CHAPTER NINE
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 fright-
ened 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.”
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