10: A Gigantic Problem

My Dear Harrykins,

Merlin! I wish your friends are with you when you get this letter. It has been a while since I called you that. I can just imagine them snickering behind your back thinking what a twerp you are for having such a funny pet name!

HAH!

Serves you right for forgetting writing to your uncle – as we agreed on – simply because you were having the best time of your life in the castle whilst your poor uncle, oh bless him! is brooding all alone in this horrible hellhole you call a study.

Woe is me, a poor old man living under the roof of a Dark house all alone dying in misery just because he misses his favorite nephew a lot!

You should be grateful I didn't send you a howler or I would've reminded the Hogwarts elves IN PUBLIC to check your bed every other day to make sure you didn't wet yourself in your sleep! At eleven years old, it still surprises me how your bladder fails to remind you the difference between sleepwalking and peeing in your bed.

Sarcasm aside, I can't believe how quiet the house has become since you left. It gets more creepier that I think the severed house-elf heads on the foyer were giving me the looks, I have to discard them in the middle of a nightmare!

I have no one to accompany me lately, you know that. I was forced to bond with Kreacher, and the poor thing was traumatized when I tried to gift him a plate of cookies. I forgot those were your favorites and not his.

I hope you didn't spend your first few days roaming around the castle past curfew. Though I'm not saying it's not an enjoyable thing to do to pass the time. Our family has quite a reputation on such habits, even the Hogwarts portraits can attest to that – but NO, Harrykins my heart, you shall uphold your Lordship status and be the epitome of elegance. But should your interest pique the need, I heard the third-floor corridor is an interesting place to visit this year. Just a reminder not to take blubbering idiots with you when you decide to make that trip. And keep yourself away from creatures with too-large canines, yeah?

Send me a letter whenever you have the time.

Have a good term!

Lots of love,

Uncle Teddy

Harry felt lucky he was all by himself when he opened his uncle's letter. He couldn't bear Draco and Zabini's reaction reading the preposterous thing behind his back. He might murder Uncle Teddy in no time and pretend it had been an accident.

Anyway, what the heck were they hiding in the third-floor corridor in the first place? Why is the school preventing students from breaking in? And more importantly, why is his uncle aware of what's going on within school premises?

Harry was never interested in the matter since the time it was brought up on the start-of-term feast. But the way his Uncle Teddy was teasing him about the third floor corridor in his letters, it is now piquing his curiosity.

However, thoughts of solving potential mysteries in forbidden locations have to be set aside temporarily because their flying lessons schedule was announced that day.

Harry thought he didn't have to put up with those Gryffindors much since first-year Slytherins only share subjects with them during Potions Class. He really didn't have anything against them in general but perhaps it's the principle of the matter that makes him avoid them in any way he can.

Or maybe Neville Longbottom was just an accident-prone dimwit that he's worried his idiotic misfortunes might transfer to anyone within close contact.

Now, flying lessons. They'd be starting on Thursday – and Gryffindor and Slytherin would be learning together.

"Typical," Harry lamented darkly. "And here I am looking forward to a peaceful nap in the broom shed."

He was only saying this in front of Draco Malfoy who, like the usual, kept going on and on how good he is at flying his broom – much to his annoyance. He complained loudly about first years never getting on the house Quidditch teams and told long, boastful stories that always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping Muggles in helicopters. For a minute, Harry wondered whether it will finally shut the blonde up if he told everyone about the Eurocopter AS350 Écureuil his uncle hid in the Grimmauld Penthouse just out of spite.

He wasn't the only one though. At least, the Slytherins are talking about Quidditch and flying with a class, but the Gryffindors seemed to regard the sport as if it was a game involving breaking someone else's neck or limb as part of the rules.

Then there was Hermione Granger, the dork. It was obvious she was as nervous as flying as most muggleborns were but the fact that this was something one couldn't learn by heart out of a book, she was boring everyone's ears off to bleed throwing stupid flying tips here and there from a book she found in the library called Quidditch Through the Ages. Like how could such an ancient book narrating stories of fliers ending up buried in the Sahara for months help anyone keep their balance in the air when most of its contents only talk about how to survive a rogue Bludger from splitting your head open while dodging opponents?

