"Let me through, please." It was Percy's voice; he came bustling importantly through the crowd.
"What's the hold-up here? You can't all have forgotten the password... excuse me, I'm Head Boy!"
The crowd fell silent, starting from the front and spreading backward down the corridor like a cold wave.
Then they heard Percy's voice suddenly rise to a shriek: "Somebody get Professor Dumbledore. Quick!"
People turned their heads; those at the back stood on tiptoe.
"What's happened?" Ginny, who had probably lingered in the Great Hall, had just arrived.
A moment later, Professor Dumbledore arrived, sweeping toward the portrait of the Fat Lady.
The Gryffindors squeezed together to let him through, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione moved closer to see what the trouble was.
"Oh, my—" Hermione gasped, grabbing her sleeve, as she saw it.
The Fat Lady had vanished from her portrait, which had been viciously slashed. Strips of canvas littered the floor; great chunks of it had been torn away completely.
Dumbledore took a quick look at the ruined painting.
"Professor McGonagall, please go to Mr. Filch at once and tell him to search every painting in the castle for the Fat Lady."
"You'll be lucky!" said a cackling voice.
It was Peeves the Poltergeist, bobbing over the crowd and looking delighted, as he always did at the sight of wreckage or worry.
"What do you mean, Peeves?" said Dumbledore calmly.
Peeves' grin faded a little—he didn't dare mock Dumbledore.
Instead, he adopted an oily voice that was no better than his cackle.
"Ashamed, Your Headship, sir... doesn't want to be seen. She's a mess. Saw her running through the landscape up on the fourth floor, sir, dodging between the trees. Crying something awful." He said happily.
"...Poor thing," he added unconvincingly.
"Did she say who did it?" said Dumbledore quietly.
"Oh yes, Professorhead," said Peeves. "He got very angry when she wouldn't let him in, you see." Peeves flipped over in midair and grinned at Dumbledore from between his own legs.
"Nasty temper he's got, that Sirius Black."
Professor Dumbledore sent all the Gryffindors back to the Great Hall. Ten minutes later, they were joined by the students from Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin, who all looked extremely confused.
"The teachers and I need to conduct a thorough search of the castle," Professor Dumbledore told them.
Professors McGonagall and Flitwick closed all the doors into the Hall.
"For your own safety, I think you may have to spend the night here. I want the prefects to stand guard over the entrances to the Hall and I am leaving the Head Boy and Girl in charge."
"Any disturbance should be reported to me immediately," he added to Percy.
Percy instantly puffed up with self-importance.
"Send word with one of the ghosts," Dumbledore added.
As he passed Marcel, he said quietly, "Marcel, please come with me."
He was about to leave the Hall with Marcel but paused as if remembering something.
"Oh, yes, you'll be needing..." One casual wave of his wand, and the long tables flew to the edges of the Hall and stood themselves against the walls; another wave, and the floor was covered with hundreds of squashy purple sleeping bags.
"Sleep well," said Professor Dumbledore, closing the door behind him as Marcel followed.
Outside the door, Dumbledore waited for him.
"Professor, is something wrong?" Marcel asked.
"Someone has broken into the school and damaged the Fat Lady's portrait. This is dangerous for the students," Dumbledore said. "I think, since you are familiar with the Acromantulas in the forest, could you help me search the forest?"
Marcel was stunned for a moment, then collected his thoughts and replied, "Professor, you really do know everything... of course, why not?"
"I don't know everything," Dumbledore winked at him. "I only know what I know... Professor Hagrid will go with you."
Setting aside Hagrid's shock at learning of Marcel's friendship with Aragog, the night's search was fruitless, as expected.
With Black's decisive style, he had already left via the Whomping Willow passage long before Marcel and Luna returned.
Dumbledore wasn't disappointed—ensuring the intruder wasn't still in the school was victory enough. Eliminating the immediate danger was the priority.
For the next few days, the school talked of nothing but Black.
