J.K.Rowling. Harry Potter and the sorcerer's stone
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... began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but theycaught every word — like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of
keeping a class silent without effort. "As there is little foolish
wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't
expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering
cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep
through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses.... I can
teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death — if you
aren't
as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."
More silence followed this little speech. Harry and Ron exchanged looks
with raised eyebrows. Hermione Granger was on the edge of her seat and
looked desperate to start proving that she wasn't a dunderhead.
"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered
root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Powdered root of what to an infusion of what? Harry glanced at Ron, who
looked as stumped as he was; Hermione's hand had shot into the air.
"I don't know, sit," said Harry.
Snape's lips curled into a sneer.
"Tut, tut — fame clearly isn't everything."
He ignored Hermione's hand.
"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me
a bezoar?"
Hermione stretched her hand as high into the air as it would go without
her leaving her seat, but Harry didn't have the faintest idea what a bezoar
was. He tried not to look at Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who were shaking
with laughter.
"I don't know, sir."
"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?" Harry
forced himself to keep looking straight into those cold eyes. He had looked
through his books at the Dursleys', but did Snape expect him to remember
everything in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi?
Snape was still ignoring Hermione's quivering hand.
"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
At this, Hermione stood up, her hand stretching toward the dungeon
ceiling.
"I don't know," said Harry quietly. "I think Hermione does, though, why
don't you try her?"
A few people laughed; Harry caught Seamus's eye, and Seamus winked.
Snape, however, was not pleased.
"Sit down," he snapped at Hermione. "For your information, Potter,
asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the
Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a
goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane,
they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why
aren't you all copying that down?"
There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Over the noise,
Snape said, "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek,
Potter."
Things didn't improve for the Gryffindors as the Potions lesson
continued. Snape put them all into pairs and set them to mixing up a simple
potion to cure boils. He swept around in his long black cloak, watching them
weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing almost everyone
except Malfoy, whom he seemed to like. He was just telling everyone to look
at the perfect way Malfoy had stewed his horned slugs when clouds of acid
green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon. Neville had somehow
managed to melt Seamus's cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion was
seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes. Within
seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools while Neville, who had
been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as
angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.
"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one
wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking
the cauldron off the fire?"
Neville whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose.
"Take him up to the hospital wing," Snape spat at Seamus. Then he
rounded on Harry and Ron, who had been working next to Neville.
"You — Potter — why didn't you tell him not to add the quills?
Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another
point you've lost for Gryffindor."
This was so unfair that Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Ron kicked
him behind their cauldron.
"Don't push it," he muttered, "I've heard Snape can turn very nasty."
As they climbed the steps out of the dungeon an hour later, Harry's
mind was racing and his spirits were low. He'd lost two points for
Gryffindor in his very first week — why did Snape hate him so much? "Cheer
up," said Ron, "Snape's always taking points off Fred and George. Can I come
and meet Hagrid with you?"
At five to three they left the castle and made their way across the
grounds. Hagrid lived in a small wooden house on the edge of the forbidden
forest. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside the front door.
When Harry knocked they heard a frantic scrabbling from inside and
several booming barks. Then Hagrid's voice rang out, saying, "Back, Fang --
back."
Hagrid's big, hairy face appeared in the crack as he pulled the door
open.
"Hang on," he said. "Back, Fang."
He let them in, struggling to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous
black boarhound.
There was only one room inside. Hams and pheasants were hanging from
the ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling on the open fire, and in the corner
stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it.
"Make yerselves at home," said Hagrid, letting go of Fang, who bounded
straight at Ron and started licking his ears. Like Hagrid, Fang was clearly
not as fierce as he looked.
"This is Ron," Harry told Hagrid, who was pouring boiling water into a
large teapot and putting rock cakes onto a plate.
"Another Weasley, eh?" said Hagrid, glancing at Ron's freckles. I spent
half me life chasin' yer twin brothers away from the forest."
The rock cakes were shapeless lumps with raisins that almost broke
their teeth, but Harry and Ron pretended to be enjoying them as they told
Hagrid all about their first -lessons. Fang rested his head on Harry's knee
and drooled all over his robes.
Harry and Ron were delighted to hear Hagrid call Fitch "that old git."
"An' as fer that cat, Mrs. Norris, I'd like ter introduce her to Fang
sometime. D'yeh know, every time I go up ter the school, she follows me
everywhere? Can't get rid of her — Fitch puts her up to it."
Harry told Hagrid about Snape's lesson. Hagrid, like Ron, told Harry
not to worry about it, that Snape liked hardly any of the students.
"But he seemed to really hate me."
"Rubbish!" said Hagrid. "Why should he?"
Yet Harry couldn't help thinking that Hagrid didn't quite meet his eyes
when he said that.
"How's yer brother Charlie?" Hagrid asked Ron. "I liked him a lot --
great with animals."
Harry wondered if Hagrid had changed the subject on purpose. While Ron
told Hagrid all about Charlie's work with dragons, Harry picked up a piece
of paper that was lying on the table under the tea cozy. It was a cutting
from the Daily Prophet:
GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST
Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July,
widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown.
Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault
that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day.
"But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if
you know what's good for you," said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon.
Harry remembered Ron telling him on the train that someone had tried to
rob Gringotts, but Ron hadn't mentioned the date.
"Hagrid!" said Harry, "that Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday!
It might've been happening while we were there!"
There was no doubt about it, Hagrid definitely didn't meet Harry's eyes
this time. He grunted and offered him another rock cake. Harry read the
story again. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied earlier
that same day. Hagrid had emptied vault seven hundred and thirteen, if you
could call it emptying, taking out that grubby little package. Had that been
what the thieves were looking for?
As Harry and Ron walked back to the castle for dinner, their pockets
weighed down with rock cakes they'd been too polite to refuse, Harry thought
that none of the lessons he'd had so far had given him as much to think
about as tea with Hagrid. Had Hagrid collected that package just in time?
Where was it now? And did Hagrid know something about Snape that he didn't
want to tell Harry?
CHAPTER NINE
THE MIDNIGHT DUEL
Harry had never believed he would meet a boy he hated more than Dudley,
but that was before he met Draco Malfoy.
Still, first-year Gryffindors only had Potions with the Slytherins, so
they didn't have to
put up with Malfoy much. Or at least, they didn't until they spotted a
notice pinned up in the Gryffindor common room that made them all groan.
Flying lessons would be starting on Thursday — and Gryffindor and Slytherin
would be learning together.
"Typical," said Harry darkly. "Just what I always wanted. To make a
fool of myself on a broomstick in front of Malfoy."
He had been looking forward to learning to fly more than anything else.
"You don't know that you'll make a fool of yourself," said Ron
reasonably. "Anyway, I know Malfoy's always going on about how good he is at
Quidditch, but I bet that's all talk."
Malfay certainly did talk about flying a lot. He complained loudly
about first years never getting on the house Quidditch teams and told long,
boastful stories that always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping
Muggles in helicopters. He wasn't the only one, though: the way Seamus
Finnigan told it, he'd spent most of his childhood zooming around the
countryside on his broomstick. Even Ron would tell anyone who'd listen about
the time he'd almost hit a hang glider on Charlie's old broom. Everyone from
wizarding families talked about Quidditch constantly. Ron had already had a
big argument with Dean Thomas, who shared their dormitory, about soccer. Ron
couldn't see what was exciting about a game with only one ball where no one
was allowed to fly. Harry had caught Ron prodding Dean's poster of West Ham
soccer team, trying to make the players move.
Neville had never been on a broomstick in his life, because his
grandmother had never let him near one. Privately, Harry felt she'd had good
reason, because Neville managed to have an extraordinary number of accidents
even with both feet on the ground.
Hermione Granger was almost as nervous about flying as Neville was.
This was something you couldn't learn by heart out of a book — not that she
hadn't tried. At breakfast on Thursday she bored them all stupid with flying
tips she'd gotten out of a library book called Quidditch Through the Ages.
Neville was hanging on to her every word, desperate for anything that might
help him hang on to his broomstick later, but everybody else was very
pleased when Hermione's lecture was interrupted by the arrival of the mail.
Harry hadn't had a single letter since Hagrid's note, something that
Malfoy had been quick to notice, of course. Malfoy's eagle owl was always
bringing him packages of sweets from home, which he opened gloatingly at the
Slytherin table.
A barn owl brought Neville a small package from his grandmother. He
opened it excitedly and showed them a glass ball the size of a large marble,
which seemed to be full of white smoke.
"It's a Remembrall!" he explained. "Gran knows I forget things - this
tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it
tight like this and if it turns red — oh..." His face fell, because the
Remembrall had suddenly glowed scarlet,
"You've forgotten something..."
Neville was trying to remember what he'd forgotten when Draco Malfoy,
who was passing the Gryffindor table, snatched the Remembrall out of his
hand.
Harry and Ron jumped to their feet. They were half hoping for a reason
to fight Malfay, but Professor McGonagall, who could spot trouble quicker
than any teacher in the school, was there in a flash.
"What's going on?"
"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor."
Scowling, Malfoy quickly dropped the Remembrall back on the table.
"Just looking," he said, and he sloped away with Crabbe and Goyle
behind him.
At three-thirty that afternoon, Harry, Ron, and the other Gryffindors
hurried down the front steps onto the grounds for their first flying lesson.
It was a clear, breezy day, and the grass rippled under their feet as they
marched down the sloping lawns toward a smooth, flat lawn on the opposite
side of the grounds to the forbidden forest, whose trees were swaying darkly
in the distance.
The Slytherins were already there, and so were twenty broomsticks lying
in neat lines on the ground. Harry had heard Fred and George Weasley
complain about the school brooms, saying that some of them started to
vibrate if you flew too high, or always flew slightly to the left.
Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short, gray hair, and
yellow eyes like a hawk.
"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a
broomstick. Come on, hurry up."
Harry glanced down at his broom. It was old and some of the twigs stuck
out at odd angles.
