CHAPTER ELEVEN
ful chatter of everyone looking forward to a good Quidditch
match.
“You’ve got to eat some breakfast.”
“I don’t want anything.”
“Just a bit of toast,” wheedled Hermione.
“I’m not hungry.”
Harry felt terrible. In an hour’s time he’d be walking onto the
field.
“Harry, you need your strength,” said Seamus Finnigan. “Seek-
ers are always the ones who get clobbered by the other team.”
“Thanks, Seamus,” said Harry, watching Seamus pile ketchup
on his sausages.
By eleven o’clock the whole school seemed to be out in the stands
around the Quidditch pitch. Many students had binoculars. The
seats might be raised high in the air, but it was still difficult to see
what was going on sometimes.
Ron and Hermione joined Neville, Seamus, and Dean the West
Ham fan up in the top row. As a surprise for Harry, they had
painted a large banner on one of the sheets Scabbers had ruined. It
said Potter for President, and Dean, who was good at drawing, had
done a large Gryffindor lion underneath. Then Hermione had
performed a tricky little charm so that the paint flashed different
colors.
Meanwhile, in the locker room, Harry and the rest of the team
were changing into their scarlet Quidditch robes (Slytherin would
be playing in green).
Wood cleared his throat for silence.
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