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by
J.K. Rowling
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March 25, 2017 - February 12, 2021
“I heard — that awful boy — telling her about them — years ago,” she said jerkily.
“Well?” said Uncle Vernon, recalling Harry to his surroundings. “What now? Have they sentenced you to anything? Do your lot have the death penalty?” he added as a hopeful afterthought.
He's scum. Who fucking says that to a child they raised?! A child that's done nothing wrong and you've treated like dirt from day one.
“He’s not your son,” said Sirius quietly. “He’s as good as,” said Mrs. Weasley fiercely. “Who else has he got?” “He’s got me!”
also a heavy locket that none of them could open,
“The Chair recognizes Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister,” said Fudge. The witch spoke in a fluttery, girlish, high-pitched voice that took Harry aback; he had been expecting a croak. “I’m sure I must have misunderstood you, Professor Dumbledore,” she said with a simper that left her big, round eyes as cold as ever. “So silly of me. But it sounded for a teensy moment as though you were suggesting that the Ministry of Magic had ordered an attack on this boy!”
Ironic considering she’s the one that ordered the attack. Couldn’t keep her fat toad mouth shut.
“What are Fred and I, next-door neighbors?” said George indignantly, as his mother pushed him aside and flung her arms around her youngest son.
“I was never a prefect myself,” said Tonks brightly from behind Harry as everybody moved toward the table to help themselves to food. Her hair was tomato-red and waist length today; she looked like Ginny’s older sister. “My Head of House said I lacked certain necessary qualities.” “Like what?” said Ginny, who was choosing a baked potato. “Like the ability to behave myself,” said Tonks.
“Hey, Johnson, what’s with that hairstyle anyway?” shrieked Pansy Parkinson from below. “Why would anyone want to look like they’ve got worms coming out of their head?” Angelina swept her long braided hair out of her face
Racist bitch
“I wonder,” said Professor McGonagall in cold fury, turning on Professor Umbridge, “how you expect to gain an idea of my usual teaching methods if you continue to interrupt me? You see, I do not generally permit people to talk when I am talking.”
“Would you like us to clean out your ears for you?” inquired George, pulling a long and lethal-looking metal instrument from inside one of the Zonko’s bags. “Or any part of your body, really, we’re not fussy where we stick this,” said Fred.
Harry neither knew nor cared what thestrals were,
“Sirius is right,” he said, “you do sound just like my mother.”
“You went poking around dark caves looking for giants?” said Ron with awed respect in his voice.
“One day,” said Hermione, sounding thoroughly exasperated, “you’ll read Hogwarts: A History, and perhaps that will remind you that you can’t Apparate or Disapparate inside Hogwarts.
he knew he would never use whatever it was. It would not be he, Harry, who lured Sirius from his place of safety,
Actually it is because you’re a fucking bonehead and forgot about the damn package!
“Makes a diff’rence, havin’ a decent family,”
“Hermione,” said Harry, shaking his head, “you’re good on feelings and stuff, but you just don’t understand about Quidditch.”
Professor Trelawney broke into hysterical sobs during Divination and announced to the startled class, and a very disapproving Umbridge, that Harry was not going to suffer an early death after all, but would live to a ripe old age, become Minister of Magic, and have twelve children.
“So,” sneered Fudge, recovering himself, “you intend to take on Dawlish, Shacklebolt, Dolores, and myself single-handed, do you, Dumbledore?” “Merlin’s beard, no,” said Dumbledore, smiling. “Not unless you are foolish enough to force me to.” “He will not be single-handed!” said Professor McGonagall loudly, plunging her hand inside her robes. “Oh yes he will, Minerva!” said Dumbledore sharply. “Hogwarts needs you!”
that judging from what he had just seen, his father had been every bit as arrogant as Snape had always told him.
YES YOU CAN. THE MIRROR IS UPSTAIRS IN YOUR TRUNK YOU MORON.
“The thing about growing up with Fred and George,” said Ginny thoughtfully, “is that you sort of start thinking anything’s possible if you’ve got enough nerve.”
“What do you think about this?” Hermione demanded of Ron, and Harry was reminded irresistibly of Mrs. Weasley appealing to her husband during Harry’s first dinner in Grimmauld Place.
“are you going to stop telling Harry off and listen to Binns, or am I going to have to take notes instead?” “You take notes for a change, it won’t kill you!”
Professor Umbridge gave her most pronounced cough yet. “May I offer you a cough drop, Dolores?”
