Chapter Twenty-Two: An Unexpected Incident in the Flying Lesson

"Prepare for the test flight!" Professor Plenton raised his right hand with flair, pointing his index finger toward the sky.

The young wizards stood motionless, simply staring at his pose. Only then did the professor realize he had forgotten to explain the takeoff procedure.

He quietly lowered his finger, cleared his throat awkwardly, and said, "Ah, a professional habit. First, you all need to build rapport with your broomsticks."

"Face your broomsticks and say, 'Up!' Remember, speak with genuine feeling so it can sense your sincerity!"

The young wizards quickly began chattering, each using the tone they believed to be the most heartfelt—some gentle, some dramatic, some brimming with energy—yet very few brooms responded. Soon, those "deeply emotional" tones turned into shouts and shrieks.

Shevon noticed that next to him, Abu managed to summon his broom into his hand with just two easy calls of "Up!" Professor Plenton happily awarded him five points. On the opposite side, a Hufflepuff student also quickly retrieved his broom.

Shevon cast a somewhat disdainful glance at the old, worn broom lying in front of him on the ground, and, rather reluctantly, uttered, "Up."

The flying broomstick, sensing his lack of enthusiasm, merely twitched on the ground before falling still.

Shevon's expression soured. This time, he tried earnestly, calling out, "Up," in a gentler tone.

The broomstick responded, but seemed to lack energy; it rose only to Shevon's waist before beginning to sag. Sensing trouble, Shevon reacted quickly and grabbed it.

"Oh, young Slytherin, you must establish true rapport with your broom," Professor Plenton came over at that moment, saying, "Reaching down to grab it won't do; it should fly into your hand on its own."

He instructed Shevon to set the broom down and try again.

Shevon had no choice but to comply, all the while comparing it in his mind to the Silver Arrow broom at home, growing increasingly dissatisfied.

In fact, Shevon had already learned to fly at home. His mother, Sandrine, never treated him like an ordinary child and let him try all sorts of dangerous things. While other parents forbade their children from even touching a wand, Sandrine was already teaching Shevon spells.

At home, Shevon used the finest Silver Arrow model broom, renowned for its speed and responsiveness—any wizard with a hint of flying talent could master it easily. This made Shevon rather oblivious to the difficulties others might have, assuming all brooms responded instantly to their masters. But today, the school's old broomstick had thoroughly shattered that illusion.

Taking a deep breath, Shevon composed himself and called out firmly, "Up!"

This time, the broomstick flew obediently into his hand, and he let out a heavy sigh of relief.

"Not bad," Professor Plenton nodded approvingly before moving on to check the progress of the others.

It seemed that seeing the professor's attention drawn by Shevon's mistake, a few of Plenton's young admirers got ideas of their own; one after another, they began making deliberate errors, hoping to draw the professor over for guidance. The trend quickly spread, keeping the professor thoroughly occupied.

While Professor Plenton hurried from student to student correcting their form, Shevon and Abu, having already secured their brooms, found themselves with nothing to do and struck up a conversation.

"Shevon, what kind of broom do you usually use?" Abu asked.

"I don't fly much," Shevon replied. "I've only ever ridden a Silver Arrow."

Abu nodded in agreement. "I like the Silver Arrow too. I think it's the best broom of all the models!"

Shevon wasn't particularly interested in flying broomsticks. The idea of straddling a stick seemed uncomfortable to him, and he much preferred the floating cloak kept in the Sanctum—it could fly, looked stylish, and doubled as armor. Truly the best of all worlds!

'What a pity I didn't manage to steal it away that time,' he thought with some regret.

"Looks like Mobley still hasn't managed it," Shevon said, deftly steering the conversation away from brooms when he saw Abu eager to continue the topic.

Abu perked up immediately, turning to watch their roommate, who was still locked in a battle of wits with his broom. With delight, he said, "I knew it! You guys never want to come to the Quidditch pitch with me. You're always busy, that's understandable. Gomez has never touched a broom, fair enough. But Mobley—he just hates flying because he has no talent for it. Hahaha…"

"Shut up, Abu!" Mobley shouted, his face flushed crimson with embarrassment and anger.

Abraxas was entirely unbothered, only laughing even harder.

...

After much chaos, the flying lesson was halfway over before all the young wizards finally had their brooms in hand—though Shevon had spotted several who cheated by simply picking theirs up off the ground.

Pressed for time, Professor Plenton dispensed with further ceremony and instructed everyone to mount their broomsticks.

"Remember, you may only fly within the area I've marked, and you must not exceed two meters in height. Anyone who breaks the rules will be punished," he stressed.

Abu, who could hardly wait, immediately mounted his broom, shot upward, and soared off with practiced ease.

"Well done, Mr. Malfoy," Professor Plenton praised him at first, then his tone turned stern. "However, you must remember, you've already exceeded the height limit. Slytherin, minus one point!"

Though it was only a symbolic deduction, Abu's spirits clearly fell as he brought himself down to the proper height.

Shevon also mounted his broom, gently tilted the handle upward, and rose smoothly into the air.

‘Good thing I haven't completely forgotten how to fly, or that would have been embarrassing,’ he thought with relief.

By now, most of the young wizards were airborne, wobbling awkwardly as they moved about. Even Gomez, who had never touched a broom before, was in the air, albeit clumsily. Only Mobley remained grounded.

Mobley stood with his legs astride the broom, gripping the handle until the veins stood out on his arms, his face red with effort.

The sight was so comical that the students in the air burst out laughing, Abu loudest of all.

Mobley's face grew so red it seemed he might burst. At last, unable to endure the ridicule any longer, he squeezed his eyes shut, pushed off hard with his legs, and shot into the air.

"Wow, not bad!" Shevon, thinking Mobley deserved a little encouragement, applauded him.

But he quickly realized something was wrong—Mobley seemed unable to control his broom at all. He flew higher and faster, shrinking rapidly into a tiny black dot against the sky.

"This is bad, Mobley's in danger!" Shevon suddenly realized, glancing quickly toward Professor Plenton. "Professor!"

Professor Plenton reacted instantly, grabbing his own broomstick and speeding upward, aiming to intercept Mobley from above.

Seeing this, the young wizards below fell silent, their laughter gone. All eyes were fixed anxiously on the shrinking figure in the sky, not even sparing a glance for Professor Plenton's impressive flying skills.

"Shevon, do you think Mobley will be all right?" Abu and Gomez flew over, worry etched on their faces.

Shevon didn't answer; he simply gazed skyward, his expression growing graver, the deep blue of his eyes turning glassy.

"This is bad!" he cried out.

...