ᴀ ᴅ ʀ ɪ ᴇ ɴ ɴ ᴇ [1]

12. red leather

chapter twelve

RED LEATHER

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MALFOY CAN'T BELIEVE WHEN HARRY, RON AND I walk into the Great Hall the next morning, looking perfectly cheerful if not a little tired. I look for Saskia, but when I see her blowing bubblegum, I decide her attitude is more swayed towards Sierra today. Come to it, I've never really seen Saskia during the day; only Sierra. After I've eaten my fill of crumpets, I explain my thoughts on the parcel to Ron and Harry.

"But what's so powerful that it needs that much protection?" Ron asks.

I shrug.

"Something that's either really powerful, or really dangerous," I reply.

"Or both," Harry adds.

"Well," Ron says, "I really think we've narrowed it down."

* * *

Neither Neville nor Hermione show the slightest interest in what lies underneath the dog and the trapdoor. All Neville cares about is never going near the dog again. Hermione is now refusing to speak to Harry, Ron and I, but she's such a bossy know-it-all that we see this as an added bonus. All we really want now is a way of getting back at Malfoy. And so it is with great delight that just such a thing arrives in the mail about a week later. As the owls flood into the Great Hall as usual, my attention is caught at once by two long, thin packages carried by a total of twelve screech owls. I watch in amazement as the owls drop them in front of Harry and I, not caring when my bacon is knocked to the floor.

The flock of owls has barely fluttered away when another two swoop in, dropping letters on the top of the parcels. Harry and I look at each other. Then, we grab for our envelopes and tear them open, nearly shredding the letters inside. My heart is racing. Who could be sending something to me this time? And what is it? I hurriedly unfold the letter and skim the contents:

Adrienne -

Do not open your parcel at the table. It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand, but I don't want everybody knowing you've got a broomstick or they'll all want one. Oliver Wood will meet you tonight on the Quidditch field at seven o'clock for your first training session.

Minerva McGonagall

I swear under my breath in awe, barely containing myself from jumping up and down with glee. I hand the note to Ron.

"Bloody hell," he says, eyes widening when he reads what it says. "A Nimbus Two Thousand! I've never even touched one!"

"Well, you will have as soon as we've unwrapped these," I say. "Let's go up to the common room and do it now!"

The three of us hurry out of the Great Hall, pressed to make it back to Gryffindor Tower before our first class. We hurry up the stairs, only to find our way blocked by Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy takes one look at our identical packages and says, his tone mingled with jealousy and spite, "Those're broomsticks. You'll be in for it this time, Potters; first years aren't allowed them."

I hear a strange choking noise and look at Ron, who seems to be waging a major mental battle. He loses.

"They're not any old broomsticks," he says, "they're a Nimbus Two Thousands. What did you say you've got at home, Malfoy, a Comet Two Sixty?" Ron grins at me. "Comets look flashy, but they're just not in the same league as the Nimbus."