Flying class was still held jointly for Slytherin and Gryffindor.
Harry and Ron, full of excitement, clutched their brooms and walked at the front of the group. When it comes to flying, no one can resist the allure of soaring through the air—even if it's just sitting on a broom and letting it carry you.
"Alright, everyone, form two lines and place your brooms at your side,"
Madam Rolanda Hooch, the flying instructor, was as spirited as ever, sharp as an owl as she directed the students.
Flying class was one of the most unique courses at Hogwarts, usually offered for just one term, and the exam was notoriously easy—basically a free grade.
Like the other students, Louis dropped his broom on the ground, waiting for the professor's command.
"Now, place your hand over your broom and say 'Up'!" Madam Hooch instructed.
"Up!" "Up!"…
The students began shouting one after another, but only a few successfully summoned their brooms on the first try. One of them was Harry, who managed it purely through talent—his broom obediently shot into his hand.
The other was Draco Malfoy. Despite constantly boasting, he was from one of the wealthiest families in the wizarding world and had played with all kinds of brooms since childhood. He was already well-practiced in handling them, so summoning a broom was child's play for him.
Don't be fooled by their appearance—brooms weren't cheap. Each seemingly ordinary broom was a highly advanced alchemical artifact. In fact, a good flying broom could cost even more than the Weasleys' flying car. Most wizarding families could only afford to buy their children simple toy brooms with no real functionality, not actual flying brooms.
It's like Muggle kids getting toy cars—you don't buy a real sports car just for fun unless you're ridiculously rich.
The Malfoys were that kind of family. In contrast, the Weasleys were the kind of family that would pass toy cars down for generations.
Ron, lacking any real experience with brooms, ran into trouble. His enthusiasm got the better of him, and his broom smacked him square in the face like a club. The sound made even Madam Hooch frown.
As for Louis, well… he was a Muggle. And Muggles had no natural ability to summon brooms. So he simply used a Spiritual Force to levitate the broom right into his hand.
The others had a bit more trouble. Their brooms reacted to the command but just spun in circles under their hands rather than flying into them.
"Very good," Madam Hooch praised the three who succeeded on their first try. "Ten points to Slytherin, five to Gryffindor."
Summoning the broom wasn't that hard. With a bit of practice, everyone soon had their broom in hand.
"Alright then, everyone mount your broom and try hovering off the ground—but don't fly too high," Madam Hooch warned.
The students obediently mounted their brooms. As everyone cautiously began low-altitude hovering, a sudden shout rang out—someone was rising uncontrollably into the air!
It was Neville Longbottom, the round-faced boy who kept a pet toad.
Floating lightly on his broom, Louis looked up to see Neville's familiar face wearing a very familiar expression of panic as his broom carried him higher and higher into the sky.
This scene felt awfully familiar…
Louis tilted his head, thinking for a second, and then it clicked.
This was the moment in the original timeline where Harry was recruited to the Gryffindor Quidditch team in first year. He'd shown off his natural talent trying to retrieve Neville's Remembrall from Draco Malfoy, and as a result, Professor McGonagall, a Quidditch fanatic, gifted him a [Nimbus 2000].
But with Louis around… that wasn't going to happen.
He glanced at the panicking Neville. They knew each other, after all—no need to let him suffer.
"Neville Longbottom! Control your broom and come down!" Madam Hooch barked sternly. "That's an order!"
Seriously? Saying that now? If Neville could come down, would he be screaming like a dying pig? Louis started to suspect Madam Hooch's credibility—was she a Muggle too? Why wasn't she using magic?
Neville's broom suddenly shot off like it was rocket-fueled, carving erratic arcs across the sky.
He clung to the broom with his eyes shut, holding on for dear life, not daring to let go even slightly.
The broom darted from low-altitude flight into a vertical climb, then swooped around and buzzed over everyone's heads. At this point, it seemed almost like the broom had a mind of its own and was intentionally showing off.
But its showboating didn't last long.
Suddenly, the broom pulled into a sharp climb, then leveled out in a steep dive. Either it had overestimated its power or underestimated Neville's weight, because its tail scraped the wall. The tail, which controlled balance and flight, snapped off instantly.
Now fully out of control, the broom hurtled wildly through the air, and finally disintegrated midair—hurling the already traumatized Neville downward amidst gasps from students and the "professor."
Now's the moment.
Louis subtly adjusted his position so he lined up with the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom window, then launched himself like an arrow, broom beneath him, rocketing toward Neville's falling body.
To others, Louis looked like a heroic savior in that moment—but to Louis, it felt pretty damn awkward.
Everyone else rescues people riding a noble steed. Him? He was dragging his broken steed behind him to do the saving.
Louis kept his eyes locked on the falling Neville, while one hand felt along his broom's handle. He could feel a crack—deep and nearly splitting the entire broom.
It had fractured during takeoff.
Someone had tampered with it. One big movement would've caused a full collapse.
"Reap what you sow, you brats," Louis muttered coldly, his eyes dropping to a few older Slytherin students who were peering gleefully out the window.
They say criminals often return to the scene of the crime. Apparently that applied to wizards too. These guys were so eager to see their handiwork, they even picked a window seat.
Well then—who better to deliver their masterpiece back to them?
With just the right amount of "miscalculation," Louis let the broom snap mid-air.
His expression turned into a perfect picture of "panic" as he clutched the broken handle with one hand and grabbed the falling Neville with the other.
To the horrified faces of the Slytherins by the window, Louis and his broken broom crashed right through.
With a little help from his Qi and some last-minute body adjustment, the broom's shattered remains and the flying glass debris seemed to be GPS-guided—hitting their targets squarely.
Meanwhile, Louis—with Neville in tow—executed a clean roll and used the spiritual power to soften their landing.
In the stunned silence of Professor Quirrell and the Fifth Year students watching from the Defense classroom, Louis stood up, steady as ever.
---