Excerpts from Book 5

"Well, we were always going to fail that one," said Ron gloomily as they ascended the marble staircase. He had just made Harry feel rather better by telling him how he told the examiner in detail about the ugly man with a wart on his nose in the crystal ball, only to look up an realize he had been describing the examiner's reflection.

"How long have you been 'Big D' then?" said Harry.
"Shut it," snarled Dudley, turning away again.
"Cool name," said Harry, grinning, "But you'll always be Ickle Diddykins to me."
"Shut your face."
"You don't tell her to shut her face. What about 'popkin' and 'Dinky Diddydums,' can I use them then?"

"You don't want to bottle your anger up like that, Harry, let it all out," said Fred, beaming. "There might be a couple people 50 miles away who didn't hear you."

"Who's Kreacher?"
"The house-elf who lives here," said Ron. "Nutter. Never met one like him."
"He is not a nutter," said Hermione.
"His life's ambition is to have his head cut off and stuck up on a plaque like his mother," said Ron. "Is that normal, Hermione?"

(After Lupin goes through a list of all the things they've done to discredit Dumbledore) "But Dumbledore says he doesn't care what they do as long as they don't take him off the Chocolate Frog Cards," said Bill, grinning.

"Ah," said Fudge, who looked thoroughly disconcerted. "Dumbledore. Yes. You –er –got our – er – message that the time and – er – place of the hearing had been changed then?"
"I must have missed it," said Dumbledore cheerfully. "However, due to a lucky mistake I arrived at the Ministry three hours early, so no harm done."
"Yes – well – I suppose we'll need another chair – I – Weasley, could you --?"
"Not to worry, not to worry," said Dumbledore pleasantly; he took out his wand, gave it a little flick, and a squishy chintz armchair appeared out of nowhere next to Harry. Dumbledore sat down, put the tips of his long fingers together and surveyed Fudge over them with an expression of polite interest. (Dumbledore is just too cool!)

"To our newcomers," said Dumbledore in a ringing voice, stretching his hands wide and a beaming smile on his lips, "welcome! To our old hands -- welcome back! There is a time for speech making, and this is not it. Tuck in!"

"Well, I had one that I was playing Quidditch the other night," said Ron, screwing up his face in an effort to remember. "What do you think that means?"
"Probably that you're going to be eaten by a giant marshmallow or something," said Harry, turning the pages of The Dream Oracle without interest.

"Er – thanks very much, Ernie," said Harry, taken aback. Ernie might be pompous on occaisons like these, but Harry was in a mood to deeply appreciate a vote of confidence from somebody who was not wearing radishes in their ears.

"The hats have gone," Hermione said happily. "Seems the house-elves do want freedom after all."
"I wouldn't be on it," Ron told her cuttingly. "They might not count as clothes. They didn't look anything like hats to me, more like woolly bladders."

"Harry, don't go picking a row with Malfoy, don't forget, he's a prefect now, he could make life difficult for you..."
"Wow, I wonder what it'd be like to have a difficult life?" said Harry sarcastically.

"Are you trying to weasel out of showing us any of this stuff?" said Zacharias Smith.
"Here's an idea," said Ron loudly, "why don't you shut your mouth?"
"Well, we've all turned up to learn from him, and now he's telling us he can't really do any of it," he said.
"That's not what he said," said Fred Weasley.
"Would you like us to clean out your ears for you?" inquired George, pulling a long and lethal-looking metal instrument from inside one of the Zonko's bags.
"Or any part of your body, really, we're not fussy where we stick this," said Fred.

"What's up with you, Hermione?"
She was gazing out the window, but not as though she really saw it. Her eyes were unfocused and there was a frown on her face.
"Just thinking..." she said, still frowning.
"About Siri–"
"Snuffles?" said Harry.
"No...not exactly..." said Hermione slowly. "More...wondering...I suppose we're doing the right thing...I think....aren't we?"
Harry and Ron looked at each other.
"Well, that clears that up," said Ron. "It would have been really annoying if you hadn't explained yourself properly."

