“May I help, Professor McGonagall?” asked Professor Umbridge in her most poisonously sweet voice. Blood rushed into Professor McGonagall’s face. “Help?” she repeated in a constricted voice. “What do you mean, ‘help’?” Professor Umbridge moved forward into the office, still smiling her sickly smile. “Why, I thought you might be grateful for a little extra authority.” Harry would not have been surprised to see sparks fly from Professor McGonagall’s nostrils. “You thought wrong,” she said, turning her back on Umbridge.
