What the Heck Just Shot Past?

It was a beautiful day.

Eliana walked down the steps, raised a hand to shade her eyes, and squinted up at the clear blue sky.

The sun shone warmly, a light breeze swept across the lawn, and gentle ripples ran through the grass.

This was probably the most eager anyone had ever been for a class. Eliana had barely run through the key points of mounting a broom twice in her head before everyone arrived. In History of Magic, they would have dragged their feet until the last second before the bell.

She hurried over to stand beside a broom she had picked after carefully comparing more than twenty of them. Its tail twigs stuck out every which way, but it was still better than some of the bristling sea urchins. Why else would she have come so early?

Eliana noticed that Neville had ended up beside the king of all sea-urchin brooms.

She hesitated, then warned him, "Do you want to switch? You've picked the most battered one. What if it makes it harder for you to work with your broom in Flying Class?"

What she really wanted to say was: Neville, you've spent more than ten years walking and still trip on level ground in shoes that fit. Why would you pick a worn-out shoe—a broom—for your first flight?

"Huh?" Neville looked up blankly, panic suddenly spreading across his round face.

"All right, everyone has chosen a broom. Now stand to the right of yours. Hold out your right hand and say 'Up!'"

Madam Hooch delivered her instructions briskly.

Neville, who had been about to step away, froze. He looked ready to cry.

"It's all right. If they put it out here, it must have passed the school's safety checks. Maybe it won't make any difference," Eliana reassured him. "If you're really worried, you can borrow mine after I've flown."

She could offer encouragement, but she had no intention of flying the most battered broom herself. What had those ten minutes of careful selection been for? Because she had nothing better to do?

Eliana steeled herself and turned away.

Neville nodded with tears in his eyes. Eliana was turning back to offer another word of encouragement when she caught sight of Harry calling his broom into his hand. Malfoy had done the same. Ron's broom had whacked him, but at least it had moved!

Damn it, she was falling behind!

Eliana immediately lost interest in comforting Neville. "Up!"

She gave the broom an order.

Her broom stayed perfectly still, as if it were deaf.

"Up!" she said more firmly.

The broom's tail slapped the ground. It looked thoroughly unwilling.

"Up!"

"Uuuuup."

"Up!"

"Up!!!"

The broom lay there like a turtle plastered to the ground, as calm as if it were dead.

"Well, well. Ritchie, the professors' favorite. What's this? Looks like your broom doesn't like you." Malfoy sidled over with a toothy grin to mock her.

Fuming, Eliana saw that Madam Hooch had turned her back and walked to the other side. She whipped out her wand.

Malfoy drew his head back, but it seemed he wasn't her target.

Crack! A protruding twig on the broom's tail shattered.

"Up!" she ordered darkly.

The broom shot straight into her palm, as obedient as could be.

"Hmph." A cold smile appeared on Eliana's face. "I don't care whether it likes me. When it's supposed to be in my hand, it'll be in my hand."

She turned toward Malfoy. The smile still on her delicate face gave it a sharp, intimidating edge.

"Just as I don't care whether you like me, Malfoy. But in Potions Class, you'll sit beside me and show me how you prepare your ingredients. Be good in tomorrow's class. Don't make me drag you over again. It wouldn't look good if the professor saw."

"Y-you—you think you can talk to me like that?" Malfoy's face flushed and paled by turns as he stamped his feet in fury. "You arrogant, conceited—"

"Malfoy, hold your broom properly!" Madam Hooch turned and saw Malfoy red-faced and flailing. She frowned at once. "Move your hand lower!"

"No, Madam, I—"

Malfoy turned to tell on Eliana, only to find her looking meekly down at her broom, as though she hadn't just blown apart its tail and threatened someone.

Malfoy was so angry he nearly passed out on the spot.

Harry, who had seen the whole thing, choked out a laugh. He was sorry, but he simply couldn't hold it in.

All Malfoy's pent-up anger found an outlet. He glared at Harry. He couldn't get the better of Eliana or Madam Hooch, but surely he could push Scarhead around?

