Chapter 33: The most painful memory

When Draco saw Harry draw his wand, his courage evaporated in an instant. Without hesitation, he spun his broom around and fled, wobbling erratically in midair to avoid being struck by Harry’s spell. It was a desperate attempt to escape unscathed.

Harry, however, lowered his wand. He wasn’t particularly skilled in Legilimency, and even if he were, the skill required more than fear-fueled flight to work. A target needed to be calm, maintain eye contact, and experience some emotional disturbance that could stir up memories. None of these conditions applied to Draco in that moment.

Still panicking, Draco threw the Remembrall high into the air, forgetting one critical detail: Hogwarts’ school brooms were notoriously old and unreliable. Reckless maneuvers could easily end in disaster.

And disaster struck. The broom bucked wildly, throwing Draco off balance. His scream tore through the air.

“Ahhh! Help me! Somebody help me!” he shrieked as he flailed helplessly, the broom jerking beneath him. Finally, the broom gave up altogether, and Draco was flung off like a kite snapped from its string.

While Neville’s Remembrall fell toward the ground on one side, Draco hurtled through the air on the other.

Harry had only a split second to decide. Though Draco had more than earned a harsh lesson, saving a life came first.

“Accio!” Harry shouted, casting a Summoning Charm. Instead of targeting Draco directly—since Summoning Charms didn’t work on people—he focused on Draco’s robes. The spell yanked Draco toward him like a rag doll.

“Whoa!” The students below gasped in awe as the magic unfolded.

“P-Potter?” Draco stammered, trembling as Harry pulled him close with the broom’s momentum.

“You’ll pay for this, Malfoy,” Harry said coldly. With Draco securely held, Harry turned his attention to the Remembrall, now plummeting toward the ground.

Despite his glasses, Harry’s sharp vision honed in on the tiny sphere. Tilting his broom downward, he dived at full speed.

Draco, however, thought Harry intended to crash them both into the earth and panicked even more.

“Please, Potter, don’t do this! I’ll do anything—anything!” he begged hysterically, his voice trembling with terror.

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Harry remained unfazed. The ground rushed up to meet them as Draco’s fear peaked.

“AAAAAHHH!” Draco’s scream was piercing, high-pitched enough to rival a soprano’s.

At the last possible moment, Harry pulled up, the broom leveling out just above the ground. His hand snatched the Remembrall mid-dive.

Cheers erupted from the Gryffindor students below, who raced to greet Harry as he landed.

“Mate, that was brilliant!” Ron exclaimed, his face alight with admiration.

Even as a dedicated Quidditch fan, Ron swore not even players from the English National Quidditch Team could have pulled off such a move.

Harry grinned at his friends, releasing Draco, who landed with a graceless thud on the grass.

“I’ll tell my father about this!” Draco wailed, tears and snot streaming down his face.

“Oh, save it, Drama Queen,” Harry retorted with disdain. “Actually, you’re not just a Drama Queen—you’re a Snot Queen too.”

“You—you’ll all see!” Draco choked out, glaring tearfully.

“See what?” Ron teased, brushing his broom against Draco’s robes. “What are you going to do, wipe your tears and snot on us?”

Draco, humiliated and enraged, turned to insult the Weasley family.

Before he could utter a word, Harry raised his wand, his voice icy. “You really should clean that dirty mouth of yours. Scourgify!”

Foamy pink soap bubbles erupted from Draco’s mouth. Spluttering and gagging, he clawed at the air in vain.

“Potter!”

Professor McGonagall’s sharp voice sliced through the commotion. The crowd of students parted to reveal Harry standing over Draco.

“What is the meaning of this?” McGonagall demanded, her gaze piercing as she cast a counter-spell to free Draco.

“Nothing, Professor,” Harry said innocently. “Malfoy’s broom malfunctioned. I saved him, but he accidentally ate some dirt, so I thought I’d help him clean up.”

McGonagall’s expression tightened. “You’re fortunate it was me and not Professor Snape who caught you,” she said sternly before motioning to Harry. “Follow me, Mr. Potter.”

With a shrug, Harry complied, relieved it wasn’t Snape who had witnessed the incident.

As Harry walked away, Draco smirked through his lingering humiliation.

“See? Potter’s getting expelled!” he gloated. “Who’s next?”

Hermione scoffed. “Why don’t you say that to Harry’s face instead of whining behind his back?”

“You filthy little Mudblood—” Draco began, only to find his mouth filled with soap bubbles again.

“That spell really does work wonders on dirty mouths,” Hermione said coolly, lowering her wand.

Before Pansy Parkinson could retaliate, Madam Hooch arrived to diffuse the tension.

Meanwhile, Harry followed McGonagall into the castle, wondering what awaited him. Expulsion seemed unlikely—he had saved Draco, after all.

Stopping outside a classroom door, McGonagall turned to address someone inside.

“Sorry to interrupt, Filius,” she said. “May I borrow Wood for a moment?”

Wood? Harry frowned in confusion. Was she planning to punish him with a wooden cane?

To Harry’s surprise, a tall, athletic boy stepped out, looking equally puzzled.

“Wood,” McGonagall said, her tone uncharacteristically warm, “I’ve found you a Seeker.”

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