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

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

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CHAPTER TEN 
 
 
Halloween 
Malfoy couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw that Harry and Ron were still at Hogwarts the next 
day, looking tired but perfectly cheerful. Indeed, by the next morning Harry and Ron thought that 
meeting the three-headed dog had been an excellent adventure, and they were quite keen to have 
another one. In the meantime, Harry filled Ron in about the package that seemed to have been 
moved from Gringotts to Hogwarts, and they spent a lot of time wondering what could possibly 
need such heavy protection. 
“It’s either really valuable or really dangerous,” said Ron. 
“Or both,” said Harry. 
But as all they knew for sure about the mysterious object was that it was about two inches long, 
they didn’t have much chance of guessing what it was without further clues. 
Neither Neville nor Hermione showed the slightest interest in what lay underneath the dog and 
the trapdoor. All Neville cared about was never going near the dog again. 
Hermione was now refusing to speak to Harry and Ron, but she was such a bossy know-it-all that 
they saw this as an added bonus. All they really wanted now was a way of getting back at 
Malfoy, and to their great delight, just such a thing arrived in the mail about a week later. 
As the owls flooded into the Great Hall as usual, everyone’s attention was caught at once by a 
long, thin package carried by six large screech owls. Harry was just as interested as everyone 
else to see what was in this large parcel, and was amazed when the owls soared down and 
dropped it right in front of him, knocking his bacon to the floor. They had hardly fluttered out of 
the way when another owl dropped a letter on top of the parcel. 
Harry ripped open the letter first, which was lucky, because it said: 
 
DO NOT OPEN THE 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. 

Professor McGonagall 
Harry had difficulty hiding his glee as he handed the note to Ron to read. 
“A Nimbus Two Thousand!” Ron moaned enviously. “I’ve never even 
touched
one.” 

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They left the hall quickly, wanting to unwrap the broomstick in private before their first class, 
but halfway across the entrance hall they found the way upstairs barred by Crabbe and Goyle. 
Malfoy seized the package from Harry and felt it. 
“That’s a broomstick,” he said, throwing it back to Harry with a mixture of jealousy and spite on 
his face. “You’ll be in for it this time, Potter, first years aren’t allowed them.” 
Ron couldn’t resist it. 
“It’s not any old broomstick,” he said, “it’s a Nimbus Two Thousand. What did you say you’ve 
got at home, Malfoy, a Comet Two Sixty?” Ron grinned at Harry. “Comets look flashy, but 
they’re not in the same league as the Nimbus.” 
“What would you know about it, Weasley, you couldn’t afford half the handle,” Malfoy snapped 
back. “I suppose you and your brothers have to save up twig by twig.” 
Before Ron could answer, Professor Flitwick appeared at Malfoy’s elbow. 
“Not arguing, I hope, boys?” he squeaked. 
“Potter’s been sent a broomstick, Professor,” said Malfoy quickly. 
“Yes, yes, that’s right,” said Professor Flitwick, beaming at Harry. “Professor McGonagall told 
me all about the special circumstances, Potter. And what model is it?” 
“A Nimbus Two Thousand, it is,” said Harry, fighting not to laugh at the look of horror on 
Malfoy’s face. “And it’s really thanks to Malfoy here that I’ve got it,” he added. 
Harry and Ron headed upstairs, smothering their laughter at Malfoy’s obvious rage and 
confusion. 
“Well, it’s true,” Harry chortled as they reached the top of the marble staircase, “If he hadn’t 
stolen Neville’s Remembrall I wouldn’t be on the team…” 
“So I suppose you think that’s a reward for breaking rules?” came an angry voice from just 
behind them. Hermione was stomping up the stairs, looking disapprovingly at the package in 
Harry’s hand. 
“I thought you weren’t speaking to us?” said Harry. 
“Yes, don’t stop now,” said Ron, “it’s doing us so much good.” 
Hermione marched away with her nose in the air. 
Harry had a lot of trouble keeping his mind on his lessons that day. It kept wandering up to the 
dormitory where his new broomstick was lying under his bed, or straying off to the Quidditch 

