Chapter no 9 – Midnight Duel

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone

ARRY never expected to meet another child he hated more than Dudley, but that was before he met Draco Malfoy. Luckily the Gryffindor first years were only with the Slytherins in Potions class, so they didn’t need to see Malfoy often. Or at least, that’s how it was until they saw a notice posted in the Gryffindor common room that made them all groan. Flying lessons will begin on Thursday

—and Gryffindor and Slytherin would study together.

“That’s terrible,” said Harry grimly. “This is what I really want.

Looking ridiculous on a broom in front of Malfoy.”

Harry actually couldn’t wait for flying lessons.

“You don’t necessarily look ridiculous,” said Ron sensibly. “Besides, I know Malfoy always brags about how good he is at Quidditch, but I bet that’s just talk.”

Malfoy did talk a lot about flying. He complained loudly about the first years not being allowed on the Quidditch team and told long, boastful stories that all ended with him nearly colliding with a helicopter. But Malfoy wasn’t the only one who told stories about flying. When we hear Seamus Finnigan’s story, we imagine that he spent his childhood traveling around the area

the countryside on his broomstick. Ron would even tell anyone who would listen, the story of the time he almost crashed a hang-glider with Charlie’s old broom. All the children who came from wizarding families talked incessantly about Quidditch. Ron had even had a big fight with Dean Thomas, who lived in the same dorm as them, about football. Ron couldn’t understand at all what the fun was in playing with only one ball and the players weren’t allowed to fly. Harry had once caught Ron poking Dean’s poster of the West Ham football team with his finger, trying to get the players to move.

Neville had never ridden a broom, because his grandmother wouldn’t let him near one. In his heart, Harry thought it was appropriate for Neville’s grandmother to decide that, because even on land with two legs, Neville could experience various strange accidents.

Hermione Granger was as anxious as Neville when it came to flying. This was a lesson that couldn’t be memorized or learned from books—but that didn’t mean he never tried. At breakfast on Thursday morning, he bored them all to death with flying tips he got from a library book called Quidditch Through the Ages. Neville listened intently, he was anxious to get anything that would help him stay on his broom later, but the other children were very pleased when Hermione’s lecture was interrupted by the arrival of the post.

Harry had never gotten another letter after Hagrid’s short letter. This immediately caught Malfoy’s attention, of course. Malfoy’s eagle owl always brought him packets of sweets from home, which he opened with a flourish at the Slytherin table.

A husky owl brings Neville a small parcel from his grandmother. Neville opened it excitedly to reveal a glass ball the size of a large marble, which seemed to be full of white smoke.

“It’s a Remembrall—a remember-all ball!” he explained. “Grandma knows I often forget—this ball tells us when there’s something we forgot to do. Look, hold her tight like this and if she turns red—oh….” Neville’s face panicked because the Remembrall suddenly glowed red, “…that means you forgot something…”

Neville was trying to remember what he had forgotten when Draco Malfoy, passing by the Gryffindor table, snatched the ball from his hands.

Harry and Ron immediately jumped to their feet. They had half expected to pick a fight with Malfoy, but Professor McGonagall, who could see the impending commotion faster than any teacher in the entire school, was there in an instant.

“What is it?”

“Malfoy took my Remembrall, Professor.”

Frowning, Malfoy quickly put the Remembrall back on the table.

“Just look,” he said, then walked away, followed by Crabbe and Goyle.

At half past four that afternoon, Harry, Ron and the rest of the Gryffindors rushed down the front steps into the courtyard to take their first flying lesson. It was a sunny day, with a light breeze and the grass swaying at their feet as they walked across the sloping grounds to a field overlooking the Forbidden Forest, whose trees waved ominously in the distance.

The Slytherins were already there, as were twenty brooms neatly lined up on the ground. Harry had heard Fred and George Weasley complain about the school brooms. They say some brooms start to shake if you fly too high, or there are also brooms that always point slightly to the left.

Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrives. He had short gray hair, with yellow eyes like an eagle’s.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” he snapped. ”Everyone stood next to the broom. Come on, quickly.”

Harry glanced at his broom. The broom was old and some of the string attached to the twigs was sticking out in strange directions.

“Stretch your right hand over the broom,” cried Madam Hooch at the front, “and say, ‘Up!’”

