This Herbology lesson was one of the few classes this year shared by Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. It might change next year, but for now it was the most convenient opportunity for Maka to get closer to Harry's trio.
Speaking of Harry—the Boy Who Lived—he was currently straining with all his might in battle against the Flobberworms clinging to the stems and leaves.
Yes. Those Flobberworms.
The very same kind Michael Corner had once claimed to have swallowed whole as a child.
They especially loved lettuce, but generally speaking, if it was a plant, they would eat it.
When Ron squeezed over to ask Maka about how he had handled Snape in Potions class, Maka was in the middle of thinking about those worms.
They were a full ten inches long—only a little shorter than Maka's wand. Heaven knew how Michael had managed to swallow one when he was small.
Did he bite it in half first?
The thought made Maka's skin crawl.
"…What do you mean, bite it in half?" Ron stared at him, confused. "Are you thinking about lunch?"
Then he shook it off immediately.
"Forget lunch—tell me already! How did you provoke Snape? We start his class tomorrow. The older students say he always favors his own House. Is that true or not?"
Maka snapped back to reality and sighed, helpless.
"Who told you I provoked Professor Snape? That's basically asking to die."
He explained the situation briefly—only for Hermione to move closer at once, unable to resist joining in.
"Hey—Snape really said that?" Hermione burst out, visibly agitated. "That's Arsenius Jigger's formula! It's authoritative! How can he just dismiss it as an error like that?"
Then she forced herself to calm down and looked at Maka with an apologetic expression.
"Sorry. I'm not saying questioning authority is wrong, but…" She hesitated, still doubtful. "I mean—was that constant really… unnecessary?"
"It should be," Maka said, nodding. He lowered his voice and explained his reasoning to her. Hermione listened, interjected a few times, and little by little, she seemed to be persuaded.
"What are they talking about?" Ron turned and asked Harry.
"Probably Potions stuff," Harry said. He had finished wrestling with his own problem by now. A Flobberworm twisted and struggled in his gloved right hand, but it couldn't escape the evil claw preventing it from eating in peace.
"So we'll have to learn that too?" Ron leaned in and listened for a couple more seconds, then turned back to Harry with a wary expression. "I mean… the things they're talking about."
Harry shook his head. He couldn't understand a word of it. "Probably… not?"
Ron glanced again at Maka and Hermione whispering together, then gave up and went back to fertilizing the plants.
"Maka is always spotless," he muttered under his breath, baffled, "and Hermione is always a mess. That's not a combination you see every day."
"And the Maka who used to lie in bed like a corpse is actually a top student."
Before term started, Maka had lived at the Burrow for a while. Ron had assumed he knew him fairly well. Smart and calm, sure—but lazy to the bone, and impossible to drag out of bed.
Yet somehow, that didn't seem to be the full story at all.
Ron had even thought he'd found a partner who was similar to him.
"…Maybe I can ask him for help with homework I can't handle," Ron suddenly thought.
And as far as Ron was concerned, it was an absolutely brilliant idea.
After Herbology practical, the next class was one everyone looked forward to: Flying.
Hufflepuff shared it with Ravenclaw.
Maka was excited too. The idea of soaring freely through the air was irresistible. Still, he wasn't sure whether he'd run into problems. To be honest, his sense of direction wasn't great even on the ground—so if he went up in the sky, would he end up genuinely unable to tell where north was?
The first Flying lesson took place near the front gates of Hogwarts Castle, on a slightly sunken stretch of flat ground. The grass swayed gently in the breeze, looking fresh and full of life.
Looking east, you could see the dark edge of the forest. The tall canopy rolled with the wind, branches whispering with a constant shhh, shhh.
Hufflepuff's little badgers were already gathered on the field. They watched as the Ravenclaws approached at an unhurried pace, while Madam Hooch—the flying instructor—called out sharply for them to move faster.
"Well? What are you waiting for?" she snapped. "Everyone stand beside a broomstick. Quickly—quickly, we don't have all day."
Madam Hooch's short gray hair stuck up like steel needles, untouched by the wind. Her eyes were yellow, and she looked like a hawk sternly forcing fledglings to learn how to fly.
