Intent and Flight

"The first, deepest, most essential part of all magic is focused intent." Professor Haddeley waved her wand so the word 'INTENT' appeared on her blackboard. "Some say it's about thought, but that's really an inaccuracy. You can stare at an apple all day and think to yourself 'I'm going to pick up that apple' but until you act the apple won't move. Much the same with magic."

She smiled. "Since you are all here, you've proven that you're capable of utilizing your magical intent. There are many, far more than anyone could guess, people in the world who are what we call 'squibs' - that is, those born with the physical capacity for magic but without the mental ability to apply it.

"A wand strengthens that intent, an incantation focuses that intent, the wand motions guide that intent, but without intent at the base of everything you do nothing will happen. So today, I want you all to think back to your other lessons. Was there a time when you did particularly well? Do you remember what you were thinking and feeling at the time? I bet it was concentration on actually performing the magic before you."

Harry found himself nodding. That was how he'd broken out of his cupboard, after all. By intending it to open for days and days. He ran his hand along the smooth wood of his wand, enjoying the feel of power beneath his fingertips. The wand made him stronger.

"The students who most often succeed are those with the determination to act and the confidence to press on. Magic is not an easy or simple course, not a frivolous collection of fanciful words and bright lights. Magic is a powerful physical force, something dangerous in the extreme, fickle and unyielding at once. Magic is desire and reflex, joy and hatred, beauty and destruction, everything and nothing."

Professor Haddeley's voice rose as she spoke, becoming dramatic and pressing and intense. "Now, everyone together, intend for your wands to light, lift them high, and give me a lumos!"

Harry felt her passion echoed in himself, knew that regardless of the words she used, the heart of it was the same. Magic was everything. Did it matter that he, Harry, had no real purpose? Did the fact that he wanted magic for its own sake, for the sake of his personal power and self-sufficiency, in any way detract from its value?

Beauty and destruction, she had said. Harry thought about beauty, about everything magical he had ever encountered. Everything from the snakes that somehow found their way to him through cities and towns where there ought not to be any of them, to the owls that always knew how to deliver their mail, to Professor Quirrell, and Hogwarts Castle itself.

Harry knew about destructive magic, knew that Lord Voldemort had slain his parents, knew that there had been a long bloody war before he was born. But it was hard to connect that reality, the darkness and fear that had once accompanied magic, to the reality he had seen.

Even the simple jinxes and hexes that students threw at each other in the halls - and Harry was by no means exempt; as a Slytherin he was a favourite target - for all their 'harmful' effect were really just lighthearted fun. Magic was a good thing, a grand thing, something that Harry would cherish forever.

"LUMOS!" the class roared in ragged unison, lifting wands.

Harry raised his own, his heart overflowing with emotion. Magic is true power, he thought, and intended for his wand to light. For once, it did so. Strongly, glowing out brighter than anyone else in the room.

Harry grinned, and for that one moment everything felt perfect. He didn't care that the other houses despised him. He didn't care that he was going to return to Privet Drive for two months during the summer. Nothing in the world mattered, compared to the purity of this power that he, for that fleeting moment, understood perfectly.

He felt very strange for a moment, as though watching himself, emotion gone, everything filtered through this new reality he saw. Everything that happened to him, everything he did, and everyone who he interacted with. All connected.

Then his wandlight flickered, his concentration evaporated. The lumos faltered, a thin trail of light trickling down from his wand's tip like glowing liquid. It faded as it traced its way between the intricate raised patterns of Harry's wand, vanishing completely before reaching his hand.

Harry lowered his wand, feeling strangely weary. Using magic wasn't really tiring in the normal way, though his practice sessions with Professor Quirrell often left Harry feeling quite overworked, but this was something else. Something deeper, elusive and unknowable.

Whatever understanding had briefly filled him was gone now, the world looked as it always had, and he once more felt small and alone and uncertain.

Then Pansy grabbed his hand and grinned across at him, and he smiled back. But as she turned away, his smile faded. Whatever elation he'd felt was gone, his concentration on the lesson broken completely. He felt like he was just shy of remembering part of that new reality hiding within everything else, like a moment's more thought would bring it back to mind.

Emotions were distracting things anyway.

