“That’s a broomstick,” he said, throwing it back to Harry with a mixture of jealousy and spite on
his face. “You’ll be in for it this time, Potter, first years aren’t allowed them.”
Ron couldn’t resist it.
“It’s not any old broomstick,” he said, “it’s a Nimbus Two Thousand. What did you say you’ve
got at home, Malfoy, a Comet Two Sixty?” Ron grinned at Harry. “Comets look flashy, but
they’re not in the same league as the Nimbus.”
“What would you know about it, Weasley, you couldn’t afford half the handle,” Malfoy snapped
back. “I suppose you and your brothers have to save up twig by twig.”
Before Ron could answer, Professor Flitwick appeared at Malfoy’s elbow.
“Not arguing, I hope, boys?” he squeaked.
“Potter’s been sent a broomstick, Professor,” said Malfoy quickly.
“Yes, yes, that’s right,” said Professor Flitwick, beaming at Harry. “Professor McGonagall told
me all about the special circumstances, Potter. And what model is it?”
“A Nimbus Two Thousand, it is,” said Harry, fighting not to laugh at the look of horror on
Malfoy’s face. “And it’s really thanks to Malfoy here that I’ve got it,” he added.
Harry and Ron headed upstairs, smothering their laughter at Malfoy’s obvious rage and
“Well, it’s true,” Harry chortled as they reached the top of the marble staircase, “If he hadn’t
stolen Neville’s Remembrall I wouldn’t be on the team…”
“So I suppose you think that’s a reward for breaking rules?” came an angry voice from just
behind them. Hermione was stomping up the stairs, looking disapprovingly at the package in
“I thought you weren’t speaking to us?” said Harry.
“Yes, don’t stop now,” said Ron, “it’s doing us so much good.”
Hermione marched away with her nose in the air.
Harry had a lot of trouble keeping his mind on his lessons that day. It kept wandering up to the
dormitory where his new broomstick was lying under his bed, or straying off to the Quidditch
field where he’d be learning to play that night. He bolted his dinner that evening without noticing
what he was eating, and then rushed upstairs with Ron to unwrap the Nimbus Two Thousand at
“Wow,” Ron sighed, as the broomstick rolled onto Harry’s bedspread.
Even Harry, who knew nothing about the different brooms, thought it looked wonderful. Sleek
and shiny, with a mahogany handle, it had a long tail of neat, straight twigs and Nimbus Two
Thousand written in gold near the top.
As seven o’clock drew nearer, Harry left the castle and set off in the dusk toward the Quidditch
field. Held never been inside the stadium before. Hundreds of seats were raised in stands around
the field so that the spectators were high enough to see what was going on. At either end of the
field were three golden poles with hoops on the end. They reminded Harry of the little plastic
sticks Muggle children blew bubbles through, except that they were fifty feet high.
Too eager to fly again to wait for Wood, Harry mounted his broomstick and kicked off from the
ground. What a feeling — he swooped in and out of the goal posts and then sped up and down
the field. The Nimbus Two Thousand turned wherever he wanted at his lightest touch.
“Hey, Potter, come down!”
Oliver Wood had arrived. He was carrying a large wooden crate under his arm. Harry landed
next to him.