Cassia's POV

Flying lessons would be starting on Thursday -- and Gryffindor and Slytherin would be learning together.

"Typical," Harry said darkly. "Just what I've always wanted. To make a fool of myself on a broomstick in front of Malfoy."

He had been looking forward to learning to fly more than anything else.

"You don't know that you'll make a fool of yourself," Ron said reasonably. "Anyway, I know Malfoy's always going on about how good he is at Quidditch, but I bet that's all talk."

Malfoy certainly did talk about flying a lot. He complained loudly about first years never getting on the house Quidditch teams and told long, boastful stories that always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping Muggles in helicopters. He wasn't the only one, though: the way Seamus Finnegan told it, he'd spent most of his childhood zooming around the countryside on his broomstick. Even Ron would tell anyone who'd listen about the time he'd almost hit a hang glider on Charlie's old broom. Everyone from wizarding families talked about Quidditch constantly. Ron had already had a big argument with Dean Thomas, who shared their dormitory, about soccer. Ron couldn't see what was so exciting about a game with only one ball where no one was allowed to fly. Harry had caught Ron prodding Dean's poster of West Ham soccer team, trying to make the players move (or so he told me).

<><><><><>

"Eye of rabbit, harpstring hum, turn this water into rum," Seamus recited. He had his spellbook open, and he was waving his wand at a glass of water.

"What's Seamus trying to do to that glass of water?" asked Harry.

"Turn it to rum," I answered as Seamus recited the spell again.

"Actually managed a weak tea yesterday, before --" Ron added, before we were cut off by a huge explosion. We all looked to Seamus, and his eyebrows were burned off. Some of the other Gryffindors were laughing at him. I rolled my eyes. Hermione just fanned the smoke away from her face with her hand. I suddenly heard a screeching noise coming from overhead.

"Ah," Ron sighed, "The mail's here." Owls swooped in and dropped packages and letters to people all over the Great Hall. Harry and I got nothing.

"Can I borrow this?" Harry muttered to Ron. Ron nodded, and Harry took what looked like a newspaper from him, reading to himself.

"Hey, look- Neville's got a Rememberall," Dean suddenly blurted out. I looked over at him and saw that Neville had a small glass orb in his hand.

"I've read about those!" Hermione exclaimed. "When the smoke turns red, it means you've forgotten something." As if on cue, smoke began to form inside the little sphere and it turned red.

"The only problem is, I can't remember what I've forgotten," Neville complained. Poor Neville.

"Ron, Cassia, look! Someone broke into Gringotts!" Harry whispered, nudging me. I looked in his direction and saw that his eyes were on the latest issue of The Daily Prophet.

"What?!" I silently exclaimed.

"Listen," Harry whispered. He read the article, with Ron and I looking over his shoulders. "'Believed to be the work of dark witches or wizards unknown, Gringotts goblins acknowledging the breech insist nothing was taken. The vault in question -- #713 -- had, in fact, been emptied earlier that very same day.'" A confused look spread across his face. "Odd. That's the vault Hagrid and I went to."

<><><><><>

At three-thirty that afternoon, me, Harry, Ron, and the other Gryffindors hurried down the front steps onto the grounds for our first flying lesson. It was a clear, breezy day, and the grass rippled under our feet as we marched down the sloping lawns toward a smooth, flat lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the forbidden forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance.

The Slytherins were already there, and so were twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground.

Our teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short, gray hair, and yellow eyes like a hawk. "Good afternoon, class," she greeted as she walked in between the rows of broomsticks.

"Good afternoon, Madam Hooch," we all replied.

Madam Hooch stopped, whirling around to face us. "Welcome to your first flying lesson," she said, "Well, what are you waiting for? Everyone step up to the left side of their broomstick. Come on now, hurry up," Madam Hooch ordered. We all obeyed. "Stick your right hand over the broom," she called at the front, "and say 'up'!"

"UP!" everyone shouted.

My broom jumped into my hand at once, as did Harry's, but they were ours were two of the few that did. Hermione Granger's had simply rolled over on the ground, and Neville's hadn't moved at all.

"With feeling!" Madam Hooch instructed. A few more students managed to get their brooms to cooperate.

"Up!" Ron shouted for what was probably the fifteenth time. The broom suddenly shot straight up and whacked him in the face, making Harry and I snicker. "Shut up, guys," Ron grumbled at us.

"Oh, where's your sense of humor, Ron?" I sarcastically remarked.

"Right, once you've got hold of your broom, I want you to mount it. And grip it tight; don't want to be sliding off the end," Madam Hooch ordered. We all did as she instructed, and she walked up and down the rows correcting our grips. Harry, Ron, and I were delighted when she told Malfoy he'd been doing it wrong for years.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, I want each of you to kick off from the ground, hard. Keep your brooms steady, hover for a moment, then lean forward slightly, and touch back down," she said, "On my whistle. Three -- two --"

The moment she blew her whistle, I saw Neville's broom suddenly rise off the ground. Then it started flying around like crazy, with Neville holding on for dear life and screaming for help.

