CHAPTER TEN
“Well, it’s true,” Harry chortled as they reached the top of the
marble staircase, “If he hadn’t stolen Neville’s Remembrall I
wouldn’t be on the team. . . .”
“So I suppose you think that’s a reward for breaking rules?” came
an angry voice from just behind them. Hermione was stomping up
the stairs, looking disapprovingly at the package in Harry’s hand.
“I thought you weren’t speaking to us?” said Harry.
“Yes, don’t stop now,” said Ron, “its doing us so much good.”
Hermione marched away with her nose in the air.
Harry had a lot of trouble keeping his mind on his lessons that
day. It kept wandering up to the dormitory where his new broom-
stick was lying under his bed, or straying off to the Quidditch
field where he’d be learning to play that night. He bolted his din-
ner that evening without noticing what he was eating, and then
rushed upstairs with Ron to unwrap the Nimbus Two Thousand at
last.
“Wow,” Ron sighed, as the broomstick rolled onto Harry’s bed-
spread.
Even Harry, who knew nothing about the different brooms,
thought it looked wonderful. Sleek and shiny, with a mahogany
handle, it had a long tail of neat, straight twigs and Nimbus Two
Thousand written in gold near the top.
As seven o’clock drew nearer, Harry left the castle and set off in
the dusk toward the Quidditch field. He’d never been inside the
stadium before. Hundreds of seats were raised in stands around the
field so that the spectators were high enough to see what was going
on. At either end of the field were three golden poles with hoops on
the end. They reminded Harry of the little plastic sticks Muggle
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