Thursday afternoon brought with it a different kind of magic. It wasn't the intellectual puzzle of Transfiguration or the subtle art of Potions; it was the raw, kinetic thrill of flight. The weather was perfect for it, a crisp early autumn day with a brilliant blue sky and a gentle breeze that rustled the leaves of the Forbidden Forest in the distance.
As Jake walked with his fellow Ravenclaws down the sloping lawns towards the training grounds, he felt a spark of genuine, unadulterated excitement, a feeling he hadn't truly experienced since arriving in this world. This was a dream made real. Every book he had read, every childhood fantasy, culminated in this moment: the chance to ride a broomstick.
The training ground was a vast, flat expanse of perfectly manicured lawn adjacent to the forest. Twenty old, worn-looking broomsticks were laid out in two neat parallel lines on the grass. They weren't the sleek, polished racing brooms he had seen advertised in Diagon Alley windows in his mind's eye; these were school brooms, weathered and splintered, with twigs sticking out at odd angles. They looked less like magical artefacts and more like candidates for a garden bonfire.
Their instructor, Madam Hooch, was a woman who seemed perfectly suited to her domain. She had short, grey hair and startling, yellow eyes like a hawk. Her face was sharp, her movements brisk and economical, and she radiated an aura of no-nonsense authority.
"Good afternoon, class," she barked, her voice sharp and clear. "Welcome to your first flying lesson. Well, what are you all waiting for? Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on now, hurry up."
Jake found a spot next to a particularly gnarled-looking broom. He could see the Slytherins on the other side of the lawn, Nott and Avery among them, shooting him dark looks. The humiliation from Potions class was clearly still fresh in their minds. He ignored them, focusing instead on the splintery wood at his feet.
"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch, "and say, 'Up!'"
A chorus of voices, ranging from hopeful squeaks to confident shouts, echoed across the lawn. "UP!"
For a few students, the brooms jumped instantly into their hands. For most, however, nothing happened. Michael, standing beside Jake, was turning red in the face, repeating the command with increasing frustration.
Jake took a moment. He thought back to his breakthrough in Transfiguration. It wasn't about shouting or brute force; it was about focus, intent, and certainty. He looked down at the broom, not as a piece of wood, but as an object waiting for a command it was designed to obey. He pictured it in his hand, felt the weight of it, the texture of the handle. He extended his hand, and with a quiet, firm voice that held no doubt, he said, "Up."
The broom shot off the grass and into his palm with a satisfying thwack. The connection felt electric, a thrum of latent power that vibrated up his arm. It felt… right.
Madam Hooch's hawk-like eyes swept the lawn, and Jake saw her give a small, approving nod in his direction. He wasn't the only one, but he was one of the first. Slowly, one by one, other students began to succeed, their faces breaking into wide grins as their brooms finally obeyed. Nott and Avery both managed it, though their brooms seemed to leap into their hands with a sullen reluctance.
"Now, once you've got hold of your broom, I want you to mount it," said Madam Hooch. "And grip it tight. You don't want to be sliding off the end. When I blow my whistle, you are to kick off from the ground, hard. Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle… three… two…"
She put the silver whistle to her lips, and the shrill blast cut through the air.
Jake pushed off, hard, just as she'd instructed. For a heart-stopping second, he felt the familiar pull of gravity, and then… nothing.
The world fell away.
The jarring sensation of the ground disappeared, replaced by an impossibly smooth buoyancy. He wasn't rising so much as the world was shrinking beneath him. The grass, the other students, the very earth itself seemed to drop away, leaving him suspended in the crisp, clean air. He rose five, then ten, then fifteen feet, the wind whispering past his ears and tugging at his robes.
It was glorious. It was a feeling of absolute freedom, a severing of the mundane laws that had governed his entire existence. From up here, he could see the magnificent sprawl of Hogwarts castle, its towers and turrets gleaming in the afternoon sun. He could see the dark, mysterious expanse of the Forbidden Forest and the sun glinting off the surface of the Black Lake. The world was laid out beneath him like a map, and he was floating above it all, weightless and untethered. A genuine, unrestrained laugh escaped his lips.
He leaned forward, and the broom responded instantly, descending smoothly back to the grass with a soft bump. His heart was hammering in his chest, not with fear, but with pure, unadulterated joy. This was magic in its most primal, most wonderful form.
