Flying and Quidditch.

After breakfast, Harry, Ron, and Hermione returned to their dormitories to prepare for their first flying lesson. The trio, accompanied by their fellow Gryffindors, briskly descended the front steps and stepped onto the grounds under the clear and breezy sky. The grass beneath their feet swayed gently as they made their way to a smooth, flat lawn on the opposite side of the grounds, away from the forbidden forest whose distant trees swayed ominously.

Approximately 15 brooms awaited them on the ground as they approached, ready for use. Recalling Sirius's complaints about the school brooms, mentioning quirks such as some vibrating when flown too high or consistently veering slightly to the left, Harry couldn't help but wonder about the challenges they might face. Adding to the scene, the Ravenclaw first years were already present, instilling a sense of anticipation among the Gryffindors. Everyone was eager to learn flying, recognizing its potential to secure spots in their house teams. 

Madam Hooch, their teacher, made her entrance. With short, gray hair and piercing yellow eyes resembling a hawk, she commanded attention.

"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone, stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

Harry glanced down at his broom – old, with some twigs sticking out at odd angles. Even the Weasleys broom were better than this.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch from the front, "and say 'Up!'"

"UP!" echoed everyone.

Harry's broom promptly jumped into his hand, but it was one of the few that did. Hermione Granger's had simply rolled over on the ground, and Neville's hadn't moved at all. After everyone had acquired their brooms, Madam Hooch proceeded to instruct them on how to mount. Harry and Ron, having already learned from Ron's experience and his brothers who were part of the Quidditch team, were familiar with the technique. However, they were among the minority in this regard. For many students, this was their first time, and Madam Hooch had to provide guidance to correct their posture and handling. 

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle — three — two —"

However, Neville, filled with nerves and anxious about being left behind, propelled himself forcefully even before Madam Hooch's whistle had touched her lips.

"Mr. Longbottom...Mr... Mr. Longbottom..." she yelled, but Neville ascended rapidly like a cork propelled out of a bottle — twelve feet — twenty feet. Harry squinted; something appeared amiss with Neville's broom. Swiftly mounting his own broom, Harry shot after Neville.

"Mr. Potter, come back this instant or I'll expel you!" Madam Hooch's warning echoed, but Harry paid no heed. Leaning forward on his broom, he gained speed to catch up with Neville, who was now careening around the clearing, colliding with trees and walls. 

As Neville soared uncontrollably, his grip on the broom slipping, he tumbled off and started a rapid descent towards the ground. Reacting swiftly, Harry plunged into a steep dive, the wind rushing past him as he closed the gap. With nerves of steel, he extended his arm, fingers outstretched, and caught Neville's hand just inches above the grass.

As the ground approached rapidly, Harry executed a last-minute pull-up, bringing both of them out of the dive with heart-stopping precision. The broom responded to Harry's command, leveling off just in time to avoid a crash. The duo hovered for a moment before gently descending to the ground.

The onlookers, including Madam Hooch, were left in awe of Harry's daring rescue. Neville seemed to have fainted from fear of hitting the ground. Harry slightly laid him down as others hurried towards them. Madam Hooch was the first to reach them and instantly checked on Neville to see if he had received any injuries before turning to Harry. 

"Mr. Potter, how dare you? I thought I told you to stay put"

"But ma'am there was something wrong with Neville's broom. If I waited then Neville might have been seriously injured."

Madam Hooch wanted to scold Harry but she realised Harry was right. She glared at him thinking of what to do. Other students were surrounding them in a circle to listen to their conversation. 

"Very well, Mr. Potter. I will not expel you. I appreciate your selfless and daring actions to ensure the safety of your classmate. 20 points for Gryffindor."

"Now all of you stay put while I take Mr. Longbottom here to the hospital wing. If I see anymore broom in the air, you will be out of Hogwarts before you can say Quidditch."

Madam Hooch conjured a stretcher and took Neville towards the hospital wing. Everyone looked at that and then they all turned to Harry congratulating him for his flying. Hermione seemed to be white as a ghost and Ron just beamed. 

"Seems like my lessons were beneficial after all mate", Ron smirked.

"When were they not?", Harry smirked back. 

"HARRY POTTER!"

Harry's heart sank faster than the dive he had pulled as he saw Professor McGonagall hurrying towards them. Professor McGonagall was almost speechless with shock, and her glasses flashed furiously, "— how dare you — might have broken your neck —"

"It wasn't his fault Professor. There seemed to be something wrong with Neville's broom and if Harry had not saved him, he might have been seriously injured.", Hermione said. 

Professor McGonagall's stern expression softened slightly as she assessed the situation. "Explain, Mr. Potter."

Harry quickly recounted the events, emphasizing the apparent malfunction of Neville's broom. Hermione and Ron chimed in with supportive nods, affirming Harry's quick thinking and bravery.

Professor McGonagall, though still visibly displeased, seemed to recognize the validity of their explanation. "Twenty points for your courage, Mr. Potter, but that doesn't excuse your disobedience. You will still serve detention." 

"Now follow me, Mr. Potter. Now!"

Harry walked behind Professor McGonagall with a stupid smile as he knew what was going to happen next. He made an effort to conceal his smile and maintain a poker face as he followed McGonagall through the castle. Harry had to almost run to keep up with her as she sweeped through the corridors.

Professor McGonagall stopped outside a classroom. She opened the door and poked her head inside. "Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment?"

Harry screamed with glee inside. He made it in the team. Oliver Wood, a burly fifth-year boy came out of Flitwick's class looking confused.

"Follow me, you two," said Professor McGonagall, and they marched on up the corridor, Wood looking curiously at Harry.

"In here."

Professor McGonagall pointed them into a classroom that was empty except for Peeves, who was busy writing rude words on the blackboard.

"Out, Peeves!" she barked.

Peeves threw the chalk into a bin, which clanged loudly, and he swooped out cursing. Professor

McGonagall slammed the door behind him and turned to face the two boys.

"Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Wood — I've found you a Seeker."

Wood's expression changed from puzzlement to delight. "Are you serious, Professor?"

"Absolutely," said Professor McGonagall crisply. "The boy's a natural. I've never seen anything like it."

"He caught a student who had a broom malfunction after a fifty foot dive and didn't even scratch himself! Charlie Weasley couldn't have done it."

Harry made a conscious effort not to burst out smiling at his delight. He plastered what he hoped was a emotionless face on his face and looked at both of them. 

Wood was now looking as though all his dreams had come true at once. 

"Ever played seen a game of Quidditch, Potter?", he asked excitedly. 

Harry nodded and explained how he had played quidditch at the Burrow during the summer. 

"Wood's captain of the Gryffindor team," Professor McGonagall explained.

"He's just the build for a Seeker, too," said Wood, now walking around Harry and staring at him. "Light — speedy — we'll have to get him a decent broom, Professor — a Nimbus Two Thousand or a Cleansweep Seven, I'd say."

"I shall speak to Professor Dumbledore and see if we can't bend the first-year rule. Heaven knows, we need a better team than last year. Flattened in that last match by Slytherin, I couldn't look Severus in the face for weeks. . . ." 

"You better write home for a broom Potter. I'll get Dumbledore to bend the rules a bit to allow you your broom. I want to hear you are practicing hard Potter or else you will have to serve your detention."

Harry nodded. Then she suddenly smiled.

"Your father would have been proud," she said. "He was an excellent Quidditch player himself."

Harry smiled as he knew that already from Sirius and Petunia. He would have to modify his letters now. Sirius would be delighted to learn that he had made it into the team.