The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the Hogwarts grounds as the first-year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs gathered for their flying lesson. Harry stood among his housemates, the breeze stirring the grass as they made their way onto the Quidditch pitch. In front of them, a neat row of brooms awaited.
Flying had never been something Harry had paid much attention to during his travels with Grindelwald. He had experienced far more sophisticated modes of magical transportation—enchanted carpets, winged beasts, and other methods that rendered broomsticks rather obsolete. Still, this was part of the curriculum, and Harry rarely dismissed an opportunity to observe and learn.
Madam Hooch, her sharp gaze taking in the assembled students, approached with purpose. Her golden eyes flicked from one student to another. "Alright, first-years, line up by a broom," she commanded, her voice carrying easily across the open air. "Let's see how you handle yourselves in the sky."
Harry stood beside his broom, a few Hufflepuff students lining up next to the Ravenclaws. He noticed the eager faces of some—like Susan Bones and Justin Finch-Fletchley—and the nervous ones of others. The Hufflepuffs were largely mild-mannered, but their curiosity about flying was palpable.
Madam Hooch positioned herself at the front. "Extend your hand over your broom and say 'Up!' Let's go!"
A chorus of voices followed her command, filling the air with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Some brooms shot straight into their owners' hands, while others lay lifeless on the ground. A few wobbled as if caught in a breeze.
"Up," Harry said calmly, extending his hand over the broom. His tone was steady, without a hint of the eagerness or anxiety others seemed to project. The broom responded immediately, rising smoothly into his grasp as though it had been waiting for him.
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw a few students struggling. Justin Finch-Fletchley's broom rolled over on the ground like a stubborn log, while Michael Corner's twitched feebly, half-heartedly dragging itself into his grip.
Madam Hooch nodded approvingly at Harry's effortless command of the broom. "Good control, Potter," she said, a note of curiosity in her voice. "Now, mount your brooms, everyone. Firmly, but don't grip too tightly."
The students mounted their brooms, some with more confidence than others. Harry settled onto his broom with the same calculated detachment. Just another task, another skill to master.
"On my whistle, kick off from the ground. Fly for a moment and then come back down—steady and controlled. No showing off."
The sharp trill of Madam Hooch's whistle cut through the air, and the students kicked off.
The sky opened up around Harry as his broom lifted off the ground. For a moment, he hovered, taking in the sensation of flight. Despite his initial disinterest in brooms, there was something oddly freeing about it. The world below stretched out, the green fields a blur beneath his feet. It wasn't like flying on a carpet—this was more raw, more exposed.
He noticed a few of the other students wobbling dangerously in the air. Justin, in particular, was struggling to keep his balance. Harry's broom remained perfectly steady, responding to the subtlest shifts in his body.
Madam Hooch's voice called up from below, directing students to keep control and avoid jerky movements. Harry glanced at the other first-years, his mind already assessing the situation. Most of them were doing poorly—flailing their arms or gripping the broom too tightly, trying to compensate for their lack of control.
Then, unexpectedly, Justin's broom jerked wildly to the side, veering off course. He let out a yelp, his hands losing their grip on the handle. Before anyone could react, Justin tumbled off the broom, plummeting toward the ground.
Without thinking, Harry leaned forward and shot toward Justin. His broom responded instantly to his command, cutting through the air with ease. The world blurred around him as he reached Justin just before he hit the ground. Harry grabbed the back of Justin's robes and pulled him up, slowing their descent until both boys touched down lightly on the grass.
Madam Hooch blew her whistle again, storming over to them, her expression torn between shock and anger. "What in Merlin's name was that?"
Harry dismounted calmly. "He fell," he said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"I saw that!" Madam Hooch snapped, but then her gaze softened as she looked at Justin, who was still trembling. "Are you hurt, Finch-Fletchley?"
Justin shook his head, wide-eyed. "No, I'm... I'm fine. Potter saved me."
Hooch turned back to Harry, her eyes narrowing slightly, but there was no denying the boy's reflexes had been impressive. "That was risky," she said sternly, "but quick thinking. Five points to Ravenclaw."
The Ravenclaws murmured amongst themselves, impressed, while the Hufflepuffs seemed relieved that Justin hadn't been hurt. Harry, however, remained indifferent to the points. He wasn't here for accolades.
As the lesson wrapped up, Madam Hooch gave instructions for them to practice steady flying. Harry mounted his broom once more, rising into the air with fluid grace. The lesson was useful, after all. Control, balance, and awareness—all things that could be mastered, and Harry was always one to master a skill, no matter how mundane.
—
Draco Malfoy walked briskly down the hall, his mind swirling with the rumors about Harry Potter. Snape had been humiliated in front of the entire class, and the leading theory was that Potter had Confounded him—possibly wandlessly. Draco felt a surge of anger as he thought about it. Snape was his Head of House, and no first-year, not even the so-called Boy Who Lived, had any right to pull that kind of stunt.
Crabbe and Goyle lumbered along beside him, casting their usual intimidating shadows, but Draco barely noticed them. His thoughts were on Potter—on how he had looked so sure of himself at Madam Malkin's, how he had spoken with that insufferable calm. This time, Draco wouldn't let him get away with it.
"There he is," Draco muttered, spotting Potter walking alone, just outside the Great Hall.
"Potter!" Draco called, his voice sharp.
Harry paused at the base of the stairs and turned, his face as composed as ever. His gaze flicked over Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle, but there was no fear or even surprise in his eyes. Just calm.
Draco strode forward, his heart beating faster than he'd like to admit. "I've heard some interesting things about you in Potions," he said, keeping his tone controlled.
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"
"People are saying you Confounded Snape," Draco said, his eyes narrowing. "How did you do it? Wandlessly?"
