Chapter 5 — Mr. Potter, Miss Malfoy, What Are You Two Doing?
Flying class finally began.
The weather was clear and cloudless, with a steady breeze. According to Madam Hooch, it was the kind of day when even someone who had never flown before could do so safely. Because the newly purchased brooms were expensive, she had spent quite some time retrieving them from a locked storage cabinet. During that time, Harry, Malfoy, and the others queued up and waited.
After learning that his father had been an outstanding Quidditch player—moreover, a Seeker, the position that required the most flying skill—Harry felt much calmer. He didn't dare claim he would definitely fly well, but he now had a stronger desire to try.
"Harry, have you ever heard the story of Icarus?" Hermione suddenly asked from beside him.
"My aunt and uncle never told me fairy tales," Harry replied. He knew the name from primary school lessons, but he wasn't familiar with the details.
"Icarus was an ancient Greek inventor. He had a dream that everyone of his time longed for—he wanted to become someone who could fly into the sky. For that dream, he devoted his entire life to inventing a pair of artificial wings, and he successfully flew into the heavens. Oh, and the day he flew was just like today—bright and sunny."
Hermione's voice rose and fell with perfect rhythm, drawing Harry in. He listened attentively.
"But those wings had a fatal flaw—they couldn't withstand high temperatures. Icarus flew too high, and the wax on his wings melted under the sun's heat…" Hermione trailed off deliberately.
Harry suddenly felt uneasy. Hermione definitely hadn't brought this up just for casual conversation—but his curiosity had already been stirred. "And then?"
Hermione didn't answer. Instead, she gave him a cryptic smile, raised her left hand, and used her palm to mimic a person plummeting from the sky. At the end, she added a sound effect:
"Smack—"
Harry felt his scalp prickle. Hermione's gesture painted a vivid image in his mind. He trembled and crouched down, looking at her innocently.
"We both grew up in Muggle families, so how come I only went to the bathroom and came back, and you're not nervous at all anymore? Didn't we agree we'd get through this class being scared together? It's unfair if I'm the only one afraid. As your classmate, I have a duty to remind you not to forget important things—like how people die when they fall from great heights."
Hermione's face was expressionless. Even though she was smiling, there was an unmistakable chill about her.
Unexpectedly, this attack also hit an innocent bystander. Standing on her other side, Neville had shrunk down just like Harry, muttering, "It's fine, it's fine, it's fake, it's fake…"
"That's only true for Muggles, right?" Ron, who had grown up in a wizarding family, looked at Harry dismissively. "We've been flying for hundreds of years. That kind of accident wouldn't happen to wizards. Broom flight is much safer."
"So that's the Muggle version of Icarus." Malfoy, who had originally been outside the conversation, leaned in with interest. "Icarus was actually a wizard. In that era there were no flying brooms, so many ancient wizards researched various flying devices. Icarus was the first wizard to propose multiple flight theories."
Hermione immediately looked at Malfoy warily, sensing an intrusion into her territory.
"But the ending is similar. Flying devices have an expiration period. Once the Flight Charm loses its power, they crash. Icarus fell while testing his winged apparatus—the magic in the harpy feathers failed. That's also why the British Ministry of Magic only allows flying brooms as legal flying devices in Britain. Brooms retain Flight Charm magic longer than any other magical object."
Everyone present nodded in agreement at Malfoy's explanation. Then she patted Ron on the shoulder and added, "The accident rate for brand-new brooms is only one percent. If we're lucky, we probably won't fall out of the sky mid-flight. But if we're unlucky, we might still die. That's why manufacturers carry high insurance payouts—to compensate those who fall to their deaths."
Ron stared at Malfoy blankly. When he processed what she meant, unease spread across his face. What had once been an eagerly anticipated flying lesson now felt like a march to the execution ground, all thanks to two ancient fairy tales.
"All right, everyone stand beside your broom," Madam Hooch called out. "These Comet Seven brooms were bought less than a month ago, so handle them carefully. Heaven knows when Hogwarts will purchase another batch—perhaps in a few hundred years."
