Flying class was the only truly outdoor course at Hogwarts. It took place far beyond the west tower—follow the path and you’d eventually reach the Quidditch Pitch.
In terms of appearance and layout, it looked somewhat similar to a Muggle football stadium. Simply put, it was like a football field, only several times larger.
After all, this was a field designed for broomstick flying. Just one Silver Arrow, with a tailwind, could reach speeds of up to 70 miles per hour. If the pitch weren’t large enough, it would only take seconds for the Chasers to reach the opposing hoops and score.
...
A gentle breeze.
Clear skies.
Flying class.
Quidditch Pitch.
It was the perfect day for riding a broomstick—sunny, breezy, and bright.
As Draco and the others made their way down the sloped lawn toward the flat grassy area across the pitch, the blades of grass rippled softly beneath their feet. Beyond the grass lay the Forbidden Forest, its shadowy trees swaying ominously in the wind.
It was said that all kinds of magical creatures lived within those woods...
Even though Draco wasn’t remotely looking forward to flying class, his classmates clearly didn’t share his indifference. It seemed that not even the ever-composed Slytherins could resist the allure of flying.
Without realizing it, Draco began to relax a little too.
"Honestly, getting out in weather like this isn’t such a bad thing..."
Just as that thought crossed his mind, a loud commotion broke through the air.
Having spent some time with them already, Draco didn’t need to look to know who had arrived. It was Gryffindor, of course—always loud, always full of energy—and the same group of little lions they always shared classes with.
Sure enough, the moment their groups locked eyes, it was with that mutual “Ugh, not you again” expression.
Before anything else could unfold, a silver-haired witch strode into view from the center of the field.
“All right! What are you all standing around for?”
“Everyone, get beside a broomstick!”
“Quickly now! Don’t waste time!”
The witch, broomstick in hand and issuing firm instructions, was none other than the Hogwarts flying instructor—Rolanda Hooch.
...
Though Draco hadn’t expected much from flying class, he’d at least hoped the brooms would be in decent condition.
But the moment he saw the ones lying in the grass, the corners of his mouth twitched involuntarily.
“Are these antiques?”
He seriously doubted whether the broom in front of him was even safe. It looked like it might be several centuries old—and might just fall apart midair.
Leaning down for a closer look, Draco noted that the broom wasn’t just old—it was a disaster. The twigs at the tail end were sticking out at odd angles, completely unkempt, and the handle was so worn down that whatever markings or words had once been carved there were now long gone.
This definitely didn’t match any model of flying broomstick he knew.
Was it a counterfeit?
Draco had serious doubts...
“That Greatest Wizard—don’t tell me he’s been embezzling the school’s funds?!”
Ahem.
Probably only Draco would have the nerve to say something like that about the Headmaster.
It may have just been a joke, but he didn’t bother to lower his voice. The nearby Slytherins immediately gave him a strange look.
Pansy, standing beside him, could only cover her face in dismay. Even she knew full well just how revered the Hogwarts Headmaster was in the wizarding world...
Sure enough, across the field, the Gryffindors were glaring at Draco Malfoy with expressions that clearly said, “How dare you!”
Thankfully, Professor Hooch hadn’t heard him. Otherwise, even if she didn’t punish him outright, Draco would definitely have lost house points.
After all, Headmaster or not, Dumbledore was still technically Draco’s superior...
Of course, not all young wizards understood what it meant to call someone “the greatest wizard of our time.”
For example, Hermione—who didn’t think Draco was such a bad person—actually found a bit of logic in what he’d said.
“If you think about it, the equipment used in class really shouldn’t be this run-down.”
She didn’t know much about broomsticks, but on closer inspection, Draco wasn’t wrong.
Just as Hermione frowned and began to ponder it further, a brave little lion stepped forward and pointed directly at Draco’s nose.
“Professor Hooch! Malfoy just insulted Headmaster Dumbledore!”
“Harry, you heard it too, right?”
“Ah... um... yeah, I heard it.”
...
After a long, collective silence, it was Pansy who reacted first.
“You disgrace to pure-bloods!”
The way she bristled with anger made it look like she might whip out her wand and curse Weasley on the spot.
Although... it wasn’t entirely clear if that “pure-blood disgrace” was aimed at Ron Weasley or Harry Potter.
Next to move were Draco’s two hulking bodyguards—Goyle and Crabbe.
“Draco, can I punch him?”
“Hmph, let’s go together. Potter’s yours. I’ll take Weasley.”
No one quite knew why Harry Potter had been dragged into it, but Goyle and Crabbe clenched their fists and stepped forward.
In that instant, Ron backed off in a hurry, quickly withdrawing the hand he had pointed at Draco.
It wasn’t the scowls on Goyle and Crabbe’s faces that scared him, nor was it Pansy’s adorably angry expression.
It was the aura around Draco himself.
Especially those calm, steely gray eyes.
They gave off the unsettling feeling that they might just swallow someone whole...