[Third Person's PoV]
Arthur and Lance were standing out in the sunlit yard alongside the rest of their housemates, waiting with a mix of excitement and nervousness. Today marked the beginning of their first flying lesson — and to some of their mild dismay, it was a joint session with the Slytherins. Students murmured and shuffled as they stood beside a row of battered school brooms that looked like they'd been plucked straight from a forgotten janitor's closet.
Madam Hooch, strode into the clearing. She was a stern-looking woman with spiky short gray hair and piercing yellow eyes, sharp and alert like a hawk.
"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked, her commanding voice cutting through the chatter like a whip. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up, we haven't got all day!"
Arthur, glancing down at the broom lying beside him, couldn't help but raise a brow. The handle was worn, the bristles frayed and uneven, and it creaked slightly as he nudged it with his shoe. He leaned in and then thought privately, 'The school might actually benefit from proper funding. These tools are downright depressing.'
Madam Hooch planted herself firmly at the front and raised her voice again. "Stick out your right hand over your broom," she instructed, "and say 'Up!'"
"UP!" the class chorused, voices rising in a variety of tones — some confident, others unsure.
But when Arthur spoke the word, it didn't come out like a simple command — it echoed with authority, as though it were a royal decree. The broom, as if recognizing his presence and rank, immediately sprang up into his outstretched palm with obedient enthusiasm.
He wasn't alone in his success. Lance's broom rose just as easily, along with Harry's and a few others. Unfortunately, several of their classmates were not so lucky.
Ron's broomstick jerked up violently and smacked him square in the face, earning a loud thwack! and a groan of pain. Both Arthur and Harry couldn't help themselves — they burst out laughing.
"Oh shut it, both of you," Ron muttered, rubbing his nose while wearing a faint but amused scowl.
Meanwhile, Hermione's broom refused to budge. It merely rolled back and forth on the grass like a stubborn cat refusing to be called.
"Up! I said up! Go up, you stupid broom!" she snapped in frustration.
"I don't think you're supposed to insult it, Hermione," Arthur teased gently, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Try coaxing it, not cursing it. You have to beckon it into your palm as well, not just shut out instructions at it."
Hermione furrowed her brows but gave a sharp nod. She adjusted her stance, widened her fingers, and with newfound resolve said, "Up!"
To her delight, the broomstick shot up into her hand. Her face lit up with a radiant grin, her front teeth prominent as she beamed with pride.
"I did it! Thanks, Arthur!"
Arthur responded with a thumbs-up and a playful wink as Madam Hooch began explaining how to mount the brooms properly.
"Swing your leg over, and keep both hands firmly on the handle," she demonstrated. "Grip tightly, but not so tight your knuckles go white. You'll need flexibility when you're in the air."
Harry and Ron exchanged gleeful glances when Madam Hooch corrected Malfoy's stance, telling him bluntly he had been mounting his broom incorrectly for years. Arthur just rolled his eyes at their satisfaction, amused but not surprised by their petty delight.
"Now, when I blow my whistle," Madam Hooch continued, holding the shiny silver instrument in her fingers, "you kick off from the ground — hard. Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet into the air, and then come straight back down by leaning forward gently. Ready? On my whistle — three — two —"
But before the whistle even reached her lips, a shout of alarm rang out. Neville, jittery and already pale, had accidentally launched himself into the air with an anxious push. He rose into the sky like a firework, his legs flailing wildly as he ascended higher and higher — ten feet, twenty, then thirty.
"Neville! Come back, boy!" Madam Hooch called, but it was no use. He wasn't in control.
Two sharp whooshes tore through the air as Arthur and Lance took off like twin arrows loosed from a bow. The sudden gust from their departure caused Madam Hooch's hair to ruffle, and she briefly shielded her eyes.
When she looked up, she saw them soaring through the sky — both boys flying with natural grace, their robes flapping behind them. Neville was beginning to tilt sideways, terror etched across his face, and then — he fell.
Gasps erupted from the students below.
But before he could plummet far, Arthur and Lance each reached out, snatching one of Neville's legs and catching him in midair. He dangled upside down between them, his arms stretched downward and his heart beating against his ribs like a drum. His face was pale, eyes spinning from the sudden perspective.
"Careful!" Madam Hooch called out. "Bring him down slowly! Easy now!"
