My Designated Twig
We were all lined up outside on the castle grounds, stood behind old broomsticks that honestly, looked more like a bunch of long twigs bound tightly together with string and stuck to a long, thin stick. Not exactly something I would trust my weight on. Our teacher for the lesson, Madam Hooch, was a silver-haired witch with the eyes of a hawk, whose enthusiasm for Quidditch was matched only by the discipline she commanded in respect to the sport. She was currently marching up to us and as she got closer, I noticed a gleaming silver whistle hanging from her neck.
“Good afternoon class.”
“Good afternoon, Madam Hooch.”
“Welcome to your first flying lesson.” She placed her hands on her hips, looking around at us expectantly. “Well, what are you waiting for? Everyone step up to the left side of your broom. Come on now, hurry up.”
We all did as we were told, stepping up next to the brooms and waiting for our next instruction. I was practically jumping up and down on the spot in anticipation. I had never flown before. At least, not on a broom.
“Now,” she continued, holding up her arm. It was encased in a thick, brown glove and I was suddenly transported back home to where my parents would care for sick Fwoopers. They would often wear similar gloves to protect their arms from being ripped to bleeding shreds by the bird’s frighteningly long talons.
“Stick your hand over the broom and say, ‘Up’.”
There was an immediate chorus of ‘Up’s.
Mine was not one of them.
I watched as Harry’s broom instantly flew into his hand and he was almost unbalanced by the force. He glanced around at the rest of the class, his green eyes settling on mine as he noticed me watching. I gave him a thumbs-up and a bright smile, giggling to myself when he proudly grinned back, reminding me of myself when I had first begun achieving things in class back at Uagadou.
Not long after, a few more broomsticks followed suit. Blaise got his after a few attempts, Tom had his by his second. Ron’s hit him in the face, and I bit back a snicker. Served him right. It soon became clear to me that summoning a broom was much like training a Crup pup. It just took the right tone and delivery.
Looking down at my designated twig, I held my hand out over it as Madam Hooch had instructed, fingers stretched out and ready to catch the wooden stick. “Up!” I commanded. The broom shot up from its place on the grassy floor and into my hand. I had to step back as I braced for the impact. Holey Merlin! This thing was tougher than it looked. Glancing to my left, I realised Pansy had not yet gotten her broom to rise. She was one of the last ones, and I noticed a few stray Gryffindor eyes wandering in her direction.
Not wanting my friend to embarrass herself, I leant over, whispering my advice so that the others would not hear. “Firm and decisive.”
She grunted and quirked an eyebrow, sparing me a quick bemused glance before turning back to her broom. “Up!” she said firmly, just as I had done earlier, and the broom finally made its way into her palm.
One by one, the eyes disappeared, finding new targets to watch instead.
Turning to me grinning, Pansy mouthed her thanks. I nodded in response.
“Now, once you’ve got hold of your broom,” Madam Hooch was saying, “I want you to mount it. Grip it tight. You don’t want to be sliding off the end.” Her hawk eyes narrowed as she observed us, plucking the silver whistle from where it hung around her neck and bringing it up near her mouth. “When I blow my whistle, I want you to kick off from the ground, hard. Keep your broom steady, hover for a moment, then lean forward slightly and touch back down. On my whistle, three, two—"
It was before she even got to one that Neville Longbottom shot off into the sky. He jerked all over the place, his shaky turns making it difficult for him to control the broom. It flew him into the castle walls, repeatedly hitting the stone with its ends as it spun the boy around as if caught in a turbulence of air. Yet there was no wind for that to be the case.
“Mr. Longbottom, Mr. Longbottom!” Hooch was shouting. Why was she not doing anything? Surely, she could see that the poor boy had no control over his broom?
“Come back down this instant!”
Apparently not.
Neville was screaming, too panicked to try and land. He flew downwards, the broom wobbling as if trying to nudge him off, and my heart skipped a beat as I realised, he was heading straight towards us.
Hooch finally pulled out her wand from under her navy blue robes, but her reaction was too slow. She dove at the last second and the class split from where we had gathered to watch, leaping out of Neville’s way as he shot past. I had almost been hit as I moved to avoid the boy, but I was pushed away at the last second, a body colliding with mine and sending us tumbling to the ground. I lay there on the damp grass, gasping. I could barely breathe. Whoever had knocked me over had landed on top of me, crushing me under their weight. Looking up, I expected to see Pansy as the one who had knocked me over, only to see Theodore Nott scowling down at me, his face inches from mine. His light blue eyes were mesmerising up close. I shook that thought away quickly.