"–but you get these massive pus-filled boils too," said George, "and we haven't worked out how to get rid of them yet."
"I can't see any boils," said Ron, staring at the twins.
"No, well, you wouldn't," said Fred, "they're not in a place we generally display to the public–"
"–but they make sitting on a broom a right pain in the–"

Fred and George were looking particularly annoyed; both were bandy-legged and winced with every movement.
"I think a few of mine have ruptured," said Fred in a hollow voice.
"Mine haven't," said George, through clenched teeth. "They're throbbing like mad...feel bigger if anything..."

They were so busy that Hermione had stopped knitting elf hats and was fretting that she was down to her last three.
"All those poor elves I haven't set free yet, having to stay over during Christmas because there aren't enough hats!"

"We're not doing anything new?" said Zacharias Smith, in a disgruntled whisper loud enough to carry through the room. "If I'd known that, I wouldn't have come..."
"We're all really sorry Harry didn't tell you, then," said Fred loudly.

"Mistletoe," said Luna dreamily, pointing at a large clumb of white berries placed over Harry's head. He jumped out from under it. "Good thinking," said Luna seriously. "It's often infested with nargles."

"Well?" said Ron finally, looking up at Harry. "How was it?"
Harry considered for a moment.
"Wet," he said truthfully.
Ron made a noice that might have indicated jubilation or disgust, it was hard to tell.
"Because she was crying," Harry continued heavily.
"Oh," said Ron, his smile fading slightly. "Are you that bad at kissing?"
"Dunno," said Harry, who hadn't considered this, and immediately felt rather worried. "Maybe I am."

A 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.

"I'll look for him later, I expect I'll find him upstairs crying his eyes out over my mother's old bloomers or something...Of course, he might have crawled up into the airing cupboard and died...But I mustn't get my hopes up..." -Sirius

Rita stared at her. So did Harry. Luna, on the other hand, sang "Weasley is our King" dreamily under her breath and stirred her drink with a cocktail onion on a stick.

As they climed the staircase, the photos of various Healers called out to them, diagnosing odd complaints and suggesting horrible remedies. Ron was seriously affronted when a medieval wizard called out that he clearly had a bad case of spattergroit.
"And what's that supposed to be?" he asked angrily, as the Healer pursued him through six more portraits, shoving the occupants out of the way.
"'Tis a most grievous affliction of the skin, young master, that will leave you pockmarked and more gruesome even than you are now–"
"Watch who you're calling gruesome!" said Ron, his ears turning red.
"The only remedy is to take the liver of a toad, bind it tight about your throat, stand naked by the full moon in a barrel of eels' eyes–"
"I have not got spattergroit!"
"But the unsightly blemishes on your visage, young master–"
"They're freckles!" said Ron furiously. "Now get back in your own picture and leave me alone!"
He rounded on the others, who were all keeping determinedly straight faces.

"Yeah, Montague tried to do us during break," said George.
"What do you mean, 'tried'?" said Ron quickly.
"He never managed to get all the words out," said Fred, "due to the fact that we forced him headfirst into that Vanishing Cabinet on the first floor."
Hermione looked very shocked. "But you'll get into terrible trouble!"
"Not until Montague reappears, and that could take weeks, I dunno where we sent him," said Fred coolly. "Anyway, we've decided that we don't care about getting into trouble anymore."
"Have you ever?" asked Hermione.
"'Course we have," said George. "Never been expelled, have we?"
"We might have put a toe across occaisonally," said George.
"But we've always stopped short of causing real mayhem," said Fred.
"But now?" said Ron tentatively.
"–what with Dumbledore gone–" said Fred.
"–we reckon a bit of mayhem–" said George.
"–is exactly what our dear new Head deserves," said Fred.

"Cheers," whispered George, wiping tears of laughter from his face. "Oh, I hope she tries Vanishing them next...they multiply by ten every time you try..."
The fireworks continued to burn and spread all over the school that afternoon. Though they caused plenty of disruption, the other teachers did not seem to mind them very much.
"Dear, dear," said Professor McGonagall sardonically, as one of the dragons soared around her classroom, emitting loud bangs and exhalting flame. "Miss Brown, would you mind running along to the headmistress and informing her that we have an escaped firework in our 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..."
Beaming, he closed the classroom door in Umbridge's snarling face.

