From Cupboard to Chaos

How to Ruin Flying Lessons

If there's one thing I was excited for at Hogwarts—besides figuring out if the castle had secret dragon stables—it was flying lessons. I mean, flying! On a broomstick! Who wouldn't want to yeet themselves into the sky and maybe fall off dramatically? Well, besides me. Falling wasn't really on the to-do list.

The morning of our first flying lesson, I woke up with a sense of nervous excitement.

"You look like you're about to duel a troll," Ernie said, watching me stare blankly at my plate of scrambled eggs.

"I'm mentally preparing," I told him.

"For flying?" Hannah asked, her eyebrows raised. "How dangerous can it be?"

"Um, it's literally flying. There's gravity involved."

She waved me off. "You'll be fine. Just hold on tight."

Sure. 

Simple advice. 

Hold on tight and don't die. 

Got it.

When we got to the grassy field outside, the Slytherins were already there. Draco Malfoy, who had apparently decided to make me his nemesis since our first encounter on the train, was holding court with his lackeys, Crabbe and Goyle.

"Potter," he sneered when he saw me. "Bet you've never even seen a broomstick, let alone ridden one."

I rolled my eyes. "And I bet you've never seen a mirror, considering that haircut."

He spluttered while the Hufflepuffs burst out laughing. That's right, Malfoy. You mess with the badgers, you get the sass.

Madam Hooch, our flying instructor, arrived before things could escalate further. She was a sharp-eyed woman with short gray hair and the kind of presence that made you sit up straighter without even realizing it.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" she barked. "Stand by your broomsticks! Quickly now!"

I stood next to my broom, which looked about as trustworthy as Dudley at an all-you-can-eat buffet.

"Stick out your right hand and say, 'Up!'" Madam Hooch instructed.

"UP!" everyone shouted.

Malfoy's broom jumped into his hand immediately, because of course it did. My broom, on the other hand, just sort of twitched on the ground like it was thinking about it and then decided, nah.

"Up," I said again, putting all my focus into it.

Nothing.

I was about to try a third time when the broom suddenly leapt into my hand with so much force that it smacked me in the face.

"Great start," I muttered, while Ernie snickered next to me.

Once everyone had their brooms in hand, Madam Hooch taught us how to mount them properly and gave a quick demonstration.

"When I blow my whistle, you'll kick off from the ground, hover for a moment, and then come back down. Understood?"

We all nodded, and she raised the whistle to her lips.

Here's the thing about brooms: they don't wait for whistles.

Before Madam Hooch even finished blowing, my broom decided it had places to be and shot into the air like it was trying to win a Quidditch World Cup.

"POTTER!" Madam Hooch yelled, but her voice was quickly drowned out by the sound of my own screaming.

I don't really remember the first thirty seconds of my flight. It was mostly a blur of wind, panic, and me clinging to the broom for dear life. When I finally opened my eyes, I realized two things:

1. I was really high up.

2. I had absolutely no idea how to get down.

Below me, the rest of the class looked like tiny ants. Someone (probably Malfoy) was laughing, while Ernie was frantically waving his arms and shouting something I couldn't hear.

Okay, Harry, I thought. You've got this. Just think of it like riding a bike. Except the bike is floating. And it hates you.

I tilted the broom slightly, trying to steer it back down, but instead it veered sideways and sent me spiraling toward the castle.

"Oh no, oh no, oh no—"

I braced for impact, but instead of slamming into a wall, I flew straight through an open window and crashed into a table, sending papers and ink bottles flying everywhere.

"What on earth—"

I looked up to see Professor McGonagall staring at me, her expression somewhere between shocked and furious.

"Hi," I said weakly, still sprawled on the table. "Nice office."

"This is a classroom, Potter," she snapped.

"Oh. Well, nice classroom."

By the time I managed to make it back outside (with McGonagall muttering something about "reckless children" and "why do I bother"), the rest of the class was gathered around Neville Longbottom, who was holding his wrist and looking like he'd just seen a ghost.

"What happened?" I asked, landing awkwardly and nearly tripping over my own broom.

"Neville fell off," Hannah explained. "Madam Hooch took him to the hospital wing."

Malfoy smirked. "Pity he didn't manage to stay on. Not everyone's cut out for flying, are they?"

"Not everyone's cut out for being a decent human being either," I shot back, earning a few snickers from the Hufflepuffs.

Malfoy's smirk disappeared. "Watch it, Potter."

The rest of the lesson passed without major incident, mostly because Madam Hooch made me stay grounded after my little escapade.

"Flying isn't just about getting up in the air," she said, her tone exasperated. "It's about control. Maybe try focusing next time, Potter."

Easier said than done, I thought as I watched Malfoy zipping around on his broom like a smug dragon.

Still, as chaotic as it was, I couldn't help but feel a spark of excitement. Flying might be a disaster waiting to happen, but it was also the closest I'd ever come to freedom.

And that, I decided, was worth every bruise.