A/N: Look! Another one-shot when I should be updating my multi-chapter stories! I like how this came out though and I hope that all of you do too! It was written for a challenge given to me, in which I had to take a spell and write a story on it's meaning. The trick is that I was only able to use 700 hundred words. Below it the result of that challenge. Enjoy.


It was the first Flying Class of the year. Two days into Neville's sixth year at Hogwarts. The first class of the day, and the start to a horrible schedule for Tuesdays. Flying, Potions, Defence Against the Dark Arts, all leading to a nice visit with Trelawny up in the Divinations Tower. Neville didn't expect he'd make it to lunch before he had to take a trip up to Madame Pomfry.

He'd already taken his place at the very end of the line, a small gap between him and the rest of the Gryffindors. Passing the broom from hand to hand, careful not to drop it, Neville watched as Madame Hooch paced the field in front of them. She reminded him of a hawk; sharp face, narrowed eyes, unforgiving words that grated on his eardrums.

A hawk that had a grudge against him.

Neville knew she did, even if she had never said as much. He could tell. He could always tell when a teacher didn't like him. It was just something about the way they spoke to him. How they looked at him. It was funny because he was sure none of them, except maybe Proffesor Snape who did his best to make his dislike obvious, realized he knew just how much they didn't like teaching him.

Madame Hooch especially disliked him.

From the very first class she taught Neville in, there had been a sort of grudge. He wasn't stupid either. He knew why she didn't like him. It was the same reason no one wanted to stand next to him in line or be his partner in Potions Class.

Neville Longbottom was a clutz. Whether it was on the ground, at a couldron, or in the air, he was clumsy. That was that. There was no fixing it. There was no changing how he was. It was just a problem he'd always had.

A shame the teachers didn't understand that their annoyance with him just made it worse.

And Madame Hooch was one of the worst. She didn't make him as nervous as some of the other teachers but...She acted like he wasn't trying. Like every time he messed up in Flying Class it was because he was joking around. It wasn't. If anything, he tried to do good in Flying Class even more than he did in Potions.

Because Flying was something he'd always longed to do. Something his Gran had hoped he would be great at and his Great Uncle Algie had insisted he would fail at; turned out Algie was right, but Neville tried not to think about that. It was this dream of his that he'd always had.

Fly and be free.

It was what he envied about Harry the most, he supposed. Not that he was popular or that the teachers favored him. That he could fly, and fly like a pro even when it was his first time on a broom.

The other Gryffindor didn't realize how amazing that was.

Hooch spun towards him at that moment, sharp grey eyes locking onto Neville, and startled him out of his thoughts. "I expect that you all take Grade A care of my brooms this year. Brand new imports from Belgium they are. Expensive things. The first person to crash one of them is in charge of cleaning the other brooms for the rest of the week. Understood?"

Gulping, Neville gave a quick nod before letting his eyes drop down to his feet. It didn't matter that Hooch had been addressing the entire class. He knew that her words were really being directed at him; he was always the first one to crash, after all. Now a days, he was usually the only one that crashed. Even Hermione, who had been near horrid in her first year, had gotten decent enough on a broom to avoid crashing.

The other students nodded and gave murmured 'yes ma'ams' and Hooch directed her wand up towards the sky. Large, colored circles appeared in the air at the motion. The typical style for their courses. "All right, let's get started shall we? Mr. Longbottom, why don't you show us what you managed to accomplish over the summer?"