Harry spotted a notice in the Slytherin common room that made him groan. Flying lessons would be starting on Thursday— and Slytherin and Gryffindor would be learning together.

At three thirty that afternoon, Harry, Draco and the other slytherins hurried down the front steps onto the grounds for their first flying lesson. It was a clear, breezy day and the grass rippled undee their first as they marched down the sloping lawns toward a smooth flat lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the forbidden forest, whose trees seating darkly in the distance.

The Gryffindors arrived afterwards.

There was twenty brooms lying in neat lines on the ground. Harry heard the Weasley twins complain about the school brooms, saying that some of them started to vibrate if you flew too high, or always flew slightly to the left.

Their teacher Madam Hooch had arrived. She had short, gray hair, and yellow eyes like a hawk.

Well what are you all waiting for? she barked . Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on hurry up.

Harry glanced down at his broom. It was old and some if the twigs stuck out at odd angles.

Stick out your right hand over your broom called Madam Hooch at the front and say up!

UP! Everyone shouted.

Harry's broom jumped to his hand at once, but it was one of the few that did. Granger said it with a bossy tone of voice. Longbottom's hadn't moved at all. Perhaps brooms like horses, could tell when you were afraid thought Harry; there was a quaver in his voice that said only to clearly that he wanted to keep his feet on the ground.

Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips. Harry snorted when she told Draco he'd being doing it wrong for years.

Now when i blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground hard said Madam Hooch keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet and then come straight back down by leading forward slightly.

On my whistle— three—two—

But Neville, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch's lips.

Come back boy! She shouted but Neville was rising straight up like a cork shot out of bottle— twelve feet— twenty feet.

Harry saw his scared white look down at the ground falling away, saw him gasp, slip sideways off the broom and—

WHAM— a thud and nasty crack and Neville lay facedown on the grass in a heap. His broomstick was still rising higher and higher and started to drift lazily toward the forbidden forest and out of sight.

Madam Hooch was bending over Neville, her face as white as his.

Broken wrist Harry heard her mutter. Come on boy— it's all right, up you get.

She turned to the rest of the class.

None of you is to move while i take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those broom where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say Quidditch come on dear.