Disclaimer - I don't own Harry Potter. It all belongs to JK Rowling.

Chapter 7

The next week passed quickly. I was getting used to the magical world. All my classes were coming along nicely, even if I wasn't doing as well with all the spells as I had hoped. There was loads of homework, and it was only the first week of school.

As I made my way back to the common room to drop off my books before dinner, I found a notice tacked on the wall. My last class had been a particularly boring one, seeing as it had been History of Magic with Professor Binns, who was a ghost and droned on and on about the most boring subjects during all of his lectures, and at first I found it a bit hard to read the fine print on the parchment. I forced my eyes to focus and discovered that we were starting flying lessons with the Gryffindors on Thursday.

Draco had been going on and on about how good he was at flying a broom and playing Quidditch, which was a fascinating game played on broomsticks. I wasn't quite sure if he was exaggerating or not, so it would be nice to see how talented he really was. Besides, all his bragging had made me interested in broomsticks and Quidditch, and I couldn't wait to fly. But I really didn't want to make a fool of myself on a broomstick in front of everyone. . . . Then everyone would be gossiping about how Harry Potter was horrible at flying.

At dinner, I caught Draco's arm. He looked a bit shocked that I had approached him at first, but his countenance immediately brightened when I told him about the flying lesson.

"Can't wait to show those Gryffindors whose best," he smirked, and strutted off to go find Zabini.

At breakfast on Thursday, I was becoming nervous about the flying lesson. I watched anxiously as the morning mail was flown in by all the owls, not that I was expecting anything. I hadn't received a single letter since I had arrived. Even Hagrid had begun to stay away from me. I guess he hadn't anticipated me being sorted into Slytherin. No one had, I think.

As I slowly ate my bowl of sugary oatmeal, I noticed a barn owl bring a package to Longbottom. He opened it excitedly and showed everyone a glass ball full of white smoke.

"It's a Remembrall!" he explained happily, and continued talking about how it worked. The smoke inside the Remembrall suddenly turned scarlet, and I watched Longbottom's face fall. He must have forgotten something.

As I watched, Draco snatched the Remembrall from his hand. Weasley and Finnigan jumped up immediately, but Professor McGonagall was suddenly by their side.

"What's going on?" she asked sternly.

"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor," Longbottom complained.

Draco set the glass ball back on the table, scowling, and left.

That afternoon, I hurried out to the grounds. I didn't want to be late for the first flying lesson. The sky was clear, and a breeze rustled the trees and rippled through the grass.

There were twenty broomsticks lying neatly on the ground. The teacher, Madam Hooch, showed up immediately. She had short, gray hair and yellow eyes. I thought she looked rather like an owl.

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

I looked down at my old broom, then glanced over at Draco, who was standing next to me. He was smirking.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom and say 'Up!'"

Every voice shouted "UP!" obediently.

My broom flew immediately into my hand, but as I looked around I saw many still laying on the ground. Draco was holding his broom confidently, as was Weasley. Longbottom's broom hadn't moved the slightest bit.

We learned how to mount our brooms without sliding off the end and she quickly corrected our grips.

Madam Hooch began counting down, but before she had finished, Longbottom was rising into the air. As we all watched, he rose nearly twenty feet into the air and then slipped sideways and fell from his broom. He landed in a heap on the grass.

"Broken wrist," Madam Hooch muttered, and helped him up. "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."

Longbottom, who was now crying, walked off with Madam Hooch. As soon as they were gone, Draco began laughing.

"Look!" he said, snatching the dropped Remembrall from the grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him."

He held it up.

"Don't, Draco," I said quietly. "Just drop it."

"What's that, Potter? Sticking up for a Gryffindor?"

"Just . . . just give it to me," I demanded uneasily, taking a deep breath.

"No, I don't think I will," Draco drawled, and jumped onto his broom, flying up towards the top of the trees. He really was a talented flyer. "How bad do you want it, Potter?"