But though he strained his memory throughout the rest of the class, the knowledge remained out of reach. He departed for Herbology still disgruntled, and if anyone had asked him what the rest of Theory class had been about he'd have been unable to answer.

After Herbology came History of Magic, which absolutely no one was paying attention to. Today was to be the start of broomstick riding lessons for the Gryffindor and Slytherin first years.

Draco had been going on for days, ever since the lessons were announced at the beginning of the week, bragging to anyone who would listen about his exploits flying as a child. Somehow most of the tales seemed to involve narrowly escaping from muggles in planes.

Any time a teacher was around, Draco would loudly bemoan the fact that first years were never allowed to join the Quidditch team, no matter their natural talent and unmistakable skill.

Harry was beginning to think he'd gotten the wrong impression of Draco from their few interactions. The longer Draco spent at Hogwarts, the less careful he seemed to become in his behavior and the more he just acted like a rich brat. Which seemed completely at odds with his cooler, more calculating manner when dealing with Harry.

Nearly every time Harry saw him about the school, he was picking fights with Gryffindors, mocking Hufflepuffs, or even (more rarely) ridiculing Ravenclaws.

He didn't say anything, of course, because the Malfoys were still a rich and powerful family and as Harry was only a a halfblood himself it wasn't his place to criticize, but he felt like someone should intervene and quickly before Draco ended up as nothing more than a petty bully. He may have a head start on the rest of the class, but if he didn't take proper advantage of it he could end up just as spoiled and useless as Dudley.

As they lined up at the row of mismatched school brooms on their side of the field - Gryffindors facing them across an open patch - Draco kicked at his broom and said loudly that if he ever was chosen to play Quidditch he knew his father would do something about the lamentable condition of Slytherin house's school broomsticks.

Madam Hooch, the flying instructor, strode out between the two lines of students. "Everyone standing by a broomstick? Hurry up, come on."

The Slytherins next to him prevented Harry from seeing much of their own side. On the Gryffindor line, Nereva edged closer to the broom as though it would bite her. Hermione was staring at hers distrustfully. Weasley was nearly bouncing in eagerness.

Harry stood, nervous excitement working its way through him. Flying. Flying. At last.

"Put away your wand, Miss Peebles," Madam Hooch instructed briskly, "the broomsticks are quite self-sufficient and wayward spellcasting would only endanger you." Scattered nervous laughter followed her words. "Everyone now, place your hand over the broom and give the command, UP."

"UP!" Harry shouted, along with the rest of the training group. The broomstick leapt into his waiting hand so quickly he almost forgot to grab it.

Not everyone was so fortunate. Hermione and Nereva in particular, standing across from Harry, seemed to be having a hard time, as though the brooms sensed their fear. Nereva seemed to be pleading, while Hermione's voice held an audible quaver.

"Keep trying, you'll get it," Madam Hooch ordered, and the scattered voices of students overlapped as they tried to bring their brooms to their hands.

"Bet that Longbottom falls off within the first minute," Draco muttered to Vincent.

The larger boy shook his head. "The only way I'd take that bet is if I were betting she doesn't last ten seconds."

Draco chuckled. "At least you have some sense. How about you, Gregory? Wanna bet Longbottom lasts at least a minute?"

The other boy shrugged. "Sure, Draco, whatever you say."

Vincent gave a snort as Draco and Gregory shook hands, somewhat awkwardly since they each had only their left free.

"Attention you lot. Stay focused." Madam Hooch's voice snapped Harry's attention back to her. The facing row of Gryffindors all had ahold of their brooms now. "Now, step forward if I call your name."

She began listing off names, and the students took steps forward. Harry was baffled, but when his name was called he did as instructed, still holding the broom. Pansy was still behind, as was Draco, while Harry and the two goons were among the front row.

"Keep going, right up to this line, that's right."

The two lines had become a staggered zigzag on each side of the field, and Harry was increasingly confused.

"Now, mount your brooms like so."

She swung her leg over her own broomstick, carefully demonstrated the correct forward angle. "Be sure your hands are positioned properly within the steering area, sliding them forward or back will be taken as instructions, as will twisting them around the stick. You should be centered within the seating area, go ahead and adjust your position until you're confident of it. Mr. Malfoy, what is that? Do you want to fall off your broom?"

"I've been flying for years," Draco protested.

"If you've been doing it like that, then you've been doing it wrong for years," Madam Hooch said.

