Ecdysis

Chapter 3 - Second Year: Rebellion

Flying, the Achilles' heel of my abilities. Maybe because I excelled in everything else, everyone noticed I was a bad flyer. I was better than Longbottom, but that didn't really count for anything, considering it was Longbottom. It wasn't like flying was even a real subject. I didn't understand why it had to be part of the curriculum. Certainly, there were plenty of witches and wizards who lived their whole lives without once getting on a broom.

Despite Draco's miserable first game as Slytherin's Seeker, he had no qualms laughing at me when my broom refused to rise higher than a metre above the ground. I felt irritated that I had to look up so high to make eye contact, but mildly appeased that his Nimbus was safely nestled in my belongings and that daddy dearest still hadn't bought him a replacement.

"Look out, Granger," he snickered from above my head. He made a fake gagging noise, rubbing his hand over his stomach in wild sweeping motions. "Feeling a little nauseous watching you attempt to fly. Might just use your bushy head as a landing target." At his flanks, Crabbe and Goyle burst into laughter and began mimicking him.

"Enough!" bellowed Hooch from below us. "Mr. Malfoy, a lap around the castle. Goyle, Crabbe, separate. How many times must I tell you to think for yourselves? Granger... Well, carry on then. Try sitting up a little taller."

I shot Draco a dirty look.

His eyes glimmered with mirth, delighted to get under my skin, as he zipped higher in the air and disappeared behind a tall pillar, emerald robes flapping in the wind. Even though he didn't have his Nimbus anymore, the ratty broom from the game was gone, and his current broom was fast enough to set Longbottom spinning as Draco whizzed past him, swatting his elbow with hard bristles.

My inability to fly made me realise ‌I had to be better. The only thing I had going for me at Hogwarts was my intelligence and magical proficiency, otherwise I was simply the unwanted Slytherin Mudblood, and that was hardly acceptable.

"Damn you. Fly!" I yanked on the handle of my broomstick, but it dropped lower, then, as if cross with me, tipped backwards and dumped me on my spine. "Oof!" The fall knocked the wind from my lungs.

Someone snorted above me. "Graceful, Granger." Blaise hovered nearby. "Bet that mane pillowed your fall though. Must be nice carrying a helmet around for those bloated brain cells. Salazar only knows you'd be useless without them." He dropped low enough to kick dirt on me with the toe of his boot, then flew away before Hooch could see him.

I spat out clumps of soil, mushroomy and damp and grainy on my tongue.

I'd been contemplating whether to set Pansy or Blaise straight next, and he'd just made up my mind.

🐍

The Great Hall smelled like hot food and stale sweat, prevalent with laughter and pre-pubescent voices competing to be heard over one other, layered over spells erupting in the air as students practised what they'd learned in class—either successfully, or in the case of Seamus Finnigan, with a burst of black smoke and fried split-ends.

At the far end of the room, I sighted familiar green and silver. Not as rowdy as Gryffindors, or subdued as Ravenclaws, Slytherins spoke in low tones, as if discussing great secrets that mustn't be divulged to outsiders, and occasionally burst into rambunctious laughter to show-off a joke they were all privy to but nobody else could ever know.

If I was going to get my classmates to quit picking on me, I had to do it deliberately instead of waiting for an opening to retaliate. Unfortunately, this meant appearing at the Great Hall for meals again. It was an important way to assert myself and prove they no longer scared me.