CHAPTER THIRTEEN
brary book, even though Harry was still sure he’d read the name
somewhere. Once term had started, they were back to skimming
through books for ten minutes during their breaks. Harry had even
less time than the other two, because Quidditch practice had
started again.
Wood was working the team harder than ever. Even the endless
rain that had replaced the snow couldn’t dampen his spirits. The
Weasleys complained that Wood was becoming a fanatic, but
Harry was on Wood’s side. If they won their next match, against
Hufflepuff, they would overtake Slytherin in the House Champi-
onship for the first time in seven years. Quite apart from wanting
to win, Harry found that he had fewer nightmares when he was tired
out after training.
Then, during one particularly wet and muddy practice session,
Wood gave the team a bit of bad news. He’d just gotten very angry
with the Weasleys, who kept dive-bombing each other and pre-
tending to fall off their brooms.
“Will you stop messing around!” he yelled. “That’s exactly
the sort of thing that’ll lose us the match! Snape’s refereeing this
time, and he’ll be looking for any excuse to knock points off
Gryffindor!”
George Weasley really did fall off his broom at these words.
“Snape’s refereeing?” he spluttered through a mouthful of mud.
“When’s he ever refereed a Quidditch match? He’s not going to be
fair if we might overtake Slytherin.”
The rest of the team landed next to George to complain, too.
“It’s not my fault,” said Wood. “We’ve just got to make sure we
play a clean game, so Snape hasn’t got an excuse to pick on us.”
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