"Come back down this instant!" Madam Hooch snapped.

Neville's broom jerked from side to side and repeatedly hit one of the castle's walls. We all ran out of the way (well, Madam Hooch jumped to the ground to take cover) as it suddenly made a dive and sped in our direction. The broom flew up, and then straight again. Neville's robe got caught on a statue as the broom flew off in the distance, never to be seen again. Neville's robe tore and he got stuck on what looked like a pitchfork, before his robe slipped off and he fell to the ground with a loud CRACK.

"Everyone out of the way!" Madam Hooch demanded, rushing towards Neville.

"Is he alright?" Hermione whispered to me, making me shrug. Hopefully he was okay. That was a massive fall he took.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow..." Neville whimpered.

Madam Hooch examined Neville's right hand, which was bent at an unnatural angle. "Oh, dear, it's a broken wrist. Tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk..." she muttered, "Okay, come on, boy. Up you go." She helped him up gently. "Everyone's 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 find themselves out of Hogwarts before they can say 'Quidditch'."

Neville, his face tear-streaked, clutching his wrist, hobbled off with Madam Hooch, who had her arm around him.

No sooner were they out of earshot, than Malfoy burst into laughter.

"Did you see his face, the great lump?"

The other Slytherins joined in.

"Shut up, Malfoy," said Parvati Patil.

"Yeah, how would you like it if we laughed at you for falling off your broom?" I added.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" said Pansy Parkinson, a hard-faced Slytherin girl. "Never thought you'd like fat little crybabies."

"Look!" Malfoy said, darting forward and snatching something out of the grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him."

The Rememberall glittered in the sun as he held it up.

"Maybe if the fat lump had given this a squeeze, he'd remember to fall on his fat arse," he sneered, earning more laughter from his fellow housemates.

I pulled out my wand and pointed it threateningly at him, while I held my other hand out, palm facing upward. "Give me the Rememberall, and no one gets hurt."

"Or what, you'll hex me?" Malfoy challenged.

"She said give it," Harry said, coming to stand next to me.

"No," Malfoy replied. "I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find." He mounted his broom and flew up, circling once around the rest of us. "How 'bout on the roof?" He stopped in midair, just ten feet above the ground, and smirked at us. "What's the matter, Potters? Bit beyond your reach?"

Harry and I exchanged a quick glance at each other before mounting our brooms. Malfoy was not going to get away with this.

"Harry, Cassia, no way!" Hermione protested, coming up to us. "You heard what Madam Hooch said. Besides, you don't even know how to fly!" Ignoring her, we both flew up into the air.

"Give it here, Malfoy," Harry called, "or we'll knock you off your broom!"

"Is that so?" Malfoy said, trying to sneer, but looking worried.

I glared at him. "You picked the wrong twins to mess with, mister."

Harry zoomed toward Malfoy, holding an arm out to yank him off his broom. He just barely missed him -- Malfoy rolled upside down to avoid him. While this happened, I circled behind Malfoy. Just as he righted himself up, I leaned sideways, and my broom zoomed to the left, and I slammed into him hard. He almost fell off his broom but just managed to grab it with one hand.

"Have it your way, then!" he said. With his free hand, he threw the glass ball as far as he could.

Harry's POV

I saw, as though in slow motion, the ball rise up in the air and then start to fall. I leaned forward and pointed my broom handle down -- next second I was gathering sped in a steep dive, racing the ball -- wind whistled in my ears, mingled with the screams of people watching -- I stretched out my hand -- a foot from the ground I caught it, just in time to pull my broom straight, and I toppled gently onto the grass with the Rememberall clutched safely in his fist.

I heard Cassia land and get off her broom, before running over to me. She gave me a high five and then engulfed me in a tight hug. The rest of the Gryffindor first-years ran over to us, cheering as they did. Some gave us high fives or congratulated us, but most gave us a pat on the back.

Even Hermione was proud. "That was great, guys," she complimented us.

"That was wicked!" another person chimed in.

"Way to go!" someone else added.

"HARRY POTTER! CASSIA POTTER!"

My heart sank faster than I'd just dived. Professor McGonagall was running toward us.

"Oh, no," Cassia muttered.

"Never -- in all my time at Hogwarts --"

Professor McGonagall was almost speechless with shock, and her glasses flashed furiously, "-- how dare you -- might have broken your neck -- could have killed him if you'd knocked him off --"

"It wasn't his fault, Professor --"

"Be quiet, Miss Patil --"

"But Malfoy --"

"That's enough, Mr. Weasley. Potters, follow me, now."

