My Tale {Book One in the Hermione Granger Series}

Chapter Fourteen

After class, we had flying lessons. They were being held on the Quidditch Pitch. So at three-thirty that afternoon, the Gryffindors and I hurried down the front steps onto the grounds for our first flying lesson. It was a clear, breezy day, and the I liked the feeling of the grass rippled under my feet as we marched down the sloping lawns. We could see the forbidden forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance.

The Slytherins were already there, and so were twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground. Our teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short, gray hair, and yellow eyes like a hawk.

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

I stood next to a broom, and glanced down at it. It was old and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles.

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

All at the same time, everyone shouted "UP!"

My broom had simply rolled over on the ground, and Neville's hadn't moved at all, whereas Harry's jumped straight into his hand. Perhaps brooms could tell when you were afraid, I thought, more to the fact that I was only just getting over my fear of heights, and that Neville was a lil clumsy on the ground, and probably didn't want to fly a broom.

Madam Hooch then showed us how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows correcting our grips. Some Gryffindors had delighted faces when she told Malfoy 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, 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 was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle, twelve feet, twenty feet. We saw his scared white face look down at the ground falling away, saw him gasp, slip sideways off the broom and -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 white as his. "Broken wrist," I 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. Poor Neville, I thought.

*****-----*****-----*****

Dedicated to Amycull19

So, I'm really tempted to put this on hold, but because I luv ya all (in a friendly way) ima not going to. So I will still update now and again (hopefully every two weeks), although some chapters WILL be short.

P.s. I don't care if ya use profanities in the comments (as long as its not towards me!) cause this story is PG13+ rated, meaning that there WILL be swearin. So peoplez, don't report others swearing in the comments (unless it is directed to me or another Wattpad member). Okay? Good.