Hi everyone…I'm back! I know, I'm pathetic. I haven't updated in 8 months. I'll be surprised if my old, loyal reviewers will show up again…but I hope they/you all do! This last year, I've been going through some hard times. Now that's it's summer, I have more time to write and to update my story .

Malfoy never talked to Holly anymore. He seemed to avoid her altogether, though if he saw Ron or Hermione he would sneer. This irked her. How could someone think that other people should be judged on blood status? That was like racism. She knew at least THAT much from school.

One day, though, she, Hermione, and Ron came into the common room laughing (for once, Hermione wasn't nagging Ron and Ron wasn't glowering at Hermione) and Ron let out a groan.

"What?" Holly asked curiously.

"Flying lessons." Ron mumbled.

"I thought you were looking forward to them?" She didn't add "we". It didn't seem that many girls liked the idea of riding on a broom and possibly getting injured, but Holly found the idea of flying absolutely marvelous. However, though, she was rather anxious about getting injured. You can't manipulate a ball to hit someone else.

"No, it's just that…we have our first flying lesson with the Slytherins on Thursday."

Holly inwardly groaned. "Where does it say that?"

"Common board."

Hermione, however, seemed to be bored by this conversation. "Seriously, Holly, I don't know why you would care, though. Quidditch seems so silly compared to our studies. Fine, I would like to ride on a broom. But other than that? I really don't see much appeal."

Ron stared at her, openmouthed. "Are. You. Insane?" He demanded to Hermione.

She glared at him.

Holly, however, wasn't going to be their peacemaker now. Malfoy had spent the last week bragging about his flying skills, and how he was escaping Muggles in helicopters. She wondered how she and Ron would compare against him. She didn't want all of the boys to pity her just because she was a girl. However, Malfoy wasn't the only one telling tales, though: the way Seamus Finnigan 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 he shared a dorm with, about soccer. Ron couldn't see what was exciting about a game with only one ball where no one was allowed to fly. And then there was Neville. Neville had never been on a broomstick in his life, because his grandmother had never let him near one. Privately, Holly felt she'd had good reason, because Neville managed to have an extraordinary number of accidents even with both feet on the ground. And then there were the girls. Lavender and Parvati always like to fawn and give Holly "makeovers," except Holly only let them do that on weekends. She didn't really care for Ella's Erasable Eye-Liner, or Linda's Luxurious Lipstick. They, however, did not care for brooms or sports.

"Oh, sure, Holly, we're brave, but we don't really see the fancy of being hit by balls," the two girls had sniffed.

Hermione was even worse than Lavender and Parvati. She had this quiet type of disapproval radiating off her every single time the word "Quidditch" was said. Holly had the feeling that Hermione wouldn't be very good at this. This was something you couldn't learn by heart out of a book — not that Hermione hadn't tried.

Hermione had read a boring book called "Quidditch Through the Ages" for hours of her free time at night.

Then, finally, at breakfast on Thursday she brought the book with her and read aloud to Neville, who seemed desperate. Holly automatically looked up for Dragon, but he hadn't come. It seemed Hagrid was too busy nowadays for weekly Friday chats. Idly, Holly scratched Hedwig as the kitten purred under the table. Then, a barn owl brought Neville a small package from his grandmother. He opened it excitedly and showed them a glass ball the size of a large marble, which seemed to be full of white smoke.

"It's a Remembrall!" he explained. "Gran knows I forget things — this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red — oh…" His face fell, because the Remembrall had suddenly glowed scarlet, "… you've forgotten something…" Neville was trying to remember what he'd forgotten when Draco Malfoy, who was passing the Gryffindor table, snatched the Remembrall out of his hand. Ron and Seamus jumped to their feet. They were half hoping for a reason to fight Malfoy, but Professor McGonagall, who could spot trouble quicker than any teacher in the school, was there in a flash.

"What's going on?"

"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor."

Scowling, Malfoy quickly dropped the Remembrall back on the table.

"Just looking," he said, and he sloped away with Crabbe and Goyle behind him, but not without a surreptitious glance at Holly. At three-thirty that afternoon, Holly, Ron, Hermione (except she was walking rather reluctantly) and the other Gryffindors 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 Slytherins were already there, and so were twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground. Holly had heard Angelina Johnson, a third year, 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.

Then, 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."

Holly glanced down at her 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.

Holly's broom flew into her hand gracefully 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, thought Holly; 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. Holly and Ron were delighted 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. Holly saw his scared white face look down at the ground falling away, saw him gasp, slip sideways off the broom and — WHAM — 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," Holly heard her mutter. "Come on, boy — it's all right, up you get." She turned to the rest of the class.

"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 joined in.

"Shut up, Malfoy," snapped Parvati Patil.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" said Pansy Parkinson, 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. "Stop that, Malfoy." Holly said quietly. Everyone stopped talking to watch.

Malfoy paled, looking angry. "There you go again, Potter, sticking your hair where it doesn't belong." Then, he leapt into the air.

Malfoy wasn't kidding. He could fly. Holly ran below him, frustrated. What could she do? Then, she spied the broomsticks. Her instinct told her to go and pursue Malfoy, but her brain told her otherwise.

Hermione seemed to know what she was thinking. "Don't do it, Holly!"

She did it. Grabbing a broomstick, she swung her leg over it and leapt into the air. Exhilaration rushed through her. Yes! She was truly flying! The world spun and she felt so light and fast—yes, this was what she was meant to do!

She pulled the broom much higher, and heard screams and gasps of girls back on the ground, an admiring whoop from Ron, and a scream from Hermione. The people below were tiny.

She turned her broomstick sharply to face Malfoy in midair. Malfoy looked stunned. "You wouldn't." He whispered. "You're a girl." That moment, Holly would remember, was very strange. The sky seemed blurred, and Malfoy's pale, pointed face was in sharp contrast. His eyes showed anger…and something else.

"And my gender matters?"

His face suddenly darkened with anger. "Here, catch this, then!" He launched the Remembrall into the sky, toward the castle. Holly flew after it like lightning. She caught it with both hands, and came to an abrupt stop. Malfoy, who had been flying after her, didn't stop in time and crashed into her.

Holly, in one dreadful, heart-stopping second, lost the grip on the broom she had with her knees. Still clutching the Rememberall, she teetered for a second—and fell off the broom. It seemed to happen in slow motion.

Her last thought was that this height was very, very, scary, her last sight was Malfoy's shocked, scared, face, and her last sounds were of a discordance of sound below.

Hey guys! So yes, there's some more contrast in that chapter! Sorry, it's a bit short…

I just want to thank ALL of my reviewers! I'm sorry I can't reply to your reviews individually, it's just that I have no idea where to start. But, the message to all of you is that all of you have been very supportive, encouraging, and nice, and your constructive criticisms are extremely helpful. Thanks, everyone, like Allen Pitt (just an example, he's been with me for quite a while) for giving me advice and thoughtful feedback.

Review, please! Hmm….this time you can all have Holly Potter at your service as an apology for the lateness!

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