Harry and the other first-year Gryffindors had only Potions and Care of Magical Creatures with the Slytherins. That is, until their second week, when they noticed a flyer on the bulletin board in the Gryffindor common room. Flying lessons would be starting next Thursday, and they would be having lessons with the Slytherins.

When he saw the notice, Harry was extremely happy. Flying was his favorite thing to do. Even if he couldn't play on his House team until next year, he could still take lessons on the school brooms! And it was his chance to show up Malfoy, who was always blabbing about being a Quidditch star. Harry and Ron both agreed Malfoy was probably full of hot air.

Hermione wasn't as happy about flying as Harry and Ron were. All of the color left her face when she saw the notice.

"Oh no, oh no," she said. "They're going to make me fly? But I'm Muggle-born, I don't know anything about Quidditch…and I'm scared of heights! I can't even go on an airplane without having a panic attack!"

"What's an airplane?" said Ron.

"Never mind it," said Harry. "Look, I'll help you, all right? We can borrow one of the school brooms, and you can ride on the back. That way you'll be less afraid on Thursday."

"I don't think we'll be allowed," Hermione told him nervously.

"Fred and George are both on the Quidditch team," said Ron. "One of them will definitely lend you a broom. You can probably go flying at night on the Quidditch pitch, while all the teachers are asleep."

…

Hermione was a little afraid to break rules, but she was even more afraid to go to flying class on Thursday unprepared. Harry told her flying wasn't something you could learn out of a book, so they would need to practice for real.

Fred and George Weasley had generously allowed Harry to borrow their brooms for Hermione's flying lessons. They weren't as nice of brooms as the Nimbus Harry had back home in London, but they were fine for practice, and probably better than most of the ancient school brooms. Harry climbed onto Fred's broom, and signaled for Hermione to climb on after him. She reluctantly did so, and Harry kicked off the ground.

"I don't like this, I really don't like this," Hermione was saying. "I never should have agreed to it…Oh, God, what a way to go—"

"Hermione…we're only two feet up in the air," said Harry, who could barely breathe because she was clutching him so tightly around the waist.

"So?" Hermione's voice was almost a whimper.

"So it isn't that dangerous," Harry told her, trying to make his voice comforting. "They're probably going to make you fly higher than this in the lessons."

"Okay…I guess you can fly a little higher," Hermione said, though she sounded petrified, and she let out a scream as they did.

Harry would have liked to go higher, maybe miles high, up all the way to where the moon was shining so bright, but he stayed about six or seven feet into the air for now, flying around. After several minutes passed and nobody died, Hermione seemed to calm down a little, and Harry flew up to twelve feet, and flew a little faster.

Hermione seemed relieved when they finally reached the ground, but then Harry said it was her turn to fly.

"Me? Alone?" she cried.

"They're going to make you fly alone on Thursday," Harry reminded her. "I-I mean…I'm not going to make you do anything…but you did say you wanted to be prepared—"

"Give me that broom," said Hermione, her face flushed, and climbed onto Fred's broom.

"Okay, you have to sit down on it, and then kick off from the ground, like this," said Harry, demonstrating with George's broom and hovering in the air. Hermione copied Harry's motions on Fred's broom. Harry flew all the way up to the moon, with Hermione up three feet in the air down below, and then he dived (he was really good at dives) back to Hermione.

They flew for about thirty minutes, and Hermione proved herself capable of flying around on a broom in the air several feet high—they figured Madam Hooch wouldn't expect anyone to fly more than ten feet. Hermione seemed relieved to have both feet on the ground when their flying practice was finally finished up.

"Oh thank God," she said, hurriedly climbing off Fred's broom.

"Just do what you did tonight, and you'll be fine," Harry reassured her. "I guess you won't be playing for the House team anytime soon, but you've learned a lot."

"Thanks, Harry," said Hermione, kissing Harry lightly on the cheek, and turning to go back inside the castle. "Harry?"

"W-Whuh?" Hermione's kiss had caused Harry to temporarily lose his senses, so of course he hadn't heard what she was saying.

"Let's go back inside now," she told him, grabbing his hand, so that his whole body felt hot and his legs couldn't move. She had to almost drag him along for a few feet until he finally snapped out of it and started walking.

"It's—it's hot in here, isn't it?" said Harry woozily.

"No, not to me," said Hermione, looking slightly concerned. "You'd better get some sleep. I think all that flying might have tired you out."