I caught sight of Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle's triumphant faces as we left, walking numbly in Professor McGonagall's wake as she strode toward the castle. We were both going to be expelled, I just knew it. I wanted to say something to defend myself and Cassia, but there seemed to be something wrong with my voice. Professor McGonagall was sweeping along without even looking at me or Cassia; I had to jog to keep up. Now we'd done it. We hadn't even lasted two weeks. We'd be packing our bags in ten minutes. What would the Dursleys say when I turned up on their doorstep?

Up the front steps, up the marble staircase inside, and still Professor McGonagall didn't say a word to us. She wrenched open doors and marched along corridors with Cassia and I trotting miserably beside her. Maybe she was taking us to Dumbledore. I thought of Hagrid, expelled but allowed to stay on as gamekeeper. Perhaps we could be Hagrid's assistants. My stomach twisted as I imagined it, watching Ron and the others becoming wizards, while we stumped around the grounds carrying Hagrid's bag.

Professor McGonagall stopped outside a classroom. The door was open, so we could see Professor Quirrell was in the middle of teaching a class. In his arms he held a giant iguana. I wondered why he needed to be holding such an immensely large lizard, but then I guessed it was some kind of creature they had to be prepared to fight one day.

"Professor Quirrell, excuse me. Could I borrow Wood for a moment, please?" McGonagall asked.

"Y-Y-Y-Yes, of course," Quirrell replied.

Wood? I thought, bewildered; was Wood a cane she was going to use on us?

But Wood turned out to be a person, a burly fifth-year boy who came out of Quirrell's class looking confused.

"Follow me, you two," Professor McGonagall said, and we marched on up the corridor, Wood looking curiously at Cassia and I.

"In here."

Professor McGonagall pointed us into a classroom that was empty except for Peeves, who was busy writing rude words on the chalkboard.

"Out, Peeves!" she barked. Peeves threw the chalk into a bin, which clanged loudly, and he swooped out cursing. Professor McGonagall slammed the door behind him and turned to face us.

"Mr. Potter, Miss Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Wood -- I've found you a Seeker and a Chaser."

Wood's expression changed from puzzlement to delight.

"Are you serious, Professor?"

"Absolutely," said Professor McGonagall crisply. "They're naturals. I've never seen anything like it. Was that your first time on broomsticks?"

Cassia and I nodded silently. Neither of us had a clue what was going on, but we didn't seem to be being expelled, and some of the feeling started coming back to my legs.

"He caught that thing in his hand after a fifty-foot dive," Professor McGonagall told Wood. "Didn't even scratch himself. Charlie Weasley couldn't have done it."

Wood was now looking as though all his dreams had come true at once.

"Ever seen a game of Quidditch?" he asked excitedly.

"Wood's captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team," Professor McGonagall explained to Harry.

"He's just the build for a Seeker, too," Wood said,

"I shall speak to Professor Dumbledore and see if we can't bend the first-year rule. Heaven knows, we need a better team than last year. Flattened in that last match by Slytherin, I couldn't look Severus Snape in the face for weeks..."

Professor McGonagall peered sternly over her glasses at us.

"I want to hear you're both training hard, or I may change my mind about punishing you." Then she suddenly smiled. "Your father would have been proud," she said. "He was an excellent Quidditch player himself."

<><><><><>

The next day, all anyone -- including Sir Nicholas -- could talk about was the fact that Harry and I were now on the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

"Seeker? Chaser? But first-years never make the house teams!" Ron exclaimed. "You two must be the youngest Quidditch players in --"

"-- a century --" Harry cut him off.

"-- according to McGonagall," I finished Harry's sentence.

Fred and George suddenly appeared on either side of us. "Hey, well done, guys! Wood's just told us!" Fred congratulated Harry and I.

"Fred and George are on the team, too. Beaters," Ron explained.

"Our job is to make sure you two don't get bloodied up too bad," George said.

"Can't make any promises, of course. Rough game, Quidditch," Fred added.

"Brutal, but no one's died in years," George chimed in.

"Someone will vanish occasionally --" Fred trailed off.

"-- but they'll turn up in a month or two!" George finished his sentence. The two of them headed to their next class, but because Ron, Harry, and I had a free period, we went out to the courtyard.

"Come on, guys! Quidditch is great! Best game there is," Ron encouraged us, "And you'll be great, too!"

"But I've never played Quidditch," Harry protested.

"That makes two of us," I sarcastically commented.

"What if we make a fool of ourselves?" Harry protested.

Hermione came over to us. "You won't make a fool of yourselves. It's in your blood," she insisted. She took us to a trophy case in one of the hallways and pointed out a gold badge with "Gryffindor Seeker: James Potter" engraved on it. James Potter? That's Dad's name!

"Harry, Cassia, you never told me your father was a seeker, too!" Ron exclaimed.

"I...didn't know," Harry muttered.

"Neither did I," I added.