Harry Potter 05 - Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

higher and her gaze became distinctly colder.
    ‘You disagree?’
    ‘Yes, I do,’ said Hermione, who, unlike Umbridge, was not whispering, but speaking in a clear, carrying voice that had by now attracted the attention of the rest of the class. ‘Mr Slinkhard doesn’t like jinxes, does he? But I think they can be very useful when they’re used defensively.’
    ‘Oh, you do, do you?’ said Professor Umbridge, forgetting to whisper and straightening up. ‘Well, I’m afraid it is Mr Slinkhard’s opinion, and not yours, that matters within this classroom, Miss Granger.’
    ‘But –’ Hermione began.
    ‘That is enough,’ said Professor Umbridge. She walked back to the front of the class and stood before them, all the jauntiness she had shown at the beginning of the lesson gone. ‘Miss Granger, I am going to take five points from Gryffindor house.’
    There was an outbreak of muttering at this.
    ‘What for?’ said Harry angrily.
    ‘Don’t you get involved!’ Hermione whispered urgently to him.
    ‘For disrupting my class with pointless interruptions,’ said Professor Umbridge smoothly. ‘I am here to teach you using a Ministry-approved method that does not include inviting students to give their opinions on matters about which they understand very little. Your previous teachers in this subject may have allowed you more licence, but as none of them – with the possible exception of Professor Quirrell, who did at least appear to have restricted himself to age-appropriate subjects – would have passed a Ministry inspection –’
    ‘Yeah, Quirrell was a great teacher,’ said Harry loudly, ‘there was just that minor drawback of him having Lord Voldemort sticking out of the back of his head.’
    This pronouncement was followed by one of the loudest silences Harry had ever heard. Then –
    ‘I think another week’s detentions would do you some good, Mr Potter,’ said Umbridge sleekly.
    *
    The cut on the back of Harry’s hand had barely healed and, by the following morning, it was bleeding again. He did not complain during the evening’s detention; he was determined not to give Umbridge the satisfaction; over and over again he wrote I must not tell lies and not a sound escaped his lips, though the cut deepened with every letter.
    The very worst part of this second week’s worth of detentions was, just as George had predicted, Angelina’s reaction. She cornered him just as he arrived at the Gryffindor table for breakfast on Tuesday and shouted so loudly that Professor McGonagall came sweeping down upon the pair of them from the staff table.
    ‘Miss Johnson, how dare you make such a racket in the Great Hall! Five points from Gryffindor!’
    ‘But Professor – he’s gone and landed himself in detention again – ’
    ‘What’s this, Potter?’ said Professor McGonagall sharply, rounding on Harry. ‘Detention? From whom?’
    ‘From Professor Umbridge,’ muttered Harry, not meeting Professor McGonagall’s beady, square-framed eyes.
    ‘Are you telling me,’ she said, lowering her voice so that the group of curious Ravenclaws behind them could not hear, ‘that after the warning I gave you last Monday you lost your temper in Professor Umbridge’s class again?’
    ‘Yes,’ Harry muttered, speaking to the floor.
    ‘Potter, you must get a grip on yourself! You are heading for serious trouble! Another five points from Gryffindor!’
    ‘But – what –? Professor, no!’ Harry said, furious at this injustice, ‘I’m already being punished by her , why do you have to take points as well?’
    ‘Because detentions do not appear to have any effect on you whatsoever!’ said Professor McGonagall tartly. ‘No, not another word of complaint, Potter! And as for you, Miss Johnson, you will confine your shouting matches to the Quidditch pitch in future or risk losing the team captaincy!’
    Professor McGonagall strode back towards the staff table. Angelina gave Harry a look of deepest disgust and stalked away, upon which he flung himself on to the bench beside Ron, fuming.
    ‘She’s taken points off Gryffindor because I’m having my hand sliced open every night! How is that fair, how ?’
    ‘I know, mate,’ said Ron sympathetically, tipping bacon on to Harry’s plate, ‘she’s bang out of order.’
    Hermione, however, merely rustled the pages of her Daily Prophet and said nothing.
    ‘You think McGonagall was right, do you?’ said Harry angrily to the picture of Cornelius Fudge