A few minutes later, George had arrived at the field. He ambled over to the locker room doors. He needed to get out the bludgers. At least that's what the note said. He dropped his broom and continued walking when his foot caught something.

George pitched forward, but caught himself before he actually hit the ground. He brushed his red hair off of his forehead and straightened his crumpled form. He turned around questionly, wondering what had tripped him. Sitting there, on the ground, was a wooden box. The box that held the quidditch balls.

George didn't take time to wonder why the box was sitting out. Madam Hooch always made them put it away after each and every practice. He dragged the large box over to where his broom lay, and creaked open the wooden lid. There, in the box, were three balls. Two bludgers, straining to rid themselves of the bonds that held them, and the tiny, golden snitch. Also, at the bottom on the box, lay two beaters clubs.

George picked up a heavy wooden club and took off his cloak. He picked up his broom and mounted it. He then pulled the thick black band that kept the bludgers in place.  He decided to give the bludgers a few second head start, so when they came after him, it'd be harder to see them coming. The jet black balls zoomed into the distance. George looked at his watch, counting off thirty seconds. Then he looked back up, prepared to swing the bat at one of them.

There was nothing but air surrounding him. He looked around the stadium, unsure of where the two bludgers had gotten to. He didn't have to speculate their location for long, because at that moment, someone on a broom zoomed past him. At least he thought it was a person, because they were just a blur. And this person happened to scream something as they went past. Something like, "GEORGE, YOU STUPID GIT!". Then the dull, red quaffle landed on the ground next to him. The person was being chased by the bludgers.

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