Then, with a loud bang, he crashed heavily onto the ground, curling into a ball. His broom kept flying upward, drifting away until it disappeared in the direction of the Forbidden Forest.
Madam Hooch rushed toward Neville, her face turning pale. She blamed herself over and over for not reacting faster—for not casting the Levitation Charm in time, instead of helplessly watching Neville fall.
"A broken wrist," Harry heard Madam Hooch say with a sigh of relief. "Neville will be fine. He's safe now. You can get up."
She turned to the other students and said sharply, "I'm taking Neville to the hospital wing. Until I come back, none of you are to move—no one touches a broom! If anyone deliberately causes trouble, I'll see them expelled from Hogwarts."
Then she turned back to Neville and said gently, "Come along, poor child."
Neville, tears streaming down his face, clutched his wrist and limped away, supported by Madam Hooch.
The moment she left, Malfoy let out a disgusting laugh.
"That idiot Neville nearly killed himself," Malfoy sneered, and the students around him echoed his laughter.
"Shut up! How can you talk about a classmate like that?" Parvati snapped angrily.
"Look!" Malfoy suddenly darted forward and picked something up from the grass. "The idiot Neville forgot the thing his grandmother gave him."
"You've gone too far, Malfoy," Harry said quietly, forcing down his anger.
Malfoy flashed an ugly grin. "What's wrong, Potter? Going to be a good little boy and follow the rules?"
Earlier in class, Madam Hooch had criticized Malfoy's grip on the broom, but praised Harry and Hermione instead—calling them talented. Malfoy was practically losing his mind. The look in Harry's eyes felt mocking, as if he were watching a clown.
That morning, those two idiots had still been worrying about Flying class. Malfoy had fully intended to show off and crush Hermione and Harry—bookish know-it-alls in his eyes. Instead, he'd lost even at the one thing he was best at.
And that was on the worst brooms the school had to offer.
Now that Madam Hooch was gone, he immediately found a way to vent his frustration.
"Come back!" Harry shouted.
But Malfoy ignored him. He mounted his broom and shot into the air. He wasn't bragging—his flying skills really were excellent.
Hovering above, Malfoy shouted down at Harry, "Come on, Potter!"
Harry summoned his broom.
"No!" Hermione Granger cried out. "You'll get hurt! Madam Hooch told us not to move!"
Harry didn't listen. Anger had completely taken over. He mounted his broom and shot upward in pursuit. The wind rushed through his hair and filled his robes, and instead of fear, he felt an overwhelming sense of joy—light, free, perfectly natural.
A broom is like an extension of your body. It can feel your emotions.
Harry controlled the broom effortlessly, as if it were part of himself. From below, he heard screams and gasps, and Ron cheering wildly for him.
"Bring back Neville's Remembrall!" Harry shouted, turning his broom toward Malfoy. "Or you'll regret it!"
"Who do you think you are?" Malfoy snapped. He tried to laugh, but tension froze his expression.
Harry moved as naturally as breathing. He leaned forward, pressing close to the broom, and shot forward like an arrow, slamming straight toward Malfoy.
Malfoy barely managed to pull away and regain control. Harry wheeled around again and charged at him once more, while students who already hated Malfoy began to clap and cheer.
"Careful, baby Malfoy!" Harry yelled. "Crabbe and Goyle won't be there to hug you up here!"
A scream rang out from below.
Watching Harry charge again and again like a raging bull, fear finally crept into Malfoy's heart.
"Go to hell, Potter!" Malfoy shouted. He hurled the Remembrall high into the air, then dove back down as fast as he could, retreating to the safety between Crabbe and Goyle.
Harry watched as the Remembrall rose slowly, then began to fall faster and faster. He bent low and urged the broom downward. The broom accelerated into a steep dive, chasing the glass ball as the wind screamed past his ears and students cried out below.
"Demacia!" Harry roared.
At the very last second, just before hitting the ground, he snatched the Remembrall from the air. He straightened the broom in time and landed lightly on the grass.
"HARRY POTTER!"
An enraged voice thundered across the field.
Harry's heart pounded even harder than it had in the dive. Professor McGonagall was running toward him. Harry scrambled off the broom at once.
"How dare you do such a thing!" Professor McGonagall roared. "Never—never in all my years at Hogwarts—have I seen anything like this! You could have broken your neck!"
Her voice trembled with fury, her eyes blazing.
Two students had nearly died in one lesson—one of them Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. Professor McGonagall would rather face Death Eaters than experience something so terrifying.
"From now on, Flying lessons will be held indoors."
"Indoor Flying lessons?" George shook his head helplessly and muttered, "And then what?"
By dinnertime, Harry told George everything that had happened in Flying class before being led away by Professor McGonagall. Ron and Hermione set down their forks, waiting for him to continue.
"I was terrified," Harry said after a pause, his voice still shaky. "I thought I was going to be expelled. I'll never forget the looks on Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle's faces."
"I was completely dazed, following Professor McGonagall through the corridors. I made up my mind—when I saw Dumbledore, I'd beg him to let me stay at Hogwarts, even if it was only as an assistant."
"I'm stronger than I used to be now. I can barely carry Hagrid's overstuffed bag. But once Ron and Hermione become real wizards, they probably won't want to be friends with me anymore…"
Remembering it all, Harry looked as though he was about to cry.
"It's alright," Hermione said softly, patting his shoulder. "Everything's fine."
"Thankfully, none of that terrible stuff happened," Harry said, calming down. "Professor McGonagall took me to see Oliver Wood and invited me to join the Quidditch team as a Seeker."
"That's unbelievable!" Ron exclaimed. "The school has never allowed first-years to play Quidditch before! You've broken a record—you must be the youngest Quidditch player in years!"
For a die-hard Quidditch fan like Ron, the rules were crystal clear.
"Everyone, be sure to give this story a Powerstone! Also, 30 advanced chapters of this story are uploaded on my Patreon—you can go there and read them.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
for 30 advanced chapter, visit my patreon
'patreon.com/fatimasoomro123'
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~"