On Flying Lessons 1

Yulian, hearing his name from the corner, merely lifted his eyes slightly without responding. He did have some hesitation about flying—not fear, but worry about losing control.

His magic was too sensitive; if his emotions fluctuated in the air, it was hard to guarantee nothing unexpected would happen. That was also why his grandfather made him wear a Muggle motorcycle helmet during practice.

Of course, in Yulian's library, Quidditch for Beginners: For Newbies Who Can't Even Say "Up" Properly wasn't just for show. It had given him precise guidance during his flight practice.

Though Yulian hadn't noticed the inscription on the title page—Dedicated to all the fools who get thrown off their brooms yet still believe in flying.

"When it comes to flying, who can compare to our Hufflepuff's Cedric Diggory?" Megan Jones spoke up then, the light in her eyes marking her as another of Cedric's little fangirls. After she said this, even Cho Chang nodded slightly.

Kayson, not to be outdone, shouted, "You'll see! I'll become the youngest Seeker in Hogwarts history!"

Roger shook his head with a smile and stood up. "Alright, little dreamers, stop talking on the carpet. Come talk to me about Quidditch when you can actually draw a circle in the sky without falling off."

He turned toward the stairs, then looked back to add, "Though... hope none of you end up in the Black Lake today. Madam Pomfrey has a cold and won't have time to take care of a bunch of soaked little drowned rats."

Hogwarts' flying training ground was on a wide lawn east of the castle, with three golden goal posts of different heights at each end, each topped with a ring. The golden stands of the Quidditch pitch sparkled in the sunlight, as if silently summoning future heroes.

The first-year Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students lined up in two rows, eyes bright and chests puffed out prouder than peacocks. Kayson and Edgar had even arrived half an hour early.

Madam Hooch appeared on time, straddling a Nimbus 1000, her silver-gray short hair unruffled in the wind. Her hawk-like yellow eyes swept across the field, a knowing smile at the corner of her mouth.

"Alright, young wizards," she said in a clear voice, "I know your heads are full of 'Aerial Flips,' 'Soaring to the Sky,' even 'Lansky Feints' and so on... but put those fantasies away for now."

She clapped her hands, and two dozen old school brooms twitched on the grass like restless old horses, coming to stand before each young wizard.

"Step one," Madam Hooch said. "Extend your right hand over the broom and say clearly: 'Up!'"

"Up!"

"Up!"

"Hurry up, you stupid piece of wood!"

The lawn erupted into chaos. Some brooms rolled lazily half a turn, others shot up and smacked their owners in the nose (Justin was holding his nose, eyes watering), and a few simply played dead.

"Don't rush. This move isn't about showing off; it's like mounting a horse—every rider must first build a bond with their steed. When the broom jumps into your hand, it means it's willing to let you ride it."

Lyria stood before her broom, her expression focused and gentle.

She didn't give the command immediately. Instead, she crouched down, pressed her palm gently against the rough broom handle, and murmured a few ancient Northern dialect phrases—the language she used to soothe forest creatures.

The broom trembled slightly, then slowly rose to the height of her palm and stopped steadily.

"Wow!" Hannah exclaimed. "Lyria, you did it!"

Lyria smiled faintly.

Yulian's situation was completely different. The brooms used in Hogwarts flying lessons were all older models of the "Sweeping the Seven Stars" series. The one Yulian got was the oldest and shabbiest.

Yet when he said "Up," the broom shot up like an arrow from a bowstring, leaping into his hand and nearly yanking him off his feet.

Once all the young wizards had summoned their brooms, Madam Hooch guided them to mount, sit steady, then gently push off the ground, slowly lifting off and maneuvering the broom for stable low-altitude flight.

That's when Lyria's problem emerged.

The moment her feet left the ground, it was as if her foundation had been ripped away. Her face went pale instantly, her fingers gripping the broom so tightly her knuckles turned white.

She could sense the pulse of the earth, converse with ancient trees, but the sky... the sky was foreign to her, a void with nothing to hold onto.

"Don't be afraid, Miss Lyria," Madam Hooch said, walking over with a gentle tone. "I've already looked into you. I know the earth is your root, but the sky isn't an enemy. Try... treating it like a flowing forest."

In the original novels and films, Madam Hooch's teaching ability seemed mediocre due to Neville's accident. In truth, she had some real skill, knowing how to tailor her instruction.

Lyria nodded at Madam Hooch's words, took a deep breath, and flew up steadily. But she only dared to keep the broom at a height of one person, like a cautious fledgling. In truth, most of the young wizards were at that level.

On the other side, Kayson's broom obediently took off—but his direction control was a complete mess. He tried to make a stylish hover, but the broom lurched violently and sent him straight into the branches of a nearby willow tree, stuck tight.

"Help! I've been kidnapped by a tree!" he wailed.

"The tree is just teaching you humility," Edgar gloated from below.

Just after rescuing Kayson from the tree, trouble broke out on Yulian's side. He had barely lifted his feet off the ground and gently pulled up the broom's head when it suddenly surged forward at full speed!

By the time Madam Hooch noticed, Yulian was already far away. "Mr. Black! Slow down!" Madam Hooch shouted, her heart tightening—was this going to be another Neville?

Yulian gritted his teeth, trying to pull back on the broom, but it had already carried him halfway around the lawn, moving so fast his form blurred.

Suddenly, a figure on a broom appeared in front of him—Padma Patil. Yulian braked hastily, but his stopping distance clearly exceeded 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 lap and gradually saw the pattern. She led him to a more open area, then pulled out a ball about the size of a basketball from somewhere. She threw it far away with force. "Chase it! Catch it before it falls!"

Yulian shot off like lightning, a "whoosh" trailing behind him. When he thought he had the ball's trajectory figured out, he accelerated into a sprint—but by the time he realized it, he was already ten meters ahead of the ball, forced to watch helplessly as it drifted lazily past behind him.

"Speed is a gift," Madam Hooch said, walking over after he finally stopped (by crashing into a haystack beside the pitch), patting his shoulder with undisguised approval in her eyes. "But Quidditch isn't about flying speed. You need to learn... control. Make your movements and intentions sync up, instead of letting your magic push you around."

Yulian nodded, panting, grass clippings stuck to his face, but he couldn't help smiling. He roughly understood the problem, and in his mind, a book titled On the Fine Control of Flight—Insights from a Haystack was born, complete with specific training methods.