20: Chapter 20 Restraint in Flight Lessons

Flying Class was scheduled for Thursday afternoon.

Gryffindor and Slytherin would have it together.

After this news spread in the morning, Draco's mood visibly improved.

He began polishing his broomstick care gloves after Potion Class, even though they would be using the school's old brooms in the afternoon, which had absolutely nothing to do with his gloves.

Goyle watched for a long time and asked, "If brooms can fly, why do we need to have class?"

Crabbe thought about it and said, "Maybe they're afraid it might fly the wrong way."

Draco put his gloves away, "You two speak less this afternoon."

Allen was lying on the desk catching up on sleep; he didn't even lift an eyelid when he heard this.

"Don't worry, they can embarrass themselves without even opening their mouths."

Draco choked slightly, "Aren't you nervous?"

"Will being nervous make the broom fly higher?"

"At least don't fall off."

"I'll pick a lower spot to fall."

Goyle nodded, "That's a good method."

Draco looked at him, "Don't copy him."

In the afternoon, the wind on the lawn was quite strong.

A row of old broomsticks lay on the ground, their twigs messy in their own unique styles.

Madam Hooch stood in front of the line, with short gray hair and yellow eyes, looking at people as if she were scouting for unqualified Quidditch players.

"Stand on the left side of your broom," she said, "Stretch out your right hand and shout: Up."

Gryffindor and Slytherin divided into two rows.

Harry stood next to Ron.

Ron didn't look very happy; his broom was lying on the ground, its twigs sticking up as if someone had stepped on them.

Hermione stared at her broom as if she were prepared to reason with it.

Draco stood next to Allen and lowered his voice, "I'll definitely be better than Scarhead in this class."

Allen glanced at the old broom at Harry's feet.

The famous scene from the original work was about to happen.

The Chosen One's talent would soon be displayed in front of everyone.

The more Draco wanted to win, the more uncomfortable he would feel later.

"Don't speak too soon," Allen said.

Draco was unconvinced, "Flying depends on bloodline and courage."

"And other people's protagonist luck."

"What?"

"Nothing, just shout."

Madam Hooch gave the order.

"Up!"

Draco's broom jumped into his hand, the movement very crisp.

He lifted his chin, clearly satisfied.

It was the same for Harry; the broom went straight into his palm.

Ron shouted three times, and the broom rolled half a circle on the ground.

Hermione's broom moved a little, then lay back down, frustrating her into readjusting her pronunciation.

After Crabbe finished shouting, the broom hit his knee.

Goyle looked down at the unresponsive broom and asked seriously, "Is it asleep?"

Allen stretched out his right hand.

The broom at his feet actually already had a reaction.

In his Spatial Perception, the magic patterns around the wooden handle were very rough, but the levitation structure wasn't bad.

As long as he wanted to, he wouldn't even need to touch the broom; he could stabilize himself in mid-air using Spatial Displacement.

Going further, he couldn't do short-range teleportation within three meters, but hovering, emergency stops, and lateral movement—these low-level operations were not difficult for him.

The problem was, there was no need.

Performing his flying talent in front of Madam Hooch, Gryffindor, and all the first-years in Slytherin?

Too much of a loss.

Allen shouted, "Up."

The broom shook, slowly rose half a foot, and then fell back to the ground.

Draco looked over, "Did you not eat?"

"I ate, I'm sleepy."

"Does the broom think you're sleepy too?"

"It understands me."

Crabbe looked seriously at Allen's broom, "Then it's quite smart."

Draco couldn't be bothered with them and turned his head to look at Harry.

Harry held the broom, a rare spark of color on his face.

Madam Hooch began to explain the riding posture and safety essentials.

"Listen to my command. Kick off, rise a few feet, lean forward, and descend. Anyone who dares to take off without permission, I'll have them on the restricted flying list until graduation."

Neville was very nervous.

He stood on the edge of the Gryffindor line, both hands gripping the broom handle, his whole body too tense.

Allen glanced at him and withdrew his gaze.

This kid was going to fall.

Sure enough, before Madam Hooch had even blown the whistle, Neville slipped, and the broom carried him into the air.

"Longbottom! Come down!"

Neville couldn't control it at all.

The broom flew higher and higher, and a chorus of gasps rang out on the lawn.

The next second, he fell from the broom, brushed past the decorations on the wall, and hit the ground, his wrist clearly injured.

Madam Hooch hurried over, checked him, and frowned.

"I'm taking him to the Hospital Wing. Everyone stay on the ground. Anyone who dares to touch a broom will face the consequences."

She supported Neville as they left.

The lawn was quiet for a few seconds.

Then, Draco discovered the Remembrall on the ground.

It was something Neville had dropped, a small ball with red mist swirling inside.

Draco picked it up and smiled.

Ron immediately shouted, "Give it back, Malfoy!"

Draco held up the Remembrall, "Longbottom can barely stand, and he thinks he can keep track of this?"

Harry stepped out, "Give it to me."

Allen stood in the Slytherin line, not moving.

The plot was still on its original track.

Draco looked up towards the Castle, then looked at Harry.

He hadn't listened to Allen's earlier advice about not provoking Harry.

