Chapter 9 - Flying Lessons (1/2)

Arth picked up a nut and fed it to Corvus, all the while holding a frown on his face. It had been at least a week since school had started and Arth had finally found a class he despised. Of the two classes he couldn't read books in, one of them was potions. But at least potions was fun. The other class was called Physical Education, and Arth frankly hated it.

It wasn't due to the fact that Arth was lazy when it came to physical movement, not at all. It was due to the fact that one, as mentioned before, it was hard to read in that class and two, all the houses shared that class together. Both Group A and B.

His very anti friendly Ravenclaw Mayes would be there. Malfoy and his gang would be there. Harry Potter and his friend Ron would be there. The only thing positive he could think about the class was that he. . . .

Corvus let out a peep and refused the nut Arth was handing him, snapping him back into reality.

Honestly, he couldn't think of a reason why P.E. was enjoyable. He couldn't stand Harry and Draco bickering over each other.

There was a soft flutter of feathers as the daily arrival of mail. Owls entered through the windows and delivered letters from family and gifts.

Arth could overhear Neville from the Gryffindor table let out an excited about.

”It's a Remembrall!” he exclaimed. ”Gran knows I forget things- this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red- oh...” Neville's face fell, due to the Remembrall suddenly glowing scarlet, You've forgotten something...”

Draco Malfoy, who was passing the Gryffindor table, snatched the Remembrall out of his hand.

Immediately, Harry and Ron jumped to their feet seeming eager for a fight.

Arth sighed as Professor McGonagall quickly resolved the situation. He was honestly getting tired of their mini fights during classes, in the hallways, etc.

They were childish and stupid. They needed some books.

Daphne had finally arrived to breakfast and promptly sat next to him.

”How's it going Arth?”

Arth just sighed in response.

At three-thirty that afternoon, Arth and Daphne headed down to the grounds for their P.E. Class. Today was the first flying class and nobody truly wanted to miss it, except for Arth.

It was a clear, windy day, and the grass crunched under their feet as they walked down to the lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the forbidden forest, which looked as ominous as it sounded.

All of the students were already there, and so were forty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground. Their teacher, Madam Hooch, soon 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.”

Arth glanced down at his broom. It looked as if today was going to be it's last flight.

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

”UP!” everyone shouted.

Arth watched his surroundings as everyone attempted to make their brooms rise into their hands. There were some people who had managed to do it on their first try, but a majority needed a second or third try.

Daphne let out a triumphant grin as her broom jumped into her hand.

Arth gave her a thumbs up before lazily outstretched his hand above his broom. The broom immediately flew up gracefully, in contrast with its ragged looks.

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.

”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 left the ground 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. Arth saw his terrified face look down at the ground as he slipped off his broom and started to fall.

Madam Hooch pulled out her wand but it was too late.

There was a nasty crunch as Neville hit the floor.

Arth winced. ”Fractured arm most likely, maybe even the leg.”

Madam Hooch 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 Malfoy burst into laughter. ”Did you see his face, the great lump?”

”Shut up, Malfoy,” snapped Parvati Patil.

”Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?” said Pansy Parkinson, a hard-faced Slytherin girl. ”Never thought you'd like fat little crybabies,

Parvati.”

”Look!” said Malfoy, darting forward and snatching something out of the grass. ”It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him.”