She turned on her heel and stormed away.

“You know what?” Harry said to Ron and Hermione as they entered the Great Hall. “I think we’d better check with Puddlemere United whether Oliver Wood’s been killed during a training session, because Angelina seems to be channelling his spirit.”

“What d’you reckon are the odds of Umbridge letting you off on Friday?” said Ron sceptically, as they sat down at the Gryffindor table.

“Less than zero,” said Harry glumly, tipping lamb chops on to his plate and starting to eat. “Better try, though, hadn’t I? I’ll offer to do two more detentions or something, I dunno…” He swallowed a mouthful of potato and added, “I hope she doesn’t keep me too long this evening. You realise we’ve got to write three essays, practise Vanishing Spells for McGonagall, work out a counter-charm for Flitwick, finish the Bowtruckle drawing and start that stupid dream diary for Trelawney?”

Ron moaned and for some reason glanced up at the ceiling.

“And it looks like it’s going to rain.”

“What’s that got to do with our homework?” said Hermione, her eyebrows raised.

“Nothing,” said Ron at once, his ears reddening.

At five to five Harry bade the other two goodbye and set off for Umbridge’s office on the third floor. When he knocked on the door she called, “Come in,” in a sugary voice. He entered cautiously, looking around.

He had known this office under three of its previous occupants.

In the days when Gilderoy Lockhart had lived here it had been plastered in beaming portraits of himself. When Lupin had occupied it, it was likely you would meet some fascinating Dark creature in a cage or tank if you came to call. In the impostor Moody’s days it had been packed with various instruments and artefacts for the detection of wrongdoing and concealment.

Now, however, it looked totally unrecognisable. The surfaces had all been draped in lacy covers and cloths. There were several vases full of dried flowers, each one residing on its own doily, and on one of the walls was a collection of ornamental plates, each decorated with a large technicolour kitten wearing a different bow around its neck. These were so foul that Harry stared at them, transfixed, until Professor Umbridge spoke again.

“Good evening, Mr. Potter.”

Harry started and looked around. He had not noticed her at first because she was wearing a luridly flowered set of robes that blended only too well with the tablecloth on the desk behind her.

“Evening, Professor Umbridge,” Harry said stiffly.

“Well, sit down,” she said, pointing towards a small table draped in lace beside which she had drawn up a straight-backed chair. A piece of blank parchment lay on the table, apparently waiting for him.

“Er,” said Harry, without moving. “Professor Umbridge. Er—before we start, I—I wanted to ask you a… a favour.”

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The door of the nearest greenhouse opened and some fourth-years spilled out of it, including Ginny.	\|	Her bulging eyes narrowed.

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