He looked around and saw a scene of chaotic jubilation. Most students had managed the simple hover, their faces alight with the same wonder he felt. A few were still struggling on the ground, their brooms refusing to lift, while one or two had shot up too high and were now drifting back down, looking terrified.
"Very good," Madam Hooch called out, looking pleased. "Now, for those of you who have managed to get your feet back on the ground, we're going to try something a little more ambitious. A simple circuit of the grounds. Follow me!"
She mounted her own broom and kicked off, soaring into the air with an ease and grace that spoke of a lifetime spent in the sky. She led them in a wide, gentle loop around the training pitch. It was a simple exercise, designed to get them used to steering and controlling their altitude.
Jake fell into line, the broom feeling like an extension of his own body. The control felt utterly intuitive, a magical instinct he didn't know he possessed. He thought left, and the broom banked smoothly. He pulled back gently on the handle, and his ascent steepened. It was exhilarating. He flew alongside Michael, who was gripping his own broom with white knuckles but had a look of ecstatic terror on his face.
It was as they rounded the far side of the pitch, with their backs momentarily to Madam Hooch, that the trouble he had been expecting finally arrived.
He heard a whoosh of air to his right and saw Nott and Avery pulling up alongside him, their faces twisted in sneers.
"Enjoying the view, Bloom?" Nott spat, his voice barely audible over the wind.
"It's better than the view from the dungeon floor," Jake replied calmly, not taking his eyes off the flight path ahead.
"Think you're clever, don't you?" Avery snarled from his other side. "Making us look like fools in front of Snape."
They were boxing him in, slowly closing the distance between their brooms and his. It was a classic intimidation tactic, clumsy but effective when used against a nervous beginner. They were trying to force him off course, to make him panic and lose control.
"I didn't do anything," Jake said, his voice steady. "Snape just noticed you were incompetent. There's a difference."
Nott's face flushed with anger. "We'll show you incompetent!"
He jerked his broom sharply to the left, aiming to collide with Jake's. It was a stupid, dangerous move. A mid-air collision, even at this low speed, could send them all tumbling to the ground.
Jake's heart hammered in his chest, but his mind remained clear. From the moment he'd seen them approaching, a part of his brain had been running through scenarios. He had hoped they would just stick to childish insults, that he wouldn't have to do anything. But he was prepared. He knew what a clumsy, telegraphed lunge like Nott's looked like.
Instead of dodging sideways, Jake did the one thing they didn't expect. He leaned forward, pushing the handle of his broom down into a sharp, sudden dive.
For a breathtaking moment, he was in a freefall. The ground rushed up to meet him, and the wind screamed in his ears. Below him, he could hear the shocked gasps of his classmates.
Above him, the result of his manoeuvre was instantaneous and chaotic. Nott, having thrown all his weight into a sideways lunge, suddenly found nothing but empty air where Jake's broom had been. With no opposing force to stop him, his momentum carried him straight into his accomplice.
There was a loud crack of wood on wood and a pair of startled yells. Nott's broom tangled with Avery's, sending them into an uncontrolled, undignified spin. They pinwheeled through the air for a few seconds, a mess of flailing limbs and terrified shouts, before their brooms finally separated. Avery managed to regain some semblance of control, wobbling violently, but Nott wasn't so lucky. His broom had been knocked completely off-kilter, and he began to plummet, screaming, towards the ground.
Just as this was happening, Jake pulled up sharply from his dive, the broom responding to his intuitive command with perfect grace. He levelled out a mere five feet from the grass, the manoeuvre as smooth as if he'd been flying for years. He glanced up just in time to see a silver streak cut through the air.
"ARRESTO MOMENTUM!"
Madam Hooch's voice was like the crack of a whip. Nott's fall slowed abruptly, as if he had plunged into thick treacle, and he came to a stop, dangling a few feet from the ground before dropping in a heap.
Silence descended on the training ground. Every student was hovering in place, staring wide-eyed at the scene. Madam Hooch landed her broom with a furious thud, her hawk eyes blazing with a terrifying light. She strode over to where Nott was groaning on the ground and Avery was landing shakily nearby.
"Nott! Avery! What, in the name of Merlin's saggy left sock, do you think you were doing?" she shrieked, her voice echoing across the lawn. "Breaking formation? Deliberately attempting to collide with another student? Have you both got dung for brains?"
