After Potions class was over, Harry, Ron, and I reconvened outside the classroom so we could walk to Hagrid's hut together. Harry had decided that he wanted us to come along to say hello, and seeing as none of us had any other classes until our flying lesson in the late afternoon, we swiftly obliged.
It took a few minutes, but eventually we managed to locate the large castle doors that would lead us towards Hagrid's. As soon as we were outside range of the castle, Ron exclaimed, "What the hell is up with you and Malfoy?"
I blinked and turned to him only to find him staring at me with a mixture of horror and curiosity. The expression almost made me laugh, although it was hardly unwarranted. He and I had been ranting about the wretched little Slytherin a week beforehand, after all.
Realizing that both Ron and Harry were expecting an answer, I replied, "We decided to make the best of our… seating predicaments. We're competing now, to see who can get the better grade. It's actually rather enjoyable."
"You're mad!" Ron hiccupped, brown eyes wide.
I laughed and redirected my gaze to the ground, hoping that I wouldn't trip over any large rocks on the way to Hagrid's hut. The descent could be rather perilous if one wasn't watching their step.
"I'm surprised you're only just figuring that out," I retorted, raising an eyebrow of my own and plastering a knowing grin onto my face.
Ron shook his head in disbelief, but Harry just said, "Well, in that case, I don't feel so bad for throwing you to his table anymore."
By this time, we had reached the door to Hagrid's hut, where we were greeted by deep, rumbling barks for our trouble. Over that ruckus shouted a familiar voice. "Back, Fang, back! Go on, ya dozy dog…"
The barking subsequently grew softer, although it didn't completely stop. It was at least quiet enough that we could hear Hagrid grumbling to himself as he opened the door—when he saw it was the three of us, his face lit up. "Oh, 'ello, 'Arry, Ron, Belle! Come right on in, right on in, lemme grab yeh a cup o' tea while yeh tell me all about 'ow things've gone so far."
Thanking Hagrid for his hospitality, we made our way inside and sat down at the large wooden table in the middle of the room. His hut was fairly small, which was quite impressive considering Hagrid's large size. There was only one other room that led into what I presumed was the bedroom—as I was inspecting the hut, Hagrid set a large cup of black tea in front of me and grinned.
"So 'ow was yer first week?" he asked jovially.
And of course, Harry and Ron immediately launched into telling the poor man about their abysmal experience with the Potions class we'd just emerged from.
I let the two of them rant for a while, although I did manage to interject when Hagrid asked me for my opinion.
"I enjoyed myself. I thought it was an interesting first lesson," I remarked. Noting the slight scowl on Harry's face, I decided it would be safe to add, "Although Professor Snape was certainly less than respectful to Harry. I didn't appreciate that very much."
Harry nodded shortly and muttered, "I think he hates me."
"Rubbish! Why should he?" asked Hagrid.
We all shrugged, realizing that we didn't actually have an answer to that. It could've been a number of reasons: the fact that Harry was famous, the fact that he was a Gryffindor. Maybe it was just unlucky.
Either way, Harry decided to turn the conversation to other matters. He picked up a newspaper that had been draped over the side of the table and, after reading the headline, asked, "Hagrid? What's this?"
I craned my neck to get a good look at the title: Gringotts Break-In Latest. I withheld a gasp… Gringotts was one of the safest wizarding venues in the world! If someone could manage to break into it, then I figured it safe to say that person could do so at any other place, too.
Swallowing my nervousness, I answered, "It's the Daily Prophet—the wizard newspaper. It's mentioning something about a break-in to Gringotts?"
I asked this last moreso than I stated it. Half of me was hoping that Hagrid would begin reassuring me that wasn't the case.
He did not do that. All he did was nod gravely and stay silent.
The next sip of my tea was an uneasy one. All I could think was how hopefully whoever had completed a feat such was far, far away from Hogwarts.
"Hagrid! That Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday! It might've been happening while we were there!" Harry exclaimed, still reading the paper.
Hagrid's smile grew a little fixed, as if he didn't wish to respond and alarm us. Unfortunately, I found his unwillingness to either validate or dispel our worries even more alarming than if he had. Turning towards me and Ron, he asked pleasantly, "More tea?" even though we had just received refills seconds ago.