“GO ON!” everyone shouted.

Harry’s broom jumped into his hand, but it was only one of the few that did. Hermione’s broom just rolled across the ground, and…

Neville’s broom didn’t move at all. Maybe a broom, like a horse, can tell when you’re scared, Harry thought. There was a tremor in Neville’s voice that clearly indicated he wanted to keep his feet on the ground.

Madam Hooch then showed them how to ride a broom without it slipping off the end, and she walked back and forth adjusting their handles. Harry and Ron were delighted when Madam Hooch told Malfoy that for years he had been holding his broom wrong.

“When I blow my whistle, you hit the ground hard,” said Madam Hooch. “Hold your broom tightly, go up for about a meter, then immediately come down again by bending slightly forward. Watch the whistle—three—two…”

But Neville, nervous and anxious, and afraid of being left behind, trotted hard before the whistle touched Madam Hooch’s lips.

“Return!” shouted Madam Hooch, but Neville shot upwards like a cork out of a bottle… three meters… six meters. Harry saw Neville’s pale, frightened face looking at the ground receding away, saw him gasp in shock, slip off his broom and…

BLUG… CRACK… Neville fell prone on the grass. The broom continued to rise higher and higher and began to drift towards the Forbidden Forest, until finally it disappeared from sight.

Madam Hooch bent over Neville, her face as pale as Neville’s.

“Her wrist is broken,” Harry heard Madam Hooch mutter. “Come on, kid—it’s all right, get up.”

He turned to face the other students.

“None of you are allowed to move while I take this child to the hospital. Leave the brooms on the ground, otherwise you will be expelled from Hogwarts before you can say ‘Quidditch’. Come on, kid.”

Neville, his face streaked with tears, clutching her wrists, hobbled away in Madam Hooch’s arms.

As soon as they started to walk away, Malfoy burst out laughing. “Did you see his stupid face?”

The other Slytherins laughed too.

“Shut up, Malfoy,” said Parvati Patil.

“Ooh, defending Longbottom?” commented Pansy Parkinson, the fierce-looking girl from Slytherin. “I didn’t think you ‘d like fat, whiny models like that, Parvati.”

“Look!” said Malfoy. He jumped forward and grabbed something from the grass. “A bad ball sent by Longbottom’s grandmother.”

The Remembrall in Malfoy’s hand glistened in the sunlight.

“Bring it here, Malfoy,” said Harry calmly. Everyone stopped talking to watch.

Malfoy grinned annoyingly.

“Bring it here!” Harry shouted, but Malfoy had already jumped on his broom and was flying up. He’s not lying, he can fly well

—Soaring as high as the top branches of an oak tree, he called out, “Get it yourself, Potter!”

Harry grabbed his broom.

“Don’t!” screamed Hermione Granger. “Madam Hooch forbids us to move—you’ll make things difficult for us all.”

Harry ignored him. His ears were ringing. He got on his broom and hit the ground hard, and he went up. The wind was in his hair and his robes billowed behind him – and Harry was beyond thrilled when he realized he had found something he could do without needing to be taught – this was easy, this was incredibly fun. He lifted his broom slightly to make it rise higher and he heard the surprised screams of the girls below and Ron’s screams of admiration.

He turned his broom sharply to face Malfoy in the sky. Malfoy looked shocked.

“Give me the ball,” said Harry, “or I’ll push you off your broom!”

“Oh, yeah?” Malfoy said, trying to grin, but his face looked worried.

Harry knew what he had to do. He bent down slightly and held the broom tightly with both hands and it shot towards Malfoy. Malfoy almost got hit, but he managed to dodge at the last moment. Harry turned sharply and gripped his broom for more stability.

“There’s no Crabbe or Goyle here to save your neck, Malfoy,” said Harry.

The same thought apparently crossed Malfoy’s mind.

“Just catch it yourself if you can!” he shouted, and he threw the glass ball high into the sky, then Malfoy slid down.

Harry saw, as if in slow motion, the ball shoot up, then start to fall. He bent down and pointed the broom handle downwards. The next second he was hurtling down very fast, the wind roaring in his ears, mixed with the screams and shouts of the children watching. Harry reached out, about thirty inches from the ground he managed to snatch the ball, just in time for it to straighten his broom and fall softly onto the grass with the Remembrall safely in his grasp.


