Chapter 27: The Sky Beckons – Flying Lessons with Madam Hooch
The morning sun shone brightly over the Hogwarts grounds, casting golden light across the vast expanse of green fields. The crisp autumn air carried a hint of excitement as the first-year Gryffindors and Slytherins gathered near a row of old, well-worn broomsticks.
Atharv and Celeste stood side by side, their presence effortlessly drawing attention as always. Atharv's crimson-red eyes glowed subtly in the sunlight, a stark contrast to Celeste's sapphire-blue gaze that seemed to hold the very depth of the skies they were about to conquer.
Madam Hooch strode onto the field, her sharp golden eyes surveying the group. "Well, what are you waiting for? Stand by your broomsticks! Quickly now!" she barked, her voice cutting through the murmurs of excitement.
Everyone hurried to their brooms. Atharv rested his fingers lightly on the handle of his, his posture exuding effortless confidence. Celeste, with her natural grace, simply tilted her head as if considering the broom, yet even in that small movement, she made the act look refined.
"Now," Madam Hooch instructed, "hold out your right hand over the broom and say 'Up!'"
"Up!" the students chorused.
Atharv's broom snapped into his palm instantly, as if obeying an unspoken command. Celeste's rose into her hand with a gentle elegance, as though the broom itself was honored to serve her.
Beside them, Harry's broom shot up into his grasp with an eagerness that startled him. He blinked in surprise, feeling a strange familiarity with the sensation of holding a broom, despite never having flown before.
Ron, however, was having no such luck. His broom twitched pathetically before rolling away. He groaned, throwing a glance at Harry, who grinned.
"Well done, Mr. Mishra, Miss de Montclair, and Potter," Madam Hooch said approvingly. "Now, mount your brooms properly."
Draco, standing a few feet away, clenched his jaw. He had expected himself to be the center of admiration, yet the murmurs were all about Atharv, Celeste, and Harry.
Once everyone was in position, Madam Hooch raised her whistle.
"On my whistle, three… two… one—Go!"
The moment the sound pierced the air, Atharv and Celeste took off, their movements fluid, effortless—ethereal.
Celeste soared upward like a goddess of the skies, her golden hair shimmering as if kissed by sunlight, her robes flowing as she glided like a swan dancing on the wind.
Atharv, in contrast, was pure precision and control. He moved through the air with a confidence that spoke of mastery, his movements sharp, deliberate—as if he had flown for years.
Then there was Harry.
At first, he had hesitated—but the moment he lifted off the ground, it was as though something inside him had awakened. He wasn't just flying; he was soaring. The world stretched beneath him, and for the first time in his life, he felt free—as if he had found a missing part of himself.
Gasps filled the air below as students stopped to stare.
"Blimey," Ron muttered, struggling to maintain balance.
Draco, who had been preparing to show off, froze at the sight of Harry and Atharv maneuvering through the air with natural ease.
Even Madam Hooch seemed taken aback. "Excellent form, Mr. Mishra, Mr. Potter," she called out. "Have you two flown before?"
Harry shook his head, still grinning. "Never," he admitted, exhilaration coursing through him.
Atharv merely smiled. "It feels as natural as walking," he said simply.
Ron, still wobbling, nearly slipped off his broom before Atharv swooped down beside him.
"You're gripping too tight," Atharv advised calmly. "Let the broom be an extension of yourself. Feel the wind, don't fight it."
Ron, grumbling but listening, adjusted his hold—and immediately, his flight stabilized. He glanced at Atharv in awe.
"Hey, that actually worked!"
Atharv smirked. "Of course it did."
From below, Celeste watched, a soft smile on her lips. Atharv had a way of commanding the sky as if it belonged to him. She had never seen someone so composed, so effortlessly in control.
After a while, Madam Hooch signaled for everyone to land.
As their feet touched the ground, the whispers began.
"Did you see them?"
"Potter and Mishra were incredible!"
"Even Malfoy didn't do anything special!"
Draco's face darkened, his lips pressing into a thin line. He had been so sure he would stand out—but now, the admiration belonged to Atharv, Celeste, and Harry.
