'It's not fair.'

'Who does he think he is?'

'I think it's bloody brilliant.'

'You would think that.'

'My father will hear of this.'

'We should be allowed to try out, too.'

'I've played Aingingein at home but was never any good at it.'

'"Aingingein"? What the heck is that?'

'Well, you have a Dom and-'

'What's a "Dom"?'

'A goat's gallbladder-'

'Blergh!'

'But there are flaming barrels…'

Hidden behind a large stone column, on the other side of the quad, Harry watched the group of students hurry away from Seamus and sighed. He took a Remembrall out of his pocket and rolled it in his hands, taking comfort in the warmth of the glass ball. He had wondered why some of the older students had been looking at him funny as he walked through the school corridors after Madam Pomfrey had, sternly, asked him to leave the infirmary, and now he knew.

It had been a little over an hour since the proposal had been made but word had spread and the change in the atmosphere was too great for him to ignore. Ever since he had set foot in the Leaky Cauldron, Harry had been uncomfortably aware that there were people who regarded him as some kind of magical hero-figure. What he had found he was more comfortable with was that others thought it was ridiculous that he was so highly regarded. He didn't like the resentment - he didn't see how he deserved that - but he understood the ridiculousness because he thought it was ridiculous, too.

Now, he was apparently going to be part of Gryffindor's Quidditch team - playing a sport he had never played, let alone even seen being played, and flying on a broomstick.

His hands shook a little and his heart began to race as the memory and thrill of flying rushed through him. He leaned back against the column and closed his eyes. The air had smelled different 'up there' and everything had been so small and distant. He realised that he wanted to be up there again, to look around properly and explore. To feel the wind in his face and the tugs against his cheeks. He remembered Ron and the others shouting for him and Malfoy to come down but, most of all, he remembered Neville's wide eyes at breakfast that morning and Malfoy's sneer, the curve of his lips that reminded him so much of the look Aunt Marge used to give him whenever she could. The look she had had when she learned Harry had been made to sleep in the cupboard under the stairs.

It had been the sneer and the eyes that had made Harry want to stop Malfoy. Neville's eyes had been like Sarah's, that first day when she had started at their school a year ago. Her eyes had said that she was afraid and alone and didn't want to be seen, and Neville's had said the same. Neville's had also shown despair when Malfoy had grabbed his Remembrall and Harry couldn't help but wonder what he had been through to make him so fearful and what might have happened if Professor McGonagall had not intervened. That was why he had been so determined to stop Malfoy that second time, even as Madam Hooch took Neville to have his arm attended to. Even though she had warned them that they would be expelled if they flew. Even though Hermione had tried to stop him. It was why he had flown after Malfoy as he jeered at Harry and everyone else, and why he had chased after the Remembrall as it fell through the sky and ignored the sight of the ground rushing up to meet him.

A few months ago, magic had been something on television or tricks at fairs or stories in books. He had wished for magic wardrobes and giants and all sorts of other things, but they had always been impossible. The time he had ended up on the roof at school, he had convinced himself that he had climbed up there somehow and had forgotten.

And now he was going to be the Seeker in his House's Quidditch team.

At first, he had thought that it was a joke - it had, after all, been made very clear that flying, Quidditch and first years did not go together. Even though he knew Professor McGonagall wasn't the kind of teacher to joke, what she had proposed just seemed so far-fetched that he kept waiting for Jeremy Beadle to jump out and tell him that it had all been an elaborate prank. He had been absolutely certain that she had been taking him to Professor Dumbledore to be expelled that it took him almost a minute to realise that she had actually been introducing him to the Gryffindor's team captain, Oliver Wood.

'You're lucky to be in one piece, you know?' said a female voice.

Harry opened his eyes and saw Madam Hooch, arms crossed, standing on the other side of the quiet corridor. She stepped forward and twirled her wand as Harry stood up straighter and adjusted his glasses.

'That broom you used is one of the few good ones we have,' she said. She stopped a few feet in front of him and shook her head a little. 'If it had been any other…'

Harry's heart pounded in his chest as Madam Hooch let her words hang in the air. He swallowed dryly.

'I know you meant well, Mr Potter,' she said, 'but what you did was reckless.'

'I just-'

'I know how Malfoys can be. I also know I won't be hearing the last of this for a while,' she muttered.

'So it was the broom?' asked Harry, disappointed but also a little relieved. He had felt queasy when some students had said he was a "genius flyer" but if Madam Hooch said that that wasn't the case...

Madam Hooch's yellow eyes flashed and she smiled. 'Oh no, even with a great broom most people wouldn't be able to do what you did. Not without training. You've got a bit of a gift, but,' she said sternly, 'don't let it get to your head. Remember, any other broom… Mr Longbottom's, for example.'

Harry nodded and swallowed away the queasy feeling that had started to return. 'I understand,' he said and then, tentatively, he added, 'Professor McGonagall wants me to be Seeker in the House team.'

Madam Hooch harrumphed. 'I know. I told her she was being silly.'

