Sorry. This would have been out yesterday, but was giving me problems and not letting me upload it. On the positive side, this chapter is actually profreeded, instead of me just revising it as I go.
"Alright James, hand it over," Severus ordered with an evil glint in his eye. "Or there will be pain. Much pain. Pain that will scar you for life."
James gulped loudly and gave him the book, a hand protecting his…vulnerable area.
"Chapter 9," Severus read. "The Midnight Duel."
Harry had never believed he would meet a boy he hated more than Dudley but that was before he met Draco Malfoy.
"We still hate each other," Harry hastily assured his father. "But not that much anymore. Now it's just a mutual dislike."
Still, first-year Gryffindors only had Potions with the Slytherins, so they didn't have to put up with Malfoy 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
"Yes! YES!" James screamed, jumping around in some kind of dance. Severus stopped him. "Why else would they groan?"
would be starting on Thursday – and Gryffindor and Slytherin would be learning together.
"BOOOOOO!" James shouted, giving the book the middle finger.
"Typical," said Harry darkly. "Just what I always wanted. To make a fool of myself on a broomstick in front of Malfoy."
"Yeah, that's what everyone wants," Remus muttered to no one in particular, but only Moony heard him.
"I hear you brother," he whispered back. Remus had been…well…not very good at riding a broomstick, and since Remus and Moony were the same person…you figure it out.
He had been looking forward to learning to fly more than anything else.
"He already knew how to fly, if he was anything like James," Lily whispered to Petunia.
"You don't know that you'll make a fool of yourself," said Ron reasonably.
Ron blushed and looked away while muttering dark things under his breath when several other people gave him a funny look.
"Anyway, I know Malfoy's always going on about how good he is at Quidditch, but I bet that's all talk."
"It was, mate. Don't you remember?" Ron asked, nudging Harry, still blushing slightly.
Malfoy certainly did talk about flying a lot. He complained loudly about first years never getting on the house Quidditch teams and told long, boastful stories that always seemed to end in him narrowly escaping Muggles in helicopters.
"All of which aren't true. Unless he flew into them on purpose."
He wasn't the only one, 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.
"Why wouldn't we? Quidditch is like football to Muggles," Ron remarked. He then looked at the screen. "Soccer to all of the American readers."
"Who are you talking to?" Petunia asked confusedly.
"Well, I figured that it's unfair that only Harry can break the fourth wall, so I'm doing it too."
Ron had already had a big argument with Dean Thomas, who shared their dormitory, about soccer. Ron couldn't see what was so exciting about a game with only one ball where no one was allowed to fly. Harry had caught Ron prodding Dean's poster of West Ham soccer team, trying to make the players move.
Ron whistled a jaunty tune mysteriously.
Neville had never been on a broomstick in his life, because his grandmother had never let him near one. Privately, Harry felt she'd had good reason, because Neville seemed to have an extraordinary amount 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.
"Of course," Lily said, rolling her eyes. Remus rolled his eyes right back at her.
"Bloody hypocrite," he muttered.
At breakfast on Thursday she bored them all stupid with flying tips she'd gotten out of a library book called Quidditch Through the Ages. Neville was hanging onto her every word, desperate for anything that might help him hang onto his broomstick later, but everyone else was very pleased when Hermione's lecture was interrupted by the arrival of the mail.
Harry hadn't gotten a single letter since Hagrid's note, something Malfoy had been quick to notice, of course. Malfoy's eagle owl was always bringing him packages of sweets from home, which he opened gloatingly at the Slytherin table.
"Spoiled motherf***ing mama's boy with all the crappy presents, by Merlin's mother!"
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 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…"
"The only problem with it is that it doesn't tell you what you forget," Petunia observed dryly.
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.
Harry and Ron jumped to their feet. They were half-hoping for a reason to fight Malfoy, but Professor McGonagall, who could spot trouble quicker than any other teacher in the school, was there in a flash.
"Of light!" Fred added. He and George high-fived while everyone else looked at them weirdly.
"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.
"I don't know how to tell you this, but looking doesn't involve your eyes," Padfoot said in a 'duh!' tone.