“Get off of me Nott!” I said as I attempted to push him off me.
“Gladly.” He rolled off me and stood up, brushing bottle green grass off his cloak. “Though next time try not to be in the way.”
I scoffed, but before I could retaliate Neville’s screams once again caught my attention. His broom had decided to fly him further into the castle’s grounds and our class was currently chasing after him. I pushed myself up from the ground, running over to them, hoping that by some miracle Madam Hooch would know a spell to save Neville before he had an accident. If he rose any higher, a fall would likely kill him, and if his broom flew him out of our sight the chances of finding him alive and uninjured were slim. Assuming we could find him.
But it seemed the broom wanted Neville as its passenger just as much as Neville wanted to be on the broom. It flew him right over one of the castle’s turrets, where stood a tall, grey statue, dull and faded by sunlight. It held a long black spear in its hands. A weapon that I was not sure would save Neville or impale him. As if reading my thoughts, the back of Neville’s cloak caught on the end of it, seizing him from the broom and leaving him hanging off the top of the turret. It then began to rip, holes rapidly growing as the fabric tore against the spear. A fall was inevitable, but Madam Hooch would be able to at least slow it down. Would she not? I looked to where she stood at the forefront of the crowd, staring up in concern for Neville as he dangled from above. She was not pointing her wand or saying any incantations.
Instinct took over my body, and I began tracing patterns in the air with my arms. Neville’s cloak broke free of the spear and he dropped, his cloak catching this time on a rusting torch that was stuck to the castle wall. I thrust my arms forward, my palms out as if pushing against the air.
“Arresto Momentum,” I cast.
Neville had dropped to the ground, but my spell had slowed his fall.
“Everyone out of the way,” ordered Hooch as she ran over to Neville. But no one was even looking at the boy. They were all staring at me.
“What?”
Pansy tapped me on the shoulder. I had not realised she had come up to stand next to me. “How’d you do that?” she asked.
“It was just a slowing charm,” I dismissed bashfully. “I can teach you if you like.”
“Not that.” She shook her head, dragging me away from the crowd as they, one by one, turned around to face Neville again. “I didn’t even see you pull out your wand.”
“That is because I did not use my wand.”
“You didn’t use a wand?” Pansy stared wide-eyed at me in disbelief. Was wandless magic really that uncommon in Britain?
“Nobody in Africa did. I thought wandless magic was common. That wands were just a learning aid.”
“Not here.”
I did not have a chance to dwell on my confusion as Madam Hooch had managed to get Neville to his feet and was now addressing the class.
“Everyone is to keep their feet firmly on the ground while I take Mr Longbottom to the hospital wing. Understand? If I see a single broom in the air, the one riding it will be expelled before they can say Quidditch.” She walked Neville over to where me and Pansy stood, one arm around his back and the other holding his right arm. “Miss Potter, that was a fine display of the slowing charm. Your quick reaction has saved Mr. Longbottom from injuries much more unpleasant than a broken wrist. Ten points to Slytherin.”
Pansy looked at me, grinning. At this rate, Slytherin was right on track to winning the house cup, and it was only our second day! But I could not find it in myself to beam back at her. A seed of doubt had been planted in my mind. If I had not saved Neville, who would have? Madam Hooch was by no doubt an experienced witch. She had probably witnessed hundreds of broom accidents. As a teacher, as a student, as a quidditch player herself! So, what happened?
“Miss Potter.” I was broken out of my reverie. “Would you mind helping me take the boy up to the hospital wing? I’d rather show you where it is and then get back to the class as quickly as possible than have to go in and speak to Madam Pomfrey, thus making my absence longer.”
“Of course, Ma’am.”
So after whispering a ‘see you later’ to Pansy, I followed Madam Hooch up to the hospital wing.
I had always been fascinated by watching healers work, and Madam Pomfrey was no exception. There were already plenty of students in the infirmary despite it being only the second day of school. Most of them were suffering from hexes or curses. At least, that was what Madam Pomfrey was implying.
“Good grief, another curse of the bogies. I swear, if I ever get a chance to have a word with Professor Quirrel, I’ll give him a — GET BACK IN BED Mr Fernsall, you are getting pus everywhere. And you.” She waved a hand at a boy moaning in one of the beds close to the door. “Stop your groaning. You only ran into a stinging hex, not a billywig. I’ve already given you a numbing potion.” She turned to me and Neville then, as I walked him into the room. Placing her hands on her hips her mouth drew in a thin line as she took in a deep breath of frustration. “What happened?”
