Johnny had never believed he would meet boys he hated more than the boys in his school, but that was before he met Ronald Weasley. Thankfully due to a time-table change, first-year Slytherin's only had Potions with the Gryffindor's, so Johnny didn't have to put up with Weasley much. Or at least, he didn't until he spotted a notice pinned up in the Slytherin common room that made them all groan. Flying lessons would be starting on Thursday -- and Gryffindor and Slytherin would be learning together.

"Typical," said Johnny darkly. "Just what I always wanted. To make a fool of myself on a broomstick in front of Weasley.

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," said Pansy reasonably. "Anyway, look at Malfoy, he's always going on about how good he is at Quidditch, but he's all talk, he'll make a bigger fool out of himself."

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 Finnigan told it, he'd spent most of his childhood zooming around the countryside on his broomstick. Even Weasley would tell anyone who'd listen about the time he'd almost hit a hang glider on one of his brother's old broom. Everyone from wizarding families talked about Quidditch constantly. Apparently Weasley had already had a big argument with Dean Thomas, who shared their dormitory, about football. Ron couldn't see what was exciting about a game with only one ball where no one was allowed to fly.

Hermione was almost as nervous about flying as Johnny was. This was something you couldn't learn by heart out of a book -- not that she hadn't tried. At breakfast on Thursday she bored them all stupid with flying tips she'd gotten out of a library book called Quidditch Through the Ages. Neville was hanging on to her every word, desperate for anything that might help him hang on to his broomstick later, but everybody else was very pleased when Hermione's lecture was interrupted by the arrival of the mail.

At three-thirty that afternoon, Johnny followed Daphne, Pansy, Blaise and Theo as they hurried down the front steps onto the grounds for their first flying lesson. It was a clear, breezy day, and the grass rippled under their feet as they 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 rest of the Slytherins and Gryffindor's were already there, and so were twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground. Johnny had heard some of the older years complain about the school brooms, saying that some of them started to vibrate if you flew too high, or always flew slightly to the left.

Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short, gray hair, and yellow eyes like a hawk.

"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

Johnny glanced down at his broom. It was old and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say 'Up!'"

"UP!" everyone shouted.

Harry's and Johnny's broom jumped into their hands at once, but it was one of the few that did. Hermione's had simply rolled over on the ground, and Neville's hadn't moved at all. Perhaps brooms, like horses, could tell when you were afraid, there was a quaver in Neville's voice that said only too clearly that he wanted to keep his feet on the ground.

Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips. Johnny, Harry and Weasley all had a delighted smirk when she told Malfoy he'd been doing it wrong for years.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle -- three -- two--"

But Neville, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch's lips.

"Come back, boy!" she shouted, but Neville was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle -- twelve feet -- twenty feet. Johnny saw his scared white face look down at the ground falling away, saw him gasp, slip sideways off the broom and --

"Arresto Momentum!" Johnny yelled, his wand pointing at a falling Neville, who was slowing down thanks to Johnny's spell, but it wasn't enough as a thud and a nasty crack and Neville lay facedown on the grass in a heap. His broomstick was still rising higher and higher, and started to drift lazily toward the forbidden forest and out of sight.

Madam Hooch was bending over Neville, her face as white as his.

"Broken wrist," Johnny heard her mutter. "Come on, boy -- it's all right, up you get."

She turned to the rest of the class.

"Scaletta, well done on your quick thinking! Twenty points to Slytherin! Now, none of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear."

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, minus Johnny, Daphne, Theo, Pansy and Blaise joined in.

"Shut up, Malfoy," snapped Parvati Patil.

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

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

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

"Give that here, Malfoy," said Harry and Johnny quietly in unison, both giving each other a look. Everyone stopped talking to watch.

Malfoy smiled nastily.

"I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find -- how about -- up a tree?"

"Give it here!" Harry yelled, but Malfoy had leapt onto his broomstick and taken off. He hadn't been lying, he could fly well. Hovering level with the topmost branches of an oak he called, "Come and get it, Potter! Mudblood!"

Both Harry and Johnny grabbed their broom.

"No!" shouted Hermione. "Madam Hooch told us not to move -- you'll get us all into trouble."

Johnny ignored her for the first time. Blood was pounding in his ears. He mounted the broom and kicked hard against the ground and up, up he soared; air rushed through his hair, and his robes whipped out behind him -- and in a rush of fierce joy he realised he'd found something he could do without being taught -- this was easy, this was wonderful. He pulled his broomstick up a little to take it even higher, and heard screams and gasps of girls back on the ground and an admiring whoop from Theo and Blaise. Harry soon joined him.

They turned turned their broomsticks sharply to face Malfoy in midair. Malfoy looked stunned.

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

"Oh, yeah?" said Malfoy, trying to sneer, but looking worried.

