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“So you want me to say I’m not going to take part in the defense group?” he muttered finally.
“Me? Certainly not!” said Sirius, looking surprised. “I think it’s an excellent idea!”
“You do?” said Harry, his heart lifting.
“<…> D’you think your father and I would’ve lain down and taken orders from an old hag like Umbridge?”

and she can’t say it for herself because she’s on duty tonight.”

“Why was Dung hiding from us?” asked Ron, sounding disappointed. “We’d’ve liked to’ve seen him.”

We lost Moody’s spare Invisibility Cloak when Sturgis was arrested, so Dung’s been dressing as a witch a lot lately.

“I’m still being followed?” asked Harry angrily.
“Yeah, you are,” said Sirius, “and just as well, isn’t it, if the first thing you’re going to do on your weekend off is organize an illegal defense group.”
But he looked neither angry nor worried; on the contrary, he was looking at Harry with distinct pride.

“Who overheard us?” Harry demanded.
“Mundungus, of course,” said Sirius, and when they all looked puzzled he laughed. “He was the witch under the veil.”
“That was Mundungus?” Harry said, stunned.

Sirius’s untidy dark head was sitting in the fire again.
“Hi,” he said, grinning.
“Hi,” chorused Harry, Ron, and Hermione, all three kneeling down upon the hearthrug. Crookshanks purred loudly and approached the fire, trying, despite the heat, to put his face close to Sirius’s.
“How’re things?” said Sirius.

It was a long while before the crowd around the Weasleys dispersed, and then Fred, Lee, and George sat up counting their takings even longer, so that it was well past midnight when Harry, Ron, and Hermione finally had the common room to themselves again.

She, Harry, and Ron watched George projectile-vomit into the bucket, gulp down the rest of the chew, and straighten up, beaming with his arms wide to protracted applause.

It was very hard to concentrate; <…>
There was also an incredible amount of noise in the room:

“Please turn to page thirty-four of Defensive Magical Theory and read the third chapter, entitled <…>
There will be —”
“— no need to talk,” Harry, Ron, and Hermione said together under their breaths.
“No Quidditch practice,” said Angelina in hollow tones when Harry, Ron, and Hermione entered the common room that night after dinner.
<…>
“Well,” said Hermione, “look on the bright side — at least now you’ll have time to do Snape’s essay!”

“You and Umbridge have got something in common,” Harry told Hermione quietly when they met again in Defense Against the Dark Arts. “She obviously reckons Trelawney’s an old fraud too. . . . Looks like she’s put her on probation.”

Umbridge entered the room as he spoke, wearing her black velvet bow and an expression of great smugness.

“Kindly continue with your work!”

But I shall not be insulted, no, I shall not!”
“But Professor, who’s insulting you?” asked Parvati timidly.
“The establishment!” said Professor Trelawney

tears spilling from under her glasses.

“You know what to do! Or am I such a substandard teacher that you have never learned how to open a book?”

There was too much truth in this to ignore, so half an hour later Harry took his seat in the hot, over-perfumed atmosphere of the Divination classroom feeling angry at everybody. Professor Trelawney was handing out copies of The Dream Oracle yet again; he would surely be much better employed doing Snape’s punishment essay than sitting here trying to find meaning in a lot of made-up dreams.

Snape had already given them homework, and he had Quidditch practice this evening; this would mean another couple of sleepless nights.

“Salamander blood, Harry!” Hermione moaned, grabbing his wrist to prevent him adding the wrong ingredient <…>. “Not pomegranate juice!”