Flying has always been one of humanity's greatest dreams, and Wade was no exception. To him, one of the biggest perks of learning magic was the ability to soar freely through the skies. Sure, you could fly in an airplane too, and it was way more comfortable than riding a broom or a winged horse—but let's be honest, the latter was way cooler.
Ravenclaw shared flying lessons with Hufflepuff every Friday afternoon. Gryffindor and Slytherin had theirs on Thursday afternoon.
Starting from Monday, all the first years had been buzzing non-stop about flying. Michael was no different.
"Did you know? My most thrilling flight was diving off a cliff on a broomstick, racing an eagle!" Michael declared, a sausage skewered on his fork, clearly enjoying his storytelling. "We dived from a height of thirteen hundred meters and hovered just fifteen centimeters above the ground! The grass was practically tickling my nose!"
"Wow, that's amazing!" said Theo from the next table, sounding completely convinced. "Michael, you should definitely try out for Quidditch. I bet you're great at the Wronski Feint! Loads of pro players can't even pull that off!"
Michael blushed a little but kept his composure. "O-of course! I mean, once Professor Flitwick sees how awesome I am in flying class, he might even invite me to join the team early!"
"No doubt about it! You're a natural genius!" Theo cheered loudly.
Michael blushed even more.
At the long house table, a few older Ravenclaw girls giggled behind their hands. They clearly saw through his bragging.
Trying to change the subject, Michael turned around and asked, "Wade, want me to give you some flying tips before class? Just so you don't get nervous when you're up there. I'm basically an expert—I was flying around the house on a broom before I could even walk."
"Really? We could use some tips too." Hermione appeared beside them, dragging Neville along and sitting down quickly. Her arms were full of books—Quidditch Through the Ages, The Wigtown Wanderers' Miracle Season, He Flew Like a Madman, and others.
"You borrowed all of those?" Wade asked, surprised.
"Yeah, but they're not much help," Hermione huffed as she slammed the stack onto the table. "They mostly go on about how brutal Quidditch is, not how to fly smoothly."
That comment immediately sparked outrage among the Quidditch fans nearby. Michael raised his eyebrows. "Brutal? Hermione, you clearly don't get it—Quidditch is the most popular, most thrilling sport there is! Everyone loves Quidditch! It's not brutal at all—or wait, no—maybe you just don't appreciate its wild charm!"
"Really?" Hermione snapped back. "Then explain why the Golden Snidget had to be declared a protected species—nearly went extinct!"
"Quidditch didn't do anything wrong!" Michael protested. Then he hesitated. "...Wait, what's a Golden Snidget? Sounds kinda like a Golden Snitch?"
"It's a small, fast-flying bird," Wade answered, having read about it earlier. "They used to release one in Quidditch matches, and the game wouldn't end until the Seeker caught and killed it. They used to be as common as sparrows, but eventually, the numbers dropped so much they had to create protected reserves just to keep them from disappearing completely. Later, they invented the Golden Snitch to replace the Snidget. But some countries still kept the old custom for a while. So even today, the Snidget is a protected species."
Hermione lifted her chin proudly. "Exactly. Quidditch is a barbaric sport built on the deaths of countless Golden Snidgets. And nowadays, hardly anyone cares about them. All they cheer for is a sport that can literally kill you!"
She forgot entirely why she'd come to the table in the first place. Grabbing her books, she stormed off in a huff, leaving the boys staring at one another in awkward silence.
After a moment, Neville asked timidly, "So... is the flying lesson still happening?" His face fell. "I've never flown before. My gran won't let me near a broomstick—not even a toy one."
"Ahem, of course!" Michael said enthusiastically. "Flying's actually easy. Just grab the front handle, push off the ground hard with both feet, and you're airborne. Balance is the key. And for turning, stay flexible—there's a big difference between broom models. The school brooms are old—if you get one that even resembles a Shooting Star, you're lucky. The best right now is the Nimbus 2000…"
Michael's "flying lesson" lasted about three sentences. The rest of the time, he raved on and on about the features of the Nimbus series. Theo was eating it all up, believing every word. Neville, wide-eyed, was desperately trying to write it all down. In the end, all he had on his paper was: Grab handle. Push off hard. Stay balanced.
Ryan leaned over and whispered to Wade, "I'm pretty sure Michael's only ever flown on a toy broom."
"What makes you say that?" Wade asked. "Have you flown a real one?"
"Not by myself—my mom says it's too dangerous," Ryan admitted. "But my dad has a Comet. He used to take me for a ride now and then. He told me just staying steady is already good for a beginner. Real brooms are way faster than toys, and there's no height limiter."
He glanced over at Michael, who was still ranting like an expert, and shook his head.
"Don't worry about it," Wade said reassuringly. "There'll be a professor there too."
He didn't remember all the fine details of Harry Potter, but he vaguely recalled that Neville ended up doing something heroic in the final battle. What could possibly go wrong in a regular flying class?
Then again… he did seem to recall a flying class scene.
Wade rubbed his chin, trying to dig out a useful memory.
Hmm… wasn't there something about Neville getting bullied by Draco? And Harry standing up for him?
That sounded about right.
Thursday afternoon, Ravenclaw only had one shared Charms class with Slytherin. After class, the Slytherins excitedly ran out to the lawn—where flying lessons were held. The Ravenclaws didn't have any more classes either, so most of them tagged along to watch.
Wade, for once, joined the group. After all, it was flying class. Students gathered in small groups along the corridor, straining to hear what Madam Hooch, the flying instructor, was saying—hoping to pick up some tips in advance and avoid embarrassment tomorrow.
It wasn't long before they saw Neville—yes, Neville—when everyone else was still firmly on the ground, he shot into the sky like a cannonball!
"Aaaaahhhh—!"
A terrified scream rang out from above, and the next moment a figure plummeted straight down. Before anyone could react, he crashed into the grass with a loud thud!
Silence fell across the crowd.
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