Disclaimer – Everything you recognise belongs to JKR. All the rest is simply me playing in her sandbox.

-oOoOo-

The Cupboard Under the Stairs

Chapter 4

Hermione was worried. And when she was worried, she did the one thing that came naturally to her – she hit the books.

Flying lessons were approaching. On brooms. And as this was one of the major devices that witches and wizards used for transportation, she knew that she had to learn it.

Oh, there were other magical means of transportation. Apperating (instantaneously disappearing from one place and reappearing in another), of course, but you needed to be of age and hold a licence for that. The Floo Network was another. This one basically involved stepping into a fireplace, stating your destination and being magically transported to another fireplace. But flying was the main means of transportation, especially for underage wizards and witches.

There were just two things wrong with magic brooms as far as Hermione could see. Firstly, a small, thin piece of wood seemed a very poor support system for flying around on. The other was the fact that flying meant that you had to go up. And she was terrified of heights.

Thus, she scoured every book that she could find on flying. Quidditch Through the Ages was a good one and gave countless tips on how to mount, fly and direct a broom. Through the Air: Magical Modes of Transport was another. But all that that book showed Hermione was that there other, safer, means of flying than brooms. Like carpets. Much larger and able to support a much bigger weight. Unfortunately, there was some bizarre law that made them illegal in the United Kingdom.

All through breakfast on that fateful Thursday morning of Gryffindor and Slytherin's first flying lesson, Hermione went through every single fact that she'd learnt about broomstick flying. Neville and to some extent Harry and Dean Thomas (both raised in the muggle world), hung on her every word, soaking in every tip that she knew.

Flying discussions were interrupted by, ironically enough, the post owls. Or, more specifically, a large brown barn owl. She landed neatly in between the jug of pumpkin juice and the plate of scrambled eggs right in front of Neville.

"It's from my Gran," Neville explained as he reached out to untie the brown paper package from the owl's leg.

A glass ball the size of a large marble fell out into Neville's hands.

"It's a Rememberall," he explained as the first-year Gryffindors looked on in interest. "Gran knows I forget things – this tells you if there's something that you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red … oh …"

Hermione looked on in fascination as the ball suddenly turned scarlet and Neville's face fell. Before anyone had a chance to question Neville about what it was that he'd forgotten, the Rememberall was suddenly snatched out of his hands.

-oOoOo-

The arrival of Neville's Rememberall was also being closely observed from the staff table.

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was paying close attention to the first year Gryffindors. Or, more specifically, one particular Gryffindor first year.

Harry Potter had arrived at his school in a most perplexing way.

Firstly, it'd been Dumbledore's intention that Harry have the felicity of being absorbed into the Weasley Family. As far as the Headmaster was concerned, they would be the perfect avenue for Harry to learn about the magical world. With seven children, four of whom were now at the school, including one the same age as Harry, he'd been sure that they'd make the perfect friends for the boy and the perfect influence on him. Dumbledore paused and frowned at that thought as he re-evaluated that idea in the face of the twins.

Molly, too, with her mothering would be the perfect surrogate for the boy. To that end, he'd ensured that Hagrid conveniently 'forgot' to tell Harry how to get on to Platform Nine and Three Quarters while also ensuring that Molly knew to look out for the boy.

Her owl stating that she'd missed him on the platform but had seen that he was indeed safely on the train was unexpected in the extreme.

When Harry had first walked into the Great Hall, Dumbledore had taken in his appearance and had been startled. Only the years of schooling himself to sit quietly without showing his emotions to the Wizengamot (the wizarding world's parliament) had prevented him from rushing to the boy to personally check over his health.

Harry was thin. Even his robes couldn't completely hide the fact. And he was also small. As much as Harry looked like his father, James was never that small in comparison to his classmates. If he had to guess, and Dumbledore prided himself on the fact that his guesses were almost always right, then he'd say that Petunia and her husband hadn't been looking after the boy properly.

Watching the boy, now, Dumbledore noticed that he'd seemed to have formed firm friendships with both Neville Longbottom and Hermione Granger. There were others of course, but those two were obviously the closest to Harry. This was unfortunate in the Headmaster's opinion. Hermione was a muggle-born and while Neville was a pure-blood, his grandmother, Augusta, was a force to be reckoned with. Not like the easily influenced Weasleys.

A movement caught the corner of his eye and Dumbledore switched his gaze to the Slytherin table. Young Mister Malfoy was pointing out Mister Longbottom's new Rememberall to his ever present friends.

A simple, "Minerva" was all that was necessary.

He watched as Professor McGonagall descended on the possible mischief that Mister Malfoy was about to pull. With barely a few words, the Slytherin three quickly left the hall.

For the rest of breakfast, Headmaster Dumbledore leant back in his chair, one hand running continuously through his beard as he calmly contemplated his smallest Gryffindor.

-oOoOo-

"Stick out your right hand over your boom and say 'up!'," instructed Madam Hooch.

Hermione eyed the grey haired, yellow eyed teacher sceptically before looking down once more at the old broom beside her.

"Up!" she commanded.

Unsurprisingly the broom didn't move a twig. Hermione wasn't sure how to feel about that. On the one hand, she desperately wanted to excel in learning how to fly a broom, just like everything else that she did. But on the other hand, she had absolutely no interest in even holding a broom, let alone mounting it and flying away.

"Up!" she tried again.

This time it rolled over as though it was trying to get away from her.

