Solara Lovegood and the Shadow of the Dragon
Chapter X: The Magic Broomstick
"Didn't go so well this time either, did it?" Hermione teased with a knowing smirk as they strolled toward the Training Grounds for their first Flying Lesson with Madam Hooch.
"No," Solara grumbled, her irritation evident after having dozed off in History of Magic again. "There's still plenty of time before the end of the school year. Perhaps I'll eventually manage to stay conscious during his lessons."
"Perhaps," Hermione said, squinting skeptically, her tone dripping with doubt.
"Enough about that dull class," Ron interjected, his face alight with excitement. "We've got flying lessons today!"
"Too true, Weasley," Solara responded, her voice laced with dry amusement. "Every once in a while, you do manage to sound rather profound."
"That's what they say," Ron replied, puffing out his chest with exaggerated pride, completely missing the sarcasm.
"That poor fool has his head in the clouds," Solara muttered under her breath, though a faint smile tugged at her lips.
"I'm sure," Hermione added, her voice carrying its own sarcastic edge.
"So," Solara began, steering the conversation back on track, "what was that little ball Longbottom got during lunch?" Her silver eyes flicked to Hermione, curiosity evident as she referenced the package received by the hapless owner of the still-missing Trevor the toad.
"Oh! That was a Remembrall!" Hermione answered eagerly. "I'm surprised you didn't know. The smoke inside turns red when you've forgotten something."
"An interesting trinket," Solara mused, arching a brow. "Does it show you what you've forgotten once the smoke clears?"
"No," Hermione replied simply.
"Then it's not so useful after all," Solara concluded, frowning.
As they approached the wide, grassy expanse of the Training Grounds, the brisk wind tousled their hair, carrying the earthy scent of the damp lawn. The chatter of their fellow first-years, already gathered in small clusters, grew more animated as they neared. On the ground before them lay a line of twenty sleek yet slightly battered broomsticks, their bristles twitching sporadically as though eager to take flight.
Madam Hooch, the flying instructor, stood at the center of the field with an air of authority. Her piercing yellow eyes, reminiscent of a hawk, swept over the group, sharp and firm. Her silver-streaked hair was pulled back tightly, and her robes bore the scuff marks of a seasoned flier. Arms crossed over her chest, she radiated a no-nonsense demeanor that commanded attention.
"How unsettling," Solara muttered with a grin, the image of her flying instructor holding such a stance and gaze, reminiscent of one she would often take when she was Queen, in moments of calculation or confrontation. Her smile lingered for a moment, before she shifted her focus back to the lesson at hand.
"Welcome to your first flying lesson," Madam Hooch announced briskly, her sharp tone cutting through the murmuring crowd. "Everyone, step up to the left side of their broomstick. Come on, quickly now!"
Solara stepped into position, standing near the middle of the line, flanked by Weasley and Granger, with Potter beside his freckled friend. Her gaze settled on the broomstick lying before her, its rough simplicity a far cry from the reins she had once gripped in another life. Back then, scarred leather had bitten into her palms as she soared astride the mighty Vhagar. The sky had seemed to bow beneath the thunderous beat of colossal wings, the wind screaming against her armor as she commanded the heavens as Visenya Targaryen.
But that life felt further away now—a shimmering memory, blurred at the edges, slipping into the realm of dreams as time marched relentlessly forward.
"Hold out your right hand over the broom and say 'up,'" Madam Hooch instructed, her sharp voice yanking Solara back to the present.
The wave of nostalgia was fleeting but left behind a quiet confidence. Shaking her head, she dispelled the lingering echoes of another life and extended her hand over the broom. "Up!" she commanded, her voice firm. The broomstick sprang into her palm with a satisfying snap, responding immediately and smoothly. A faint smirk tugged at her lips. This was nothing compared to the profound bond between dragon and rider, but the act felt natural, instinctual—as though her very soul recognized the call of the sky.
She was meant to fly.
To her left, Ron's broom wobbled pathetically on the ground as he barked the command with growing frustration. "Up! Up! Ugh, stupid thing!"
To her right, Hermione fared little better. "Up!" Hermione commanded, but her broom only wobbled slightly before falling still. "Oh, honestly—up!"
"Don't shout at it, you two," Solara muttered, her smirk widening as she cast him a sideways glance. "It responds to intent and confidence."
Ron turned to glare at her. "Oh, brilliant advice! And how would you know?"
Her tone was casual, but there was an edge of amusement. "Call it instinct."