Ron turned to Harry, laughing. "Mate, you were bloody brilliant!"
Harry, breathless but grinning, felt warmth spread through his chest. For the first time, he belonged.
Celeste walked up to Atharv, her sapphire eyes gleaming. "You looked as if you ruled the sky itself," she whispered, voice filled with quiet admiration.
Atharv turned to her, his crimson gaze locking with hers. "And you looked like you were born of the wind itself."
Celeste smiled, stepping closer. The world around them faded, leaving just the two of them standing in the golden light of morning.
Draco Malfoy, still fuming, clenched his fists. This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
Neville's Accidental Flight
Neville Longbottom, was having the worst time. His broom refused to move, no matter how desperately he shouted "Up!"
"Now," Madam Hooch instructed, "when I blow my whistle, kick off the ground, hover for a moment, and come straight back down."
She raised the whistle to her lips—
But before she could blow, Neville panicked.
His foot slipped, and suddenly—WHOOSH!
His broom jerked violently, shooting straight into the sky.
Gasps erupted as Neville clung on, his face contorted in terror.
"Help! I can't—" he yelped.
"Come down, boy!" Madam Hooch bellowed, but Neville had no control.
His broom veered wildly, zigzagging through the air, spiraling out of control.
Atharv, already halfway onto his broom, tensed, ready to fly up and help. Celeste grabbed his wrist, shaking her head.
"He's too unstable," she murmured. "You'll only make it worse."
Before Atharv could argue, Neville let out a scream—his fingers slipped.
He fell.
Gasps and shrieks filled the air.
Thud!
Neville crashed onto the ground with a sickening thump, groaning in pain. His broom sped off into the Forbidden Forest, lost.
Madam Hooch rushed forward, kneeling beside him. "Broken wrist," she muttered. "Come along, boy. Let's get you to the hospital wing."
She turned to the class, her sharp gaze sweeping over them. "Not one of you is to move while I take him inside! If I see a single broomstick in the air, you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch'!"
With that, she helped Neville to his feet and marched him off toward the castle.
For a moment, there was silence.
Then—
Draco's Challenge & The Flight That Changed Everything
The sun hung high over the training grounds as the first-years chatted amongst themselves, still buzzing from their flying lesson. Madam Hooch had just left to take Neville to the hospital wing, leaving the students momentarily unsupervised.
It was then that Draco Malfoy, ever the instigator, smirked and held up a small, glassy orb—the Remembrall Neville had dropped before his accident.
"Would you look at this?" Draco sneered, tossing the sphere up and catching it lazily. "Poor Longbottom, always forgetting things. Maybe if he'd had the brains to hold onto it, he wouldn't have fallen off his broom like a sack of potatoes."
"Give it back, Malfoy," Hermione demanded, crossing her arms.
Draco merely chuckled and mounted his broom. "You want it? Come and get it," he taunted before kicking off the ground and soaring into the air, the Remembrall glinting in his hand.
Harry's fists clenched. His blood boiled at the smug expression on Malfoy's face.
"Harry, don't," Hermione warned, but her words barely registered.
Harry had already grabbed his broom, mounting it instinctively.
Atharv, standing beside Celeste, frowned as he watched the tension escalate. Harry's emotions were running hot, and that could be dangerous in the air.
Celeste, her sapphire-blue eyes dark with worry, glanced at Atharv. "He's going to do something reckless," she murmured.
Atharv nodded, already stepping forward. "I'll be ready if he needs help."
Then, without another thought, Harry kicked off the ground.
A Duel in the Sky
The second Harry left the earth, all hesitation vanished. The broom didn't fight him—it obeyed. His body knew exactly how to move, as if it had been waiting for this moment his whole life.
Gasps echoed from below as Harry surged through the air with impossible ease.
Even Draco looked startled, his smirk flickering as he flew higher, gripping the Remembrall tighter.
"You're not bad, Potter," Draco called over the wind. "But let's see if you can keep up!"
And with that, Malfoy dove sharply, twisting through the air.
Harry didn't hesitate—he shot after him like a comet.
From below, Ron and Hermione stood frozen in shock.