Theories about how he had entered the castle became wilder and wilder; Hannah Abbott from Hufflepuff spent much of their next Herbology class telling anyone who'd listen that Black could turn into a flowering shrub.
The Fat Lady's ripped canvas had been taken off the wall and replaced with the portrait of Sir Cadogan and his fat gray pony.
Nobody was happy about this.
Sir Cadogan spent half his day challenging people to duels and the other half thinking up ridiculously complicated passwords, which he changed at least twice a day.
"He's a complete lunatic," Seamus Finnigan said angrily to Percy. "Can't we get anyone else?"
"None of the other pictures wanted the job," said Percy. "Frightened of what happened to the Fat Lady. Sir Cadogan was the only one brave enough to volunteer."
But Sir Cadogan was the least of Harry's worries.
He was now being closely watched. Teachers found excuses to walk along corridors with him, and Percy Weasley was tailing him everywhere like an extremely pompous guard dog—likely acting on Mrs. Weasley's orders.
To top it off, Professor McGonagall summoned Harry into her office, looking so somber that Harry thought someone must have died.
"There's no point hiding it from you any longer, Potter," she said very seriously. "I know this will come as a shock to you, but Sirius Black—"
"I know he's after me," said Harry wearily. "I heard Ron's dad telling his mum. Mr. Weasley works for the Ministry of Magic."
Professor McGonagall seemed very surprised. She stared at him for a moment, then said, "I see! Well, in that case, Potter, you'll understand why I don't think it's a good idea for you to be practicing Quidditch in the evenings. Out on the pitch, with only your team members, it's very exposed, Potter—"
"We've got our first match on Saturday!" said Harry, outraged but forcing himself to stay calm. "I've got to train, Professor!"
Professor McGonagall looked at him intently.
Harry knew she wanted to see Gryffindor win as much as anyone; after all, it was she who had suggested him as Seeker in the first place.
He waited, holding his breath.
"Hmm..." Professor McGonagall stood up and stared out of the window at the Quidditch pitch, just visible through the rain.
"Well... goodness knows, I'd like to see us win the Cup at last... but all the same, Potter... I'd be happier if a teacher were present. I'll ask Madam Hooch to oversee your training sessions."
The first Quidditch match drew nearer, but the weather got worse.
Undeterred, the Gryffindor team was training harder than ever under the strict eye of Madam Hooch.
Then, at their final training session before Saturday's match, Oliver Wood gave his team some unwelcome news.
"We're not playing Slytherin!" he told them, looking very angry. "Flint's just been to see me. We're playing Hufflepuff instead."
"Why?" chorused the rest of the team.
"Flint's excuse is that their Seeker's arm's still injured," said Wood, grinding his teeth furiously. "But it's obvious why they're doing it. They don't want to play in this weather. They think it'll damage their chances..."
Strong winds and heavy rain had battered the castle all day; even now, they could hear thunder rumbling in the distance.
"There's nothing wrong with Malfoy's arm!" said Harry furiously. "He's faking it!"
"I know that, but we can't prove it," said Wood bitterly. "And we've been practicing all those moves assuming we're playing Slytherin, and instead it's Hufflepuff, and their style's quite different. They've got a new captain and Seeker, Cedric Diggory—"
Angelina, Alicia, and Katie suddenly giggled.
"What?" said Wood, frowning at this lighthearted behavior.
"He's that tall, good-looking one, isn't he?" said Angelina.
"Strong and silent," said Katie, and they started to giggle again.
"He's only silent because he's too thick to string two words together," said Fred impatiently. "I don't know why you're worried, Oliver, Hufflepuff is a pushover. Last time we played them, Harry caught the Snitch in about five minutes, remember?"
"Laugh all you want!" Wood shouted suddenly. "I've got even worse news. Do you want to hear it?"
"What could be worse than this?" Harry groaned.
"Oh, there is!" Wood yelled, then slumped into a look of utter despair. "Maclean is playing. Do you think that's bad?"
Instantly, the giggles vanished from the three girls' faces, replaced by looks of sheer disbelief.
"Oh, no—" they said, almost in unison.