[Chapter Six: Flying Punches. Edited.]

I realised, all too late, that I'd spent more time in my dorm than I thought I had. What started as me trying to calm myself down, turned into my being stressed again. I was late for my first potions class.

My teacher is going to hate me.

I grabbed my books and sprinted down to the dungeons, where I spent another fifteen minutes being lost. As I walked into the room, finally, I heard my teacher's voice.

"Clearly fame isn't everything." I tried to glide silently into the room even though I knew it was hopeless. I guess the fact that I tripped up on my brother's school bag didn't help my case. Or that I'd pulled a table over as I fell. I landed with my ribs smashing against the edge of the desk. I blushed so hard that I thought my face would burn off.

"You are late." The Professor said as I picked myself off the floor.

Whenever I see this man, I end up falling over.

"I-I'm sorry Professor." I said, struggling to pick up the table that I'd knocked over. It was really heavy. I wished my heart would stop beating so violently. Looking at the blackboard behind him, I saw Mr-Trip-Me-Over was called Professor Snape.

"Perhaps ten points should be ––" He stopped and looked me up and down. "Sit down." he growled.

I obeyed and sat in silence the whole lesson. Well, it was hardly a lesson. It was more of a 'sit down, shut up and let me torture Gryffindors' thing.

"Class Dismissed. Miss Malfoy stay behind," Professor Snape sat down behind his desk. My heart in my throat, I packed my things and headed towards him. "Detention for a week, after dinner, understood?"

I nodded, gulping back tears. I felt ashamed of myself. Detention? In my first potions lesson? I stared at my hands and started crying. If I had cried this much on one day at home, my father would have humiliated me. In horror, I watched as a tear hit Snape's desk, where he had leant over to write out the detention slip. I hoped he hadn't noticed it, but he looked up at me with a strong, unreadable emotion flaring in his eyes.

"We will wave detention. Just this once. Don't be late again." He gave me a swift look and strode out of the room.

The next few days passed as though I were in a trance. I tried to keep up with everyone, in vain, and I tried to talk to people and not constantly cry. It was a bit of a failed effort. Everyone was still treating me with an air of caution – Harry was always putting food on my plate and trying to convince me to eat. The Weasley twins were always talking to me, but answering their own questions when I failed to speak.

Before I knew it, it was Thursday, the day of our first flying lesson. Everyone was excited, but I could only think about the time I'd tried to use Draco's toy broom, when we were little. I could still remember where my father had struck me with it.

Harry stood up to serve himself some breakfast, and leant across the table to put some bacon on my plate. He gave me a smile which I couldn't make myself return. I was exhausted.

"Mail's here!"

Upon looking upwards, there were no less than one hundred owls swooping down, dropping parcels to their corresponding owner. I looked up with no hope of receiving anything. Hermione nudged me in a way that meant 'don't worry, I didn't get anything either'.

"Look! Neville's got himself a remembrall," said Dean Thomas, a boy in my year.

"I've read about those. When the smoke turns red, it means you've forgotten something," said Hermione smartly. As she spoke the ball turned a deep red, Neville's face soon mirrored the colour.

"The only trouble is I don't remember what I have forgotten." Neville sighed. I had decided I liked Neville. He, too, seemed troubled beyond what I could comprehend. I noticed, already, how the teacher's treated him slightly different to everyone else. They were slightly kinder, slightly less-forceful. His level of thoughtfulness wasn't forced. It was just how he was, and I thought that was incredible.

We stood on the Quidditch pitch in two lines next to our brooms. I kept imagining my father appearing from nowhere and belting me with it. Despite wanting to cry, I stood there, trying to keep my face placid.

Our flying teacher, Madam Hooch, was a short witch with amazing eyes and short hair. She had a stern voice and seemed to be someone I wouldn't like to cross. Not that I ever wanted to cross anyone. For some reason, she reminded me of a Doctor Who character called Cassandra – Dobby and I had watched it on the TV in the basement.

"Hold one hand above your broom and shout 'up'," she demanded.

There was a loud chatter of "up!" from everyone around me.

I hadn't even spoken when the broom flew into my hand. The velocity nearly threw me off-balance, but I couldn't fall over again. Harry's broom had come on command, while Ron's broom, flicked up, whacking him in the face. Harry laughed at him, while I tried to conceal my amusement. Laughing at people's expense was rude, and Father always had a hefty punishment for that. Admittedly, that punishment only came into play when I laughed at him for tripping over.

