Chapter 8: Target Practice – Part Two
Later that Afternoon, After Divination….
"MOVE! MOVE! M O V E! "
Her teaching robes were a black spot on the green grass before the second word left her mouth.
Madame Hooche's voice was faster, sharper and more commanding than the whistle that hung around her neck. A Hufflepuff was in a deadly flat-spin and he was rapidly running out of air-space as he plummeted towards the landing area. One look told her that he had miscalculated the variables associated with carrying a second person. The Hufflepuff was yanking on the handle of his WindSprint in a panic – which caused the deadly spin in the first place. She could hear the boy sitting behind him screaming that he was too young to die.
Wandless magic had her SkyStreaker smacking her palm. Wandless magic had her airborne and coming up and behind the wildly descending broom.
Excellent lesson plans and meticulous attention to safety had Harry, Ron, Draco and Daphne Greengrass getting into position without having to be told what to do.
From their positions on the ground, everyone watched as Madame Hooche proved exactly why she was the Flight Instructor at Hogwarts School of Witch Craft and Wizardry and why Vectors was a much sought-after class.
Matching the speed of descent and the counter-clockwise motion of the out-of-control broom, Hooche didn't hesitate nor did she waste a single movement as she manoeuvred into position. Locking her ankles around each other for leverage, she braced her knees to catch her weight as she slid backwards – hooking herself on the slender shaft. Hanging upside down and extending her arms, it was a precious half a second before she could pluck the screaming student off the out-of-control broom. Looking beyond his flailing legs, it was another fraction of a moment, when the WindSprint was in mid arc, that she could release the younger student into a free-fall that would not end with him getting hit with the back end of the broom as it came around. The unknown student's screams grew higher in pitch when she let him go. Making delicate adjustments to her own broom's trajectory with her thighs, she focused on the Hufflepuff and coaxing him out of the death grip he had on his broom.
Madame Hooche's safety drills had a Ravenclaw dashing to the infirmary as Harry, Ron, Daphne and Draco formed a square underneath the pair of spinning brooms. Each braced the tops of their broom handles against the navigational twigs at the base of the brooms. Daphne's broom was the last one to lock in place and the responsibility fell to her to cast the cushioning spell.
No sooner were the words out of her mouth than a student dropped out of the sky and fell safely into their invisible net. Bouncing twice was all the time the foursome could spare before Daphne issued the counter-spell; having more than one person in the net at a time too dangerous to chance. The sound of robes snapping was not enough to break their concentration, but it did pull their attentions to the sky. Calling out the charm again – just in time – the blue-garbed fly-boy landed in the invisible net hard. Shaken, pale – but unhurt.
Still hanging upside down, Madame Hooche felt like she could hear the collective gasp from below as she released the grip the backs of her knees had on her SkyStreaker and kicked her legs so that, for one split second, she was in a controlled drop between the two brooms before landing, seat-first, on the out-of-control broom. Counter-balancing her weight to offset the spin, she knew she only had a few rotations left before she would either land on the ground or land in the hospital wing.
She only needed one rotation to realize that she did not have enough air-space to break the spin.
There was time for Plan B.
Locking her wrists, one fluid motion had her standing on the spinning broom. Timing would be everything: wind speed, velocity, the flat-spin of the broom, her weight and the responsiveness of the WindSprint. Stomping on the broom with one foot at precisely the right moment and actually kicking herself free of the Hufflepuff's WindSprint, she watched as time slowed to one-tenth its normal pace. The heavier end of the broom swung until it pointed to the ground below and top of the handle pointed towards the top of her head while she fell – in free fall – beside the broom. Stretching out her right hand, she reached for the 'pommel' of the broom and pulled the shaft hard against the length of her body. Fitting one foot into the stirrup, the second slow-quickly followed. She could see treetops swaying and ripples on the lake as time suddenly resumed and speeded up. Mentally and physically preparing herself, she cast the one spell any serious flyer dreaded but guaranteed to stop the vertical spin that challenged her sense of balance and direction.
"DOWN!"
Leaping free as the school grounds rushed up at her, the WindSprint struck and sank several inches into the soft soil as her booted feet hit land. Her soft knees and relaxed hips, spine and neck absorbed a lot of the shock that was transferred to her body when she struck the well padded grassy area that was the practice zone.
Stretching out her own hand, wandless magic pulled her SkyStreaker from wherever it landed back to her palm. Her short, spunky hair was even more wind-blown than usual and dust and grime clung to her cheekbones, bridge of her nose, chin and forehead. A heightened brightness to her eyes and the white-knuckled grip she had on her broom were the only tell-tale signs that anything out of the ordinary had happened in the past four minutes. Looking at each of the four students who had followed her safety drills to the letter, she took a couple deep breaths of air before saying, "Twenty points for each of you." Seeing a higher flush of colour on the girl's face Madame Hooche gave out a well-earned, in-frequently offered compliment, "Greengrass – well done."
