Between the first and second classes, there was a half-hour break. The students chattered excitedly about their experiences in Herbology as they strolled slowly toward the Charms classroom.
Leaving the greenhouse, the Weasley twins walked over to Alistair. "Alistair, remember to lend us your notes later!" Fred said, winking at him.
"You mustn't lend them to anyone else!" George added.
Alistair looked slightly puzzled. "Why can't I lend them to anyone else?"
"Oh, come on! Surely Alistair wouldn't refuse us?"
"Of course not."
"Then why would we need to borrow notes from outsiders when we have such a good boy right here in our dorm?"
"All right," Alistair smiled helplessly. It felt rather awkward to be called a "good boy" by people younger than him by a whole cycle.
He turned to Xina nearby and apologized, "Xina, I might need to lend my notes to Fred and the others first..."
Following Alistair's gaze to the brown-haired girl, the Weasley twins spun around and glared at Alistair. "You didn't say you were lending them to a girl!"
"Oh! Why didn't you say so sooner? It's hardly sporting to compete with a lady." George took the notebook from his hand and handed it to Xina. "Ladies first!"
Xina shot Alistair a mischievous smile, then turned to the Weasley twins. "Thank you. I'll pass them on to you as soon as I'm done copying."
Fred nudged Alistair with an elbow. "Aren't you going to introduce us?"
Alistair paused. "You didn't know each other?" Ah, well—he should have known better than to assume.
"Xina Ruler, my cousin," Alistair said, gesturing first to Xina, then to the twins. "The Weasley twins, Fred and George."
"Hello." The two sides exchanged polite nods. Feeling the girl beside her tug at her sleeve, Xina said to Alistair, "Well, I'm off to the Charms classroom."
"Let's walk together, we're all headed the same way," George Weasley invited.
"Of course." Smiling, Xina and her classmate followed along with the Weasley twins.
Alistair suddenly remembered that Fred and Angelina seemed to have had a thing in the past; perhaps Xina and George could hit it off as well?
He was struck by a sudden, mischievous urge to play matchmaker.
***
The Charms class was taught by Professor Flitwick. Last week's lesson had been entirely theoretical, but this week they finally began learning actual spells. The very first spell on the agenda was the Unlocking Charm: *Alohomora*.
Since Alistair had already learned the unlocking charm beforehand, he secretly practiced the Levitation Charm during class instead.
The incantation for the Levitation Charm was rather long—*Wingardium Leviosa*. The spell was difficult to pronounce, and controlling the levitation force was even harder. Alistair had tried several times without managing to get the force quite right, so he used the Charms lesson to practice.
The afternoon Transfiguration class was taught by Professor McGonagall. Professor McGonagall was always known for her strictness, and she gave the class a stern warning right at the start, though Alistair had missed it while he was in the hospital wing.
True to form, Professor McGonagall loved to deliver her standard opening speech: "Anyone who causes mischief in my classroom will be asked to leave and never permitted to return. I've warned you."
True to her usual routine, Professor McGonagall had the students spend the first half of the class on notes and the second half on practical application.
Transfiguration was both the most complex and the most dangerous branch of magic; once a transformation failed, missing limbs were a common result, which was why young witches and wizards always started by turning a match into a needle.
While patrolling to inspect the students' progress, Professor McGonagall walked over to Alistair and asked, "Alistair, how are you feeling? Any discomfort?"
Flustered and flattered, Alistair replied, "I'm doing well, Professor. Very well indeed."
Professor McGonagall nodded and gently reminded him, "Make sure you catch up properly on the lessons you missed earlier."
"Yes, Professor."
Over the next few days, Alistair was introduced to Professor Sinistra for Astronomy and Professor Galey for Defense Against the Dark Arts, and soon enough, flight class arrived.
It was one of only two classes shared with Slytherin, the other being Potions.
