CHAPTER NINE
“Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?” said Pansy Parkinson, a
hard-faced Slytherin girl. “Never thought you’d like fat little cry-
babies, Parvati.”
“Look!” said Malfoy, darting forward and snatching something
out of the grass. “It’s that stupid thing Longbottom’s gran sent him.”
The Remembrall glittered in the sun as he held it up.
“Give that here, Malfoy,” said Harry quietly. Everyone stopped
talking to watch.
Malfoy smiled nastily.
“I think I’ll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find — how
about — up a tree?”
“Give it here!” Harry yelled, but Malfoy had leapt onto his
broomstick and taken off. He hadn’t been lying, he could fly well.
Hovering level with the topmost branches of an oak he called,
“Come and get it, Potter!”
Harry grabbed his broom.
“No!” shouted Hermione Granger. “Madam Hooch told us not
to move — you’ll get us all into trouble.”
Harry ignored her. Blood was pounding in his ears. He mounted
the broom and kicked hard against the ground and up, up he
soared; air rushed through his hair, and his robes whipped out be-
hind him — and in a rush of fierce joy he realized he’d found
something he could do without being taught — this was easy, this
was wonderful. He pulled his broomstick up a little to take it even
higher, and heard screams and gasps of girls back on the ground and
an admiring whoop from Ron.
He turned his broomstick sharply to face Malfoy in midair. Mal-
foy looked stunned .
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