Flying Lesson
One class which Harry had been looking forward to the most was Flying, much to Toms dismay. Harry thought the idea of flying up high in the sky with a broom to be incredibly exciting, a way of truly spreading his wings of freedom. Tom saw flying as a dangerous waste of time, between the risk of hitting other flying objects and falling to ones death if the broom failed, and was very adamant about Harry not taking the class beyond first year, and if he'd gotten his way, Harry would have excused himself from the class. Needless to say, Harry won out. In truth, part of his excitement stemmed from a slightly petty desire to annoy Tom a bit - he was actually a bit terrified he'd make a fool of himself, a fear which only increased when they found out they'd share Flying with the Slytherin first years.
'That', Tom had stated upon seeing the notice, 'is a recipe for disaster.'
Toms opinion of the current Slytherin house and its students had, in truth, drastically diminished ever since arriving. Where he had once held them up as the best of the best, as those who would make it far and high in the Wizarding World, he now viewed most of them as nothing more than petty, vicious bullies with no notable cunning except an aptitude to throw around their family names. In large parts, Draco Malfoy and his entitled attitude were to blame for that, and whenever the pale, blonde boy did something stupid, Tom would go on about how his old friend Abraxas would have to weep at the fact that this was his family's legacy - provided he hadn't died of shame yet.
'I mean, these old families do come with some sense of superiority, but back in my day, at least my peers knew that names alone won't open every door for them, and that if they wanted to keep their station - not to mention elevate it - they needed to actually use their brains!', he ranted at one point. 'The current generation seems to be comfortable with sitting around and spending all the money their ancestors have accumulated! If they aren't careful, they will be the last generations of their respective houses!'
'Well, that just gives us plebs more chances for upward mobility', Harry then quipped.
'The only half-decent thing to come out of this mess', Tom grumbled.
Indeed, Malfoy seemed far too comfortable with boasting about the great deeds his family had done, and when the subject of Flying class came up, began telling wild tales of how he had escaped muggle helicopters on a broom whenever he felt like playing with them. Harry seriously doubted these stories, but he did not doubt that the majority of those who had been raised on the wizarding side of things already knew the basics. It was a bit of an unfair advantage, Harry thought as he eyed Ron, Seamus and Dean engage in yet another discussion on Quidditch and Football.
At least he wasn't the only one who was nervous about making a fool of himself; Neville was seriously afraid of what might happen (which, considering his almost hilarious proclivity to accidents on the ground, was understandable), and Hermione was concerned purely because flying was something she could not learn the theory of in a book first - it all heavily depended on 'feeling'. Still, this didn't stop her from trying to give tips on how to pick up flying best - unfortunately, no one other than Neville and to a degree Harry (he was busy listening to Tom recounting his first flying experience, and based on what had happened to him then, he kinda understood his disdain for the entire concept of flying with brooms).
Still, Hermiones little sermon was interrupted by the arrival of the post, which among the usual sweets for Malfoy ('If he isn't careful, he'll look like Piggy...') brought a package for Neville - something called a Remembrall, to help Neville remember things he had forgotten - if only he knew what he that was.
'These things are amongst the biggest scams in the Wizarding World', Tom commented. 'I mean, who in their right mind believes they have any effect? That's like believing you can cure any illness by rubbing snake oil onto your body!'
Naturally, Malfoy saw an opportunity to pick on Neville, and decided to snatch the glowing ball from his hands as he passed by the Gryffindor table. Ron immediately sprang to his feet, looking to fight Malfoy. Harry got up as well, tired of the other boys attitude, fixing Malfoy with a murderous glare, just as Professor McGonagall intervened. Draco, now being faced with one her patented glares, grumbled and returned the Remembrall to Neville.
'I would love to kick him off his broom in class today', Harry angrily snarked.
'Make it look like an accident', was Toms advice.
Sure enough, when time for Flying, the combined Gryffindor first years ran out onto the pitch where their first lesson would take place. The Slytherins were already present, as were the brooms they were going to use, neatly laid on the grass. Harry had heard Fred and George piss on about the quality of the school brooms - mostly on how they were supposedly unreliable. Tom had said something similar, though he did add that this had been in his day, and that there was no way the current school brooms would still be the same.
At least, this had been until they all got to take a good look at said broomsticks. 'Oh, you have got to be kidding me!', was Toms only reaction, and Harry had to agree with the sentiment. The broomsticks looked rather old and rickety, with obvious signs of constant use - pretty disturbing, considering they would be pretty high up in the air.
