I May have helped an Evil Wizard. (rewrite)

Neville almost dies

The week flew by quickly. Between avoiding Weasley (who had only gotten worse after detention with the headmaster),  detention with Snape and classes, Harriet had barely any free time.

One thing she had noticed was her improvement in potions. The book from detention had really helped. She was actually disappoint that she didn't have any obligatory reading sessions with the teacher anymore. She was even more disappointed that she hadn't been able to find a copy of '101 secrets to potions' in the library. Over one million books, and that one wasn't there.

Something that came up on Sunday of that week, was the notice that flying lessons would start in two weeks time. Harriet immediately scoured the library for books on flying and, inevitably, dragons. There she met Theodore Nott and Hermione Granger. A Ravenclaw and a Gryffindor who she got along with well enough. They all weren't super keen on making a fool of themselves on a broomstick. 

Theodore, or Theo as he had insisted they call him, was from a pure blood family. Not one fond of flying however. Therefore, he didn't know much about broomsticks or quidditch.

Hermione came from a muggle family and like Harriet, hadn't known about Hogwarts or magic. She liked to read aswell and was a bit of a know-it-all. 

Sadly, neither of them shared Harriet's fascination of magical creatures. 

She also, by coincidence, met  Neville Longbottom, a very shy Gryffindor, who had never been on a broomstick in his life, because his grandmother had never let him near one. Privately, Harriet felt she'd had good reason, because Neville managed to have an extraordinary number of accidents even with both feet on the ground. She wasn't the most graceful person but Neville - Neville took clumsy and awkward to a whole new level.

Harriet wondered if helping him with some of his spell casting and potions was too ambitious, but, surprisingly, she managed. She also wondered if his wand wasn't actually, well, his. 

It was three-thirty on a Wednesday afternoon, when the Slytherins and Gryffindors hurried down the front steps onto the grounds for their first flying lesson. It was a clear, breezy day, and the grass rippled under their feet as they marched down the sloping lawns toward a smooth, flat lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the forbidden forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance.

Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived on the dot. 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."

Harriet glanced down at the broom. It was old and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles. Was she supposed to fly on this thing?

It should be perfectly safe, she reasoned mentally. It wouldn't be here otherwise.

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

"UP," everyone shouted.

Harriets broom jumped into her hand at once, but it was one of the very few (along with Draco's) that did. Blaise Zabini's had simply rolled over on the ground, and Pansy's hadn't moved at all. Hermione was talking to her broom like it was a disobedient dog. Theo was considering his with a slight look of fear and disdain.

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. Her eyes barely glanced at Harriet's, a small smile almost forming on her lips before disappearing again as she checked the next person.

"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 poor Neville, who was shaking from head to foot, 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. Harriet 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 rushed over to him.

"Broken wrist," The class 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.

Draco picked something up from the grass.

"Look!" he said, showing Harriet and Pansy. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him."

"That's a rememberall." Pansy said. "He probably needs it."

"We should give that back to him," said Harry.

"Yes. Let's give it to one of the Gryffindors," Pansy agreed. "They'll see it safely returned."

"How about Hermione?" Harriet suggested. She could be trusted.

"Okay. "Pansy said, shrugging.

She turned to the Gryffindors. "Hey Granger, "She called," Give this back to Mr. Almost-Swan-Dive."

She threw her the rememberall. Hermione looked surprised but nodded slipping the rememberall into her pocket.

At the end of the day everyone fell asleep almost instantly. They had sat through 4 hours of homework and were very tired.