Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix - J. K. Rowling [103]
“Mimbulus mimbletonia,” said Hermione, before the Fat Lady could ask. The portrait swung open to reveal the hole behind and the three of them scrambled back through it.
The common room was almost empty; nearly everyone was still down at dinner. Crookshanks uncoiled himself from an armchair and trotted to meet them, purring loudly, and when Harry, Ron, and Hermione took their three favorite chairs at the fireside he leapt lightly into Hermione’s lap and curled up there like a furry ginger cushion. Harry gazed into the flames, feeling drained and exhausted.
“How can Dumbledore have let this happen?” Hermione cried suddenly, making Harry and Ron jump; Crookshanks leapt off her, looking affronted. She pounded the arms of her chair in fury, so that bits of stuffing leaked out of the holes. “How can he let that terrible woman teach us? And in our O.W.L. year too!”
“Well, we’ve never had great Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers, have we?” said Harry. “You know what it’s like, Hagrid told us, nobody wants the job, they say it’s jinxed.”
“Yes, but to employ someone who’s actually refusing to let us do magic! What’s Dumbledore playing at?”
“And she’s trying to get people to spy for her,” said Ron darkly. “Remember when she said she wanted us to come and tell her if we hear anyone saying You-Know-Who’s back?”
“Of course she’s here to spy on us all, that’s obvious, why else would Fudge have wanted her to come?” snapped Hermione.
“Don’t start arguing again,” said Harry wearily, as Ron opened his mouth to retaliate. “Can’t we just … Let’s just do that homework, get it out of the way. …”
They collected their schoolbags from a corner and returned to the chairs by the fire. People were coming back from dinner now. Harry kept his face averted from the portrait hole, but could still sense the stares he was attracting.
“Shall we do Snape’s stuff first?” said Ron, dipping his quill into his ink. “ ‘The properties … of moonstone … and its uses …in potion-making …’ ” he muttered, writing the words across the top of his parchment as he spoke them. “There.” He underlined the title, then looked up expectantly at Hermione.
“So what are the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion-making?”
But Hermione was not listening; she was squinting over into the far corner of the room, where Fred, George, and Lee Jordan were now sitting at the center of a knot of innocent-looking first years, all of whom were chewing something that seemed to have come out of a large paper bag that Fred was holding.
“No, I’m sorry, they’ve gone too far,” she said, standing up and looking positively furious. “Come on, Ron.”
“I — what?” said Ron, plainly playing for time. “No — come on, Hermione — we can’t tell them off for giving out sweets. …”
“You know perfectly well that those are bits of Nosebleed Nougat or — or Puking Pastilles or —”
“Fainting Fancies?” Harry suggested quietly.
One by one, as though hit over the heads with invisible mallets, the first years were slumping unconscious in their seats; some slid right onto the floor, others merely hung over the arms of their chairs, their tongues lolling out. Most of the people watching were laughing; Hermione, however, squared her shoulders and marched directly over to where Fred and George now stood with clipboards, closely observing the unconscious first years. Ron rose halfway out of his chair, hovered uncertainly for a moment or two, then muttered to Harry, “She’s got it under control,” before sinking as low in his chair as his lanky frame permitted.
“That’s enough!” Hermione said forcefully to Fred and George, both of whom looked up in mild surprise.
“Yeah, you’re right,” said George, nodding, “this dosage looks strong enough, doesn’t it?”
“I told you this morning, you can