Harry’s heart sank, falling faster than his previous dive.

Professor McGonagall came running towards them. Harry stood, shaking.

“Never before— in all my time at Hogwarts…”

Professor McGonagall could barely speak in shock , her glasses glinting. “How dare you—you might break your neck…”

“It’s not her fault, Professor…” “Shut up, Miss Patil…”

“But Malfoy…”

“That’s enough, Mr Weasley. Potter, come with me now.”

Harry saw the triumphant faces of Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle as he walked frozen, following Professor McGonagall towards the castle. He wanted to say something to defend himself, but something was wrong with his voice. Professor McGonagall walked quickly, without even looking at him. Harry had to jog so as not to miss it. The history is over now. Even though he hasn’t been here for two weeks. In ten minutes he will pack his things. What would the Dursleys say if he showed up on their doorstep?

Up the front steps, up the marble stairs inside, and still Professor McGonagall hadn’t said a word to him. He opened the doors and walked down the corridors, while Harry followed him miserably. Maybe Professor McGonagall

took him to Dumbledore. Harry thought of Hagrid, who had been expelled but was still allowed to stay on as gamekeeper. Maybe he could be Hagrid’s assistant. His stomach knotted as he imagined watching Ron and his other friends become wizards, while he himself just wandered around the castle grounds, carrying Hagrid’s bag.

Professor McGonagall stopped in front of a classroom. He opened the door and stuck his head in.

“Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, may I borrow Wood for a moment?”

Wood —wood? thought Harry confused. Is Wood the name of the stick that will be used to beat him?

But Wood turned out to be a big, strapping fifth grader. He walked out of the classroom confused.

“Come with me, both of you,” said Professor McGonagall, and they walked down the corridor, Wood looking at Harry curiously.

“Come in here.”

Professor McGonagall pointed into the empty classroom, in which only Peeves was busy writing rude words on the blackboard.

“Get out, Peeves!” snapped Professor McGonagall. Peeves threw his chalk into the can, which clattered loudly, and he darted out swearing. Professor McGonagall slammed the door shut and turned to face the two children.

“Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Wood—I’ve got Seeker for you.” Seeker means seeker.

Wood’s expression changed from confusion to joy. “Are you serious, Professor?”

“One hundred percent,” said Professor McGonagall firmly. “This child is naturally talented. I’ve never seen anything like this. Was that your first time on a broom, Potter?”

Harry nodded silently. He didn’t understand what was going on at all, but he didn’t seem to be expelled, and little by little the feeling returned to his feet.

“He caught it in his hand after a fifteen-metre dive,” Professor McGonagall told Wood. “There are no injuries at all, not even scratches. Charlie Weasley alone wouldn’t be able to do it.”

Wood’s face changed, like a person who in an instant had all his dreams come true.

“Ever watch Quidditch, Potter?” Wood asked excitedly.

“Wood is the captain of the Gryffindor team,” explained Professor McGonagall.

“The body shape is also suitable for a Seeker,” said Wood, who was now walking around Harry and looking at him. “Light—fast

—we should give him a quick sweep, Professor—Nimbus Two Thousand or Sweep-Seven Seven, I think.”

“I’ll talk to Dumbledore, who knows maybe we might soften the rules about first years. We really need a better team than last year. Losing miserably to Slytherin in the last match, I didn’t dare look at Severus Snape for weeks….”

Professor McGonagall glared at Harry over the top of her glasses.

“I want to hear you’re training hard, Potter, otherwise I might change my mind. Maybe you should be punished.”

Suddenly he smiled.

“Your father would be very proud,” he said. “He’s a great Quidditch player himself.”

“You’re kidding .”

At that time they were having dinner. Harry had just finished telling Ron what happened when he left the field with Professor McGonagall. Ron was about to take a bite of the meat pie, he was halfway there, but it was forgotten.

Seeker he said. “But first-graders never—you must have been the youngest player ever…”

“… this century,” said Harry then put the pie in his mouth. He felt very hungry after the exciting events this afternoon. “Wood told me.”

Ron was so stunned, he just gaped at Harry. “I start training next week,” said Harry.

“But don’t tell anyone. Wood wanted to keep it a secret.”

Fred and George Weasley appeared in the hall. They saw Harry and rushed over.

