Harry Potter 02 - Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

Flitwick squarely between the eyes, creating a large, throbbing green boil where it had struck. So, with one thing and another, Harry was quite glad to reach the weekend. He, Ron and Hermione were planning to visit Hagrid on Saturday morning. Harry, however, was shaken awake several hours earlier than he would have liked by Oliver Wood, captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team.
    ‘Whassamatter?’ said Harry groggily.
    ‘Quidditch practice!’ said Wood. ‘Come on!’
    Harry squinted at the window. There was a thin mist hanging across the pink and gold sky. Now he was awake, he couldn’t understand how he could have slept through the racket the birds were making.
    ‘Oliver,’ Harry croaked, ‘it’s the crack of dawn.’
    ‘Exactly,’ said Wood. He was a tall and burly sixth-year and, at the moment, his eyes were gleaming with a mad enthusiasm. ‘It’s part of our new training programme. Come on, grab your broom and let’s go,’ said Wood heartily. ‘None of the other teams have started training yet, we’re going to be first off the mark this year …’
    Yawning and shivering slightly, Harry climbed out of bed and tried to find his Quidditch robes.
    ‘Good man,’ said Wood. ‘Meet you on the pitch in fifteen minutes.’
    When he’d found his scarlet team robes and pulled on his cloak for warmth, Harry scribbled a note to Ron explaining where he’d gone and went down the spiral staircase to the common room, his Nimbus Two Thousand on his shoulder. He had just reached the portrait hole when there was a clatter behind him and Colin Creevey came dashing down the spiral staircase, his camera swinging madly around his neck and something clutched in his hand.
    ‘I heard someone saying your name on the stairs, Harry! Look what I’ve got here! I’ve had it developed, I wanted to show you –’
    Harry looked bemusedly at the photograph Colin was brandishing under his nose.
    A moving, black and white Lockhart was tugging hard on an arm Harry recognised as his own. He was pleased to see that his photographic self was putting up a good fight and refusing to be dragged into view. As Harry watched, Lockhart gave up and slumped, panting, against the white edge of the picture.
    ‘Will you sign it?’ said Colin eagerly.
    ‘No,’ said Harry flatly, glancing around to check that the room was really deserted. ‘Sorry, Colin, I’m in a hurry – Quidditch practice.’
    He climbed through the portrait hole.
    ‘Oh wow! Wait for me! I’ve never watched a Quidditch game before!’
    Colin scrambled through the hole after him.
    ‘It’ll be really boring,’ Harry said quickly, but Colin ignored him, his face shining with excitement.
    ‘You were the youngest house player in a hundred years, weren’t you, Harry? Weren’t you?’ said Colin, trotting alongside him. ‘You must be brilliant. I’ve never flown. Is it easy? Is that your own broom? Is that the best one there is?’
    Harry didn’t know how to get rid of him. It was like having an extremely talkative shadow.
    ‘I don’t really understand Quidditch,’ said Colin breathlessly. ‘Is it true there are four balls? And two of them fly round trying to knock people off their brooms?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Harry heavily, resigned to explaining the complicated rules of Quidditch. ‘They’re called Bludgers. There are two Beaters on each team, who carry clubs to beat the Bludgers away from their side. Fred and George Weasley are the Gryffindor Beaters.’
    ‘And what are the other balls for?’ Colin asked, tripping down a couple of steps because he was gazing open-mouthed at Harry.
    ‘Well, the Quaffle – that’s the biggish red one – is the one that scores goals. Three Chasers on each team throw the Quaffle to each other and try and get it through the goalposts at the end of the pitch – they’re three long poles with hoops on the end.’
    ‘And the fourth ball –’
    ‘– is the Golden Snitch,’ said Harry, ‘and it’s very small, very fast and difficult to catch. But that’s what the Seeker’s got to do, because a game of Quidditch doesn’t end until the Snitch has been caught. And whichever team’s Seeker gets the Snitch earns his team an extra hundred and fifty points.’
    ‘And you’re Gryffindor Seeker, aren’t you?’ said Colin in awe.
    ‘Yes,’ said Harry, as they left the castle and started across the dew-drenched grass. ‘And there’s the Keeper, too. He guards the goalposts. That’s it, really.’
    But Colin