Chapter 29: Flying Lessons  

"Dumbledore, aren't you being a bit too cautious?" 

"Or what, are you planning to pull some strings to get Bedivere into Gryffindor? Find a guardian for Potter?" 

As soon as Edward left the room, Snape snapped irritably. 

"Severus, you know exactly what I'm wary of," Dumbledore replied. His tone was gentle but firm. "I'm truly sorry for not being completely honest with Mr. Bedivere, but you surely remember who the last student was to earn thirty points for Slytherin right after starting school." 

"And let's not forget, he also comes from an ancient bloodline." 

Snape fell silent for a moment, but his usual sarcasm quickly returned. 

"And now? What do you see? Is every Slytherin prodigy a potential Dark Lord? You're not seriously considering using Legilimency on a first-year, are you, Dumbledore? Need my help?" 

"Of course not. I just want to be certain. One doesn't make the same mistake twice," Dumbledore said, lost in thought. "But really, it's uncanny—the handsome features, the polite demeanor, the willingness to help others, the exceptional talent. Aside from me, every teacher, including Headmaster Dippet, thought Tom Riddle was the wizarding world's rising star. And look how that turned out." 

"Of course, I'm not always so certain," he added. "But I'm relieved to say that Mr. Bedivere seems to have fully inherited the fine qualities of William and Anne. I daresay Slytherin might win the House Cup this year, don't you think?" 

"Family, kinship, love—what remarkable things." Dumbledore's eyes grew distant, as if recalling something from long ago. 

"Honestly, if it had been Harry sorted into Slytherin, you might not be so pleased right now," Snape shot back, his face darkening. 

"Don't compare my house's students to Potter. Potter's just like his father—mediocre, arrogant, always breaking rules, craving attention, and utterly disrespectful—" 

Snape paced the room, rattling off Harry Potter's "crimes" like beans spilling from a jar. 

"Severus, you see what you expect to see," Dumbledore said, picking up a copy of Transfiguration Today without looking up. "The other teachers say the boy is humble, easygoing, and quite talented. I personally find him rather likable." 

"But, to be fair, Harry's talents do fall a bit short of Mr. Bedivere's," he added thoughtfully. 

"Pointless drivel…" Snape muttered with a cold scoff, sweeping his robes as he turned toward the door. 

"Oh, and keep an eye on Quirrell, will you?" Dumbledore called after him. 

… 

Edward practically sprinted out of the castle, taking three steps at a time. 

Like the other students, he was excited about Flying Lessons. 

But he was even more curious about what was happening on the field. 

The Flying Lesson was held on a flat, grassy lawn just outside the castle's main entrance—the largest open space within the grounds. 

The sun warmed the air, and a gentle breeze rippled across the neatly trimmed grass, creating waves in the green. 

But the lesson didn't seem to be going smoothly. 

As Edward stepped out of the castle, Madam Hooch was hurrying in, supporting a pale-faced Neville. 

"Madam Hooch, what happened?" 

"Oh! Mr. Bedivere, you're back from Dumbledore's? This boy's broken his wrist. I need to get him to the hospital wing. Hurry to the field and join your classmates," Madam Hooch said, brushing past him. 

"And tell them if I come back and see anyone in the air, they'll be out of here before they can say 'Quidditch'!" 

Edward wanted to help escort Neville to the hospital wing, but Madam Hooch clearly preferred he keep an eye on his classmates. 

If you wanted chaos, just leave a group of Slytherins and Gryffindors alone together. 

Edward quickened his pace. 

On the field, the students were gathered in a circle, Malfoy's distinctive laugh cutting through the crowd. 

"Did you see his face?" 

"If that clumsy oaf had just grabbed this ball, he might've remembered to land on his backside!" 

Malfoy was tossing a shiny crystal ball—Neville's Remembrall—up and down in his hand. 

Crabbe and Goyle were laughing even harder than he was. 

"Give it back, Malfoy," Harry said, stepping forward to snatch the Remembrall. 

"No way. Give it to you? I'm going to hide this thing somewhere for Longbottom to find himself," Malfoy sneered, his lips curling into a cruel grin. 

The tension between them dropped to freezing. 

"What's that, Malfoy? Feeling brave now that Edward's not here?" Ron said, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Harry, his tone dripping with disdain. 

The Gryffindors burst into laughter, as if Edward were one of their own. 

Malfoy's face flushed red. 

"Weasley, no matter how much you suck up to Bedivere, he's not going to buy you a new robe!" he spat venomously. 

"What did you say?!" 

Ron lunged forward, reaching for the Remembrall, but Malfoy yanked it back and hopped onto his broom. 

Just then, a familiar voice called out from the distance. 

"Did I hear someone say my name? Malfoy, I suggest you stay right where you are." 

At the sound of Edward's voice, Malfoy's legs wobbled. He pushed off the ground and shot into the air. 

Wasn't he supposed to be with Dumbledore? How's he back so soon?! 

But up in the air, Malfoy felt safer. On the ground, facing Edward was one thing, but up here, he could mock Potter and Weasley all he wanted. 

"How about the roof? What's wrong, Potter? Can't reach?" 

Malfoy balanced on his broom with one hand, tossing the Remembrall with the other, his face full of mockery. 

Harry's expression darkened as he grabbed a broom. 

"You're mad, Harry! You can't! Think of what Madam Hooch said!" Hermione shouted. "Edward, stop him!" 

But Harry wasn't listening. Even if Edward—or Dumbledore or McGonagall—were standing there, he was determined to get Neville's Remembrall back. 

Especially since it was Malfoy holding it. 

With a whoosh, Harry shot into the sky like an arrow. 

Edward, hurrying over from the castle, looked up at the two boys facing off in midair, feeling a bit exasperated. 

He knew exactly what was going through their heads. 

Malfoy was the usual troublemaker—always needing to stir things up and pick on someone to feel important. 

He seemed confident, but his jealousy ran deep. 

This was too good an opportunity for him to pass up. 

As for Harry, he had a strong sense of justice, but if it wasn't Malfoy up there taunting him, he wouldn't have ignored Madam Hooch's warning and rushed into the air. 

Still, despite Harry's wobbly flying, Edward wasn't worried. From the way Harry had shot up, his talent clearly outshone Malfoy's. 

Edward's concern now was how to defuse this situation—ideally before Madam Hooch returned, so neither of them got expelled. 

Or worse, ended up like Neville—or a second or third Neville. 

But the two boys in the sky showed no signs of backing down. They were already making their moves.