“Good,” said George quietly. Wood told us.

We’re team members too—Beaters.” Apparently they both hit the ball.

“I’m telling you, we’re definitely going to win the Quidditch Cup this year,” said Fred. ”We haven’t won since Charlie left, but this year’s team will be brilliant. You must be great, Harry, Wood almost jumped up and down when he told us.”

“But we have to go. Lee Jordan thinks he has found a secret passage leading out of the school.”

“It’s a safe bet to find the passage behind the statue of Gregory the Licker, which we discovered in our first week here. See you.”

Just as Fred and George disappeared, another very unwanted child appeared. Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

“Last dinner, Potter? When are you taking the train back to the Muggle world?”

“You’re a lot braver now that you’re back on the ground and with your little friends,” said Harry calmly. Of course Crabbe and Goyle were by no means small, but with the High Table full of teachers, neither of them could do anything but crack their knuckles and frown.

“I’m ready to face you alone at any time,” said Malfoy. “Even tonight, if you want. Wizard duel. Sticks only—no contact. Why? Never heard of wizard duels, apparently?”

“Of course I have,” said Ron, turning to face them. “I’m both people. Who is your second in command?”

Malfoy looked at Crabbe and Goyle, assessing them.

“Crabbe,” he said. “Midnight tonight, okay? We met in the trophy room, that room is never locked.”

After Malfoy left, Ron and Harry looked at each other.

“What is a wizard duel?” Harry asked. “And what do you mean you will be my second in command?”

“Well, second in command is the one who will take over if you die,” said Ron casually, as he took a bite of his cold pie. Seeing the look on Harry’s face, he quickly added: “But people only die in real duels, between two real wizards. The most you and Malfoy could do was send sparks to each other. You two haven’t mastered enough magic to

create a major disaster. Besides, I’ll bet he’s hoping you’ll say no.”

“Then what if I wave my wand and nothing happens?”

“Just throw your stick and hit him in the nose,” suggested Ron. “Excuse me.”

They both looked up. Apparently Hermione Granger.

“Can’t we eat in peace here?” Ron commented. Hermione ignored him and spoke to Harry.

“I overheard you talking to Malfoy…” “Not surprising,” Ron muttered.

”…and you are not allowed to wander around the school at night. Think of the points that would be deducted from Gryffindor if you were caught, and you would be caught. You’re really selfish.”

“And it’s none of your business,” said Harry. “Goodbye,” said Ron.

This couldn’t be called a perfect end to the day, Harry thought as he lay, much later, waiting for Dean and Seamus to fall asleep. (Neville had not yet returned from the hospital.) Ron had spent the entire evening giving him advice, such as: “If he tries to curse you, you’d better just run away, because I don’t remember how to ward off a curse.” They would most likely be caught by Filch or Mrs Norris, and Harry felt he was hoping for too much luck by breaking another school rule today. But on the other hand, Malfoy’s mocking face kept appearing from the darkness—this was a great opportunity for him to confront Malfoy directly. Which might be missed.

“Half past twelve,” Ron finally mumbled. “We’d better go now.”

They put on their smocks, grabbed their wands, and crept across the tower room, down the spiral staircase, towards the Gryffindor common room. There were still tufts of embers in the fireplace, making all the armchairs look like black hunched shadows. They had almost reached the portrait hole when a voice came from the chair

“I can’t believe you would do that, Harry.”

A light comes on. It was Hermione Granger, wearing a pink nightgown, with a frown.

“You!” said Ron angrily. “Go back to sleep!”

“I almost told your sister,” Hermione snapped back. Percy

—he’s a Prefect, he’ll stop this.”

Harry was amazed that someone would be so willing to interfere in other people’s affairs.

“Come on,” he said to Ron. He pushed the painting of the Fat Lady and climbed down through the hole.

Hermione didn’t want to give up so easily. He followed Ron through the portrait hole, hissing at them like an angry goose.

“Don’t you care about Gryffindor? Do you only care about yourself? I don’t want Slytherin to win the House Cup and you guys will make up all the numbers I got from Professor McGonagall

—for knowing about the Exchange Spell—disappeared for free.” “Go away.”

