Harry Potter 02 - Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

where were you when that Bludger stopped Angelina scoring?’
    ‘We were twenty feet above her, stopping the other Bludger murdering Harry, Oliver,’ said George angrily. ‘Someone’s fixed it – it won’t leave Harry alone, it hasn’t gone for anyone else all game. The Slytherins must have done something to it.’
    ‘But the Bludgers have been locked in Madam Hooch’s office since our last practice, and there was nothing wrong with them then …’ said Wood, anxiously.
    Madam Hooch was walking towards them. Over her shoulder, Harry could see the Slytherin team jeering and pointing in his direction.
    ‘Listen,’ said Harry, as she came nearer and nearer, ‘with you two flying round me all the time the only way I’m going to catch the Snitch is if it flies up my sleeve. Go back to the rest of the team and let me deal with the rogue one.’
    ‘Don’t be thick,’ said Fred. ‘It’ll take your head off.’
    Wood was looking from Harry to the Weasleys.
    ‘Oliver, this is mad,’ said Alicia Spinnet angrily. ‘You can’t let Harry deal with that thing on his own. Let’s ask for an inquiry –’
    ‘If we stop now, we’ll have to forfeit the match!’ said Harry. ‘And we’re not losing to Slytherin just because of a mad Bludger! Come on, Oliver, tell them to leave me alone!’
    ‘This is all your fault,’ George said angrily to Wood. ‘“Get the Snitch or die trying” – what a stupid thing to tell him!’
    Madam Hooch had joined them.
    ‘Ready to resume play?’ she asked Wood.
    Wood looked at the determined look on Harry’s face.
    ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Fred, George, you heard Harry – leave him alone and let him deal with the Bludger on his own.’
    The rain was falling more heavily now. On Madam Hooch’s whistle, Harry kicked hard into the air and heard the tell-tale whoosh of the Bludger behind him. Higher and higher Harry climbed. He looped and swooped, spiralled, zig-zagged and rolled. Slightly dizzy, he nevertheless kept his eyes wide open. Rain was speckling his glasses and ran up his nostrils as he hung upside down, avoiding another fierce dive from the Bludger. He could hear laughter from the crowd; he knew he must look very stupid, but the rogue Bludger was heavy and couldn’t change direction as quickly as he could. He began a kind of roller-coaster ride around the edges of the stadium, squinting through the silver sheets of rain to the Gryffindor goalposts, where Adrian Pucey was trying to get past Wood …
    A whistling in Harry’s ear told him the Bludger had just missed him again; he turned right over and sped in the opposite direction.
    ‘Training for the ballet, Potter?’ yelled Malfoy, as Harry was forced to do a stupid kind of twirl in mid-air to dodge the Bludger. Off Harry fled, the Bludger trailing a few feet behind him: and then, glaring back at Malfoy in hatred, he saw it, the Golden Snitch . It was hovering inches above Malfoy’s left ear – and Malfoy, busy laughing at Harry, hadn’t seen it.
    For an agonising moment, Harry hung in mid-air, not daring to speed towards Malfoy in case he looked up and saw the Snitch.
    WHAM!
    He had stayed still a second too long. The Bludger had hit him at last, smashed into his elbow, and Harry felt his arm break. Dimly, dazed by the searing pain in his arm, he slid sideways on his rain-drenched broom, one knee still crooked over it, his right arm dangling useless at his side. The Bludger came pelting back for a second attack, this time aiming at his face. Harry swerved out of the way, one idea firmly lodged in his numb brain: get to Malfoy.
    Through a haze of rain and pain he dived for the shimmering, sneering face below him and saw its eyes widen with fear: Malfoy thought Harry was attacking him.
    ‘What the –’ he gasped, careering out of Harry’s way.
    Harry took his remaining hand off his broom and made a wild snatch; he felt his fingers close on the cold Snitch but was now only gripping the broom with his legs and there was a yell from the crowd below as he headed straight for the ground, trying hard not to pass out.
    With a splattering thud he hit the mud and rolled off his broom. His arm was hanging at a very strange angle. Riddled with pain, he heard, as though from a distance, a good deal of whistling and shouting. He focused on the Snitch clutched in his good hand.
    ‘Aha,’ he said vaguely, ‘we’ve won.’
    And he fainted.
    He came round, rain falling on his face, still lying on the pitch,