Malfoy and Crabbe weren’t there yet. The crystal trophy cases glimmered where the moonlight caught them. Cups, shields, plates and statues winked silver and gold in the darkness. They edged along the walls, keeping their eyes on the doors at either end of the room. Harry took out his wand in case Malfoy leapt in and started at once. The minutes crept by. ‘He’s late, maybe he’s chickened out,’ Ron whispered. Then a noise in the next room made them jump. Harry had only just raised his wand when they heard someone speak – and it wasn’t Malfoy. ‘Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner.’ It was Filch speaking to Mrs Norris. Horror-struck, Harry waved madly at the other three to follow him as quickly as possible; they scurried silently towards the door away from Filch’s voice. Neville’s robes had barely whipped round the corner when they heard Filch enter the trophy room. ‘They’re in here somewhere,’ they heard him mutter, ‘probably hiding.’