It was a sphinx. It had the body of an over-large lion: great clawed paws and a long yellowish tail ending in a brown tuft. Its head, however, was that of a woman. She turned her long, almond-shaped eyes upon Harry as he approached. He raised his wand, hesitating. She was not crouching as if to spring, but pacing from side to side of the path, blocking his progress. Then she spoke, in a deep, hoarse voice.

“You are very near your goal. The quickest way is past me.”

“So . . . so will you move, please?” said Harry, knowing what the answer was going to be.

“No,” she said, continuing to pace. “Not unless you can answer my riddle. Answer on your first guess—I let you pass. Answer wrongly—I attack. Remain silent—I will let you walk away from me unscathed.”

Harry’s stomach slipped several notches. It was Hermione who was good at this sort of thing, not him. He weighed his chances. If the riddle was too hard, he could keep silent, get away from the sphinx unharmed, and try and find an alternative route to the center.

“Okay,” he said. “Can I hear the riddle?”

The sphinx sat down upon her hind legs, in the very middle of the path, and recited:

“First think of the person who lives in disguise,

Who deals in secrets and tells naught but lies.

Next, tell me what’s always the last thing to mend,

The middle of middle and end of the end?

And finally give me the sound often heard

During the search for a hard-to-find word.

Now string them together, and answer me this,

Which creature would you be unwilling to kiss?”

Harry gaped at her.

“Could I have it again . . . more slowly?” he asked tentatively.

She blinked at him, smiled, and repeated the poem.

“All the clues add up to a creature I wouldn’t want to kiss?” Harry asked.

She merely smiled her mysterious smile. Harry took that for a “yes.” Harry cast his mind around. There were plenty of animals he wouldn’t want to kiss; his immediate thought was a Blast-Ended Skrewt, but something told him that wasn’t the answer. He’d have to try and work out the clues . . .

“A person in disguise,” Harry muttered, staring at her, “who lies . . . er . . . that’d be a—an imposter. No, that’s not my guess! A—a spy? I’ll come back to that . . . could you give me the next clue again, please?”

She repeated the next lines of the poem.

“ ‘The last thing to mend,’ ” Harry repeated. “Er . . . no idea . . . ‘middle of middle’ . . . could I have the last bit again?”

She gave him the last four lines.

“ ‘The sound often heard during the search for a hard-to-find word,’ ” said Harry. “Er . . . that’d be . . . er . . . hang on—‘er’! Er’s a sound!”

The sphinx smiled at him.