Sweeping the rest of her students with her eyes, taking a head count as she walked over to the trembling Hufflepuff and his friend, she asked, "Why was it that Potter, Greengrass, Weasley and Malfoy were the ones to cast the safety-net spell?"
"Because they have the longest brooms," an anonymous voice answered.
"That is precisely the reason why." Crouching down in front of the younger student, she brushed his hair out of his eyes. Taking a handkerchief out of her pants pocket and pressing it into his hands she asked gently, "Are you alright?" Too stunned to form words, the boy simply nodded.
Looking to her left to where the Hufflepuff was standing next to one of his friends, she beckoned for him to come to her. Putting a re-assuring tone into her voice, she smiled at her student and the underclassman who was his 'victim'.
"You'll be alright. But when Madame Pomfrey gets here I want you to go with her and let her check you out, okay?" Seeing the younger boy begin to shiver, and the terror still dancing in her student's eyes, she could see that the first stages of shock were taking effect. Snapping her head back toward the rest of her class, she called out, "I need a pair of robes! " Turning back to the two affected students, she switched back to her re-assuring tone as she shared, "It is important that we keep you warm, that's all."
A pair of heinously ugly, snake-heart-shaped-kissy-faced-definitely-not-school-issued-robes pooled on the ground in front of her. Glancing at Daphne and Draco in their house jumpers, their Slytherin-ness was apparent. They each had a perfectly good reason – and excuse – as to why they did not have to wear those butt-ugly robes for the rest of the afternoon.
"Glad to help, Madame Hooche," Daphne said with a smile - relief in having the garment off her body echoing every word.
"Glad to be rid of it, Madame Hooche." Draco's response was clear-cut and brought a much needed chuckle to the group.
Giving in to the smile that had been tickling her face since those two walked up to class, their wile was commendable. "Five extra points for each of you. For finding a creative, iron-clad way to evade an afternoon's worth of teasing by your fellow classmates." Locking her gaze with that of her Seventh Year, Madame Hooche spoke very clearly but without reproach. "Tomorrow, I want to see you here. Together we will get you back on your broom and together we will sort out where the over-compensation for the additional weight took place. Agreed?" Hearing a small sound that sounded a lot like a 'yes', she draped on ugly robe and then the other over the two lads. Standing up, she winced at the crackling noises her joints made. It had been a long time since she had to execute a perfect Plan B.
"Common sense, knowledge of your broom and instincts are the three tools an aviator has to have on them at all time." Rejoining her class, she looked at each one of them in turn. "Remember our line-up, people. These four at the tallest in the class, and coincidently have the longest brooms. That is why they formed the safety net. If one of them were in the air, then the next person would have stepped up and completed the charm. But never forget: going to get help is equally, if not more, important. Being there for your fellow flyer is paramount. One of the greatest misconceptions out there is that those who fly are solitary individuals' who are hell bent on leaving the land-world behind." Pausing for a moment to let her words echo between her students, Madame Hooche let it be known how ridiculous that myth was. "You all know that every time you take off, you take with you the need to return – to come back to something, someone, some place. Tell me that is the mind frame of a loner."
A chorus of 'here, here' broke out around her. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw the dispatched Ravenclaw approach the practice area with a satchel-laden Madame Pomfrey following close behind. A part of her relaxed as she saw Poppy tend to the two shaken students – the part of her she needed to finish teach today's lesson.
"Now. You have seen what a miscalculation can cost you. But you also know that what you all just saw is a reality that each of you carries with you every time each of you climbs toward the clouds. Don't let the possibilities of 'what if' over-ride your sense of probability and faith in your skills and brooms." Bringing her whistle to her lips, she blew three sharp blasts and was back to her usual efficient self. Pomfrey was herding the two students towards hospital and the remaining nine members of her class had their eyes glued on their professor.
"Alright – Potter, Weasley – you're next. 'Dive and Dash' is the name of the game when we started today and it hasn't changed. Just in case you have forgotten, this is a defensive manoeuvre. It was developed with the intent of inserting a flyer into a situation, collecting a person in trouble, putting them on your broom and orchestrating a getaway where both of you escape unharmed – or as undamaged as possible. As we have seen today – it is not as easy as it looks. You are used to one person on your broom: you. But, with weight distribution changed, your broom is not going to respond in a way you are accustomed. That rules out relying on the use of muscle memory and automatic compensations to manage your broom."
"In light of recent events, I think we are going to change things up a bit." Clapping her hands together in a way that sparked smiles among her students, she explained, "So. Here's what you get to do. Go out. Find a 'victim'. Bring them back. The last person back has to polish the other's broom for a month."
One long, trilling, blast from her whistle had both Harry and Ron throwing their legs over their broom handles, poised to take off
The word, "GO!" had them streaking into the blue sky overhead.
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