Book: Courage
Chapter 5
Word Count: 2433
Layla had never believed she would meet a boy he hated so much considering she always made sure to give everyone a full chance, but that was before she met Draco Malfoy. He didn't need a chance. It was obvious cruelness was just in Draco's blood.
Still, first-year Gryffindors only had Potions with the Slytherins, so they didn't have to put up with Malfoy much. Or at least, they didn't until they spotted a notice pinned up in the Gryffindor common room that made them all groan. Flying lessons would be starting on Thursday — and Gryffindor and Slytherin would be learning together.
"Typical," said Harry darkly. "Just what I always wanted. To make a fool of myself on a broomstick in front of Malfoy."
"You don't know that you'll make a fool of yourself," said Layla reasonably. "Anyway, I know Malfoy's always going on about how good he is at Quidditch, but I bet that's all talk."
It was true. Draco did talk about flying a lot. He complained loudly about first years never getting on the house Quidditch teams and told long, boastful stories that always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping Muggles in helicopters. He wasn't the only one, though: the way Seamus Finnigan told it, he'd spent most of his childhood zooming around the countryside on his broomstick. Even Ron would tell anyone who'd listen about the time he'd almost hit a hang glider on Charlie's old broom.
Remus never bought Layla a broom sadly, but she sometimes asked to borrow the one her dad had from his Hogwarts days. She loved flying!
Neville had never been on a broomstick in his life, because his grandmother had never let him near one. Privately, Harry felt she'd had good reason, because Neville managed to have an extraordinary number of accidents even with both feet on the ground.
Hermione was almost as nervous about flying as Neville was. This was something you couldn't learn by heart out of a book — not that she hadn't tried. At breakfast on Thursday she bored them all stupid with flying tips she'd gotten out of a library book called Quidditch Through the Ages. Neville was hanging on to her every word, desperate for anything that might help him hang on to his broomstick later, but everybody else was very pleased when Hermione's lecture was interrupted by the arrival of the mail.
All Layla had gotten in the mail since she'd arrived was a daily letter from Remus, who mainly bombarded her with questions about her classes and what friends she'd made, but with every letter, Remus would attach white chocolate exploding bon bons for Layla, so she was very grateful. They never had the white chocolate ones in the Great Hall, only milk or dark chocolate.
A barn owl brought Neville a small package from his grandmother. He opened it excitedly and showed them a glass ball the size of a large marble, which seemed to be full of white smoke.
"It's a Remembrall!" he explained. "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..." His face fell, because the Remembrall had suddenly glowed scarlet, "You've forgotten something..."
Neville was trying to remember what he'd forgotten when Draco, who was passing the Gryffindor table, snatched the Remembrall out of his hand.
Harry and Ron jumped to their feet, and Layla didn't bother being a drama queen and standing up, she just glared at the arrogant Slytherin with hatred.
Professor McGonagall, who could spot trouble quicker than any teacher in the school, was there in a flash.
"What's going on?"
"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor."
Scowling, Draco quickly dropped the Remembrall back on the table.
"Just looking," he said, and he sloped away with Crabbe and Goyle behind him.
At three-thirty that afternoon, Harry, Layla, Ron, and the other Gryffindors hurried down the front steps onto the grounds for their first flying lesson. It was a clear, breezy day, and the grass rippled under their feet as they marched down the sloping lawns toward a smooth, flat lawn on the opposite side of 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 ground. Harry had heard Fred and George Weasley complain about the school brooms, saying that some of them started to vibrate if you flew too high, or always flew slightly to the left.
Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short, gray hair, and yellow eyes like a hawk.
"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."
Layla glanced down at her broom, moving to stand beside it.
"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say 'Up!"'
"UP!" everyone shouted.
Harry's broom jumped into his hand at once, but it was one of the few that did. Hermione's had simply rolled over on the ground, and Neville's hadn't moved at all. Layla's rose half way to her hand and then fell back to the ground again, much to her annoyance. Luckily, Layla's broom flew into her hand with her second try.
Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips.
"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms 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.
"Come back, boy!" she shouted, but Neville was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle — twelve feet — twenty feet. Layla saw his scared white face look down at the ground falling away, saw him gasp, slip sideways off the broom and—
WHAM — a thud and a nasty crack and Neville lay facedown on the grass in a heap. His broomstick was still rising higher and higher, and started to drift lazily toward the forbidden forest and out of sight.
Madam Hooch was bending over Neville, her face as white as his.
"Broken wrist," Layla heard her mutter. "Come on, boy — it's all right, up you get.".
She turned to the rest of the class.
"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.' Come on, dear."
Neville, his face tear-streaked, clutching his wrist, hobbled off with Madam Hooch, who had her arm around him.
No sooner were they out of earshot than Draco burst into laughter.
"Did you see his face, the great lump?"
The other Slytherins joined in.
"Shut up, Malfoy," snapped Parvati Patil.
"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" said Pansy Parkinson, a hard-faced Slytherin girl. "Never thought you'd like fat little crybabies, Parvati."
"Leave her alone, pugface," snapped Layla. Pansy huffed and glared at Layla, reaching for her wand to hex the Lupin girl, but stopped at the sound of Draco's voice.
"Look!" he said, darting forward and snatching something out of the grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him."
The Remembrall glittered in the sun as he held it up.
"Give that here, Malfoy," said Harry quietly. Everyone stopped talking to watch.
Draco smiled nastily.
"I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find — how about — up a tree?"