“Okay, but I warned you, just remember what I said if you are on the train that will take you home tomorrow, you really are…”

But they never knew what Hermione would complain about. Hermione had turned to face the painting of the Fat Lady to go back inside, but found herself facing a blank canvas. The Fat Lady was paying a midnight visit and Hermione was locked out, unable to enter Gryffindor Tower.

“So, what should I do?” he asked loudly.

“That’s your business,” said Ron. “We have to go, we’re almost late.”

They hadn’t reached the end of the corridor when Hermione caught up to them.

“I’m coming with you,” he said. “No way.”

“You think I’m going to stand here and wait for Filch to catch me? If he finds the three of us, I’ll tell him the truth

told him that I was trying to prevent you, and you could support me.”

“How reckless…” said Ron loudly.

”Shut up, both of you!” Harry said firmly. “I heard something.”

Some kind of sob.

“Mrs Norris?” whispered Ron, squinting through the darkness.

It turns out it wasn’t Mrs Norris, but Neville. He was curled up on the floor, fast asleep, but awoke with a start when they approached.

“Good thing you found me! I’ve been out here for hours. I don’t remember the new password to enter the room.”

“Speak slowly, Neville. The key word is ‘pig’s snout’, but that won’t help you now, the Fat Lady is somewhere.”

“How is your hand?” Harry asked.

“It’s healed,” said Neville, showing his hands. “Madam Pomfrey fixed it within a minute.”

“Good—well, look, Neville, we have to go, see you later…” “Don’t leave me!” said Neville, standing hastily. “I do not want

here alone, the Bloody Baron has already passed twice.”

Ron looked at his watch and looked angrily at Hermione and Neville.

“If one of us is caught, I’ll work hard to master the Bogies Curse that Quirrell told us about and use it on you.”

Hermione opened her mouth, probably to tell Ron exactly how to use the Bogies Curse, but Harry hissed, shushing her and gesturing for them all to follow him.

They slipped along the corridors illuminated by the moonlight that came in through the tall windows. At every turn, Harry expected to meet Filch or Mrs Norris, but they were out of luck. They hurried up the stairs to the third floor and tiptoed into the trophy room.

Malfoy and Crabbe weren’t there yet. Crystal trophy cases glistened in the moonlight. Trophies, shields, plaques and statues

gold and silver gleamed in the darkness. They tiptoed along the walls, their eyes fixed on the doors at either end of the room. Harry took out his wand, who knew Malfoy would jump in and immediately attack. Minute after minute passed.

“He’s late, probably didn’t dare come,” Ron whispered.

Then a sound in the next room made them jump. Harry had only raised his wand when they heard someone talking – and it wasn’t Malfoy.

“Sigh, sweet cat, they might be hiding in the corner.”

It was Filch’s voice speaking to Mrs Norris. Terrified, Harry waved frantically for his three friends to follow him as quickly as possible. They crept towards the door, away from Filch’s voice. Neville’s cloak had just disappeared, as he turned the corner, when they heard Filch come into the trophy room.

“They’re in here,” the kids heard Filch mutter, “probably hiding.”

“Come here!” Harry called out silently, and in terror, they crept down the armored gallery. They could hear Filch getting closer. Suddenly Neville yelped in terror and ran – he tripped, threw his arms around Ron’s waist and both fell through a set of armour.

The sound of banging and clanging was enough to wake up the entire school.

“RUN!” Harry shouted and the four of them shot to the end of the gallery, not looking back to see if Filch was following them. They went out the door and ran turning down one corridor and then another, Harry in front with no idea where they were or where they were going. They broke through the hanging tapestry and came to a hidden passage, ran along it and came out again near the Charms and Charms classroom, which they knew was a long way from the trophy room.

“I think we’re rid of him,” Harry said breathlessly, leaning against the cold wall and wiping his forehead. Neville bent over in half, sighing and squeezing nervously.

“I… I told you … didn’t I,” Hermione gasped, clutching her shirt to her chest. ”I… I told you… didn’t I.”

“We have to get back to Gryffindor Tower,” said Ron, “as quickly as possible.”

“Malfoy set you up,” Hermione said to Harry. “You realize now, right? He wasn’t planning on seeing you anyway—Filch knew a kid would be in the trophy room. Malfoy must have filled it in.”

Harry thought Hermione might be right, but he wasn’t going to say it.

“Let’s go.”

