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

Harry’s other side.
    ‘We must be miles under the school,’ she said.
    ‘Lucky this plant thing’s here, really,’ said Ron.
    ‘Lucky!’ shrieked Hermione. ‘Look at you both!’
    She leapt up and struggled towards a damp wall. She had to struggle because the moment she had landed, the plant had started to twist snake-like tendrils around her ankles. As for Harry and Ron, their legs had already been bound tightly in long creepers without their noticing.
    Hermione had managed to free herself before the plant got a firm grip on her. Now she watched in horror as the two boys fought to pull the plant off them, but the more they strained against it, the tighter and faster the plant wound around them.
    ‘Stop moving!’ Hermione ordered them. ‘I know what this is – it’s Devil’s Snare!’
    ‘Oh, I’m so glad we know what it’s called, that’s a great help,’ snarled Ron, leaning back, trying to stop the plant curling around his neck.
    ‘Shut up, I’m trying to remember how to kill it!’ said Hermione.
    ‘Well, hurry up, I can’t breathe!’ Harry gasped, wrestling with it as it curled around his chest.
    ‘Devil’s Snare, Devil’s Snare … What did Professor Sprout say? It likes the dark and the damp –’
    ‘So light a fire!’ Harry choked.
    ‘Yes – of course – but there’s no wood!’ Hermione cried, wringing her hands.
    ‘HAVE YOU GONE MAD?’ Ron bellowed. ‘ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT?’
    ‘Oh, right!’ said Hermione, and she whipped out her wand, waved it, muttered something and sent a jet of the same bluebell flames she had used on Snape at the plant. In a matter of seconds, the two boys felt it loosening its grip as it cringed away from the light and warmth. Wriggling and flailing, it unravelled itself from their bodies and they were able to pull free.
    ‘Lucky you pay attention in Herbology, Hermione,’ said Harry as he joined her by the wall, wiping sweat off his face.
    ‘Yeah,’ said Ron, ‘and lucky Harry doesn’t lose his head in a crisis – “there’s no wood”, honestly. ’
    ‘This way,’ said Harry, pointing down a stone passageway which was the only way on.
    All they could hear apart from their footsteps was the gentle drip of water trickling down the walls. The passageway sloped downwards and Harry was reminded of Gringotts. With an unpleasant jolt of the heart, he remembered the dragons said to be guarding vaults in the wizards’ bank. If they met a dragon, a fully grown dragon – Norbert had been bad enough …
    ‘Can you hear something?’ Ron whispered.
    Harry listened. A soft rustling and clinking seemed to be coming 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 suppose if they all swooped down at once … Well, there’s nothing for it … 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 – glittering?
    ‘They’re not birds!’ Harry said suddenly, ‘they’re keys! Winged keys – look carefully. So that must mean …’ he looked around the chamber while the other two squinted up at the flock of keys. ‘… Yes – look! Broomsticks! We’ve got to catch the key to the door!’
    ‘But there are hundreds of them!’
    Ron examined the lock on the door.
    ‘We’re looking for a big, old-fashioned one – probably silver, like the handle.’
    They seized a broomstick each and kicked off into the air, soaring into the midst of the cloud of keys. They grabbed and snatched but the bewitched keys darted and dived so