After days spent trying to finish this chapter with a POV following Harry, I realized how utterly pointless that was. So, sorry this bit is shorter than usual; next chapter is Snape POV and will theoretically be longer.
I do have one explanation as to why something so short took so long—if you notice in the chapter the name "Kellah" mentioned, you might be confused—so was I! Anyone who's done research into the female members of Gryffindor house in Harry's year will feel my pain. A short summary is that there are (in the normal series) ten Gryffindors (twenty brooms at the lesson, exactly ten Slytherins), however, the 'five' Gryffindor girls are actually six people. After much debate with friends, I decided to use the name of the one with pretty much only a name, and, if it ever becomes necessary, the descriptors given of the one who is never named.
One other thing that is holding me up is some minor errors I've been making in terms of the main story line, but I leave those half to the butterfly effect off Harry's change in house and half to creative licensing. I'll be smoothing them out as I go.
To Nightshade's sydneylover150, you're asking the right questions! But I'm not going to answer them just yet, because Harry and Snape both have a bit of struggling to do before we get there. Hope you enjoy!
To Jordina, I'm glad you're enjoying the story! Thanks for the comments :D But you'll have to keep reading to answer your questions, it will all become apparent eventually… or at least, it should.
To csibip, thank you! I hope you continue to enjoy it!
And with that, we're off!
As Harry and Blaise rounded the corner to race towards where most of the Slytherin and Gryffindor first-years had already gathered, they nearly ran into Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle. Harry jumped back, not wanting to have a forth collision in one day, making Draco laugh.
"A bit jumpy there, Potter?" he asked. "Just don't jump off your broom. You haven't flown before, have you? Com e on, walk with us to class."
Harry was hesitant. He had managed to avoid Draco most of the week, but even from across classrooms he'd gotten a pretty good picture of the boy's personality. He'd been telling anyone who'd listen stories of how his father and he had gone to the last Quidditch World Cup together, even though it had been in Brazil. For the last two days, since they'd found out they'd be starting flying early with the Gryffindors, he'd been insulting them in the halls. "Hey Schlongbottom," he'd call, "Hope your broom can hold you up in the air long enough for me to knock you back up—assuming you can even get it to fly!" Draco was proud and full of himself, and from what Harry had seen of him before coming to Hogwarts, not an exactly pleasant fellow. Still, they would be sharing dorms for the next seven years, so it wouldn't hurt to be on good terms.
Just as they reached the two rows of brooms laid out in the grass, their instructor arrived. She glared at them with her yellow, hawk-like eyes.
"Well?" barked Madame Hooch. "What are you waiting for? Everyone stand by a broomstick. Hurry it up."
Harry and Blaise broke off from Draco's group and stood at the two brooms between Theodore Nott and Ron Weasley, who'd been so desperate to avoid getting stuck next to Hermione Granger he'd chosen the broom in the middle of the Slytherin boys. Harry was tempted to strike a conversation with his redheaded neighbor, but Madame Hooch was glaring them down again.
"Stick your right hand out over the broom—your right hand, Longbottom—and say 'Up!'"
"UP!" everyone shouted.
Harry's broom slammed into his hand, startling him. He looked around; only a few others had managed. Blaise's kept rising hallway when he said "Up," but it'd fall back down before it reached his hand. Harry turned just in time to see Ron's broom swing up and hit him in the forehead.
"Are you alright?" asked Harry, offering the boy a hand up. Ron stared at him hesitantly for a moment before taking it.
"Fine, thanks," he said. He nodded towards Harry's broom. "How'd you do that?"
Harry shrugged. "I think the brooms can tell if you really want them 'up,'" he said, noticing how Neville's merely rolled over at the nervous quaver in his voice.
Ron turned back to his broom and held out a hand. "Up!" At first it just rolled over, but a moment later it jumped up into his hand. Ron grinned and turned back to Harry.
"Sweet!" he said. "Glad to know you're not one of them."
Harry frowned. "One of who?" he asked.
"Oh, you know," said Ron. He jerked his head sharply towards the other row. "Malfoy's lot."
"And what makes you think—" began Harry, but Madame Hooch was calling for their attention.
