“I want a word with you, Harry.” She took a deep breath. “You shouldn’t have done it. You heard Slughorn, it’s illegal.”

“It matters,” said Hermione, speaking at last in a hushed voice, “because being able to talk to snakes was what Salazar Slytherin was famous for. That’s why the symbol of Slytherin House is a serpent.”

“Good afternoon, Prof—A, I mean, Hagrid,” she said, her voice thick with false sweetness. “You received my note, I trust? Giving the time and date of your inspection?”

Good morning, professor McGonagall! You received my note, I trust? Giving the time and date of inspection-" "No, I haven't!"

"Oh, we are," Harry said solemnly. "We're going to make retching noises around Umbridge. One person at a time. Until she breaks."

Because a Patronus was meant to be a guardian, a protector—someone willing to stand between you and the darkness. And Fred had done exactly that.

“Ah, Professor Flitwick, what a pleasure,” trilled Professor Umbridge, her voice dripping with false warmth. She clutched her clipboard a little tighter, tilting her head in that infuriatingly smug way of hers. “You received my note, I trust? Giving the time and date of your inspection?”

"Mr. Krum. Stop! You can't ask Hermione out" Fred said shocking the golden trio and the Bulgarian seeker. "Why?", "Because I want to ask you out first" Fred replied. In the time it took for the seeker to sputter a response, George discreetly pushed Ron in Hermione's direction. "Oh" thought Ron.

Professor Dumbledore sent all the Gryffindors back to the Great Hall, where they were joined ten minutes later by the students from Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin, who all looked extremely confused.

"Unlike you, Weasley, who are so poor you can't even afford your own wand," Draco sneered, looking down on Weasley with familiar superiority. He waited with glee for the boy to explode. To shout or curse or do something to get him into trouble, but instead, Weasley only shot him a relaxed grin.

Voldemort’s got Sirius. He’s trying to use him to get whatever it is he wants from in there. He’s torturing him… says he’ll end by killing him.”

"And as for Potter..." Malfoy drawled, his gray eyes glittering with malicious glee, "my father says it’s only 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..."

“Well,” said Hermione, smiling slightly, “Cho just couldn’t keep her eyes off you, could she?”

“I was wondering,” Hermione said suddenly, “whether you’d thought any more about Defense Against the Dark Arts, Harry.”

“Good afternoon, Professor Sprout,” said Professor Umbridge, in her honey-coated voice “You received my note, I trust? Giving the time and date of your inspection?”

“Good afternoon, Professor Binns,” said Professor Umbridge, her sugary voice scraping against the air like a rusted hinge. “You received my note, I trust? Giving the time and date of your inspection?”

Harry Potter had long since perfected the art of being a menace in return.

“I have been badly advised, it seems,” Harry said in a voice that was high, cold, and full of barely restrained anger. “Master, I crave your pardon...” croaked the man—Rookwood. He was trembling.

"Oh no," said Cho hurriedly. "No, it was only... Well, I just wanted to say... Harry, I never dreamed Marietta would tell..."

“All in favor of the D.A.?” Hermione asked bossily, kneeling up on her cushion to count. “That’s a majority—motion passed!”

"Good afternoon, Professor Trelawney," said Professor Umbridge, her saccharine smile stretched so wide it looked painful. "You received my note, I trust? Giving the time and date of your inspection?"

“Voldemort’s got Sirius.”

“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.”

Just as Harry reluctantly reached for the teacup, the door to Umbridge’s office....

“So,” he said. “Have you been practicing?” “Yes,” Harry lied, staring determinedly at one of the legs of Snape’s desk, as if it contained the meaning of life. Snape’s lip curled. “Well, we’ll soon find out, won’t we?” he said smoothly. “Wand out, Potter—”