The Polyjuice Potion

           Theysteppedoffthestonestaircaseatthetop,andProfessorMcGonagallrappedonthedoor. Itopenedsilentlyandtheyentered.ProfessorMcGonagalltoldHarrytowaitandlefthimthere,alone. 

           Harrylookedaround.Onethingwascertain:ofalltheteachers’officesHarryhadvisitedsofarthisyear,Dumbledore’swasbyfarthemostinteresting. Ifhehadn’tbeenscaredoutofhiswitsthathewasabouttobethrownoutofschool,hewouldhavebeenverypleasedtohaveachancetolookaroundit. 

           Itwasalargeandbeautifulcircularroom,fulloffunnylittlenoises. Anumberofcurioussilverinstrumentsstoodonspindleleggedtables,whirringandemittinglittlepuffsofsmoke. Thewallswerecoveredwithportraitsofoldheadmastersandheadmistresses,allofwhomweresnoozinggentlyintheirframes. Therewasalsoanenormous,claw-footeddesk,and,sittingonashelfbehindit,ashabby,tatteredwizard’shat-theSortingHat. 

           Harryhesitated.Hecastawaryeyearoundthesleepingwitchesandwizardsonthewalls. Surelyitcouldn’thurtifhetookthehatdownandtrieditonagain?Justtosee...justtomakesureithadputhimintherightHouse. 

           Hewalkedquietlyaroundthedesk,liftedthehatfromitsshelf,andlowereditslowlyontohishead. Itwasmuchtoolargeandslippeddownoverhiseyes,justasithaddonethelasttimehe’dputiton. Harrystaredattheblackinsideofthehat,waiting.Thenasmallvoicesaidinhisear, "Beeinyourbonnet,HarryPotter?" 

           "Er,yes,"Harrymuttered."Er-sorrytobotheryou-Iwantedtoask—"