第 13 页

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

"

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*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*

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"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!"

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*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*

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"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 gaped, open-mouthed, at the seven superb broomsticks in front of

him.

"Good, aren't they?" said Malfoy smoothly. "But perhaps the

Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms,

too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives; I expect a museum

would bid for them."

The Slytherin team howled with laughter.

"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in," said

Hermione sharply. "They got in on pure talent."

The smug look on Malfoy's face flickered.

"No one asked your opinion, you fiIthy little Mudblood," he spat.

Harry knew at once that Malfoy had said something really bad

because there was an instant uproar at his words. Flint had to dive in

front of Malfoy to stop Fred and George jumping on him, Alicia

shrieked, "How dare you!" ; and Ron plunged his hand into his robes,

pulled out his wand, yelling, "You'll pay for that one, Malfoy!" and

pointed it furiously under Flint's arm at Malfoys face.

A loud bang echoed around the stadium and a jet of green light shot

out of the wrong end of Ron's wand, hitting him in the stomach and

sending him reeling backward onto the grass.

"Ron! Ron! Are you all right?" squealed Hermione.

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead he

96

gave an almighty belch and several slugs dribbled out of his mouth

onto his lap.

The Slytherin team were paralyzed with laughter. Flint was doubled

up, hanging onto his new broomstick for support. Malfoy was on all

fours, banging the ground with his fist. The Gryffindors were

gathered around Ron, who kept belching large, glistening slugs.

Nobody seemed to want to touch him.

"We'd better get him to Hagrid's, it's nearest," said Harry to

Hermione, who nodded bravely, and the pair of them pulled Ron up

by the arms.

"What happened, Harry? What happened? Is he ill? But you can

cure him, can't you?" Colin had run down from his seat and was now

dancing alongside them as they left the field. Ron gave a huge heave

and more slugs dribbled down his front.

"Oooh," said Colin, fascinated and raising his camera. "Can you hold

him still, Harry?"

"Get out of the way, Colin!" said Harry angrily. He and Hermione

supported Ron out of the stadium and across the grounds toward

the edge of the forest.

"Nearly there, Ron," said Hermione as the gamekeeper's cabin came

into view. "You'll be all right in a minute - almost there -"

They were within twenty feet of Hagrid's house when the front door

opened, but it wasn't Hagrid who emerged. Gilderoy Lockhart,

wearing robes of palest mauve today, came striding out.

"Quick, behind here," Harry hissed, dragging Ron behind a nearby

bush. Hermione followed, somewhat reluctantly.

*113* *

"It's a simple matter if you know what you're doing!" Lockhart was

saying loudly to Hagrid. "If you need help, you know where I am! I'll

let you have a copy of my book. I'm surprised you haven't already got

one - I'll sign one tonight and send it over. Well, good-bye!" And he

strode away toward the castle.

97

Harry waited until Lockhart was out of sight, then pulled Ron out of

the bush and up to Hagrid's front door. They knocked urgently.

Hagrid appeared at once, looking very grumpy, but his expression

brightened when he saw who it was.

"Bin wonderin' when you'd come ter see me - come in, come in

thought you mighta bin Professor Lockhart back again -"

Harry and Hermione supported Ron over the threshold into the one-

roomed cabin, which had an enormous bed in one corner, a fire

crackling merrily in the other. Hagrid didn't seem perturbed by Ron's

slug problem, which Harry hastily explained as he lowered Ron into a

chair.

"Better out than in," he said cheerfully, plunking a large copper basin in

front of him. "Get 'em all up, Ron."

"I don't think there's anything to do except wait for it to stop," said

Hermione anxiously, watching Ron bend over the basin. "That's a

difficult curse to work at the best of times, but with a broken wand -"

Hagrid was bustling around making them tea. His boarhound, Fang,

was slobbering over Harry.

"What did Lockhart want with you, Hagrid?" Harry asked, scratching

Fang's ears.

"Givin' me advice on gettin' kelpies out of a well," growled

*114*

Hagrid, moving a half-plucked rooster off his scrubbed table and

setting down the teapot. "Like I don' know. An' bangin' on about

some banshee he banished. If one word of it was true, I'll eat my

kettle."

It was most unlike Hagrid to criticize a Hogwarts' teacher, and Harry

looked at him in surprise. Hermione, however, said in a voice

somewhat higher than usual, "I think you're being a bit unfair.

Professor Dumbledore obviously thought he was the best man for

98

the job -"

"He was the on' man for the job," said Hagrid, offering them a Y

plate of treacle fudge, while Ron coughed squelchily into his basin.

"An' I mean the on' one. Gettin' very difficult ter find anyone fer Y

the Dark Arts job. People aren't too keen ter take it on, see. They're

startin' ter think it's jinxed. No one's lasted long fer a while now. So

tell me," said Hagrid, jerking his head at Ron. "Who was he tryin' ter

curse?"

"Malfoy called Hermione something - it must've been really bad,

because everyone went wild."

"It was bad," said Ron hoarsely, emerging over the tabletop looking

pale and sweaty. "Malfoy called her `Mudblood,' Hagrid -"

Ron dived out of sight again as a fresh wave of slugs made their

appearance. Hagrid looked outraged.

"He didn'!" he growled at Hermione.

"He did," she said. "But I don't know what it means. I could tell it

was really rude, of course -"

"It's about the most insulting thing he could think of," gasped Ron,

coming back up. "Mudblood's a really foul name for someone who is

Muggle-born - you know, non-magic parents. There are

*115*

some wizards - like Malfoy's family - who think they're better than

everyone else because they're what people call pure-blood." He

gave a small burp, and a single slug fell into his outstretched hand. He

threw it into the basin and continued, "I mean, the rest of us know it

doesn't make any difference at all. Look at Neville Longbottom

he's pure-blood and he can hardly stand a cauldron the right way

up."

"An' they haven't invented a spell our Hermione can' do," said Hagrid

proudly, making Hermione go a brilliant shade of magenta.

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"It's a disgusting thing to call someone," said Ron, wiping his sweaty

brow with a shaking hand. "Dirty blood, see. Common blood. It's

ridiculous. Most wizards these days are half-blood anyway. If we

hadn't married Muggles we'd've died out."

He retched and ducked out of sight again.

"Well, I don' blame yeh fer tryin' ter curse him, Ron," said Hagrid

loudly over the thuds of more slugs hitting the basin. "Bu' maybe it