…

Thursday afternoon couldn't come soon enough for Harry and Ron, and it couldn't come slow enough for Hermione. At half-past-three, all the first-year Gryffindors headed down to the Quidditch pitch for their first lesson—well, their first official lesson, anyway, Harry whispered to Hermione. Despite being incredibly nervous, she smiled.

It was a cool, breezy day—perfect flying conditions. The Slytherins had beat the Gryffindors to the Quidditch pitch, and there were already twenty brooms on the ground for the students to ride on. Every Slytherin was standing near a broom. Almost all of them looked confident—Harry guessed it was because none of them had come from Muggle families and they had probably all practically grown up on broomsticks.

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

"Here we go," Hermione whispered to Harry. She stood near a broom, and he stood next to her. His broom was old and the twigs stuck out everywhere.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom, and say 'Up'!" Madam Hooch called, and they did.

Harry's broom jumped right into his hand, which was more or less what he had been expecting. Ron's broom almost made it, but seemed to lose heart halfway through. Hermione's broom just did a roll, and Neville's didn't move at all.

After that they learned to mount their brooms. Harry watched Hermione, who was trying to do it the way she had learned from Harry the other night. Madam Hooch walked along the rows of students, correcting them where they went wrong. She passed Harry, Ron, and even Hermione without comment; Hermione beamed at Harry, this time with her teeth—the first time she had done so in front of a class. Malfoy, however, was told that he had been flying wrong for years, and the trio had to try very hard to keep from laughing.

"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—"

Everyone gasped as Neville's broom took off before Madam Hooch blew her whistle.

"Come back, boy!" Madam Hooch yelled, but Neville's broom seemed to have a mind of its own. He rose a good twenty feet into the air, and then, frightened, he gasped, slid sideways off the broom, and fell onto the ground in a heap of robes as the broom flew out of sight. Harry heard a sickening crack, like a twig snapping.

"Broken wrist," Madam Hooch muttered, bending over Neville. "Come on, boy—it's all right, up you get."

Madam Hooch warned the class that anyone caught flying would be expelled, and took Neville off to the hospital wing. The minute they were gone, Malfoy started to laugh.

"Did you see his face, the great lump?"

"Shut up, Malfoy," said Parvati Patil.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" sneered Pansy Parkinson, the girl who had named the Cruppy after herself. "Never thought you'd like fat little crybabies, Parvati."

"Look!" said Malfoy, snatching a small glass round ball out of the grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him."

Harry looked and saw that Malfoy had Neville's new Remembrall. When you forgot something, it glowed red. Whenever Neville held it, it glowed red.

"Give that here, Malfoy," said Harry quietly.

"I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find," Malfoy said nastily. "How about—up a tree?"

"Give it here!" Harry repeated, but Malfoy still kept the Remembrall and took off. He flew all the way up to an oak tree and yelled, "Come and get it, Potter!"

Harry grabbed his broom.

"No!" said Hermione. "Harry, Madam Hooch told us not to move!"

For once in his life, Harry ignored Hermione and took off into the air. Within seconds he was level with Malfoy, who looked shocked. Hermione and a few other girls screamed. Ron cheered.

"Give it here," said Harry, "or I'll knock you off that broom!"

"Oh yeah?" Malfoy was trying to sound threatening, but he just looked worried now. The expression on his face alone clearly read, How did you get so good at flying?

Harry had to prove he wasn't all talk like Malfoy. When Malfoy didn't surrender the Remembrall, he flew right towards Malfoy, who dodged at the last second. By now, some people below were clapping.

"No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy," Harry taunted.

"Catch it if you can, then!" Malfoy tossed the glass Remembrall into the air and sped to the ground. The ball rose slightly in the air, then succumbed to gravity's pull. Harry knew he had to catch it, or the Remembrall would be broken. It was a long shot, but dives were his specialty, after all…

Twenty feet, fifteen, ten, and Harry caught the Remembrall barely a foot from the ground; he pulled his broom straight and fell onto the grass, clutching the Remembrall.

"HARRY POTTER!"

Uh-oh, thought Harry. McGonagall was rushing towards them. He got to his feet.

"Never—in all my time at Hogwarts—" Professor McGonagall looked almost as shocked as Malfoy had. "How dare you—might have broken your neck—"

"It wasn't his fault, Professor," said Parvati Patil, coming to Harry's defense.

"Be quiet, Miss Patil," said Professor McGonagall.

