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 this. She hadn't spoken to either of them since the day Harry's broomstick had arrived.
«Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practicing!» squeaked Professor Flitwick, perched on top of his pile of books as usual. «Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important, too—never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest.»
It was very difficult. Harry and Seamus swished and flicked, but the feather they were supposed to be sending skyward just lay on the desktop. Seamus got so impatient that he prodded it with his wand and set fire to it—Harry had to put it out with his hat.
Ron, at the next table, wasn't having much more luck.
«Wingardium Leviosa!» he shouted, waving his long arms like a windmill.
«You're saying it wrong,» Harry heard Hermione snap. «It's Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa, make the 'gar' nice and long.»
«You do it, then, if you're so clever,» Ron snarled.
Hermione rolled up the sleeves of her gown, flicked her wand, and said, «Wingardium Leviosa!»
Their feather rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their heads.
«Oh, well done!» cried Professor Flitwick, clapping. «Everyone see here, Miss Granger's done it!»
Ron was in a very bad mood by the end of the class. «It's no wonder no one can stand her,» he said to Harry as they pushed their way into the crowded corridor, «she's a nightmare, honestly. «