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

by J.K. Rowling

Ginny, who had lured Crookshanks out from under the dresser, was sitting cross-legged on the floor, rolling butterbeer corks for him to chase.

“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.”

“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.

As Smith strode away in an annoyingly buoyant fashion, Ron glared after him. “Shall I jinx him? I can still get him from here,” he said, raising his wand and taking aim between Smith’s shoulder blades.

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.

“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.”

Harry could still hear the distant bangs of escaped firecrackers when he and Ron went up to bed an hour later, and as he got undressed a sparkler floated past the tower, still resolutely spelling out the word “POO”.

Malfoy glanced around. Harry knew he was checking for signs of teachers. Then he looked back at Harry and said in a low voice, “You’re dead, Potter.” Harry raised his eyebrows. “Funny,” he said, “you’d think I’d have stopped walking around

“You’re going to pay,” said Malfoy in a voice barely louder than a whisper. “I’m going to make you pay for what you’ve done to my father . . .” “Well, I’m terrified now,” said Harry sarcastically.

“You wait. I’ll have you. You can’t land my father in prison —” “I thought I just had,” said Harry.

“What are you doing, Potter?” said Snape coldly as ever, as he strode over to the four of them. “I’m trying to decide what curse to use on Malfoy, sir,” said Harry fiercely.

An invisible barrier separated him from the rest of the world. He was — he had always been — a marked man. It was just that he had never really understood what that meant. .