"Broken Wrist." Madame Hooch rapped out, as if that was a normal occurrence. Maybe it was, here in the Wizarding World. Harry Potter watched keenly as she said, "Come on, boy - up ya get."

Her firm, demanding gaze shot through the crowd, reaching even the edges, to the people too busy staring at their own broomsticks to care about the Idiot (now Walking Wounded) in the center of the group. "None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! Dare to even touch those brooms, and I'll have you out of Hogwarts before you can say Quidditch." Her beefy, thick fingers curled around Neville's body, and she said, nearly kindly, "Come along, boy."

Hermione, still standing near the Coach and the Child, said loudly, "Feel better, Neville. I'll come visit after class." Harry was dead certain that he was the only one who heard her mouth to herself, "I hope so, at least."

Neville, for his part, gave Hermione a teary faced smile, and Harry reluctantly allowed himself to feel guilty for not having been more of a friend to Neville, no matter how stupid of an idea it was. There was something to be said, after all, even for stupid ideas like cameraderie and dorm room unity. Certainly both Neville and Hermione seemed to be outcasts from their dorm. Harry, well, wasn't - if only because nobody really knew him. Of course, Harry liked it that way. They certainly wouldn't appreciate a Slytherin in their midst - particularly Ron Weasley. I mean, if even a Hufflepuff-lite like Neville got shunned, how much worse would it be for a known Slytherin? Still, Harry chided himself, I could have done more for Neville. Even if it was a bad idea.

Just as Harry finished that thought, the door into Hogwarts Castle closed, and Draco Malfoy immediately cracked up, sending gleeful howls of laughter into the air, "Did you see his face, the great big lump?"

"Malfoy!" Hermione said sternly, undermining herself by not using Mister in front of his name. "He could have been seriously hurt!"

Pansy sniffed, saying, "Never figured you to like fat sniffly crybabies, Granger." Her tone was challenging, just as spoiling for a fight as Draco seemed to be.

Hermione turned her own nose into the air, sniffing loudly, and saying exasperatedly, "Honestly!"

"Hey, what's that, then?" Draco Malfoy said - mostly ignored by the folks watching the catfight start to unfold. "Look! It's that stupid thing Neville's gran sent him!" Oh, right, Harry Potter thought, mentally pulling everything that he knew about the stupid thing that he hadn't been paying much attention to when Nevile had gotten it at breakfast. Ron had been babbling about something Quiddich and Cannons, and Harry had tuned the whole table out from sheer boredom (and it really was quite interesting, this spell that he had been working on - a shield, of some sort. Not that Harry figured he'd have the power for a whole shield - but even a small one might block a small spell, wouldn't it...?*)

Draco Malfoy picked up the clear ball, flourishing it in the air as it sparkled.

"Give it back, Malfoy." Ron Weasley snarled at the pale, arrogant boy.

"To you? You're so poor you'd sell it rather than give it back, ain't cha?" Draco Malfoy snapped back. Suddenly, he smiled nastily. "I think I'll leave it somewhere for Neville to find." He pretended to ponder, before lighting up, "How about - up a tree?"

It was a laugh line, and as was the traditional way of sycophants of all stripes, his posse ate it up with laughter.

Harry had thought Malfoy'd been joking. "Up!" Malfoy called, a broom snapping into his hand, as he leaped astride, kicking off and flying up into the sky, where he circled - as if daring someone to stop him. Harry found himself wondering if broomsticks were as dangerous as planes - fine and dandy in midair with plenty of clearance, but deadly that close to the treetrunk.

"No!" Hermione shrieked, "You'll get us all in trouble! Madame Hooch said not to move."

Harry startled, understanding that Hermione was right. Not that Malfoy had a prayer of listening to words.

Here goes nothing, I guess. Harry thought, as he grabbed up a broom. Please don't kill me, please don't kill me. Amazingly, Harry found his... skylegs? The broom seemed quick enough to maneuver, and he was up and after Malfoy without a second thought. His brain started to pull some maneuvers he'd seen on the tellie (Uncle Vernon liked watching British war dramas, and the RAF was forever dogfighting with the Nazis). He slid over Malfoy, gaining a bit of altitude on him. Harry hung over Malfoy, but that wasn't where he wanted to be. He willed himself forward, as fast as he could, as he hunched over the broom, taking it down into a 180 degree curve that brought him back towards Malfoy, hanging upside down off the broom, turning the entire chase into a sudden game of chicken.

Malfoy, unwavering, looked Harry dead in the eyes, shouting quickly, "You want this? Time to play catch!" and Draco Malfoy threw the ball away, backwards over his shoulder. Harry could see the arc (which Malfoy couldn't), and knew that it would hit the wall. Harry urged his broom to go even faster, and Malfoy - eyes at last widening - threw himself out of the way, sending himself spinning. Harry mentally counted Malfoy out of the fight, as he tried to measure whether he could catch the Rememberall. Ah, so that's what it was called. Harry thought to himself as he reached out his hand, knowing that he only had one chance at this. Luckily, the broom cornered well - even if he missed the ball, he'd still probably manage not to wind up in paste on the Hogwarts Crenelations.

His focus narrowed, he reached out, and his fingers caught the ball, as he yanked viciously on the broom. **

"HARRY POTTER!" Assistant Headmistress McGonagall screamed. Shite, Harry thought, I was just about to get down...

*Harry has been grabbing books off the common room to read. He's out of order, and may very well be completely pants at theory. But he is learning, if in a very slapdash manner. How like a Gryffindor, eh?

**unbeknownst to him, leaving bristles on the lawn.

[a/n: not soon enough, Harry, not soon enough...

Draco's being set up as less of a weak bully, and more of a posturing braggart. I don't need another bully, so I'm making Draco a bit more... reasonable. He's been hearing for ages about the Weasley's poverty, it's likely that he half-believes that Ron really would steal the trinket.

I think the whole broomstick thing works much better with him being nervous. He doesn't know he's going to be good, so why should the audience miss out on the anxiety attack?

Leave a review, I'll write more if you do!]