The incident was merely a minor episode.
That evening, they saw a notice posted on the bulletin board in the common room:
Flying lessons would begin next Thursday.
Gryffindor and Slytherin students would be taking the lessons together.
From the moment the notice went up, broomsticks and Quidditch became impossible to avoid as topics of conversation throughout the Slytherin common room—and, indeed, among the entire first-year cohort.
The air was filled with eager excitement and wildly exaggerated claims about everyone’s flying abilities.
Draco was naturally one of the most enthusiastic.
Whether in the Great Hall or the common room, whenever someone brought up flying, he would begin one of his lengthy stories in a deliberately casual tone, even though every syllable practically screamed that he was showing off.
“If you ask me, Hogwarts’ rules are completely unreasonable. When I was at home, my father had already allowed me to use the Nimbus series for basic training—under strict supervision, of course. Once, I was practicing sharp turns and dives over our estate in Wiltshire when I nearly collided head-on with a Muggle helicopter flying low! That metal beast was louder than a rampaging Chimaera. At the very last second, I did this—”
He suddenly twisted sideways, imitating a dangerous evasive maneuver.
“—and skimmed right past it! You should have seen the expressions on those Muggle pilots! Ha-ha!”
Good one, kid.
So you’re the one who knocked the boss out of the sky, huh?
Looks like I really need to give you a hard elbow!
Stories of this kind were endless, and they always ended with Draco’s extraordinary flying skills being contrasted against the clumsiness of Muggle vehicles.
Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle, and the others would usually cooperate with appropriately impressed exclamations or laughter.
Henry had no intention of exposing Draco’s exaggerations.
There was nothing wrong with bragging a little.
It was harmless.
But Draco was far from the only one boasting.
At the Gryffindor table, Seamus Finnigan was equally loud, claiming that he had practically grown up on a broomstick and had battled every kind of difficult terrain imaginable across the Irish countryside.
Even Ron Weasley, encouraged by his twin brothers and an attentive audience, would blush and gesture animatedly as he described how he had once ridden his second brother Charlie’s rather peculiar old Cleansweep Seven and nearly had an intimate encounter with a passing glider.
He always emphasized that he had been “only a tiny bit” away from hitting it.
Poor Muggles.
Being toyed with by little wizards as though they were nothing more than playthings.
Every child from a wizarding family seemed determined to build up their flying résumé before they even got their hands on an actual school broom.
Amid all the noise, Neville Longbottom received a package from his grandmother.
When he nervously opened it at the Gryffindor table and took out a glass ball that seemed to contain wisps of swirling smoke, the surrounding area suddenly became quiet. This chapter was copied from novelping.com without permission.
It was a Remembrall.
When held, if the smoke inside turned red, it meant that you had forgotten something.
Neville stared blankly at it.
The smoke inside slowly turned red.
Yet he looked utterly confused, clearly unable to remember what he had forgotten.
The sight was both rather comical and pitiful.
As it happened, Draco was passing the Gryffindor table on his way outside to get some fresh air.
His eyes immediately flashed with mischief, and an unpleasant smile curled across his lips.
Without the slightest hesitation, he strode forward.
Before Neville—or Hermione standing nearby—could react, Draco snatched the Remembrall from Neville’s hands.
“Look at this!”
Draco held the glowing-red Remembrall high above his head, his voice carrying clearly across the Great Hall and attracting even more attention.
“Longbottom can’t even remember what he’s forgotten! This thing must be working overtime in his hands. It’s been red the entire time! Perhaps it’s reminding you not to burn through another cauldron!”
Neville’s face turned bright red.
He stood up in panic, wanting to retrieve the Remembrall but clearly too frightened to simply snatch it back.
Hermione shouted angrily, “Malfoy! Give it back! It’s not yours!”
Just as Draco was smugly tossing the Remembrall from hand to hand, preparing to make another clever remark, a cold and stern voice cut through the scene.
“Mr. Malfoy! Return that to Mr. Longbottom immediately!”
Professor McGonagall’s eyes behind her spectacles were razor-sharp.
The smug expression on Draco’s face instantly froze.
Under Professor McGonagall’s deadly stare, he reluctantly shoved the Remembrall back into Neville’s hands, muttering something under his breath.
Before Professor McGonagall could deliver any further reprimand, he hurried away from the Gryffindor table with his head hanging.
At afternoon tea, Draco was still furious.
His cheeks remained slightly flushed as he dropped heavily into the chair beside Henry.
“Professor McGonagall is always siding with those stupid Gryffindors!” he complained under his breath.
“I was only joking! I just wanted to take a look!”
Pansy quietly agreed beside him.
Daphne remained silent.
Henry lowered the copy of Quidditch Through the Ages he had been reading and turned to Draco.
That silence alone somehow made Draco’s complaint sound considerably less convincing.
After a moment, Henry finally spoke.
His voice was quiet, yet carried a weight that made several Slytherins instinctively listen.
“Draco.”
He used his first name.
There was no accusation in his tone.
It sounded more like an invitation to examine the situation.
“Have you ever thought about what you actually gained by taking the Remembrall from Longbottom—especially in front of everyone?”
Draco froze.
Clearly, the question had never occurred to him.
“I… I just couldn’t stand watching him stumble around like an idiot! I wanted to embarrass him a little…”
“Did he become embarrassed?”
Henry asked the question calmly.
“Everyone saw him panic after being bullied, and then they saw you being forced to return the object and quickly leave after Professor McGonagall intervened. In the end, the Remembrall returned to its owner completely unharmed, while you received a public reprimand—even if it was only through her expression.”
Draco opened his mouth to argue, but for a moment, he couldn’t find the words.
Henry had simply described the actual results of Draco’s actions in the most straightforward terms, stripping away the playful mischief and supposed intimidation Draco had attached to them.
“It is like playing wizard’s chess,” Henry continued.
He tapped one finger lightly against the table, as though an invisible chessboard were sitting there.
“You recklessly capture an insignificant pawn, only to expose one of your more valuable pieces to the opponent’s castle. You have also handed your opponent the moral high ground, allowing them to stand above you and criticize your behavior.”
He paused.
“The gains and losses are obvious.”
Henry adjusted his posture slightly.
His tone was more like someone sharing an insight than lecturing his companions.
“Now, look at it from another perspective, Draco.”
He paused again before turning toward Pansy and Daphne as well.
“Both of you included—what do you think pure-blood wizards should actually represent in the wizarding world?”