Same Morning.

Saturday, Sept. 14

Naturally, having being given free reign to fly around, albeit gently, the first-years clumped together into little groups that was mostly segregated by House.

This, of course, saw the ten Gryffindors present as their own little group, even if they were mostly paired out within that group.

There was one Gryffindor within their group who was on his own however; Neville, and he was not doing well.

Neville was... not a good flyer, even Hermione could see that. Couple that in with his very obvious terror to be up in the air (which probably had a lot to do with why his broom kept jerking spasmodically every now and again) and Hermione was really starting to worry for the boy.

She looked around for his friend, Ron, who she would have expected to help him, only to find the redhead laughing about something or other with Dean and Seamus.

Hermione sniffed in displeasure.

Deciding to help, but understanding she wasn’t anywhere near good enough a flyer to be much use to the boy, Hermione looked to Harry.

Surprisingly, almost like he’d been reading her mind (or maybe just thinking similar thoughts), Harry said: “Neville needs help.”

After a momentary pause in surprise, Hermione nodded, and they both flew over to hover on either side of the boy.

“Hey, Nev,” Harry said easily.

So focused had Nev been on his broom, that he started when Harry spoke, and Hermione and Harry both reached out and grabbed his shoulders for fear that he might fall.

“Whoa! Relax, Nev,” Harry said, “it’s just us.”

“Oh,” Neville said, and Hermione could feel him shaking under her touch. “Hey, Harry.”

“Are you okay?” Hermione asked worriedly.

Neville swallowed and shook his head. The boy looked near tears. “I’m pants at flying,” he said. “I always fall.”

Hermione and Harry looked at each other around the boy.

“So, you’ve done this before?” Harry asked.

He sounded a little surprised. Hermione was surprised too; she’d assumed this was Neville’s first time. Like her.

Neville however, nodded. “My Uncle Algie used to make me.”

Harry made a thoughtful, humming sound.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about falling here,” Harry said. “Hermione’s here; she’ll catch you.”

Neville looked from Harry to Hermione with a healthy dose of skepticism, while Hermione was busy trying to figure out how to magically swat her best friend from a distance.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t exactly tell Neville that she would (read: could) not, in fact, catch him if he fell, so, with some quick thinking on her part, the girl went for the next best thing.

“Don’t worry, Neville,” Hermione said, trying to sound confident, “you’re not going to fall. These are Cleansweep Fives; they’re some of the safest brooms ever made.”

Then, shoring up all of her Gryffindor courage, Hermione released her grip from the shaft of her broom and held her arms out to the sides. To her credit, the broom didn’t wobble. “See?” She asked, hoping she looked as carefree as she was trying to act. “It’s perfectly safe.”

“Exactly,” Harry agreed. “Perfectly safe.” Then, as if to demonstrate his point, Harry did something decidedly unsafe; he performed a barrel roll. On a broom. Fifteen feet up in the air.

“Harry!” Hermione just barely kept herself from shrieking.

The object of her distress, of course, simply laughed. “Calm down, Hermione. I’m fine.”

“Whoa! Harry, that was rad.” Dean said, heading over with the other Gryffindors.

Apparently, they had spotted Harry’s little stunt (though thankfully, Madam Hooch hadn’t, seeing as she was currently busy keeping some Hufflepuffs on their brooms), and were now converging on the boy of the hour.

“Where’d you learn to do that, Harry?” Faye asked.

“I didn’t,” Harry said. “This is the first time I’ve ever been on a broom.”

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Liar,” Ron said. “It took me almost a week to learn to do rolls.”

Fortunately for everyone, Faye was a lot more interested in the fact that Ron could apparently do death-defying stunts too, than that he’d just openly called Harry a liar.

“You can do them too?” Faye asked.

Ron nodded, and did a roll too like Harry had done.

It was certainly impressive, and Hermione’s heart still skipped a beat watching him be so reckless, but for the others the effect had apparently been watered down by watching Harry do the same thing first.

Ron must have sensed this too (or maybe he just wanted to show off), because he said: “I can do other ones too,” before pointing his broom straight up in the air and spinning rapidly in place several times.

This definitely got a lot of oohs and aahs, and Ron, beaming proudly, said: “And my brother, Bill, taught me this one,” then he jumped off his broom.

Ron hung off his broom with both hands, then he spun with his whole body like the world’s biggest clock hand, once, and twice, before climbing back onto his broom.

The Gryffindors cheered. Well, the Gryffindors, except for Hermione and Neville who both looked very green, cheered.

“Nice moves, Weasley,” came the snobby voice of Draco Malfoy as he approached the group, accompanied as always by his bookends and a sneer. “I guess it’s true that your family has some orangutan blood mixed in after all.”

Hermione scowled. That was a very mean thing to say.

“Sod off, Malfoy,” Ron said. “And it’s your family that’s got oranguta blood, or whatever.”