"He's brilliant," Ron breathed, watching Harry maneuver with the grace of a professional.
Atharv, watching intently, couldn't help but feel admiration. Harry wasn't just flying—he was commanding the skies.
But admiration didn't erase the risk. One wrong move, and Harry could crash.
"Be careful, Harry," Atharv muttered under his breath. Then, without another word, he grabbed his own broom and mounted it, kicking off into the air.
Celeste bit her lip, gripping the fabric of her robes. "You'll catch him if something happens, right?"
Atharv nodded. "Of course."
Turning the Tables
Harry was gaining on Draco, weaving through the air effortlessly.
Draco, realizing he was losing control of the situation, made a desperate move—he flung the Remembrall into the air.
"Catch that if you can, Potter!"
The glass sphere spun wildly, hurtling toward the ground.
Every breath in the courtyard held still.
Harry dived.
It was reckless. It was dangerous. It was perfect.
The wind roared past his ears as he tucked himself low, eyes locked on the Remembrall.
He could hear Hermione's horrified gasp.
He could feel the tension of the entire courtyard.
And yet, Harry felt no fear.
But he wasn't the only one moving.
Atharv, having anticipated Malfoy's cheap trick, angled himself into a controlled dive just behind Harry.
"Harry, on your right!" Atharv called out.
Harry glanced over, surprised—but he trusted Atharv instantly.
As Harry went for the Remembrall, Atharv tilted his broom slightly, adjusting the trajectory of the dive, ensuring Harry wouldn't crash at the last second.
Then, with a burst of speed, Harry stretched out his hand—
And caught it.
A heartbeat later, Atharv reached out and gripped Harry's shoulder, guiding him smoothly into a pull-up.
The two boys skidded to a stop mid-air, their brooms hovering just inches from the grass.
For a moment—stunned silence.
Then—
"HARRY POTTER! ATHARV MISHRA!"
Professor McGonagall's sharp voice cut through the moment.
Harry and Atharv looked up, breathless, to see her storming across the grounds, robes billowing behind her.
The Consequence—or Reward?
Atharv glanced at Harry, who still clutched the Remembrall tightly.
"Well," Atharv muttered, his crimson-red eyes glinting with amusement, "that was fun while it lasted."
Harry let out a nervous chuckle. "Think she'll expel us?"
Celeste, still near the ground, sighed in relief but shook her head. "You're either going to be expelled or knighted."
Atharv smirked. "Let's hope for the latter."
McGonagall marched them off without another word, but her expression wasn't one of fury—it was one of calculation.
Minutes later, they found themselves standing in front of Oliver Wood, Gryffindor's Quidditch captain.
"I've found you a Seeker, Wood," McGonagall announced, her tone firm. "And a Chaser."
Oliver's jaw dropped as he studied Harry and Atharv.
"Two first-years?" Wood asked, eyes wide. "Are you serious, Professor?"
McGonagall's lips twitched—just barely. "As serious as I've ever been."
Harry and Atharv exchanged shocked glances.
From potential expulsion to becoming the youngest players on the Gryffindor Quidditch team—
This had definitely been a day to remember.
Heroes of Gryffindor
The moment Harry and Atharv stepped into the Gryffindor common room, the place exploded with cheers.
"There they are! Our new Quidditch stars!" Ron yelled, leading the charge as students swarmed around them.
Fred and George Weasley pushed through the crowd, identical grins on their faces.
"Youngest Seeker in a century!" Fred clapped Harry on the back.
"And a first-year Chaser!" George turned to Atharv. "McGonagall must've been over the moon!"
"Didn't stop her from scolding us first," Harry said, grinning.
Atharv smirked. "Guess we'll just have to make sure Gryffindor wins the Cup now."
"That's the spirit, mate!" Ron beamed, slapping him on the shoulder.
"Honestly, you both were incredible," Hermione admitted, though she still had her arms crossed. "But that was incredibly reckless!"
"And now they're on the Quidditch team!" Seamus whooped.
Dean Thomas threw up his arms. "We need a celebration!"
The energy in the common room was electric, but before Atharv could react, a soft hand took his.
