CHAPTER THE TENTH

Halloween Horror Nights

The next day, Malfoy told Harry he didn't show because Filch had caught him on the way there.

"Now I've got detention for a month! Just isn't fair."

Harry and Ron also came to the conclusion over breakfast that meeting the three-headed dog had been an excellent adventure, and they had to have another one soon to get their fix. In the meantime, Harry blabbed to Ron about the package that was picked up from Gringotts, and they spent so much time discussing what could possibly need such heavy protection that they forgot to go to their morning lesson.

"It's either really expensive or really dangerous," said Ron.

"My guess is both," said Harry. "Has to be! How much you think we could sell it on the black market?"

But as all they knew for sure about the secretive item was that it was about two feet long. That wasn't much to go on, they would need further clues.

Neither Neville nor Hormone showed the slightest interest in what lay beyond the dog. All Neville cared about was never going near the dog again.

Hormone was now refusing to speak to Harry and Ron, and she never quite believed their canine story to begin with. But since she was such an overbearing smarty pants they saw this as good thing.

Weeks went by, and not much worth noting had occurred. Ron and Harry where so obsessed with finding out what was in the package Hagrid had picked up from Gringotts that they spent many sleepless nights reading over books and newspaper clippings in the Gryffindor common room missing many meals and several classes.

One morning though as the pigs stampeded into the Great Hall as usual, everyone's attention was caught at once by a long, thin package carried in by six large hogs. Harry, who just managed to make this breakfast after skipping the previous six, was just as interested as everyone else to see what was in this large parcel and was amazed when the pigs came up and hoisted it right into his lap, knocking his bacon to the floor which they quickly ate. The bacon slices had barely touched the floor when another pig jumped on top of the pig pile and sneezed a letter out of its snout on top of the parcel.

Harry ripped open the letter and the first thing it said was:

DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE!

It encompasses your new Nincompoop Two Thousand And Two, but I don't want everybody knowing you've got a broomstick or they'll all want one. Oliver Wood will meet you tomorrow morning on the Quidditch field at six o'clock for your first training session. And remember Potter: DON"T SCREW THIS UP!

Have a magical day,

Professor Hardcastle McCormick

Second-in-Command Headmistress

Harry had forgotten all about Quidditch and sure didn't feel like devoting precious time to practice when there's a mystery to be solved.

Ron, who just happen to make breakfast also, caught a glimpse of the letter. "A Nincompoop Two Thousand And Two! I've never even fondled one!" Ron proclaimed so loudly that half the hall, which was already watching Harry and his package, put on confused and envious faces.

They left the Great Hall quickly, feeling a brawl coming on. Outside they found the way upstairs barred by Crabby and Goyle taking a breather. Malfoy seized the package from Harry and felt it.

"Whatcha got there Potter? Say that's a broomstick," he said. Malfoy then sniffed the package. "A Nincompoop Two Thousand And One by the smell of things."

"Two Thousand And TWO!" Harry said with a smile.

Malfoy tossed it back with a mixture of a jealous and congratulatory look on his face. "Oh very nice, Potter, but first years aren't allowed them. How'd you smuggle it in? Lee Jordan? "

But Ron, who was fidgeting, couldn't resist it.

"BRAH HAHAHAHAH," he said, "It's a Nincompoop Two Thousand And Two alright! What did you say you've got at home, Malfoy, a Comrade Two Sixty?" Ron grinned at Harry. "Comrades look all flashy, but they're firewood compared to a Nincompoop."

"What would you know about it, Weasley, you couldn't even afford the commemorative plate on the handle," Malfoy snapped back. "I suppose with your net worth you couldn't even afford one twig."

Before Ron could answer, Professor Flitwick appeared at Malfoy's elbow.

"Take it outside, boys, if you're going to fight." he squeaked.

"Professor, how come Potter's been allowed a broom? I tried to send three my way but have been confiscated each time," said Malfoy wanting an explanation.

"Yes, yes, that's right," said Professor Flitwick, smirking at Harry. "Professor Hardcastle McCormick told me all about the special conditions, Potter. You're on thin ice, my lad. And what model is it?"

"A Nincompoop Two Thousand And Two it is," said Harry "And it's really all thanks to Malfoy here that I've got it," he added.

Harry and Draco batted eyes at each other.

"Thanks, pal!" said Harry as he patted him on the back.

Harry and Ron then headed upstairs, leaving Malfoy in a bit of a confused state while Ron was in a jealous fit of a mood after the affection Harry showed Draco.

