Rigel spent most of his breakfast finishing his essay about Human Transfiguration but he also had to deal with the fact that Angelina Johnson had given him a piece of her mind and threatened to kick him out if he pulls another stunt like this again.
"I can't believe you took our detention," Eliza muttered as he tried to finish his bowtruckle drawing. "And what happened to your hand?" she questioned.
"Oh, Gandalf scratched my hand." Rigel lied
Eliza shrugged. "What did Umbridge make you do?"
"Write lines," Rigel said pulling his sleeve over his hand without drawing attention. "Yeah, it was still terrible. She made me write 'I will not tell lies' for like, an hour and a half and then erased it! All that hard work is gone."
Eliza laughed.
"I can't believe how much homework we've got," said Ron miserably in the Gryffindor tower.
"Well, why didn't you do any last night?" Hermione asked him."Where were you anyway?"
"I was . . . I fancied a walk," said Ron shiftily.
Rigel had the distinct impression that he was not alone in concealing things at the moment.
The second detention was just as bad as the previous one. The skin on the back of Rigel's hand became irritated more quickly now, red andinflamed; he thought it unlikely to keep healing as effectively for long. Soon the cut would remain etched in his hand and Umbridge would, perhaps, be satisfied. He let no moan of pain escape him, however, and from the moment of entering the room to the moment of his dismissal, again past midnight, he said nothing but "Good evening" and "Good night."
His homework situation, however, was now desperate, and when he returned to the Gryffindor common room he did not, though exhausted, go to bed, but opened his books and began Snape's moonstone essay. It was half-past two by the time he had finished it. He knew he had done a poor job, but there was no help for it; unless he had something to give in he would be in detention with Snape next. He then dashed off answers to the questions Professor McGonagall had set them, cobbled together something on the proper handling of bowtruckles for Professor Grubbly-Plank, and staggered up to the bed, where he fell fully clothed on top of the bed covers and fell asleep immediately.
Thursday passed in a haze of tiredness. Ron seemed very sleepy too, though Rigel could not see why he should be. His third detention passed in the same way as the previous two, except that after two hours the words "I must not tell lies" did not fade from the back of Rigel's hand, but remained scratched there, oozing droplets of blood. The pause in the pointed quill's scratching made Professor Umbridgelookup
"Ah," she said softly, moving around her desk to examine his hand herself. "Good. That ought to serve as a reminder to you, oughtn't it? You may leave for tonight
"Do I still have to come back tomorrow?" said Rigel, picking up his schoolbag with his left hand rather than his right.
"Oh yes," said Professor Umbridge, smiling widely as before. "Yes, I think we can etch the message a little deeper with another evenings work
Rigel really wanted to throttle her.
"Ron?"
He had reached the top of the stairs, turned right, and almost walked into Ron, who was lurking behind a statue of Lachlan the Lanky, clutching his broomstick. He gave a great leap of surprise when he saw Rigel and attempted to hide his new nimbus 2001 (A gift Rigel and Harry had gifted on his fourteen birthday) behind his back.
"What are you doing?"
"Er — nothing. What are you doing?"Rigel frowned at him. "Come on, you can tell me! What are you hiding here for?"
"I'm — I'm hiding from Fred and George if you must know," said Ron. "They just went past with a bunch of first years, I bet they're testing stuff on them again, I mean, they can't do it in the common room now, can they, not with Hermione there."
He was talking in a very fast, feverish way.
"But what have you got your broom for, you haven't been flying, have you?" Rigel asked.
"I — well — well, okay, I'll tell you, but don't laugh, all right?" Ron said defensively, turning redder with every second. "I-I thought I'd try out for Gryffindor Keeper now I've got a decent broom. There. Go on. Laugh."
"The fuck would I laugh?" said Rigel. Ron blinked. "It's a brilliant idea! It'd be really cool if you got on the team! I've never seen you play keeper, are you good?"
"I'm not bad," said Ron, who looked immensely relieved at Rigel's reaction. "Charlie, Fred, and George always made me Keep for them when they were training during the holidays."
"So you've been practicing tonight?"
"Every evening since Tuesday . . . just on my own, though, I've been trying to bewitch Quaffles to fly at me, but it hasn't been easy and I don't know how much use it'll be." Ron looked nervous and anxious. "Fred and George are going to laugh themselves stupid when I turn up for the tryouts."
