5. Midnight Shenanigans
The prank, which the trio had named Operation S, was put into action. It would take time, of course, to pull all the elements together. The twins were on grease bomb duty, while it was Hope's job to perfect both the Revealing Charm and the Concealing Charm, both of which were second-year level spells. Not to mention, they would have to successfully sneak into the dungeons. Hope was starting to wonder if she had bitten off more than she could chew; nonetheless, it would be worth it to see the look on Snape's face. Besides, the prank wasn't the current issue at hand: Flying lessons.
Snape wasn't the only Slytherin who had gotten on the girl's bad side. She liked to think she was a nice person, that she could get along well with most people, but nothing could make her get along with Draco Malfoy. He was a spoiled brat, his attitude was foul, and he treated anyone who wasn't a Slytherin or pureblood like they were beneath him. To put it plainly, he was a complete and total arse. Luckily for her, thus far, first-year Gryffindors only had Potions with the Slytherins, so she 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, which made them all groan: Flying lessons would be starting on Thursday—and Gryffindor and Slytherin would be learning together.
"Leave it to Malfoy to ruin the lesson I had been most looking forward to," Hope groaned.
"Typical," Harry said darkly. "Just what I always wanted. To make a fool of myself on a broomstick in front of Malfoy."
"You don't know you'll make a fool of yourself," Ron chimed in. "Anyway, I know Malfoy's always going on about how good he is at Quidditch, but I bet that's all talk."
Malfoy certainly did talk about flying a lot. He complained loudly about first-years never getting into the house Quidditch teams and told long, boastful stories, which 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.
It seemed Hope was the only one from a wizarding family that hadn't ridden a broom—until Neville revealed he had never been on a broomstick in his life because his grandmother had never let him near one. Hope understood, considering the boy was quite accident-prone. Nevertheless, regardless of the boy's clumsiness, it still made her feel better knowing she wasn't the only one.
Hermione was almost as nervous about flying as Neville was, much to Hope's surprise, seeing as she'd never seen the girl so much as break a sweat when it came to classes. She supposed it did make sense; Hermione had said it was a lesson she wasn't looking forward to, and it wasn't something you could learn by heart out of a book—not that she hadn't tried. At breakfast on Thursday, she bored them all silly with flying tips she'd found in 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. Hope enjoyed it, feeling the information was useful; she didn't mind when Hermione went on her informational rants. Though everyone else seemed pleased when Hermione's lecture was interrupted by the arrival of the post.
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 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..."
"I'm sure it'll come to you, Neville," Hope hummed.
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 teacher in the school, was there in a flash.
"What's going on?" She questioned.
"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor," Harry answered.
Scowling, Malfoy quickly dropped the Remembrall back on the table.
"Just looking," he said, and he sloped away with Crabbe and Goyle.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
At three-thirty that afternoon, Hope, Harry, Ron, and the other Gryffindors hurried down the front steps into the grounds for their first flying lesson. It was a clear, breezy day, and the grass rippled under their feet as they marched down the sloping lawns towards a smooth lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the Forbidden Forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance.
The Slytherins were already there, and so were twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground. Hope 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.
Hope stood between Harry and Hermione when their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short, grey hair and yellow eyes like a hawk.
"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."
Hope glanced down at her broom. It was old, and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles.
"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say, 'Up!'"
"UP!" everyone shouted.
Hope's broom hovered a couple of inches off the ground. She furrowed her brows. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, calming her mind. She was overthinking this, she thought. Her hand still hovering over the broom, she shouted, "UP!" again. The broom jumped into her hand.
"Yes!" she cheered.
"Nice one," Harry said, smiling.
Hope looked to see Harry's broom also in his hand along with a few others. "You too!" she replied, congratulating him as well.
Hermione's had simply rolled over on the ground, and Neville's hadn't moved at all. Ron's broom moved more than the other two, the stick jumping up vertically and smacking Ron square in the nose.
Harry and Hope laughed loudly. Ron glared playfully at the two, rubbing his nose. "Shut up."
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. Hope was delighted when she told Malfoy he'd been doing it wrong for years. Looking over at Harry and Ron, she could tell they were too.
"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," Madam Hooch instructed. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forwards slightly. On my whistle – three – two –"
But Neville, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch's lips.
"Come back, boy!" she shouted, but Neville was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle – twelve feet – twenty feet.
Hope looked in horror at his scared white face looking down at the ground falling away. He gasped and slipped sideways off the broom and- WHAM!