"Just pick it up, Longbottom," she sighed. "Now, here's how to mount your broom—pay attention, we don't want you sliding off the end mid-flight." She demonstrated, and walked down the rows to check their grips. "No, Malfoy," she sighed. "First, right hand in front—right, see? Bring your left hand up a bit—that's it." She continued down and around until she was satisfied, and took her place at the front again.
"Now," called Madame Hooch. "When I blow my whistle, you'll kick off hard, and hover a few feet up, then come right back down by leaning forward slightly. Keep your brooms nice and steady. On my whistle—three—two—one—"
The class kicked off all at once. Some, like Longbottom, just fell right back down, as though their brooms weren't magical at all. Ron Weasley was bobbing up and down, a panicked expression on his face, and Crabbe's broom was so low to the ground his knees were in the grass.
Not Harry, though. He rose his broom ten feet into the air, exhilarated, before Madame Hooch called, "That's high enough, Potter!" and ordered him back down. Harry was sad to feel solid ground again; he wanted to be up in the air again. He turned to discuss this with Blaise, but found the boy hovering, perfectly still, his face and knuckles pure white as he held the broomstick in a death grip.
"Don't talk to me!" he hissed, his gaze fixed straight ahead. "I'm going to fall off this twig and break something."
"But you're only a few feet off the ground," Harry urged.
Past Theo, another Slytherin, Daniel Harper, had been ordered back on the ground by Madame Hooch. She seemed to be having a similar conversation with Tracy Davis, whose broom had for some reason taken to spinning in a leftwards circle.
"Now," said Madame Hooch when she'd finally talked Blaise and the others back to the ground. "On my whistle, you are to kick off from the ground, rise ten feet in the air, and hover there. You are oto rise only ten feet—" she looked pointedly at Harry, "And to stay there, waiting for everyone. Three—two—one—"
Most of the class made it into the air this time, but only Harry, Daniel, and a Gryffindor Boy who's name Harry hadn't yet caught managed to hover in the air. Harry looked down to Blaise, once again frozen in death grip.
"Well, come on then, Blaise," he called.
"I'm going to fall off my broom!"
"Then your brother will fix you up, right? Come on, pull up."
After a minute, Blaise complied, slowly rising up to settle beside Harry. He fixed his friend with a glare reading very clearly of his desire to be back with his feet planted firmly on the ground. Harry laughed.
"But look, mate," he insisted. "You're twice as steady as anyone else here! I think you might be a natural."
Blaise was about to retort icily when suddenly a figure came shooting through the air at Harry. He quickly rolled on his broom to avoid being hit then spun around to see Draco, most pale-faced than ever, speeding forward in huge loops. Madame Hooch flew after him s, shouting.
Harry laughed with the others, but Ron, whose broom was once again keen on bobbing up and down, was staring at him, not Malfoy. "How'd you do that?" he demanded as he passed him on the way up.
"What?"
"Roll over like that."
"I dunno," shrugged Harry. "Just did it, I suppose."
By this time, Madame Hooch had chased Draco back into his spot. "Steady yourself, Weasley!" she snapped. "Now, one by one—in order—we're going to go down the line. You're to raise up ten more feet, pull right, and fly a quick loop around the class before going back to your place. Who's first? No—not you, Longbottom. Granger!"
The whole class watched with slight satisfaction—or, in Ron's case, incredible satisfaction—as the girl who was so enthusiastic in the other classes paled and shook on her broom. None the less, she rose shakily higher up into the air, and did a painfully slow loop around the class before returning to her place.
"Good, good," said Madame Hooch, though she looked anything but pleased by Hermione's pace. "Hurry it up."
Another Gryffindor girl was up next. She pulled up alright—an much faster than Hermione—but as soon as she went to turn her broom went flying backwards. The girl who had been next to her in line—Fay Dunbar—shrieked, and Madame Hooch quickly sped after the girl, brandishing her wand. The girl was halfway across the field before she slowed, and after a very urgent conversation with Madame Hooch, the pair flew back to the group at a more reasonable pace.
"Kellah," Ron whispered to Harry between fits of laughter. "She's been worrying about this all week!"
Once Madame Hooch had gotten the class settled down, Fay and Seamus took their turns. Both flew quite well, though not as well as Daniel, who went next. "Very good," said Madame Hooch. "You've flown before?"
