“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 desperate.
“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!”
“Yes, but not to us,” said Ron in exasperation. “Neville, you don’t know what you’re doing.”
He took a step forward and Neville dropped Trevor the toad, who leapt out of sight.
“Go on then, try and hit me!” said Neville, raising his fists. “I’m ready!”
Harry turned to Hermione.
“Do something,” he said desperately.
Hermione stepped forward.
“Neville,” she said, “I’m really, really sorry about this.”
She raised her wand.
“Petrificus Totalus!” she cried, pointing it at Neville.
Neville’s arms snapped to his sides. His legs sprang together. His whole body rigid, he swayed where he stood and then fell flat on his face, stiff as a board.
Hermione ran to turn him over. Neville’s jaws were jammed together so he couldn’t speak. Only his eyes were moving, looking at them in horror.
“What’ve you done to him?” Harry whispered.
“It’s the full Body-Bind,” said Hermione miserably. “Oh, Neville, I’m so sorry.”
“We had to, Neville, no time to explain,” said Harry.
“You’ll understand later, Neville,” said Ron as they stepped over him and pulled on the Invisibility Cloak.
But leaving Neville lying motionless on the floor didn’t feel like a very good omen. In their nervous state, every statue’s shadow looked like Filch, every distant breath of wind sounded like Peeves swooping down on them.
At the foot of the first set of stairs, they spotted Mrs. Norris skulking near the top.
“Oh, let’s kick her, just this once,” Ron whispered in Harry’s ear, but Harry shook his head. As they climbed carefully around her, Mrs. Norris turned her lamplike eyes on them, but didn’t do anything.
They didn’t meet anyone else until they reached the staircase up to the third floor. Peeves was bobbing halfway up, loosening the carpet so that people would trip.
“Who’s there?” he said suddenly as they climbed toward him. He narrowed his wicked black eyes. “Know you’re there, even if I can’t see you. Are you ghoulie or ghostie or wee student beastie?”
He rose up in the air and floated there, squinting at them.
“Should call Filch, I should, if something’s a-creeping around unseen.”
Harry had a sudden idea.
“Peeves,” he said, in a hoarse whisper, “the Bloody Baron has his own reasons for being invisible.”
Peeves almost fell out of the air in shock. He caught himself in time and hovered about a foot off the stairs.
“So sorry, your bloodiness, Mr. Baron, sir,” he said greasily. “My mistake, my mistake — I didn’t see you — of course I didn’t, you’re invisible — forgive old Peevsie his little joke, sir.”
“I have business here, Peeves,” croaked Harry. “Stay away from this place tonight.”
“I will, sir, I most certainly will,” said Peeves, rising up in the air again. “Hope your business goes well, Baron, I’ll not bother you.”
And he scooted off.
“Brilliant, Harry!” whispered Ron.
A few seconds later, they were there, outside the third-floor corridor — and the door was already ajar.
“Well, there you are,” Harry said quietly, “Snape’s already got past Fluffy.”
Seeing the open door somehow seemed to impress upon all three of them what was facing them. Underneath the Cloak, Harry turned to the other two.
“If you want to go back, I won’t blame you,” he said. “You can take the Cloak, I won’t need it now.”
“Don’t be stupid,” said Ron.
“We’re coming,” said Hermione.
Harry pushed the door open.
As the door creaked, low, rumbling growls met their ears. All three of the dog’s noses sniffed madly in their direction, even though it couldn’t see them.
“What’s that at its feet?” Hermione whispered.
“Looks like a harp,” said Ron. “Snape must have left it there.”
“It must wake up the moment you stop playing,” said Harry. “Well, here goes . . .”
He put Hagrid’s flute to his lips and blew. It wasn’t really a tune, but from the first note the beast’s eyes began to droop. Harry hardly drew breath. Slowly, the dog’s growls ceased — it tottered on its paws and fell to its knees, then it slumped to the ground, fast asleep.
“Keep playing,” Ron warned Harry as they slipped out of the Cloak and crept toward the trapdoor. They could feel the dog’s hot, smelly breath as they approached the giant heads.
“I think we’ll be able to pull the door open,” said Ron, peering over the dog’s back. “Want to go first, Hermione?”
“No, I don’t!”
“All right.” Ron gritted his teeth and stepped carefully over the dog’s legs. He bent and pulled the ring of the trapdoor, which swung up and open.
“What can you see?” Hermione said anxiously.
“Nothing — just black — there’s no way of climbing down, we’ll just have to drop.”
Harry, who was still playing the flute, waved at Ron to get his attention and pointed at himself.
“You want to go first? Are you sure?” said Ron. “I don’t know how deep this thing goes. Give the flute to Hermione so she can keep him asleep.”