I jumped on my broom and soared into the air until I was level with Draco. Flying was wonderful. It was finally something that came naturally to me, and I loved it.

"How bad do you want it?" Draco repeated, much quieter this time.

"I don't care about Longbottom or the Remembrall, but you really shouldn't take what isn't yours, Draco," I replied honestly.

"Then I won't take it," he sneered, and pulled his arm back and threw the Remembrall as far as he could. I took off after it, and caught it securely in my hand just before I hit the castle wall. I looked into the window I had almost crashed through a moment before, and saw a very shocked Professor McGonagall looking back at me. Flying back to the ground, I walked straight over to Weasley.

"Give this to your friend, Weasley."

He held the Remembrall in his hand, surprised I had given it back.

I turned around and stalked back toward the Slytherin end of the field.

Suddenly Professor McGonagall was running across the grounds.

"HARRY POTTER!" she exclaimed. "Never — in all my time at Hogwarts — how dare you — might have broken your neck —"

She led me away, and I looked back miserably to see all the Slytherins except Draco smirking widely. I was going to be expelled for sure.

"Um — Professor?" I stammered as we marched quickly through the corridors and down staircases. "Am I going to be expelled?"

"Expelled? Heavens no, Potter!"

"But then where are you taking me?"

"We are going to see Professor Snape. He is your Head of House, is he not, Mr. Potter?"

"Yes, he is but. . ."

We suddenly arrived outside a black wooden door, much like the material that our beds were made out of. We were in the dungeons, and I wondered how far we were from the Potions classroom.

McGonagall knocked sharply on the door three times.

"Come in," came Snape's low voice.

We entered quietly, and McGonagall motioned for me to sit.

"Minerva. And. . . Mr. Potter. To what do I owe this visit?" he sneered.

McGonagall answered, "I think you should talk to Mr. Potter about Quidditch. He nearly crashed through my office window on a broomstick a moment ago." She turned and left. I avoided Snape's gaze.

"Care to tell me what happened, Mr. Potter? Or are you going to sit there staring at my desk forever?"

I looked up. "It was nothing, really. Longbottom fell off his broom and broke his wrist, so Madam Hooch took him up to the hospital wing. While she was gone, Draco found Longbottom's Remembrall in the grass. I told him that he shouldn't take what isn't his. He threw it toward the castle, and I caught it right in front of the wall of the castle, nearly colliding with the window in Professor McGonagall's office. That's all, sir."

"This was your first time on a broom, Potter?"

"Yes, sir."

"Just like his father," he muttered under his breath, then looked back at me. "Well, it seems as if you're a natural flyer, doesn't it, Mr. Potter?"

"I—"

"I could put you on the Quidditch team as our new Seeker. But we wouldn't want our precious Harry Potter to get hurt, would we?"

"Sir!" I protested.

"Fine, Potter, but the decision isn't really up to me. Come with me." He stood and led me out the door.

We walked through the corridors again and stopped outside Quirrell's classroom.

Snape poked his head in the door and barked, "Flint! I need you for a moment!"

Marcus Flint, the boy I had met at breakfast the week before slipped through the door.

"Yes, Professor Snape?"

"We may have found a new Seeker, Flint."

"Really," Flint said, looking at me with a bit more interest. "Is he good?"

"Minerva said he flew toward the castle, caught a Remembrall, and righted himself right in front of her office window. Nearly crashed through it, as I understood." Snape looked at me.

"Yes, sir."

Flint grinned. "Well, we'll have to get you a broom. Professor, do you think you could —?"

"I'll talk to Dumbledore about it," Snape interrupted. "You're free to go, Flint. And Potter, get back to class."

At dinner that night, Draco was furious.

"You're on the Quidditch team?" he exclaimed angrily. "First years never make the team! Besides, you don't even have a broomstick."

"Marcus Flint and Professor Snape are taking care of it," I replied nonchalantly, taking a bite of steak. I grinned and dug enthusiastically into my pie.

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