Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

He was finding it very difficult to remember names and kept confusing dates. He simply skipped question four (In your opinion, did wand legislation contribute to, or lead to better control of, goblin riots of the eighteenth century?), thinking that he would go back to it if he had time at the end. He had a stab at question five (How was the Statute of Secrecy breached in 1749 and what measures were introduced to prevent a recurrence?) but had a nagging suspicion that he had missed several important points; he had a feeling vampires had come into the story somewhere.

He looked ahead for a question he could definitely answer and his eyes alighted upon number ten: Describe the circumstances that led to the formation of the International Confederation of Wizards and explain why the warlocks of Liechtenstein refused to join.

I know this, Harry thought, though his brain felt torpid and slack. He could visualise a heading, in Hermione’s handwriting: The formation of the International Confederation of Wizards… he had read those notes only this morning.

He began to write, looking up now and again to check the large hour-glass on the desk beside Professor Marchbanks. He was sitting right behind Parvati Patil, whose long dark hair fell below the back of her chair. Once or twice he found himself staring at the tiny golden lights that glistened in it when she moved her head slightly, and had to give his own head a little shake to clear it.

…the first Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards was Pierre Bonaccord, but his appointment was contested by the wizarding community of Liechtenstein, because—

All around Harry quills were scratching on parchment like scurrying, burrowing rats. The sun was very hot on the back of his head. What was it that Bonaccord had done to offend the wizards of Liechtenstein? Harry had a feeling it had something to do with trolls… he gazed blankly at the back of Parvati’s head again. If he could only perform Legilimency and open a window in the back of her head and see what it was about trolls that had caused the breach between Pierre Bonaccord and Liechtenstein…

Harry closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands, so that the glowing red of his eyelids grew dark and cool. Bonaccord had wanted to stop troll-hunting and give the trolls rights… but Liechtenstein was having problems with a tribe of particularly vicious mountain trolls… that was it.

He opened his eyes; they stung and watered at the sight of the blazing white parchment. Slowly, he wrote two lines about the trolls, then read through what he had done so far. It did not seem very informative or detailed, yet he was sure Hermione’s notes on the Confederation had gone on for pages and pages.

He closed his eyes again, trying to see them, trying to remember… the Confederation had met for the first time in France, yes, he had written that already…

Goblins had tried to attend and been ousted… he had written that, too…

And nobody from Liechtenstein had wanted to come…

Think, he told himself, his face in his hands, while all around him quills scratched out never-ending answers and the sand trickled through the hour-glass at the front…

He was walking along the cool, dark corridor to the Department of Mysteries again, walking with a firm and purposeful tread, breaking occasionally into a run, determined to reach his destination at last… the black door swung open for him as usual, and here he was in the circular room with its many doors…

Straight across the stone floor and through the second door… patches of dancing light on the walls and floor and that odd mechanical clicking, but no time to explore, he must hurry…

He jogged the last few feet to the third door, which swung open just like the others…

Once again he was in the cathedral-sized room full of shelves and glass spheres… his heart was beating very fast now… he was going to get there this time… when he reached number ninety-seven he turned left and hurried along the aisle between two rows…

But there was a shape on the floor at the very end, a black shape moving on the floor like a wounded animal… Harry’s stomach contracted with fear… with excitement…

A voice issued from his own mouth, a high, cold voice empty of any human kindness…

Take it for me… lift it down, now… I cannot touch it… but you can—