Despite my anxiety, I still topped off my tea. I did enjoy a good cup of black tea, particularly the English Breakfast kind… and it looked like Hagrid quite agreed with me on that, seeing as he downed his cup in three seconds flat before pouring himself another one.
For a little while longer, we spoke about what we thought of all of our classes. Hagrid seemed very glad to hear that we all liked Transfiguration and Charms, and he laughed loudly when we told him about Professor Binns.
"Tha' ol' ghost's been there longer'n I can remember," he chuckled, shaking his head. It was a sight to see, as his wild black beard swished around his chest too. "Don' know if he'll ever stop teachin' History o' Magic."
This made the three of us groan, but at least we knew what we would have to deal with for the next five years until we could drop the class.
At last, when the sun was highest in the sky, we figured it was time to head out to our first flying lesson with Madam Hooch. As we thanked Hagrid for all the tea and good company, he made sure to tell us to return anytime—and then we were off for the courtyard.
The three of us more-or-less sprinted back up to the castle, we were so excited for the first flying lesson. I was especially thrilled… my cousin Viktor had taught me a number of tricks I could perform in the air. He was the one who encouraged my parents to buy me a broomstick on my tenth birthday… but whenever they had died, Vik had taken it upon himself to buy it for me. It was the newest model at that time, the Cleansweap 8. It couldn't really hold a candle to the new Nimbus 2000, but it was still a very, very good broom, and one I was immensely proud of.
Within the next ten minutes, we had caught up to a few others also heading towards our next lesson. The rest of the Gryffindors and—blast it—the Slytherins were also in attendance: those of us in Gryffindor lined up on the left side of the courtyard, leaving the entire right side to Slytherin house. On the ground in front of us were about twenty broomsticks, lying peacefully in the neatly cut grass. Whispers broke out amongst the gathered students about how far or how high we might be allowed to fly for our first lesson.
Right when I set my knapsack of textbooks on the grass, a shrill whistle pierced the air. A woman's voice swiftly followed, barking, "Well, what are you all waiting for? Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up!"
Harry, Ron, and I sprinted forth to do so, grabbing three spots right next to each other. We shot grins to one another, our excitement building.
When I took a look at my broom, however, I had to restrain from snorting. The broomstick was obviously on its last legs, based on the twigs sticking out at weird angles. Despite its simplicity, it would do for now.
The woman who could only be Madam Hooch nodded in satisfaction once everyone was standing in their spots. Her voice as sharp and confident as before, she declared, "Stick out your right hand over your broom and say 'Up!'"
As one voice, everyone shouted, "Up!"
The broom below me jolted and flew into my hand. I grinned and took a look around—Harry and Malfoy both had their brooms obey their commands as well, but it appeared we were the only lucky three. It took the others at least two or three more commands before they got their broomsticks in check, the last ones being Hermione and Neville.
Once this was done, Madam Hooch walked around adjusting our grips. I couldn't help but smirk a little when she declared that Malfoy's grip was wrong, and likely had been for a long while. He noticed my expression and shot me a dirty glare, which only made me laugh aloud.
Madam Hooch approached me next and, with raised eyebrows, exclaimed, "You must have had a good teacher, Miss Skylar. I see nothing needing correction."
I couldn't keep the grin off my face at that—and I made sure to wiggle an eyebrow in Malfoy's direction as she walked off.
When the last of the students had been appraised, Madam Hooch put her whistle to her mouth and said, "Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard. Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle—three—two—"
A loud gasp disturbed the courtyard. I swiveled to see what was happening; it looked like Neville, who was absolutely terrified by the prospect of what was to come, had accidentally kicked off from the ground early. His eyes were practically bulging from his head as he rose ten feet, then twenty… and then fell sideways from his broom, landing hard on the ground with an audible thump.
Neville lay flat in the dirt, pain etched onto his face. While our classmate had fallen to the earth, his broomstick was lazily ambling up through the air and in the general direction of the Forbidden Forest.
Madam Hooch sprinted to his side and began conducting a quick survey over his condition, attempting to assess the damage. She exhaled through her teeth and murmured, "Broken wrist." Her face was no longer full of clear confidence. "Come on, boy—it's all right, up you get."
Both Neville and Madam Hooch rose from the ground. The woman turned to us and, yellow eyes piercing, commanded, "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."
And with that, the two walked into the castle and disappeared.
As soon as they left, both Draco and Elizabeth Malfoy burst into laughter.
