‘You're not telling me you enjoyed it

?’ Ron said quietly, turning a glazed face towards Hermione. ‘That was about the dullest speech I've ever heard, and I grew up with Percy.’

‘I said illuminating, not enjoyable,’ said Hermione. ‘It explained a lot.’

‘Did it?’ said Harry in surprise. ‘Sounded like a load of waffle to me.’

There was some important stuff hidden in the waffle,’ said Hermione grimly.

‘Was there?’ said Ron blankly.

‘How about: “progress for progress's sake must be discouraged"? How about: “pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited"?’

‘Well, what does that mean?’ said Ron impatiently.

‘I'll tell you what it means,’ said Hermione through gritted teeth. ‘It means the Ministry's interfering at Hogwarts.’

There was a great clattering and banging all around them; Dumbledore had obviously just dismissed the school, because everyone was standing up ready to leave the Hall. Hermione jumped up, looking flustered.

‘Ron, we're supposed to show the first-years where to go!’

‘Oh yeah,’ said Ron, who had obviously forgotten. ‘Hey—hey, you lot! Midgets!’

‘Ron!’

‘Well, they are, they're titchy ...’

‘I know, but you can't call them midgets!—First-years!’ Hermione called commandingly along the table. ‘This way, please!’

A group of new students walked shyly up the gap between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables, all of them trying hard not to lead the group. They did indeed seem very small; Harry was sure he had not appeared that young

when he had arrived here. He grinned at them. A blond boy next to Euan Abercrombie looked petrified; he nudged Euan and whispered something in his ear. Euan Abercrombie looked equally frightened and stole a horrified

look at Harry, who felt the grin slide off his face like Stinksap.

‘See you later,’ he said dully to Ron and Hermione and he made his way out of the Great Hall alone, doing everything he could to ignore more whispering, staring and pointing as he passed. He kept his eyes fixed ahead as he

wove his way through the crowd in the Entrance Hall, then he hurried up the marble staircase, took a couple of concealed short cuts and had soon left most of the crowds behind.

He had been stupid not to expect this, he thought angrily as he walked through the much emptier upstairs corridors. Of course everyone was staring at him; he had emerged from the Triwizard maze two months previously

clutching the dead body of a fellow student and claiming to have seen Lord Voldemort return to power. There had not been time last term to explain himself before they'd all had to go home—even if he had felt up to giving the

whole school a detailed account of the terrible events in that graveyard.

Harry had reached the end of the corridor to the Gryffindor common room and come to a halt in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady before he realised that he did not know the new password.

‘Er ...’ he said glumly, staring up at the Fat Lady, who smoothed the folds of her pink satin dress and looked sternly back at him.

‘No password, no entrance,’ she said loftily.

‘Harry, I know it!’ Someone panted up behind him and he turned to see Neville jogging towards him. ‘Guess what it is? I'm actually going to be able to remember it for once— ’ He waved the stunted little cactus he had shown

them on the train. ‘Mimbuius mimbletonia!’

‘Correct,’ said the Fat Lady, and her portrait swung open towards them like a door, revealing a circular hole in the wall behind, through which Harry and Neville now climbed.

The Gryffindor common room looked as welcoming as ever, a cosy circular tower room full of dilapidated squashy armchairs and rickety old tables. A fire was crackling merrily in the grate and a few people were warming their

hands by it before going up to their dormitories; on the other side of the room Fred and George Weasley were pinning something up on the noticeboard. Harry waved goodnight to them and headed straight for the door to the

boys’ dormitories; he was not in much of a mood for talking at the moment. Neville followed him.

Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan had reached the dormitory first and were in the process of covering the walls beside their beds with posters and photographs. They had been talking as Harry pushed open the door but

stopped abruptly the moment they saw him. Harry wondered whether they had been talking about him, then whether he was being paranoid.

‘Hi,’ he said, moving across to his own trunk and opening it.

‘Hey, Harry,’ said Dean, who was putting on a pair of pyjamas in the West Ham colours. ‘Good holiday?’

‘Not bad,’ muttered Harry, as a true account of his holiday would have taken most of the night to relate and he could not face it. ‘You?’

‘Yeah, it was OK,’ chuckled Dean. ‘Better than Seamus's, anyway, he was just telling me.’
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