At three-thirty that afternoon, 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 neat lines on the ground. Harry had heard Fred and George 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.
"They really need to replace the school brooms," James remarked. "Some of them are getting dangerous to ride."
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."
Harry glanced down at his broom. It was old and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles.
"Point proven; that's a safety hazard."
"Stick out your right hand over the broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say 'Up!'"
"UP!" everyone shouted.
"Broom basics; gotta love 'em."
Harry's broom jumped into his 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 Harry; there was a quaver in Neville's voice that said all 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. Harry and Ron were delighted when she told Malfoy he had been doing it wrong for years.
James did a mini victory dance, and the others just ignored him. It was actually a little scary that they'd almost gotten used to him and Sirius and the Twins already.
"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off 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 about 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 out of a bottle – twelve feet – twenty feet. Harry saw his scared white face look down at the ground falling away, saw him gasp, slide off his broom and –
WHAM
They all winced.
– 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," Harry heard her mutter. "Come on boy – it's all right, up you get."
There were many winces. No one likes a broken anything. They tend to be painful.
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 here before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear."
"Quidditch."
"Very funny, Sirius."
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?"
"Why Malfoy, let's break your wrist, if you're such man then you can take it!" said Ginny angrily.
The other Slytherins joined in.
"Shut up, Malfoy," snapped Parvati Patil.
"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" said Pansy Parkinson, a hard-faced Slytherin girl. "Never thought you'd like fat little crybabies, Parvati."
"I wonder how you get up in the morning, with that big head!" Hermione retorted.
"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 that here, Malfoy," said Harry quietly. Everyone stopped talking to watch.
Malfoy smiled nastily.
"I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find – how about – up a tree?"
"SON OF A BITCH!"
"He's actually Narcissa's son, not Bella's," Sirius corrected him. "Though Narcissa isn't exactly the nicest person in the world, either."
"Give it here!" Harry yelled, but Malfoy had leapt onto his broomstick and taken off. He hadn't been lying, he could fly well. Hovering level with the topmost branches of an oak he called, "Come and get it, Potter!"
"Do it, show him what you're made of, kid," James said to the book. Harry raised an eyebrow.
"What, I'm not good enough to be your son?" he asked in a joking tone.
Harry grabbed his broom.
"No!" shouted Hermione Granger. "Madam Hooch told us not to move – you'll get us all into trouble."
"That's never stopped you before, Hermione," Ron chuckled.
Harry ignored her. Blood was pounding in his ears. He mounted the broom and kicked hard against the ground and up, up he soared; air rushed through his hair, and his robes whipped out behind him – and in a rush of joys he realized he'd found something he could do without being taught – this was easy, this was wonderful. He pulled his broomstick up a little to take it even higher, and heard screams and gasps of girls back on the ground and an admiring whoop from Ron.
James was staring in pride at his son, who had seemed to inherit the Potter hair, the Potter Quidditch talent, and their liking for redheaded girls.
He turned his broomstick sharply to face Malfoy in midair. Malfoy looked stunned.
"Give it here," Harry called, "or I'll knock you off that broom!"
"Oh yeah?" said Malfoy, trying to sneer, but looking worried.
"Yeah! Or he'll knock you off your broom!" Sirius added.
Harry knew, somehow, what to do. He leaned forward and grasped the broom tightly in both hands, and it shot toward Malfoy like a javelin. Malfoy only just got out of the way in time; Harry 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, Malfoy," Harry called.
"Yay. Crush him," said Remus in a monotone.
The same thought seemed to have struck Malfoy.
"Catch it if you can, then!" he shouted, and he threw the glass ball high in the air and streaked back toward the ground.
"I did. I then threw it at your head and knocked you out."
Harry saw, as though in slow motion, the ball rise up into the air and then start to fall. He leaned forward and pointed his broom handle down – next second he was gatheringspeed in a steep dive, racing the ball – wind whistled in his ears, mingling with the screams of the people watching – he stretched out his hand – a foot from the ground he caught it, just in time to pull his broom straight, and he toppled gently on the grass with the Remembrall clutched safely in his fist.