Frowning down at the uncooperative broom, Hermione tried to rationalize her thoughts. This was an assignment that she was going to succeed in. Already her broom was starting to respond. She just had to make it listen to her.

Glancing around, she surreptitiously evaluated her classmates' progress. It pleased her to see that she wasn't the only one to be having problems. Neville beside her was still trying to convince his broom to leave the ground. Others, though, Harry, Ron and Malfoy among them, had their brooms in hand and were ready for the next part of the lesson.

Narrowing her eyes, Hermione put as much volume into her command that she could. "Up!"

Smack! The force that it slammed into her palm was almost painful.

"Right, then," said Madam Hooch. "Mount up and I'll come and check your grip."

Reluctantly, Hermione swung her leg over her broom and gripped the shaft with both hands.

"Relax, girl, you don't need to throttle the thing," Madam Hooch frowned at the white knuckles holding on to her broom when it was her turn to be evaluated.

With some difficulty, Hermione did as she was instructed before finding her hands being slid backwards and twisted slightly. She grudgingly admitted that that grip actually felt a little more natural and easier to maintain.

"Now, then," said Madam Hooch once she'd been around to check on everyone, "when I blow my whistle, kick off from the ground hard. Keep your brooms steady, rise a couple of feet and then lean forward to land again. On my whistle – one – two – "

Even while Hermione was still steeling herself for that first kick off, a black blur shot into the air from her right. Her mouth dropped open at the sight of Neville climbing higher and higher, far faster than what she thought was possible.

"Neville!" she screamed.

"Come back, boy!" Madam Hooch bellowed.

But Neville didn't' seem to know how to. His yells for help slowly started to dwindle the higher he went. And then he started to slip. Hermione watched horrified as she saw Neville's feet slip out from the broom until he was just holding on by his hands. His legs dangled away below him, flapping in the breeze.

And then the inevitable happened.

The black clad Neville plummeted to the ground, landing in a heap not far away. But even from that distance, it was easy to hear the snap of a bone breaking.

Madam Hooch was with him in an instant.

"Broken wrist," she muttered as she helped Neville to his feet. One hand cradled the other and tears streaked his face.

"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the Hospital Wing," Madam Hooch commanded. "You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch'! Come on, dear."

Madam Hooch had barely cleared the courtyard before Hermione heard Malfoy's drawl.

"Did you see his face, the great lump?"

Parvati Patel, one of the other Gryffindor girls, immediately stuck up for their stricken friend. "Shut up, Malfoy!"

"Ooh, someone fancies Longbottom!" Pansy Parkinson shrilled before sticking her fingers down her throat and pretending to throw up, eliciting laughter from all of the Slytherins.

"Look! It's that stupid ball that Longbottom's Gran sent him," Malfoy announced as he pounced on the fallen rememberall.

Hermione watched as Malfoy arrogantly began tossing the ball up and down while looking around the courtyard.

"Now, where should I leave this for the fat toad to find?" he wondered with a snigger to the other Slytherins.

An odd expression suddenly appeared on Harry's face as he slowly turned to face the blonde boy. Hermione knew that there was something familiar about it, and it struck her that it was exactly the same as the expression that he wore just before they'd entered the Great Hall for the very first time when he'd revealed that he hated bullies.

"Give it here, Malfoy," Harry said in the hardest voice that Hermione had ever heard him use.

"No. No, I don't think that I will," Malfoy replied nonchalantly. "No. I think I might leave it on one of the roofs."

Laughing, he mounted his broom and took off.

"Harry! No! Madam Hooch told us not to move – you'll get us all in trouble," Hermione stated quickly as he grabbed up his broom.

For a split second, she could have sworn that there was a moment of indecision on his face as he looked at her. Unfortunately, it was dispelled by Malfoy.

"Come and get it, Potter!" the Slytherin taunted.

In an instant, Harry was in the air, shooting after Malfoy.

Hermione watched spellbound, hands over her mouth as she saw the two boys face off fifty feet up in the air. A puff of wind sent a snatch of voices back to the ground, but it wasn't enough to be able to hear what was being said.

Suddenly, Malfoy drew back his hand and tossed the rememberall as hard and as far as he could. Hermione could see what was going to happen before it even happened. The ball arced high in the air before heading straight for the edge of the grass. She just knew that it was going to smash into pieces and she determined to gather every piece up to give back to Neville.

But she hadn't counted on Harry.

Like a flash he darted across the sky after the errant ball. Flattening himself against the broom, he dove down, straight for the ground. At the very last instant, he leant back, one arm outstretched, before toppling onto the grass and rolling over and over.

When at last he stood up, Hermione could see Neville's rememberall clutched safely to his chest, a massive grin plastering his face. She breathed a sigh of relief.

"HARRY POTTER!"

Hermione's hair whipped around as she sought the voice's owner.

Professor McGonagall stood in the archway to the courtyard. Even from that distance, she could tell that the stern teacher was vibrating with her anger.

"Never in all my time at Hogwarts," she began.

Hermione stepped forward to defend her friend, along with Ron and the rest of the Gryffindor. But Professor McGonagall simply put up one hand and cut them all off.

"Potter. Follow me. Now!" Professor McGonagall commanded.

The combination of Professor McGonagall's anger, Harry's slumped shouldered dejection and Malfoy's glee made Hermione positive that she was seeing the last of the black haired boy.

She swallowed hard. She'd been sure that, given time, he could have been her first magical friend.