CHAPTER TWELVE
ping carefully over the rope that separated these books from the
rest of the library, he held up his lamp to read the titles.
They didn’t tell him much. Their peeling, faded gold letters
spelled words in languages Harry couldn’t understand. Some had
no title at all. One book had a dark stain on it that looked horribly
like blood. The hairs on the back of Harry’s neck prickled. Maybe
he was imagining it, maybe not, but he thought a faint whispering
was coming from the books, as though they knew someone was
there who shouldn’t be.
He had to start somewhere. Setting the lamp down carefully
on the floor, he looked along the bottom shelf for an interesting-
looking book. A large black and silver volume caught his eye. He
pulled it out with difficulty, because it was very heavy, and, balanc-
ing it on his knee, let it fall open.
A piercing, bloodcurdling shriek split the silence — the book
was screaming! Harry snapped it shut, but the shriek went on and
on, one high, unbroken, earsplitting note. He stumbled backward
and knocked over his lamp, which went out at once. Panicking, he
heard footsteps coming down the corridor outside — stuffing the
shrieking book back on the shelf, he ran for it. He passed Filch in
the doorway; Filch’s pale, wild eyes looked straight through him,
and Harry slipped under Filch’s outstretched arm and streaked off
up the corridor, the book’s shrieks still ringing in his ears.
He came to a sudden halt in front of a tall suit of armor. He had
been so busy getting away from the library, he hadn’t paid attention
to where he was going. Perhaps because it was dark, he didn’t rec-
ognize where he was at all. There was a suit of armor near the
kitchens, he knew, but he must be five floors above there.
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