What she didn't explain—what she couldn't explain—was how her experience with dragons shaped her perspective. Claiming a dragon had never been about brute strength; it was a negotiation of wills, a silent battle of respect, power, and quiet dominance. A bond forged in understanding, not force.
Though brooms were inanimate, she reasoned the principle might be the same. If nothing else, her words might distract Ron enough to calm him down—and maybe, just maybe, get the broom to cooperate.
"Try again," she said, watching as his freckled face flushed with determination. "But this time, don't yell. Mean it. Feel it."
Ron shot her an exasperated look, then muttered, "Up."
To his surprise, the broom seemed to respond instantly, leaping into his grip with a sudden eagerness that made him stumble slightly. His eyes widened as the broom hovered steady in his hands.
Solara raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk curling at the corner of her lips. "See? Confidence," she murmured under her breath, though she wasn't entirely sure if the broom had actually responded to his tone—or if it had just been waiting for him to stop yelling.
To her right, Hermione pursed her lips, clearly more determined now, and redoubled her efforts. Solara shifted her gaze back to Ron, who was looking at her with a mix of awe and incredulity.
"That... that actually worked," he said.
"Of course it did," Solara replied with an air of casual authority. Her attention flicked past him to Harry, who was already holding his broom with a triumphant grin.
Soon, the rest of the students had their brooms in hand, earning them a satisfied nod from Madam Hooch.
"Now, once you've got hold of your broom, I want you to mount it and grip it tight. You don't want to be sliding off the end," Madam Hooch instructed. "When I blow my whistle, I want each of you to kick off from the ground hard. Keep your brooms steady, hover for a moment, then lean forward slightly, and touch back down. On my whistle: three, two…"
Immediately after the whistle blew, a sharp cry pierced the air. The students turned to see Neville Longbottom's broom rise uncontrollably into the sky, the boy clinging to it in sheer panic. "Help! I don't know how to stop it!" he wailed as the broom jerked violently, tilting and spinning unpredictably.
Gasps and shrieks erupted from the class. Solara's eyes narrowed as Neville shot higher, flailing helplessly. Her hand instinctively darted to her wand tucked into her robes. The memory of commanding, sharpened her focus. In that life, hesitation could mean death—not for herself, but for others under her protection.
Without hesitation, she pulled Dark Sister free and raised it, her voice sharp and steady, "Immobulus!"
A shimmering blue ripple of magic shot from her wand, striking Neville's broom mid-arc. The broom halted instantly, frozen in midair, with Neville still clutching it. He hung there for a breathless moment before gravity reasserted itself, and Neville began to drift slowly downward, as though carried by an invisible hand. He landed gently on the grass, trembling but unharmed, clutching his wrist and muttering, "Th-thanks..."
The students stared in stunned silence, some gazing at Neville and others at Solara. Even Madam Hooch, who had already begun moving to assist, paused to blink at the unexpected intervention.
"Well," the flying instructor said briskly, regaining her composure as she addressed the class. "A quick reaction, Miss Lovegood. Ten points to Slytherin for demonstrating resourcefulness—but I'll thank you to leave the spellcasting to me next time."
Solara gave a polite nod, though the faintest glint of satisfaction sparkled in her eyes.
Madam Hooch turned her attention to Neville, who was cradling his wrist with a pained expression. She knelt beside him, her sharp gaze softening slightly. "Longbottom? Are you well? Your wrist appears sprained."
Neville winced as he attempted to move it. "I think it is," he admitted, his voice trembling.
"You must have been holding on too tightly to the handle when it was stopped," Madam Hooch surmised, her tone curt but not hard. She shot a pointed look toward Solara, though her expression softened just slightly. "Still, it could have been much worse."
Neville nodded hesitantly, his face pale but grateful.
"Come along, then," the instructor said, standing and offering him a steady hand. "Let's get you to Madam Pomfrey. The rest of you—stay grounded until I return, and no flying." She swept a final stern glance over the class before leading Neville toward the castle.
As the two departed, the students began murmuring among themselves, the earlier tension giving way to scattered chatter. Solara quietly returned her wand to her robe and leaned on her broom, her sharp gaze surveying the group.
"Impressive spellwork, Lovegood," Draco commented, his voice a mixture of admiration and begrudging respect, though the faintest glimmer of fear still lingered in his eyes from the day before. "But next time, let's see if you can keep the theatrics to a minimum," he sniffed, before turning away and prowling toward the spot where Neville had landed. His sharp eyes flickered with interest as they caught a glint of glass in the grass, but not before her own had spotted the same.
"What's this?" the blond boy muttered, stooping toward the shimmering sphere.
