Chapter 37 "I'd say this is way more dangerous than football," Adrian remarked uneasily, staring at the broom lying on the ground. Clearly,
Chapter 37
"I'd say this is way more dangerous than football," Adrian remarked uneasily, staring at the broom lying on the ground.
Clearly, he didn't share the enthusiasm for flying that children from wizarding families had. Neville seemed to feel the same, his eyes practically boring holes into the broom.
"I have to admit, you're right, but what can we do? We're wizards," Devero replied lightly.
To be honest, he wasn't particularly interested in flying either. Why bother with such a mode of transport when you could apparate?
"By the way, why did you bring a toad to this class?" Adrian asked, eyeing Al, the toad perched on Devero's shoulder.
"Oh, this guy's been cooped up indoors too long. I was worried he'd turn into a specimen, so I brought him out for some fresh air," Devero explained.
At that moment, Madam Hooch approached them.
"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone, stand next to a broom. Hurry up, don't dawdle!"
Devero turned and gently lifted Al from his shoulder, placing him on a patch of open ground nearby. Then he quickly stood in front of his broom.
Well, this broom looked like it had seen twenty years of hard use. Some of its twigs were sticking out haphazardly.
"Extend your right hand over the broom," Madam Hooch called out to the students. "And say, 'Up!'"
"Up!" everyone shouted, Devero included.
But his broom only twitched slightly before going completely still, drawing a mocking laugh from Malfoy nearby.
"Oh, maybe the French are better suited to flying carpets—after all, they're just a bunch of old-fashioned fossils," Malfoy sneered. "Or maybe the French just don't have the genes for riding brooms. Better stay on the ground and not embarrass Hogwarts."
Devero's brow furrowed slightly, but he wasn't bothered by Malfoy's taunts. He didn't even consider himself French. What puzzled him was the broom's reaction—or lack thereof. It felt like the broom was… negotiating with him.
Ever since acquiring the [Genius Wandmaker] trait, Devero had noticed he could communicate with certain magical artifacts imbued with a spark of sentience. Most of the time, this connection was faint, as magical artifacts rarely possessed strong living qualities. He hadn't had much chance to explore this ability. The strongest connection he'd ever felt was when he first chose his wand, though he hadn't yet acquired the trait back then. After getting it, his wand had become so attuned to him that it felt like an extension of his body, leaving little need to use this ability.
Today, however, was different. Devero sensed the broom was expressing… fear? It seemed terrified of heights and was refusing to let him ride it.
Devero's lips twitched. A flying broom afraid of heights? That was absurd. He could only imagine what previous students had put it through.
So, he began to soothe the broom, coaxing it gently. After some effort, the broom finally relented and flew into his hand.
By now, most of the others were ready, and Madam Hooch began teaching them how to take off. Devero knew Neville was about to suffer an unfortunate fall from his broom, but he had no way to help. His own broom was practically vibrating with anxiety. As he gripped the handle, it trembled wildly. Devero held on tightly, whispering words of comfort, unsure if the broom could even understand him. It was all he could do.
He briefly considered drawing his wand for reassurance, loosening his grip with his right hand. But at that moment, Madam Hooch called out, "Hold your brooms steady, rise a few feet, then lean forward slightly and return to the ground. On my whistle—three—two—"
Neville shot straight into the air, eliciting gasps from the group.
"Come back, boy!" Madam Hooch shouted.
But Neville kept climbing, unstoppable.
Devero, caught off guard without both hands on his broom, felt it react like a spooked horse at the sound of the shouts. It shuddered violently and surged forward, bolting straight toward the Forbidden Forest in a low, reckless flight. It skimmed over the grass, parting it like a wave of green.
Devero felt like he was strapped to a runaway sports car with no brakes, hurtling toward a tree in the Forbidden Forest that could snap his neck. He plunged into the forest, leaning desperately to dodge two massive trees. With a quick draw of his wand, he shouted, "Wingardium Leviosa!" A force lifted him off the broom just as it crashed headlong into a tree trunk.
Had he not cast the spell in time, Devero—the future academic star of the wizarding world and potion prodigy—would have met his end right there.
With a gentle wave of his wand, Devero floated back to the ground. He glanced around, finding himself in a dense cluster of dark trees, with no living creatures in sight and no immediate threats. He approached the broom, hoping to free it from the tree, but it was lodged deep, clearly terrified. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't budge it.
Just as he was about to give up, a sound—clop, clop, clop—echoed behind him, unlike human footsteps. Devero spun around, wand raised defensively. Before him stood a creature he'd never seen: a centaur, with a human upper body, striking blue eyes, and platinum-blond hair that gleamed. Its lower half was the elegant, pale gold body of a silver-maned horse.
"Need help?" the centaur asked.
Honestly, if you ignored the horse half, this centaur was the most handsome being Devero had seen in this world. He stared, momentarily stunned, before showing the centaur the broom stuck in the tree. "My broom's stuck."
Without a word, the centaur stepped forward, gripped the broom with strong arms, and yanked it free, handing it back to Devero. "This place is dangerous. Leave quickly." With that, the centaur galloped off into the depths of the Forbidden Forest, hooves echoing in the distance.
Devero examined the broom. A large crack ran through it, rendering it unflyable. He tried a few repair charms to no avail—the broom was beyond saving. Knowing the Forbidden Forest was perilous, he sprinted back the way he came. Fortunately, he hadn't ventured too deep and soon reached the lesson site.
By then, Neville had already fallen from his broom, and Madam Hooch was preparing to take him to the hospital wing. Seeing Devero's damaged broom, she offered to bring him along, but he politely declined, showing he was unharmed. After a stern warning to the others not to fly recklessly, Madam Hooch left with a still-sobbing Neville.
And so, the stage was set for the usual spectacle—Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, and their inevitable clash!
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