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Chapter 10
"Oh my god, why do I have to go to flying lessons with those Slytherins?"
Looking at the notice on the wall of the Gryffindor common room, Ron and the other little lions wailed.
It was the same on the Slytherin side. They were all excitedly talking about Quidditch. Malfoy was an exception. He was only interested in flying itself; he wasn't interested in most wizarding-world activities. When Narcissa wasn't home, he had already played to his heart's content, so flying class didn't excite him at all.
"Why don't you talk about your flying experience?" Pansy asked curiously.
"There's nothing to say." Malfoy shook his head.
"How boring."
Pansy pouted, clearly dissatisfied with that answer.
"Draco is going to tell us all about his adventures on a broomstick!" Pansy suddenly yelled.
Instantly, a large group of Slytherin students gathered around. Slytherins worshipped strength. Malfoy, who had earned Slytherin many points even before school officially began, was naturally seen as powerful in the eyes of these little snakes. He was also from a prestigious pure-blood family, so they were even more interested in his experiences—especially if they involved flying broomsticks.
"Uh…" Malfoy pretended to think, forcing his brain to construct something that sounded remotely plausible. Then he shot Pansy a glare.
Pansy only smiled back at him slyly.
"In the forbidden part of my family's estate…" Malfoy began his story.
Because he had been heavily influenced by web novels in his previous life, he spun a convincing tale with ease—one that made the little snakes gasp in awe.
When he finished, Pansy leaned closer and whispered, "So… should I go there to play next time I visit your house?"
Malfoy said expressionlessly, "I made it up just now."
Pansy's expression collapsed. "Then why did you make it sound so real?"
"I haven't settled accounts with you yet. Who do you think forced me to make it up?"
"I suddenly remembered—I haven't finished Professor McGonagall's homework!" Pansy quickly found an excuse and tried to slip away.
"Stop."
"Oh…"
Pansy lowered her head slowly, making an expression that said, I know I was wrong—punish me however you want.
"Little witch."
Malfoy knew she was faking it, but he could only give up helplessly.
"Here. Eat some sweets and keep your mouth shut. Don't talk so much next time."
Malfoy took out several beautifully packaged sweets and stuffed them into Pansy's hand.
Narcissa truly was diligent in sending him snacks.
Pansy stared at Malfoy.
"Don't get the wrong idea. Consider it a bribe. And besides, I can't finish all the candy myself," Malfoy said.
"You don't mean what you say. But since you're being so sincere, I'll mercifully accept it."
However, her bright, sparkling eyes completely betrayed her excitement.
Clearly, she wasn't the only one pretending.
Never underestimate the lethal charm sweets have on girls.
---
Soon, the long-awaited afternoon arrived—it was time for their flying lesson!
The weather was great today: sunny but not hot, with a gentle breeze from time to time. The Gryffindors hurried down the steps toward the flat lawn across from the field. The grass rippled under their feet. Beyond the lawn was the forest, and in the distance the dark trees swayed in the wind.
The Slytherin students were already there, and twenty brooms lay neatly arranged on the ground.
Their teacher, Madam Hooch, had already arrived. She had short gray hair and yellow eyes, sharp like an eagle's.
"Alright, what are you waiting for?" she barked sternly. "Everyone stand next to a broom. Hurry—quickly, quickly!"
Malfoy looked down at the broom by his feet and shook his head.
A few twigs stuck out from its bristles, and dust clung to the handle.
It's easy to go from frugal to extravagant, but hard to go from extravagant back to frugal, Malfoy thought.
"Put your right hand over the broom handle!" Madam Hooch shouted from the front. "Then say, 'Up!'"
"UP!" everyone yelled.
Malfoy pretended to follow along. For someone already extremely familiar with flying, this type of exercise was torture. So Malfoy simply slacked off.
Madam Hooch demonstrated how to mount the broom properly without slipping off, walking up and down the line correcting their hand positions.
Harry and Ron, like the others, followed her instructions carefully.
Hermione looked uncomfortable. She had just been talking about Quidditch strategy earlier, but she clearly wasn't very athletic.
Neville, however, was trembling all over, beads of sweat dribbling down his face. Judging by the cool weather, the sweating could only mean one thing—he was terrified.
"Alright, when I blow the whistle, all of you will kick off the ground. Kick hard," Madam Hooch instructed. "Hold the broom steady, rise a few feet, lean forward slightly, and come straight back down. Wait for my whistle—three—two—"
But Neville was far too nervous. He didn't want to be laughed at again. People with low self-esteem often desperately want to prove themselves.
