Alphonse Maria Mucha Spring paintingAlphonse Maria Mucha Moet and Chandon White Star painting
There was still no door.
Harry swore. Someone screamed. He looked around to see a gaggle of first years running back around the corner, apparently un-der the impression that they had just encountered a particularly foulmouthed ghost.
Harry tried every variation of "I need to see what Draco Malfoy is doing inside you" that he could think of for a whole hour, at the end of which he was forced to concede that Hermione might have had a point: The room simply did not want to open for him. Frus-trated and annoyed, he set off for Defense Against the Dark Arts, pulling off his Invisibility Cloak and stuffing it into his bag as he went.
"Late again, Potter," said Snape coldly, as Harry hurried into the candlelit classroom. "Ten points from Gryfrindor." Harry scowled at Snape as he flung himself into the seat beside Ron. Half the class were still on their feet, taking out books and orga-nizing their things; he could not be much later than any of them.
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