"He-he dived, Professor!" Avery stammered, pointing a trembling finger at Jake, who was now calmly hovering nearby. "He tried to knock us off!"
Madam Hooch's glare was so intense it could have curdled milk. "I have been teaching first-years to fly for thirty-seven years, Mr Avery. I know a deliberate dive from a panicked swerve. I also know a clumsy, thuggish attempt at bullying when I see it. You two have been trailing Mr Bloom like a bad smell since we took off. Fifty points from Slytherin! Each! And you will both be serving detention with Mr Filch every Friday for the next two months! Now get off my training grounds before I decide to see how well you two bounce!"
Utterly humiliated, Nott scrambled to his feet, and the pair of them trudged back towards the castle, not daring to look back. Madam Hooch watched them go, her chest heaving, before turning her piercing gaze to the rest of the class, who all flinched.
Her eyes finally landed on Jake. She flew over to him, her expression still thunderous. Jake braced himself, but her tone, when she spoke, was different. It was still sharp, but the fury was gone, replaced by a grudging, professional assessment.
"Bloom," she said, her hawk eyes scanning him from head to toe. "That was either the luckiest manoeuvre I have ever seen, or the most brilliant piece of flying from a first-year in a decade. Which is it?"
"I just tried to get out of the way, Professor," Jake said honestly.
Madam Hooch stared at him for a long moment. "Indeed," she said curtly. "Well, try to stay 'out of the way' for the remainder of the lesson. The rest of you, let that be a warning! There will be no more foolishness!"
The rest of the flying lesson was a subdued affair. But the joy for Jake had been tainted. The feeling of the wind, the incredible freedom of the sky—it was all still there, but now it was underscored by the cold reality of his situation. He had enemies. Clumsy, childish enemies, but enemies nonetheless, who were willing to risk his life over a schoolyard grudge.
As the class was dismissed and the students began the long walk back up to the castle, the setting sun casting long shadows across the lawn, the thrill of flight warred with a grim new resolve.
"Bloom, a moment."
Madam Hooch's sharp voice cut through the chatter of the departing students. Jake turned, his stomach giving a nervous flutter. The other Ravenclaws gave him questioning looks, but continued on their way. He walked back to where the professor was collecting the last of the school brooms.
She waited until they were alone, the grounds quiet save for the rustling of the wind. "Tell me the truth, Bloom," she said, her voice lower now, without the parade-ground bark she used for the class. "Have you flown before?"
"No, Professor," Jake replied truthfully. "Never."
She fixed him with her piercing yellow gaze, searching his face for any hint of a lie. "You handle a broom with an instinct I haven't seen in a student in a very long time. The way you recovered from that dive... that was not the work of a beginner."
"It just... felt natural, Professor," he said, which was also the truth. "I didn't really think about it. I just did it."
Madam Hooch grunted, a sound that could have meant anything. "A natural," she murmured, more to herself than to him. She looked him up and down again, a thoughtful, appraising expression on her face. "A talent like that is rare. It will also make you a target, as you've already discovered. Nott and Avery are idiots, but they are not the only ones who will be jealous."
She paused, her expression turning stern once more. "What you did today was reckless. But it was also controlled. If you continue to fly as you have today, you could be a truly exceptional flyer. Perhaps even good enough for the House team next year."
Jake's eyes widened. He hadn't even considered Quidditch.
"Don't look so surprised," she said with a wry twist of her lips. "But talent is nothing without discipline. Keep your head down, don't go looking for trouble, and for Merlin's sake, don't perform any more death-defying dives unless you absolutely have to. Am I understood?"
"Yes, Professor," Jake said, a sense of awe settling over him.
"Good. Now get back to the castle before you're late for dinner."
She turned away, dismissing him. As Jake walked back up the long lawn, her words echoed in his mind. A natural. Good enough for the House team. The praise was intoxicating, but it was her warning that stuck with him. It will also make you a target.
His talent on a broomstick had saved him today. But what about tomorrow? What would happen when their bullying escalated from clumsy shoves to actual curses?
He knew, with absolute certainty, what he had to do. His weekend training sessions were about to get a lot more interesting. It was time to visit the library. It was time to learn how to defend himself.