To be precise, he listened, but he couldn't help it.

The eleven-year-old young master's patience was still developing.

"Want it?" Draco mounted his broom, "Come and get it yourself."

The broom rose into the air.

He didn't fly badly.

His movements could be called skillful, at least better than most first-years.

Some people on the Slytherin side jeered, and Pansy laughed the loudest.

Harry didn't hesitate and also mounted his broom to chase after him.

Ron was anxious, "Harry! Madam Hooch said you can't fly!"

Hermione also shouted, "You'll be expelled!"

Allen changed his standing posture.

He could clearly see the two of them's route in the air.

Draco wanted to show off, not cause a real accident, so he flew high but didn't fly out of the lawn area.

Harry was stiff when he first went up, but he quickly found his balance.

Talent is sometimes very unreasonable.

Others practice for half a month; he learns it just by touching it.

Draco also noticed it.

He originally wanted to make Harry look bad, but instead, Harry got steadier and steadier as he chased, turning faster and faster.

The jeering from the Slytherin first-years on the lawn died down, while the Gryffindor side started chanting his name.

Draco couldn't save face, so he threw the Remembrall high up.

"Go get it, Potter!"

The Remembrall traced an arc and flew towards the wall of the Castle.

Harry lowered his broom and rushed out.

The speed was too fast.

Ron shouted until his throat was raw.

Hermione covered her mouth.

A few Slytherins also stopped laughing.

Allen moved his fingers inside his sleeve.

Not to save Harry.

He was just estimating the distance.

If Harry really hit the wall, he could use a very slight Spatial Displacement to push him away.

The cost was a high probability of exposure.

Fortunately, it wasn't needed.

Harry dove at the last moment, reached out to grab the Remembrall, and pulled the broom back up.

The whole set of movements was so clean it didn't look like a first-year's.

Cheers erupted on the lawn.

The Gryffindor side was the loudest.

Ron jumped up and cheered, and even Hermione breathed a sigh of relief.

No one spoke on the Slytherin side.

When Draco landed, his face was ugly.

Allen looked at him, "Satisfied?"

Draco gritted his teeth, "He just got lucky."

"You can keep thinking that."

"What do you mean?"

"It means, next time don't use your own face to pave the way for others."

Crabbe asked Goyle in a low voice, "How do you pave a road with a face?"

Goyle thought about it, "Maybe by falling on the ground."

Draco glared at them, and just as he was about to retort, Professor McGonagall hurried over from the direction of the Castle.

She called out to Harry.

Everyone thought it was over.

Hermione whispered "expelled," and Ron's face turned pale.

Before Harry was taken away by McGonagall, he glanced at Allen's side.

Allen didn't respond.

He wouldn't be expelled.

He would join the Quidditch team and become the youngest Seeker in a hundred years.

Gryffindor would lift him up, the Professor would find him a broom, and everyone's attention would remain stuck on The Chosen One.

Very good.

The brighter, the better.

After Madam Hooch returned, her expression was much worse than before she left.

She didn't mention Harry, just reorganized the team and let the remaining students continue practicing.

When it was Allen's turn, he mounted the broom.

The wooden handle vibrated, wanting to shoot up.

Allen suppressed the automatically spreading Spatial Displacement within his body and gave it only the most ordinary magical response.

The broom rose two feet.

He deliberately wobbled, his toe touched the grass, and then he fell back down.

Madam Hooch looked at him, "Potter, you're too tense. Relax."

"Alright, Madam."

Draco frowned, "You almost fell off just now?"

Allen got off the broom, "Almost."

"Are you joking?"

"Do I look like I'm good at flying?"

Draco held back for a long time, "You don't look like you can't."

"That's your problem."

Goyle rode the broom up half a foot, and just as he was happy, he tipped over onto the grass.

Crabbe went to help him and was tripped by the broom himself.

Allen watched the two roll into a ball and added, "At least I didn't do that."

Draco had been in a terrible mood, but after hearing this, he couldn't help but laugh.

When Flying Class ended, Harry still hadn't returned.

The Gryffindor side kept talking.

The atmosphere on the Slytherin side was suppressed; no one was willing to admit that what happened just now was impressive.

Draco walked beside Allen, the more he thought about it, the more uncomfortable he felt.

"Professor McGonagall definitely won't punish him."

"Hmm."

"Why?"

"Because he is useful."

Draco stopped.

Allen put the broom back on the rack, "The school doesn't just look at rules. The Professor can also do the math. Harry flies well, Gryffindor needs a Seeker, that's enough."

Draco darkened his face, "So breaking the rules can also turn into an opportunity?"

"The premise is that you can make others reluctant to punish you."

This sentence was more effective than comfort.

Draco didn't scold Harry again, at least not on the spot.

Allen walked towards the Castle, sleepiness pressing down on him, but his steps were steady.

Today's result was not bad.

Harry stole the spotlight, and he performed mediocrely.

Draco suffered a loss, just in time to learn a lesson.

As for himself, the broom only flew two feet, and the evaluation given by Madam Hooch was "needs practice."

Perfect.

Being able to fly doesn't mean you have to fly for others to see.

At Hogwarts, hiding a card is more valuable than winning a boring Flying Class.