Secret Relations

Chapter Ten

As much as Elle dreaded double Potions with Slytherins on Friday, there was perhaps one thing she dreaded more, and that was the pinned up notice in the Gryffindor common room that stated flying lessons would be starting on Thursday — and Gryffindor and Slytherin would be learning together.

"Great," Elle said darkly. "I get to make a fool of myself on a broomstick in front of Malfoy."

"You?" said Harry. "What about me? Malfoy will find any reason to make fun of me."

"Oh come on. You don't know that you two'll make fools of yourselves," said Ron reasonable. "Anyway, I know Malfoy's always going on about how good he is at Quidditch, but I bet that's all talk."

Elle and Harry weren't the only ones who were nervous about flying lessons. Neville had never been on a broomstick in his life, because his grandmother had never let him near one.

"Can't really blame him, can you?" Harry muttered during breakfast as Neville shared his thoughts with them all. "He's had so many accidents already, even with both feet on the ground."

Hermione was also nervous — she was almost as nervous about flying as Neville was.

"It's not something you can learn from a book," Hermione said to Elle the night before flying lessons.

The two of them were both sitting on Elle's bed, and Hermione was reading Quidditch Through the Ages, while Elle was skimming through Hermione's copy of Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century. Dubbie was stretched out on Hermione's bed, which was one of her favorite spots, second only to Elle's bed.

"Don't worry, Hermione," said Elle with a small grin. "I'm sure you'll get the hang of it — you're amazing at everything else."

Hermione's cheeks turned a slight shade of pink and she waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, you're just saying that. . . . But thank you, that does make me feel a bit better."

Elle chuckled some and looked down at the book in her lap — she was in the middle of the chapter dedicated to Harry. Well, one of the chapters dedicated to Harry; there were several of them. As interesting as it was (and slightly odd) that her friend was famous enough to be in a book, it wasn't the content Elle was looking for.

"Erm, Hermione?" said Elle.

Hermione looked up from Quidditch Through the Ages. "Yes, Elle?"

"You said my mother was in this book, right?" asked Elle. "Would you show me where?"

"Oh, sure," said Hermione simply, taking the book from Elle. She leafed through the pages, stopping every so often to skim the page in search of the text she was looking for. Then, Hermione made a soft 'tut' noise, and she held the book out in front of Elle, pointing to the top of the page.

"Right here," said Hermione. "She was apparently one of the most important spies during the Wizarding War."

Elle's eyes widened — her birth mother was a spy? She took the book from Hermione, quickly reading the text.

Grace Elizabeth Darby (21 June 1960 - 31 October 1981)

Perhaps one of the most influential witches in the Wizarding War was Grace Darby. Grace Darby was born on 21 June, 1960 to Jonathan Darby and his wife Eleanor. Jonathan was an accomplished, yet retired Auror, and his wife Eleanor, a well-established botanist who served as the Herbology professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry from 1955 to 1976.

Darby began attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in 1971 and was Sorted into Gryffindor house. After graduating in 1978, at only eighteen years old, Darby was inducted into You-Know-Who's inner circle, but, unknown to everyone, she was working as a spy for Albus Dumbledore. It was thanks to her tireless efforts that countless lives were saved — witches, wizards, and Muggles included.

During her time as a Death Eater spy, Darby became pregnant and gave birth to a daughter, Eleanor Merope Riddle. Many speculate that Eleanor's father was another Death Eater, but it has never been confirmed.

Darby was killed on 31 October, 1981 by Bellatrix Lestrange. . . .

The text went on for a few more paragraphs, going into a bit of detail about different stories of Grace's bravery and such, but they always came back to one thing — she was a Death Eater. Slowly, Elle closed the book, her brow furrowed.

"I. . . . I don't understand," Elle said softly. "My mum. . . . She was a Death Eater?"

"She was a spy for Dumbledore though," said Hermione. "She was never truly loyal to You-Know-Who."

Elle frowned some but nodded. "I. . . . I know, but still, she was a Death Eater. . . . My adopted parents never told me that."

"You said so yourself, you and Harry didn't even know the truth about what happened to your parents or anything about You-Know-Who until Hagrid told you that night at the cottage," said Hermione.

"I know, but they could have taken the time to tell me everything," Elle said rather bitterly.

