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Wood's expression changed from puzzlement to delight.
"Are you serious, Professor?"
"Absolutely," said Professor McGonagall crisply. "The boy's a natural.
I've never seen anything like it. Was that your first time on a
broomstick, Potter?"
Harry nodded silently. He didn't have a clue what was going on, but he
didn't seem to be being expelled, and some of the feeling started coming
back to his legs.
"He caught that thing in his hand after a fifty-foot dive," Professor
McGonagall told Wood. "Didn't even scratch himself. Charlie Weasley
couldn't have done it."
Wood was now looking as though all his dreams had come true at once.
"Ever seen a game of Quidditch, Potter?" he asked excitedly.
"Wood's captain of the Gryffindor team," Professor McGonagall explained.
"He's just the build for a Seeker, too," said Wood, now walking around
Harry and staring at him. "Light -- speedy -- we'll have to get him a
decent broom, Professor -- a Nimbus Two Thousand or a Cleansweep Seven,
I'd say."
I shall speak to Professor Dumbledore and see if we can't bend the
first-year rule. Heaven knows, we need a better team than last year.
Flattened in that last match by Slytherin, I couldn't look Severus Snape
in the face for weeks...."
Professor McGonagall peered sternly over her glasses at Harry.
"I want to hear you're training hard, Potter, or I may change my mind
about punishing you."
Then she suddenly smiled.
"Your father would have been proud," she said. "He was an excellent
Quidditch player himself."
"You're joking."
It was dinnertime. Harry had just finished telling Ron what had happened
when he'd left the grounds with Professor McGonagall. Ron had a piece of
steak and kidney pie halfway to his mouth, but he'd forgotten all about
it.
"Seeker?" he said. "But first years never -- you must be the youngest
house player in about a century, said Harry, shoveling pie into his
mouth. He felt particularly hungry after the excitement of the
afternoon. "Wood told me."
Ron was so amazed, so impressed, he just sat and gaped at Harry.
"I start training next week," said Harry. "Only don't tell anyone, Wood
wants to keep it a secret."
Fred and George Weasley now came into the hall, spotted Harry, and
hurried over.
"Well done," said George in a low voice. "Wood told us. We're on the
team too -- Beaters."
"I tell you, we're going to win that Quidditch cup for sure this year,"
said Fred. "We haven't won since Charlie left, but this year's team is
going to be brilliant. You must be good, Harry, Wood was almost skipping
when he told us."
"Anyway, we've got to go, Lee Jordan reckons he's found a new secret
passageway out of the school."
"Bet it's that one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that we found
in our first week. See you."
Fred and George had hardly disappeared when someone far less welcome
turned up: Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.
"Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to the
Muggles?"
"You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground and you've got
your little friends with you," said Harry coolly. There was of course
nothing at all little about Crabbe and Goyle, but as the High Table was
full of teachers, neither of them could do more than crack their
knuckles and scowl.
"I'd take you on anytime on my own," said Malfoy. "Tonight, if you want.
Wizard's duel. Wands only -- no contact. What's the matter? Never heard
of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?"
"Of course he has," said Ron, wheeling around. "I'm his second, who's
yours?"
Malfoy looked at Crabbe and Goyle, sizing them up.
"Crabbe," he said. "Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy
room; that's always unlocked."
When Malfoy had gone, Ron and Harry looked at each other. "What is a
wizard's duel?" said Harry. "And what do you mean, you're my second?"
"Well, a second's there to take over if you die," said Ron casually,
getting started at last on his cold pie. Catching the look on Harry's
face, he added quickly, "But people only die in proper duels, you know,
with real wizards. The most you and Malfoy'll be able to do is send
sparks at each other. Neither of you knows enough magic to do any real
damage. I bet he expected you to refuse, anyway."
"And what if I wave my wand and nothing happens?"
"Throw it away and punch him on the nose," Ron suggested. "Excuse me."
They both looked up. It was Hermione Granger.
"Can't a person eat in peace in this place?" said Ron.
Hermione ignored him and spoke to Harry.
"I couldn't help overhearing what you and Malfoy were saying --"
"Bet you could," Ron muttered.
"--and you mustn't go wandering around the school at night, think of the
points you'll lose Gryffindor if you're caught, and you're bound to be.
It's really very selfish of you."
"And it's really none of your business," said Harry.
"Good-bye," said Ron.
All the same, it wasn't what you'd call the perfect end to the day,
Harry thought, as he lay awake much later listening to Dean and Seamus
falling asleep (Neville wasn't back from the hospital wing). Ron had
spent all evening giving him advice such as "If he tries to curse you,
you'd better dodge it, because I can't remember how to block them."
There was a very good chance they were going to get caught by Filch or
Mrs. Norris, and Harry felt he was pushing his luck, breaking another
school rule today. On the other hand, Malfoys sneering face kept looming
up out of the darkness - this was his big chance to beat Malfoy
face-to-face. He couldn't miss it.
"Half-past eleven," Ron muttered at last, "we'd better go."