Hogwarts: My Grandmother is the Queen

The sky was a clear, deep blue on Thursday afternoon, with a few wisps of clouds hanging lazily in the air, curling up like feathers.

On the flat lawn in front of Hogwarts Castle, two rows of worn-out flying brooms lay neatly on the ground, like a group of veterans waiting for inspection.

Old soldiers never die, but their broomsticks always split open.

Mrs. Hodge had short gray hair and sharp, eagle-like yellow eyes. Standing before the new students, her voice crisp and clear: "Extend your right hand, place it above your broom, and say clearly: 'Get up!'"

"Get up!" Dozens of voices rang out in a disorderly manner.

Henry's broom was an old-fashioned one with a somewhat loose broom handle. After he gave the command, it rose smoothly into his palm without any unnecessary wobbling.

He noticed that Draco's broom responded extremely quickly, leaping up almost the instant he finished speaking, and a smug look flashed across Draco's face.

Neville Longbottom's broom only twitched painfully on the ground for a moment before settling back down.

"Get up! Get up!" Neville's voice was choked with sobs, his round face covered in sweat. His broom suddenly sprang up, hitting him hard on the chin with a "bang," before falling to the ground.

Several Slytherins chuckled. Draco first bared his teeth, then pursed his lips as if remembering something.

Mrs. Hodge began to demonstrate how to properly mount the broom without slipping off, and how to push off the ground with her feet when taking off.

"When I whistle, you push off the ground forcefully, stay elevated for a few feet, then lean forward slightly and slowly descend back to the ground." Her yellow eyes swept across each face. "Listen to my whistle—three—two—"

However, Neville was too nervous. He was afraid of being left on the ground, so he kicked hard just as Mrs. Hotchki counted to "two".

"Come back, child!" Mrs. Hooch cried, but it was too late.

Neville shot straight up into the sky like a champagne cork gushing from a bottle—twelve feet—twenty feet—Henry squinted as he watched the fat figure sway violently in the air, his fingers gripping the broom handle so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

The broom spun in the air, going up and down, completely out of control.

"Merlin," Pansy covered her mouth, "he'll break his neck..."

There was no sarcasm or gloating in her words; it was as if she genuinely cared about Neville.

Draco tilted his head back, his eyes sparkling with curiosity, as if he were observing an interesting experiment.

Neville's face turned deathly pale thirty feet in the air. The broom lurched, and he began to slide down—first letting go of one hand, hanging on the side of the broom, his legs kicking futilely in the air.

"Hold on tight!" Mrs. Hooch shouted into the air, but she herself was an old witch and could not possibly fly up to save him.

Time seemed to slow down as Henry saw Neville's other hand begin to slip, his fingers leaving the broom handle one by one.

His brain completed the calculations in an instant, and then he instantly pushed off the ground and took off.

Henry took off cleanly and swiftly, his broom shooting straight up in a graceful arc, his robes fluttering behind him.

The wind ripped at his hair, but his eyes were fixed on only one target: the boy who was falling.

Neville finally let go completely, letting out a short scream, and was about to begin freefall.

Henry adjusted his direction, the broom drawing a sharp zigzag in the air, and he quickly approached Neville, twenty feet—fifteen feet—he could even see the pure fear on Neville's face.

Just as Neville was about to be thrown off the broom, Henry arrived in time.

He made an extremely risky move, suddenly turning the broom sideways, almost hanging on the side of the broom, gripping the handle tightly with his left hand and reaching out to Neville with his right.

"Grab me!"

Neville's wildly flailing arm brushed against Henry's wrist, and he instinctively grabbed it tightly.

At that moment, the broom he was holding finally slipped completely from his grasp, and he cried out in alarm as he began to fall.

Henry gritted his teeth, and using the momentum of his fall, he swung the broom violently, slamming Neville onto it.

Rescue successful!

The students below stood on tiptoe, their bodies tense, and burst into enthusiastic cheers when they saw Henry finally complete the rescue. It would have been even more fitting if "You're from Dandong" had been playing in the background.

The young Slytherin wizards, in particular, were jumping around with their hands above their heads towards Henry; anyone who didn't know better would think they were welcoming the general.

Don't do that, my family doesn't use Maybachs.

Henry guided the broom to the ground slowly, and Neville's feet finally touched the soft grass. He then collapsed to the ground, panting heavily and trembling all over.

Henry had a noticeable red mark around his right wrist and his shoulder was aching slightly, but his breathing was steady, and fine beads of sweat were seeping from his forehead.

"Mr. Longbottom!" Mrs. Hodge rushed over, her face pale. She quickly examined Neville and found only a few scratches, apart from being extremely frightened.

"You!" She turned to Henry, her yellow eyes filled with lingering fear and sternness. "Do you know how dangerous that was? You could both have been seriously injured!"

"He was more than thirty feet off the ground, Professor." Henry's voice was so calm that it didn't sound like he had just completed a high-altitude rescue. "If I hadn't intervened, he would have at least broken his leg, and more likely suffered much more serious injuries."

Lady Hooch opened her mouth, then finally sighed: "You did very bravely, but also very recklessly. Slytherin, ten points for your courage and your accurate judgment."

Her attention was quickly drawn to a cut on Neville's wrist—a shallow scratch from a broomstick he'd been struggling with, which needed treatment.

"I'm taking him to the infirmary. Everyone!" she snapped. "No one is allowed to leave the ground until I get back! Anyone who flies into the air will be expelled from Hogwarts before he finishes his Quidditch game!"

"And you, Mr. Wells," she said, turning to Henry, "you'd better come with me too."

After saying that, he helped the still trembling Neville walk toward the castle.

Henry followed, his eyes catching Neville's memory orb on the ground, but he didn't pick it up. Instead, he casually kicked it towards Slytherin.

This was also part of his plan; getting Potter into the Gryffindor team would make his entry into the team more secure.

Draco might not mock Neville after picking up the crystal ball, but Potter would definitely come up and demand it—Henry knew Draco had indeed listened to him, but he absolutely couldn't stand Potter, who had rejected his goodwill, jumping around in his face.

That's how kids are; they value face above all else.

This opportunity also allows Draco to realize another of his weaknesses. What do you call that? It's a win-win-win situation!

After the afternoon classes ended, a strange excitement filled the common room in Slytherin's cellars.

News of the incident in flight class has spread, and various versions of the story are circulating among the students.

"I heard Potter almost crashed into the ground when he caught the Memory Ball!"

"Henry really grabbed Longbottom with his bare hands? From how high?"

"Professor McGonagall later took Potter away, did you see that?"