CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Fifty?” Harry gasped — they would lose the lead, the lead he’d
won in the last Quidditch match.
“Fifty points each,” said Professor McGonagall, breathing heav-
ily through her long, pointed nose.
“Professor — please —”
“You can’t —”
“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do, Potter. Now get back
to bed, all of you. I’ve never been more ashamed of Gryffindor stu-
dents.”
A hundred and fifty points lost. That put Gryffindor in last
place. In one night, they’d ruined any chance Gryffindor had had
for the House Cup. Harry felt as though the bottom had dropped
out of his stomach. How could they ever make up for this?
Harry didn’t sleep all night. He could hear Neville sobbing into
his pillow for what seemed like hours. Harry couldn’t think of any-
thing to say to comfort him. He knew Neville, like himself, was
dreading the dawn. What would happen when the rest of Gryf-
findor found out what they’d done?
At first, Gryffindors passing the giant hourglasses that recorded
the House points the next day thought there’d been a mistake.
How could they suddenly have a hundred and fifty points fewer
than yesterday? And then the story started to spread: Harry Potter,
the famous Harry Potter, their hero of two Quidditch matches, had
lost them all those points, him and a couple of other stupid first
years.
From being one of the most popular and admired people at the
school, Harry was suddenly the most hated. Even Ravenclaws and
Hufflepuffs turned on him, because everyone had been longing to
see Slytherin lose the House Cup. Everywhere Harry went, people
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