THE MIDNIGHT DUEL
“Follow me, you two,” said Professor McGonagall, and they
marched on up the corridor, Wood looking curiously at Harry.
“In here.”
Professor McGonagall pointed them into a classroom that was
empty except for Peeves, who was busy writing rude words on the
blackboard.
“Out, Peeves!” she barked. Peeves threw the chalk into a bin,
which clanged loudly, and he swooped out cursing. Professor
McGonagall slammed the door behind him and turned to face the
two boys.
“Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Wood — I’ve found you a Seeker.”
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,” Profes-
sor 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
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