"Well, it's true isn't it?" Harry argued as they reached the top of the marble staircase, "If he didn't want to play catch with Neville's Magic 8 Ball I wouldn't be on the team…"

"So you suppose that's some sort of trophy for breaking the rules?" came an angry voice. Hormone was right in front of them with her hands on her hips Pan style, looking judgmentally at the package in Harry's hand.

"Darn right I do! I'm Harry "The Main Man" Potter! Rules are for you nobodies. And I thought you weren't speaking to us?" said Harry.

"Yeah, see you're breaking your own rules," said Ron. "Here, have this half eaten biscuit as a trophy."

Hormone made a noise then marched away with her nose very high in the air.

"Yep, be a good little girl now and follow your own rules and never talk to us again, goodbye…"

Harry dumped the broom off in his room and then carried on with his day where he continued to have a lot of trouble keeping his mind on his lessons. It kept wandering off to what mystical thing lay beyond the dog or thinking how much he despises that brat Hormone or straying off to the Quidditch field where he'd have to wake up super early just so he can slog his way through practice the next morning. After dinner that evening, he finally caved to Ron's pesky demands of wanting to check out his new broom and was dragged upstairs by him to unwrap the Nincompoop Two Thousand And Two at last.

"Holy sweepers!" Ron exclaimed, as the broomstick rolled onto Harry's bedspread.

Sleek and shiny, with a mahogany handle, it had a long tail of neat, taught twigs and Nincompoop Two Thousand And Two written on a golden commemorative plaque near the top. "Limited Edition 1 of 3" it said on the bottom. Harry, who knew nothing about the different brooms, thought it looked like a broom and began sweeping the floor as it was starting to get rather filthy. Ron had a conniption about this.

At 5:45am the next morning, Harry woke with an angry grunt. He left the castle only half awake and set off in the dawn toward the Quidditch field. This would be his first peek at the stadium. Thousands of seats were elevated in stands around the field so that the onlookers were high enough to see what was going on, even though only a few hundred attended the school. Harry would later find out that Quidditch matches were a great excuse for all the old Alumni of the school to come back, get drunk, and be coursed by Dumbledoor to write vast dotation checks in their mentally weakened state. At either end of the arena were three golden poles with hoops on the end. They reminded Harry of those pull string toys he was never allowed to play with as a kid, except that they were fifty feet high. He wondered what secrets the field would reveal to him if he managed to yank one out.

Bored waiting for Wood, Harry mounted his broomstick and kicked off from the ground. What a feeling — he instantly became fully awake and swooped in and out of the goal posts only banging his head once. The Nincompoop Two Thousand And Two turned wherever he wanted at his lightest touch and was super sensitive.

"Harry Potter, come on down!"

Oliver Wood had made his entrance. He was dragging a hefty wooden crate behind him, messing up the grass. Harry landed next to him.

"Morning Wood."

"Nice, I see what you did there." said Wood, annoyed.

"Did what?" Harry replied.

"Oh err…. I see what Hardcastle McCormick meant… you really are a natural. I'm just going to teach you the rules this morning, then you'll be joining team practice which we have twelve times a week."

"Sorry, did you say twelve?"

"That's right Potter. Nothing is more important than Quidditch. Nothin'! And if you don't think so then I want you to walk right off this field now and never come back."

Harry began to head towards the castle.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," said Wood quickly in a panicky sweat. "I was only teasin'. Come back, please…"

Harry did an about face.

Wood gave a sigh of relief and then bent down to unlock the crate. Within its depths were four different-sized balls.

"Right," said Wood. "Now, Quidditch is pretty darn easy to understand, but only the real men survive when it comes time to play. Each team throws out seven players onto the field. Three of them are called Chasers."

"Three Chasers," Harry repeated like a parrot as Wood took out a bright red ball about the size of a kickball.

"This guy's called the Quaffle," said Wood. "The Chasers heave the Quaffle to each other and try and get it through one of the hoops to notch a goal. One point every time the Quaffle goes through one of the hoops. Got that? I hate repeating myself."

"The Chasers throw the red thing around and put it through the circles to score," Harry recited. "So — it's kinda like basketba….

"Don't interrupt."

"Sorry."

"Now, each side also gets what's called the Keeper — I'm Keeper for Gryffindor and I fly around our hoops and stop the other team from scoring at all costs."

"Four Chasers, one Keeper," said Harry muttering to himself. "And they play with the Waffle. Okay, got that. So what are they for?" He pointed at the three balls left inside the box.

"I will demonstrate now," said Wood. "Take this."

He handed Harry a small club, like the kind cavemen had.

"These little buggers are the Bludgers."

