THROUGH THE TRAPDOOR
“Can you hear something?” Ron whispered.
Harry listened. A soft rustling and clinking seemed to be com-
ing from up ahead.
“Do you think it’s a ghost?”
“I don’t know . . . sounds like wings to me.”
“There’s light ahead — I can see something moving.”
They reached the end of the passageway and saw before them a
brilliantly lit chamber, its ceiling arching high above them. It was
full of small, jewel-bright birds, fluttering and tumbling all around
the room. On the opposite side of the chamber was a heavy
wooden door.
“Do you think they’ll attack us if we cross the room?” said Ron.
“Probably,” said Harry. “They don’t look very vicious, but I sup-
pose if they all swooped down at once . . . well, there’s no other
choice . . . I’ll run.”
He took a deep breath, covered his face with his arms, and
sprinted across the room. He expected to feel sharp beaks and claws
tearing at him any second, but nothing happened. He reached the
door untouched. He pulled the handle, but it was locked.
The other two followed him. They tugged and heaved at the
door, but it wouldn’t budge, not even when Hermione tried her
Alohomora Charm.
“Now what?” said Ron.
“These birds . . . they can’t be here just for decoration,” said
Hermione.
They watched the birds soaring overhead, glittering — glitter-
ing?
“They’re not birds!” Harry said suddenly. “They’re keys! Winged
keys — look carefully. So that must mean . . .” he looked around
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