Later that same day, after lunch, it was time for flying lessons.
As the timetable dictated, Gryffindor and Slytherin shared the class. The first-years gathered on the open grounds of Hogwarts, the grass still cool beneath their feet.
A neat line of broomsticks lay on the ground, one set before each student.
Standing watch beside them was Rolanda Hooch, her sharp eyes sweeping over the class.
"Welcome to your first flying lesson," Madam Hooch said briskly. "I want your full attention. Anyone who flies without my permission will be expelled faster than you can say 'oops'."
She paused, letting that sink in.
"Now," she continued, "stand beside your broomstick. Hold out your right hand over it and say—Up!"
"Up!" the class chorused.
Broomsticks jumped on the grass, mostly ignoring their owners. Some only twitched or spun in place, while others stubbornly refused to move at all.
Hermione's broom shot straight up into the air—but didn't land in her hand, instead clattering back down onto the grass. She frowned and tried again.
Ron's broom twitched uncertainly, rolled over, and lay still. Neville's broom, however, shot up far too quickly and smacked him hard in the face, making him stagger backward with a cry.
Others were no luckier. Among the twenty students, nearly fifteen brooms were misbehaving—skidding across the ground, hopping, or spinning wildly as if they had minds of their own.
Victor's broom rose smoothly into his hand the moment he called it. He barely glanced at it; he and his brother Draco already knew how to fly, so getting their brooms on the first try came easily to them.
After several more attempts, muttered commands, and a fair amount of frustration, everyone finally managed to get their brooms into their hands.
Madam Hooch paced slowly in front of the line, her sharp eyes flicking from student to student to make sure everyone was ready.
"Now, once you've got hold of your broom, I want you to mount it. And grip it tight—you don't want to be sliding off the end."
She demonstrated, swinging one leg neatly over her broom and gripping the handle firmly. Several students copied her at once, though a few looked uneasy as they climbed on.
"Keep your heads up," she continued, voice brisk and commanding. "Eyes forward. When I blow my whistle, you'll kick off from the ground—hard. Don't go too high. Just enough to get a feel for the broom."
She let her gaze linger on the more nervous faces.
"Remember—steady brooms. I don't want any heroics."
The whistle gleamed at her neck as she raised her hand.
"On my whistle—three…"
The whistle blew.
One by one, the students kicked off the ground.
Brooms lifted shakily into the air, hovering a few feet above the grass. Some wobbled dangerously, others dipped and swayed, but most managed to stay up.
"Good," Madam Hooch called, walking briskly along the line. "Now keep your balance—eyes forward—"
Neville, however, was not keeping his balance.
His broom shot upward without warning, jerking violently as it carried him higher and higher above the class. Neville clutched the handle with both hands, his round face pale with terror, his feet slipping uselessly from the stirrups as the broom bucked beneath him.
"Mr. Longbottom!" Madam Hooch shouted, spinning around.
The broom lurched again, swerving sharply to one side.
"Mr. Longbottom, exactly where do you think you're going?"
"I—I don't know—ask the broom!" Neville yelled desperately as it zigzagged wildly through the air. "Ahhhh!"
Below him, the students stood frozen, necks craned upward. Some stared in horror, others gasped, and a few clutched their brooms tighter, afraid theirs might do the same.
'This guy is really unlucky,' Victor thought, watching Neville's broom buck wildly. Still stuck with the same broken broom. 'Then again, Neville doesn't really need bad luck—trouble just finds him.'
He had barely finished the thought when another scream tore through the air.
"Ahhhhhh!"
Victor frowned.
'That scream sounds familiar…'
He turned toward the sound—
Just in time to see Hermione.
Her broom had gone completely out of control, zig-zagging madly through the air before suddenly veering straight toward him. The students beside Victor reacted instantly, leaping out of the way and scrambling backward, giving her a clear—and terrifying—path.
'What the actual hell—'
His right eye twitched.
Too close.
No time. No space. No chance to dodge or even reach for his wand.
Hermione's grip slipped.
She let go of the broom.
"Ahhhh—!"
She dropped straight into him.
Victor reacted on pure instinct. He threw his arms up, trying to catch her—but the speed and weight hit him all at once. It was far too much.
