'I was watching him, his nose was touching the parchment,' said Sirius viciously. There'll be great grease marks all over it, they won't be able to read a word.'
'You think you're funny,' she said coldly. 'But you're just an arrogant, bullying toerag, Potter. Leave him alone.'
'So you've stopped having funny dreams?' said Hermione sceptically.
'Harry, don't do it, please don't do it!' Hermione said in anguished tones as the bell rang at the end of the class.
'Well, I thought of, maybe, being an Auror,' Harry mumbled.
'I daresay you'll find you can,' said Professor McGonagall through tightly gritted teeth.
Snape's wand flew twelve feet into the air and fell with a little thud in the grass behind him. Sirius let out a bark of laughter.
Wormtail was the only one who didn't laugh.
Many people in the small crowd cheered; Sirius, James and Wormtail roared with laughter.
Harry walked the remaining few feet to the Pensieve and stood over it, gazing into its depths. He hesitated, listening, then pulled out his wand again. The office and the corridor beyond were completely silent. He gave the contents of the Pensieve a small prod with the end of his wand.
'Well, I don't think Snape should stop until you're absolutely sure you can control them!' said Hermione indignantly. 'Harry, I think you should go back to him and ask - '
Ginny continued to watch him thoughtfully. More to give himself something to do than because he really wanted any, Harry unwrapped his Easter egg, broke off a large bit and put it into his mouth.
'What was the point, we asked ourselves, of disrupting leisure time?' continued Fred. 'No point at all, we answered ourselves. And of course, we'd have messed up people's revision, too, which would be the very last thing we'd want to do.'
'Who is it, then?' asked Ginny, watching him closely.
His breath was actually fogging the surface of Snape's thoughts . . . his brain seemed to be in limbo . . . it would be insane to do the thing he was so strongly tempted to do . . . he was trembling . . . Snape could be back at any moment . . . but Harry thought of Cho's anger, of Malfoy's jeering face, and a reckless daring seized him.
He was standing in the middle of the Great Hall, but the four house tables were gone. Instead, there were more than a hundred smaller tables, all facing the same way, at each of which sat a student, head bent low, scribbling on a roll of parchment. The only sound was the scratching of quills and the occasional rustle as somebody adjusted their parchment. It was clearly exam time.
But did he want to be like his father any more?