"Heh. Laugh while you can, Potter. Have you ever even touched a broomst—"

"Aaaah!!!"

With a whoosh, Neville shot past them screaming, like a cork blasted from an overfilled bottle of beer.

"What the heck just shot past?" Malfoy wiped his face after the rush of air hit him, looking unusually bewildered.

Neville rose and dropped above their heads, swaying from side to side and shrieking. He spun higher and higher, and then—

Crash!!!!

Madam Hooch took Neville, whose wrist was broken, to the Hospital Wing.

"He fell from that height and could still walk. Neville's pretty tough," Eliana murmured. "Couldn't they at least get him a stretcher?"

No one paid her any attention. Malfoy and Harry were arguing over the glass ball Neville had dropped.

After bottling up his anger at Eliana, Malfoy picked on an easier target. With a nasty grin, he threatened to hide the ball in a tree and make Neville look for it.

Harry told Malfoy he couldn't do that and to hand it over.

Malfoy told him to piss off and come take it if he could.

In the blink of an eye, both of them were in the air.

Eliana: *???*

Wait, we haven't learned this yet. How can you two already fly?

Especially you, Harry. Didn't you say you grew up in the Muggle World and had never even touched a broomstick?

What happened next was even more absurd. It was as if Harry had taken some miracle potion. Not only could he fly, he could catch a ball in midair. He could swoop down while accelerating, snatch the ball, and brake—brake his broom—a heart-stopping foot above the ground.

Then Professor McGonagall took him away.

Eliana stood on the lawn for a long time, unable to collect herself.

How could she describe the feeling? It was like going with a friend to take your driving test. You said you hadn't practiced; he said he hadn't either. Then he got behind the wheel and, would you look at that, pulled off a braking drift in a little old-person's car!

Or like taking an exam with a friend. You said you hadn't studied; he said he hadn't even opened the book. Then the results came out, and he had a perfect score!

Off to one side, Malfoy loudly jeered that Harry was bound to be expelled now that his head of house had taken him away.

Eliana didn't hear a word. She stared blankly at the worn broom in her hand, and her expression gradually turned resolute.

Neville could fly. Harry could fly. Malfoy could fly. Everyone could fly. Why couldn't she?

She refused to believe it!

Eliana pushed off with both feet as Harry had, and rose into the air.

The wind brushed gently across her face. The sun seemed a little warmer up here. Only then did it sink in: oh, she really was flying.

She wasn't very high, only about level with the treetops. She could still see the blades of grass swaying softly on the lawn and the distant Black Lake reflecting the light like a vast pane of black glass. The broom trembled beneath her legs, then began to shake harder, carrying her up and down like a boat on the waves.

Maybe it was the sunlight, or the reflections off the Black Lake and the leaves. Whatever the cause, the different lights mingled and warped as the broom jolted beneath her, turning the world strange and dizzying. Saliva filled Eliana's mouth, and a cold sweat broke out on her back. It reminded her of the time she had delivered something for Mrs. Brown and ridden in a packed vehicle winding along a twisting road, her stomach churning the whole way.

She forced herself to endure the discomfort and recalled Malfoy's movements. Harry's sweeping maneuvers were absolutely not for her. She leaned forward a little, and the broom gradually descended. The ground drew closer.

Malfoy tilted his face up and gave Eliana a sidelong look, ready with a taunt. "Ha! You're as slow as a turtle. What, Ritchie, did you think—"

Through the wavering light, Eliana vaguely recognized someone she knew. She tipped sideways, rolled off the broom, and fell toward him with a thud.

"Aah! Ritchie!!"

Used as a human cushion, Malfoy was nearly crushed beneath her. Pinned to the ground, he lifted his head and roared like a turtle.

Dizzy and seeing stars, Eliana pitched forward. "Bleagh!"

"Aaaah!!! My robes!! Damn you, Ritchie!! I'll kill you one day!!!"