轮毂喷漆能过年检吗:Chapter nine: the midngiht duel

CHAPTER NINE 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. 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 would be starting on Thursday -- and Gryffindor and
Slytherin would be learning together. 113
 "Typical," said Harry darkly. "Just what I always wanted. To make a fool
of myself on a broomstick in front of Malfoy." He had been looking forward to learning to fly more than anything else. "You don't know that you'll make a fool of yourself," said Ron
reasonably. "Anyway, I know Malfoy's always going on about how good he
is at Quidditch, but I bet that's all talk." Malfay 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 with him narrowly escaping
Muggles in helicopters. 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. Ron
had already had a big argument with Dean Thomas, who shared their
dormitory, about soccer. Ron couldn't see what was 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. 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 managed to have an extraordinary number of
accidents even with both feet on the ground. Hermione Granger was almost as nervous about flying as Neville was. This
was something you couldn't learn by heart out of a book -- not that she
hadn't tried. At breakfast on Thursday she bored them all stupid with
flying tips she'd 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, but
everybody else was very pleased when Hermione's lecture was interrupted
by the arrival of the mail. Harry hadn't had a single letter since Hagrid's note, something that
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. A barn owl brought Neville a small package from his grandmother. He 114
 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. Harry and Ron jumped to their feet. They were half hoping for a reason
to fight Malfay, 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, 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 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 115
 broomstick. Come on, hurry up." Harry glanced down at his 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!"' "UPF everyone shouted. 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 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.
Harry and Ron were 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!" she shouted, but Neville was rising straight up like a
cork shot out of a bottle -- twelve feet -- twenty feet. Harry 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," Harry heard her mutter. "Come on, boy -- it's all right, 116
 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-faced
Slytherin girl. "Never thought you'd like fat little crybabies,
Parvati."
"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?"
"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!"
Harry grabbed his broom.
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 "No!" shouted Hermione Granger. "Madam Hooch told us not to move -
you'll get us all into trouble." 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
fierce joy 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. 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. Harry knew, somehow, what to do. He leaned forward and grasped the broom
tightly in both hands, and it shot toward Malfay 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. 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 toward the ground. Harry saw, as though in slow motion, the ball rise up in the air and
then start to fall. He leaned forward and pointed his broom handle down
-- next second he was gathering speed in a steep dive, racing the ball
-- wind whistled in his ears, mingled with the screams of 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 onto the grass with the Remembrall clutched safely in his fist. "HARRY POTTER!" His heart sank 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 --" 118
 Professor McGonagall was almost speechless with shock, and her glasses
flashed 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. 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 the doorstep? 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 becoming
wizards, while he 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 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 Flitwicles class looking confused. "Follow me, you two," said Professor McGonagall, and they marched on up
the corridor, Wood looking curiously at Harry. 119
 "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. "Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Wood -- I've found you a Seeker." Wood's expression changed from puzzlement to delight. "Are you serious, Professor?" "Absolutely," said Professor McGonagall crisply. "The 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 to his legs. "He 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 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. "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 face for weeks...." 120
 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. "Your father would have been proud," she said. "He was an excellent
Quidditch player himself." "You're joking." 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 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, 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." "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." "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." 121
 Fred and George had hardly disappeared when someone far less welcome
turned up: Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. "Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting 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 Harry 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 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 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." When Malfoy had gone, Ron and Harry looked at each other. "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 Ron casually,
getting started at last on his cold pie. Catching the look on Harry's
face, he added quickly, "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. "Excuse me." They both looked up. It was Hermione Granger. "Can't a person eat in peace in this place?" said Ron. 122
 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 the 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."
There was a very good chance they were going to get caught by Filch or
Mrs. Norris, and Harry felt he was pushing his luck, breaking another
school rule today. On the other hand, Malfoys sneering face kept looming
up out of the darkness - this was his big chance to beat Malfoy
face-to-face. He couldn't miss it. "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." Harry couldn't believe anyone could be so interfering. 123
 "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.
"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 3 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'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 Harry sharply. I heard something."
It was a sort of snuffling.
"Mrs. Norris?" breathed Ron, squinting through the dark.
124
 It wasn't Mrs. Norris. It was Neville. He was curled up on the floor,
fast asleep, but jerked suddenly awake as they crept nearer. "Thank goodness you found me! I've been out here for hours, I couldn't
remember the new password to get in to bed." "Keep your voice down, Neville. The password's 'Pig snout' but it won't
help you now, the Fat Lady's gone off somewhere." "How's your arm?" said Harry. "Fine," said Neville, showing them. "Madam Pomfrey mended it in about a
minute." "Good - well, look, Neville, we've got to be somewhere, we'll see you
later --" "Don't leave me!" said Neville, scrambling to his feet, "I don't want to
stay here alone, the Bloody Baron's been past twice already." Ron looked at his watch and then glared furiously at Hermione 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 beckoned
them all 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 leapt in and started at once. The minutes
crept by. 125
 "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 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 four 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." "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 126
 be in the trophy room, Malfoy must have tipped him off."
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. He caught sight of them and gave a squeal of delight.
"Shut up, Peeves -- please -- you'll get us thrown out."
Peeves cackled.
"Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty,
naughty, you'll get caughty."
"Not if you don't give us away, Peeves, please."
"Should tell Filch, I should," said Peeves in a saintly voice, but his
eyes glittered wickedly. "It's for your own good, you know."
"Get out of the way," snapped Ron, taking a swipe at Peeves this was a
big mistake.
"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" Peeves bellowed, "STUDENTS OUT OF BED
DOWN THE
CHARMS CORRIDOR"
Ducking under Peeves, they ran for their lives, right to the end of the
corridor where they slammed into a door -- and it was locked.
"This is it!" Ron moaned, as they pushed helplessly at the door, "We're
done for! This is the end!" They could hear footsteps, Filch running as
fast as he could 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
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 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
Harry's bathrobe for the last minute. "What?" Harry turned around -- and saw, quite 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. They weren't in a room, as he 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 Harry
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. Harry groped for the doorknob -- between Filch and death, he'd take
Filch. 128
 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." "No, not the floor. It was standing on a trapdoor. It's obviously
guarding something." She stood up, glaring at them. I hope you're pleased with yourselves. We could all have been killed -
or worse, expelled. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed." Ron stared after her, his mouth open. "No, we don't mind," he said. "You'd think we dragged her along,
wouldn't you. But Hermione had given Harry something else to think about as he climbed 129
 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 littie package
from vault seven hundred and thirteen was.