'You don't think I should?'

'You've flown a broom once. You need training.'

'Wood's going to-'

'Wood?' laughed Madam Hooch. 'She didn't tell me that part.' She shook her head and said, 'He's a Keeper, sure, but when it comes to flying that's worse than being a Beater.'

'Worse?'

'Seekers have to be instantly on the move and incredibly aware of their surroundings. They don't just have to be on the lookout for the Snitch but also for "stray" Bludgers that get by their Beaters. They need grace as well as speed. Wood has none and he doesn't need it. He has decent reactions, of course, but nothing close to what you would need in order to catch a Snitch.'

'Are they really that fast?'

'Can you catch a fly with chopsticks?' she asked, as she magicked a pair into her hand and clicked them together.

Harry's eyes widened a little and Madam Hooch smiled and winked.

'There are manoeuvres Wood and the others don't know. If Charlie Weasley had been around I wouldn't have any concerns, but he's not and you can't ask other House Seekers to train you.'

'I can't?'

'Well, you can,' said Madam Hooch, and then she shrugged, 'but even a Hufflepuff would keep certain things secret. This is Quidditch, after all.'

Harry turned and looked out over the now-quiet quad. On the far side, in the opposite corridor, he saw Malfoy and the other Slytherin first years laugh and joke as they made their way to the dining hall.

'I've requested that I be allowed to train you,' said Madam Hooch, and she gestured with her fingers and made the chopsticks vanish, 'once you've gotten yourself a decent broom.'

'Is that allowed?'

'Every other player has an advantage over you, and I taught them all the basics. Under the circumstances, I think it's only proper that you be allowed to at least have that foundation. There's a reason we take a year to teach you all to fly, Mr Potter, and if you're going up there…'

'I understand,' said Harry, his voice shaking a little, 'but I probably won't be playing.'

'Oh?'

'I haven't had a single lesson and, like you said, I was lucky I had the broom that I did.'

'Mr… Harry-' said Madam Hooch, softly.

'And the others are right: it's not fair.'

Madam Hooch frowned a little and her yellow eyes darkened. Then she smiled and said, 'Don't write it off, young man. I'm a great sensei. It's a different world up there, as you now know, but it's very, very dangerous, too.' She turned and started to walk away. 'Go get something to eat, Harry.' Then she stopped and looked over at the Slytherins as they disappeared through an archway. She turned again to face Harry and said, 'One more thing: Don't let the others get to you. Anger can make for a bad flyer.'

Stomach growling, Harry nodded and waited for Madam Hooch to be out of sight, then he turned and started walking back to the hospital wing.


One of the things that surprised Harry when he had first gone to the infirmary to see Neville was that it smelled like cookies. Now, on his second visit, however, Harry could smell roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. Harry inhaled deeply, savouring the aroma and torturing his complaining belly, and opened the door.

'Back again so soon, Mr Potter?' said Madam Pomfrey. She stepped out of a side room and dried her hands on a white piece of cloth. She walked over to her desk and magicked a chair for Harry to sit on.

'Is he awake, Madam Pomfrey?' asked Harry.

Madam Pomfrey looked at her watch and said, 'He should be.'

'And his arm?'

'Oh, it's as good as new, Mr Potter.' She gestured for him to sit and waited until he did so. 'Healing isn't why he's still here, no. It's the exhaustion.'

'He was tired?'

'You've never been healed with magic before?'

Harry shook his head. 'No.'

'But you have been ill, yes?'

Harry nodded and remembered a fever he had had and how he had awoken to find he had been placed in the spare room and his Aunt was asleep in a chair next to the bed, holding his hand.

'Well, as I explained to Ms Grainger-'

Surprised, Harry sat up and exclaimed, 'Hermione was here? When?'

Madam Pomfrey was a little taken aback by Harry's behaviour and said, carefully, 'Last week.'

'Last-' Harry frowned, confused.

'She was perfectly fine. She was just curious, especially when she saw all the beds. Like I explained to her, when you're ill you need rest, whether you're healed by magic, by Muggle-means, or just with time.'

'There are a lot of beds,' Harry mumbled.

'All sort of things happen at school. Duels, accidents, potions exploding, spells going wrong, children falling from the sky… It can get quite busy in here. I can mend bones quicker than my patients can blink but rest is still a necessity, and it's better here where I can keep an eye on them than in their dorms...'

Madam Pomfrey stood up and gestured for Harry to follow her to a curtained bed at the far end of the room. 'I'm sure Mr Longbottom will be pleased to see you,' she said loudly, and then she pulled back the curtain and ushered Harry in.

'Harry!' Neville exclaimed. His hair was dishevelled and he was wearing his pyjamas but he looked hearty and well and was holding a small booklet on flying.

'Hi, Neville,' said Harry, and he stepped forward and over to the empty chair as Madam Pomfrey drew the curtain closed and left the boys alone.

'What are you doing here?' asked Neville. He closed the booklet and set it aside.

