The next afternoon, the first years gathered on the training grounds where rows of school brooms lay neatly on the grass. The sun hung warm and bright overhead, turning the field gold. Harry stood beside Ron, feeling the nervous excitement buzzing through the students like static. He had never touched a broom in his life, yet something about the air made his chest feel lighter, as if the sky itself were calling.
Madam Hooch approached with a sharp, assessing gaze. Her presence alone snapped everyone to attention. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Stick out your right hand. And say, 'Up'."
The command rippled across the class.
"Up." Ron's broom rolled lazily. Hermione's barely twitched. Harry's refused to move entirely.
Draco's shot straight into his palm at once. He glanced over at Harry with a small smirk, as if enjoying the fact that something as simple as a broom had chosen him first. "Up," he repeated softly, showing off the crisp obedience of his broom.
Harry clenched his jaw and tried again. "Up."
This time the broom slapped into his hand hard enough to sting. Ron snorted and elbowed him, and for a brief moment the tension lightened.
The calm shattered when Neville's broom jerked off the ground the moment Madam Hooch blew her whistle. He clung to it desperately, rising higher and higher while panic twisted across his face. The broom bucked like an unbroken horse. Gasps filled the yard as Neville flew out of control. Then he fell.
He hit the ground with a painful thud. Madam Hooch kneeled beside him, checked his wrist, and said sharply, "None of you is to move while I take him to the hospital wing."
She led Neville away, and the class erupted into whispers the moment she was out of sight. Draco spotted something shining in the grass and bent to pick it up. He held Neville's Remembrall between two fingers, the glass sphere glowing faintly in the sunlight.
"Look what he dropped," Draco said, flicking it carelessly. "A Remembrall."
Harry felt irritation prick at his skin. Ron muttered under his breath, but Draco only turned the ball over thoughtfully before shooting a taunting glance at Harry.
"Maybe if the poor boy had kept his feet on the ground he would not keep losing things," Draco blew a smirk at his acquaintances.
"Give it here, Malfoy," Harry said.
Draco tilted his head with a slow, expectant smile. "Come and get it then."
Before anyone could react, Draco swung onto his broom and shot into the air. The crowd gasped. His blond hair whipped behind him in the wind as he hovered effortlessly above them, the Remembrall clasped in his hand.
Harry felt the spark inside him catch fire. He did not think. He did not consider Madam Hooch's warning. His hands moved before he understood what he was doing.
He mounted his broom and kicked off the ground. The air rose to meet him in a rush that stole his breath. The broom responded instantly, lifting smoothly, almost eagerly, as if it had been waiting for him.
Below, the class shouted his name. Ron reached for him in horror, grabbing his arm. "Harry, no, she said not to move."
Draco floated there, one brow raised. "You are braver than I thought," he drawled. "Or maybe just stupid."
Harry leaned forward. The broom surged, cutting through the air. For a moment the sensation was so natural that it startled him. He felt weightless, as if the sky itself had opened for him.
Draco drifted backward, testing him, watching closely. He rolled the Remembrall between his fingers as if deciding when to escalate the game.
Draco's grin widened. Instead of handing it over, in one swift motion, he let go. The Remembrall dropped, glittering as it fell.
Harry moved before thought could catch him. He tipped the broom forward and dove. The world tilted, rushing past him in a blur. The air roared in his ears. His stomach plummeted as he sped downward, faster and faster, the grass rising to meet him like a green wave. The Remembrall spun in the air just ahead of him. Harry stretched out his hand.
He caught it. For the briefest moment, the world held still. The small sphere pressed warm into his palm, the wind howling around him like triumph.
He yanked upward. The broom vibrated under the strain, the wood creaking as if it might split. His feet skimmed the grass, blades brushing his boots, before he leveled out and glided to a steady landing.
The yard erupted. Hermione's hands flew to her mouth. Ron whooped his name. Some students looked as if they had witnessed a miracle. Harry felt his pulse hammering in his throat. The Remembrall glowed softly in his hand, as if pleased to be safe.
Across the field, Draco hovered motionless. His smirk was gone. His face was tight, surprised, maybe even thrown off balance. For the first time since meeting him, Harry saw something like recognition flicker in Draco's eyes. Not admiration, not anger. Something more complicated.
Before Harry could understand it, a stern voice cut across the field.
"Harry Potter."
Professor McGonagall stood at the edge of the courtyard, her expression unreadable. "Follow me."
Harry swallowed hard and stepped forward, gripping the Remembrall. As he walked away, he felt Draco's gaze burning into his back, steady and unresolved. Something had shifted between them, and Harry could not name it yet.
Draco felt a slow, curling satisfaction the moment he realised the professor had caught Potter's little stunt. He did not know Harry well yet, but he had seen enough in a single day to decide one thing with absolute confidence. Potter was reckless. Potter was irritating. Potter had a habit of behaving like the rules were optional for him. And Draco did not enjoy being dragged into someone else's chaos.
So watching Professor McGonagall's attention swing directly toward Harry felt almost like repayment. Draco had chased him across the grounds until his lungs burned. He had stood there in front of everyone looking foolish while Harry grinned like mischief was a perfectly acceptable greeting. Draco had spent the entire day feeling as if he were two steps behind some wild creature that refused to stand still.
If anyone deserved a proper scolding, it was Potter.
Draco could already picture it. Harry standing stiffly while Professor lectured him, trying and failing to hide that stubborn streak behind his eyes. The image pleased Draco more than he wanted to admit. It felt like the universe finally offering him a tiny correction after a day that had gone completely sideways.
He did not need history or background to enjoy it. He only needed the memory of Harry sprinting away from him with that ridiculous spark in his eyes. And now, finally, someone was going to make him answer for it.
Harry followed Professor McGonagall through the corridors, heart thudding painfully. She looked far too stern for anything good to come out of this. Every step made his nerves burn hotter. He knew he should not have been flying, not on the first week, not when students had clearly been warned. He imagined himself getting a month of detention or worse. What if she sent him home? The thought twisted his stomach.
He tried to explain in his head, tried to rehearse what he would say, but nothing sounded convincing. All he did was catch Neville's Remembrall. That was meant to be helpful, not reckless. Still, he remembered the way she shouted his name, the way she marched him off the field. This was trouble. Real trouble.
McGonagall stopped at a classroom door and called, "Wood? I have found you a Seeker."
Harry stared at her, completely thrown. Wood stepped out, broom in hand, eyebrows raised at the small first-year standing beside her. Harry's confusion only deepened. A Seeker? Him?
McGonagall crossed her arms, eyes sharp with approval rather than anger. She explained what she had seen. His dive. His control. His reflexes. She said he had the makings of a Seeker like she had not seen in years.
The panic that had been clawing at Harry dissolved so suddenly it left him breathless. He was not being punished. He was not being sent home. He was being recruited for the Gryffindor team.
Shock turned into a quiet, glowing thrill that spread all the way to his fingertips. Gryffindor's new Seeker. Him.
For the first time on that frantic afternoon, Harry felt the world steady beneath him. He was safe. He was chosen. And maybe, just maybe, he belonged here more than he ever dared to believe.