"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the
front, "and say 'Up!"'
"UP" everyone shouted.
Harry's broom jumped into his hand at once, but it was one of the few
that did. Hermione Granger's had simply rolled over on the ground, and
Neville's hadn't moved at all. Perhaps brooms, like horses, could tell when
you were afraid, thought Harry; there was a quaver in Neville's voice that
said only too clearly that he wanted to keep his feet on the ground.
Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding
off the end, and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips. Harry
and Ron were delighted when she told Malfoy he'd been doing it wrong for
years.
"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said
Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come
straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle - three — two
--"
But Neville, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the
ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch's lips.
"Come back, boy!" she shouted, but Neville was rising straight up like
a cork shot out of a bottle — twelve feet — twenty feet. Harry saw his
scared white face look down at the ground falling away, saw him gasp, slip
sideways off the broom and --
WHAM — a thud and a nasty crack and Neville lay facedown on the grass
in a heap. His broomstick was still rising higher and higher, and started to
drift lazily toward the forbidden forest and out of sight.
Madam Hooch was bending over Neville, her face as white as his.
"Broken wrist," Harry heard her mutter. "Come on, boy — it's all
right, up you get.".
She turned to the rest of the class.
"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You
leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you
can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear."
Neville, his face tear-streaked, clutching his wrist, hobbled off with
Madam Hooch, who had her arm around him.
No sooner were they out of earshot than Malfoy burst into laughter.
"Did you see his face, the great lump?"
The other Slytherins joined in.
"Shut up, Malfoy," snapped Parvati Patil.
"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" said Pansy Parkinson, a hard-faced
Slytherin girl. "Never thought you'd like fat little crybabies, Parvati."
"Look!" said Malfoy, darting forward and snatching something out of the
grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him."
The Remembrall glittered in the sun as he held it up.
"Give that here, Malfoy," said Harry quietly. Everyone stopped talking
to watch.
Malfoy smiled nastily.
"I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find — how about --
up a tree?"
"Give it here!" Harry yelled, but Malfoy had leapt onto his broomstick
and taken off. He hadn't been lying, he could fly well. Hovering level with
the topmost branches of an oak he called, "Come and get it, Potter!"
Harry grabbed his broom.
"No!" shouted Hermione Granger. "Madam Hooch told us not to move --
you'll get us all into trouble."
Harry ignored her. Blood was pounding in his ears. He mounted the broom
and kicked hard against the ground and up, up he soared; air rushed through
his hair, and his robes whipped out behind him -and in a rush of fierce joy
he realized he'd found something he could do without being taught — this
was easy, this was wonderful. He pulled his broomstick up a little to take
it even higher, and heard screams and gasps of girls back on the ground and
an admiring whoop from Ron.
He turned his broomstick sharply to face Malfoy in midair. Malfoy
looked stunned.
"Give it here," Harry called, "or I'll knock you off that broom!" "Oh,
yeah?" said Malfoy, trying to sneer, but looking worried.
Harry knew, somehow, what to do. He leaned forward and grasped the
broom tightly in both hands, and it shot toward Malfay like a javelin.
Malfoy only just got out of the way in time; Harry made a sharp about-face
and held the broom steady. A few people below were clapping.
"No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy," Harry called.
The same thought seemed to have struck Malfoy.
"Catch it if you can, then!" he shouted, and he threw the glass ball
high into the air and streaked back toward the ground.
Harry saw, as though in slow motion, the ball rise up in the air and
then start to fall. He leaned forward and pointed his broom handle down --
next second he was gathering speed in a steep dive, racing the ball — wind
whistled in his ears, mingled with the screams of people
watching — he stretched out his hand — a foot from the ground he
caught it, just in time to pull his broom straight, and he toppled gently
onto the grass with the Remembrall clutched safely in his fist.
"HARRY POTTER!"
His heart sank faster than he'd just dived. Professor McGonagall was
running toward them. He got to his feet, trembling.
"Never — in all my time at Hogwarts --"
Professor McGonagall was almost speechless with shock, and her glasses
flashed furiously, "-- how dare you — might have broken your neck --"
"It wasn't his fault, Professor --"
"Be quiet, Miss Patil
"But Malfoy --"
"That's enough, Mr. Weasley. Potter, follow me, now."
Harry caught sight of Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle's triumphant faces as
he left, walking numbly in Professor McGonagall's wake as she strode toward
the castle. He was going to be expelled, he just knew it. He wanted to say
something to defend himself, but there seemed to be something wrong with his
voice. Professor McGonagall was sweeping along without even looking at him;
he had to jog to keep up. Now he'd done it. He hadn't even lasted two weeks.
He'd be packing his bags in ten minutes. What would the Dursleys say when he
turned up on the doorstep?
Up the front steps, up the marble staircase inside, and still Professor
McGonagall didn't say a word to him. She wrenched open doors and marched
along corridors with Harry trotting miserably behind her. Maybe she was
taking him to Dumbledore. He thought of Hagrid, expelled but allowed to stay
on as gamekeeper. Perhaps he could be Hagrid's assistant. His stomach
twisted as he imagined it, watching Ron and the others becoming wizards,
while he stumped around the grounds carrying Hagrid's bag.
