"The Longbottom family has such amazing courage," Malfoy said, still tossing the Rememberall from hand to hand. "A flying pig. Ha! A stupid flying pig that nearly fell to his death."
He climbed onto his broom with a smug little laugh, his face shining with the pleasure of cruelty. "Tsk, tsk. I do hope his grandmother doesn't spank him when she hears about it."
"Flying pig," one of the other students repeated, and the nickname spread at once.
The young witches and wizards burst into laughter. Some laughed because they truly thought it was funny, while others laughed because Malfoy was laughing and they did not want his attention turning on them.
"Malfoy, give me the ball," Harry said, stepping forward and glaring up at him.
"What's this, Potter? Trying to be a hero?" Malfoy looked down from his broom, then cast a quick glance at Roger Williams. Seeing that Roger remained silent and showed no intention of stepping in, Malfoy turned his attention fully toward Harry. "Or are you trying to show off one of the few scraps of courage Gryffindor has left?"
Harry's hands tightened around his broom. His anger had already been burning, and Malfoy's sneer poured oil straight onto the flame.
"Since Neville is so brave, let him fetch it himself," Malfoy said, lifting the glowing red sphere. "What do you think, Potter? Should I leave it outside the Astronomy Tower?"
With that, he kicked off and rose into the air. He circled smoothly over everyone's heads, showing off his control before climbing higher into the bright afternoon sky.
"If you want it, come and get it," Malfoy called.
He stopped in midair and looked down provocatively. As for Roger, who could not fly properly, Malfoy had decided he was not qualified to be considered an opponent today.
Harry's anger flared at once. He gripped his broom tightly and prepared to mount, but Hermione rushed forward to stop him.
"Harry, absolutely not," she warned, her face pale with anxiety. "Don't forget what Madam Hooch said. You'll be expelled."
"Move," Harry said.
He ignored Hermione's warning because all he wanted in that moment was to knock Malfoy out of the sky and get Neville's Rememberall back. Before Hermione could say anything more, he kicked off the ground and shot upward.
"Harry!" Hermione shouted anxiously.
Her voice chased him into the sky, but Harry was already rising fast. The broom carried him as if it had been waiting for him all along, and the sudden smoothness of his ascent made even the students who disliked him stare.
"Don't worry," Roger said, looking up calmly. "It won't be too serious. At most, he'll get a scolding."
"Hmph. That still means losing a lot of points," Hermione said, pouting so hard her lips looked as if they could hang an oil bottle.
"Go, Harry! Go, Harry!" Ron shouted.
The other Gryffindors quickly joined in, cheering loudly as Harry chased Malfoy through the air. Hermione wrinkled her nose, feeling increasingly out of place among them, and for the first time seriously wondered whether she might have been happier in Ravenclaw.
"Roger, why don't you try?" Daphne asked, staring upward as Harry and Malfoy wheeled above them. From her expression, she was clearly imagining Roger flying up and subduing both of them with elegant ease.
"Spare me," Roger said, shaking his head. "I'll be lucky to pass this course."
The figures circling in the sky blurred for a moment in his eyes. The flying students briefly became Dementors, black shapes sweeping through the air, and Roger had to resist the instinctive urge to draw his wand and point it at them.
To be honest, simply attending flying class was already difficult for him. Actually taking off and joining them in the sky sounded less like a lesson and more like self-inflicted punishment.
The arrogant Malfoy had never expected Harry, who was riding a broom for the first time, to catch up so quickly. The pressure he felt grew heavier with every turn, and beneath his bravado, a flicker of fear began to appear.
"Malfoy, give me back the Rememberall, or I'll knock you off," Harry shouted.
His eyes were fixed on Malfoy, bright with fierce determination. The feeling of flying freely made every drop of blood in Harry's body burn, and he felt more alive than he had since coming to Hogwarts.
"You wouldn't dare, Potter!" Malfoy shouted back.
He tried to sound scornful, but the strain in his voice betrayed him. He knew perfectly well that if Harry rammed him two more times at this speed, he might actually be knocked out of the air.
"Damn it," Malfoy muttered.
Harry was still chasing him. Worse, he was getting faster and faster, close enough now that he could almost reach out and grab him.
"If you want it, then fetch it yourself," Malfoy shouted.
Faced with Harry's relentless pursuit, he had no choice but to throw the Rememberall as hard as he could. The little red sphere shot away toward the castle wall at terrifying speed, and if it hit, it would certainly shatter into pieces.
Harry glanced once at Malfoy, who was already fleeing back toward the ground, then drove his broom forward even faster. He pressed low over the handle and accelerated, his whole body narrowing into the dive.
Like an old-fashioned dive bomber, he dropped and sped after the Rememberall. Faster and faster he went, a black arrow streaking through the air.
The wind roared past his ears. Screams of alarm rose from below, and several timid students covered their eyes, terrified that they were about to witness him smash straight into the wall.
Just as the Rememberall was about to strike stone, Harry twisted sharply and pulled into a brilliant turn. His broom stopped so abruptly that the movement looked impossible, and his hand closed around the glass sphere at the very last moment.