With great coordination and gentleness, the boys descended, their broomsticks gliding down in tandem until Neville was back on solid earth. The moment his shoes touched the grass, he crumpled to his knees and kissed the ground with dramatic fervor.
"Oh, sweet, sweet ground. How I've missed you," he murmured with reverence, ignoring the laughter and cheers of his classmates.
"Good work, both of you. Ten points each to Gryffindor and Slytherin for your quick action in saving a classmate," Madam Hooch announced, her voice firm but laced with clear pride. She gave Arthur and Lance a curt nod of approval, her hawk-like eyes twinkling for a brief moment.
A few students clapped, and Neville gave them both a shaky thumbs-up, still slightly pale from his ordeal.
But the warm mood was promptly disrupted.
"Why did you even bother saving him, Lance?" sneered Pansy Parkinson, arms folded as she curled her lip in disgust. "You should've just let him eat dirt."
"Yeah," Malfoy chimed in, his voice dripping with contempt as he leaned lazily on his broom. "Would've been hilarious if he at least broke an arm or something."
Several Gryffindors turned to glare at Malfoy, particularly Hermione, who looked utterly appalled. Even Ron's ears turned red from anger.
Lance blinked at them, clearly taken aback by their callousness. "What? Why would I do that? That wouldn't have been nice. Either way, nothing would've happened — Arthur was already on the move. I just figured I'd help and maybe earn our house some points too." He raised an eyebrow at them, as if genuinely confused by their behavior. 'What is it with them being so aggressive and mean all the time?' he wondered.
Ron gave Lance a long look, then turned to Harry and Arthur as he walked back to join the rest of the students. "Are we sure the Sorting Hat did the right thing putting Lance in Slytherin?"
Arthur grinned broadly at that. "See? And you were assuming Lance was some kind of dark wizard in the making. Look at you now, praising him."
Ron rolled his eyes but nodded begrudgingly. "Well, he did help save Neville… I suppose he's not all bad."
"I think Lance is cool in my book" Neville chimed in, now standing and dusting off his robes, wobbling slightly but smiling with appreciation. "Thanks again."
Before anyone could respond, Malfoy's attention shifted. He narrowed his eyes, spotting something glinting in the grass a few meters away. Without warning, he kicked off on his broom and darted forward, cutting through the air and shooting past Madam Hooch.
"Boy! Get back here — the lesson hasn't even officially started!" Madam Hooch barked furiously, her whistle still clenched in her fist. But Malfoy ignored her completely.
He dipped down and snatched something from the ground. Holding it high, he smirked as he turned back toward the group.
"Lookie here! Forget something, Longbottom?" he called, tossing the shiny glass ball into the air and catching it casually.
Neville's eyes widened. "My Remembrall!" he exclaimed, patting his robes and realizing it had fallen from his pocket during the fall. "My gran gave me that!"
"Give it back, Malfoy!" Harry stepped forward, his voice firm.
Everyone's attention shifted to the brewing confrontation. Even the Slytherins had gone quiet, watching curiously. Madam Hooch looked like she was about to burst a vein.
But Malfoy simply smiled nastily. "I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find… how about… up a tree?" He laughed and began floating in slow circles above the yard, the Remembrall still bouncing in his palm.
"Stop it, Malfoy! Return it!" Harry shouted again, taking a step forward.
"Come and get it, Potter," Malfoy taunted, his smirk widening.
Harry didn't hesitate. In a flash, he grabbed his broom, swung his leg over, and kicked off the ground with surprising confidence and speed.
"Potter! MALFOY! Get back down here at once!" Madam Hooch's voice thundered over the yard. Her face had turned a deep shade of red, and she looked moments away from exploding. "You'll BOTH be grounded for this!"
But Harry wasn't listening. His eyes were locked on Malfoy, and he raced after him like a comet.
Malfoy, clearly startled by the pursuit, fumbled for a moment and hastily leaned forward, bolting ahead to keep his distance. The Remembrall slipped slightly in his hand, and he gripped it tighter.
On the ground, Arthur folded his arms and watched the scene unfold with a wry grin. "Ahhh… youth," he said dramatically, his eyes tracking the chase in the sky.
Lance gave him a sidelong glance. "Remembering the good old days, gramps?" he said with a smirk.
Arthur merely chuckled amused by his retort.
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