All afternoon, the lawn echoed with screams, laughter, the whistling of out-of-control broomsticks, and Madam Hooch's endless barrage of commands.
Some students face-planted into mud puddles, some crashed into tree trunks, and others burst into tears in mid-air ("Mom! What do I do?!"). One student even tried to spank his broom's tail twigs like a horse to make it go faster, earning himself the punishment of writing out the Broomstick Safety Guidelines three times.
But no one gave up.
By the time the setting sun began to paint the lawn in strokes of gold and crimson, Liriya had finally gathered the courage to guide her broom two stories into the air. She kept her eyes closed, hands gripping the wood tightly, her lips moving slightly as if whispering to the wind.
And the wind seemed to answer her. The broom stopped its nervous trembling and hovered with perfect stability. A single dandelion seed drifted up from near her feet, riding the gentle breeze into the sky.
Not far away, Julien was relentlessly practicing his "slow-speed approach." He had abandoned explosive bursts of speed in favor of focusing on micro-adjustments in his turns and inch-perfect distance control. His movements were still swift, but they had taken on a grounded, rhythmic steadiness.
Hannah, her blonde hair a mess, slipped off the back of her broom and landed hard on her rear. Instead of crying, she burst out laughing, wiped the sweat from her face, and immediately climbed back on to take off again.
Standing on the sidelines, Madam Hooch watched this battered, bruised, but deeply stubborn group of young wizards. For the first time all day, a genuine smile touched her lips.
"Remember how this feels today!" she called out loudly. "In the wizarding world, no one is born knowing how to fly. Whether they become Quidditch stars or just ordinary wizards, everyone starts by falling into the mud, getting stuck in trees, and being made a fool of by their broomsticks."
She paused, her gaze sweeping over Liriya, Julien, Casen, Hannah... taking in every sweat-dampened forehead and pair of shining eyes.
"Talent decides how fast you can fly. But hard work decides how far and how high you will go."
The evening breeze rustled across the pitch, and the hovering broomsticks swayed gently, almost as if nodding in agreement.
High up in a distant Ravenclaw tower, Cho Chang and Roger Davies were leaning against a stone railing, watching the pitch below.
"You were right about the dark-haired kid, Julien," Roger suddenly remarked. "His speed is incredible, but he's too reckless. If he makes the team, I'll have to train him myself."
Cho smiled. "Don't jump the gun, Roger. They've only just managed to leave the ground."
"But some people," Roger murmured, his eyes tracking Julien as the boy executed another perfectly precise hover in front of a stray Quaffle, "are simply born for the sky."
---
By dinnertime, the Great Hall was brilliantly lit. Hundreds of candles floated high above the tables, casting a warm, flickering glow over the gold-rimmed plates and goblets.
The air was rich with the mouthwatering scents of roast chicken, pumpkin pasties, and hot butterbeer.
Julien, Casen, and Edgar had just found a spot to sit down when a familiar voice called out from behind them. "Hey! Julien! Over here!"
Harry, Ron, and Hermione were waving them over. The three Ravenclaws shuffled down to the end of the table to join the Gryffindors.
"How was your flying class this afternoon?" Ron asked, his eyes gleaming with excitement as he piled mashed potatoes onto his plate. "Ours was absolute brilliant this morning."
"Don't even ask!" Casen jumped in before anyone else could speak, dramatically clutching his chest. "I was almost sacrificed to a willow tree by my own broom! However—" He puffed out his chest proudly. "I can now successfully maintain a three-second hover! My spot on the Ravenclaw House team is practically guaranteed!"
"By 'three-second hover,' do you mean the three seconds you spent stuck in a tree branch before Madam Hooch rescued you with a Hover Charm?" Edgar shot back mercilessly.
The group burst into laughter.
"But seriously, Malfoy and his Slytherin gang were infuriating this morning," Hermione said, launching into a detailed recount of their chaotic flying lesson.
"I was wondering why I hadn't seen Neville around. So he got hurt. Is he going to be alright?" Edgar asked.
"He should be fine, mostly— ack!" Ron choked slightly on a mouthful of potato.
Hermione rolled her eyes at him and seamlessly took over. "He fractured his wrist, but Madam Hooch said Madam Pomfrey at the hospital wing will have the bone mended by tomorrow morning."
"We're going to visit him right after dinner," Ron said, having finally cleared his throat with a gulp of water. "We've got brilliant news to tell him, too."
"What brilliant news?!" Hermione snapped crossly. "That you two got into a fight with the Slytherins?!"
"But we won, didn't we?" Ron and Harry both lifted their chins proudly.
The Ravenclaws exchanged a glance. Why are Gryffindor and Slytherin classes always so explosive?
