Flying isn't really my thing.
I’m gaining a reputation as an excellent chess player. I haven’t been beaten by anyone yet, though I’ve only played three other matches outside the Gryffindor first years. Frank tells me there’s a chess club, but I don’t know how the others would feel if I joined a club without them.
Flying lessons are to begin in early October. James is so excited I can barely comprehend what he’s saying when he talks about it. Sirius is excited too but at least he can go five seconds without bringing it up. Remus is with me in the less than enthralled contingency.
Maybe this is because Remus seems to get sick again the day before flying begins. I plow through about a million chocolate frogs, or more aptly, Remus does. This time my stock is plentiful. I pass them to James and Sirius too who seem none the wiser for the sudden uptick of chocolate frogs in their lives. Remus takes the frogs and I watch his face relax a fraction as he eats them. He doesn’t say anything to me and he doesn’t have to.
Remus ends up going home for a night to visit his sick mum. I’m getting really suspicious they have the same affliction and I’m worried it’s contagious but I don’t know how to bring it up in a nice way. Then I remember Remus’ mum is a muggle. And I’m a pureblood. I relax. Remus though, he doesn’t seem immune.
James drags me from my bed the morning of our first flying lesson. I’m still half asleep when I arrive at breakfast but I wake up when James sprays me with a mouthful of half chewed cereal and milk. Lily is lecturing him on his stupidity the whole time I’m wiping my face off with napkins. I think some might have gotten into my eyes.
I catch Sirius saying, “And the skirt wearing boys!”
I’ve come to peace with the idea of skirts. It’s just not for me.
James and Sirius run out the front doors and down to the quidditch pitch. Remus and I walk.
When we arrive there are about twenty broomsticks lying on the grass of the pitch, all in a neat row and spaced several feet apart. The woman who greets us introduces herself as Madam Hooch. She reminds me of a hawk. Her short black hair is standing straight up off the top of her head and her gold eyes are piercing. She moves in a somewhat jerky fashion.
As soon as she says “I want you each to stand next to a broom” reality crashes down upon me. The world tips on an unnatural axis and I barely make it to the closest broom. I’m terrified. I’m going to crash. I’m going to be the laughing stock of the entire year. I should have eaten more at breakfast as I’ll never have another moment at Hogwarts where my entire existence isn’t defined by the fool I am surely about to make of myself—if I survive.
“Now, hold your hand out like this—over the broom—and say ‘up’!” Madam Hooch instructs.
I do it. Unsurprisingly nothing happens. I finally crouch down and pick up the broomstick. It’s lighter than I expected and easy to hold in a single hand, like the weight to mass balance has been magically altered. I’m existing in a tunnel of Madam Hooch’s voice and my hand holding the broom.
“Excellent, you stand over your broom—like this.” I do it.
“And when I say ‘go’ kick off from the ground, hard.” I almost do it.
“Rise a few feet, then come straight back down. Do not, I repeat, do not fly off on your own.” My hands are trembling on my broomstick which is in position between my legs. There is an odd blackness on the edges of my vision.
“Everyone in position?”
These will be my last moments on earth.
“Any questions? Go!”
I jerk the broom handle up and sort of jump at the same time. Just like that I’m airborne! I feel like I left my stomach behind and then I realize I have to land. I tip everything forward and black out.
When I come to I’m sprawled on the grass, but I’m not the only one. I quickly stand up and am hit with a wave of vertigo so bad I’m surprised I don’t fall right over again.
“Hey,” Franny says. I feel a hand on my back. “You need to breathe.”
I suck in my first lungful of air since boarding the Express a month ago. Then another and another. The world stops oscillating and comes back into focus. I can still feel her hand on my back.
“You can’t fly while holding your breath,” she says.
I hadn’t even realized I was doing it. “How did you know I was?”
“Your face was all scrunched up and looked like a beet.”
“This time,” says Madam Hooch, “rise into the air and fly toward the opposite end of the pitch until you hear my whistle which is the signal to descend and land.”
Some people take off right away. Franny pulls me round so we are face to face.
“Breathe,” she instructs. I take a few deep breaths. “That’ll help.” She smiles at me, then mounts her broomstick and very slowly rises into the air, flying away from me.
I follow. This attempt is better, but not great. I still crash land and roll off the broom.
“That looked well enough,” Madam Hooch says loudly. “For those of you feeling comfortable, you may fly around the pitch in a clockwise direction until you hear my whistle to end the lesson. For those of you still feeling unsteady, I will look at your form and give you tips. Line up behind this young man.”
Madame Hooch is standing in front of me. “Let me see your grip.”
I stand over my broomstick and Madame Hooch repositions my hands so they are farther apart on the broom handle. “You don’t want your hands to be too close and you don’t want them too far apart,” she says. “When you kick off, bend your elbows and keep them loose.”
“How do I land without crashing?” I ask.
“Gentle movements. If you tip down too fast, you don’t give your feet time to get under you and you won’t be at the proper angle to the ground. Ready to try again?”
I don’t think she’s looking for a real answer so I don’t give one. I steel myself, take a deep breath, and take off. Breathe, breathe, breathe. I fly halfway across the pitch before landing and this time I only stumble but don’t fall. I take off again and land successfully.
I’m hit with two realizations: I’m not dead and I’ve never made this much progress on something new in such a short span of time. Franny lands next to me.
“Better?” she asks.
“Yeah, I didn’t fall!”
“That’s amazing! Come on, we can fly real low to stay out of people’s way.” She kicks off and I follow. We soar about ten feet off the ground, clockwise around the pitch like Madam Hooch instructed. Remus joins us at some point. He looks tense but smiles and congratulates us when we give him encouragement.
Franny leaves to fly with her other friends. I know James and Sirius are up way higher, and flying faster than us. I can occasionally hear them as they pass overhead.
“What do you think, Pete?” Remus asks.
Pete. I like the sound of it.
“How many more weeks of these lessons?” I say.
“My sentiment exactly.”
At the end of the lesson James and Sirius are so buoyant they have to give Remus and I multiple hugs. They are breathless and talkative. James thinks we’ll each be able to describe the nuances of our broomsticks to him so he can assess if next lesson he should aim for a different broom. I tell him my broom felt slow and heavy just to get him off my back.
“I’m so happy for you!” he says in response, and goes in for yet another hug. “You flew, first try. I saw you flying down below, you did so many laps!”
I open my mouth to defend myself but realize he’s complimenting me. “Yeah, it went better than I thought, for sure.”
“You should try to join the quidditch team,” James says. His face is completely earnest, even hopeful.
“I don’t think so,” I say. “Flying isn’t really my thing.”
I cannot believe how crestfallen he suddenly looks, as if my prospects of joining the team held real merit. I think he just wants someone who will obsess over quidditch with him. Even Sirius isn’t as interested in the sport as James is.
“Maybe it’ll grow on you,” he says.
“Doubtful.”
James shrugs and carries his broom to the pile near Madam Hooch. I think about the chess club again. When we get back to the common room, I go to the notice board and locate the flyer. It meets on Wednesday evenings at seven in the History of Magic classroom.