┌───────────────────┐
chapter five: i believe i can fly!
word count: 3.5K
warnings: writing that was written in a hurry
because your girl is literally running late for a class
that is fifteen minutes away from home, and starts in 5 minutes :D
└───────────────────┘

THE NEXT DAY, Azalea Potter awoke to a pain in her neck and her lower back from falling asleep near the window. 

Her roommates, she'd noticed, had left without waking her up. 

Maybe they felt awkward waking her up, considering she wasn't even in bed? 

Weird justification, but that would have to do for then. She hurried to get up, wincing at the tightness of her muscles from how curled posture for over 6 hours, then noticed that she was already late and breakfast was almost over. 

She decided to skip the most important meal of the day — something she was sure Mrs. Emma would've scolded her for — and rushed through her process of getting ready and running down the stairs, almost tripping over her shoelaces at one point. 

Thankfully, the universe didn't hate her all that much, because her worries had been cast aside when she woke up this morning — Hogwarts wasn't a dream — and because she managed to make it just in time to catch ( a very confused ) Ron heading out of the almost empty Great Hall. 

"C'mon then, Azzie, were you planning to wake up tomorrow?" 

Azalea rolled her eyes and proceeded to explain that she'd fallen asleep near the window and none of her roommates had been arsed to wake her up. She winced every now and then because of her back pain, but didn't complain once because she didn't want to sound like a grandmum. 

"Ron. . ." Azalea stopped in her tracks when they'd been roaming around the school for a good ten minutes, Ron assuring her that he definitely knew the way. "Are you sure you know where McGonagall's classroom is?" 

". . .Yes?" Ron winced, his eyebrows scrunching up in worry. Contrary to what his brothers had told him, McGonagall scared the pants off of him the last night. "I don't knoooooow, I'm as new to this school as you are, Azzie." 

Azalea grimaced and proceeded to look at the classrooms herself, instead of relying on her ginger friend. After a few more minutes of scrutinizing every classroom the duo saw on their way, little miss Azzie finally managed to find McGonagall's classroom, where they both dashed in, breaths heavy and short from running around the castle since early morning — and Azzie hadn't even had breakfast!

Lucky for them, they didn't notice old McG anywhere near the desk. 

Azalea didn't want to take her chance in case McGonagall was around and just not near the desk, but Ron went ahead and put his hand in the lion's mouth anyway, "Whew! We made it — can you imagine the look on McGonagall's face if she knew we were late?" 

Castor stifled a chuckle when he saw the bushy haired girl from the train roll her eyes. 

Unfortunately for Azzie and Ron, the pretty tabby cat on the teacher's desk was, in fact, old McG, and she transfigured into herself as soon as soon as Ron finished his sentence. 

"Woah!" Ron exclaimed, eyes wide as saucers. "That was bloody brilliant!" 

"Thank you for the assessment, Mr. Weasley," the professor spoke shortly. "Perhaps it would be more useful if I were to transfigure Miss Potter and yourself into a pocketwatch? That way, at least one of you might be on time." 

"We—we got lost," Azalea stuttered, a mess under the piercing gaze of the teacher, a stare that reminded her of someone back home. 

"Then, perhaps a map? I trust you don't need one to find your seats?" 

With that, Professor McGonagall turned around, her robes wooshing around her, and walked up to her table, talking about the various spells they'd learn that year, and the assessment they'd have to give at the end of the year. 

They didn't realise how soon the day went by, and soon transfiguration faded in herbology, and then finally, the most dreaded lesson — potions. 

She sat between Ron and Hermione, Castor sandwiching Ron between himself and the Granger. 

Hermione was busy telling Azalea about her chat with McGonagall, and that McGonagall was actually very nice unless you got on her bad side, when the doors flew open and the same Professor who glared at the Potter and the Walker strode in, his robes swishing around him dramatically. 

"Dramatic much?" Castor whispered under his breath, making Ron snort at the comment. 

Thankfully, either Snape didn't hear them or he, for one, chose to ignore. 

Azalea had given a wave to Draco towards the beginning of the lesson, when Snape wasn't in class, but all she got was a curt nod. 

A pit sat in her stomach since then. Had she been too rude in assuming Slytherin was the worst of them all? After all, that was when he stopped talking to her. 

