Chapter 11 – A Small Effort
This Herbology class was one of the few lessons in the current school year held jointly between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. Although the arrangement might change next year, for now, it was the perfect opportunity for Maca to get closer to Harry and his friends.
Speaking of Harry—the Boy Who Lived—he was currently locked in a fierce struggle with a Flobberworm on a stalk of leaves. Yes, that Flobberworm—the same kind that the rather forgettable Michael Corner had reportedly swallowed whole as a child. These creatures had a particular fondness for lettuce but would generally eat any kind of plant.
Maca had been thinking about these curious creatures when Ron squeezed over and started asking about how he'd handled Snape in Potions class. These worms were easily ten inches long, nearly the length of Maca's wand. He couldn't imagine how on earth Michael had managed to swallow one when he was little.
"Maybe he bit it in half before swallowing?" Maca thought with a shudder.
"...Bite what in half? Are you thinking about lunch already?" Ron asked, confused. Then he quickly continued, "Forget about lunch—tell me what happened with Snape! We're starting his class tomorrow, and I've heard he only favors students from his own house. I hope that's not true."
Maca snapped out of his thoughts and shook his head helplessly.
"Who told you I provoked Professor Snape? That's practically asking to die." He gave Ron a brief rundown of what had really happened, which immediately caught Hermione's attention.
"Wait! Did Snape really say that?" Hermione asked, her voice rising with indignation. "But that was Arsenius Jigger's pharmacological formula! That's a recognized authority! How could he just dismiss it like that?"
Then she seemed to catch herself and looked apologetically at Maca. "Sorry, I don't mean to say it's wrong to question authority, but…" She hesitated, visibly doubtful. "I mean, is that constant really not a required constant?"
"It shouldn't be," Maca nodded, and the two of them lowered their voices as they began discussing the technicalities. Hermione chimed in now and then, and though skeptical at first, she seemed slowly convinced.
"What are they talking about?" Ron asked, turning to Harry.
"Probably something from Potions class," Harry replied. He'd just managed to wrestle a wriggling Flobberworm into his gloved hand, keeping it from feasting on the plants around them.
"So… we're going to have to learn that stuff too? Whatever they're talking about?" Ron leaned in to listen for a bit longer, then looked back at Harry with a frown.
Harry just shook his head, "I… hope not?"
Giving up, Ron returned to fertilizing the plants. "Maca, who's always neat and tidy, paired with Hermione, who's always a mess. Now that's a rare sight," he mumbled, completely baffled.
"And the same Maca who used to sleep in every day is suddenly this model student," he muttered again. Back before school started, Maca had spent a good chunk of time at the Burrow. Ron had thought he knew him pretty well—smart and cool-headed, sure, but also kind of lazy and definitely a late sleeper! But apparently, Maca wasn't quite the kindred spirit he had imagined.
"...Maybe I can get him to help with homework from now on?" Ron suddenly thought. Honestly, he figured it was a brilliant idea.
After Herbology came a class that many students were particularly excited about—Flying lessons. Maca's group was paired with Ravenclaw for this one.
Maca, naturally, was also looking forward to learning how to soar freely through the air. Still, he wasn't sure if he'd run into trouble—he didn't have the best sense of direction even on the ground. Would flying make that worse?
The first flying lesson was held on a gently sunken field near Hogwarts' main gates. The grass swayed gently in the breeze, vibrant and full of life. To the east, the shadowy edge of the Forbidden Forest loomed, its towering canopy rustling in the wind with a soft whoosh.
The Hufflepuff students had already lined up in the field, watching as the Ravenclaws strolled over unhurriedly. Madam Hooch, the flying instructor, was shouting at them to pick up the pace.
"All right, what are you waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand next to a broomstick—hurry, hurry!"
Madam Hooch's short, steel-gray hair stood up like bristles—completely unmoved by the wind. Her piercing yellow eyes resembled those of a hawk sternly watching over its fledglings.
Maca picked a broom that looked decent enough and quietly took his place beside it. He watched as the others scrambled to find a spot.
"Stick out your right hand over your broom," Madam Hooch instructed sharply, "and say: Up!"
