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Snape straightened up slowly and turned to look at her.

“Now… how long have you been teaching at Hogwarts?” she asked, her quill poised over her clipboard.

“Fourteen years,” Snape replied. His expression was unfathomable. Harry, watching him closely, added a few drops to his potion; it hissed menacingly and turned from turquoise to orange.

“You applied first for the Defence Against the Dark Arts post, I believe?” Professor Umbridge asked Snape.

“Yes,” said Snape quietly.

“But you were unsuccessful?”

Snape’s lip curled.

“Obviously.”

Professor Umbridge scribbled on her clipboard.

“And you have applied regularly for the Defence Against the Dark Arts post since you first joined the school, I believe?”

“Yes,” said Snape quietly, barely moving his lips. He looked very angry.

“Do you have any idea why Dumbledore has consistently refused to appoint you?” asked Umbridge.

“I suggest you ask him,” said Snape jerkily.

“Oh, I shall,” said Professor Umbridge, with a sweet smile.

“I suppose this is relevant?” Snape asked, his black eyes narrowed.

“Oh yes,” said Professor Umbridge, “yes, the Ministry wants a thorough understanding of teachers’—er—backgrounds.”

She turned away, walked over to Pansy Parkinson and began questioning her about the lessons. Snape looked round at Harry and their eyes met for a second. Harry hastily dropped his gaze to his potion, which was now congealing foully and giving off a strong smell of burned rubber.

“No marks again, then, Potter,” said Snape maliciously, emptying Harry’s cauldron with a wave of his wand. “You will write me an essay on the correct composition of this potion, indicating how and why you went wrong, to be handed in next lesson, do you understand?”

“Yes,” said Harry furiously. Snape had already given them homework and he had Quidditch practice this evening; this would mean another couple of sleepless nights. It did not seem possible that he had awoken that morning feeling very happy. All he felt now was a fervent desire for this day to end.

“Maybe I’ll skive off Divination,” he said glumly, as they stood in the courtyard after lunch, the wind whipping at the hems of robes and brims of hats. “I’ll pretend to be ill and do Snape’s essay instead, then I won’t have to stay up half the night.”

“You can’t skive off Divination,” said Hermione severely.

“Hark who’s talking, you walked out of Divination, you hate Trelawney!” said Ron indignantly.

“I don’t hate her,” said Hermione loftily. “I just think she’s an absolutely appalling teacher and a real old fraud. But Harry’s already missed History of Magic and I don’t think he ought to miss anything else today!”

There was too much truth in this to ignore, so half an hour later Harry took his seat in the hot, overperfumed atmosphere of the Divination classroom, feeling angry at everybody. Professor Trelawney was yet again handing out copies of The Dream Oracle. Harry thought he’d surely be much better employed doing Snape’s punishment essay than sitting here trying to find meaning in a lot of made-up dreams.

It seemed, however, that he was not the only person in Divination who was in a temper. Professor Trelawney slammed a copy of the Oracle down on the table between Harry and Ron and swept away, her lips pursed; she threw the next copy of the Oracle at Seamus and Dean, narrowly avoiding Seamus’s head, and thrust the final one into Neville’s chest with such force that he slipped off his pouffe.

“Well, carry on!” said Professor Trelawney loudly, her voice high-pitched and somewhat hysterical, “you know what to do! Or am I such a sub-standard teacher that you have never learned how to open a book?”

The class stared perplexedly at her, then at each other. Harry, however, thought he knew what was the matter. As Professor Trelawney flounced back to the high-backed teacher’s chair, her magnified eyes full of angry tears, he leaned his head closer to Ron’s and muttered, “I think she’s got the results of her inspection back.”

“Professor?” said Parvati Patil in a hushed voice (she and Lavender had always rather admired Professor Trelawney). “Professor, is there anything—er—wrong?”

“Wrong!” cried Professor Trelawney in a voice throbbing with emotion. “Certainly not! I have been insulted, certainly… insinuations have been made against me… unfounded accusations levelled… but no, there is nothing wrong, certainly not!”

Читайте також:

1. A blank silence greeted Hermione’s words. She looked around at all the faces upturned to her, rather disconcerted.
2. A large group of people was bunched around the bulletin board when they returned to the common room.
3. A look of cruel satisfaction on his face, Voldemort straightened up, threw back his head, and stared around at the dark graveyard.
4. A roaring, billowing noise behind him gave him a moment’s warning. He turned and saw both Ron and Crabbe running as hard as they could up the aisle toward them.
5. A terrible rasping, gurgling noise issued from Snape’s throat.
6. A whistling in Harry’s ear told him the Bludger had just missed him again; he turned right over and sped in the opposite direction.
7. After a few minutes’ progress up the dark tunnel, a distant sound of slowly shifting rock reached Harry’s ears.
8. An odd, dreamy expression suddenly came over Hermione’s face. She slowly raised a hand and ran her fingers through her hair.
9. And he had turned the Prime Minister’s teacup into a gerbil.
10. And they turned a corner and saw the thing for which Harry had been prepared, but which still brought all of them to a halt.
11. And to Harry’s horror, Slughorn threw out an arm and seemed to scoop Snape out of thin air toward them.
12. As Harry helped himself to a treacle tart, the talk turned to their families.

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