Neville winced at her tone and turned red in his embarrassment. His arm was shaking slightly so I grabbed it gently and gave his other hand a small squeeze. “He fell off his broom in flying class and broke his wrist, Ma’am.”
“Well, bring him over to a bed, would you? I’ll come over in a minute.”
I helped Neville over to one of the beds before taking a seat on the chair next to him. There were tall, framed windows next to where I sat, and I could see the yard where everyone in our flying class was still standing, waiting for the professor to get back and resume the lesson. I could spot Draco holding his broom off to the side of the group, his near-white hair basically a shining beacon in the sunlight. Theodore was next to him, arms crossed as if he were pouting. Good.
I scanned the area, hoping to spot my brother. Perhaps once I had fulfilled my obligation to Neville, I could go back to class and ask him to study with me and Hermione later. After all, muggles were a topic he had first-hand experience with. It would be a chance to get to know him without it seeming too obvious a bonding exercise.
Ron’s red hair was easy enough to find in the bunch, as was Hermione’s, her thick, frizzy haystack making it almost as easy to pick her out of a crowd as Hagrid. The two were standing next to each other with the rest of the Gryffindors. It seemed that the two houses were not keen on mingling. I frowned at that thought.
But where was Harry?
I was jostled out of my contemplations when a hand grabbed my shoulder. I turned to see Neville with sheer white panic on his face as Madam Pomfrey marched her way over. She did not ask any questions before getting straight to work, snatching up the boy’s arm and muttering healing spells as he whimpered from the woman’s harsh grip.
I was enamoured. I had always had trouble with healing spells, never quite taking to them despite healing being a major part of my parent’s jobs. There were many times when I had attempted such spells, but never could get them right, even when I desperately needed to. It was frustrating and had driven me so mad with each failed attempt that my parents had been forced to teach me — to the best of their ability — muggle healing. A resort that — due to my messy attempts at stitching myself back up — had often hindered the effects of magical healing on my body, leaving me with multiple scars that would never fade.
Neville left the hospital wing thirty minutes after we had arrived there. He thanked me profusely for saving him from greater injury and would not stop his incessant apologising.
“I’m sorry for nearly knocking you over with my broom, and for making you have to save me, and for being the reason you missed out on flying a broom, even if you’ve flown before, and for making you walk all the way here with me, and for…”
I ended up having to physically push him out of the infirmary.
By that point, flying class was over and lunch was not for another hour. After a lot of ardent pleading with Madam Pomfrey to let me stay and help her with the patients, she gave in, allowing me to tend to a few of the students — under the condition that I would not use any magic. I was not one to shy away from opportunity, so I eagerly agreed, holding young witches as they hurled and comforting boys as they moaned. Not work that I would necessarily say I enjoyed, but the room reminded me of home, minimalist and plain — unlike the grandness of the castle corridors, filled with detailed stone embellishments and colourful tapestries — but filled with unseen magic that was woven through the patients with a kindness that was often unappreciated. How I wished I was as talented a healer as I seemed to be at other subjects. Then I would be able to visit this place much more often.
Madam Pomfrey opened a cabinet a few beds from where I had stationed myself, sifting through dozens of potions, all in a shiny dark shade of either blue or green. Perhaps I could convince Professor Snape to let me deliver the potions to her, assuming he was the one who brewed them. Maybe he would even let me help brew some. I did consider myself a talented potioneer for my age, after all.
From outside the room, there came the sound of voices. A ruckus that grew louder with each passing second, threading itself through the cracks at the bottom of the door and filling the room with the promise of intrusion.
Moments later the door of the hospital wing swung open, and in stumbled six of my Slytherin classmates. Pansy, Theodore, Mattheo, Blaise, Draco, and Enzo all raced to where I stood holding a small bundle of sheets, pushing and shoving as if it mattered who got to me first. They were all shouting over the top of each other, making it impossible to understand what any of them were trying to say.
“Draco los—”
“gest Seeker—”
“caught a rememberall—”
“Harry was—”
The disturbance was not at all appreciated by Madam Pomfrey, who promptly kicked us all out of the room after a good scolding — well, I think violent would more accurately describe it. Our ears had never been that red; at least, mine had not.
“What in the magical world was that all about? I barely caught a single word throughout all that!” I snapped, glaring at all of them. Only Pansy and Enzo had the decency to look apologetic, smiling sheepishly and avoiding my eye contact. Enzo was scratching the back of his head as Mattheo spoke up with a confidence that told me he was no stranger to trouble.