Hermione frowned, looking a bit sympathetic. "I'm sure they wanted to, Elle, but they probably figured that, by not telling you, they were doing what was best for you."

"How is that what's best for me?" Elle said shortly, growing rather frustrated. "I've lived my entire life knowing nothing about my birth mum or even myself, meanwhile everyone knows my mum was a Death Eater, and they think my dad is too. I feel like the best thing for me would be to know who I really am."

"But, Elle, think about their situation. I mean, how do you explain to someone that their only known parent worked for You-Know-Who?"

Elle paused for a moment and looked at Hermione, her eyes widening some — she certainly hadn't thought about that.

"I. . . . I suppose you have a point," Elle said softly, looking away from Hermione and looking down at the book in front of her.

Of course Hermione had a point, but Elle could help but wonder why they would want to keep something like that hidden from Elle. After all, if Elle's mother was really as celebrated as this book depicted her, then why did everyone speak of her in hushed tones?

The next morning at breakfast, the owl post came, and Malfoy's eagle owl brought him a package of sweets from home, which he opened gloatingly at the Slytherin table.

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 Malfoy, who was passing the Gryffindor table, snatched the Remembrall out of his hand.

Elle, Harry, and Ron jumped to their feel. They were 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 he sloped away with Crabbe and Goyle behind him.

At three-thirty that afternoon, Elle, Harry, Ron, 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 near lines on the ground. Elle 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, gray 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."

Elle glanced down at her broom. It was old and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles.

A loud whistle was blown and all the Gryffindors jumped while the Slytherins laughed. Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short, gray hair, and yellow eyes like a hawk.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say 'Up!'"

"UP!" everyone shouted.

Elle's broom jumped into her hand at once, but it was one of the few that did — Harry also had the same success, as did Malfoy, but that was about it. 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 Elle; 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. Elle, Harry, and Ron were all delighted when she told Malfoy he'd been doing it wrong for years.

"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 forward 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!" Madam Hooch shouted to Neville, who was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle — twelve feet — twenty feet. Elle 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 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," Elle heard Madam Hooch 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 Malfoy burst into laughter.

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

The other Slytherins joined in.

"Shut up, Malfoy," snapped Parvati Patil.

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

"Shut up, Pansy," growled Elle, stepping close to the Slytherin. "We actually care about the people in our house."

"Shove off, Riddle," Pansy muttered.

"Look!" said Malfoy, 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 it here, Malfoy," said Harry quickly. Everyone stopped talking to watch and Elle grabbed Harry's wrist, not sure if he should be challenging Malfoy.

Malfoy smiled nastily.

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

"Give it here!" Harry yelled, but Malfoy had leapt onto his broomstick and taken off, and Elle noted how well he could fly. Hovering level with the topmost branches of an oak he called, "Come and get it, Potter!"

Harry pulled away from Elle's grasp and grabbed his broom.

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

Harry ignored her and looked at Elle.

"I'm sure I'll need some help up there," Harry said with a soft smile.

"But I don't know how to fly," Elle said.

"Neither do I, but it can't be too hard, right?"

"Well, if you say so," Elle said, feeling ever embolden by Harry — he always made her feel braver.

"Let's go."

"Elle, you're going to get in trouble!" exclaimed Hermione. "You'll get killed!"

"I'll be fine, Hermione."

Elle and Harry mounted their brooms and kicked hard against the ground and up, up they soared; air rushed through Elle's hair, and her robes whipped out behind her and she let out a joyful laugh — 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 Harry did the same. They heard screams and gasps of girls back on the ground and an admiring whoop from Ron and Seamus. Elle thought she heard Hermione cheering, but she couldn't be sure.

They turned their broomsticks sharply to face Malfoy in midair. Malfoy looked stunned.

"What, too scared to fight alone, Potter?" Malfoy taunted, trying to sound brave.

"Give it here," Harry called, "or I'll knock you off that broom!"

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

"Stay here," Harry muttered to Elle.

Harry leaned forward and grasped the broom tightly in both hands, and it shot towards Malfoy like a javelin. Malfoy only just got out of the way in time and shot past Elle; both she and Harry made a sharp about face and she held the broom steady. A few people below were clapping.

"No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy," Elle called out.

The same thought seemed to have struck Malfoy.

