Flying has always been one of humanity's greatest dreams, and Weide was no exception. In his opinion, one of the biggest benefits of learning magic was the ability to soar freely through the sky. Of course, flying in an airplane also gets you airborne, and it's more comfortable than riding a broom or a Pegasus. But there's no doubt—the latter is much cooler.
Ravenclaw's Flying Lesson was with Hufflepuff, on Friday afternoons. Before that, Gryffindor and Slytherin had their Flying Lesson on Thursday afternoons.
Ever since Monday, all the first-years had been talking excitedly about flying, and Michael was no different.
"You know what? My most thrilling experience was swooping down from a cliff on a broom, racing an eagle!" Michael boasted, a grilled sausage on his fork. "We plummeted from 1,300 meters high and finally hovered just fifteen centimeters from the ground! The grass on the ground almost touched my nose!"
"That's amazing!" Theo, at the next table, believed him and exclaimed, "Michael, you should play Quidditch. You must be good at the Wronski Feint! Many famous players can't even do that!"
Michael's face flushed slightly, but he forced himself to say, "O-of course! I mean, when Professor Flitwick sees my amazing performance in Flying Lesson, he might even invite me to join the Quidditch team early!"
"Definitely! You're a genius!" Theo praised loudly.
Michael's face turned even redder.
At the long table, some older Ravenclaw girls chuckled softly as they watched Michael, clearly seeing through his lie.
To cover his embarrassment, Michael turned back and said, "Weide, do you need me to give you some flying tips beforehand? Just so you don't feel nervous when you get on a broom. I'm an expert at this; I was flying around the house on a broom before I could even walk."
"Really? I think we need some pointers too." Hermione pulled Neville along and quickly came to sit next to them, clutching a pile of books—Quidditch Through the Ages, The Wonder of the Wigtown Wanderers, He Flew Like a Madman, and so on.
"You borrowed so many books?" Weide asked in surprise.
"Yes, but they're not much help." Hermione put the books on the table, agitated. "These books are almost entirely about this barbaric sport called Quidditch. They don't say anything about how to fly more smoothly."
The girl's words immediately drew the displeasure of Quidditch fans. Michael raised an eyebrow and said, "Barbaric? Hermione, you probably don't understand, but Quidditch is the most popular and exciting sport; everyone loves Quidditch! It has nothing to do with barbarism! No, I should say—you just don't understand its wild charm!"
"Is that so?" Hermione retorted without ceremony. "But it made the Golden Snidget a protected animal! On the verge of extinction!"
"Quidditch is not wrong!" Michael exclaimed first, then asked curiously, "…What's a Golden Snidget? Sounds a bit like a Golden Snitch?"
"It's a small, agile flying bird." Weide happened to have read that part before. He said, "In old Quidditch matches, a Golden Snidget would be released. The game would end when a team's Seeker killed the bird. Because of this, the number of Golden Snidgets, once as common as sparrows, became extremely rare, and sanctuaries had to be established to prevent their complete extinction. Although the Golden Snitch was later invented to replace the Golden Snidget, some countries' Quidditch teams still seem to retain the old custom. So, even now, the Golden Snidget remains a protected animal."
Hermione held her head high and declared, "Exactly! So Quidditch, this sport, is a barbaric activity built on the lives of countless Golden Snidgets. It's a shame that so few people care about the poor Golden Snidgets now, only cheering for a sport that can cause death!"
The girl completely forgot why she was sitting at that table. She picked up her books and huffily left, leaving the boys looking at each other.
After a long moment, Neville timidly said, "So… flying tips… are there still some?" He said with a worried expression, "I've never flown before. My grandma won't let me near a Flying Broomstick—not even a toy broom."
"Ahem, of course." Michael said very enthusiastically, "Riding a broom is actually very simple. You just hold the handle in front, push off hard with your feet, and you can fly. Maintaining balance is the most important thing, and you must be flexible when turning—there's a big difference in Flying Broomstick models. It's good if the school's public brooms have a Shooting Star, but the best right now is definitely the Nimbus 2000…"
Michael's "flying tips" were only two or three sentences. The rest of the time, he was rambling on about the performance of the Nimbus series. Theo was very supportive, believing every word. Neville, with wide, round eyes, tried hard to jot down everything he said, but in the end, his paper only had a few lines: [Hold the handle, push off hard, maintain balance].
Ryan secretly whispered to Weide, "I bet Michael has only ever ridden a toy broom."
"Why do you say that?" Weide asked, "Have you ridden a real one?"
"I haven't ridden one myself because my mom won't let me; she says it's too dangerous," Ryan said. "But my dad has a Comet, and he once flew me around a few times. He said that at first, it's good enough for a beginner to just sit on it steadily. You shouldn't rush to fly because Flying Broomsticks are much faster than toy brooms and have no height limit."
He looked at Michael, who was still spouting off, and shook his head slightly.
"Nothing to worry about," Weide reassured him. "There's still a professor around!"
Although he didn't remember the detailed plot of Harry Potter, he recalled that Neville had a moment of brilliance in the final battle. What major could happen in a normal Flying Lesson?
Come to think of it, he did remember… there seemed to be a Flying Lesson scene.
Weide stroked his chin, trying to dig useful fragments from his memory.
Hmm… was Neville bullied by Draco? And then Harry Potter stood up for him?
Yes, that must be it.
On Thursday afternoon, Ravenclaw only had one Charms class, which was combined with Slytherin. After class, the Slytherins gleefully ran to the lawn—that was where Flying Lesson was held. The Ravenclaws had no more classes afterward, so they all went to watch.
Weide rarely moved with the main group, but this was Flying Lesson, after all. Students gathered in twos and threes in the corridor, eavesdropping on Madam Hooch, the Flying Lesson professor, hoping to learn something in advance so they wouldn't make fools of themselves in the official lesson tomorrow.
Not long after, they saw Neville—yes, Neville—while everyone else was still on the ground, that boy shot straight up into the sky like a cannonball!
"Ahhhhhhh—"
A terrified scream came from the sky, followed by a figure plunging straight down. Before anyone else could react, he crashed violently into the bushes with a thud!
A profound silence fell upon the crowd.
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