The next morning, Harry double-checked his schedule during breakfast. "It looks like we have a flying class after lunch," he stated. "It appears to be just once a week… I wonder what that's going to be like."
"Mister Croom is the flying coach," explained Ana. "You can't do much better – he was a professional quidditch player quite a few years ago. I think he played as a beater."
Tallulah shuddered. "Do we really have to learn how to fly? That kinda scares me… I don't like heights very much."
"It's mandatory for firsties," Ana clarified. She looked at Tallulah with a warm, knowing expression. "I was a little nervous at first too, but Coach Croom is patient and understanding. He won't set you up for failure. If I can learn how to fly on a broom, you can too." A small smile crept on Tallulah's lips.
"Oh, and thank you for going with us to the library and helping us with Potions last night," added Harry. "I'm glad we have someone that knows what they're doing."
"It's my pleasure," replied Ana with a smile. "I don't see why we can't make this a regular thing… OTHNIEL!"
Othniel, his face almost literally buried in his breakfast, looked up to give Ana an indignant expression. "What?!"
Ana groaned. "Your table manners are atrocious… haven't your parents taught you any better?"
Othniel rolled his eyes. "Sorry." Bits of oatmeal dribbled down his chin.
"Some people's children," Ana muttered under her breath. She shook her head and lowered her voice to a whisper. "Your friend's something else, Harry… you've got your work cut out for you." Harry could only shrug in response.
A few minutes later, the children gathered their things and began to make their way to their respective classes.
Herbology and History of Magic flew by, and before anyone knew it, it was lunch time. Tallulah could feel the butterflies in her stomach – she barely touched her chicken salad sandwich.
"I don't know if I can do this," she admitted to Harry and Othniel.
"Ana said that you're capable of learning how to fly," Othniel replied. "I don't think she would have said that if she didn't mean it."
"We got your back. We won't let anything happen to you," added Harry.
Tallulah threw Harry a hopeful expression. "You promise?"
Harry smirked as he nodded. "I promise." He motioned with his head. "C'mon, we've got Defense next, then we can worry about flying."
Defense Against the Dark Arts was particularly enthralling that afternoon. Professor Lupin described the sasquatch in great detail – the legendary ape-man that wandered the temperate North American forests. What a lot of students didn't realize was that the sasquatch had certain innate magical resistances – particularly to elemental magic, which made it a formidable foe when angered.
Despite its fearsome reputation, the sasquatch was neither a predator, nor aggressive by nature. It usually sustained itself by consuming wild puckerberries and honey, and lived in small tribes of eight to fifteen members. Its keen sense of smell can detect danger from miles away, thus giving it ample warning to retreat to their secluded dwellings, which were nearly indetectable even with magic. Its fur could change color to blend in with its surroundings – normally it was a rich, earthy brown, but it could turn various shades of grey or even white in a snowy environment.
It was also at odds with an even rarer being – the monstrous two-headed ettin. Lupin barely scratched the surface regarding the ettin, which was apparently related to the equally loathsome mountain trolls native to Europe and Western Asia. "We will go over the ettin later in the term – I promise it'll be worth the wait," he chuckled, despite the disappointed groans coming from his students.
As he dismissed the class, he nodded toward Harry. "Don't forget about tomorrow afternoon, Harry. I hope you'll have some questions ready for me… I'll answer what I can."
Harry nodded. "I do, Professor. I'll see you then!" He quickly waved goodbye to Lupin and joined Othniel and Tallulah as they made their way toward the proving grounds.
"How're you feeling, Tallulah?" asked Othniel with sincerity. "Harry and I aren't leaving your side, y'know."
Tallulah simply shrugged. "I'm still a little nervous, I guess… don't get me wrong, I'm glad you and Harry are looking out for me, and Coach Croom will be there – I can't help but think of all the things that can go wrong!"
"I don't think anyone's ever gotten killed in a flying class before," replied Othniel, which prompted a quick elbow to the ribs from Harry. "Hey!"
"Nothing's going to happen to you," assured Harry. "He's not going to let us fly high or fast or anything… baby steps."
"I hope so," Tallulah said, her voice quavering somewhat. "I'm just ready for this to be over with more than anything."
The children knew they were close to the proving grounds as they heard a loud, sharp voice coming from that direction. "All right, all right, all right. Thunderbirds – y'all find a broom in this line; Horned Serpents – y'all find a broom in that line." They were soon able to match a face to the voice – Coach Croom, they figured. He was tall, muscular man in a long black trenchcoat and felt Stetson hat, and like Mister Floyd, had a naturally loud voice that rarely needed the assistance of an amplification charm. He had a distinct Southern drawl, most likely from the western periphery of the American South… likely Texas, or possibly Arkansas, thought Tallulah. He had greying stubble on his chin, and his long greyish-brown locks hung in thin strands past his chin. His eyes were very dark brown – almost black – and had well-defined cheekbones, indicating he may have had at least a little Indigenous American ancestry.
"Hustle up," Croom drawled. "We ain't got all afternoon."
