Keep on keeping on

For the next week, Harry struggled to concentrate on anything. Hermione returned to school after Christmas and when she had stepped off the train, she was beaming from ear to ear and had pulled Harry into a bone crushing hug. The girl was gushing about how exciting her holiday was and what presents she had gotten, so much so that Harry had struggled to get a word in edgeways. He had just smiled and nodded along, pleased that his friend had such a great holiday. But his head was swimming with the questions that the revelation about Professor Quirrell had raised. Hermione didn’t notice Harry’s preoccupation at first but when she did, Harry told her everything. As Harry expected, Hermione had been shocked, even more so when Harry told her about the time that he had found the three headed dog himself.

“Harry! What were you thinking? You could have died. Or even worse – expelled!” She exclaimed, gripping Harry’s arm tightly. Harry scoffed.

“Um. Priorities ‘Mione. I f-feel like p-potentially dying is w-worse than getting e-expelled.” Harry replied, grinning at Hermione and laughing at her jokingly. Hermione nodded, conceding to Harry’s point but she still thought that getting expelled was pretty bad. The conversation was over quite quickly after that, and Hermione had told Harry to push it out of his mind and focus on school. Her reasoning was sound; sure, the professors were probably aware of any potential danger and would sort it out themselves but for some reason, Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that he had to do something.

January started to fly by. Harry focused on his lesson’s and tried so hard to stop the stuttering that still accompanied his speech. He was growing more confident and actually started to enjoy Hogwarts even more. True excitement came when McGonagall entered the common room one evening.

“First years!” The stern looking professor announced. “From tomorrow, you will have a new lesson added to your timetables. Once a week you will now have flying lessons with Madam Hooch. Please be on time to these lessons. Good evening.” McGonagall dropped that exciting nugget of information and promptly left.

“Flying lessons!” Harry cried, turning to Hermione, his face alight with happiness. “I’ve always wanted to fly!” Hermione’s face was the exact opposite of Harry’s. It was dark and full of thought and worry.

“I’m not so sure Harry. Flying? Sounds dangerous to me. All the way up in the air with only a floating stick to support you? Nope. Not for me!”

Harry laughed but placed a hand on Hermione’s arm.

“D-Don’t worry ‘Mione. They w-wouldn’t let us do it if it w-wasn’t safe. Anyway, magic is great. W-We can do anything.”

The next day dawned bright, and Harry woke to early morning light streaming through the crack in the hangings of his bed. Excitement coursed through Harry’s body, his blood rushing in his veins. It was flying day and Harry was positively buzzing. He clambered out of bed and stuffed his books for the day into his bag before heading the bathroom to get ready. He still hadn’t gotten changed in front of his roommates at all and he was determined to never do it. Before he knew it, Harry was dressed and rushing down to the common room to wait for Hermione to join him for breakfast. Part of Harry was nervous because he was about to do something he’d never done before but his excitement overpowered that.

After breakfast was over (Harry had been unable to sit still throughout), Harry and Hermione followed the crowd of Gryffindors and Slytherins down to the quidditch pitch. When they arrived, Harry saw twenty old, battered brooms lined up on the grass. At the end of them stood a woman with short, spiky silver hair. Her robes were silver and blue and a small golden whistle was hanging around her neck. Harry was that both her eyes were a bright amber.

“Gather round! Gather round! Come on. I don’t bite!” The woman called, her hands raised above her head and beckoning over the group of first years.

“I’m Madam Hooch and I’ll be your flying instructor. Now, everyone stand beside a broom and reach your hand out and call ‘up’, nice and firm now.”

Harry walked confidently over to a broom and Hermione stood nervously beside him.

“UP!” Harry commanded, his voice sounding strong and confident. Immediately, the broom jumped from the floor and flew straight to his hand. Hermione’s eyes widened and a shocked expression came over her face.

“How did you do that!” She demanded. Harry watched as she asked her broom repeatedly, but it just rolled feebly on the ground. Harry smiled and shrugged his shoulders. Harry looked up and around at the rest of the students and was pleased to see that Ron was struggling as well. His broom kept raising up a few inches off the ground and then falling back down. The red head was growing more and more frustrated. Harry looked around again and faltered when a blonde haired Slytherin was eyeing him with curiosity. Harry smiled a small smile at the boy who then blushed and looked away.

Once everyone had either got their broom to respond to their command or had given up and just picked the broom up, Madam Hooch addressed the assembly of first years again.

“I want everyone to mount their brooms and kick hard of the ground with their feet, hover for a few second and then lean forwards and touch back down. Ready? On my whistle! Go!” Madam Hooch blew her whistle and a few people hesitantly mounted their brooms. Harry put one leg over his and kicked off the ground. He hovered for a few seconds and leant forward until he felt his feet touch the ground again. A rush of adrenaline flew threw him. Even just that little bit made Harry want more. He gazed longingly at the broom in his hand but was snapped from his dreaming when a scream pierced the air. Harry looked over and saw Neville floating 4 feet in the air and steadily rising, panic covering his face.

“Get down this instant!” Madam Hooch called. Neville was shaking his head, too scared to get any words out. Before they knew it, Neville’s broom was out of control. He couldn’t slow it down and the broom was spiralling round and round, making Harry dizzy just watching it. Suddenly, the broom jerked sideways and Neville came flying off, tumbling to the ground with a sickening crunch. Madam Hooch ran over the boy’s figure that was now curled in a ball on the floor, his wrist lying at a funny angle. Harry heard the flying teacher muttering to Neville before she grabbed him and lifted him to his feet.

“Right, everyone must stay firmly on the ground. If I see one broom in the air, you will be out of here faster than you can say quidditch.”

