CH 8: THE MIDNIGHT MEETING

Marly had never believed she would meet someone she hated more than Dudley, and that was still true, although she really disliked some of the Slytherins. Still, first-year Gryffindors only had Potions with the Slytherins, so they didn't have to put up with them much. Or at least, they didn't until they spotted a notice pinned up in the Gryffindor common room that made them all groan. Flying lessons would be starting on Thursday—and Gryffindor and Slytherin would be learning together.

"Typical," said Marly darkly. "Just what I always wanted. To make a fool of myself on a broomstick in front of the Slytherins."

She had been looking forward to learning to fly more than anything else—perhaps it was that recurring dream of the flying motorcycle.

"You don't know that you'll make a fool of yourself," said Hermione reasonably, but she was very nervous about learning to fly, herself. "I'll probably fall off and make everyone laugh…"

They weren't the only nervous ones, but Seamus Finnegan and Ron Weasley told long, boastful stories of zooming around the countryside on their broomsticks and almost hitting hang gliders. Everyone from wizarding families talked about Quidditch constantly, even Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, who sighed over posters of half-naked Quidditch players and wanted to know Marly and Hermione's opinions on them, too.

Neville had never been on a broomstick on his life, because his grandmother had never let him near one. Privately, Marly felt she'd had good reason, because Neville managed to have an extraordinary number of accidents even with both feet on the ground.

Hermione was almost as nervous as Neville. This was something you couldn't learn out of a book—not that she hadn't tried. At breakfast on Thursday she read a bunch of flying tips she'd gotten 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. Marly listened in half-heartedly, but like everyone else, was pleased when her lecture was interrupted by the arrival of the mail.

Marly hadn't had a single letter since Hagrid's note, but she had noticed that Draco's eagle owl was always bringing him long letters, the first of which he read at the table, the others he stuffed in his bookbag without opening. He didn't seem to have many friends in Ravenclaw, and she often caught him watching Crabbe, Goyle, the boy they had started following around in place of Malfoy—Nott—and the other Slytherins longingly, but just as often she caught him watching her.

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…"

Neville was trying to remember what he'd forgotten when Draco, who was passing the Gryffindor table, snatched the Remembrall out of his hand.

Ron jumped to his feet. He looked like he was half hoping for a reason to fight Malfoy, but Professor McGonagall, who could spot trouble quicker than any teacher in the school, was there in a flash.

"What's going on?"

"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor."

Scowling, Malfoy quickly dropped the Remembrall back on the table.

"Just looking," he said, and sloped away, but not before a paper, folded up several times, fluttered out of his hand and into Marly's lap. Her name was written on it.

Marly—private

She glanced around, and nobody was looking; Hermione was trying to help Neville remember whatever he'd forgotten, and Dean and Ron were arguing the virtues of football and Quidditch again. She unfolded it and read,

Marly—private

I'd like to talk to you. Meet me tonight in the trophy room at midnight, it's always unlocked. Come alone.

At three-thirty that afternoon, Marly, Hermione, and the other Gryffindors hurried down the front steps onto 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 toward a smooth, flat 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. Marly 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.

Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short, grey hair, and yellow eyes like a hawk.

"What, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

Marly 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.

Marly's broom jumped into her hand at once, but it was one of the few that did. Hermione'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 Marly; there was a quaver in Neville's voice that said only too clearly that he wanted to keep his feet on the ground.

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.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms stead, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle—three—two—"

But Neville, nervous and jump 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. Marly saw his scared white face look down at the ground falling away, saw him gasp, slip sideways off his broom and—

WHAM—a thud and a nasty crack and Neville lay facedown on the grass in a heap. His broomstick was still rising higher and higher, and started to drift lazily toward the Forbidden Forest and out of sight.

Madam Hooch was bending over Neville, her face as white as his.

"Broken wrist," Marly 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 Theodore Nott burst into laughter.

"Did you see his face, the great lump?"

The other Slytherins joined in.

