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Равнодушие и пренебрежение порою пагубнее откровенной неприязни…

“Potter has no chance whatsoever of becoming an Auror!”
Professor McGonagall got to her feet too, and in her case this was a much more impressive move. She towered over Professor Umbridge.
“Potter,” she said in ringing tones, “I will assist you to become an Auror if it is the last thing I do! If I have to coach you nightly I will make sure you achieve the required results!”

“Leave him ALONE!”
James and Sirius looked around. James’s free hand jumped to his hair again.
It was one of the girls from the lake edge. She had thick, dark red hair that fell to her shoulders and startlingly green almond-shaped eyes — Harry’s eyes.
Harry’s mother …
“All right, Evans?” said James, and the tone of his voice was suddenly pleasant, deeper, more mature.

“I will if you go out with me, Evans,” said James quickly. “Go on … Go out with me, and I’ll never lay a wand on old Snivelly again.”

“LEAVE HIM ALONE!” Lily shouted. She had her own wand out now. James and Sirius eyed it warily.
“Ah, Evans, don’t make me hex you,” said James earnestly.
“Take the curse off him, then!”
James sighed deeply, then turned to Snape and muttered the countercurse.

“Messing up your hair because you think it looks cool to look like you’ve just got off your broomstick, showing off with that stupid Snitch, walking down corridors and hexing anyone who annoys you just because you can — I’m surprised your broomstick can get off the ground with that fat head on it. You make me SICK.”

Lupin had pulled out a book and was reading. Sirius stared around at the students milling over the grass, looking rather haughty and bored, but very handsomely so. James was still playing with the Snitch, letting it zoom farther and farther away, almost escaping but always grabbed at the last second.

“Put that away, will you?” said Sirius finally, as James made a fine catch and Wormtail let out a cheer. “Before Wormtail wets himself from excitement.”

“I’m bored,” said Sirius. “Wish it was full moon.”
“You might,” said Lupin darkly from behind his book. “We’ve still got Transfiguration, if you’re bored you could test me. … Here.” He held out his book.
Sirius snorted. “I don’t need to look at that rubbish, I know it all.”

“Are you feeling all right?” Ron asked, staring at her in disbelief.
“Now you mention it,” said Hermione happily, “d’you know … I think I’m feeling a bit … rebellious.”

Harry had an unpleasant constricted sensation in his chest; he did not want to say good-bye to Sirius.

It was his last chance to tell Sirius to be careful; he turned, looked into his godfather’s face and opened his mouth to speak, but before he could do so Sirius was giving him a brief, one-armed hug. He said gruffly, “Look after yourself, Harry,” and next moment Harry found himself being shunted out into the icy winter air, with Tonks (today heavily disguised as a tall, tweedy woman with iron-gray hair) chivvying him down the steps.

“Look after yourselves,” said Lupin, shaking hands all round and reaching Harry last. “And listen …” He lowered his voice while the rest of them exchanged last-minute good-byes with Tonks, “Harry, I know you don’t like Snape, but he is a superb Occlumens and we all — Sirius included — want you to learn to protect yourself, so work hard, all right?”

“I’m his godfather,” said Sirius, louder than ever.

His heart swelled with happiness and relief, and he felt like joining in as they heard Sirius tramping past their door toward Buckbeak’s room, singing “God Rest Ye Merry, Hippogriffs” at the top of his voice.
How could he have dreamed of returning to Privet Drive for Christmas? Sirius’s delight at having the house full again, and especially at having Harry back, was infectious

Harry could not remember Sirius ever being in such a good mood; he was actually singing carols, apparently delighted that he was to have company over Christmas. Harry could hear his voice echoing up through the floor in the cold and empty drawing room where he was sitting alone, watching the sky outside the windows growing whiter, threatening snow, all the time feeling a savage pleasure that he was giving the others the opportunity to keep talking about him, as they were bound to be doing.