The crisp September air swept across the flying field as Hogwarts’ combined first-year class stood in four nervous rows, one for each house, beside a long line of battered school broomsticks.
Madam Hooch had ordered everyone to wear fitted flying trousers instead of their usual robes.
Madam Hooch paced between the rows, her yellow, hawk-like eyes examining every student’s posture.
She instructed them to stand beside their brooms, hold out their right hands, and deliver one firm command.
“Up!” Harry Potter’s broom jumped into his hand immediately.
Draco Malfoy managed the same from the Slytherin row a moment later.
Susan gave one firm command, and her broom snapped neatly into her palm.
Hermione’s rolled over in the grass and ignored her completely.
Adrian held out his hand and ordered the broom up.
It shot off the grass far too quickly and struck his upper thigh, missing his crotch by less than an inch.
Madam Hooch stopped pacing and pointed her short wand at him.
“The broom should reach your hand, Mr Clarke,” she barked.
“It should not threaten the continuation of your family.” A few students snickered.
Moments later, as Hooch instructed them to mount, Justin Finch-Fletchley threw his leg over too aggressively and landed heavily on the hard wooden handle.
He bent forward over the twigs, wheezing quietly.
“Does he need the hospital wing,” Ron Weasley asked loudly from the Gryffindor row, “or just some time to mourn?” Hooch checked Justin with one impatient sweep of her wand.
“Bruised pride and poor technique,” she announced.
“Mount properly this time, Mr Finch-Fletchley.” She blew her whistle and ordered the class to push off.
Susan kicked off cleanly and managed to hold herself several feet above the ground.
As Adrian wrestled with his own balance, he noticed Susan shifting her weight on the wood.
While Hooch corrected Neville’s grip at the far end of the field, Susan shifted farther forward on her broom until the wooden handle pressed firmly against the centre of her crotch, directly beneath her pussy through her panties and fitted flying trousers.
She looked across at Adrian.
Then she lifted her hips slightly and slid herself down against the broomstick, dragging her pussy lips along the hard wood beneath the fabric.
She repeated the motion more slowly, rolling her hips forward and back while keeping the handle trapped tightly between her thighs.
From the other rows, it could have passed for an adjustment to her balance.
From Adrian’s position, the deliberate way she ground her pussy against the broom was impossible to mistake.
Susan’s breathing deepened.
The fabric covering the centre of her crotch had begun to darken where her wet panties pressed against it.
She gave the broomstick one final, slow grind while holding Adrian’s gaze, then straightened and faced Madam Hooch with an expression of complete innocence.
When Adrian’s turn came to demonstrate a short forward glide, he looked ahead a second too late.
He pulled the handle too sharply while correcting himself, sending the broom three feet to the left and nearly clipping Hannah Abbott’s tail twigs.
Susan glided alongside him as he forced his broom back into line.
“You were supposed to be watching your own broom,” she noted mildly.
Before Adrian could formulate a reply, a startled shout drew the entire class’s attention.
Neville had lost control of his broom.
He shot upward, panicked, and slipped from the handle nearly twenty feet above the ground.
He struck the grass hard, rolled onto his side and clutched his wrist against his chest.
Hooch reached him first and examined his injured wrist.
She helped the pale, shaken Neville to his feet, ordered every other student to remain on the ground, and escorted him toward the hospital wing.
The moment Hooch disappeared toward the castle, Draco snatched Neville’s fallen Remembrall from the grass and mounted his broom.
Harry Potter mounted his broom and pursued him instantly.
Draco climbed higher, waited until Harry had almost reached him, and hurled the Remembrall toward the castle.
Adrian watched Harry accelerate after the falling glass ball.
Adrian’s hand moved toward his broom before he stopped himself.
He could barely complete a turn without swinging several feet wide, while Harry was already accelerating after Draco.
Joining them would not create a second hero.
It would place another uncontrolled beginner in the air.
He stayed on the ground.
Harry dropped into a steep dive, caught the Remembrall only feet above the grass and pulled up before striking the ground.
A few moments later, Professor McGonagall strode onto the field and marched him toward the castle, leaving the remaining students whispering furiously.
Draco landed soon afterward and attempted to return the Remembrall’s empty case to Neville’s belongings before anyone noticed.
Madam Hooch returned in time to catch him.
Once Hooch restored order, Adrian concentrated on the basics.
By the end of the lesson, he could remain seated, stop without falling forward, and complete one slow lap of the field.
Steady Hands kept his grip controlled, but the skill could not teach his body how to move with a broom.
He gripped the handle too tightly, turned far too widely, and landed with a heavy jolt.
“Being completely average at one thing,” Susan told him as they dismounted, “might actually stop your ego from becoming a medical condition.” After dismissing the formal lesson, Madam Hooch allowed interested first-years to remain behind the fence and watch the supervised mixed-year practice taking place on the adjacent section of the pitch.
Adrian leaned against the wooden fence with Susan as older students ran through passing drills.
Fred and George broke away from the Gryffindor drill and swooped down to hover on the other side of the fence.
“You look like a gargoyle on that thing, junior,” Fred observed cheerfully.
“You have to lean with the turn,” George advised.
He guided his broom through a small circle using only a shift of his hips.
“Stop wrestling the handle.
It’s a broom, not a troll.” A second-year Ravenclaw left the passing drill and glided toward the fence.
From Cho Chang’s amused expression, she had watched more than one of Adrian’s wide turns.
She stopped several feet above the grass, her dark hair tied back and one forearm resting casually across the broom handle.
“You fly as though you expect the broom to explode,” Cho observed.
Adrian looked up at her.
“It struck me before I even mounted it.
Distrust seems reasonable.” Cho smiled.
“Then prove you learned something.
One short obstacle lap.
Three training hoops and back to the fence.” The three training hoops stood only a few feet above the grass, positioned for low-speed turning practice.
Madam Hooch looked over from the practice boundary.
“You may have one lap,” she said.
“Low speed, and neither of you leaves the marked area.” Adrian raised an eyebrow.
“This is my first day on a broom.” “I know,” Cho said, smiling.
“Which is why the forfeit is harmless.
The loser wears a ribbon in the winner’s house colours at breakfast tomorrow.” Susan looked from Cho to Adrian and crossed her arms, making no attempt to answer for him.
Adrian mounted his school broom.
“Deal.” Cho and Adrian positioned their brooms beside the fence.
George raised one hand between them and dropped it to begin the race.
Adrian leaned with the broom instead of pulling against it.
For several seconds, the handle stopped fighting him.
The difference in experience became obvious at the first hoop.
Cho banked smoothly through the turn.
Adrian entered too fast, stiffened instinctively, and swung several feet wider than necessary.
Cho crossed the fence line comfortably ahead of him.
Adrian landed heavily, stepping off the broom and rolling his shoulders.
Cho dropped lightly onto the grass beside him, reaching into her pocket.
She untied a blue Ravenclaw ribbon from the end of her broom handle and held it out to him.
“Tie it somewhere visible at breakfast tomorrow,” Cho said, looking highly satisfied.
“I’ll offer you a proper rematch once you learn how to turn without arguing with the wood.” She mounted her broom and kicked back up into the air to rejoin her teammates.
Adrian folded the ribbon once and slipped it into his trouser pocket.
When he turned, Susan’s attention was fixed on the trouser pocket holding Cho’s ribbon.
Susan fell into step beside him as they left the pitch.
“Cho Chang has already arranged for you to wear her colours,” Susan said casually.
“And you still haven’t kissed me.”