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

Harry watched the ball before leaning forward and pointing his broom handle down — next second he was gathering speed in a steep dive, racing the ball. Elle feared he would crash and took off after him. Harry stretched his hand out and caught the Remembrall before pulling his broom straight. Elle saw the broom shake and she urged her broom to go faster, pressing herself closer to the handle to help her gain speed. Within moments, Elle had caught up to Harry and she reached out, snatching Harry by his robes just as his broom took a nose dive. She pulled up hard on the handle of her broom and hoisted Harry onto the broom right as his own crashed into the ground.

"Thanks, Elle," he said as she headed towards the ground.

"No problem; you were right, about flying, I mean. It's really easy," she told him before landing on the ground.

She and Harry got off the broom and he held up the Remembrall to show everyone he caught it. Elle rolled her shoulder some — it was very sore after hoisting Harry onto her broom.

"Told you I'd need you up there," he grinned to her as they started walking toward the Gryffindors.

"You did pretty well by yourself right up until the end," Elle smiled.

"HARRY POTTER! ELEANOR RIDDLE!"

Elle's heart sank and by the look on his face, so did Harry's. Professor McGonagall was running towards them. Elle and Harry just stood there, 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 their fault, Professor —"

"Be quiet, Miss Patil —"

"But Malfoy —"

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

Elle caught sight of Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle's triumphant face as they left. When Malfoy met her eyes, however, he quit smiling and elbowed both Crabbe and Goyle, who quit smiling immediately. She continued walking numbly in Professor McGonagall's wake as she strode toward the castle. They were going to be expelled, she just knew it. Her mother and father were going to kill her — well, perhaps her mother. There was a chance her father would congratulate her on her apparent natural flying ability. But still, getting expelled from Hogwarts? Her heart was all ready racing at the thought of Dumbledore snapping her wand in two. Now she'd done it.

Up the front steps, up the marble staircase inside, and still Professor McGonagall didn't say a word to them. McGonagall wrenched open the doors and marched along the corridors with Harry and Elle trotting miserably behind her. She was probably taking them to Dumbledore. Elle would return home with her head hung low. How could she have done this?

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 Elle, bewildered; was Wood a cane she was going to use on the two of them?

Wood turned out to be a burly fifth-year boy who came out of Flitwick's class looking confused. Elle saw he was wearing the robes of a Gryffindor and she guessed he was, in fact, the Wood who had signed the card.

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

"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 shut behind him and turned to face the three students.

"Potter, Riddle, this is Oliver Wood. Wood — I've found you a Seeker and Chaser."

Wood's expression changed from puzzlement to delight.

"Are you serious, Professor?"

"Absolutely," said Professor McGonagall crisply. "They're naturals. I've never seen anything like it. Was that your first time on a broomstick, you two?"

"Yes ma'am," Elle said while Harry just nodded silently.

"Potter caught that thing in his hand after a fifty-foot dive," Professor McGonagall told Wood. "Didn't even scratch himself. Charlie Weasley couldn't have done that. Granted, the old broomstick he was using gave out, but you know how the school's brooms are, not very reliable nowadays."

Wood looked impressed.

"Riddle is extremely talented, too. She took a fifty-foot dive, caught Potter, and pulled straight up with ease; still carrying Potter, and managed to pull him onto her broom while maintaining control! It was perfect! If it weren't for the fact that we have you, I'd say she'd be perfect for a Keeper position. She probably wouldn't be a shabby Beater either with her arm, but we have the Weasley twins."

Now Oliver looked both impressed and extremely happy.

"Ever seen a game of Quidditch?" he asked excitedly.

"Wood's captain of the Gryffindor team," Professor McGonagall explained.

"He's just the build for a Seeker, too. Riddle, you're perfect!" said Wood, now walking around them. "Light — speedy — we'll have to get him a decent broom Professor — and you, Riddle — 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 face for weeks . . ."

Professor McGonagall peered sternly over her glasses at Elle and Harry.

"I want to hear you two are training hard, or I may change my mind about punishing you."

Then she suddenly smiled.

"Your father would have been proud, Potter," she said. "And Miss Riddle, your mother would be beaming if she could see you now. They were excellent Quidditch players themselves."

"You're joking."

It was dinnertime. Harry and Elle had just finished telling Ron what had happened when they'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.

"Seeker and Chaser?" he said. "But first years never — you must be the youngest House players in about —"

"— a century," Harry and Elle said in unison.

