Outcome, and he, Harry, was wandering around on the top floor when he knew perfectly

Well that his quarry had just gone down in the lift.

He stopped walking, leaned against a wall, and tried to decide what to do. The

silence pressed upon him: There was no bustling or talk or swift footsteps here the

Purple-carpeted corridors were as hushed as though the Muffliato charm had been cast

Over the place.

Her office must be up here, Harry thought.

It seemed most unlikely that Umbridge would keep her jewelry in her office, but

On the other hand it seemed foolish not to search it to make sure. He therefore set off

Along the corridor again, passing nobody but a frowning wizard who was murmuring

Instructions to a quill that floated in front of him, scribbling on a trail of parchment.

Now paying attention to the names on the doors, Harry turned a corner. Halfway

Along the next corridor he emerged into a wide, open space where a dozen witches and

Wizards sat in rows at small desks not unlike school desks, though much more highly

Polished and free from graffiti. Harry paused to watch them, for the effect was quite

Mesmerizing. They were all waving and twiddling their wands in unison, and squares of

Colored paper were flying in every direction like little pink kites. After a few seconds,

Harry realized that there was a rhythm to the proceedings, that the papers all formed the

Same pattern and after a few more seconds he realized what he was watching was the

creation of pamphlets – that the paper squares were pages, which, when assembled,

Folded and magicked into place, fell into neat stacks beside each witch or wizard.

Harry crept closer, although the workers were so intent on what they were doing

That he doubted they would notice a carpet-muffled footstep, and he slid a completed

Pamphlet from the pile beside a young witch. He examined it beneath the Invisibility

Cloak. Its pink cover was emblazoned with a golden title:

Mudbloods

And the Dangers They Pose to

A Peaceful Pure-Blood Society

Beneath the title was a picture of a red rose with a simpering face in the middle of

its petals, being strangled by a green weed with fangs and a scowl. There was no author’s

Name upon the pamphlet, but again, the scars on the back of his right hand seemed to

Tingle as he examined it. Then the young witch beside him confirmed his suspicion as she

said, still waving and twirling her wand, “Will the old hag be interrogating Mudbloods all

day, does anyone know?”

“Careful,” said the wizard beside her, glancing around nervously; one of his pages

Slipped and fell to the floor.

“What, has she got magic ears as well as an eye, now?”

The witch glanced toward the shining mahogany door facing the space full of

Pamphlet-makers; Harry looked too, and the rage reared in him like a snake. Where there

Might have been a peephole on a Muggle front door, a large, round eye with a bright blue

iris had been set into the wood – an eye that was shockingly familiar to anybody who had

Known Alastor Moody.

For a split second Harry forgot where he was and what he was doing there: He

Date: 2015-12-11; view: 646