Harry Potter 03 - Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

– they were all going to block her –
    Harry wheeled the Firebolt about, bent so low he was lying flat along the handle and kicked it forwards. Like a bullet, he shot towards the Slytherins.
    ‘AAAAAAARRRGH!’
    They scattered as the Firebolt zoomed towards them; Angelina’s way was clear.
    ‘SHE SCORES! SHE SCORES! Gryffindor lead by eighty points to twenty!’
    Harry, who had almost pelted headlong into the stands, skidded to a halt in mid-air, reversed and zoomed back into the middle of the pitch.
    And then he saw something to make his heart stand still. Malfoy was diving, a look of triumph on his face – there, a few feet above the grass below, was a tiny, golden glimmer.
    Harry urged the Firebolt downwards but Malfoy was miles ahead.
    ‘Go! Go! Go!’ Harry urged his broom. They were gaining on Malfoy … Harry flattened himself to the broom handle as Bole sent a Bludger at him … he was at Malfoy’s ankles … he was level –
    Harry threw himself forwards, taking both hands off his broom. He knocked Malfoy’s arm out of the way and –
    ‘YES!’
    He pulled out of his dive, his hand in the air, and the stadium exploded. Harry soared above the crowd, an odd ringing in his ears. The tiny golden ball was held tight in his fist, beating its wings hopelessly against his fingers.
    Then Wood was speeding towards him, half-blinded by tears; he seized Harry around the neck and sobbed unrestrainedly into his shoulder. Harry felt two large thumps as Fred and George hit them; then Angelina, Alicia and Katie’s voices, ‘We’ve won the Cup! We’ve won the Cup!’ Tangled together in a many-armed hug, the Gryffindor team sank, yelling hoarsely, back to earth.
    Wave upon wave of crimson supporters was pouring over the barriers onto the pitch. Hands were raining down on their backs. Harry had a confused impression of noise and bodies pressing in on him. Then he, and the rest of the team, were hoisted onto the shoulders of the crowd. Thrust into the light, he saw Hagrid, plastered with crimson rosettes – ‘Yeh beat ’em, Harry, yeh beat ’em! Wait till I tell Buckbeak!’ There was Percy, jumping up and down like a maniac, all dignity forgotten. Professor McGonagall was sobbing harder even than Wood, wiping her eyes with an enormous Gryffindor flag; and there, fighting their way towards Harry, were Ron and Hermione. Words failed them. They simply beamed, as Harry was borne towards the stands, where Dumbledore stood waiting with the enormous Quidditch Cup.
    If only there had been a Dementor around … As a sobbing Wood passed Harry the Cup, as he lifted it into the air, Harry felt he could have produced the world’s best Patronus.

 
     
– CHAPTER SIXTEEN –
     
Professor Trelawney’s Prediction
    Harry’s euphoria at finally winning the Quidditch Cup lasted at least a week. Even the weather seemed to be celebrating; as June approached, the days became cloudless and sultry, and all anybody felt like doing was strolling into the grounds and flopping down on the grass with several pints of iced pumpkin juice, perhaps playing a casual game of Gobstones or watching the giant squid propel itself dreamily across the surface of the lake.
    But they couldn’t. The exams were nearly upon them, and instead of lazing around outside, the students were forced to remain inside the castle, trying to bully their brains into concentrating while enticing wafts of summer air drifted in through the windows. Even Fred and George Weasley had been spotted working; they were about to take their O.W.Ls (Ordinary Wizarding Levels). Percy was getting ready to sit his N.E.W.Ts (Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests), the highest qualification Hogwarts offered. As Percy hoped to enter the Ministry of Magic, he needed top grades. He was becoming increasingly edgy, and gave very severe punishments to anybody who disturbed the quiet of the common room in the evenings. In fact, the only person who seemed more anxious than Percy was Hermione.
    Harry and Ron had given up asking her how she was managing to attend several classes at once, but they couldn’t restrain themselves when they saw the exam timetable she had drawn up for herself. The first column read:
     
    MONDAY
    9 o’clock, Arithmancy
    9 o’clock, Transfiguration
    Lunch
    1 o’clock, Charms
    1 o’clock, Ancient Runes
     
    ‘Hermione?’ Ron said cautiously, because she was liable to explode when interrupted these days. ‘Er – are you sure you’ve copied down these times