"There will be no foolish wand waving or silly incantations in this class," the teacher began monotonously. "As such, I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion making. However, for those select few,-" he looked at Draco, who gave a tiny grin at the attention. Snape then looked towards the end of the table towards a familiar face - Calypso -, "- who possess the predisposition, I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory and even put a stopper in death." 

"Well, looks like he's got a passion for poetry." Zade, who sat beside Calypso, whispered to himself. The girl, having heard him, let out an audible giggle. 

Well, crap. "What's so funny, Miss Aurum?" 

Snape's sneer didn't seem to scare her, - she was used to him belittling her mother anyway, "Just that you talk about potions the same way one would about their lover, Professor."

He narrowed his eyes at her, then was reminded that she was in his house anyway, "Detention, for talking back to your professor. Now. . ." 

His eyes wandered off to the Gryffindor table, eyeing the new celebrities. Castor was leaning back in his chair, paying attention to what Snape said. His mother had always liked potions, at least that's what she told him. 

"Then again, maybe some of you have come to Hogwarts in possession of abilities so formidable that you feel confident enough to not...pay...attention," he said, promptly looking at Azalea, who'd been noting something on her parchment. 

Hermione nudged her friend, fear pooling in her brown eyes. Azalea looked up and frowned at 'Mione, who nodded towards Snape. Lazily, she turned her gaze to the front, only to meet the professor's face, since Snape had been leaning onto her desk.

She reeled back slightly, his bad breath making her scrunch her nose. Then she felt petrified for she'd been caught doodling in his class, but she'd learnt long ago that showing fear was stupidity. Spine erect, she looked him dead in the eye - something new for Snape since he was used to students cowering in fear whenever he called upon them. 

"Miss Potter, our new celebrity," he spit her name as if it were venom. It was nothing new for her, though. "Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

She shook her head, anxious that if she would speak her voice would shake, - a dead giveaway that he intimidated her. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Hermione raise her hand. 

Castor tried to speak but a shake of the head from the girl beside his brother was enough to shut him down. 

"You don't know? Well, let's try again." he felt triumph bubble in his chest at the humiliation he gave her and her house. "Where, Miss Potter, would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?"

"I don't know," she spoke after clearing her throat as subtly as she could. She wasn't scared. Pfft, that would be crazy.

"We aren't potioneers, Professor," Castor, despite the glare he received from the Slytherin girl, spoke up, annoyed by how the teacher kept annoying a first year. "It's our first day of our first year, you can't expect us to know all that." 

Azalea rolled her eyes at the Prince coming in to play hero, but deep down she knew she had to be thankful for his rescue. 

"Ah, Mr. Walker, to the rescue. Suppose that's a genetic trait. . ." Snape murmured, his eyes flitting towards the Prince. Castor was confused by what he meant, but he shut up for the sake of not making him talk more. Snape's droning voice made him sleepy. "Tell me, Walker, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfbane?"

"I don't know. . .sir." Castor pursed his lips, aware of Hermione's outstretched hand - just like everyone else in the classroom was. 

Snape tsked, his eyes dancing with mirth as he glanced between Castor and Azzie, "Pity. Clearly, fame isn't everything, is it?" 

"Clearly Hermione know. Seems a pity not to ask her." Castor pointed it out before Azzie could, to which she pouted but remained silent. Some chuckles resonated in the classroom, to which Snape glared. Eyes flashing, he gave a hard stare towards Hermione, "Silence! Put you hand down, silly girl." 

He then looked back at Castor, "Your father never held back his sharp tongue either, Walker." 

"Genetics are a lovely method of explaining my behaviour, professor." 

Before Severus could utter something that might have him beheaded on the King's orders, he ordered, "Aurum, answer me!" 

The girl who'd been begging Castor to not say anything rolled her eyes then started answering his questions as if she'd learnt about potions since the say she was born, "Asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful, it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite."

No one moved, probably because they were stunned the new girl's quick wit. Snape, taking note of this, snapped at the kids, "Well? Why aren't you noting this down?" 

As soon as Snape was done speaking, the sound of quills scratching on paper resonated through the room.

"And Gryffindors. . .note that 10 points will be taken from your house. For your classmates' cheek." 

Calypso rolled her eyes yet again, hoping they'd get stuck so she wouldn't have to see his face time and again. Unfortunately, that didn't happen. 

.  .  .

THE GRYFFINDORS AND SLYTHERINS SEEMED TO HAVE QUITE A LOT OF CLASSES TOGETHER.

Flying was one of them. 

