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

by J.K. Rowling

The coaches were no longer horseless. There were creatures standing between the carriage shafts; if he had had to give them a name, he supposed he would have called them horses, though there was something reptilian about them, too. They were completely fleshless, their black coats clinging to their skeletons, of which every bone was visible. Their heads were dragonish, and their pupil-less eyes white and staring. Wings sprouted from each wither — vast, black leathery wings that looked as though they ought to belong to giant bats. Standing still and quiet in the gloom, the creatures looked eerie and sinister. Harry could not understand why the coaches were being pulled by these horrible horses when they were quite capable of moving along by themselves.

You’re just as sane as I am.”

But this year I’ll go further, Listen closely to my song: Though condemned I am to split you Still I worry that it’s wrong, Though I must fulfill my duty

And must quarter every year Still I wonder whether Sorting May not bring the end I fear. Oh, know the perils, read the signs, The warning history shows, For our Hogwarts is in danger From external, deadly foes And we must unite inside her Or we’ll crumble from within. I have told you, I have warned you. . . . Let the Sorting now begin.

“Anyone else’s parents got a problem with Harry?” he said aggressively.

We believe Harry,” he said simply.

“I told her to keep her big fat mouth shut about you, actually. And it would be quite nice if you stopped jumping down Ron’s and my throats, Harry, because if you haven’t noticed, we’re on your side.”

“How do you remember stuff like that?” asked Ron, looking at her in admiration.

“I mean, if I could take S.P.E.W. further . . .”

“Well, I’m glad you listen to Hermione Granger at any rate,” she said, pointing him out of her office.

Hermione was looking at Ron with an odd expression on her face.

“Okay, write that down,” Hermione said to Ron, pushing his essay and a sheet covered in her own writing back to Ron, “and then copy out this conclusion that I’ve written for you.”

“You’re less like your father than I thought,” he said finally, a definite coolness in his voice. “The risk would’ve been what made it fun for James.”

“I think another week’s detentions would do you some good, Mr. Potter,” said Umbridge sleekly.

Este nene

His restless night was punctuated once more by dreams of long corridors and locked doors, and he awoke next day with his scar prickling again.

So if you sign, you’re agreeing not to tell Umbridge — or anybody else — what we’re up to.”

“I thought Ginny fancied Harry!”

My father says it’s a matter of time before the Ministry has him carted off to St. Mungo’s. . . . apparently they’ve got a special ward for people whose brains have been addled by magic . . .”

Something collided hard with Harry’s shoulder, knocking him sideways. A split second later he realized that Neville had just charged past him, heading straight for Malfoy.

Ron sniggered. Lavender shot him a disgusted look.

It came as no surprise to any of them that Harry and Ron were given additional practice of the Silencing Charm for homework.

Dios mio they suck.

“How come you’re not in Ravenclaw?”

Anyway . . . good luck, Ronald!”

i swear she likes him…. i ship it

“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.

AHHHHHH

Weasley cannot save a thing, He cannot block a single ring, That’s why Slytherins all sing: Weasley is our King. Weasley was born in a bin, He always lets the Quaffle in, Weasley will make sure we win, Weasley is our King.

“Hagrid’s back.”

“Did the giants beat you up, Hagrid?” asked Hermione quietly. Hagrid’s fingers slipped on the dragon steak, and it slid squelchily onto his chest.

I don’t care if she throws out Trelawney but she’s not taking Hagrid!”

“I really like you, Harry.”

“How do you know?” said Ron in a sharp voice.

“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.

“Put on your dressing-gown — we’re going to see the headmaster.”

POR FIN

And why could Dumbledore not do him the courtesy of looking at him?

“But in essence divided?”

“But she may already know . . . that excellent clock of hers . . .” Harry knew Dumbledore was referring to the clock that told, not the time, but the whereabouts and conditions of the various Weasley family members, and with a pang he thought that Mr. Weasley’s hand must, even now, be pointing at “mortal peril.”

Something about Phineas’s voice was familiar to Harry. Where had he heard it before? But before he could think, the portraits on the surrounding walls broke into a storm of protest.

“Sirius knows not to destroy your portrait,”

“It is Fawkes’s warning,” said Dumbledore, catching the feather as it fell. “She must know you’re out of your beds. . . . Minerva, go and head her off — tell her any story —”

At once, Harry’s scar burned white-hot, as though the old wound had burst open again — and unbidden, unwanted, but terrifyingly strong, there rose within Harry a hatred so powerful he felt, for that instant, that he would like nothing better than to strike — to bite — to sink his fangs into the man before him —

Kreacher’s footsteps had stopped on the stairs outside.

Well, if they were going to blame him for just seeing the attack, he was glad he had not told them that he had been inside the snake at the time. . . .

“Have you any idea what the Ministry would make of that information?”

“This is how it is — this is why you’re not in the Order — you don’t understand — there are things worth dying for!”

“I don’t see you risking your neck!”

The twins glared at Sirius for another minute, then took seats on either side of Ginny.

But then, what just happened in Dumbledore’s office? he asked himself. I felt like I wanted to attack Dumbledore too. . . .

And he and Sirius looked at each other every so often, intruders upon the family grief, waiting . . . waiting . . .

Harry hurried over to the stove to help. He did not want to intrude upon the Weasleys’ happiness, and he dreaded the moment when Mrs. Weasley would ask him to recount his vision. However, he had barely taken plates from the dresser when Mrs. Weasley lifted them out of his hands and pulled him into a hug.

How could he have dreamed of returning to Privet Drive for Christmas?

he’s so me