That only made their expressions worse.
"Oh, Merlin," Ron muttered gloomily as he took his position.
"Fake… fake… fake…" Neville repeated like a broken record.
"Harry, if I die, please don't cry at my grave. My will has my parents' address—give my ashes to them and tell them I died in pursuit of knowledge. I still have a few Galleons of allowance left. Please donate it to the Flying Broom Accident Relief Fund." Hermione delivered her last wishes to Harry in rapid succession. It should have sounded like she trusted him deeply—but hearing this, Harry only wanted to greet Hermione's mother with some very choice words.
"Harry, do you prefer a priest or a druid? I'm not very familiar with Muggle funerals, but my family can still find a few druids living in seclusion in Scotland. They practice the old-style rites from before Christianity invaded Britain—" Malfoy stopped mid-sentence when she noticed Harry glaring at her and quickly patted his shoulder. "Just kidding. It's not that easy to die. At Hogwarts, you're more likely to die from falling off a moving staircase than from falling off a broom. Even if there's an accident, the broom has protective charms to shield the rider."
"Then why did you say all that?"
"Seeing you scared silly by Granger—I'd lose if I didn't tell an even scarier story."
"Normally you're supposed to comfort me…"
"I don't want to." Malfoy shot Harry a mischievous look. Harry was full of grievances, but seeing her smile, he couldn't bring himself to get angry.
"Now place your hand over your broom and say, 'Up!'"
"Up." Harry followed the instruction doubtfully. The broom shot straight into his hand as if it had telepathy. It was far easier than he had imagined. He looked at Malfoy—she had succeeded as well and shot him a triumphant look. Their eyes met in unspoken understanding.
"Up… up… up…" Seeing the others, Harry realized it hadn't been as easy as he thought. Fewer than half the class had succeeded. Ron was still struggling desperately with his broom. No matter how he shouted, it wouldn't budge. Finally, in frustration, he snapped, "Fine, then get down."
As if to contradict him, the broom immediately flew into his hand. Ron stared at it with a complicated expression, a sudden urge rising within him to snap the disobedient broom over his knee. If his family could afford the compensation, he might have already done it.
"Up, up, up—UP!" Hermione yelled at her broom, but it remained stubbornly still, giving only the slightest twitch before settling back onto the ground.
"Up…" Neville said softly. The broom twitched. Neville leaned forward excitedly to look—only for the broom handle to smack him squarely on the head. The handle of a new broom was indeed sturdy. The blow knocked him flat.
Madam Hooch had taught flying at Hogwarts for most of her life and had seen all kinds of talentless students—but this was the first time she had encountered one who fainted before even taking off. With a sigh, she waved her wand, and Neville's body floated into the air.
"I'm taking him to the hospital wing. You are to stay exactly where you are until I return. Do you understand? If I come back and see anyone with both feet off the ground, I promise you'll be expelled immediately."
With that, she left with Neville in tow.
"How tragic." The moment Madam Hooch disappeared, Hermione irritably kicked her broom. Then she turned to the others. "Let's visit him after class. Do you know what snacks Neville likes?"
"Who knows? Judging by his round face, he probably isn't picky," Ron said, placing his broom back on the ground. He walked to where Neville had been standing to test whether that broom was more obedient—but it only responded to opposite commands as well.
"How ridiculous. Sometimes I think making a fool of himself is his real talent." Malfoy spoke as though enjoying a show. Then her gaze fell on the spot where Neville had collapsed. A faint glint caught her eye.
Carefully, Malfoy walked over, picked up the reflective object, and slipped it into her pocket.
"Thank you, Miss Malfoy. Please give me Neville's Remembrall. I'll return it to him when we visit," Hermione said. Malfoy had thought she had been discreet—but Hermione had still noticed. Or perhaps Hermione had simply been waiting for a chance to find fault with her.
"I have no idea what you're talking about." Malfoy stepped behind Harry, using his body to block Hermione's line of sight.