Until a week ago, Azalea would've been concerned for the person who told her that Flying was a legitimate subject. Hogwarts, however, had seemed to taken away all her means of rational thinking. Now, she no longer studied basic chemical reactions and physics theorems, but how to turn a cup into a cap and taking care of peculiar little plants that she would later use to make potions. 

In some way of thinking, she might compare potions to chemistry, but the other classes were way beyond her experience. 

Now, she stood between Ron and, whom she'd come to know as, Neville, a worn out broom laid down beside each student. 

Those brooms looked like they could barely sweep through a room before starting to break into pieces, let alone support the weight of teenagers. 

"Good afternoon, class." A sharp voice grabbed the attention of each child standing in the rows, making them glance at their teacher walking through, wearing gloves as she strode confidently. 

"Good afternoon, Madam Hooch." 

As she walked through, she nodded at some students she knew personally, and as soon as she was in front of everyone, she gave a little smile, "Welcome to your first flying lesson! Well, what are you waiting for? Everyone step up to the left side of your broomsticks. Come on, now." 

When she was satisfied with how the children were standing, she held her right arm out, "Stick your right hand over your broom, and say, UP!" 

And that triggered each and every child to shout out, "Up!" with their entire might. Some got discouraged quickly and gave up after the first few tries, but the stubborn ones - like Draco, Castor and Hermione - were adamant on getting it right without anyone's help. 

"Up!" Azalea tried, calm yet confident, and soon the broom flew up into her clutch, a proud smirk resting on her pale lips. 

Hermione looked at her in amazement, almost in offence, silently asking how she'd gotten it right on the first attempt. 

Azzie gave Draco a grin when she noticed that he, too, had gotten it right on the first attempt - which he returned. Both of them gave out a chuckle when Ron's broom hit him in the nose rather than flying up in his hand. 

In the next few minutes, almost everyone had their brooms in their hands, and soon, Madam Hooch was off to giving out the next set of instructions, "Now, once you've got hold of your broom, I want you to mount it." 

Azalea did as she was instructed to, thankful that her bird's nest of hair was tied in a ponytail. 

"Now, when I blow my whistle, I want each of you to kick off from the ground, hard." Madam Hooch glanced around to check that no one was sliding off of then end of their brooms. "Keep your brooms steady, hover for a moment, lean forward slightly, then touch back down." 

Castor shrugged, that can't be too hard. He wasn't one of those who got his broom up on the first command, but he did get it up quickly, so hovering for a few minutes couldn't be rocket science. 

Madam Hooch stepped back once again, "On my whistle - one, two,. . ." 

The shrill sound of the whistle alerted them to do as they were told, but before any student could even think of attempting to hover, Neville was already a good few feet up in the air. 

"Mr. Longbottom," Madam Hooch called out, clearly trying to not panic. "Mr. Longbottom! Mr. Longbottom!" 

She thought that it were Neville playing mischief rather than the broom going out of control - when it really was the latter, - so she tried to be stern and yelled out as Neville started flowing away from the group, "Come back down this instant!" 

Neville kept holding on to the broom for dear life, whizzing through the breeze and bumping into the castle walls, flying through the corridor, until, finally, his robe got caught in one of the statues' spears. 

He breather out a sigh, the sight of his classmates just below providing a weird sense of comfort - he was going to be fine! - until the robe didn't support his weight anymore and sent him whirling down to the ground. 

"Out of the way, everyone!" Madam Hooch cleared the students away from the whimpering boy, "Dear, dear, - it's alright - ahh, that's a broken wrist. Come on, up now." 

She was gentle with Neville as she helped him up, him cradling his wrist close to his chest as he tried his best to not wince at every movement. Then, whilst supporting Neville, she gave a warning to the others, "Everyone's to keep their feet firmly on the ground while I take Mr. Longbottom to the hospital wing. Understand? If I see one broom in the air. . .the one riding it will find themselves out of Hogwarts before they can say 'Quidditch'." 

Draco and his goons started cackling as soon as Madam Hooch was out of view. 

"Did you see his face?" he walked up to the class, standing in the dead center of the scattered student so that everyone could hear him. He'd been holding Neville's Remembrall, the one Castor remembered was given to Neville by his Grandma. "Maybe if the fat lump had given this a squeeze, he'd have remembered to fall on his fat arse." 

