CHAPTER ELEVEN
His broom had started to roll over and over, with him only just
managing to hold on. Then the whole crowd gasped. Harry’s
broom had given a wild jerk and Harry swung off it. He was now
dangling from it, holding on with only one hand.
“Did something happen to it when Flint blocked him?” Seamus
whispered.
“Can’t have,” Hagrid said, his voice shaking. “Can’t nothing in-
terfere with a broomstick except powerful Dark magic — no kid
could do that to a Nimbus Two Thousand.”
At these words, Hermione seized Hagrid’s binoculars, but in-
stead of looking up at Harry, she started looking frantically at the
crowd.
“What are you doing?” moaned Ron, gray-faced.
“I knew it,” Hermione gasped, “Snape — look.”
Ron grabbed the binoculars. Snape was in the middle of the
stands opposite them. He had his eyes fixed on Harry and was mut-
tering nonstop under his breath.
“He’s doing something — jinxing the broom,” said Hermione.
“What should we do?”
“Leave it to me.”
Before Ron could say another word, Hermione had disappeared.
Ron turned the binoculars back on Harry. His broom was vibrat-
ing so hard, it was almost impossible for him to hang on much
longer. The whole crowd was on its feet, watching, terrified, as
the Weasleys flew up to try and pull Harry safely onto one of
their brooms, but it was no good — every time they got near him,
the broom would jump higher still. They dropped lower and cir-
cled beneath him, obviously hoping to catch him if he fell. Marcus
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