Flying was every human's secret dream.
Even Vaughn—who had felt no particular excitement before—couldn't stop himself from laughing the instant he rose into the sky. That breath-stealing rush of wind, the weightlessness, the freedom… for a moment, all his worries seemed to melt away.
After getting permission from Madam Hooch, Vaughn and Harry looped around the Quidditch pitch in wide circles.
By the time they landed again, Ron, Malfoy, and a handful of others had finally managed to wobble off the ground.
Well… most of them.
Neville Longbottom was still struggling miserably.
Madam Hooch was guiding him with saint-like patience—stance, grip, breath—but poor Neville kept forgetting everything three seconds after being told. His Remembrall blinked so rapidly it looked like a fist-sized emergency siren.
Draco and his cronies laughed loudly, pointing and jeering.
Ron and Seamus were moments away from punching them when Harry swooped in to intervene.
And that was when Neville—who had barely managed to hover a few feet—turned chalk-white.
His broom lurched violently.
He began to wobble.
He began to tilt.
Then—
He began to fall.
Madam Hooch hadn't even raised her wand when two spells shot forward.
"Impedimenta!"
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
Neville froze mid-air, spread like a terrified starfish, suspended five feet above the grass.
He was crying. His nose was running. But he was alive.
"Well done, Mr. Vaughn Weasley—five points to Slytherin!" Madam Hooch said, relief clear in her voice.
She dispelled the levitation charm and eased Neville gently to the ground.
The boy was so traumatised he didn't move.
Fearful that Neville might go into shock, Madam Hooch gave the rest of the class strict instructions and hurried him toward the hospital wing.
The moment she vanished from sight—
Draco Malfoy opened his mouth.
And tragedy ensued.
"Did you see that, Potter? Longbottom crying for his mummy—
oh wait, I forgot—he hasn't got any parents!"
Even Vaughn felt his magic stutter.
How did Malfoy's brain even generate insults that vile?
That was it for Harry.
With a shout of pure fury, he rammed his broom straight into Draco's.
Ron whooped from below.
He and Seamus had been dreaming of punching Malfoy for days.
And with no teacher in sight, even Crabbe and Goyle—too unsteady on their own brooms—couldn't help him.
Perfect timing.
Draco clearly agreed—because he fled.
Harry chased him.
Straight toward the castle towers.
"HARRY! HARRY!" Hermione shrieked.
Then she spun on Vaughn, panic written across her face.
"Vaughn—please stop them! If a professor sees this we're ALL in trouble!"
Vaughn had already taken off.
Partially out of responsibility.
Mostly for the front-row view.
High-Altitude Disasters
By the time Vaughn caught up, Harry and Malfoy were already darting through spires and stone arches like deranged birds.
Malfoy kept screaming:
"Come on, Potter! Is that all?
You and Longbottom practically share a brain—
no parents, no courage—"
Vaughn sighed.
He had never wanted to hex a child so badly.
And that was when Harry snapped.
With a furious roar, he surged forward—
—slammed straight into Malfoy—
—and knocked him clean off his broom.
Instant horror.
Harry dove after him instinctively, grabbing Draco mid-fall.
But their school brooms—ancient, splintering, barely held together—could not take the weight.
With a crack, Harry's broom gave way.
Both boys screamed as they plummeted.
Two Spells, One Rescue
They were ten feet from the ground when two spells shot out simultaneously:
"Impedimenta!" — Vaughn's.
"Arresto Momentum!" — from a tower window that burst open.
The boys froze mid-fall.
Still clinging to each other.
Still screaming.
Vaughn cast Wingardium Leviosa, guiding the pair up toward the window before they could drop again.
He floated beside the window and bowed politely into the dim office beyond.
"Good afternoon, Professor McGonagall."
McGonagall was livid.
Her face was ashen, her lips white, her eyes blazing.
"It is most certainly NOT a good afternoon, Mr. Vaughn Weasley!"
Her hands trembled.
"If you hadn't flown over when you did—
If this had happened anywhere but outside my own office—
By Merlin—"
She looked at Harry and Draco—still plastered together by lingering spell effects, like two terrified koalas.
Her voice shook.
"This is the most reckless, disgraceful behaviour I have seen in YEARS!
Students duelling in mid-air during class—
you could have died!"
Vaughn could feel the air vibrating from the force of her fury.
Finally, she turned to him and exhaled sharply.
"Mr. Weasley… you DID disobey Madam Hooch's orders by flying off. But your actions likely prevented a catastrophe.
Twenty points to Slytherin."
"Now—return to the pitch at once and inform Madam Hooch."
"Yes, Professor."
Vaughn zipped off as she began round two of her lecture on Harry and Draco.
He muttered under his breath:
"That was way more dramatic than in the original timeline.
I wonder if she'll still let Harry join the Quidditch team…"
Probably.
Destiny had a stubborn way of correcting itself.
He had no interest in meddling with Harry's "Chosen One" storyline unless necessary.
Saving Neville had been personal.
Harry and Malfoy's disaster? Inevitable.
Unless Vaughn wanted to permanently babysit them—which he most certainly did NOT—this was bound to happen eventually.
Aftermath
When he returned, Hermione ran to him at once.
Vaughn shook his head and recounted the whole chaotic sequence.
Hermione went paper-white.
Ron ran over next, panic plain on his face.
"He's not gonna be expelled, is he? Harry, I mean?"
Hermione rounded on him instantly:
"Oh NOW you're worried?
Then WHY were you cheering him on minutes ago?
Even if they're not expelled, Gryffindor's House Points are ruined!"
For once, Ron had no comeback.
After class, the trio dragged Vaughn to the house hourglasses.
Sure enough—
Gryffindor: -60 points
Slytherin: -40 points
(+20 from Vaughn's rescue)
Malfoy had been deemed the instigator.
But Harry's retaliation had been reckless enough to warrant a hefty penalty.
The Gryffindor–Slytherin rivalry widened another thirty points.
Hermione looked ready to weep.
Later that evening, Harry returned from McGonagall's office with surprising news:
He had NOT been expelled.
In fact—
He had been recruited for the Gryffindor Quidditch team.
Ron nearly exploded with joy.
Hermione refused to celebrate.
Harry wasn't smiling either.
Because McGonagall had added one final sentence:
"You and Mr. Malfoy will serve detention. Together."
(End of Chapter)