Soon it was Thursday, and with it came the start of the flying lesson shared between Gryffindor and Slytherin. The anticipation hung thick in the air that morning. Harry, unlike many of the others, felt a quiet excitement stirring within him.
Flying had always fascinated him, and now, with his heightened control and instincts, he was curious to see how his body would respond to a broom. Hermione and Neville, on the other hand, were visibly nervous. As they ate breakfast in the Great Hall, Neville suddenly let out a small gasp. A glass ball with swirling white smoke inside had dropped into his hands—a Remembrall, sent by his grandmother. Neville stared at it anxiously, already worrying about what he might have forgotten, while Hermione tried to reassure him, though her own fingers fidgeted around her goblet.
The flying lesson took place on the open grounds under a wide, pale sky. Neatly arranged broomsticks lay on the grass, spaced evenly so that each student could stand beside one. Madam Hooch was already waiting for them.
She had short, iron-grey hair and sharp, eagle-like eyes that missed nothing. The moment the students gathered, her gaze swept over them with practiced authority. "Welcome to your first flying lesson," she said briskly. "I'll not have any foolishness. Flying is not a game." Her voice carried clearly across the field as she demonstrated the proper stance and explained how to summon the broom. "Stick out your right hand over your broom and say, Up!"
Harry's voice was calm and firm. "Up." Instantly, his broom leapt from the ground into his hand as if it had been waiting for him all along. Almost at the same time, Draco Malfoy's broom also snapped upward into his grasp. A ripple of murmurs spread through the students. Madam Hooch gave a small, approving nod.
Around them, however, things were far less smooth. Several brooms only twitched. Some rolled lazily. Hermione's broom stubbornly refused to move at all, no matter how many times she tried, her voice growing tighter with frustration.
Harry noticed her expression and stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Relax," he said gently. "Don't force it. Focus on the broom like it's already yours. Confidence matters." Hermione took a breath, adjusted her stance, and tried again. "Up." To her shock, the broom shot straight into her hand. Her eyes widened, and she looked at Harry with open relief and gratitude.
"Thank you," she whispered, a smile breaking through her nerves. Harry only smiled back, calm and encouraging, as Madam Hooch continued instructing the class.
Then the incident happened. Neville's broom suddenly jerked beneath his feet, rising far too quickly for someone who had no idea how to control it. One moment he was hovering a few feet above the ground, eyes wide with terror, and the next he was shooting upward, wobbling wildly.
"I— I can't stop!" Neville cried, clutching the broomstick desperately as it tilted and spun beneath him. Gasps rippled through the students. Hermione covered her mouth, panic flashing across her face, while several Slytherins laughed outright.
Just like in the books, Neville lost his grip.
His broom shot sideways, and Neville slipped free, arms flailing as he began to fall straight toward the ground. Time seemed to stretch. Before anyone else could react, Harry raised his hand and pointed toward Neville, his expression sharp and focused. A subtle surge of magic rippled outward. Neville's descent abruptly slowed, the air itself seeming to resist him. Instead of crashing, Neville drifted down awkwardly and landed with a soft thud, shaking but unharmed.
Madam Hooch rushed over at once, kneeling beside him and checking him carefully. "Stay still," she said firmly, though relief flickered in her eyes when she realized nothing was broken. She look towards harry and nodded and said "ten points to Griffindoor" Neville, however, was trembling violently, tears welling up from sheer fright. "You're lucky, that Mr.Potter was here and saved you."
Madam Hooch said after a moment. "I'm taking you to the hospital wing." She straightened and fixed the rest of the class with a sharp look. "None of you are to touch your broomsticks while I'm gone. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Madam Hooch," the students chorused. With that, she helped Neville to his feet and led him away across the grounds.
The moment she was gone, the atmosphere shifted. Draco Malfoy's sharp eyes dropped to the grass, where Neville's Remembrall had fallen during the chaos. A slow, cruel smile spread across his face. He bent down, scooped it up, and held it aloft. "Look at this," he drawled loudly. "Poor Longbottom even needs a ball to remember how useless he is."
"Give it back, Malfoy," Harry said calmly.
Malfoy turned, eyes narrowing. Anger flashed across his face. Memories of Madam Malkin's shop, of being dismissed and made to look foolish, burned in his mind. On top of that, he'd heard plenty over the past few days—about Harry Potter, the Gryffindor prodigy, the one earning points effortlessly. The resentment boiled over.
"Oh?" Malfoy sneered. "And why should I listen to you, Potter?"
Harry's gaze hardened. For a brief moment, something cold and dangerous flickered in his eyes. The air around him seemed to tense. Malfoy felt a chill crawl up his spine, fear flashing through him before he could stop it. He quickly masked it with a scoff.
