"Wow, Hermione!" Harry whispered, unzipping the case to look inside.
There was a large jar of Fleetwood's High-Finish Handle Polish, a pair
of gleaming silver Tall-Twig Clippers, a tiny brass compass to clip on
your broom for long journeys, and a Handbook of Do-It-Yourself
Broomcare.
Apart from his friends, the thing that Harry missed most about Hogwarts
was Quidditch, the most popular sport in the magical world -- highly
dangerous, very exciting, and played on broomsticks. Harry happened to
be a very good Quidditch player; he had been the youngest person in a
century to be picked for one of the Hogwarts House teams. One of Harry's
most prized possessions was his Nimbus Two Thousand racing broom.
Harry put the leather case aside and picked up his last parcel. He
recognized the untidy scrawl on the brown paper at once: this was from
Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper. He tore off the top layer of paper and
glimpsed something green and leathery, but before he could unwrap it
properly, the parcel gave a strange quiver, and whatever was inside it
snapped loudly -- as though it had jaws.
Harry froze. He knew that Hagrid would never send him anything dangerous
on purpose, but then, Hagrid didn't have a normal person's view of what
was dangerous. Hagrid had been known to befriend giant spiders, buy
vicious, three-headed dogs from men in pubs, and sneak illegal dragon
eggs into his cabin.
Harry poked the parcel nervously. It snapped loudly again. Harry reached
for the lamp on his bedside table, gripped it firmly in one hand, and
raised it over his head, ready to strike. Then he seized the rest of the
wrapping paper in his other hand and pulled.
And out fell -- a book. Harry just had time to register its handsome
green cover, emblazoned with the golden title The Monster Book of
Monsters, before it flipped onto its edge and scuttled sideways along
the bed like some weird crab.
"Uh-oh," Harry muttered.
The book toppled off the bed with a loud clunk and shuffled rapidly
across the room. Harry followed it stealthily. The book was hiding in
the dark space under his desk. Praying that the Dursleys were still fast
asleep, Harry got down on his hands and knees and reached toward it.
"Ouch!"
The book snapped shut on his hand and then flapped past him, still
scuttling on its covers. Harry scrambled around, threw himself forward,
and managed to flatten it. Uncle Vernon gave a loud, sleepy grunt in the
room next door.
