Quidditch and Home

After a satisfying lunch and a brief discussion about the possibility of suggesting Remus Lupin for the History of Magic position, Harry's thoughts shifted to the upcoming Quidditch practice. The excitement of being the youngest Seeker in a century still lingered, and he was eager to showcase his skills to the team. After lunch he quickly went to his dormitory to change. Ron and Hermione wanted to come and watch so he brought them along as well.

As the trio made their way to the Quidditch pitch, the crisp autumn air filled with the anticipation of the upcoming practice. Harry could feel the adrenaline building up, a mix of nerves and exhilaration. The vibrant colors of the changing leaves formed a picturesque backdrop to the iconic Quidditch pitch.

The Gryffindor team gathered, and Oliver Wood, the team captain, welcomed everyone with a determined expression. The red and gold robes of the Gryffindor players contrasted vividly against the green of the pitch. 

The team except for Wood looked at Harry with wide eyes as he made it towards them. George and Fred snickered. Alicia, Angelina and Katie looked flabbergasted. It would seem that wood had not told them about Harry yet. 

"All right, everyone, listen up!" Wood called, and the team gathered around. "We've got a new Seeker in our midst. This is Harry Potter. He's got talent, and I expect you all to make him feel welcome."

The entire team whooped. The twins clapped Harry in the back. The girls came to shake his hand. 

Wood continued, "Today is about getting to know each other's playing styles. Harry, this is Alicia Spinnet, our Chaser, Katie Bell, our other Chaser, and Angelina Johnson, our third Chaser. Fred and George Weasley are our Beaters, and Oliver Wood, myself, is the Keeper."

Harry nodded towards each of them. 

"You still haven't gotten your broom Harry?", Fred noted that Harry was not holding a broom.

"No Fred, I have written home but I don't know why but I am yet to receive an answer. But don't worry I'll have it for the next practice." Harry explained.

Wood nodded but suggested that Harry send another letter, to which Harry nodded and thought that he would use the floo network later to just go back home and check. 

Wood, with his characteristic intensity, led the team through various drills and strategies. The Chasers practiced precision passing, the Beaters honed their bat skills, and Harry, as the Seeker, worked on his maneuvers in the air. The wind whistled past as Harry soared on his broom. Since he had still not gotten his own broom yet, he told Oliver not to use the snitch.

Throughout the practice, Harry's reflexes and innate Quidditch instincts impressed his teammates. Wood, with a proud grin, acknowledged Harry's performance. The practice focused on passing, maneuvering, and basic strategies. As the sun began to set, the team landed, and Wood approached Harry. The camaraderie among the Gryffindor players grew stronger, fueled by the shared goal of winning the upcoming matches. Ron and Hermione looked in awe at Harry's performance from the stands.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow across the Quidditch pitch, the first practice concluded. Harry descended to the ground, exhilarated and eager for the challenges that lay ahead. The Quidditch season promised excitement, competition, and the chance to prove himself as a worthy Seeker for Gryffindor. 

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Harry made his way back to the Gryffindor common room after his first Quidditch practice. The thrill of flying with the team still lingered in the air around him. As he entered the common room, he was greeted by the cozy warmth of the common room's fireplace and the familiar chatter of fellow Gryffindors.

To his surprise, Ron and Hermione were already there, waiting for him. They had been in the stands, watching the practice.

"Harry, that was amazing!" Ron exclaimed, a mixture of excitement and admiration in his voice.

Hermione, her eyes still reflecting the thrill of the Quidditch maneuvers, added, "You were flying so fast, and those loops—brilliant!"

Harry, a bit taken aback by their enthusiasm, couldn't help but smile. "Thanks, guys. It was a lot of fun. I can't wait to get my own broom, though. The school one is a bit slow."

Ron chuckled. "Yeah, a Nimbus 2000 or a Cleansweep will make a world of difference. You'll be the fastest Seeker Hogwarts has ever seen!"

After a refreshing shower and a change into his Gryffindor robes, Harry contemplated using the Floo network in Dumbledore's office. It was the perfect opportunity to check on his home and, while there, suggest the idea of replacing Professor Binns in the History class. With a determined look, he informed Ron and Hermione that he would meet them during dinner and set off towards the Headmaster's office.

Navigating the familiar corridors of Hogwarts, Harry reached the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore's office. With a polite nod, he stated, "Lemon Sherbet," and the gargoyle sprang aside, revealing the spiral staircase. Climbing to the top, Harry knocked on the intricately carved door.

"Enter," Dumbledore's calm voice called from within.

Stepping into the whimsical office, filled with magical instruments and peculiar artifacts, Harry greeted the Headmaster. "Good evening, Professor."

Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling behind half-moon spectacles, welcomed Harry. "Ah, Harry, what brings you here?"

"Well, Professor, I wanted to use the Floo network to check on my home, and there's something else I'd like to discuss with you," Harry explained, his tone respectful yet determined.

Dumbledore motioned for him to proceed, and Harry went on to suggest the idea of hiring Remus Lupin as the new History of Magic professor. He emphasized Remus's extensive knowledge, engaging teaching style, and the potential for a more dynamic and interesting class.

Dumbledore, always attentive, listened thoughtfully. "An intriguing suggestion, Harry. I shall consider it. And now, off you go to use the Floo network. But do return promptly for dinner."

With a nod of gratitude, Harry expressed his thanks and stepped into the fireplace, flooing to the Dursleys' fireplace with a swirling burst of green flames.

Returning home through the Floo network, Harry was met with an unexpected scene of turmoil. The usually extraordinary Dursley household was now in disarray, and the air was thick with tension. Concern etched across his face, Harry hurriedly made his way through the chaotic living room.

"What happened mum?" he questioned, the worry evident in his voice.

Petunia Dursley, looking visibly distressed with tears in her eyes, explained the situation. "It's your sister, Harry. She... she had an accident with some accidental magic I think. It's quite serious."

"When did this happen mum?"

"Just now Harry, we were going to go and buy a broom for you but she suddenly started floating and hurt herself. I tried to levitate her down when she started floating but my magic kept canceling.

Rushing to the side of his younger sister, Harry observed the aftermath of the magical mishap. The room bore the marks of uncontrolled magic, and his sister lay on the couch, nursing injuries. The sight stirred a mixture of guilt and frustration in Harry – guilt for not being there to prevent it and frustration at the lack of guidance provided to his sister in managing her magical abilities.

"Can she be taken to St. Mungo's?" Harry suggested, concerned for her well-being.

Petunia looking concerned for her daughter. "We have to Harry! We've never dealt with anything like this before. I called Vernon but he is not here yet."

Knowing that immediate magical attention was crucial, Harry decided to take matters into his own hands. "I'll treat her myself mum."

Facing the severity of Abigail's injuries, Harry's hands trembled ever so slightly. The sight of her bleeding and battered body invoked a surge of protective urgency within him. Elythral, as if sensing Harry's need, materialized in his hand, its warm glow illuminating the room.

Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, Harry focused on the task ahead. This wasn't merely mending wounds to deal with; it would require Harry's full magic to heal each cell individually. The seriousness of the situation dawned on him, and for a moment, doubt flickered in his eyes.

Gazing at Abigail's pale form, Harry's determination overcame his anxiety. Elythral pulsed with a reassuring energy. Positioning his wand over Abigail's head, Harry began the intricate process of cellular healing.

A soft incantation escaped Harry's lips, each word resonating with ancient magic. As the spell unfolded, a gentle cascade of healing magic emanated from Elythral. It hovered over Abigail, restoring each and every cell individually.

The room became a sacred space of magic, where time seemed to slow as Harry navigated the intricacies of cellular regeneration. The air hummed with a harmonious blend of Elythral's glow and the innate magic of healing. Harry's hands moved with precision, guiding the magic to mend the wounds. 

The process was both mentally and magically taxing. Beads of sweat formed on Harry's forehead as he poured his concentration into the delicate dance of healing. His magic resources were starting to run low due to the taxing burden of such great magic. The room was filled with an ethereal light, casting a serene glow over the healing tableau. Petunia could see Harry's face contorting in pain of using magic even with his magic reserves running low. She shouted at Harry to stop but nothing could shake him away now. The protectiveness he felt towards the people he loved was greater than his fear of death, so he burned his blood to make up for the lack of magical energy.

Elythral, responding to Harry's intent, pulsed with a comforting warmth. The magical aura enveloping Abigail's body shimmered with each cell's restoration, painting a mesmerizing portrait of recovery.

After what felt like an eternity, Harry completed the intricate spell. Abigail's wounds, once profusely bleeding, now disappeared as if there weren't any to begin with. 

Exhaustion washed over Harry as he lowered Elythral. Beads of sweat clung to his forehead, and he took a moment to catch his breath. Abigail lay on the couch, her breathing steady, free from her wounds just moments ago.

Harry looked at her and smiled. Elythral subtly disappearing from his hand now that the job was finished. He turned to Petunia.

'She will be safe now, Mum. I...'

Harry collapsed before he could finish his sentence. The magical feat he had just accomplished had drained his magical reserves, and Harry had used his blood in exchange. Petunia ran to catch Harry, thanking him repeatedly with kisses. When Harry didn't respond, she felt his pulse and was horrified.