"I wish I was going to be there," said Rigel bitterly, as they set off together toward the common room."
"Sorry mate," Ron said with a sympathetic smile. "What happened to your hand?"
"Transfiguration happened." Rigel lied faking an annoyed expression.
Ron shrugged and Rigel felt much more guilty than yesterday.
Friday dawned sullen and sodden as the rest of the week. when he entered the Great Hall, McGongall came out of nowhere and told him that he would have a history of magic lessons and animagus training on Sunday
Two things sustained Harry that day. One was the thought that itwas almost the weekend; the other was that dreadful though his final detention with Umbridge was sure to be, he had a distant view of the quidditch pitch from her window and might, with luck, be able to see something of Ron's tryout. He hoped
At five o'clock that evening he knocked on Professor Umbridge'soffice door for what he sincerely hoped would be the final time, was told to enter, and did so. The blank parchment lay ready for him on the lace-covered table, the pointed black quill beside it.
You know what to do, Mr. Black," said Umbridge, smiling sweetly over at him.
Rigel picked up the quill and glanced through the window. If he just shifted his chair an inch or so to the right . . . On the pretext of shifting himself closer to the table, he managed it. He now had a distant view of the Gryffindor Quidditch team soaring up and down the pitch, while half a dozen black figures stood at the foot of the three high goalposts, apparently awaiting their turn to Keep. It was impossible to tell which one was Ron at this distance.
By the time was done, the parchment was now shining with drops of blood from the back of his hand, which was searing with pain. When he next looked up, night had fallen and the Quidditch pitch was no longer visible.
"Let's see if you've gotten the message yet, shall we?" said Umbridge's soft voice half an hour later.
She moved toward him, stretching out her short be-ringed fingers for his arm. Rigel winced as she touched it.
"Yes, it hurts, doesn't it?" she said softly.
Rigel didn't answer. Just glared at her.
"Well, I think I've made my point, Mr. Black. Your detentions are over."
A roar of sound greeted him. Ron came running toward him, beaming all over his face and slopping butterbeer down his front from the goblet he was clutching.
"Rigel, I did it, I'm in, I'm Keeper!"
"What? Oh — brilliant!" Rigel said, trying to smile naturally
"Have a butterbeer." Ron pressed a bottle onto him. "I can't believe it — where's Hermione gone?"
"She's there," said Fred, who was also swigging butterbeer, and pointed to an armchair by the fire. Hermione was dozing in it, her drink tipping precariously in her hand.
"Well, she said she was pleased when I told her," said Ron, looking slightly put out.
"Let her sleep," said George hastily. It was a few moments before harry noticed that several of the first years gathered around them bore unmistakable signs of recent nosebleeds.
"Come here, Ron, and see if Oliver's old robes fit you," Eliza called out. "We can take off his name and put yours on instead. . . ."
As Ron moved away, Angelina came striding up to Rigel.
"Sorry I was a bit short with you earlier, Black," she said abruptly."It's stressful, this managing lark, you know, I'm starting to think I was a bit hard on Wood sometimes." She was watching Ron over the rim of her goblet with a slight frown on her face.
"Look, I know he's your best mate, but he's not fabulous," she said bluntly. "I think with a bit of training he'll be all right, though. He comes from a family of good Quidditch players. I'm banking on him turning out to have a bit more talent than he showed today, to be honest. Vicky Frobisher and Geoffrey Hooper both flew better this evening, but Hooper's a real whiner, he's always moaning about something or other, and Vicky's involved in all sorts of societies, she admitted herself that if training clashed with her Charm Club she'd put Charms first. Anyway, we're having a practice session at two o'clock tomorrow, so just make sure you're there this time. And do me a favor and help Ron as much as you can, okay?"
He nodded and Angelina strolled back to Alicia Spinnet. Harry pulled him and spoke to him about the sharp pain in his scar.
"But Voldemort can't be here," he whispered. "Have you told Dumbledore?"
I'm not bothering him with this. Like you just said, it's not a big deal. It's been hurting on and off all summer — it was just a bit worse tonight, that's all —"
"Harry, I'm sure Dumbledore would want to be bothered by this —"
"Yeah," said Harry, before he could stop himself, "that's the only bit of me Dumbledore cares about, isn't it, my scar?"
"You know it's not true."
"I think I'll write and tell Sirius about it, see what he thinks —"
"You can't put something like that in a letter Harry!" Rigel said alarmed. "Don't you remember, Moody told us to be careful what we put in writing! We just can't guarantee owls aren't being intercepted anymore!"