Hope winced, turning her head away from the sight.
Neville lay, face down, on the grass in a heap. His broomstick was still rising higher and higher and started to drift lazily towards the Forbidden Forest and out of sight.
Madam Hooch was bending over Neville, her face as white as his.
"Broken wrist," Hope heard her mutter. "Come on, boy – it's all right, up you get."
She turned to the rest of the class. "None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear."
Hope watched worriedly as Neville, his face tear-streaked, clutching his wrist, hobbled off with Madam Hooch, who had her arm around him.
As soon as they were out of earshot, Malfoy burst into laughter. Hope turned and glared at the boy.
"Did you see his face, the great lump?" Malfoy laughed, the other Slytherins joining in.
"Shut up, Malfoy," Parvati Patil snapped.
"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" Pansy Parkinson, a hard-faced Slytherin girl sneered. "Never thought you'd like fat little crybabies, Parvati."
"Shut it, Parkinson! At least someone likes him," Hope barked.
Pansy glared at Hope, about to say something, but turned her attention to Draco.
"Look!" Malfoy called out, 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," Harry demanded quietly.
Everyone stopped talking to watch.
Malfoy smiled nastily. "I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to collect – 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.
"No!" Hermione shouted. "Madam Hooch told us not to move – you'll get us all into trouble."
Harry ignored her. He mounted the broom and kicked hard against the ground, and up he soared.
Hope, along with most of the Gryffindors, cheered for Harry while Hermione looked at her disapprovingly.
"Well, someone's got to stop Draco," Hope shrugged, looking back to the sky.
Harry and Draco faced off in the air, Harry shooting towards Malfoy, who just barely moved out of the way. Hope clapped along with the other Gryffindors; Harry was clearly a natural on a broom.
Then Malfoy threw the glass ball high into the air and streaked back towards the ground. Harry raced down in a steep dive for the ball – he stretched out his hand – a foot from the ground and 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.
Hope stared in awe, clapping. "It really does come naturally for some people," she mumbled, amazed.
Ron nodded excitedly, whooping loudly.
"HARRY POTTER!" Mcgonagall's voice rang out.
Hope's heart sank, turning to see Professor McGonagall running towards them.
"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 his fault, Professor –" Hope tried.
"Be quiet, Miss Lupin –" McGonagall said, not even sparing the girl a glance.
"But Malfoy –" Ron began.
"That's enough, Mr. Weasley. Potter, follow me, now." Professor McGonagall instructed, as Harry followed her off the field with slumped shoulders.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
It was dinner time and Harry had just finished telling Ron and Hope 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," Harry grinned, 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.
"That's incredible, Harry," Hope exclaimed, so excited she knocked over her pumpkin juice.
"I start training next week," Harry added. "Only don't tell anyone, Wood wants to keep it a secret."
Fred and George bustled into the hall, hurrying over as soon as they spot Harry.
"Well done," George complimented. "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," Fred added. "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," George said.
"Bet it's that one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that we found in our first week. See you," Fred finished, as the twins walked off.
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?" Draco asked with a smug grin.
"You're a lot braver now you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you," Harry said coolly.
Hope grinned, lifting her hand for a low five, which Harry gladly obliged. This made Crabbe and Goyle scowl, but seeing as the High Table was full of teachers, neither of them could do more than crack their knuckles.
"I'd take you on any time on my own," Malfoy said. "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," Ron spoke up, 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, Harry looked at Ron and Hope.
"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," Ron said casually, getting started at last on his cold pie.
Noticing the look on Harry's face, Hope 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. And honestly, if his wand work is anything like his flying, he's all talk."
"And what if I wave my wand and nothing happens?" Harry asked, worriedly.
"Throw it away and punch him on the nose," Ron suggested.
"I'd love to see that," Hope smiled at the thought.
"Excuse me."
They looked up. It was Hermione.
"Can't a person eat in peace in this place?" Ron mumbled.
Hope elbowed him.
Hermione ignored him and spoke to Harry. "I couldn't help overhearing what you and Malfoy were saying –"
"Bet you could," Ron muttered.
Hope elbowed the redheaded boy again, who glared at her, mouthing, "Ow."
"– 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." Hermione reprimanded.
"And it's really none of your business," Harry said.
"Goodbye," Ron added, as the two boys stood from their seats and exited the Great Hall.