'Do you see now why I dislike flying on brooms?', Tom smugly asked.
Harry did not dignify him with an answer, instead looking around for their teacher - who turned out to be an older woman with short gray hair and hawk-like yellow eyes.
'Oh, goody, Madam Hooch... joy of joys...', Tom grumbled.
'Old classmate of yours?', Harry asked.
'Hardly', he snorted. 'She already taught this class in my day. I think other than Dumbledore, she's the oldest teacher here that isn't a ghost...'
Madam Hooch, as it turned out, had a pretty brash personality, barking at them to take their positions alongside the broomsticks, then extend their right hands over the broomsticks and say "Up!".
"UP!", everyone obliged and yelled.
Harry grinned as his broom shot upwards into his open hand almost immediately, and had to surpress outright laughing as Tom groaned in annoyance. 'Great, you're a natural at this nonsense', he grumbled. 'Just my bloody luck.'
'Don't worry, gramps', Harry joked. 'I promise I won't go too fast too often.'
'Call me gramps again, punk, I dare you.'
Not everyone succeeded at first try, though. Hermiones broom had merely rolled over, Nevilles hadn't moved at all, and - much to his delight - Dracos had briefly gone up before changing its mind and lying back down on the grass.
Still, after a few tries, everyone had their broomstick in hand, and Madam Hooch began giving clear instructions on how they should proceed - how to mount their broomsticks (correcting Malfoys technique, much to every Gryffindors delight), and how to lift off to float a bit over the ground.
Unfortunately, Neville lost his nerve before she gave the signal, and rose higher and higher, inspite of Madam Hoochs yelled instructions, before he slipped and began falling. Harry was amongst the first to run towards him - thankfully, Neville hadn't fallen from too high, so he was mostly okay, apart from a broken wrist.
'And once again, she forgot to cast cushioning charms', Tom sighed as Madam Hooch escorted him to the Hospital Wing again. 'You'd think she'd have learned this by now... That same bloody thing happened in my day, too, except that it was my leg that got destroyed.'
'What, Tom Marvolo Riddle lost his nerve while flying a broom?', Harry teased, knowing full well what the response would be.
'I didn't lose my nerve, the broom did - before it fell apart', he snarked back, with Harry humming along before narrowing his eyes at Dracos antics.
'What an arse', he commented as he watched him make fun of Neville.
"Look! It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him!", Draco hollered as he lifted Nevilles Remembrall - he must've dropped it when he'd fallen.
"Hand it over, Malfoy", Harry calmly said as he narrowed his eyes. Silence fell upon the pitch as everyone focused on him and Draco.
Unfortunately, that same did not seem to heed his words, as he carried on: "I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find - how about - up a tree?"
"Malfoy!", Harry warned, raising his voice, but it was too late, Draco had already mounted his broom and taken off - apparently, he did know how to fly. "Come and get it, Potter!", he taunted from above.
'Harry, don't!', Tom warned, just as Hermione warned against disobeying Madam Hooch's instructions, but Harry had had enough of Malfoy and his attitude. Angered beyond reason, he grabbed his own rickety broom and lifted off in pursuit of Malfoy.
Flying, he found, was an amazing feeling, it was easy, it was freeing... and it came to him like walking, it was as though flying was the easiest thing in the world. Not even Toms angry yelling could detract him from the joy he felt as the wind blew through his hair, and, feeling emboldened, he tucked the stick a bit to rise higher, and his heart jumped as he heard the cheers from the ground.
'Congratulations!', Tom angrily yelled. 'Now what's your plan?'
Harry didn't answer; instead, he raced towards Malfoy and cut him off as he tried to make a run for it.
"Hand it over, Malfoy, before I throw you off your broom!", he yelled at the blonde boy.
"Oh, really?", Malfoy shot back, trying to keep up his smug facade, but Harry could tell the boy was terrified, for very obvious reasons.
"It's just the two of us, mate!", Harry snarked. "No Crabbe or Goyle to save your arse up here!"
Malfoy had realized that as well, and so, in an effort to save his skin, decided to toss the Remembrall up into the air with a taunting "Catch it if you can, Potter!"
Harry watched as the ball rose into the air, before starting to plummet to the ground, fast and faster, and he went into a steep dive after it.
'Harry, what the hell are you doing?!', Tom yelled in a rare fit of panic, but he wasn't listening as Harry accelerated, closing in on the ball, 'you're going to get us both killed!'
He still wasn't listening, though, as the ground grew closer and closer and closer and -- barely half a meter above the ground, Harry caught the Remembrall, pulling his broom up abruptly to slow down before gently lowering back onto the grass.
