แฮร์รี่ พอตเตอร์กับภาคีนกฟีนิกซ์

Professor Umbridge looked as though she had just been slapped in the face.

Professor Umbridge and her clipboard were sitting in a corner and the sight of her drove the memory of breakfast right out of his head.

Harry did not speak to Hermione all through Charms,

“I think another week’s detentions would do you some good, Mr. Potter,” said Umbridge sleekly.

“Well?” <…>. “Let me see the start you’ve made on your dream diary, please.”

though the mystical effect was ruined

“I’d like you to make a prediction for me,”

“You’re less like your father than I thought,” he said finally, a definite coolness in his voice. “The risk would’ve been what made it fun for James.”

“She’s not letting us use magic at all!”
“All we do is read the stupid textbook,” said Ron.
“Ah, well, that figures,” said Sirius. “Our information from inside the Ministry is that Fudge doesn’t want you trained in combat.”
<…>. “What does he think we’re doing here, forming some sort of wizard army?”
“That’s exactly what he thinks you’re doing,”

“You didn’t say you’d written to Sirius!” said Hermione accusingly.
“I forgot,”

“You’ve been popping into the fire every hour?” Harry said, half laughing.
“Just for a few seconds to check if the coast was clear yet.”
“But what if you’d been seen?” said Hermione anxiously.

He knew that half the people inside Hogwarts thought him strange, even mad;

It was now past midnight and the common room was deserted but for the three of them and Crookshanks.

Harry looked up at Ron.
“Well,” he said, trying to sound as though he found the whole thing a joke, “if you want to — er — what is it?” (He checked Percy’s letter.) “Oh yeah — ‘sever ties’ with me, I swear I won’t get violent.”

Please think over what I have said most carefully, particularly the bit about Harry Potter, and congratulations again on becoming prefect.
Your brother,

He thrust the letter at Harry and Hermione, who leaned toward each other to read it together:

The farther down the parchment his eyes traveled, the more pronounced became his scowl.

“Isn’t that Hermes?” said Hermione, sounding amazed.
“Blimey, it is!” <…> “What’s Percy writing to me for?”
Hermes flew inside, landed upon Ron’s essay, and held out a leg to which a letter was attached.

They spent the whole of Sunday in the common room, buried in their books while the room around them filled up, then emptied: <…> most of their fellow Gryffindors spent the day out in the grounds, enjoying what might well be some of the last sunshine that year.

Harry knew Ron was too preoccupied with how badly he had performed at Quidditch practice and he himself was having difficulty in getting the chant of “Gryffindor are losers” out of his head.