Saphira Black and the Philosopher's Stone

Twenty-One~ Flying

    I never believed I could meet a boy I hated more than Dudley, but that was before I met Draco Malfoy. Still, we only had Potions with the Slytherins, so we didn't have to put up with Malfoy much. Or at least, we didn't until Harry spotted a notice pinned up in the Gryffindor common room that made everyone groan. Flying lessons would be starting on Thursday- and Gryffindor and Slytherin would be learning together.

    "Typical," Harry had said darkly. "Just what I always wanted. To make a fool of myself on a broomstick in front of Malfoy."

    He had been looking forward to the flying lessons more than anything else.

    Thursday morning, at breakfast, everyone was nervous. The owl post made things slightly better, but also slightly worse. A barn owl had brought Neville a small package from his grandmother. He opened it excitedly and showed us a glass ball the size of a large marble, which seemed to be full of white smoke.

    "It's a Remembrall!" Hermione explained to everyone. "You hold it tight and if it turns red- oh-" the Remembrall suddenly glowed scarlet in Neville's hand, "you've forgotten something..."

    Neville was trying to remember what he had forgotten when Malfoy, who was passing the Gryffindor table, snatched the Remembrall right out of his hand.

    Harry and Ron jumped to their feet. I rose slowly, hoping for a chance to punch him in the face. Unfortunately, Professor McGonagall was in front of us in a flash.

    "What's going on?"

    "Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor."

    Scowling, Malfoy dropped the Remembrall back on the table.

    "Just looking," he said, then he winked at me before he left, followed by Crabbe and Goyle.

    At three-thirty that afternoon, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I followed by the other Gryffindors hurried down the front steps onto the grounds for our first flying lesson. It was a clear, breezy day, and the grass rippled under our feet as we marched down the sloping lawns toward a smooth, flat lawn on the opposite side on the grounds to the forbidden forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance.

    The Slytherins were already there, and so were twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the floor.

    Our teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short, gray hair, and eyes like a hawk.

    "Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a bromstick. Come on, hurry up."

    I glanced down at my broom. It was old and some of the twigs stood out at odd angles.

    "Stick your right hand up over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say 'Up!'"

    "UP!" everyone shouted.

    My broomstick jumped into my hand at once, and so did Harry's, but they were one of the few that did. Hermione's just rolled over on the floor, and Neville's simply didn't move at all. Ron's had flown up and hit him in the face.

    Madam Hooch then showed us how to mount our brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows correcting our grips. Harry, Ron, and I were delighted when she told Malfoy he'd been doing it wrong for years.

    "Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your broom steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle- three- two-"

    But Neville, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch's lips.