Professor McGonagall stopped outside a classroom. She opened the door
and poked her head inside.
"Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment?"
Wood? thought Harry, bewildered; was Wood a cane she was going to use
on him?
But Wood turned out to be a person, a burly fifth-year boy who came out
of Flitwick's class looking confused.
"Follow me, you two," said Professor McGonagall, and they marched on up
the corridor, Wood looking curiously at Harry.
"In here."
Professor McGonagall pointed them into a classroom that was empty
except for Peeves, who was busy writing rude words on the blackboard.
"Out, Peeves!" she barked. Peeves threw the chalk into a bin, which
clanged loudly, and he swooped out cursing. Professor McGonagall slammed the
door behind him and turned to face the two boys.
"Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Wood — I've found you a Seeker."
Wood's expression changed from puzzlement to delight.
"Are you serious, Professor?"
"Absolutely," said Professor McGonagall crisply. "The boy's a natural.
I've never seen anything like it. Was that your first time on a broomstick,
Potter?"
Harry nodded silently. He didn't have a clue what was going on, but he
didn't seem to be being expelled, and some of the feeling started coming
back to his legs.
"He caught that thing in his hand after a fifty-foot dive," Professor
McGonagall told Wood. "Didn't even scratch himself. Charlie Weasley couldn't
have done it."
Wood was now looking as though all his dreams had come true at once.
"Ever seen a game of Quidditch, Potter?" he asked excitedly.
"Wood's captain of the Gryffindor team," Professor McGonagall
explained.
"He's just the build for a Seeker, too," said Wood, now walking around
Harry and staring at him. "Light — speedy — we'll have to get him a decent
broom, Professor — a Nimbus Two Thousand or a Cleansweep Seven, I'd say."
I shall speak to Professor Dumbledore and see if we can't bend the
first-year rule. Heaven knows, we need a better team than last year.
Flattened in that last match by Slytherin, I couldn't look Severus Snape in
the face for weeks...."
Professor McGonagall peered sternly over her glasses at Harry.
"I want to hear you're training hard, Potter, or I may change my mind
about punishing you."
Then she suddenly smiled.
"Your father would have been proud," she said. "He was an excellent
Quidditch player himself."
"You're joking."
It was dinnertime. Harry had just finished telling Ron what had
happened when he'd left the grounds with Professor McGonagall. Ron had a
piece of steak and kidney pie halfway to his mouth, but he'd forgotten all
about it.
"Seeker?" he said. "But first years never - you must be the youngest
house player in about -"
"- a century," said Harry, shoveling pie into his mouth. He felt
particularly hungry after the excitement of the afternoon. "Wood told me."
Ron was so amazed, so impressed, he just sat and gaped at Harry.
"I start training next week," said Harry. "Only don't tell anyone, Wood
wants to keep it a secret."
Fred and George Weasley now came into the hall, spotted Harry, and
hurried over.
"Well done," said George in a low voice. "Wood told us. We're on the
team too -Beaters."
"I tell you, we're going to win that Quidditch cup for sure this year,"
said Fred. "We haven't won since Charlie left, but this year's team is going
to be brilliant. You must be good, Harry, Wood was almost skipping when he
told us."
"Anyway, we've got to go, Lee Jordan reckons he's found a new secret
passageway out of the school."
"Bet it's that one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that we
found in our first week. See you."
Fred and George had hardly disappeared when someone far less welcome
turned up: Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.
"Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to the
Muggles?"
"You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground and you've got
your little friends with you," said Harry coolly. There was of course
nothing at all little about Crabbe and Goyle, but as the High Table was full
of teachers, neither of them could do more than crack their knuckles and
scowl.
"I'd take you on anytime on my own," said Malfoy. "Tonight, if you
want. Wizard's duel. Wands only — no contact. What's the matter? Never
heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?"
"Of course he has," said Ron, wheeling around. "I'm his second, who's
yours?"
Malfoy looked at Crabbe and Goyle, sizing them up.
"Crabbe," he said. "Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy
room; that's always unlocked."
When Malfoy had gone, Ron and Harry looked at each other. "What is a
wizard's duel?" said Harry. "And what do you mean, you're my second?"
"Well, a second's there to take over if you die," said Ron casually,
getting started at last on his cold pie. Catching the look on Harry's face,
he added quickly, "But people only die in proper duels, you know, with real
wizards. The most you and Malfoy'll be able to do is send
sparks at each other. Neither of you knows enough magic to do any real
damage. I bet he expected you to refuse, anyway."
"And what if I wave my wand and nothing happens?"
"Throw it away and punch him on the nose," Ron suggested.
"Excuse me."
They both looked up. It was Hermione Granger.
"Can't a person eat in peace in this place?" said Ron.
Hermione ignored him and spoke to Harry.
"I couldn't help overhearing what you and Malfoy were saying --"
"Bet you could," Ron muttered.
