The next morning, Ron woke Harry early.
"Come on Harry-wake up!"
"Wha-Ron what are you doing?"
"We have our flying lesson today!" Ron cheered. Harry opened his eyes, struggling to find his glasses and put them on. When he did, he noticed that Ron was already out of bed and dressed-an usual thing for Ron "Just-five-more-minutes" Weasely to do.
Reluctantly, Harry sat up. Seamus was getting dressed across the room. Neville was still asleep. Dean was awake, but still in bed and looked even less enthused than Harry at the prospect of a flying lesson. Like Harry, Dean had been raised by muggles and had been in quite a few arguments with Ron about the merits of Quidditch vs. soccer. Ron couldn't see what was exciting about a game with only one ball where no one was allowed to fly. The night before, Harry had caught Ron prodding Dean's poster of the West Ham soccer team, trying to get the players to move.
"Well I don't see the point of flying around on broomsticks." Dean had argued. "That's not even exercise!"
Ron had been greatly offended, "Of course it is! You can't have some great lard flying about!"
Dean had just rolled his eyes and gone back to reading his Transfiguration book. Harry supposed Dean could tell a lost cause when he saw one.
Seamus knew a fair bit about Quidditch as well. He'd spent most of his childhood zooming around the Irish countryside on his broomstick. He seemed excited, if a tad nervous, about the upcoming lesson.
But Ron, on the other hand, had been looking forward to learning to fly more than anything else. He would tell anyone who'd listen about he'd almost hit a hang glider on his brother Charlie's old broom.
"It was incredible!" Ron exclaimed, relaying the story yet again as the boys walked down the stairs towards the Great Hall, Neville in tow. "One minute, it was clear skies, the next minute this mad muggle comes swooping in from above me. I almost collided with one of his wings! You should have seen the guys face!" he laughed, "Muggles are nuts!"
By this time, Neville looked positively green.
"I'm going to make a fool of myself." He said under his breath. Only Harry appeared to have heard him.
"No you won't Neville, don't worry about it." Harry said (although he was quite sure that Neville would in fact make a fool of himself-he always seemed to be tripping over something). "There's nothing to be concerned about."
"Except for falling off the broom." Ron, who had surmised what they were talking about, laughed. Harry elbowed him in the ribs while Neville turned a bit green.
The five boys finished their breakfast and followed their classmates out to the grounds where a woman with grey hair and strange eyes met them.
"That's Madam Hooch." Ron whispered as they approached, "She refs all the Quidditch matches. Fred and George say she's a real hard-arse."
Harry thought that Madam Hooch looked like an intimidating woman. She had short, gray hair, and yellow eyes like a hawk. She glared as the Gryffindors approached. 'You are late!" she barked, "We are running behind now!"
The Ravenclaws (who were taking lessons with the Gryffindors) were already outside, and so were twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground.
There was a collective grumble of "Sorry professor" amongst the newly arrived Gryffindors as they went to join the Ravenclaws by the lined-up broomsticks.
"Everyone stand by a broomstick." When the first-years hesitated, Madam Hooch seemed to lose what little patience she had.
"Now!" she exclaimed, and, without further prompting, the students ran to stand next to the inert brooms on the ground. Harry glanced down at the broom at his feet. There didn't seem to be anything particularly magical about it. It really looked like an oversized branch that had a handful of thistle stuck at the end. It didn't look very comfortable at all.
"On my whistle, stick one hand over your broom and say 'Up!"'
A Ravenclaw girl with bushy brown hair raised her hand.
"What will happen when we do that?" she asked. Harry thought she looked very nervous.
Madam Hooch rolled her eyes, "You will see in a few moments Miss. Granger. Nothing dangerous, I assure you. On my whistle now!" she put her silver whistle into her mouth and blew.
Immediately Harry stuck his hand over his broom and yelled "UP" with the rest of his classmates. His broom flew from the ground (on its own!) and right into his outstretched hand. Harry looked around, thrilled by his success.
Ron had his broom in his hand, and Seamus was coaxing his to rise slowly upward. Dean's would float upward and seem to change its mind mid-rise and fall to the ground again. Neville's hadn't moved.
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. She had Neville simply pick up his broom after he gave it a few more attempts.
"There's always one." Harry heard her mutter under her breath as she walked passed him.
"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 leaning forward slightly. On my whistle - three - two -"
Someone began floating away from the ground before she even said one. Neville, having evidently been nervous about failing to get off the ground, had kicked off early. What was worse was that he seemed unable to remember how to get back down.
"Get back down here this instant!" Madam Hooch shouted.
Neville seemed not to have heard her. Harry saw his scared white face look down at the ground falling away, saw him gasp, slip sideways off the broom and –
It seemed to happen in slow motion. Harry watched in horror as his dormmate slipped off the broom and fall to the ground, where he lay motionless in a pale, sweaty, heap.
Madam Hooch and the other students all rushed forward. To Harry's relief, Neville stirred and moaned, clutching one wrist.
"Broken wrist," Harry heard Madam Hooch 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 brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear."
Neville, his face tear-streaked, clutching his wrist, hobbled off with Madam Hooch, who had her arm around him.
Harry, Ron, and Dean watched them leave with the rest of the class.
"You know," Dean said, glancing down at the broom in his hand, "I don't really think I'm keen on flying."
Harry very much agreed.