Harry Potter 01 - Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone

too – never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said ‘s’ instead of ‘f’ and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest.’
    It was very difficult. Harry and Seamus swished and flicked, but the feather they were supposed to be sending skywards just lay on the desktop. Seamus got so impatient that he prodded it with his wand and set fire to it – Harry had to put it out with his hat.
    Ron, at the next table, wasn’t having much more luck.
    ‘Wingardium Leviosa!’ he shouted, waving his long arms like a windmill.
    ‘You’re saying it wrong,’ Harry heard Hermione snap. ‘It’s Wing- gar -dium Levi- o -sa, make the “gar” nice and long.’
    ‘You do it, then, if you’re so clever,’ Ron snarled.
    Hermione rolled up the sleeves of her gown, flicked her wand and said, ‘Wingardium Leviosa! ’
    Their feather rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their heads.
    ‘Oh, well done!’ cried Professor Flitwick, clapping. ‘Everyone see here, Miss Granger’s done it!’
    Ron was in a very bad temper by the end of the class.
    ‘It’s no wonder no one can stand her,’ he said to Harry as they pushed their way into the crowded corridor. ‘She’s a nightmare, honestly.’
    Someone knocked into Harry as they hurried past him. It was Hermione. Harry caught a glimpse of her face – and was startled to see that she was in tears.
    ‘I think she heard you.’
    ‘So?’ said Ron, but he looked a bit uncomfortable. ‘She must’ve noticed she’s got no friends.’
    Hermione didn’t turn up for the next class and wasn’t seen all afternoon. On their way down to the Great Hall for the Hallowe’en feast, Harry and Ron overheard Parvati Patil telling her friend Lavender that Hermione was crying in the girls’ toilets and wanted to be left alone. Ron looked still more awkward at this, but a moment later they had entered the Great Hall, where the Hallowe’en decorations put Hermione out of their minds.
    A thousand live bats fluttered from the walls and ceiling while a thousand more swooped over the tables in low black clouds, making the candles in the pumpkins stutter. The feast appeared suddenly on the golden plates, as it had at the start-of-term banquet.
    Harry was just helping himself to a jacket potato when Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the Hall, his turban askew and terror on his face. Everyone stared as he reached Professor Dumbledore’s chair, slumped against the table and gasped, ‘Troll – in the dungeons – thought you ought to know.’
    He then sank to the floor in a dead faint.
    There was uproar. It took several purple firecrackers exploding from the end of Professor Dumbledore’s wand to bring silence.
    ‘Prefects,’ he rumbled, ‘lead your houses back to the dormitories immediately!’
    Percy was in his element.
    ‘Follow me! Stick together, first-years! No need to fear the troll if you follow my orders! Stay close behind me, now. Make way, first-years coming through! Excuse me, I’m a Prefect!’
    ‘How could a troll get in?’ Harry asked as they climbed the stairs.
    ‘Don’t ask me, they’re supposed to be really stupid,’ said Ron. ‘Maybe Peeves let it in for a Hallowe’en joke.’
    They passed different groups of people hurrying in different directions. As they jostled their way through a crowd of confused Hufflepuffs, Harry suddenly grabbed Ron’s arm.
    ‘I’ve just thought – Hermione.’
    ‘What about her?’
    ‘She doesn’t know about the troll.’
    Ron bit his lip.
    ‘Oh, all right,’ he snapped. ‘But Percy’d better not see us.’
    Ducking down, they joined the Hufflepuffs going the other way, slipped down a deserted side corridor and hurried off towards the girls’ toilets. They had just turned the corner when they heard quick footsteps behind them.
    ‘Percy!’ hissed Ron, pulling Harry behind a large stone griffin.
    Peering around it, however, they saw not Percy but Snape. He crossed the corridor and disappeared from view.
    ‘What’s he doing?’ Harry whispered. ‘Why isn’t he down in the dungeons with the rest of the teachers?’
    ‘Search me.’
    Quietly as possible, they crept along the next corridor after Snape’s fading footsteps.
    ‘He’s heading for the third floor,’ Harry said, but Ron held up his hand.
    ‘Can you smell something?’
    Harry sniffed and a foul stench reached his nostrils, a mixture of old socks and the kind of public toilet no one seems to clean.
    And then they heard it – a low