Cheers erupted from the students below. Harry flew back to the ground with the Rememberall in hand, and for that instant, he looked exactly like a triumphant hero returning with a prize.
"Congratulations, Minerva," Dumbledore said from the window above, smiling as he watched Harry being surrounded by his classmates. "Gryffindor appears to have found an exceptional Seeker."
He looked genuinely pleased. Harry had finally found something he excelled at, something that belonged to him rather than to his famous scar.
"For true geniuses, rules should sometimes be adjusted to support their growth and allow them to display their gifts," Professor McGonagall said, watching Harry with bright eyes. "For example, allowing Harry to join the Quidditch team."
"A fine idea," Dumbledore agreed, his eyes twinkling.
During that brief exchange, the school rule barring first-years from House Quidditch teams was casually pushed aside. At Hogwarts, rules were firm things right up until talent made bending them convenient.
On the lawn, Malfoy burned with jealousy when he saw the commotion Harry had caused. Daphne snorted heavily and turned toward him with open disdain.
"You actually lost to a beginner," she said.
"I—" Malfoy opened his mouth, but the truth left him with nothing to say.
He could only stomp his foot in frustration. He would not admit, and could not accept, that Harry's talent in the air was greater than his own.
"Harry Potter," Professor McGonagall called, still wearing her favourite emerald robes as she strode onto the pitch.
She waved Harry over. Most of the students immediately fell silent, and Harry's excitement drained from his face at once.
"Look," Malfoy said gleefully. "Our famous Saviour is about to be expelled."
Everyone seemed to think Harry was about to receive a severe punishment. Harry lowered his head and followed Professor McGonagall obediently, completely unaware of the joy hidden in her eyes or the slight upward curve at the corner of her mouth.
"Draco, if that really happens, what punishment do you think you'll receive?" Roger asked mildly.
"No way," Malfoy cried, his voice sharp and shrill, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. "Professor Snape won't expel me. Besides, my father is on the school board."
"Harry Potter is the famous Boy Who Lived," Roger said. "What makes you think he would be expelled while you wouldn't? Did you also save the wizarding world?"
Malfoy's face twisted with frustration, but he could not refute it. Because of Harry's identity, he had once wanted to befriend him, and after Harry had rejected him so publicly, that failed attempt had curdled into resentment.
"Things are not as simple as you think," Roger said, walking closer to the spoiled boy. "You should treat Harry as an equal. If he had grown up in the wizarding world, his prestige would make him an uncrowned prince."
Harry followed McGonagall to the entrance of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, where she called Oliver Wood out. Only then did Harry begin to realise that his Head of House was not there to scold or punish him.
"Oliver Wood," McGonagall said, introducing him to Harry. "He is our House Quidditch captain."
Wood looked from McGonagall to Harry in confusion. He was broad-shouldered, intense, and already had the look of someone who considered Quidditch less a sport and more a sacred duty.
"Wood, I've found you a Seeker," McGonagall said, and her eyes shone as she looked at Harry Potter.
"Really, Professor?" Wood asked, studying Harry with open disbelief.
He could not quite believe Professor McGonagall was so certain this skinny first-year could become the core of the team. Seekers needed speed, courage, balance, and sharp instincts, and Wood was not ready to trust a famous name alone.
"Of course," McGonagall said.
Noticing Wood's doubt, she simply recounted what had just happened on the lawn. "He is undoubtedly gifted. The very first time he mounted a broomstick, he was able to dive, accelerate, recover, and catch a thrown object inches from a wall."
Wood's expression changed as he listened. If McGonagall's description was accurate, Harry's talent was not merely good; it was extraordinary.
"Wood, believe me," McGonagall said with rare certainty. "Harry will become the best Seeker in the entire school."
Wood nodded and looked Harry over again with new seriousness. Suddenly, the boy's small build no longer looked unimpressive; it looked ideal.
"Harry, I have to say, your physique is perfect for a Seeker," Wood said. "Light and agile. Could you get on your broom and let me have a look?"
Harry stiffened, and Wood quickly added, "No need to fly properly. Just hover."
Harry mounted the broom, still half-dazed by the turn his punishment had taken. Wood circled him several times, examining his posture, grip, and balance with the solemn attention of a master craftsman inspecting rare material.
"Light, agile, quick to respond," Wood murmured. "We'll need to get you a proper broom."
He turned to McGonagall, lowering his voice. "Professor, school regulations say—"
"Do not worry," Professor McGonagall said with a smile. "I have already spoken with the Headmaster."
Wood's face brightened at once. The obstacle had vanished so neatly that he almost forgot to question it.
"Wood, we need a better team than last year," McGonagall said. "That crushing defeat against Slytherin left me unable to look Severus Snape in the face for weeks."
"I understand, Professor," Wood said gravely.
Last year's defeat had indeed been humiliating, and every Gryffindor who cared about Quidditch still carried the shame of it. Wood looked at Harry again, and his eyes filled with the dangerous hope of a captain who had just found a weapon.
"What about a Nimbus 2000 for Harry?" Wood asked eagerly. "With that, he could fly rings around anyone on a Cleansweep Seven."
.....
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