Hope looked at Hermione. "Look, 'Mione, you know the last thing I want is for us to lose points. I'm sure it'll be fine. Besides, if they do get caught, then Slytherin will lose house points as well," Hope told the girl, patting her arm gently.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
Hope awoke to a rustling sound. She opened her eyes, squinting, and saw a figure moving through the darkness and out the door.
"Oh no," Hope muttered to herself, not bothering to change out of her yellow pajama set. She slipped on some slippers and quietly made her way out to the common room.
There, she found Hermione sitting in the dark in a chair by the fireplace, her outline barely illuminated. Hope walked up to her.
"What are you doing?" she asked, though she was quite sure she already knew what was going through the bushy-haired girl's head.
"They're going to lose us house points," Hermione stated.
"Hermione, you need to let it go," Hope replied.
The girl groaned. "Honestly, Hope, how can you be so okay with this, especially when you were so upset after losing so many house points?"
Hope put her hand on her hip, rubbing her head irritably with the other, trying to remind herself that Hermione meant well. "Hermione, someone needs to put Malfoy in his place."
"If we win the house cup, we'd be putting all of Slytherin in their place," Hermione responded matter-of-factly.
Hope stilled for a moment, becoming increasingly agitated—not only by Hermione's stubbornness but also by the fact that she was right.
Just then, the door to the boys' dormitories opened, and the boys made their way into the common room.
"I can't believe you're going to do this, Harry," Hermione said, turning on the lamp, which illuminated her pink dressing gown and a rather prominent frown.
"You!" Ron said furiously, pointing at the bushy haired girl. "Go back to bed!" He then turned to Hope with an exasperated look."Oi, what is this?" He asked, motioning to Hermione with flailing arms. Hope raised her arms in defense.
"I tried to stop her," She defended.
"I almost told your brother," Hermione snapped. "Percy—he's a Prefect, he'd put a stop to this."
Harry rolled his eyes. He couldn't believe anyone could be so interfering. "Come on," he said to Ron, pushing open the portrait of the Fat Lady and climbing through the hole, Hermione quickly followed the two.
"Hermione no," Hope whined, chasing after the girl who was dead set on stopping the two boys.
"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," Hermione tried to reason.
"Go away," Ron spat. Hope sighed, shaking her head with her hands on her hips. She was never gonna hear the end of this, and she wasn't even sneaking out with the boys. Merlin knows what Hermione would do if she found out about Operation S, Hope thought.
"All right, but I warned you. You just remember what I said when you're on the train home tomorrow. You're so—" Hermione said, before stopping mid sentence.
Hope lifted her head and turned to Hermione, who was facing the now-empty portrait that once housed the Fat Lady. It appeared she had gone on a nighttime visit, leaving Hermione and Hope locked out of Gryffindor Tower.
"Now what are we going to do?" she asked shrilly.
"Hermione," Hope groaned, stomping her foot, annoyed at the situation they were now in.
"That's your problem," Ron said. "We've got to go, we're going to be late."
The boys hadn't even reached the end of the corridor when Hermione and Hope caught up with them.
"We're coming with you," Hermione said.
"You are not. Hope can, but you can't," Ron retorted.
"Do 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 we were trying to stop you, and you can back me up," Hermione explained.
Hope's head snapped forward, hearing some sort of shuffling.
"Guys, shh," Hope said in a hushed tone, waving her hand to get Ron and Hermione's attention.
"You've got some nerve—" said Ron loudly.
"Shut up, both of you!" Harry snapped sharply, in a low voice. "I heard something."
"Mrs. Norris?" Ron breathed, squinting through the dark. The four slowly moved forward, seeing 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 into bed," Neville said relieved.
"Keep your voice down, Neville. The password's 'Pig snout,' but it won't help you now, the Fat Lady's gone off somewhere," Harry whispered.
"How's your arm?" Hope asked.
"Fine," Neville replied, showing them the now healed arm. "Madam Pomfrey mended it in about a minute."
"Good—well, look, Neville, we've got to be somewhere, we'll see you later—" Ron said huuriedly.
"Don't leave me!" Neville whined, 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 gets 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 Hope quickly covered Hermione's mouth, shaking her head lightly, while Harry beckoned them all forward.
They flitted along corridors striped with bars of moonlight from the high windows. At every turn, Hope expected to run into Filch or Mrs. Norris, but they were lucky. They sped up a staircase to the third floor and tiptoed towards the trophy room.
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.
"He's late, maybe he's chickened out," Ron whispered.
