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"
What
're
we
doing
,
Professor
?
"
said
Ron
,
nervously
suppressing
a
burp
.
"
You
will
be
polishing
the
silver
in
the
trophy
room
with
Mr.
Filch
,
"
said
Professor
McGonagall
.
"
And
no
magic
,
Weasley
-
elbow
grease
.
"
Ron
gulped
.
Argus
Filch
,
the
caretaker
,
was
loathed
by
every
student
in
the
school
.
"
And
you
,
Potter
,
will
be
helping
Professor
Lockhart
answer
his
fan
mail
,
"
said
Professor
McGonagall
.
"
Oh
n
-
Professor
,
ca
n't
I
go
and
do
the
trophy
room
,
too
?
"
said
Harry
desperately
.
"
Certainly
not
,
"
said
Professor
McGonagall
,
raising
her
eyebrows
.
"
Professor
Lockhart
requested
you
particularly
.
Eight
o'clock
sharp
,
both
of
you
.
"
Harry
and
Ron
slouched
into
the
Great
Hall
in
states
of
deepest
gloom
,
Hermione
behind
them
,
wearing
a
well-you-did-break-school-rules
sort
of
expression
.
Harry
did
n't
enjoy
his
shepherd
's
pie
as
much
as
he
'd
thought
.
Both
he
and
Ron
felt
they
'd
got
the
worse
deal
.
"
Filch
'll
have
me
there
all
night
,
"
said
Ron
heavily
.
"
No
magic
!
There
must
be
about
a
hundred
cups
in
that
room
.
I
'm
no
good
at
Muggle
cleaning
.
"
"
I
'd
swap
anytime
,
"
said
Harry
hollowly
.
"
I
've
had
loads
of
practice
with
the
Dursleys
.
Answering
Lockhart
's
fan
mail
...
he
'll
be
a
nightmare
...
"
Saturday
afternoon
seemed
to
melt
away
,
and
in
what
seemed
like
no
time
,
it
was
five
minutes
to
eight
,
and
Harry
was
dragging
his
feet
along
the
second-floor
corridor
to
Lockhart
's
office
.
He
gritted
his
teeth
and
knocked
.
