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 jealousy 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,
sit," 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 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. "
Someone knocked into Harry
as they hurried past him. It was Hermione. Harry caught a glimpse of her face —
and was startled to see that she was in tears.
"I think she heard
you."
"So?" said Ron, but he
looked a bit uncomfortable. "She must've noticed she's got no
friends."
Hermione didn't turn up for
the next class and wasn't seen all afternoon. On their way down to the Great
Hall for the Halloween feast, Harry and Ron overheard Parvati Patil telling her
friend Lavender that Hermione was crying in the girls' bathroom and wanted to be
left alone. Ron looked still more awkward at this, but a moment later they had
entered the Great Hall, where the Halloween decorations put Hermione out of
their minds.
A thousand live bats
fluttered from the walls and ceiling while a thousand more swooped over the
tables in low black clouds, making the candles in the pumpkins stutter. The
feast appeared suddenly on the golden plates, as it had at the start-of-term
banquet.
Harry was just helping
himself to a baked potato when Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the hall,
his turban askew and terror on his face. Everyone stared as he reached Professor
Dumbledore's chair, slumped against the table, and gasped, "Troll — in the
dungeons — thought you ought to know."
He then sank to the floor in
a dead faint.
There was an uproar. It took
several purple firecrackers exploding from the end of Professor Dumbledore's
wand to bring silence.
"Prefects," he rumbled,
"lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!"
Percy was in his
element.
"Follow me! Stick together,
first years! No need to fear the troll if you follow my orders! Stay close
behind me, now. Make way, first years coming through! Excuse me, I'm a
prefect!"
"How could a troll get in?"
Harry asked as they climbed the stairs.
"Don't ask me, they're
supposed to be really stupid," said Ron. "Maybe Peeves let it in for a Halloween
joke."
They passed different groups
of people hurrying in different directions. As they jostled their way through a
crowd of confused Hufflepuffs, Harry suddenly grabbed Ron's arm.
"I've just thought —
Hermione."
"What about
her?"
"She doesn't know about the
troll."
Ron bit his
lip.
"Oh, all right," he snapped.
"But Percy'd better not see us."
Ducking down, they joined
the Hufflepuffs going the other way, slipped down a deserted side corridor, and
hurried off toward the girls' bathroom. They had just turned the corner when
they heard quick footsteps behind them.
"Percy!" hissed Ron, pulling
Harry behind a large stone griffin.
Peering around it, however,
they saw not Percy but Snape. He crossed the corridor and disappeared from
view.
"What's he doing?" Harry
whispered. "Why isn't he down in the dungeons with the rest of the
teachers?"
"Search me."
Quietly as possible, they
crept along the next corridor after Snape's fading footsteps.
"He's heading for the third
floor," Harry said, but Ron held up his hand.
"Can you smell
something?"
Harry sniffed and a foul
stench reached his nostrils, a mixture of old socks and the kind of public
toilet no one seems to clean.
And then they heard it — a
low grunting, and the shuffling footfalls of gigantic feet. Ron pointed — at the
end of a passage to the left, something huge was moving toward them. They shrank
into the shadows and watched as it emerged into a patch of
moonlight.
It was a horrible sight.
Twelve feet tall, its skin was a dull, granite gray, its great lumpy body like a
boulder with its small bald head perched on top like a coconut. It had short
legs thick as tree trunks with flat, horny feet. The smell coming from it was
incredible. It was holding a huge wooden club, which dragged along the floor
because its arms were so long.
The troll stopped next to a
doorway and peered inside. It waggled its long ears, making up its tiny mind,
then slouched slowly into the room.
"The keys in the lock,"
Harry muttered. "We could lock it in."
"Good idea," said Ron
nervously.
They edged toward the open
door, mouths dry, praying the troll wasn't about to come out of it. With one
great leap, Harry managed to grab the key, slam the door, and lock
it.
'Yes!"
Flushed with their victory,
they started to run back up the passage, but as they reached the corner they
heard something that made their hearts stop — a high, petrified scream — and it
was coming from the chamber they'd just chained up.
"Oh, no," said Ron, pale as
the Bloody Baron.
"It's the girls' bathroom!"
Harry gasped.
"Hermione!" they said
together.
It was the last thing they
wanted to do, but what choice did they have? Wheeling around, they sprinted back
to the door and turned the key, fumbling in their panic. Harry pulled the door
open and they ran inside.
Hermione Granger was
shrinking against the wall opposite, looking as if she was about to faint. The
troll was advancing on her, knocking the sinks off the walls as it
went.
"Confuse it!" Harry said
desperately to Ron, and, seizing a tap, he threw it as hard as he could against
the wall.
The troll stopped a few feet
from Hermione. It lumbered around, blinking stupidly, to see what had made the
noise. Its mean little eyes saw Harry. It hesitated, then made for him instead,
lifting its club as it went.
