Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix - J. K. Rowling [294]
She was not the only person acting oddly as the O.W.L.s drew steadily nearer. Ernie Macmillan had developed an irritating habit of interrogating people about their study habits.
“How many hours d’you think you’re doing a day?” he demanded of Harry and Ron as they queued outside Herbology, a manic gleam in his eyes.
“I dunno,” said Ron. “A few …”
“More or less than eight?”
“Less, I s’pose,” said Ron, looking slightly alarmed.
“I’m doing eight,” said Ernie, puffing out his chest. “Eight or nine. I’m getting an hour in before breakfast every day. Eight’s my average. I can do ten on a good weekend day. I did nine and a half on Monday. Not so good on Tuesday — only seven and a quarter. Then on Wednesday —”
Harry was deeply thankful that Professor Sprout ushered them into greenhouse three at that point, forcing Ernie to abandon his recital.
Meanwhile Draco Malfoy had found a different way to induce panic.
“Of course, it’s not what you know,” he was heard to tell Crabbe and Goyle loudly outside Potions a few days before the exams were to start, “it’s who you know. Now, Father’s been friendly with the head of the Wizarding Examinations Authority for years — old Griselda Marchbanks — we’ve had her round for dinner and everything. …”
“Do you think that’s true?” Hermione whispered to Harry and Ron, looking frightened.
“Nothing we can do about it if it is,” said Ron gloomily.
“I don’t think it’s true,” said Neville quietly from behind them. “Because Griselda Marchbanks is a friend of my gran’s, and she’s never mentioned the Malfoys.”
“What’s she like, Neville?” asked Hermione at once. “Is she strict?”
“Bit like Gran, really,” said Neville in a subdued voice.
“Knowing her won’t hurt your chances though, will it?” Ron told him encouragingly.
“Oh, I don’t think it will make any difference,” said Neville, still more miserably. “Gran’s always telling Professor Marchbanks I’m not as good as my dad. … Well … you saw what she’s like at St. Mungo’s. …”
Neville looked fixedly at the floor. Harry, Ron, and Hermione glanced at one another, but didn’t know what to say. It was the first time that Neville had acknowledged that they had met at the Wizarding hospital.
Meanwhile a flourishing black-market trade in aids to concentration, mental agility, and wakefulness had sprung up among the fifth and seventh years. Harry and Ron were much tempted by the bottle of Baruffio’s Brain Elixir offered to them by Ravenclaw sixth year Eddie Carmichael, who swore it was solely responsible for the nine “Outstanding” O.W.L.s he had gained the previous summer and was offering the whole pint for a mere twelve Galleons. Ron assured Harry he would reimburse him for his half the moment he left Hogwarts and got a job, but before they could close the deal, Hermione had confiscated the bottle from Carmichael and poured the contents down a toilet.
“Hermione, we wanted to buy that!” shouted Ron.
“Don’t be stupid,” she snarled. “You might as well take Harold Dingle’s powdered dragon claw and have done with it.”
“Dingle’s got powdered dragon claw?” said Ron eagerly.
“Not anymore,” said Hermione. “I confiscated that too. None of these things actually works you know —”
“Dragon claw does work!” said Ron. “It’s supposed to be incredible, really gives your brain a boost, you come over all cunning for a few hours — Hermione, let me have a pinch,