GILDEROY LOCKHART
streamed in, circling the hall and dropping letters and packages
into the chattering crowd. A big, lumpy package bounced off
Neville’s head and, a second later, something large and gray fell into
Hermione’s jug, spraying them all with milk and feathers.
“Errol !” said Ron, pulling the bedraggled owl out by the feet. Er-
rol slumped, unconscious, onto the table, his legs in the air and a
damp red envelope in his beak.
“Oh, no —” Ron gasped.
“It’s all right, he’s still alive,” said Hermione, prodding Errol
gently with the tip of her finger.
“It’s not that — it’s that.”
Ron was pointing at the red envelope. It looked quite ordinary
to Harry, but Ron and Neville were both looking at it as though
they expected it to explode.
“What’s the matter?” said Harry.
“She’s — she’s sent me a Howler,” said Ron faintly.
“You’d better open it, Ron,” said Neville in a timid whisper. “It’ll
be worse if you don’t. My gran sent me one once, and I ignored it
and” — he gulped — “it was horrible.”
Harry looked from their petrified faces to the red envelope.
“What’s a Howler?” he said.
But Ron’s whole attention was fixed on the letter, which had be-
gun to smoke at the corners.
“Open it,” Neville urged. “It’ll all be over in a few minutes —”
Ron stretched out a shaking hand, eased the envelope from Er-
rol’s beak, and slit it open. Neville stuffed his fingers in his ears. A
split second later, Harry knew why. He thought for a moment it
had exploded; a roar of sound filled the huge hall, shaking dust
from the ceiling.
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