The group of young witches and wizards nodded, each straddling their broom with eager anticipation. Erwin, however, remained calm, drawing his wand instead. If things followed the usual script, their dear Neville Longbottom was about to stir up trouble once again. True to form, Neville never disappointed.
He'd barely settled on the broom when he wobbled into the air. Madam Hooch had just reached for her whistle but hadn't blown it yet. Startled, Neville panicked.
"Mr. Longbottom!" she barked. "What are you doing? Get down here at once!"
The other students grumbled, their own flying lesson delayed by the mishap.
Madam Hooch's sharp command only worsened Neville's nerves. Instead of descending, he shot upward in a wild spiral due to a fumbled grip.
Erwin sighed. As expected.
He flicked his wand. "Neville, come here!"
The Summoning Charm was the quickest fix he could muster. As the incantation left his lips, an invisible force yanked Neville through the air like a ragdoll on a string. The spell didn't warp space directly; it guided along a path, which—strictly speaking—made it versatile enough for offense.
Right now, it was turning Neville into a human projectile.
The Slytherins, ever quick on the uptake, scattered instinctively—especially after witnessing Malfoy's earlier toad-slapping fiasco. A few sharp Gryffindors followed suit.
But not everyone was so perceptive. Ron Weasley, too busy grinning at the chaos, didn't budge. Harry tried to shout a warning, but it was too late.
Neville's plump form slammed straight into Ron with a thud. Ron yelped, tumbling backward as the impact knocked the wind out of him.
Erwin cut the spell mid-cast and stepped aside. With a heavy crash, Neville hit the ground where Erwin had stood moments before, kicking up a cloud of dust.
Erwin waved his wand to dispel the haze. All eyes turned to the scene.
Neville blinked in confusion, still dazed.
Madam Hooch exhaled sharply. "Mr. Erwin, you've just saved Mr. Longbottom from a nasty tumble. Slytherin, ten points!"
Erwin dipped his head. "Thank you, Madam Hooch. But Neville's fine—it's whoever's under him who might not be."
Her eyes widened as she spotted the problem. Harry shouted, "Ron!"
Beneath Neville's considerable weight lay Ron Weasley, eyes rolling back, wheezing faintly. The fall from height, plus gravity's cruel assist, had left him battered. Erwin figured only the Weasleys' hardscrabble life had toughened Ron enough to survive. Poverty built character, after all—unlike the perils of excess wealth.
Neville finally noticed the squirming beneath him. No wonder the landing had felt soft. He even shifted experimentally, drawing a strangled groan from Ron, whose eyes threatened to vanish entirely.
Erwin stared, half-amused, half-incredulous. Did these two have some hidden feud? Or was Neville's bumbling honesty just a front?
"Neville!" Erwin called. "Get off him before you squash the life out of poor Ron!"
Neville scrambled up with a startled yelp. Ron gasped for air, chest heaving as he lay in the shallow crater. Madam Hooch checked him over—two broken ribs, at least. He'd miss the rest of the lesson, carted off to the infirmary in her care.
With her departure, the spark of mischief ignited. The students, itching to fly after all the buildup—especially those who'd bragged about brooms at home—glanced skyward temptingly.
Malfoy eyed his Nimbus, but a glare from Erwin nipped that in the bud. Slytherin could behave when motivated.
Gryffindor, though? They thrived on recklessness. Without Hermione's voice of reason, the lion cubs caved to temptation. The first one kicked off, soaring high.
That lit the fuse. In seconds, five or six Gryffindors were zipping about, whooping with delight.
Erwin watched impassively. He knew retribution was coming.
Sure enough, within two minutes, Professor McGonagall stormed onto the grounds, her face thunderous. "How dare you!"
She brandished her wand, levitating the offenders like scolded kittens by the scruff. They dangled helplessly as she lectured.
"You lot—twenty points each from Gryffindor!" she snapped. Six culprits meant a whopping 120 points gone. Their hourglass in the common room ran empty on the very first day, despite the older students' earlier gains. Any more, and they'd dip into negatives.
The Slytherins smirked, reveling in the contrast. The age-old rivalry between lions and snakes was alive and well—nothing beat watching Gryffindor squirm.
Professor McGonagall huffed, herding the chastened group away. Erwin caught a fleeting envy in her eyes. Why couldn't her students show his level of restraint? If only he were in Gryffindor...
The lesson wrapped amid the chaos. Afternoon brought History of Magic—the one class that day without Slytherins and Gryffindors together. At least that promised some peace.