"Neville's Remembrall. You put it in your pocket—I saw it."
"Do you have any witnesses or evidence? Or do Muggles simply enjoy slandering others out of thin air?" Malfoy looked at Hermione with disdain. She had always tried to restrain herself from harboring prejudice against Muggle-borns—but for some reason, she found Hermione especially irritating.
"Harry, search her pockets. The left side." Hermione's commanding tone made Harry react instinctively. He reached out—but the moment he did, Malfoy seized his wrist.
"Don't touch me!" Malfoy shouted at him.
Startled—rarely, if ever, had Malfoy yelled at him—Harry froze. Malfoy took the opportunity to pull away, grabbing a broom as she did so.
"A bunch of uncultured people. Disgusting."
With that, she kicked off the ground and shot into the air. If Madam Hooch had been present, she would have praised Malfoy's textbook posture and skilled technique. Unfortunately, everyone watching was completely ignorant about flying—no one could appreciate her ability.
Except Harry, who looked up at her with admiration.
"Come down! You'll get expelled!" Hermione called anxiously, despite having just argued with her.
"You're overthinking it. It's not that easy to expel me. My status is different from yours—don't compare me to lowly students like you." Malfoy cast a disdainful glance at the classmates below, then turned and flew beyond their line of sight.
"Honestly…" Harry picked up his broom as well. Just as he was about to take off, Hermione grabbed him.
"Harry, forget her. She already called us lowly." Hermione sounded offended, then adopted the tone of a class prefect. "You'll get expelled. And you don't even know how to fly, do you?"
Harry frowned. Malfoy's behavior and words had indeed gone too far—but he felt there was a reason behind it. He wanted to understand that reason. As for whether he could fly… it might sound arrogant, but Harry believed some things could be made up for with talent. The first time he had held a broom, he had felt it—some abilities were simply innate.
Harry kicked off.
Though not as graceful as Malfoy, he rose steadily into the sky.
Watching him fly away, Hermione stamped her foot in frustration. "Two idiots!"
---
Above the Hogwarts forest, Malfoy closed her eyes, feeling the breeze of the sunny day. The transparent Remembrall spun deftly between her hands. Though she wasn't looking, the ball moved smoothly and steadily between her fingers.
"Malfoy."
At the sound of Harry's voice, a satisfied smile appeared on her face. Everything had gone exactly as she had expected.
"What is it?" she asked lightly.
"What do you mean, what is it?" Malfoy caught the Remembrall. It remained clear and transparent. From childhood until now, she had never forgotten a single thing. This object was meaningless to her. If she could choose, perhaps she would rather be like Neville—at least then she could forget unpleasant memories.
"Give the Remembrall back to Neville," Harry said, flying to her side. "I don't think you need it. And even if you did, your family could easily buy one for you."
He paused. "And what you said earlier… you didn't mean it, did you? I used to live a life where I wasn't even treated like a person. I know what it looks like when someone truly looks down on others."
"My acting was good, wasn't it?" A bitter smile flickered across Malfoy's face. "I'm confident I can deceive anyone. That's how I was raised—to hide my true thoughts, to gain power through manipulation and leverage, to control the people around me. My parents say that's the only way to survive."
"For Longbottom, what matters isn't the Remembrall itself, but what it represents—his family's concern for him. If he lost it, he would never buy a second one. Just like how he doesn't even like that toad, yet still takes care of it desperately. It's because it was given by family. That meaning far outweighs the object itself."
She tightened her grip on the Remembrall as if she might crush it.
"He's actually very talented. And he values loyalty. I dare say that seven years from now, he'll become an excellent wizard. If I sell him this favor now, it'll pay off in unexpected ways later. The favor of helping him recover something important—I won't hand that to a Granger who doesn't know how to use it."
Harry looked at Malfoy's downcast profile. Her words were too complex for him to fully grasp. He couldn't refute her—he didn't even fully understand her. So he answered with the simplest instinct he had.
