CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“We’d better put the cloak on here, and make sure it covers all
three of us — if Filch spots one of our feet wandering along on its
own —”
“What are you doing?” said a voice from the corner of the room.
Neville appeared from behind an armchair, clutching Trevor the
toad, who looked as though he’d been making another bid for free-
dom.
“Nothing, Neville, nothing,” said Harry, hurriedly putting the
cloak behind his back.
Neville stared at their guilty faces.
“You’re going out again,” he said.
“No, no, no,” said Hermione. “No, we’re not. Why don’t you go
to bed, Neville?”
Harry looked at the grandfather clock by the door. They
couldn’t afford to waste any more time, Snape might even now be
playing Fluffy to sleep.
“You can’t go out,” said Neville, “you’ll be caught again.
Gryffindor will be in even more trouble.”
“You don’t understand,” said Harry, “this is important.”
But Neville was clearly steeling himself to do something desper-
ate.
“I won’t let you do it ,” he said, hurrying to stand in front of the
portrait hole. “I’ll — I’ll fight you!”
“Neville,” Ron exploded, “get away from that hole and don’t be
an idiot —”
“Don’t you call me an idiot!” said Neville. “I don’t think you
should be breaking any more rules! And you were the one who told
me to stand up to people!”
272