"Shut up, Nott," snapped Parvati.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" said Pansy Parkinson, a hard-faced Slytherin. "Never thought you'd like fat little crybabies, Parvati."

"Look!" said Nott, 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, Nott," said Marly quietly. Everyone stopped talking to watch.

Nott smiled nastily.

"I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find—how about—up a tree?"

"Give it here!" Marly yelled, but Nott had leapt onto his broomstick and taken off. Hovering level with the topmost branches of an oak he called, "Come and get it, Potter!"

Marly grabbed her broom.

"No!" shouted Hermione. "Madam Hooch told us not to move—you'll get us all into trouble."

Marly 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 realized 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 from girls back on the ground and admiring whoops and catcalls from the boys.

She turned her broomstick sharply to face Nott in midair. Nott looked stunned.

"Give it here," Marly called, "or I'll knock you off that broom! See how you feel with a broken wrist."

"Oh, yeah?" said Nott, trying to sneer, but looking worried.

Marly knew, somehow, what to do. She leaned forward and grasped the broom tightly in both hands, and it shot toward Nott like a javelin. He only just got out of the way in time; Marly made a sharp about-face and held the broom steady. A few people below were clapping.

"No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Nott," Marly called.

The same thought seemed to have struck Nott.

"Catch it if you can, then!" he shouted, and he threw the glass ball high into the air and streaked back toward the ground.

Marly saw, as though in slow motion, the ball rise up in the air and then start to fall. She leaned 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 onto the grass with the Remembrall clutched safely in her fist, grinning up at the blue, blue sky.

"MARLENE POTTER!"

Her heart sank faster than she'd just dived, and her smile disappeared. Professor McGonagall was running toward 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—"

"It wasn't her fault, Professor—"

"Be quiet, Ms. Patil—"

"But Nott—"

"That's enough, Mr. Weasley. Potter, follow me, now."

Marly caught sight of Nott, Crabbe, and Goyle's triumphant faces as she left, walking numbly in Professor McGonagall's wake as she strode toward 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?

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 Marly 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 in, watching Hermione and the others become witches and 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 Marly, bewildered; was Wood a cane Professor McGonagall 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 classroom looking confused.

"Follow me, you two," said Professor McGonagall, and they marched on up the corridor, Wood looking curiously at Marly.

"In here."

Professor McGonagall pointed them into a classroom that 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 the two boys.

"Marly, 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, Marly?"

Marly 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 Marly and staring at her. "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 Marly.

"I want to hear you're training hard, Marly, 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."

There was a moment when Marly wanted to ask Professor McGonagall about Professor Snape's relationship with her parents—but then Wood started talking about when they'd start training her, and the moment passed.

"You're joking."

It was dinnertime. Marly had just finished telling Hermione what had happened when she'd left the grounds with Professor McGonagall. Hermione frowned in consternation.

"Seeker?" she said. "I hope you don't think that's a reward for breaking the rules—"

"Of course not," said Marly, hastening to assure her. "And anyways, I wouldn't have done it if Nott hadn't taken Neville's Remembrall in the first place."

Hermione shook her head. "That's no excuse to break rules, Marly," she said primly. "Rules are there for a reason, they're to keep us safe and orderly."

"I'm perfectly fine! And I'm the youngest Seeker in a century—Wood told me." She cut up her steak and started eating it. She felt particularly hungry after the excitement of the afternoon.

Hermione rolled her eyes and huffed, but smiled at Marly. "That is quite an accomplishment—I wonder who the youngest Seeker was before you? When do you start training, do you know?"

"Look it up and let me know," said Marly. "I start training next week—but don't tell anyone, Wood wants to keep it a secret."

Fred and George Weasley now came into the hall, spotted Marly, 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, Marly, 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 far less welcome turned up: Nott, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

"Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting on the train back to the Muggles?"

"You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you," said Marly coolly. There was of course nothing at all little about Crabbe and Goyle, but as the High Table was full of teachers, neither of them could do more than crack their knuckles and scowl.

