So Many Secrets.

Quidditch and Duels and... Trolls?

"Alright, everyone!" Madame Hooch says. "Stand next to your broom on your writing hand's side!"

Gryffindors and Slytherins, trying to fly. As long as I don't fall on my face, I'll be just fine.

"Alright! Raise your hand over your broom, and say 'UP' firmly!"

Everyone says 'UP!' at the same time. When I do, the broom goes to my hand right away. I smile at Draco, who also has his broom in his hand. It takes both Neville and Hermione a few tries, Neville more than Hermione, but eventually they both get it.

She shows us how to mount them. Draco does it wrong.

"Whoever taught you to mount it like that either got taught wrong, their stupid, or they want you to die," she says.

"My father taught me how to fly!"

"Well, that explains it."

He's about to say something when she cuts him off, telling us to pull the front of ours brooms up slightly. I get a few feet off the ground. It feels good.

Until Neville floats way further above the ground the we're supposed to. Higher and higher, until he falls, gets caught on a statue, and falls to the ground. He cradles his wrist. 

I almost run to him, but Draco holds me back. "Madame Hooch will bring him to the Hospital Wing," he says.

"But-"

"He'll be alright. You couldn't take him, anyway, you don't know where it is." Well, that's a good point... "Plus, we might have to stop dumb and dumber from doing something stupid."

He points to Crabbe and Goyle, who're playing catch with Neville's Remembrall. We both get off our brooms and walk over.

"Give it," Draco demands.

Goyle snorts. Like a pig. Makes sense, he's really fat. "Why? Are you gonna make me, blood traitor?"

"Oh, please. Merlin forbid I'm trying to not be a racist arsehole. And Neville's a pureblood, so in this case it doesn't matter. Give it."

He throws it to Crabbe, who mounts his broom and flies off the ground. "Come and get it, Nancy Boy!"

Draco snarls, throws his legs over his broom, and flies to Draco's height. "Draco, get down!" I yell. He doesn't listen.

Maybe... I mean, my dad was a Quidditch player, right? Maybe I have some flying skill from him.

Carefully, I float up to their level. Crabbe just smirks. "Aww, your wittle boyfwiend have to come a help you, Dwaco?" he says in a fake baby voice. "You aren't even friends with the loser, why's he matter t'you?"

"Because, I'm attempting to be a decent human being for once, unlike you." Draco's voice is cold, like when he talks to Gryffindors and Ravenclaws. For some reason he leaves the Hufflepuffs alone, which is good.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I'm not, so... oopsie!" He chucks it into the air, and lets it drop. 

Both me and Draco go for a dive to catch it. 

This feels amazing.

We get closer to the ground. Draco stops, pulling up. I keep going. I'm maybe a yard from the ground when my fingers grab the ball, and I'm able to pull up to keep from smashing into the grass.

"HARRY POTTER!"

I look up.

Professor Snape.