Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (Harry Potter, #4)

by J.K. Rowling

“It’s people like you, Ron,” Hermione began hotly, “who prop up rotten and unjust systems, just because they’re too lazy to —”

Hermione left the room, muttering something that sounded very much like “Boys.”

But Hermione gave him a look so reminiscent of Professor McGonagall that he gave up.

Harry grinned into his pillow, exceptionally glad that Ron couldn’t see what he could.

“Teach — Moody, is that a student?” shrieked Professor McGonagall, the books spilling out of her arms.

“Excuse me, I don’t like people just because they’re handsome!” said Hermione indignantly. Ron gave a loud false cough, which sounded oddly like “Lockhart!”

“Bouillabaisse,” said Hermione. “Bless you,” said Ron. “It’s French,” said Hermione, “I had it on holiday summer before last. It’s very nice.”

it would be a shame to deprive them of this excellent excuse to make a great deal of mess and noise.”

“Let’s see . . . ah, yes, this is nice and cozy.” It was a broom cupboard. Harry stared at her.

It is a strange thing, but when you are dreading something, and would give anything to slow down time, it has a disobliging habit of speeding up.

“Bong-sewer,” said Hagrid, beaming at her, and holding out a hand to help her down the golden steps.

“Percy wouldn’t recognize a joke if it danced naked in front of him wearing Dobby’s tea cozy.”

A week ago, Harry would have said finding a partner for a dance would be a cinch compared to taking on a Hungarian Horntail. But now that he had done the latter, and was facing the prospect of asking a girl to the ball, he thought he’d rather have another round with the dragon.