"UP!" the students chorused. Her commanding tone must've affected them—they sounded unusually synchronized.
Maca's broom obediently sprang into his hand. He felt a wave of unfamiliar excitement. This wasn't bad at all.
Others weren't so lucky. Some brooms merely gave a twitch; others rolled around on the ground. Ernie's broom even leapt straight into the air and smacked his palm red.
Clearly, broom-handling involved a bit of talent. Only a few managed to get theirs to behave properly from the start.
Next, Madam Hooch demonstrated how to mount a broom without slipping off headfirst. She paced up and down the line, correcting hand grips, occasionally offering sharp remarks to those who couldn't quite get it right.
"All right," she said, "when I blow the whistle, push off from the ground with both legs—firmly. Hold your broom steady, rise a few feet into the air, then lean forward slightly and come straight back down. Wait for my whistle—three—two—"
"Whoa—!" Maca couldn't help but gasp as the ground dropped away beneath him. The sensation was exhilarating—unlike anything he'd ever felt before.
Madam Hooch walked among the students, observing carefully. Of course, quite a few couldn't even lift off the ground—their brooms didn't seem to listen to them at all—but luckily, nothing too dramatic happened.
"Mr. MacLean, you've gone higher than I instructed," Madam Hooch called out loudly. "Come down now—safety first!"
Maca blinked, realizing he had indeed flown higher than the others. He quickly leaned forward as Madam Hooch had shown them, and the broom obediently began descending.
"Well done," Madam Hooch said, patting Maca on the shoulder. "The first thing a beginner should focus on is safety. One step at a time—that's the best approach."
Maca nodded, though he was secretly thinking, Just wait until next week, when Neville and Harry take off. One literally rockets into the sky—whoosh!
"Madam Hooch," he said suddenly, a thought striking him, "what should a beginner do if they accidentally fall off their broom? Is there a way to catch themselves mid-air?"
He had a bit of a soft spot for Neville, the nervous, pudgy boy. Giving Madam Hooch a heads-up might help prevent a broken arm—or at least soften the fall. That looked painful, and Maca still remembered the scene vividly.
"A Levitation Charm will usually do the trick. Don't worry," Madam Hooch replied, assuming Maca was concerned for himself. "And if that's not fast enough, Madam Pomfrey at the infirmary can fix them up. Her potions are always effective."
"Oh! Thank you," Maca said politely, pretending to feel reassured.
Of course, it was just a minor detour in the day's lesson for him—something done on impulse. In no time at all, he forgot about it.
"Ha—! This feels amazing!"
With Madam Hooch's permission, Maca got the chance to try a low-altitude flight. It had taken some convincing, but it was worth every word. Now, he was soaring.
Wind rushed against his face, whistling past his ears and sending his robes flapping like flags. Under his control, the broom darted left and right like a shark slicing through water.
Admittedly, this shark was flying dangerously close to the "ocean floor."
"Careful—! Slow down! Slow down! Do as I say—!" Madam Hooch was shouting from below, but all Maca could hear was the roaring wind. Her voice was completely drowned out.
It wasn't until he'd thoroughly enjoyed himself that Maca finally eased up. He yanked the broom handle and spun around, tracing a graceful arc in the air.
Before he even landed, he caught sight of Madam Hooch's expression—it wasn't a good one. He instantly realized the problem: during the second half of the flight, he had picked up too much speed.
These brooms—even the cheap training models, some with their quirks—were still proper flying equipment. They weren't children's toys.
"I'm sorry, Madam Hooch," Maca said quickly once he landed, bowing his head. "I got carried away. I didn't expect flying to feel this incredible, and I let my guard down."
Madam Hooch stared at him for a moment before sighing. "I just finished saying—take it one step at a time... But you did fly well. After you've thoroughly studied Quidditch Safety Essentials, I might allow you a few more chances to fly."
"…And I believe you'll find that falling in love with Quidditch is one of the best choices you'll ever make."
That was Madam Hooch for you—strict, fair, deeply responsible, and, most importantly—passionately devoted to the sport of Quidditch.