"I'd take you on anytime on my own," said Nott. "Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only—no contact. What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?"

"Of course she has," said Ron Weasley, wheeling around. "I'm her second, who's yours?"

Nott looked at Crabbe and Goyle, sizing them up.

"Crabbe," he said. "Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked."

"No, I don't want a duel, Nott," Marly rolled her eyes. "You wouldn't do anything more than throw sparks at me, anyways."

"I'll be there," Nott said in reply, smirking. "If you're not a coward, you'll show up."

When Nott had gone, Marly scowled at Ron, her pride smarting and temper rising.

"I don't care what a wizard's duel is," she said to him. "You had no right to agree to something for me. And I'm not going tonight."

"Well, all right then, Potter," Ron muttered, the tips of his ears going red. "He called you a coward, are you going to live up to that?"

Marly nearly punched him for that. Instead she stood abruptly, her fists clenching and face furious, then turned on her heel and walked away.

Hermione caught up to here just as she was about to leave the Hall. "Good, I'm glad you're not going—that Ronald, how dare he accept a duel for you? Anyways, you can't be called a coward for refusing a wizard's duel, you're a witch, after all. If Nott had just said duel—or even witch-and-wizard's duel—"

"Thanks, Hermione," said Marly.

All the same, it wasn't what you'd call the perfect end to the day, Marly thought, as she lay awake much later listening to Lavender and Parvati fall asleep. Hermione had spent all evening dogging her to make sure she wasn't going to change her mind and go. It was a very strange coincidence, Marly thought, that the very day Draco Malfoy wanted to meet her in the trophy room, Nott had challenged her to a duel in that very spot. There was a very good chance they were going to get caught by Filch or Mrs. Norris, especially after the debacle at dinner. Marly felt she was pushing her luck, breaking another school rule today. On the other hand, Draco's note was clenched in one hand—what did he want to say? And why at midnight, with no witnesses? She couldn't miss it.

She looked at the illuminated clock hanging on the dormitory wall; it showed half past eleven. I'd better get going, then.

She pulled on her cloak, the hood over her head, picked up her wand, and crept across the tower room. Hermione was waiting in her bathrobe just outside at the top of the spiral staircase.

"I thought you weren't going to go," she hissed, following Marly down. "Think of all the points you'll lose Gryffindor if you're caught—I almost told Percy, the prefect, he'd put a stop to this—"

Marly frowned at her. "I'm not going to fight Nott, Hermione," she whispered. "I'm going to—" she stopped. Draco had made it sound very private. "I'm going to speak to someone."

"Right. At midnight," said Hermione sarcastically. "Don't you care about Gryffindor? I thought you said you weren't going to break any more rules, do you only care about yourself, I don't want Slytherin to win the House Cup—"

"I don't either, Hermione," Marly hissed. "If you don't shut it—the whole tower's going to wake up. Go back to bed." She was now regretting befriending the bushy-haired girl.

They had reached the Gryffindor common room. A few embers were still glowing in the fireplace, turning all the armchairs into hunched black shadows.

"All right, but I warned you, you just remember what I said when you're on the train home tomorrow, you're so—"

Marly ignored her and pushed open the portrait of the Fat Lady, climbing through easily. Hermione huffed. "Fine, but I'm waiting right here for you to get back, you'd better not lose Gryffindor any points—"

"Fine," said Marly. "Just shut up, Hermione. And don't blame me if you fall asleep in History tomorrow like everyone else."

The portrait hole closed, revealing an empty portrait. The Fat Lady must have gone on a nighttime visit, Marly thought, and momentarily panicked before remembering that she'd probably be gone a while and the Fat Lady wouldn't be gone the whole night, she never was.

She started towards the trophy room and hadn't even reached the end of the corridor when she heard a snuffling sound. She froze, then relaxed when the gleaming eyes of Mrs. Norris didn't glare up at her and crept a bit closer.

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."