'Seeing you, of course.'

Neville's smile faded a little. 'I bet everyone's laughing at me.'

'Don't be silly. That could have been any of us. Ron's broom hit him on his head, Hermione's wouldn't even get up, and I think three just rolled away.'

'Yeah, but I'm the only one that ended up in here.'

'You got to fly, though,' said Harry, 'that's more than most got to do.'

Neville didn't say anything for a moment and then, quietly, he said, 'Can I ask you something?'

'Of course.'

'What was it like living with Muggles all those years?'

Harry sat back and said, 'I didn't know any different. I don't know why no one asks Hermione.'

'Because she's Muggle-born and you're not, I suppose.'

'I didn't even know I could do magic. If I did, maybe I would have been better at football,' Harry muttered.

Neville smiled and said, 'I told my gran that I wanted to play rugby once.'

'Rugby?'

'I heard these older boys talking about it when we were… out once.' Neville's smile faded and he looked at the booklet by his side.

'I think my cousin might play rugby,' said Harry.

'Dudley?'

'Yeah. Dudley. He's starting a new school, too, and it's one of the sports they do there.'

'A Muggle school?'

Harry nodded. 'What about you? Any cousins?'

'No. My parents were both the only child in their families. Like me. I have a great-uncle, though. He dropped me out of a window once.'

'He what?' Harry gasped.

Neville shrugged. 'Everyone thought I was a Squib.'

Harry frowned. 'That you couldn't do magic? But you… we are just kids.'

'And magic can just happen when you're a kid. Does happen. A lot. That's why I wasn't allowed to play with the Muggle neighbours.'

'He dropped you from a window…' Harry shook his head, incredulous.

'Accidentally. I think. But I bounced into the road and everyone was happy.'

'So maybe I really did magic myself up to the roof at my old school?'

Neville shrugged again. 'Probably.'

The curtain parted suddenly and the boys saw Madam Pomfrey approach them carrying two laden trays. Harry quickly got up to help her but she tutted at him so he sat back down.

'Mr Longbottom will be allowed to go soon, but it's dinner time and you two need feeding.' Two tables appeared, one low one in front of Harry and the other with tall legs that let it stand over the bed for Neville. Madam Pomfrey set the trays down and the boys saw that she had brought them bowls of chicken soup, several thick slices of crusty bread, Shepherd's pie and vegetables, and jam sponge with coconut sprinkles and thick custard. She tapped the two empty glasses in each tray and they filled with milk and orange juice.

'Thank you, Madam Pomfrey,' said the boys in unison, and Madam Pomfrey smiled and left them to their meal. The stomachs of both boys growled loudly and they grinned at each other and tucked in.

Harry asked Neville if he would be interested in a weekend post-breakfast study group that he and Hermione were arranging, 'for each class, so we can help each other out', but Neville was not sure if it was a good idea to study potions and transfiguration without Professors Snape and McGonagall around.

'It will just be question and answer, Neville. No wands.'

'I don't know,' said Neville, 'things have a way of going wrong.'

'Oh,' exclaimed Harry, as he finished his soup and cleaned the sides of his bowl with some bread. He reached into his robe and took out the Remembrall. It was red. 'I almost forgot.'

Neville snorted as he took the Remembrall from Harry's hand and they watched the red smoke in the ball turn clear. 'You forgot,' he said, and they both laughed.

'What did you forget?' asked Harry, 'this morning?'

Neville shook his head and smiled a little as he counted off on his fingers: 'My robes, to check on Trevor, the question I wanted to ask Professor Sprout, and that we had a flying lesson.'

'That's a lot of things to forget,' said Harry.

'I suppose,' said Neville, and then he held up the clear Remembrall and said, 'but I haven't forgotten anything now.'

They continued to eat in silence for a little while and then Neville said, while attempting to be casual, 'I think we're sort of cousins.'

'How?' asked Harry, and he shovelled a spoonful of Shepherd's pie into his mouth.

'Dunno. Gran said something about it when she saw you at the station.'

Harry swallowed. 'She knew who I was?'

'Most people do, Harry. She said that there aren't many pureblood families left. You're part of one. Ron is, too.'

'Malfoy.'

'Malfoy.'

'But you don't have an issue with me or Hermione or-'

'Why would I?' asked Neville, his brow furrowed, confused by Harry's words.

'I don't know. Because we're different?'

'What's different is not being able to talk to other people. Properly.'

'Neville-'

Neville poked at his dessert and said, 'Most of the time it was just me and Gran, and I know she loves me but we never really talk much.'

'You've got lots of people to talk with now.'

'I suppose.'

'And friends, too.'

'Friends.'

Smiling, the boys finished the rest of their meal in silence. Then, as the curtain around the bed opened again, and the candles along the walls began to light up, Madam Pomfrey walked over to them, gestured at the trays and held out her left hand for them to settle in, and said, 'You two should get back to your dorm before Mr Filch starts to complain.'