He turned—
And Celeste was suddenly in front of him.
Before he could say anything, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his.
A hush fell over the students closest to them.
The kiss was soft yet lingering, and when Celeste pulled back, her sapphire eyes shimmered with warmth and pride.
"You were amazing, mon amour," she whispered.
A slow, confident smirk spread across Atharv's face, but the slight warmth in his crimson eyes betrayed how much the moment meant to him.
Celeste intertwined their fingers, holding his hand tightly before turning back to the rest of the common room.
The silence snapped as Ron let out a low whistle.
"Blimey. I don't know what's more impressive—Atharv making the team or that."
Harry snickered. "Looks like he's already won more than just Quidditch glory."
Atharv chuckled, squeezing Celeste's hand as the celebration roared back to life.
The night was filled with laughter, cheers, and stories, and as the Gryffindors celebrated their newest Quidditch players, one thing was undeniable—
This was only the beginning.
Draco's Jealousy & The Midnight Duel Challenge
The buzz of excitement over Harry and Atharv's Quidditch success hadn't died down by the next day. The Great Hall was still filled with whispers, students sneaking glances at them during breakfast. Even among the Slytherins, murmurs about Harry's skill and Atharv's effortless talent on a broom were spreading.
And Draco Malfoy hated it.
He sat at the Slytherin table, his grip on his goblet tightening as he listened to students talk. First-year nobodies like Potter and Mishra were stealing his spotlight. Worse, even the older students seemed impressed.
"Honestly, Potter might actually be good," Blaise Zabini commented.
"And Mishra—first-year Chaser? That's unheard of," Pansy Parkinson added with a pout.
Draco's teeth clenched. No. He wouldn't let them outshine him.
So when he spotted Harry, Atharv, and their group leaving the Great Hall, he knew what to do.
The Challenge
"Potter! Mishra!" Draco's voice rang out, cutting through the chatter of the corridor.
The group turned. Harry arched a brow. Atharv's expression remained cool, unreadable.
Draco strode up, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. His smirk was as sharp as ever, but there was an undeniable edge of frustration in his pale eyes.
"Brilliant flying yesterday, Potter," he drawled, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Didn't know you had it in you."
Harry folded his arms. "Yeah? What's it to you?"
Draco's smirk widened. "Oh, nothing. Just wondering if you're really as good as they say... or just lucky."
Atharv tilted his head slightly. "You seem awfully invested in Harry's abilities, Malfoy," he said smoothly. "Jealous, are we?"
Draco's face twitched. "Hardly. I just don't think either of you are as great as everyone's making you out to be."
Celeste scoffed. "And yet, you're the one running after them trying to prove something."
Draco ignored her, eyes locked onto Harry. "Let's settle it, Potter. A proper wizard's duel. Midnight. Trophy Room. Unless you're too scared?"
Ron's eyes lit up. "We'll be there!"
Atharv and Celeste both turned to him sharply.
"Ron—" Hermione hissed.
Draco's smirk widened. "Excellent. Bring your second—if Mishra's as skilled as he claims, he can fight too."
Atharv's eyes gleamed dangerously. "Be careful what you wish for, Malfoy. You might not like the outcome."
Draco scoffed, though there was the slightest flicker of hesitation. "See you at midnight, then. Unless you'd rather stay in bed."
With that, he turned on his heel and strode off, Crabbe and Goyle trailing after him.
Doubt & Suspicion
As soon as Draco was gone, Hermione rounded on Ron. "You complete IDIOT! What were you thinking?"
"What?" Ron threw up his hands. "He challenged us! We can't just back down!"
"He's trying to get us in trouble!" Hermione huffed.
Harry crossed his arms. "I don't care. I won't let him think I'm scared."
Atharv exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple. "This is obviously a trap. Malfoy doesn't fight his own battles. He'll find some way to cheat or—worse—get us caught."
Celeste nodded. "It's not worth the risk."
"Are you two seriously backing out?" Ron looked between them.
Atharv met his gaze evenly. "No. I just believe in choosing my battles wisely."
