On Friday afternoon at 3:30, William and the other Ravenclaw students hurried down the steps to the grounds, ready for their first flying lesson.
It was a bright, breezy day, and as they marched down the sloping grass toward a flat area on the opposite side of the grounds, the grass beneath their feet swayed like waves.
The Hufflepuff students were already there, along with about thirty broomsticks neatly laid out on the ground.
William recalled Fred and George complaining about the brooms provided by the school, and now he saw why. Each broom looked old and battered, as though they had been used for decades. Their safety was questionable, and they certainly didn't look like they'd provide a smooth ride.
Was Hogwarts short on money? Highly unlikely.
William strongly suspected someone was pocketing a bit extra.
Madam Hooch strode over to them. She had short, spiky gray hair and sharp yellow eyes, like those of a hawk.
"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Hurry up, no time to waste!"
William selected a broom that looked slightly less dilapidated than the others and tried to communicate with it using his eyes.
He had never touched a broom before, so he could only hope it would cooperate.
"Stick out your right hand over the broom," Madam Hooch instructed from the front, "and say, 'Up!'"
"Up!" everyone shouted.
William's broom wobbled uncertainly, as if it were struggling to climb a steep hill.
He raised his voice, and the broom picked up speed, though only slightly.
Cho's broom flew straight into her hand. She raised an eyebrow, giving William a triumphant look. This was her first time outperforming William in any class.
Once everyone had their broom in hand, Madam Hooch demonstrated how to mount it without sliding off.
Sitting on the broomstick wasn't as uncomfortable as William had expected; there was an invisible support under his seat that made it feel stable.
Madam Hooch walked among them, correcting their hand grips.
"Now, when I blow my whistle, you'll kick off from the ground—hard. Keep your broom steady, rise a few feet into the air, then lean forward slightly and come straight back down.
On my whistle—three—two—"
However, Shabby, a Hufflepuff student, seemed too nervous. He kicked off before the whistle even touched Madam Hooch's lips and shot straight into the air.
"Come back, boy!" Madam Hooch shouted, but Shabby rocketed off like a missile.
Fred and George had claimed the school brooms were slow, but William thought otherwise. In mere moments, Shabby had disappeared into the distance.
Not even the Nimbus 1700s seemed that fast!
After a frantic search near the greenhouses, they found Shabby.
He was lucky.
Not far from where he landed was a special fertilizer pit, used for irrigating various magical plants.
That "fertilizer" was made from magical creatures' waste.
Though the pit was protected by magical barriers, Shabby had been going so fast that it seemed likely he could have broken through and dived straight in.
But he was also unlucky.
Shabby had fallen from the sky and, though uninjured, landed in a mass of vines.
The still-thrashing broomstick had disturbed the plant, causing a number of tentacle-like branches to rise from the ground, whipping around and eventually snapping the old broom in half.
Shabby scrambled to his feet, trying to move toward a damp wall, but the plant extended snake-like tendrils that wrapped around his ankle, lifting him into the air.
He struggled to tear off the vines, but the more he fought, the faster and tighter they wound around him.
By the time William and the others arrived, Shabby had been completely wrapped up, hanging from the roof like a tied-up burrito.
"Help! Please!" Shabby wailed, dangling and shaking like a giant green caterpillar.
But no one dared to approach. The plant's numerous tendrils whipped through the air, slamming into the ground and leaving deep craters in their wake.
It was as if ten angry tentacle monsters had joined forces!
Everyone looked to Madam Hooch for guidance.
She, too, was visibly unnerved. Her face paled as she recognized the plant before them—Devil's Snare.
The only reason she could identify it wasn't due to her exceptional knowledge of Herbology. It was because, just months ago, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Robert, had died because of this very plant!
Robert had met a grim fate. After being gored by a wild boar during the day, he drunkenly stumbled into a Devil's Snare that night. The plant had trapped him, and without proper treatment, he bled to death.
Madam Hooch knew Professor Sprout had transplanted the Devil's Snare here, but she hadn't realized it had been placed so close to the fertilizer pit.
And that broomstick… why did it have to fly in this direction?
Of course, other areas of the grounds weren't much safer. To the west and north were tall walls, to the south was the Black Lake, and further east lay the Forbidden Forest—not to mention the Whomping Willow nearby...
Hogwarts really was a dangerous place.
As for Madam Hooch, though she was an experienced teacher and a capable witch, she wasn't familiar with how to handle a Devil's Snare.
After all, you couldn't expect a sports teacher to solve complex herbology problems, could you?
And you certainly couldn't expect a Quidditch instructor to remember the weaknesses of a Devil's Snare.
Even if she had once known, she had forgotten most of it by now.
"You all stay here. I'll go get Professor Pomona Sprout—"
But before she could finish her sentence, the Devil's Snare launched another attack.
Irritated by the disturbance, the plant's vines erupted from the ground, wreaking havoc all around them.
Everyone backed away, and Shabby was tossed high into the air, the vine flinging him toward the pit.
The young witches and wizards gasped in horror, convinced they were about to witness Shabby dive headfirst into the muck.
Cho grabbed her broom, seemingly preparing to fly in and save Shabby.
"Are you crazy?" William warned. "You'll be caught by the Devil's Snare before you even get close."
"Then what do we do?" Cho asked, gripping the broomstick tightly.
"I heard from Hagrid that Devil's Snare likes dark, damp places—"
"But we don't have any fire!" Cho cried, wringing her hands in panic.
William shot her a surprised look. "Aren't you supposed to be a witch?"
He pulled out his wand, flicked it, and muttered an incantation. A bellflower-blue flame erupted from the tip of his wand.
Holding his wand aloft like a glowing lantern, William slowly advanced toward the Devil's Snare.
The tendrils flailed wildly, but none dared approach him. Instead, they recoiled, retreating into the shadows.
Within seconds, Shabby felt the vines slacken their grip on him. The plant writhed and twisted, its tendrils retreating completely, releasing Shabby from its grasp.
He sighed in relief.
And then promptly fell from the air.
"Aaaaah! Somebody help me!"
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