Chapter - 47 : Flying Lessons and Frustrations

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An hour later we all trooped back up to the castle, pockets laden with rock cakes that we hadn't been able to turn down. We split at the door. Harry and Ron headed to Gryffindor Tower to work on their Transfiguration homework. I'd already finished it, but I had history of Magic work to do, so I decided a homework session was a good idea.

"Salazar," I said to the wall, and strode into the Common Room.

"Potter, there you are!" Tracey called from across the Common Room. Most of the first years were clustered around the notice board.

"What is it?" I asked curiously, wandering over. "Did the password change?"

"No, flying lessons!" Lily said, looking excited. She pointed to a parchment that had been pinned up since this morning. Apparently starting Thursday we would be having flying lessons, and we'd be with the Gryffindors.

I stared at the parchment intently. I wasn't quite sure if I was looking forwards to the lessons or not. On one hand, it was more time spent with Harry. And the idea of learning how to fly appealed to me. The glory of flight and all that. Heights had never bothered me, but then again, whenever I'd been high up I'd always been inside a building. I wasn't quite sure I'd feel the same when the only thing holding me up was a piece of wood.

"Like I need lessons," Malfoy scoffed at the parchment. "I've been flying since I was four. I could probably play for the team now!" he bragged.

"No one cares Malfoy," I muttered under my breath, still trying to imagine what it would be like to be several stories into the air on a cleaning utensil.

Lily nudged me. "How'd it go with Snape?" she asked curiously. "Do you have detention?"

"No." I smiled smugly. "In fact I got us twenty points."

"For doing a potion wrong?" Parkinson asked skeptically.

"I didn't do it wrong. I did it better," I corrected her shortly. "Professor Snape was very impressed with the additions I made. He said I showed promise." I couldn't help but brag a little.

Then I was reminded of the fact that he also said I had to wear my hair back. I was less pleased with that. But he wasn't right in thinking I did it for the sake of vanity. A girl with her hair covering her face wasn't normal, but it was less remarkable than a girl with a scar across her face. I did it so I wouldn't draw any attention.

But as I considered, I realized that didn't apply here at Hogwarts. Everyone here knew my story. They all knew the scar was there whether they saw it or not. Some of them stared at my cheek like they were hoping to see through my hair. They stared either way. No matter what I attracted attention, hair in my face or not.

And Snape was right. It was clearly a safety hazard. And I wasn't dumb enough to trade my safety for a couple of stares. So I would do as he asked and deal with whatever attention that stupid S brought me.

"Hey, what was with sitting with the Gryffindors today?" Malfoy demanded suddenly. I gave a little groan.

"Are you still stuck on that Malfoy? I sat there because I wanted to talk to my brother! And I intend to keep doing it!"

Malfoy scowled, asking petulantly, "Do you have something against our house?"

I threw up my hands. "No, Malfoy, I don't have anything against our house! I'm not terribly fond of you right now though!"

Parkinson glared at me. "Watch it, Potter!" she said defensively.

"What did I do?" Malfoy asked indignantly.

"Aside from insulting my brother and my parents?" I simpered. "That's enough for me, Malfoy. You know, I'm glad we have flying lessons with the Gryffindors! At least that's one more class I don't have to be near you!"

Frustrated with the whole thing I turned and stomped off to my dorm. I dragged my History of Magic essay out of my bag and settled back against my pillow, ready to work, but I was too annoyed to think about anything seriously. Instead I sat and stewed, gnawing on the end of my quill.

Malfoy was my least-favorite Slytherin by far. Or maybe he tied with Parkinson. It varied depending on how annoying they were being. Malfoy would hold court in the Common Room sometimes and he'd occasionally rant. 'What makes Potter think he's so special?' 'Maybe I should carve a lightning bolt onto my forehead too.' 'He thinks he's so much better than us!'

The sad part was, it was pretty obvious why he was angry at Harry. Harry had denied him something, and Malfoy was a spoiled brat. He wasn't used to being denied what he wanted. Malfoy had offered him a hand of friendship back on the train – likely seeking some fame on Malfoy's part – and Harry had turned him down flat.

So had I, for that matter. He seemed a little less hateful towards me, probably because we were in the same house. I imagine he thought that he still had a chance at pulling me into his web. Sad part was, I might not have a problem with him if he could keep his mouth shut about my brother for more than five minutes, but he seemed utterly incapable.

I hope he got used to disappointment.

In frustration I tossed the essay from me. Clearly I wasn't going to get far on it tonight. Instead I tugged out my Potions textbook and flicked to the page holding the recipe we'd worked on today, the Cure for Boils. I read through the original recipe thoughtfully. I pulled my quill from between my teeth and dipped it in my bottle of ink. Very carefully, next to the line about the onions, I scrawled roll them on a table to get more juice. Next to the part about horned slugs I wrote +1 and a dash of ginger to fight nausea.

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