Marly felt sort of sorry for Neville. Everyone laughed at him behind his back, and nobody had really befriended him, except for Hermione in her own bossy way. Well, I'll be his friend from now on, she decided.

"Keep your voice down, Neville. The password's 'Pig snout' but it won't help you now, the Fat Lady's gone off somewhere," said Marly. "She should be back soon. How's your arm?"

"Fine," said Neville, showing her. "Madam Pomfrey mended it in about a minute."

"Good—well, look, Neville, I've got to be somewhere, I'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."

Marly looked at her watch—it was ten to midnight now. She didn't have much time, and it would probably take too long to convince him to wait for the Fat Lady to come back. "Fine—but you can't say anything about who I'm meeting, all right? And be quiet, I don't want us to get caught."

Neville nodded eagerly.

They flitted along corridors striped with bars of moonlight from the high windows. At every turn Marly expected to run into Filch or Mrs. Norris, but they were lucky. They sped up a staircase to the third floor and tiptoed toward the trophy room.

Nott and Crabbe weren't there yet, if they were coming at all. 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. Marly gripped her wand tightly in case she had to use it—how, though, she didn't know; all they'd learned was how to turn a matchstick into a needle, and that wouldn't help her, as she hadn't managed it yet.

"You came," said someone in a relieved whisper, and Neville squeaked, jumping. Marly shushed him. Draco emerged from the shadows in the corner of the room, wand held aloft and eyes alert. He looked disappointed. "But you didn't come alone."

"I tried," Marly said. "But Neville got stuck outside the common room and tagged along when I left it. I thought he could stand watch, or something."

"Well, Longbottom?" Draco drawled. "Go—shoo—stand outside the door and watch for Filch."

Neville hesitated, shooting Draco a wary look, and then turning to Marly for confirmation. "You'll be alright, Marlene?"

"I'll be fine, Nev," said Marly. "Go—this won't take too long."

Neville looked between them worriedly, then shuffled towards the nearest door. "All right—but if I hear anything—"

"—you'll scream and run for it," sneered Draco, waving his free hand airily.

Marly frowned at him. "Can't you just be nice for once?"

He tilted his head forward, throwing his face into shadows, and looked at her with an inscrutable expression. "I've thought about what you said, Potter—on the train, I mean." He paused. "That's what got me into Ravenclaw instead of Slytherin."

Marly frowned. "Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?"

He sighed. "I'm not sure. I've always wanted to follow in my father's footsteps—get Sorted into Slytherin—"

Then Neville came back inside, his eyes wide with fear. "I heard something, out there," he whispered, and they all froze as they heard a noise in the next room, and then someone spoke, and it wasn't Nott.

"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner."

It was Filch speaking to Mrs. Norris. Horror-struck, Marly waved madly at the other two to follow her as quickly as possible; they scurried silently toward the door, away from Filch's voice. Neville's robes had barely whipped around the corner when they heard Filch enter the trophy room.

"They're in here somewhere," they heard him mutter, "probably hiding."

"This way!" Marly 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 a suit of armour to stop himself, and toppled right into a second suit of armour.

The clanging and crashing were enough to wake the whole castle.

"RUN!" Marly yelled, and the four of them sprinted down the gallery, not looking back to see whether Filch was following—the swung around the doorpost and galloped down one corridor then another, Marly 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," Marly panted, leaning against the cold wall and wiping her forehead. Neville was bent double, wheezing and spluttering.

"You—don't—say," Draco gasped, clutching at the stitch in his side. "How'd—you—know how to get here?"

Marly grinned sheepishly. "Er—luck?"

"Well—whatever, Potter. Anyways, I suppose we can continue tomorrow…say, lunch, down by the lake? Almost everyone takes lunch in the Great Hall," said Draco.

"Didn't I say my friends call me Marly?" said Marly, already wondering what she'd tell Hermione about not being at lunch the next day—she'd probably be late for their study session in the library. If Hermione still wanted to study with her, that was.

"Are we friends, then?" There was an unusual note of hesitation in Draco's voice, and Marly smiled at him.