To be honest, Alistair held no animosity toward Slytherin; on the contrary, he rather liked them. At least in terms of etiquette and attire, they possessed a distinctly aristocratic flair, and he naturally warmed to anyone who took the trouble to groom themselves and appreciated neatness.
At three-thirty on Thursday afternoon, flight class was eagerly anticipated by every newly enrolled wizard and witch, as flying lessons only began in the second week.
Alistair smoothed down his robes and joined the crowd heading out to the lawn in front of the castle for their very first flying lesson.
Madam Hooch was waiting for them on the flat grass with twenty broomsticks.
"Well, what are you all waiting for? Everyone stand beside a broomstick. Come on, hurry up!" Madam Hooch, who seemed of an impatient disposition, briskly urged the students on the field.
"Outstretch your right hand over the broomstick and say, 'Up!'"
Looking at the chaotic pile of brooms on the ground, Alistair picked one at random and stood beside it. Raising an eyebrow at the broom, he called out, "Up!"
The broom handle twitched slightly, then fell back down. "Hey, buddy, a little cooperation?" Alistair muttered under his breath. "Up!"
This time the broom finally behaved a little, flying up and slapping directly into Alistair's palm, though he failed to catch it properly and it dropped back to the ground.
"Come on, up!" Alistair shouted louder, and on the third try, he finally managed to secure a firm grip on the broom handle.
Next, Madam Hooch demonstrated how to mount the broom without sliding off the top and explained the safety rules to keep in mind while flying.
Listening intently to her instructions, Alistair began to make a few small attempts.
He wasn't afraid of heights; on the contrary, he possessed a boy's natural fondness for rushing forward at high speeds, much like street racing back in his old world. However, he valued his life too much, so after dabbling in street racing out of youthful arrogance a few times, he had settled down and never done it again.
Clearly, this flying class was giving him another chance.
Alistair seated himself on the broom, gripped the handle tightly, leaned his upper body slightly forward, and whispered, "Come on, let's see what you can do." With a push of his feet, he soared into the air.
The mid-September weather was still slightly warm. Sitting on the broom, Alistair relished the rush of the autumn wind against him and couldn't help taking a deep breath. Only one thought crossed his mind: *Brilliant.*
He could see the towers of Hogwarts, the Black Lake and the forest in the distance, and... what was Madam Hooch shouting down below? He couldn't be bothered to listen.
"Come on, faster!" Once he had adjusted to the current speed, Alistair urged the broom to put a bit more effort into it.
The broom began to accelerate rapidly.
"All right, all right, mate, a bit too fast, slow down," Alistair quickly intervened when the broom began to push past his comfort zone. "This speed right here—not bad."
Acting on his own accord, Alistair circled around the Hogwarts architecture. He caught sight of Professor McGonagall through an office window—*Good heavens*, he quickly veered off in another direction to avoid her line of sight.
He flew toward the tower housing Dumbledore's office, but no one was visible inside; then, he spotted Professor Sprout teaching other year groups in the greenhouse. As he kept flying, he suddenly felt a mild curiosity about what Snape might be doing, though after circling once, he remembered Snape's office was down in the dungeons.
Good grief, what was he thinking? Did he really expect to see some warm, sentimental side of Snape? Had he completely forgotten that Snape only ever showed his gentleness to Lily?
Alistair suddenly concluded that he must have read far too many novels and fanfiction stories. The fictional portrayals of Snape as deeply devoted, persistent, and fiercely protective of students had warped his perspective too much—so much so that when he actually faced such a cold, merciless man in reality, he found himself utterly reluctant to accept it, perpetually trying to unearth some softer side to the man.
By the time Alistair absentmindedly drifted back down to the ground, he received a severe tongue-lashing from Madam Hooch, who warned him that the next time it happened, she would report him directly to Professor McGonagall.
Alistair hung his head and silently endured Madam Hooch's wrath, though even the Weasley twins' subsequent praise of his flying skills failed to lift his spirits.