Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (Harry Potter, #5)

by J.K. Rowling

“Funny place,” she said, “it’s a bit too clean, d’you know what I mean? Bit unnatural. Oh, this is better,” she added, as they entered Harry’s bedroom and he turned on the light.

“Yeah, size is no guarantee of power,” said George. “Look at Ginny.”

“And you very kindly did not press charges on that occasion, accepting, I presume, that even the best wizards cannot always control their emotions,” said Dumbledore calmly, as Fudge attempted to scrub the ink off his notes.

“I don’t believe it! I don’t believe it! Oh, Ron, how wonderful! A prefect! That’s everyone in the family!” “What are Fred and I, next-door neighbors?” said George indignantly,

Ginny laughed; Hermione looked as though she did not know whether to smile or not and compromised by taking an extra large gulp of butterbeer and choking on it.

Onlookers all over the room were laughing. Hermione drew herself up to her full height; her eyes were narrowed and her bushy hair seemed to crackle with electricity.

“What in the name of Merlin are you doing?” said Ron, watching her as though fearful for her sanity.

I urge you to speak to Dolores Umbridge, a really delightful woman, who I know will be only too happy to advise you.

“Hermione, you are honestly the most wonderful person I’ve ever met,” said Ron weakly, “and if I’m ever rude to you again —” “— I’ll know you’re back to normal,” said Hermione.

“But this is much more important than homework!” said Hermione. Harry and Ron goggled at her.

Viktor always said —” Ron looked around at her so fast he appeared to crick his neck; rubbing it, he said, “Yeah? What did Vicky say?” “Ho ho,” said Hermione in a bored voice.

“Hem, hem,” said Ginny in such a good imitation of Professor Umbridge that several people looked around in alarm and then laughed.

“What d’you mean, who’s taking anything badly? I’m not going to harp on about anything . . .” Ron continued to chunter under his breath all the way down the street.

“Good luck, Ron,” said Hermione, standing on tiptoe and kissing him on the cheek. “And you, Harry —” Ron seemed to come to himself slightly as they walked back across the Great Hall. He touched the spot on his face where Hermione had kissed him, looking puzzled, as though he was not quite sure what had just happened.

Hagrid, who had never heard Umbridge’s fake cough before, was gazing in some concern at the closest thestral, evidently under the impression that it had made the sound.

“Because she was crying,” Harry continued heavily. “Oh,” said Ron, his smile fading slightly. “Are you that bad at kissing?”

“Ron,” said Hermione in a dignified voice, dipping the point of her quill into her ink pot, “you are the most insensitive wart I have ever had the misfortune to meet.”

slightly stunned silence greeted the end of this speech, then Ron said, “One person can’t feel all that at once, they’d explode.” “Just because you’ve got the emotional range of a teaspoon doesn’t mean we all have,” said Hermione nastily, picking up her quill again.

“Doctors?” said Ron, looking startled. “Those Muggle nutters that cut people up? Nah, they’re Healers.”

holding out his good arm to give Ginny a hug. “If they could only take the bandages off, I’d be fit to go home.” “Why can’t they take them off, Dad?” asked Fred. “Well, I start bleeding like mad every time they try,” said Mr. Weasley cheerfully,

“If you shout his name I will curse you into oblivion,” muttered Tonks menacingly,

“Well, you see,” said Hermione, with the patient air of one explaining that one plus one equals two to an overemotional toddler, “you shouldn’t have told her that you wanted to meet me halfway through your date.”

And it might have been a good idea to mention how ugly you think I am too,” Hermione added as an afterthought. “But I don’t think you’re ugly,” said Harry, bemused. Hermione laughed.

“Harry, you’re worse than Ron. . . . Well, no, you’re not,” she sighed, as Ron himself came stumping into the Hall splattered with mud and looking grumpy.

“She’s been breaking into your broom shed in the garden since the age of six and taking each of your brooms out in turn when you weren’t looking,” said Hermione from behind her tottering pile of Ancient Rune books. “Oh,” said George, looking mildly impressed. “Well — that’d explain it.”

He dreamed that Neville and Professor Sprout were waltzing around the Room of Requirement while Professor McGonagall played the bagpipes. He watched them happily for a while, then decided to go and find the other members of the D.A . . .

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.

“I’ve got a feeling Umbridge has only just started being horrible,” said Hermione darkly. “Impossible,” said Ron, who was tucking into a large plate of eggs and bacon. “She can’t get any worse than she’s been already.”

The upshot of it all was that Professor Umbridge spent her first afternoon as headmistress running all over the school answering the summonses of the other teachers, none of whom seemed able to rid their rooms of the fireworks without her. When the final bell rang and the students were heading back to Gryffindor Tower with their bags, Harry saw, with immense satisfaction, a disheveled and soot-blackened Umbridge tottering sweaty-faced from Professor Flitwick’s classroom. “Thank you so much, Professor!” said Professor Flitwick in his squeaky little voice. “I could have got rid of the sparklers myself, of course, but I wasn’t sure whether I had the authority . .

“Are you feeling all right?” Ron asked, staring at her in disbelief. “Now you mention it,” said Hermione happily, “d’you know . . . I think I’m feeling a bit . . . rebellious.”

“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 YOU ARE DOING?” “Oh damn,” whispered Ginny, jumping to her feet. “I forgot —”

“Are — you — insane?” said Hermione in a hushed voice. Ron had lowered his leaflet on jobs in the cultivated fungus trade and was watching the conversation warily. “I don’t think so,” said Harry, shrugging.