Before his fingers could close around it, her shadow loomed over him, and he froze. Solara stepped forward, planting her foot firmly over the tiny object. She tilted her head, her pale eyes meeting Draco's with a calm, unyielding gaze.
"Finders keepers?" she said, recalling the muggle saying, her voice cool as a winter breeze.
Draco straightened, his smirk returning as he crossed his arms. "And what do you plan to do with it, Lovegood? Hand it back to the walking disaster?"
"It's called decency, Malfoy," Solara replied, lifting her foot and bending down to retrieve the small sphere. She turned it over in her hand, the smoke inside turning bright red, much to her surprise. "A Remembrall. Useful for someone like Neville."
"And apparently for you," Draco sneered, before grinning and making a sudden grab for it.
Solara's reflexes, honed by her past experience as a warrior, were swift. She drew back, keeping the Remembrall out of his reach. Her tone was low, as she raised a brow. "So it would seem."
The moment the words left her lips, the smoke cleared, and her iridescent silver eyes bore down on the Malfoy heir. A shark-like smile played at the corners of her lips, her gaze never leaving his. "Or perhaps not," she continued, her voice smooth but laced with an edge of mockery. "I urge you to use caution, Malfoy—you wouldn't want to embarrass yourself again by trying too hard."
Draco's pale cheeks flushed, and his grey eyes narrowed. "Big talk for someone who wouldn't dare fly after me."
"I don't fly to chase after insects, Malfoy. That's beneath me," she replied, her tone clipped and her lips pursed in annoyance.
The boy frowned, then moved faster this time. Her momentary curiosity about what she could have possibly forgotten gave him an opening, and he snatched the Remembrall from her grasp. Mounting his broom, he kicked off, rising into the air with a triumphant laugh. "Too slow, Lovegood," he cackled. "If you or Longbottom wants it, then either of you can come get it! Or maybe Potter's brave enough?"
Harry stepped forward, his jaw tight. Without hesitation, he mounted his broom and kicked off. "I'll get it," he muttered as he soared into the sky after Draco.
The class erupted into whispers, all eyes turning skyward as Harry and Draco spiraled higher, the golden light of the late afternoon casting them in sharp relief.
Solara stood still for a moment, her hands resting lightly on top of her broom handle as if it were a sword, watching the unfolding chase with a smile.
Hermione's voice pulled her from her reverie. "Aren't you going to stop them?"
"Why should I?" Solara asked lightly. "Harry seems capable enough, and I'd hate to rob him of his turn at putting Malfoy in his place."
"His turn? But what if Harry gets in trouble?" Ron asked, his voice tinged with worry as he glanced between her and the two figures darting through the air.
"Then he'll face the consequences, like any Gryffindor would," Solara said with a shrug, though the glint in her eyes suggested she was far from indifferent. "Besides, I've already had my moment today, Weasley. Let Potter have his. He's 'The-Boy-Who-Lived' afterall."
In the sky, Harry closed in on Draco, who spun and dipped to evade him, the Remembrall still clutched tightly in his hand. The class below held their breath as the two boys darted and weaved, their brooms slicing through the air like arrows.
Solara shifted her gaze back to Hermione and Ron. "They'll sort it out up there. Down here, we wait."
She continued leaning against her broom, a flicker of something resembling admiration sparking as Harry pushed his broom into a daring dive, forcing Draco to either yield the Remembrall or risk humiliation. For all his nerves and unpolished technique, Harry of House Potter certainly had the spirit of a dragon rider—whether he realized it or not.
Harry and Draco zipped through the air, their brooms weaving in dizzying arcs as Draco smirked down at his pursuer. "You think you can outfly me, Potter?" he taunted, twisting into a sharp turn that forced Harry to adjust quickly.
The class below gasped and murmured as the two boys climbed higher, their movements almost too fast to follow. Harry's focus was unwavering as he closed the distance, his hand reaching for the Remembrall in Draco's grip.
"Fine!" Draco snarled, his smirk fading as he hurled the glass sphere through the air with all his strength. "Catch that!"
Time seemed to slow as the Remembrall spun in the sunlight, the smoke inside swirling wildly. Harry's green eyes locked onto it, and without hesitation, he dove. His broom cut through the air in a near-vertical descent, the wind roaring in his ears as he extended his hand.
Just as it seemed the Remembrall might shatter against the ground, Harry's fingers closed around it in a breathtaking catch. He pulled out of the dive with moments to spare, the class below erupting in cheers and gasps of awe.
Their jubilation was short-lived, however, as Draco, determined to outdo Harry, attempted his own dive. His form was sloppy, his grip on the broom too tight, and the broomstick wobbled dangerously. Panic flashed across his pale face as he overcorrected, and with a startled cry, he lost his balance and plummeted.
