She was so stubborn that she was going to fall off her broom out of spite, and Sirius was not sure he could do anything about it. Maybe he should just land on the ground and find the flight instructor and they could deal with this? She was so bad at this that Sirius could not even think of a proper way to explain. He could not ever remember being uncomfortable with flying; Mr. Pettigrew had given him his first practice broom years before most students started learning and Sirius had taken to the air like a fish to water.
And then she was dangling by her legs and holding her robes to her, and Sirius did not want to look at her clothes nearly falling and instead looked at her hair. She could die like this. He darted forward on his broomstick and without even thinking of it, grabbed onto her arm with one hand. At least he'd be holding onto her if she fell, this way.
"I can steer us to the ground," Sirius said, a little sternly, although he was — frankly not sure that would work. "Or you can wait to fall. Whichever works better for you."
And then she was dangling by her legs and holding her robes to her, and Sirius did not want to look at her clothes nearly falling and instead looked at her hair. She could die like this. He darted forward on his broomstick and without even thinking of it, grabbed onto her arm with one hand. At least he'd be holding onto her if she fell, this way.
"I can steer us to the ground," Sirius said, a little sternly, although he was — frankly not sure that would work. "Or you can wait to fall. Whichever works better for you."