"--and you mustn't go wandering around the school at night, think of
the points you'll lose Gryffindor if you're caught, and you're bound to be.
It's really very selfish of you."
"And it's really none of your business," said Harry.
"Good-bye," said Ron.
All the same, it wasn't what you'd call the perfect end to the day,
Harry thought, as he lay awake much later listening to Dean and Seamus
falling asleep (Neville wasn't back from the hospital wing). Ron had spent
all evening giving him advice such as "If he tries to curse you, you'd
better dodge it, because I can't remember how to block them." There was a
very good chance they were going to get caught by Filch or Mrs. Norris, and
Harry felt he was pushing his luck, breaking another school rule today. On
the other hand, Malfoys sneering face kept looming up out of the darkness -
this was his big chance to beat Malfoy face-to-face. He couldn't miss it.
"Half-past eleven," Ron muttered at last, "we'd better go."
They pulled on their bathrobes, picked up their wands, and crept across
the tower room, down the spiral staircase, and into the Gryffindor common
room. A few embers were still glowing in the fireplace, turning all the
armchairs into hunched black shadows. They had almost reached the portrait
hole when a voice spoke from the chair nearest them, "I can't believe you're
going to do this, Harry."
A lamp flickered on. It was Hermione Granger, wearing a pink bathrobe
and a frown.
"You!" said Ron furiously. "Go back to bed!"
"I almost told your brother," Hermione snapped, "Percy — he's a
prefect, he'd put a stop to this."
Harry couldn't believe anyone could be so interfering.
"Come on," he said to Ron. He pushed open the portrait of the Fat Lady
and climbed through the hole.
Hermione wasn't going to give up that easily. She followed Ron through
the portrait hole, hissing at them like an angry goose.
"Don't you care about Gryffindor, do you only care about yourselves, I
don't want Slytherin to win the house cup, and you'll lose all the points I
got from Professor McGonagall for knowing about Switching Spells."
"Go away." "All right, but I warned you, you just remember what I said
when you're on the train home tomorrow, you're so --"
But what they were, they didn't find out. Hermione had turned to the
portrait of the Fat Lady to get back inside and found herself facing an
empty painting. The Fat Lady had gone on a nighttime visit and Hermione was
locked out of Gryffindor tower.
"Now what am I going to do?" she asked shrilly.
"That's your problem," said Ron. "We've got to go, we're going to be
late."
They hadn't even reached the end of the corridor when Hermione caught
up with them.
"I'm coming with you," she said.
"You are not."
"D'you think I'm going to stand out here and wait for Filch to catch
me? If he finds all three of us I'll tell him the truth, that I was trying
to stop you, and you can back me up."
"You've got some nerve --" said Ron loudly.
"Shut up, both of you!" said Harry sharply. I heard something."
It was a sort of snuffling.
"Mrs. Norris?" breathed Ron, squinting through the dark.
It wasn't Mrs. Norris. It was Neville. He was curled up on the floor,
fast asleep, but jerked suddenly awake as they crept nearer.
"Thank goodness you found me! I've been out here for hours, I couldn't
remember the new password to get in to bed."
"Keep your voice down, Neville. The password's 'Pig snout' but it won't
help you now, the Fat Lady's gone off somewhere."
"How's your arm?" said Harry.
"Fine," said Neville, showing them. "Madam Pomfrey mended it in about a
minute."
"Good - well, look, Neville, we've got to be somewhere, we'll see you
later --"
"Don't leave me!" said Neville, scrambling to his feet, "I don't want
to stay here alone, the Bloody Baron's been past twice already."
Ron looked at his watch and then glared furiously at Hermione and
Neville.
"If either of you get us caught, I'll never rest until I've learned
that Curse of the Bogies Quirrell told us about, and used it on you.
Hermione opened her mouth, perhaps to tell Ron exactly how to use the
Curse of the Bogies, but Harry hissed at her to be quiet and beckoned them
all forward.
They flitted along corridors striped with bars of moonlight from the
high windows. At every turn Harry expected to run into Filch or Mrs. Norris,
but they were lucky. They sped up a staircase to the third floor and tiptoed
toward the trophy room.
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 toward 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."
"This way!" Harry mouthed to the others and, petrified, they began to
creep down a long gallery full of suits of armor. They could hear Filch
getting nearer. Neville suddenly let out a frightened squeak and broke into
a run -he tripped, grabbed Ron around the waist, and the pair of them
toppled right into a suit of armor.
The clanging and crashing were enough to wake the whole castle.
"RUN!" Harry yelled, and the four of them sprinted down the gallery,
not looking back to see whether Filch was following — they swung around the
doorpost and galloped down one corridor then another, Harry in the lead,
without any idea where they were or where they were going — they ripped
through a tapestry and found themselves in a hidden passageway, hurtled
along it and came out near their Charms classroom, which they knew was
miles from the trophy room.
"I think we've lost him," Harry panted, leaning against the cold wall
and wiping his forehead. Neville was bent double, wheezing and spluttering.
I — told -you," Hermione gasped, clutching at the stitch in her chest,
"I — told — you."
