Without revealing himself instantly. So he moved forward as silently as he could, and

With every step he took numbness seemed to steal over his brain, but he forced himself to

Think of Hermione and of Ron, who needed him.

Moving through the towering black figures was terrifying: The eyeless faces

Hidden beneath their hoods turned as he passed, and he felt sure that they sensed him,

sensed, perhaps, a human presence that still had some hope, some resilience….

And then, abruptly and shockingly amid the frozen silence, one of the dungeon

Doors on the left of the corridor was flung open and screams echoed out of it.

“No, no, I’m half-blood, I’m half-blood, I tell you! My father was a wizard, he

was, look him up, Arkie Alderton, he’s a well known broomstick designer, look him up, I

tell you – get your hands off me, get your hands off –“

“This is your final warning,” said Umbridge’s soft voice, magically magnified so

that it sounded clearly over the man’s desperate screams. “If you struggle, you will be

subjected to the Dementor’s Kiss.”

The man’s screams subsided, but dry sobs echoed through the corridor.

“Take him away,” said Umbridge.

Two dementors appeared in the doorway of the courtroom, their rotting, scabbed

Hands clutching the upper arms of a wizard who appeared to be fainting. They glided

Away down the corridor with him, and the darkness they trailed behind them swallowed

Him from sight.

“Next – Mary Cattermole,” called Umbridge.

A small woman stood up; she was trembling from head to foot. Her dark hair was

Smoothed back into a bun and she wore long plain robes. Her face was completely

Bloodless. As she passed the dementors, Harry saw her shudder.

He did it instinctively, without any sort of plan, because he hated the sight of her

walking alone into the dungeon: As the door began to swing closed, he slipped into the

Courtroom behind her.

It was not the same room in which he had once been interrogated for improper use

Of magic. This one was much smaller, though the ceiling was quite as high it gave the

Claustrophobic sense of being stuck at the bottom of a deep well.

There were more dementors in here, casting their freezing aura over the place;

They stood like faceless sentinels in the corners farthest from the high, raised platform.

Here, behind a balustrade, sat Umbridge, with Yaxley on one side of her, and Hermione,

Quite as white-faced as Mrs. Cattermole, on the other. At the foot of the platform, a bightsilver,

Long-haired cat prowled up and down, up and down, and Harry realized that it was

there to protect the prosecutors from the despair that emanated from the dementors: That

Was for the accused to feel, not the accusers.

“Sit down,” said Umbridge in her soft, silky voice.

Mrs. Cattermole stumbled to the single seat in the middle of the floor beneath the

Raised platform. The moment she had sat down, chains clinked out of the arms of the

Chair and bound her there.

“You are Mary Elizabeth Cattermole?” asked Umbridge.

Mrs. Cattermole gave a single, shaky nod.

“Married to Reginald Cattermole of the Magical Maintenance Department?”

Date: 2015-12-11; view: 638