Yulian, standing in the corner, heard his name, but merely raised his eyes slightly and did not respond. He was indeed somewhat hesitant about flying—not because he was afraid, but because he was worried about losing control.
His magic was far too sensitive. If his emotions fluctuated in midair, there was no guarantee it would not cause some kind of accident. That was also why his grandfather had required him to wear a Muggle motorcycle helmet during practice.
Of course, in Yulian's library, An Introduction to Quidditch: For Beginners Who Can't Even Pronounce "Up" Properly was not merely for show. It had provided precise guidance during his flying practice.
Naturally, Yulian had never noticed that the book's title page read: Dedicated to all the fools who were thrown off their brooms yet still believed in flight.
"When it comes to flying, who could surpass our Hufflepuff's Cedric Diggory?" Megan Jones spoke up at that moment. The light in her eyes showed that she was yet another one of Cedric's little fangirls. Surprisingly, even Cho Chang gave a slight nod after hearing this.
Kayson shouted unwillingly to be outdone, "Just you wait! I'll become the youngest Seeker in Hogwarts history!"
Roger smiled and shook his head as he stood up. "All right, little dreamers. Stop talking nonsense on the carpet. Once you can really draw a circle in the sky without falling off, come talk to me about Quidditch."
He turned toward the stairs, then looked back and added, "Still... good luck not falling into the Black Lake today. Madam Pomfrey has caught a cold recently and doesn't have time to look after a bunch of drenched little drowned rats."
Hogwarts' flying training ground was located on a broad stretch of grass on the eastern side of the castle. At either end of the pitch stood three golden goalposts of varying heights, each topped with a hoop. The golden stands surrounding the Quidditch Pitch gleamed beneath the sunlight, as though silently calling out to the heroes of the future.
The first-year newcomers from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff stood in two lines, every one of them bright-eyed, their chests puffed out higher than a peacock's. Kayson and Edgar had even arrived half an hour early.
Madam Hooch appeared right on time astride a Nimbus 1000. Her short silver-gray hair remained utterly unmoved by the wind, while her hawklike golden eyes swept across the field. A knowing smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
"All right, little witches and wizards," she said in a clear voice. "I know your heads are filled with things like 'Aerial Flip,' 'Soaring to the Sky,' and even the 'Lansky Feint' right now... but put those fantasies away for the moment."
She clapped her hands, and more than twenty old school brooms hopped lightly across the grass like a herd of impatient old horses, coming to a stop in front of each young wizard.
"First step," Madam Hooch said. "Extend your right hand and hold it above the broom. Say clearly: 'Up!'"
"Up!"
"Up!"
"Hurry up, you blasted piece of wood!"
The lawn instantly descended into chaos. Some brooms lazily rolled halfway around, some abruptly sprang up and smacked their owners on the nose—Justin clutched his nose with tears in his eyes—and others simply pretended to be dead.
"Don't rush. This isn't about showing off. It's like riding a horse: every rider must first build a bond with their mount. When the broom leaps into your hand, it means that it is willing to let you ride it."
Lyria stood in front of her broom, her expression focused yet gentle.
She did not issue an order at once. Instead, she crouched down and lightly pressed her palm against the rough broomstick, murmuring several ancient words in the Northlands dialect—the language she often used to soothe the creatures of the forest.
The broom trembled slightly, then slowly rose to the level of her palm and stopped there, perfectly steady.
"Wow!" Hannah exclaimed. "Lyria, you did it!"
Lyria revealed a faint smile as well.
Yulian's situation was entirely different. The brooms used in Hogwarts' Flying Class were all rather old-fashioned Cleansweep Sevens. The broom assigned to Yulian was the oldest and most inconspicuous one of all.
Yet after he called, "Up!" the broom shot upward like an arrow leaving the bowstring, then leaped into his hand with a whoosh, nearly yanking him off his feet.
Once all the young wizards had summoned their brooms into their hands, Madam Hooch instructed them to mount up, sit securely, gently push off from the ground with their feet, and slowly rise into the air, controlling their brooms as they flew steadily at low altitude.
That was when Lyria ran into trouble.
The moment both her feet left the ground, she looked as though her foundation had been ripped away. Her face instantly turned pale, and she gripped the broom so tightly that her knuckles went blue.
She could sense the pulse of the earth and converse with ancient trees, but the sky... The sky was an unfamiliar, supportless void to her.
"Don't be afraid, Miss Lyria," Madam Hooch said gently as she approached. "I've learned about you already. I know the earth is your root, but the sky isn't your enemy. Try... thinking of it as a flowing forest."
In the original novels and films, Neville's injury made Madam Hooch's teaching abilities seem rather average. In reality, Madam Hooch was quite capable. She understood how to teach according to each student's aptitude.
Lyria nodded after listening to Madam Hooch. She took a deep breath and flew steadily into the air. But she only dared to let her broom rise a little over one person's height, like a cautious fledgling. In fact, most of the young wizards were at about the same level.
On the other side, Kayson's broom did obediently take flight—but unfortunately, he had absolutely no control over its direction. He had intended to perform a handsome turn, but the broom suddenly lunged forward and sent him straight into the branches of a nearby willow tree, where he became firmly stuck.
"Help! I've been kidnapped by a tree!" he wailed.
"The tree is only teaching you humility," Edgar called from below, taking pleasure in his misfortune.
Just after they rescued Kayson from the tree, trouble broke out on Yulian's side. The instant his feet left the ground, he merely lifted the broom's nose slightly, yet the broom abruptly accelerated and shot forward!
By the time Madam Hooch noticed, Yulian had already sped far away. "Mr. Black! Slow down!" Madam Hooch shouted anxiously. Please don't let this be another Neville.
Yulian gritted his teeth and tried to rein in the broom, but it had already carried him halfway around the lawn. It was moving so fast that even his shadow blurred.
Suddenly, a broom rider appeared in front of him. It was Padma Patil. Yulian hurriedly braked, but the stopping distance clearly exceeded his expectations, and he was about to crash into her. Fortunately, Madam Hooch flew over on her broom and pulled Padma aside.
Madam Hooch had Yulian fly another circuit, gradually figuring out what was going on. She then led Yulian to a more open area. From somewhere, she produced a ball about the size of a basketball. With all her strength, she threw it into the distance. "Go after it, and catch it before it hits the ground!"
Yulian was incredibly fast. With a whoosh, he shot forward. Once he thought he had clearly gauged the ball's trajectory, he accelerated into a sprint. But by the time he realized what had happened, he had already flown ten meters past the ball and could only watch helplessly as it drifted slowly past behind him.
"Speed is a talent," Madam Hooch said after he finally managed to stop—though in truth, he had only come to a halt after crashing into a haystack beside the pitch. She walked over and patted him on the shoulder, unmistakable approval in her eyes. "But Quidditch isn't a contest of flying speed. You need to learn... control. Make your movements and intentions move as one instead of being pushed along by your magic."
Yulian nodded, panting. Grass clung to his face, yet he could not help smiling. He had more or less understood the problem. A book titled On the Fine Control of Flight—Insights from a Haystack had even appeared in his mind, complete with specific training methods.
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