"All right, all right, I won't tell him, then!" said Harry irritably. He got to his feet. "I'm going to bed. Tell Ron for me, will you?"
"Yeah, I will." Rigel waved off. "Anyway, I have homework to finish because of those detentions."
"Which you shouldn't have done in the first place." Harry glared at him.
"And you should control your temper and practice occulmency." Rigel retorted,
Saturday came and Rigel was already down eating breakfast. Hermione and Ron were opposite him and Eliza was next to him stealing his breakfast. Later Harry came back grinning madly.
"What are you looking so pleased about?" said Ron, eyeing Harry in surprise.
"Erm . . . Quidditch later," said Harry happily, pulling a large platter of bacon and eggs toward him.
"Oh . . . yeah . . ." said Ron. He put down the bit of toast he was eating and took a large swig of pumpkin juice. Then he said, "Listen. . . you don't fancy going out a bit earlier with me, do you? Just to —er — give me some practice before training? So I can, you know, get my eye in a bit . . ."
"Yeah, okay," said Harry and Eliza.
"Can't." Rigel shrugged. "I'm really behind Ron."
The morning post was arriving and, as usual, theDaily Prophet was soaring toward her in the beak of a screech owl, which landed perilously close to the sugar bowl and held out a leg; Hermione pushed a Knut into its leather pouch, took the newspaper, and scanned the front page critically as the owl took off again.
"Anything interesting?" Rigel asked;
"No," she sighed, "just some guff about one of their players in the Weird Sisters getting married. . . ."
"Ohh which one?" Eliza asked excitedly.
"Do you even know their names?" Rigel asked amusedly.
Eliza stuck her tongue out. Then read Rigel's daily prophet. "Hey Look at this!"
"I've got all the robes I want," Rigel said,
"No," said Eliza, "look . . . this little piece here . . ."
Ron and Hermione bent closer to read it; the item was barely an inch long and placed right at the bottom of a column. It was headlined:
TRESPASS AT MINISTRY
Sturgis Podmore, 38, of number two, Laburnum Gardens, Clapham, has appeared in front of the theWizengamot charged with trespass and attempted robbery at the Ministry of Magic on 31st August. Podmore was arrested by Ministry of Magic watch wizard Eric Munch, who found him attempting to force his way through a top-security door at one o'clock in the morning. Podmore, who refused to speak in his own defense, was convicted on both charges and sentenced to six months in Azkaban.
"Sturgis Podmore?" said Ron slowly, "but he's that bloke who looks like his head's been thatched, isn't he? He's one of the Ord —"
"Ron, shh!" said Hermione, casting a terrified look around them.
"Six months in Azkaban!" whispered Harry, shocked. "Just for trying to get through a door!"
"Don't be silly, it wasn't just for trying to get through a door —what on earth was he doing at the Ministry of Magic at one o'clock inthe morning?" breathed Hermione
"D'you reckon he was doing something for the Order?" Ron muttered.
"Wait a moment. . . ." said Harry slowly. "Sturgis was supposed to come and see us off, remember?"
"Oh yeah I remember, he was supposed to be part of our guard going to King'sCross. And Moody was all annoyed because he didn't turn up, so that doesn't seem like he was supposed to be on a job for them, does it?"
"Well, maybe they didn't expect him to get caught," said Hermione.
"It could be a frame-up!" Ron exclaimed excitedly. "Now — listen!" he went on, dropping his voice dramatically at the threatening look on Hermione's face. "The Ministry suspects he's one of Dumbledore'slot so — I dunno — they lured him to the Ministry, and he Wasnt trying to get through a door at all! Maybe they've just made something up to get him!"
"That's quite a theory," Rigel said impressed.
"I wouldn't be at all surprised if that were true," Hermione said.
She folded up her half of the newspaper thoughtfully. When Harry laid down his knife and fork she seemed to come out of a reverie.
"Right, well, I think we should tackle that essay for Sprout on SelfFertilizing Shrubs first, and if we're lucky we'll be able to start McGonagall's Inanimatus Conjurus before lunch. . . ."
While Harry, Eliza, and Ron had decided to do their homework later (Considering the towns had much less than Ron's) Rigel had decided to stay back with Hermione considering how terrible he was at herbology.
After lunch, he and the rest of the team went to the quidditch pitch for their first training session.