"But Malfoy—" began Ron.

"That's enough, Mr. Weasley. Potter, follow me, now."

Harry followed along behind Professor McGonagall as she marched Harry into the castle, his insides feeling frozen. He was going to be expelled, just like Madam Hooch had warned him. Professor McGonagall wasn't looking at him or speaking to him—he took that to mean she was overwhelmed by fury. Her strides were so fast that he was jogging to keep up. He thought of Sirius, how disappointed he would be. Would Sirius have to leave Hogwarts to look after Harry back in London? Or maybe Harry would be sent back to the Dursleys…Harry just knew Dumbledore would probably love any excuse to send him back to the Dursleys, as he had fought so adamantly for it…and, after all, where could Professor McGonagall possibly be taking him, if not Dumbledore's office?

But no. They stopped outside a classroom. Professor McGonagall looked inside and asked Professor Flitwick if she could borrow "Wood".

For a moment Harry thought Wood was a cane Professor McGonagall was going to use on him—he wasn't sure if corporal punishment was allowed at Hogwarts, but then, there was a whole Forbidden Corridor that would kill you if you entered it, so wasn't anything possible in this place? As it turned out, though, that Wood was a fifth-year student.

"Follow me, you two," Professor McGonagall told them, and they followed her. Wood was looking curiously at Harry.

The three of them entered a classroom containing Peeves, but Professor McGonagall got him out in a hurry. Then, she addressed the students sitting in front of her.

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

"Are you serious, Professor?" Wood asked delightedly.

"As a shark attack," Professor McGonagall told him. "Potter is clearly a natural. Was that your first time on a broomstick, Potter?"

"No," said Harry nervously. "I-I flew a little with Professor Black over summer vacation, too."

"You flew a little!" Professor McGonagall still looked impressed. "It looked like you'd been flying for years. Wood, Potter caught that thing in his hand after a fifty-foot dive. Didn't even scratch himself. Charlie Weasley couldn't have done it."

"Ever seen a game of Quidditch, Potter?" Wood asked, looking excited.

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

"I've practiced a bit, like I said, but I've never seen a game," Harry told Wood. "I'd like to, though."

"He's just the build for a Seeker, too," said Wood. "Light—speedy—we'll have to get him a decent broom, Professor—"

"I've already got a broom back home," Harry told him hurriedly. "I've got a Nimbus Two Thousand."

"Excellent!" Wood beamed. "That's the best model they make!"

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

"O-Okay," Harry said, amazed to find that he had avoided being punished a second time.

"I want to hear you're training hard, Potter, or I may change my mind," Professor McGonagall said sternly, but then she smiled. "Your father would have been proud. He was an excellent Quidditch player himself."

…

"Sirius! Sirius, open up!"

Harry was banging on the door to Sirius's teacher's quarters. It was a long time before Sirius opened the door. His hair was tousled and he was rubbing his eyes.

"What?" he grouched.

"Oh, sorry, did I wake you up?" said Harry. Without waiting for a response, he barreled on: "You'll never believe what happened today at my flying lessons, Sirius!"

"What?" Sirius collapsed onto the couch and leaned back, shutting his eyes again.

"When Professor McGonagall saw me flying, she volunteered me as Seeker for the Gryffindor Quidditch team!"

Sirius's head snapped right up.

"What?!" he said for the third time.

Harry explained the whole story, starting with Malfoy snatching the Remembrall and Harry catching it and then he talked about how McGonagall had introduced him to Wood.

"But that makes you the youngest Seeker in a century!" Sirius remarked.

"I know it," Harry said proudly. "Oliver Wood, you know, the captain—he told me so."

"Well, if it's all right with McGonagall, I can probably get your Nimbus shipped in from London somehow," Sirius offered. "Imagine the look on Draco Malfoy's face as it gets delivered to you at breakfast."

"You were right about me not mixing with him," Harry told Sirius. "Is his father as bad as he is?"

"Lucius Malfoy is even worse," Sirius replied. "I had to meet him a couple of times, when he was dating Narcissa. She always brought him along to our foul family photo shoots. Besides, he was a Death Eater. You can't come back from that."

Sirius said this lightly, but Harry knew he meant it. Even after all these years, Sirius hated nothing more than Death Eaters. Even Sirius's own brother had been a Death Eater, Harry remembered. In his godfather's eyes, maybe joining the Dark Side was unforgivable, even if it was your own flesh and blood.