The real Herry Potter

The day of the long-anticipated flying lessons had finally arrived, bringing with it an air of excitement throughout the first-year students. Harry had been looking forward to this day for some time, though not for the reasons his classmates might have assumed. Unlike most of them, who were eager to experience the thrill of flying for the first time, Harry had been flying since he was young. Not only did he own a sleek Comet 260 broomstick, but he had also spent countless hours tinkering with and building his own broomsticks from scratch, exploring how each design affected speed, balance, and maneuverability.

Despite his experience, Harry was curious to see how flying lessons were taught at Hogwarts. He had read about Madam Hooch, the Quidditch instructor, and knew that she was a skilled flier with a sharp eye for talent. But still, he wondered if there were tips or tricks he hadn't yet discovered in his private flights. More than anything, he was looking forward to observing his classmates' first attempts at flying—and perhaps to seeing what made Hogwarts' approach to broomstick flying different from his own.

As Harry, Neville, and Hermione made their way to the grassy training field where the lesson was set to take place, the mood among the students was palpable. Neville, though brimming with newfound confidence in many areas, was visibly nervous. His hands fidgeted at his sides as they walked, his eyes darting toward the brooms laid out in neat rows on the ground ahead.

"I'm going to be rubbish at this, I just know it," Neville muttered, more to himself than to anyone in particular.

Harry glanced over at his friend. "You'll be fine, Neville. Flying isn't as hard as it looks. Just follow Madam Hooch's instructions, and if you run into any trouble, I'll be there to help."

Hermione, on the other hand, seemed more interested in the theory of flying than the actual experience. She had read about broomstick physics, the charms that kept them aloft, and even the history of broom design. But flying itself? That was something different.

"I'm not sure why we need to learn how to fly," she said in a matter-of-fact tone. "It's not exactly an academic pursuit, is it?"

Harry and Neville shared an amused glance. "You'll see, Hermione," Harry said with a grin. "There's more to flying than just moving from one place to another. It's about freedom—and control."

As they arrived at the training field, they joined the rest of their classmates, including Ron Weasley, who was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet in excitement, and Draco Malfoy, who was standing off to the side with his usual air of superiority.

"First flying lesson, Potter?" Draco drawled, eyeing Harry with a smirk. "Not too nervous, are you? I doubt your little Comet broomstick is going to help you much here. Probably only good for sweeping floors, if you ask me."

Harry didn't rise to the bait, instead giving Draco a calm smile. "I guess we'll see, Malfoy."

Draco scoffed, but before he could say more, Madam Hooch arrived on the field. She was an older woman with short, spiky gray hair and piercing yellow eyes, a no-nonsense demeanor about her. She wore a black cloak that billowed slightly in the breeze as she strode purposefully to the center of the group.

"Welcome, first-years," she said, her voice clear and authoritative. "Today, we begin with the basics of broomstick flying. Now, I know some of you may have flown before, but I want to make it very clear: here at Hogwarts, we do things properly. No showing off, no dangerous stunts. You follow my instructions, and we'll get through this lesson without anyone ending up in the Hospital Wing."

Her gaze swept over the group, lingering briefly on Harry, as if she knew he was one of the more experienced fliers. Harry merely nodded in response.

"Right then," Madam Hooch continued, "everyone stand next to a broomstick, place your hand over it, and say, 'Up!'"

The students scrambled to stand beside their assigned brooms. Harry took his place with ease, glancing down at the broomstick at his feet. It was an old, Hogwarts-issue broom, far less refined than his Comet 260, but functional enough for a lesson. With practiced ease, he extended his hand and called, "Up!"

The broomstick leaped into his hand instantly, as though it had been waiting for the command. A quick glance around the field showed that not everyone was as lucky. Hermione's broom lay stubbornly on the ground, despite her repeated "Up!" commands. Neville, looking slightly flustered, had managed to get his broom to wobble uncertainly, but it remained firmly planted.

Harry offered them both an encouraging smile. "Don't force it. Relax, and trust the broom to come to you."

Neville gave it another try, and this time, his broom wobbled a bit more vigorously before finally hopping into his hand. He looked surprised and relieved in equal measure.

"I did it!" Neville exclaimed.

Madam Hooch gave a curt nod of approval. "Good, Longbottom. Now the rest of you, keep at it!"

After everyone had their broomsticks in hand, Madam Hooch led them through the next steps: mounting the brooms and preparing for takeoff. Harry, having done this hundreds of times, found the process second nature. As they kicked off from the ground, he felt that familiar rush of air beneath him, the sensation of weightlessness as his broom lifted him effortlessly into the sky.

For many of the students, however, it was a different story. Some shot up too high, others wobbled precariously as they struggled to maintain balance. Neville, despite his earlier success, began to rise at an alarming speed, his face a mask of panic.

As the broomstick beneath Neville shot upward at a terrifying speed, it began to buck wildly, tossing him around like a ragdoll. His hands clung desperately to the broomstick's handle, but he was clearly losing control. "Help!" Neville cried, his voice strained with panic as the broom seemed to take on a life of its own, jerking violently toward the sky. The students below gasped, their eyes wide with fear as Neville's broom spiraled dangerously.

Without a second thought, Harry leaped into action. Instinct kicked in, and he shot after Neville, urging his own broomstick to its maximum speed. The wind roared in his ears as he ascended rapidly, his heart pounding in his chest. But as he gained altitude, Harry quickly realized that his broom wasn't behaving properly either—it had an infuriating malfunction of veering to the left, a fault that made steering it at high speeds more difficult.

