Achieving Greatness

Chapter 5

Flying Lessons. That was the only subject that the over-excited first years could focus on. The brilliant, triumphant glory of the opportunity of being on a broom for the first time on Friday was almost too much to bear.

The morning of flying lessons, the Great Hall was filled with questions from first years and tall tales from those who had already flown. The captain of Slytherin's quidditch team was instilling fear deep inside Crabbe and Goyle by telling how, at the height of his first lesson, his broom suddenly stopped and he plummeted towards the ground, sure to break every bone. Winking at another seventh year, he described the moment after when he looked at his thigh to find his flesh torn and his bone sticking straight through, and going on about the amount of blood on the ground. Goyle spat out his mouthful of eggs, and Crabbe disgustedly put down his goblet of tomato juice, glaring at the liquid.

Harry was reading another ancient book of Draco's, Tips of Soaring High: The Complete Guide to Amateur Flying. Draco had marked the chapter on using a broom as a projectile assault weapon, a chapter nestled right between Introduction to Quidditch and Broom Related Injuries. Draco was enthusiastically telling anyone who would listen about how his father already bought him the quickest, sleekest, and newest broom there was, and how he would send it to him as soon as Draco had finished training. Sometimes Draco would even throw in how it was specially designed for his very person.

The whole day was a blur.  All of the clocks of Hogwarts just couldn't move fast enough. Each class dragged painfully on, worse than ever. Right after lunch was flying lessons, so obviously, no first year ate a bite and went straight to the quidditch pitch. The October wind swirled leaves throughout the pitch, and its bitter chill sent the Slytherins and Gryniffindors to huddle in the stands. Some Gryffindors bemoaned their decision to come out early, while others chased each other around for any bit of warmth. The Slytherins trekked to the higher seats, making sure to keep distance from the others. Draco took to imitating Neville Longbottom, a short, chubby fellow, who was busy at the moment trying to get his pet toad of the back of his neck. Harry flipped open the flying book and watched two drawn figures zipping around, in and out of the view on the page. They laughed and chased the other, playing a sort of tag. Harry looked around the pitch and spotted a bundle of brooms entangled in rope near the bottom of the stands. The professor was nowhere to be found, and many of the students were getting very impatient. They came out here to fly, so its only understandable! thought Harry.

"Say Draco, what do you think about this? Take that bundle of brooms and teach ourselves to fly. There are steps right here in this book, and it doesn't look like a professor is coming anytime soon."

Draco's eyes lit up like a kid in Honeyduke's and he began to make his way off the bleachers, beckoning Harry to follow. "That is a genius idea, Harry! Right! Why should we be deprived of flying lessons? My father will certainly hear about this!"

Harry excitedly tugged the rope off the bundle, but a tap on his shoulder interrupted him. Ron was standing behind with his arms folded and a sour look on his face. Behind Ron, Hermione stood confidently with Neville, who was absent-mindedly rubbing a clear glass ball.

"You should wait for Madam Hooch, Harry. Flying without permission could land you in detention." Ron said. Draco held his hand against Harry's chest, pushing him away from Ron.

"Weasley, do you see Hooch anywhere? No, really I invite you to look around. See her?" Draco taunted while Ron glared him down. "I didn't think so."

"You want to get any education in this school you apparently have to do it yourself. Unless... you're afraid to fly?"

Ron looked a bit taken aback, and stammered for a comeback. "What? N-no! Of course not... I even bet I could fly better than you!"

"Oh, I'm sure you could, if you could afford a half-decent broom!"

Ron's face flushed a deep red and his jaw opened but nothing came out. Draco folded his arms and smirked, as if challenging someone to get him.

"Hey,... hey...! Leave him alone. That is a horrible thing to say." Cried out Neville, clutching his glass sphere so tightly that his knuckles were white.

"Oo! Longbottom's decided to chirp up, finally, for a while I thought you were actually mute." Draco strolled over to Neville, who clenched his jaw as he approached. "See? Back to silence." Draco slapped the glass sphere out of Neville's hands and swiftly caught it.

"Oh, now this,... this is very nice. Reflects the light well! I might just have to... keep it?" Draco laughed harshly. "Oi, Potter!" He shouted, and tossed the sphere back to Harry. The cold glass landed perfectly in Harry's hands. It was very nice, but when it touched Harry's palms it turned a brilliant red. He winched expecting some defense mechanism to go off, maybe self-destructed or shoot a pin into his hand. Nothing happened, it just remained red. He glanced up at Ron, who had wrinkled his forehead, not out of confusion but curiosity, waiting to see what Harry was going to do next. Hermione was trying to keep distance between Draco and Neville, while Neville fumed in frustration.

"Harry, give that back to Neville, please?" Hermione implored.

Harry tossed the ball up into the air once or twice, and turned it in his hands. "Draco, you're right, it is very nice. You might even have to fight me for it." Harry joked as he slipped the small sphere into his robe pocket.