23 Chapter 23: Clouds
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17 September 1991, Hogwarts
This was Harry's deepest wish, the reason he was sorted to Slytherin. In his previous life, he had died forgotten, alone. In this life, Harry grew up being told that he was no one and that he would never amount to anything. He would prove them wrong. He would prove them all wrong, that he swore.
It was after the second week of school that something new finally happened. Flying lessons were available to first years, and the entire house war that was going on practically disappeared overnight just because of the excitement of it.
Longbottom kept telling everyone about how good he was on a broom, so much so that a quidditch team apparently wanted him to join. Malfoy wasn't that far behind him in terms of fake stories, saying that he almost escaped a muggle helicopter while flying on a broom. Discounting the fact that it was illegal for quidditch teams to hire anyone under the age of fifteen, and the fact that helicopters were very loud that 'narrowly' escaping them meant that Draco was either deaf or an idiot, the Malfoy scion's story was a clear breach of the statute of secrecy, which can be very heavily enforced, even to minors.
Surprisingly enough, Tracy was also very invested in flying lessons. She was apparently very fond of Quidditch and hoped to be a chaser on the Slytherin team in her next year. Harry stayed quiet, of course, during the bragging sessions, rolling his eyes at his classmate's ludicrous stories.
His precious peace and quiet were interrupted in the middle of the common room when Malfoy proudly proclaimed, "Potter, you must be disappointed to be away from your books for so long during flying lessons. Didn't you say that you didn't like Quidditch?"
The entire common room froze when the smug looking blonde said that. Tracy looked at Harry with betrayal in her eyes, "Is it true?"
Harry simply shrugged, unconcerned, "I quite like flying, actually, but I just don't see the appeal in Quidditch. I suppose I could watch it, but I don't really fancy myself playing, to be honest."
That was a lie, of course, Harry had no idea about flying a broom. He's just banking on his Potter flying genes being a thing as they do in the stories.
Still, the entire common room kept shouting obscenities at him until Harry raised his wand and flicked it. A loud cannon sound was emitted from the wand and silenced everyone, "Look, I don't care if you think that Quidditch is the best sport in the world. I am allowed to have my preferences, and if I don't like it, and I don't keep shoving this fact down your throats, then I expect you to extend the same courtesy to me. Or have all of you forgotten your manners?"
Everyone looked down sheepishly and Harry nodded to them and left, his friends following him.
When they were outside the common room, Daphne glared at the hidden entrance, "What did Malfoy want to achieve by saying something like that?"
Harry simply shrugged, "I don't know, and I don't care. Although, I never expected the fact that I don't like Quidditch to cause this big of a scene. I swear there were seventh years yelling at me."
"It's the biggest sport in the world, of course, they're going to be mad at you. Hell, I'm mad at you. How could you not like Quidditch?" Tracy answered while glaring.
"I just don't. I also don't like eating fish. Do I have to explain myself?"
"But it's Quidditch!" Tracy protested.
"Look, all I'm seeing is seven people on brooms trying to put a ball in hoops while the beaters try to push them off the brooms and the seekers keep trying to find a smaller golden ball with wings to stop the match. There's just too much chaos happening at the same time, that I find the game ridiculous. Honestly, I would rather be reading a book than watching a game. Unless of course Tracy is playing. That would change everything, of course."
The girl looked down and blushed while the other two snickered.
Harry just continued, "Look, I just don't like the game. It's not a big deal, and even if you want me to go to watch them, I will. But I don't think I'll ever play it. But I love flying. I'm actually excited to get my flying license."
Yeah, flying lessons were technically outside the Hogwarts curriculum. They weren't graded, and you can actually fail the class. The reason is to have enough proficiency in flying broom to be allowed to do it by the ministry. You could do it at any time, during any year, but the professors recommend doing it during first years to both act as a scout for the house Quidditch teams, and because the classwork is relatively light in the first year.
In a way, a flying license was like an apparition license. Only people with them can buy a broom from anywhere. Technically, you were not even allowed to own a broom without having a licence and anyone selling or giving a broom to someone who doesn't is illegal and punishable with a large fine. Oh, parents ignored it, of course, and bought their children brooms. But they were technically the parents' property, not their children's.
It was also the reason why first years weren't allowed to have brooms, since it was technically illegal, but once they get their broom license, they would be allowed to use them to move around – outside the castle, of course.
Alas, the time came for the flying lessons to begin. Of course, it was with the Gryffindors which was a recipe for disaster. Still, during an afternoon at the weekend, Harry and the rest of the Slytherin first years left the common room to the grounds for their first flying lesson. It was a clear, sunny day and the grass rippled under their feet as they marched down the sloping lawns towards a smooth lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the Forbidden Forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance.
