WutYee/HarryPotter_books_1to7 · Datasets at Hugging Face

text stringlengths 1 95
“Are you sure you don’t want me to help you look for your stuff?”
he said.
“Oh no,” said Luna. “No, I think I’ll just go down and have some
pudding and wait for it all to turn up. . . . It always does in the end.
. . . Well, have a nice holiday, Harry.”
“Yeah . . . yeah, you too.”
She walked away from him, and as he watched her go, he found that
the terrible weight in his stomach seemed to have lessened slightly.

The journey home on the Hogwarts Express next day was eventful in
several ways. Firstly, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who had clearly been
waiting all week for the opportunity to strike without teacher wit-
nesses, attempted to ambush Harry halfway down the train as he
made his way back from the toilet. The attack might have succeeded
had it not been for the fact that they unwittingly chose to stage the at-
tack right outside a compartment full of D.A. members, who saw
what was happening through the glass and rose as one to rush to
Harry’s aid. By the time Ernie Macmillan, Hannah Abbott, Susan
Bones, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Anthony Goldstein, and Terry Boot
had finished using a wide variety of the hexes and jinxes Harry had
taught them, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle resembled nothing so much
as three gigantic slugs squeezed into Hogwarts uniforms as Harry,
Ernie, and Justin hoisted them into the luggage rack and left them
there to ooze.
“I must say, I’m looking forward to seeing Malfoy’s mother’s face
when he gets off the train,” said Ernie with some satisfaction, as he
watched Malfoy squirm above him. Ernie had never quite got over the
indignity of Malfoy docking points from Hufflepuff during his brief
spell as a member of the Inquisitorial Squad.
“Goyle’s mum’ll be really pleased, though,” said Ron, who had
come to investigate the source of the commotion. “He’s loads better-

THE SECOND
WAR BEGINS
865
looking now. . . . Anyway, Harry, the food trolley’s just stopped if you
want anything. . . .”
Harry thanked the others and accompanied Ron back to their
compartment, where he bought a large pile of Cauldron Cakes and
Pumpkin Pasties. Hermione was reading the Daily Prophet again,
Ginny was doing a quiz in The Quibbler, and Neville was stroking his
Mimbulus mimbletonia, which had grown a great deal over the year
and now made odd crooning noises when touched.
Harry and Ron whiled away most of the journey playing wizard
chess while Hermione read out snippets from the Prophet. It was now
full of articles about how to repel dementors, attempts by the Min-
istry to track down Death Eaters, and hysterical letters claiming that
the writer had seen Lord Voldemort walking past their house that very
morning. . . .
“It hasn’t really started yet,” sighed Hermione gloomily, folding up
the newspaper again. “But it won’t be long now. . . .”
“Hey, Harry,” said Ron, nodding toward the glass window onto the
corridor.
Harry looked around. Cho was passing, accompanied by Marietta
Edgecombe, who was wearing a balaclava. His and Cho’s eyes met for
a moment. Cho blushed and kept walking. Harry looked back down
at the chessboard just in time to see one of his pawns chased off its
square by Ron’s knight.
“What’s — er — going on with you and her anyway?” Ron asked
quietly.
“Nothing,” said Harry truthfully.
“I — er — heard she’s going out with someone else now,” said
Hermione tentatively.
Harry was surprised to find that this information did not hurt at
all. Wanting to impress Cho seemed to belong to a past that was no
longer quite connected with him. So much of what he had wanted

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
866
before Sirius’s death felt that way these days. . . . The week that had
elapsed since he had last seen Sirius seemed to have lasted much,
much longer: It stretched across two universes, the one with Sirius in
it, and the one without.
“You’re well out of it, mate,” said Ron forcefully. “I mean, she’s
quite good-looking and all that, but you want someone a bit more
cheerful.”
“She’s probably cheerful enough with someone else,” said Harry,
shrugging.
“Who’s she with now anyway?” Ron asked Hermione, but it was
Ginny who answered.
“Michael Corner,” she said.
“Michael — but —” said Ron, craning around in his seat to stare
at her. “But you were going out with him!”
“Not anymore,” said Ginny resolutely. “He didn’t like Gryffindor
beating Ravenclaw at Quidditch and got really sulky, so I ditched him
and he ran off to comfort Cho instead.” She scratched her nose ab-
sently with the end of her quill, turned The Quibbler upside down,
and began marking her answers. Ron looked highly delighted.
“Well, I always thought he was a bit of an idiot,” he said, prodding
his queen forward toward Harry’s quivering castle. “Good for you.
Just choose someone — better — next time.”
He cast Harry an oddly furtive look as he said it.
“Well, I’ve chosen Dean Thomas, would you say he’s better?” asked
Ginny vaguely.
“WHAT?” shouted Ron, upending the chessboard. Crookshanks
went plunging after the pieces and Hedwig and Pigwidgeon twittered
and hooted angrily from overhead.
As the train slowed down in the approach to King’s Cross, Harry
thought he had never wanted to leave it less. He even wondered fleet-
ingly what would happen if he simply refused to get off, but remained

“Are you sure you don’t want me to help you look for your stuff?”

he said.