She dismounted and strode over to correct Draco's grip amid sniggers from the Gryffindors. Nereva let out a terrified cough-snort as she turned her attention toward them. "Miss Longbottom, relax your grip a bit or you'll have no control."

Nereva gave a jump of shock at hearing her name called, sending herself and the broom shooting straight up and into the air.

"Hold still!" Madam Hooch shouted, wand suddenly in her hand as she ran back to her own broom. "The rest of you, stay on the ground."

She glared toward Weasley, who looked ready to jump into the air after his classmate, then pushed off herself.

Nereva gave a terrified squeal as she somehow managed to flip the broom over, leaving her clinging to it with her hands and legs for dear life. It moved erratically as her fingers slipped, first one way, then another.

"Stabilius Leviosa," Madam Hooch called as soon as she was near enough, giving a tight wand gesture.

Nereva's broomstick stopped moving, then began to gently descend at Madam Hooch's direction, but not quickly enough for Nereva's flagging strength. Before she could try to right her own seating, she lost her grip and plummeted toward the ground with a panicked scream.

Madam Hooch dove after her in a sudden blur of movement, snatched her ankle before she'd fallen halfway, and began a careful slow descent. "Calm down, Miss Longbottom!"

Nereva's flailing didn't stop until she was back on the ground, at which point she simply fainted.

Draco laughed aloud, as did most of the Slytherins. "Looks like you owe me, Gregory!"

"Silence," Madam Hooch snapped. "And I want none of you in the air until I return, understand? Stay where you are. Locomotor."

Nereva's unconscious form lifted from the ground. Madam Hooch started briskly toward the castle, floating Nereva in front of her.

"Did you see the look on her face?" Pansy asked, resuming her laughter the moment the teacher was out of sight. "That one's a squib for sure."

"She's just afraid of falling, that doesn't mean she's a squib," Weasley retorted from the Gryffindor line. "Shut up about what you don't know, Parkinson!"

"Try and stop me, Weasley," Pansy retorted in a provocative singsong. "Or did your blood-traitor parents not bother teaching you any real magic?"

The red-haired boy spluttered angrily, but didn't draw his wand and seemed to be having a hard time coming up with a retort.

"Like the real magic you've been demonstrating in class?" Hermione asked sweetly. "Oh, wait, you need to cling to your famous boyfriend for every syllable, isn't that right Parkinson?"

"What do you know, Granger?" Pansy snapped. "You're not in any of our classes."

"Thank goodness for that," Harry muttered. Pansy was not one to give up once riled, and if Hermione shared any more classes with Slytherin he would never have a moment's peace. At least in potions Professor Snape generally kept the girls quiet and away from each others' throats, and in History of Magic everyone was too busy sleeping.

Vincent, the only one near enough to overhear, gave a quiet chuckle. "Good one, Potter," he said quietly.

"As if a mudblood like yourself could be any sort of challenge," Draco drawled. "You only manage potions because they require the least amount of magical ability."

"That is so not true!" Hermione snapped, her voice going up nearly an octave. "I am the top in every class I'll have you know, and potions does require magic. Have you never opened a textbook?"

"Then I challenge you to a duel," Draco said, and though Harry was several steps in front of the Malfoy heir he could hear the smirk in his voice. "Unless you're too much of a coward to face me like a real witch would."

"Yeah, we'll take you on any day!" Weasley shouted, but Hermione shook her head.

"Duels are not allowed at Hogwarts," the girl said, "and you know that as well as I do. You just want to trick me into breaking the rules so your father can have me expelled."

"I'll fight you!" Weasley shouted, ignoring Hermione's protests. "I'll show you, you can't treat Gryffindors that way. Leave Nereva and Granger alone."

"You, Weasley?" Draco sneered. "You'd hardly be a challenge. Goyle could take you out."

"Name the time and place, I'll be there," Weasley retorted. "I'll show you what I can do!"

"Well, if you insist," Draco drawled lazily. "I'll send word once it's arranged."

"Ron, no! You'll lose us points," Hermione hissed. "You know this is just a trick."

But Weasley wasn't listening to her. "Deal, Malfoy. I'll look forward to making you eat your words."

Harry shook his head. "You arrange a secret and illegal duel in loud shouts in front of two dozen witnesses?" he grumbled quietly. "What happened to subtlety?"

