"I'm going to die," I gasped.
"You're not going to die."
"I'm going to fall off the broom and plummet to my death— you want to see me dead," I accused of Harry. He thought it would be nice to teach me how to fly.
"Lottie," Harry laughed, "we're barely hovering the ground."
The ground below us was about three feet away. I was completely terrified; no seats, no straps, nothing, just me and the broom and open space. I had threatened Harry multiple times from the time he dragged me to the training grounds to when he told me to stomp the ground without telling me what it'd do. I had managed to kick off too hard, since I didn't know why I had to stomp, and flew up faster than intended.
"All you have to do is pull up a bit, then forward, and tilt your body," Harry instructed.
"What will it do this time?" I narrowed my eyes at him.
"You'll get to fly higher– a bit–, then forward and turn," he explained. "Do it slowly this time!"
Mumbling a few choice words under my breath, I brought up the tip of the broomstick and flew higher off the ground, keeping my eyes trained on Harry so I wouldn't look down. Taking a deep breath, I leaned forward and flew towards Harry; quickly leaning, I made a sharp turn as I tried to avoid Harry.
"Sit up and you'll stop flying forward," Ron called from the ground.
Taking his advice, I did so and stopped loving. My knuckles were white at how hard I was holding onto the broomstick.
"That wasn't the worst, better than most first years," Harry teased.
"Come off it, will you," I glared at Harry.
Harry continued to teach me how to fly and, eventually, it wasn't as bad as I thought. As long as I kept my eyes off the ground below me, I was alright.
"Now," Harry smiled, "I want to teach you how to be a Chaser, or a beater if you like."
"Neither, please and thank you," I scoffed, trying to return to the ground.
"C'mon, you have aim and I need a new Chaser," Harry whined.
"Harry, I can barely fly! How am I going to throw Quaffles at the hoops while Beaters are going to try to kill me?"
"Just try to do it now and if I think you're alright enough, then I'll let you try out," Harry suggested.
"Fine, but if I fall and die, I'm going to haunt you," I threatened.
Harry flew down and pulled out a Quaffle from the Quidditch Box. He tried to instruct me on how to throw while flying but flying without my hands was an idea that truly scared me. After catching the Quaffle, from all the times Harry had passed it to me, he told me to throw it into the hoop. With great force, I chucked the ball into the hoop, managing to drop down in height from my downward movement.
"Lottie, that was perfect! But next time try not to drop," Harry approved as the Quaffle hit the hoop dead centre.
Harry and I practised having me throw and catch Quaffles over the next week during our free periods. For the last two days, Harry employed Ron to take his position, as a Keeper, and try to guard the hoops against my throws. A lot of good that did, I managed to trick him multiple times, by faking my throws, and made in a good amount of goals.
"How is it that you've never played Quidditch yet good at it?" Ron huffed after failing to save another goal.
"I played Softball back at my old school in America," I shrugged. "It's a muggle sport with a bat and ball, but instead of throwing towards a goal, someone throws a ball at the person with a bat and the person with the bat has to hit the ball as hard as they can so they can run to each checkpoint and win."
"That sound so complicated, why not score at a hoop?" asked Ron.
"That's a different sport," I laughed.
"I'm assuming you were the one throwing the ball, not hitting it," Harry guessed.
"Yup, and, not to toot my own horn, I was pretty good," I smiled.
"Well, keep that mentality tomorrow because you're definitely trying out for—"
"I— Harry, no, I didn't even give Profesor McGonagall my name!"
"It's alright. I did, after our first practice," Harry flew away before I could say anything, more or less throw the Quaffle at him.
When we left the Gryffindor table the next morning to head down to the Quidditch pitch, I was a ball of nerves. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I made our way down to the stadium through the cool, misty drizzle.
"I'm going to slip off my broom and die," I mumbled to Hermione.
"Good luck," she pinched me and left to the stands to watch our trial.
Harry decided to start with a basic test, asking all applicants for the team to divide into groups of ten and fly once around the pitch. Harry made a good decision in having the basic test: the first ten was made up of first years and it could not have been plainer that they had hardly ever flown before. Only one boy managed to remain airborne for more than a few seconds, and he was so surprised he promptly crashed into one of the goalposts.
The second group was comprised of ten of the silliest girls I had ever encountered, who, when Harry blew his whistle, merely fell about giggling and clutching one another. Romilda Vane was amongst them. When he told them to leave the pitch, they did so quite cheerfully and went to sit in the stands to heckle everyone else.
The third group had a pileup halfway around the pitch.
Most of the fourth group had come without broomsticks, which included me, but thankfully Ron let me borrow his Cleansweep Eleven for the flying portion and trial of the Chasers. I did as I was told and flew around the pitch multiple times. Looking down, a bad idea, I saw Ron making a circle with his finger suggesting I do a few loops he'd taught me. My stomach flipped at the height I was at, but I did two successfully loops and descended to the ground (without dying). Ron gave me a thumbs up.
