human again / hp.

Chapter 8

The afternoon sun bathed the Hogwarts grounds as the Gryffindor and Slytherin first-years stood in two neat rows, their brooms lying flat on the grass beside them. Excitement and nervousness buzzed through the group. Celeste's heart raced, but not with apprehension—she loved flying. It was one of the few things that made her feel free, unshackled from the heavy expectations of her family.

Madam Hooch, a stern-looking woman with sharp yellow eyes and short-cropped hair, strode confidently along the line of students.

"Good afternoon, class," she greeted, her voice crisp.

"Good afternoon, Madam Hooch," the students responded, their voices a mix of eagerness and dread.

"Welcome to your first flying lesson. Well, what are you waiting for? Everyone step up to the left side of their broomstick. Come on now, hurry up." Her hawk-like gaze swept over the students, who fumbled to get into position. Celeste suppressed a grin, already feeling at home in the lesson.

"Stick your right hand over the broom and say, 'Up.'"

The class echoed, "Up!" with varying levels of success. Harry's broom shot straight into his hand on the first try, and he looked at it in awe. Celeste noticed Hermione glancing enviously at him. Draco's broom followed suit, landing confidently in his palm, and he shot Harry a smug grin. Ron, meanwhile, struggled.

"Up!" he shouted again, and his broom sprang upward—only to smack him hard in the nose.

"Ow!" Ron cried, clutching his face as Harry laughed. "Shut up, Harry!" But even Ron couldn't help laughing a moment later, his embarrassment diffusing into amusement.

Celeste's broom flew into her hand with ease, and she allowed herself a satisfied smile. Flying was the one thing she was confident she could excel at, even under the sharp gaze of Madam Hooch.

Once everyone had their brooms in hand, Madam Hooch instructed them on how to mount. "Grip it tight. You don't want to be sliding off the end. When I blow my whistle, I want you to kick off from the ground, hard. Keep your broom steady, hover for a moment, then lean forward slightly and touch back down. On my whistle."

Celeste mounted her broom with practiced ease, stealing a glance at Harry, who looked both determined and nervous. When Madam Hooch blew the whistle, everyone pushed off the ground—except for Neville, who rocketed into the sky, his broom surging uncontrollably.

"Mr. Longbottom!" Madam Hooch's voice cut through the air as the students gasped.

"Neville, come back down!" Hermione shouted, worry etched across her face.

Neville's cries echoed as he soared higher, zigzagging wildly. "Help! Down! Down!" His broom jerked toward the castle wall, scraping against the stone before veering off toward a tower. The students scattered as he swooped past them, Madam Hooch's wand flashing as she tried to intercept him.

Neville's broom hooked on a statue, flipping him off. He dangled precariously for a moment before the fabric of his robes tore. With a cry, he tumbled to the ground, landing with a painful thud.

Madam Hooch rushed to his side. "Everyone out of the way!" She knelt beside him, examining his wrist. "It's broken," she said briskly, helping him to his feet. "Come on, up you get. Everyone's to stay on the ground until I return. If I see a single broom in the air, you'll be out of Hogwarts faster than you can say Quidditch."

As she led a sniffling Neville away, Celeste noticed Draco stooping to pick up something Neville had dropped—a glass ball with swirling mist inside.

"Did you see his face?" my Twin sneered, holding up the Remembrall. "Maybe if the fat lump had given this a squeeze, he'd have remembered to fall properly."

Celeste felt a surge of irritation but held her tongue. Beside her, Harry stepped forward.

"Give it here, Malfoy."

Draco smirked. "No, I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find." He mounted his broom and kicked off, hovering smugly above the group. "How about on the roof?"

Harry's fists clenched. "Give it back, Malfoy!"

"What's the matter, Potter? Bit beyond your reach?" Draco taunted, tossing the Remembrall into the air and catching it lazily.

Celeste saw Harry's resolve harden. He mounted his broom, but before he could take off, Hermione grabbed his arm. "Harry, no! You heard Madam Hooch. Besides, you don't even know how to fly!"

Ignoring her, Harry kicked off. The crowd of students murmured as he steadied himself midair, his face set in determination.

"Give it here, Malfoy, or I'll knock you off your broom!" Harry shouted, inching closer.

Draco grinned, tossing the ball high into the air. "Have it your way, then."

Harry shot forward, speeding toward the falling Remembrall. Celeste held her breath as he hurtled toward the castle tower. Just before the ball could smash against a window, Harry's hand closed around it.

Cheers erupted from the group as Harry swooped back down, landing smoothly. Celeste couldn't help but grin. For someone who claimed he didn't know how to fly, Harry had just pulled off a move even seasoned Quidditch players would envy.

"That was incredible!" one of the boys said, clapping Harry on the back.

"Brilliant, Harry!" another chimed in.

The celebratory atmosphere was interrupted by the sharp voice of Professor McGonagall. "Harry Potter!" she called, her tone unmistakably stern.

The crowd parted as McGonagall approached. Harry's expression shifted from triumph to apprehension. "Follow me," she ordered.

Draco and his cronies snickered as Harry trudged after her. Celeste watched him go, a knot of unease tightening in her chest. But watching Harry up there—so daring and so instinctive—she wondered if maybe, just maybe, there was more to him than only being a famous kid.