"Of course," she said, and glancing at Neville, "Neville, too. Whatever you want to say to me—you can trust him with, too. I know it."

Neville flushed red and grinned.

"We'd better get back to our dormitories," said Draco, his pale cheeks turning pink. "Gryffindor's to the right off the end of this corridor, isn't it? Ravenclaw's the opposite way."

"Yeah—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 cackles.

"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."

"I'll have my father get someone in to exorcise you if you don't get out of the way," Draco snarled, 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.

"We're done for!" Neville moaned, as they pushed helplessly at the door, "This is the end!"

They could hear footsteps, Filch running as fast as he could toward Peeves' shouts.

"Oh, move over," Draco said sharply. He tapped his wand to 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 with me, Peeves, now where did they go?"

"Shan't say nothing if you don't say please," said Peeves in his annoying singsong voice.

"All right—please."

"NOTHING! Ha haaa! Told you I wouldn't say nothing if you didn't say please! Ha ha! Haaaa!" And they heard the sound of Peeves whooshing away and Filch cursing in rage.

"He thinks this door is locked," Marly whispered. "I think we'll be okay—get off, Nev!" For Neville had been tugging on the sleeve of Marly's robe for the last minute. "What?"

Marly 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 that 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 Marly 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.

Marly groped for the doorknob—between Filch and death, she'd take Filch.

They fell backward—Marly 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, and Marly didn't even notice when Draco broke off from her and Neville to go to the Ravenclaw common room.

"Where on earth have you two been?" she asked, looking at their robes hanging off their shoulders and their flushed, sweaty faces.

"Never mind that—pig snout, pig snout," panted Marly, and the portrait swung forward. They scrambled into the common room and collapsed, trembling, into armchairs. Hermione, who had curled up in one and almost fallen asleep, sprang up at once.

"What is it? What's happened? Did you duel Nott after all—Neville! Why did you take Neville Longbottom with you, Marlene Potter?" Hermione's questions were hissed quickly and quietly, as she didn't want to wake up the rest of Gryffindor any more than they did.

It was a while before Marly said anything, and Neville looked as though he'd never speak again.

"There—we—we ran into the most horrible creature I've ever seen," she gasped out at last, shuddering. "It was like—like—that cerb—cerb—the three-headed dog that guards the way to—"

"A cerberus? Where'd you run into a cerberus?"

"Now we know why that corridor's forbidden," said Marly, still shuddering. She was going to have nightmares tonight—she knew it.

"What were you doing in the forbidden corridor!" Her voice almost rose to a shriek then, and Marly shushed her.

"Sh, Hermione! Calm down, it wasn't like we meant to, we were running from Filch and Peeves ratted us out because Draco's an arrogant git—"

"Draco? Draco Malfoy? Why were you with Draco Malfoy of all people—"

"Hermione, please, shh!" Marly begged, glancing at the stairs to see if anyone had come down to see what the noise was about. "I'll tell you tomorrow—it's late right now—Neville, you'll be there, right? You deserve to be, I mean, that dog—" Marly broke off, shuddering again.

Neville nodded, his eyes still wide open, and Marly did not doubt that he'd be having nightmares as well.

"What are they thinking, keeping a dog like that in a school," she muttered. "If any dog needs exercise—"

"It was standing on a trapdoor," said Neville, his voice much more timid than normal. "I think it was guarding something."

Hermione stood up, glaring at them. "Well—I hope you're pleased with yourselves—I'll certainly be expecting answers from you tomorrow, Marlene Potter. You could have been killed, or worse, expelled! Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed."

Marly shook her head. "See you tomorrow, Neville. You'd think I'd made her stay up out here."

But Neville had given Marly something else to think about as she climbed back into bed. The dog was guarding something…What had Professor McGonagall said? Gringotts was the safest place in the world for something you wanted to hide—except perhaps Hogwarts.

It looked as though Marly had found out where the thing Hagrid had taken from Gringotts was.