Before the whistle even touched Madam Hooch's lips, Neville kicked off—hard.
"Oh, poor little fatty," Malfoy thought sympathetically.
"Come back, boy!" Madam Hooch shouted.
But Neville clearly couldn't control his broom. As if turbo-charged, it carried him higher and higher. Some unpleasant memory from his childhood—being accidentally dropped from a great height—seemed to resurface. Neville grew even paler, his strength draining rapidly.
He clung desperately to the broom, but it was useless. His grip weakened inch by inch. Eventually his fingers slipped off completely.
A tragedy seemed imminent.
"Wingardium Leviosa. Wingardium Leviosa."
Malfoy muttered softly, wandless, directing the spell toward Neville. Only Pansy, standing behind him, heard.
"Oh—look!" someone shouted.
Neville, who should have been plummeting, suddenly slowed down as if hitting invisible cushioning. He didn't fall nearly as fast as expected.
"Thank goodness," Madam Hooch breathed as she rushed toward Neville's landing spot. She checked him over.
"A miracle!" she exclaimed. Neville was barely injured. "But I still have to take you to the hospital wing for a check-up."
Even though he wasn't hurt, Neville's legs were shaking from fear. Madam Hooch supported him toward the castle.
"No! My Remembrall—and my broom!" Neville suddenly cried, remembering.
"The Remembrall is already flying over," Malfoy said. He had noticed the fallen items on the grass and summoned the Remembrall with a summoning charm.
"I think it's best to leave these things in the dormitory during flying lessons."
Malfoy handed the Remembrall to Neville.
"Th-thank you…" Neville stammered.
"As for the broom, I think our Savior is already retrieving it for you."
Malfoy glanced to the side as he spoke.
"No!" Hermione shouted, panicked.
Harry ignored her. His blood pounded loudly in his ears. He mounted a broom instantly and, with a powerful kick, shot upward. The wind howled against his ears, his robe billowing behind him.
Neville's broom was drifting toward the Forbidden Forest.
Harry felt so free. Riding with the wind, he felt as though nothing in the world could restrain him. To hell with Snape and his homework. Faster—faster! He flew closer and closer to the runaway broom… until he could reach it.
Harry stretched out his hand. Just one grab—
He seized the old broom tightly.
The Gryffindors cheered wildly.
Only Hermione looked unhappy. She was still holding a grudge about him breaking rules.
The Slytherins were even more displeased, because their rival house was stealing the spotlight.
Harry directed the broom and descended safely to the grass. The little lions surrounded him immediately, celebrating their hero.
Harry was proud. He had finally discovered his own talent. The moment he grasped the broom and flew upward, it felt like an extension of his body—he could control it effortlessly. What an exhilarating feeling.
"Harry Potter!"
His heart plummeted. Professor McGonagall's voice dragged him down from the clouds.
"I have been at Hogwarts for so many years—never—"
Professor McGonagall was so shocked she could hardly speak. Her glasses flashed with anger.
"—How dare you—You could have broken your neck—"
"It's not his fault, Professor—"
"Silence, Miss Granger—"
"He was helping Neville retrieve his broom, Professor," Hermione insisted, despite earlier scolding.
"Enough."
Professor McGonagall strode toward the castle, Harry trailing behind like a prisoner.
"Am I going to be expelled?"
Harry's heart twisted. He wanted to explain but didn't know how.
"History repeats itself," Malfoy murmured, watching silently as Professor McGonagall led Harry away. If nothing changed, Gryffindor would soon gain their youngest Seeker.
"Do you think the Savior will be expelled?"
Pansy tugged on Malfoy's robe.
"I don't think so," Malfoy whispered.
"That's boring," Pansy muttered. "Oh—right. What spell did you mutter earlier? You didn't even use your wand."
"It was just a levitation spell."
"You actually helped a Gryffindor?"
"I was just using the opportunity to practice wandless magic."
"You think I'll believe that?"
"Then how do you want me to explain?" Malfoy asked, staring at her.
Pansy wanted to argue, but then remembered the mountain of candy she had "accepted." She had taken advantage of him.
"If you don't want to say it, then don't say it," she muttered, turning her head as if he had offended her.
I can't exactly tell her that I liked Neville the most when reading in my previous life, Malfoy thought.
Everyone wanted to be Harry, but most people were only Neville.
Who hadn't dreamed of being a hero when they were young?
Since he had the ability now, Malfoy didn't mind offering a little help to the honest, chubby boy.
In Harry's previous life, Neville's final triumph had actually moved him even more than Harry's.
After all, most people were as ordinary as Neville… or even less remarkable.
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