The three children got in the Horned Serpent line; Harry and Othniel let Tallulah take the spot between them so that at least one of them could assist her at a moment's notice. Three beefy Thunderbird boys lined up directly across from them; the middle boy was almost unnaturally large for his age as he was close to six feet tall and two hundred pounds. The boys who flanked him were large in their own right – certainly much larger than Harry, Othniel, or Tallulah, but the middle boy was still nearly a half-head taller than either of them.
Croom gave his charges a minute or so to finish lining up, before he began to take attendance from a list on what appeared to be some sort of clipboard. When he finished calling roll, he nodded once in satisfaction before addressing the students once more. "Nobody touch these brooms until I say so," he said as he walked between the flanks of students.
When he returned to the front, he placed his personal broomstick on the ground. "The first lesson to flying, is the summoning technique. You hold your hand out – like so," he said, stretching his right hand out as if trying to grasp something, "and say up." The broom shot up to his outstretched hand, rather like how one magnetized piece of metal attracts another. "The trick is to say it like you mean it. Show 'em who's boss. They don't respond real well to mumbling."
He grabbed the silver whistle hanging around his neck. "Now y'all give it a shot. Wait for my count, and I'll blow the whistle. Three, two, one…" He placed the silver whistle in his mouth, and blew into it, creating a shrill, piercing tweeeet.
Harry closed his eyes, and stretched out his hand. "Up," he said in a clear, confident voice. When he opened his eyes, the broomstick had magically appeared in his hand!
"Up," yelped Othniel. The broom flopped around a few times, but didn't come anywhere close to his hand. "Arrgh," he groaned. "Up," he repeated, this time a bit more forcefully. Again, the broom flopped and rolled around but didn't seem to fully trust Othniel. He kicked at the grass in frustration, and the three Thunderbird boys across from him began to point at him and laugh.
"Up," Tallulah cried out, her hand fully stretched out. Nothing. "Up!" Not even a wiggle. She turned toward Harry. "What's wrong with me, Harry? It won't even budge!"
"I'm not completely sure," replied Harry. "But I want to say that these brooms are enchanted in such a way that you really have to want it. Your broom wants to be summoned by someone who's confident… your 'ups' sounded a little, I'unno, unsure, if that makes sense."
Tallulah nodded, and tried again. "Up!" she called out, perhaps a little more firmly than before. The broom rolled a little on the ground. "At least I got it to move a bit this time," she said with a shrug.
"True… just keep at it. Persistence pays off," Harry advised. "Once you get it, it'll be much easier the next time."
Meanwhile, Othniel kept trying to summon his broom. He got it to levitate a few inches off the ground, but still not quite reaching his hand. His face started turning purple with frustration. "UP!" he yelled once again, in a voice that sounded like he was ready to use the broom for firewood. The broom seemed to detect his tone, and bolted straight for his groin, causing him to double over in pain. The three big Thunderbird boys had their hands on their knees, howling with laughter.
Tallulah was getting a little flustered herself. Although she was getting the broom to wiggle, it would not come anywhere close to her hand. She reached inside the front of her collared golf shirt, and produced the same jade amulet that she wore when she got sorted. She held it in her left hand, and whispered the inscription on it to herself just as she did a few nights earlier. She felt her anxiety melting away, and a minute later, tried to summon her broom again. "Up!" This was the most confident she had sounded all afternoon, and just like that, the broom levitated to her hand.
"Awesome, Tallulah!" exclaimed Harry. "I knew you could do it." He arched an eyebrow. "Is that like a worry stone, or something?"
Tallulah nodded. "Yeah, it's something like that. My great-grandmother gave it to me when I was really little. She's part Choctaw Indian. She told me that if I ever get really, really afraid or nervous, that I can just hold the stone and read the inscription to myself, and it'll help calm me down."
"It sure seems to have helped," replied Harry. "Is it an enchanted stone, or do you know?"
Tallulah shrugged. "I'unno… maybe? She never really gave me a straight answer… she never struck me as being, well, magical, but there's probably loads of things she hasn't told me." From out of nowhere, a large hand reached over and snatched Tallulah's jade amulet from her hand. "Hey! Give that back!" she demanded.
The largest of the three Thunderbirds just smirked at Tallulah. "Let's see how well you do without your fancy little stone," he jeered.
Tears began to well in Tallulah's eyes. "Please give it back… my great-grandmother gave that to me – it's my most prized possession."
The hulking lad's eyes shifted to his two toadies. "Whaddya say, Bungus and Madigan? Should we give the little baby her passy back?" He flashed a devious grin.
"Maybe after we've had a bit of fun with it, Flynn," said Philip Bungus, the boy to the right of the leader.
The largest of the three smirked and nodded at Bungus. "My thoughts exactly," he chuckled. "Maybe a game of hide-and-go-seek? Maybe we can toss it in Morrigan Forest for her to find…" His eyebrows wiggled at Tallulah. "… or perhaps in the Shrouded Lake."
The tears began streaming down Tallulah's cheeks. "I beg you, please… I just want my necklace back. It means the world to me."