Draco guffawed like he’d just heard the funniest thing ever. “You don’t even know what an orangutan is, do you?” He asked. “Well, I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised, your family probably couldn’t afford a proper education for—”

Okay, this had gone on long enough, Hermione decided.

“Draco, why do you have pick fights with us all the time?” She asked the boy, interrupting Ron’s heated comeback. “Just leave us alone.”

Draco glanced at her with visible disgust on his features. “Quiet, muggle. No one’s talking to you.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. That again.

“Actually, Draco,” Harry interjected calmly, “it’s not muggle; it’s muggleborn. Not that I would expect you to know that, of course, seeing as all that gel you put on your head has soaked into your brain by now.”

Hermione tried not to laugh. She really did. The other Gryffindors, on the other hand, were not so kind.

Draco’s cheeks went red with embarrassment. “Shut up, scarhead,” he said angrily.

Scarhead? Hermione thought. What did that even mean? Was Draco just reaching into a bag for random insults now?

Harry apparently thought so too, because he blinked. “Scarhead? That’s the best you could come up with? Draco, I have terrible hair; I never shut up; I smile like a loon; and my own pet owl hates my guts; you didn’t see any of that to use, you went with scarhead.

“I thought Slytherins were supposed to be witty and cunning? Honestly, a house elf would have come up with a better insult.”

And everyone gasped.

Well, not everyone, just Neville, Draco’s companions, Lav, Parvati, and Faye.

Most shocking of all though, was how Draco reacted like he’d been slapped.

“You take that back, Potter!” Draco snarled, going red with rage.

Harry raised his hands in surrender, looking shocked at the reaction too. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have compared you to an elf.”

Hermione just knew what he would say before he said it.

“After all, that would be an insult to the elf.”

Draco went ballistic and launched himself at Harry, but the Gryffindor was faster.

Harry spun with his broom and slammed Draco in the chest with the tail end, and the Slytherin was swept clean off his own broom into the air.

Madam Hooch must have heard the scream, and though the witch’s reflexes were amazing, she missed the falling boy by a hair’s breath.

Hermione heard the snap Draco’s bone made from fifteen feet up.

*****

The Slytherins tried to blame them.

Unfortunately, Crabbe and Goyle were not the most articulate, and Draco was currently... occupied.

The best part was, the Gryffindors didn’t even have to lie; Draco and his friends had come to them. Draco had also been the one who attacked Harry.

Finally, Madam Hooch had simply forbidden everyone from so much as mounting their brooms until she returned, and picked up the sniveling Draco.

“Come now, Mr. Malfoy,” the witch said. “To the matron with you.”

“My arm,” the boy moaned piteously. “My father—”

“Will hear of this, I’m sure,” Madam Hooch said, as she carried him away. “Come on now.”

Fortunately, while some sour looks were thrown back and forth, another fight didn’t break out between the Slytherins and Gryffindors.

This gave Hermione the opportunity to ask Neville a question she’d wanted to since Harry and Draco’s altercation.

“Neville, why did Draco get so angry over what Harry said?”

The boy looked a little uncomfortable, but he answered easily enough.

“It’s not really done,” he said. “Comparing a wizard to an elf is one of the worst kinds of insults in Wizarding Society.”

Hermione looked at the boy in confusion. Why would being compared to an elf be so bad? She wondered.

And then a memory came to her, of Harry telling her the day they met about house elves; little servants who wizards liked to pretend didn’t exist.

She’d made a mental note at the time to research them when they got to the castle, since she thought Harry had simply been pulling her leg.

But she’d forgotten all about it until now.

“So, house elves are real?” She asked Neville.

“Of course,” the boy answered, looking perplexed.

“And they cook and clean?”

“And other stuff too, yes.”

Oh.

...

“Does Hogwarts—” Hermione began, but Harry cut in suddenly.

“Are you guys talking about something important?”

Neville blinked. “Um, Hermione was just asking me about elves.”

“Oh,” Harry chuckled. “Yeah, if I’d known comparing people to elves was such a big deal, I would have started calling Draco an elf since weeks ago. He certainly has the ears for it.

“Anyway, Hermione, come tell Ron he’ll make a good seeker,” Harry said, pulling her over to where the rest of the Gryffindors were.

“What? Why?” Hermione asked.

“Wood’s holding the tryouts today, and Seamus told Ron he should try out, but he thinks he won’t be good at it,” Harry explained.

“You know, you should try out too, Harry,” Parvati said. “You can fly.”

“Yeah, no,” Harry said.

“Why not?” Seamus asked.

“Because I think I’d rather have my bottom impaled on a giant cactus, than play that silly game,” Harry stated blatantly.

Hermione didn’t know about the cactus part, but she agreed; quidditch was a rather silly game.

Of course, such an opinion could not be shared anywhere in Wizarding Britain without facing serious opposition.

What a bother.

*****

Madam Hooch’s return put an end to the swelling argument, and this time, when they resumed flying lessons, Hermione and Harry made sure the Gryffindors all stuck together so Neville would not be left behind.