The Forgotten Olympian |BOOK 1| PJO X HP | Alexandra Marine

Chapter 169 - Percy - Keep Watch

Slowly, the crowd thinned. The news about the Garrotting Gas seemed to have spread; people were not coming this way any more. When at last the surrounding area was quite clear, Hermione said quietly, "I think that's as good as we're going to get, Harry--come on, let's do it."

We moved forwards, covered by the Cloak. Alex was standing with her back to them at the far end of the corridor. As we passed Ginny, Hermione whispered, "Good one... don't forget the signal."

"What's the signal?" muttered Harry, as they approached Umbridge's door.

"A loud chorus of 'Weasley is our King' if they see Umbridge coming," replied Hermione, as Harry inserted the blade of Sirius's knife in the crack between door and wall. The lock clicked open and they entered the office.

The garish kittens were basking in the late-afternoon sunshine that was warming their plates, but otherwise the office was as still and unoccupied as last time. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief.

"I thought she might have added extra security after the second Niffler."

We pulled off the Cloak; Hermione hurried over to the window and stood out of sight, peering down into the grounds with her wand out. Harry dashed over to the fireplace, seized the pot of Floo powder and threw a pinch into the grate, causing emerald flames to burst into life there. He knelt down quickly, thrust his head into the dancing fire and cried, "Number twelve, Grimmauld Place!"

"It's all clear here," I said, looking out.

"All clear," Hermione hummed. "That's a very American thing to say."

I smiled. "Sure thing."

"What's that on your sleeve?" Hermione frowned. "I've always wondered."

"What sleeve?"

 "That," Hermione pointed. 

I frowned. The SPQR brand that I'd had since I'd been sixteen. "It's-"

"What's SPQR mean? Is that a tattoo?"

"No," I turned away, pulling my sleeve down. "It's nothing."

"I've noticed that even Alex has one of those-"

"It's not a tattoo! Hermione, please!"

The door flew open. "Incarcerous!"

Tight ropes pulled me into a statue. Professor Umbridge walked in with a great wide smile on her face, and a pink coat and an extremely heinous hair band. 

She bent down at Harry and dragged him backwards out of the fire by the hair and was bending his neck back as far as it would go, as though she were going to slit his throat.

"You think," she whispered, bending Harry's neck back even further, so that he was looking up at the ceiling, "that after two Nifflers I was going to let one more foul, scavenging little creature enter my office without my knowledge? I had Stealth Sensoring Spells placed all around my doorway after the last one got in, you foolish boy. Take their wands," she barked at someone.

"No-" I said through my ropes, although my voice came out as a muffle. 

"I want to know why you are in my office," said Umbridge, shaking the fist clutching his hair so that he staggered.

"I was--trying to get my Firebolt!" Harry croaked.

"Liar." She shook his head again. "Your Firebolt is under strict guard in the dungeons, as you very well know, Potter. You had your head in my fire. With whom have you been communicating?"

"No one--" said Harry, trying to pull away from her. 

"Liar!" shouted Umbridge. She threw him from her and he slammed into the desk.