"Yes! You did it!" James cheered, doing his disturbing victory dance.
"HARRY POTTER!"
"Crap."
His heart sunk faster than he'd just dived. Professor McGonagall was running toward them. He got to his feet, trembling.
"Never – in all my time at Hogwarts –"
"Other than every single year we were there, you mean," Padfoot added.
Professor McGonagall was almost speechless from shock, and her glasses flash furiously, "- how dare you – might have broken your neck –"
"It wasn't his fault, Professor –"
"Be quiet, Miss Patil –"
"But Malfoy –"
"That's enough, Mr. Weasley. Potter, follow me, now."
Harry caught sight of Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle's triumphant faces as he left, walking numbly in Professor McGonagall's wake as she strode toward the castle. He was going to be expelled, he just knew it.
Sirius chuckled. "Nah, they wouldn't expel you for something like that, kiddo."
He wanted to say something to defend himself, but there seemed to be something wrong with his voice. Professor McGonagall was sweeping along without even looking at him; he had to jog to keep up. Now he'd done it. He hadn't even lasted two weeks. He'd be packing his bags in ten minutes. What would the Dursleys say when he turned up on their doorstep?
"They'd say, 'ooo, look at the famous Harry Potter, with his broken wand and his scar and his awesome father. You go, kid!"
Up the front steps, up the marble staircase inside, and still Professor McGonagall didn't say a word to him. She wrenched open doors and marched along corridors with Harry trotting miserably behind her. Maybe she was taking him to Dumbledore. He thought of Hagrid, expelled but allowed to stay on as gamekeeper. Perhaps he could be Hagrid's assistant. His stomach twisted as he imagined it, watching Ron and the others become wizards while he stumped around the grounds carrying Hagrid's bag.
"…I'm not even going to say it anymore."
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 minute?"
Wood? thought Harry, bewildered; was Wood a cane she was going to use on him?
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 Harry.
"In here."
Professor McGonagall pointed them into a classroom that was empty except for Peeves, who was busy writing rude words on the blackboard.
"We taught him a fair few swear words while we were there," Moony mused. "He better have remembered them."
"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.
"Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Wood – I've found you a Seeker."
"Knew it!" James cheered. His son was a Quidditch player, he had just known it. Sirius joined in on his best friend's happiness, while Remus simply watched them with a smile on his face.
Wood's expression changed from puzzlement to delight.
"Are you serious, Professor?"
"No, that's me."
"Sirius!"
"Absolutely," said Professor McGonagall crisply. "The boy's a natural. I've never seen anything like it. Was that your first time on a broomstick, Potter?"
Harry nodded silently. He didn't have a clue what was going on, but he didn't seem to be being expelled, and some of the feeling started coming back into his legs.
"He caught that thing after a fifty-foot dive," Professor McGonagall told Wood. "Didn't even scratch himself. Charlie Weasley couldn't have done it."
Wood was now looking as though all his dreams had come true at once.
"…What about that one dream, you know, the one about Penelope – or is that Percy?"
"It's Percy, twin."
"Thanks, twin."
"You're welcome, twin."
"Ever seen a game of Quidditch, Potter?" he asked excitedly.
"Wood's captain of the Gryffindor team," Professor McGonagall explained.
"He's just the build for a Seeker, too," said Wood, now walking around Harry and staring at him. "Light – speedy – we'll have to get him 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 eye for weeks…"
James and Sirius winced, while Severus winced.
Professor McGonagall peered sternly over her glasses at Harry.
"I want to hear you're training hard Potter, or I may change my mind about punishing you."
Then she suddenly smiled.
"You're father would have been proud," she said. "He was an excellent Quidditch player himself."
"You're joking."
"No, Ron, I wasn't joking, there was a hippogriff on my head."
It was dinnertime. Harry had just finished telling Ron what had happened when he'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?" he said. "But first years never – you must be the youngest house player in about –"
"A century," said James gleefully.
" - a century," said Harry, shoveling pie into his mouth. He felt particularly hungry after the excitement of the afternoon. "Wood told me."
