Harry stared at her shadowy face.
Ron had spent the last quarter of an hour carefully shredding his own roots into exactly equal pieces.
¡°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.¡¡±
He replaced the top of the ink bottle; pulled an old pillowcase from under his bed; put the flashlight, A History of Magic, his essay, quill, and ink inside it; got out of bed; and hid the lot under a loose floorboard under his bed. Then he stood up, stretched, and checked the time on the luminous alarm clock on his bedside table.