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field where he’d be learning to play that night. He bolted his dinner that evening without noticing 
what he was eating, and then rushed upstairs with Ron to unwrap the Nimbus Two Thousand at 
last. 
“Wow,” Ron sighed, as the broomstick rolled onto Harry’s bedspread. 
Even Harry, who knew nothing about the different brooms, thought it looked wonderful. Sleek 
and shiny, with a mahogany handle, it had a long tail of neat, straight twigs and Nimbus Two 
Thousand written in gold near the top. 
As seven o’clock drew nearer, Harry left the castle and set off in the dusk toward the Quidditch 
field. Held never been inside the stadium before. Hundreds of seats were raised in stands around 
the field so that the spectators were high enough to see what was going on. At either end of the 
field were three golden poles with hoops on the end. They reminded Harry of the little plastic 
sticks Muggle children blew bubbles through, except that they were fifty feet high. 
Too eager to fly again to wait for Wood, Harry mounted his broomstick and kicked off from the 
ground. What a feeling — he swooped in and out of the goal posts and then sped up and down 
the field. The Nimbus Two Thousand turned wherever he wanted at his lightest touch. 
“Hey, Potter, come down!” 
Oliver Wood had arrived. He was carrying a large wooden crate under his arm. Harry landed 
next to him. 
“Very nice,” said Wood, his eyes glinting. “I see what McGonagall meant… you really are a 
natural. I’m just going to teach you the rules this evening, then you’ll be joining team practice 
three times a week.” 
He opened the crate. Inside were four different-sized balls. 
“Right,” said Wood. “Now, Quidditch is easy enough to understand, even if it’s not too easy to 
play. There are seven players on each side. Three of them are called Chasers.” 
“Three Chasers,” Harry repeated, as Wood took out a bright red ball about the size of a soccer 
ball. 
“This ball’s called the Quaffle,” said Wood. “The Chasers throw the Quaffle to each other and 
try and get it through one of the hoops to score a goal. Ten points every time the Quaffle goes 
through one of the hoops. Follow me?” 
“The Chasers throw the Quaffle and put it through the hoops to score,” Harry recited. “So — 
that’s sort of like basketball on broomsticks with six hoops, isn’t it?” 
“What’s basketball?” said Wood curiously. 

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“Never mind,” said Harry quickly. 
“Now, there’s another player on each side who’s called the Keeper — I’m Keeper for 
Gryffindor. I have to fly around our hoops and stop the other team from scoring.” 
“Three Chasers, one Keeper,” said Harry, who was determined to remember it all. “And they 
play with the Quaffle. Okay, got that. So what are they for?” He pointed at the three balls left 
inside the box. 
“I’ll show you now,” said Wood. “Take this.” 
He handed Harry a small club, a bit like a short baseball bat. 
“I’m going to show you what the Bludgers do,” Wood said. “These two are the Bludgers.” 
He showed Harry two identical balls, jet black and slightly smaller than the red Quaffle. Harry 
noticed that they seemed to be straining to escape the straps holding them inside the box. 
“Stand back,” Wood warned Harry. He bent down and freed one of the Bludgers. 
At once, the black ball rose high in the air and then pelted straight at Harry’s face. Harry swung 
at it with the bat to stop it from breaking his nose, and sent it zigzagging away into the air — it 
zoomed around their heads and then shot at Wood, who dived on top of it and managed to pin it 
to the ground. 
“See?” Wood panted, forcing the struggling Bludger back into the crate and strapping it down 
safely. “The Bludgers rocket around, trying to knock players off their brooms. That’s why you 
have two Beaters on each team — the Weasley twins are ours — it’s their job to protect their 
side from the Bludgers and try and knock them toward the other team. So — think you’ve got all 
that?” 
“Three Chasers try and score with the Quaffle; the Keeper guards the goal posts; the Beaters 
keep the Bludgers away from their team,” Harry reeled off. 
“Very good,” said Wood. 
“Er — have the Bludgers ever killed anyone?” Harry asked, hoping he sounded offhand. 
“Never at Hogwarts. We’ve had a couple of broken jaws but nothing worse than that. Now, the 
last member of the team is the Seeker. That’s you. And you don’t have to worry about the 
Quaffle or the Bludgers —” 
“— unless they crack my head open.” 
“Don’t worry, the Weasleys are more than a match for the Bludgers — I mean, they’re like a pair 
of human Bludgers themselves.” 

