The next morning, at the Gryffindor long table in the dining hall—
Loren took a sip of orange juice, swallowed a piece of bread, then stood and stretched luxuriously.
"Yeah~ A new week starts with a wonderful Transfiguration class!" Loren was bursting with energy.
Beside him sat Harry and Ron—two "enemies" who had spent the previous night poring over Loren's Transfiguration homework.
Harry looked fine after his daytime nap, but Ron had two dark circles under his eyes and appeared utterly drained.
Students arrived at Transfiguration class in various states of readiness.
Professor McGonagall collected their homework to grade later and began checking their progress on the task of turning a match into a needle.
Several students, including Loren, succeeded. Hermione even managed to make her match paper-thin and sharply pointed.
She wanted to be an excellent witch like McGonagall and worked hard toward it.
At the end of class, McGonagall assigned a new homework—a three-inch transformation.
At noon, back at the dining table—
Loren sliced a lemon and squeezed its juice onto his lamb chops, cutting off a piece and savoring it.
His eyes narrowed with pleasure, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.
The way he ate was so tempting that Harry and Ron couldn't help but swallow hard and imitate him.
Hermione glanced at Loren.
"You're better at Transfiguration than I am. Why don't you let Professor McGonagall know?"
An owl swooped in through the skylight, delivering a package.
Loren looked up, chewing another bite, and answered cheerfully, "Because cute little cats never ask why."
Hermione clenched her knife.
Loren's eyes twitched; he quickly added, "No reason, really. I just don't want to draw attention—it's how I am."
Before Hermione could probe further—
"Look! Neville got a memory ball!" Dean shouted.
Hermione leaned in to see the memory ball glowing in Neville's hand.
"I heard that if you forget something, the ball turns red," she said.
As if on cue, a red mist poured from the memory ball.
Neville remained calm. "I know I forgot something, but the problem is, I can't remember what it was."
Loren was intrigued. "Can other people use it?"
Neville handed the red ball to Loren, and it glowed even brighter.
Loren blinked. "Is it broken?"
Hermione took it, and the ball quickly returned to its normal color.
"It seems some people forget things like Neville," the girl said cheerfully.
Loren kept pondering what he might have forgotten until he returned to the common room—and finally concluded the memory ball was a waste of IQ.
Meanwhile, high on a mountain pasture, an old man with a white beard stared into the woods, waiting for an owl that had yet to appear for many days.
He muttered to himself, I haven't written a letter in so long. When that brat comes back, I'm going to make his ass bloom!
Everyone in the common room noticed a new notice—one good news, one bad.
Good news: flying lessons start Thursday.
Bad news: Gryffindor and Slytherin students will take the lessons together.
The freshmen erupted in excitement and exaggerated stories.
Seamus boasted about spending most of his childhood flying on a broomstick in the wilderness.
Ron rambled for days about Quidditch, bragging he once flew on Charlie's broom and almost hit a hang glider.
Malfoy one-upped them all, dodging a helicopter on a broomstick.
Harry and Hermione grew anxious listening to these tales.
Harry worried he'd embarrass himself in front of Malfoy, who would ridicule and whip him repeatedly.
Harry learned the word whip from Loren and thought it fit perfectly.
Hermione devoured every flying book she could find but to no avail—she couldn't learn how to fly from pages, despite prior attempts.
Loren tried to stifle his laughter at the ridiculous bragging.
Even tied together, those braggarts couldn't match Harry's exhaust.
He wasn't particularly interested in flying or Quidditch.
If he wanted to move quickly, there were better, faster ways than broomsticks.
So Loren kept busy—practicing Transfiguration, hugging his thighs tightly in Herbology, trying new spells in Charms, struggling in Potions, and dozing off in History of Magic.
In his free time, he read massive books in the library and basked in the sun by the lake.
No big goals. He studied when he should.
His days were plain but fulfilling, and he enjoyed them immensely.
Thursday afternoon finally arrived.
The long-anticipated flying class began.
Professor Hooch greeted them—a stern figure with short gray hair, yellow eyes, sharp commands, and a whistle.
She truly resembled a PE teacher. In fact, she was Hogwarts' flying instructor.
Outside, Gryffindor and Slytherin students formed two teams, each with a broomstick.
"Stretch out your right hand and place it on top of the broom handle," Madam Hooch instructed. "Then say 'Get up!'"
Harry took to it quickly.
Ron shouted too loudly, and the broom hit him right on the nose.
"Ouch!" Ron yelped, drawing laughter nearby.
"Hey! Are you still friends?" Ron grumbled at his teammates.
Except for Harry and Malfoy, everyone struggled to get their brooms.
Loren was no exception—he showed no talent for flying.
Hermione and Neville were last to succeed.
Hermione was frustrated.
She wanted to be a witch like McGonagall and hoped for success in Quidditch and flying.
But flying was not her forte.
Madam Hooch demonstrated how to sit on the broom without sliding off.
Malfoy struck some cool poses and got scolded, much to Harry's secret delight.
Malfoy grew increasingly annoyed.
After adjusting postures, Madam Hooch explained:
"When I blow the whistle, kick off with your legs and push hard. Hold the broom steady, rise a few feet, then lean forward slightly and fall vertically back down."
Loren observed Neville closely.
Timid and forgetful, Neville was kind and helpful.
After class, Loren asked Neville to help carry books back to the dormitory.
Neville happily agreed, seeing it as a sign of trust.
Loren recalled how Neville struggled in Potions class, writhing in pain unable to get up.
That kind little boy doesn't deserve so much bad luck, Loren thought.
"Listen for my whistle—three, two, one!"
Neville panicked and rushed out.
Before the broom even rose an inch, Loren grabbed Neville's robe, pulling him off and throwing him to the ground.
The broom soared briefly, then fell vertically, smashing into a tree and breaking in two.
Neville was drenched in sweat.
He suspected that without Loren, he'd be the one shattered into pieces.
His clothes were stained but he was otherwise unharmed.
Classmates around were tense.
Neville kept thanking Loren repeatedly: "Thank you, thank you, thank you…"
Dean and Seamus retrieved Neville's memory ball and comforted him until he calmed down.
Madam Hooch didn't blame Neville and brought a replacement broom.
Neville refused to fly again.
The rest resumed flying while Neville watched hesitantly.
Many wanted to give up after the accident but kept quiet.
Hermione felt uneasy.
Though her flying talent was poor, she gritted her teeth and kept trying.
After several attempts at vertical takeoff and landing, everyone felt relieved.
Neville's mishap was seen as an accident; the broom wasn't that dangerous.
Madam Hooch allowed free flying, cautioning students to stay below the third-floor windows.
She approached Neville again, trying to persuade him to continue.
Neville only shook his head.