“I'll come with you!” said Neville brightly. “I haven't done it either!”

They didn't need telling twice. Hermione, gasping for breath, her lip bleeding, scrambled aside, snatching up her and Ron's wands. Ron crawled to the four-poster and collapsed onto it, panting, his white face now tinged with green, both hands clutching his broken leg.

“Jinxed? How could it be jinxed?”

“Don't be ridiculous, Weasley, how could he possibly have gotten through the portrait hole?”

“Yeah, I've been thinking about them too,” said Ron. “Harry, you've got to come and stay with us. I'll fix it up with Mum and Dad, then I'll call you. I know how to use a fellytone now —”

“You know, I reckon Ron was right about you,” Harry told Crookshanks suspiciously. “There are plenty of mice around this place — go and chase them. Go on,” he added, nudging Crookshanks down the spiral staircase with his foot. “Leave Scabbers alone.”

“It came from over there!” said Malfoy, wiping his face, and staring at a spot some six feet to the left of Harry.

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