"We've got to get back to Gryffindor tower," said Ron, "quickly as
possible."
"Malfoy tricked you," Hermione said to Harry. "You realize that, don't
you? He was never going to meet you — Filch knew someone was going to be in
the trophy room, Malfoy must have tipped him off."
Harry thought she was probably right, but he wasn't going to tell her
that.
"Let's go."
It wasn't going to be that simple. They hadn't gone more than a dozen
paces when a doorknob rattled and something came shooting out of a classroom
in front of them.
It was Peeves. He caught sight of them and gave a squeal of delight.
"Shut up, Peeves — please — you'll get us thrown out."
Peeves cackled.
"Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty,
naughty, you'll get caughty."
"Not if you don't give us away, Peeves, please."
"Should tell Filch, I should," said Peeves in a saintly voice, but his
eyes glittered wickedly. "It's for your own good, you know."
"Get out of the way," snapped Ron, taking a swipe at Peeves this was a
big mistake.
"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" Peeves bellowed, "STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE
CHARMS CORRIDOR"
Ducking under Peeves, they ran for their lives, right to the end of the
corridor where they slammed into a door — and it was locked.
"This is it!" Ron moaned, as they pushed helplessly at the door, "We're
done for! This is the end!" They could hear footsteps, Filch running as fast
as he could toward Peeves's shouts.
"Oh, move over," Hermione snarled. She grabbed Harry's wand, tapped the
lock, and whispered, 'Alohomora!"
The lock clicked and the door swung open — they piled through it, shut
it quickly, and pressed their ears against it, listening.
"Which way did they go, Peeves?" Filch was saying. "Quick, tell me."
"Say 'please."'
"Don't mess with me, Peeves, now where did they go?"
"Shan't say nothing if you don't say please," said Peeves in his
annoying singsong voice.
"All right -please."
"NOTHING! Ha haaa! Told you I wouldn't say nothing if you didn't say
please! Ha ha! Haaaaaa!" And they heard the sound of Peeves whooshing away
and Filch cursing in rage.
"He thinks this door is locked," Harry whispered. "I think we'll be
okay — get off, Neville!" For Neville had been tugging on the sleeve of
Harry's bathrobe for the last minute. "What?"
Harry turned around — and saw, quite clearly, what. For a moment, he
was sure he'd walked into a nightmare — this was too much, on top of
everything that had happened so far.
They weren't in a room, as he had supposed. They were in a corridor.
The forbidden corridor on the third floor. And now they knew why it was
forbidden.
They were looking straight into the eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog that
filled the whole space between ceiling and floor. It had three heads. Three
pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses, twitching and quivering in their
direction; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from
yellowish fangs.
It was standing quite still, all six eyes staring at them, and Harry
knew that the only reason they weren't already dead was that their sudden
appearance had taken it by surprise, but it was quickly getting over that,
there was no mistaking what those thunderous growls meant.
Harry groped for the doorknob — between Filch and death, he'd take
Filch.
They fell backward — Harry slammed the door shut, and they ran, they
almost flew, back down the corridor. Filch must have hurried off to look for
them somewhere else, because they didn't see him anywhere, but they hardly
cared — all they wanted to do was put as much space as possible between
them and that monster. They didn't stop running until they reached the
portrait of the Fat Lady on the seventh floor.
"Where on earth have you all been?" she asked, looking at their
bathrobes hanging off their shoulders and their flushed, sweaty faces.
"Never mind that — pig snout, pig snout," panted Harry, and the
portrait swung forward. They scrambled into the common room and collapsed,
trembling, into armchairs.
It was a while before any of them said anything. Neville, indeed,
looked as if he'd never speak again.
"What do they think they're doing, keeping a thing like that locked up
in a school?" said Ron finally. "If any dog needs exercise, that one does."
Hermione had got both her breath and her bad temper back again. "You
don't use your eyes, any of you, do you?" she snapped. "Didn't you see what
it was standing on.
"The floor?" Harry suggested. "I wasn't looking at its feet, I was too
busy with its heads."
"No, not the floor. It was standing on a trapdoor. It's obviously
guarding something."
She stood up, glaring at them.
I hope you're pleased with yourselves. We could all have been killed --
or worse, expelled. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed."
Ron stared after her, his mouth open.
"No, we don't mind," he said. "You'd think we dragged her along,
wouldn't you.
But Hermione had given Harry something else to think about as he
climbed back into bed. The dog was guarding something.... What had Hagrid
said? Gringotts was the safest place in the world for something you wanted
to hide — except perhaps Hogwarts.
It looked as though Harry had found out where the grubby littie package
from vault seven hundred and thirteen was.
CHAPTER TEN
HALLOWEEN
Malfoy couldn't believe his eyes when he saw that Harry and Ron were
still at Hogwarts the next day, looking tired but perfectly cheerful.
Indeed, by the next morning Harry and Ron thought that meeting the
three-headed dog had been an excellent adventure, and they were quite keen
to have another one. In the meantime, Harry filled Ron in about the package
that seemed to have been moved from Gringotts to Hogwarts, and they spent a
lot of time wondering what could possibly need such heavy protection. "It's
either really valuable or really dangerous," said Ron. "Or both," said
Harry.
