CORNELIUS FUDGE
drier, and the evening before Saturday’s match he went up to his
dormitory to drop off his broomstick feeling Gryffindor’s chances
for the Quidditch Cup had never been better.
But his cheerful mood didn’t last long. At the top of the stairs
to the dormitory, he met Neville Longbottom, who was looking
frantic.
“Harry — I don’t know who did it — I just found —”
Watching Harry fearfully, Neville pushed open the door.
The contents of Harry’s trunk had been thrown everywhere. His
cloak lay ripped on the floor. The bedclothes had been pulled off
his four-poster and the drawer had been pulled out of his bedside
cabinet, the contents strewn over the mattress.
Harry walked over to the bed, openmouthed, treading on a few
loose pages of Travels with Trolls. As he and Neville pulled the blan-
kets back onto his bed, Ron, Dean, and Seamus came in. Dean
swore loudly.
“What happened, Harry?”
“No idea,” said Harry. But Ron was examining Harry’s robes. All
the pockets were hanging out.
“Someone’s been looking for something,” said Ron. “Is there
anything missing?”
Harry started to pick up all his things and throw them into his
trunk. It was only as he threw the last of the Lockhart books back
into it that he realized what wasn’t