A/N I don't actually know what date their first lesson is and I cannot find the actual date in the book or online. So I am sorry.
-October 25th, 1991-
Time flew by for Petunia. After the prank a pair of Ravenclaws were blamed and Hermione finally talked to Petunia again after two days of silence. Then between the mass amount of homework, her two friends bickering (It's a school rule December! I don't care how great your dorm is we're not Hufflepuffs!) and helping the twins pull off pranks there wasn't a moment of dullness in her life. So when she saw a notice on the Gryffindor news board last week stating that first year flying lessons started October 25th she was pumped. She had always had a certain knack for flying and couldn't wait to show off her talents.
But that didn't mean everybody was as excited as she was. Hermione would have skipped if Petunia hadn't reminded her of school rules and Neville wouldn't stop shaking all the way down to the pitch. Petunia tried to cheer Hermione up, but no matter how many times she brought up the almost perfect weather Hermione wasn't interested.
The Slytherins were already there, along with over twenty broomsticks. The Gryffindors quickly went to stand beside the free broomsticks, holding their heads high as Madam Hooch came stomping through. Once she was checked everybody had a broom she shouted out instructions.
"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch, "and say 'Up!'"
"UP" everyone shouted.
Petunia's broom shot up to her hand like it always did, but surprisingly few did. Hermione's simply rolled over while Neville's refused to budge. Only Harry, Ron, Petunia and a few Slytherins had complied to the command.
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. Harry and Ron grinned smugly when she told the blonde prat from Potions he'd been doing it wrong for years.
"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle -- three -- two--"
But Neville was terribly 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 was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle -- twelve feet -- twenty feet. Petunia saw his ghostly white face look down at the ground before his eyes rolled back into his skull and he slipped off the broom.
WHAM -- a thud and a nasty crack and Neville lay facedown on the grass in a heap. His broomstick was still rising higher and higher, and started to drift lazily toward the forbidden forest and out of sight.
Madam Hooch was bending over Neville, her face as scared as his.
"Broken wrist," Petunia heard her mutter. "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 they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear."
Neville, his face tear-streaked, clutching his wrist, hobbled off with Madam Hooch, who had her arm around him.
No sooner were they out of earshot than Blondey burst into laughter.
"Did you see his face, the great lump?"
The other Slytherins joined in.
"Shut up, Malfoy," snapped Parvati, one of the girls she shared a room with. So that's what the prats name was.
