Harry Potter: Elemental Magic

Neville's peculiar experience with flying left Goyle under Madam Hooch's stern supervision, forced to sit out and rest. Even his broomstick had been relegated to a state of inactivity.

Meanwhile, Malfoy looked less than pleased, as Ron and Harry's gazes kept landing on him—whether intentionally or not.

Adding to his discomfort, Madam Hooch seemed to have her eyes on him as well, occasionally casting him scrutinizing glances.

"Now, I'll demonstrate for everyone," Madam Hooch announced.

"You not only need to learn how to summon a broomstick but also how to ride it without sliding off. Did you all get that?"

"Pay attention to how you hold the handle—it's crucial."

Her teaching was meticulous yet strict. Harry and his peers watched attentively as Madam Hooch demonstrated how to lift off, eager to try for themselves. But without her explicit command, none dared to move, fearing it might cost their house valuable points.

"Mr. Malfoy, what are you doing? Hoping to fly up and then come crashing down for the experience of shattering into pieces?" Madam Hooch scolded, approaching Malfoy.

"Pay attention to your grip, or you might lose your life," she added sharply, smacking Malfoy's hand.

Malfoy winced as pain shot through his hand, and his broomstick fell to the ground. Harry, Ron, and others stifled their laughter, struggling not to let it out loud.

With a grim expression, Malfoy quickly picked up his broomstick and adjusted his technique as instructed. Madam Hooch spared him one last glance before moving on to inspect the Gryffindors.

She praised Harry, Hermione, and Ron for their performance but frowned slightly when she reached Neville.

Neville was visibly tense, not just from Madam Hooch's presence but also from his own insecurity. His palms were sweaty, his nerves on edge.

Madam Hooch said nothing and walked away, leaving Neville to breathe a sigh of relief.

"You're all doing well," Madam Hooch announced. "When I blow the whistle, push off the ground with both feet. Make sure to kick hard!"

Her gaze swept across the students. "Hold your brooms steady, keep the handles upright. Once you rise a few feet, lean forward slightly and angle the handle downward to descend vertically. But remember—before you land, tilt the handle up slightly, or you'll have an intimate encounter with the ground. Trust me, you don't want that."

"Now, listen for my whistle. Three, two…"

Before she could say "one," Neville, too nervous to wait, kicked off prematurely, propelling himself into the air.

"Get down, Mr. Longbottom!" Madam Hooch shouted, watching Neville ascend uncontrollably.

Harry and the others stared in astonishment. Neville's flying skills were unexpectedly impressive—too impressive. Within moments, their amazement turned to alarm as they realized Neville had no control over his broomstick.

"I've got a bad feeling about this," Harry said, his expression uneasy.

"Me too," Ron muttered, worry etched across his face.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked, puzzled.

Neville, however, couldn't hear any of them. He was too panicked, clutching his broomstick as it carried him higher.

In mere seconds, Neville soared over a hundred meters, his terrified eyes fixated on the tower looming ahead. He braced himself for impact, and the crowd below instinctively closed their eyes.

Neville thought he was doomed.

But miraculously, the broomstick rebounded off the tower like a spring-loaded projectile, bouncing several times before plummeting toward the ground.

It was too steep. Too fast.

Neville's heart raced uncontrollably. The adrenaline coursing through his body left him trembling, his scream echoing as he hurtled downward.

Madam Hooch pulled out her wand, preparing to stop him. But Neville's speed made it nearly impossible to cast a timely spell.

"Move!" Harry yelled as Neville veered dangerously toward the students. Everyone scattered in panic.

Neville shot past them, darting through alleys and over rooftops, climbing higher and farther away.

Malfoy and his Slytherin cohorts burst into laughter.

"So much for the brave lion!"

"Oh, look at him—a frightened little mouse squeaking for help!"

Amid their taunts, Harry glared at Malfoy but focused on chasing after Neville with the other Gryffindors.

Meanwhile, Neville's broomstick snagged on the long spear held by a statue, leaving him dangling in midair. Just as he began to feel faint, his robes started to tear.

Hearing the fabric rip, Neville froze.

Within moments, the robe gave way entirely, and Neville plummeted once again. His descent brought him perilously close to a spiked lantern.

"Harry!" he screamed, panic-stricken.

Harry, having just emerged from the alley, saw the scene and immediately drew his wand.

"Wind, carry him!" Harry shouted.

The spell slightly slowed Neville's fall, sparing him from the lantern's sharp edges. His clothes caught on the spikes, absorbing the impact.

With one final rip, Neville fell to the ground.

"Neville!" Harry rushed forward, only to stop as Madam Hooch approached.

"Don't touch him!" she ordered, kneeling to examine Neville.

"His wrist is broken. Poor boy…" Madam Hooch sighed. "But you're lucky to be alive."

Neville lay on the ground, tears streaming down his pale face.

"Why is it always me?" he murmured.

Madam Hooch comforted him with a smile. "Don't worry, dear. Your hand will heal quickly."

She turned to the rest of the students. "Stay here and don't touch the brooms. Anyone who disobeys will regret it. I doubt anyone wants to miss Quidditch or get expelled from Hogwarts."

With that, she escorted the injured Neville to the hospital wing.

Meanwhile, Malfoy picked up Neville's Remembrall, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

"Harry, the game's about to begin," Malfoy muttered, his voice filled with menace.

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