“HARRY POTTER!”
His heart sank faster than he’d just dived. Professor McGonagall was running toward them. He
got to his feet, trembling.
“
Never
— in all my time at Hogwarts —”
Professor McGonagall was almost speechless with shock, and her glasses flashed furiously, “—
how
dare
you — might have broken your neck —”
“It wasn’t his fault, Professor —”
“Be quiet, Miss Patil —”
“But Malfoy —”
“That’s
enough
, Mr. Weasley. Potter, follow me, now.”
Harry
caught sight of Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle’s triumphant faces as he left, walking numbly
in Professor McGonagall’s wake as she strode toward the castle. He was going to be expelled, he
just knew it. He wanted to say something to defend himself, but there seemed to be something
wrong with his voice. Professor McGonagall was sweeping along without even looking at him;
he had to jog to keep up. Now he’d done it. He hadn’t even lasted two weeks. He’d be packing
his bags in ten minutes. What would the Dursleys say when he turned up on the doorstep?
Up
the front steps, up the marble staircase inside, and still Professor McGonagall didn’t say a
word to him. She wrenched open doors and marched along corridors with Harry trotting
miserably behind her. Maybe she was taking him to Dumbledore. He thought of Hagrid, expelled
but allowed to stay on as gamekeeper. Perhaps he could be Hagrid’s assistant. His stomach
twisted as he imagined it, watching Ron and the others becoming wizards,
while he stumped
around the grounds carrying Hagrid’s bag.
Professor McGonagall stopped outside a classroom. She opened the door and poked her head
inside.
“Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment?”
Wood? thought Harry, bewildered; was Wood a cane she was going to use on him?
But Wood turned out to be a person, a burly fifth-year boy who came out of Flitwick’s class
looking confused.
“Follow me, you two,” said Professor McGonagall, and they marched on up the corridor, Wood
looking curiously at Harry.
“In here.”
Professor McGonagall pointed them into a classroom that
was empty except for Peeves, who was
busy writing rude words on the blackboard.
“Out, Peeves!” she barked. Peeves threw the chalk into a bin, which clanged loudly, and he
swooped out cursing. Professor McGonagall slammed the door behind him and turned to face the
two boys.
“Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Wood — I’ve found you a Seeker.”
Wood’s expression changed from puzzlement to delight.
“Are you serious, Professor?”
“Absolutely,” said Professor McGonagall crisply. “The boy’s a natural. I’ve never seen anything
like it. Was that your
first time on a broomstick, Potter?”
Harry nodded silently. He didn’t have a clue what was going on, but he didn’t seem to be being
expelled, and some of the feeling started coming back to his legs.
“He caught that thing in his hand after a fifty-foot dive,” Professor McGonagall told Wood.
“Didn’t even scratch himself. Charlie Weasley couldn’t have done it.”
Wood was now looking as though all his dreams had come true at once.
“Ever seen a game of Quidditch, Potter?” he asked excitedly.
“Wood’s captain of the Gryffindor team,” Professor McGonagall explained.
“He’s just the build for a Seeker, too,” said Wood, now walking around Harry and staring at him.
“Light —speedy — we’ll have to get him a decent broom, Professor —
a Nimbus Two Thousand
or a Cleansweep Seven, I’d say.”
“I shall speak to Professor Dumbledore and see if we can’t bend the first-year rule. Heaven
knows, we need a better team than last year.
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