At the very end of the corridor hung a portrait of a very fat woman in a pink silk dress.
“Password?” she said. “Caput Draconis” said Percy, and the portrait swung forward to reveal a round hole in the wall. They all scrambled through it — Neville needed a leg up — and found themselves in the Gryffindor common room, a cozy, round room full of squashy armchairs.
“Well, hello, Peter,” said Lupin pleasantly, as though rats frequently erupted into old school friends around him. “Long time, no see.”
Alastor Moody. Ex-Auror, Ministry malcontent, and your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. I’m here because Dumbledore asked me. End of story, goodbye, the end. Any questions?
“Ah! Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans! I was unfortunate enough in my youth to come across a vomit-flavored one, and since then I’m afraid I’ve rather lost my liking for them — but I think I’ll be safe with a nice toffee, don’t you?”
He smiled and popped the golden-brown bean into his mouth.
“Alas! Ear wax!” _Dumbledore
‘As our Mandrakes are only seedlings, their cries won’t kill yet,’ she said calmly, as though she’d just don’t nothing more exciting than water a begonia. ‘However they will knock you out for several hours, and as I’m sure none of you want to miss your first day back, make sure your earmuffs are securely in place while you work. I’ll attract your attention when it is time to pack up.’ _Professor Sprout
‘Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts,’ she said. ‘Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned._Minera McGonagall
“But Aunt Marge suddenly stopped speaking. For a moment, it looked as though words had failed her. She seemed to be swelling with inexpressible anger — but the swelling didn’t stop. Her great red face started to expand, her tiny eyes bulged, and her mouth stretched too tightly for speech — next second, several buttons had just burst from her tweed jacket and pinged off the walls — she was inflating like a monstrous balloon, her stomach bursting free of her tweed waistband, each of her fingers blowing up like a salami…”