"How'd the exam go, Snivelly?" said James.
"I was watching him, his nose was touching the parchment," said Sirius viciously. "There'll be great grease marks all over it, they won't be able to read a word."

"You two," she went on, gazing down at Fred and George, "are about to learn what happens to wrongdoers in my school."
"You know what?" said Fred. "I don't think we are."
He turned to his twin.
"George," said Fred, "I think we've outgrown a full-time education."
"Yeah, I've been feeling that way myself," said George lightly.
"Time to test our talents in the real world, d'you reckon?" asked Fred.
"Definitely," said George.
And before Umbridge could say a word, they raised their wants and said together, "Accio Brooms!"
Harry heard a loud crash somewhere in the distance. Looking to his left he ducked just in time -- Fred and George's broomsticks, one still trailing the heavy chain and iron peg with which Umbridge had fastened them to the wall, were hurtling along the corridor toward their owners. They turned left, streaked down the stairs, and stopped sharply in front of the twins, the chain clattering loudly on the flagged stone floor.
"We won't be seeing you," Fred told Professor Umbridge, swinging his leg over his broomstick.
"Yeah, don't bother to keep in touch," said George, mounting his own.
Fred looked around at the assembled students, and at the silent, watchful crowd.
"If anybody fancies buying a Portable Swamp, as demonstrated upstairs, come to number ninety-three Diagon Alley – Weasley's Wizard Wheezes," he said in a loud voice. "Our new premesis!"
"Special discounts to Hogwarts students who swear they're going to use our products to get rid of this old bat," said George, pointing at Professor Umbridge.
"STOP THEM!" shrieked Umbridge, but it was too late. As the Inquisitorial Squad closed in, Fred and George kicked off from the floor, shooting fifteen feet into the air, the iron peg swinging dangerously below. Fred looked across the hall at the poltergeist bobbing on his level above the crowd.
"Give her hell from us, Peeves."
"And Peeves, whom Harry had never seen take an order from a student before, swept his belled hat from his head and sprang to a salute as Fred and George wheeled about to tumultuous applause from the students below and sped out of the open front doors into the glorious sunset.

By the time Ernie MacMillan, Hannah Abbott, Susan Bones, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Anthony Goldstein, and Terry Boot had finished using a wide variety of the hexes and jinxes Harry had taught them, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle resembled nothing so much as three gigantic slugs squeezed into Hogwarts uniforms as Harry, Ernie and Justin hoisted them into the luggage rack and left them there to ooze.
"I must say, I'm looking forward to seeing Malfoy's mother's face when he gets off the train," said Ernie with satisfaction.
"Goyle's mum'll be really pleased, though," said Ron. "He's loads better looking now."

"And do I look like the kind of man that can be intimidated?" barked Uncle Vernon.
"Well..." said Moody, pushing back his bowler hat to reveal his sinisterly revolving eye. Uncle Vernon lept backward in horror and collided painfully with a luggage trolley. "Yes, I'd have to say you do, Dursley."

"S'up Figgy?"
–Mundungus

"Didn't you listen to Dolores Umbridge's speech at the start-of-term feast, Potter?"
"Yeah," said Harry. "Yeah...she said...progress will be prohibited or...well, it meant that...that the Ministry of Magic is trying to interfere at Hogwarts."
"Well, I'm glad you listen to Hermione Granger at any rate."

Hermione drew herself to her full height; her eyes were narrowed and her hair seemed to crackle with electricity.
"No," she said, her voice quivering with anger, "but I will write to your mother."
"You wouldn't," said George, horrified, taking a step back from her.
"Oh, yes, I would," said Hermione grimly. "I can't stop you from eating the stupid things yourself, but you're not giving them to first years."
Fred and George looked thunderstruck. It was clear that as far as they were concerned, Hermione's threat was way below the belt.

"Has Ron saved a goal yet?" asked Hermione.
"Well, he can do it if he thinks no one is watching him," said Fred, rolling his eyes. "So all we have to do is ask the crowd to turn their backs and talk among themselves every time the Quaffle goes up on his end Saturday."

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.