"Ugh, I hate flying," Clary mumbled, looking over the notice about the flying lessons.
Ron gaped at her. "How is that even possible?"
"I get broomsick, alright?" she snapped.
"At least you've flown before," Lucy muttered. "I've never used a broom for anything other than sweeping."
"Rupert's never been on a broom," Clary said, trying to comfort her. "Mum's always thought it was too dangerous for him. Guess he's going to have to fly now, though."
"I just wish Malfoy would shut up about all the times he's been on a broom," Ron said.
Draco certainly did talk about flying a lot. He complained loudly about first-years never getting in the house Quidditch teams and told long, boastful stories which always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping Muggles in helicopters. Many times, Lucy had caught him glancing at her during some of his more fantastical stories before quickly looking away. He wasn't the only one boasting, though: the way Seamus Finnigan told it, he'd spent most of his childhood zooming around the countryside on his broomstick. Even Ron would tell anyone who'd listen about the time he'd almost hit a hang-glider on Charlie's old broom. Everyone from wizarding families talked about Quidditch constantly. Ron had already had a big argument with Dean Thomas about football. Ron couldn't see what was exciting about a game with only one ball where no one was allowed to fly.
Neville had never been on a broomstick in his life, because his grandmother had never let him near one. Privately, Lucy felt she'd had good reason, because Neville managed to have an extraordinary number of accidents even with both feet on the ground.
Hermione Granger was almost as nervous about flying as Neville was. This was something you couldn't learn by heart out of a book – not that she hadn't tried. At breakfast on Thursday she bored them all stupid with flying tips she'd got out of a library book called Quidditch through the Ages. Neville was hanging on to her every word, desperate for anything that might help him hang on to his broomstick later, but everybody else was very pleased when Hermione's lecture was interrupted by the arrival of the post, especially Lucy and the other girls who'd heard enough of it before they'd even left for breakfast.
For a few days after Hagrid's note, Lucy hadn't received a single letter, something that Draco had been quick to notice. Draco's eagle owl was always bringing him packages of sweets from home, which he opened gloatingly at the Slytherin table. It wasn't long before Hedwig was sometimes bringing her "mysterious" boxes of sweets.
A barn owl brought Neville a small package from his grandmother. He opened it excitedly and showed them a glass ball the size of a large marble, which seemed to be full of white smoke.
"It's a Remembrall!" he explained. "Gran knows I forget things – this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red – oh ..." His face fell, because the Remembrall had suddenly glowed scarlet, "... you've forgotten something ..."
"Why not just buy something that tells you what you've forgotten?" Lucy whispered. "Has that been invented yet?"
"It's not that easy," Clary answered. "Those are a little harder to work with and a lot easier to break. For Neville, this is much safer."
"Plus, those are much more expensive," Ron whispered.
Neville was trying to remember what he'd forgotten when Blaise Zabini, who was passing the Gryffindor table, snatched the Remembrall out of his hand.
Seamus and Ron jumped to their feet. They were half hoping for a reason to fight Zabini, but Professor McGonagall, who could spot trouble quicker than any teacher in the school, was there in a flash.
"What's going on?"
"Zabini's got my Remembrall, Professor."
Scowling, Zabini quickly dropped the Remembrall back on the table.
"Just looking," he said, and he sloped away with a bored look on his face.
At three-thirty that afternoon, Lucy, Ron, Clary and the other Gryffindors hurried down the front steps into the grounds for their first flying lesson. It was a clear, breezy day and the grass rippled under their feet as they marched down the sloping lawns towards a smooth lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the Forbidden Forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance.
The Slytherins were already there, and so were twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground. Lucy had heard Fred and George Weasley complain about the school brooms, saying that some of them started to vibrate if you flew too high, or always flew slightly to the left. Hearing this, Clary paled and ran out of the room.
"Are you going to be alright?" Lucy asked her.
"I–I'll be fine," she answered, face even paler than earlier. "I went to the Hospital Wing earlier and Madame Pomfrey gave me a potion. But I still don't want to do this."
Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short, grey hair and yellow eyes like a hawk.
"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."
Lucy glanced down at her broom. It was old and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles.
"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say, 'Up!'"
"UP!" everyone shouted.
Lucy's broom jumped into her hand at once, but it was one of the few that did. Hermione Granger's had simply rolled over on the ground and Neville's hadn't moved at all. Perhaps brooms, like horses, could tell when you were afraid, thought Lucy; there was a quaver in Neville's voice that said only too clearly that he wanted to keep his feet on the ground. Clary's didn't even move.
Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows, correcting their grips. Ron was delighted when she told Draco he'd been doing it wrong for years. Lucy couldn't help grinning, even if she did feel a little bad for the git.
"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet and then come straight back down by leaning forwards slightly. On my whistle – three – two –"
But Neville, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch's lips.
"Come back, boy!" she shouted, but Neville was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle – twelve feet – twenty feet. Lucy saw his scared white face look down at the ground falling away, saw him gasp, slip sideways off the broom and –
WHAM – a thud and a nasty crack and Neville lay, face down, on the grass in a heap. His broomstick was still rising higher and higher and started to drift lazily towards the Forbidden Forest and out of sight.
Madam Hooch was bending over Neville, her face as white as his.
"Broken wrist," Lucy heard her mutter. "Come on, boy – it's all right, up you get."
She turned to the rest of the class.
"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch'. Come on, dear."
Neville, his face tear-streaked, clutching his wrist, hobbled off with Madam Hooch, who had her arm around him.
No sooner were they out of earshot than Zabini burst into laughter.
"Did you see his face, the great lump?"
The other Slytherins joined in. But Draco was pale and refused to look at Lucy. The situation had been similar to a certain incident that had happened five years ago.
"Shut up, Zabini," snapped Parvati Patil.
"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" said Pansy Parkinson, a hard-faced Slytherin girl. "Never thought you'd like fat little cry babies, Parvati."
"Look!" said Zabini, darting forward and snatching something out of the grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him."
The Remembrall glittered in the sun as he held it up.
"Give that here, Zabini," said Lucy quietly. Everyone stopped talking to watch.
Zabini smiled nastily.
"I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to collect – how about – up a tree?"
"Give it here!" Lucy yelled, but Zabini had leapt on to his broomstick and taken off. He called, "Come and get it, Potter!"
Lucy grabbed her broom.
"No!" shouted Hermione Granger. "Madam Hooch told us not to move – you'll get us all into trouble."
Lucy ignored her. Blood was pounding in her ears. She mounted the broom and kicked hard against the ground and up, up she soared, air rushed through her hair and her robes whipped out behind her – and in a rush of fierce joy she realised she'd found something she could do without being taught – this was easy, this was wonderful. She pulled her broomstick up a little to take it even higher and heard screams and gasps of girls back on the ground and admiring whoops from Clary and Ron.
She turned her broomstick sharply to face Zabini in mid-air. Zabini looked stunned.
"Give it here," Lucy called, "or I'll knock you off that broom!"
"Oh, yeah?" said Zabini, trying to sneer, but looking worried. Lucy knew, somehow, what to do.
She leant forward and grasped the broom tightly in both hands and it shot towards Zabini like a javelin. Zabini only just got out of the way in time; Lucy made a sharp about turn and held the broom steady. A few people below were clapping.
"No one up here to save your neck, Zabini," Lucy called.
The same thought seemed to have struck Zabini.
"Catch it if you can, then!" he shouted, and he threw the glass ball high into the air and streaked back towards the ground.
Lucy saw, as though in slow motion, the ball rise up in the air and then start to fall. She leant forward and pointed her broom handle down – next second she was gathering speed in a steep dive, racing the ball – wind whistled in her ears, mingled with the screams of people watching – she stretched out her hand – a foot from the ground she caught it, just in time to pull her broom straight, and she toppled gently on to the grass with the Remembrall clutched safely in her fist.
"LUCY POTTER!"
Her heart sank faster than she'd just dived. Professor McGonagall was running towards them. She got to her feet, trembling.
"Never – in all my time at Hogwarts –"
Professor McGonagall was almost speechless with shock, and her glasses flashed furiously," – how dare you – might have broken your neck –"
But I didn't, she thought stubbornly, but stayed silent.
"It wasn't his fault, Professor –"
"Be quiet, Miss Patil –"
"But Zabini –"
"That's enough, Mr Weasley. Potter, follow me, now."
Lucy caught sight of Zabini's triumphant face as she left, walking numbly in Professor McGonagall's wake as she strode towards the castle. She was going to be expelled, she just knew it. She wanted to say something to defend herself, but there seemed to be something wrong with her voice. Professor McGonagall was sweeping along without even looking at her; she had to jog to keep up. Now she'd done it. She hadn't even lasted two weeks. She'd be packing her bags in ten minutes. What would the Dursleys say when she turned up on the doorstep?
