10. Flying
With the conclusion of her Potions class, Apollyon found herself with a rare gift at Hogwarts—a free period. She decided to use this time to return to the tranquil spot by the Black Lake she had discovered that morning. The idea of working out again, not just for the physical benefits but also as a way to clear her mind and reflect on her first day at Hogwarts, appealed to her.
As she made her way through the castle and out onto the grounds, the events of the day replayed in her mind. From the moment she had woken up in her new room under the lake, to the successes and challenges of her classes, it had been a day of firsts, of stepping into the unknown and finding her place within it.
Reaching the spot by the lake, Apollyon was greeted once again by the serene beauty of her surroundings. The lake's surface was still, mirroring the sky above, and the peace of the area was undisturbed, save for the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze. She took a moment to simply breathe, to take in the calm and the quiet, before beginning her workout.
As she stretched and moved, her body responding with the familiarity of routine, her thoughts wandered. Her success in Transfiguration, under Professor McGonagall's watchful eye, had been a highlight, a confirmation of her magical abilities and her potential for growth. The challenge she faced in Charms, however, had been a reminder that the path to mastering magic was not without its hurdles. Yet, Professor Flitwick's advice about belief and confidence had struck a chord with her, offering a perspective that she knew would be valuable beyond just the confines of Charms class.
Potions with Professor Snape had been another significant moment. The tension of being paired with Blaise Zabini, a Slytherin whose initial disdain had been palpable, had given way to a mutual respect by the class's end. Blaise's subsequent offer of help in Charms was unexpected but welcome, a sign that alliances and friendships at Hogwarts could be found in the most unlikely places.
As Apollyon continued her workout, the rhythm of her movements a meditation in motion, she realized that her first day at Hogwarts had been more than just an introduction to her classes. It had been a journey into understanding the complexities of her new world, of navigating the dynamics of house rivalries and friendships, and of discovering her own strengths and areas for growth.
Her free period passed quickly, the physical exertion a perfect counterbalance to the mental and emotional challenges of the day. By the time she made her way back to the castle, Apollyon felt a renewed sense of clarity and purpose. Her first day at Hogwarts had shown her that while the road ahead would be filled with challenges, it was also ripe with opportunities for learning, for building connections, and for proving to herself and others what she was capable of.
With her mind and body refreshed, Apollyon looked forward to the rest of her week, to the spells she would cast, the potions she would brew, and the friendships she would forge.
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Morning found Apollyon once again at her tranquil sanctuary by the Black Lake, the sun casting dappled patterns of light through the leaves of the surrounding trees, dancing on the ground and the surface of the water. The castle loomed majestic and imposing in the distance, its ancient stones a silent witness to the countless students who had walked its halls, each with dreams and destinies of their own.
Today, her workout consisted of a more dynamic routine, reflective of her anticipation for the day's classes. She started with a series of stretches, feeling the pull and release in her muscles, grounding herself in the moment. The air was crisp, filled with the scents of the lake and the earth, invigorating her senses and focusing her mind.
As she transitioned into a series of cardiovascular exercises, her thoughts turned to the day ahead. First was Flying, a class that both excited and unnerved her. The prospect of soaring through the air on a broomstick, feeling the wind rush past and the freedom of the sky, was thrilling. Yet, the inherent risks and the challenge of mastering control over the broom invoked a flutter of nervousness in her stomach. She envisioned herself gliding smoothly, adeptly maneuvering through aerial drills, her focus on mastering the balance and finesse required.
Next would be Herbology, a subject that intrigued Apollyon with its blend of magical and natural sciences. The greenhouse, teeming with magical plants, each with its unique properties and uses, promised a world of discovery. She imagined the tactile experience of working with the soil and plants, the satisfaction of nurturing growth, and the thrill of learning about the potent magical properties hidden in leaves, stems, and roots. The thought of getting her hands dirty, quite literally, in the pursuit of knowledge appealed to her methodical nature.
As her workout intensified, Apollyon's thoughts shifted to the afternoon's History of Magic class. The subject, with its vast expanse of wizarding history, from ancient battles to pivotal moments that shaped the magical world, held a certain allure. Yet, she was aware of its reputation for being somewhat dry, the challenge lying in engaging with the material in a way that brought the past to life. She was determined to find the stories, the human (or magical) elements, that connected the dots across centuries, making history resonate with the present.
Her physical exertions mirrored her mental journey through the day's subjects, each movement a reflection of her readiness to embrace the challenges and opportunities each class presented. As she concluded her workout with a cool-down, stretching her limbs and slowing her breath, Apollyon felt a sense of preparedness envelop her.
The morning's exercises, both physical and mental, had served to sharpen her focus and fortify her spirit. With a final glance at the peaceful lake, a symbol of the depth and complexity of the world she was now a part of, Apollyon headed back to the castle.
The crisp morning air was charged with a mixture of excitement and apprehension as Apollyon and her classmates gathered on the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch for their first Flying lesson. The vast, open field, bordered by towering stands and the sprawling castle on one side, felt like an arena of possibilities. The ground was covered in dew, each blade of grass sparkling under the early sun, which cast long shadows of the students and the broomsticks laid out in neat rows on the grass.
Madam Hooch, their instructor, stood at the front, her eyes sharp and her demeanor no-nonsense. Her whistle hung prominently around her neck, ready to signal the start of the class. "Good morning, class!" she called out, her voice carrying clearly across the pitch. "Today, you will take your first step into the world of flying. It's important to remember that while flying can be exhilarating, it requires discipline, control, and respect for safety regulations."
Apollyon listened intently, her excitement for the class mingling with the nerves about actually lifting off the ground on a broom. She had read about flying in her textbooks, of course, but understanding the theory was vastly different from practical experience.