After two hours, many complaints, and several tantrums, one involving a crashed Comet Two Sixty and several broken teeth, Harry had chosen three Chasers: Katie Bell, returned to the team after an excellent trial; Ginny Weasley, who had outflown all the competition and scored seventeen goals to boot; and me, as I managed to trick some of the trial Keepers who tried to save my goals. Harry had also managed to shout himself hoarse at the many complainers and was now enduring a similar battle with the rejected Beaters.
"That's my final decision and if you don't get out of the way for the Keepers, I'll hex you," he bellowed.
Neither of his chosen Beaters had the old brilliance of Fred and George, but they were pretty good: Jimmy Peakes, a short but broad-chested third-year boy who had managed to raise a lump the size of an egg on the back of Harry's head with a ferociously hit Bludger, and Ritchie Coote, who looked weedy but aimed well. They now joined Katie and Ginny in the stands to watch the selection of their last team member.
Harry had left the trial of the Keepers until last. As each Keeper flew up to the goal hoops, the crowd roared and jeered in equal measure. Harry had me throw all the Quaffles at the Keepers claiming I'd be used to it from my muggle sport. I glanced over at Ron, who had always had a problem with nerves; Ron seemed to not have gotten over it, despite the Gryffindor win of our final match last term: he was a light shade of green.
I followed through with what I'd done during my trial and none of the first five applicants saved more than two goals apiece. To my disappointment, Cormac McLaggen saved four penalties out of five. On the last one, however, he shot off in completely the wrong direction as I managed to trick him.
Finally, it was Ron's turn. Staying true to my advances, I launched each ball to a different hoop and made my false throwing, but to my delight, Ron managed to save all five penalties in a row. Harry quickly turned to McLaggen to dismiss him, but McLaggen stepped up to Harry threateningly.
"Your friend didn't really try," said McLaggen menacingly. "She gave him an easy save."
"Rubbish," said Harry coldly. "There was one he nearly missed."
McLaggen took a step nearer Harry, who stood his ground this time.
"Give me another go."
"No," said Harry. "You've had your go. You saved four. Ron saved five. Ron's Keeper, he won it fair and square. Get out of my way."
I jumped off the school-issued broom just in time to see McLaggen stomp away like a toddler. Harry turned around and released a breath he had been holding.
"Well done," Harry croaked. "You flew really well —"
"You did brilliantly, Ron!"
Hermione ran toward us from the stand. Ron looked extremely pleased with himself and even taller than usual as he grinned at the team and at Hermione.
After fixing the time of our first full practice for the following Thursday, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I bade goodbye to the rest of the team and headed off toward Hagrid's. A watery sun was trying to break through the clouds now and it had stopped drizzling at last.
"I thought I was going to miss that fourth penalty," Ron was saying happily. "Tricky shot, Lottie."
"I promise you, it's a lot harder to throw a Quaffle than a Softball," I laughed.
"You did great, Lottie," said Hermione with a large smile. "Ron, you were absolutely magnificent!"
"I was better than that McLaggen anyway," said Ron in a highly satisfied voice. "Did you see him lumbering off in the wrong direction on his fifth? Looked like he'd been Confunded!"
Hermione laughed dryly and turned her face away from us. Harry and I looked at each other, only to shrug and continue our way to Hagrid's.
The great grey hippogriff, Buckbeak, was tethered in front of Hagrid's cabin. He clicked his razor-sharp beak at their approach and turned his huge head toward them.
"Oh dear," I said nervously. "He's still a bit scary, isn't he?"
"Come off it, you've ridden him, haven't you?" said Ron.
I shook my head and bowed low to the hippogriff without breaking eye contact. After a few seconds, Buckbeak sank into a bow, too. Harry, Hermione, and I followed suit.
"How are you?" Harry asked him in a low voice, moving forward to stroke the feathery head. "Missing him? But you're okay here with Hagrid, aren't you?"
"Oi!" said a loud voice.
Hagrid had come striding around the corner of his cabin wearing a large flowery apron and carrying a sack of potatoes. His enormous boarhound, Fang, was at his heels; Fang gave a booming bark and bounded forward.
"Git away from him! He'll have yer fingers — oh. It's yeh lot."
Fang ran out of the cabin and jumped on me, attempting to lick my ears. Hagrid stood and looked at us all for a split second, then turned and strode into his cabin, slamming the door behind him.
"Hagrid! Open up, we want to talk to you!"
There was no sound from within.
"If you don't open the door, we'll blast it open!" Harry said, pulling out his wand.
"Harry!" I gasped. "You can't possibly —"
"Yeah, I can!" said Harry. "Stand back —"
But before he could say anything else, the door flew open again as Harry had known it would, and there stood Hagrid, glowering down at him and looking, despite the flowery apron, positively alarming.
"I'm a teacher!" he roared at Harry. "A teacher, Potter! How dare yeh threaten ter break down my door!"
"I'm sorry, sir," said Harry, emphasizing the last word as he stowed his wand inside his robes.
Hagrid looked stunned. "Since when have yeh called me 'sir'?"
"Since when have you called me 'Potter'?"
"Oh, very clever," growled Hagrid. "Very amusin'. That's me outsmarted, innit? All righ', come in then, yeh ungrateful little —"
Hagrid stood back to let us pass. Hermione scurried in after Harry, holding my arm for dear life.