Then a noise in the next room made them jump. Hope reached for her wand but realized she had left it in the dorm. Harry had only just raised his when they heard someone speak—and it wasn't Malfoy.
"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner." Filches voice echoed through the empty halls, as he walked in the direction with Mrs.Norris
Horror-struck, Harry waved madly at the other three to follow him as quickly as possible. They scurried silently towards the door away from Filch's voice. Neville's robes had barely whipped around the corner when they heard Filch enter the trophy room.
"They're in here somewhere," they heard him mutter, "probably hiding."
"This way!" Harry mouthed to the others, 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. Hope quickly tried to help the two boys up, 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.
Hope slouched, panting with her hand on her knees.
"I—told—you," Hermione gasped, clutching at her chest. "I—told—you."
"We've got to get back to Gryffindor Tower," Ron said brethlessly, "as quickly as possible."
"Malfoy tricked you," Hermione said to Harry pointedly. "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."
Hope moved her palms from her knees to hit her forehead lightly. "I—Can't believe we got tricked by that little weasel," Hope groaned, still slightly out of breath.
"Let's go." Harry nodded, seeing the coast was clear.
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," Hope begged.
Peeves smiled mischievously at the girl. "Ah, loony loopy Lupin, wandering where you shouldn't be, aren't we? Should tell Filch, I should," Peeves sang 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 the footsteps ofFilch running as fast as he could towards Peeves's shouts.
"Oh, move over," Hermione snapped shoving Ron aside. 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 questioned, looking around. "Quick, tell me."
"Say 'please,'" Peeves teased.
"Don't mess me about, Peeves. Now, where did they go?" Filch demanded.
"Say 'please,'" Peeves repeated, not budging.
"I don't have time for this—where did they go?" Filch asked again, angrily.
"Shan't say nothing if you don't say please," Peeves sang in his annoying, sing-song voice.
"All right—please!" Filch gave in.
"NOTHING! Ha haaa! Told you I wouldn't say nothing if you didn't say please! Ha ha! Haaaaaa!" Peeves laughed maniacally.
They heard the sound of Peeves whooshing away, followed by Filch cursing in rage.
"He thinks this door is locked," Harry whispered. "I think we'll be okay—get off, Neville!" he added shoving Neville oof, who had been tugging at the sleeve of Harry's dressing gown for the last minute.
"What?" Harry asked.
They turned, and Hope clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from gasping. It took them a second to realize that they weren't in a room. They were in a corridor.
The forbidden corridor.
And now they knew why it was forbidden.
They were staring 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 dripping in long, slippery ropes from yellowish fangs.
It stood still, its massive paws planted atop a trapdoor, all six eyes locked onto them. They knew the only reason they weren't already dead was that their sudden appearance had startled it. But the surprise was wearing off—those thunderous growls made that very clear.
Harry groped wildly for the doorknob.
Between Filch and death, he'd take Filch.
They tumbled backward—Harry slammed the door shut, and they ran, almost flew down the corridor.
Filch must have gone off searching elsewhere, because they saw no sign of him. Not that they cared—all they wanted was to put as much space as possible between themselves and that thing.
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, eyeing their disheveled robes and flushed, sweaty faces.
"Never mind that—pig snout, pig snout," Harry panted.
The portrait swung open, and they scrambled inside, collapsing into armchairs, trembling.
It was a long time before anyone spoke. Neville looked as if he might never speak again.
"What do they think they're doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?" Ron finally said. "If any dog needs exercise, that one does."
Hermione had gotten both her breath and her bad temper back.
"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 guessed. "I wasn't looking at its feet, I was too busy with its heads."
"It was on a trapdoor," Hope mumbled, staring into the fireplace.
Hermione motioned sharply to Hope, nodding. "Exactly! It's obviously guarding something."
She stood, hands on her hips, glaring at them. "I hope you're pleased with yourselves. We could have been killed—or worse, expelled! Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed."
Ron stared after her, his mouth hanging open.
"...I'm going to sleep, and when I wake up, this will all have been a horrible dream," Hope sighed, rubbing her face, her eyes glazed. "I can't believe I didn't see it was a trap."
"That's what you're on about?" Ron gaped. "We almost got eaten by a three-headed dog!"
"Better that than being outsmarted by Malfoy of all people," she muttered, trudging off toward the girls' dormitories.
Ron watched her go, then turned to Harry with raised brows. "They need to sort out their priorities."