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#28 WSWW
🕑 Added 2025-03-10 16:17:01 +0000 UTCTaking Defense Against the Dark Arts was always an interesting experience, but there was one question Ted could never quite wrap his head around: how exactly do you define dark magic?
It was one of those concepts that felt obvious until you tried to explain it. Like trying to define what counts as inappropriate—difficult to describe, but you know it when you see it.
Dark magic had a few defining traits:
First, it often required harming others to work properly.
Second, it could cause serious, sometimes irreversible, damage—like raising a basilisk or using a curse like Sectumsempra, which left deep, unhealable wounds.
Third, it fed off negative energy. The Unforgivable Curses were the best example. You couldn’t just cast them with a flick of the wrist—you had to mean them.
Fourth, magic relied on a wizard’s intent. A student casting Avada Kedavra for the first time would likely cause a nosebleed at best. Insufficient magical ability was one factor, but the lack of true malice was another. Magic was fueled by willpower, but intent shaped the final effect.
And then, there was the gray area between dark magic and regular magic—jinxes and hexes.
In the magical world, curses were classified into three categories: jinxes, hexes, and full-blown dark curses.
Jinxes were more like annoying pranks—tripping spells, the Leg-Locker Curse, and other minor inconveniences.
Hexes, on the other hand, were a step up. They caused harm but weren’t necessarily evil. Hermione’s spell that scarred Marietta’s face or Ron’s slug-vomiting curse were prime examples.
Then there were borderline spells—like Reducto or Incendio. Both could be deadly in the right circumstances, but were they truly dark magic?
Friday morning’s first class was a flying lesson with Hufflepuff, and with no classes in the afternoon, it was basically an early weekend.
Madam Hooch, their instructor, led them to the field where a row of battered school brooms lay waiting. The brooms looked like they had seen better days—bristles missing, handles scuffed, and barely held together by old twine. They were the kind of brooms that wouldn’t even get stolen if left in the middle of Diagon Alley.
Still, excitement buzzed through the air. Flying was a dream as old as time, and for many, this was their first chance to experience it.
Ted could barely contain himself, and Hermione—true to form—had stayed up the night before reading everything she could about flight mechanics.
Both of them, being Muggle-born, had never flown before. But while Ted took to it quickly, getting his broom into his hand on the first try, Hermione struggled. Her broom wobbled lazily on the ground but refused to jump into her grasp.
Ted wasn’t surprised. Hermione was brilliant, but she excelled at theory, not hands-on practice—and flight was all about instinct.
Floating half a meter off the ground, he circled her, offering encouragement. “You can’t hesitate, Hermione. Don’t worry about falling or the broom not responding. You have to be confident. If you waver, the broom will too.”
“It’s not alive,” he continued, “but it can sense your magic. You’re not asking it to fly to you—you’re telling it.”
Ted’s patience paid off, and by the end of class, Hermione had made progress. He even earned some experience points from a task completion: [Flying (White)] +100 XP.
Once their lesson ended, it was time for Harley and Neville’s group to take to the skies.
That’s right—Harley, Gryffindor, and Slytherin had their flying lesson next.
Ron, naturally, began boasting about his flying skills. “I’ve been riding toy brooms since before I could walk!”
Harley, however, didn’t share his enthusiasm.
This was one of the biggest differences between her and the original Harry Potter—she had zero interest in flying. Unlike her father, James Potter, she didn’t inherit the thrill-seeker gene. Sirius had spent hours trying to change her mind, but it never stuck.
Meanwhile, Malfoy was showing off as well, claiming that as a child, he had once flown a broomstick close enough to shake a Muggle helicopter.
“Yeah, right,” Ron scoffed. “You’d be turned into confetti before you got anywhere near it.”
Harley smirked. “Wouldn’t even get close. The updraft alone would knock you off the broom.”
Gryffindor’s group was a mixed bag when it came to excitement. Ron was eager to prove himself, but Harley, Neville, and Jerry weren’t looking forward to it.
Harley had no interest. Neville was nervous, having hardly flown before. And Jerry… well, before Diagon Alley, he hadn’t even known flying brooms existed.
As expected, the lesson didn’t go smoothly.
Harley managed well enough—her natural talent made sure of that. The broom responded to her immediately, gliding into her grip as soon as she called for it.
Jerry and Neville, however, struggled.
Jerry, impatient, simply bent down and grabbed his broom instead of waiting for it to rise.
Neville, seeing this, did the same, though his face flushed with embarrassment.
Then came the test flight.
Neville was so nervous that when he finally kicked off the ground, he shot into the sky like a rocket.
