Madam Hooch hadn't even finished blowing her whistle when a figure shot into the air ahead of time.
Neville Longbottom.
His premature takeoff wasn't intentional—he had simply hit a breaking point. Ever since term began, he'd struggled with everything, and deep down he carried a desperate wish:
"Professor, I just want to get better!"
The moment he kicked off, he realized he was in trouble.
In that instant, eleven years of his life flashed before his eyes.
Is this the end?
They say your life flashes before your eyes when you're about to die.
What a pity…
His gran had always said he could've been the Chosen One too...
Just as Neville braced for disaster—
A powerful force suddenly yanked him back.
A pair of strong arms grabbed hold of him in a thoroughly un-magical—but brutally effective—way and slammed the metaphorical brakes.
Like a car suddenly halted just after the gas pedal was floored, Neville's broom stopped dead in its tracks, rear end twitching violently in protest, as if unwilling to submit.
But resist as it might, it was no use.
Training brooms used in class had a thin layer of Summoning Charms cast on them, but they weren't particularly powerful.
Much like driving school cars—they met only the bare minimum standard.
So, no matter how much the broom wriggled, it couldn't shake off the one restraining it.
And the harder it fought, the more excited the boy restraining it seemed.
That was where the fun was, after all.
Everyone stood stunned by the scene.
Sherlock!
He had stopped Neville from flying off—by force.
And… how was he that strong?
The tug-of-war ended when the broom gave up.
In the end, Neville had only lifted an inch off the ground—just enough to get ahead of the others—before being pulled back down.
"Merlin's beard!"
Madam Hooch was the first to react. She cried out the wizarding world's go-to exclamation and ran over in a panic.
No one knew better than she what could've happened if Neville had actually taken off.
An inexperienced flyer in the air? If they were lucky, they'd break a wrist.
If unlucky… well, no one wanted to think about which bone would snap.
As she inspected Neville, clearly shaken herself, she looked at Sherlock with sincere gratitude.
"Thank you! That was brilliant. Are you hurt?"
"The broom has decent launch force, but as long as you're prepared, it's manageable," Sherlock replied, shaking out his arms.
"You're very strong… It's hard to believe someone as lean as you has that much strength…"
Relieved that Neville wasn't injured, Madam Hooch blinked in surprise and finally asked:
"By the way—how did you know he'd take off early? You lot haven't started Divination yet, have you?"
At her question, every student perked up.
After all, in the wizarding world, foreseeing the future was the stuff of mystery and awe.
Even the prophecy that foretold Voldemort's downfall had been a matter of Divination.
But the Chosen One standing among them knew very well—this had nothing to do with Divination.
Sherlock must have picked up on details others missed.
Ron and Hermione thought the same. They had already witnessed Sherlock's uncanny abilities multiple times.
Sherlock didn't disappoint.
"That had nothing to do with Divination," he said calmly, pointing at Neville. "People under extreme stress release hormones like adrenaline, dopamine, and cortisol. These can cause them to act irrationally."
He paused for emphasis.
"From some of his movements, it was easy to deduce what would happen. So I took precautions."
"'Easy to deduce'?" Madam Hooch echoed, puzzled.
"Yes," Sherlock nodded. "White knuckles from gripping too tightly. Unsteady limb movements. A flushed, overly red face… All classic indicators of stress."
"But how do you know what happens to the body under stress?" she asked, incredulous. "Adrenaline and… and what was it?"
"Adrenaline, dopamine, cortisol," Sherlock said with a straight face. "It's common knowledge, Madam Hooch."
Madam Hooch: _
Since when?!
Everyone stared, stunned by the explanation.
Everyone… except Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who simply wore expressions that said, "Of course."
Harry looked at Sherlock in awe.
Even though this wasn't the first time, he always felt the same way: before Sherlock explained things, it all seemed like some unfathomable mystery. But afterward, everything made perfect sense.
One thing was clear: Sherlock had saved Neville.
And so Madam Hooch awarded Gryffindor six points on the spot.
Sherlock was pleased—those six points made up for the ones he'd lost by skipping two Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons.
After that excitement, the rest of the flying lesson went off without a hitch.
Most students did reasonably well and completed their first flight without issue.
Except Neville.
He was banned from flying for the rest of class.
Not that he minded.
He was too busy showing Hermione a glass sphere filled with swirling white mist.
"My gran knows I always forget things," Neville explained. "So she sent me a Remembrall by owl. It tells you if you've forgotten something. See? Just hold it like this—if it turns red, it means you've forgotten—"
He stopped mid-sentence.
The Remembrall flared a brilliant red the moment he clutched it.
Neville: Σ(っ°Д°;)っ
Hermione: |(*′口`)
Neville immediately began racking his brain for what he might've forgotten.
Hermione sighed and looked up at the sky.
She wasn't banned from flying.
But during the flight drills, she'd realized something rather disheartening:
She wasn't good at it.
Now, she wasn't as hopeless as Neville—but compared to how effortlessly she handled every other subject, flying felt like a completely different story.
Especially once she reached a certain height—she was too scared to look down.
If she did, her legs would start shaking, and she'd lose control.
Naturally, she wasn't one to back down easily.
But even after several attempts, she couldn't conquer the fear.
So she returned to the ground to rest.
Her performance was acceptable in Madam Hooch's eyes.
But for Hermione, "acceptable" was as good as failure.
Especially when she didn't even reach "good."
And worst of all…
She looked up.
It was one thing if Harry and Sherlock outperformed her.
But even Ron and Seamus, who was better known for explosions than excellence—seemed completely at ease.
That… that was simply unacceptable for someone as determined as her.
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