Julian found it a bit strange that the very first flying lesson actually involved proper flying already, but he was not about to complain.
"Welcome to flying class," Madam Rolanda Hooch said, sharp eyes sweeping over the group. "I am the Quidditch referee here at Hogwarts when I am not teaching. Today we will learn proper form for mounting and riding brooms, so pay close attention and do exactly as I say. First, stand beside one of the brooms on the ground, with it on your dominant side."
The students moved to obey, each picking a broomstick from the line laid out on the grass.
"Good," Hooch continued. "Now, in a firm, commanding tone, say 'Up,' like this."
She demonstrated. The broom she stood beside jumped neatly into her hand.
Julian barely had time to form the intention to follow her instructions before his broom snapped up off the ground and slapped into his palm with eager speed, like a dog running to its owner.
Avian royalty, he grumbled inwardly. Of course I would have ridiculous talent on a broom.
Madam Hooch noticed the way his broom responded, but chose not to comment. The lesson rolled on as normal.
A handful of students managed to get their brooms into their hands on the first try, namely Harry, Draco, and Tracey. Others needed a few attempts, while some seemed doomed from the start, like Hermione and Neville, whose brooms barely twitched.
When everyone finally had their brooms in hand, Madam Hooch spoke again.
"Now that you all have your brooms, mount them. Then kick off hard from the ground and hover, and wait for further instructions," she said, watching closely.
Julian swung one leg over the broom and settled into position. He did not even need to kick off. The broom rose smoothly all on its own, as though it knew exactly what he wanted, lifting him until he hung three feet above the grass in a perfectly steady hover.
To make things worse, he could tell he did not actually need his hands to control it. The broom felt like an extension of his will.
Madam Hooch clocked that too, a glint appearing briefly in her eye as she mentally filed it away.
Most students managed to get into the air without too much chaos, wobbling but more or less stable. Neville, however, had the absolute worst luck.
His broom jerked him upward, and then simply refused to stop. It kept climbing higher and higher, ignoring his terrified squeaks.
Neville looked down, went white as parchment, and fainted. His limp body slipped from the broom and began plummeting toward the ground.
Julian reacted on instinct.
"Spongify!"
The charm sprang from his wand and softened the ground beneath Neville. Instead of a sickening crack, there was a muffled thump as the boy hit the enchanted turf. What should have been a nasty break turned into a bad, painful sprain.
Madam Hooch scowled at the malfunctioning broom, then turned to Julian.
"Ten points to Gryffindor for quick thinking, Mr Iron," she said briskly, before helping Neville up and escorting him off to the hospital wing.
...
The moment she was out of earshot, Malfoy started laughing.
"Did you see his face? The big lump," he sniggered, and a few Slytherins joined in, though several looked distinctly uncomfortable with it.
"Shut up, Malfoy," Parvati Patil snapped.
"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" Pansy Parkinson said, her voice oily. "Never thought you would go for fat little crybabies, Parvati."
Malfoy darted forward suddenly and snatched something from the grass where Neville had fallen.
"Look at this," he said, holding it up so it flashed in the sunlight. "That stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him."
The Remembrall glinted in his hand.
"Give it here, Malfoy," Harry said, voice firm.
"Come and get it, Potter," Malfoy sneered, and then kicked off, shooting into the air on his broom.
Harry immediately moved to mount his own broom, but Hermione called up anxiously, "Do not do it, we will all get in trouble!"
Harry ignored her completely and launched into the air after Malfoy.
Everyone on the ground watched as the two boys streaked through the air, weaving between the hovering students. They could see mouths moving, but not hear what was being said. Whatever Harry said must have rattled Malfoy, because the blonde's expression twisted and he suddenly hurled the Remembrall as far as he could before racing back down for the safety of the ground.
Harry shot after the falling glass ball. He caught it cleanly just beneath one of the high windows of the castle, a window Julian recognized as belonging to McGonagall's office.
Sure enough, only a short while later, the stern witch stormed across the grounds toward them, robes swirling, expression thunderous. She seized Harry by the shoulder and marched him off, while Malfoy watched with a self satisfied sneer.
Julian's grip tightened around his broom. He wanted very badly to hex that smug expression off Draco's face, but he knew better than to start casting spells in front of a teacher's office.
The broom, however, had its own opinion.
It picked up on his hostility like a dog sensing its owner's mood. Before he could register what was happening, the broom jerked out of his hand, angled itself, and rocketed straight at Malfoy's face.
There was a sickening crack as wood met nose. Draco went down in a heap, blood pouring from his face, completely unconscious.
Every head swung toward Julian.
He calmly held up his empty hands, making sure everyone saw he did not even have his wand drawn.
"Broom malfunction," he said evenly.
Everyone accepted that explanation immediately. They had, after all, just watched Neville's broom go berserk not long ago.
Madam Hooch returned in time to see the blood and the broken nose. She made every student explain what had happened. When all of them told the exact same story about the broom going wild, she turned and gave Julian a long, assessing look, then sighed and turned away.
She hoisted Malfoy up and dragged him off toward the hospital wing to join Neville.
"Be honest," Tracey whispered once the professor was out of earshot. "Did you do that to Malfoy on purpose?"
Julian shook his head. "I really did not," he said. "Not that I am going to complain about the malfunction."
Because even if he had not cast the spell, he definitely did not feel sorry about the result.