She could hear Dudley's annoyingly smug voice already, saying something like "Even the freaks don't want you."
Up the front steps, up the marble staircase inside, and still Professor McGonagall didn't say a word to her. She wrenched open doors and marched along corridors with Lucy trotting miserably behind her. Maybe she was taking her to Dumbledore. She thought of Hagrid, expelled but allowed to stay on as gamekeeper. Perhaps she could be Hagrid's assistant. Her stomach twisted as she imagined it, watching Ron, Clary and the others becoming wizards while she stumped around the grounds, carrying Hagrid's bag.
Professor McGonagall stopped outside a classroom. She opened the door and poked her head inside.
"Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment?"
Wood? thought Lucy, bewildered; was Wood a cane she was going to use on her?
But Wood turned out to be a person, a burly fifth-year boy who came out of Flitwick's class looking confused.
"Follow me, you two," said Professor McGonagall, and they marched on up the corridor, Wood looking curiously at Lucy. So, even he didn't know what was going on, she thought. Was he in trouble, too?
"In here."
Professor McGonagall pointed them into a classroom which was empty except for Peeves, who was busy writing rude words on the blackboard.
"Out, Peeves!" she barked. Peeves threw the chalk into a bin, which clanged loudly, and he swooped out cursing. Professor McGonagall slammed the door behind him and turned to face them.
"Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Wood – I've found you a Seeker." Wood's expression changed from puzzlement to delight.
"Are you serious, Professor?"
"Absolutely," said Professor McGonagall crisply. "The girl's a natural. I've never seen anything like it. Was that your first time on a broomstick, Potter?"
Lucy nodded silently. She didn't have a clue what was going on, but she didn't seem to be being expelled, and some of the feeling started coming back to her legs.
"She caught that thing in her hand after a fifty-foot dive," Professor McGonagall told Wood. "Didn't even scratch herself. Charlie Weasley couldn't have done it."
Wood was now looking as though all his dreams had come true at once.
"Ever seen a game of Quidditch, Potter?" he asked excitedly.
"Wood's captain of the Gryffindor team," Professor McGonagall explained.
"She's just the build for a Seeker, too," said Wood, now walking around Lucy and staring at her, making her feel incredibly uncomfortable. "Light – speedy – we'll have to get her a decent broom, Professor – a Nimbus Two Thousand or a Cleansweep Seven, I'd say."
"I shall speak to Professor Dumbledore and see if we can't bend the first-year rule. Heaven knows, we need a better team than last year. Flattened in that last match by Slytherin, I couldn't look Severus Snape in the face for weeks ..."
Professor McGonagall peered sternly over her glasses at Lucy.
"I want to hear you're training hard, Potter, or I may change my mind about punishing you."
Then she suddenly smiled.
"Your father would have been proud," she said. "He was an excellent Quidditch player himself."
"You're joking."
It was dinner time. Lucy had just finished telling Ron and Clary what had happened when she'd left the grounds with Professor McGonagall. Ron had a piece of steak-and-kidney pie halfway to his mouth, but he'd forgotten all about it. Clary just gaped at her.
"Seeker?" he said. "But first-years never – you must be the youngest house player in about –"
"– a century,' said Lucy, shovelling pie into her mouth. She felt particularly hungry after the excitement of the afternoon. "Wood told me."
"And you're a girl," Clary finally managed to say. "I can't even manage to climb a broom and you –" she broke off, just shaking her head.
Ron was so amazed, so impressed, now it was his turn to gape at Lucy.
"I start training next week,' said Lucy. "Only don't tell anyone, Wood wants to keep it a secret."
Fred and George Weasley now came into the hall, spotted Lucy and hurried over.
"Well done," said George in a low voice. "Wood told us. We're on the team too – Beaters."
"I tell you, we're going to win that Quidditch Cup for sure this year," said Fred. "We haven't won since Charlie left, but this year's team is going to be brilliant. You must be good, Lucy, Wood was almost skipping when he told us."
"Anyway, we've got to go, Lee Jordan reckons he's found a new secret passageway out of the school."
"Bet it's that one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that we found in our first week. See you."
Fred and George had hardly disappeared when someone unexpected turned up: Draco Malfoy flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.
"Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?" he asked rather loudly before muttering, "Have to make it look like we don't get along. Are you okay? What happened?"
"You're a lot braver since you've got your little friends with you," said Lucy, playing along. There was of course nothing at all little about Crabbe and Goyle, but it was the best she could think of. "I'm fine and I'm staying. Actually, I'm –"
Clary covered her mouth at the same time Ron grabbed her arm. "You can't tell him," hissed Ron. "He's the enemy!"
