Wednesday afternoon, 3:30 p.m. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, and the other Gryffindor first-years left the castle and crossed the front lawn, heading to their very first Flying Class of the term.
The weather was bright and clear, with a light breeze drifting across the grounds.
As they walked toward the training field, the grass swayed gently beneath their feet.
Beyond the lawn loomed the Forbidden Forest, its dark trees swaying in the wind like silent sentinels.
The Slytherins were already gathered ahead, waiting for the instructor. Twenty broomsticks lay arranged neatly on the ground in two perfect rows.
Harry had often heard the Weasley twins, Fred and George, complain about the school brooms—how old and unreliable they were, how they shuddered dangerously at higher altitudes, and how some barely even held a straight course.
Before long, Madam Hooch arrived.
She had short, steel-grey hair and sharp yellow eyes—eyes like a hawk.
"All right, let's begin," she barked. "What are you all waiting for? Choose a broomstick and stand beside it. We're starting now!"
Harry looked down at the broom at his feet. It was old and worn, with stray twigs jutting out from the tail.
"Extend your right hand over the broomstick," Madam Hooch called from the front, "and say, 'Up!'"
"Up!" the class shouted.
Harry's broom leapt straight into his hand.
He was the only one in the entire class whose broom responded immediately.
Hermione Granger's broom rolled on the ground instead, and Neville's didn't move at all.
Harry felt a swell of pride—he'd managed it on the first try, something even Hermione hadn't done.
Maybe brooms were like horses, he thought—able to sense fear in a rider's heart.
Neville's voice shook with nerves. He looked terrified—and if he had a choice, he'd rather keep both feet firmly on the ground instead of taking to the sky.
Madam Hooch demonstrated how to mount a broom properly without slipping off, then walked along the line correcting their grips and posture.
Harry and Ron overheard her correcting Malfoy over and over, and both boys felt secretly delighted. So much for Draco's bragging.
"Good. Now we're going to take off," Madam Hooch said. "When I blow the whistle, push off hard from the ground. Got it? Hold tight to your broom, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down. Remember—lean forward slightly!"
"On my signal—three, two—"
But before she reached one, the nervous Neville kicked off the ground far too early, shooting into the air as if terrified of spending even one more second on solid earth.
Everyone froze in shock as Neville rocketed skyward.
"Come back down, boy!" Madam Hooch shouted, but Neville had completely lost control. The broom soared higher—higher—like a runaway rocket.
"Help! Help!"
Neville's shrill cries echoed through the air as the lawn erupted into chaos—students shouting, Madam Hooch yelling orders, frantic voices rising everywhere.
Harry saw Neville's terrified, pale face as he stared down at the shrinking ground below. The broom wobbled violently, tossing him from side to side as if ready to fling him off at any moment.
Neville zigzagged wildly on his broom—shooting past the castle turrets, weaving over the gates, swooping from high altitude straight to near ground level and back again.
He smashed against the castle wall with a hollow thud, and Madam Hooch whipped out her wand, trying to seize control of the broom.
But before she could cast a spell, Neville plunged back toward the class, forcing her to dodge aside.
His desperate wailing made everyone flinch, afraid he'd fall to his death at any moment.
And then the very thing they feared happened.
Neville slipped—his fingers losing their grip. He slid off the side of the broom—
And in midair, Neville's eyes suddenly shifted.
His pupils turned crimson, and within them, a single tomoe slowly rotated.
Just as he was about to hit the ground, his entire demeanor shifted to icy focus. He thrust out a hand toward the broom and commanded:
"Come here!"
The broom snapped toward him instantly. Neville grabbed it in midair—but too late to avoid impact. His foot struck the turf hard on landing.
The moment he hit the ground, his eyes returned to normal.
The entire class stared, stunned speechless—even Madam Hooch hadn't expected Neville to react so quickly. A shame he was still a moment too slow.
Madam Hooch knelt beside him, examining his ankle. Her face was as pale as his—she'd clearly been frightened too.
"I've twisted my ankle," Harry heard her sigh under her breath. "All right, it's fine now. Up you get, child."
She turned to the rest of the class, her voice sharpened to steel.
"I'm taking this boy to the hospital wing. All of you are to stay here. Do not move. Put your broomsticks back where they belong. If you don't want to be expelled from Hogwarts on your first week, you will behave yourselves."
"Come along, child."
Madam Hooch draped an arm around Neville, who hobbled along on his good leg as they slowly made their way toward the castle.
They hadn't gone far when Malfoy burst into laughter.
"Did you see the look on that big lump's face? He nearly fainted! Hahaha!"
The Slytherins erupted with him.
"Shut it, Malfoy," Parvati Patil snapped.
"Oh, defending Longbottom now?" sneered Pansy Parkinson, a pug-faced Slytherin girl. "What's the matter, Patil—taken a liking to that sniveling little lump? Hah!"
"Look!" Malfoy suddenly darted toward a patch of grass and picked something up. "Isn't this that idiot's toy? Something his family sent him? Maybe when he forgets his tumble off the broom, he can squeeze this Remembrall and jog his memory!"
He held the Remembrall high. It gleamed in the sunlight.
"Hand it over, Malfoy," Harry said quietly.
All conversation stopped.
Every eye turned to watch.
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