"Shut up!" Ron complained at Harry.

I watched Hermione's broom loll on the ground, making me think that perhaps it was not as easy as I found it. I was impressed with myself for getting my broom. I pictured myself flying on a broomstick, high above the ground. Flying away from here, and from my parents and from everything, where I can live alone, in perfect, untainted solitude. I knew I was capable of looking after myself already – I could take care of two adults and a ten year old with no trouble. And there was something almost charming about the notion of making a forest my home and living off the land.

"Once you get hold of your broom, I want you to mount it, and grip it tight. We don't want to be sliding off the end. When I blow my whistle, I want each of you to kick off the ground, hard. Hold your broom steady, then lean forward slightly, and touch back down. On my whistle, one, two, three." she blew the whistle.

"Mr. Longbottom!" yelled Madam Hooch, and I looked to see Neville floating away. "Come back, boy!"

"Neville!" screamed Hermione. I jumped forward.

Wait, I'm incompetent, I can't save Neville.

He flew across the sky like a maniac, whizzing and whirling. It was going to end badly. He whizzed higher and higher until the broom bucked and he ––

He fell towards the ground, landing with a painful crack.

"A broken wrist," Madam Hooch said, rushing over and inspecting him. "I'm taking Longbottom to the hospital wing. If I see a single broom in the air, you'll be out of here before you can say 'Quidditch'." She snapped as she helped Neville inside the building. I was surprised to hear my brother speak first.

"Did you see his face? The great lump! Maybe if he had given this a squeeze, he would have remembered to land on his fat arse." he held the remembrall in his closed hand. The Slytherin's giggled.

He was breaking Father's rule. This was one of the only rules that had applied to both of us. Do not laugh at another's expense. I needed to make him stop, as though Father would know about it somehow.

"Don't be so mean!" It was probably the longest sentence I'd ever said to him. It was definitely the longest sentence I'd said in front of a crowd. It was also the first time I hadn't stumbled over my words since getting to Hogwarts.

"How dare you speak to me. You filth." Draco snarled at me.

"Don't be mean to Neville. Give back his remembrall!" I held my hand out for it.

"What, do you have a big crush on him? Are you in love with Longbottom?" Everyone was laughing, but I really didn't find it funny.

"Father wouldn't like this, Draco!"

His expression faltered for a fraction of a second, before the smug look returned, "Father isn't here, is he?"

"Give it here Malfoy," spat Harry, moving forward.

"No. I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find, how about up a tree." He smirked as he flew off.

Harry grabbed his broom, and Hermione started ranting.

"Harry! No way! You heard what Madam Hooch said! Besides, you don't even know how to fly!" Harry hopped onto his broom and flew off. "What an idiot." Hermione said next to me. I couldn't help but agree. I was torn between him being endearing, and a reckless idiot.

Maybe he's both.

I peered up in time to see him catch the remembrall in mid-air. He landed on the ground and all first year Gryffindors cheered.

"Wow Harry that was amazing!"

"Best catch ever!"

"Harry Potter," called the voice of Professor McGonagall.

My heart sunk. Oh no. He's doomed. He turned and looked at me. I could tell that fear had shot through him. He knew he was about to be expelled. He didn't want to go home, and I wondered what his childhood was like.

Draco was smirking. He was my brother, but he was pompous, arrogant – rude! He was always polite at home, but he'd adopted a powerful demeanour since starting school. It was as though he'd listened to our father 'Kindness is nothing, Power is everything.'

"You're going to be expelled Potter," Draco said in a carrying whisper. "You can go back to the muggles. Where you belong." I frowned at Draco and he met my eye. "Too bad you can't get expelled, too. Except Mother and Father don't want you home. They don't want you at all. They never have."

I closed the space between us, but two large boys, his stupid cronies, moved in front of him.

"Move aside, she couldn't hurt a fly," said Draco.

Me? Weak? Pfft, that's entirely true.

With everything I had, I swung my fist into the side of his head. He collapsed to the floor, screaming like a baby. I felt instant guilt and my hand really, really hurt. I was never going to do that again.

"Ouch," smirked Ron, raising his hand in the air. I had no idea what he wanted me to do with it, so I carefully backed away.

"Oh my god! I can't believe you hit another student!" said Hermione seriously.

"Miss Malfoy! You can also come with me." Professor McGonagall called from across the lawn.

If they expel me, at least I can see Dobby again.