Disclaimer: Anything you recognize, I do not own.
Slytherins were the bullies of the school. It didn't take long for any of the first years to figure that out. Still, first-year Gryffindors only had Potions with the Slytherins, so they didn't have to put up with Malfoy much. Or at least, they didn't until they spotted a notice pinned up in the Gryffindor common room that made them all groan. Flying lessons would be starting on Thursday... and Gryffindor and Slytherin would be learning together.
"Typical." Harry said darkly. "Just what I always wanted. To make a fool of myself on a broomstick in front of Malfoy." He had been looking forward to learning to fly more than anything else.
"You don't know that you'll make a fool of yourself. And if you fall off your broom, I'll fall off too, in support. Unless we're too high up. Then I'll groan sympathetically." Thomas assured him, but that didn't make him feel any better.
Malfoy talked about flying a lot. He complained loudly about first years never getting on the house Quidditch teams and told long, boastful stories that always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping Muggles in helicopters. He wasn't the only one, though: the way Seamus Finnigan told it, he'd spent most of his childhood zooming around the countryside on his broomstick. Everyone from wizarding families talked about Quidditch constantly.
Neville had never been on a broomstick in his life, because his grandmother had never let him near one. Privately, Harry felt she'd had good reason, because Neville managed to have an extraordinary number of accidents even with both feet on the ground.
One day, a barn owl brought Neville a small package from his grandmother. He opened it excitedly and showed them a glass ball the size of a large marble, which seemed to be full of white smoke.
"It's a Remembrall!" He explained. "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..." His face fell, because the Remembrall had suddenly glowed scarlet: "You've forgotten something..."
Neville was trying to remember what he'd forgotten when Draco Malfoy, who was passing the Gryffindor table, snatched the Remembrall out of his hand. Harry and Phoebe jumped to their feet. Harry was half hoping for a reason to fight Malfoy and knew Phoebe would more than back him up against the boy, but Professor McGonagall, who could spot trouble quicker than any teacher in the school, was there in a flash.
"What's going on?"
"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor." Scowling, Malfoy quickly dropped the Remembrall back on the table.
"Just looking." He said and he sloped away with Crabbe and Goyle behind him.
At three-thirty that afternoon, the first year Gryffindors hurried down the front steps onto the grounds for their first flying lesson. It was a clear, breezy day, and the grass rippled under their feet 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 were swaying darkly in the distance.
The Slytherins were already there and so were twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground.
"He always slicks his hair back." Phoebe noted casually.
"So?" Serena was too busy trying to contain her hair in a braid to really pay attention to what Pheobe was saying.
"I have a lighter." She retrieved it from her bag to prove her point and smiled ominously. "It would be a shame if a flame came too close to a head covered in so much hair spray and gel..."
"Okay, inside voice there, honey." Thomas told her, though he didn't sound totally against the idea.
Their teacher, Madam Hooch, 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 of the twigs stuck out at odd angles.
"Stick out your right hand over your broom." Madam Hooch called at the front. "And say 'Up'!""
"UP!" Everyone shouted. Harry's broom jumped into his hand at once, but it was one of the few that did. Serena's had simply rolled over on the ground and Neville's hadn't moved at all. Perhaps brooms, like horses, could tell when you were afraid, thought Harry; there was a quaver in Neville's voice that said only too 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 was delighted when she told Malfoy he'd been doing it wrong for years.
"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard." Madam Hooch instructed. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning 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 a bottle... twelve feet... twenty feet. Harry saw his scared white face look down at the ground falling away, saw him gasp, slip sideways off the broom and... WHAM! A thud and a nasty crack and Neville lay face-down 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.
Phoebe and Serena ran over, reaching him at the same time as Madam Hooch, but she brushed them away. She bent over Neville, her face as white as his.
"Broken wrist." She muttered. "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.
No sooner were they out of earshot than Malfoy burst into laughter.
"Did you see his face, the great lump?" The other Slytherins joined in.
"Shut up, Draco." Phoebe snarled.
"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom? Never thought you'd like fat little crybabies, Black." Phoebe started forward, a murderous look in her eye, but Serena leapt forward, caught her arms and pulled her back.
"Look!" Malfoy said, darting forward and snatching something out of the grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him." The Remembrall glittered in the sun as he held it up.