"All right, Ron?" said George, winking at him.
"Yeah," said Ron, who had become quieter and quieter all the way down to the pitch.
"Ready to show us all up, Ickle Ronnikins?" said Fred, emerging tousle-haired from the neck of his Quidditch robes, a slightly malicious grin on his face.
"Shut up," said Ron, stony-faced.
"Don't worry, Ron." Eliza said wrapping an arm around him. "They're just messin' with you."
"Okay everyone," said Angelina, entering from the Captain's office, already changed. "Let's get to it; Rigel and Fred, if you can just bring the ball crate out for us. Oh, and there are a couple of people out there watching but I want you to just ignore them, all right?"
Something in her would-be casual voice made Harry think he might know who the uninvited spectators were, and sure enough, when they left the changing room for the bright sunlight of the pitch it was to a storm of catcalls and jeers from the Slytherin Quidditch team and assorted hangers-on, who were grouped halfway up the empty stands and whose voices echoed loudly around the stadium.
"The nimbus 2001?" Malfoy called in his sneering drawl."Did Potter and Black donate it, Weasley?"
Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson guffawed but shriekehed when Rigel threw a stray curse at them. Ron mounted his broom and kicked it off from the ground and Harry followed him, watching his ears turn red from behind.
"Okay everyone, we're" Angelina spoke with the Quaffle under her arm "We're going to start with some passes just to warm up, the whole team please —"
"Hey, Johnson, what's with that hairstyle anyway?" shrieked Pansy Parkinson from below. "Why would anyone want to look like they've got worms coming out of their head?"
"She'll rather have that hairstyle than your Parkinson!" Eliza yelled. "Honestly why bother wearing that wig? You're ugly enough without it."
Parkinson flushed red as she glared at Eliza who smiled at her cheekily.
"That's enough Potter," Angelina said sharply though she was smiling. "Spread out, then, and let's see what we can do. . . ."
Rigel spread out wide near the stands where the Slytherins were. Harry reversed away from the others to the far side of the pitch. Ron fell back toward the opposite goal. Angelina raised the Quaffle with one hand and threw it hard to Fred, who passed to George, who passed to Harry, who passed to Ron, who dropped it
The Slytherins, led by Malfoy, roared and screamed with laughter. Ron slipped sideways on his broom, and returned to playing height, blushing. Fred and George luckily didn't say much.
"Pass it on, Ron," called Angelina, as though nothing had happened.
Ron threw the Quaffle to Rigel, who passed back to Harry, who passed to Eliza. . . .
"Hey, Potters, how're your scars feeling?" called Malfoy. "Sure you don't need a lie-down? It must be, what, a whole week since you two were in the hospital wing, that's a record for you, isn't it?"
Fred passed to Angelina; she reverses passed to Harry, who had not been expecting it, but caught it in the very tips of his fingers and passed it quickly to Ron, who lunged for it and missed by inches.
"Come on now, Ron," said Angelina crossly, as Ron dived for theground again, chasing the Quaffle. "Pay attention."
Ron's face was a deeper scarlet than the Quaffle when he returned again to playing height. Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherin team were howling with laughter.
He passed it to Angelina, who passed it to Harry, then to Eliza who threw it to Fred and he passed it to Ron, who finally caught it. Perhaps out of relief he passed it on so enthusiastically that it soared straight through Rigel's outstretched hands and hit him hard in the face.
"FUCK!" Rigel cursed in parseltongue.
Ron groaned, zooming forward to see whether he had done any damage.
"Rigel, I am so sorry" Ron groaned, zooming forward to see whether he had done any damage.
"Get back in position, he's fine!" barked Angelina, clearly losing her temper. "But as you're passing to a teammate, do try not to knock him off his broom, won't you? We've got Bludgers for that!"
Rigel's nose was bleeding badly. Down below the Slytherins were stamping their feet and jeering. Fred and George converged on him.
"Here, take this," Fred told him, handing him something small and purple from out of his pocket. "It'll clear it up in no time."
Rigel eyed it warily but took it nonetheless.
"All right," called Angelina, "Fred, George, go and get your bats and a Bludger; Ron, get up to the goalposts, Harry, release the Snitch when I say so. We're going to aim for Ron's goal, obviously."
Everyone got in position and waited for the whistle. Finally, the chasers aimed at Ron,
"Stop — stop – STOP!" screamed Angelina. "Ron — you're not covering your middle post!"
