CHAPTER NINE
They could hear footsteps, Filch running as fast as he could
toward Peeves’s shouts.
“Oh, move over,” Hermione snarled. She grabbed Harry’s wand,
tapped the lock, and whispered, “Alohomora!”
The lock clicked and the door swung open — they piled through
it, shut it quickly, and pressed their ears against it, listening.
“Which way did they go, Peeves?” Filch was saying. “Quick,
tell me.”
“Say ‘please.’ ”
“Don’t me ss with me, Peeves, now where did they go?”
“Shan’t say nothing if you don’t say please,” said Peeves in his an-
noying 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 mo-
ment, 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 cor-
ridor. 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
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