'So,' said Harry, as he and Neville walked along a corridor, 'Professor McGonagall wants me to be a Seeker.'

Neville stopped walking and he looked at Harry, his eyes wide with excitement, and said, a little breathlessly, 'How come?'

Harry paused and turned to face Neville. 'Malfoy took your Remembrall for a flight and threw it.'

Neville looked at the small ball in his hand. 'You caught this?'

Harry nodded. 'And now she wants me to be a Seeker.'

'Wow.'

'But I don't know if I should.'

They both started walking again but a little slower than before.

'Why not?' asked Neville. 'You could end up as captain in a couple of years and maybe even play professionally.'

'What do you want to be when you grow up?'

'An auror.' Neville said the words so firmly that Harry almost tripped over his own feet.

'That's like a magic policeman?'

'Those people with the funny hats and truncheons?'

'Yeah.'

'No, not quite. Aurors are… they're the best of the best. They catch dark wizards.'

'Well, if dark wizards are anything like Professor Quirrell and the stories he told us-'

'Dark wizards aren't just You-Know-Who, Harry,' Neville said, firmly.

'I'm sorry,' said Harry, and although he had only known Neville for a little while, he was surprised by the firmness and sincerity of his Housemate. 'I didn't think there would be many others. Not now.'

'Not like him, no, but still dark. In Azkaban…'

'Azkaban,' Harry whispered, and he remembered the fear in his aunt's face and the discomfort in Hagrid's when they had spoken about it back in July, on his birthday.

'It's where they imprison them. Gran says it's an island in the middle of the sea, surrounded by dementors. But they're only the ones that have been caught, and lots never were.'

'You seem to know a lot about this stuff.'

'Like I said, I want to be auror.'

Snorts and laughter echoed around them and the two boys stopped walking and moved a little closer together.

'You, Longbottom?' guffawed a voice, 'an auror?'

Harry and Neville turned to find Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle stalking towards them.

'Shouldn't you be tucked up in bed, Malfoy?' Harry said, dismissively.

'I was wondering about the Boy Who Fell Off A Broom and why the One Who Cries in Potions wasn't at dinner.'

'Didn't know you cared,' said Harry.

'About you? No. About getting you into trouble? Yes.'

'Why would I be in trouble?'

'You should have been expelled,' hissed Malfoy. Crabbe and Goyle nodded and repeated the word 'expelled'.

'Shouldn't you have been, too? I flew after you.'

'You think you maybe being a Seeker makes you-'

'A better flyer than you?' Harry interrupted, 'Yes, I think it does.'

Malfoy pursed his lips and then exhaled and shook his head. 'I was feeling generous earlier, Potter. I told you before that there are certain families you should be with.'

'Like yours?'

'Like mine. Not the Weasleys or.' Malfoy gestured at Neville.

'What's wrong with the Longbottoms?' asked Crabbe, clearly confused.

'Him,' Malfoy said, loudly and almost grabbing hold of Neville.

'Oh,' said Crabbe, but the look of confusion remained on his face.

'You really don't know what's best for you, Potter, and that's a shame.'

Suddenly, Nevill grabbed Harry's arm, pointed and whimpered, 'Oh no.'

Harry looked at what Neville was pointing at and the same thought came to his mind. Sitting on the edge of a shadow, as if she had been there all along, was Mrs Norris, and that meant that -

'What are you first years doing here?' snarled Mr Filch. He shuffled out of a passageway Harry had not noticed before and approached the five boys.

Malfoy smiled and said, in a voice that didn't seem to be his own, 'We heard Potter was going to take Longbottom flying, so we came to stop him.'

Mr Filch snorted and said, 'What do you think, Mrs Norris? He telling the truth?' Mrs Norris looked up at Malfoy and stared at him. 'Ha!' said Mr Filch, excitedly, 'she doesn't believe you.'

'It's a cat,' said Malfoy, the voice he had used before now replaced with the derisive one Harry and the others knew. 'What does it know?'

Filch stood a little taller and snarled, 'She knows when she's being lied to, and she knows none of you is supposed to be out here.'

Malfoy turned and started to walk away and Crabbe and Goyle followed. As they did so, Malfoy muttered aloud, 'We were only trying to help. Honestly, try to help the staff out and all they do is complain. Father was right about this school...'

Filch glared after the three Slytherins as they walked towards the corridor that led to their dorms

'And you two?'

Before either of them could say anything, Mrs Norris dashed off towards the other end of the corridor and then bounded up the stairs. Filch gaped at her as she disappeared and then looked at the two boys and squinted. 'Go back to your dorms or I'll hang you by yer ankles,' he growled.

Neville and Harry nodded and ran as fast as they could.

'It better not be that blasted Quirrell again,' Filch muttered as he started up the stairs.


'What time do you call this,' asked the Fat Lady. She looked down at the two boys and began to hum while they tried to catch their breath.

'Mr… Mr…'

'I am a lady, thank you very much,' said the Fat Lady, 'and I've half a mind not to let you two in.'

'Pig Snot,' said Neville, and then he fell onto his bottom and started wheezing.

'Excuse me?' said the Fat Lady.

'Pig… Pig Snot,' Neville repeated, between breaths.

Amused, the Fat Lady shook her head and pretended to look at a watch.

'Password,' said Neville, breathing a little easier.

''Snot,' said the Fat Lady.

'Pig Snout,' said Harry, and the Fat Lady pretended to glare at him as she opened the door and let them through.

'You're lucky I was still here,' she said, as they stepped into the tunnel behind her picture frame. 'A few more minutes and I would have left you to it.'

Harry and Neville tumbled into the common room and were greeted with laughter and jeers. Percy pushed through the gathered crowd and stood in front of Harry and Neville, his hands on his hips, and glared at them.

'What were you two doing out in the corridor?' he asked. 'Where have you been?'

Harry stood up and dusted his hands. 'I went to see Neville in the infirmary. I didn't want him to be alone after the accident.'

'We're not that late,' said Neville, 'some of the Slytherins-'

'I don't care about the Slytherins,' snapped Percy, 'Harry should have told someone where he was.'

Harry frowned. 'Why?'

Percy's cheeks reddened a little and his shoulders sagged.

'Yeah, Percy,' said Ron, 'why should Harry tell anyone where he was?'

'Because it's dangerous,' Percy hissed.

There was a low murmur but a number of the older students nodded and voiced their agreement with Percy's words.

'Being a Seeker, especially as an 11-year old, is dangerous.' Percy stepped forward and put his arm around Harry. 'A week after Charlie was selected Seeker, he broke his leg. Fred and George know how it is. The Seeker is the key to a Quidditch match and people always try to do something to them off the pitch.'

'It's true,' said Fred, 'potions would get mixed up, hexes would "accidentally" get thrown.' He laughed as Harry gaped at him. 'We sometimes do the same to them, Harry, it's all part of the fun, but you have to be careful.'

'I… I should get ready for bed,' said Harry, and he hurried off to the dorm room.

'What did you have to tell him that for?' Percy asked Fred.

'You started it,' said Fred, 'but it's better he knows now. Last year the Hufflepuffs kept trying to do something to Charlie's carrot juice, who knows what they'll try with Harry.'


I don't know what to do. When PG said she wanted me to be a Seeker, I was excited. Everything is so new and I've been feeling so out of place but then it felt like maybe I belonged.

But I'm scared. A lot of people are congratulating me but I keep seeing people looking at me and glaring.

They're mad about Quidditch here. It's worse than when we were in the semi-finals last year and everyone started crying when Pearce and Waddle missed their penalties.

I don't know what to do, Aunty P.

Harry looked over the note and then tucked it into the pouch on his bedside cabinet, and pulled the sheets over his head.


Saturday passed by uneventfully. Before breakfast, Harry made his way to the owlery and gave Hedwig the pouch containing the note. As she nuzzled against his neck, he whispered to her not to hurry and then quickly left.

As he walked through the dining hall, Harry could hear whispers from the tables around him. He looked over at the Slytherin first years and saw them all make choking faces and then point at him.

'They're just jealous,' said Ron, and Harry's growling stomach distracted him enough for him to eat his fill before the study session.

'We're first years,' Seamus complained as he dumped his potions' textbook on the table, 'life is supposed to be easy.'

'Professor Snape hates us,' said Hermione, 'but if we show how good we are-'

'He'll hate us even more,' Ron interjected. 'We're not Slytherins. He will always hate us.'

'He is a good teacher, though,' said Harry.

Ron laughed. 'And he hates you the most,' he said.

On Sunday, arms and wrists aching from Charms and Transfiguration practice, Harry and the other Gryffindor first years sat in a corner of the common room and shared stories of their lives before Hogwarts.

'I always wanted to be a footballer,' said Dean. 'I was going to join the academy and then play for West Ham and get a big house for my Mum and Dad with a room for each of my sisters.'

'I just wanted to travel,' said Seamus. 'I still do, mind, but a broom or aparating'll make it easier.'

Hedwig came in through an open window and came to rest in the middle of the group. She ruffled her wings a little and walked around the group, looking at each one of them.

'I think she's deciding if we're nice,' whispered Neville. He gulped when Hedwig stopped in front of him but, as she turned her head a little and seemed to wink at him, he couldn't help but smile.

Finally, she stood in front of Harry and held out her right leg, and quickly flew away after Harry removed the pouch.

Harry

This is something only you can decide. Professor McGonagall has seen potential in you, the rest is up to you. If you think you can change things for the better, then you should.

The house is empty without you two.

We are seeing the Weasleys and the Graingers later today, in a cafe near Diagon Alley. Your uncle and I are quite looking forward to it.

Harry - try and let poor Hedwig get some rest.

Yours with love

P

Harry put the note away and, quietly, said, 'Tomorrow.'


'Professor McGonagall,' said Harry from the doorway to the Transfiguration classroom.

'What is it, Mr Potter?' asked Professor McGonagall, 'we don't have a class until Thursday.' She frowned at a misshapen grey blob and then tapped it with her wand. It shimmered and turned into a small wooden chopping board.

'What are you doing?'

'As much as both Muggles and wizard-folk like to believe otherwise, magic cannot create something from nothing.' She tapped another oddly shaped item and it turned into a weathered copy of Quidditch Through the Ages. 'Supplies are limited so I have to re-use what I can.'

'These are… mistakes?'

'By fourth years, no less. I worry about what they will end up doing once they leave Hogwarts. The messes they will make.'

'I don't think I should be put forward as Seeker,' Harry quickly blurted out.

Professor McGonagall lowered her wand and turned to look at Harry. 'Why not?'

'It's not fair on the other first years.'

She smiled. 'The other first years aren't natural flyers like you.'

'We don't know that.'

Professor McGonagall waved dismissively. 'Even though she didn't see you fly, I think Madam Hooch would have brought it to our attention if anyone else had been as proficient as you.' She made her way to her desk and sat down.

Harry took a deep breath and closed his eyes. 'I think they should be given a chance.'

Professor McGonagall frowned. 'And what are you proposing?' she asked.

'I don't know. Maybe they can practice and try out?'

'First years playing Quidditch?'

'I'm a first year and you're allowing me to play.'

'Now and then is not unprecedented but what you're suggesting-'

'We're going to be learning anyway,' Harry interrupted, 'so why not?'

'Quidditch is a dangerous game, Mr Potter. I suggested you for the team because of the raw talent you displayed in catching the Remembrall but it was, frankly, dependent on Wood training and vetting you. He could quite easily decide you weren't Seeker material.'

'I understand that, Professor, but-'

Professor McGonagall held up her hand and Harry fell silent. 'I'll speak to the other House Masters,' she said, 'but I can make no promises. Training and supervising one first year - you - is going to be time-consuming as it is, we don't have the resources or the brooms-'

'But we should have those resources.'

'Excuse me?'

'It's not right that we don't have decent brooms to practice with.'

'That's because first years aren't supposed to have brooms.'

'I know, I know, but the ones we do have, Madam Hooch said they weren't good.'

'She was surprised when I told her how well you had flown,' said Professor McGonagall, pensively.

'So I think new brooms, so the first years can have a fair chance-'

Professor McGonagall laughed and gestured at her classroom. Several normal-looking items rose up into the air, drifted over to Harry and hovered in front of him.

'These have been part of my class equipment for the last six years.'

'But why?'

'The… ah, the Ministry is in charge of the school's budget, and it's been getting tighter for several years now.'

'I can buy them. I have money. I can do it and then the school-'

'The school doesn't need your money, Mr Potter,' said Professor McGonagall sternly. 'Now, I understand that Madam Hooch has offered to train you in the meantime. I suggest you take her up on it, even if you decide not to be our Seeker.'

Professor McGonagall then quickly stood up and shooed Harry away as she continued to correct the exasperating mistakes of some of her students before her next class.


'This is the first broom I owned,' said Madam Hooch, 'and I'll tell you this right now, Potter, they don't make them like this anymore.' Her hand brushed over the long twigs bound at the back of the broom and Harry noticed that a few of them were blackened while others looked new and clean.

'It's a Silver Arrow. Each one was handmade by one man and they were a delight to fly.'

'It is beautiful,' Harry whispered.

'The Clean Sweeps are fair brooms, I grant you, but they're easily knocked and it's very hard to correct their flight after that has happened.'

'"Knocked"?' asked Harry.

'Brooms, like wands, tend to take on the personality of their flyer. Unlike wands, they're very relaxed. That's why it's easy to borrow someone else's broom but difficult to borrow someone else's wand. The more riders, however, the more… confused the broom. The more confused the broom the more it "knocks" - the more it misapplies the flyer's instructions. Especially the Clean Sweep.'

'I saw a lot of kids trying to see a new broom when I was in Diagon Alley.'

Madam Hooch nodded. 'The Nimbus Two Thousand. It's a fast and smooth ride.'

'Better than your Silver Arrow?' asked Harry.

Madam Hooch chuckled. 'I'll tell you the day I find one as good as this one, Mr Potter, but it is a good broom and a great one for Quidditch.'

She stepped back and let go of the Silver Arrow, and it hovered in the air between them.

'I told Professor McGonagall that I won't join the team until other first years get a chance to try out for their teams.'

'And how did she take it?'

'I don't know.'

Madam Hooch nodded understandingly and said, 'Well, she is a difficult person to read. Now, remember, brooms know when you're afraid…'


'The most basic form of the dark arts are everyday s-spells that are used with ill-intent,' said Professor Quirrell. 'Yes, Miss Grainger?'

'Do you mean malice aforethought?' asked Hermione.

'N-not in a legal standing, no. There m-may be some m-maliciousness but, generally, I'm referring to p-pranks.'

