Harry finished the sentence for her.

“—He’d probably be back in Azkaban this morning.” He waved his wand without really concentrating; his bullfrog swelled like a green balloon and emitted a high-pitched whistle.

“Silencio!” said Hermione hastily, pointing her wand at Harry’s frog, which deflated silently before them. “Well, he mustn’t do it again, that’s all. I just don’t know how we’re going to let him know. We can’t send him an owl.”

“I don’t reckon he’ll risk it again,” said Ron. “He’s not stupid, he knows she nearly got him. Silencio.”

The large and ugly raven in front of him let out a derisive caw.

“Silencio. SILENCIO!”

The raven cawed more loudly.

“It’s the way you’re moving your wand,” said Hermione, watching Ron critically, “you don’t want to wave it, it’s more a sharp jab.”

“Ravens are harder than frogs,” said Ron through clenched teeth.

“Fine, let’s swap,” said Hermione, seizing Ron’s raven and replacing it with her own fat bullfrog. “Silencio!” The raven continued to open and close its sharp beak, but no sound came out.

“Very good, Miss Granger!” said Professor Flitwick’s squeaky little voice, making Harry, Ron and Hermione all jump. “Now, let me see you try, Mr. Weasley.”

“Wha—? Oh—oh, right,” said Ron, very flustered. “Er—silencio!”

He jabbed at the bullfrog so hard he poked it in the eye: the frog gave a deafening croak and leapt off the desk.

It came as no surprise to any of them that Harry and Ron were given additional practice of the Silencing Charm for homework.

They were allowed to remain inside over break due to the downpour outside. They found seats in a noisy and overcrowded classroom on the first floor in which Peeves was floating dreamily up near the chandelier, occasionally blowing an ink pellet at the top of somebody’s head. They had barely sat down when Angelina came struggling towards them through the groups of gossiping students.

“I’ve got permission!” she said. “To re-form the Quidditch team!”

“Excellent!” said Ron and Harry together.

“Yeah,” said Angelina, beaming. “I went to McGonagall and I think she might have appealed to Dumbledore. Anyway, Umbridge had to give in. Ha! So I want you down at the pitch at seven o’clock tonight, all right, because we’ve got to make up time. You realise we’re only three weeks away from our first match?”

She squeezed away from them, narrowly dodged an ink pellet from Peeves, which hit a nearby first-year instead, and vanished from sight.

Ron’s smile slipped slightly as he looked out of the window, which was now opaque with hammering rain.

“Hope this clears up. What’s up with you, Hermione?”

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A hand had appeared amongst the flames, groping as though to catch hold of something; a stubby, short-fingered hand covered in ugly old-fashioned rings.	\|	She, too, was gazing at the window, but not as though she really saw it. Her eyes were unfocused and there was a frown on her face.

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