Flying Lesson

Time flew by until the following Thursday. During lunch, Hermione, flipping through her class schedule, said to Silas, who was sitting at the Ravenclaw table (but often brought his plate over):

"Silas, we have flying class this afternoon! It's making me nervous, I wonder if it'll be difficult..."

Silas was listlessly poking a boiled carrot with his fork when he heard this. His movements paused, and a look of mixed disdain and reluctance appeared on his face. He subconsciously touched the Levitating Cloak draped over his shoulder. The corner of the cloak's collar seemed to sense his mood, twitching twice in dissatisfaction, as if to say, "Riding a broom? What kind of low-class transportation is that?"

"Uh... riding a broom?" Silas frowned. "Me? I don't think... there's any need for that, is there?"

Hermione put down her schedule and said in a serious tone, "It's a required class, you can't skip it!" "Everyone has to learn! It's a Hogwarts tradition! And Quidditch is so much fun!"

Silas tried to protest, "But..."

"No 'buts'!" Hermione interrupted him, with a hint of urgency. "Let's go to the pitch after lunch!"

Silas blinked, suddenly remembering a crucial detail. He picked up his own schedule and looked at it carefully, then a look of realization dawned on his face, even a hint of slyness:

"Wait, Hermione. Isn't this class... for Gryffindor and Slytherin together? What does it have to do with me, a little Ravenclaw eagle? Our house's flying class is scheduled for tomorrow with Hufflepuff."

Hermione was taken aback. She looked down at her own schedule and recalled the class arrangements, realizing Silas was right. "Ah... right! That makes sense..." She blushed a little, embarrassed, having been so focused on her nervousness that she'd forgotten about the inter-house classes.

Silas smiled smugly, about to say, "Well, good luck to you then," but his gaze inadvertently swept over the "Thursday Afternoon" slot on his schedule. His face instantly turned grim, even a little green.

That slot clearly read: A History of Magic.

Silas was silent for two seconds, then abruptly stood up, moving so quickly it startled Hermione.

"Let's go!" he said resolutely, with a tone of tragic resignation, as if marching to his doom.

Hermione was confused by his sudden change. "Go? Go where? Don't you have flying class?"

Silas pointed to his schedule with a pained expression. "I'm going to watch you have flying class."

Hermione was even more bewildered. "Why? Don't you have class this afternoon?"

Silas took a deep breath and said, in a tone as if he were about to step into a dragon's den:

"Because my class is... A History of Magic."

He paused, a look of extreme reluctance on his face. "Rather than listen to Professor Binns drone on about the Goblin Rebellions in that ghost-hypnotizing voice, I'd rather go to the Quidditch pitch and feel the wind, watching you all get tossed around by broomsticks."

In his mind, the mind-numbingly boring A History of Magic class was far more terrifying than wobbling through the air on a potentially disobedient broom. Faced with two evils, he decisively chose to "skip class" – to spectate the flying lesson, at least there would be some entertainment.

Hermione, seeing his resolute expression of "rather watch flying than listen to history," didn't know how to react. She could only be dragged along towards the Quidditch pitch, a mix of amusement and exasperation on her face. For Silas, escaping boredom was always the primary driving force.

On the way to the Quidditch pitch, Hermione looked at Silas, who had a "clever me" look on his face, and couldn't help but ask, "Silas, is it really okay to so brazenly skip A History of Magic? Professor Binns, while... well... unique in his teaching style, it's still a required class. Besides, how many school rules have you broken this semester already?"

Silas waved his hand dismissively. "I don't know, I haven't counted. As for A History of Magic..." he wore an expression that said, "This is not a problem at all." "The content Professor Binns teaches, like the Goblin Rebellions, the Giant Wars, the introduction of the International Statute of Secrecy... I've read that book, A History of Magic, over thirty times as a bedtime story in the past four years. I can recite the details. So, why would I attend class? Going there is a complete waste of time. I'd rather soak up some sun and watch the excitement."

