Quotes
But a reckless rage had come over Harry. He kicked his trunk open, pulled out his want, and pointed it at Uncle Vernon. "She deserved it," Harry said, breathing very fast. "She deserved what she got. You keep away from me." He fumbled behind him for the latch on the door. "I'm going," Harry said. "I've had enough."
Harry didn't have to do his homework by flashlight anymore; now he could sit in the bright sunshine outside Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlous, finishing his essays with the occasional help from Florean Fortescue himself, who, apart from knowing a great deal about medieval witch burnings, gave Harry free sundaes every half an hour.
Professor Trelawney was staring into the teacup, rotating it counterclockwise. "The falcon…my dear, you have a deadly enemy." "But everyone knows that," said Hermione in a loud whisper. Professor Trelawney stared at her. "Well, they do," said Hermione. "Everybody knows about Harry and You-Know-Who." Harry and Ron stared at her with a mixture of amazement and admiration. They had never heard Hermione speak to a teacher like that before. Professor Trelawney chose not to reply. She lowered her huge eyes to Harry's cup again and continued to turn it. "The club…an attack. Dear, dear, this is not a happy cup…." "I thought it was a bowler hat," said Ron sheepishly. "The skull…danger in your path, my dear." Everyone was staring, transfixed, at Professor Trelawney, who gave the cup a final turn, gasped, and then screamed. There was another tinkle of breaking china; Neville had smashed his second cup.
A dementor rose slowly from the box, its hooded face turned toward Harry, one glistening, scabbed hand gripping its cloak. The lamps around the classroom flickered and went out. The dementor stepped from the box and started to sweep silently toward Harry, drawing a deep, rattling breath. A wave of piercing cold broke over him— "Expecto patromun!" Harry yelled. "Expecto patronum! Expecto—" But the classroom and the dementor were dissolving…Harry was falling again through thick white fog, and his mother's voice was louder than ever, echoing inside his head—"Not Harry! Not Harry! Please—I'll do anything—"
He was thinking about his father and about his father's three oldest friends…Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs…Had all four of them been out on the grounds tonight? (Chapter twenty-one, p. 407)
