Chapter 9: Learning to Fly

Flying. The very idea made my stomach twist itself into knots. Unlike spells or potions, flying required an entirely different kind of skill, one you couldn't master through careful study or meticulous notes. I had read every piece of advice I could find in Quidditch Through the Ages, but deep down, I knew that wouldn't be enough.

The night before our first flying lesson, I barely slept. My nerves buzzed like an overactive charm. I tried to picture myself on a broomstick, gliding effortlessly through the air, but the image kept dissolving into scenes of me wobbling, falling, or worse, crashing spectacularly.

When I joined the others at breakfast the next morning, I couldn't hold back my thoughts. Words spilled from my mouth faster than I could stop them.

"You have to relax your grip on the broom," I said to Neville, who looked as pale as the milk in his goblet. "If you hold it too tightly, you'll lose control. And remember to lean forward slightly when descending, but not too far, or you'll tip over!"

Neville nodded eagerly, his wide eyes fixed on me like I was the only thing keeping him grounded. "Right, relax the grip. Lean forward, but not too much…" he murmured, repeating my words under his breath like a mantra.

I felt a small swell of pride. This was what I was good at, helping people, providing information, and being useful. And yet, as I glanced around the table, the warmth in my chest cooled.

Across from me, Ron was rolling his eyes so dramatically I was certain he wanted me to notice. He slumped back in his seat, his expression making it abundantly clear that he was not in the mood for a lecture.

Was it because he already knew all of this? He probably did, growing up in a wizarding family. Or was it something else? Did he simply not want to hear it from me?

I felt a prick of defensiveness rise, but it quickly gave way to something softer, more uncertain. Maybe I'd gone too far again, offering advice where it wasn't wanted.

Harry gave me a polite but seemingly forced smile, though his focus was clearly elsewhere. He wasn't visibly annoyed, but he wasn't engaged, either.

My cheeks burned. Why do I always do this? The question nagged at me, heavy and unwelcome. I hadn't meant to dominate the conversation. I just wanted to help. But instead of gratitude, I always seemed to earn irritation or disinterest.

I slumped a bit in my seat, fiddling with the edge of my sleeve to give my hands something to do. My mind raced to find a way to recover, to smooth over the awkwardness I had inadvertently created.

It wasn't that I meant to over explain. It just... happened. I couldn't help it. When I had knowledge to share, it spilled out of me, unbidden and eager. But more often than not, it only seemed to annoy people, especially Ron.

I glanced at Neville, who was still clutching his goblet like it was a lifeline. At least he seemed to appreciate the advice. That thought offered a small measure of comfort, though it did little to ease the awkward tension hanging over the table.

I focused on my breakfast, trying to quell the tightness in my chest. I will do better next time, I promised myself. I would find the balance between being helpful and being too much. But for now, I kept quiet, willing my cheeks to cool and the knot in my stomach to ease.

Before I could say anything, the mail arrived, and Neville's face lit up as a barn owl dropped a small package in front of him.

"It's a Remembrall!" he exclaimed, holding up a glass ball swirling with white smoke. "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…"

The smoke turned scarlet, and Neville's face fell. "I've forgotten something…"

As he puzzled over what he'd forgotten, Malfoy sauntered past with Crabbe and Goyle in tow. His smirk was infuriatingly smug as he snatched the Remembrall from Neville's hand.

Harry and Ron stood immediately, their expressions thunderous. I sat frozen for a moment, the injustice of it all pricking my skin.

"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor," Neville said, his voice trembling.

Professor McGonagall appeared almost instantly, her sharp gaze slicing through the tension. Malfoy dropped the Remembrall onto the table with a feigned look of innocence.

"Just looking," he drawled before slinking away.

By the time we gathered for our first flying lesson, my nerves were in full force. The grounds were bright and breezy, the grass rippling gently underfoot. Twenty brooms lay in neat rows on the flat lawn, their crooked twigs looking as untrustworthy as I felt.

Madam Hooch arrived, her short gray hair framing piercing yellow eyes that seemed to see everything. "Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up!"

I stepped hesitantly to my broom, eyeing it warily. The handle was scuffed, and several of the twigs stuck out at odd angles. It didn't inspire much confidence.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," Madam Hooch instructed, "and say 'Up!'"

"UP!" we shouted in unison.

To my dismay, my broom rolled over on the ground and stopped. I flushed, glancing around to see if anyone had noticed. Harry's broom shot into his hand immediately, as did Ron's, and I couldn't help but feel a pang of envy.

Madam Hooch walked us through the process of mounting our brooms. I listened intently, adjusting my grip and posture exactly as she demonstrated.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground—hard," she said. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down. On my whistle—three—two—"

Before she could finish, Neville pushed off too soon.