Harry could see the anguish in Tallulah's amber eyes. He felt obligated to do something, but he wasn't sure. He was nowhere near the size of the three Thunderbird boys, so he'd likely get beaten to a pulp if he tried to defend her physically. Even if Othniel backed him up, the result would not be pretty. He looked again at his distraught friend, and against his better judgement, he bit his lip, and turned to face the gang directly across from him.
"Give it back already," he demanded. "She's already asked you nicely – twice, in fact."
"Stay out of this, scar-head," sneered the largest Thunderbird. "This don't concern you none."
Harry took a couple of steps toward the bullies. "Actually, I think it does. She's my friend, and if you disrespect her, you're also disrespecting me. I'm not going to ask you again… give it back."
The Thunderbird leader stepped forward toward Harry, fully expecting to use his enormous frame to intimidate the smaller boy. He thrust a finger at Harry's chest. "And whaddya gonna do about it, scar-head?" He smirked at Harry. "You, ah, fixin' to take on all of us?"
"You don't want a piece of me," Harry shot back. "I may be small, but I'm full of surprises."
The gang leader just crossed his arms on his chest, clearly unimpressed with Harry's bravado. "What's your name, pipsqueak?"
"I'm Harry Potter," spat Harry. "What's it to you?"
"You're beginning to annoy me, Potter," replied the leader. "You're going to regret this day… the day you've made an enemy out of Flynn Replogle."
"Stop it, stop it, stop it!" shrieked Tallulah, whose cheeks were still damp. "That's enough, you two! I don't want anyone to get in trouble over this… Harry, just… forget it… I guess it's not worth it." The Thunderbird gang smirked to themselves in satisfaction, knowing they've all but broken the girl's will.
Harry could just hear the sound of defeat dripping from his friend's words, which only strengthened his resolve. He wasn't going to concede just yet – if he was going to go down, he had to go down swinging. He again approached the leader, and looked up into his eyes. "Give. It. Back," he seethed through clenched teeth.
Replogle sneered at Harry. "If nothing else, scar-head, you've got moxie," he admitted. "Tell you what. If you want her precious little toy so bad, you can have it." He appeared to hand the amulet back to Harry, but he jerked his hand back up at the last second, and flung it as forcefully as he could toward the castle. "You're her loyal lapdog, so go fetch it!" He and his cronies snickered to themselves, while Harry threw them a sharp glare.
"Up!" barked Harry, as he summoned his broomstick. He never rode a broom before, but he was going to give it a try regardless. Here goes nothing, he thought. He stomped on the ground with both his hiking boots, and his broom began to shoot up in the air. He pointed his broom in the direction of the hurtling amulet, and took off as quickly as he could. He wasn't completely sure what he was doing, but he also wasn't going to let those brutes win, either.
His act caught the attention of the other students, who gasped and pointed at Harry. Croom did a double-take when he was Harry in the air, but when he realized what was happening, began yelling at the lad to come back. "Hey! HEY! What are you doing, boy? I didn't tell you to kick off yet! Get back here pronto! What's the matter with you?" He threw his Stetson hat on the ground in frustration as it was apparent Harry wasn't interested in paying attention to the flying coach.
Harry's broom sped toward the green amulet, and just as Tallulah's most prized possession was about to get lost in some bushes, he reached out and snatched it just inches short of the leafy trap. Unfortunately, he lost control of his broom by this point, and tumbled into the bushes as the broom fell to the ground. He was able to hang on to the amulet even as he felt the sharp needles pierce through his uniform.
A couple of minutes later, he emerged from the shrubbery scratched up and sore, but otherwise no worse for the wear. He took a second to dust himself off, but as soon as he rose to his full height, he felt a massive hand grasp his shoulder. He spun around and practically jumped at the sight of the school caretaker, Mister Floyd. Harry wasn't sure if he witnessed the entirety of the incident, but he certainly saw enough.
"Young man," drawled Mister Floyd in a surprisingly soft, calm voice. "Would you mind explaining to me what happened here?"
Harry swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat. "Well sir, three large Thunderbirds were bullying my friend in our flying class, and I was trying to retrieve what rightfully belongs to her."
Floyd nodded. "I admire your principles, son, but I want you to be aware of the fact that you still broke the school rules. I'm sure Mister Croom already told you not to try anything on your own. I'll need for you to come with me."
Harry hung his head in shame. "I know," he sighed. "I'm sorry."
Floyd nodded again. "The rules are in place for a reason… you're lucky you're not seriously hurt. You could have broken an arm… or your neck!"
Harry felt the sting of tears, but he swore to himself that he would not let them spill. "How much trouble am I going to be in?" he asked the caretaker.
"That, young man, is up to your head of house," replied Floyd. "Students have gotten expelled in the past for defiance and recklessness…"
Harry gulped. He had been at school less than a week, and now he was facing the possibility of expulsion. Uncle Roger and Padfoot are never going to let me hear the end of it, he thought in despair.
A few minutes later, Harry found himself back inside the castle, near the main Herbology classroom. Professor Frye's office was right next door to the classroom, and Floyd pointed to a small bench directly across from the office door. "Wait here," he instructed. "Professor Frye will call for you shortly." With that, he did an about-face and returned to his regular caretaking duties.