Hermione was so choked by his righteous "declaration of skipping class" that she was speechless. She could only shake her head helplessly and sigh, "...You win."

And so, Silas, as a mere "bystander," leisurely leaned against the fence by the Quidditch pitch, quietly watching the first-year students from Gryffindor and Slytherin, under Madam Hooch's instruction, begin their very first flying lesson.

He watched as these young wizards shouted "Up!" at the brooms lying on the ground in various tones. Neville's broom shot up and hit him in the nose; Malfoy's broom obediently jumped into his hand, making him lift his chin proudly; Harry's broom leaped into his palm the instant he uttered the command, drawing gasps from the surrounding students.

As for Hermione's broom, it merely rolled around on the ground impatiently a few times before falling still, ignoring Hermione's anxious commands.

Silas found Hermione's flustered and annoyed expression rather amusing.

Finally, with Madam Hooch's patient guidance and repeated practice, most students successfully summoned their brooms to their hands (though some brooms were still twitching slightly, not entirely obedient).

Madam Hooch walked to the center of the pitch, blew the silver whistle hanging around her neck, and said loudly, "Alright! Now, on my command! When I blow the whistle, you will push off the ground with both feet! Keep your broom balanced, don't fly too high! Hold onto your brooms tightly!"

The new students tensed up, mounted their brooms, and gripped the handles tightly.

Hermione's face was a little pale. She held the still somewhat unruly broom, her palms sweating. Seeing Silas lounging by the sidelines, she couldn't help but jog over, her voice trembling with frustration. "What do I do, Silas... I don't think I'm suited for flying... This broom just won't listen to me, I'm a little scared..."

She was trying to encourage herself, but it wasn't very effective.

Silas looked at Hermione's nervous expression, then at the "stubborn" broom in her hand, and thought for a moment. He took off the dark red Levitating Cloak he was wearing and casually tossed it to Hermione.

"Put this on before you ride the broom," Silas said casually.

Hermione caught the cloak and blinked. "Huh? Put this on?"

"Yes," Silas nodded and explained, "This cloak generates buoyancy. It can guarantee you won't fall to your death in a critical moment. As long as you know you won't die if you fall, that you're not afraid of falling, and you relax, you'll naturally be able to fly well. Fear is the greatest enemy of flying."

His logic was simple and direct, but it seemed to make sense: eliminate worries, overcome psychological barriers.

Hermione looked at the cloak with its strange texture in her hand, half-believing, half-doubting. She then looked at Silas's encouraging(?) gaze, gritted her teeth, and put the cloak on. The cloak automatically adjusted its size to fit her form, enveloping her in a peculiar, reassuring warmth and a slight feeling of buoyancy.

She took a deep breath, feeling her heartbeat slow down. She remounted the broom and gripped the handle tightly.

Just then, Madam Hooch's whistle shrieked again!

"Take off!"

Most students pushed off the ground with force, rising unsteadily into the air. Hermione also gritted her teeth and pushed off with both feet!

To her surprise, the broom seemed much more obedient this time. Although it still wobbled a bit, it steadily carried her off the ground. The cloak on her back provided stable buoyancy, greatly reducing her fear. She tried to relax her body and adjust her center of gravity, and the broom became considerably more stable!

She looked at Silas by the sidelines with surprise. Silas gave her a thumbs-up.

Although her flying posture was still stiff, nowhere near as graceful as Harry's, at least she had successfully taken flight! And because she wasn't afraid of falling, she even dared to attempt small turns.

Silas watched the figure in the red cloak in the sky, flying cautiously but surely, and nodded in satisfaction. Cheating with magical items? In his opinion, it was merely making reasonable use of resources to help a friend overcome difficulties. As for school rules? What were those? Could they be eaten?

Just as Hermione was gradually getting a feel for flying, and most students were still wobbling in the air practicing, an accident occurred.

