HP: She married Malfoy after becoming an exchange student.

Draco Malfoy's most anticipated activity was undoubtedly his flying lesson. Although he had ridden flying broomsticks at his own manor, it would be a completely different experience at Hogwarts.

Finally, after Draco's eager anticipation day and night, flight lessons arrived.

At five in the morning, the Slytherin dormitory was still bathed in a pale green light, and tiny dewdrops clung to the stone windowsill.

Draco was already standing by the window, his silver-green morning robe casually draped over his arm, the collar of his white shirt neatly fastened, and his blond hair gleaming softly in the morning light.

He reached out, pressing his fingertips against the cold windowpane, leaving several clear fingerprints, his gaze fixed intently on the playground—where soon Hogwarts's batch of old, chipped brooms would be piled up.

"If you stand here staring all morning, you'll wear a hole in the glass."

Elias's voice came from the shadows. He had just come out of the bath, and the hem of his dark robe swept across the ground, creating a very light breeze.

Water droplets from Elias's hair slid down his jawline and into his collar. His shirt cuffs were slightly wrinkled, and when he looked up, his eyes still held a hint of sleepiness and nonchalance.

"The first flight lesson," Draco withdrew his hand, straightened his shirt cuffs, and deliberately kept his tone calm, "can't let those stupid Gryffindor lions beat us to it."

The blond boy paused, his gaze drifting uncontrollably towards the playground. "Besides, even an old broom should still work, as long as you know how to use it effectively—"

"A person who knows how to leverage power wouldn't stand here for half an hour." Elias interrupted him, a very faint smile curving his lips. His gaze swept over the open book "Wizard Flying Techniques" on Draco's table, the edges of the pages worn smooth from repeated rubbing.

"Instead of practicing your eye contact by staring out the window, you should be thinking about how to get those old fogies to obey you later," Elias said, his words sharp as ever.

"Who practiced their eyes?!" Draco was furious.

"The Malfoys are never stumped by a broom." He arrogantly raised his chin, trying to make himself look more imposing.

"Alright," Elias said, not getting angry at being rebuffed, and nodded knowingly.

"!!!"

Draco felt Elias was being dismissive, and he solemnly decided that he wouldn't speak to the German again until breakfast that day.

It was still early, so Draco sat back down at the table and flipped through the book "Wizards' Flying Techniques." He was determined to show Potter and Weasley how powerful Malfoy was today!

Draco's soaring fighting spirit lasted until breakfast time.

When the Slytherin group arrived at the dining room and breakfast was just laid out on the table, Draco couldn't help but clear his throat.

Everyone looked over at the sound, and Draco's gaze swept over the group of people sitting around him, his excitement almost overflowing.

"Listen," he said, as Goyle spread jam on bread and Crabbe stared at a grilled sausage, swallowing hard. "Don't expect those old brooms to be very obedient in today's flight lesson."

Draco looked at Goyle and said, "You have a strong grip, so don't use too much force when you grab the broom. The wooden handle can't withstand the strain. Loosen your grip a little so you can turn it."

Crabbe looked up blankly, and Draco clicked his tongue: "You too, don't put all your weight on your chest, those old logs will break—shift your center of gravity half an inch back, understand?"

Pansy adjusted her hairband in front of the small mirror, then raised an eyebrow upon hearing this: "You talk like you know everything."

"At least it's better than some people who only care about whether their hair is messy," Draco retorted, his gaze lingering on her hair for a moment. "The wind will blow the hairband away; holding onto the broom is more important than picking up the hairband."

Daphne, who had been sitting quietly, gripped her napkin tightly, her fingertips turning white. Draco glanced at her, his tone softening: "Don't be nervous. The old broom's balancing charm is weak, but as long as you bend your knees slightly and relax like you're sitting in a chair, it won't wobble too much."

Finally, he turned to Elias, who was slowly slicing an egg, the silver knife and fork clinking softly against the porcelain plate, a knowing smile in his eyes.

Draco raised his chin: "As for you, don't always try to hide your abilities. If you fall behind later, don't make excuses about the broom being bad." His words carried the usual provocation, but the end of his tone held a hint of expectation, as if he was certain that the other party would keep up with his speed.

Elias put down his knife and fork, and wiped his lips with a napkin: "Looks like someone memorized the flight manual perfectly last night."

Draco's face flushed slightly, but he straightened his back and said, "Understanding the tools is fundamental. Just wait and see, today I'll show you what true flying talent is."

—————————————————————

Meanwhile, the Gryffindor dining table

Harry gripped his knife tightly, clearly uneasy. Ron, meanwhile, was munching on sausage, muttering incoherently, "I heard Mrs. Hooch is strict, but flying lessons are super fun! My brother said as long as you grab the broom handle—"

"But I've only ever ridden a bicycle," Harry interrupted him, his voice a little strained. The cereal in front of him was cold, the spoon sinking to the bottom of the bowl, just like his current mood.

Last night, as he stared blankly at "The History of Magic," his mind was filled with images of flying brooms—those things have no wheels, no pedals, and not even brakes, so how could anyone stand on them?

"So what?" Ron swallowed the last bite of bread, wiped his mouth, and said, "Wizards don't use Muggle logic!"

Harry didn't speak, he just stared at the lawn outside the window. The wind swirled fallen leaves across the ground, and the old brooms lay crookedly on the grass, like a bunch of old bones that had sunbathed enough.

He suddenly remembered the Dursleys' car, which made a terrible noise every time it started—could the flying broomstick do the same? Could it suddenly go out of control and throw him into the Forbidden Forest?

Hermione came over carrying a heavy stack of books, the words "Quidditch Origins" prominently displayed on the spines. "Don't worry, Harry," she said, placing the books on the table and pulling one out to open it. "I checked, Madam Hooch will start with the most basic levitation spell, just follow the steps—"

"Who asked you?" Ron suddenly looked up, breadcrumbs still clinging to his lips. "You think you know everything, always wanting to meddle in everything. We're talking about flight lessons, who are you bringing all these books for?"

"Ron!" Harry frowned and tugged at his sleeve. "She meant well."

Hermione's face flushed instantly, her fingers trembling slightly as she gripped the spine of the book: "I just wanted to help—"

"Your help makes me feel like an idiot, doesn't it?" Ron scoffed, then looked down at the sausage on his plate, his impatience like a thorn in his side.

Hermione pursed her lips, said no more, picked up the book, turned and left, the chair making a soft creak as it was carried away.

Harry tried to call her back, but Ron nudged him with his elbow: "Ignore her, she always acts like a professor."

Harry glared at Ron: "You shouldn't have said that about her."

Ron shrugged and nonchalantly took a bite of sausage: "That's how it is, she's always like that—" He was cut off by Harry's disapproving look and had to shut up.

The air around the dining table suddenly seemed to sink, and even the sunlight outside the window seemed to dim.

.........