CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Third — to Mr. Harry Potter . . .” said Dumbledore. The room
went deadly quiet. “. . . for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I
award Gryffindor House sixty points.”
The din was deafening. Those who could add up while yelling
themselves hoarse knew that Gryffindor now had four hundred
and seventy-two points — exactly the same as Slytherin. They had
tied for the House Cup — if only Dumbledore had given Harry just
one more point.
Dumbledore raised his hand. The room gradually fell silent.
“There are all kinds of courage,” said Dumbledore, smiling. “It
takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as
much to stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to
Mr. Neville Longbottom.”
Someone standing outside the Great Hall might well have
thought some sort of explosion had taken place, so loud was the
noise that erupted from the Gryffindor table. Harry, Ron, and
Hermione stood up to yell and cheer as Neville, white with shock,
disappeared under a pile of people hugging him. He had never won
so much as a point for Gryffindor before. Harry, still cheering,
nudged Ron in the ribs and pointed at Malfoy, who couldn’t have
looked more stunned and horrified if he’d just had the Body-Bind
Curse put on him.
“Which means,” Dumbledore called over the storm of applause,
for even Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were celebrating the downfall
of Slytherin, “we need a little change of decoration.”
He clapped his hands. In an instant, the green hangings became
scarlet and the silver became gold; the huge Slytherin serpent van-
ished and a towering Gryffindor lion took its place. Snape was
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