"Everyone, stand by your broom," Madam Hooch instructed. Apollyon took her place, her hand hovering over her assigned broom as they were taught the first command. "Up!" she said, a note of command in her voice, mimicking the confidence she had felt during her morning workout. To her relief, the broom jumped into her hand, a small victory that bolstered her confidence.
Around her, some brooms shot up eagerly, while others were more reluctant, reflecting the varied levels of confidence and command among the students. Madam Hooch demonstrated the proper way to mount the broom, emphasizing the importance of balance and the correct grip.
As the lesson progressed, the students were instructed to hover just a few inches off the ground. Apollyon kicked off with a mixture of determination and trepidation, her heart racing as she felt the broom lift beneath her. The sensation of floating, even just a short distance above the ground, was unlike anything she had ever experienced—a mix of freedom and fear, the ground suddenly a distant concern.
The class's attention was suddenly captured by an incident involving Neville Longbottom, a Gryffindor known for his lack of grace. In his eagerness, Neville kicked off too hard, losing control and shooting upwards before tumbling back to the ground in a heap. The fall was a harsh reminder of the risks involved, and Madam Hooch was quick to enforce the lesson's safety aspects, sending Neville off to the hospital wing with a warning look to the rest of the class.
It was then that Draco Malfoy, seizing an opportunity for mischief, snatched up Neville's Remembrall, which had fallen to the ground. The tension escalated as Harry Potter, driven by a sense of justice and perhaps a bit of recklessness inherited from his father, confronted Draco.
The confrontation between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy on the Quidditch pitch captured the attention of every student present. Draco, with a smirk, dangled Neville's Remembrall just out of Harry's reach, his actions taunting and deliberate. "Looking for this, Potter?" Draco's voice dripped with disdain, his eyes glinting with the anticipation of the conflict.
Harry's response was immediate, his stance firm and his voice steady with a confidence that hinted at his upbringing in a wizarding family. "Give it back, Malfoy," Harry demanded, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. It was clear that Harry, even as a first-year, possessed a boldness reminiscent of his father's.
The students around them held their breath, sensing the tension escalating into a moment that would be recounted for days to come. Eleanor Potter, Harry's sister, stood a short distance away, her expression a mixture of concern and admiration for her brother's courage. "Be careful, Harry," she called out, her voice barely audible over the murmurs of their classmates. Her loyalty to her brother was evident, yet she couldn't hide the worry that shadowed her features.
Draco, sensing an audience for his antics, decided to up the stakes. With a quick, mocking bow, he threw the Remembrall into the air, far across the pitch, his actions challenging Harry to retrieve it. "Go on, then, Potter. Let's see if you're as good as your father was."
The crowd gasped, the throw seemingly putting the Remembrall out of reach. But Harry, without hesitation, mounted his broom with a grace that belied his inexperience and took off after it, his movements fluid and assured. The students watched in awe as Harry soared through the air, his focus singular on the task at hand.
Eleanor, along with the rest of the class, watched her brother's retreating figure with a mix of fear and pride. Her fists clenched at her sides, she whispered, "You've got this, Harry," her faith in her brother unwavering despite the dangerous impromptu challenge.
The moment Harry Potter caught the Remembrall, mid-air, and made his graceful descent back to the ground, the Quidditch pitch erupted into cheers and applause from the watching students. His daring feat, performed with a natural skill that many seasoned flyers would envy, marked him as someone extraordinary, even in a world where magic was the norm.
However, the celebration was short-lived. No sooner had Harry landed than the stern figure of Professor McGonagall came storming across the pitch, her robes billowing behind her in her haste. The atmosphere tensed immediately; the students' excited chatter died down as they anticipated the inevitable reprimand for Harry's rule-breaking stunt.
"Mr. Potter!" McGonagall's voice cut through the silence, sharp and commanding. The crowd parted to let her through, her gaze fixed on Harry, who stood, still clutching the Remembrall, a mix of defiance and apprehension on his face. Eleanor, standing close by, watched the scene unfold with a worried expression, her earlier pride overshadowed by concern for her brother's impending scolding.
"An impressive catch, indeed," McGonagall began, her tone icy, "but completely reckless and against school rules. You know full well that first-year students are not permitted to fly without supervision." Her disappointment was palpable, a stark contrast to the awe and admiration Harry had just moments ago inspired in his peers.
Harry met McGonagall's gaze, his earlier confidence wavering under her scrutiny. "I—It was Malfoy, Professor," he started, glancing towards Draco, who watched the scene with a smug expression, seemingly unfazed by the trouble he had instigated.
McGonagall's eyes flickered towards Draco for a brief moment before returning to Harry. "That may be, Mr. Potter, but it does not excuse your actions. You could have seriously injured yourself or others."
The students watched in silent anticipation, expecting Harry to be given detention or worse. However, McGonagall's next words took everyone by surprise. "However," she continued, her expression softening slightly, "your talent cannot be ignored. Follow me, Mr. Potter. We need to discuss the proper outlet for your... abilities."
With that, McGonagall turned on her heel, expecting Harry to follow. The crowd parted once again, allowing them through, their whispers and murmurs resuming as they speculated about Harry's fate. Eleanor quickly squeezed Harry's shoulder, a silent gesture of support, before he hurried after McGonagall, leaving the pitch and the still-buzzing crowd behind.
As they disappeared from view, the students were left to wonder and gossip about the unexpected turn of events. Harry Potter's first flying lesson had not only showcased his remarkable skill but had also changed the course of his Hogwarts journey, all under the watchful eyes of his classmates and the stern yet perceptive Professor McGonagall.