Harry glanced at Atharv, something uncertain flickering in his green eyes. "But if we don't go, he'll tell everyone we chickened out."
Atharv sighed. "Fine. We'll go. But I'm not walking into this blind. If Malfoy's up to something, we'll be ready."
Celeste pressed her lips together but ultimately nodded. "Then we'll make sure you don't get caught."
Ron grinned. "That's the spirit!"
But as the group moved toward their next class, Atharv couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right.
And he was rarely wrong.
The Forbidden Third-Floor Corridor & The Encounter with Fluffy
The castle was eerily silent at midnight, its long stone corridors bathed in silver moonlight. Shadows stretched and flickered with every passing torch as Harry, Ron, Hermione, Celeste, and Atharv crept through the halls, hearts pounding in their chests.
"I still think this is a terrible idea," Hermione whispered, her voice barely above a breath.
"Too late for that now, isn't it?" Ron muttered, clutching his wand tightly.
Atharv, walking slightly ahead with Celeste beside him, remained alert. His instincts had been nagging at him all evening. Something about this felt too convenient, too predictable. And he never trusted things that seemed predictable.
When they reached the Trophy Room, they stopped short.
Empty.
No Draco. No Crabbe. No Goyle.
"He tricked us," Celeste murmured, sapphire eyes narrowing.
"That slimy little—" Ron seethed.
"Shh!" Hermione hushed him, glancing around nervously. "We need to go back before Filch finds us!"
But before they could turn, a voice echoed through the hall.
"Students out of bed… wandering the castle… oh, Mrs. Norris will be so pleased…"
Filch.
A wave of panic shot through them as his footsteps approached.
"This way!" Atharv hissed, grabbing Harry's arm and darting down another corridor. The others followed without question, sprinting through the dimly lit halls as Filch's voice grew louder.
They took a sharp turn and came face-to-face with a large wooden door.
"Locked!" Ron whispered frantically as he tried the handle.
"Alohomora!" Hermione whispered, flicking her wand. The lock clicked open instantly, and they shoved the door open, slipping inside.
The Guardian of the Corridor
As soon as the door closed behind them, the room was plunged into silence.
Their heavy breathing echoed off the stone walls, their adrenaline still pulsing through them.
"That was close," Harry murmured.
"Too close," Celeste agreed, brushing golden strands behind her ear.
But before any of them could relax, a deep, guttural growl rumbled through the air.
The hair on Atharv's arms stood on end.
"Don't. Move." he whispered.
Ron ignored the warning and glanced up. And the moment he did—he let out a strangled gasp.
There, looming above them, three massive heads stared down, drool dripping from enormous fangs.
A three-headed dog.
It stood upon a trapdoor, its enormous paws clawed into the stone floor. Its six yellow eyes gleamed hungrily as its growls deepened.
For a second, no one breathed.
Then—one of the heads snarled.
"RUN!" Harry yelled.
The group scattered, diving for the door as the beast let out a deafening roar. One of its heads snapped at Ron, just barely missing as Celeste yanked him back.
Atharv moved swiftly, grabbing Hermione's wrist and pulling her toward the exit.
Harry and Celeste reached the door first, flinging it open.
"GO!" Atharv shouted, pushing Ron through before slipping out himself.
They slammed the door shut just as Fluffy's enormous weight crashed against it.
Panting, they stumbled backward, hearts hammering.
For a moment, the only sound was their ragged breathing.
Then—
"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!" Ron burst out, face still pale.
"A Cerberus," Hermione answered breathlessly. "A three-headed dog. But why is it here?"
Celeste, still catching her breath, exchanged a glance with Atharv.
"More importantly," Atharv murmured, gaze dark, "why was it guarding something?"
"It was standing over a trapdoor," Harry said, eyes flickering with realization. "It's guarding something important."
Celeste nodded. "Dumbledore warned us to stay away from this corridor for a reason."
"And now we know why," Atharv finished.
They fell silent, the weight of the moment settling over them.
Then—Hermione huffed. "That's it. We are NEVER sneaking out again."
"Agreed," Celeste muttered.
But as they made their way back to Gryffindor Tower, Atharv couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of something much bigger.