What Went Shooting Off?

Today was a fine day.

Eliana walked down the steps, raised a hand to shield her eyes, and squinted up at the clear blue sky.

The sunlight was perfect, the breeze gentle, and shallow waves rippled through the grass.

Perhaps this was the class everyone was most enthusiastic about. Eliana had only silently reviewed the key points of the broom-riding gestures twice before everyone gradually arrived—unlike History of Magic, where they could drag themselves in until the very last second before the bell.

She hurriedly got to her feet and quickly claimed a spot beside a broom—after carefully comparing more than twenty of them, she had picked the best one. Though the twigs at its tail were still sticking out every which way, it was better than those other fluffy sea urchins. Why else did she think she had come so early?

Eliana noticed Neville had positioned himself beside the king of all sea-urchin brooms.

She hesitated, but still reminded him, "Do you want to switch? You happened to pick the worst one. Won't that make it harder for you to work with the broom in Flying Class?"

What she really wanted to say was, Neville, you've spent more than ten years walking around. You can trip on level ground while wearing suitable shoes, so how dare you pick a broken pair of shoes—a broom—when you're just learning to fly?

"Huh?" Neville looked up blankly, and panic suddenly filled his round face.

"Alright, everyone has chosen a broom. Now stand on the right side of your broom. Hold out your right hand, then say, 'Up!'"

Madam Hooch briskly issued the instructions.

Neville, who had just been about to step away, froze. He looked as though he was about to cry.

"It's alright. If they put it here, it must have passed the school's quality inspection. Maybe it won't make any difference," Eliana comforted him. "If you're really scared, you can borrow my broom after I'm done flying."

She could encourage him with words, but she had no intention of actually flying on the worst broom—then what had been the point of spending ten minutes carefully picking one out? Was she that bored?

Eliana ruthlessly turned away.

Neville nodded with teary eyes. Eliana turned back, intending to offer him a few more encouraging words, but from the corner of her eye, she saw that Harry had already summoned his broom. Malfoy had done the same. Ron had gotten smacked by his broom, but at least his broom had moved!

Damn it, she was falling behind!

Eliana immediately lost the mood to console Neville. "Up!"

She ordered the broom.

Her broom did not move, as if it were deaf.

"Up!" she repeated more forcefully.

The broom's tail slapped the ground, looking deeply unwilling.

"Up!"

"Uuup—"

"Up↗! Down↘!"

"UP!!!"

The broom lay there like a turtle, so still it might as well have been dead.

"Well, well. Ritchie, so beloved by the professors—what's this? Looks like your broom doesn't like you very much." Malfoy came over with a toothy grin, mocking her.

Eliana was furious. Seeing that Madam Hooch had just turned her back and walked to the other side, she swiftly drew her wand.

Malfoy shrank back, but apparently, he was not the target.

With a crisp crack, one protruding twig on the broom's tail shattered into pieces.

"Up!" she commanded darkly.

The broom shot up at once and obediently nestled into her palm.

"Hmph." A cold smile appeared on Eliana's face. "I don't care whether it likes me. If it belongs in my hand, then it belongs in my hand."

She turned to Malfoy. The smile that had not yet faded gave her delicate face a sharp, aggressive edge.

"Just like I don't care whether you like me either. But, Malfoy, in Potions Class, you will sit beside me and properly demonstrate your potion-ingredient handling techniques. Remember to behave tomorrow. Don't make me keep dragging you over here. It won't look good if the professor sees."

"Y-you—you think you can talk to me like that—" Malfoy's face alternated between green and white as he stomped in rage. "You arrogant, conceited—"

"Malfoy, hold your broom properly!" Madam Hooch turned around and immediately spotted the red-faced Malfoy flailing about. She frowned. "Move your hand lower!"

"No, Madam, I—"

Malfoy turned, intending to report Eliana, only to find that she had already lowered her head obediently to examine her broom—as though she had not just blown up its tail and threatened someone.

Malfoy was so angry he nearly fainted on the spot.

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Harry, who had witnessed the entire thing, let out a snort of laughter through his throat—sorry, he truly could not hold it in.

