‘Fainting Fancies?’ Harry suggested quietly.

One by one, as though hit over the head with an invisible mallet, the first-years were slumping unconscious in their seats; some slid right on to the floor, others merely hung over the arms of their chairs, their tongues lolling

out. Most of the people watching were laughing; Hermione, however, squared her shoulders and marched directly over to where Fred and George now stood with clipboards, closely observing the unconscious first-years. Ron

rose halfway out of his chair, hovered uncertainly for a moment or two, then muttered to Harry, ‘She's got it under control,’ before sinking as low in his chair as his lanky frame permitted.

‘That's enough!’ Hermione said forcefully to Fred and George, both of whom looked up in mild surprise.

‘Yeah, you're right,’ said George, nodding, ‘this dosage looks strong enough, doesn't it?’

‘I told you this morning, you can't test your rubbish on students!’

‘We're paying them!’ said Fred indignantly.

‘I don't care, it could be dangerous!’

‘Rubbish,’ said Fred.

‘Calm down, Hermione, they're fine!’ said Lee reassuringly as he walked from first-year to first-year, inserting purple sweets into their open mouths.

‘Yeah, look, they're coming round now,’ said George.

A few of the first-years were indeed stirring. Several looked so shocked to find themselves lying on the floor, or dangling off their chairs, that Harry was sure Fred and George had not warned them what the sweets were going

to do.

‘Feel all right?’ said George kindly to a small dark-haired girl lying at his feet.

‘I—I think so,’ she said shakily.

‘Excellent,’ said Fred happily, but the next second Hermione had snatched both his clipboard and the paper bag of Fainting Fancies from his hands.

‘It is NOT excellent!’

‘Course it is, they're alive, aren't they?’ said Fred angrily.

‘You can't do this, what if you made one of them really ill?’

‘We're not going to make them ill, we've already tested them all on ourselves, this is just to see if everyone reacts the same—’

‘If you don't stop doing it, I'm going to—’

‘Put us in detention?’ said Fred, in an I'd-like-to-see-you-try-it voice.

‘Make us write lines?’ said George, smirking.

Onlookers all over the room were laughing. Hermione drew herself up to her full height; her eyes were narrowed and her bushy hair seemed to crackle with electricity.

‘No,’ she said, her voice quivering with anger, ‘but I will write to your mother.’

‘You wouldn't,’ said George, horrified, taking a step back from her.

‘Oh, yes, I would,’ said Hermione grimly. ‘I can't stop you eating the stupid things yourselves, but you're not to give them to the first-years,’

Fred and George looked thunderstruck. It was clear that as far as they were concerned, Hermione's threat was way below the belt. With a last threatening look at them, she thrust Fred's clipboard and the bag of Fancies back

into his arms, and stalked back to her chair by the fire.

Ron was now so low in his seat that his nose was roughly level with his knees.

‘Thank you for your support, Ron,’ Hermione said acidly.
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