the addition to the room that had already attracted the attention of a small group of people. A large sign had been affixed to the Gryffindor notice board, so large that it covered everything else on there — the lists of secondhand spellbooks for sale, the regular reminders of school rules from Argus Filch, the Quidditch team training schedule, the offers to barter certain Chocolate Frog cards for others, the Weasleys' new advertisement for testers, the dates of the Hogsmeade weekends, and the lost-and-found notices. The new sign was printed in large black letters and there was a highly official-looking seal at the bottom beside a neat and curly signature.

                                     ——— BY ORDER OF ———
                            The High Inquisitor of Hogwarts

All Student Organizations, Societies, Teams, Groups, and Clubs are henceforth disbanded.
An Organization, Society, Team, Group, or Club is hereby defined as a regular meeting of three or more students.
Permission to re-form may be sought from the High Inquisitor (Professor Umbridge). No Student Organization, Society, Team, Group, or Club may exist without the knowledge and approval of the High Inquisitor.

Any student found to have formed, or to belong to, an Organization, Society, Team, Group, or Club that has not been approved by the High Inquisitor will be expelled.

The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-four.

Signed:
Delores Jane Umbridge
High Inquisitor

Harriet and Ron read the notice over the heads of some anxious-looking second years. "Does this mean they're going to shut down the Gobstones Club?" one of them asked his friend. "I reckon you'll be okay with Gobstones," Ron said darkly, making the second year jump. "I don't think we're going to be as lucky, though, do you?" he asked Harriet as the second years hurried away. Harriet was reading the notice through again. The happiness that had filled her since Saturday was gone. Her insides were pulsing with rage. "This isn't a coincidence," she said, her hands forming fists. "She knows."
"She can't," said Ron at once. "There were people listening in that pub. And let's face it, we don't know how many of the people who turned up we can trust. . . . Any of them could have run off and told Umbridge . . ." Harriet said angrily, her pregnancy only fueling her rage. And she had thought they believed her, thought they even admired him . . . "Zacharias Smith!" said Ron at once, punching a fist into his hand. "Or — I thought that Michael Corner had a really shifty look too —"
"I wonder if Hermione's seen this yet?" Harriet said, looking around at the door to the girls' dormitories. "Let's go and tell her," said Ron. He bounded forward, pulled open the door, and set off up the spiral staircase. "Wait, Ron you won't be able to —" Harriet began. He was on the sixth stair when it happened. There was a loud, wailing, klaxonlike sound and the steps melted together to make a long, smooth stone slide. There was a brief moment when Ron tried to keep running, arms working madly like windmills, then he toppled over backward and shot down the newly created slide, coming to rest on his back at Harriet's feet. "— get up the stairs to the girls' dormitories," she finished, carefully pulling Ron to his feet and trying not to laugh.
Two fourth-year girls came zooming gleefully down the stone slide. "Oooh, who tried to get upstairs?" they giggled happily, leaping to their feet and ogling Harriet and Ron. "Me," said Ron, who was still rather disheveled. "I didn't realize that would happen. It's not fair!" he added to Harriet, as the girls headed off for the portrait hole, still giggling madly. "Hermione and you are allowed in my dormitory, how come I'm not allowed — ?" Harriet opened her mouth to reply. "Well, it's an old-fashioned rule," said Hermione, who had just slid neatly onto a rug in front of them and was now getting to her feet, "but it says in Hogwarts: A History that the founders thought boys were less trustworthy than girls. Anyway, why were you trying to get in there?"
"To see you — look at this!" said Ron, dragging her over to the notice board. Hermione's eyes slid rapidly down the notice. Her expression became stony. "Someone must have blabbed to her!" Ron said angrily. "They can't have done," said Hermione in a low voice. "You're so naive," said Ron, "you think just because you're all honorable and trustworthy —"
"No, they can't have done because I put a jinx on that piece of parchment we all signed," said Hermione grimly. "Believe me, if anyone's run off and told Umbridge, we'll know exactly who they are and they will really regret it." Harriet shivered at the thought of what kind of jinx Hermione could've put on the parchment. "What'll happen to them?" said Ron eagerly. "Well, put it this way," said Hermione, "it'll make Eloise Midgen's acne look like a couple of cute freckles. Come on, let's get down to breakfast and see what the others think. . . . I wonder whether this has been put up in all the Houses?"
