“Really?” said Snape, showing his first, faint sign of interest as he looked around at Harry. “Well, it doesn’t surprise me. Potter has never shown much inclination to follow school rules.”
His cold, dark eyes were boring into Harry’s, who met his gaze unflinchingly, concentrating hard on what he had seen in his dream, willing Snape to read it in his mind, to understand . . .
“I wish to interrogate him!” shouted Umbridge angrily, and Snape looked away from Harry back into her furiously quivering face. “I wish you to provide me with a potion that will force him to tell me the truth!”
“I have already told you,” said Snape smoothly, “that I have no further stocks of Veritaserum. Unless you wish to poison Potter — and I assure you I would have the greatest sympathy with you if you did — I cannot help you. The only trouble is that most venoms act too fast to give the victim much time for truth-telling . . .”
Snape looked back at Harry, who stared at him, frantic to communicate without words.
Voldemort’s got Sirius in the Department of Mysteries, he thought desperately. Voldemort’s got Sirius —
“You are on probation!” shrieked Professor Umbridge, and Snape looked back at her, his eyebrows slightly raised. “You are being deliberately unhelpful! I expected better, Lucius Malfoy always speaks most highly of you! Now get out of my office!”
Snape gave her an ironic bow and turned to leave. Harry knew his last chance of letting the Order know what was going on was walking out of the door.
“He’s got Padfoot!” he shouted. “He’s got Padfoot at the place where it’s hidden!”
Snape had stopped with his hand on Umbridge’s door handle.
“Padfoot?” cried Professor Umbridge, looking eagerly from Harry to Snape. “What is Padfoot? Where what is hidden? What does he mean, Snape?”
Snape looked around at Harry. His face was inscrutable. Harry could not tell whether he had understood or not, but he did not dare speak more plainly in front of Umbridge.
“I have no idea,” said Snape coldly. “Potter, when I want nonsense shouted at me I shall give you a Babbling Beverage. And Crabbe, loosen your hold a little, if Longbottom suffocates it will mean a lot of tedious paperwork, and I am afraid I shall have to mention it on your reference if ever you apply for a job.”
He closed the door behind him with a snap, leaving Harry in a state of worse turmoil than before: Snape had been his very last hope. He looked at Umbridge, who seemed to be feeling the same way; her chest was heaving with rage and frustration.
“Very well,” she said, and she pulled out her wand. “Very well . . . I am left with no alternative. . . . This is more than a matter of school discipline. . . . This is an issue of Ministry security. . . . Yes . . . yes . . .”
She seemed to be talking herself into something. She was shifting her weight nervously from foot to foot, staring at Harry, beating her wand against her empty palm and breathing heavily. Harry felt horribly powerless without his own wand as he watched her.
“You are forcing me, Potter. . . . I do not want to,” said Umbridge, still moving restlessly on the spot, “but sometimes circumstances justify the use . . . I am sure the Minister will understand that I had no choice . . .”
Malfoy was watching her with a hungry expression on his face.
“The Cruciatus Curse ought to loosen your tongue,” said Umbridge quietly.
“No!” shrieked Hermione. “Professor Umbridge — it’s illegal” — but Umbridge took no notice. There was a nasty, eager, excited look on her face that Harry had never seen before. She raised her wand.
“The Minister wouldn’t want you to break the law, Professor Umbridge!” cried Hermione.
“What Cornelius doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” said Umbridge, who was now panting slightly as she pointed her wand at different parts of Harry’s body in turn, apparently trying to decide what would hurt the most. “He never knew I ordered dementors after Potter last summer, but he was delighted to be given the chance to expel him, all the same. . . .”
“It was you?” gasped Harry. “You sent the dementors after me?”
“Somebody had to act,” breathed Umbridge, as her wand came to rest pointing directly at Harry’s forehead. “They were all bleating about silencing you somehow — discrediting you — but I was the one who actually did something about it . . . Only you wriggled out of that one, didn’t you, Potter? Not today, though, not now . . .”
And taking a deep breath, she cried, “Cruc —”
“NO!” shouted Hermione in a cracked voice from behind Millicent Bulstrode. “No — Harry — Harry, we’ll have to tell her!”
“No way!” yelled Harry, staring at the little of Hermione he could see.
“We’ll have to, Harry, she’ll force it out of you anyway, what’s . . . what’s the point . . . ?”
And Hermione began to cry weakly into the back of Millicent Bulstrode’s robes. Millicent stopped trying to squash her against the wall immediately and dodged out of her way looking disgusted.
“Well, well, well!” said Umbridge, looking triumphant. “Little Miss Question-All is going to give us some answers! Come on then, girl, come on!”
“Er — my — nee — no!” shouted Ron through his gag.
Ginny was staring at Hermione as though she had never seen her before; Neville, still choking for breath, was gazing at her too. But Harry had just noticed something. Though Hermione was sobbing desperately into her hands, there was no trace of a tear. . . .
“I’m — I’m sorry everyone,” said Hermione. “But — I can’t stand it —”
“That’s right, that’s right, girl!” said Umbridge, seizing Hermione by the shoulders, thrusting her into the abandoned chintz chair and leaning over her. “Now then . . . with whom was Potter communicating just now?”