The broom had no intention of stopping.
“I want to fly higher! Higher!” It might as well have been singing.
Within seconds, Neville was twenty meters in the air—before he panicked and let go entirely.
Luckily, Ms. Hooch caught Neville with a shock-absorbing spell just in time. If she hadn't, he'd probably be spending the rest of the year in the hospital wing—or worse.
As soon as she made sure Neville was all right, she rushed off to retrieve the rogue broom, muttering about school property and how expensive magical equipment was. That left the class completely unsupervised, and predictably, chaos erupted within seconds.
The kids who could fly took off immediately, zooming around the field like wild Bludgers. Those who couldn’t—or just weren’t interested—stayed on the ground, chatting and poking at their brooms like they were strange, untrustworthy creatures.
Then Malfoy, who had spent the last five minutes laughing at Neville, suddenly spotted something glinting in the grass. He bent down and picked it up with a smirk.
“Ha! Look what we have here! Longbottom’s little memory ball!” He tossed the crystal sphere up in the air, catching it with exaggerated ease. “Wonder if he even remembers losing it.”
The Slytherins erupted into laughter, and Malfoy grinned even wider.
That’s when Harley stormed forward, her green eyes blazing. Before Malfoy could react, she snatched the Remembrall right out of his hand. “What’s wrong, Malfoy? Your family struggling so bad that you have to steal other people’s stuff now?”
Malfoy flinched, old memories surfacing. Harley had been pushing him around since they were kids, and the years hadn’t made her any less terrifying. But before he could come up with a snarky comeback, his two loyal lackeys, Crabbe and Goyle, stepped up, cracking their knuckles.
Ron was the first to react. “Oh, you wanna go?” He rolled up his sleeves, grinning. “Let’s go, then!”
And just like that, it turned into an all-out brawl between Gryffindor and Slytherin.
No one was quite sure who threw the first punch, but within seconds, kids were shoving, tripping, and flailing at each other in what would later be remembered as ‘The First Flight Lesson Battle.’
Harley was at the center of it, fists flying as she single-handedly took on Malfoy and his goons like some kind of anime protagonist. Meanwhile, on the Slytherin side, Millicent Bulstrode—dubbed ‘The Oni Princess’ by some—was swinging her fists like she was trying out for a wrestling championship.
Neville, despite his usual timid nature, actually threw a punch. It wasn’t pretty, and his fists were shaking even afterward, but it was enough to earn him the respect of his friends.
Ron, however, went full berserker mode. He dove headfirst into the fight, only to immediately get tackled by two Slytherins. He came out of the scuffle with a black eye, several footprints on his robes, and the proud declaration that he had ‘fought bravely.’
Jerry, the smallest of the bunch, played it smart. Instead of engaging directly, he spent most of the fight tripping people up from behind, ensuring that half the Slytherins ended up face-first in the mud. By the end of it, he was one of the only Gryffindors who walked away completely unharmed. A true strategist.
By the time dinner rolled around, the entire school had already heard about the battle. Gryffindor vs. Slytherin. The first big showdown of the year.
Ron, naturally, was in the middle of the Great Hall, dramatically reenacting the events. “I charged in first! Sneak attack! Bam! Right whip kick! Bam! Left forward punch! Bam! Five-hit combo—”
“Ron,” Ted interrupted, deadpan. “You got tackled in the first five seconds.”
“…Tactical sacrifice,” Ron corrected, clearing his throat.
Harley chuckled, shaking her head. “Honestly, we should’ve had a strategy meeting before jumping in.”
Ron crossed his arms. “What strategy? We just started swinging!”
“Exactly.” Jerry smirked. “Which is why our strategy next time should be—sell you as bait.”
Ron gasped. “Betrayal!”
Unfortunately, their ‘glorious’ battle didn’t go unnoticed by the staff. McGonagall was livid, Snape was furious (but also slightly smug), and even Dumbledore looked vaguely exasperated.
Fifty points were deducted from both Gryffindor and Slytherin, making them the first two houses to go into negative numbers this year.
Fortunately, no detentions were given—probably because there were just too many students involved. As Ted put it, ‘When enough people break the rules, they just give up on punishing everyone.’
As they left the Great Hall, Harley sighed, stretching her arms behind her head. “Well, that was eventful.”
“Yeah,” Ted said, smirking. “And if Gryffindor and Slytherin keep this up, Ravenclaw might actually have a chance at winning the House Cup this year.”
Then, out of nowhere, a soft ‘Ding~’ echoed in the back of Ted’s mind.
