Harry glanced back at Ron and Hermione, who were both looking worried. He shrugged, and followed Filch back into the Entrance Hall, against the tide of hungry students.

Filch seemed to be in an extremely good mood; he hummed creakily under his breath as they climbed the marble staircase. As they reached the first landing he said, “Things are changing around here, Potter.”

“I’ve noticed,” said Harry coldly.

“Yerse… I’ve been telling Dumbledore for years and years he’s too soft with you all,” said Filch, chuckling nastily. “You filthy little beasts would never have dropped Stink Pellets if you’d known I had it in my power to whip you raw, would you, now? Nobody would have thought of throwing Fanged Frisbees down the corridors if I could’ve strung you up by the ankles in my office, would they? But when Educational Decree Number Twenty-nine comes in, Potter, I’ll be allowed to do them things… and she’s asked the Minister to sign an order for the expulsion of Peeves… oh, things are going to be very different around here with her in charge—”

Umbridge had obviously gone to some lengths to get Filch on her side, Harry thought, and the worst of it was that he would probably prove an important weapon; his knowledge of the school’s secret passageways and hiding places was probably second only to that of the Weasley twins.

“Here we are,” he said, leering down at Harry as he rapped three times on Professor Umbridge’s door and pushed it open. “The Potter boy to see you, Ma’am.”

Umbridge’s office, so very familiar to Harry from his many detentions, was the same as usual except for the large wooden block lying across the front of her desk on which golden letters spelled the word: HEADMISTRESS. Also, his Firebolt and Fred and George’s Cleansweeps, which he saw with a pang, were chained and padlocked to a stout iron peg in the wall behind the desk.

Umbridge was sitting behind the desk, busily scribbling on some of her pink parchment, but she looked up and smiled widely at their entrance.

“Thank you, Argus,” she said sweetly.

“Not at all, Ma’am, not at all,” said Filch, bowing as low as his rheumatism would permit, and exiting backwards.

“Sit,” said Umbridge curtly, pointing towards a chair. Harry sat. She continued to scribble for a few moments. He watched some of the foul kittens gambolling around the plates over her head, wondering what fresh horror she had in store for him.

“Well, now,” she said finally, setting down her quill and surveying him complacently, like a toad about to swallow a particularly juicy fly. “What would you like to drink?”

“What?” said Harry, quite sure he had misheard her.

“To drink, Mr. Potter,” she said, smiling still more widely. Tea? Coffee? Pumpkin juice?”

Читайте також:

<== попередня сторінка	\|	наступна сторінка ==>
Hermione looked very shocked.	\|	As she named each drink, she gave her short wand a wave, and a cup or glass of it appeared on her desk.

Не знайшли потрібну інформацію? Скористайтесь пошуком google:

Генерація сторінки за: 0.004 сек.