“Well, then, I am confused. . . . I’m afraid I don’t quite understand how you can give Mr. Potter false hope that —” “False hope?” repeated Professor McGonagall, still refusing to look round at Professor Umbridge. “He has achieved high marks in all his Defense Against the Dark Arts tests —” “I’m terribly sorry to have to contradict you, Minerva, but as you will see from my note, Harry has been achieving very poor results in his classes with me —” “I should have made my meaning plainer,” said Professor McGonagall, turning at last to look Umbridge directly in the eyes. “He has achieved high
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“I think you’ll also find,” said Umbridge, her voice very cold now, “that the Ministry looks into the records of those applying to be Aurors. Their criminal records.” “— unless you’re prepared to take even more exams after Hogwarts, you should really look at another —” “— which means that this boy has as much chance of becoming an Auror as Dumbledore has of ever returning to this school.” “A very good chance, then,” said Professor McGonagall.
“Potter has no chance whatsoever of becoming an Auror!” Professor McGonagall got to her feet too, and in her case this was a much more impressive move. She towered over Professor Umbridge. “Potter,” she said in ringing tones, “I will assist you to become an Auror if it is the last thing I do! If I have to coach you nightly I will make sure you achieve the required results!”
“There may well be a new Minister of Magic by the time Potter is ready to join!” shouted Professor McGonagall. “Aha!” shrieked Professor Umbridge, pointing a stubby finger at McGonagall. “Yes! Yes, yes, yes! Of course! That’s what you want, isn’t it, Minerva McGonagall? You want Cornelius Fudge replaced by Albus Dumbledore! You think you’ll be where I am, don’t you, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister and headmistress to boot!” “You are raving,” said Professor McGonagall, superbly disdainful.
“Special discounts to Hogwarts students who swear they’re going to use our products to get rid of this old bat,” added George, pointing at Professor Umbridge.
“Give her hell from us, Peeves.” And Peeves, whom Harry had never seen take an order from a student before, swept his belled hat from his head and sprang to a salute
But not even the users of the Snackboxes could compete with that master of chaos, Peeves, who seemed to have taken Fred’s parting words deeply to heart. Cackling madly, he soared through the school, upending tables, bursting out of blackboards, and toppling statues and vases. Twice he shut Mrs. Norris inside suits of armor, from which she was rescued, yowling loudly, by the furious caretaker. He smashed lanterns and snuffed out candles, juggled burning torches over the heads of screaming students, caused neatly stacked piles of parchment to topple into fires or out of windows, flooded the
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“And from now on, I don’t care if my tea leaves spell die, Ron, die — I’m just chucking them in the bin where they belong.”
“I don’t wonder you’re shocked, Potter,” said Madam Pomfrey with a kind of fierce approval in her face. “As if one of them could have Stunned Minerva McGonagall face on by daylight! Cowardice, that’s what it was. . . . Despicable cowardice . . . If I wasn’t worried what would happen to you students without me, I’d resign in protest . . .”
“I thought she might have added extra security after the second niffler . . .”
The jet of red light flew right over the Death Eater’s shoulder and hit a glass-fronted cabinet on the wall full of variously shaped hourglasses. The cabinet fell to the floor and burst apart, glass flying everywhere, then sprang back up onto the wall, fully mended, then fell down again, and shattered
“My gran’s going do kill be,” said Neville thickly, blood spattering from his nose as he spoke, “dat was by dad’s old wand . . .”
“Honest, Harry, they’re brains — look — Accio Brain!”
Harry saw Sirius duck Bellatrix’s jet of red light: He was laughing at her. “Come on, you can do better than that!” he yelled, his voice echoing around the cavernous room. The second jet of light hit him squarely on the chest. The laughter had not quite died from his face, but his eyes widened in shock. Harry released Neville, though he was unaware of doing so. Harry jumped to the ground, pulling out his wand, as Dumbledore turned to the dais too. It seemed to take Sirius an age to fall. His body curved in a graceful arc as he sank backward through the ragged veil hanging from the arch. . . .
“He can’t come back, Harry,” said Lupin, his voice breaking as he struggled to contain Harry. “He can’t come back, because he’s d —” “HE — IS — NOT — DEAD!” roared Harry. “SIRIUS!”
But some part of him realized, even as he fought to break free from Lupin, that Sirius had never kept him waiting before. . . . Sirius had risked everything, always, to see Harry, to help him. . . . If Sirius was not reappearing out of that archway when Harry was yelling for him as though his life depended on it, the only possible explanation was that he could not come back. . . . That he really was . . .
Harry could not stand this, he could not stand being Harry anymore. . . . He had never felt more trapped inside his own head and body, never wished so intensely that he could be somebody — anybody — else. . . .
“I DON’T CARE!” Harry yelled at them, snatching up a lunascope and throwing it into the fireplace. “I’VE HAD ENOUGH, I’VE SEEN ENOUGH, I WANT OUT, I WANT IT TO END, I DON’T CARE ANYMORE —”
Indifference and neglect often do much more damage than outright dislike.
Harry looked up at him and saw a tear trickling down Dumbledore’s face into his long silver beard.
“I expect what you’re not aware of would fill several books, Dursley,” growled Moody.
