THE DEATHDAY PARTY
“What’s that thing — hanging underneath?” said Ron, a slight
quiver in his voice.
As they edged nearer, Harry almost slipped — there was a large
puddle of water on the floor; Ron and Hermione grabbed him, and
they inched toward the message, eyes fixed on a dark shadow be-
neath it. All three of them realized what it was at once, and leapt
backward with a splash.
Mrs. Norris, the caretaker’s cat, was hanging by her tail from the
torch bracket. She was stiff as a board, her eyes wide and staring.
For a few seconds, they didn’t move. Then Ron said, “Let’s get
out of here.”
“Shouldn’t we try and help —” Harry began awkwardly.
“Trust me,” said Ron. “We don’t want to be found here.”
But it was too late. A rumble, as though of distant thunder, told
them that the feast had just ended. From either end of the corridor
where they stood came the sound of hundreds of feet climbing the
stairs, and the loud, happy talk of well-fed people; next moment,
students were crashing into