He tapped two identical balls, jet black and to some extent smaller than the red Quaffle. Harry noticed that they seemed to be wiggling around trying to escape the straps holding them inside the box.

"On guard," Wood warned Harry. He bent down and freed one of the Bludgers.

At once, the black ball smacked Wood right on the head and rose high in the air. But soon it changed direction and made a beeline straight for Harry's face. Harry swung at it with the club to stop it from breaking his nose but he completely whiffed and it smashed into his forehead knocking Harry off his feet. It zoomed around their heads a few times more and then shot at Wood, who tackled it to the ground.

"What'd I tell you?" Wood puffed, shoving the hostile Bludger back into the crate and strapping it down safely. "The Bludgers zoom around and try to beat up the players. That's why you have two Baiters on each team — the Weasley twins are ours — it's their job be the bait and distract the Bludgers away from our Chasers and get them to go after the other team as well. So — think you've got all that?"

"Three Racers score with the red ball; the Keeper guards the holes; the Baiters beat the Bludgers towards their team," Harry reeled off trying to hold back his now bloody nose.

"Umm, you'll get it soon enough," said Wood.

"Er — have the Bludgers ever killed anyone?" Harry asked.

"Oh yeah, happens all the time. Last one here at Hogwarts was about three years back. We've had a couple of broken jaws but nothing really worse than that since I've been playing. Now, the last and most important member of the team is the Master Baiter. That's you."

"I'm a Master Baiter? Sounds important."

"It very much is. It's a tough job, but someone's got to do it."

Wood's hand dove into the crate and revealed the fourth and last ball. Compared with the Quaffle and the Bludgers, it was tiny, about the size of a large golf ball. It was made of dazzling gold and had little flapping silver wings.

"This," said Wood, "is the Golden Snitch, and it's the most imperative ball of the lot. It's very hard to catch because it's so fast and difficult to see. It's the Master Baiter's job to grab it. You've got to move in and out of the Chasers, Baiters, Bludgers, and the Quaffle to get it before the other team's Master Baiter comes and beats you to it, because whichever MB catches the Snitch wins his team an extra twenty thousand seven hundred points, so they nearly always win. A game of Quidditch only ends when the Snitch is caught, so it can go on for ages — I think the record is like three months, they had to keep bringing on substitutes so the players could get some sleep. But that's why Master Baiters are so relieved when they finally get a hold of it because the game is over and they pretty much just won."

Harry nodded.

"Well, any questions?"

Harry shook his head. He understood what he had to do all right, it was going forth and doing it that was going to be the problem.

"We won't practice with the Snitch yet," said Wood, carefully shutting it back inside the crate, "Let's try you out with a few of these."

He pulled out a cage from a bag full of little baby birds and a few minutes later, he and Harry were up in the air, Wood throwing the birds as hard as he could in every direction for Harry to go and catch as they tried to fly off.

Harry only missed two, Wood was overjoyed. After half an hour, it was time for breakfast and Wood was starving.

"They might as well just give us the Quidditch Cup right now," said Wood as they trudged back up to the castle. "I wouldn't be surprised if you became our long term Master Baiter."

Maybe because he was now so busy, what with Quidditch practice five evenings a week and then seven times in the morning on top of all his homework, but Harry could hardly accept it when he realized that he'd been at Hogwarts two whole months. People at the castle felt more like his species than those creatures on the private drive ever had. His lessons, too, were becoming more and more interesting now that he was starting to understand the basics, though Harry still struggled through many areas.

On Halloween morning they woke to the awful smell of burnt pumpkin wafting through the corridors. Even worse, Professor Flitwick announced in Charms that they would be graded on how well they make objects fly, something the students had all been dying to try since they'd seen him make Neville zoom around the classroom. But it turned out to be far more difficult than it looked. Professor Flitwick put the class into pairs to practice before the big test. Harry's partner was Seamus Finnigan (which was a relief, because Ron was being especially annoying this week). Ron, however, was to be working with the Hormone. It was hard to tell whether Ron or Hormone was angrier about this. She hadn't spoken to either of them since the day Harry's broomstick had arrived.

"Professor Flatchick," Neville questioned, "Um, will this test be worth a lot of points?"

"Class, we've been here two months and some of you still don't know my name!" squeaked Professor Flitwick, perched on top of his pile of books as usual, ignoring Neville's question. "Flit and wick, remember, flit and wick. And saying magical words properly too is very important — let's not ever forget Wizard Baruffio, who said his 'L's like they were 'R's and found himself inside the belly of a dragon."

Wizards with lisps usually end up killing themselves inadvertently somehow. It was only a matter of when, not if.

