“Excellent,” said Fred, who had followed Harry through the portrait hole. “I need to visit Zonko’s. I’m nearly out of Stink Pellets.”
Harry threw himself into a chair beside Ron, his high spirits ebbing away. Hermione seemed to read his mind.”—Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, pp. 145 (via wahrscheinlich)
And as the Veela danced faster and faster, wild, half-formed thoughts started chasing through Harry’s dazed mind. He wanted to do something impressive, right now. Jumping from the box into the stadium seemed a good idea… but would it be good enough?
“Harry, what are you doing?” said Hermione’s voice from a long way off.
The music stopped. Harry blinked. He was standing up, and one of his legs was resting on the wall of the box. Next to him, Ron was frozen in an attitude that looked as though he were about to dive from a springboard.
Hermione made a loud tutting noise. She reached up and pulled Harry back into his seat. “Honestly!” she said.