"Come back, boy!" Madam Hooch shouted, but Neville kept rising, his broom jerking unsteadily. His pale face grew even whiter as he looked down.

It all happened in a flash! He wobbled, gasped, and then slipped sideways.

The sickening thud of his fall sent a collective gasp through the group.

Madam Hooch rushed to his side, her expression stern but concerned. "Broken wrist," she said, helping him to his feet. "Come on, boy. It's all right. Up you get."

She turned back to us, her gaze sharp. "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.'"

As soon as Madam Hooch disappeared with Neville, the Slytherins erupted into laughter.

"Did you see his face, the great lump?" Malfoy jeered, his voice loud and mocking.

Parvati snapped, "Shut up, Malfoy!" Her dark eyes flashed with anger, and I found myself admiring her courage.

Pansy Parkinson, as insufferable as ever, sneered. "Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom? Never thought you'd like fat little crybabies, Parvati."

Lavender stepped forward, her arms crossed as if daring Pansy to say more.

Malfoy ignored them, his sharp eyes catching sight of the Remembrall lying in the grass. He lunged for it, holding it up with a triumphant grin.

"Give that here, Malfoy," Harry said, stepping forward. His voice was calm but firm, his green eyes locked on Malfoy with unwavering intensity.

"I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find. How about up a tree?" Malfoy smirked, mounting his broom and kicking off.

Harry grabbed his own broom without hesitation.

"No!" I cried, panic flaring. "Madam Hooch told us not to move! You'll get us all into trouble!"

Harry ignored me, his determination written across his face.

"GO GET HIM, HARRY!" Ron shouted, punching the air.

I groaned in frustration. "You shouldn't encourage that, Ron!"

Ron turned to me, his expression incredulous. "Excuse me?"

"You shouldn't encourage that," I repeated. "Harry will surely get into trouble for this. He's going to cost Gryffindor loads of points."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Look, if you're referring to Snape, he was being an ass, okay? He was even one to you, remember?"

My cheeks burned, but I refused to back down. "You also shouldn't swear."

Ron threw his hands up in exasperation. "There's no winning with you, is there?"

Before I could respond, Dean pointed upward. "Look at Harry!"

Harry was incredible. He moved with a confidence and ease that seemed almost unnatural, as though he'd been born to fly. He caught the Remembrall in a dazzling dive, landing lightly on the grass to cheers from the Gryffindors.

"Wicked, Harry!"

"That was brilliant!"

"Nice catch, Potter!"

My amazement was short-lived.

"HARRY POTTER!" Professor McGonagall's voice rang out, freezing us in place.

Her expression was thunderous as she strode toward Harry.

"Never in all my time at Hogwarts…" she began, her voice low and furious. "How dare you—might have broken your neck—"

"It wasn't his fault, Professor!" Parvati interjected.

"Be quiet, Miss Patil."

"But Malfoy—" Ron started.

"That's enough, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall snapped. Her piercing gaze fixed on Harry. "Potter, follow me. Now."

I stood frozen, my heart pounding as Harry followed her without a word. What could she possibly want with him? And how much trouble was he in?

My stomach twisted uneasily as I watched them disappear into the castle. He was about to get thrown out of the school, just like Madam Hooch said.

I left with the rest of my classmates, the lesson clearly over. I went back to my dorm to freshen up before dinner.

I wondered how much trouble Harry would get into. How many points he had cost us. I made a mental note to check the hourglasses when I got to The Great Hall.

"That was so brilliant!" gushed Parvati as she was freshening up at the sink beside mine.

"Wasn't it?" said Lavender. Shame he could be expelled for it. He would have made a great Quidditch player someday."

"Do you really think he will get expelled?" I asked.

Lavender gave a noncommittal shrug. "You heard what Madam Hooch said. Adding on that it was Professor McGonagall that caught him, I can imagine her words will definitely be enforced.

I couldn't help but feel bad. While I did believe that he should get some form of punishment, I didn't feel as though expulsion should be carried out. Maybe a week's worth of detention? After all, he did do it to help Neville.

I changed into a thin jumper and one of my old skirts from the last year of primary school that I could still fit. I spied Lavender giving me a bit of a look, as if she was disapproving of my outfit. I had to admit, I was not very well versed on the ins and outs of the latest fashion. And definitely not witch's fashion. So I probably looked even more fashion backwards.

Very much like a muggle librarian, as I overheard a muggleborn Hufflepuff say one day at dinner.

I left our dorm, ready to eat, but also ready to see just how much trouble Harry had landed both he and Gryffindor in.