About You, Ron Weasley.

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

"Look at the stars, look how they shine for you. And everything that you do." 

"Did you manage the rum yet, Seamus?" Ron overhears Rue asking their friend, and he turns his head, as does Harry, confused at the conversation. "He managed a weak tea the other day in the Great Hall," she whispers to Ron and Harry on the way to flying class, "try to be nice," she'd managed to utter as they stepped outside onto the grounds, walking across the thinly cut green grass.

"Not yet," Seamus sighs. "My eyebrows finally grew back, though, thanks to Madam Lawrence – didn't really know she could do that." He mutters, and she nods her head, patting his shoulder sympathetically.

"Remember what Ollivander wrote?" She questions, and he nods his head, repeating the paraphrase. "Some magic is more explosive than others," they recited together, and he rolls his eyes slightly, though she hits him lightly on the arm before he can get even more discouraged as they continue walking to flying class. "You'll be fine. You're like a dragon, sometimes – fiery and out of control, and you can fly," she comments as they reach the pitch. Seamus rolls his eyes at the dragon commentary. "Besides, I don't think you can manage to explode a broomstick," she tells him as she steps around a broom, standing between Seamus and Dean as the two of them laugh at her commentary.

She sets down her case in the corner that she always seemed to carry with her, and the group of them wait for instructions. There's a witch that approaches, with hawk-like eyes, and spiky, gray hair. She has poised features, as she walks with her robes swishing behind her, across the field towards the front of the class, between the two rows of students facing each other.

"Welcome to your first flying lesson." She greets everyone. "What are you waiting for? Everyone steps up to the left side of their brooms... Come on now, hurry up." One by one, the group of first years began to do as they were instructed. Rue exchanged weary glances with Hermione – she'd never ridden a broom before, despite her magical history. Her father wasn't much of a flyer, and her mother never really taught her how, with the business of her work.

"Stick your right hand over the broom and say up," Madam Hooch instructed. Rue heard a repetition of up's being recited throughout the class. Harry was the first to get his broom in his hand, shortly followed by Draco. Ron followed a few moments after, though his broom clunked him on the head, leaving Harry laughing and Rue to muffle her giggles with her hand. Rue was short to follow after Ron, and Hermione was still struggling.

"With feeling," Hooch guided, and that seemed to help Hermione, as her broom tossed around in the grass. She used less of an edge in her voice, and more of her heart – the broom finally making its way into her hand. Rue smiled at the witch, and the rest of the first years seemed to have had their brooms in their grasp by the end of the mantra's cycle.

"Now, once you've got hold of your broom, I want you to mount it and grip it tight. You don't want to be sliding off the end." Rue took the chance while Madam Hooch was speaking to tie her hair up in a messy pony-tail, and climb onto her broom so her hair wasn't in the way. "When I blow my whistle, I want each of you to kick off from the ground, hard."

"Keep your brooms steady, hover for a moment, then lean forward slightly and touch back down. On my whistle–" Madam Hooch starts, and Rue braces herself for the worst possible outcome of flying – she hadn't prepared herself much for the practical lessons of magic, except for what she'd been taught by her parents. It's not like they allow eleven year olds to practise magic outside of school. "3, 2..." The sound of the whistle could be heard, and Rue looked over at the sound of Neville's shouting as he began hovering over the ground.