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

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 any more,’ said Hermione. ‘I confiscated that, too. None of these things actually work, 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, go on, it can’t hurt –’
    ‘This stuff can,’ said Hermione grimly. ‘I’ve had a look at it, and it’s actually dried Doxy droppings.’
    This information took the edge off Harry and Ron’s desire for brain stimulants.
    They received their examination timetables and details of the procedure for O.W.L.s during their next Transfiguration lesson.
    ‘As you can see,’ Professor McGonagall told the class as they copied down the dates and times of their exams from the blackboard, ‘your O.W.L.s are spread over two successive weeks. You will sit the theory papers in the mornings and the practice in the afternoons. Your practical Astronomy examination will, of course, take place at night.
    ‘Now, I must warn you that the most stringent anti-cheating charms have been applied to your examination papers. Auto-Answer Quills are banned from the examination hall, as are Remembralls, Detachable Cribbing Cuffs and Self-Correcting Ink. Every year, I am afraid to say, seems to harbour at least one student who thinks that he or she can get around the Wizarding Examinations Authority’s rules. I can only hope that it is nobody in Gryffindor. Our new – Headmistress –’ Professor McGonagall pronounced the word with the same look on her face that Aunt Petunia had whenever she was contemplating a particularly stubborn bit of dirt ‘– has asked the Heads of House to tell their students that cheating will be punished most severely – because, of course, your examination results will reflect upon the Headmistress’s new regime at the school –’
    Professor McGonagall gave a tiny sigh; Harry saw the nostrils of her sharp nose flare.
    ‘– however, that is no reason not to do your very best. You have your own futures to think about.’
    ‘Please, Professor,’ said Hermione, her hand in the air, ‘when will we find out our results?’
    ‘An owl will be sent to you some time in July,’ said Professor McGonagall.
    ‘Excellent,’ said Dean Thomas in an audible whisper, ‘so we don’t have to worry about it till the holidays.’
    Harry imagined sitting in his bedroom in Privet Drive in six weeks’ time, waiting for his O.W.L. results. Well, he thought, at least he would be sure of one bit of post that summer.
    Their first examination, Theory of Charms, was scheduled for Monday morning. Harry agreed to test Hermione after lunch on Sunday, but regretted it almost at once; she was very agitated and kept snatching the book back from him to check that she had got the answer completely right, finally hitting him hard on the nose with the sharp edge of Achievements in Charming.
    ‘Why don’t you just do it yourself?’ he said firmly, handing the book back to her, his eyes watering.
    Meanwhile, Ron was reading two years’ worth of Charms notes with his fingers in his ears, his lips moving soundlessly; Seamus Finnigan was lying flat on his back on the floor, reciting the definition of a Substantive Charm while Dean checked it against The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5 ; and Parvati and Lavender, who were practising basic Locomotion Charms, were making their pencil-cases race each other around the edge of the table.
    Dinner was a subdued affair that night. Harry and Ron did not talk much, but ate with gusto, having studied hard all day. Hermione, on the other hand, kept putting down her knife and fork and diving under the table for her bag, from which she would seize a book to check some fact or figure. Ron was just telling her that she ought to eat a decent meal or she would not sleep that night, when her fork slid from her limp fingers and landed with a loud tinkle on her plate.
    ‘Oh, my goodness,’ she said faintly, staring into the Entrance