Chapter 27: Flying Lessons (Part I)

The last day of the weekend passed comfortably for Vaughn.

He'd finally secured Professor Snape's favor and was about to learn the much-anticipated Scarpin's Revealing Spell, along with access to more advanced potions and magic. All the years he'd spent hunched over dusty tomes and obscure alchemical notes were finally paying off.

But while Vaughn was enjoying the fruits of his labor, most of the other first-years were beginning to feel the pressure. The bliss of the first weekend had ended too soon, and the second week hit them like a runaway trolley. Classes were getting denser, and homework piles were growing faster than Ron's appetite at breakfast.

More importantly, as the first week passed, the social lines among the new students had started to settle.

Gryffindor and Slytherin were already glaring daggers at each other. Every shared class turned into a grumbling match, with whispered jabs, rolled eyes, and an unspoken contest to see who could sabotage whom the most subtly.

At the heart of this budding house rivalry were two familiar forces: Harry and Ron versus Draco and his ever-loyal minions.

Though Draco was smart enough to avoid provoking Vaughn directly, he soon figured out that as long as he didn't insult Vaughn or Hermione, Vaughn wouldn't bother with him either. And with that realization came a new pastime: making Harry and Ron's lives miserable.

Every class became a minefield for the two Gryffindors. Malfoy would latch onto their tiniest mistakes, hurling snide remarks with such precision they couldn't even argue back without sounding like sore losers.

"I never thought it was possible," Harry muttered to Ron one day after Transfiguration, "but Malfoy might actually be worse than Dudley."

Ron groaned in agreement. "Worse than Fred, George, and Vaughn combined, and that's saying something."

Hermione, of course, bristled. "They're your brothers, Ronald Weasley."

She wasn't exactly fond of Draco either. The boy made a show of looking disgusted every time he saw her, as if her mere presence offended his pure-blood sensibilities. He wouldn't dare mess with her openly, not with Vaughn watching, but the sneers were still there.

Thankfully, kids rarely hold grudges for long. After Ron was strongly encouraged by Harry to apologize to Hermione for a spat involving the use of the word "nightmare," peace was restored.

Mostly.

Hermione never called him "Ron" again. From then on, it was always "Ronald."

Ron confided to Harry, "I think I've got a trauma now. Every time Vaughn used my full name, it meant something horrible was about to happen. I keep thinking Hermione's plotting something."

Despite Ron's paranoia, the house tensions remained mostly harmless, aside from one glaring exception: Malfoy.

His attitude drove the relationship between Gryffindor and Slytherin straight into the dungeons, and possibly a few feet below that.

Well, except for Vaughn.

Vaughn didn't seem bound by house loyalties. He wandered between common rooms like a stray Kneazle, and while that would normally be a red flag, his academic brilliance and odd charm had won over most students, eventually.

That is, once they accepted the fact that Vaughn was equal parts brilliant and completely unpredictable.

He refused to hang out with boys unless he had to but was always ready to chat with any pretty girl who so much as waved. One time, he returned to the Slytherin common room from a visit to Ravenclaw and declared that he hated how the word "dungeons" made his house sound creepy.

So he enchanted the sign outside the common room to read "Seaview Suites."

Peeves the Poltergeist gleefully reported the change to Filch, who tried and failed to scrub it off for several days before giving up entirely.

Since then, Slytherin's entrance had been permanently rebranded. Every time a snake walked past the shining golden letters, they couldn't help imagining warm sunlight and ocean waves... even if they were technically underwater.

And to make matters worse or better, depending on who you asked, Fred and George Weasley began showing up outside the Slytherin entrance holding posters they'd borrowed from a Muggle-born friend. The posters were straight out of a beach resort catalog, all sun and sand and suspiciously underdressed models.

"Welcome to Weasley Real Estate!" Fred would call out.

"Private lake views! Mermaids included!" George chimed in.

It always ended in chaos, shouting, and laughter.

On Thursday morning, both the Gryffindor and Slytherin common rooms were filled with groaning students.

Today was the day.

Flying lessons.

The schedule had been posted since Monday, and excitement had slowly turned to dread. At first, everyone was thrilled. Seamus Finnigan bragged loudly about his flying skills, claiming he'd basically been born on a broomstick.

Ron told Harry he once snuck a ride on Charlie's broom and nearly crashed into a Muggle airplane.

"It was so close," he whispered dramatically, "I swear I shook hands with the Muggle pilot!"

Hermione, ever the killjoy, cut in. "Muggle airplanes aren't open-air, Ronald. You can't shake anyone's hand from a broom."

Ron's ears turned red. "How would you know?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Because the only time Muggle planes looked like that was about eighty years ago. Unless you're secretly a time-traveling octogenarian, your story is rubbish."

Harry wasn't sure what to believe. He'd never flown on a plane or a broom, so everyone's stories sounded equally far-fetched.

But one thing gnawed at him. He'd grown up in the Muggle world. His classmates had grown up with magic. Surely, they had an edge.

Especially Malfoy.

Determined not to embarrass himself, Harry sought out Vaughn.

"Do you have any flying tips?" he asked.

Vaughn raised an eyebrow. "I've never flown."

Harry blinked. "But Ron said--"

"Oh, right, the time he almost hit a Muggle airplane? That was a dream he had after I took him to see a Muggle action film," Vaughn chuckled. "Relax, Harry. Most wizarding parents don't let kids near brooms before school starts. It's not just you."

Harry wasn't fully convinced until that afternoon.

They stood in neat rows on the training grounds, each student beside a worn school broom. Madam Hooch, their flying instructor and the official Quidditch referee, paced in front of them.

"Alright! I've gone over the safety rules twice now. Stop gawking and get started. Right hand over the broom and say, Up!"

"Up!" came the chorus.

Harry's broom jumped obediently into his hand. He stared at it in shock.

He glanced around. Most of his classmates were struggling. Seamus's broom rolled lazily on the ground. Hermione's wobbled, but didn't lift.

Only one other student had succeeded.

Vaughn.

Harry tried not to smirk.

Apparently, the self-proclaimed broom experts were all hot air.

Vaughn looked just as surprised. He'd assumed flying would take some practice. After all, his system hadn't assigned any flight-related talents.

Still, he wasn't about to complain.

When Madam Hooch finally instructed them to lift off the ground, Vaughn and Harry soared upward as if they'd been born to do it.

Below, the other students watched in awe and envy.