"Why make it so complicated? Isn't that exhausting? I think even if you didn't calculate it like this—if you ever needed help, Neville would help you anyway. Aren't we friends?"
"Friends…" Malfoy gave a faint, humorless laugh. "My father once served the Dark Lord—he was what they call a Death Eater. Do you know why he became one? He was betrayed by the friend he trusted most. He ended up owing the Dark Lord a favor. If he refused to serve him, the Dark Lord would come to collect that debt—specifically by killing his family."
Harry stared at her in shock. It was the first time he had heard such a secret from her lips.
"Surprised? If you asked anyone who lived through the Dark Lord's era what kind of man Lucius Malfoy was, almost everyone would call him a weathercock—a coward who borrowed power to bully others. But if my father hadn't trusted his friend so blindly in his youth, he never would have ended up on that path."
Harry couldn't argue. At least one thing was certain—when Malfoy said she was different from him, it hadn't been an impulsive remark. The world she described was unimaginable to him.
"Let's make it a competition," Malfoy suddenly said, holding up the Remembrall. "If you win, I'll give you the ball. If you lose, you'll do one thing for me. How about it?"
She smirked. "For your friend—are you willing to gamble? Your flying looks pretty good."
The atmosphere was heavy, but at her praise, Harry felt himself floating. "How do we compete?"
"I'll toss the ball upward. Once it falls below us, we dive. Whoever catches it wins. It's not just about skill—diving toward the ground requires courage and judgment. So?"
"The winner gets the ball—and can ask the loser to do one thing." Harry felt a strange confidence. Competing in flying? He wouldn't lose. His body felt as though it had been designed for a broom—natural, seamless, as if broom and rider were one.
"All right… ready…"
Malfoy tossed the ball into the air. It began to fall. The moment it dropped past them, Harry reacted first, diving downward. By his estimation, they were still five hundred meters above the ground—catching it would be easy.
Then Malfoy did something that left him stunned.
She cast a simple impact spell at the ball. Instantly, it accelerated, plummeting until it was only fifty meters from the ground. Malfoy dove after it without hesitation, streaking past Harry like she had no regard for her life.
Forty. Thirty. Twenty. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One—
Less than a meter from the ground, Malfoy snatched the Remembrall. But she had no time to pull up. She shut her eyes, bracing for impact.
She never hit the ground.
She stopped less than ten centimeters above it.
A triumphant smile spread across her face as she looked at Harry—who was clinging desperately to her.
"I win."
"That was dangerous!" Only after confirming she was unharmed did Harry finally relax. He lowered her gently to the ground and dismounted as well. After that short, terrifying dive, both of them were drenched in sweat—most of it cold.
"It wasn't," Malfoy said, sitting on the grass. "I trusted that you were capable—and that you'd definitely catch me."
Though her tone remained confident, the sight of Harry throwing himself forward to protect her filled her with unmistakable joy.
She tossed the Remembrall to him.
"Return it to Longbottom. And don't forget—you owe me one."
Harry caught the ball helplessly. He had the faint feeling this had been her real objective all along. From the moment she picked it up, he had already fallen into her trap.
Their expressions—Harry's resignation and Malfoy's satisfaction—didn't last long.
A few minutes later, Madam Hooch returned, accompanied by a pale-faced Professor McGonagall and a completely indifferent Snape, who looked as though he no longer cared about anything.
Madam Hooch shot the two of them a glare, then stepped closer to check for injuries. After confirming they were unharmed, she turned to Professor McGonagall.
"No accidents occurred. I'll leave these two students to you."
"Mr. Potter. Miss Malfoy…" Professor McGonagall's face was as rigid as stone. Her tone was flat, like someone reading out a death sentence. "Regarding your enrollment status, the Headmaster, myself, and your respective Heads of House will hold a meeting to decide your case. After dinner, please report to my office."
"Malfoy…" Harry turned to her in panic.
She avoided his gaze guiltily.
"Take responsibility for this…"