The Spiteful Sorting Hat

Flying lesson

The biggest problem with being in Slytherin was that it was impossible to get away from Draco Malfoy. It was bad enough having to share a dormitory without seeing him in the common room every day. Of course, they shared every class as well. To make matters even worse, it seemed that Malfoy went out of his way to bother Harry. He was sure to be seated within earshot during every meal, and managed to bump into Harry in the library so often it couldn't be mere coincidence.

"Oh hello there, Potter," Malfoy said in the common room one day. He was trying to sound casual, despite the fact that he had been standing nearby for the past fifteen minutes, loudly bragging about his flying skills to anyone who would listen and casting desperate glances Harry's way to see if he'd caught his attention. Harry ignored him, of course, but Malfoy proved to be resilient. "Don't know if you saw the notice. We'll be starting our flying lessons this Thursday."

"Yeah. I saw it, Malfoy."

"I'm an excellent flier, myself," Malfoy continued, "The lessons will probably be useless to me. Though I am concerned about the brooms they give us. I heard half of them won't even fly."

Harry grunted.

"It's a real pity they don't let first years have their own brooms. Bloody stupid idea if you ask me."

Harry grunted again. He was starting to sound more like Crabbe and Goyle with each passing minute. He supposed this was simply the effect Malfoy had on people. Weeks of classes with them and Harry was certain he'd heard neither Crabbe nor Goyle utter a single word. Malfoy did all the talking.

"Of course, my father would have bought me a Nimbus 2000 if I'd gotten on the Slytherin team this year. But they never let first years play, even one as talented as I am."

"Oh my god, Malfoy," Harry interrupted with an exasperated sigh, "Does that really work for you? I mean, this whole braggy attitude of yours? Is that how you usually make friends?"

Malfoy stared at Harry as if he'd been slapped in the face.

"Well… Yes, usually," he admitted. "Are you saying you aren't impressed?"

"Not really. No."

Malfoy sniffed and brought himself up to his full height, which was not very substantial. "Well then, I suppose you must think yourself an excellent flier. I must say I'm surprised, since I hear you were raised by muggles. But then I suppose nothing's too difficult for the Famous Harry Potter."

"That's right." Harry said with a lot more confidence than he felt. In truth, he was both excited and terrified by the idea of flying. Every time he thought about it his stomach became so twisted with conflicting emotions that he felt like he was going to throw up. He just hoped that wouldn't happen while hovering above the heads of the other students.

"What do you suppose it will be like?" Harry asked his friends at breakfast on the morning of their first lesson.

Blaise smeared marmalade on a piece of toast while he thought.

"Well, I'm going to be amazing, of course. Born on the back of broomstick, I was. And I'm not kidding. Bit difficult for my mum, as you can imagine. But that's a story for another day. Millie will end up breaking her poor broom over her knee out of frustration and envy. And as for you, Harry. I expect you'll fall off and break every bone in your body. But don't worry. I hear Madame Pomfrey has a potion for everything."

Blaise's confidence in the abilities of his friends did nothing to soothe Harry's concerns as they waited on the Quidditch field for the first flying lesson. Harry had never seen anything like it. The field was a large oval, bordered by tall, thin towers. Harry stared up at the massive structures and swallowed the lump that was forming in this throat.