The envelope still sat on her bedside table, untouched since last night. Amaechi hadn't told anyone—not her housemates, not a professor. Something told her this message wasn't meant for anyone else.
She stared at it now while brushing her hair, her fingers running through the thick coils with practised ease. The curling script echoed in her mind like a haunting melody:
"Not all creatures stay beneath the surface."
What are you trying to tell me? she wondered.
A chill touched her skin despite the warmth of the Slytherin common room. She pressed the parchment to her palm and whispered a small incantation her grandmother had taught her—one for revealing hidden truths.
Nothing.
But she could feel something. Not resistance—just… patience.
Flight and Form
The first flying lesson was held on the Hogwarts grounds, on a large grassy field not far from the Forbidden Forest. Twenty-something first-years stood in two neat rows beside battered school brooms. Madam Hooch's sharp yellow eyes gleamed as she strode down the line, inspecting each broom with an expert's eye.
Amaechi felt the soft whisper of wind through her hair as she eyed the broomstick warily. Her family didn't use brooms much, preferring enchanted carpets or apparition—but she knew the theory.
"Stick out your right hand over the broom and say 'Up!'" Madam Hooch commanded.
"Up!" the class chorused.
Amaechi's broom jumped into her hand obediently. She glanced around and noted Draco's broom did the same. Potter's did too, though Ron's smacked him in the nose.
A smirk twitched at her lips.
Madam Hooch demonstrated the basic hovering technique and, after a few cautionary rules about broken bones and broom control, gave them permission to mount up.
"On my whistle… three… two—"
But Neville Longbottom's broom jolted into the sky prematurely, shooting upward like a firework. Gasps filled the field as he flailed, his robes billowing before he tumbled off with a cry. He hit the ground hard.
Madam Hooch ran over, barking instructions for the students to stay put while she escorted Neville to the infirmary.
No sooner had she left than Draco swooped down and snatched something from the grass. "Look what fell out of his pocket!" he called, holding up a small glass ball.
"A Remembrall," Harry said, stepping forward.
Draco grinned. "Maybe if he had remembered how to fly—"
"Give it back, Malfoy," Harry warned.
Draco's eyes glinted. "Come get it, then."
He mounted his broom and soared skyward.
"Potter, no!" Hermione hissed, but Harry was already in the air.
Amaechi crossed her arms, watching them both. As much as she disliked Draco's antics, there was no denying he flew with precision, and Potter, surprisingly, matched him.
Their mid-air chase was brief but thrilling. Draco tossed the Remembrall high into the air with a sneer. Harry dived—faster than anyone expected—and caught it just inches from the ground.
The class cheered. Even Amaechi raised a brow in approval.
Of course, that was when Professor McGonagall arrived, her mouth a thin line as she called Potter away.
Amaechi sighed. Hogwarts was anything but dull.
The Mystery Deepens
Later that evening, Amaechi returned to the common room, only to find the envelope again—its parchment now faintly glowing with aquatic runes and a pulsing dot on the map.
The Black Lake.
She leaned closer, heart quickening. This wasn't just a message—it was a summons.
The depths were stirring.