At around seven or eight in the morning, the sun was still hiding behind the clouds, and the dampness had yet to lift from the Quidditch Pitch.
But when the first rays of sunlight fell onto the grass at ten, the whole pitch suddenly brightened.
A scattering of spectators had already arrived in the stands. Brian followed Professor McGonagall to a spot less than ten meters from the commentary box.
Professor McGonagall was very pleased with the fine weather that day and said cheerfully:
"Chet, remember to help me keep an eye on Lee Jordan in a bit-most students enjoy his commentary, but there's no denying that he's a little too biased toward Gryffindor... ah, there he is. I must remind him again..."
As she spoke, she walked toward Lee Jordan, who had a throat lozenge in his mouth and was muttering to himself.
Brian was already beginning to regret coming-if he had known that Professor McGonagall's VIP seating meant a spot near the commentary box, he would definitely have found an excuse to slip away.
With hearing as sharp as his, every word from the commentator would assault his eardrums to some degree.
Just as he was considering casting a suitably toned-down Muffliato on himself, he spotted Hagrid standing on the grass, holding up a telescope and waving vigorously at him as he shouted:
"Chet, I brought you a telescope!"
"I'll be right down!" Brian replied eagerly, conveniently ignoring the fact that he could use the Summoning Charm.
It was the perfect excuse to escape the commentary box.
By the time Brian had gone down onto the grass, taken the telescope from Hagrid, and thanked him, more than twenty people had gathered around Professor McGonagall, who was busy impressing upon Lee Jordan, "Remember, keep the biased commentary to a minimum, Lee Jordan-I know, I'm not asking you to stop altogether. You'd never manage that."
"It's all right, I'll go watch over there with Hagrid!" Brian said, neatly stopping Professor McGonagall before she could make room for him, and pointed toward the opposite stands.
After Professor McGonagall gave him an okay gesture, Brian breathed a sigh of relief. Only then did he notice that Hagrid had three more telescopes hanging around his neck. Counting the one in Brian's hand, there were enough for four pairs of eyes-or one Acromantula.
"These two are for Ron and Hermione."
Hagrid explained enthusiastically,
"I usually watch the matches from my hut, but this morning it suddenly hit me that this was Harry's first match, and my feet just wanted to bring me here. Besides, I reckoned you'd want telescopes to catch the moment Harry grabs the Golden Snitch, wouldn't you?"
"Absolutely," Brian agreed.
In truth, he could make out the wingbeats of birds flying across the sky without a telescope, but he would never turn down a friend's kindness.
Then, relying on his tremendous physical strength, Hagrid cleared a wide path through the increasingly crowded stands and easily reached the group of first-year Gryffindors fussing with a banner. Brian followed close behind, murmuring apologies on Hagrid's behalf.
Looking at the young wizards eyeing the telescopes around his neck, Hagrid said with some dismay:
"Now there aren't enough telescopes."
"That's all right, we can take turns." Ron handed one telescope to Seamus, indicating that he and Hermione would share another.
"He looks a little unwell?"
Brian handed his telescope to Neville and noticed the listless toad dangling from the boy's other hand.
"Make sure you don't leave him in the sun too long."
"Thank you, Mr. Brian." Neville put the toad in the shade and said with a guileless grin, "His name's Trevor. He might look a bit dim, but he's actually very clever-even though he keeps getting lost, he usually finds his way back on his own."
Then why does he keep getting lost? Brian held back the question.
The noise around them was growing louder. Madam Hooch was riding her broomstick as she made one final inspection of the pitch. Looking at the mass of spectators, Brian gained yet another new appreciation of just how much wizards loved Quidditch.
He also noticed that Ron and his friends were not the only ones in the Gryffindor cheering section who had prepared a banner for Harry-there was another bedsheet.
Brian pointed at a few anxious-looking older Gryffindor students and said to the young wizards fiddling with their banner:
"Look, someone else had the same idea as you. Perhaps their banner has a lion on it too."
"Not at all, sir." Hermione looked in the direction he was pointing and said flatly, "They're just holding a bedsheet. Those worriers said, 'If Harry falls off his broomstick, this bedsheet will come in very handy.'"
Hagrid was most displeased to hear this and said gruffly to Brian:
"Chet, I have to say, they mean well, but they're wasting their time. Harry flies so well, there's no chance he'll fall off his broomstick!"
"Yes, I've seen him fly." Brian nodded in agreement, though he still felt a little worried-back in the Great Hall that morning, he had watched Harry mechanically stuff a hot dog coated in at least three layers of ketchup into his mouth and swallow it almost without chewing.
He sincerely hoped that bedsheet would have no use that day.
When both teams of Quidditch players appeared at one corner of the pitch, the entire Quidditch Pitch erupted in cheers. Brian felt as though hundreds of bombs were going off around him, and resignedly cast a weakened Muffliato on himself.
"Potter will win! Gryffindor will win!"
The banner they had poured so much effort into unfurled like a wave. The words "Potter will win," which took up most of it, gleamed in the sunlight, while the lion lifting its head into the wind looked ready to roar. Hermione's magic had made it so lifelike that it seemed poised to leap out of the banner and take a bite out of every Slytherin player.
The carefully prepared banner instantly fired up the entire Gryffindor section. Most of the spectators joined in the chant, and the roar startled birds out of the Forbidden Forest. Brian would have wagered that even the day the Gryffindor Quidditch Team actually held the Championship Cup in their hands would hardly be more spectacular.
The least happy person on the pitch was the captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, a frighteningly burly older student whose expression immediately darkened: Marcus Flint. Brian often heard students discussing him in the library, though not about Quidditch. They debated whether he had any troll blood in him.
The person whose build differed most from his, and whose reaction was the complete opposite, was Harry. It seemed the banner had finally spurred the calories from the ketchup and hot dog into action. His previously trembling knees had steadied, and he was nodding toward them with a radiant smile.
At the blast of a whistle, fifteen broomsticks poised for action rose into the air together-
"The Quaffle is immediately taken by Gryffindor's Angelina Johnson-what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and attractive too-"
Lee Jordan's enthusiastic voice rang out across the entire Quidditch Pitch.
"Lee Jordan!"
Brian could just make out Professor McGonagall's irritated voice.
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