Author's Note: This was only
supposed to be a one-shot fic, but I was enjoying working with Draco so much
that I thought he deserved more. I'm thinking of working on every scene in canon
where Draco appeared. Just the ones where he played a considerable part, anyway.
Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed. You guys are the reason why I found
the strength to continue this.
Aaargh! I'm getting this strong feeling that Draco thinks too old for an eleven-year
old. Harry thinks too old for an eleven-year old, I figured, so that's okay.
Another note: Thanks to PyroKitty for letting me know I made a little mistake, got it corrected now, though. I keep on making mistakes. Too anxious to upload that I never bother to double-check.
Things Learned in Flying Lessons
It was a Thursday morning,
and it was one of those mornings that I was in my most delighted mood. Having
witnessed Potter being embarrassed in Potions class, seeing him getting no mail
from this morning's Owl Post while I knew he saw me getting many packages of
treats from home, and learning we were have flying lessons with Gryffindors
this afternoon. Potter, who grew up with Muggles all his life, surely have never
even touched a broomstick. I have been practicing flying since I was young,
although no one really taught me and all I used for practice was one of Father's
old broomsticks. I would like to see Potter make a fool of himself. This was
how life should be, seeing things go my way.
Turning down my friendship wasn't really the last straw. I could have forgiven
him for that, if he would apologize properly when he finds out how mistaken
he was. After all, being very picky with friends was something I admire. But
when he was sorted in Gryffindor, I just knew we were meant to be rivals. And
now I'm really starting to love the way our relationship worked.
I stood up from the Slytherin table after breakfast. Naturally, Crabbe and Goyle
also stood up to follow me. We passed by the Gryffindor table on purpose, near
Potter and his little friends.
"Gran knows I forget things--this tells you if there's something you've
forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red--oh..."
A stumpy Gryffindor was holding a large glass ball that turned scarlet. He was
also a student Professor Snape humiliated in Potions class. Neville Longbottom.
How can I forget the name of someone so unbelievably clumsy and pitiful? "...you've
forgotten something..." he told himself, disappointed, trying to remember
what it was he forgot.
I smirked, amused, plucking the glass ball from his hand. The scarlet color
faded away. I've never had one of these before. Not that I need some toy that
would remind me that I forgot something. I'm not as careless and clumsy as Longbottom
was.
Daring and honorable little Potter stood up, together with his Weasley friend.
I can see the look on their faces. They wanted a fight just as much as I did.
They were even glad for the excuse to pick up a fight. I sneered. Potter was
acting exactly as I wished he would.
"What's going on?" a reprimanding voice asked. Potter, Weasley, Longbottom
and I turned and were faced by a stern-looking Professor McGonagall.
"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor," Longbottom said, and McGonagall
gave me an austere look. What a spineless tattletale, that Longbottom.
I threw the stupid glass ball at the table. "Just looking," I muttered
with a scowl. I walked away from the Gryffindor table, Crabbe and Goyle mindlessly
following me. Naturally.
It was three-thirty in the
afternoon. My fellow Slytherins and I were already on the lawn on the opposite
side of grounds to the forbidden forest, ready for our flying lessons. The Gryffindors
arrived a little later, and so did Madam Hooch, who looked positively male to
me with her short gray hair and hawk-like eyes.
Twenty broomsticks were lined up on the grounds. Twenty old and substandard
broomsticks. I wish we were allowed to have our own broomsticks so I wouldn't
have to put up with the feeble things.
"Well, what are you all waiting for?" Hooch yelled. "Everyone
stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."
We all rushed to a broom and stood beside it. I could see everyone's faces that
silently complained how old the brooms were.
"Stick out your right hand over your broom," Hooch instructed. But
I already I knew this. "and say, 'Up!'"
"UP!" came the loud yell of the nineteen other students. I, however,
only lazily drawled the word while holding my hand over the broom, which quickly
obeyed. The broom jumped towards my hand, and I stretched my palm to catch it.
I looked at how the others were doing. I was surprised to see that Potter got
lucky and were one of the few others who got his broom obeying him right away.
After we waited for everyone to get their brooms to jump into their hands, which
took ages for Neville Longbottom, Hooch showed us how to mount into our brooms.
I confidently placed the broomstick between my legs and gripped on the handle.
Madam Hooch walked up and down the row of students to correct them if they had
errors. She stopped in front of me.
"Not that way. This is the way you do it," she made me set my grip
on the broom right, but I don't see anything wrong with it.
"I've been flying for years." I glared at her.
"Then you've been doing it wrong all along."
I scowled at Potter and Weasley when I saw them looking very pleased.
"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard."
Hooch grasped the whistle that hung on her neck. "Keep your brooms steady,
rise on your feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly."
Everyone did as she instructed. "On my whistle -- three -- two --"
Before Hooch could blow the whistle, she was interrupted by a broom that shot
up to the air, carrying a scared Longbottom.
"Come back, boy!" she called, but she was wasting her voice. Longbottom
was about twenty feet up, he was looking down with a face drained of blood,
his mouth wide with nervousness. And just to make sure we would really think
he's such a buffoon, he slipped off the broom and fell down to the floor,
facedown. I thought I heard a bone crunch, but I was busy watching the broom
he was riding on just seconds ago. It was going higher and higher, then disappeared
to the Forbidden Forest, which wasn't very far from where we were right now.
