Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix - J. K. Rowling [205]
“You know,” said Phineas Nigellus, even more loudly than Harry, “this is precisely why I loathed being a teacher! Young people are so infernally convinced that they are absolutely right about everything. Has it not occurred to you, my poor puffed-up popinjay, that there might be an excellent reason why the headmaster of Hogwarts is not confiding every tiny detail of his plans to you? Have you never paused, while feeling hard-done-by, to note that following Dumbledore’s orders has never yet led you into harm? No. No, like all young people, you are quite sure that you alone feel and think, you alone recognize danger, you alone are the only one clever enough to realize what the Dark Lord may be planning. …”
“He is planning something to do with me, then?” said Harry swiftly.
“Did I say that?” said Phineas Nigellus, idly examining his silk gloves. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have better things to do than to listen to adolescent agonizing. … Good day to you. …”
And he strolled into his frame and out of sight.
“Fine, go then!” Harry bellowed at the empty frame. “And tell Dumbledore thanks for nothing!”
The empty canvas remained silent. Fuming, Harry dragged his trunk back to the foot of his bed, then threw himself facedown upon the moth-eaten covers, his eyes shut, his body heavy and aching. …
He felt he had journeyed miles and miles. … It seemed impossible that less than twenty-four hours ago Cho Chang had been approaching him under the mistletoe. … He was so tired. … He was scared to sleep … yet he did not know how long he could fight it. … Dumbledore had told him to stay. … That must mean he was allowed to sleep. … But he was scared. … What if it happened again … ?
He was sinking into shadows. …
It was as though a film in his head had been waiting to start. He was walking down a deserted corridor toward a plain black door, past rough stone walls, torches, and an open doorway onto a flight of stone steps leading downstairs on the left. …
He reached the black door but could not open it. … He stood gazing at it, desperate for entry. … Something he wanted with all his heart lay beyond. … A prize beyond his dreams. … If only his scar would stop prickling … then he would be able to think more clearly. …
“Harry,” said Ron’s voice, from far, far away, “Mum says dinner’s ready, but she’ll save you something if you want to stay in bed. …”
Harry opened his eyes, but Ron had already left the room.
He doesn’t want to be on his own with me, Harry thought. Not after what he heard Moody say …
He supposed none of them would want him there anymore now that they knew what was inside him. …
He would not go down to dinner; he would not inflict his company upon them. He turned over onto his other side and after a while dropped back off to sleep, waking much later in the early hours of the morning, with his insides aching with hunger, and Ron snoring in the next bed. Squinting around the room he saw the dark outline of Phineas Nigellus standing again in his portrait and it occurred to Harry that Dumbledore had probably set Phineas Nigellus to watch over him, in case he attacked somebody else.
The feeling of being unclean intensified. He half wished he had not obeyed Dumbledore and stayed. … If this was how life was going to be in Grimmauld Place from now on, maybe he would be better off in Privet Drive after all.
Everybody else spent the following morning putting up Christmas decorations. Harry could not remember Sirius ever being in such a good mood; he was actually singing carols, apparently delighted that he was to have company over Christmas. Harry could hear his voice echoing up through the floor in the cold and empty drawing room where he was sitting alone, watching the sky outside the windows growing whiter, threatening snow, all the time feeling a savage pleasure that he was giving the