 to the common room, his Nimbus Two
Thousand on his shoulder. He had just reached the portrait hole when
there was a clatter behind him and Colin Creevey came dashing down
the spiral staircase, his camera swinging madly around his neck and
something clutched in his hand.
"I heard someone saying your name on the stairs, Harry! Look what
I've got here! I've had it developed, I wanted to show you -"
*105*
Harry looked bemusedly at the photograph Colin was brandishing
under his nose.
A moving, black-and-white Lockhart was tugging hard on an arm
Harry recognized as his own. He was pleased to see that his
photographic self was putting up a good fight and refusing to be
dragged into view. As Harry watched, Lockhart gave up and
slumped, panting, against the white edge of the picture.
"Will you sign it?" said Colin eagerly.
"No," said Harry flatly, glancing around to check that the room was
really deserted. "Sorry, Colin, I'm in a hurry - Quidditch practice -"
He climbed through the portrait hole.
"Oh, wow! Wait for me! I've never watched a Quidditch game
before!"
Colin scrambled through the hole after him.
"It'll be really boring," Harry said quickly, but Colin ignored him, his
face shining with excitement.
"You were the youngest House player in a hundred years, weren't
you, Harry? Weren't you?" said Colin, trotting alongside him. "You
must be brilliant. I've never flown. Is it easy? Is that your own
broom? Is that the best one there is?"
91
Harry didn't know how to get rid of him. It was like having an
extremely talkative shadow.
"I don't really understand Quidditch," said Colin breathlessly. "Is it
true there are four balls? And two of them fly around trying to knock
people off their brooms?"
"Yes," said Harry heavily, resigned to explaining the complicated
rules of Quidditch. "They're called Bludgers. There are two Beaters
), *106*
on each team who carry clubs to beat the Bludgers away from their
side. Fred and George Weasley are the Gryffindor Beaters."
"And what are the other balls for?" Colin asked, tripping down a
couple of steps because he was gazing open-mouthed at Harry.
"Well, the Quafe - that's the biggish red one - is the one that scores
goals. Three Chasers on each team throw the Quaffle to each other
and try and get it through the goal posts at the end of the pitch -
they're three long poles with hoops on the end."
"And the fourth ball -"
"- is the Golden Snitch," said Harry, "and it's very small, very fast, and
difficult to catch. But that's what the Seeker's got to do, because a
game of Quidditch doesn't end until the Snitch has been caught. And
whichever team's Seeker gets the Snitch earns his team an extra
hundred and fifty points."
"And you're the Gryffindor Seeker, aren't you?" said Colin in awe.
"Yes," said Harry as they left the castle and started across the dewdrenched
grass. "And there's the Keeper, too. He guards the goal
posts. That's it, really."
But Colin didn't stop questioning Harry all the way down the sloping
lawns to the Quidditch field, and Harry only shook him off when he
reached the changing rooms; Colin called after him in a piping voice,
"I'll go and get a good seat, Harry!" and hurried off to the stands.
92
The rest of the Gryffindor team were already in the changing room.
Wood was the only person who looked truly awake. Fred and George
Weasley were sitting, puffy-eyed and touslehaired, next to fourth year
Alicia Spinnet, who seemed to be nodding off against the wall behind
her. Her fellow Chasers, Katie
*107*
Bell and Angelina Johnson, were yawning side by side opposite
them.
"There you are, Harry, what kept you?" said Wood briskly. "Now, I
wanted a quick talk with you all before we actually get onto the field,
because I spent the summer devising a whole new training program,
which I really think will make all the difference ....
Wood was holding up a large diagram of a Quidditch field, on which
were drawn many lines, arrows, and crosses in differentcolored inks.
He took out his wand, tapped the board, and the arrows began to
wiggle over the diagram like caterpillars. As Wood launched into a
speech about his new tactics, Fred Weasley's head drooped right
onto Alicia Spinnet's shoulder and he began to snore.
The first board took nearly twenty minutes to explain, but there was
another board under that, and a third under that one. Harry sank into
a stupor as Wood droned on and on.
"So," said Wood, at long last, jerking Harry from a wistful fantasy
about what he could be eating for breakfast at this very moment up
at the castle. "Is that clear? Any questions?"
"I've got a question, Oliver," said George, who had woken with a
start. "Why couldn't you have told us all this yesterday when we
were awake?"
Wood wasn't pleased.
