"[Ginny]’s been breaking into your broom shed in the garden since the age of six and taking each of your brooms out in turn when you weren’t looking," -Hermione, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
Ginny groaned and slowly rolled to her side. Charlie’s broom floated down from where she had slipped off it and she sat up to grasp it; Charlie would kill her if she lost his broom. Heck, he would kill her if he found out she had magicked the lock on the broom shed and stolen his broom. Bill would probably help when he found out she had used his broom the last time she covertly practiced quidditch.
"Come on, try again," she muttered to herself as she mounted the broom and began to float a few feet off the ground.
She urged herself higher, but the broom was too big for her. It tipped vertically and she felt herself sliding off the back. Panicking, she leaned all her weight forward. The broom righted itself, but rolled slightly so she was clung tightly to the wood and dangled like a sloth. Her eyes darted to the part of the trees that hid the Burrow from view and considered her options. She could call for help, but figured Charlie’s excitement for being appointed Quidditch Captain of Gryffindor and Bill’s amazement over being appointed Head Boy would not shield her from their wrath and her mother would forbid her from even thinking of flying again.
Slowly, she unhooked one leg and swung it back and forth until she had enough momentum to swing back up. One day, she promised herself, I will have my own broom and fly as high as I want with a quaffle under my arm and a cheering crowd below.