It was immediately apparent on entering the Great Hall that Umbridge's sign had not only appeared in Gryffindor Tower. There was a peculiar intensity about the chatter and an extra measure of movement in the Hall as people scurried up and down their tables conferring on what they had read. Harriet, Ron, and Hermione had barely taken their seats when Neville, Dean, Fred, George, and Ginny descended upon them. "Did you see it?" Dean asked. "D'you reckon she knows?" asked Fred and George. "What are we going to do?" Ginny asked.
They were all looking at Harriet. She glanced around to make sure there were no teachers near them. "We're going to do it anyway, of course," she said quietly. "Knew you'd say that," said George, beaming and thumping Harry on the arm.n"The prefects as well?" said Fred, looking quizzically at Ron and Hermione. "Of course," said Hermione coolly.
"Here comes Ernie and Hannah Abbott," said Ron, looking over his shoulder. "And those Ravenclaw blokes and Smith . . . and no one looks very spotty." Hermione looked alarmed. "Never mind spots, the idiots can't come over here now, it'll look really suspicious — sit down!" she mouthed to Ernie and Hannah, gesturing frantically to them to rejoin the Hufflepuff table. "Later! We'll — talk — to — you — later!"
"I'll tell Michael," said Ginny impatiently, swinging herself off her bench. "The fool, honestly . . ." She hurried off toward the Ravenclaw table; Harriet watched her go. Cho was sitting not far away, talking to the curly-haired friend she had brought along to the Hog's Head. Would Umbridge's notice scare her off meeting them again? But the full repercussions of the sign were not felt until they were leaving the Great Hall for History of Magic. "Harriet! Ron!" It was Angelina and she was hurrying toward them looking perfectly desperate. "It's okay," said Harriet quietly, when she was near enough to hear him. "We're still going to —"
"You realize she's including Quidditch in this?" Angelina said over him. "We have to go and ask permission to re-form the Gryffindor team!" That set Harriet's pregnancy amplified hormones raging. "What?" she said. "No way," said Ron, appalled. "You read the sign, it mentions teams too! So listen, Harriet . . . I am saying this for the last time. . . . Please, please don't lose your temper with Umbridge again or she might not let us play anymore!"
"Okay, okay," said Harriet, for Angelina looked as though she was on the verge of tears. "Don't worry, I'll behave myself . . ." Hoping her pregnancy hormones wouldn't make her a liar. "Bet Umbridge is in History of Magic," said Ron grimly, as they set off for Binns's lesson. "She hasn't inspected Binns yet. . . . Bet you anything she's there . . ." But he was wrong; the only teacher present when they entered was Professor Binns, floating an inch or so above his chair as usual and preparing to continue his monotonous drone on giant wars. Harriet did not even attempt to follow what he was saying today; she doodled idly on her parchment ignoring Hermione's frequent glares and nudges, until a particularly painful poke in the ribs made her look up angrily.
"What?" She pointed at the window. Harriet looked around. Hedwig was perched on the narrow window ledge, gazing through the thick glass at her, a letter tied to her leg. Harriet could not understand it; they had just had breakfast, why on earth hadn't she delivered the letter then, as usual? Many of her classmates were pointing out Hedwig to each other too. "Oh, I've always loved that owl, she's so beautiful," Harriet heard Lavender sigh to Parvati. She glanced around at Professor Binns who continued to read his notes, serenely unaware that the class's attention was even less focused upon him than usual. Harriet slipped quietly off her chair, crouched down, and hurried along the row to the window, where she slid the catch and opened it very slowly.
She had expected Hedwig to hold out her leg so that she could remove the letter and then fly off to the Owlery, but the moment the window was open wide enough she hopped inside, hooting dolefully. She closed the window with an anxious glance at Professor Binns, crouched low again, and sped back to her seat with Hedwig on her shoulder. She regained her seat, transferred Hedwig to her lap, and made to remove the letter tied to her leg. It was only then that she realized that Hedwig's feathers were oddly ruffled; some were bent the wrong way, and she was holding one of her wings at an odd angle.
"She's hurt!" Harriet whispered, bending her head low over her. Hermione and Ron leaned in closer; Hermione even put down her quill. "Look — there's something wrong with her wing —" Hedwig was quivering; when Harriet made to touch the wing she gave a little jump, all her feathers on end as though she was inflating herself, and gazed at her reproachfully. "Professor Binns," said Harriet loudly, and everyone in the class turned to look at her. "I'm not feeling well." She technically wasn't lying, her pregnancy was making her extremely nauseous.