"Give it here!" Harry yelled, but Draco had leapt onto his broomstick and taken off. He hadn't been lying, he could fly well. Hovering level with the topmost branches of an oak he called, "Come and get it, Potter!"
Harry grabbed his broom.
"No!" shouted Hermione. "Madam Hooch told us not to move — you'll get us all into trouble."
Harry ignored her.
"Just let him do it," said Layla, turning to Hermione. "It's his choice at the end of the day. His fault if things go south."
Hermione huffed, crossing her arms, but stayed silent. Harry mounted the broom and kicked hard against the ground and up, up he soared. He pulled his broomstick up a little to take it even higher, and Layla jumped when she heard screams and gasps of girls around her, and an admiring whoop from Ron.
Layla watched as Harry grasped his broom tightly in both hands, and it shot toward Draco like a javelin. Draco only just got out of the way in time; Harry made a sharp about-face and held the broom steady. A few people around Layla were clapping.
Draco then threw the glass ball high into the air and streaked back toward the ground. Harry leaned forward and pointed his broom handle down — he stretched out his hand — a foot from the ground he caught it, just in time to pull his broom straight, and he toppled gently onto the grass with the Remembrall clutched safely in his fist.
"Nice one," Layla smiled at Harry, impressed. He shot her a proud smile back.
"HARRY POTTER!"
Professor McGonagall was running toward them.
"Never — in all my time at Hogwarts—" Professor McGonagall was almost speechless with shock, and her glasses flashed furiously, "— how dare you — might have broken your neck—"
"It wasn't his fault, Professor—"
"Be quiet, Miss Lupin."
"But Malfoy—"
"That's enough, Mr Weasley. Potter, follow me, now."
As Harry followed McGonagall back towards the castle, Layla turned towards Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle's triumphant faces, and glared at them.
"You'll get what's coming to the lot of you," Layla then turned to Pansy and smirked. She loved getting under Pansy's skin. "Especially you, pugface."
"My face does not look like a pug!" yelled Pansy, stomping her foot childishly. Layla and a few others laughed.
"I disagree," smirked Layla.
They then waited for Madam Hooch to return so that they could continue the rest of their lesson.
"You're joking," Ron gaped at Harry that evening during dinner.
"Yes, Harry!" cheered Layla proudly.
Harry had just finished telling Layla and Ron what had happened when he'd left the grounds with Professor McGonagall. Ron had a piece of steak and kidney pie halfway to his mouth, but he'd forgotten all about it.
"Seeker?" he said. "But first years never — you must be the youngest house player in about—"
"—a century," said Harry, shoveling pie into his mouth. "Wood told me."
Ron was so amazed, he just sat and gaped at Harry. Layla was grinning widely, very impressed with Harry.
"I start training next week," said Harry. "Only don't tell anyone, Wood wants to keep it a secret."
Fred and George Weasley now came into the hall, spotted Harry, and hurried over.
"Well done," said George in a low voice. "Wood told us. We're on the team too — Beaters."
"I tell you, we're going to win that Quidditch cup for sure this year," said Fred. "We haven't won since Charlie left, but this year's team is going to be brilliant. You must be good, Harry, Wood was almost skipping when he told us."
"Anyway, we've got to go, Lee Jordan reckons he's found a new secret passageway out of the school."
"Bet it's that one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that we found in our first week. See you."
Fred and George had hardly disappeared when someone far less welcome turned up: Draco, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.
"Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?"
"You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you," said Harry coolly. There was of course nothing at all little about Crabbe and Goyle, but as the High Table was full of teachers, neither of them could do more than crack their knuckles and scowl.
"I'd take you on anytime on my own," said Draco. "Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only — no contact. What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?"
"Of course he has," said Ron, wheeling around. "I'm his second, who's yours?"
Draco looked at Crabbe and Goyle, sizing them up.
"Crabbe," he said. "Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked."
When Draco had gone, Ron, Layla, and Harry all exchanged glances.
"What is a wizard's duel?" said Harry. "And what do you mean, you're my second, Ron?"
"Well, a second's there to take over if you die," said Ron casually, getting started at last on his cold pie.
Catching the look on Harry's face, Layla was quick to speak, "Ron's being dramatic, Harry. We're first-years! People only die in proper duels, you know, with real wizards. The most you and Malfoy'll be able to do is send sparks at each other. Neither of you knows enough magic to do any real damage. I bet he expected you to refuse, anyway."
"And what if I wave my wand and nothing happens?"
"Throw it away and punch him on the nose," Ron suggested with a nonchalantly shrug.
"Excuse me."
The three of them looked up. It was Hermione.
"Can't a person eat in peace in this place?" said Ron.
Hermione ignored him, smiled at Layla, and then turned to Harry.
"I couldn't help overhearing what you and Malfoy were saying—"
"Bet you could," Ron muttered.
"—and you mustn't go wandering around the school at night, think of the points you'll lose Gryffindor if you're caught, and you're bound to be. It's really very selfish of you."
"And it's really none of your business," said Harry.
"Sorry, Hermione, put he's got a point," said Layla, placing two sausages on her plate.
"Good-bye," said Ron, glaring at Hermione. Layla kicked his shin under the table, causing Ron to yelp in pain, startled.
"Be nice," Layla muttered. Ron huffed childishly.
"Hey, Lay?" Harry turned to Layla, using the nickname that she had now let him and Ron call her since they had all gotten much closer. "Do you want to meet us in the common room tonight for the duel?"
"And risk ruining my perfect sleep pattern that has taken me months to perfect? No thanks," Layla chuckled. "But I expect to hear every detail about it tomorrow."
"Alright," Harry grinned.