"Oy, pea-brain!" yelled Ron
from the other side of the chamber, and he threw a metal pipe at it. The troll
didn't even seem to notice the pipe hitting its shoulder, but it heard the yell
and paused again, turning its ugly snout toward Ron instead, giving Harry time
to run around it.
"Come on, run, run!" Harry
yelled at Hermione, trying to pull her toward the door, but she couldn't move,
she was still flat against the wall, her mouth open with terror.
The shouting and the echoes
seemed to be driving the troll berserk. It roared again and started toward Ron,
who was nearest and had no way to escape.
Harry then did something
that was both very brave and very stupid: He took a great running jump and
managed to fasten his arms around the troll's neck from behind. The troll
couldn't feel Harry hanging there, but even a troll will notice if you stick a
long bit of wood up its nose, and Harry's wand had still been in his hand when
he'd jumped — it had gone straight up one of the troll's nostrils.
Howling with pain, the troll
twisted and flailed its club, with Harry clinging on for dear life; any second,
the troll was going to rip him off or catch him a terrible blow with the
club.
Hermione had sunk to the
floor in fright; Ron pulled out his own wand -- not knowing what he was going to
do he heard himself cry the first spell that came into his head: "Wingardium
Leviosa!"
The club flew suddenly out
of the troll's hand, rose high, high up into the air, turned slowly over — and
dropped, with a sickening crack, onto its owner's head. The troll swayed on the
spot and then fell flat on its face, with a thud that made the whole room
tremble.
Harry got to his feet. He
was shaking and out of breath. Ron was standing there with his wand still
raised, staring at what he had done.
It was Hermione who spoke
first.
"Is it — dead?"
I don't think so," said
Harry, I think it's just been knocked out."
He bent down and pulled his
wand out of the troll's nose. It was covered in what looked like lumpy gray
glue.
"Urgh — troll
boogers."
He wiped it on the troll's
trousers.
A sudden slamming and loud
footsteps made the three of them look up. They hadn't realized what a racket
they had been making, but of course, someone downstairs must have heard the
crashes and the troll's roars. A moment later, Professor McGonagall had come
bursting into the room, closely followed by Snape, with Quirrell bringing up the
rear. Quirrell took one look at the troll, let out a faint whimper, and sat
quickly down on a toilet, clutching his heart.
Snape bent over the troll.
Professor McGonagall was looking at Ron and Harry. Harry had never seen her look
so angry. Her lips were white. Hopes of winning fifty points for Gryffindor
faded quickly from Harry's mind.
"What on earth were you
thinking of?" said Professor McGonagall, with cold fury in her voice. Harry
looked at Ron, who was still standing with his wand in the air. "You're lucky
you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?"
Snape gave Harry a swift,
piercing look. Harry looked at the floor. He wished Ron would put his wand
down.
Then a small voice came out
of the shadows.
"Please, Professor
McGonagall — they were looking for me."
"Miss Granger!"
Hermione had managed to get
to her feet at last.
I went looking for the troll
because I — I thought I could deal with it on my own — you know, because I've
read all about them."
Ron dropped his wand.
Hermione Granger, telling a downright lie to a teacher? "If they hadn't found
me, I'd be dead now. Harry stuck his wand up its nose and Ron knocked it out
with its own club. They didn't have time to come and fetch anyone. It was about
to finish me off when they arrived."
Harry and Ron tried to look
as though this story wasn't new to them.
"Well — in that case..."
said Professor McGonagall, staring at the three of them, "Miss Granger, you
foolish girl, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your
own?"
Hermione hung her head.
Harry was speechless. Hermione was the last person to do anything against the
rules, and here she was, pretending she had, to get them out of trouble. It was
as if Snape had started handing out sweets.
"Miss Granger, five points
will be taken from Gryffindor for this," said Professor McGonagall. "I'm very
disappointed in you. If you're not hurt at all, you'd better get off to
Gryffindor tower. Students are finishing the feast in their
houses."
Hermione left.
Professor McGonagall turned
to Harry and Ron.
"Well, I still say you were
lucky, but not many first years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll.
You each win Gryffindor five points. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of
this. You may go."
They hurried out of the
chamber and didn't speak at all until they had climbed two floors up. It was a
relief to be away from the smell of the troll, quite apart from anything
else.
"We should have gotten more
than ten points," Ron grumbled.
"Five, you mean, once she's
taken off Hermione's."
"Good of her to get us out
of trouble like that," Ron admitted. "Mind you, we did save her."
"She might not have needed
saving if we hadn't locked the thing in with her," Harry reminded
him.
They had reached the
portrait of the Fat Lady.
"Pig snout," they said and
entered.
The common room was packed
and noisy. Everyone was eating the food that had been sent up. Hermione,
however, stood alone by the door, waiting for them. There was a very embarrassed
pause. Then, none of them looking at each other, they all said "Thanks," and
hurried off to get plates.
But from that moment on,
Hermione Granger became their friend. There are some things you can't share
without ending up liking each other, and knocking out a twelve-foot mountain
troll is one of them.
