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¡°I'll go and talk to her, Harry,¡± he promised. ¡°I'll make her see reason¡­A Firebolt¡­a real Firebolt, on our team ¡­She wants Gryffindor to win as much as we do¡­I'll make her see sense. A Firebolt.¡­¡±

At the start of October, however, Harry had something else to occupy him, something so enjoyable it more than made up for his unsatisfactory classes. The Quidditch season was approaching, and O1iver Wood, Captain of the Gryffindor team, called a meeting on Thursday evening to discuss tactics for the new season.

¡°What's wrong with him?¡±

The Hufflepuffs were approaching from the opposite side of the field, wearing canary-yellow robes. The Captains walked up to each other and shook hands; Diggory smiled at Wood but Wood now looked as though he had lockjaw and merely nodded. Harry saw Madam Hooch's mouth form the words, ¡°Mount Your brooms.¡± He pulled his right foot out of the mud with a squelch and swung it over his Nimbus Two Thousand. Madam Hooch put her whistle to her lips and gave it a blast that sounded shrill and distant ¡ª they were off.

¡°No,¡± said Hermione. She was holding a letter in her hands and her lip was trembling. ¡°I just thought you ought to know¡­Hagrid lost his case. Buckbeak is going to be executed.¡±

Oliver Wood was a burly seventeen-year-old, now in his seventh and final year at Hogwarts. There was a quiet sort of desperation in his voice as he addressed his six fellow team members in the chilly locker rooms on the edge of the darkening Quidditch field.


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