Twenty broomsticks were laid out in neat lines on the grass. The Gryffindors stood on one side, forming their customary protective semi-circle around Ana, while the Slytherins stood opposite.
Madam Hooch, with her hawk-like yellow eyes, strode into the center. "Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Stick your right hand over it and say, 'Up!'"
The First Command"Up!" Harry shouted, and his broom jumped into his hand instantly. "Up!" Ron yelled, but his broom only rolled over lazily. "Up!" Hermione commanded, her voice high with academic frustration as her broom stayed firmly on the ground.
Then, Ana spoke.
She didn't shout. She didn't even raise her voice. She simply looked down at the weathered wood and whispered the word.
"Up."
The effect was not a jump; it was a salutation. Every broomstick within five feet of Ana didn't just fly into her hand—they stood upright on their bristles, bowing their handles toward her like soldiers presenting arms. Her own broom slid into her palm with a soft, magnetic hum, the wood vibrating with a sudden, polished luster it hadn't possessed moments before.
Madam Hooch stared, her whistle frozen in her hand. "I... well. Unusual. A natural affinity, it seems."
The Neville IncidentThe lesson took a sharp turn when Neville Longbottom, nervous and trembling under the weight of the "Influence," accidentally kicked off too early. His broom didn't just rise; it bolted, terrified by the chaotic energy in the air.
"Come back down, boy!" Hooch yelled, but Neville was spiraling toward the castle walls.
With a sickening crack, Neville fell, his cloak catching on a statue before he hit the grass with a thud. Madam Hooch hurried him off to the hospital wing, warning everyone to stay on the ground.
The moment she was out of sight, Draco Malfoy lunged for the grass. He picked up Neville's glass Remembrall, his grey eyes flashing with a desperate, twisted need to prove himself to the girl watching from the center of the lawn.
"Did you see his face?" Malfoy sneered, though his voice wavered as he looked at Ana. "Maybe if I drop this from the roof, the Great Potter Queen will have something to actually look at."
"Give it here, Malfoy," Harry snapped, stepping forward.
"Come and get it, then!" Malfoy leaped onto his broom and shot into the air.
The Flight of the Twin SoulsHarry didn't hesitate. He kicked off, his natural talent taking over as he chased Malfoy through the air. But he wasn't alone.
Ana felt the wind calling to her. She didn't need to learn how to lean or how to grip the handle. She simply thought of the sky, and the broom moved as an extension of her own will. She rose into the air, her silver hair-ribbon—tied so carefully by Hermione that morning—fluttering like a banner.
Malfoy stopped mid-air, stunned to see Ana rising toward him. He looked like he wanted to apologize and impress her at the same time. "Ana! Look, I caught it! I was just—"
"Drop it, Draco."
The command rippled through the air, vibrating the very twigs of their broomsticks. Malfoy's hand opened as if he had been shocked. The Remembrall tumbled toward the ground.
Harry dove, his fingers inches from the glass, but Ana was faster. She didn't dive; she commanded the air to yield. The wind seemed to push Harry aside gently, and the Remembrall curved through the sky as if drawn by a magnet, landing softly in Ana's outstretched palm.
The AftermathThey landed just as Professor McGonagall came sprinting across the lawn, her face a mask of shock.
"Never—in all my time—" she sputtered, looking from Harry to Ana. "Mr. Potter... and Miss Potter. Follow me. Now."
As they walked toward the castle, the "Circle" followed.
Ron was cheering, his face split in a grin of pure worship.
Hermione was pale, her hands shaking as she reached out to check Ana for any invisible bruises.
Cassandra Vane and Lavender Brown were practically weeping with relief, clutching each other as they watched Ana walk away.
Even the Slytherins stood in silence. Malfoy landed his broom, looking utterly defeated, his eyes fixed on the back of Ana's head with a look of pained, broken devotion.
In the corridor, McGonagall stopped outside a classroom. "Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment?"
Oliver Wood, the burly fifth-year Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, stepped out.
"Wood," McGonagall said, her voice finally finding its pride. "I've found you a Seeker. And..." She looked at Ana, who was holding the Remembrall like a royal orb. "And I believe I've found the very spirit of the team."
Wood didn't even look at Harry. He looked at Ana and went down on one knee to meet her eye level. "I'll make sure no one ever hits a Bludger your way, Miss Potter," he vowed, his voice thick with a sudden, fierce protectiveness. "I'll build a wall of players around you. You'll be the safest Seeker in history."
Harry crossed his arms, his green eyes dark. "She's not the Seeker, Wood. I am. She's just... she's Ana."
"She's everything," Wood whispered, and for the first time, Harry realized that even the sport of Quidditch was about to become a game of serving his sister.