Azalea had befriended Draco, but Neville was her friend too. So she walked up to the blond, and tried her best to look intimidating, "Give it here, Draco." 

"Why? It isn't yours." 

"It isn't yours, either." She stretched out her hand. "It's Neville's - give it back." 

The moment Lucius found out that his son and the Girl and Boy Who Lived were going to be in the same year at Hogwarts, he started drilling the thought of Draco befriending them, or at least on of them, into his head. 

Now, Azalea was his friend, or at least that's what he'd been assuming so far. And he didn't want to screw that up. 

"Fine." he placed it in her hand, clearly unhappy, when someone else snatched it away. 

"Well, I think we'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find" a burly, taller Slytherin gave her a grin. 

"Give it up, Nott, or you're going to be mopping McGonagall's classroom till you're as old as Filch is." Castor had encountered Theodore earlier on the train, and before that, on some events organized by the Ministry that he and his parents were supposed to attend. He'd even go as far as saying that Nott was a decently witty person, if it wasn't for the Slytherin's blood supremacy and the general asshole persona. 

"You're nothing but words, your Majesty." Nott rolled his eyes. He'd felt the same about Castor, even would've considered befriending him, if only the prince didn't come from a family of blood traitors. "C'mon, Blaise, feeling up for a ride?" 

"Yeah, I think I do." another Slytherin stepped up beside Nott, a nasty grin on his face. Both of them looked at Azzie to see if she were going to say anything, and just as she opened her mouth to do so, they kicked off of the ground and flew high up in the air, cackling like a pair of hyenas.

"What's the matter, Potter, Your Highness? A bit too high up for your reach?" 

Castor already held onto Azalea's elbow, "We'll let Hooch and Snape deal with them. You're not getting in trouble." 

"Snape won't do anything to them, he's partial!" Azalea rolled her eyes. "And I don't know about Hooch, but even if she does punish them, they're not going to give the Remembrall back. And it means a lot to Neville." 

"Azalea, you know what Madam Hooch said!" Hermione called out as she saw the girl running up into the open so she could kick off of the ground without kicking someone in the face. "Besides - you don't even know how to fly!" 

Azalea didn't have to look back to know that Ron - and perhaps, Draco - were grinning in amusement. 

She took a deep breath as she started to hover, then, like just like walking or talking to the first time, her body started functioning on her own, as if she were born to do this, or it were programmed in her since before she could even crawl. 

"Give it here, Nott, or I'll knock you off your broom." Azalea tried her best to look threatening while trying to not be scared by the fact that if her grip loosened, she'd be hurtling down to the ground by a good height, meaning she'd either break all her bones or loose a few teeth. 

"Is that so?" Nott grinned. Then he raised his eyebrows at something behind her, "Come to enjoy the show, Malfoy?" 

"Give it back, Nott, McGonagall's office is right there." Draco rolled his eyes. "Snape won't do anything, but she will." 

"Such a scaredy cat." Nott rolled his eyes back at the blondie. "As for Potter, have it your way." 

He did a full 360, then tempted her by throwing the ball to Blaise, which he caught, chuckling when he saw Azalea coming forward, lured like a cat was to a ball of wool. 

"Nott, Zabini! Come on, I don't exactly want a letter going home to father, do you?" 

The boys seem to have been annoyed by Draco's pestering, so when Azalea was caught off guard, they threw the ball towards McGonagall's office and flew down before McGonagall could see them up in the air. 

Azalea widened her eyes, then leaned forward on her broom, pushing herself towards the window towards which the ball was hurtling. A slight sense of comfort nestled in her chest when Draco accompanied her, - if she went down, he'd be punished too. 

And just before the ball could slam into the window of the room in which McGonagall was working, while also keeping an eye on the children, she caught it, clutched it tight between her fingers. 

Draco grinned, caught a little off-guard when she gave him a high-five. He didn't exactly have close friends. 

What Azalea didn't notice was that McGonagall had caught her, and as she reveled in the cheers of her classmates when she and Draco descended from the brooms, she missed the frown of her House Headmistress. 

Hermione didn't. When the kids were hugging her - and the Slytherin's were throwing nasty looks at Draco - she raised her eyebrows and nodded towards behind Azzie. 

"What is it?" Azalea finally asked, her eyebrows pulled in a tight frown. 

"Miss Potter. Mr. Malfoy. Follow me." 

//

if you're lucky, i might just post the next chapter by tonight/early tomorrow morning .