Harry saw Vincent, still the only one near enough to hear, glance over at him appraisingly, but before Harry could decide out how to react Madam Hooch came bustling back out and all chatter died away.

"Right, everyone still mounted? Good, now. When I give the whistle, I want you all to kick off gently from the ground. You'll go up, practice sliding your steering hand slowly forward and back. You've got plenty of space, but don't do anything too quickly. Then, turn your hand clockwise and lean forward to touch back down."

She demonstrated the move, pushing lightly into the air, then flying slowly forward and back, before setting back down. "Three, two, one," and she blew the whistle.

Harry pushed off. The school broom wasn't the most comfortable, the cushioning charm wearing thin in places, but it didn't feel nearly as awkward as one would expect a broomstick to be for sitting on. He slid his hand forward and back, the broomstick moving fluidly through the air as though completely ignoring such mundane things as gravity and physics.

Harry grinned. The gentle breeze through his hair, the feeling of untethered freedom was like nothing he'd thought possible outside of dreams. He tried tilting a bit to the side as he moved forward, and the broom moved in a smooth arc. Twisting his steering hand counter-clockwise, he leaned back the other way and circled back and upward until he was back where he'd started but twenty feet higher. It felt so natural, so free. He thought he could fly forever.

"Mr. Potter! That's quite enough showing off, come back down."

He glanced over at the sound, saw the rest of the students were all on the ground already. He felt his cheeks heating, quickly brought himself downward. A bit too quickly. He stumbled on landing, tripped over the broom still between his legs, and stumbled forward amid general laughter. He barely avoided landing flat on his face, disentangled his broomstick, and backed up to his place in line.

Harry knew his face was flaming with embarrassment. He wanted to hide, wanted to stare at his feet and pretend that no one was watching him. It was a struggle to force himself to watch Madam Hooch with any semblance of calm, and it made his stomach tight and uncomfortable to maintain his unconcerned facade.

"And I thought you were the quiet and unassuming type," Pansy said from behind him, teasingly. Harry was sure his face couldn't get any redder, but he knew she was trying to cheer him up. He wished she'd have just let him forget it ever happened though.

"Eyes on me, all of you," Madam Hooch instructed. "As Mr. Potter demonstrated for us," more laughter from the Gryffindors, "leaning to either side will help steer your broomstick in that direction. I see your hand, Mr. Crabbe, be assured that we will be learning advanced steering, but not today. Stick to the basics. Now, on my whistle, push off and steer gently to the left. Slowly, mind, I don't want you crashing into each other. Three, two, one…"

Harry continued to excel as they continued with basic flight. It came to him so instinctively, he felt as though he'd been born for it. The freedom of watching the ground recede below him, the feeling of wind rushing past his face and rustling his hair, the air roaring in his ears, it was enough to make him forget his troubles completely.

He was stunned when the class came to an end. Surely that hadn't been nearly long enough? But his watch agreed with the bell, it was nearly dinnertime and the class was truly over.

Harry wanted to stay in the air, but Madame Hooch ordered everyone to the ground in no uncertain terms, and he reluctantly returned his broom.

He knew one thing for sure. Next time he was in Diagon Alley, he was going to buy the best, fastest broom he could afford, and in second year he would fly every day. He was so exhilarated by the experience that he didn't worry about the Dursleys' reaction to his coming home with a flying broom even for a second.

Any thought of his strange experience in Theory class that morning was completely forgotten.

Author's Note:

This whole story, apart from the prologue which is the one part actually properly beta'd, will probably be rewritten at some point. (Though me and editing don't get along well it seems and I have far too many stories and far too little time at present, so this isn't a -soon- thing.) I have seen it done both ways, and have a question to pose to y'all:

When I eventually rewrite this story, should I simply update and replace the existing chapters with the new version, even if the plot goes in a somewhat different direction? Or leave this posted and add the updated version as its own thing? I would appreciate input on this matter, as I'm honestly unsure which would be better.

Edited September 25, 2018: corrected a few mistyped words.
Edited September 26, 2018: forgot Nereva was a girl, again. :| Thank you, Rowen-bsg, for pointing it out.
Edited May 27, 2019: Missed a stray 'him' for Nereva, thank you ohm666 for pointing it out.