“Oh no,” said Luna. “No, I think I’ll just go down and have some

pudding and wait for it all to turn up. . . . It always does in the end.

. . . Well, have a nice holiday, Harry.”

“Yeah . . . yeah, you too.”

She walked away from him, and as he watched her go, he found that

the terrible weight in his stomach seemed to have lessened slightly.

The journey home on the Hogwarts Express next day was eventful in

several ways. Firstly, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who had clearly been

waiting all week for the opportunity to strike without teacher wit-

nesses, attempted to ambush Harry halfway down the train as he

made his way back from the toilet. The attack might have succeeded

had it not been for the fact that they unwittingly chose to stage the at-

tack right outside a compartment full of D.A. members, who saw

what was happening through the glass and rose as one to rush to

Harry’s aid. By the time Ernie Macmillan, Hannah Abbott, Susan

Bones, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Anthony Goldstein, and Terry Boot

had finished using a wide variety of the hexes and jinxes Harry had

taught them, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle resembled nothing so much

as three gigantic slugs squeezed into Hogwarts uniforms as Harry,

Ernie, and Justin hoisted them into the luggage rack and left them

there to ooze.

“I must say, I’m looking forward to seeing Malfoy’s mother’s face

when he gets off the train,” said Ernie with some satisfaction, as he

watched Malfoy squirm above him. Ernie had never quite got over the

indignity of Malfoy docking points from Hufflepuff during his brief

spell as a member of the Inquisitorial Squad.

“Goyle’s mum’ll be really pleased, though,” said Ron, who had

come to investigate the source of the commotion. “He’s loads better-

THE SECOND

WAR BEGINS

865

looking now. . . . Anyway, Harry, the food trolley’s just stopped if you

want anything. . . .”

Harry thanked the others and accompanied Ron back to their

compartment, where he bought a large pile of Cauldron Cakes and

Pumpkin Pasties. Hermione was reading the Daily Prophet again,

Ginny was doing a quiz in The Quibbler, and Neville was stroking his

Mimbulus mimbletonia, which had grown a great deal over the year

and now made odd crooning noises when touched.

Harry and Ron whiled away most of the journey playing wizard

chess while Hermione read out snippets from the Prophet. It was now

full of articles about how to repel dementors, attempts by the Min-

istry to track down Death Eaters, and hysterical letters claiming that

the writer had seen Lord Voldemort walking past their house that very

morning. . . .

“It hasn’t really started yet,” sighed Hermione gloomily, folding up

the newspaper again. “But it won’t be long now. . . .”

“Hey, Harry,” said Ron, nodding toward the glass window onto the

corridor.

Harry looked around. Cho was passing, accompanied by Marietta

Edgecombe, who was wearing a balaclava. His and Cho’s eyes met for

a moment. Cho blushed and kept walking. Harry looked back down

at the chessboard just in time to see one of his pawns chased off its

square by Ron’s knight.

“What’s — er — going on with you and her anyway?” Ron asked

quietly.

“Nothing,” said Harry truthfully.

“I — er — heard she’s going out with someone else now,” said

Hermione tentatively.

Harry was surprised to find that this information did not hurt at

all. Wanting to impress Cho seemed to belong to a past that was no

longer quite connected with him. So much of what he had wanted

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

866

before Sirius’s death felt that way these days. . . . The week that had

elapsed since he had last seen Sirius seemed to have lasted much,

much longer: It stretched across two universes, the one with Sirius in

it, and the one without.

“You’re well out of it, mate,” said Ron forcefully. “I mean, she’s

quite good-looking and all that, but you want someone a bit more

cheerful.”

“She’s probably cheerful enough with someone else,” said Harry,

shrugging.

“Who’s she with now anyway?” Ron asked Hermione, but it was

Ginny who answered.

“Michael Corner,” she said.

“Michael — but —” said Ron, craning around in his seat to stare

at her. “But you were going out with him!”

“Not anymore,” said Ginny resolutely. “He didn’t like Gryffindor

beating Ravenclaw at Quidditch and got really sulky, so I ditched him

and he ran off to comfort Cho instead.” She scratched her nose ab-

sently with the end of her quill, turned The Quibbler upside down,

and began marking her answers. Ron looked highly delighted.

“Well, I always thought he was a bit of an idiot,” he said, prodding

his queen forward toward Harry’s quivering castle. “Good for you.

Just choose someone — better — next time.”

He cast Harry an oddly furtive look as he said it.

“Well, I’ve chosen Dean Thomas, would you say he’s better?” asked

Ginny vaguely.

“WHAT?” shouted Ron, upending the chessboard. Crookshanks

went plunging after the pieces and Hedwig and Pigwidgeon twittered

and hooted angrily from overhead.

As the train slowed down in the approach to King’s Cross, Harry

thought he had never wanted to leave it less. He even wondered fleet-

ingly what would happen if he simply refused to get off, but remained