Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone By J. K. Rowling chapter one the Boy Who Lived

here
!” Harry yelled, but Malfoy had leapt onto his broomstick and taken off. He hadn’t 
been lying, he 
could
fly well. Hovering level with the topmost branches of an oak he called, 
“Come and get it, Potter!” 
Harry grabbed his broom. 
“No!” 
shouted Hermione Granger. “Madam Hooch told us not to move — you’ll get us all into 
trouble.” 
Harry ignored her. Blood was pounding in his ears. He mounted the broom and kicked hard 
against the ground and up, up he soared; air rushed through his hair, and his robes whipped out 
behind him — and in a rush of fierce joy he realized he’d found something he could do without 
being taught — this was easy, this was 
wonderful
. He pulled his broomstick up a little to take it 
even higher, and heard screams and gasps of girls back on the ground and an admiring whoop 
from Ron. 
He turned his broomstick sharply to face Malfoy in midair. Malfoy looked stunned. 
“Give it here,” Harry called, “or I’ll knock you off that broom!” 
“Oh, yeah?” said Malfoy, trying to sneer, but looking worried. 
Harry knew, somehow, what to do. He leaned forward and grasped the broom tightly in both 
hands, and it shot toward Malfoy like a javelin. Malfoy only just got out of the way in time; 
Harry made a sharp about-face and held the broom steady. A few people below were clapping. 
“No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy,” Harry called. 
The same thought seemed to have struck Malfoy. 
“Catch it if you can, then!” he shouted, and he threw the glass ball high into the air and streaked 
back toward the ground. 
Harry saw, as though in slow motion, the ball rise up in the air and then start to fall. He leaned 
forward and pointed his broom handle down — next second he was gathering speed in a steep 
dive, racing the ball — wind whistled in his ears, mingled with the screams of people watching 
— he stretched out his hand — a foot from the ground he caught it, just in time to pull his broom 
straight, and he toppled gently onto the grass with the Remembrall clutched safely in his fist. 

---

“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.