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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.


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