MAGIC AND MYSTERY

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets Part 7

Harry spent a lot of time over the next few days dodging out of sight whenever Gilderoy Lockhart came down the corridor. 

Harder to avoid was Colin Creevey, who seemed to have memorized Harry's schedule. Nothing seemed to give Colin a bigger thrill than to say, "All right, Harry?" six or seven times a day and hear, "Hello, Colin," back, however exasperated Harry sounded when he said it.

Colin flushed deep red as everyone laughed. "I was eleven okay!" he exclaimed, glaring at his younger brother Dennis Creevey, who was cackling the loudest.

Ron's wand was still malfunctioning, surpassing itself on Friday morning by shooting out of Ron's hand in Charms and hitting Flitwick squarely between the eyes, creating a large, throbbing green boil where it had struck.

Flitwick winced.

The screen changed to show Harry being shaken awake by Oliver Wood on Saturday morning.

"Whassamatter?" Harry said groggily.

"Quidditch practice!" Wood said. "Come on!"

Harry squinted at the window. There was a thin mist hanging across the pink-and-gold sky. The birds were making a very loud racket.

"Oliver," Harry croaked. "It's the crack of dawn."

"That's dedication," James smiled. "He's like Frank and I."

"Exactly," Wood said. His eyes were gleaming with a crazed enthusiasm. "It's part of our new training program. Come on, grab your broom, and let's go," Wood said heartily. "None of the other teams have started training yet; we're going to be first off the mark this year—"

Yawning and shivering slightly, Harry climbed out of bed and tried to find his Quidditch robes.

"Good man," Wood said. "Meet you on the field in fifteen minutes."

When he'd found his scarlet team robes and pulled on his cloak for warmth, Harry scribbled a note to Ron explaining where he'd gone and went down the spiral staircase to the common room, his Nimbus Two Thousand on his shoulder.

He had just reached the portrait hole when there was a clatter behind him and Colin came dashing down the spiral staircase, his camera swinging madly around his neck and something clutched in his hand.

"I heard someone saying your name on the stairs, Harry! Look what I've got here! I've had it developed, I wanted to show you—"

Harry looked bemusedly at the photograph Colin was brandishing under his nose.

A moving, black-and-white Lockhart was tugging hard on an arm Harry recognized as his own. He was pleased to see that his photographic self was putting up a good fight and refusing to be dragged into view. As Harry watched, Lockhart gave up and slumped, panting, against the white edge of the picture.

"Will you sign it?" Colin said eagerly.

"No," Harry said flatly, glancing around to check that the room was really deserted. "Sorry, Colin, I'm in a hurry—Quidditch practice—"

He climbed through the portrait hole. 

"Oh, wow! Wait for me! I've never watched a Quidditch game before!" Colin scrambled through the hole after him.

"It'll be really boring," Harry said quickly, but Colin ignored him, his face shining with excitement. 

"You were the youngest House player in a hundred years, weren't you, Harry? Weren't you?" Colin said, trotting alongside him. "You must be brilliant. I've never flown. Is it easy? Is that your own broom? Is that the best one there is?"