But Rigel barely heard Angelina's rant. he was starting to feel weaker and weaker as each minute went by.
"And Rigel, can't you do something about that nosebleed?"
"It's just getting worse!" said Rigel thickly, attempting to stem the flow with his sleeve.
"What the fuck did you guys give him?" Eliza demanded rounding at the twins
"Well, let's try again," said Angelina. She was ignoring the Slytherins, who had now set up a chant of "Gryffindor are losers, Gryffindorare losers," but there was a certain rigidity about her seat on the broom nevertheless.
This time they had been flying for barely three minutes and Rigel couldn't take it anymore. He felt so lightheaded that he dropped the quaffle slipping down though the twins managed to catch him in time.
What now?" Harry said impatiently to Angelina, who was nearest.
"Rigel," she said shortly flying down.
By now, Rigel was a bloody mess. He was chalk-white blood covering his entire torso.
"What did you two give him!?" Eliza demanded.
Fred gulped. "He — er — might have swallowed a Blood Blisterpod by mistake —"
"We'll take him," George said gulping at Eliza's glare. "You- uhh go and rest?"
"He better be alright." Eliza glared before the twins zoomed off towards the castle supporting Rigel between them.
"In times like this when we could able to apparate in school" Fred huffed.
They arrived at the Hospital Wing and the talking became in blurs and muffled and Rigel felt someone force him to drink a potion before he fell asleep.
The next day, Madam Pomfrey discharged him and Rigel spent the rest of his day finishing his homework. At exactly two o clock he went to McGonagall's office whose lesson on the Goblin rebellion of 1219 was slightly more interesting than what Binns does. Then she gave him a Mandrake leaf and told him to stick it on the roof of his mouth for an entire full month much to his discomfort though Rigel had wanted to change the animagi training. In his opinion, it was too long and time-consuming
"Hey isn't that Percy's owl?" Rigel asked as a screech owl towards Ron.
"Blimey, it is!" said Ron quietly, throwing down his quill and getting to his feet. "What's Percy writing to me for?"
He crossed to the window and opened it; Hermes flew inside, landed upon Ron's essay, and held out a leg to which a letter was attached. Ron took it off and the owl departed at once, leaving inky footprints across Ron's drawing of the moon Io.
"That's definitely Percy's handwriting," said Ron, sinking back into his chair and staring at the words on the outside of the scroll: Ronald Weasley, Gryffindor House, Hogwarts. He looked up at the other two. "What d'you reckon?"
"Open it!" said Hermione eagerly. Harry nodded. Ron unrolled the scroll and began to read. The farther down the parchment his eyes traveled, the more pronounced became his scowl. When he had finished reading, he looked disgusted. He thrust the letter at the four, who leaned toward each other to read it together:
Dear Ron,
I feel that the time is right for me to contact you to offer you some advice. I know that you will probably destroy this letter before reading it but as your older brother, I feel I must at least try to make you see sense. I have heard from (no less a person than) the Minister of Magic that you are still friends with Harry and Elizabeth Potter. I must tell you, Ron, that nothing could put you in danger of being expelled more than continued fraternization with them. Yes, I am sure you are surprised to hear this — no doubt you will say that the Potters have always been Dumbledore's favorite — but I feel bound to tell you that Dumbledore may not be in charge at Hogwarts much longer and the people who count have a very different — and probably more accurate — view of the Potters behavior. I shall say no more here, but if you look at the Daily Prophettomorrow you will get a good idea of the way the wind is blowing — and see if you can spot yours truly!
Seriously, Ron, you do not want to be tarred with the same brush as the Potters, it could be very damaging to your future prospects, and I am talking here about life after school too. As you must be aware, given that our father escorted Harry Potter to court, as had a disciplinary hearing this summer in front of the wholeWizengamot and he did not come out of it looking too good. He got off on a mere technicality if you ask me and many of the people I've spoken to remain convinced of his guilt.
It may be that you are afraid to sever ties with the Potters— I know that they are unbalanced and, for all I know, violent —but if you have any worries about this, or have spotted anything else in Potter's behavior that is troubling you, I urge you to speak to Dolores Umbridge, a really delightful woman, who I know will be only too happy to advise you.