Neville Longbottom, due to excessive nervousness, gripped the broom handle so tightly that the broom shot upwards like a runaway horse! He screamed in terror in the air, the broom carrying him higher and higher, and then... he suddenly lost his balance, his hands loosened, and he fell straight down from a height of over twenty feet!

"Neville!" Madam Hooch and the other students shrieked in terror.

At that critical moment, Silas, who had been leaning nonchalantly against the railing, his gaze suddenly sharpened. Almost the instant Neville let go, he raised his hand, and a soft, precise, invisible force field instantly enveloped Neville from below.

"Shock Absorption, Deceleration!"

Neville's falling speed abruptly slowed, as if he had fallen into a soft, invisible cushion. He landed on the grass with a "poof," even bouncing slightly upwards due to the force field's elasticity before collapsing onto the ground. He was terrified, but it seemed he was completely unharmed, not even a scratch on his skin.

"Oh! Good heavens! The poor child!" Madam Hooch's face turned pale. She rushed over and knelt down, anxiously checking Neville's condition. "How do you feel, Mr. Longbottom? Does anything hurt?"

After a thorough examination, she found that Neville, apart from being startled and pale, had no bruises on him whatsoever. It was incredible! She immediately reacted, looked up sharply at Silas, who had just cast the spell, and her face was filled with surprise and gratitude:

"Was it that spell that saved him? Thank you so much! Such a quick reaction! Gryffindor..."

Silas interrupted her expressionlessly, "Professor, I'm from Ravenclaw."

Madam Hooch froze for a moment, then forcefully smacked her forehead. "Oh! Look at my memory! I'm so sorry, Mr. Kirill! Ravenclaw gets 20 points! For your excellent reaction and for saving a fellow student!" She paused, then added, "However, I still need to take Mr. Longbottom to Madam Pomfrey for a check-up. Even if there are no visible injuries, a fall from that height requires caution."

Madam Hooch helped the still trembling Neville and hurried away from the Quidditch pitch.

As soon as the professors left, the atmosphere on the pitch became delicate. Most students were still shaken, relieved for Neville. However, discordant sounds came from the Slytherin side.

Draco Malfoy burst into laughter, pointing in the direction Madam Hooch and Neville had left, and mocked in an exaggerated tone, "Did you see how he was crying? That idiot! Hahaha! Falling from the sky like a frightened little goblin!"

As he laughed, he kicked the grass with his toe, seemingly kicking something. He bent down and picked it up. It was a small, transparent glass ball, with what looked like white smoke swirling inside.

"What is this?" Malfoy played with the Remembrall, a mocking smile on his face. "Oh! I remember! It's from that big idiot Longbottom's grandmother this morning, right? What's it called? A Remembrall? Does it turn red if you hold it and you've forgotten something? Haha, I bet he's forgotten his own name right now!"

Hermione watched Malfoy's gloating face, holding someone else's possession and flaunting it, her own face turning pale with anger. She whispered to Silas beside her, "Good heavens, Silas! I think it was too kind of you to have a Niffler steal one Galleon from him! This guy is truly detestable!"

Silas looked at Malfoy, his face expressionless, and said faintly, "I agree with you."

Hermione was a little surprised. She thought that with Silas's personality of "if I don't like you, I'll mess with you," he would immediately do something. "Then... aren't you going to do something?"

Silas yawned widely. The rescue spell seemed to have drained some of his energy, or perhaps he was simply bored again. He stretched, his gaze sweeping across the lush green grass of the Quidditch pitch, and suddenly said, "Why should I get involved? I just realized, the grass on this pitch is growing really well. It's soft and thick, looks very comfortable, suitable for sleeping."

With that, under the stunned gazes of Hermione and several other students who heard him, Silas actually fell backward and lay down on the Quidditch pitch grass. He then pulled his Levitating Cloak (which he had just gotten back from Hermione) over himself, adjusted to a comfortable position, closed his eyes, and appeared ready to take a nap, completely ignoring the still arrogant Malfoy and the potential conflict about to erupt.