Professor Binns raised his eyes from his notes, looking amazed, as always, to find the room in front of him full of people. "Not feeling well?" he repeated hazily. "Not at all well," said Harriet firmly, getting to her feet while concealing Hedwig behind her back. "So I think I'll need to go to the hospital wing." Hoping this worked. "Yes," said Professor Binns, clearly very much wrong-footed. "Yes . . . yes, hospital wing . . . well, off you go, then, Perkins . . ." Once outside the room Harriet returned Hedwig to her shoulder and hurried off up the corridor, pausing to think only when she was out of sight of Binns's door. Her first choice of somebody to cure Hedwig would have been Hagrid, of course, but as she had no idea where Hagrid was, her only remaining option was to find Professor Grubbly-Plank and hope she would help.
She peered out of a window at the blustery, overcast grounds. There was no sign of her anywhere near Hagrid's cabin; if she was not teaching, she was probably in the staffroom. She set off downstairs, Hedwig hooting feebly as she swayed on her shoulder. Two stone gargoyles flanked the staffroom door. As Harriet approached, one of them croaked, "You should be in class, sunny Jane."
"This is urgent," said Harriet curtly. "Ooooh, urgent, is it?" said the other gargoyle in a high-pitched voice. "Well, that's put us in our place, hasn't it?" Harriet knocked; she heard footsteps and then the door opened and she found herself face-to-face with Professor McGonagall. "You haven't been given another detention!" she said at once, her square spectacles flashing alarmingly. "No, Professor!" said Harriet hastily. "Well then, why are you out of class?" asked Professor McGonagall. "It's urgent, apparently," said the second gargoyle snidely. "I'm looking for Professor Grubbly-Plank," Harriet explained. "It's my owl, she's injured."
"Injured owl, did you say?" Professor Grubbly-Plank appeared at Professor McGonagall's shoulder, smoking a pipe and holding a copy of the Daily Prophet. "Yes," said Harriet, lifting Hedwig carefully off her shoulder, "she turned up after the other post owls and her wing's all funny, look —" Professor Grubbly-Plank stuck her pipe firmly between her teeth and took Hedwig from Harriet while Professor McGonagall watched. "Hmm," said Professor Grubbly-Plank, her pipe waggling slightly as she talked. "Looks like something's attacked her. Can't think what would have done it, though. . . . Thestrals will sometimes go for birds, of course, but Hagrid's got the Hogwarts thestrals well trained not to touch owls . . ." Harriet neither knew nor immediately cared what thestrals were, she just wanted to know that Hedwig was going to be all right. Professor McGonagall, however, looked sharply at Harriet and said, "Do you know how far this owl's traveled, Potter?"
"Er," said Harriet. "From London, I think." She met her eyes briefly and knew that she understood "London" to mean "number twelve, Grimmauld Place" by the way her eyebrows had joined in the middle. Professor Grubbly-Plank pulled a monocle out of the inside of her robes and screwed it into her eye to examine Hedwig's wing closely. "I should be able to sort this out if you leave her with me, Potter," she said. "She shouldn't be flying long distances for a few days, in any case."
"Er — right — thanks," said Harriet, just as the bell rang for break. "No problem," said Professor Grubbly-Plank gruffly, turning back into the staffroom. "Just a moment, Wilhelmina!" said Professor McGonagall. "Potter's letter!"
"Oh yeah!" said Harriet, who had momentarily forgotten the scroll tied to Hedwig's leg. Professor Grubbly-Plank handed it over and then disappeared into the staffroom carrying Hedwig, who was staring at Harriet as though unable to believe she would give her away like this. Feeling slightly guilty, she turned to go, but Professor McGonagall called her back. "Potter!" she said. "Yes, Professor?" Harriet said. She glanced up and down the corridor; there were students coming from both directions. "Bear in mind," she said quickly and quietly, her eyes on the scroll in his hand, "that channels of communication in and out of Hogwarts may be being watched, won't you?"
"I —" said Harriet, but the flood of students rolling along the corridor was almost upon him. Professor McGonagall gave him a curt nod and retreated into the staffroom, leaving Harriet to be swept out into the courtyard with the crowd. Here she spotted Ron and Hermione already standing in a sheltered corner, their cloak collars turned up against the wind. Harriet slit open the scroll as she hurried toward them and found five words in Sirius's handwriting: