Harry sat with two other contestants facing the host across a blaring field of lights. The man holding the que cards stood before a wall full of panels labeled with numbers. His hand came up to reveal a magical microphone, which he preceded to talk into.

"Harry it is your turn to pick the category." He said in a very announcerish voice.

The boy-who-lived studied the choices nervously before opening his mouth. " Magical games for 200." He didn't sound very sure of himself.

Host turned to the panel and read off it, "Fastest broom as of last year."

Harry was visibly sweating as he made his reply "What is Firebolt?"

"Is that your final answer?" the man watched him the boy nodded. "You are... correct."

The game went on and Harry soon sounded like a broken record as he left the other entrants in the dust with his answers. "Firebolt!" "Firebolt!" "Firebolt!" They had reached the end of the game and he had won, no surprises there, when he woke up.

He sat up in bed throwing off his firebolt red bed sheets so he could drop his feet to the floor. Ron was still asleep and he wanted to tell him about the dream, but now that he tried to remember it all he got was a sense of it being about something he loved. It was at the end of his thought process that he realized he had just enough time to get ready and polish his broomstick before classes.

On his rush to the bathrooms he passed Hermione who was on her way to start the day off in the library. Why she did that when she could spend the morning discussing quidditch he didn't know, but it was her loss not his.

In Divination later that day he looked out the window striving to make out the first year flying class on the ground below. The sight of the brooms whizzing slowly through the air carrying the beginning flyers made him drift off into a daydream.

He was sitting listening to Professor Trelawney predict his death for the sixth time that class when he saw that the window was open and it was a large window. Without much more thought he grabbed his wand and pointed it out the window causing the kids sitting between him and his target to duck. "Accio Firebolt!" he yelled then sat squirming on the seat waiting for it to show up.

With a whiz and a smack it was though the window and in his hand. Using the practiced ease of a seeker he hopped on a zoomed out the window to applause from the students who like him were not overly fond of the class. As he disappeared toward the quidditch pitch. The professor leaned out the still open window to yell after him, "My inner eye foresaw this happening!"

Ron roused him from the happy vision in time for them to exit the class this time through the trap door instead.

In Snape's class he earned a detention for pulling a face at Malfoy and supposedly causing his to knock his cauldron over in fright. Once again as he sat there a vision came to him, Professor Trelawney would be so proud of him.

Snape was sitting at his desk writing out detention slips a happy, or as close as he could get to it, look on his face. The quill snailed across the paper forming each word to perfection. It was obvious that he liked this part of his job. An ominous hum started up somewhere outside the room and grew steadily louder.

In a rush Snape was knocked out of his chair by a rouge bludger and by the looks of it a beautiful sunset would grace his face in moments. The angelic savior of a bludger had made a circle of the room and started back for the desk where it continued to beat up everyone's favorite professor.

The class left on the heels of one Severous Snape who was making a dash for the infirmary and sanctuary from the following bludger. The detention slips laying the ruins of the smashed desk covered in spilled ink and illegible.

Harry sighed as he left the potions classroom with the detention slip in hand. To bad only his visions about Voldemort came true. If only quidditch could solve everything... maybe it could?



SD-I might do more if I think of them.