Flight Lesson

Time flashed by to the following Thursday. At lunch, Hermione flipped through her timetable and said to Silas, who sat at the Ravenclaw table but often carried his plate over to join them:

"Silas, we have flying lessons this afternoon! It's so nerve-racking. I wonder if it'll be difficult..."

Silas was listlessly poking a piece of boiled carrot with his fork. At her words, he paused, an expression of mingled disdain and resistance appearing on his face. He instinctively touched the Levitating Cloak draped over his shoulder. The corner of its collar seemed to sense his mood and gave two dissatisfied shakes, as though saying, "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 timetable and said in the serious tone of someone declaring that this was a required class and there was no escaping it, "Everyone has to learn! It's a Hogwarts tradition! And Quidditch is so much fun!"

Silas attempted to struggle. "But..."

"No buts!" Hermione interrupted, sounding a little urging. "We'll go to the pitch together after lunch!"

Silas blinked, then suddenly thought of a crucial question. He picked up his timetable and examined it carefully. A look of realization appeared on his face, even carrying a hint of slyness.

"Wait, Hermione. This class... isn't it for Gryffindor and Slytherin together? What does that have to do with a little Ravenclaw eagle like me? Our House's flying lesson seems to be scheduled for tomorrow with Hufflepuff."

Hermione was stumped. She lowered her head to check her own timetable, then recalled the class arrangements and realized Silas was right. "Ah... right! That makes sense..." Her face reddened with embarrassment. She had been so nervous that she had forgotten the classes were separated by House.

Silas smiled smugly and was about to say, "Then good luck on your own," when his gaze accidentally fell upon the Thursday afternoon column of his timetable. His expression immediately turned grave, even a little green.

That column clearly read: A History of Magic.

Silas fell silent for two seconds, then abruptly stood up so quickly that he startled Hermione.

"Let's go!" His tone was resolute, even carrying the tragic grandeur of someone marching boldly to their doom.

Hermione was bewildered by his sudden change. "Go? Where? Don't you not have flying lessons?"

Silas pointed at his timetable with a pained expression. "I'm going to watch your flying lesson."

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

Silas took a deep breath and spoke as if he were about to enter a dragon's den.

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

He paused, an expression of extreme resistance appearing on his face. "Rather than listen to Professor Binns lecture about Goblin Rebellions in a tone capable of putting ghosts to sleep, I'd rather go catch some wind at the Quidditch pitch and watch you get tossed around by brooms."

To him, the utterly boring A History of Magic class was far more terrifying than swaying through the sky on a potentially disobedient broomstick. Of two evils, he chose the lesser without hesitation—skipping class to watch the flying lesson. At least there would be something entertaining to see.

Seeing his determined expression that said he would rather watch flying than listen to history, Hermione did not know how to respond. She could only laugh helplessly as he pulled her toward the Quidditch pitch. For Silas, avoiding boredom was always the highest productivity.

On the way to the Quidditch pitch, Hermione looked at Silas's smugly clever expression and could not help asking, "Silas, is it really all right for you to skip A History of Magic so openly? Professor Binns may... well... have a distinctive teaching style, but it's still a required class. And besides, how many school rules have you broken already this term?"

Silas waved dismissively. "No idea. Never counted. As for A History of Magic..." An expression of "this is no big deal" appeared on his face. "Everything Professor Binns talks about—Goblin Rebellions, giant wars, the introduction of the International Statute of Secrecy... I've read that copy of A History of Magic over thirty times in the past four years as a bedtime story. I can recite all the details. Tell me, what class do I still need to attend? Going there would be a complete waste of time. I'd rather come out here, enjoy the sun, and watch something interesting."

Hermione was rendered speechless by that perfectly justified declaration of truancy. She could only shake her head helplessly and sigh. "...You win."

And so, as a "spectator," Silas leisurely leaned against the fence at the edge of the Quidditch pitch and quietly watched the first-year Gryffindor and Slytherin students begin the first flying lesson of their lives under Madam Hooch's guidance.

He watched the young wizards shout "Up!" at the brooms lying on the ground in every imaginable tone. Neville's broom suddenly sprang up and struck him in the nose; Malfoy's broom obediently jumped into his hand, making him raise his chin smugly; Harry's broom practically leapt into his palm the instant he gave the command, drawing soft gasps from those around him.

Hermione's broom, meanwhile, merely rolled around impatiently on the ground a few times before falling still. No matter how anxiously Hermione ordered it around, it barely acknowledged her.

Silas found Hermione's anxious and angry expression rather amusing.

Finally, under Madam Hooch's patient instruction and after repeated practice, most of the students successfully summoned their brooms into their hands, though some of the brooms still squirmed slightly and remained less than obedient.

Madam Hooch walked to the center of the field and blew the silver whistle hanging around her neck. In a loud voice, she said, "All right! Now, listen to my command! When I blow the whistle, push off hard with both feet and leave the ground! Keep your brooms balanced, and don't fly too high! Hold on tight to your brooms!"

The new students immediately grew tense, mounting their brooms and gripping the handles tightly.