This leads me to my other bit of advice. As I have hinted above, Dumbledore's regime at Hogwarts may soon be over. Your loyalty, Ron, should be not to him, but to the school and the Ministry. I am very sorry to hear that so far Professor Umbridge is encountering very little cooperation from staff as she strives to make those necessary changes within Hogwarts that the Ministry so ardently desires (although she should find this easier from next week — again, see the Prophet tomorrow!). I shall say only this— a student who shows himself willing to help Professor Umbridge now may be very well placed for Head Boys in a couple of years!
I am sorry that I was unable to see more of you over the summer. It pains me to criticize our parents, but I am afraid I can no longer live under their roof while they remain mixed up with the dangerous crowd around Dumbledore (if you are writing to mother at any point, you might tell her that a certain Sturgis Podmore, who is a great friend of Dumbledore's, has recently been sent to Azkaban for trespass at the Ministry. Perhaps that will open their eyes to the kind of petty criminals with whom they are currently rubbing shoulders). I count myself very lucky to have escaped the stigma of association with such people — the Minister really could not be more gracious to me — and I do hope, Ron, that you will not allow family ties to blind you to the misguided nature of our parents' beliefs and actions either. I sincerely hope that, in time, they will realize how mistaken they were and I shall, of course, be ready to accept a full apology when that day comes
Please think over what I have said most carefully, particularly the bit about Harry Potter, and please pass my congratulations to Rigel Black on becoming prefect.
Your brother,
Percy
"Well...if you want to sever ties with me, I swear I won't get violent. I can't say the same for Eliza though; she's volatile enough without a wand but...ouch!" Eliza had aimed a sharp kick at him under the table.
"He is the world's biggest git." Said Ron passionately tearing up the letter and throwing it into the fire with an unnatural look on his face.
"Come on, we've got to get this finished sometime before dawn," he said briskly to Harry, pulling Professor Sinistra's essay back toward him.
Hermione was looking at Ron with an odd expression on her face.
"Oh, give them here," she said abruptly.
"What?" said Ron.
"Give them to me, I'll look through them and correct them," she said.
"Are you serious? Ah, Hermione, you're a lifesaver," Ron grinned tiredly,"what can I — ?"
"What you can say is, 'We promise we'll never leave our homework this late again,' " she said, holding out both hands for their essays, but she looked slightly amused all the same.
"Thanks a million, Hermione," Rigel said weakly, passing over his essay and sinking back into his armchair, rubbing his eyes.
It was now past midnight and the common room was deserted but for the four of them and Crookshanks. The only sound was that of Hermione's quill scratching out sentences here and there on their essays and the ruffle of pages as she checked various facts in the reference books strewn across the table.
"Okay, write that down," Hermione said to Ron, pushing his essay and a sheet covered in her own writing back to Ron, "and then copy out this conclusion that I've written for you."
"Hermione, you are honestly the most wonderful person I've ever met," said Ron weakly, "and if I'm ever rude to you again —"
"— I'll know you're back to normal," said Hermione. "Harry, yours is okay except for this bit at the end, I think you must have misheard Professor Sinistra, Europa's covered in ice, not mice — Harry?"
Harry had slid off his chair onto his knees and was now crouching on the singed and threadbare hearthrug, gazing into the flames.
"Er — Harry?" said Ron uncertainly. "Why are you down there?"
"Because I've just seen Sirius's head in the fire," said Harry.
"What!" Eliza said before sliding down to her knees. "Oi Padfoot come out you butt sniffer!
"Butt sniffer!?" as Sirius's face came into the flames. "Butt sniffer?" he asked half amused half confused.
"Oh it suits you," Eliza said. "What are you doing?"
"Just been popping into the fire every hour?" Sirius said smiling. "Just for a few seconds to check if the coast was clear yet."
"But what if you'd been seen?" said Hermione anxiously.
"Well, I ended up popping right when a couple got rather... intense." Sirius flushed. "And I may have overreacted a bit oh don't laugh!" he said at the five chuckling students. "Oh anyway Harry I got your letter and nice codes mate." Sirius grinned.
"You didn't tell!" Eliza accused.
"I forgot," Harry said sheepishly.
"Anyway, we'd better be quick, just in case we're disturbed — your scar"
"Well, I know it can't be fun when it hurts, but we don't think its anything to really worry about. It kept aching all last year, didn't it?"
"Yeah, and Dumbledore said it happened when Voldemort was feeling a powerful emotion. So you think he was just angry or something."
"Angry that we had a horrendous keeper tryout." Eliza snorted.
