The first time she viewed the broom, she knew she could do it. After all, no matter how illogical the idea of a broom that could fly was, Hermione had had to deal with a lot of illogical ideas since she discovered magic. It had been the first major shock to her own self-worth when the wretched thing would not fly into her hand upon command, nor would it move as she wished once she (very gingerly) sat upon it and tried to will the length of hazel tipped with twigs to go forward just a little. And while Neville's mishap had delayed the inevitable, it was only a week later that she found herself shaking like a leaf, stuck on a broom that was 10 feet above the ground and tipping forward in a way that did not guarantee her continued seat upon it.

With a shake like a wet dog, the broom flung Hermione off, and she only just managed to catch the top of it to stop herself hurtling to the ground. Terrified, she hung for a moment, until a voice below her called "Let go! It's all right! I've got you!" She felt arms around her legs and, muttering a hex upon all obstreperous brooms, she let go and fell gently into the arms of Neville.

"Good thing I've got to wait for Professor Hooch", he smiled. "The others are all busy trying to learn sweeping turns." Hermione gave a nervous grin, and hugged him briefly before going to pick up her defiant broomstick. Neville watched her walk off, and sighed. "And I bet I'll always be the one to pick you up when you fall."