He looked around. Phineas Nigellus had appeared on the canvas of his portrait and was leaning against the frame, watching Harry with an amused expression on his face.
“Not running away, no,” said Harry shortly, dragging his trunk a few more feet across the room.
“I thought,” said Phineas Nigellus, stroking his pointed beard, “that to belong in Gryffindor house you were supposed to be brave! It looks to me as though you would have been better off in my own house. We Slytherins are brave, yes, but not stupid. For instance, given the choice, we will always choose to save our own necks.”
“It’s not my own neck I’m saving,” said Harry tersely, tugging the trunk over a patch of particularly uneven, moth-eaten carpet right in front of the door.
“Oh, I see,” said Phineas Nigellus, still stroking his beard, “this is no cowardly flight—you are being noble.”
Harry ignored him. His hand was on the doorknob when Phineas Nigellus said lazily, “I have a message for you from Albus Dumbledore.”