"Well, now he's back it's bound to hurt more often," said Sirius. "Anyway, who's your new DADA teacher?"
All of them went on a long rant about Umbridge with Eliza giving her a new nickname 'Umbitch'
"I know her by reputation and I'm sure she's no Death Eater —"
"She's foul enough to be one," said Harry darkly and Ron and Hermione nodded vigorously in agreement.
"Yes, but the world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters," said Sirius with a wry smile. "I know she's a nasty piece of work, though — you should hear Remus talk about her."
"She's the one who passed that anti werewolf legislation," Rigel explained.
"What's she got against werewolves?" said Hermione angrily.
"Scared of them, I expect," said Sirius, smiling at her indignation."Apparently, she loathes part-humans; she campaigned to have merpeople rounded up and tagged last year too. Imagine wasting your time and energy persecuting merpeople when there are little toerags like Kreacher on the loose —"
Ron laughed but Hermione looked upset.
"Sirius!" she said reproachfully. "Honestly, if you made a bit of an effort with Kreacher I'm sure he'd respond, after all, you and Rigel are the only member of his family he's got left, and Professor Dumbledore said —"
"So what are Umbridge's lessons like?" Sirius interrupted. "Is she training you all to kill half-breeds?"
"No," said Harry, ignoring Hermione's affronted look at being cut off in her defense of Kreacher. "She's not letting us use magic at all!"
"All we do is read the stupid textbook," Eliza grumbled.
"Ah, well, that figures," said Sirius. "Our information from inside the Ministry is that Fudge doesn't want you trained in combat."
"Trained in combat?" repeated Harry incredulously. "What does he think we're doing here, forming some sort of wizard army?"
"That's exactly what he thinks you're doing," said Sirius, "or rather, that's exactly what he's afraid Dumbledore's doing — forming his own private army, with which he will be able to take on the Ministry of Magic."
"Idiot." Rigel shook his head.
"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," Eliza said.
"So we're being prevented from learning Defense Against the DarkArts because Fudge is scared we'll use spells against the Ministry?" said Hermione, looking furious
"Yep," said Sirius. "Fudge thinks Dumbledore will stop at nothing to seize power. He's getting more paranoid about Dumbledore by the day. It's a matter of time before he has Dumbledore arrested on some trumped-up charge."
This reminded them of Percy's letter
"D'you know if there's going to be anything about Dumbledore in the Daily Prophet tomorrow? Only Ron's brother Percy reckons there will be —"
"I don't know," said Sirius, "I haven't seen anyone from the Order all weekend, they're all busy. I mean Andi and Ted went to work so It's just been Kreacher and me here. . . ."
There was a definite note of bitterness in Sirius's voice.
"So you haven't had any news about Hagrid, either?" Eliza asked
"Ah . . ." said Sirius, "well, he was supposed to be back by now, no one's sure what's happened to him." Then, seeing their stricken faces, he added quickly, "But Dumbledore's not worried, so don't you three get yourselves in a state; I'm sure Hagrid's fine."
"But if he was supposed to be back by now . . ." said Hermione in a small, worried voice.
"Madame Maxime was with him, we've been in touch with her and she says they got separated on the journey home — but there's nothing to suggest he's hurt or — well, nothing to suggest he's not perfectly okay."
Unconvinced, the five exchanged worried looks.
"Listen, don't go asking too many questions about Hagrid," said Sirius hastily, "it'll just draw even more attention to the fact that he's back, and I know Dumbledore doesn't want that. Hagrid's tough, he'll be okay." And when they did not appear cheered by this, Siriusadded, "When's your next Hogsmeade weekend anyway? I could visit like last time —"
"NO!" said Harry and Hermione together, very loudly.
"I would have you down here, I just don't want you chucked back in Azkaban!" said Harry. There was a pause in which Sirius looked out of the fire at Harry, a crease between his sunken eyes.
"You're less like your father than I thought," he said finally, a definite coolness in his voice. "The risk would've been what made it fun for James."
"Look-"
"Well, I'd better get going, I can hear Kreacher coming down the stairs," said Sirius, but Rigel knew he was lying because Kreacher was at Hogwarts. "I'll write to tellyou a time I can make it back into the fire, then, shall I? If you canstand to risk it? See you Eliza, pup."
"Dad-"
There was a tiny pop, and the place where Rigel's father's head had been was flickering flame once more.