Never mind that. Harry's main concern was Longbottom in all honesty. As noble as a Pureblood Lord as he is, the idiot admitted he had never been on a broomstick in his life because his grandmother had never let him near one. She definitely had good reason since Neville managed to come across with such an extraordinary number of accidents even with both feet on the ground. He was hanging onto Granger's every word, desperate for anything that might help him hang on to his broom, but everyone else was very pleased when her lecture was interrupted by the arrival of the mail.

At around three that afternoon, the Slytherins hurried down the front steps onto the grounds for their first flying lesson. That could hardly be the truth considering almost everyone in Slytherin must have flown on a broom at least once in their life. So the remark should've been more appropriate for some of those Gryffindors and not for them.

It was a clear, breezy day, and the grass rippled under their feet as they marched down the sloping lawns toward a smooth, flat lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the forbidden forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance.

Ten minutes later, the reckless lions followed. Twenty broomsticks were lying in neat lines on the ground. Harry had heard the upper years complaining about the school brooms, saying that some of them started to vibrate if you flew too high, or always flew slightly to the left.

Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short, gray hair, and yellow eyes like a hawk.

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

Harry glanced down at his broom. It was old and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles. If he knew this would've happened, he could've asked Uncle Teddy to buy him a brand-new Nimbus 2000 on his birthday instead.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom and say 'UP!"

"UP!" Everyone shouted.

His broom jumped into his hand at once, but it was one of the few that did. Granger's simply rolled over the ground and Longbottom's haven't moved at all. Zabini's broom had flung like a catapult that the wooden handle gave him a good whack on the face. He didn't know that much about broomsticks but perhaps, like horses, they could tell when you're afraid or too confident to control them.

Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips. Harry got his peace of mind when she told Draco he'd been doing it wrong for years.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick them off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, hover for a moment, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly."

Harry must've thought it was nothing, but later, he would soon give himself a good pat on the back for his discernment of an impending disaster by distracting Longbottom. He noticed the marble-sized glass ball he was holding and commented about it as if he was talking about the weather. "Hey, Neville. What's that in your hand?"

"This one? It's a Remembrall!" He explained, slightly shocked from Harry's too-friendly voice. "Gran knows I easily forget things – this one tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tightly like this and if it turns red it means – oh…" his face fell because the Remembrall in his hand had suddenly glowed scarlet, "… you've forgotten something."

Which had probably made sense because everyone else were already having fun in the air with their brooms when they both looked up.

"Hadrian! What the fart are you doing?!" Draco yelled from above them. "You will get your arse up here this instant or people might get the wrong idea and think you are dilly-dallying with that lump!"

Rolling his eyes, Harry mounted his broom and kicked hard against the ground, soaring up, up in the air with his robes whipping behind him and then hovered a few feet in-line with the blonde. He'll show him what real flying means in a young master's perspective.

"Oh, you don't look bad yourself," Draco sneered a compliment. "Race you to the lake with Weaselbee over there?"

He would've hesitated knowing Madam Hooch only allowed them to fly around the castle grounds if Granger hadn't tried to step-in – the insufferable know-it-all she was.

"No!" she shouted. "Madam Hooch told us not to go further – you'll get us all into trouble."

A subtle smirk curled up on Harry's lip. Blood was pounding in his ears as if Peeves the Poltergeist had just possessed him. Her intrusion was enough of an encouragement for him to take the challenge.

"Scared?" the blonde git jested.

"You wish," he said through gritted teeth. Harry leaned forward and grasped his broom tightly with both hands shooting into the open air like a javelin. Draco, Ron and the others raced closely behind leaving the others in awe or in worry they might get detention as warned by Madam Hooch before she left them to their own devices moments ago.

They circled around the steep pinnacles of the castle's turrets twice before heading off to the Black Lake. Beneath them was the dense enchanted forest humming raw magic along their path.

"There's no way you could've been an amateur for this thing, Black!" Draco spat.

"You're just such a sloth, Malfoy" he cackled before speeding up some more.