Neville's broom gave one last vicious buck, and with a scream, Neville was flung clear, his arms flailing as he tumbled through the air, hurtling toward the hard ground below. Everything seemed to slow in that instant, the distance between Neville and the ground closing in a matter of seconds.

Harry gritted his teeth and fought to keep his malfunctioning broom on course, making micro-adjustments to stop the leftward drift. He leaned forward, urging the broom to go faster, faster—until he was nearly parallel with the falling figure of Neville. With a surge of adrenaline, Harry pushed his broom into an intercept path, his focus razor-sharp on the spot where he needed to catch him.

Just as Neville's back was about to face the unforgiving earth, Harry managed to swoop beneath him, grabbing him securely by his robes and pulling him onto his broom. Neville landed hard on Harry's broomstick, lying flat on his knees, wide-eyed and breathless. They were still moving at a dangerous speed, but Harry carefully began to decelerate, guiding the broom in a series of controlled maneuvers to slow their descent. His broom wobbled as it fought him, but he expertly adjusted for the malfunctioning left-turn, finally bringing it to a stop just a few feet from the ground.

With a final lurch, Harry and Neville tumbled off the broomstick, collapsing onto the grass in an ungainly heap. Both boys lay there, breathing heavily but—thankfully—uninjured. A moment later, Harry pushed himself up on his elbows, glancing over at Neville, who was still sprawled out, looking dazed but alive.

The silence was quickly broken by the rising sound of students rushing over, their voices a mixture of amazement and concern. Madam Hooch was the first to reach them, her face pale but stern as she bent down to inspect them both.

"Are you boys alright?" she demanded, her hawk-like eyes scanning them for any sign of injury.

"We're fine," Harry said, standing up and offering a hand to Neville, who shakily got to his feet.

Neville, still pale but clearly relieved to be alive, looked at Harry with wide, grateful eyes. "Harry… you saved me! I—thank you… I don't know what would've happened if you hadn't caught me."

The other students gathered around, chattering excitedly about what they had just witnessed. Even the usually smug Draco Malfoy seemed at a loss for words, staring at Harry with something close to grudging respect.

Madam Hooch, though visibly shaken by the near-accident, fixed Harry with a penetrating look. "That was a very dangerous maneuver, Potter," she said, though there was an unmistakable note of admiration in her voice. "But you did well. You may have just saved Mr. Longbottom's life."

As the crowd of students murmured their agreement, Neville nodded vigorously. "He did! I thought I was a goner, but Harry… Harry just swooped in and caught me!"

But Harry, as always, didn't care for the attention. He was just glad that Neville was safe. As they all made their way back to the castle, Neville continued to thank Harry over and over, while Hermione, who had been watching in stunned silence, finally spoke up.

"That was incredible, Harry," she said, her voice tinged with both awe and concern. "But you really could have gotten hurt. You should be more careful!"

Harry shrugged, giving her a small smile. "It wasn't exactly planned, Hermione."

Ron, who had been watching the whole thing unfold from the ground, clapped Harry on the back. "That was brilliant, Harry! Malfoy's face was priceless when you caught Neville—bet he won't be trying to one-up you anytime soon!"

As the commotion from Neville's near-accident began to die down, the rest of the flying lesson resumed with an eerie normalcy. The incident, though dramatic, seemed to have little impact on the routine of the class. The other students, many of whom had been raised in the wizarding world, appeared largely unfazed by the close call. For them, broomstick malfunctions and high-speed accidents were just another part of their magical education, rather than a cause for serious concern.

The first-years who had witnessed Neville's harrowing fall returned to their brooms with a mix of nervous excitement and casual nonchalance. They mounted their broomsticks, their movements smoother and more confident than before. To them, such incidents were just part of the learning curve, a way to gain experience in the seemingly perilous art of flying.

In stark contrast, the Muggle-born students and those who had spent less time in the magical world remained on the ground, their faces pale and apprehensive. They watched the flying practice with a sense of wariness, clearly hesitant to take to the skies themselves. The sight of Neville's broom malfunctioning had left a lingering shadow of fear, making the prospect of flying seem even more daunting.

Madam Hooch, while clearly shaken by the day's earlier events, carried on with the lesson as if nothing had happened. She moved among the students, offering advice on technique and correcting form, her demeanor professional despite the underlying tension.

"Alright, everyone, let's continue practicing those figure eights," she instructed, her voice carrying over the field. "Remember to keep your movements smooth and controlled. A broomstick is an extension of yourself."

Despite her composed exterior, there was an edge of vigilance in her eyes. The accident had rattled her more than she let on, and she was determined to ensure that such an incident didn't repeat itself.

Harry, still slightly shaken from the adrenaline of the rescue, focused on the lesson with renewed concentration. He knew that while the danger was real, it was also part of the learning process. He watched as the other students practiced, their faces reflecting a range of emotions from excitement to fear.

Neville, having recovered from the ordeal, was among those trying to regain their confidence. He was now flying with a more cautious approach, his earlier bravado tempered by the realization of how quickly things could go wrong. Harry, flying nearby, kept an eye on him, offering encouragement when he could.

As the lesson came to an end, the students landed back on the ground, their faces flushed with the exertion of their practice. The incident with Neville was already becoming a distant memory for many of them, overshadowed by the excitement of their flying progress and the thrill of their magical education.