"Give that here, Malfoy." Harry said quietly. Everyone stopped talking to watch, even Phoebe stared at him. Malfoy smiled nastily.
"I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find... how about... up a tree?"
"Give it here!" Harry yelled, but Malfoy had leapt onto his broomstick and taken off. He hadn't been lying, he could fly well. Hovering level with the topmost branches of an oak he called:
"Come and get it, Potter!" Harry grabbed his broom.
"Harry, don't! You don't even know how to fly!" Serena shouted.
He ignored her. Blood was pounding in his ears. He mounted the broom and kicked hard against the ground and up, up he soared; air rushed through his hair, and his robes whipped out behind him... and in a rush of fierce joy he realized he'd found something he could do without being taught. This was easy, this was wonderful. He pulled his broomstick up a little to take it even higher and heard screams and gasps from girls back on the ground and an admiring whoop from Thomas.
He turned his broomstick sharply to face Malfoy in midair. Malfoy looked stunned.
"Give it here." Harry called. "Or I'll knock you off that broom!"
"Oh, yeah?" Malfoy said, trying to sneer, but looking worried. Harry knew, somehow, what to do. He leaned forward and grasped the broom tightly in both hands, and it shot toward Malfay like a javelin. Malfoy only just got out of the way in time; Harry made a sharp about-face and held the broom steady. A few people below were clapping.
"No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy." Harry called. The same thought seemed to have struck Malfoy.
"Catch it if you can, then!" He shouted and he threw the glass ball high into the air and streaked back toward the ground.
Harry saw, as though in slow motion, the ball rise up in the air and then start to fall. He leaned forward and pointed his broom handle down... next second he was gathering speed in a steep dive, racing the ball... wind whistled in his ears, mingled with the screams of people watching. He stretched out his hand... A foot from the ground he caught it, just in time to pull his broom straight and he toppled gently onto the grass with the Remembrall clutched safely in his fist.
"HARRY POTTER!" His heart sank faster than he'd just dived. Professor McGonagall was running toward them. He got to his feet, trembling. "Never... in all my time at Hogwarts..." Professor McGonagall was almost speechless with shock, and her glasses flashed furiously. "How dare you... might have broken your neck..."
"But-."
"Not a word, Miss Pettigrew."
"It wasn't his fault, Professor-."
"Be quiet, Mr. Lupin."
"But that punk-."
"That's enough, Miss Black. Potter, follow me, now."
As Harry walked away with Professor McGonagall, Phoebe turned on Draco like a rabid dog. Before Serena could even grab her again, she was on top of Draco, pinning him to the ground, fist raised. Crabbe and Goyle rushed to try and grab her, but Thomas ran to intercept them.
"Stop, stop!" Serena tried to get in between the three of them, but was promptly shoved aside and onto the grass. "They'll kill each other!" Serena cried, her curls falling into her face. Her concern went unheard by the rest of the students; they were forming a ring around the five first-years, chanting 'fight, fight, fight'. Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas made their way into the ring, each jumping to fight Crabbe and Goyle with Thomas while Phoebe mercilessly beat Draco.
Mid-swing, Draco grabbed her by the wrists and threw her off him. He scrambled to his feet, blood dripping from his nose and split lip. Crabbe had Seamus in a wrestlers hold, while Thomas and Seamus hung off his neck in a desperate attempt to pull him down.
Goyle, however, was up. As Phoebe got to her feet, his fist connected with her face and she went down again. The chanting stopped; no one wanted to see Goyle beat up an eleven year old girl.
"Goyle, don't. The little blood traitor's just like her father." Malfoy snapped as he shook blood off his hand. Like a trained attack dog, Goyle backed down.
"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?!" Madam Hooch was back and the ring quickly dispersed. Thomas, now lying on the ground where he'd been thrown off Crabbe, rolled over to look at Phoebe, blinking and moaning.
"Did we win...?"
The Hogwarts nurse, Madam Pomfrey, wasn't pleased when three first-years were sent to her due to a old fashioned fist fight.
"Honestly, where is the discipline these days?" She gave them all wet washcloths and ice for their faces and made sure Malfoy was sitting as far away from Phoebe and Thomas as possible to prevent a rematch.