"Now, listen here, you lot," he said, glowering at them all. "We
should have won the Quidditch cup last year. We're easily the best
team. But unfortunately -owing to circumstances beyond our control -
"
93
*108*
Harry shifted guiltily in his seat. He had been unconscious in the
hospital wing for the final match of the previous year, meaning that
Gryffindor had been a player short and had suffered their worst
defeat in three hundred years.
Wood took a moment to regain control of himself. Their last defeat
was clearly still torturing him.
"So this year, we train harder than ever before .... Okay, let's go and
put our new theories into practice!" Wood shouted, seizing his
broomstick and leading the way out of the locker rooms. Stifflegged
and still yawning, his team followed.
They had been in the locker room so long that the sun was up
completely now, although remnants of mist hung over the grass in the
stadium. As Harry walked onto the field, he saw Ron and Hermione
sitting in the stands.
"Aren't you finished yet?" called Ron incredulously.
"Haven't even started," said Harry, looking jealously at the toast and
marmalade Ron and Hermione had brought out of the Great Hall.
"Wood's been teaching us new moves."
He mounted his broomstick and kicked at the ground, soaring up into
the air. The cool morning air whipped his face, waking him far more
effectively than Wood's long talk. It felt wonderful to be back on the
Quidditch field. He soared right around the stadium at full speed,
racing Fred and George.
"What's that funny clicking noise?" called Fred as they hurtled around
the corner.
Harry looked into the stands. Colin was sitting in one of the highest
seats, his camera raised, taking picture after picture, the sound
strangely magnified in the deserted stadium.
*io9*
94
"Look this way, Harry! This way!" he cried shrilly.
"Who's that?" said Fred.
"No idea," Harry lied, putting on a spurt of speed that took him as far
away as possible from Colin.
"What's going on?" said Wood, frowning, as he skimmed through the
air toward them. "Why's that first year taking pictures? I don't like it.
He could be a Slytherin spy, trying to find out about our new training
program."
"He's in Gryffindor," said Harry quickly.
"And the Slytherins don't need a spy, Oliver," said George.
"What makes you say that?" said Wood testily.
"Because they're here in person," said George, pointing.
Several people in green robes were walking onto the field, broomsticks
in their hands.
"I don't believe it!" Wood hissed in outrage. "I booked the field for
today! We'll see about this!"
Wood shot toward the ground, landing rather harder than he meant to
in his anger, staggering slightly as he dismounted. Harry, Fred, and
George followed.
"Flint!" Wood bellowed at the Slytherin Captain. "This is our practice
time! We got up specially! You can clear off now!"
Marcus Flint was even larger than Wood. He had a look of trollish
cunning on his face as he replied, "Plenty of room for all of us, Wood."
Angelina, Alicia, and Katie had come over, too. There were no girls
on the Slytherin team, who stood shoulder to shoulder, facing the
Gryffindors, leering to a man.
"But I booked the field!" said Wood, positively spitting with rage. "I
booked it!"
95
*110*
"Ah," said Flint. "But I've got a specially signed note here from
Professor Snape. 'I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team
permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to
train their new Seeker."'
"You've got a new Seeker?" said Wood, distracted. "Where?"
And from behind the six large figures before them came a seventh,
smaller boy, smirking all over his pale, pointed face. It was Draco
Malfoy.
"Aren't you Lucius Malfoy's son?" said Fred, looking at Malfoy with
dislike.
"Funny you should mention Draco's father," said Flint as the whole
Slytherin team smiled still more broadly. "Let me show you the
generous gift he's made to the Slytherin team."
All seven of them held out their broomsticks. Seven highly polished,
brand-new handles and seven sets of fine gold lettering spelling the
words Nimbus Two Thousand and One gleamed under the Gryffindors'
noses in the early morning sun.
"Very latest model. Only came out last month," said Flint carelessly,
flicking a speck of dust from the end of his own. "I believe it outstrips
the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount. As for the old
Cleansweeps" - he smiled nastily at Fred and George, who were both
clutching Cleansweep Fives - "sweeps the board with them."
None of the Gryffindor team could think of anything to say for a
moment. Malfoy was smirking so broadly his cold eyes were reduced
to slits.
"Oh, look," said Flint. "A field invasion."
Ron and Hermione were crossing the grass to see what was going on.
*111*
96
"What's happening?" Ron asked Harry. "Why aren't you playing? And
what's he doing here?"
He was looking at Malfoy, taking in his Slytherin Quidditch robes.
"I'm the new Slytherin Seeker, Weasley," said Malfoy, smugly.
"Everyone's just been admiring the brooms my father's bought our
team.
Ron 