Making things levitate turned out to be extremely difficult. Harry and Seamus swished and flicked their wands every which way, but the slice of bacon they were supposed to be sending skyward stayed motionless. Seamus got so irritated that he picked it up and ate it like a ravenous dog — Harry had to salvage the crumbs from his mouth.

Ron, at the next table, wasn't doing much better.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" he shouted, waving his wand frantically.

"You're saying it wrong," Hormone said snobbishly. "It's Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa, you have to pronounce each syllable distantly."

"You do it, then, if you're so clever," Ron snarled.

Hormone rolled up the sleeves of her gown, flicked her wand, and said, "Wingardium Leviosa!"

Nothing happened.

"Psh, even the great and powerful Hormone can't do everything," Ron snapped.

And in a fit of rage, Ron tried one more time and said intensely, "WINGIDIUM LEVISOSA!"

Their bacon rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their heads.

"Oh, well done!" cried Professor Flitwick, clapping. "Everyone see here, Mr. Weasley's done it!"

Ron was in a great mood by the end of the class.

"Wow, you really showed her Ron," Harry said.

"Yeah, glad to do it. It's no wonder everyone hates her," he said back to Harry as they shoved their way into the crowded corridor, "she's a nightmare, honestly."

Someone knocked into Harry as they hurried past him. It was Hormone. Harry caught a glimpse of her face — and saw that she was in tears.

"I think she heard you."

"Nah," said Ron. "She started to tear up right after I showed her how it's done. Guess she's a sore loser and can't take the fact that I did something before she could."

Hormone was a no-show for the next class and wasn't spotted all afternoon. Racing down to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast, Harry and Ron overheard Parvati Patil telling her friend Lavender that Hormone was crying in the girls' bathroom and sought to be left alone. Ron looked giddy at this, but a moment later they had entered the Great Hall where the Halloween decorations put Hormone out of their minds.

A hundred thousand live bats fluttered around the room with many swooping down to attack the students every so often. The feast appeared suddenly on the golden plates, just as it had at the start-of-term banquet and every nightly grand nightly feast since.

Harry was just helping himself to a big ol' candied apple when Professor Quirrell came bursting into the hall in such a dramatic fashion that you would have thought he'd been practicing it for weeks. Everyone stared as he reached Professor Dumbledoor's chair, slumped against the table, but cocked his head half way around so that the students could also hear him say, "Troll — in the dungeons — thought I'd relay the news."

He then sank to the floor in a melodramatic faint. A couple students clapped in amusement.

Professor Dumbledoor began shooting several purple firecrackers from the end of his wand until the fire alarm was triggered and began drenching everyone with water.

"Perfects," he rumbled, "get your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!"

Percy was in his element.

"It's go time! Follow me! Stick together, you first years! No need to fear the troll if you follow my orders! Stay close behind me, now. Make way, first years coming through! Excuse me, I'm perfect!"

"How could a troll get in?" Harry asked as they clambered out into the dryness of the corridor just outside the Great Hall wringing out their clothes as they walked on.

"Don't ask me, they're supposed to be really stupid," said Ron. "I bet you Peeves let it in for a bit of Halloween fun."

They passed different clusters of people dashing in different directions. As they jostled their way through a horde of confused Hufflepuffers, Harry suddenly grabbed Ron's arm.

"I've just thought — Hormone."

"What about her?"

"She doesn't know about the troll."

Ron bit his lip. "So? Let her fry if it comes to it." And he shoved off Harry's arm.

"You're right, it's not worth risking my life to save hers. Better play this one safe."

On the way up the stairs, Harry caught a glimpse of Professor Snape. He was not with the other teachers heading down into the dungeon but instead was very shifty heading towards the third floor.

"Ron look, where's she off to?"

But they had no time to investigate further, Harry was thinking of nothing but his own safety and rushed to Gryffindor Tower as soon as he could.

Shortly after their arrival, what remained of the feast, soggy dishes and all, appeared before them in the Gryffindor common room. Harry was drying out the cornbread by the fire some time later when Hormone stepped through the portrait hole followed by Professor Hardcastle McCormick. Hormone looked completely ravaged, like she had just been through a tornado with all kinds of stuff sticking in her hair and robes.

"The troll has been neutralized, you can all stop worrying," Professor Hardcastle McCormick stated. "This one," she put her arms around Hormone, "was found in a pile of rubble in the girl's bathroom. She appears to be alright, only slightly shaken. I still say you were lucky child, not many first years would live through a full-grown mountain troll assault. As for Percy, you obviously left a student behind and two points will be deducted from Gryffindor."

"Awwwww," Percy groaned from the corner.