Breaking the Rules Isn’t the Problem—Losing Is.

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Before class even officially started, the school was already down one fairly decent broomstick—and Madam Hooch was heartbroken over it.

Still, she couldn't really blame Tom. It was a reflex, plain and simple. All she could do was tell him to go grab another broom and be more careful next time, then get back in position.

Once Tom returned, Madam Hooch began demonstrating how to ride a broom without slipping off. She also pointed out a few students whose grips and seating were way off.

The kids she called out blushed furiously—especially the ones who'd been bragging about how good they were at flying. Now they were getting schooled in front of everyone.

Malfoy got a proper scolding, and while that was happening, Harry and Ron were doing a terrible job of hiding their snickers. The look Malfoy shot them was pure murder.

After correcting everyone's posture, it was finally time for the most exciting part: actual flight practice.

So far, Madam Hooch was pleased. The students were picking things up quickly, and nothing had gone terribly wrong yet.

Unfortunately, that relief didn't last long.

Before she could even blow her whistle, Neville—nervous and jittery—pushed off too early and shot into the sky.

"Come back down, dear!" Madam Hooch shouted after him, but Neville either couldn't hear her or was too scared to react. He kept going higher… until he suddenly lost control and tumbled off the broom.

He landed with a heavy thud in a patch of grass, curling up like a dropped rag doll.

Madam Hooch sprinted over, face as pale as Neville's. After making sure he was still conscious, she ordered everyone to stay put, then helped the limping boy to the infirmary.

Tom watched the whole thing coldly. In his opinion, Madam Hooch was an idiot who had no business teaching.

Neville's little flight-and-fall lasted at least thirty seconds. In all that time, she did nothing useful. No wand, no spell, no Levitation Charm—just flailing and shouting like a Muggle.

What's the difference, then?

"That was terrifying," Daphne whispered, her face white as a sheet. She clung to Tom's arm. "You think Longbottom's going to be okay?"

"He'll live," Tom said, shaking his head. "Falling from twenty feet? As long as he didn't land on his head, he's probably got a few fractures at most. You saw him—he walked to the infirmary."

Twenty feet was about six meters. Not a small fall, but not fatal either.

For Muggles, broken bones might mean weeks of recovery. But in the magical world? It was no big deal.

Daphne finally relaxed a little. Then, without hesitation, she tossed her broomstick on the ground like it was cursed.

Her broom didn't look much better than Neville's anyway, and there was no way she was getting on something that dangerous again.

Just then, a commotion broke out nearby.

Malfoy had picked up Neville's fallen Remembrall and was mocking him mercilessly. After a few jabs at Harry, the two boys were up in the air, zipping around in an impromptu chase while everyone gasped and shouted.

And for the first time, the so-called Boy Who Lived showed a real, jaw-dropping talent—something that set him apart. He had never ridden a broom before, yet he flew like it was second nature. Twisting, turning, pulling off stunts like a natural-born Seeker.

After dodging Harry twice, Malfoy panicked and threw the Remembrall.

Harry dove.

He caught it a mere foot from the ground and rolled into a rough landing—but he had it.

"Harry Potter!"

Professor McGonagall stormed over, her voice sharp and her chest heaving with rage. She grabbed Harry by the arm and marched him away without another word.

…

And just like that, the first flying lesson came to a chaotic end.

When Madam Hooch returned and found out what had happened after she left, she nearly fainted with rage. She confiscated all the brooms and canceled the rest of the flying practice. Instead, the students were stuck memorizing dull safety rules and flight theory—utterly bored and drained.

Tom didn't mind. Class was over, and he headed straight for the Great Hall to eat.

Hermione caught up with him. "Tom, do you think Harry's going to get expelled?"

"No way. It's really not a big deal," Tom said, already thinking about how many chicken wings he could scarf down.

"Not a big deal?" Hermione stared at him like he'd grown a second head. "He broke the rules! He flew without permission!"

"And Malfoy didn't get in trouble at all, did he?"

The smell of roasted meat was already wafting through the air, and Tom's words came faster. "Don't treat Hogwarts like it's some strict military academy. As long as you don't kill anyone, you could curse the Minister of Magic to his face and Dumbledore still wouldn't expel you."

"So what is a big deal then?" Hermione asked.

"Losing. Losing is a big deal."

With that, Tom jogged off to the Slytherin table. Lately, he'd been hungrier than ever—maybe from overthinking, maybe from a growth spurt. Either way, his appetite had been off the charts. He'd already felt hungry before flying class.

Daphne helped him cut his steak and even poured sauce over it with a smile. When Tom finished his plate, she slid hers over without a word.

At the Gryffindor table, Hermione was still mulling over what Tom had said.

Harry returned with a huge grin on his face and plopped down next to Ron.

The two of them immediately started whispering like kids with a secret. They didn't even notice Hermione eavesdropping from across the table.

"I didn't get punished," Harry said. "In fact, McGonagall put me on the Quidditch team. I start training next week."

"You're joking!" Ron nearly dropped his chicken leg. "You're a first year! And they made you a Seeker?!"

"Keep it down," Harry whispered back. "It's still kind of a secret. I thought I was dreaming, too. McGonagall said I'm the youngest Seeker in a century. She even introduced me to Oliver Wood—I thought he was going to hit me with a stick at first."

"Wow… that's… that's amazing," Ron said, sounding a little dazed. He was happy for Harry, sure, but also a tiny bit jealous.

Then Malfoy showed up with his usual posse and a sneer on his face.

"Enjoying your last supper, Potter? You'll be back in the Muggle world by morning."

He expected Harry to blow up, to get angry and snap. Instead, Harry just looked at him calmly… and with the faintest hint of amusement. He didn't even bother replying to Malfoy directly. Instead, he looked past him—at Crabbe and Goyle.

"Up in the sky, you didn't have the guts. What's changed? Is it because Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber are backing you up now?"

Malfoy's face turned a nasty shade of red. Crabbe and Goyle clenched their fists, but with all the teachers still sitting at the staff table, they didn't dare do more than glare.

"You want a one-on-one?" Harry said coolly. "Fine by me. Tonight work for you?"

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