Following Madam Hooch's demonstration on how to properly mount a broom without slipping off, she moved down the line, correcting everyone's grip.
"All right, when I blow my whistle, I want you to kick off hard, get off the ground, hold the broom steady, rise a few feet, then lean forward slightly to come back down. Listen for my whistle…"
But before Madam Hooch could even finish saying "begin," Neville, overwhelmed by nerves, shot into the sky.
No matter how loudly Madam Hooch shouted from below, Neville couldn't come down—he was completely panicked.
He soared higher and higher, almost shoulder-to-shoulder with one of the Hogwarts towers.
"Ahhh!"
With a piercing scream, Neville fell from nearly twenty feet in the air.
This professor is really useless! One wonders if she's somehow related to Dumbledore. Couldn't she at least have used a spell to bring Neville down safely?
Wizards may have some degree of magic resistance, but she's a full-grown adult—a professor even! And she couldn't manage this?
"Arresto Momentum!"
Ethan flicked his wrist, sending the slowing charm directly at Neville, who was falling at high speed.
Bang!
Neville crashed into a bush face-first, but he quickly scrambled to his feet, wide-eyed but intact.
After examining him, Madam Hooch found no injuries, though he was clearly shaken.
Fortunately, there wasn't a major teaching accident. This year's students were proving to be particularly troublesome—so many odd incidents had already happened since term began.
"Ravenclaw, ten points!" Madam Hooch announced with appreciation, glancing over at Ethan.
Cassandra and Hermione both looked over simultaneously—Ethan had taken the lead during flying class.
"I'll take this boy to the infirmary. You all put the brooms back and no one is to touch them again!"
She guided Neville back toward Hogwarts Castle, likely to get him a calming potion.
Just like in the original timeline, even with Ethan's intervention, Neville still dropped his Remembrall. Draco, in the middle of an argument with Harry, picked it up.
"Accio Remembrall!"
Ethan didn't even need his wand—he casually waved his hand, and the Remembrall flew out of Draco's hand and into his own.
First-years should focus on their studies. What's the point of getting into Quidditch this early? The professors and the Headmaster themselves don't enforce the rules properly—how can the students be expected to follow them?
"You…"
Draco's expression twisted with resentment as the Remembrall vanished from his grasp, and he pointed at Ethan, but the words wouldn't come. He knew deep down he couldn't beat Ethan in a duel.
He briefly considered having his father pressure Ethan—but relying on his father to deal with a Muggle-born first-year? That would be humiliating.
"Harry, give it back to Neville," Ethan said, tossing the Remembrall to Harry.
"Got it!" Harry replied, catching it and flashing Draco a victorious smirk.
Draco's frustration only grew. He had planned to use the Remembrall to humiliate Harry during the broom lesson—especially since Harry had chosen to befriend Ron Weasley instead of him. But now, all of it had gone up in smoke.
He blamed Ethan entirely.
When Madam Hooch returned, thanks to Ethan's calm intervention, none of the usual chaos had occurred. The class resumed broom practice under her watchful eye.
When Ethan first mounted the broom, he braced himself for a painful experience, expecting it to press uncomfortably—but it turned out he was overthinking it. A magical cushion supported him invisibly, noticeable only while seated. (The Cushioning Charm, invented in 1820, revolutionized broom travel.)
Whether it was his natural flying talent or his experience as a skilled driver in his past life, Ethan found the broom easy to handle.
Before he could enjoy flying for long, however, Cassandra appeared out of nowhere, darted past him, and gave him a teasing look as she overtook him.
So, she wanted to compete?
Ethan ignored her provocation and continued flying calmly, but Cassandra wasn't about to let it go. She looped back in a graceful arc and caught up with him again, clearly determined to outperform him.
And so, a playful chase unfolded above the Quidditch pitch—Ethan maneuvering effortlessly as Cassandra pursued him with a grin.
Chapter 48: Is Your Head Filled with Troll Dung?
By mid-October, Ethan had settled into a consistent routine. Every day, he visited the Room of Requirement to practice magic.
Peter Pettigrew, in his Animagus rat form, had long since been returned to Ron.
Thanks to his rigorous training, Ethan's progress was becoming increasingly visible.