"Maybe I'll just keep it," Malfoy said, climbing onto his broom. "Or better yet—see if you can catch it." With a sharp kick, he shot upward into the air, laughing as he flew.
"Malfoy!" Hermione shouted, turning to Harry in panic. "Harry, don't—Madam Hooch said—"
But Harry was already moving. "It'll be fine," he said calmly, meeting Hermione's eyes. "Trust me."
He mounted his broom in one smooth motion and kicked off the ground. Instantly, the broom responded as if it were an extension of his body. Gasps echoed from below as Harry shot upward after Malfoy, closing the distance rapidly.
Malfoy twisted and dove, trying to show off, pulling sharp turns and sudden drops. Harry followed effortlessly, weaving through the air with precise control. The chase grew faster, more daring, both boys performing stunts far beyond first-year level. Wind roared past Harry's ears, his eyes locked onto the Remembrall clutched in Malfoy's hand.
"You can't catch me!" Malfoy shouted over his shoulder.
Harry didn't answer. He leaned forward, surged ahead, and in a single, fluid motion, reached out and snatched the Remembrall from Malfoy's grasp. The glass ball shimmered in his hand as he pulled up sharply and descended.
Harry landed lightly on the grass, barely disturbing it. He closed his fingers around the Remembrall and raised it showing that he got it and thus the Griffindoor students broke out into cheers and the Slytherine were upset and Malfoy was angry and as they were cheering a serious voice rang out.
"Harry Potter!"
Professor McGonagall was striding toward him, her robes billowing, her expression unreadable. Hermione rushed forward immediately.
"Professor, please," she said quickly. "Harry was just trying to help Neville—Malfoy took the Remembrall first!"
Professor McGonagall raised a hand, silencing her gently. Her sharp eyes rested on Harry. "Miss Granger, that will be enough. Mr. Potter, come with me."
Hermione stared, stunned and worried, as Professor McGonagall turned and led Harry away, leaving the rest of the students whispering behind them and the Slytherine especially Malfoy was laughing and saying that Potter is definitely going to get expelled.
Instead of being punished, Professor McGonagall led Harry swiftly through the corridors. Harry followed calmly, saying nothing, though he knew where they are going. Soon they stopped outside a classroom, and Professor McGonagall opened the door sharply. There was professor Flitwick teaching students then she ask for professor for borrowing Wood for a moment then a tall, broad-shouldered older student with a confident stance and an eager expression—Oliver Wood. Professor McGonagall wasted no time. She explained what she had witnessed on the grounds, describing Harry's control, speed, instincts, and the impossible stunts he had performed in the air while chasing Malfoy. Oliver's eyes lit up with every word. When she finished, she turned to Harry and said firmly that he would be joining the Gryffindor Quidditch team as their new Seeker.
For a moment, Harry was mildly surprised, but Oliver looked as though Christmas had come early. He immediately agreed, practically vibrating with excitement, already talking about practice schedules and upcoming matches. Professor McGonagall reminded Harry to attend practice with Oliver and then dismissed him, her expression stern but clearly satisfied.
By dinner time, Harry was seated beside Hermione at the Gryffindor table, calmly eating as though nothing extraordinary had happened. Hermione, however, kept glancing at him impatiently, clearly unable to hold herself back any longer.
She leaned closer and whispered insistently, asking what Professor McGonagall had said and whether he was in trouble. Harry finally sighed lightly and replied that he had explained everything, that it was Malfoy's fault, and that he was not going to be expelled.
Hearing this, Neville—who had fully recovered and was sitting nearby—let out a breath of relief, his shoulders relaxing. Ron, seated across from them, nodded enthusiastically and said he knew Harry would be fine, clearly proud.
Their calm didn't last long. Malfoy soon approached with Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson trailing behind him. Malfoy sneered loudly, mocking Harry, claiming he would still end up expelled and spouting other pointless insults meant to provoke a reaction.
Harry barely looked at him, remaining completely unfazed. That only angered Malfoy further. He challenged Harry to a duel that night, his voice dripping with arrogance. Harry met his gaze and agreed without hesitation. Satisfied, Malfoy turned and left with his group.
The moment they were gone, Hermione rounded on Harry, clearly upset. She told him he shouldn't have agreed, that it was reckless and against school rules. Harry calmly reassured her, telling her he had a plan and that nothing would happen. Hermione crossed her arms, still unconvinced, repeating that it was a terrible idea.