'Pranks are a dark art?' exclaimed Seamus. A murmur spread through the class and, stuttering, Professor Quirrell tried to get the agitated students to quieten down.

'N-now, now, please s-settle.' He walked across the front of the classroom and gestured at the blackboard. Pieces of chalk rose up and intricate sketches of a werewolf, a vampire, a Red Cap, and a banshee were quickly etched onto the board. Professor Quirrell smiled a little at the nods and whispers of admiration of his drawings and then flicked his finger and a red piece of chalk then drew a thick circle around each figure and then cut through each drawing with a large exclamation mark. 'The Dark Arts are vast and varied but p-people often immediately think of curses and beasts,' he said. 'There is a spectrum. Those of you who are wizard-born would probably have seen your mothers use a scrubbing spell to clean a difficult pot, yes?'

'My Mum just uses a scorching spell,' mumbled several voices.

'Yes, well, each to t-their own, of course, but that scrubbing spell or s-scorching spell can also be used for torture. Is t-torture not a dark art?'

There was a gasp and then Fay Dunbar whispered, 'That's what Mum meant when she said she would scrub my bottom raw when I set the table on fire.'

The class laughed and Professor Quirrell smiled.

'Now, as Ms Grainger suggested, something like that may have some malice aforethought but it all depends. For example, as t-tortured as you might f-feel, and as h-hard as it m-may be for you t-to believe, your parents are n-not trying to kill you when they use one of those spells on you. S-someone else, however, m-might be trying to hurt you or worse.'

'Death by scrubbing,' muttered Dean.

Professor Quirrell then went on to teach them variations of stopping-spells that can be used on 'spells for everyday chores'. 'I can assure you,' he said, 'the day you decide to make a casserole for your mother, you will want to know how to stop the knife from chopping the vegetables.'

Laughing at Seamus' very detailed proposed prank on his mother, as Harry stepped out of the DATDA classroom, he found himself pinned against the wall and face to face with a very annoyed captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

'What is wrong with you,' snarled Oliver Wood.

'Him,' said Hermione, her voice hitting a high pitch. She grabbed at Wood's arm and tugged at him. 'What's wrong with you?'

Wood shrugged her off and glared at Harry. 'You're supposed to be our new Seeker. It's supposed to be us training once you've got your broom but you're trying to ruin it for-' He stopped speaking as he was somehow pushed away from Harry and, with his shoes squeaking along the floor, moved to the other side of the corridor.

'What's going on here?' asked Professor Quirrell.

'It's a Gryffindor matter, Professor,' said Wood, 'it doesn't concern you.'

'So you would r-rather I summoned Professor McGonagall?'

Through clenched teeth, Wood muttered, 'No, sir.'

Wood's shoulders slouched as whatever had held him against the wall released him. He shouldered his bag and said, before leaving, 'You need to think about where your loyalties lie, Potter.

'What was that all about,' asked Ron and, after Harry explained what he had said to Professor McGonagall, he kept shaking his head and saying 'Bonkers. Harry Potter is bonkers.'


Harry flinched as Wood approached him in the common room later that evening. Ignoring everyone around them, Wood gripped Harry by his shoulder and said, 'I should have known better, Potter, I'm sorry. It's a grand idea. It won't work but it's a grand idea.'

Harry watched Wood walk away and wondered what on earth that had all been about.


Word spread at breakfast the next morning but the excitement of the first years was repeatedly dismissed by the older students as mere rumour and wishful thinking.

Justin Finch-Fletchley and Megan Jones of Hufflepuff and Anthony Goldstein and Sue Li of Ravenclaw approached Harry as he and Ron sat down to eat.

'We really appreciate you doing all that, Harry,' said Sue.

'Yeah,' said Justin, 'being Muggle-born and not knowing about any of this stuff made a lot of things awkward, but the Quidditch thing-'

'What Justin's trying to say,' interrupted Megan, 'is that you pushing for first years to have a chance to try out for the House teams really changes things.'

'I honestly haven't done anything,' said Harry, 'I don't know why everyone thinks that I have.'

The four first-years left Harry to have his breakfast, however, just as he cut into a poached egg, another trio of first-years sauntered up to the table.

'Do you think this is going to make people actually like you, Potter?' snarled Malfoy.

Harry sighed and set his cutlery down. 'It's not about-'

'You think all the second years are happy that the first years can do what they couldn't?'

'I thought you wanted to be-'

'"Harry Potter, the Boy Who Ruined Quidditch for Everyone at Hogwarts",' said Malfoy through grit teeth.

'Good one,' chuckled Goyle.

'So you're not going to try out?' asked Ron.

'Stay out of this, Weasley,' hissed Malfoy.

'It doesn't matter if people like me or not,' said Harry. 'It wasn't fair that I was being put forward when none of the rest of us could.'

'"Fair"?'

'Fair.'

Malfoy leaned forward and rested his hands on the table. 'Where are the brooms going to come from, Harry?'

