George looked up in time to see Malfoy pretending to faint with terror
again.
"That little git," he said calmly. "He wasn't so cocky last night when
the dementors were down at our end of the train. Came runing into our
compartment, didn't he, Fred?"
"Nearly wet himself," said Fred, with a contemptuous glance at Malfoy.
"I wasn't too happy myself," said George. "They're horrible things,
those dementors...."
"Sort of freeze your insides, don't they?" said Fred.
"You didn't pass out, though, did you?" said Harry in a low voice.
"Forget it, Harry," said George bracingly. "Dad had to go out to Azkaban
one time, remember, Fred? And he said it was the worst place he'd ever
been, he came back all weak and shaking.... They suck the happiness out
of a place, dementors. Most of the prisoners go mad in there."
"Anyway, we'll see how happy Malfoy looks after our first Quidditch
match," said Fred. "Gryffindor versus Slytherin, first game of the
season, remember?"
The only time Harry and Malfoy had faced each other in a Quidditch
match, Malfoy had definitely come off worse. Feeling slightly more
cheerful, Harry helped himself to sausages and fried tomatoes.
78
Hermione was examining her new schedule.
" Ooh, good, we're starting some new subjects today," she said happily.
villains are these, that trespass upon my private lands! Come I. scorn
at my fall, perchance? Draw, you knaves, you dogs!"
They watched in astonishment as the little knight tugged his sword out
of its scabbard and began brandishing it violently, hopping up and down
in rage. But the sword was too long for him; a particularly wild swing
made him overbalance, and he landed facedown in the grass.
"Are you all right?" said Harry, moving closer to the picture.
"Get back, you scurvy braggart! Back, you rogue!"
The knight seized his sword again and used it to push himself back up,
but the blade sank deeply into the grass and, though he pulled with all
his might, he couldn't get it out again. Finally, he had to flop back
down onto the grass and push up his visor to mop his sweating face.
"Listen," said Harry, taking advantage of the knight's exhaustion,
"we're looking for the North Tower. You don't know the way, do you?"
"A quest!" The knight's rage seemed to vanish instantly. He clanked to
his feet and shouted, "Come follow me, dear friends, and we shall find
our goal, or else shall perish bravely in the charge!"
He gave the sword another fruitless tug, tried and failed to mount the
fat pony, gave up, and cried, "On foot then, good sirs and gentle lady!
On! On!"
And he ran, clanking loudly, into the left side of the frame and out of
sight.
They hurried after him along the corridor, following the sound of his
armor. Every now and then they spotted him running through a picture
ahead.
"Be of stout heart, the worst is yet to come!" yelled the knight, and
they saw him reappear in front of an alarmed group of women in
79
crinolines, whose picture hung on the wall of a narrow spiral staircase.