While Draca’s thoughts wandered, the first-years had already taken their places beside the broomsticks.
Madam Hooch wasted no time.
“Hold your right hand over the broom and say, ‘Up.'”
“Up.”
Draca spoke lazily, almost bored.
The Comet’s handle immediately jumped into her hand.
Its surface had been coated in a thick layer of glossy varnish in an obvious attempt to hide the cheap quality of the wood, making Draca frown again.
She looked around.
Aside from a few children from wizarding families who clearly disliked flying, most students with prior experience already had their brooms firmly in hand.
Pansy’s broom was bouncing irregularly up and down.
Daphne’s and Longbottom’s hadn’t moved at all.
Crabbe, Goyle, and Weasley had all succeeded without much trouble.
What surprised Draca most, however, was that Harry Potter’s broom had also flown straight into his palm.
After some more time, once the rest of the first-years had finally managed to summon their brooms, Madam Hooch began teaching them the proper riding posture.
To Draca’s displeasure, the woman stopped beside her.
“Malfoy, you need to adjust your posture.”
Madam Hooch spoke loudly.
Draca narrowed her eyes in irritation.
Pansy, Daphne, Crabbe, and Goyle all looked somewhat surprised, while Potter and Weasley couldn’t help snickering.
Instead of straddling the broom and holding it firmly between her legs, Draca preferred sitting sideways, resting her toes lightly against the footrests while using both hands at either end of the handle and relying on her sense of balance.
Naturally, that posture wasn’t suitable for Quidditch.
“I know the habits you aristocratic children pick up.”
“But broom-hunting traditions have all but died out, and what you’re riding now isn’t some expensive racing broom.”
“If you ride like that without knowing how the broom handles, you risk falling off.”
Madam Hooch’s stern voice drew the attention of the entire class.
Although Draca was unhappy about it, she could only obediently change her posture and swing one leg over the broom.
“Good.”
Once Draca complied, Madam Hooch turned away and continued instructing the class.
“Now, when I blow my whistle, kick off hard from the ground.”
“Keep yourselves steady and rise only a few feet.
Three—two—”
Madam Hooch had barely finished circling the class and was about to give the next command.
The whistle had only just reached her lips when her expression suddenly changed.
“Come back!
Child, come back!”
Everyone turned to follow the direction in which Madam Hooch was running.
Somehow, Longbottom had already risen high into the air.
His broom shook violently as he lost control, while his right hand still clutched the Remembrall, which had turned bright red.
Then, amid several startled cries, Longbottom slipped from the broom and dropped straight down.
He hit the ground with a heavy thud, followed by a pained wail.
“Broken wrist.
All right, poor boy, you’re fine.”
“I’ll take you to the hospital wing.”
Madam Hooch hurried to Longbottom’s side, her stern demeanor immediately softening.
After helping Neville up, she recovered her usual sharp expression and glared at the class.
“All of you stay on the ground until I get back.”
“If any of you dares try flying, I promise you’ll be thrown out of Hogwarts before you ever get the chance to see a Quidditch match!”
With that, she tapped her wand to stabilize Neville’s injury and supported him as they walked away.
As Longbottom passed, the Remembrall slipped from his hand and landed on the grass with a soft thud.
The red smoke inside had already faded, leaving the sphere clear and white again.
“His posture was perfectly fine, and he still fell.”
“The problem isn’t posture. This story is hosted at g.com.
It’s these things.
They’re barely fit to be ridden.”
Draca bent down and picked up the Remembrall, watching Madam Hooch’s retreating back with clear disapproval.
“Shut up, Malfoy.”
“You think something has to be expensive to be safe?”
The Weasley boy shouted from behind her.
Draca merely shot him a sidelong glare.
She gave a cold little laugh as she watched his face turn red.
Unable to be bothered with him any further, she turned the Remembrall over in her hand with idle interest.
“So I suppose it was trying to remind Longbottom not to forget to keep both hands on the broom.”
“But what use is a reminder like that?”
As she spoke, she gave Harry Potter a deliberately provocative glance.
His green eyes were already filled with anger.
Clearly, he didn’t appreciate the way she treated Weasley.
“I still don’t understand what there is to be happy about when someone gives you something this useless.”
Sure enough, Potter stepped forward.
“Give it back, Malfoy.”
The Gryffindor first-years naturally gathered behind Potter.
The only exception was Hermione Granger, who stood with her arms folded, looking both anxious and displeased.
Daphne and Pansy frowned and exchanged a glance before moving to Draca’s side.
Crabbe and Goyle followed, bringing the rest of the Slytherin first-years with them.