The Gryffindor hadn't arrived yet but there were around twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the grounds. Harry started spreading his senses, a new skill he was trying to master. It was an extension of his magical hearing. He still didn't know what to call it, sue him; he was horrible with names and magical hearing was explanatory enough. It seemed too disappointing to explain his skill really, but alas, he didn't confide with anyone enough to have better name suggestions.
Harry chose to focus on each individual broom. They looked old and worn out. The songs were also slightly fading. One of them was particularly out of tune. But still, the brooms' songs were so wonderfully complex, with a light air of freedom and discipline. The enchantments – whatever they may be – were breathtaking, and Harry had lost himself slightly staring at one particular broom in the back whose song was still loud enough and speedy enough for it to captivate his interest.
Malfoy seemed to take pleasure at Harry's distraction, "You look scared, Potter. Afraid you're going to fall over and join your parents?"
The blonde must have had the memory of a goldfish if he already forgot how terrified he was when Harry was angry at him. After the thing with Weasley and Longbottom, he returned to trying to pester him, which annoyed Harry to no end.
And so, Harry returned the favour with the best method to deal and annoy with an attention seeking child. By ignoring them entirely, "Mm…Did you say something?"
The boy's face reddened in anger and embarrassment, "Are you deaf or something?"
Harry simply shrugged and answered with a disinterested voice, "No, I just tune you out whenever you start talking. It's rarely more than idiocy for the most part, and it's too troublesome for me to pay attention to your yapping."
The Malfoy scion's head was redder than the infamous Weasley hair, and he yelled out, "How dare you?"
"How dare I what? Then tell me, Draco dear, what did you say that you're so angry at me for not paying attention?"
"I SAID THAT YOU WERE TOO AFRAID OF BROOMS BECAUSE YOU'RE SCARED OF FALLING AND JOINING YOUR PARENTS!"
Harry stifled a smirk. That boy was too easy to rile up and he didn't pay attention to his surroundings when he was angry.
Of course, I teased him until the flying teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived and from the looks of it, she had heard Malfoy's little tantrum, "How dare you Mr Malfoy? This is unacceptable. Detention this weekend with Mr Filch and believe me, young man, I will write to your parents about your behaviour in public. Now, apologize to Mr Potter!"
The boy paled in fear and then just glared at Harry who was smiling innocently at him, "I apologize for my words, Potter."
"I accept your apology," Harry replied.
Harry looked up at the flying instructor with a grateful smile which she returned. The woman seemed like a kind person, with grey hair and yellow eyes.
As for Harry's friends, they were gaping at him. "How did you do that?" Harry exclaimed.
"I don't know what you're talking about?" Harry simply answered.
However, the commotion distracted Harry enough from noticing that the Gryffindors had arrived as well. Weasley, Longbottom, and Granger sent hateful glares at him, which he returned with a smile.
Before anyone could say anything, Hooch spoke up, "Well, what are you all waiting for?" the woman barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."
Harry walked towards the one that fascinated him and stood next to it.
"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say, "Up!"'
"UP!" everyone shouted.
Harry did his best not to summon the broom with his wandless magic, and simply activate the commands on the broom. Unsurprisingly, Harry's broom jumped into his hand at once. He was actually one of the few that did it. It was a verbal command that was powered by an artefact, not a spell, which meant that either the brooms were defective, or the others just couldn't activate the artefact properly. They were probably slightly afraid that their subconscious chose not to activate the artefacts.
The moment his hand touched the broom, he felt its song intensify, and change to suit his own. It was a happy song, fast and exciting. Harry immediately grew to like it. By the time he looked around, he noticed that everyone had their brooms in their hands.
Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips. Although Harry snorted when the witch ended up correcting Malfoy as well.
"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said the Flying teacher, more irritated in her tone and manners. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet and then come straight back down by leaning forwards slightly. On my whistle – three – two –one-GO!"
Harry kicked the ground as hard as possible and channelled some of his magic to the broom, it immediately responded and accelerated away. He had to adjust the output a bit, but the young Potter would admit that he never felt at home as much as he did at this moment, flying through the air, free of all burden and worries.
Madam Hooch made them do some basic drills, and Harry grew quickly used to controlling his broom with perfect precision. It seemed like the Potter genes were a thing. Flying was in fact in his blood.
Alas, all good things come to an end, and the relatively peaceful flying lesson ended when Malfoy purposefully pretended like he had lost control of his broom and slammed into Ron Weasley, who lost control as well and was falling towards the ground.
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Thank you guys for your support in these hard times.