"Well?" said Hagrid grumpily, as Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I sat down around his enormous wooden table, Fang laying his head immediately upon my knee and drooling all over my robes. "What's this? Feelin' sorry for me? Reckon I'm lonely or summat?"
"No," said Harry at once. "We wanted to see you."
"We've missed you!" said Hermione tremulously.
"Missed me, have yeh?" snorted Hagrid. "Yeah. Righ'."
"Hagrid!" I groaned.
He stomped around, brewing up tea in his enormous copper kettle, muttering all the while. Finally, he slammed down four bucket-sized mugs of mahogany-brown tea in front of us and a plate of his rock cakes.
"Hagrid," said Hermione timidly, when he joined us at the table and started peeling his potatoes with a brutality that suggested that each tuber had done him a great personal wrong, "we really wanted to carry on with Care of Magical Creatures, you know."
Hagrid gave another great snort.
"We did!" I huffed. "But none of us could fit it into our schedules!"
"Yeah. Righ'," said Hagrid again.
There was a funny squelching sound and we all looked around: Hermione and I let out a tiny shriek, and Ron leapt out of his seat and hurried around the table away from the large barrel standing in the corner that we had only just noticed. It was full of what looked like foot-long maggots, slimy, white, and writhing
"What are they, Hagrid?" asked Harry, trying to sound interested rather than revolted, but putting down his rock cake all the same.
"Jus' giant grubs," said Hagrid.
"And they grow into...?" Ron trailed off.
"They won' grow inter nuthin'," said Hagrid. "I got 'em ter feed ter Aragog."
And without warning, he burst into tears.
"Hagrid!" Hermione and I cried. We both ran over and gave Hagrid a small hug.
"It's— him—" gulped Hagrid, his beetle-black eyes streaming as he mopped his face with his apron. "It's— Aragog. I think he's dyin'! He got ill over the summer an' he's not gettin' better. I don' know what I'll do if he– if he– We've bin tergether so long."
"Is there— is there anything we can do?" Hermione asked, ignoring our frantic grimaces and head-shakings.
"I don' think there is, Hermione," choked Hagrid, attempting to stem the flood of his tears. "See, the rest o' the tribe. Aragog's family, they're gettin' a bit funny now he's ill... bit restive."
"Yeah, I think we saw a bit of that side of them," said Ron in an undertone.
"...I don' reckon it'd be safe fer anyone but me ter go near the colony at the mo'," Hagrid finished, blowing his nose hard on his apron and looking up. "But thanks fer offerin', Hermione... It means a lot..."
After that, the atmosphere lightened considerably, for although neither Harry nor Ron had shown any inclination to go and feed giant grubs to a murderous, gargantuan spider, Hagrid seemed to take it for granted that we would have liked to have done and became his usual self once more.
"Ar, I always knew yeh'd find it hard ter squeeze me inter yer timetables," he said gruffly, pouring them more tea. "Even if yeh applied fer Time-Turners —"
"We couldn't have done," I said, shaking my head. "We smashed the entire stock of Ministry Time-Turners when we were there last summer. It was in the Daily Prophet."
"Ar, well then," said Hagrid. "There's no way yeh could've done it... I'm sorry I've bin— yeh know— I've jus' bin worried abou' Aragog... an' I did wonder whether, if Professor Grubbly-Plank had bin teachin' yeh —"
At which all four of us stated categorically and untruthfully that Professor Grubbly-Plank was a dreadful teacher, with the result that by the time Hagrid waved us off the premises at dusk, he looked quite cheerful.
"Harry, just the boy I was hoping to see!" Professor Slughorn boomed genially, twiddling the ends of his walrus moustache and puffing out his enormous belly. "I was hoping to catch you before dinner! What do you say to a spot of supper tonight in my rooms instead? We're having a little party, just a few rising stars, I've got McLaggen coming and Zabini, the charming Melinda Bobbin— I don't know whether you know her? Her family owns a large chain of apothecaries— and, of course, I hope very much that Miss Granger will favour me by coming too."
Slughorn made Hermione a little bow as he finished speaking. It was as though Ron and I were not present; Slughorn did not so much as look at us.
"I can't come, Professor," said Harry at once. "I've got a detention with Professor Snape."
"Oh dear!" said Slughorn, his face falling comically. "Dear, dear, I was counting on you, Harry! Well, now, I'll just have to have a word with Severus and explain the situation. I'm sure I'll be able to persuade him to postpone your detention."
"Very well, I'll see you two later!" He bustled away out of the Hall.
"He's got no chance of persuading Snape," said Harry, the moment Slughorn was out of earshot. "This detention's already been postponed once; Snape did it for Dumbledore, but he won't do it for anyone else."
"Oh, I wish you could come, I don't want to go on my own!" said Hermione anxiously.
"I doubt you'll be alone, Ginny'll probably be invited," snapped Ron, who did not seem to have taken kindly to being ignored by Slughorn. I wasn't keen on it either, but just quietly ground my teeth feeling sour.