Elle shoveled some pie into her mouth and was tapped on the shoulder. She turned and came face to face with Seamus Finnigan — she had noticed he had been going out of his way to talk to her lately, and this was a prime example of that.

"So how much trouble are you in?" Seamus asked solemnly as he took the empty seat beside Elle.

"Surprisingly enough, none," Elle said with a soft smile.

"That's terri — wait — none?" he echoed, looking extremely shocked; that obviously wasn't the news he had been expecting.

"Yeah, none!"

"How?"

"Erm, well, Professor McGonagall decided to put me and Harry on the Quidditch Team," said Elle.

Seamus's jaw went slack, and he stared at Elle with wide eyes, not sure where to even begin. He stared at her for a few moments, and Elle was a bit worried that perhaps Seamus had completely tuned out of their conversation.

"Hello? Seamus?" Elle said, waving her hand in front of his face.

Seamus blinked and shook his head, as if shaking himself out of a daze

"Sorry," Seamus said, looking a bit embarrassed, "but are you really on the team?"

"Mhmm! They're putting me on as a Chaser and Harry's the Seeker," said Elle. "Only don't tell anyone, Wood wants to keep it a secret. But we start training next week."

"That's amazing! I can't believe it!" Seamus said. "There's no way I'm going to miss a game — I'll always be there to cheer for you!"

Elle's face turned a light shade of pink — Seamus was going to come just to cheer for her? She smiled sheepishly, obviously a bit flustered, but before she could find the words to say, Seamus's face suddenly fell.

"Great, look who just showed up," Seamus sighed.

Elle turned and saw why he said that. Coming straight towards them was Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

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

Elle may have been seeing things, but she could've sworn Malfoy gave her a sympathetic look before placing the scowl back on his face and looking at Harry.

"You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you," said Harry coolly.

Elle couldn't help but think that there was nothing at all little about Crabbe and Goyle, but she knew that, since the High Table was full of teachers, neither of them could do more than crack their knuckles and scowl, and Harry must have also realized this.

"I'd take you on anytime on my own," said Malfoy. "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 he has," said Elle boldly, wheeling around. "I'm his second, who's yours?"

Malfoy looked a bit astonished that Elle would offer herself up like that, and then 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."

Malfoy looked at Elle, frowning some but said nothing before he walked off, Crabbe and Goyle following loyally behind him.

"Elle," Seamus said incredulously. "Did you really just offer yourself up like that? You're going to partake in a wizard's duel?"

Elle opened her mouth to protest, but Harry spoke.

"What is a wizard's duel?" said Harry. "And what do you mean, you're my second?"

"Well, a second's there to take over if you die," said Elle casually, getting started at last on her cold pie.

"Die?" Harry hissed.

"Eh, don't worry about that," said Ron. "People only die in proper duels, you know, with real wizards. The most you and Malfoy'll be able to do if send sparks at each other. Neither of you knows enough magic to do any really 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.

"Excuse me."

They looked up. It was Hermione.

"Can't a person eat in peace in this place?" said Ron.

Hermione ignored him and spoke to Harry.

"I couldn't help overhearing what you and Malfoy 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 Harry.

"Good-bye," said Ron.

"Boys," Hermione sighed, shaking her head. She then looked at Elle expectantly. "Well, I know you won't be going, right, Elle?"

Elle looked at Hermione with a raised eye brow. "And why would you think that? After all, I'm Harry's second."

Hermione's eyes widened some and she scowled before turning on her heel and walking away.

"Honestly, Elle, how can you share a dorm with her? I can barely sharing the same air as her," said Ron.

"She's not as bad as you think," said Elle. "She's just a little rough around the edges."

"A little rough?" scoffed Ron. "More like jagged."

That night, Elle was lying awake in her room, waiting for eleven thirty to come. That was the designated time she, Harry, and Ron would meet. She was working on all the assignments she missed, and it was a lot. Especially for Potions. Snape assigned two essays, each at least two rolls of parchment each, along with tons of book work. All the work was due tomorrow. She was beginning to think about skipping the duel.

Half-past eleven came, and Elle knew she had to get going. She was a bit concerned though — while Lavender, Parvati, and Eloise were all asleep, but Hermione's bed was completely empty. Elle hadn't seen her since dinner that evening. However, Elle knew that she couldn't worry about it at that moment, and she pulled on her bathrobes, picked up her wand, and crept across the tower room, down the spiral staircase, and into the Gryffindor common room. Just as Elle made it off the last step, she saw Harry and Ron also make it down the stairs into the common room.

