‘Well, we've never had great Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers, have we?

‘Well, we've never had great Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers, have we?’ said Harry. ‘You know what it's like, Hagrid told us, nobody wants the job; they say it's jinxed.’

‘Yes, but to employ someone who's actually refusing to let us do magic! What's Dumbledore playing at?’

‘And she's trying to get people to spy for her,’ said Ron darkly.

‘Remember when she said she wanted us to come and tell her if we hear anyone saying You-Know-Who's back?’

‘Of course she's here to spy on us all, that's obvious, why else would Fudge have wanted her to come?’ snapped Hermione.

‘Don't start arguing again,’ said Harry wearily, as Ron opened his mouth to retaliate. ‘Can't we just... let's just do that homework, get it out of the way...’

They collected their schoolbags from a corner and returned to the chairs by the fire. People were coming back from dinner now. Harry kept his face averted from the portrait hole, but could still sense the stares he was attracting.

‘Shall we do Snape's stuff first?’ said Ron, dipping his quill into his ink. ‘"The properties... of moonstone... and its uses ... in potion-making...”’ he muttered, writing the words across the top of his parchment as he spoke them. ‘There.’ He underlined the title, then looked up expectantly at Hermione.

‘So, what are the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion-making?’

But Hermione was not listening; she was squinting over into the far corner of the room, where Fred, George and Lee Jordan were now sitting at the centre of a knot of innocent-looking first-years, all of whom were chewing something that seemed to have come out of a large paper bag that Fred was holding.

‘No, I'm sorry, they've gone too far,’ she said, standing up and looking positively furious. ‘Come on, Ron.’

‘I —what?’ said Ron, plainly playing for time. ‘No—come on, Hermione—we can't tell them off for giving out sweets.’

‘You know perfectly well that those are bits of Nosebleed Nougat or—or Puking Pastilles or—’

‘Fainting Fancies?’ Harry suggested quietly.

One by one, as though hit over the head with an invisible mallet, the first-years were slumping unconscious in their seats; some slid right on to the floor, others merely hung over the arms of their chairs, their tongues lolling out. Most of the people watching were laughing; Hermione, however, squared her shoulders and marched directly over to where Fred and George now stood with clipboards, closely observing the unconscious first-years. Ron rose halfway out of his chair, hovered uncertainly for a moment or two, then muttered to Harry, ‘She's got it under control,’ before sinking as low in his chair as his lanky frame permitted.

‘That's enough!’ Hermione said forcefully to Fred and George, both of whom looked up in mild surprise.

‘Yeah, you're right,’ said George, nodding, ‘this dosage looks strong enough, doesn't it?’

‘I told you this morning, you can't test your rubbish on students!’

‘We're paying them!’ said Fred indignantly.

‘I don't care, it could be dangerous!’

‘Rubbish,’ said Fred.

‘Calm down, Hermione, they're fine!’ said Lee reassuringly as he walked from first-year to first-year, inserting purple sweets into their open mouths.

‘Yeah, look, they're coming round now,’ said George.

A few of the first-years were indeed stirring. Several looked so shocked to find themselves lying on the floor, or dangling off their chairs, that Harry was sure Fred and George had not warned them what the sweets were going to do.

‘Feel all right?’ said George kindly to a small dark-haired girl lying at his feet.

‘I—I think so,’ she said shakily.

‘Excellent,’ said Fred happily, but the next second Hermione had snatched both his clipboard and the paper bag of Fainting Fancies from his hands.

‘It is NOT excellent!’