Lucy rolled her eyes before pulling Clary hand off of her mouth and shrugging Ron's hand off. "Sorry, I can't tell you. I've been sworn to secrecy. You'll find out eventually."
It was then that Zabini seemed to appear behind him. "Draco, have you challenged them yet?"
"What's he talking about?" Lucy asked.
"He wanted me to challenge you to a wizard's duel at midnight in the Trophy Room." Draco said, no longer meeting her eyes.
"Wands only, no contact. What the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before?" Zabini asked, smirking at her.
"Of course she has," said Ron, wheeling round. "I'm her second, who's yours?"
"Draco," he said.
When Draco and Zabini had gone, Ron and Lucy looked at each other.
"What is a wizard's duel?" said Lucy. "And what do you mean, you're my second?"
"Yeah, what about me? I'm sure I know way more protection spells than you do," huffed Clary.
"That's the problem, Clary, You only know protection spells. Anyway, a second's there to take over if you die," said Ron casually, getting started at last on his cold pie. Catching the look on Lucy's face, he added quickly, "but people only die in proper duels, you know, with real wizards. The most you and Zabini'll be able to do is send sparks at each other. Neither of you knows enough magic to do any real damage. I bet he expected you to refuse, anyway."
"And what if I wave my wand and nothing happens?"
"Throw it away and punch him on the nose," Ron suggested.
"No contact, remember?" Clary said.
"Excuse me."
They all looked up. It was Hermione Granger.
"Can't a person eat in peace in this place?" said Ron.
"Perish the thought, Ronald," Clary said in a high pitched voice. It was one of her grandmother's favorite English phrases that she'd shared with Lucy and Ron. It was also a private joke between her and Rupert. Rupert told her that she did an excellent impression of their grandmother's snooty, french-accented tone. Ron snorted.
She couldn't help turning to look for Rupert at his table. She found him talking animatedly with some other Ravenclaws. It was times like these that she missed him and hated missing out on his life.
Hermione ignored them and spoke to Lucy.
"I couldn't help overhearing what you and Zabini were saying –"
"Bet you could," Ron muttered.
"– and you mustn't go wandering around the school at night, think of the points you'll lose Gryffindor if you're caught, and you're bound to be. It's really very selfish of you."
"And it's really none of your business," said Lucy.
"Goodbye," said Ron.
"Au revoir," Clary said.
it was then that Lucy noticed a note underneath the edge of her plate. Don't come. It was signed D. M.
"He's just trying to confuse us," Ron said, dismissing the note entirely.
All the same, it wasn't what you'd call the perfect end to the day, Lucy thought, as she lay awake much later listening to most of the other girls falling asleep (Clary was staying up with her). Ron had spent all evening giving her advice such as "If he tries to curse you, you'd better dodge it, because I can't remember how to block them." There was a very good chance they were going to get caught by Filch or Mrs Norris, and Lucy felt she was pushing her luck, breaking another school rule today. On the other hand, Zabini's sneering face kept looming up out of the darkness – this was her big chance to beat Zabini, face to face. She couldn't miss it.
"Half past eleven," Clary muttered at last. "You'd better go meet Ron."
They pulled on their dressing-gowns, picked up their wands and crept across the tower room, down the spiral staircase and into the Gryffindor common room. A few embers were still glowing in the fireplace, turning all the armchairs into hunched black shadows. Ron joined them and Clary walked them to the portrait hole. They had almost reached it when a voice spoke from the chair nearest them: "I can't believe you're going to do this, Lucy."
A lamp flickered on. It was Hermione Granger, wearing a pink dressing-gown and a frown.
"You!" said Ron furiously. "Go back to bed!" He turned to Clary. "And You! You were supposed to watch out for her!"
"I did! She was in bed! She must've slipped out while we were looking for our dressing gowns!"
"I almost told your brother," Hermione snapped at Ron. "Percy – he's a Prefect, he'd put a stop to this."
Lucy couldn't believe anyone could be so interfering.
"Come on," she said to Ron. She pushed open the portrait of the Fat Lady and climbed through the hole.
Hermione wasn't going to give up that easily. She followed Ron through the portrait hole, hissing at them like an angry goose. "Don't you care about Gryffindor, do you only care about yourselves, I don't want Slytherin to win the House Cup and you'll lose all the points I got from Professor McGonagall for knowing about Switching Spells."
