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

Potter for President
, and Dean, who was good at drawing, had done a large Gryffindor lion 
underneath. Then Hermione had performed a tricky little charm so that the paint flashed different 
colors. 
Meanwhile, in the locker room, Harry and the rest of the team were changing into their scarlet 
Quidditch robes (Slytherin would be playing in green). 

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Wood cleared his throat for silence. 
“Okay, men,” he said. 
“And women,” said Chaser Angelina Johnson. 
“And women,” Wood agreed. “This is it.” 
“The big one,” said Fred Weasley. 
“The one we’ve all been waiting for,” said George. 
“We know Oliver’s speech by heart,” Fred told Harry, “we were on the team last year.” 
“Shut up, you two,” said Wood. “This is the best team Gryffindor’s had in years. We’re going to 
win. I know it.” 
He glared at them all as if to say, “Or else.” 
“Right. It’s time. Good luck, all of you.” 
Harry followed Fred and George out of the locker room and, hoping his knees weren’t going to 
give way, walked onto the field to loud cheers. 
Madam Hooch was refereeing. She stood in the middle of the field waiting for the two teams, her 
broom in her hand. 
“Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you,” she said, once they were all gathered around her. 
Harry noticed that she seemed to be speaking particularly to the Slytherin Captain, Marcus Flint, 
a sixth year. Harry thought Flint looked as if he had some troll blood in him. Out of the corner of 
his eye he saw the fluttering banner high above, flashing Potter for President over the crowd. His 
heart skipped. He felt braver. 
“Mount your brooms, please.” 
Harry clambered onto his Nimbus Two Thousand. 
Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle. 
Fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air. They were off. 
“And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor — what an excellent 
Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too —” 
“JORDAN!” 

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“Sorry, Professor.” 
The Weasley twins’ friend, Lee Jordan, was doing the commentary for the match, closely 
watched by Professor McGonagall. 
“And she’s really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver 
Wood’s, last year only a reserve — back to Johnson and — no, the Slytherins have taken the 
Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes — Flint flying like an 
eagle up there — he’s going to sc— no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper 
Wood and the Gryffindors take the Quaffle — that’s Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice 
dive around Flint, off up the field and — OUCH — that must have hurt, hit in the back of the 
head by a Bludger — Quaffle taken by the Slytherins — that’s Adrian Pucey speeding off toward 
the goal posts, but he’s blocked by a second Bludger — sent his way by Fred or George 
Weasley, can’t tell which — nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in 
possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes — she’s really flying — dodges a 
speeding Bludger — the goal posts are ahead — come on, now, Angelina — Keeper Bletchley 
dives — misses — GRYFFINDORS SCORE!” 
Gryffindor cheers filled the cold air, with howls and moans from the Slytherins. 
“Budge up there, move along.” 
“Hagrid!” 
Ron and Hermione squeezed together to give Hagrid enough space to join them. 
“Bin watchin’ from me hut,” said Hagrid, patting a large pair of binoculars around his neck, “But 
it isn’t the same as bein’ in the crowd. No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?” 
“Nope,” said Ron. “Harry hasn’t had much to do yet.” 
“Kept outta trouble, though, that’s somethin’,” said Hagrid, raising his binoculars and peering 
skyward at the speck that was Harry. 
Way up above them, Harry was gliding over the game, squinting about for some sign of the 
Snitch. This was part of his and Wood’s game plan. 
“Keep out of the way until you catch sight of the Snitch,” Wood had said. “We don’t want you 
attacked before you have to be.” 
When Angelina had scored, Harry had done a couple of loop-the-loops to let off his feelings. 
Now he was back to staring around for the Snitch. Once he caught sight of a flash of gold, but it 
was just a reflection from one of the Weasleys’ wristwatches, and once a Bludger decided to 
come pelting his way, more like a cannonball than anything, but Harry dodged it and Fred 
Weasley came chasing after it. 

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“All right there, Harry?” he had time to yell, as he beat the Bludger furiously toward Marcus 
Flint. 
“Slytherin in possession,” Lee Jordan was saying, “Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two 
Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the — wait a moment — was that the Snitch?” 
A murmur ran through the crowd as Adrian Pucey dropped the Quaffle, too busy looking over 
his shoulder at the flash of gold that had passed his left ear. 
Harry saw it. In a great rush of excitement he dived downward after the streak of gold. Slytherin 
Seeker Terence Higgs had seen it, too. Neck and neck they hurtled toward the Snitch — all the 
Chasers seemed to have forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as they hung in midair to 
watch. 
Harry was faster than Higgs — he could see the little round ball, wings fluttering, darting up 
ahead — he put on an extra spurt of speed — 
WHAM! A roar of rage echoed from the Gryffindors below — Marcus Flint had blocked Harry 
on purpose, and Harry’s broom spun off course, Harry holding on for dear life. 
“Foul!” screamed the Gryffindors. 
Madam Hooch spoke angrily to Flint and then ordered a free shot at the goal posts for 
Gryffindor. But in all the confusion, of course, the Golden Snitch had disappeared from sight 
again. 
Down in the stands, Dean Thomas was yelling, “Send him off, ref! Red card!” 
“What are you talking about, Dean?” said Ron. 
“Red card!” said Dean furiously. “In soccer you get shown the red card and you’re out of the 
game!” 
“But this isn’t soccer, Dean,” Ron reminded him. 
Hagrid, however, was on Dean’s side. 
“They oughta change the rules. Flint coulda knocked Harry outta the air.” 
Lee Jordan was finding it difficult not to take sides. 
“So — after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating —” 
“Jordan!” growled Professor McGonagall. 
“I mean, after that open and revolting foul…” 

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