“Why should I, Potter?”
Draca couldn’t even explain it herself.
Longbottom and the Remembrall were both utterly unimportant.
Yet something about Harry Potter’s tone and his inexplicable hostility toward her made it impossible for her to swallow the insult and walk away.
“Just because you’re in the same House, that gives you the right to decide what happens to his belongings?”
“I didn’t—”
“Then on what grounds are you telling me to give it back, Potter?”
“You—give it back!”
“I already told you.
You have no right to tell me to ‘give it back.'”
Satisfied that she had gained the upper hand in the argument, Draca raised an eyebrow and walked over to her broom.
“If you’re capable, then take it from me yourself, Potter.”
She kicked off lightly.
Ignoring Madam Hooch’s earlier correction, Draca sat sideways on the broom and rose elegantly into the air.
From above, she caught sight of Daphne’s confused expression and Pansy’s astonishment.
She also saw Granger trying to stop the furious Harry Potter.
But that distraction lasted only an instant.
What happened next forced Draca’s full attention back onto him.
In the blink of an eye, Harry threw himself onto his broom and shot upward at astonishing speed.
He reached Draca’s height almost immediately, then somehow came to a smooth, perfectly controlled stop after the rapid ascent.
“Give me the ball, or I’ll kick you off that broom!”
The barbaric threat left Draca stunned for a split second.
Then anger rushed into her pale face.
“You arrogant, ill-mannered brute.
Catch me if you can!”
In midair, she moved with practiced grace, rolling around the broom handle in a fluid turn until she was properly straddling it.
Cheers immediately erupted from the Slytherins below.
Then Draca pushed the handle downward and dove away from the castle.
“Get back here, Malfoy!”
Hearing Potter shout behind her, she glanced coldly over her shoulder.
The two figures shot through the air, climbing and diving around one another.
At times they accelerated in straight lines before braking sharply into sudden turns.
At others they plunged downward, only to pull up at the last possible moment.
The nervous first-years on the ground stared up in complete disbelief.
Some even began cheering after every dangerous maneuver Harry and Draca pulled off.
But the chase only made Draca increasingly irritated.
Cold wind from their speed lashed against her face and stung her delicate cheeks.
The broom beneath her trembled whenever she pushed it too hard, reminding her how poor its performance really was.
And with every second, one question grew more annoying.
Why was she getting dragged into this ridiculous contest with Harry Potter over some completely insignificant boy?
Even more frustrating was the figure relentlessly chasing her from behind.
Several times, whenever Draca’s attention slipped for even a moment, Harry’s outstretched hand had nearly caught the fluttering edge of her robe.
Harry Potter was supposed to be nothing more than an overhyped boy raised in the Muggle world.
So why did he possess flying skills impressive enough to make even her feel uneasy?
That brief lapse in concentration was enough.
Harry Potter suddenly rushed toward her with the wind at his back.
Draca didn’t react until his shadow fell across her.
At the very last instant, she forced her broom sharply downward.
She dropped several feet almost like she’d gone into a stall, then pulled up again and stabilized, slipping out of Harry’s path.
The dangerous but beautiful maneuver drew another round of cheers from Slytherin.
Draca, however, could barely calm her pounding heart.
Cold sweat covered her palms, and the broom trembled faintly beneath her.
The Comet’s utterly ordinary performance had nearly caused her to genuinely stall and fall during that maneuver.
She looked up.
Harry Potter had already turned smoothly in the air and was facing her again.
This time, cheers erupted from the Gryffindors below.
Focusing carefully, Draca realized that his broom was noticeably steadier than hers.
Clearly, his control over a broom was more refined.
“Your guards can’t protect you up here, Malfoy.”
“I’ll say it again.
Give me the ball!”
Potter shouted and leaned forward again.
Draca’s eyes widened as she glared at him furiously.
Then she clenched her teeth.
“Hmph.
If you love taking things so much, then try chasing this.”
With that, she threw the Remembrall as hard as she could toward the castle.
Then she turned around without another glance and flew back toward the crowd.
She landed amid loud cheers from the Slytherins.
Not long afterward, however, the Gryffindors erupted into even louder cheers, as though celebrating a victory.
Harry Potter had caught the Remembrall and landed neatly from his broom.
The two glared at each other across the crowd.
Then both of them froze at the sound of a furious female voice.
“Harry Potter!
Draca Malfoy!”
“Never—in all my years at Hogwarts, never have I—”
“Both of you, come with me!”
They simultaneously looked away from each other.
Professor McGonagall was already striding toward them, visibly furious.
It really helps the fic grow!