The Boy Who Never Was - A Harry Potter Fanfic

Halloween at Hogwarts was unlike anything I had ever seen before. The Great Hall was decked out in floating pumpkins and flickering candles. It looked like a high-budget haunted house attraction, except instead of overpriced tickets and a guy in a mask jumping out at you, there were actual ghosts just vibing through walls.

The scent of roasted meat, warm pumpkin spice, and freshly baked pastries filled the air. Students chattered excitedly, stuffing their faces with every Halloween-themed treat available. But for me? It was just another day in the thriving economy of Sky Kingston, entrepreneur extraordinaire.

The Business Empire Expands

By now, my side hustle had evolved into a full-blown empire. What started as a simple snack smuggling operation had turned into an organized enterprise.

I had first-year informants in every common room, even Slytherin.

I had officially made all my money back and had a hefty profit to spare.

My latest expansion? Custom featherlight bags with expansion charms.

The process was simple:

Buy leather bags at a discount from Magical Cases, Bags, and Trunks for All Occasions.

Get Hermione's parents to order custom patches for each house (because, let's be honest, school spirit sells).

Permanently affix the patches with a sticking charm I convinced Professor Flitwick to teach me.

Sell them at a 50% markup.

The result? They sold like hotcakes.

And because exclusivity breeds demand, I limited stock to 10 per house per year and doubled the price once they sold out. The Slytherins, of course, threw Galleons at me like they were allergic to budgeting. Percy tried to intervene, but when I presented my official letter of approval from the Hogwarts staff, he had no choice but to sulk away in defeat.

Securing that letter had been an adventure of its own. Knowing I'd need official backing, I first approached Professor Flitwick, who was more than happy to endorse the business once I demonstrated how the bags could help students manage their books and prevent lateness. He even suggested I show the idea to Professor McGonagall. Now, convincing McGonagall was trickier—until I pointed out how many students ended up running through corridors because they struggled with their overloaded satchels. She mulled it over, then sent me to Dumbledore, who, after a brief twinkle-eyed moment, signed off with a simple, "A most industrious venture, Mr. Kingston. Carry on."

I remembered that in some fan-fiction, Dumbledore and Snape liked to indulge in casual uses of Legitimacy but considering that my mind seemed to be completely filled with Galleons, a surface scan of my thoughts were probably very easy to tell. In the end, we agreed to 20 Galleons for the right to use Hogwarts logo on the basis that it is only used for school related merchandises only.

Even Snape, though skeptical, begrudgingly acknowledged that anything that kept students organized—and less prone to being late to his class—was worthwhile. With all their signatures in place, my enterprise was officially Hogwarts-approved, and there wasn't a single rule Percy could pull out of his Prefect Rulebook to stop me.

As Hermione and I made our way to the Gryffindor table, packages began landing across the Great Hall. Students eagerly tore them open, revealing everything from sweets to books to a rather unfortunate box of screaming socks that made a Hufflepuff choke on his pumpkin pasty.

And then we have Neville.

"Hey, look!" Seamus called, pointing at a small glowing orb in Neville's hands. "Neville got a Remembrall!"

Enter Malfoy, stage left.

Like some sort of ferret-themed magpie, Malfoy snatched the Remembrall from Neville's hands faster than you could say 'compensating for insecurity.'

"What's this, Longbottom? A Remembrall? Bet you can't even remember where you left your dignity."

Before any hexes could be thrown, Professor McGonagall materialized out of nowhere like a vengeful spirit of academia.

"Is there a problem here?"

Malfoy turned stiff as a board. "Uh, no, Professor. Just admiring Longbottom's little toy."

McGonagall was not amused.

After a moment of soul-crushing eye contact, Malfoy handed it back with a reluctant scowl.

"Wise choice, Malfoy," I muttered as he slunk away, probably to complain to Crabbe and Goyle about how unfair life was.

Flying lessons were held on the field outside Hogwarts, with rows of old-school broomsticks laid out for us. Madam Hooch—strict, sharp-eyed, and perpetually unimpressed—gave us a stern safety lecture before letting us try.

"Extend your hand over your broom and say 'Up,'" she instructed.

"UP!" the class chorused.

My broom shot into my hand instantly. Hermione's just did a dance jig on the ground. Neville's? It stayed exactly where it was, contemplating life choices.

Then, disaster struck.

The moment Neville actually got on the broom, it decided to yeet itself into the stratosphere. He zoomed up, screaming bloody murder, before losing his grip and plummeting to the ground.

I sprinted forward and caught him in a princess carry just before impact.

Silence.

Neville stared up at me in shock with a slight embarrassed blush. The entire class gaped. Even Madam Hooch looked mildly impressed.

I smirked. "Flattered, but I'm into women."

The class erupted into laughter.

"Alright, alright!" Madam Hooch barked, waving us back in line. "Enough distractions! Back to flying!"

Once Neville was safely on solid ground, I turned to Malfoy. "Oh, Malfoy, be a dear and hand Neville back his Remembrall? He seems to have dropped it."

Malfoy twitched. "Fine," he muttered, shoving it into Neville's hands before anyone could accuse him of being a petty, insecure little troll.

It also doesn't help his case to alienate the only Gryffindor that had good connections and reputation among the grey faction Slytherins. 

The rest of the class went smoothly, except for Harry, who turned out to be a flying prodigy. From the moment he kicked off the ground, it was like the broom was an extension of his own body. While the rest of us wobbled and corrected ourselves midair, Harry took to the sky with the ease of someone who had been doing it for years. He didn't just fly—he maneuvered, cutting through the air with sharp turns and instinctive control that left the rest of us looking like overenthusiastic pigeons attempting their first flight. Even Madam Hooch, who had likely seen her fair share of skilled flyers, watched him with an impressed nod. It was clear that Harry wasn't just good—he was born for this.

And then came the mid-air showdown.

Malfoy, clearly not enjoying the fact that someone else was stealing the spotlight, kicked off from the ground and soared up to meet Harry. "Think you're special, Potter?" he sneered, hovering beside him. "Let's see if you can keep up."

Harry, never one to back down, smirked. "Oh, I can do more than keep up."

What followed was a chase straight out of a Quidditch highlight reel. Malfoy dived, Harry followed. Malfoy spun, Harry mirrored him perfectly. Malfoy tried to fake him out with a sudden stop—Harry barely dodged it, skimming inches from his broom.

From below, the entire class watched, completely mesmerized.

Madam Hooch's face turned an alarming shade of red as she stormed toward the two airborne duelists. "POTTER! MALFOY! GET DOWN THIS INSTANT!" she bellowed, her piercing voice cutting through the air.

Harry and Malfoy, mid-dive, nearly crashed in their attempt to obey, touching down with all the grace of startled hippogriffs. Madam Hooch's glare could have incinerated steel.

"What in Merlin's name do you think you're doing? This is a flying lesson, NOT A DUELING CLUB! Do you have a death wish, or are you both just utterly devoid of common sense?"

Malfoy looked ready to protest, but at the sight of her enraged expression, he wisely shut his mouth. Harry shuffled slightly, looking mildly abashed but still buzzing from the thrill of flight.

"Ten points from Gryffindor and Slytherin each! If either of you pulls a stunt like that again, you won't be seeing a broomstick for the rest of the year!"

The class stood in stunned silence. Then, as Madam Hooch turned away, Seamus whispered to me, "Totally worth it, though."

I smirked. "Oh, absolutely."

By the time the lesson ended, there was no doubt: Harry Potter was destined for the skies—and Malfoy absolutely hated it.