It won’t be that easy. They hadn’t gone more than twelve steps when the doorknob rattled and something shot out of the classroom in front of them.

It was Peeves. She saw them and screamed in pleasure.

“Shut up, Peeves—please, shut up—you’ll get us expelled.” Peeves laughed.

“Going for a walk in the middle of the night, first graders? Tsk, tsk, tsk.

Badung, badung, badung, you will be cornered.”

“Not if you don’t rat us out, Peeves. Don’t do it, Peeves.”

“You have to say Filch, you have to,” said Peeves in a pious voice, but with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “For your own good.”

“Get out of the way,” said Ron, throwing a punch at Peeves.

That was a big mistake.


Bending past Peeves, they ran to the end of the corridor, where they hit a door—and it was locked.

“Woe!” Ron groaned, while they pushed on the door to no avail. “We’re finished!”

They could hear footsteps, Filch running as fast as he could in the direction of Peeves’ scream.

“Oh, get out of the way,” Hermione snapped. He seized Harry’s wand, tapped the key and whispered, “Alohomora!”

The lock clicked and the door burst open—they squeezed in, quickly closed it again, then put their ear to the door, listening.

“Where are they going, Peeves?” asked Filch. “Quick, tell me.”

“Say ‘please’ first.”

“Don’t joke around, Peeves, where did they go ?”

“I won’t say anything if you don’t say please,” said Peeves in an annoyingly flat voice.

“Okay— please .”

“ANYTHING! Ha ha ha! I told you I wouldn’t say anything if you didn’t say help! Ha ha haaaaa!” And they heard the whir of Peeves flying away and Filch cursing furiously.

“He thought the door was locked,” Harry whispered. “I think we’re safe – what’s going on , Neville!” Because Neville had been tugging at Harry’s shirt for the past minute. “What?”

Harry turned around—and saw clearly. For a moment he thought he was having a nightmare—this was too much, considering everything that had happened.

They weren’t in a room, like he thought. They are in the corridor. Forbidden corridor on the third floor. And now they know why the corridor is off-limits.

They looked right into the eyes of a giant dog, a dog that filled the entire space between the ceiling and the floor. It had three heads, with three pairs of fierce, swiveling eyes, three noses that moved to sniff at them, three snouts dripping with saliva—hanging like slippery ropes—from yellowish fangs.

The dog stood still, all six eyes staring at them, and Harry knew the only reason they weren’t dead yet was because their sudden appearance had startled the dog. But the dog quickly got over his surprise, as was clear from his terrible growls.

Harry grabbed the door handle. Between Filch and death, he preferred Filch.

They collapsed backwards—Harry slammed the door shut, and they ran, almost flying in fact, back down the corridor in the opposite direction. Filch must have hurriedly gone looking for them elsewhere, because they didn’t see him anywhere. But they didn’t care—all they wanted was to put as much distance between themselves and the monster as possible. They didn’t stop running until they arrived in front of the painting of the Fat Lady on the seventh floor.

“Where have you guys been?” asked the madam, looking at their nightgowns that had slipped down their shoulders and their red, sweaty faces.

“You don’t need to know – pig’s snout, pig’s snout,” said Harry breathlessly, and the painting swung forward. They scrambled into the common room and collapsed in armchairs.

It took a while before they could say anything. Neville didn’t even seem like he would talk again forever.

“What do they mean by locking such an animal inside the school?” said Ron finally. “If there’s a dog that needs to be walked, well, it’s that dog.”

Hermione had regained her breath and energy.

“You guys don’t use your eyes, do you?” he snapped. “Didn’t you see where he was standing?”

“Floor?” Harry guessed. “I didn’t look at his feet, I was too busy with his head.”

“No, not the floor. The dog was standing on top of the trap door. Obviously he was guarding something.”

Hermione stood up, glaring at them.

”I hope you are now satisfied. We could all die—or worse, be expelled. Well, now if you don’t mind, I’m going to sleep.”

Ron gaped at him.

“No, we don’t mind,” he said. “You think we’re forcing you to come along?”

But Hermione had given Harry something else to think about as he climbed back into his bed. The dog was guarding something… What did Hagrid say? Gringotts was the safest place in the world if you wanted to hide something—except maybe Hogwarts.

It seemed Harry had found where the dingy little package from vault seven hundred and thirteen was.

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