Ron was so amazed, so impressed, that he just sat and gaped at Harry.
"I start training next week," said Harry. "Only don't tell anyone, Wood wants to keep it a secret."
Fred and George Weasley now came into the hall, spotted Harry, and hurried over.
"Well done," said George in a low voice. "Wood told us. We're on the team too – Beaters."
"And we're the some of the best Beaters in the history of the school," Fred added in the same low voice.
"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, Harry, Wood was almost skipping when he told us."
"I never knew Wood had a gay side," Harry mused. "Must've been a closet gay." The others gave him funny looks.
"Anyway, we've got to go, Lee Jordan reckons he 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."
The Marauders gaped at each other.
"That took us almost a month to find!" Sirius gasped. "James, I hate to say it, but…"
"They're better than us," James finished with a worried look at the Twins.
Fred and George had hardly disappeared when someone far less welcome had turned up: Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.
"Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?"
"The summer, why?"
"You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground and you're got your little friends with you," said Harry coolly. There was of course nothing 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 Malfoy. "Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only – no contact. What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before, have you?"
"Of course he has," said Ron, wheeling around. "I'm his second, who's yours?"
Malfoy 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."
"He's lying," Lily said instantly. "He has no honor whatsoever; he's lying."
When Malfoy had gone, Ron and Harry looked at each other.
"What is a wizard's duel?" said Harry. "And what you mean, you're my second?"
"Well, 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 Harry's face, he added, "But people only die in proper duels, you know, with real wizards. The most you and Malfoy'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.
"Good advice, Ron," Harry said. "I think I should have done that to Tommy-Boy instead of Expelliarmus."
"Excuse me."
They both looked up. It was Hermione Granger.
"Can't a person eat in peace in this place?" said Ron.
"No, there must always be an interruption, Ron," Hermione sighed.
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.
All the same, it wasn't what you'd call a perfect end to the day, Harry thought, as he lay awake much later listening to Dean and Seamus falling asleep (Neville wasn't back from the hospital wing). Ron had spent all evening giving him advice such as "If he tries to curse you, you'd better dodge it, because I can't remember how to block them."
"Protego."
There was a very good chance they would get caught by Filch or Mrs. Norris, and Harry felt he was pushing his luck, breaking another school rule today. On the other hand, Malfoy's sneering face kept leering out of the darkness – this was his big chance to beat Malfoy face-to-face. He couldn't miss it.
"Exactly how James and I used to feel," Severus mused.
"Half-past eleven," Ron muttered at last, "we'd better go."
They pulled on their bathrobes, 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. 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, Harry."
A lamp flickered on. It was Hermione Granger, wearing a pink bathrobe and a frown.
"You!" said Ron furiously. "Go back to bed!"
"I almost told your brother," Hermione snapped. "Percy – he's a prefect, he'd put a stop to this."
"Now these two, on the other hand…" Ron gestured at the Twins.
Harry couldn't believe anyone could be so interfering.
"Come on," he said to Ron. He 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.
"Or a Madagascar Hissing Cockroach," Sirius added. They all stared at him, shuddering. "What?"
"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 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 –"
"Handsome," Padfoot preened.
But what they were, they didn't find out.
"I just told you; handsome."
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.
"You can do nothing, or you can do various other things which may or may not involve instense pain and possibly death."
"That's your problem," said Ron. "We've got to go, we're going to be late."
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 three of us I'm telling 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 Harry sharply. "I heard something."
It was a sort of snuffling.
"Mrs. Norris?" breathed Ron, squinting through the dark.
"If that was, I'm surprised you're still alive," Ginny remarked.
It wasn't Mrs. Norris. It was Neville. He was curled up on the floor, fast asleep, but jerked suddenly awake when they crept near.
"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?" said Harry.
"Fine," said Neville, showing them. "Madam Pomfrey mended it in about a minute."
"Then what took him so long to get up to the dormitory?" Petunia asked.
"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."
Severus winced. "I know how you feel; seeing him once is enough."
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 learn that Curse of the Bogies Quirrell told us about, and used it on you."