Hermione looked at Silas, who had instantly entered "sleep mode," then at the smug Malfoy and the indignant Harry and Ron, feeling a wave of powerlessness. She felt she would never be able to keep up with Silas Kirill's way of thinking and behaving.

Silas lay on the soft grass, his eyes closed, seemingly fast asleep, but his mind was calculating furiously:

(Inner monologue: I couldn't care less about Malfoy's petty issues. Harry, that kid, is obviously hot-headed and will definitely try to snatch the Remembrall. Professor McGonagall is probably nearby. Seeing Potter's earth-shattering dive, she'll definitely come to catch him. By then, her attention will be entirely on the future Quidditch star, who will care about me, an "innocent" bystander sleeping on the ground? Perfect way to avoid the risk of getting caught skipping class! So clever of me!)

Things unfolded exactly as he predicted. Just as Malfoy was provoking them with the Remembrall, and Harry Potter, fueled by emotion, mounted his broom and, with an extremely dangerous and beautiful dive, snatched the Remembrall from his hand and landed steadily, a stern voice, filled with shock and a hint of barely concealed excitement, rang out from the entrance of the pitch:

"Mr. Potter!"

Professor McGonagall had appeared at some point, her square spectacles reflecting a sharp glint, her expression extremely complex. She strode over, her gaze fixed on Harry, who had just completed the difficult aerial maneuver.

"Come with me immediately!" Her tone was irrefutable, but upon closer listening, it didn't seem entirely like a reprimand.

Harry nervously followed Professor McGonagall, preparing to leave. As Professor McGonagall turned, her gaze swept across the entire pitch like a searchlight, finally landing precisely on the figure lying on the grass, attempting to disguise himself as "background" with his cloak.

She stopped, looking at the dark red cloak that was incredibly conspicuous even when lying down. In her characteristic clear and calm tone, she said, "And you, Mr. Kirill. Even if you chose to appear here in such a... down-to-earth manner, your unique cloak is conspicuous enough that I cannot ignore it. I believe, at this time, first-year Ravenclaws should be in their History of Magic class."

Silas: "..."

He let out an internal groan, knowing that pretending to be asleep wouldn't work. But he was still unwilling to give up, deciding to continue with the "playing dead" act. He didn't open his eyes; instead, he increased the volume of his snoring, trying to create the illusion of "I'm sleeping so soundly, I can't hear what you're saying":

"ZZZZZZ... ZZZZZZ..."

His snoring was even and loud, sounding particularly jarring in the suddenly quiet pitch.

Professor McGonagall looked at his "tough as old boots" demeanor, and the corner of her mouth seemed to twitch almost imperceptibly. She ignored Silas and turned to Hermione and the other students, saying sternly, "The rest of you, return to the castle immediately! Flying class is over!"

Then, she turned and left the pitch with a bewildered and somewhat nervous Harry Potter.

After Professor McGonagall's footsteps faded away, Silas quietly opened one eye, confirming that the "danger" had passed. He sat up with a sudden flip, brushed off some grass from his clothes, and muttered, "Close call, close call... Almost got dragged off to listen to Professor Binns drone on."

Hermione looked at him from the side, her expression complicated. "You were... pretending just now?"

Silas shrugged, his expression matter-of-fact. "What else? Should I have waited to be dragged to her office for a lecture? Lucky for me, Potter drew the fire."

He glanced in the direction Professor McGonagall and Harry had left, thinking to himself: 'But Potter probably benefited from this misfortune. Professor McGonagall's look wasn't like she was going to punish him, more like she'd discovered a treasure... Tsk tsk, Gryffindor's Seeker is likely found.'

As for himself? He successfully skipped class, watched the show, and avoided punishment. Perfect!

"Let's go," Silas said to Hermione. "On the way back, let's stop by the kitchens to get something to eat. Lying down made me hungry."

For Silas Kirill, the first rule of survival at Hogwarts was: be flexible, adaptable, and, when necessary, have a thick skin.