"Go away."
"All right, but I warned you, you just remember what I said when you're on the train home tomorrow, you're so –"
But what they were, they didn't find out. Hermione had turned to the portrait of the Fat Lady to get back inside and found herself facing an empty painting. The Fat Lady had gone on a nighttime visit and Hermione was locked out of Gryffindor Tower.
'Now what am I going to do?" she asked shrilly.
"That's your problem," said Ron. "We've got to go, we're going to be late. Clary, stay and watch her."
They hadn't even reached the end of the corridor when Hermione caught up with them.
"I'm coming with you," she said.
"You are not."
"D'you think I'm going to stand out here and wait for Filch to catch me? If he finds all four of us I'll tell him the truth, that I was trying to stop you and you can back me up."
"You've got some nerve –" said Ron loudly.
"Shut up, both of you!" said Lucy sharply. "I heard something." It was a sort of snuffling.
"Mrs Norris?" breathed Ron, squinting through the dark.
It wasn't Mrs Norris. It was Neville. He was curled up on the floor, fast asleep, but jerked suddenly awake as they crept nearer. "Thank goodness you found me! I've been out here for hours. I couldn't remember the new password to get in to bed."
"Keep your voice down, Neville. The password's 'Pig snout' but it won't help you now, the Fat Lady's gone off somewhere."
"How's your arm" asked Lucy.
"Fine," said Neville, showing them. "Madam Pomfrey mended it in about a minute."
"Good – well, look, Neville, we've got to be somewhere, we'll see you later –"
"Don't leave me!" said Neville, scrambling to his feet. "I don't want to stay here alone, the Bloody Baron's been past twice already." Ron looked at his watch and then glared furiously at Hermione, Clary and Neville.
"Hey, don't look at me," Clary shrugged. "You're the on who told me to keep an eye on Granger."
"It doesn't matter. If any of you get us caught, I'll never rest until I've learnt that Curse of the Bogies Quirrell told us about and used it on you."
Hermione opened her mouth, perhaps to tell Ron exactly how to use the Curse of the Bogies, but Lucy hissed at her to be quiet and beckoned them all forward.
They flitted along corridors striped with bars of moonlight from the high windows. At every turn Lucy expected to run into Filch or Mrs Norris, but they were lucky. They sped up a staircase to the third floor and tiptoed towards the trophy room.
Zabini and Draco weren't there yet. The crystal trophy cases glimmered where the moonlight caught them. Cups, shields, plates and statues winked silver and gold in the darkness. They edged along the walls, keeping their eyes on the doors at either end of the room. Lucy took out her wand in case Zabini leapt in and started at once. The minutes crept by.
"He's late, maybe they've chickened out," Ron whispered.
Then a noise in the next room made them jump. Lucy had only just raised her wand when they heard someone speak – and it wasn't Zabini or Draco.
"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner."
It was Filch speaking to Mrs Norris. Horror-struck, Lucy waved madly at the other four to follow her as quickly as possible; they scurried silently towards the door away from Filch's voice. Neville's robes had barely whipped round the corner when they heard Filch enter the trophy room.
"They're in here somewhere," they heard him mutter, "probably hiding."
"This way!" Lucy mouthed to the others and, petrified, they began to creep down a long gallery full of suits of armour. They could hear Filch getting nearer. Neville suddenly let out a frightened squeak and broke into a run – he tripped, grabbed Ron around the waist and the pair of them toppled right into a suit of armour.
The clanging and crashing were enough to wake the whole castle.
"RUN!" Lucy yelled and the five of them sprinted down the gallery, not looking back to see whether Filch was following – they swung around the doorpost and galloped down one corridor then another, Lucy in the lead without any idea where they were or where they were going. They ripped through a tapestry and found themselves in a hidden passageway, hurtled along it and came out near their Charms classroom, which they knew was miles from the trophy room.
"I think we've lost him" Lucy panted, leaning against the cold wall and wiping her forehead. Neville was bent double, wheezing and spluttering.
"I – told – you," Hermione gasped, clutching at the stitch in her chest. "I – told – you."
"Oh, for the love of Merlin, shut up, Granger," Clary snapped.
"We've got to get back to Gryffindor Tower," said Ron, "quickly as possible."
"Zabini and Malfoy tricked you," Hermione said to Lucy. "You realise that, don't you? They were never going to meet you – Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room, Zabini and Malfoy must have tipped him off."
Lucy thought she was probably right, but she wasn't going to tell her that.