"There you are," Ron said with a grin. "Told you she'd come, Harry."

Elle's eyes widened some, and she looked to Harry. "You thought I was going to back out?"

"I didn't think you were as stupid as us," Harry said sheepishly.

Elle giggled quietly, and the three of them looked around the common room. A few embers were still glowing in the fireplace, turning all the armchairs into hunches black shadows. They had almost reached the portrait hole when a voice spoke from the chair nearest them, "I can't believe you're going to do this."

A lamp flickered on. It was Hermione, wearing a pink bathrobe and a frown.

"You!" said Ron furiously. "Go back to bed!"

"I almost told you're brother," Hermione snapped, "Percy — he's a prefect, he'd put a stop to this."

Elle frowned some — why was Hermione so interfering?

Harry rolled his eyes and grabbed Elle's hand.

"Come on," he said to Ron. He pushed open the portrait of the Fat Lady and climbed through the hole, dragging Elle with him.

Hermione wasn't going to give up easily though. She followed Ron 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," Elle said to Harry, now the one who was pulling him along.

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 Elle sharply, coming to a halt.

"I heard something," Harry muttered — he was right.

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," Elle said.

"How's your arm?" said Harry.

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

Ron nodded vaguely, pretending to be interested. "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 and Neville.

"If either of you get us caught, I'll never rest until I've learned 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 Harry hissed at her to be quiet and he and Elle beckoned them all forward.

They flitted along corridors striped with bars of moonlight from the high windows. At every turn Elle 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.

Malfoy and Crabbe 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. Elle noticed Harry take out his wand.

"What are you doing?" Elle whispered. "No one's here."

"But what if Malfoy comes here and starts attack immediately," reasoned Harry. "I've got to be ready."

Elle supposed he did have a point. The minutes crept by.

"He's late, maybe he's chickened out," Ron whispered.

Then a noise in the next room made them jump. Harry had only just raised his wand when they heard someone speak — and it wasn't Malfoy.

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

It was Filch speaking to Mrs. Norris. Horror-struck, Harry grabbed Elle's hand tightly and waved madly at the other three to follow him as quickly as possible; they scurried silently toward 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!" Harry mouthed to the others and, petrified, they began to creep down a long gallery full of suits of armor. 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 armor.

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

"RUN!" Harry 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, Harry 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," Harry panted, leaning against the cold wall and wiping his forehead. Neville was bent double, wheezing and spluttering.

"I — told — you," Hermione gasped, clutching at the stitch in her chest, "I — told — you."

"No one cares if you told us," Elle snapped, losing her patience with Hermione. "We've got bigger problems right now!"

"We've got to get back to Gryffindor Tower," said Ron, "quickly as possible."

"Malfoy tricked you," Hermione said to Harry. "You realize that, don't you? He was never going to meet you — Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room, Malfoy must have tipped him off."

Elle thought she was probably right, but she wasn't going to tell her that.

"Let's go," said Harry.

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," Elle whispered quickly, her eyes wide.

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," said Harry.

"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 toward Peeves's shouts.

"Oh, move over," Hermione snarled. She grabbed Harry'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 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! Haaaaaa!" And they heard the sound of Peeves whooshing away and Filch cursing in rage.

"He thinks this door is locked," Harry whispered.

"I think we'll be okay — get off, Neville!" For Neville had been tugging on the sleeve of Elle's bathrobe for the last minute. "What?"

Elle 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 Elle 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.

Elle saw Harry grope for the doorknob.

"Hurry," Elle squeaked. "Between Filch and death, I'd take Filch."

They fell backward — Harry 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 bathrobes hanging off their shoulders and their flushed, sweaty faces.

"Never mind that — pig snout, pig snout," panted Harry, 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?" Harry suggested. "I wasn't looking at its feet, I was too busy with its heads."

"Maybe you didn't notice, but there were three of them," Elle added.

"No, not the floor. It was standing on a trapdoor. It's obviously guarding something," said Hermione.

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?"

But Hermione had given Elle something else to think about as she climbed back into bed after Hermione. 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 Elle had found out where the grubby little package from vault seven hundred and thirteen was.