"Does he mean the Bat-Bogey Hex?" Ginny asked Harry.
Hermione opened her mouth, perhaps to tell Ron exactly how use the Curse of the Bogies, but Harry hissed at her to be quiet and beckoned them forward.
They flitted along corridors striped with bars of moonlight from the high windows. At every turn Harry 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. Harry took out his wand in case Malfoy jumped in and started at once. The minutes crept by.
"He's late, maybe he's chickened out," Ron whispered.
"I told you, he's not showing," Lily told the book. Severus raised an eyebrow.
"I think everyone here is clinically insane."
In the background, James was doing his victory dance again.
Then a noise in the next room made them jump. Harry had only just raised his wand when they hear 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 waved madly at the other three to follow him as quietly 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 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,
"Hermione, why are you blushing?" Remus asked suddenly. Looking around, they saw Hermione frantically trying and failing to cover up her furious blush. She looked away, muttering so that no one could hear her, "I'm not jealous, I'm not jealous, I'm not jealous…" Remus and Moony smiled sagely.
ermione frantically trying to cover up her blus
and the pair of them toppled right into a suit of armor.
The clanging and crashing were enough to wake up the whole castle.
"RUN!" Harry yelled, and the four of them sprinted down the gallery, not looking back to see if Filch was following – they swung around the doorpost and galloped down one corridor then another, Harry in the lead, without any idea of 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.
"Oh look, a secret passage."
"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."
"I know you told them, now did you have to repeat yourself?" Petunia asked.
"We've got to get back to Gryffindor tower," said Ron, "quickly as possible."arryn HHThis
"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."
"No, really?" Lily asked sarcastically.
Harry thought she was probably right, but he 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.
"Crap."
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.
"That is not how you deal with Peeves," James sighed at his son's friend's stupidity.
"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!"
"Then why are you still alive?"
"That's a good question."
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!"
"That's our Hermione; always calm," Moony praised.
"Except for the plant incident," Ron muttered to Harry.
The lock clicked and the door swung opened – they piled through it, shut it quickly, and pressed their ears against it, listening.
"Which way did they goes, Peeves?" Filch was saying. "Quick, tell me!"
"Say 'please.'"
"Oh, this is going to be good; we taught him this," Padfoot chuckled.
"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 would say nothing if you didn't say please! Ha ha! Haaaaaa!" And they heard the sounds of Peeves whoosing away and Filch cursing in rage.
Fred sighed and wiped a tear from his eye. "Masters of pranking; that's the five of us."
"He thinks this door is locked," Harry whispered. "I think we'll be okay – get off, Neville!" For Neville had been tugging on the sleeves of Harry's bathrobe for the past minute. "What?"
Harry turned around – and saw, quiet clearly, what. For a moment, he was sure he'd walked into a nightmare – this was too much, on top of everything that had happened so far.
"What is it?" Ginny asked worriedly.
They weren't in a room, as he had supposed. They were in a corridor. The forbidden corridor on the fourth 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. 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.
Severus whistled. "Scary."
It was standing quite still, all six eyes staring at them, and Harry knew that the reason that 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.
Harry groped for the doorknob – between death and Filch, he'd take Filch.
"Smart boy," James whispered to Lily.
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 though 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."
Everyone looked at Sirius and Padfoot. "What?"
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."
"Again, smart boy."
"No, not the floor. It was standing on a trapdoor. It's obviously guarding something."
She stood up, glaring at them.
"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned," James chuckled, earning him a punch on the shoulder from a blushing Lily.
"I hope you're pleased with yourselves. We could all have been killed – or worse, expelled.
"You need to get your priorities right, Hermione," Sirius chided laughingly. "Even Moony preferred living over being expelled."
Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed."
Ron stared at her, his mouth open.
"No, we don't mind," he said. "You'd think we dragged along, wouldn't you?"
But Hermione had given Harry something else to think about as he 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 Harry had found out where the grubby little package from vault seven hundred and thirteen was.
"No, you're found out where Honeydukes keeps all their candy," Sirius said sarcastically. "What are you, stupid?"
"YES," said everyone else