A Different Story

Chapter 8

12th Of September, 1991

A few days later, the Gryffindor and Slytherin first years were standing on the Quidditch pitch because they had flying lessons together.

Their 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.”

Madam Hooch narrowed her hawk-like eyes and again started speaking. "Now, put one hand over them and say, 'up,'" Madam Hooch commanded, and the children did so. Harry and Arcturus managed to get it right on the first try.

“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, one, 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!” Madam Hooch shouted, but Neville was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle. Harry saw his scared face look down at the ground falling away, saw him gasp, slip sideways off the broom and.

WHAM

With a thud and a nasty crack, 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,” she muttered. “Come on, boy, it’s all right. Get up." 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.”

Malfoy picked something up as Madam Hooch was escorting Neville to the medical wing. "Oh, look at that. Perhaps if he had squeezed it, the fat lump would have remembered to land on his fat arse." Malfoy said arrogantly, and his small group of cronies laughed at his words.

His actions had everyone, including the Slytherins themselves, looking at him in disgust. "Give it here, Malfoy," Arcturus said, with anger in his grey eyes.

"Oh, and what if I don't do what you are saying, dear cousin?" Malfoy asked arrogantly, his grey eyes shining in cruel amusement.

"Give it here, Malfoy, or I swear I'll hex you." This time Harry spoke. "I was not talking to you. You filthy half-blood, I think I'll put it somewhere where he can't find it. How about up a tree?" he said with a nasty sneer, and mounted his broom.

Harry sneered and mounted his broom as quickly as possible, and the two of them both rose into the air.

"Give it to me, Malfoy." As they ascended higher and higher into the air, Harry made one more attempt. "You want it? Then, go get you filthy half-blood." Malfoy sneered and flung the remembrall into the air.

Harry shoots after the ball instantly, catching it with both hands about a hundred feet into the air. Harry looked down and spotted Arcturus. "Arcturus! Catch!" He yelled and threw it at him.

Arcturus effortlessly caught the remembrall. After a few more catches, Harry landed safely on the ground.

“HARRY POTTER!”

His heart sank faster than he’d just dived. Professor McGonagall was running toward them. He got to his feet, trembling. “Never — in all my time at Hogwarts —”

Professor McGonagall was almost speechless with shock, and her glasses flashed furiously, “— how dare you — might have broken your neck —”

“It wasn’t their fault, Professor —”
“Be quiet, Miss Granger —”
“But Malfoy —”
“That’s enough, Miss Greengrass. Mr. Potter, follow me, now.”

Harry caught sight of Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle’s triumphant faces as he left, walking numbly in Professor McGonagall’s wake as she strode toward the castle. He was going to be expelled, he just knew it. He wanted to say something to defend himself, but he couldn't. Professor McGonagall was sweeping along without even looking at him; he had to jog to keep up.