Hermione's face was somewhat pale. Her palms were slick with sweat as she held the still-unruly broom. Seeing Silas lounging by the edge of the pitch, she could not help jogging over, her voice trembling with frustration. "What should I do, Silas... I really don't think I'm suited for flying... This broom just won't listen to me, and I'm a little scared..."

She was trying hard to encourage herself, but it had little effect.

Silas looked at Hermione's nervous expression, then at the "stubborn" broom in her hands, and thought for a moment. He removed the dark red Levitating Cloak from his shoulders and casually tossed it to her.

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

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

"Yeah." Silas nodded and explained, "This cloak can generate buoyancy. At a critical moment, it can make sure you don't fall to your death. As long as you know you can't die from a fall, you won't be afraid of falling. Once the fear is gone and you relax, you'll naturally fly better. Fear is flying's greatest enemy."

His logic was simple and blunt, yet it somehow sounded convincing: eliminate her worries and overcome the psychological barrier.

Half doubtful, Hermione looked at the oddly textured cloak in her hands, then at Silas's encouraging(?) gaze. Gritting her teeth, she draped it over herself. The cloak automatically adjusted its size to fit her body, and a strange, comforting warmth and faint sense of buoyancy enveloped her.

She took a deep breath and felt as though her heartbeat had slowed somewhat. She mounted the broom again and gripped the handle tightly.

At that moment, Madam Hooch's whistle shrieked again!

"Take off!"

Most students pushed hard off the ground and rose shakily into the air. Hermione gritted her teeth and kicked off with both feet!

To her surprise, the broom seemed much more obedient this time. Though it still wobbled a little, it steadily carried her off the ground. The cloak around her gave off stable buoyancy, greatly reducing the fear in her heart. She tried relaxing her body and adjusting her center of gravity, and the broom indeed became much steadier!

She looked delightedly toward Silas at the edge of the field. Silas gave her a thumbs-up.

Though her flying posture remained stiff and was nowhere near as natural as Harry's, she had at least successfully taken flight! And because she was no longer afraid of falling, she even dared try a few small turns.

Silas watched the figure in the sky, cloaked in red and flying cautiously but genuinely, and nodded in satisfaction. Cheating with a magical item? In his view, that was simply making reasonable use of resources to help a friend overcome her difficulties. As for school rules? What were those? Could they be eaten?

Just as Hermione was beginning to get a feel for flying and most of the students were still practicing awkwardly in the air, an accident occurred.

Neville Longbottom, overwhelmed by nervousness, gripped the broom handle with both hands so tightly that the broom shot upward like an unbridled wild horse! He screamed in terror as it carried him higher and higher into the air, and then... he suddenly lost his balance. His hands slipped, and he fell straight down from more than twenty feet in the air!

"Neville!" Madam Hooch and the other students cried out in horror.

At that critical moment, Silas, who had been leaning against the fence and seemed inattentive, narrowed his eyes. Almost at the instant Neville lost his grip, he raised a hand, and a gentle, precise invisible force field instantly enveloped the space beneath Neville.

"Cushion and Decelerate!"

Neville's descent abruptly slowed, as though he had fallen into an invisible soft air cushion. He landed on the grass with a soft thump, even bouncing slightly upward from the force field's elasticity before finally collapsing face-down. He was terrified, but he looked completely unharmed—not even a scrape on his skin.

"Oh! Good heavens! The poor child!" Madam Hooch's face turned deathly pale as she hurried over and crouched beside him, anxiously checking Neville's condition. "How do you feel, Mr. Longbottom? Does anything hurt?"

After examining him carefully, she found that aside from his fright and pale face, Neville did not even have a bruise. It was simply incredible! She immediately realized what had happened, raised her head sharply, and looked at Silas, who had just cast the spell, her face filled with surprise and gratitude.

"Was that magic what saved him? Thank you so much! What a quick reaction! Gryffindor..."

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

Madam Hooch froze for a moment, then slapped her forehead hard. "Oh! Look at my memory! I'm sorry, Mr. Kirill! Twenty points to Ravenclaw for your excellent reaction and for helping a fellow student!" She paused, then added, "But I still need to take Mr. Longbottom to Madam Pomfrey for an examination. Though he appears uninjured, we must be cautious after a fall from such a height."

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

The moment the professor left, the atmosphere on the pitch became strange. Most students were still shaken and relieved for Neville. However, discordant voices rose from the Slytherin side.

Draco Malfoy burst into loud laughter, pointing in the direction Madam Hooch and Neville had gone as he mocked in an exaggerated tone, "Did you see how he cried? That idiot! Hahaha! He fell out of the sky like a frightened fat goblin!"

As he laughed, he nudged the grass with the tip of his shoe, seeming to kick something. He bent down and picked it up. It was a transparent little glass ball with what appeared to be white smoke swirling inside.

"What's this?" Malfoy toyed with the Remembrall, a mocking smile on his face. "Oh! I remember now! It's something that big idiot Longbottom's grandmother sent him just this morning, right? What was it called again? A Remembrall? If it turns red when you hold it, that means you've forgotten something, doesn't it? Hahaha, I bet he's forgotten his own name by now!"

