Chapter 939: Umbridge's Office |
Harry left the Great Hall with his schoolbag on his back and walked up the marble staircase two steps at a time.
The indescribable anger that had just flared so unexpectedly still blazed inside him.
The vision of Evan, Ron, and Hermione’s shocked faces afforded him a sense of deep satisfaction.
As he gradually calmed down, he felt a bit regretful.
Harry knew that he shouldn’t be angry with Evan and lose his temper, but an uncontrollable restlessness had surged through his body.
The frequent pain in his scar had been bothering him lately, but he couldn’t talk about it.
The school was full of gossip, and his once-trusted friends were full of mistrust. Ron and Hermione were bickering all the time, the Umbridge woman was full of malice, and Professor McGonagall wanted him to keep his head down, Dumbledore seemed indifferent to him, and Evan let things unfold…
It was the same in the morning, it was the same at noon, it was the same at night, and it was the same when he returned to the bedroom. He had nowhere to escape.
Under all the pressure, he felt like he was about to be driven crazy.
“Go and sit in the library for a while, then go to that woman’s place for detention and apologize to Evan when back in the evening,” He thought pitifully, “I need to control my temper, clear my brain, and think of nothing…”
At this moment, Peeves emerged from an empty classroom wall, juggling several inkwells.
“Oh, it’s Potty Wee Potter!” cackled Peeves. “Why aren’t you eating? What are you doing here?”
He allowed two of the inkwells to fall to the ground where they smashed and spattered the walls with ink.
Harry jumped backward out of the way with a snarl, “Get out of it, Peeves!”
“Crackpot’s feeling cranky; I saw it all this afternoon. I told everyone,” said Peeves, pursuing Harry along the corridor, leering as he zoomed along above him.
“Oh, most think he’s barking, the Potty wee lad,
But some are more kindly and think he’s just sad,
But Peevesy knows better and says that he’s mad.”
“SHUT UP!” Harry yelled, walking down a narrow path.
The indescribable anger in his body came out again, and he drew his wand, ready to teach Peeves a lesson.
He had learned this magic from Sirius back then, and knew how to attack Peeves with it. But the cunning Peeves didn’t keep up.
Harry passed the large picture of Sir Cadogan.
When he saw him, Sir Cadogan drew his sword and brandished it fiercely at Harry, who ignored him.
He was really fed up with all of it. They were all the same. Even the ghosts and the portraits were so hateful.
It was hard to imagine that just a few weeks ago; he had been missing all of this.
“Come back, you scurvy dog, stand fast and fight!” yelled Sir Cadogan in a muffled voice from behind his visor, but Harry merely walked on, and when Sir Cadogan attempted to follow him by running into a neighboring picture, he was rebuffed by its inhabitant, a large and angry-looking wolfhound.
“Oy, Potter!” said a loud and angry voice just as he was walking to the library door.
“What now?” Harry turned his head impatiently, almost at the limit.
He saw Angelina Johnson standing on the nearby staircase, apparently having followed him up.
She seemed angrier than him, ready to unleash thunder at any moment.
“I’ll tell you what now,” she said, marching straight up to him and poking him hard in the chest with her finger. “I’ve heard all about it. How come you’ve landed yourself in detention for five o’clock on Friday?”
“What?” Harry was taken aback for a moment, and then remembered. “Oh yeah, Keeper tryouts!”
“Now he remembers!” snarled Angelina. “Didn’t I tell you I wanted to do a tryout with the whole team, and find someone who fitted in with everyone? Didn’t I tell you I’d booked the Quidditch pitch specially? And now you’ve decided you’re not going to be there! “
“I didn’t decide not to be there!” said Harry, stung by the injustice of these words. “I got detention from that Umbridge woman, just because I told her the truth about You-Know-Who.”
“Well, you can just go straight to her and ask her to let you off on Friday,” said Angelina fiercely, “and I don’t care how you do it, tell her You-Know-Who’s a figment of your imagination if you like, just make sure you’re there!”
With that, she stormed away, leaving Harry standing there alone.
Three second-year girls came out of the library, and immediately huddled in a corner, keeping their distance from him.
The way they acted, as if Harry would pounce on them and bite them hard, made him actually have that impulse…
He sighed, though he felt that it was unlikely that Umbridge would let him off on Friday, it was better to give it a try.
Angelina was right, he couldn’t miss Friday’s tryouts, and Quidditch was his only pleasure.
That being the case, he’d better come to Umbridge’s office early to make a good impression on her.
Harry turned around and walked towards Umbridge’s office.
He knocked on the door, only to hear a sugary voice shout, “Come in.”
Harry entered cautiously, looking around.
He had known this office under its previous occupants.
In the days when Gilderoy Lockhart had lived here it had been plastered in beaming portraits of its owner.
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.
During the time of Sirius, it was full of all kinds of interesting Auror props and delicious candies.
And In the impostor Moody’s days it had been packed with various instruments and artifacts for the detection of wrongdoing and concealment, although they were all damaged. When the real Mad-Eye returned, he threw away all those things and replaced them with a new batch.
Now, however, it looked totally unrecognizable.
The surfaces had all been draped in lacy covers and cloths. There were several vases full of dried flowers, each residing on its own doily, and on one of the walls was a collection of ornamental plates, each decorated with a large technicolor kitten wearing a different bow around its neck.
These were so foul that Harry stared at them, transfixed, until Professor Umbridge spoke again…
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