Johnny knew, somehow, what to do. He leaned forward and grasped the broom tightly in both hands, and it shot toward Malfoy like a javelin. Malfoy only just got out of the way in time; Johnny made a sharp about-face and held the broom steady. A few people below were clapping.

"No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy!" Harry called.

The same thought seemed to have struck Malfoy.

"Catch it if you can then!" he shouted, and he threw the glass ball high into the air and streaked back toward the ground.

Harry leaned forward and pointed his broom handle down -- next second he was gathering speed in a steep dive, racing the ball -- wind whistled in his ears, mingled with the screams of people watching -- he stretched out his hand -- a foot from the ground he caught it, just in time to pull his broom straight, and he toppled gently onto the grass with the Remembrall clutched safely in his fist. Harry then threw the ball upwards towards Johnny's awaiting hands. Johnny chuckled happily as he tossed the ball between his hands.

"HARRY POTTER AND JOHNNY SCALETTA!"

Johnny's heart sank faster heart sank faster than Harry just dived. Professor McGonagall was running toward them. Johnny flew down next to Harry, both trembling in fear.

"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--"

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

"Be quiet, Miss Patil--"

"But Malfoy--"

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

Johnny caught sight of Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle's triumphant faces as they left, walking numbly in Professor McGonagall's wake as she strode toward the castle. They were going to be expelled, Johnny just knew it. He wanted to say something to defend them, but there seemed to be something wrong with his voice. Professor McGonagall was sweeping along without even looking at them; they had to jog to keep up. Now they'd done it. They hadn't even lasted two weeks. They'd be packing their bags in ten minutes. What would his father and Caterina say when he turned up on the doorstep?

Professor McGonagall met up with Professor Snape outside a classroom. She opened the door and poked her head inside.

"Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood and Flint for a moment?"

Two burly fifth-year boys who came out of Flitwick's class looking confused.

"Follow me," said Professor McGonagall, and they marched on up the corridor, Wood and Flint looking curiously at Harry and Johnny.

"In here."

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

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

"Scaletta, this is Marcus Flint. Flint-- Professor McGonagall has found you a competent Chaser."

"And Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Wood, I've found you a Seeker."

Wood and Flint's expression changed from puzzlement to delight.

"Are you serious, Professor?" The two said in unison before glaring heatedly at each other.

"Absolutely," said Professor McGonagall crisply. "The boy's are a natural. I've never seen anything like it. Was that your first time on a broomstick, boys?"

Harry and Johnny nodded silently. They didn't have a clue what was going on, but they didn't seem to be being expelled, and some of the feeling started coming back to their legs.

"Apparently Potter caught that thing in his hand after a fifty-foot dive," Professor Snape told Wood, then turned to Flint. "And Scaletta managed to catch the small object from fifty-five foot off the floor. Quite impressive."

Wood and Flint was now looking as though all their dreams had come true at once.

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

"Wood's captain of the Gryffindor team, as Flint is captain of the Slytherin team," Professor McGonagall explained.

"He's just the build for a Seeker, too," said Wood, now walking around Harry and staring at him. Flint did the same, weirding Johnny out slightly. "Well built -- speedy -- we'll have to get them a decent broom, Professor -- a Nimbus Two Thousand or a Cleansweep Seven, I'd say."

"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 Professor Snape in the face for weeks..."

"And you still owe me ten galleons," Snape drawled out, a cocky smirk on his face.

Professor McGonagall peered sternly over her glasses at Harry and Johnny.

"I want to hear you're training hard, boys, or I may change my mind about punishing you."

"You're joking."

It was dinnertime. Johnny had just finished telling Theo, Daphne, Blaise and Pansy what had happened when he'd left the grounds with Professor McGonagall. Blaise had a piece of steak and kidney pie halfway to his mouth, but he'd forgotten all about it.

"Chaser?" Pansy said. "But first years never -- you must be the youngest house player in about--"

"-- a century," said Johnny, shoveling pie into his mouth. He felt particularly hungry after the excitement of the afternoon. "Flint told me."

They were so amazed, so impressed, they just sat and gaped at Johnny.

"I start training next week," said Johnny. "Only don't tell anyone, Flint wants to try and keep it a secret."

"I tell you, we're going to win that Quidditch cup for sure this year," said Devon Montague, sliding into a seat opposite Pansy and Johnny, Elizabeth Montague also sitting next to him. Devon was the other Chaser on the team and he fourth year while Elizabeth was a Seeker and was a second year. "We've won every year since Charlie Weasley left, but this year's team is going to be brilliant. You must be good, Johnny, Marcus was almost smiling when he told us."

"Anyway, we've got to go, Roderick Storm reckons he's found a new secret passageway out of the school," Elizabeth said, waving at them as she got up, pulling her brother with her.

"Bet it's that one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that we found. See you."