"Did you see his face, the great lump?" wheezed Elizabeth.
"Shut up, Malfoy," Parvati exclaimed.
This interjection made Pansy Parkinson, someone with a face that vaguely reminded me of a pug, laugh. "Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom? Never thought you'd like fat little crybabies, Parvati."
"Look!" exclaimed Malfoy, gesturing to something on the ground. He lunged forward and snatched it up—in his hand was a shining glass orb. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him." He held it up toward the sunlight, inspecting it; the object glimmered in his palm.
"Give it here, Malfoy," Harry said, extending his hand.
Malfoy turned around slowly, inspecting Harry up and down. He concluded this survey apparently unimpressed; a sneer took over his lips as he retorted, "No. I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find… how about up a tree?"
"Give it here!" yelled Harry, but already too late. Malfoy leapt onto his broom and started hovering a few feet off the ground, that leer still on his face. I raised my eyebrows a little—he wasn't lying when he had been boasting about being a good flyer. His form was excellent from what I could tell, and his hovering was smooth, too. I couldn't help but want to roll my eyes; this would be yet another thing we'd have to compete with.
With a sigh, I exclaimed, "Draco, come on. What do you have to gain from being stubborn?"
"Your exasperation, Skylar!" he answered, the little smirk I had been wearing before now plastered on his pointed face. When he saw my scowl, that look only grew more malicious. "And trust me, it's a lovely thing to behold."
"Prat!" I shouted. My fists clenched around the handle of my broomstick. "Give it here or I'll get that Remembrall myself!"
"Do it!"
I growled under my breath and glanced at Harry. We shared a look: it didn't take long for us to discover that we were both unwilling to let such a slight go. As one, we started to mount our brooms—
"No!" cried Hermione, her eyes wide. "Madam Hooch told us not to move—you'll get us all into trouble!"
But we didn't care about that. Harry seemed to want to shove it to Malfoy, and I certainly wanted to do the same. We simultaneously took off, moving towards the Slytherin above us.
I had forgotten how relaxing it simply was to be in the air. It wasn't anything like walking… Flying with Viktor had been my favorite hobby at home, and even though I didn't have my cousin with me now, the passion for the activity had not lessened at all.
Malfoy looked like he had swallowed something sour, which was already a slight victory for us. My satisfaction greatened when Harry and I extended our hands and repeated, "Give it here!", and his expression morphed from disappointed to slightly concerned.
Before anyone else could say or do anything, Harry pressed his body toward the handle of his broomstick and shot forward like a bullet. Our Slytherin adversary only barely managed to barrel out of the way in time—seeing this, the Gryffindors began to applaud and cheer.
"No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy!" Harry called.
Draco's thoughts whirled through his eyes as he thought of a response. It turned out to be, "Catch it if you can, then!" as he launched the Remembrall as far and as fast as he could.
I gasped sharply as Harry bolted after it, hurtling towards the ground in a daring nosedive. Even though there was no way he could know how to maneuver a broomstick, somehow he knew exactly where to fly and how to intercept the ball's fall—right when it looked like Harry was about to crash into the ground, he yanked on the handle and forced himself back up, Neville's gift clasped firmly in hand.
The Gryffindors erupted into cheers and rushed forward, ecstatic at such an impressive feat. Deciding it was now time to ground myself, I touched my feet back to the grass and joined the gathering throng, throwing an arm around Harry's shoulder and grinning wildly.
Our excitement was short-lived. Less than twenty seconds had passed before we heard a frantic voice shout, "HARRY POTTER!"
Out of the castle stormed Professor McGonagall, whose face was as white as one of the many ghosts haunting Hogwarts. "How dare you—might have broken your neck—"
All at once, everyone started interjecting about how it wasn't Harry's fault, that Malfoy started the interaction and all but forced him to fly. Each of these pleads and explanations fell on deaf ears, including my own.
"Potter, follow me. Now," said McGonagall, her voice clipped.
Harry glanced back to Ron and I; we shot him miserable looks and shrugged. Neither of us were able to formulate a quick-thinking plan to weasel him out of trouble… and so, left with nothing else to do, Harry sighed and followed her inside.
Any sort of victory we might have felt against the Slytherins vanished along with Harry. Now rather defeated, we Gryffindors silently decided that all we could do was wait for Madam Hooch to return so we might resume our lesson.
