QUIDDITCH
“Okay, men,” he said.
“And women,” said Chaser Angelina Johnson.
“And women,” Wood agreed. “This is it.”
“The big one,” said Fred Weasley.
“The one we’ve all been waiting for,” said George.
“We know Oliver’s speech by heart,” Fred told Harry, “we were
on the team last year.”
“Shut up, you two,” said Wood. “This is the best team Gryf-
findor’s had in years. We’re going to win. I know it.”
He glared at them all as if to say, “Or else.”
“Right. Its time. Good luck, all of you.”
Harry followed Fred and George out of the locker room and,
hoping his knees weren’t going to give way, walked onto the field to
loud cheers.
Madam Hooch was refereeing. She stood in the middle of the
field waiting for the two teams, her broom in her hand.
“Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you,” she said, once they
were all gathered around her. Harry noticed that she seemed to be
speaking particularly to the Slytherin Captain, Marcus Flint, a fifth
year. Harry thought Flint looked as if he had some troll blood in
him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the fluttering banner high
above, flashing Potter for President over the crowd. His heart
skipped. He felt braver.
“Mount your brooms, please.”
Harry clambered onto his Nimbus Two Thousand.
Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle.
Fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air. They were off.
“And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of
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