'You-- you-- you bloody, thickheaded Gryffindor!', Tom ranted. 'If I had a body of my own, I swear to Merlin, Morgana, and Nyarlahotep, I would...'
"HARRY POTTER!!"
'Nevermind.'
Harry, feeling absolutely exhausted, sheepishly turned around to meet an absolutely furious Professor McGonagall marching towards them. "Never, in all my years at Hogwarts - How dare you, you could have broken your neck -"
'Great, of course I get to take the fall, while the bloody bully gets off the hook again', he thought as he swallowed his anger.
However, for a change, people actually stood up for him - Ron, Hermione, and Parvati Patil tried to speak up in his defence, but were quickly shot down by the furious woman, who simply shot Harry a command to follow her.
Harry shot the shaking Malfoy a murderous glare before obliging. 'Well done, Harry', Tom snarked. 'So much for not getting expelled, you genius.'
'Oh, shut up, Tom, you're not helping', he shot back, furious with his own temper and his lack of control over it. Not even two weeks he had managed to stay in Hogwarts - that had to be a sad record. What would his parents think of him? God, what would the Dursleys say when he showed back up on their doorstep?
'I am never going back there', he swore to himself. 'Never.'
As he followed McGonagall through the castle (being forced to run to keep up with her angry pace), his thoughts raced on the alternatives - would he end up as Hagrids assistant, per Dumbledores decree?
'No, this isn't the way to the headmaster's office', Tom said. 'What the hell is Minnie playing at here?'
'Doesn't matter now, though, does it? I'm screwed', Harry glumly answered.
'Well, I warned you, but nooo, Gryffindors do as Gryffindors do', he snarked back. 'Hang on, I'm gonna try something... Gah! Okay, bad idea. Bloody hell, scots have nasty mental defences. What even was that?'
'Seriously?', Harry asked. 'Wait, why are we in front of the Charms classroom?'
Professor McGonagall knocked on the door, and when it opened, briefly asked Professor Flitwick if she could "borrow Wood for a moment?", to which Harry wondered what or who Wood was. As it turned out, Wood turned out to be a well built, somewhat burly fifth year, who had a slightly puzzled expression on his face. "Follow me", Professor McGonagall instructed as she led them into an empty classroom - well, empty except for Peeves, who was promptly chased out.
"Potter, this is Oliver Wood, the current captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Wood, I just found you a seeker", she said, and seemed positively giddy at that last sentence - an odd look on the usually incredibly stern professor, and a major departure from her furious demeanor just minutes earlier.
Wood's confused expression turned surprised, and then back to confused - with a hint of excitement. Tom however... 'Oh, hell no!'
"Are you serious, Professor?", Wood asked.
"Competely, Wood", Professor McGonagall answered. "The lad's a natural. I've never seen such a thing in my life. Potter, was that your first time on a broom?"
Harry, confused, nodded, while briefly wondering just why Tom was busy letting off a series of curses that would've made anyone blush.
Professor McGonagall then showed Wood the Remembrall Harry had caught. "He caught this in a fifty foot dive", she explained. "Without a scratch, not even without crashing. Not even Charlie Weasley coulv have done that."
If Wood had looked carefully excited earlier, his face now lit up like the Dursley christmas tree. "Did you ever watch a Quidditch game before, Potter?", he giddily asked, before clearing his throat and taking in Harry. "Well, he's got the right build for a seeker - light, quick... all we gotta do now is get him a proper broom, Professor - I'm thinking Nimbus 2000, or maybe Cleansweep Seven."
Professor McGonagall nodded. "I'll speak with the headmaster and see to it that the rules are bent accordingly", she announced. "God knows we need a better team than last year... destroyed by Slytherin in that last match, couldn't face Severus for weeks after that..."
'Wait, does she want me to...', Harry began.
'To join the Gryffindor Quidditch team?', Tom darkly completed. 'Unfortunately, yes.'
'Tom, this is my card out of this mess! If I join --'
McGonagall unwittingly completed his line of thought. "Potter, I want to hear you are training hard, or else I'll reconsider punishment for your stunt earlier", she sternly told before giving a rare smile. "Your father would be proud of you. He was an excellent Quidditch player himself."
Harry blinked before breaking out into a relieved grin. Tom meanwhile was not quite as excited. 'Harry, if you try to pull off a maneuver like that again... warn me. And then don't. Just focus on catching the bloody snitch and call it a day. I like being alive.'