From her vantage point on the ground, Solara's silver eyes narrowed, her shrewd mind scheming even as others around her screamed. A part of her—perhaps the Visenya of old—considered letting the boy fall. It would serve him right for his arrogance, and she doubted he'd suffer more than a broken arm or leg. Pain, after all, was an excellent teacher.
But practicality won out over satisfaction. As grating as Draco's voice and constant condescension were, a favor owed by a Malfoy could be a powerful bargaining chip in the future.
With a sigh that spoke more of cold calculation than genuine concern, she drew her wand in one fluid motion and leveled it at the plummeting figure, while her other hand still firmly grasped at her broom.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" she intoned, her voice calm and precise.
Draco's descent slowed abruptly, his body halting midair as though caught in an invisible net. He flailed, his face a mixture of terror and relief as Solara carefully guided him back to solid ground. She released the spell as soon as his feet touched the grass, stepping back with an expression of mild indifference.
The class fell silent, their eyes darting between Draco and Solara. She tucked her wand away with deliberate nonchalance, raised a brow, and followed it with a self-satisfied smirk. "You're welcome, Malfoy," she said coolly, brushing imaginary dust off her robes.
Draco's pale face flushed crimson, his usual bravado nowhere in sight. "I—I didn't need your help," he stammered, though the tremor in his voice betrayed his words.
"Of course not," Solara replied, her tone laced with cutting sarcasm.
Beside her, Hermione muttered under her breath, "So much for Harry having his moment."
"It was a calculated move, Granger. Favors are currency. Even ones from fools," Solara said breezily, her gaze tracking Malfoy as he slunk back toward his usual gaggle of sycophants. Parkinson glared daggers in her direction before draping a hand on Draco's shoulder in what might have been an attempt at comfort—an effort he promptly shrugged off, his humiliation palpable.
"Whatever that was, it was wicked—and you got one over on Malfoy," Weasley chuckled, patting her on the back before breaking off to approach the area where Harry would land.
"Really? A calculated move? Favors as currency?" Hermione arched an incredulous eyebrow as they both watched the red-haired boy go. "No normal child talks like that, Solara. Your upbringing must have been very strange, indeed."
Solara's heart skipped a beat at Hermione's pointed observation, but she quickly masked it with a smirk. "What can I say, Hermione of House Granger? I despise speaking plainly."
"You sound like a deranged lunatic half the time," Hermione retorted, though a flicker of amusement shone in her eyes, before she gave Solara a sidelong glance. "You're not plotting to overthrow the Ministry of Magic in your spare time, are you?"
"Not yet," Solara replied with mock seriousness, a playful grin tugging at her lips. "But the day is young, Hermione of House Granger. And when I do, rest assured, you'll be offered a high-ranking position in my regime. Perhaps Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic?"
Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn't completely hide the twitch of a smile. "Bold of you to assume I'd accept. Who's to say I wouldn't run against you instead?"
"A worthy rival," Solara declared, placing a hand over her chest as though struck by the thought. "I would expect nothing less. Though, I imagine your loss would be bitter indeed."
"We'll see about that... in twenty years," Hermione quipped, shaking her head but unable to suppress the glimmer of amusement in her brown eyes.
Their banter was cut short as Harry landed smoothly, the Remembrall clutched tightly in his hand. The cheers of the onlookers were silenced, however, when Professor McGonagall appeared from the castle, her sharp gaze sweeping over the scene like a hawk surveying its prey.
"Potter!" she called, her voice carrying a note of both astonishment and sternness. "Follow me, now."
The class fell silent, all eyes on Harry as he hesitated, then dismounted and followed the professor.
The murmurs of speculation among the students grew louder as Harry trailed after Professor McGonagall, his expression caught somewhere between excitement and apprehension. Solara's sharp gaze lingered on the boy until he disappeared into the castle, her thoughts swirling. Whatever awaited Potter, she had little doubt it would solidify his place as the Gryffindor golden boy—a title that could perhaps prove as beneficial to her as the favor Malfoy now owed.
"Looks like Potter's in trouble," Draco jeered, drawing laughter from the surrounding Slytherins, save for Solara, who remained impassive.
"He wasn't the only one in the air, Malfoy. If the professor saw him, she saw you," Solara pointed out, her calm tone causing a brief flicker of worry in the boy's pale eyes.
Draco glared at her, his cheeks flushing crimson, but he said nothing.