But as all they knew for sure about the mysterious object was that it
was about two inches long, they didn't have much chance of guessing what it
was without further clues.
Neither Neville nor Hermione showed the slightest interest in what lay
underneath the dog and the trapdoor. All Neville cared about was never going
near the dog again.
Hermione was now refusing to speak to Harry and Ron, but she was such a
bossy know-it-all that they saw this as an added bonus. All they really
wanted now was a way of getting back at Malfoy, and to their great delight,
just such a thing arrived in the mail about a week later.
As the owls flooded into the Great Hall as usual, everyone's attention
was caught at once by a long, thin package carried by six large screech
owls. Harry was just as interested as everyone else to see what was in this
large parcel, and was amazed when the owls soared down and dropped it right
in front of him, knocking his bacon to the floor. They had hardly fluttered
out of the way when another owl dropped a letter on top of the parcel.
Harry ripped open the letter first, which was lucky, because it said:
DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE.
It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand, but I don't want everybody
knowing you've got a broomstick or they'll all want one. Oliver Wood will
meet you tonight on the Quidditch field at seven o'clock for your first
training session.
Professor McGonagall
Harry had difficulty hiding his glee as he handed the note to Ron to
read.
"A Nimbus Two Thousand!" Ron moaned enviously. "I've never even touched
one."
They left the hall quickly, wanting to unwrap the broomstick in private
before their first class, but halfway across the entrance hall they found
the way upstairs barred by Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy seized the package from
Harry and felt it.
"That's a broomstick," he said, throwing it back to Harry with a
mixture of jealouy and spite on his face. "You'll be in for it this time,
Potter, first years aren't allowed them."
Ron couldn't resist it.
"It's not any old broomstick," he said, "it's a Nimbus Two Thousand.
What did you say you've got at home, Malfoy, a Comet Two Sixty?" Ron grinned
at Harry. "Comets look flashy, but they're not in the same league as the
Nimbus."
"What would you know about it, Weasley, you couldn't afford half the
handle," Malfoy snapped back. "I suppose you and your brothers have to save
up twig by twig."
Before Ron could answer, Professor Flitwick appeared at Malfoy's elbow.
"Not arguing, I hope, boys?" he squeaked.
"Potter's been sent a broomstick, Professor," said Malfoy quickly.
"Yes, yes, that's right," said Professor Flitwick, beaming at Harry.
"Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances, Potter.
And what model is it?"
"A Nimbus Two Thousand, sir," said Harry, fighting not to laugh at the
look of horror on Malfoy's face. "And it's really thanks to Malfoy here that
I've got it," he added.
Harry and Ron headed upstairs, smothering their laughter at Malfoy's
obvious rage and confusion. "Well, it's true," Harry chortled as they
reached the top of the marble staircase, "If he hadn't stolen Neville's
Remembrall I wouln't be on the team...."
"So I suppose you think that's a reward for breaking rules?" came an
angry voice from just behind them. Hermione was stomping up the stairs,
looking disapprovingly at the package in Harry's hand.
"I thought you weren't speaking to us?" said Harry.
"Yes, don't stop now," said Ron, "it's doing us so much good."
Hermione marched away with her nose in the air.
Harry had a lot of trouble keeping his mind on his lessons that day. It
kept wandering up to the dormitory where his new broomstick was lying under
his bed, or straying off to the Quidditch field where he'd be learning to
play that night. He bolted his dinner that evening without noticing what he
was eating, and then rushed upstairs with Ron to unwrap the Nimbus Two
Thousand at last.
"Wow," Ron sighed, as the broomstick rolled onto Harry's bedspread.
Even Harry, who knew nothing about the different brooms, thought it
looked wonderful. Sleek and shiny, with a mahogany handle, it had a long
tail of neat, straight twigs and Nimbus Two Thousand written in gold near
the top.
As seven o'clock drew nearer, Harry left the castle and set off in the
dusk toward the Quidditch field. Held never been inside the stadium before.
Hundreds of seats were raised in stands around the field so that the
spectators were high enough to see what was going on. At either end of the
field were three golden poles with hoops on the end. They reminded Harry of
the little plastic sticks Muggle children blew bubbles through, except that
they were fifty feet high.
Too eager to fly again to wait for Wood, Harry mounted his broomstick
and kicked off from the ground. What a feeling — he swooped in and out of
the goal posts and then sped up and down the field. The Nimbus Two Thousand
turned wherever he wanted at his lightest touch.
"Hey, Potter, come down!'
Oliver Wood had arrived. fie was carrying a large wooden crate under
his arm. Harry landed next to him.
"Very nice," said Wood, his eyes glinting. "I see what McGonagall
meant... you really are a natural. I'm just going to teach you the rules
this evening, then you'll be joining team practice three times a week."
He opened the crate. Inside were four different-sized balls.