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Wood reached into the crate and took out the fourth and last ball. Compared with the Quaffle and 
the Bludgers, it was tiny, about the size of a large walnut. It was bright gold and had little 
fluttering silver wings. 
“
This
,” said Wood, “is the Golden Snitch, and it’s the most important ball of the lot. It’s very 
hard to catch because it’s so fast and difficult to see. It’s the Seeker’s job to catch it. You’ve got 
to weave in and out of the Chasers, Beaters, Bludgers, and Quaffle to get it before the other 
team’s Seeker, because whichever Seeker catches the Snitch wins his team an extra hundred and 
fifty points, so they nearly always win. That’s why Seekers get fouled so much. A game of 
Quidditch only ends when the Snitch is caught, so it can go on for ages — I think the record is 
three months, they had to keep bringing on substitutes so the players could get some sleep. 
“Well, that’s it any questions?” 
Harry shook his head. He understood what he had to do all right, it was doing it that was going to 
be the problem. 
“We won’t practice with the Snitch yet,” said Wood, carefully shutting it back inside the crate, 
“it’s too dark, we might lose it. Let’s try you out with a few of these.” 
He pulled a bag of ordinary golf balls out of his pocket and a few minutes later, he and Harry 
were up in the air, Wood throwing the golf balls as hard as he could in every direction for Harry 
to catch. 
Harry didn’t miss a single one, and Wood was delighted. After half an hour, night had really 
fallen and they couldn’t carry on. 
“That Quidditch Cup’ll have our name on it this year,” said Wood happily as they trudged back 
up to the castle. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you turn out better than Charlie Weasley, and he 
could have played for England if he hadn’t gone off chasing dragons.” 
Perhaps it was because he was now so busy, what with Quidditch practice three evenings a week 
on top of all his homework, but Harry could hardly believe it when he realized that he’d already 
been at Hogwarts two months. The castle felt more like home than Privet Drive ever had. His 
lessons, too, were becoming more and more interesting now that they had mastered the basics. 
On Halloween morning they woke to the delicious smell of baking pumpkin wafting through the 
corridors. Even better, Professor Flitwick announced in Charms that he thought they were ready 
to start making objects fly, something they had all been dying to try since they’d seen him make 
Neville’s toad zoom around the classroom. Professor Flitwick put the class into pairs to practice. 
Harry’s partner was Seamus Finnigan (which was a relief, because Neville had been trying to 
catch his eye). Ron, however, was to be working with Hermione Granger. It was hard to tell 
whether Ron or Hermione was angrier about this. She hadn’t spoken to either of them since the 
day Harry’s broomstick had arrived. 
“Now, don’t forget that nice wrist movement we’ve been practicing!” squeaked Professor 

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Flitwick, perched on top of his pile of books as usual. “Swish and flick, remember, swish and 
flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important, too — never forget Wizard 
Baruffio, who said ‘s’ instead of ‘f’ and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest.” 
It was very difficult. Harry and Seamus swished and flicked, but the feather they were supposed 
to be sending skyward just lay on the desktop. Seamus got so impatient that he prodded it with 
his wand and set fire to it — Harry had to put it out with his hat. 
Ron, at the next table, wasn’t having much more luck. 
“