The first years watched Madam Hooch lead Neville away and the second they were out of earshot, a spattering of laughs rippled across the crowd. Ron was the loudest of the lot.

“What an idiot!” He laughed, his voice cruel. Harry’s newfound confidence overtook him and he pushed his way through the crowd and stood face to face with the bully.

“Thought you were f-friends or are y-you as two-faced as I-I thought you w-were.” Harry couldn’t help the stutter that came out but he didn’t care – he was angry at Ron.

“Oooh. Muteboy speaks!” Ron laughed, looking around at the first years surrounding him, trying to drum up some support.

“Muteboy d-does speak. I h-have b-been for months now or d-did you not notice?” Ron scoffed at Harry’s response.

“I don’t listen to you much. Don’t want to lose braincells.”

“Can’t lose w-what you don’t have W-Weasley. Leave N-Neville alone, at least he c-could actually get h-his broom to respond to him.” Harry snarled, his lip curling.

“What did you say?” Ron hissed, stepping closer to the boy until his face was shoved in Harry’s.

“Well, I-I was w-watching you and y-you couldn’t even get y-your broom off the floor.” Harry’s wand was out now, raised slightly. Quick as a flash though, Ron snatched the wand from Harry’s hand and raised it above his head, waving it tauntingly. Ron stepped away and grabbed his broom.

“Yeah? Show us your skills and come and get this then.” With that, Ron kicked off from the ground and flew shakily upwards, his broom trembling under him. Harry scoffed and grabbed his broom too.

“Harry, no! You heard Madam Hooch.” Hermione had her hand clasped tightly around Harry’s arm but he shrugged it off and kicked off and flew confidently up to meet Ron.

“G-Give it here, Weasley o-or I’ll knock y-you off y-your broom.” Harry called, the cold wind biting at his face.

“Is that so?” Ron called, his broom still shaking under him. “Go fetch then, Muteboy.” He threw Harry’s wand with all his might and Harry watched as the thin piece of wood sailed through the air. Harry immediately put a burst of speed and raced after his wand. He heard Ron laughing behind him bit Harry ignored him. He felt the wind flying past him and heard his heartbeat in the ears. Harry felt the rush and chased it, like a high. Fucking hell, he loved flying. Before he knew it, Harry caught his wand in his hand, and he felt the warmth of the magic flow threw him. Harry breathed a sigh of relief and slowly began his descent. When he reached the ground, Harry heard the thunderous applause and cheering from his classmates. He ran over to Hermione who hugged him tightly.

“God, you sure know how to raise my blood pressure. Well done, Harry.” Hermione breathed, smiling at her friend.

“Mr Potter!” Harry snapped his head to the side and saw Professor McGonagall striding across the quidditch pitch. His stomach dropped and the adrenaline disappeared. “Come with me. Now.”

Harry followed his professor through the halls, his heart beating thunderously in his chest. He was terrified now. He’d broken the rules. He’d be kicked out now, doomed to return to the Dursley’s. Harry felt a panic attack rising and he clenched his fists together tightly before pulling his hands out in front of him and began to tug at his fingers in the self-soothing way he normally did. McGonagall stopped outside a classroom door and knocked sharply. She popped her head round the door.

“Can I borrow Wood please, Professor?” She asked politely. Harry heard some mutterings of confirmation. Harry’s panic peaked now. Wood! No, no, no. Uncle Vernon used a cane to hit him and that was made of wood. Was McGonagall going to hit him like his uncle did? Harry began to back away from the Professor, preparing to make a run for it. Before his feet could response to his panicked thoughts, the door to the classroom opened wider and a tall, teenage boy stepped out.

“Wood, I have found you a seeker!” McGonagall announced, her face beaming. Harry faltered, confused about what had happened. McGonagall saw Harry’s confusion and explained.

“Harry. Oliver Wood here is the captain of the Gryffindor quidditch team. We lost our seeker at the end of last term but now, I want you to take the spot.”

“Harry? Do you want to be seeker?” Wood asked, eyeing the small first year curiously. Harry though for a moment. Being on the quidditch team would mean getting to fly regularly. He nodded eagerly.

“Y-yes. Please. But f-first years can’t play for house teams a-and I don’t h-have a broom.” Harry asked. McGonagall waved her hand, dismissively.

“Not to worry. I’m sure we can waive the rules and we can find you a broom Mr Potter.” McGonagall clapped her hands together. “Wonderful. Well I’ll leave it to you now Wood.” The captain smiled at Harry.

“Excellent. Meet me on the quidditch pitch tonight at 7pm, after dinner. We will go over the rules.” Wood explained before turning around and walking back into the classroom.

Harry walked through the halls in a state of shock. Him. On the quidditch team. A seeker! Harry grinned to himself and when he reached the portrait hole, Hermione was stood anxiously outside, waiting for his return.

“Well? What happened?”

“Umm. Well, I-I didn’t get expelled. Instead, I-I was made a seeker on the Gryffindor quidditch team.”

“What! That’s brilliant, Harry. Well done. How does that make you feel?” Hermione asked, grinning at her friend. Harry fiddled with his fingers slightly, anxiety now creeping in.

“Excited but nervous. I’ve never played before. What if I-I’m shit?” Harry asked, his head hung.

“You won’t be Potter.” A voice called from behind them. Harry and Hermione spun around.

“Excuse me?” Hermione asked. The boy stood behind them was wearing green robes, his white blond hair slicked back making his face look taught and slightly gaunt.

“You won’t be ‘shit’ as you say Potter. It’s in your blood.” The pale boy whispered.

“How do you know that?” Harry asked, quizzically.

“Your dad. He used to play. He has a trophy in the trophy room.”

“Right… O-Okay. Thank y-you. I’m s-sorry. Who are you?” The Slytherin extended his hand.

“Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.”