CHAPTER NINE
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 ex-
cellent 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.
152