"Oh no, why does Flying have to be with those Slytherins?" Ron groaned, staring at the notice pinned to the Gryffindor common room board. The other lions echoed his despair.
Among the Slytherins, the reaction was much the same—though theirs was laced with excited discussion about Quidditch. Draco was the exception. He was interested only in flying itself. As for the wizarding sport, he felt little enthusiasm. He had already satisfied his curiosity at home—whenever Narcissa was not present—so he felt no particular thrill now.
"Why don't you tell us about it?" Pansy asked curiously.
"There's nothing worth telling," Draco replied, shaking his head.
"How dull." She pouted.
"Draco's going to tell us about his broomstick adventures!" Pansy suddenly announced loudly.
At once, a cluster of Slytherins gathered around. Slytherins admired strength, and Draco—who had already earned their House several points—fit the description. His pure-blood background only added to their interest.
Draco shot Pansy a warning look. She smiled smugly in return.
"In the restricted section of our manor…" Draco began smoothly.
Having consumed enough fiction in his previous life, Draco spun an elaborate and convincing tale, earning murmurs of admiration.
When he finished, Pansy leaned closer. "Next time I visit, can I see it?"
"I invented every word," Draco replied blandly.
Her face fell. "You made it sound real."
"I haven't even dealt with you yet. Who do you think forced me to improvise?"
"I just remembered I haven't finished Transfiguration homework," Pansy said, attempting to slip away.
"Wait."
She lowered her head theatrically.
"Little witch," Draco muttered, giving up.
He produced several elegantly wrapped sweets and placed them into her hands.
Narcissa had been sending him far too many parcels.
"Don't misunderstand. Consider it a bribe. I can't finish them alone."
"You're terribly insincere," Pansy said—but her bright eyes betrayed her delight.
Never underestimate the persuasive power of sweets.
That afternoon, the long-awaited Flying lesson arrived. The weather was pleasant—sunny, with a light breeze. The Gryffindors crossed the lawn towards the pitch; the Slytherins were already assembled. Twenty battered school brooms lay in a neat line.
Madam Hooch arrived, her short grey hair ruffled by the wind, yellow eyes sharp.
"Well? What are you waiting for? Stand beside a broom. Quickly."
Draco examined the broom at his feet. Twigs protruded unevenly; dust clung to the handle.
It was difficult to return to simplicity after luxury.
"Right hand over the broom," Madam Hooch instructed. "'Up!'"
"Up!"
Draco complied half-heartedly. For someone already proficient, the exercise was tedious.
Madam Hooch demonstrated mounting techniques. Harry and Ron followed the instructions carefully. Hermione appeared uneasy; Neville trembled visibly.
"When I blow my whistle, kick off and rise a few feet—"
Neville, desperate not to appear foolish, kicked off prematurely. He shot skyward.
"Come back!" Madam Hooch cried.
Neville rose higher, panic draining his strength. His grip slipped.
"Wingardium Leviosa," Draco murmured.
Neville's descent slowed. He landed with minimal harm.
"Thank goodness," Madam Hooch said, examining him. "Still, you'll go to the hospital wing."
"My Remembrall—and my broom!" Neville gasped.
"Accio Remembrall," Draco said calmly, summoning it before anyone else reacted.
He handed it over. "Best keep such things in your dormitory."
"Th-thank you."
"As for the broom," Draco added, glancing sideways, "I believe our hero has already gone for it."
"No!" Hermione cried.
Harry had mounted his broom and soared upward, chasing Neville's stray broom towards the Forbidden Forest. He caught it in a single, daring manoeuvre.
Cheers erupted from the Gryffindors. Slytherins were less impressed.
Harry landed to thunderous applause. His triumph was short-lived.
"Harry Potter!"
Professor McGonagall's voice cut sharply through the air. She marched him towards the castle.
"History repeats itself," Draco observed quietly. If nothing changed, Gryffindor would soon have its youngest Seeker.
"Will he be expelled?" Pansy whispered.
"Unlikely," Draco replied.
"That's disappointing."
"By the way," she added, lowering her voice, "what spell did you cast earlier? You didn't use your wand."
"A Levitation Charm."
"You helped a Gryffindor?"
"I took the opportunity to practise wandless magic."
"You expect me to believe that?"
"Then believe what you like."
Pansy huffed but said no more.
Draco watched the departing figures thoughtfully.
Everyone wants to be Harry. Yet most are Neville.
If he possessed the ability to intervene discreetly, Draco saw no reason not to do so. After all, resilience often shone brighter than fame.
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