As she bustled around on the other side of the room, still mumbling under her breath, Thomas went to sit next to Phoebe. She was sitting on the edge of a bed, absentmindedly holding an ice pack against her jaw. She didn't notice him sit next to her until he bumped his shoulder against hers. She jumped a little and gave him a forced smile.
"You okay?" She asked.
"Bloody brilliant. Emphasis on bloody." Phoebe didn't laugh like he'd expected. In fact, she looked rather upset. "You?"
"I've gotten into fights before. This is nothing." She tossed the ice pack onto the bed and he saw a bruise blossoming on the right side of her face. She was silent for a minute, like she was debating saying something else. He waited patiently, pretending to busy himself with trying to find a clean spot of the washcloth to press against his nose.
After a long moment, she turned and folded her legs underneath her, facing him.
"You know who my father is. Do you think I'm like him?"
"A murderous psychopath?" He clarified. She looked away, shifting again uncomfortably. "Nah. I mean, you're insane. But it's the good kind that I can relate to." He assured her. She smiled at him and it didn't look forced anymore.
"Thanks." She threw her arms around him in a hug. He awkwardly patted her head in return. Sensing he wasn't the hugging type, she pulled back and reached for her ice pack again. "Here." She handed it to him and he put it to his mouth.
"Thanks."
"Anytime. I've never had anyone to back me up in a fight before."
"What are friends for?" She grinned, as if he'd said exactly the right thing.
The doors to the hospital wing burst open and Harry and Serena came running over to them. They both started talking all at once.
"I got on the Quidditch team!"
"You look like roadkill."
"Firstly, Serena, we look like battle weary first-years. Not roadkill." Thomas corrected. He turned calmly to Harry. "Secondly: what?" His mock calm was gone and in it's place was shock and excitement.
"You are not, Potter." Malfoy came up to them, sneering through a bloody nose. Crabbe and Goyle flanked him once more.
"Yes, I am! McGonagall put me on herself." Harry bragged, looking very pleased with himself.
"Well, my father will hear about this!"
"Yes, yes, run to daddy, crybaby." Phoebe snarled.
"You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you." Harry said coolly.
"I'd take you on anytime on my own. Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only. No contact." Phoebe snickered at the rule. "What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?"
"Of course he has." Thomas put in hotly as Serena made frantic signs for him to shut up. "I'm his second, who's yours?" Malfoy looked at Crabbe and Goyle, sizing them up.
"Crabbe." He said. "Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked." He and his goons strode away.
When Malfoy had gone, Thomas and Harry looked at each other, their stupidity dawning on them at the same time.
"What is a wizard's duel? And what do you mean, you're my second?"
"It means if you die, I take over." Thomas didn't seem seem happy about this, even though he'd been the one to say it.
"What?" Serena shrieked. Madam Pomfrey looked over and they all put on their best innocent faces until she looked away again.
"Oh, please, all you'll be able to do is send sparks at each other." Phoebe put in.
"And what if I wave my wand and nothing happens?" Harry thought she was the best friend to go to for fighting advice, despite the fact half her face was currently turning purple.
"Throw it away and punch him in the throat. Throat, knees, right between the legs. It'll take him down." Phoebe instructed.
"What if he tries to curse me?"
"You say that like he's intelligent." Phoebe scoffed and said nothing more.
"We should go to a teacher about this." Serena put in.
"No. We should go with Harry. Four against three." Phoebe said and everyone stared at her. "What? You think they'll fight fair? With all of us there, the odds are better. Let's gang up on those twerps, hogtie 'em and then we're gonna get some really hot hot sauce and-."
"Whoa, stop right there." Serena warned, holding up her hands. "I do not want to hear how your version of events ends."
"Spoiler alert: with girlish screams." Phoebe was looking very pleased with herself.
"Oh my gosh." Serena looked away from her, as if completely overwhelmed by her friends insanity.
"We'll do the duel his way." Harry put in.
"He probably thought you'd refuse anyway." Thomas put in.
"Exactly." Harry tried to sound confident; Serena's look of pity told him he had failed.
"Well." Phoebe said, standing up. "Anyone who wants to witness pretty sparks and bad smack-talk should meet in the common room at eleven-thirty. I'll bring the hot sauce."
"Phoebe, no!"