As Harry opened the door, something brushed against his leg. He bent down just in time to grab Crookshanks by the end of his bushy tail and drag him outside. 

"You know, I reckon Ron was right about you," Harry told Crookshanks suspiciously. "There are plenty of mice around this place -- go and chase them. Go on," he added, nudging Crookshanks down the spiral staircase with his foot. "Leave Scabbers alone." 

The noise of the storm was even louder in the common roorn. Harry knew better than to think the match would be canceled; Quidditch matches weren't called off for trifles like thunderstorms. Nevertheless, he was starting to feel very apprehensive. Wood had pointed out Cedric Diggory to him in the corridor; Diggory was a fifth year and a lot bigger than Harry. Seekers were usually light and speedy, but Diggory's weight would be an advantage in this weather because he was less likely to be blown off course. 

Harry whiled away the hours until dawn in front of the fire, getting up every now and then to stop Crookshanks from sneaking up the boys, staircase again. At long last Harry thought it must be time for breakfast, so he headed through the portrait hole alone. 

"Stand and fight, you mangy cur!" yelled Sir Cadogan. 

"Oh, shut up," Harry yawned. 

He revived a bit over a large bowl of porridge, and by the time he'd started on toast, the rest of the team had turned up. 

"It's going to be a tough one," said Wood, who wasn't eating anything. 

"Stop worrying, Oliver," said Alicia soothingly, "we don't mind a bit of rain."

 But it was considerably more than a bit of rain. Such was the popularity of Quidditch that the whole school turned out to watch the match as usual, but they ran down the lawns toward the Quidditch field, heads