Harry Cotter and the Philosopher’s Brothel.
Flying 101
It was their third class together, and the scariest class of all; Flying. A average woman with extraordinary hair, dyed to look like a starry sky.
“Broomus Upus” had been the only thing that anyone had managed to pull out of her strong Yorkshire accent. And as the scattering pupils began to chant at their brooms, only Harry initially succeeded. But Mi soon followed, along with 3 quarters of the others. The final 10 or so people all soon followed everyone; except Ron. He kept ranting on about something or other; shouting at the broom and calling it a series of names. Eventually, it did rise up, but instead of coming into contact with his palm, it came into contact with his nose, busting it open.
“Now t’fly,” the Professor looked round, “Get’n yer broom, end kick.” Hoping they understood, the class all did the same action, all of them surprisingly hovering just above the ground, “Now, ter get doon, lean forword and put yer feet on t’ground when ya can.” Things started to go wrong as Neville leaned back, hovering ever higher, before darting off. People called out but nothing happened, other than the boy becoming more scared by the second.
From the ground you could make out the shape of him hurtling downwards ahead of the broom. He hit the ground with a thud, causing the Professor to run towards him:
“Ya guys,” she called to the class once she’d picked Neville off the ground, “Me an him are going t’see t’nurse. No one fly, or I’ll murder ya with a broom.”
“Yes Professor Minor.”
She hurried off with Neville, who un-expectantly was conscious, but did have a rather large and swollen purple arm.
“Look what I’ve got.” Draco stepped forward, holding up Neville’s toad
“Give it here Malfoy.”
“Make me Cotter.” Draco kicked off the ground, him and the broom flying into the air, Harry was about to do the same:
“Harry!” Mi whined, “You might get hurt.”
“Yeah, think of ya boyfriend.” The blonde boy called down.
Harry took off into the air; silently the boys checked each other out. Draco smirked, throwing the toad threw the air. With no doubt, Harry flew after the frog, reaching out high in front, trying to get a grasp on the small creature. He managed to, but it was almost too late. The north tower was fast approaching but a quick pull back and swerve saved him from splattering.
Heroically, he flew down, landing and running between the cheering students, waving the terrified toad high above his head.
Prof McG had been in the room which Harry nearly hit. She’d seen the prohibited flying, and planned to do something about it. Marching down, she pulled him out of the crowd, dragging him through a vast array of corridors, stopping at an old area of school which Harry had yet to see.
“Igeon!” She burst throughthe door, “I need to speak to Oliver Wood.”
“Yes, very well.”
The boy, who Harry assumed was Oliver, came to the door.
“Cotter, meet Wood, the Wanker’s Figbitch Captain.” She smiled at the boy, a little taller than her, “Wood, meet your new seeker.”
“Figbitch?”
“Boy, Wood, you sure have your work cut out.” Prof McG, walked off shaking her head. “Good thing you don’t have to worry about his flying.”
“Just what I need,” Wood smiled, “Meet me on the front lawn after dinner. Now get back to…”
“Professor Minor.”
“Okay” he laughed to himself, “well front lawn, after dinner, if you survive her lesson.”
“What?”
“Just don’t piss her off.”
Harry’s face went pale as he remembered the threat of broom based murder. Gulping, he made his way back to the class, hoping that he’d continue to exist.
“Broomus Upus” had been the only thing that anyone had managed to pull out of her strong Yorkshire accent. And as the scattering pupils began to chant at their brooms, only Harry initially succeeded. But Mi soon followed, along with 3 quarters of the others. The final 10 or so people all soon followed everyone; except Ron. He kept ranting on about something or other; shouting at the broom and calling it a series of names. Eventually, it did rise up, but instead of coming into contact with his palm, it came into contact with his nose, busting it open.
“Now t’fly,” the Professor looked round, “Get’n yer broom, end kick.” Hoping they understood, the class all did the same action, all of them surprisingly hovering just above the ground, “Now, ter get doon, lean forword and put yer feet on t’ground when ya can.” Things started to go wrong as Neville leaned back, hovering ever higher, before darting off. People called out but nothing happened, other than the boy becoming more scared by the second.
From the ground you could make out the shape of him hurtling downwards ahead of the broom. He hit the ground with a thud, causing the Professor to run towards him:
“Ya guys,” she called to the class once she’d picked Neville off the ground, “Me an him are going t’see t’nurse. No one fly, or I’ll murder ya with a broom.”
“Yes Professor Minor.”
She hurried off with Neville, who un-expectantly was conscious, but did have a rather large and swollen purple arm.
“Look what I’ve got.” Draco stepped forward, holding up Neville’s toad
“Give it here Malfoy.”
“Make me Cotter.” Draco kicked off the ground, him and the broom flying into the air, Harry was about to do the same:
“Harry!” Mi whined, “You might get hurt.”
“Yeah, think of ya boyfriend.” The blonde boy called down.
Harry took off into the air; silently the boys checked each other out. Draco smirked, throwing the toad threw the air. With no doubt, Harry flew after the frog, reaching out high in front, trying to get a grasp on the small creature. He managed to, but it was almost too late. The north tower was fast approaching but a quick pull back and swerve saved him from splattering.
Heroically, he flew down, landing and running between the cheering students, waving the terrified toad high above his head.
Prof McG had been in the room which Harry nearly hit. She’d seen the prohibited flying, and planned to do something about it. Marching down, she pulled him out of the crowd, dragging him through a vast array of corridors, stopping at an old area of school which Harry had yet to see.
“Igeon!” She burst throughthe door, “I need to speak to Oliver Wood.”
“Yes, very well.”
The boy, who Harry assumed was Oliver, came to the door.
“Cotter, meet Wood, the Wanker’s Figbitch Captain.” She smiled at the boy, a little taller than her, “Wood, meet your new seeker.”
“Figbitch?”
“Boy, Wood, you sure have your work cut out.” Prof McG, walked off shaking her head. “Good thing you don’t have to worry about his flying.”
“Just what I need,” Wood smiled, “Meet me on the front lawn after dinner. Now get back to…”
“Professor Minor.”
“Okay” he laughed to himself, “well front lawn, after dinner, if you survive her lesson.”
“What?”
“Just don’t piss her off.”
Harry’s face went pale as he remembered the threat of broom based murder. Gulping, he made his way back to the class, hoping that he’d continue to exist.