"Broken wrist," Hooch noted when she was checking on Longbottom. "Come
on, boy -- it's all right, up you get."
She turned to us after she helped the duffer to his feet. "None of you
is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms
where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.'
Come on, dear," she ordered, putting an arm around the crying Longbottom.
We all watched them walk away, and when I was positive Hooch would no longer
hear me, I laughed. "Did you see his face, the great lump?" I sniggered.
My fellow Slytherins also broke into laughter.
"Shut up, Malfoy," a Gryffindor frowned at me. She was quite pretty,
for a Gryffindor.
"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" Pansy Parkinson retorted, even
before I could open my mouth for the reply that I had in mind. "Never though
you'd like fat little crybabies, Parvati." If Pansy's family weren't
a friend of Father's, and if she weren't a Slytherin, I would easily call her
ugly. Why weren't the girls in my house as pretty as the ones in the other houses?
Something shining in the ground caught my attention. "Look!" I picked
up the Remembrall on the grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran
sent him."
"Give that here, Malfoy," Harry said in a low but threatening voice.
Everyone looked at him, surprised. I, however, wasn't the least bit surprised.
I knew it would be just the kind of thing he would be doing.
I answered him with a smile that I trained hard to look vindictive. "I
think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find." My brain was quickly
thinking up of a plan. "How about-- up a tree?"
"Give it here!" Harry shouted this time, advancing towards
me. But I already managed to jump into a broom to fly away.
I flew to one of the highest branches of a nearby oak tree and yelled, "Come
and get it, Potter!"
I knew he would fly up here to get the Remembrall from me. Now it's your turn
to look foolish, Harry Potter. At least Longbottom won't be so alone in the
hospital wing.
Harry rushed to a broom, forgetting that he'd never used one before. Just as
I expected.
"No!" Even from afar I can hear a bossy voice command. It was
the voice of the same girl I passed by on the train to Hogwarts. Hermione Granger.
She's such a know-it-all, she annoys me everytime her hand shoots up in the
air whenever the teacher asks a question. She's the only witch in her family,
only her endless reading of books equips her with the knowledge she needs.
"Madam Hooch told us not to move--you'll get us all into trouble,"
Granger nagged on, but Potter wasn't paying attention to her.
He leapt into his broom and soared into the air, and he looked like he'd been
doing it forever. His broom flew with no sign of quivering. He didn't look the
least bit nervous, he even looked thrilled that he was up dozens of feet in
the air. He got whoops of admiration from friends and startled gasps and cries
from girls. How come nobody praised me when I flew, when I'd been
doing just as excellently as Potter did?
Potter was now facing me, his broomstick floating in front of mine. I gawked
at him, still surprised.
"Give it here, or I'll knock you off your broom," he said firmly.
"Oh, yeah?" I did my best to look arrogant.
Of course he was good with using a broomstick. He has to be. His father James
Potter was a Quidditch legend in Hogwarts. How can I forget?
Potter suddenly manned his broom so it would shoot directly into me. Still taken
by surprise, I roughly managed to dash out of the way. He smoothly and quickly
turned to face me. Potter's fans were clapping below.
"No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy." There was
something in his smile that mirrored the superiority I felt just a while ago.
My eyebrows furrowed. No Crabbe and Goyle? Does he think I only feel strong
when those two empty heaps of brawn are around? He thinks he's so above me!
He thinks he's such a deity, mounted on a broomstick, being clapped for by adoring
Gryffindors. I wanted to smash the glass ball on his face, but I decided against
that and planned to do something else. Let's see what he can do about it.
"Catch it if you can, then!" I shouted as I threw the Remembrall to
the wind. I zoomed back to the ground, wanting to see how he would look from
below. I was also playing safe, just in case the teacher was coming back. Crabbe
and Goyle popped to my side just as soon as I touched the ground.
Naturally, Potter made his broom dive to the ground to catch the Remembrall
to keep it from shattering to miniscule pieces. He stretched his hand, catching
the glass ball in time before it reached the ground. He landed safely on the
ground. A normal flyer would crash on the grass after flying with that speed.
I have to admit, he was good.
"HARRY POTTER!" An angry voice screamed. The head of the Gryffindor
house, Professor McGonagall was rushing towards him, indignant. Potter looked
terrified. It was such a precious picture.
"Never--in all my time at Hogwarts--how dare you--might have
broken your neck--" McGonagall looked more shocked than Potter did. If
I didn't know better, I would say she was just hiding her amazement by pretending
to look furious. But the old cow never lets students get by with breaking the
rules, she even deducts points from her own house, unlike Professor Snape who
goes so easy on us.
The Gryffindors all talked at once, explaining Potter's actions. McGonagall
quieted them all and dragged Potter back to the castle. For a fleeting moment
he looked at me. I sniggered automatically. Hooch said any student caught using
the brooms without her will be expelled, but who would believe her? Maybe a
thousand points taken from Gryffindor, a day of detention or two, but it would
take so much more to get rid of Potter.
I didn't feel as happy as Crabbe and Goyle looked. They must have thought Potter
would be expelled from Hogwarts, the prats. But there was an empty feeling inside
me. All the trouble I went through, and I only proved that Harry Potter would
make a great Quidditch player. He made me doubt my own skills. He made me ask
myself if I'm never the person I used to think I am, blessed with everything
and above it all. And he made me wonder if I also made him feel this insecurity
burning inside me, because I have a strong notion that he doesn't.