Harry didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. "What happened in Potions is none of your concern."
Crabbe and Goyle stepped closer, their large frames looming over Harry. Crabbe cracked his knuckles, while Goyle gave a menacing grunt, but Harry's attention barely flickered to them. Instead, he focused on Draco, as though they weren't even worth acknowledging.
Draco felt a surge of frustration. This was supposed to be the moment where Potter realized he wasn't untouchable. Where he learned that messing with Slytherins, with his House, had consequences.
"You think you're so clever, don't you?" Draco said, stepping closer. "But you're not fooling anyone. You—"
Before Draco could finish, Harry's hand twitched ever so slightly, and suddenly, Crabbe's feet lifted off the ground. The large boy let out a startled yelp as he was jerked upward by invisible forces, his arms flailing helplessly.
Goyle, ever the brute, moved as if to grab Harry, but before he could even take a step, his legs locked in place. He stumbled, looking down in confusion as his feet refused to obey him. It was as if the ground itself had turned to stone beneath him.
Draco's heart leapt into his throat. What shocked him most wasn't that Crabbe was floating or that Goyle was immobilized—it was the fact that Harry hadn't even taken out his wand. He had done all of this without a single incantation, without more than a slight gesture of effort.
And then it hit Draco. His hand hadn't even moved toward his own wand.
How did I not think to take it out?
Draco prided himself on not being a brute like Crabbe or Goyle, but here he was, standing empty-handed while Potter—who hadn't even broken a sweat—had already outmaneuvered all three of them.
Harry stepped forward, his eyes cold and sharp. "Here's some advice, Malfoy," he said quietly, his voice deadly calm. "Don't try to pick fights with people you don't understand."
Crabbe let out another helpless yelp as he wobbled midair, arms flailing, while Goyle struggled uselessly against the invisible bind holding his legs in place.
Draco opened his mouth to retort, but the words caught in his throat. His hand twitched toward his wand, but now it felt pointless. The intimidation he'd planned had completely backfired. Potter was standing there, calm as ever, in complete control, without even drawing a wand.
With a dismissive flick of his fingers, Harry released them. Crabbe dropped to the ground with a thud, and Goyle stumbled forward, regaining control of his legs. Both boys looked shaken and confused.
Harry didn't spare them a second glance. He turned on his heel and walked up the stairs, leaving Draco standing there, his face flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and anger.
Crabbe groaned, rubbing his back where he'd landed. "What just happened?"
Draco clenched his fists. He had come here to confront Potter, but now all he felt was the sting of humiliation. The worst part wasn't that Crabbe and Goyle had been outmaneuvered—it was that Draco hadn't even thought to fight back with his own magic. He had been frozen, unsure, while Potter had acted without hesitation.
This wasn't over. Next time, he'd be ready.
But as Draco watched Harry disappear into the shadows, he couldn't help but wonder if he would ever be ready to face someone like Potter.
—
That evening, Harry stretched back in bed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. The encounter with Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle played back in his mind like a favorite memory—one that had ended with them thoroughly outmatched and scrambling to regain their dignity.
He let out a quiet chuckle. "Wandless Confounding Charm, huh?" He shook his head. "Merlin's beard, I couldn't Confund a toad wandlessly if I tried."
He drummed his fingers on the armrest, remembering the wide-eyed look on Draco's face when Crabbe started floating and Goyle got stuck to the floor. Of course, none of them realized he hadn't used any actual spells. Just a bit of telekinesis he'd picked up in Africa—a skill that made wizards who were overly reliant on their wands look like children fumbling with toys.
"Wandless charms and jinxes, though." Harry grinned to himself at the absurdity. Perhaps in a decade, but he was still far too young, even with his prodigious talent. "Let them think it," he chuckled.
It amused him to no end how quickly the Hogwarts rumor mill spun its webs. One little nudge, and the whispers would soon turn into tall tales about how Harry Potter could cast spells without a wand, by just twitching his fingers. And all it had taken was a trivial application of telekinesis to simulate Levicorpus and Locomotor Mortis.
The best part? They'd believe it. All because of his reputation, the Boy Who Lived, and that one little incident with Snape.
There was a gleeful satisfaction in letting the rumors fester, letting them fill in the gaps with exaggerated details. As far as anyone knew, Harry Potter had Confounded Snape without breaking a sweat.
He raised his hand, looking at it thoughtfully. "Still... wandless Confounding Charm," he mused, giving his fingers a theatrical wiggle. "Maybe I should learn it. Just to keep up appearances."
The idea of actually mastering the spells that everyone thought he could do amused him to no end. His eyes gleamed mirthfully as he stood up, stretching. There was something delightful about playing the game, about being the puppeteer while the rest of Hogwarts tried to figure out what strings he was pulling.
"Honestly, Malfoy," he said aloud to the empty room, "if you're going to confront me, at least have the decency to bring a wand to the party."
He could almost imagine the look on Draco's face, that mixture of fear and indignation when he realized he'd never even thought to draw his own wand. A First-Year from a prestigious Pure-blood family, frozen in place by his own ignorance.
It was almost too easy. And yet, Harry didn't mind easy now and then. It was a nice change of pace from the more dangerous games he'd played with Grindelwald.
But still, he thought, his smile fading just a touch, there was no room for mistakes. Even in these small victories, Harry had to stay ahead. The rumors, the games—it all worked in his favor for now. But Hogwarts was a different battlefield, and he wasn't going to underestimate anyone, not even Draco Malfoy.
With a final glance out the window, Harry turned back toward the desk where his books waited. There was still so much to learn, and he wasn't about to let even the smallest opportunity slip by.
"All in a day's work," he muttered, a glint of humor still lingering in his eyes.