CHAPTER NINE
smooth, flat lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the for-
bidden forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance.
The Slytherins were already there, and so were twenty broom-
sticks lying in neat lines on the ground. Harry had heard Fred and
George Weasley complain about the school brooms, saying that
some of them started to vibrate if you flew too high, or always flew
slightly to the left.
Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short, gray hair,
and yellow eyes like a hawk.
“Well, what are you all waiting for?” she barked. “Everyone
stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up.”
Harry glanced down at his broom. It was old and some of the
twigs stuck out at odd angles.
“Stick out your right hand over your broom,” called Madam
Hooch at the front, “and say ‘Up!’ ”
“UP!” everyone shouted.
Harry’s broom jumped into his hand at once, but it was one of
the few that did. Hermione Granger’s had simply rolled over on the
ground, and Neville’s hadn’t moved at all. Perhaps brooms, like
horses, could tell when you were afraid, thought Harry; there was
a quaver in Neville’s voice that said only too clearly that he wanted
to keep his feet on the ground.
Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms
without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows cor-
recting their grips. Harry and Ron were delighted when she told
Malfoy he’d been doing it wrong for years.
“Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground,
hard,” said Madam Hooch. “Keep your brooms steady, rise a few
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