Entry for The N.E.W.T.s Challenge - Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges
Prompts - Flitwick, Flying, sense
Enjoy!
Even as a child, Filius Flitwick knew his strengths and weaknesses. He prided himself on his talent at Charms and his goblin ancestry. But what he considered his most valuable asset, was his intuition. Or, as he liked to think of it, a sixth sense. His sense of right and wrong, of good and bad.
And one pleasant May afternoon, in the year 1946, he learned to never, EVER, ignore his sixth sense.
"No, Minerva, absolutely not!"
The eleven-year-old witch rolled her eyes.
"Filius, if you plan on passing your Flying test next month, you have to get over your fear of heights."
"By riding this wonky broomstick? I think not! Now unhand me!"
His words did nothing to loosen her iron grip on his arm, as she continued to drag him towards the center of the Quidditch pitch. The fact that he was a whole foot shorter than her didn't help his struggle.
She finally let go of his arm, and handed him the broomstick. He shot her a vehement glare. She groaned, running a hand through her short black hair.
"Listen Fil, I'm just trying to help -"
"I didn't ask for help!" he snapped.
"You're going to need it!" she shot back, annoyed by his lack of graciousness, "Now get on the bloody broom!"
Flitwick, still glaring, grudgingly swung a leg over the broomstick.
"Can't I just ask Madam Snoot to excuse me, since I have acrophobia?"
"Not a chance," replied Minerva swiftly, "Pomona was made to fly even with a sprained ankle. Snoots won't believe a word you say. But it's alright Fil, flying is simple. Like Transfiguration."
This time he rolled his eyes. Trust his best friend to use the hardest subject ever as a means of comparison.
"Now kick off," instructed Minerva, "For the test she'll probably make you do a round or two along the edge of the pitch. I'm not sure. So we'll start slowly. Kick off, and hover for a bit."
Filius nodded. Mustering all his strength, which wasn't very much, he thrust himself off the ground. To his surprise, the broom rose easily, at two feet above the grass.
"Very good!" said Minerva approvingly, "Now go higher, and just try to fly around for a bit."
He nodded, smiling slightly. Maybe this wasn't so bad. Maybe he could -
Don't do it, said a voice at the back of his head. He frowned. But why not?
Don't do it, the voice repeated, then went silent.
His brow furrowed with paranoia.
"Minerva," he said, "Should I really do this?"
"For the love of Godric, Fil, just fly!" she cried, exasperated.
He nodded, gulping. No, he had to do this. He needed to pass that test.
Ever so slowly, the broom began to rise. Three feet, four feet, five feet. Before long, it was at least twenty feet in the air.
"I'm doing it!" he cried, his ecstatic grin matching the expression on Minerva's face.
"Keep going!" she called back, "You're doing great!"
He nodded enthusiastically, and surged forward. He was at the height of the hoops now. The wind rushed past him as he picked up the pace, racing all the way to the end of the pitch.
"You're amazing!" yelled Minerva, "Now turn around and fly back."
He nodded once more and, brimming with confidence, turned the broom around. Smiling to himself, he began to move.
This wasn't so bad. Maybe he'd pass the test after all, he might even start playing Quidditch. Who said he had a fear of heights?
"You're doing great, Fil, just don't look down," called Minerva.
"What?" he yelled, looking down. Then, it happened.
His eyes widened in horror as he noticed the distance between himself and the ground. He was so high, so very high. He began to feel nauseous, his head began to spin.
"Minerva!" he cried, "I need to get down!"
"I know, Fil" she said soothingly, her brow furrowed with worry, "Just lower yourself slowly."
''I can't!'' He seemed become more terrified as the seconds passed. In his emotional state, the broom lurched forward, uncontrollable. Absolutely horrified, he grabbed on to the closest thing he could find - a goal hoop. Just as his fingers curled around the cool metal, the broom sped forward, leaving him hanging onto the hoop for dear life.
"Get me down from here!" he screamed. Minerva seemed equally scared.
"I'll get a teacher, just wait," she called, running through the doors.
"NO!" he yelled, "No, stay here! Just. Get. Me. DOWN."
Minerva looked horribly guilty, shifting from one foot to the other as she took out her wand. She considered Transfiguring the hoop, but realized with a target that big, she might make a mistake. She had one last idea.
"Wingardium Leviosa," she recited, pointing the wand at her friend. He widened his eyes as he began to rise slowly, and move to the center of the pitch.
"Now lower me," he squeaked, still nervous. She nodded, her face clouded with concentration.
"Hey, guys!" called a startling, happy voice, the voice of Pomona Sprout, from behind Minerva.
Jumping two feet in the air, Minerva turned to glare at the fifteen-year-old -
Just as a loud scream pierced the air, and they watched in horror as Filius Flitwick plummeted to the ground.
That day, Filius Flitwick sustained four broken ribs, a broken arm, and a fractured ankle. He spent a week in the infirmary.
He didn't speak to Minerva for the rest of the year.
Madame Snoots, noting Filius's injuries, excused him from the exam.
Minerva refused to speak to Pomona for a week, after which the friends quickly made up. She got an O for Charms.
Pomona decided that it was her duty to relate the amusing incident to whoever wished to listen - which, as it turned out, was almost half the school.
Filius added Pomona to the list of people he would ignore.
And, learning his painful lesson, he never ignored the voice in his head again.
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