“McGonagall just made Harry Gryffindor’s new Seeker.”
“Hey, I wanted to tell her that,” whined Pansy as she attempted to shove Mattheo, barely moving him an inch from where he stood.
“What? But he has never flown before. Why would the Professor choose him?”
It was Enzo who supplied me with my answer this time, pulling Pansy off of Mattheo as he did so. “Draco stole Neville’s rememberall and challenged your brother to try and get it back,” he said simply. “Long story short, he threw it towards a window, and Harry caught it on his broom right in front of Professor McGonagall. Now she wants him to play quidditch.”
My heart swelled in pride. It seemed that Harry had taken after our birth-father when it came to wizard athletics. How fitting for him to be recruited for the same position on the Gryffindor quidditch team.
“Hey! I’m here too, you realise,” interjected Draco, his voice a few pitches higher than most boys his age could go. “At least tell her how impressive my own flying was.”
“You didn’t fall off when he flew towards you. Congratulations,” said Theodore, sarcasm pouring out of his mouth as easily as pumpkin juice from a pitcher. Draco spluttered, unable to form a coherent comeback as Theodore turned to me. “So how does it feel to not be the star of the class anymore?”
Another attempt to get a rise from me.
“Wonderful, actually. I am very proud of my brother for excelling in a class he has never taken before.”
“You’re not jealous?”
“Should I be?" I quirked a brow. "Wait, are you jealous?”
Theodore huffed, clearly displeased with my answer. “You know, I really hate you.” Though his words were muttered, he practically spat them out as if he’d consumed a foul beverage.
“Well, you are no Puffskein yourself, Nott.” The other Slytherins snickered from beside him, covering their mouths in a weak attempt to hide it. I took that as a cue to re-address the group. “Anyway,” I said, waiting a moment for them to settle before continuing. “I am in the mood for a pie so I am going to head to the hall. Would anyone like to join me for lunch?”
There was a loud grumble like quiet thunder that came from one of the boys.
"Sorry," said Blaise.
Chuckling, I held out my arm for him to take. He took it linking us together as I pulled him in the Great Hall's direction. "I will take that as a yes."
The blueberry pie I had just consumed lingered on my mind as I made my way towards the library to meet Hermione. I found her at the back, well hidden by the towers of hardback books that she had surrounded herself with. She was not alone. Ron and Harry were sat beside her, presumably doing homework, but Ron’s small grin told me he was doing anything but.
“Hello, Hermione. Are you still able to tutor me this afternoon?” I asked, a little worried that she had forgotten about our plans.
“Oh, hello Astrid! Of course I am, I just thought that Harry and Ron could join us since they had homework to do and weren’t making any progress in the common room.
I didn’t think they were making any progress here either, but I didn’t say anything as I set my things down next to her. Harry looked up at the sound of my books hitting the desk, blowing the dust towards the window on our right where the particles danced in the afternoon sunlight.
“Astrid! I didn’t know you were coming to study with us.”
I glanced out of the corner of my eye at Hermione who had been watching us over one of her hardcovers. The second she caught my eye she ducked behind the book as if it would protect her from my scrutiny. She had not told them.
“I made plans with Hermione yesterday. I asked her to help me work on a few things. She did not tell you?”
Harry shifted in his seat. There was about half a meter of space between us, and I noticed his seat had been moved to be closer to Ron’s.
“No. She didn’t.”
There was silence for a while. A stiff kind of blanket that wrapped around us, absorbing the air as we struggled to breathe, to form words. I do not think anyone knew what to say. There was only one thing I could think of to change the mood. I cannot say that what I did next was the right move. But it felt right in the moment, an easy way to brush off the tension.
So I forced my face into a bright smile and leaned back in my chair. “I heard about you becoming Gryffindor’s new Seeker. I wanted to say congratulations, I am so proud of you.”
It felt like the beginning of a habit. A defining moment for my relationship with my brother.
Harry’s face broke out into a smile. It was slightly cocky, paired with a strange kind of pride shining behind his eyes that I had not seen him display before.
And it was genuine.
“Thanks! Though I don’t really know what quidditch is yet.” He leaned closer to me, pushing some of his books in my direction as he stretched his arms over my side of the desk. “But apparently my— our dad played Seeker too! For Gryffindor, did you know? Apparently, he was really great!”
“No.” I drew in a tight-lipped breath, the smile still stuck to my face like a mask. “No, I didn’t know.”
His smile got wider.