“Well,” gulped Hermione into her hands, “well, he was trying to speak to Professor Dumbledore . . .”
Ron froze, his eyes wide; Ginny stopped trying to stamp on her Slytherin captor’s toes; even Luna looked mildly surprised. Fortunately, the attention of Umbridge and her minions was focused too exclusively upon Hermione to notice these suspicious signs.
“Dumbledore?” said Umbridge eagerly. “You know where Dumbledore is, then?”
“Well . . . no!” sobbed Hermione. “We’ve tried the Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley and the Three Broomsticks and even the Hog’s Head —”
“Idiot girl, Dumbledore won’t be sitting in a pub when the whole Ministry’s looking for him!” shouted Umbridge, disappointment etched in every sagging line of her face.
“But — but we needed to tell him something important!” wailed Hermione, holding her hands more tightly over her face, not, Harry knew, out of anguish, but to disguise the continued absence of tears.
“Yes?” said Umbridge with a sudden resurgence of excitement. “What was it you wanted to tell him?”
“We . . . we wanted to tell him it’s r-ready!” choked Hermione.
“What’s ready?” demanded Umbridge, and now she grabbed Hermione’s shoulders again and shook her slightly. “What’s ready, girl?”
“The . . . the weapon,” said Hermione.
“Weapon? Weapon?” said Umbridge, and her eyes seemed to pop with excitement. “You have been developing some method of resistance? A weapon you could use against the Ministry? On Professor Dumbledore’s orders, of course?”
“Y-y-yes,” gasped Hermione. “But he had to leave before it was finished and n-n-now we’ve finished it for him, and we c-c-can’t find him t-t-to tell him!”
“What kind of weapon is it?” said Umbridge harshly, her stubby hands still tight on Hermione’s shoulders.
“We don’t r-r-really understand it,” said Hermione, sniffing loudly. “We j-j-just did what P-P-Professor Dumbledore told us t-t-to do . . .”
Umbridge straightened up, looking exultant.
“Lead me to the weapon,” she said.
“I’m not showing . . . them,” said Hermione shrilly, looking around at the Slytherins through her fingers.
“It is not for you to set conditions,” said Professor Umbridge harshly.
“Fine,” said Hermione, now sobbing into her hands again, “fine . . . let them see it, I hope they use it on you! In fact, I wish you’d invite loads and loads of people to come and see! Th-that would serve you right — oh, I’d love it if the wh-whole school knew where it was, and how to u-use it, and then if you annoy any of them they’ll be able to s-sort you out!”
These words had a powerful impact on Umbridge. She glanced swiftly and suspiciously around at her Inquisitorial Squad, her bulging eyes resting for a moment on Malfoy, who was too slow to disguise the look of eagerness and greed that had appeared on his face.
Umbridge contemplated Hermione for another long moment and then spoke in what she clearly thought was a motherly voice. “All right, dear, let’s make it just you and me . . . and we’ll take Potter too, shall we? Get up, now —”
“Professor,” said Malfoy eagerly, “Professor Umbridge, I think some of the squad should come with you to look after —”
“I am a fully qualified Ministry official, Malfoy, do you really think I cannot manage two wandless teenagers alone?” asked Umbridge sharply. “In any case, it does not sound as though this weapon is something that schoolchildren should see. You will remain here until I return and make sure none of these” — she gestured around at Ron, Ginny, Neville, and Luna — “escape.”
“All right,” said Malfoy, looking sulky and disappointed.
“And you two can go ahead of me and show me the way,” said Umbridge, pointing at Harry and Hermione with her wand. “Lead on . . .”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
FIGHT AND FLIGHT
Harry had no idea what Hermione was planning, or even whether she had a plan. He walked half a pace behind her as they headed down the corridor outside Umbridge’s office, knowing it would look very suspicious if he appeared not to know where they were going. He did not dare attempt to talk to her; Umbridge was walking so closely behind them that he could hear her ragged breathing.
Hermione led the way down the stairs into the entrance hall. The din of loud voices and the clatter of cutlery on plates echoed from out of the double doors to the Great Hall. It seemed incredible to Harry that twenty feet away were people who were enjoying dinner, celebrating the end of exams, not a care in the world. . . .
Hermione walked straight out of the oak front doors and down the stone steps into the balmy evening air. The sun was falling toward the tops of the trees in the Forbidden Forest now as Hermione marched purposefully across the grass, Umbridge jogging to keep up. Their long dark shadows rippled over the grass behind them like cloaks.
“It’s hidden in Hagrid’s hut, is it?” said Umbridge eagerly in Harry’s ear.
“Of course not,” said Hermione scathingly. “Hagrid might have set it off accidentally.”
“Yes,” said Umbridge, whose excitement seemed to be mounting. “Yes, he would have done, of course, the great half-breed oaf . . .”
She laughed. Harry felt a strong urge to swing around and seize her by the throat, but resisted. His scar was throbbing in the soft evening air but it had not yet burned white-hot, as he knew it would if Voldemort had moved in for the kill. . . .
“Then . . . where is it?” asked Umbridge, with a hint of uncertainty in her voice as Hermione continued to stride toward the forest.
“In there, of course,” said Hermione, pointing into the dark trees. “It had to be somewhere that students weren’t going to find it accidentally, didn’t it?”
“Of course,” said Umbridge, though she sounded a little apprehensive now. “Of course . . . very well, then . . . you two stay ahead of me.”