THROUGH THE TRAPDOOR
Harry did the best he could, trying to ignore the stabbing pains
in his forehead, which had been bothering him ever since his trip
into the forest. Neville thought Harry had a bad case of exam
nerves because Harry couldn’t sleep, but the truth was that Harry
kept being woken by his old nightmare, except that it was now
worse than ever because there was a hooded figure dripping blood
in it.
Maybe it was because they hadn’t seen what Harry had seen in
the forest, or because they didn’t have scars burning on their fore-
heads, but Ron and Hermione didn’t seem as worried about the
Stone as Harry. The idea of Voldemort certainly scared them, but
he didn’t keep visiting them in dreams, and they were so busy with
their studying they didn’t have much time to fret about what Snape
or anyone else might be up to.
Their very last exam was History of Magic. One hour of an-
swering questions about batty old wizards who’d invented self-
stirring cauldrons and they’d be free, free for a whole wonderful
week until their exam results came out. When the ghost of Profes-
sor Binns told them to put down their quills and roll up their
parchment, Harry couldn’t help cheering with the rest.
“That was far easier than I thought it would be,” said Hermione
as they joined the crowds flocking out onto the sunny grounds. “I
needn’t have learned about the 1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct or
the uprising of Elfric the Eager.”
Hermione always liked to go through their exam papers after-
ward, but Ron said this made him feel ill, so they wandered down
to the lake and flopped under a tree. The Weasley twins and Lee
Jordan were tickling the tentacles of a giant squid, which was bask-
ing in the warm shallows.
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