The War Hammer of Hogwarts - Harry Potter

Malfoy Says a Slur

Ron's wand was 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 had struck.  So, with one thing and another, we were all quite glad to reach the weekend.  We were all planning to visit Hagrid on Saturday morning. Harry and I, however, were woken up several hours earlier than we would have liked by Oliver Wood, captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, which I was the new chaser of.

Harry: Whassamatter...

Wood: Quidditch practice!  Come on!

I yawned, sitting up.

YN: Oliver, it's the crack of dawn.

Wood: Exactly!

He was a tall and burly sixth year and, at the moment, his eyes were gleaming with a mad enthusiasm.

Wood: It's part of our new training program.  Come on, grab your brooms and let's go.  None of the other teams have started training yet, we're going to be first off the mark this year.

Yawning and shivering slightly, we climbed out of bed and tried to find our Quidditch robes.

Wood: Good men.

We scribbled a note to Ron explaining where we'd gone and the two of us went down the spiral staircase to the common room, his Nimbus Two Thousand on his shoulder and my Thunderbolt on mine.  We had just reached the portrait hole when there was a clatter behind us and Colin Creevey came dashing down the spiral staircase, his camera swinging madly around his neck and something clutched in his hand.

Colin: 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...

I struggled not to laugh at the photograph Colin was holding in Harry's face.  A moving, black and white Lockhart was tugging hard on Harry's arm.  Harry looked 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.

Colin: Will you sign it?

Harry: No, sorry, Colin, we're in a hurry.  Quidditch practice.

We climbed through the portrait hole.

Colin: Oh wow!  Wait for me!  I've never watched a Quidditch game before!

Colin scrambled through the hole after us.  I rolled my eyes.

YN: It'll be really boring.

Colin ignored me, his face shining with excitement.

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

We didn't know how to get rid of him.  It was like having an extremely talkative shadow.

Colin: I don't really understand Quidditch.  Is it true there are four balls?  And two of them fly round trying to knock people off their brooms?

Harry: Yes.  They're called Bludgers.  There are two Beaters on each team, who carry clubs to beat the Bludgers away from their side.  Fred and George Weasley are the Gryffindor Beaters.

Colin: And what are the other balls for?

I zoned out until we finally reached the field.  At that point, Colin ran off towards the stands.

Colin: I'll go and get a good seat, Harry!

The rest of the Gryffindor team were already in the changing room.  Wood was the only person who looked truly awake.  Fred and George Weasley both had puffy eyes and bed hair, sitting next to fourth year Alicia Spinnet, who seemed to be nodding off against the wall behind her.  My fellow Chaser, Angelina Johnson, was standing opposite them, yawning.