This is What Ravenclaw Looks Like

"If yesterday were tomorrow, then today would be Friday. So what day is it today?"

The door knocker was basically handing out points today.

After easily returning to the common room, the first-years noticed something unusual—a new notice had been posted on the bulletin board. In flawless grammar, it informed all first-year students that on Thursday morning, they would have a joint flying class with the Hufflepuffs.

"Ah, flying..."Kevin sighed deeply.

The others didn't look much better. Only Bell seemed genuinely enthusiastic. "It's finally starting."

He was the only one who had ever ridden a children's broomstick—and the one most interested in Quidditch in their dorm.

"Don't be like that, it's not that hard. I mean, I've never ridden a real broomstick either—but I wanted to try when I was nine. But then..."

Bell shook his head vigorously, a flicker of fear in his eyes.

"I just don't feel confident in something you can't learn from a book," someone muttered.

"Same here... Why hasn't anyone written a How to Ride a Broomstick guide?"

"Probably because it's simple," Andrew said, leaning against the wall. He was a bit nervous himself but trying to talk himself out of it. "If broom-riding took three or four months of training and required following tons of rules, there would be books about it."

"True... There's an entire handbook for Quidditch fouls, but barely a word about broom-flying."

"Pointless to worry about that now," someone else cut in. "Let's worry about the next class—it's Potions again."

That snapped everyone out of their flying-class worries. Flying was in the future—but Potions... that was the immediate and real danger.

++++

Flying class probably hit Ravenclaws the hardest. In the following days, nearly every first-year Andrew spoke to groaned about it.

Ravenclaws were good at handling the unknown—as long as they had prior experience or could prepare. But flying? You either got it, or you didn't. No amount of description could replace the actual feeling.

And to make it worse, because of a few Ravenclaws' bad habits, no one could trust anyone's "I don't know how to fly." Did they really not know? Or were they going to claim ignorance and then suddenly show off some elegant flying technique?

Especially after that serialized article "Dumbledore: A Legend" started running—everyone was even more secretive. Instead of just minding their own business, now they had to pretend to be average too?

But regardless of how students felt, time—fair as ever—marched on. Thursday came.

"I don't feel great about this... Why are we the first group?"Hal said at the breakfast table, looking uneasy. Andrew, meanwhile, calmly listened to his dormmates complain. He had already mentally prepared several contingency plans to avoid serious injury.

"Stop whining," Bell grinned, practically buzzing with excitement. "You'll understand the thrill once you're on a broom!"

He was so excited he could barely eat.

Soon enough, the time for flying class officially arrived.

+++++

"Don't fly too high—Madam Pomfrey can heal you, as long as you're not killed on the spot..."

Andrew mumbled to himself for comfort, barely paying attention to his surroundings. He'd gotten so disoriented from nerves he just followed the group in a daze out to the field.

The brooms—and their flying instructor—were already waiting.

"Well? What are you all standing around for?"Madam Hooch, their flying instructor, barked sharply. "Everyone, stand beside a broomstick. Quick, quick, we don't have all day."

Andrew took a deep breath and got in line next to a broom—it looked worse for wear and poorly maintained.

"Be confident. Place your hand over the broom—your right hand!"Now, when I say 'ready,' we'll all count together on three and say the command."

"Ready—one, two, three, Up!"

"Up!"

To Andrew's surprise, the broom jumped smoothly into his hand. He looked around and saw many others had succeeded too.

'So... what triggers the command? Emotion? Trust?'

He couldn't say. Ravenclaws believed in experience. Hufflepuffs had a deep trust in authority. That didn't narrow it down much.

Besides, flying brooms weren't like other magical objects—he shook off the habit he'd developed recently of over-analyzing everything.

After repeating the command two more times with Madam Hooch, almost everyone had their broom in hand.

Next came the proper grip and posture—Andrew, uncharacteristically, was scolded.

"You're holding a broom, not a snake you think will slither away if you let go!

"Loosen up, loosen up! This thing is supposed to take you into the sky, not be strangled to death!"Angle! Angle! It's a flying broomstick, not some wild animal!"

After several rounds of correction, Madam Hooch finally nodded in approval.

"Alright, when I blow my whistle, you'll all push off the ground—but don't push too hard. You're only going a few feet up. Then lean forward slightly to descend again. Got it?"

"Got it!"

"Good." Madam Hooch seemed satisfied. "Ready—three, two, one!"

The whistle blew. Andrew pushed off with a bit of force—and felt a gentle lift carry him smoothly into the air, stopping just a few feet up.

Curious, he felt under himself and, just as Bell had said, it did feel like sitting on a soft cushion.

"Alright, pull up…"

He adjusted the broom slightly and realized—this wasn't any harder than riding a bike. Pull up, lower down, pull up again...

Simple.

'No wonder there's no book on this.'

"Mr. Taylor!"

Madam Hooch's voice cut through the air. "Five points from Ravenclaw."

Andrew realized with a jolt—he was the only one still floating. Everyone else had landed already. He'd forgotten her instruction: go up a little, then come down.

...

So much for "leaving the ground makes you smarter," huh?He'd gotten a little too proud and forgotten the basics.

He gently leaned forward to descend.

"For a first flight, that was very smooth. No signs of panic."

Madam Hooch's face softened slightly. "Alright, three points back to Ravenclaw."

T/N: For twenty chapters ahead on all my fics become a P@tron at [email protected]/LordHipposApostle