"Sorry, Aunt Petunia."

Chapter 9: Everything Has Consequences

He successfully avoided running into both Malfoy and Neville right until the flying lesson. By then, he hoped that they would already have forgotten about the discussion they’d had at breakfast.

To be completely sure, he managed to get to the field where the flying lessons were to take place just a couple of seconds before Madam Hooch came.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” she barked before Harry could even catch his breath. “Everyone, stand by a broomstick. And be quick about it!”

Harry found the nearest broomstick, quickly claiming it as his own. It was old, and some of the twigs were sticking out, but it seemed to be in relatively good condition. At least, compared to the other school brooms.

“Now, stick your hand over the broom and say up!”

Everyone did so.

Most of the brooms just tumbled around, but Harry’s shot right up. Malfoy’s and Neville’s seemed to be right on opposite ends of the spectrum: while Malfoy’s bucked high and eagerly, Neville’s stayed put on the ground.

Maybe they could feel intent, like horses? Neville had seemed reluctant every time the boys had talked about flying that past week.

And they talked about it nearly constantly, Harry was honestly going crazy. Broomsticks this, Quidditch that, like there was nothing else to talk about.

Next, Madam Hooch showed them how to mount the brooms, and checked everyone’s grip. Apparently, Malfoy had been holding his broom wrong for years now. That was going to be one heck of a bad habit to get rid of.

“Now, when I blow my whistle, kick off the ground,” Madam Hooch instructed when all were seated properly. “Just a few feet up, and then straight back down by leaning down slightly. Three, two-”

Neville started violently, shooting straight up, like those videos of spaceships they sometimes showed on the telly.

Well, that was definitely more than “few” feet up.

Holding on to a broom going straight up was apparently just as hard as it sounded, and soon Neville was falling towards the ground, landing with a loud crack.

The broom continued upwards, but was now drifting towards the Forbidden Forest. Did it have a conscience? Would it now live as a wild broom?

Madam Hooch looked as pale as Neville did now, running towards where he laid in the grass, immobile.

Harry could remember one time when Neville had told them how his uncle - Augie-something - once tried to awaken his magic by throwing him down the stairs.

And pushing him off a branch.

And out of a window.

Come to think of it, Neville got thrown out of a lot of often highly situated places. A drop from a broom, from this kind of height, couldn’t have been anything too bad.

“He’s unconscious!” Madam Hooch yelled, shattering Harry’s train of thought. “None of you move a single muscle while I take him to the infirmary! Touch the brooms and you’ll be out of Hogwarts faster than you can say Quidditch!”

Taking Neville into her arms, she tottered over to the castle, disappearing inside.

“Oh. My. God,” Malfoy said.

“Shut up, Malfoy,” said Parvati Patil, although Harry suspected that it was more of a reflex at that point; both because of the shit that Malfoy tended to spout at random intervals, and because the Gryffindor boys had no idea when to stop talking when it came to brooms and Quidditch.