"Obviously I don't mean the fight. I mean Harry making the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Uh-oh..." Ron clamped a hand over his mouth, realizing he had just let the cat out of the bag.
Harry hurriedly explained to Julien and the others. "It's fine to tell you guys. Just don't let any Slytherins find out. Wood—our team captain—says he wants to use me as a secret weapon."
"What?!" Edgar nearly dropped his fork. "A first-year?! That's impossible! The school rules specifically state—"
"I know, I know," Harry said, his face turning slightly pink. "But Professor McGonagall said... special circumstances."
While Harry hesitated, trying to figure out how to explain the rest, Ron eagerly picked up the slack. "You guys missed it! This morning, Malfoy stole Neville's Remembrall and chucked it into the air. Harry chased after him on his broom, pulled a massive Wronski Feint, and snatched it right out of a dive at the very last second. It was the coolest thing ever!"
"Right, and he nearly broke his neck doing it!" Hermione chimed in sharply.
"I didn't even know what a Wronski Feint was," Harry admitted, entirely missing Hermione's sarcasm. "I was just acting on pure instinct. Professor McGonagall just happened to see the whole thing."
"Mate, I've got to admit, that is incredibly cool. How did you even do that?" Casen asked, genuinely awestruck.
"Honestly, it was my first time on a broom too, but I realized..." Harry's face was flushed, clearly still riding the high of his first flight. "The sky isn't actually that scary. As long as you're willing to ride the air currents, you can go wherever you want."
"Talent! That's what that is—pure talent!" Ron proudly defined his best friend's achievement.
For once, Hermione didn't argue. Instead, she nodded thoughtfully. "That actually aligns with records of certain ancient flying meditation techniques. It's said that the Norse Valkyries rode their winged horses by resonating with the air currents."
Julien was just about to offer his own word of praise when Harry suddenly lowered his voice. "It's just a shame I didn't manage to ram Malfoy off his broom. Would've been nice to let him see how a broken arm feels."
"What?! You did that on purpose?!" Hermione's voice pitched up in shock.
"He deserved to get rammed! Better yet, he should've broken his nose!" Ron gritted his teeth. "If it wasn't for that Rosier girl ruining things!"
"Rosier? Elizabeth Rosier? What does she have to do with this?" Julien asked, surprised.
"I didn't get to hit him," Harry shook his head. "Just as Malfoy lost his balance and was about to fall, Rosier flew over and grabbed him. Her movements... they were unbelievably fast and steady."
"Look, I don't exactly like the Slytherins either, but I have to say, we owe that Rosier girl today," Hermione pointed out logically. "If it weren't for her, you boys would be in massive trouble right now. And she flew right off after saving him. She didn't acknowledge Malfoy's thanks, and she didn't get involved in the argument between the Houses afterward."
Ron immediately scoffed. "Please! They're all birds of a feather! I heard the Rosiers and the Malfoys are incredibly close. Both families followed two generations of Dark Lords. You think she's one of the good guys?"
Julien fell silent for a few seconds before speaking in a calm, measured tone. "If Elizabeth stepped in to save him in a situation like that, it proves her flying skills are exceptional. And the fact that she didn't stick around to claim credit or join the fight... that shows she has basic judgment and, more importantly, restraint."
"Are you actually defending a Slytherin?" Ron's eyes went wide.
Hermione looked at Julien as well, a flicker of confusion in her eyes, picking up on a subtle detail. "Elizabeth? Are you two that close?"
"Julien, she's a Rosier—maybe you don't know this, but her family has produced countless dark wizards throughout history!" Ron pressed.
Julien set down his knife and fork, his tone unwavering. "I'm not defending anyone. I'm just saying we should judge people by their actions, not their supposed intentions or bloodlines. Saving a life is saving a life, no matter how complicated the motives might be. If we invalidate every good or bright thing someone does just because they come from a 'dark' background, then how are we any different from those pure-blood fanatics who judge everyone based on their ancestry?"
A heavy silence fell over their section of the Great Hall. Even Casen forgot to keep bragging.
Hermione opened her mouth, looking as though she wanted to argue back, but ultimately just pressed her lips together and looked down, aggressively slicing a carrot.
It wasn't that she was unreasonable—she understood logic better than anyone. But the casual way Julien had used Rosier's first name bothered her in a way she couldn't quite put her finger on.
Harry, however, looked thoughtful. "Actually... she does seem different from the other Slytherins. Aside from looking a bit haughty, she never really hangs around with Malfoy's gang, and she's always really quiet in class."
"A quiet snake is the most dangerous kind!" Ron muttered stubbornly.