Her musings were interrupted as Madam Hooch reappeared, her hawkish eyes narrowing as she assessed the lingering tension among the students. Her gaze settled on Draco, whose expression betrayed a mixture of irritation and embarrassment.
"What's this about someone flying without my whistle?" Hooch demanded, her tone brooking no nonsense.
The Gryffindors erupted into a cacophony of accusations, all pointing to Malfoy. Solara, however, remained silent, her expression carefully neutral. The Slytherins around Draco also said nothing, their tight-lipped silence betraying their loyalty.
Until Granger spoke.
"Madam Hooch, Solara was a witness to Draco's tomfoolery."
Solara froze, barely suppressing a snarl as she turned a sharp glare on her "friend," who seemed blissfully unaware of the turmoil she'd just ignited. The other Slytherins shifted their ire to Solara, their gazes heavy with accusation.
"Well, Miss Lovegood?" Hooch pressed, one brow arched in expectation.
"She speaks true, Madam Hooch," Solara admitted, her voice even. "Malfoy took to the air in an attempt to abscond with Longbottom's Remembrall before Potter retrieved it. And, as I'm sure others will confirm, I managed to halt Draco's rapid descent before he broke something."
Hermione and the Gryffindors nodded in agreement, as did a few hesitant Slytherins.
"Well, there you have it," Hooch declared, her sharp gaze swinging back to Draco.
Draco stammered, his cheeks flushing deeper red, but Madam Hooch cut through his protests with a sharp gesture.
"Detention, Mr. Malfoy, and thirty points from Slytherin for your reckless behavior," she announced, her voice slicing through the crowd's murmur like a blade.
Gasps and groans rippled through the Slytherins. Before the animosity could grow, however, Madam Hooch's attention turned to Solara.
"Miss Lovegood," she said, her expression unreadable. "It seems your quick thinking has once again prevented what could have been a very nasty injury. Ten points to Slytherin for your wand work—and ten more for your presence of mind."
Solara inclined her head gracefully, though irritation flickered beneath her composed exterior. Granger's big mouth had certainly cost her some peace within her house.
With time slipping away due to the unforeseen events during class, Madam Hooch begrudgingly dismissed the students, promising a heavier workload in their next session to make up for lost time—earning her more than a few groans.
As the class dispersed, Solara caught Hermione's arm, her stern expression softening into something more contemplative. "A word, Granger," she said, motioning her aside before noticing Weasley standing nearby. "In private, please."
"Sure, sure, I'm headed for our dorm anyway, to see if Harry shows up. See you there, Hermione," Ron said, nodding as he waved goodbye.
"Okay," Hermione replied, waving back before turning her thoughtful brown eyes to Solara.
"The next time I choose to remain silent on something, do not speak for me," Solara warned, her voice calm but firm.
Hermione blinked in surprise before narrowing her eyes. "I will not apologize for making you do the right thing," she countered, fire sparking in her gaze to match Solara's.
"You've forced my hand, Granger. I room with Draco and the rest of the snakes—you do not. I will suffer hexes and curses for your charity."
"You can always tell Professor Snape if it comes to that," Hermione shot back, arms crossing defiantly.
"It will not," Solara said with a frown. "Because while I had originally hoped to use my recently acquired favor from Draco for something meaningful, it now seems I'll need to waste it on this trivial matter—lest my time here become far less enjoyable."
"Well, there you go—no harm, no foul," Hermione replied, her chin lifting slightly, the confidence in her eyes replaced by a faint flicker of amusement.
Solara sighed, rubbing her temple. "Be thankful I enjoy your company, Hermione of House Granger."
"So, the library?" Hermione asked, seamlessly shifting the topic as if the argument hadn't just occurred.
"Yes, but first, I need to speak with Malfoy and grab my books. Will it be Potions or Transfiguration, Granger?"
"Transfiguration, please," Hermione said, her face lighting up with enthusiasm.
"So be it. I'll see you in an hour," Solara replied with a small nod.
"Okay, see you there," Hermione chirped, turning to head back toward her dormitory.
As Solara watched Hermione walk away, she noticed a small shadow lingering nearby. Turning fully to identify their silent observer, she was surprised to see who it was.
"Greengrass," she said, recognizing the blue-eyed, black-haired girl. Her tone was neutral, though her expression betrayed mild curiosity as the other girl began walking toward her.
Solara's hand twitched, instinctively readying to draw her wand, but Greengrass merely stopped a few paces away.
"Thank you for gaining us points," Greengrass said curtly, her voice devoid of warmth. Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked away without another word.
"You're welcome?" Solara muttered to the empty space where the girl had stood, her brow furrowing in confusion.