"Then go and catch them, Harry!" hissed the mother. "Go out and collar them red-handed!"
The father didn't move. He seemed in no hurry to dash off and be a hero. His face had turned grey. (4.40-1)
"What the blazes are you all talking about?" the father yelled, putting both hands to his hair. "I most certainly have not dyed it! What d'you mean I've dyed it? What's happened to it? Or is this some sort of a stupid joke?" His face was turning pale green, the colour of sour apples. (6.27)
She was a gigantic holy terror, a fierce tyrannical monster who frightened the life out of the pupils and teachers alike. There was an aura of menace about her even at a distance, and when she came up close you could almost feel the dangerous heat radiating from her as from a red-hot rod of metal. (7.5)