Name: Ethan Adrian
Age: 11
Bloodline: Wizard
Talents:
Overwhelming Soul (Denser soul, increasing learning speed and spellcasting efficiency)
Robust Physique (Improves physical fitness and magical adaptability)
Heart of Darkness (Can perform Dark Arts without emotional crutches)
Focus (Greatly enhances learning efficiency)
Animal Affinity (Works on magical creatures as well)
Fire Affinity (Boosts control and power of fire magic)
Spells:
Killing Curse (10), Cruciatus Curse (10), Imperius Curse (10), Fiendfyre (10)
Occlumency (7), Mjölnir (6), Shield Charm (6)
Undetectable Extension Charm (5), Siphon Energy (5), Shadow Stealth (5)
Transfiguration (4), Petrification Curse (3), Disillusionment Charm (3), Accio (3)
Potions (3), Alchemy (2)
He had finally mastered Fiendfyre. Now, he could summon a massive inferno and dismiss it with a mere thought. A tremendous leap in control and magical maturity.
Potions and Alchemy had also been added to his skill list. Though modest, improvements in those fields were steady.
While he still wouldn't stand a chance against Dumbledore in a duel, he was confident he could take on Snape—one of the most accomplished duelists and masters of the Dark Arts in the school.
His wallet, which had once been almost empty, was now pleasantly full.
In just over a month, he had sold more than 700 bottles of his custom potion. That might not sound like much—until you consider Hogwarts' population. With fewer than 600 students, and only about seventy per year, those numbers were impressive.
Each bottle sold for five Galleons—a steep price. Not something the average student could afford. Especially not the Weasleys!
Unsurprisingly, Slytherin students accounted for most of his sales.
That house was home to many wealthy pure-blood families, and they didn't hesitate to spend on valuable potions. In fact, sales to Slytherin exceeded those of the other three houses combined.
Cassandra had opened the doors to that market. Though only a first-year herself, she wielded substantial influence thanks to her family. She didn't personally make the sales; instead, she delegated the work to two followers.
She didn't ask for any payment—just one condition: a future duel. Ethan agreed instantly.
However, weeks had passed, and he still hadn't received a challenge.
On this particular day, Ethan borrowed a book from the Hogwarts library and was on his way back to the Ravenclaw common room when five Slytherin students blocked his path.
"Are you Ethan Adrian?" the lead student asked arrogantly, practically jabbing a finger in his face.
"That's right. Who are you supposed to be?" Ethan replied with an amused smirk. "If you've got nothing important to say, step aside."
Clearly, Ethan wasn't in the mood for nonsense. He'd never had much tolerance for bullies.
Bullying? School violence? Ethan wasn't afraid of these goons. In fact, he almost welcomed it.
"Don't think that just because you've got a bit of talent, you can look down on people," the leader snapped. "Today, we're going to teach you some respect."
One of the boys, eager to escalate, pulled out his wand.
These students were from the lowest tier in Slytherin's hierarchy. The chain of contempt in that house was brutal: pure-bloods looked down on half-bloods, and half-bloods despised Muggle-borns.
Since Slytherin didn't even admit Muggle-borns, these half-bloods sat firmly at the bottom.
This group of fourth-years stuck together for protection, but even among themselves, a pecking order persisted.
When a Muggle-born like Ethan mocked them, it cut deep into their fragile egos.
"Harvey, have you forgotten why we're here?" the leader—Barry—snapped.
Harvey, the one who had drawn his wand, immediately apologized. "Sorry, Barry."
Clearly, he wasn't even respected within his own group.
"Hand over the Baffling Brain Elixir recipe you stole!"
They were trying to intimidate Ethan with a fabricated claim. If Ethan refused, they hoped to corner him, then claim he had stolen their family's potion recipe.
Ethan narrowed his eyes.
"I stole your recipe?" he said with open disdain. "All right then—what's in it? Since you say it's yours, you must know the ingredients. Or is your head filled with troll dung, incapable of remembering even a basic potion formula?"
The group stiffened.
Now it was clear—they weren't here for justice. They were just greedy.
Ethan had never bothered to keep his potion a secret. He sold it openly, even through Fred and George Weasley.
But robbery? At Hogwarts?
This was unacceptable.
Once again, Ethan found himself sighing at Dumbledore's so-called leadership.