The girl adjusted her glasses, blushing visibly. "Just a bit," she said in a timid voice.
Tracy, who Daniel had been helping earlier, went just as slow as Hermione had. For some reason her broom was weaving back and forth as she went, so Madame Hooch made her circle about them for five minutes until she started complaining about school brooms. Theodore Nott, the next boy, rose silently up into the air, looped about the class, and settled back down with such a bored expression on his face Harry wondered what else his mind could possibly be on. After all, they were flying—there was hardly anything more exciting than that.
Then it was Blaise's turn. He didn't move. His eyes were still fixed straight ahead, and his hands gripping the handle so tightly it was a wonder it didn't snap. Harry glanced around—he could see Dean lean over and whisper something to Neville, and a smirk that Harry didn't like one bit was growing on Draco's face. Harry leaned slightly towards his friend—"Go on then, Blaise!"
It seemed to break Blaise's trance, for he shot Harry an irritated look. "Shut up," he muttered, pulling his broom up into the air.
It happened very quickly. One moment Blaise was on his broom, turning it in a pedantically slow manner to begin his loop, and the next he was falling right past Harry, speeding towards the ground. Harry didn't even notice what he was doing as he dropped his broom down and grabbed the back of Blaise's collar, dangling the boy only a few feet off the ground.
A collective gasp came from the class a moment later as what had just happened struck them. Harry, who could barely hold the taller boy's weight, lowered Blaise down and let go, and the two looked back up in the air—only to break apart instantly as the broom came flying towards them.
The class was shrieking, and Harry looked behind him—was that broom chasing him? It was—he urged his own broom faster, weaving and dodging as his peers scattered every which way.
"LAND NOW!" Madame Hooch was shouting, but Harry really couldn't see how that would help him. He was much faster on his broom than on the ground, and didn't even stop to think what might happen if the broom caught up with him. Harry was flying as fast as he could, but he couldn't seem to shake the broomstick. He sped towards the castle, hoping to lose the tail by weaving through the architecture in the courtyard, and narrowly avoided hitting Professor Snape, who was on his way towards the lawn.
Harry circled around to the other side of the astronomy tower, where he sat, waiting. For a moment, he thought he was safe; the broom hadn't followed him. But not a second later, he heard the sound of shattering glass and shrieking, and the broomstick emerged from the window beneath him.
Harry sped back around the tower, going into a near free-fall dive to the courtyard below. He pulled up at the last second, flying over the barrier back towards the class. Checking over his shoulder, the broom was getting closer, closer—it was nearly on him—
"CONFRINGO!"
It was lucky for Harry that he had been flying close to the lawn at this point, for the blast that blew the tailing broom to splinters also chucked the boy off his broom, sending him tumbling through the grass. He must have rolled seven times before settling down, eagle-spread, on his back. He groaned as the class rushed towards him.
The whole group was shouting at him, but louder than the rest was Madame Hooch. "Back off, you lot! Potter, are you alright?"
Harry blinked his eyes open and tried to sit up—"My glasses…"
"Here they are!"
"Well, give them here, then!" the flying teacher snapped. A moment later the world came into focus as she thrust them onto the boys head—and the first thing he saw was the last thing he wanted to: Professor Snape scowling down at him as he tucked his wand into his robes.
"I'm fine," Harry insisted. In fact, he was. He felt brilliant, like he could run from Hogwarts to London and back. He tried to push Madame Hooch away. "I'm fine, really—ow!"
She had found the injury she had been searching for in his wrist. Grabbing it roughly—a bit more roughly than she ought to have, all things considered—she prodded at it, making Harry yelp. "Broken wrist!" she said. Harry could swear he heard a bit of triumph in her voice. "Don't worry, Madame Pomphrey will have you fixed up in no time—can you take him, Severus?"
For a moment Snape looked like he was going to protest, but then he reached down and grabbed Harry by his injured arm, dragging him to his feet. "In the mean time, Rolanda," he spat, none-too-pleased with his job, "Perhaps it would be best if you called Professor Flitwick out to examine your broomsticks, hm?" He fixed her with his iciest glare before turning and sweeping off, pulling the first year with him.