-Good afternoon, class. -Good afternoon, Madam Hooch. -Good afternoon, Amanda. Good afternoon.
Welcome to your flying lesson.
Well what are you waiting for? Everyone step up to the left side of your broomstick. Come on now, hurry up.
-Stick your right hand over the broom and say, "Up." -Up!
With feeling.
Shut up, Harry.
Now, once you've got hold of your broom, I want you to mount it.
Grip it tight. You don't wanna be sliding off the end.
When I blow my whistle, I want each of you to kick off from the ground, hard.
Keep your broom steady, hover for a moment... then lean forward slightly and touch back down.
On my whistle. Three, two....
-Careful Neville! -Help!!!
Come back down this instant!
Everyone out of the way!
Oh, dear, it's a broken wrist. Poor boy. Come on now, up you get.
Everyone's to keep their feet firmly on the ground while I take Mr. Longbottom to the hospital wing. Understand?
If I see a single broom in the air... the one riding it will find themselves out of Hogwarts before they can say Quidditch.
Did you see his face?
-Maybe if the fat lump had remembered to give this a squeeze, he'd have remembered to fall on his fat arse. -Give it here, Malfoy.
No. I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find.
How about on the roof?
What's the matter, Potter? Bit beyond your reach?
Harry, no way! You heard what Madam Hooch said. Besides, you don't even know how to fly.
What an idiot.
-Give it here or I'll knock you off your broom! -Is that so?
Have it your way, then.
-Nice going, Harry. -That was wicked, Harry!
Harry Potter! Follow me.
You wait here.
-Professor Quirrell, excuse me. Could I borrow Wood for a moment please? -Yes, of course.
Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Wood, I have found you a Seeker.
Have you heard? Harry Potter's the new Gryffindor Seeker.
I always knew he'd do well.
Seeker? But first years never make the house teams.
-You must be the youngest Quidditch player in... -A century, according to McGonagall.
Well done, Harry. Wood's just told us.
Fred and George are on the team. Beaters.
Our job is to make sure you don't get bloodied up too bad.
Can't make any promises of course. Rough game, Quidditch. Brutal.
But no one's died in years. Someone will vanishe occasionally. But they'll turn up in a month or two.
Go on Harry. Quidditch is great.
-Best game there is, and you'll be great too. -I've never even played Quidditch.
-What if I make a fool of myself? -You won't make a fool of yourself. It's in your blood.
-Harry, you never told me your father was a Seeker too. -I didn't know.
I'm telling you, it's spooky.
-She knows more about you than you do. -Who doesn't?
What's happening?
The staircases change, remember?
-Let's go this way. -Before the staircase moves again.
Does anybody feel like we shouldn't be here?
We're not supposed to be here. This is the third floor. It's forbidden.
Let's go.
-It's Filch's cat! -Run!
Quick, let's hide through that door!
-It's locked! -That's it, we're done for! -Move over!
Alohomora. Get in.
-Alohomora? -"Standard Book of Spells", chapter seven.
Anyone here, my sweet?
-Come on. -Filch is gone.
-He thinks this door's locked. -It was locked. And for good reason.
What do they think they're doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?
You don't use your eyes, do you? Didn't you see what it was standing on?
I wasn't looking at its feet! I was a bit preoccupied with its heads.
Or maybe you didn't notice. There were three!
It was standing on a trap door which means it wasn't there by accident.
-It's guarding something. -Guarding something? -That's right.
Now, if you two don't mind, I'm going to bed...
...before either of you come up with another clever idea to get us killed. Or worse, expelled.
She needs to sort out her priorities.