No matter how conflicted the young witches and wizards felt about the next day's classes, school life marched on relentlessly.
Life at Hogwarts wasn't just about not knowing what kind of madness Defense Against the Dark Arts would bring. There were also the sleepy History of Magic lectures, the baffling Transfiguration lessons, spellcasting mishaps in Charms, and, of course, the ever-snarky Snape.
According to the schedule, Thursday would be a full day devoted to flying practice for first-years.
Normally, this would be a class to spark joy in every young wizard's heart, though many would soon discover they had an incurable fear of heights.
But that morning, the usual cheer at the house tables was notably absent. In previous years, the excitent of the first-years could practically lift the roof off Hogwarts. This year, however, everyone was staring at the upperclassn.
That morning was scheduled for fifth-year Defense Against the Dark Arts, followed by a mixed sixth- and seventh-year class in the afternoon. Many students quietly thanked the stars their O.W.L. scores hadn't been high enough to land them in that advanced class.
Breakfast ended quickly. The fifth-years did their best to eat slowly, dragging out every bite, but ti refused to slow down for them.
With what could only be described as funeral-level solemnity, the first-years gave the fifth-years one last look of pity before heading out of the castle in a stream.
Flying lessons, naturally, weren't held indoors. The class would take place on a well-maintained lawn outside the castle.
When they arrived, Allen realized sothing was off, there were more students than expected.
Instead of two houses, every first-year was here.
Only then did the students grasp the truth: the flying lesson they had all discussed endlessly had suddenly and unceremoniously arrived.
This hit the kids from magical families especially hard, they hadn't even had the chance to brag about how they could expertly handle a broom at ho. Nor had they shown off their encyclopedic knowledge of Quidditch to their friends. And the reason they couldn't? Well, that was obvious.
Before they could moan about it, the students were swept into a bustling crowd.
It was the first ti since the Sorting Ceremony that all the new students were gathered in one place. During als, students would arrive at different tis and sit separately at their house tables.
Now, instead of lining up by house, the first-years clustered into groups with their friends.
Many of them had bonded on the Hogwarts Express before the Sorting. Getting placed in different houses hadn't dampened those friendships, unless you were sorted into Slytherin, of course.
Allen casually greeted almost every Hufflepuff. Hufflepuffs were a naturally friendly bunch, and Allen had already earned nearly fifty house points in just under three weeks, so he was a familiar and respected face.
However, the real star among the Hufflepuffs wasn't Allen, it was their beloved "Chef God" Leon.
Many Hufflepuffs, especially those from Muggle families, had never touched a flying broom in their lives. So had only just now learned what brooms were used for in the wizarding world.
Sure, a few were trying to show off their flying skills, but compared to their exaggerated stories, Leon's humble approach, openly admitting he was worried he'd fall off, felt far more trustworthy.
After all, Leon's honesty had beco sothing of a legend after the welco party the previous weekend.
To welco the new students, the upperclassn had thrown a huge feast. They gathered loads of ingredients and enough butterbeer to drown a troll, thanks to the enthusiastic house-elves and Hogwarts' generously burning budget.
Hufflepuff, known for their culinary talents, brought out their best food magic. Every upperclassman had their own unique recipe or cooking spell.
Leon, who claid he could only boil water, had been given the simple job of passing out ingredients, because everyone had to help out at a party.
That night ended up becoming one of the most unforgettable feasts in Hogwarts history.
Leon hadn't been lying, he couldn't tell salt from sugar.
And with food magic being so convenient, you just cast a spell on the ingredients, no one double-checked anything.
The result? A bizarre but surprisingly tasty al featuring sweet roast beef, caral chicken, sugared pork chops, honey-glazed lamb, syrupy sausages and steaks, plus salty apple pies, salted pancakes, chocolate muffins, jam-filled donuts, and boozy fruit puddings. It was… a culinary adventure.
From that day forward, Leon was officially crowned the "Chef God."
Now, Hufflepuffs surrounded him, so nearly pulling out notebooks to jot down his every word. Leon was sharing flying tips his father had told him, practical advice on how not to fall off your broom. Far more useful than other kids' over-the-top tales about dodging vampire bat attacks midair (which Allen strongly suspected were exaggerated leftovers from DADA trauma).
When Madam Hooch finally arrived, even a few Gryffindors and Ravenclaws drifted over to Leon's group, making the braggarts green with envy. Their own magical beasts of doom escalated in size, Allen was sure that if Hooch had arrived even a minute later, soone would've claid to have jousted a dragon on a broom, stealing Harry Potter's spotlight entirely.
Behind Madam Hooch followed a swarm of flying brooms, hovering slightly above the ground. The way they trailed behind her gave the impression of a commander flanked by a loyal squad.
"All right, first-years! Line up by house!"
Madam Hooch's sharp tone snapped everyone into order.
The brooms obediently floated down in front of each student, settling on the grass like ordinary cleaning tools.
She demonstrated how to mount a broom without slipping off, and everyone paid close attention, especially Allen. He had no desire to end the day in the hospital wing, especially not due to sothing as embarrassing as improper flying posture.
"Watch how I grip the broom! Now, place your right hand above it and shout: Up!"
"Up!" the students chorused, with varying enthusiasm.
Only about a third of the brooms responded.
Unfortunately, Allen was not among the successful group.
Still, after a few tries, he managed to get his broom to obey.
Then ca the next hurdle. As Madam Hooch corrected their hand positions, Allen got singled out.
With a kind yet ominous smile, she said, "This grip won't send you to the school infirmary, but it will send St. Mungo's a nice profit."
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