Flying Lessons

Flying Lessons

Mad Morrigan

"Overbearing Gryffindor" stood next to him, a studious expression on her pretty face as she stared at the broomstick below her. Filius remembered her from the sorting, 'Minerva', a dark-haired Scottish girl with a glare that could cut through stone and a brogue to match. He had been on the receiving end of both on his first night there, when he had almost fallen out of the boat on their way to the castle; the girl had harped about it to anyone who would listen for the rest of the trip, earning her (in Flitwick's mind) the discourteous, if well-deserved moniker.

On his other side stood one of his fellow Ravenclaws, a boy--Filius had mentally named this one "Silent-as-Stone", due to an apparent complete inability to verbally communicate with anyone that wasn't a Professor. Silent-as-Stone was looking down at him at the moment quizzically, with an eyebrow quirked but (as usual) saying nothing. Filius didn't much mind; he thought the boy could use better manners, but wondering what was on the boy's mind was altogether more interesting than the events going on around him at the moment.

It was the beginning of the Fall term at Hogwarts, and the first years were assembled on the Quidditch Pitch in the early morning. Broomsticks, badly beaten up from years of novice Quidditch players, jinxing, and counter-jinxing, had been laid at every student's feet, and the students were milling around trying to alleviate their boredom. The general consensus on what to do was split between cutting class to fit in a couple more hours of sleep, or hopping on the brooms and flying anyway if the coach didn't show up soon. It was ten after eight in the morning, and there was no sign of the Flying Instructor. Overbearing Gryffindor checked her watch and sighed.

A wooshing sound from overhead broke up the conversation on what to do, though, and a broomstick hurtled towards the ground at a frightening speed, with an occupant in tow. The students were oohing and aahing, ducking in fear as the broom spiraled ever closer to the small crowd of black-clad first years, and finally came to a screeching halt merely inches from the ground near Overbearing Gryffindor's feet. Its occupant lightly hopped off the broom and smiled at her, oblivious to the shocked and awed faces around him. Minerva scowled back.

"You're Xavier Wronksi!" Silent-as-Stone said reverently, his brown eyes widening into saucers as he broke out into the first words he had said since introducing himself to his dormitory mates back on the first night. "I remember--Lithuania versus the Belgian Congo--1929 Quidditch Cup champion and most valuable player! You stomped the Belgian Congo 60 to 280."

Filius mentally cursed. The nickname would now have to change.

Wronksi brushed a few pale locks away from his forehead, giving the boy an indulgent smile. Filius guessed him to be in his early to mid thirties, though the man was obviously still quite active; his Quidditch robes fit his frame properly, unlike those he had seen on some other players that were getting on in years. "That's right," Wronski called to the rest of the class, with a trace of an Eastern European accent tugging at his speech. "Headmaster Dippet asked me to show you all the rudiments of how to fly today, so if you'll all stand next to your brooms..."

Wronski's instructions were straightforward enough, and Filius obediently did as he was told despite the discomfort at being a full head shorter than nearly all of the children present and having to crane around the other students to see what was happening. Silent-as-Stone glanced quickly at him and clucked his tongue, only to be glared at by Overbearing Gryffindor on Filius' other side.

"Command your brooms to rise-- say 'Up!'-- when I blow this whistle at the count of three!" Wronski called as he paced the aisle between the students. "One--"

Silent-as-Stone put up his hand at the count of two, and Wronski paused his countdown as he turned to face him. He had just opened his mouth to address him when he realized that he didn't know the Ravenclaw's name, and quickly rectified the situation by pulling out a parchment with the roll on it.

"Santiago Sinistra...?" he asked, mangling the name. Sinistra nodded quickly and cut straight to the point, much in a similar fashion.

"Sir, if it isn't too much trouble... do you think that Filius is able to ride a broom by himself?"

For the first time that morning, Wronski looked at Flitwick and gave him the once-over with piercing green eyes. Filius felt uncomfortably like an animal on display; he had gone to a Muggle circus once, when he was very young, and remembered how his sisters and brothers had "oohed" at the lions and bears, which had seemed hedged in and frightened of all the spectators. At the moment, he felt the same way. Most of the students had turned their heads at Sinistra's comment, and were staring at Filius and Wronski, hoping to see a student be sent away or cry.

Filius would not cry in front of all these students, if it did come down to that. He'd nod and leave, but he refused to give that little prat Sinistra and Overbearing Gryffindor the satisfaction of seeing him cry.

Instead of the worst, though, Wronski smiled broadly and ruffled Filius' unruly blonde hair. "He's tall enough, Santiago, don't you worry. Now if you're all ready--remember, on my whistle! 1--"

Sinistra bit his lip and snuck a glance at Flitwick who ignored him.

"2--"

Overbearing Gryffindor coughed next to him.

"3--!" Wronski blew a loud note on the whistle, and the courtyard rang with the shouts of "Up!" coming from all the students. Flitwick was quite surprised at finding the broomstick in his outstretched right hand and let out an excited squeal, but next to him Overbearing Gryffindor was calm and composed as she leaned against her broomstick. Sinistra, on the other hand, was having no luck at all with his, which turned over a few times on the grass and laid still. He said something in Spanish, which Filius didn't understand but had an inkling was very rude.

He smiled, and covered it with his hand to keep it hidden from Sinistra. Overbearing Gryffindor caught his eye, glanced at Sinistra, and did the same thing.

Flitwick decided he really liked this flying business.