'What?'

'Ask Weasley here. You wouldn't know, being basically a Muggle, but the summer after their first year is when most people really learn how to fly. When we get to have our own brooms.'

'But Madam Hooch-'

'I didn't need Madam Hooch.'

'She said you were holding the broom wrong,' Ron reminded him.

'Did it look wrong when I flew up there?' Malfoy snarled.

'No,' said Harry, 'but it is nice up there. I can see why you were so keen to fly.'

Malfoy glared at him and then shook his head and walked away, muttering.

The dismissals continued until Professor Dumbledore stepped into the room and made his way to the lectern. The dining hall fell silent and everyone stopped eating and talking and turned to give him their full attention.

'It is rare,' said Professor Dumbledore, 'for me to address you all again so early in the term, but it seems this term will be much more interesting and exciting than usual. Now, so far, no one has attempted to enter the Forbidden Forest, and I commend you for that.'

He paused and looked out over all the students. He then turned to look over his shoulder at the teachers seated behind him and then up at the ceiling of the dining hall, which showed a bright blue sky with a handful of clouds.

'There are a few things to announce,' he continued, 'and I think many of you will welcome these changes and help us implement them. We will need your help and your patience.

'Firstly, new brooms have been personally selected and procured by Madam Hooch and a workshop for the upkeep and maintenance of brooms has been arranged for all students. I know many of the older students prefer apparating when not at school but I think you will find that a good grounding in broom maintenance will serve you well.

'Some of you will likely wonder why we haven't done this before. I wondered it myself when it was proposed.

'Together with this, it has been decided that all first years will be given the opportunity to try out for their house Quidditch teams-'

A roar filled the hall as dozens of first years jumped up and down and cheered.

'Following,' continued Professor Dumbledore, as he gestured for quiet, 'following a strict certification programme conducted by Madam Hooch. There will also now be two House teams and more Quidditch.'

There was another roar, far louder than the first one, as nearly every student cheered and whooped. Professor Dumbledore stepped back from the lectern and gestured at the students.

'"I'll make the other announcements later",' said Hermione.

'What?' asked Ron.

'Professor Dumbledore. It's what he just said to the teachers.

'You heard him?'

'I can read lips. A little.'

'You're so weird.'

Hermione's cheeks reddened a little and she turned away from Ron and watched Professor Dumbledore walk out of the room.

Harry and Ron turned to look at Malfoy and saw him sitting at the Slytherin table, arms crossed and his upper lip curled.

'Two House teams?' The words and question were repeated across the hall as the news began to sink in and the students wondered aloud about tryouts and practice sessions and captains.

Up on the high table, the teachers looked over at Harry and did not seem to be very happy.

'Harry,' whispered Neville, 'what have you done?'

'I don't know.'


'Mr Potter and the Swots of Gryffindor,' said Professor Snape as he walked between the rows of tables in the Potions' room. In front of each pair of Gryffindors were small cauldrons with a clear vapour rising up. In front of each pair of Slytherins were small cauldrons with vapours of different colours rising up or rolling out, heavier than the air and gathering around the bottom of their cauldrons.

'I am curious, Mr Finnigan, as to how you have avoided making even a small puff of smoke.'

'Pure concentration, sir,' said Seamus.

'"Pure"? queried Professor Snape.

'Sir.'

Professor Snape held up his hand and rattled a small box. 'Concentration capsules, Mr Finnigan?'

'No sir,' protested Seamus, wide-eyed and fearful.

'The Wizard Examinations Authority may prescribe these for W.O.M.B.A.T.s but they are not allowed in my classroom.'

'They're not mine, sir!'

'Quite,' said Professor Snape, and he placed the box on Harry and Ron's table. 'Thirty points from Gryffindor,' said Professor Snape, slowly.

'Told you he hates you,' whispered Ron as Harry gaped at Professor Snape.

'I wish I knew why,' Harry whispered back.


'D'you want to know the easy way to fly, Potty?' asked Peeves as he hovered alongside Harry. 'All of us ghosts do it. Do you want to know, Potty? Do you? Do you? Do you?'

Harry looked up from his copy of Quidditch Through the Ages and asked the annoying poltergeist what the easiest way to fly was.

'Beans,' said Peeves. 'Lots and lots of beans.' Then, making a long raspberry noise, Peeves bounced along the corridor and disappeared through the ceiling.

'Take your brooms,' Harry heard Madam Hooch shout. He hurried over to the window and looked out towards the practice pitch.

'Today, we are working on our turns. Right circle. Left circle. Understood? And don't forget to breathe. Madam Pomfrey's going to run out of beds at the rate you all seem to be fainting up there.'

Harry watched Neville and Hermione, hovering a few feet above the ground on their brooms, lean slightly to their right and turn a full circle in the air and then lean to their left and do another circle. Following their second turn, they rose a little higher in the air and repeated the process.

'Right circle,' shouted Madam Hooch, 'left circle. Breathe in. Breathe out.'