Harry stood up, murmured

Harry stood up, murmured “See you in a bit” to Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, and followed Professor McGonagall back down the ward. The corridors outside were deserted and

the only sound was the distant phoenix song. It was several minutes before Harry became aware that they were not heading for Professor McGonagall's office, but for

Dumbledore's, and another few seconds before he realized that of course, she had been Deputy Headmistress... apparently she was now Headmistress ... so the room behind

the gargoyle was now hers.

In silence they ascended the moving spiral staircase and entered the circular office. He did not know what he had expected: that the room would be draped in black,

perhaps, or even that Dumbledore's body might be lying there. In fact, it looked almost exactly as it had done when he and Dumbledore had left it mere hours previously:

the silver instruments whirring and puffing on their spindle legged tables, Gryffindor's sword in its glass case gleaming in the moonlight, the Sorting Hat on a shelf

behind the desk, the Fawkes's perch stood empty, he was still crying his lament to the grounds. And a new portrait had joined the ranks of the dead headmasters and

headmistresses of Hogwarts: Dumbledore was slumbering in a golden frame over the desk, his half-moon spectacle perched upon his crooked nose, looking peaceful and

untroubled.

After glancing once at this portrait, Professor McGonagall made an odd movement as though steeling herself, then rounded the desk to look at Harry, her face taut and

lined.

“Harry,” she said, “I would like to know what you and Professor Dumbledore were doing this evening when you left the school.”

“I can't tell you that, Professor,” said Harry. He had expected the question and had his answer ready. It had been here, in this very room, that Dumbledore had told

him that he was to confide the contents of their lessons to nobody but Ron and Hermione.

“Harry, it might be important,” said Professor McGonagall.

“It is,” said Harry, “very, but he didn't want me to tell anyone.”

Professor McGonagall glared at him.

“Potter"—Harry registered the renewed use of his surname—"in the light of Professor Dumbledore's death, I think you must see that the situation has changed somewhat

—”

“I don't think so,” said Harry, shrugging. “Professor Dumbledore never told me to stop following his orders if he died.”

“But—”

“There's one thing you should know before the Ministry gets here, though. Madam Rosmerta's under the Imperius Curse, she was helping Malfoy and the Death Eaters,

that's how the necklace and the poisoned mead—”

“Rosmerta?” said Professor McGonagall incredulously, but before she could go on, there was a knock on the door behind them and Professors Sprout, Flitwick, and

Slughorn traipsed into the room, followed by Hagrid, who was still weeping copiously, his huge frame trembling with grief.

“Snape!” ejaculated Slughorn, who looked the most shaken, pale and sweating. “Snape! I taught him! I thought I knew him!”

But before any of them could respond to this, a sharp voice spoke from high on the wall: a sallow-faced wizard with a short black fringe had just walked back into his

empty canvas. “Minerva, the Minister will be here within seconds, he has just Disapparated from the Ministry.”

“Thank you, Everard,” said Professor McGonagall, and she turned quickly to her teachers.

“I want to talk about what happens to Hogwarts before he gets here,” she said quickly. “Personally, I am not convinced that the school should reopen next year. The

death of the Headmaster at the hands of one of our colleagues is a terrible stain upon Hogwarts’ history. It is horrible.”