Ron, on the other hand, looked thrilled. He said Harry should beat Malfoy senseless and declared that he was ready to fight alongside him. Hearing this, Harry felt a flicker of annoyance—he didn't need Ron's help—but he kept his expression pleasant, smiled faintly, and thanked Ron anyway.
Later that night, Harry, Ron, and Neville quietly prepared to leave the dormitory for the duel. As they stepped into the common room, they froze. Hermione was already there, standing with her arms crossed, clearly waiting.
Ron groaned in frustration and told her not to follow them, bluntly saying they were going to duel Malfoy. Hermione ignored him completely and looked directly at Harry. Harry reassured her once again, his voice calm, and then, to Ron's obvious displeasure, invited Hermione to come with them. Hermione hesitated only a moment before agreeing.
Once they were outside the common room, Harry quietly cast the Disillusionment Charm. The group shimmered and vanished from sight, becoming nearly invisible as they moved through the dark corridors. Silently and carefully, they made their way toward the agreed dueling location, the castle around them eerily quiet as the night deepened.
When they finally reached the agreed dueling location, the corridor was empty. No Malfoy. No Crabbe. No Goyle. The stone passage lay silent, lit only by the faint glow of torches along the walls. Ron scowled almost immediately. "I knew it," he muttered angrily. "That ferret never planned to show." Neville shifted nervously, glancing over his shoulder, while Hermione crossed her arms, clearly annoyed but also relieved. Harry, however, remained calm. He had known this would happen.
Malfoy had never intended to duel—this was exactly how it had unfolded in the books. Harry had still come anyway, because some events were better left unchanged. They acted as anchors, preserving the future he remembered and ensuring his knowledge would remain useful.
They waited a little longer, but no one came. Harry was just about to suggest leaving when a sharp, familiar voice echoed down the corridor.
"Students out of bed!" Filch's voice rang out, followed by the faint, unsettling padding of Mrs. Norris's paws. "I smell mischief…"
Ron froze. "It's Filch," he whispered urgently. Neville looked like he might faint. Hermione's eyes widened in alarm. Before anyone could react properly, Hermione grabbed Harry's hand tightly. "Run!" she hissed. Without waiting for an answer, she dragged him forward, pulling the others along behind her as they sprinted down the corridor, footsteps echoing softly against the stone as Filch's muttering grew louder behind them.
They turned a corner—and skidded to a halt.
"Dead end," Ron groaned in panic. The corridor ended in a blank stone wall with a single, massive wooden door set into it. Harry's eyes flicked over the surroundings, and recognition struck instantly. This floor… He knew exactly where they were.
"That door," Harry said sharply, pointing. Without questioning him, Hermione grabbed the handle. It clicked and swung open just as Filch's lantern light flickered around the corner behind them. They rushed inside and slammed the door shut, pressing their backs against it as they caught their breath.
For a moment, there was silence. Then Ron let out a shaky laugh. "That was close."
Harry's gaze had already lifted.
The room was enormous—and in the center of it lay a massive three-headed dog, each head as large as a barrel. Thick black fur covered its body, and its enormous paws twitched slightly as it slept, chains rattling faintly with each breath.
Hermione turned slowly, followed Harry's stare—and screamed.
"That's a dog!" Ron shouted. "A huge one!"
All three heads snapped awake at once. The dog growled, rising to its feet, six red eyes locking onto them. The air vibrated with the sound.
"Quiet!" Harry whispered urgently. He cast the Disillusionment Charm in an instant, shimmering light washing over them as they vanished from sight. He pressed a finger to his lips, forcing the others to stay silent despite their terror.
The dog sniffed the air, one head snarling, another yawning, the third watching suspiciously. After a tense moment, it settled back down, its massive body relaxing as it drifted back to sleep.
Harry motioned silently toward the door. They crept out as carefully as possible, every step measured, every breath controlled. Once they were safely back in the corridor and far from Filch's voice, they hurried all the way back to the Gryffindor common room.
Inside, safe at last, the invisibility charm faded. Ron spoke first, his voice hushed but excited. "Did you see the size of that thing?"
Neville nodded frantically. "It was guarding something. It has to be."
Hermione, pale but thoughtful, adjusted her hair and said quietly, "That wasn't just any dog. It was clearly placed there on purpose… it was sitting on a trapdoor it must be guarding it."
Harry listened silently, already knowing the answer. The Philosopher's Stone. He said nothing, merely nodding as if in agreement, while inside his mind, the familiar threads of the future tightened once more.
After that, there was nothing more to say. The tension of the night slowly faded, exhaustion settling over all of them. One by one, they climbed the stairs to their dormitories, their earlier fear giving way to heavy eyelids and aching limbs. Harry lay back on his bed, Sparky already curled against his chest, warm and steady.