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Hofa woke earlier than ever.
Flying was humanity's dream. As a wizard, he naturally wanted to soar through clouds. Especially in 1938âplanes weren't common yet. Learning to ride a broomstick would make travel simpler and give him another lifeline. Muggle air forces weren't as terrifyingly precise as in later years. Wars were mostly ground-based.
In the morning dining hall, normally calm Ravenclaws discussed Quidditch with rare excitement.
Hogwarts breakfast was lavish. Fried eggs, bread, salad, sausage, bacon, coffee, tea, milk, butter, jam, juice. Plus porridge.
But Hofa's mind was on Flying class. Afraid of eating too much and vomiting mid-flight, he ate lightâone sausage and some oatmeal.
Wizarding family students bragged about their flying histories.
William Carlson, Hofa's roommate, told friends about his family's glorious flying past. Said his father dodged airplane fire during WWI on a broomstick.
Taylor Smith, their Muggle-born dormmate, listened with fascination and envy. For Muggles in this era, flying was impossible unless you joined the Royal Air Force.
Ravenclaw students were relatively calm. At Gryffindor and Slytherin tables, students clustered in groups, bursting into laughter.
Mostly boys. Quidditch was still a boys' game. Girls rarely played.
After breakfast, they hurried to a grassy field near the Quidditch pitch.
Clear day. Gentle breeze. Grass rippled under their feet. The Forbidden Forest loomed across the lawn, dark trees swaying.
This class was with Slytherin first-years, already waiting there. Broomsticks lay in a neat row. Tom Riddle chatted with classmates. Seeing Hofa, he showed no reaction.
Since arriving at school, their conflict had vanished. They became strangers. No orphanage grudges. No recognition.
Hofa knew Riddle's massive ambitions. He wasn't childish like Malfoy. He wouldn't waste energy on pointless provocations.
Their teacher arrived. Hofa had heard about him at breakfast. Palio LeoâBeater for Ireland in the 1920 Quidditch World Cup. His team made the semifinals. Pretty impressive.
Palio was tall with long arms. Curly brown hair. Energetic.
He whistled at the new students.
"Line up by height!"
The crowd stirred noisily.
Eleven-year-olds pushed and shoved, jostling chaotically.
Palio intervened impatiently. Pulled out kids, shuffled them into different positions.
Hofa stood with Miranda originally. But Palio separated themâHofa was half a head taller. He got pushed beside someone else.
Aglaia. Again.
Similar heights.
She snorted when Hofa arrived.
The warm sunshine and gentle breeze had been comfortable. Now, standing beside Aglaia, he felt uncomfortable all over.
Seeing students arranged by height, Palio looked satisfied.
He whistled. "Stick out your right hand over the broomstick. Say: 'Up!'"
"Up!" everyone shouted.
Hofa extended his hand. "Up!"
Nothing.
He intensified his tone.
"Up!"
Still nothing.
What's going on?
He looked around. Some brooms rose quickly. Tom Riddle's broom jumped into his palm immediately.
William wasn't braggingâhis broom bounced up fast.
Some brooms rolled slowly on the ground, looking reluctant.
Like Miranda's. Hers hesitated. Rising, then dropping. But at least it moved.
Only his broomâmotionless.
Hofa tried twice more. Nothing.
"Muggle." A gleeful taunt came from beside him.
Aglaia smiled smugly on his right. Arms still folded. Completely still.
Hofa said his only words to her all week: "What are you smug about? Yours didn't move either."
"Is... that... so...?" She drew out the syllables, enjoying this moment.
Aglaia looked at him mockingly. One arm across her chest, one hand over the broomstick. She didn't speak.
The broomstick whooshed into her hand. Hofa could feel the broom's eagerness to be ridden by her.
His eyes widened. He looked at his own broom.
"Up!"
Breeze brushed the tattered twigs. It didn't move. Like a dead fish.
Hofa's face darkened. He raised his hand.
Palio noticed. "What's wrong?"
"Teacher, my broom's broken."
Everyone looked over. Palio's eyes widened. He extended his hand.
"Up."
Hofa's broom shot to Palio's hand like lightning.
Palio examined it. "What are you talking about? This broom's excellent." He tossed it back.
Hofa extended his hand. "Up."
Dead again.
"Hahahahahaha~"
Aglaia laughed happily. That sweet look made Hofa's teeth itch. She said:
"Flying Muggle. Landlubber among wizards. People with zero flying talent. Rare in history, but you're one of them. In Britain and Europe, flying is ancient and elegant art. Quidditch is sophisticated social sport. It represents outstanding people with ruling talent. And you..."
"Shut up! Nobody thinks you're mute."
Hofa's face was livid. He cut her off directly. No more surface-level peace with this girl. His disgust peaked.
He pulled out his wand, pointing at the broom.
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
Under the Levitation Charm, Hofa's broom flew up like a mangy dog, trembling as Hofa gripped it.
He sensed the broom's reluctance. But held it tight.
Then something unexpected happened.
Aglaia raised her hand.
High. "Teacher Palio, Hofa cheated. He cast a spell on the broom."
The field went silent.
Everyone turned.
Hofa was shocked. Tattling? Something despised in any world. She actually did it so brazenly.
Can't get attention, so she irritates others? Does Earth revolve around you? Why was she sorted into Ravenclaw?
Palio walked over, displeased. "Did you cast a spell on the broom?"
"Yes." Hofa sighed.
"What spell?"
"Levitation Charm."
Palio took a deep breath. Exhaled.
"In Quidditch, casting spells on brooms is a major foul. Know that?"
"I didn't."
"First offenseâno point deduction. But you're done with this class. Go watch from the side."
Hofa threw down the broom, put away his wand, and strode aside. Arms folded. Silent. Too angry to speak.
Life exceeded his expectations again. He wasn't Harry Potter. No flying talent. No Quidditch gift. Didn't even know the rules.
On the grass, Palio whistled. Demonstrated riding positions.
Students rose. Some wobbled. Some flew fast and sharp. Aglaia flew best. Didn't even hold the handle. Arms folded, as if using only her mind.
White clouds dotted the distant sky. Hofa leaned against a tower, foxtail grass in his mouth, watching the crowd overhead. For the first time, he felt out of place.
Aglaia had a point. In the wizarding world, Quidditch required talent. Like Ivy League sailing in his past life. If you weren't in the circle, they wouldn't let you play.
He knew why the broom ignored him. He didn't want Quidditch. He just wanted to fly.
Quidditch rules seemed stupid.
Especially catching the Snitch rewriting the match. No logic. Pure individual heroism.
He preferred Muggle football. Everyone mattered.
He thought of many things. How in novels, Hermione fought with Trelawney. Trelawney thought Hermione had no divination talent, negating her efforts. But emotion and reason couldn't coexist. Hermione could never master divination. Hofa would struggle with Quidditch.
Talented people were the minority. Especially in sports.
In his past life, he was awkward at sports. Others played while he watched. Coming to the wizarding worldâstill the same.
Having Transfiguration talent was enough. Why be greedy? If he wanted to fly, there were other methods. No need to hang himself on one tree. The urgent task was studying and developing.
Only survivors of future wars could pursue happiness. Fighting for glory now, being king among eleven-year-oldsâmeaningless.
Understanding this, Hofa's mood calmed. He spat out the grass and left calmly, hands behind his back.
In the sky, Aglaia kept flying. But her gaze locked onto Hofa in the corner.
Striking at Hofa felt great. Since meeting him, she'd suffered setback after setback. Especially on the train guessing his identityâcompletely embarrassing.
Today she finally got even.
But seeing Hofa leave so calmly, Aglaia felt like she'd punched cotton.
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