Harry spends a lot of time over the next few days dodging out of sight whenever he sees Gilderoy Lockhart coming down a corridor. Colin Creevey is harder to avoid, he seems to have memorized Harry's schedule. Nothing seems 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 sounds when he says it.
Hedwig is still angry with Harry about the disastrous car journey and Ron's wand is still malfunctioning, surpassing itself on Friday morning by shooting out of Ron's hand in Charms and hitting tiny old Professor Flitwick squarely between the eyes, creating a large, throbbing green boil where it struck. So with one thing and another, Harry is quite glad to have reached the weekend. He, Ron, and Hermione are planning to visit Hagrid on Saturday morning. Harry, however, is shaken awake several hours earlier than he planned by Oliver Wood, Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team.
"Whassamatter?" says Harry groggily.
"Quidditch practice!" says Wood. "Come on!"
Harry squints at the window. There is a thin mist hanging across the pink-and-gold sky. Now that he is awake, he can't understand how he can sleep through the racket the birds are making.
"Oliver," Harry croaks. "It's the crack of dawn."
"Exactly," says Wood. He is a tall and burly sixth year and, at the moment, his eyes are gleaming with a crazed enthusiasm. "It's part of our new training program. Come on, grab your broom, and let's go," says Wood 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 climbs out of bed and tries to find his Quidditch robes.
"Good man," says Wood. "Meet you on the field in fifteen minutes."
When he finds his scarlet team robes and pulls on his cloak for warmth, Harry scribbles a note to Ron explaining where he's gone and goes down the spiral staircase to the common room, his Nimbus Two Thousand on his shoulder. He reaches the portrait hole. There is a clatter behind him and Colin Creevey comes 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 looks bemusedly at the photograph Colin is brandishing under his nose.
A moving, black-and-white Lockhart is tugging hard on an arm Harry recognizes as his own. He is pleased to see that his photographic self is putting up a good fight and refusing to be dragged into view. As Harry watches, Lockhart gives up and slumps, panting, against the white edge of the picture.
"Will you sign it?" says Colin eagerly.
"No," says Harry flatly, glancing around to check that the room is really deserted. "Sorry, Colin, I'm in a hurry - Quidditch practice -"
He climbs through the portrait hole.
"Oh, wow! Wait for me! I've never watched a Quidditch game before!"
Colin scrambles through the hole after him.
"It'll be really boring," Harry says quickly, but Colin ignores him, his face shining with excitement.
YOU ARE READING
The Mysterious Heir
Fanfiction2 Years before Harry Potter is born, Voldemort conceives a son to take his place if he died before he reached immortality. After he is born, Voldemort enchants him to be more powerful than himself. This is the story of Polaris Cygnus Lestrange, The...