"Right," said Wood. "Now, Quidditch is easy enough to understand, even
if it's not too easy to play. There are seven players on each side. Three of
them are called Chasers."
"Three Chasers," Harry repeated, as Wood took out a bright red ball
about the size of a soccer ball.
"This ball's called the Quaffle," said Wood. "The Chasers throw the
Quaffle to each other and try and get it through one of the hoops to score a
goal. Ten points every time the Quaffle goes through one of the hoops.
Follow me?"
"The Chasers throw the Quaffle and put it through the hoops to score,"
Harry recited. "So — that's sort of like basketball on broomsticks with six
hoops, isn't it?"
"What's basketball?" said Wood curiously. "Never mind," said Harry
quickly.
"Now, there's another player on each side who's called the Keeper -I'm
Keeper for Gryffindor. I have to fly around our hoops and stop the other
team from scoring."
"Three Chasers, one Keeper," said Harry, who was determined to remember
it all. "And they play with the Quaffle. Okay, got that. So what are they
for?" He pointed at the three balls left inside the box.
"I'll show you now," said Wood. "Take this."
He handed Harry a small club, a bit like a short baseball bat.
"I'm going to show you what the Bludgers do," Wood said. "These two are
the Bludgers."
He showed Harry two identical balls, jet black and slightly smaller
than the red Quaffle. Harry noticed that they seemed to be straining to
escape the straps holding them inside the box.
"Stand back," Wood warned Harry. He bent down and freed one of the
Bludgers.
At once, the black ball rose high in the air and then pelted straight
at Harry's face. Harry swung at it with the bat to stop it from breaking his
nose, and sent it zigzagging away into the air - it zoomed around their
heads and then shot at Wood, who dived on top of it and managed to pin it to
the ground.
"See?" Wood panted, forcing the struggling Bludger back into the crate
and strapping it down safely. "The Bludgers rocket around, trying to knock
players off their brooms. That's why you have two Beaters on each team --
the Weasley twins are ours — it's their job to protect their side from the
Bludgers and try and knock them toward the other team. So — think you've
got all that?"
"Three Chasers try and score with the Quaffle; the Keeper guards the
goal posts; the Beaters keep the Bludgers away from their team," Harry
reeled off.
"Very good," said Wood.
"Er — have the Bludgers ever killed anyone?" Harry asked, hoping he
sounded offhand.
"Never at Hogwarts. We've had a couple of broken jaws but nothing worse
than that. Now, the last member of the team is the Seeker. That's you. And
you don't have to worry about the Quaffle or the Bludgers - "
" - unless they crack my head open."
"Don't worry, the Weasleys are more than a match for the Bludgers - I
mean, they're like a pair of human Bludgers themselves."
Wood reached into the crate and took out the fourth and last ball.
Compared with the Quaffle and the Bludgers, it was tiny, about the size of a
large walnut. It was bright gold and had little fluttering silver wings.
"This," said Wood, "is the Golden Snitch, and it's the most important
ball of the lot. It's very hard to catch because it's so fast and difficult
to see. It's the Seeker's job to catch it. You've got to weave in and out of
the Chasers, Beaters, Bludgers, and Quaffle to get it before the other
team's Seeker, because whichever Seeker catches the Snitch wins his team an
extra hundred and fifty points, so they nearly always win. That's why
Seekers get fouled so much. A game of Quidditch only ends when the Snitch is
caught, so it can go on for ages — I think the record is three months, they
had to keep bringing on substitutes so the players could get some sleep.
"Well, that's it - any questions?"
Harry shook his head. He understood what he had to do all right, it was
doing it that was going to be the problem.
"We won't practice with the Snitch yet," said Wood, carefully shutting
it back inside the crate, "it's too dark, we might lose it. Let's try you
out with a few of these."
He pulled a bag of ordinary golf balls out of his pocket and a few
minutes later, he and Harry were up in the air, Wood throwing the golf balls
as hard as he could in every direction for Harry to catch.
Harry didn't miss a single one, and Wood was delighted. After half an
hour, night had really fallen and they couldn't carry on.
"That Quidditch cup'll have our name on it this year," said Wood
happily as they trudged back up to the castle. "I wouldn't be surprised if
you turn out better than Charlie Weasley, and he could have played for
England if he hadn't gone off chasing dragons."
Perhaps it was because he was now so busy, what with Quidditch practice
three evenings a week on top of all his homework, but Harry could hardly
believe it when he realized that he'd already been at Hogwarts two months.
The castle felt more like home than Privet Drive ever had. His lessons, too,
were becoming more and more interesting now that they had mastered the
basics.
On Halloween morning they woke to the delicious smell of baking pumpkin
wafting through the corridors. Even better, Professor Flitwick announced in
Charms that he thought they were ready to start making objects fly,
something they had all been dying to try since they'd seen him make
Neville's toad zoom around the classroom. Professor Flitwick put the class
into pairs to practice. Harry's partner was Seamus Finnigan (which was a
relief, because Neville had been trying to catch his eye). Ron, however, was
to be working with Hermione Granger. It was hard to tell whether Ron or
Hermione was angrier about...
