Flying class was approaching. Though called flying, it referred specifically to using flying broomsticks—quite common among British wizards.
Harry didn't understand the girls' situations—he just felt the little boys' excitement was palpable.
"Just my luck," Ron said, unusually dejected. "I'll probably make a fool of myself on a broomstick in front of Malfoy. He might not dare mock you, but he'll definitely want to mock me."
Though Ron was a Quidditch fan, when he was young, his mother wouldn't let him play with broomsticks—he was just an armchair expert.
Meanwhile Malfoy constantly boasted, "I'm incredibly good at flying broomsticks"—not said to Harry's face, but Ron had heard it from somewhere.
After hearing that, he'd been very nervous.
"You might not make a fool of yourself," Harry said. "Maybe you're exceptionally gifted—maybe you have an innate talent for Quidditch. Malfoy could be humiliated in minutes."
"Hope so."
Malfoy never stopped talking about flying.
He loudly complained that first-year students didn't qualify for House Quidditch teams, and also told many long, self-aggrandizing stories that always ended with him narrowly dodging a helicopter while flying.
However, he wasn't the only one exaggerating. From Seamus's tone, it sounded like as a child he could ride broomsticks high into the sky, creating huge blasts to break through cloud layers for artificial rain—obviously fake.
Could he have known the Blasting Curse before even starting school?
Even Ron, whenever anyone would listen, claimed he once rode Charlie's broken broomstick and nearly crashed into a hang glider. Only when alone with Harry would he secretly confess this never actually happened—just bragging.
When it came to broomsticks, everyone from wizarding families chattered endlessly about Quidditch. Ron had already quarreled with dorm mate Dean Thomas over whether Quidditch or football was better.
Neville had never ridden a broomstick in his life because his grandmother never let him near them.
Harry privately felt his grandmother was very reasonable—Neville was the second most dangerous person after Seamus.
Though Neville didn't cause major explosions, he always had terrible luck, constantly triggering various accidents, yet he liked being with Seamus, which meant Seamus could always blast him.
Without Harry's interventions, Neville would definitely have been injured and sent to the hospital wing more than once already.
Hermione was nearly as nervous as Neville. Having no flying experience, she couldn't practice in advance, so she'd only been reading some extracurricular flying guidance for mental preparation.
Harry suggested she ride an ordinary broom to get a feel for the balance—it should be better than pure mental practice.
That afternoon at three-thirty, Harry and the other Gryffindors hurried down the steps to the grounds before the entrance for their first flying lesson.
The Slytherin students were already there, plus twenty broomsticks neatly arranged on the ground in two rows.
Harry had heard Fred and George complain about the school broomsticks, saying some vibrated when flying too high and sometimes veered off course—all too old. The twins were on the Quidditch team and needed to ride frequently.
Anyway, Harry didn't want to play such games—he wanted to concentrate on his studies.
Not just Quidditch—during those years in the [Asian Parents] world when he could watch TV freely, and later when selecting sports for competitions, he'd watched many football matches. He felt the playing was mediocre and found it quite strange why so many people enjoyed watching football.
While thinking this, their teacher Madam Hooch arrived.
She had short gray hair and yellow eyes like a hawk's. Harry felt if she knew the Animagus transformation, she'd probably become a large eagle.
"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."
Harry looked down at his broomstick—old and shabby, with some twigs sticking out at odd angles.
"Stick out your right hand over your broom," Madam Hooch called from the front, "and say, 'Up!'"
"UP!" everyone shouted.
Harry's broomstick immediately jumped into his hand—undoubtedly conquered.
Harry felt there was more than that. Opening his skill panel, [Riding Mastery] was flashing, quickly adding a [Flying Broomstick Riding] sub-skill.
This easy? Sent to the Dursleys at age one, he'd never ridden a broomstick before... probably?
Looking around, others still had difficulty, or rather, it depended on talent. Everyone's talent differed, like Seamus excelling at blasting.
Some first-timers had also successfully summoned their broomsticks.
Hermione's broomstick just rolled on the ground, while Neville's didn't move at all.
Then Madam Hooch demonstrated how to mount the broomsticks without sliding off headfirst.
"Now, when I blow my whistle, you'll kick off hard from the ground," Madam Hooch said. "Keep your broom steady, rise a few feet, lean forward slightly, and drop back down vertically. On my whistle—three—two—"
Then things unexpectedly went wrong. Neville suddenly flew up prematurely, shooting into the sky, then sliding down. Harry for the nth time, saved him—
Without using the Levitation Charm or the broomstick he'd never ridden, he kicked off the ground, leaping over ten meters, channeling his stamina/energy, and positioning himself under Neville's falling body in advance.
Immediately followed by a thud—quite loud when catching him. Falling from that altitude should have been disastrous, but because Harry had his stamina protecting both of them, Neville suffered no harm.
Like a superhero catching someone, never turning them into a splatter.
Smooth landing.
Then came the chorus of "Wow—oh—" from his classmates.
"Did you see that?"
"He's basically superhuman!"
"He's a true hero."
"Can he fly without a broomstick himself?"
This was just speculation—Harry couldn't fly yet.
"I bet he can fly with just his body."
"This must be some kind of supernatural power."
"Wait, is that even possible?"
"If you can fly without broomsticks, can you also play Quidditch without broomsticks?"
"You'd still need to use them, right..."
"Can you play football without shoes?"
They should have been used to Harry's abnormality by now, but they simply couldn't get used to it. This was simply beyond reason—was this truly magic's power?
Madam Hooch's first reaction was also shock. Worthy of the famous Harry Potter—jumping that high, catching so accurately, this physical quality didn't seem human.
Her second reaction—falling from such a height, even if not dead, would result in severe injuries with multiple fractures.
Harry was naturally fine. But Neville must have been hurt terribly.
She took Neville from Harry's arms. Neville was pale with fright.
"Strange, he seems fine," Harry heard her whisper. "Though there are no external injuries, there could be internal bleeding. Alright, child—I'll support you."
She turned to look at the rest of the class.
"I'm taking this boy to the hospital wing. None of you are to move! Put those broomsticks back where you found them, or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear."
Harry didn't explain. Neville was frightened—going to the hospital wing for a checkup was a good idea regardless.