"Let's go."
It wasn't going to be that simple. They hadn't gone more than a dozen paces when a doorknob rattled and something came shooting out of a classroom in front of them.
It was Peeves. He caught sight of them and gave a squeal of delight.
"Shut up, Peeves – please – you'll get us thrown out."
Peeves cackled.
"Wandering around at midnight, ickle firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty."
"Not if you don't give us away, Peeves, please."
"Should tell Filch, I should," said Peeves in a saintly voice, but his eyes glittered wickedly. "It's for your own good, you know."
"Get out of the way." snapped Ron, taking a swipe at Peeves – this was a big mistake.
"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" Peeves bellowed. "STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!'
Ducking under Peeves they ran for their lives, right to the end of the corridor, where they slammed into a door – and it was locked.
"This is it!" Ron moaned, as they pushed helplessly at the door. "We're done for! This is the end!"
They could hear footsteps, Filch running as fast as he could towards Peeves's shouts.
"Oh, move over," Hermione snarled. She grabbed Lucy's wand, tapped the lock and whispered, "Alohomora!"
The lock clicked and the door swung open – they piled through it, shut it quickly and pressed their ears against it, listening. "Which way did they go, Peeves?" Filch was saying. "Quick, tell me."
"Say 'please'."
"Don't mess me about, Peeves, now where did they go?"
"Shan't say nothing if you don't say please," said Peeves in his annoying sing-song voice.
"All right – please."
"NOTHING! Ha haaa! Told you I wouldn't say nothing if you didn't say please! Ha ha! Haaaaaa!" And they heard the sound of Peeves whooshing away and Filch cursing in rage.
"He thinks this door is locked," Lucy whispered. "I think we'll be OK – get off, Neville!" For Neville had been tugging on the sleeve of Lucy's dressing-gown for the last minute. "What?"
Lucy turned around – and saw, quite clearly, what. For a moment, she was sure she'd walked into a nightmare – this was too much, on top of everything that had happened so far.
They weren't in a room, as she had supposed. They were in a corridor. The forbidden corridor on the third floor. And now they knew why it was forbidden.
They were looking straight into the eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog which filled the whole space between ceiling and floor. It had three heads. Three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses, twitching and quivering in their direction; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs.
It was standing quite still, all six eyes staring at them, and Lucy knew that the only reason they weren't already dead was that their sudden appearance had taken it by surprise, but it was quickly getting over that, there was no mistaking what those thunderous growls meant.
Lucy groped for the doorknob – between Filch and death, she'd take Filch.
They fell backwards – Lucy slammed the door shut, and they ran, they almost flew, back down the corridor. Filch must have hurried off to look for them somewhere else because they didn't see him anywhere, but they hardly cared – all they wanted to do was put as much space as possible between them and that monster. They didn't stop running until they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady on the seventh floor.
"Where on earth have you all been?" she asked, looking at their dressing-gowns hanging off their shoulders and their flushed, sweaty faces.
"Never mind that – pig snout, pig snout," panted Lucy, and the portrait swung forward. They scrambled into the common room and collapsed, trembling into armchairs.
It was a while before any of them said anything. Neville, indeed, looked as if he'd never speak again.
"What do they think they're doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?" said Ron finally. "If any dog needs exercise, that one does."
Hermione had got both her breath and her bad temper back again.
"You don't use your eyes, any of you, do you?" she snapped. "Didn't you see what it was standing on?"
"The floor?" Lucy suggested. "I wasn't looking at its feet, I was too busy with its heads."
"No, not the floor. It was standing on a trapdoor. It's obviously guarding something."
She stood up, glaring at them.
"I hope you're pleased with yourselves. We could all have been killed – or worse, expelled. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed."
Ron stared after her, his mouth open.
'No, we don't mind," he said. "You'd think we dragged her along, wouldn't you?"
"I'm pretty sure she came of her own free will," Clary mumbled, starting to follow Lucy up the stairs before pausing when she caught sight of someone in the armchair by the fireplace.
"Aren't you coming?" Lucy asked.
"I'll be up in a minute," Clary said. "G'night, Ron."
"See you both tomorrow."
Hermione had given Lucy something else to think about as she climbed back into bed. The dog was guarding something ... What had Hagrid said? Gringotts was the safest place in the world for something you wanted to hide – except perhaps Hogwarts.
It looked as though Lucy had found out where the grubby little package from vault seven hundred and thirteen was.
I do not own Harry Potter. Please review.