THUD.
They slammed into the ground together. Hermione landed squarely on top of him, the impact driving the air out of his lungs as grass and dirt burst upward around them.
The broom clattered away somewhere nearby.
For a moment, everything went very still.
Hermione was lying on top of him, Victor having instinctively taken the brunt of the fall, like an unfortunate human cushion. Her face was far closer to his than either of them realised at first, curls spilling forward, eyes wide with shock.
"Hermione—" Victor started.
She blinked.
Then she realised.
Her eyes widened further, and her face flushed an impressive shade of red. "I—I'm so sorry!" she blurted, scrambling to move and nearly tangling herself in her robes as she tried to get off him.
Victor let out a quiet breath as she rolled away and pushed himself up onto one elbow.
"You're not hurt?" he asked, his voice calm despite the situation.
Hermione shook her head, still flustered. "No—no, I think I'm fine. Are you?"
"I think I'm fine," Victor said, wincing slightly as he shifted, "except for some pain."
Around them, a few students snickered, while others stared openly, pretending not to notice the awkwardness of the moment.
Unlike Hermione—who had landed rather safely thanks to Victor—Neville hadn't been so lucky.
He hit the ground with a heavy thud and lay there clutching his wrist, groaning.
Madam Hooch hurried over at once and knelt beside him. After a quick examination, she straightened.
"Broken," she said briskly.
She turned sharply to the rest of the class. "None of you are to move while I take him to the hospital wing. Clear?"
Her eyes swept over the students, lingering pointedly on a few already eyeing their brooms.
"You touch those brooms," she added coldly, "and you'll be expelled."
As Madam Hooch led Neville away toward the castle, something small and bright slipped from his robes and landed softly in the grass.
Before anyone else could react, Draco Malfoy bent down and snatched it up.
He held the glass ball up to the light, smirking as the red smoke swirled inside.
"Did you see his face?" Malfoy said loudly, turning to Crabbe and Goyle. "Maybe if the fat lump had given this a squeeze, he'd have remembered to fall on his fat arse instead."
Crabbe and Goyle burst out laughing.
Several Gryffindors bristled, but before anyone else could speak, Harry Potter stepped forward.
"Give it here, Malfoy," he said sharply.
Victor, who had just finished brushing dirt from his robes, froze.
His eyes snapped to Draco.
"This idiot brother of mine," Victor said flatly, irritation cutting through his calm, "his elder brother's just taken a hit, and he still thinks this is a good time to bully."
He strode toward Draco without hesitation. Hermione, still flushed from the fall, hurried after him.
Victor didn't stop in front of Draco.
He raised his hand and smacked him sharply on the back of the head.
"Idiot," Victor said coolly. "Have you completely forgotten how to behave?"
The laughter died instantly.
"Why are you taking someone else's things?" Victor said sharply, reaching out and tugging Draco by the ear. "Do you think that's funny?"
"I—I was just playing," Draco protested, wincing. "It's not serious!"
"Playing?" Victor repeated flatly. "Give it back. Now."
"Okay, okay," Draco said quickly—but instead of handing it over, he jerked his arm and hurled the Remembrall high into the air toward the sky.
For a split second, everyone froze.
Then Harry moved.
He kicked off the ground and shot upward on his broom, instinctive and effortless, catching the Remembrall cleanly in mid-air before it could fall. He looped neatly and hovered, balanced and steady.
A hush fell over the field.
Even the Slytherins looked surprised.
Victor let go of Draco's ear and looked up. "…Give it back by hand," he said, tone dry. "Not via aerial gymnastics."
Harry descended and handed the Remembrall over properly.
Victor watched Draco with a mixture of irritation and resignation.
Draco really was hopeless at this. He couldn't even manage to be a proper antagonist. Every reckless stunt, every petty act of bullying only served to make Harry look better by comparison. If Draco kept this up, he wasn't going to outshine anyone—he was going to elevate his rival for free.
Victor shook his head inwardly. A second-rate villain brought no benefit to anyone, least of all himself. If Draco wanted to be taken seriously, he needed to learn restraint, timing, and—above all—when not to act.
As it was, his behaviour did little more than turn Harry Potter into the hero of the moment, again and again.