It was already noon by the time Wyzett finally said goodbye to Hagrid and left the hut.
Before he could escape, Hagrid took full advantage of his size, stuffing all sorts of magical materials into Wyzett's pockets—some unicorn tail hair, and plenty of other things Wyzett couldn't even identify yet.
His head felt light, almost giddy. Maybe it was just the anticipation—or maybe he was simply in the perfect mood for this afternoon's flying lesson.
"The weekend's nearly here, and I've got all these materials… Time to experiment with wandmaking! Healing magic, that Animagus transformation Professor McGonagall mentioned… So much to learn!"
Two classes remained that afternoon: Herbology with Professor Sprout, and his very first Flying Lesson.
Herbology was held in the greenhouses, and first-years only handled a handful of basic magical plants. But Wyzett had already picked up plenty from Luna before term even started.
Digging, fertilizing, tending to the plants—he handled it all with ease, earning a few house points from Professor Sprout in the process.
He didn't waste a second worrying about the mud on his robes. Packing up his books, Wyzett headed straight for the lawns, where the flying class would gather.
Chris hurried after him. "Wyzett, aren't you going to wash up first? You can't show up like that, can you?"
Herbology was shared with Slytherin. A stocky, black-haired girl suddenly sneered, "Exactly! No matter how much you wash, a filthy Obscurial will never be clean!"
She folded her arms, chin jutting forward in a show of defiance.
"Really?" Wyzett smiled, drawing his wand in a graceful S-curve. "As a wizard, I prefer a magical solution… Scourgify!"
In a blink, every trace of dirt vanished from his clothes. His robes looked freshly laundered.
He kept going, flicking his wand to clean up his roommates as well.
Then, hands spread in a gentle gesture, he asked, "Would you like some help? Or perhaps you'd rather try it yourself? Please, be my guest."
The girl's face turned beet red. "You…"
But Wyzett's calm courtesy left her speechless. His roommates burst out laughing.
"Millicent, let's go!" snapped a thin-lipped girl, brushing past Wyzett without a glance.
"Pansy, I was just trying to help—"
"Miss Bulstrode! Kindly use my surname. It's the proper thing to do!" Pansy barked, never breaking stride as she left the greenhouse.
Millicent's face darkened even further, tears brimming in her eyes. She couldn't muster another word—just covered her face and fled.
"What was that all about?" Terry asked, puzzled. "I've always wondered—why are they so hostile toward you?"
"Well, he's an Obscurial," Anthony said, frowning. "Obscurials are born from fear and rejection of magic, traits usually found in Muggles."
"Slytherin worships pure-blood status—they even look down on Muggle-borns. I'm not surprised at all."
"Too bad they haven't seen Wyzett's magic!" Michael slung an arm around Wyzett's shoulders. "How come you're friends with Cho Chang and know spells we don't? I'm jealous!"
"I learned this one from Cho," Wyzett explained. "It's the Scouring Charm—really handy for everyday life. Want to learn? I can lend you my notes."
"Let's talk about it later!" Michael waved him off. "The brooms might already be out—we should hurry and pick the best-looking ones!"
Since ancient times, people have dreamed of the sky.
That longing gave birth to countless flying machines.
Wizards shared the same yearning, which led to the invention of flying broomsticks—and the creation of an entire wizarding sport: Quidditch.
Madam Hooch was the flying instructor, and also the school's Quidditch referee. Every Hogwarts match was under her watchful eye.
She arrived early, laying out the broomsticks in two neat rows on the grass.
"They look like eagle eyes!" Terry whispered, sidling up for a better look.
Madam Hooch wore her steel-gray hair cropped short, and her sharp yellow eyes did indeed resemble a bird of prey.
Her eyesight was just as keen. The moment she saw Michael pick up a broom, she swooped in.
"Please put that broom back on the ground! Even if you already know how to use a broomstick, wait for class to begin and follow my instructions."
"Yikes!" Michael dropped the broom as if it were electrified. "Sorry, Madam Hooch!"
"Ahem…" Madam Hooch coughed, a little embarrassed. "Actually, I should apologize—I'm being overly cautious."
"Yesterday I taught the other two houses, and one of the children had an accident. I have to be extra careful."
Michael and the others huddled together, whispering, "Who was it?"
"It was Neville—Neville Longbottom from Gryffindor," said Hannah, joining the group. "He broke his wrist. Must've hurt pretty bad."
More and more Hufflepuffs gathered around, eager to share the latest school gossip.
"I heard Draco Malfoy took something from Neville… Harry Potter and Malfoy had a row… and now Harry's a Seeker…"
Michael looked even more confused. "Wait, what? How did he become Seeker? Isn't the Quidditch tryout this weekend?"
As the bell rang, Madam Hooch clapped her hands and called out, "Since everyone's here, let's begin today's lesson!"
"First, stand next to a broomstick. Remember—don't touch it! Wait for my instructions!"
The students obeyed, though they exchanged amused glances. Madam Hooch was being extremely cautious.
"Good! Now, stretch your hand over the broomstick, but don't move yet… Wait for my next instruction!"
Once everyone complied, Madam Hooch continued, "Shout 'Up!' and when the broomstick jumps into your palm, grab it—and then stop!"
"Wait for your next instruction," the students chorused, half-amused, half-exasperated.
"Exactly!" Madam Hooch nodded. "Step by step—safety first."
A chorus of "Up!" echoed across the lawn. Not everyone succeeded—some Hufflepuff brooms rolled around on the ground before slowly hopping into their owners' hands.
Hannah's broom didn't budge at all, leaving her red-faced and flustered.
Perhaps it was the altitude, but Ravenclaws seemed to do better. With a few extra tries, their brooms usually responded.
As for Wyzett—his broom was so obedient, he barely had to think the word. Before he could even open his mouth, the broomstick shot straight into his hand.
~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~
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