Harry held onto his broom tighter as he attempted to lengthen his distance from the other boys. Not too far, he could still hear Crabbe and Goyle's sniggers, Draco's taunts, and Ron Weasley's whines.

They definitely couldn't catch him if they'd keep their pacing at this rate.

Not too soon, their voices began to fade.

The losers.

For sure Weasley's broom couldn't have made it further, those two other brutes were too scared to follow suit and Draco was all talk.

Harry lessened his speed. It looked like he was the only one who made it this far amongst them.

This was the first time he appreciated the gains of flying since the day he laid his hands on a broom. If Harry had too much fun zooming around London with a Nimbus or a Shooting Star, it would've flooded the muggle headlines already.

He roamed his gaze around and was amazed at the sight. Harry hadn't really known what Hogwarts looked like outside let alone seeing it from the skyline.

It was breathtaking. The magnificent medieval castle looked as if it was floating on an obsidian glass that was the Black Lake and was surrounded by mountains and fields and meadows. On the other side was the forbidden forest that shadowed the western banks, adding contrast to the ever-picturesque scenery.

It was hard to believe such a magnificent architecture was subtly hidden from muggle sight for more than thousands of years.

Harry circled a few more laps before he could feel the handle of his broom wobble a bit, a sign foretelling that he now needed to get back to the castle as soon as he can. If Madam Hooch returns before he did, they're all going to be dead.

He lowered altitude when suddenly, a huge clod of a man sprawling on a field of lilies came into view. Slowing further down, Harry made a close detour to the side to avoid getting noticed by whoever it was sitting there.

"Is that Hagrid?" he asked himself.

It was him alright. The giant man looked so peculiar unwinding on a patch of those wildflowers looking lost and torn as his eyes were gazed into faraway at random.

But his face looked sad. Was he crying?

At that moment, Harry realized he shouldn't've been there intruding a poor man's moment of solace. It looked like he was crying indeed.

Oh...

Harry realized he just found himself intruding a rather personal scene. The way he saw the pain in the gamekeeper's small beetle-like eyes told him the man was grieving over something.

Could be one of those weird creatures he was taking care of. Harry thought to himself. Must've poisoned itself to death.

Hagrid has this unusual fondness of ferocious beings that any normal witch or wizard would deem as 'dangerous'.

But then again, maybe not...

He looked devastated. His face had that look that reminds him of someone who had lost... a friend.

... and it hit him.

Harry overheard something from the Gryffindor table a few days ago. Some students were saying it was Hagrid who rescued Harry Potter from their house after his parents were killed, and that he was saddened to hear that the boy had turned out to be missing after years of thinking he was just out there, safe and sound with his Muggle relatives.

Well, maybe 'saddened' wasn't really enough to describe how the man had felt.

Poor Hagrid, it must be very hard for him. He may not have built a close relationship with the gentle giant, but Harry had this strange urge to approach the guy and give him a good hug, or maybe a small pat on the shoulder, and yet he wasn't sure if that's a good idea. Besides, he doesn't even know how to comfort a sad person. Well, He may have been used to getting bullied or ignored by his Muggle classmates, but his Uncle Teddy never made him feel he was alone.

He grew up living a happy life.

Harry wasn't even peeved when he found out he didn't have parents, because it was his Uncle Teddy who had been there for him in the first place. Whoever his parents were, (died in a car crash as he was told - yeah, what a shame indeed for a decent witch and wizard to meet one's end by such a petty means) they only occupied a small portion of his childhood and that will remain as is.

That is why he wouldn't really know how it'd feel like losing someone.

It would only be insensitive of him to pry.

And so he decided to leave the sorrowful Hagrid ache on his own. He wasn't sure what right words he can say would make him feel better anyway. He recalled his uncle telling him once that sometimes it is best to leave a wound heal on its own because it would not leave a trace nor scar as it slowly recovers.

Slowly, Harry slinked away. He whispered a little wish hoping Hagrid will be better the next time he sees him before mounting on his broom and darting off.

He'll just pretend he hadn't seen anything today when he goes back to the common room.