THE SORTING HAT
staircases, yawning and dragging their feet, and Harry was just
wondering how much farther they had to go when they came to a
sudden halt.
A bundle of walking sticks was floating in midair ahead of them,
and as Percy took a step toward them they started throwing them-
selves at him.
“Peeves,” Percy whispered to the first years. “A poltergeist.” He
r aised his voice, “Peeves — show yourself.”
A loud, rude sound, like the air being let out of a balloon, an-
swered.
“Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?”
There was a pop, and a little man with wicked, dark eyes and a
wide mouth appeared, floating cross-legged in the air, clutching the
walking sticks.
“Oooooooh!” he said, with an evil cackle. “Ickle Firsties! What
fun!”
He swooped suddenly at them. They all ducked.
“Go away, Peeves, or the Baron’ll hear about this, I mean it!”
barked Percy.
Peeves stuck out his tongue and vanished, dropping the walking
sticks on Neville’s head. They heard him zooming away, rattling
coats of armor as he passed.
“You want to watch out for Peeves,” said Percy, as they set off
again. “The Bloody Baron’s the only one who can control him, he
won’t even listen to us prefects. Here we are.”
At the very end of the corridor hung a portrait of a very fat
woman in a pink silk dress.
“Password?” she said.
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