Professor McGonagall had been quietly observing everything from the sidelines.
Her eyes showed clear dissatisfaction.
When Malfoy threatened a classmate again, she could no longer remain silent.
Her voice rang out, stern and decisive:
"Draco Malfoy! This is the second time you've misbehaved in class!"
Her gaze was as sharp as a hawk's as she glared at Malfoy and declared,
"Because you threatened a classmate, I'm deducting twenty points from Slytherin again! And let me make this clear—absolutely no one gets to frame my students!"
The Slytherin students glanced at each other in stunned disbelief.
They looked at Professor McGonagall, unable to hide their shock.
This incident had wiped out all the points Slytherin had earned throughout the week.
They even ended up in the negative.
Although the conflict involved Deville and Malfoy, everyone knew who was truly at fault—it was obviously Malfoy.
The dissatisfaction in the air was palpable.
No one seemed to care about his father's position on the school board anymore.
All eyes were on him—glares filled with irritation and disappointment.
Malfoy's expression darkened. He lowered his head, not daring to meet McGonagall's gaze.
Professor McGonagall continued, "Malfoy, you'll come with me to the office. Potter, you come too."
Malfoy's head shot up. He gave Deville a sharp glare.
But Deville just smiled and gave him a casual wave goodbye.
Reluctantly, Malfoy stood up and followed Professor McGonagall toward the door.
Harry, surprised to be involved, followed uneasily behind them.
As Harry passed by, Deville stepped forward and patted him on the shoulder, offering a small, reassuring smile.
Harry returned it with a strained one of his own.
The rest of the class remained on the field, waiting for Madam Hooch to return and resume the lesson.
And then, something unexpected happened—the field erupted in discussion.
Both Gryffindor and Slytherin students began criticizing Malfoy.
In an astonishing turn of events, the two rival houses actually found common ground in their shared frustration with Malfoy.
They vented together—complaining about his constant bragging and the way he flaunted his possessions.
Gryffindor students were especially vocal, listing Malfoy's many past misdeeds: bullying Neville, insulting classmates, and generally acting superior.
Thanks to Malfoy's "outstanding" behavior, the two houses—traditionally bitter rivals—reached a rare and almost magical moment of reconciliation.
Some students even began making friends.
Lavender, Parvati, and a girl named Millicent Bulstrode—Adrian's sister—were chatting cheerfully.
Nearby, Moxie and a tall, skinny boy struck up a conversation about Quidditch.
Deville thought the boy might be Theodore Nott.
In short, everyone seemed to be in high spirits.
Everyone except Malfoy.
Soon, Madam Hooch returned.
Hermione informed her that Harry and Malfoy had been taken away by Professor McGonagall.
Furious, Madam Hooch could only fume—it was too late to discipline them herself.
With no other option, she moved on to resume the flying lesson.
This time, Deville received a new broom.
It was much more responsive than the first one, which had seemed to suffer from social anxiety—it would tremble when he tried to speak to it.
The new broom, however, had stable emotions.
As soon as Deville shouted, "Up!"
The broom instantly jumped into his hand.
Adrian, standing nearby, was shocked. Just moments ago, Deville couldn't get the broom to cooperate at all.
Now it leapt to his hand effortlessly.
Could Deville really be a natural flying genius?
Yes—he was!
Earlier, before McGonagall had taken Harry away, Deville had quietly loaded the [Flying Broom Genius] entry.
Now, he was a certified flying prodigy!
At that moment, many students were still struggling just to summon their broomsticks.
But under Madam Hooch's instruction, most eventually succeeded in mounting them.
Deville, however, could barely contain his excitement.
He felt as if he were born to fly.
This sensation was entirely different from what he had experienced just half an hour ago.
When Madam Hooch blew the whistle—
Beeeeep—
Deville pushed off with both feet.
Whoosh!
He felt as though an invisible force had lifted him into the air.
He rose steadily, higher and higher.
Up in the sky, Deville's movements were flawless.
Every turn was executed with precision.
Every climb was quick and powerful.
Every descent was smooth and graceful.
He soared through the air like a sleek, nimble eagle—one with the broom beneath him.
"So this is what it felt like for Harry before? This is incredible!" he thought.
Truly, some things came down to talent.
Even if Harry were using Deville's old broom, he probably would've flown it well.
Now Deville was doing the same.
The students below were awestruck as they watched Deville's graceful flight.
"He's a flying master! That earlier incident must've been the broom's fault!" someone exclaimed.
"Yeah! Look at that dive! That's cooler than Charlie Weasley!" another added.
"He's definitely going to be our Quidditch team captain someday!"
High above the field beside the Forbidden Forest, Deville's silhouette sliced through the sunlight.
He swooped, ascended, and looped with elegant ease.
The wind whistled past his ears, brushing his face with exhilarating coolness.
His heart swelled with pride and joy.
In that moment, he felt the true freedom and thrill of flying.
"This is amazing—completely addictive!"
If Madam Hooch hadn't eventually ordered him to land, Deville probably would've flown for another hour.
As he landed smoothly, the students crowded around, their eyes filled with admiration and curiosity.
They bombarded him with questions about flying technique.
But Deville remained modest.
"Thanks, everyone. I'm still learning. I don't really have much experience—it's more about confidence and focus. And, of course, building a connection with your broom."
Still, the excitement from both Gryffindor and Slytherin students didn't fade.
Their admiration overwhelmed Deville a little.
At last, Madam Hooch blew her whistle once more.
The class was over.
After class, Deville checked his watch.
There was still time before his appointment with Professor Quirrell.
He planned to stop by the Defense Against the Dark Arts office to discuss attending upper-year classes.
Just then, Hermione called out.
"Deville! Are you okay?"
Snapping out of his thoughts, he turned to see her looking at him with concern.
"You rushed into the Forbidden Forest alone earlier—are you hurt?" she asked.
Deville smiled and stretched his arms with a theatrical flair.
Then he gave a little hop to show he was perfectly fine.
"See? I'm alright. You saw the Flashback Curse—I used magic to save myself."
But Hermione shook her head, unconvinced.
"No, no, no. My mum always says that some injuries aren't visible—like with teeth, or internal stuff. You should still go to the hospital wing and get checked out."
Deville almost laughed—but then paused, as if something occurred to him.
He smiled and nodded.
"Alright, let's go. We can also visit Neville while we're there."
Hermione beamed with happiness.
Her eyes crinkled into little crescents, and the corners of her mouth lifted into a delighted smile.
She turned and skipped ahead with a cheerful bounce in her step.
Deville smiled, too.
He turned, picked up El, and set the little creature on his shoulder.
Then he followed Hermione toward the infirmary.
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