Harry Potter 03 - Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

Ice-Cream Parlour, finishing all his essays with occasional help from Florean Fortescue himself, who, apart from knowing a great deal about medieval witch-burnings, gave Harry free sundaes every half hour.
    Once Harry had refilled his money bag with gold Galleons, silver Sickles and bronze Knuts from his vault at Gringotts, he needed to exercise a lot of self-control not to spend the whole lot at once. He had to keep reminding himself that he had five years to go at Hogwarts, and how it would feel to ask the Dursleys for money for spellbooks, to stop himself buying a handsome set of solid gold Gobstones (a wizarding game rather like marbles, in which the stones squirted a nasty-smelling liquid into the other player’s face when they lost a point). He was sorely tempted, too, by the perfect, moving model of the galaxy in a large glass ball, which would have meant he never had to take another Astronomy lesson. But the thing that tested Harry’s resolution most appeared in his favourite shop, Quality Quidditch Supplies, a week after he’d arrived at the Leaky Cauldron.
    Curious to know what the crowd in the shop was staring at, Harry edged his way inside and squeezed in amongst the excited witches and wizards until he glimpsed a newly erected podium on which was mounted the most magnificent broom he had ever seen in his life.
    ‘Just come out … prototype …’ a square-jawed wizard was telling his companion.
    ‘It’s the fastest broom in the world, isn’t it, Dad?’ squeaked a boy younger than Harry, who was swinging off his father’s arm.
    ‘Irish International Side’s just put in an order for seven of these beauties!’ the proprietor of the shop told the crowd. ‘And they’re favourites for the World Cup!’
    A large witch in front of Harry moved, and he was able to read the sign next to the broom:
     
    THE FIREBOLT
     
    This state-of-the-art racing broom sports a streamlined, super-fine handle of ash, treated with a diamond-hard polish and hand-numbered with its own registration number. Each individually selected birch twig in the broomtail has been honed to aerodynamic perfection, giving the Firebolt unsurpassable balance and pinpoint precision. The Firebolt has an acceleration of 0–150 miles an hour in ten seconds and incorporates an unbreakable braking charm. Price on request.
     
    Price on request … Harry didn’t like to think how much gold the Firebolt would cost. He had never wanted anything so much in his whole life – but he had never lost a Quidditch match on his Nimbus Two Thousand, and what was the point in emptying his Gringotts vault for the Firebolt, when he had a very good broom already? Harry didn’t ask for the price, but he returned, almost every day after that, just to look at the Firebolt.
    There were, however, things that Harry needed to buy. He went to the apothecary to replenish his store of Potions’ ingredients, and as his school robes were now several inches too short in the arm and leg, he visited Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions and bought new ones. Most important of all, he had to buy his new school books, which would include those for his two new subjects, Care of Magical Creatures and Divination.
    Harry got a surprise as he looked in at the bookshop window. Instead of the usual display of gold-embossed spellbooks the size of paving slabs, there was a large iron cage behind the glass which held about a hundred copies of The Monster Book of Monsters. Torn pages were flying everywhere as the books grappled with each other, locked together in furious wrestling matches and snapping aggressively.
    Harry pulled his booklist out of his pocket and consulted it for the first time. The Monster Book of Monsters was listed as the set book for Care of Magical Creatures. Now Harry understood why Hagrid had said it would come in useful. He felt relieved; he had been wondering whether Hagrid wanted help with some terrifying new pet.
    As Harry entered Flourish and Blotts, the manager came hurrying towards him.
    ‘Hogwarts?’ he said abruptly. ‘Come to get your new books?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Harry. ‘I need –’
    ‘Get out of the way,’ said the manager impatiently, brushing Harry aside. He drew on a pair of very thick gloves, picked up a large, knobbly walking stick and proceeded towards the door of the Monster Books ’ cage.
    ‘Hang on,’ said Harry quickly, ‘I’ve already got one of those.’
    ‘Have you?’ A look of enormous relief spread over the