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

to the library. Harry pretended his bad mood had no other cause but the approaching exams, and as his fellow Gryffindors were sick of studying themselves, his excuse went unchallenged.
    ‘Harry, I’m talking to you, can you hear me?’
    ‘Huh?’
    He looked round. Ginny Weasley, looking very windswept, had joined him at the library table where he had been sitting alone. It was late on Sunday evening: Hermione had gone back to Gryffindor Tower to revise Ancient Runes, and Ron had Quidditch practice.
    ‘Oh, hi,’ said Harry, pulling his books towards him. ‘How come you’re not at practice?’
    ‘It’s over,’ said Ginny. ‘Ron had to take Jack Sloper up to the hospital wing.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Well, we’re not sure, but we think he knocked himself out with his own bat.’ She sighed heavily. ‘Anyway … a package just arrived, it’s only just got through Umbridge’s new screening process.’
    She hoisted a box wrapped in brown paper on to the table; it had clearly been unwrapped and carelessly re-wrapped. There was a scribbled note across it in red ink, reading: Inspected and Passed by the Hogwarts High Inquisitor.
    ‘It’s Easter eggs from Mum,’ said Ginny. ‘There’s one for you … there you go.’
    She handed him a handsome chocolate egg decorated with small, iced Snitches and, according to the packaging, containing a bag of Fizzing Whizzbees. Harry looked at it for a moment, then, to his horror, felt a lump rise in his throat.
    ‘Are you OK, Harry?’ Ginny asked quietly.
    ‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ said Harry gruffly. The lump in his throat was painful. He did not understand why an Easter egg should have made him feel like this.
    ‘You seem really down lately,’ Ginny persisted. ‘You know, I’m sure if you just talked to Cho …’
    ‘It’s not Cho I want to talk to,’ said Harry brusquely.
    ‘Who is it, then?’ asked Ginny.
    ‘I …’
    He glanced around to make quite sure nobody was listening. Madam Pince was several shelves away, stamping out a pile of books for a frantic-looking Hannah Abbott.
    ‘I wish I could talk to Sirius,’ he muttered. ‘But I know I can’t.’
    More to give himself something to do than because he really wanted any, Harry unwrapped his Easter egg, broke off a large bit and put it into his mouth.
    ‘Well,’ said Ginny slowly, helping herself to a bit of egg, too, ‘if you really want to talk to Sirius, I expect we could think of a way to do it.’
    ‘Come on,’ said Harry hopelessly. ‘With Umbridge policing the fires and reading all our mail?’
    ‘The thing about growing up with Fred and George,’ said Ginny thoughtfully, ‘is that you sort of start thinking anything’s possible if you’ve got enough nerve.’
    Harry looked at her. Perhaps it was the effect of the chocolate – Lupin had always advised eating some after encounters with Dementors – or simply because he had finally spoken aloud the wish that had been burning inside him for a week, but he felt a bit more hopeful.
    ‘WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?’
    ‘Oh damn,’ whispered Ginny, jumping to her feet. ‘I forgot –’
    Madam Pince was swooping down on them, her shrivelled face contorted with rage.
    ‘Chocolate in the library!’ she screamed. ‘Out – out – OUT!’
    And whipping out her wand, she caused Harry’s books, bag and ink bottle to chase him and Ginny from the library, whacking them repeatedly over the head as they ran.
    *
    As though to underline the importance of their upcoming examinations, a batch of pamphlets, leaflets and notices concerning various wizarding careers appeared on the tables in Gryffindor Tower shortly before the end of the holidays, along with yet another notice on the board, which read:
     
    CAREERS ADVICE
    All fifth-years are required to attend a short meeting with their Head of House during the first week of the summer term to discuss their future careers. Times of individual appointments are listed below.
     
    Harry looked down the list and found that he was expected in Professor McGonagall’s office at half past two on Monday, which would mean missing most of Divination. He and the other fifth-years spent a considerable part of the final weekend of the Easter break reading all the careers information that had been left there for their perusal.
    ‘Well, I don’t fancy Healing,’ said Ron on the last evening of the holidays. He was immersed in a leaflet that carried the crossed bone-and-wand emblem of St Mungo’s on its