"At breakfast, Neville got a Remembrall from his grandmother. Malfoy almost snatched it away. I really wanted to punch him."Harry glanced at his own sturdy build, secretly comparing himself to Malfoy, and said with confidence.
"Malfoy is such a pain. He always shows up just to ruin everything. If Professor McGonagall hadn't appeared, Harry and I would've beaten him up tomorrow morning," Ron said, waving his fork as he spoke, nearly flinging the pie off it.
"He's always bragging about all the candy packages he gets," Hermione said angrily. "If he keeps eating that much sugar, his teeth will turn rock-hard soon."Hermione's parents were both dentists and had always strictly controlled her sugar intake, so Malfoy's constant bragging really irritated her.
Imagining Malfoy's rotten teeth combined with his arrogant expression, everyone shivered, fell silent for a moment—then burst out laughing.
After venting together about their shared enemy, Harry's thoughts drifted to the next flying lesson.
"Just my luck. Not only do we share Potions with Slytherin, now Flying class too. Am I really going to embarrass myself on a broom in front of Malfoy?" Harry complained.His academic performance already far surpassed Malfoy's, and he was confident he could beat him one-on-one. Harry didn't want to lose to Malfoy in any way.
When Harry mentioned Flying class, Hermione's mood dimmed as well. She was never afraid of studying or attending lessons, but when it came to sports, she easily lost confidence. She quietly recited flying techniques she'd read in The Origin of Quidditch, hoping she wouldn't make a fool of herself that afternoon.
Ron, who came from a wizarding family, wasn't worried at all. Even though he'd only ever used his brothers' old brooms, he felt no fear toward first-year Flying class.
"Flying isn't difficult."Seeing Harry and Hermione's tension, George deliberately slowed his speech to catch their attention.
"A broom is like a wand—it's an extension of your body. It can sense your emotions, and it can feel your fear."George's calm tone and presence relaxed both Harry and Hermione.
"It's just like a wand…"Hermione's eyes lit up. Wand control had always been one of her strongest skills.
"I'll teach you a word that'll make it easier to control a broom."George's expression grew serious, and Harry and Hermione leaned forward unconsciously. "This word is connected to the spirit."
"If you feel fear or lose control while flying, shout this word at the top of your lungs."
George paused. Harry and Hermione's heartbeats quickened.
When George spoke the word—"Demacia"—he deliberately lowered his voice. Yet as the sound carried, it reached their ears and exploded in their minds, as if filled with immense power.
Their hearts pounded, their faces flushed red, and for a moment they felt a surge of strength rushing through their bodies.
After a while, they calmed down. George handed each of them a glass of juice."Do you understand?"
Though they didn't know exactly what had happened, Harry and Hermione exchanged a look and saw nothing but fierce fighting spirit in each other's eyes. Neither of them was worried about Flying class anymore.
Ron scratched his head, completely confused.
At three-thirty in the afternoon, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the other Gryffindor students walked through the corridors and down the steps to a grassy field. A gentle breeze blew, rippling the grass that stretched from the lawn all the way to the forest.
The Slytherin students had already arrived. Training brooms were neatly laid out on the ground.
Fred had once complained to Harry about the school brooms—some shook when flying too high, others veered crookedly. But thinking of that mysterious magical word, Harry no longer felt worried.
Madam Hooch, the Flying instructor, had short gray-white hair and piercing yellow eyes. When she stared at someone, it made them want to flee like prey.
"All right, no dawdling," she snapped. "Line up beside your brooms."
Harry's broom looked utterly battered, its twigs sticking out everywhere. At first, he felt confident—but then a hint of nervousness crept in.
"Extend your right hand over the broom handle," Madam Hooch commanded sharply. "On my signal—up!"
"Up!" the students shouted.
Harry's broom leapt obediently into his hand. He glanced around—Ron and Hermione had succeeded easily. Only a few others managed it. Most Muggle-born students' brooms simply rolled at their feet, while Neville's broom didn't move at all.
"A broom is like a wand—it's part of your body. It can feel your fear."Harry recalled George's words. Neville's voice trembled; he didn't want to control the broom at all, so naturally, it didn't respond.
Madam Hooch then demonstrated how to mount a broom properly without slipping and how to grip it correctly, correcting each student's mistakes one by one.
When Harry and Hermione heard her criticize Malfoy's poor performance, they secretly felt pleased. Remembering that powerful word, their confidence soared. Malfoy gradually corrected his posture—so much so that even Madam Hooch praised him.
"Now, when I blow the whistle, kick off hard and the broom will lift you," Madam Hooch said."Grip it tightly, let it hover first, lean forward, relax, imagine you and the broom becoming one—then land when you hear my whistle. Three… two—"
Neville was too nervous. Afraid of making another mistake and being left behind, he instinctively kicked off when she said "two" and shot into the air.
"Come back, Neville!" Madam Hooch shouted urgently.
But Neville was already flying out of control like an arrow. Harry watched his panicked face, gripping his own broom tightly to keep it on the ground. Neville gasped for breath—and before anyone could react, he slipped off the broom and fell.
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