Hermione saw Malfoy's gleeful expression as he showed off someone else's belongings, and her face turned pale with anger. She said quietly to Silas beside her, "Honestly, Silas! I think letting the Niffler steal only one Galleon from him was far too merciful! He's absolutely awful!"

Silas looked at Malfoy without much expression and merely said flatly, "I agree with you."

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

Silas gave a huge yawn. That rescue spell seemed to have used up a little of his energy—or perhaps he was simply bored again. He stretched, his gaze sweeping over the lush green grass of the Quidditch pitch, and suddenly said:

"Why should I get involved? I suddenly realized that the grass on this pitch is really nice. Soft and thick. It looks comfortable—perfect for sleeping."

As he spoke, under the stunned gazes of Hermione and several nearby students who had heard him, Silas truly fell backward on the spot and lay directly on the grass of the Quidditch pitch. He pulled the Levitating Cloak, which he had just taken back from Hermione, over himself, adjusted into a comfortable position, and closed his eyes. He looked ready to catch up on sleep, completely ignoring the still-arrogant Malfoy and the conflict that was likely about to unfold.

Hermione watched Silas instantly enter "sleep mode," then looked at the smug Malfoy and the indignant Harry and Ron. She felt utterly powerless. She might never be able to keep up with Silas Cyril's way of thinking and behavior.

Silas lay on the soft grass with his eyes closed, seeming to have already drifted into dreams. Yet inside, his little schemes were clicking away furiously.

I can't be bothered with Malfoy's petty nonsense. That Harry kid clearly has hot blood and a heroic streak—he'll definitely go snatch the Remembrall back. Professor McGonagall is probably nearby. When she sees Potter's jaw-dropping dive, she'll definitely come over to catch someone. Once all her attention is on the future Quidditch star, who's going to care about an "innocent" spectator lying on the ground asleep? Perfectly avoids the risk of getting caught skipping class! So clever!

Things developed exactly as he expected. Just as Malfoy taunted them with the Remembrall, Harry Potter's blood heated up, and he rode his broom in an extremely thrilling and beautiful dive to snatch the Remembrall from Malfoy's hand before landing steadily, a stern voice carrying shock and a barely detectable hint of excitement sounded from the entrance to the pitch.

"Mr. Potter!"

Professor McGonagall had somehow appeared there. Her square glasses reflected a sharp gleam, and her expression was extraordinarily complicated. She strode over, her gaze fixed tightly on Harry, who had just completed that difficult flying maneuver.

"Please come with me immediately!" Her tone allowed no argument, but on closer listening, it did not seem to contain only reproach.

Harry followed Professor McGonagall nervously, preparing to leave. As Professor McGonagall turned around, her gaze swept across the entire field like a searchlight before settling precisely on the figure lying in the grass, attempting to disguise himself as part of the background with his cloak.

She stopped and looked at the dark red cloak, which remained exceptionally conspicuous even while lying down. In her characteristic clear, calm voice, she said:

"And you, Mr. Kirill. Even if you chose to appear here in such a... down-to-earth manner, your distinctive cloak is conspicuous enough that I cannot ignore it. I believe Ravenclaw's first-years should be attending A History of Magic at this hour."

Silas: "..."

He howled inwardly, knowing he could not bluff his way through by pretending to sleep. But he still refused to give up and decided to carry "playing dead" through to the end. Not only did he not open his eyes, he increased the volume of his snoring, trying to create the illusion that he was sleeping so deeply that he could not hear a word she said.

"ZZZZZZ... ZZZZZZ..."

The snoring was steady and loud, especially jarring in the suddenly quiet pitch.

Professor McGonagall looked at his shameless act, and the corner of her mouth seemed to twitch almost imperceptibly. She did not bother with Silas again. Instead, she turned to Hermione and the other students and said sternly, "Everyone else, return to the castle immediately! The flying lesson is over!"

Then she left the pitch with a confused and somewhat nervous Harry Potter.

Once Professor McGonagall's footsteps had faded into the distance, Silas quietly opened one eye to confirm that the danger had passed. He sprang upright in one smooth motion, brushed the grass clippings from his clothes, and muttered, "That was close... I almost got dragged off to listen to Professor Binns chant scripture."

Hermione watched him with a complicated expression. "You were... pretending just now?"

Silas shrugged, looking completely matter-of-fact. "What else? Was I supposed to wait for her to drag me to her office for a lecture? Good thing Potter drew the heat."

He looked toward the direction Professor McGonagall and Harry had left, thinking, That Potter kid probably turned disaster into a blessing. The way Professor McGonagall looked at him didn't seem like she wanted to punish him. It was more like she'd discovered a treasure... Heh, Gryffindor's Seeker position is probably taken care of.

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

"Come on," Silas said to Hermione. "Let's stop by the kitchens for something to eat on the way back. Just lying there made me hungry."

For Silas Cyril, the first rule of survival at Hogwarts was flexibility—and, when necessary, having a thick enough skin.