Malfoy immediately found an outlet for all his pent-up rage and glared at Harry. He could not handle Eliana, nor could he handle Madam Hooch, but could he not even bully Scarhead?

"Heh, you'll only be laughing for now, Potter. Have you even touched a broomstick—"

"Ahhh!!!"

With a whoosh, like a cork blasted from a bottle of swollen beer, Neville screamed as he shot past them.

"What the hell just went flying off?" Malfoy wiped his face after the gust hit him, looking unusually bewildered.

Neville rose and dropped vertically above them, swaying from side to side as he screamed at the top of his lungs. Spinning as he went, he flew higher and higher, and then—

BANG!!!!

Madam Hooch took Neville, whose wrist was broken, to the Hospital Wing.

"Falling from that high up and still being able to walk... Neville's actually pretty tough," Eliana muttered. "They aren't even giving him a stretcher?"

Nobody paid attention to her, because Malfoy and Harry had started arguing over the glass ball Neville had dropped.

Having bottled up a stomachful of rage at Eliana, Malfoy picked on someone weaker and sneered that he would hide the ball in a tree and make Neville search for it.

Harry told Malfoy to hand it over.

Malfoy said, "Idiot, if you've got the guts, come take it."

Then, in the blink of an eye, the two of them were in the air.

Eliana: ???

Wait, hadn't they not learned this part yet? How did they already know how to fly?

Especially Harry. Hadn't he said he had grown up in the Muggle world and had never even touched so much as a broomstick branch?

What happened next was even more ridiculous. Harry seemed as though he had taken some miraculous pill. Not only could he fly, he could catch the ball in midair. He could even dive down while accelerating, snatch the ball, then make a hair-raising stop... one foot above the ground.

Then Professor McGonagall took him away.

Eliana stood on the lawn for a long time, unable to recover from the shock.

How should she put this feeling? It was like going to get a driver's license with your friend. You said you had never practiced, and he said he had never practiced either. But the moment he got behind the wheel—wow—the old man's little scooter was doing braking drifts!

Or like taking an exam with a friend. You said you had not studied, and he said he had not even opened the book. Then the results came out, and he got full marks!

Malfoy laughed loudly nearby, saying Harry had definitely been taken away by the Head of House to be expelled.

Eliana did not hear a single word. She blankly looked down at the worn broom in her hand, then her expression gradually turned resolute.

Neville could fly. Harry could fly. Malfoy could fly. Everyone could fly—so why was she the only one who could not?

She refused to believe it!

Eliana copied Harry, kicked off with both feet, and rose into the air.

The wind lightly brushed across her face. She felt as though the sunlight had become a little hotter, and only then did she realize a beat too late—oh, she really was flying.

She was not flying very high, only as high as the treetops. She could still see the blades of grass swaying gently on the lawn. In the distance, the Black Lake reflected light like a huge slab of black glass. The broom trembled lightly between her legs, then the shaking grew stronger, carrying her up and down as if she were riding waves.

Perhaps it was the sunlight, or perhaps it was the reflections from the Black Lake and the leaves. In any case, all kinds of light mixed and twisted together, becoming bizarre and dizzying amid the jolting of the broom beneath her. Eliana felt saliva gathering in her mouth, cold sweat gradually forming on her back. She felt as though she had returned to that time when she delivered something for Mrs. Brown, crammed into a packed car as it wound along a twisting road, her stomach churning.

She endured her discomfort and recalled Malfoy's movements from earlier—Harry's broad, dramatic style was simply not suited to her. She leaned slightly forward, and the broom gradually descended—getting closer and closer to the ground.

Malfoy tipped his head back and glanced sideways at Eliana, about to mock her. "Ha, moving as slowly as a turtle. What, Ritchie, you think—"

Through the wavering light, Eliana vaguely recognized him as someone she knew. Her body tipped to one side, and she rolled off the broom, crashing straight toward him.

"Ah! Ritchie!!"

Used as a human cushion, Malfoy nearly got crushed to death under her backside. Flattened against the ground, he raised his head and roared like a turtle.

Dizzy and disoriented, Eliana flopped forward. "Bleurgh!"

"Ahhh!!! My robes!! Damn you, Ritchie!! Sooner or later, I'm going to kill you!!!"