Maka chose a broom that looked reasonably decent, took his place beside it, and watched the other students hurry to find their own.
"Extend your right hand over the broom handle," Madam Hooch called, "and say: Up!"
"Up!" The strictness in her voice seemed to infect the whole group; even their shouting came out unusually synchronized.
Maka's broom hopped obediently straight into his hand. He felt the strange, fresh thrill of it and decided it wasn't bad at all.
Other students weren't nearly so lucky.
Some brooms only twitched in place. Some rolled around on the grass. Ernie's broom shot upward so abruptly it smacked his palm red.
Apparently, talent mattered—because only a handful of brooms actually rose neatly into their owners' hands.
Madam Hooch demonstrated how to mount without sliding straight over the front. She walked up and down the line, correcting grips and postures, occasionally scolding those who simply couldn't get it right.
"Now—when I blow my whistle," she said, "you kick off hard with both legs and rise. Hold the broom firmly, rise a few feet, lean forward slightly, and come back down vertically. Listen for my whistle—three—two—"
"Oh—!" Maka gasped as the ground drifted away beneath him. The sensation was unbelievably new—and unbelievably fun.
Madam Hooch paced below, watching everyone carefully. Quite a few students still couldn't get airborne at all; their brooms refused to cooperate, but nothing dramatic happened.
"Mr. McLean," Madam Hooch called up at him, "you're above the height I told you. Come down—watch your safety!"
Maka blinked and realized he had, in fact, risen higher than most of the others. He quickly followed her earlier instructions, leaning forward slightly. The broom immediately behaved itself and descended obediently.
"Good," Madam Hooch said, giving Maka's shoulder a firm pat. "A beginner's first priority is safety. Step by step is always the right choice."
Maka nodded—while thinking privately:
Next week you'll see Neville and Harry shoot up like rockets.
Only Neville will do it in the literal sense. Whoosh—
"Madam Hooch," Maka said, turning the thought into a question, "if a beginner accidentally falls off a broom, what's the best way to fix it?"
He did have a bit of fondness for Neville—that always-nervous chubby boy. If Madam Hooch had some warning ahead of time, perhaps Neville's arm wouldn't end up broken.
It had to hurt badly.
Otherwise Maka wouldn't still remember the scene so vividly.
"A simple Hover Charm will do," Madam Hooch replied, assuming Maka was worried about himself. "If it's too late for that, Madam Pomfrey in the Hospital Wing will mend them. Her potions are always effective."
"Oh—thank you," Maka said politely, putting on a relieved expression.
And that was all it was to him: a small interlude in daily school life. A quick question asked on impulse. He forgot about it almost immediately.
"Ha—this is incredible!"
With Madam Hooch's permission, Maka earned a chance at low-altitude flying. He'd had to talk his way into it, and now he was enjoying every second.
The wind slammed into his face, howling past his ears and snapping his robes like sails. Under Maka's control, the broom darted left and right like a shark surging through water—
A shark that was, admittedly, flying a little too close to the "seabed."
"Careful—slow down! Slow down! Do what I said—!" Madam Hooch shouted from below.
But the wind was all Maka could hear.
After a long while, once he'd finally had his fill, Maka slowed. He yanked the handle, turned hard, and carved a clean arc through the air.
Before he even landed, he saw Madam Hooch's expression—and immediately understood what the problem was.
During the second half of his "test flight," he'd gone too fast.
Even if the training brooms were cheap and occasionally suffered from odd little defects, they were still real, functional broomsticks—not children's toys.
"I'm sorry, Madam Hooch," Maka said the moment his feet touched the ground. He lowered his head at once. "I got carried away. I didn't expect flying to feel this good, and I wasn't paying attention."
Madam Hooch stared at him for a moment, then sighed.
"I just told you to proceed gradually," she said. "Still… you fly well. If you properly study Quidditch Safety Guidelines, I may allow you a few more flights."
Then her tone shifted slightly—almost as if she couldn't help herself.
"…I'm sure you'll discover that falling in love with Quidditch is one of the most correct choices a person can make."
That was Madam Hooch.
Strict with everyone, fair to everyone, relentlessly responsible—
And most importantly, someone who truly loved Quidditch from the bottom of her heart.