AUTOPHOBIA - G. WEASLEY

First Year: War

✯ CHAPTER FOUR ✯

❝You knew Harry's Dad?❞

September 11th, 1991.

OUT ON THE grounds of Hogwarts castle, Estella stood with Harry and Ron in their first ever flying lesson. They were unfortunate enough to be spending that lesson with the Slytherins -- although Estella thought that if she just ignored their existence then it wouldn't go that badly.

"I love flying," she said to the two boys as they waited for the Professor, Madam Hooch, to arrive at the class, "of course, my Dad is really strict about it and hardly ever let's me have a go on his broom...but on the rare times I am allowed on, it is absolutely amazing."

Harry looked really nervous about what was coming. "Is it difficult?"

"I guess it can be...it all depends on if you have the gift of flying or not. Some people are really good at it while others are really bad."

"I'll probably be one of the really bad ones," said Harry, sighing deeply. Estella supposed that he hadn't meant for her to hear him say this, so instead of saying anything she just gave him a reassuring smile. Madam Hooch was walking towards the class by this point anyway.

She was a relatively tall woman, and her hair was short and grey while her eyes were bright yellow and made her look a bit like a hawk. As soon as she arrived, she immediately started barking at the whole class.

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

The brooms had been laid down in rows in front of them all. Estella glanced down at hers. It was old and the twigs stuck out at different angles -- this didn't bother her much though, it wasn't like Remus' had been any different.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called out Madam Hooch from the front, "and say, 'UP!'"

"UP!" everyone shouted.

Only two people managed to catch their broomsticks first try, and those two people were Harry and Estella. The rest of the class seemed to really be struggling, Hermione's broomstick had simply rolled over on the ground, Neville's hadn't moved at all, and Ron had somehow managed to smack himself in the face with his.

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, eventually. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet and then come straight back down by leaning forwards 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 just kept shooting up into the air. Soon enough, there was a loud thud and he hit the ground, his body lying on the grass in a heap.

Madam Hooch, white faced and nervous looking, went rushing straight over to the young boy and leaned down next to him.

"Broken wrist," she muttered. "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 you are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch'. Come on, dear."

Wrapping her arm around Neville, Madam Hooch set off. No sooner were the two of them out of earshot than Draco Malfoy burst into laughter.

"Did you see his face, the great lump?"