CHAPTER ELEVEN
“If I ever find out who threw this,” Snape whispered, “I shall
make sure that person is expelled.”
Harry arranged his face into what he hoped was a puzzled ex-
pression. Snape was looking right at him, and the bell that rang ten
minutes later could not have been more welcome.
“He knew it was me,” Harry told Ron and Hermione as they
hurried back to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. “I could tell.”
Hermione threw the new ingredients into the cauldron and be-
gan to stir feverishly.
“It’ll be ready in two weeks,” she said happily.
“Snape can’t prove it was you,” said Ron reassuringly to Harry.
“What can he do?”
“Knowing Snape, something foul,” said Harry as the potion
frothed and bubbled.
A week later, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were walking across the
entrance hall when they saw a small knot of people gathered
around the notice board, reading a piece of parchment that had
just been pinned up. Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas beck-
oned them over, looking excited.
“They’re starting a Dueling Club!” said Seamus. “First meeting
tonight! I wouldn’t mind dueling lessons; they might come in
handy one of these days. . . .”
“What, you reckon Slytherin’s monster can duel?” said Ron, but
he, too, read the sign with interest.
“Could be useful,” he said to Harry and Hermione as they went
into dinner. “Shall we go?”
Harry and Hermione were all for it, so at eight o’clock that
188