If anyone had asked Harry Potter, though none had that he could recall, why he loved flying, he couldn't have described it in words. He walked upon the freshly cut grass of the field, the blades springing up behind him, as if they were pushing him toward the sky. He felt the broom in his hand humming with the same anticipation he felt every time his eyes glimpsed the sky, longing to be free.
He kicked off from the ground, fighting the fierce grip of gravity, to break free and soar. He felt as though he was fighting the threads that bound him to the world, the responsibilities that kept his feet firmly planted in the ground, and as he shot into the sky, he felt their hold on him loosening. Wind tore at his clothes like a thousand hands grabbing at him, but they could gain no purchase on his form as he whipped past the ground at frightening speeds, so instead they grabbed hold of his thoughts. His worries and troubles were pulled from his mind by the stinging wind, leaving his mind swept clean.
Tears stung at his eyes, but he paid them no heed as he urged his broom to greater heights, straight into the clouds. The air was thin here, and no matter how he dragged air into his lungs he felt breathless. He laughed from the feeling before he allowed his eyes to fall closed. With a tight hold on his broom he let himself slow, till he was still, hanging weightless in the air. And then he began to fall. The world whirled behind his closed eyes in a terrifying, exhilarating freefall. He couldn't tell if the rushing in his ears was the wind or his own pulse. He spun wildly, swiftly toward the ground. He could only equate the sensation to falling in love. Without warning, he pulled sharply on his broom, coming out of his terrifying dive just a few feet from the ground. He could have reached out and brushed the grass with his fingertips if he had so wished.
Someday, he imagined, he wouldn't quite pull up in time, that he might even throw himself into the unforgiving embrace of the earth, but that was all part of the game. As with anything in life, part of the thrill was knowing that each time he let himself fall, it might be the last time. He slowed his broom, not without some hesitation, till he came to a gentle stop.
He heaved a sigh as his feet touched the earth, and as he dismounted he felt the weight of everything resting on his shoulders come crashing down. He turned his emerald eyes to the sky, longing already to be free again.
If anyone had asked Harry Potter why he loved flying, he couldn't have described it in words.
Just a little idea that has been bouncing around in my head for a while. If you enjoyed it, please review!
Many thanks,
the-ryter121