The uncanny encounter

The Boy who Flew

The morning dawned bright and clear, the sun hanging low in the sky as the Gryffindors made their way to their first flying lesson. Harry's heart pounded with a mix of excitement and anxiety. He had never flown before—never even been near a broomstick that wasn't being used for cleaning. Yet, despite his nerves, he felt a surge of anticipation. For once, he felt like he might be about to experience something truly magical.

They assembled in the courtyard, the crisp morning air alive with the chatter of students. Brooms lay in neat rows on the grass, each looking more battered and older than the last. Madam Hooch, their flying instructor, strode in front of them, her short gray hair ruffled by the wind.

"Welcome to your first flying lesson," Madam Hooch announced. "Step up to the left side of your broomstick. Come on, now. Stick out your right hand and say 'Up!'"

Harry hesitated for a moment before shouting, "Up!" His broom jumped into his hand immediately, and he felt a thrill of excitement run through him. This was something he might actually be good at.

Beside him, Ron's broom shot up too, though a bit less enthusiastically. Harry couldn't help but grin; for the first time since arriving at Hogwarts, he felt something other than confusion or unease.

Madam Hooch continued, demonstrating how to mount the broom and take off safely. Harry followed her instructions carefully, nerves and excitement building in equal measure. He glanced around and caught Draco's eye. The blonde boy smirked, a glint of mischief in his gaze.

When Madam Hooch finally blew her whistle, the students kicked off from the ground, and Harry felt the broom lift beneath him. For a moment, panic gripped him, but then he realized—he was flying. Really flying. The ground was falling away beneath him, and the rush of wind against his face was exhilarating.

He had never felt so free in his life.

But then, out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Neville wobble and then plummet to the ground with a yell. A sharp thud followed, and the class gasped. Madam Hooch rushed over to Neville, who was clutching his wrist in pain.

"Everyone out of the way!" she ordered. "None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are, or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.'"

As she escorted Neville away, Draco's eyes fell on something on the ground—a small, glass ball. Neville's Remembrall. Draco's face lit up with a grin as he swooped down and snatched it up. "Oh, look," he drawled loudly. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him."

"Give it here, Malfoy," Harry said, narrowing his eyes. He hadn't liked Draco from the start, but this—taunting Neville when he was already hurt—was too much.

Draco smirked, tossing the Remembrall up in the air and catching it again. "I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find—how about up a tree?"

Harry felt a surge of anger, and before he could stop himself, he kicked off from the ground, shooting up after Draco. The world blurred around him, and all he could think was that he needed to catch up, to stop Draco from tormenting Neville any further.

Draco glanced back and saw Harry gaining on him. "Think you can catch me, Potter?" he taunted, speeding up.

Harry leaned forward, urging his broom faster, the wind whipping against his face. He reached out, stretching his fingers toward the Remembrall in Draco's hand. Closer, closer... He lunged forward and snatched the glass ball out of the air, feeling a rush of triumph as his fingers closed around it.

He had done it! He had—

But then he saw something—a shadow at the edge of his vision, a figure standing near the entrance to the castle grounds. His heart stopped. For a split second, he thought he saw Dudley standing there, his face twisted into a cruel grin. Harry's breath caught in his throat, and his grip on the broom faltered. Panic surged through him, the wind roaring in his ears as the ground seemed to tilt beneath him.

He was slipping. The broom shuddered under him, and he felt himself tipping sideways, his hand gripping the Remembrall tighter even as his other hand lost its grip on the broom.

But before he could fall, something strange happened—a sudden, invisible force seemed to steady the broom beneath him. Harry blinked, confused, his heart still racing. He glanced over at Draco, who had his wand out, his lips moving silently.

Draco had cast a spell—he had helped him.

Harry's mind raced as he tried to process this. Draco's face was a mask of indifference, but there was something in his eyes—something that looked almost like concern. Harry gripped his broom tightly again and descended slowly, feeling his heart hammer in his chest.

When he landed, the rest of the Gryffindors erupted in cheers. Ron whooped, clapping him on the back. "You did it, Harry! That was brilliant! Did you see the look on Malfoy's face?"

Harry forced a smile, still trying to make sense of what had just happened. He didn't know what to say. Everyone around him seemed to think he had won some kind of victory, but all he could think about was that brief moment when he had seen Dudley's face—or thought he had—and the way Draco had helped him without a word.

"Nice one, Harry!" Seamus shouted, and Dean Thomas joined in, "Yeah, way to show Malfoy who's boss!"

But Harry's gaze drifted back to Draco, who had landed a few feet away and was watching him with an inscrutable expression. Their eyes met for a brief moment, and Harry gave a small nod, a silent acknowledgment of what Draco had done. Draco's lips twitched slightly—was that the hint of a smile? —but then he turned away, his usual mask of arrogance back in place.

Madam Hooch returned, her face stern. "What on earth is going on here?" she demanded, but before anyone could answer, Professor McGonagall came striding across the field, her expression tight.

"Potter! Come with me, please," she said, her voice clipped.

Harry gulped but followed, the Remembrall still clutched in his hand. He cast one last glance back at Draco, who watched him go with that same unreadable look.

As Harry was led away, his mind raced. Why had he thought he'd seen Dudley? And why had Draco helped him? There were too many questions, too many things he didn't understand. But one thing was clear—whatever was happening between him and Draco Malfoy, it wasn't what he had expected.