Disclaimer: Guess what? I don't own it! Bet you never knew that. Sadly, it's the truth. I just manipulate JKR's little figures to my will.

Notes: I get a flying scene in this chapter! Haha! That's all that I like, but its plenty for me! And I updated FAST! Hahaha! Though, this is just sorta an in-between chapter.

~~~=vision

~*~

Hermione gaped at him, eyes wide in shock. She wasn't altogether sure that she had heard him correctly. Words, and tears, formed in the back of her throat; but she could simply not bring them forward. Several minutes of deafening tension passed, before the words were shoved past her dry throat, though it was little more than a squeak. "R... Ron... Ron Weasley?"

He seemed befuddled by her expression and sudden stuttering, but responded with a small nod all the same. "Yes, we were friends. Why? Did something happen to him?" The fear was there, quite abruptly, edged within his tone. The war had slain many, both during and in the aftershock.

Hermione glanced down into her lap, fists clenched as she fought the torrents of tears that threatened to spill. It was frustrating, to have any innocent question so shockingly thrust on her. "Yes... He, well... It was after the battle. Ron was captured by Lestrange," the word spat out like a curse. "When he was returned... The Dementor's Kiss had been administered."

The man sucked in a sharp breath, halfway between a sob and a hiss of fury. Hermione lifted chocolate pools, noting the anguish on his face. The visitor fell heavily against the wall, burying his face in his hands. Several minutes late, he managed to choke out a reasonable sentence. "How.... How long? Oh, Merlin, we've lost him forever."

She had meant to answer, but his second statement sent her leaping to her feet. "No!" She cried, before she could help it. Grey eyes flickered upwards from the cover of his hands.

"Miss Granger--" He began, only to find himself cut off by her speech.

"He's not gone forever. I'm going to fix him." She declared, tilting her head in a proud, defiant, completely Gryffindor position. "That's why I work in this department. I cure the incurable."

He blinked, dropping his hands slowly. "But it's impossible, there's no way to alter the kiss. Everyone knows that."

She blinked, loathing the term everyone. It brought her straight back to muggle elementary, where you were taught the word everyone was almost sure to declare a sentence false. "That's untrue. There used to be a way, invented by Oddlory Dottey. The ministry prohibited its use, during the Reign of Terror, when dementors were used to kill wizards."

A half smile appeared on his face, though strained. "I was told you intelligence level exceeded most. I admit, I did not expect it to be true. There were many exaggerations in... In his words."

She sighed softly, offering a tiny smile in return. "Yes, he did like to be the hero. Though much of it was deserved." She pointed out quietly, reminiscing briefly over their light, carefree battles in childhood. Suddenly, she seemed to realize that he was staring at her, and she flushed. "I'm sorry; I don't mean to be rude. It's nice to remember the good times, sometimes. Please, take a seat."

He followed her instruction, lowering his lithe frame into the chair Harry had occupied the evening before. With a loss for conversation, he resorted to a common courtesy that had slipped his mind. "Excuse me, Miss Granger. I believe I forgot to give you my name. I'm Philian Davis; I work in the Irish Ministry of Magic, for the time being."

She nodded, and accepted the offered hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Davis. Please, call me Hermione. Miss Granger is too formal for my taste."

"In which case, call me Phil. Philian reminds me too much of the book in the Bible, Philippians. It's much too long, and a simply horrendous name."

"Perhaps, but the wizards during the time of Philippians were fascinating. The craft was barely existent, and it was during that time period that it seemed to form in to full bloom." Hermione pointed out, scholar extraordinaire that she was.

"Yes, but it can be debated that it truly began with the creation of Hogwarts, the first wizarding school."

"Yes, but--"

Hermione promptly proceeded into her first academic debate in some time, thoughts of depression briefly forgotten.

~*~

Harry strode out onto the pitch, glancing around with tentative anxiety. It had been remarked upon, by several people, that he should follow the path of quidditch. But that had been before the war, before he was years out of practice. He hadn't caught a snitch since he was seventeen; there was no telling as to how disastrous his performance would be. It would not, perhaps, have been so hard, but for the sentimental value of the Chudley Cannons. They had always been Ron's team, and it was this thread of memory that made Harry most want to prove himself.

The pitch surrounding him was nice. The grass was slightly overgrown, but it was lush and green. The weather was bright, glinting off the stadium. It was not a very large stadium; the Cannons had no money to build a brilliant work of art. Instead, enormous, faded orange stand were lifted in to the sky. The hoops could have used a bit of cleaning, but they were serviceable. Serviceable seemed to be the word to define the Chudley Cannons.

Upon entering the changing rooms, he found their standards like everything else; nice, but simple. The other members of the team were already there, clad in orange robes and eying a large chalkboard covered in squiggly lines. All heads turned expectantly towards him, and Harry found himself under the scrutiny of many demanding quidditch players.

"Er, hello." He rambled randomly, gathering himself behind the words. Expectant sportsmen were nothing compared to thriving Death Eaters.

The man, obviously the captain, who was standing at the board, scanned him quickly. "Hello Potter." He answered shortly, returning immediately to strategy.

Harry took the final seat, having dressed in his quidditch robes that morning in order to save time. Now he was grateful for this, because it meant he could focus fully on what the Captain was proposing. There were several occasions Harry believed that he could have altered the tactics in order to form a stronger front, but it was rude to mention such things on the first day. Instead, he waited until the Captain would address him to speak.

"Potter," he shot, "stay on your broom. You're a tourist attraction, nothing more."

Harry blushed, but his jaw was suddenly set. He would show him who was just a tourist attraction. He refrained from comment, deciding to argue in talent, not words. Debate was Hermione's strong point.

Harry was the last to be spoken to, before the team filed out. There, they launched quickly in to the air. He noted that, although he rode only his old Firebolt, it was still better than half the team's brooms.

The rushing, light feeling of flight swept over Harry once more, and he knew he would be perfectly fine. Flying was in his blood, it ran deeper than practice and talent, and it was his freedom. Only in the air could he feel completely away from the glory of his title, the depression of its aftermath, and the pain of life.

He swooped in easy circles, waiting for the release of the snitch. Moments later, he saw the tiny glint of gold flutter out of the box. Closing his eyes, Harry counted softly to ten, before lids flickered open and jade windows began to search the terrain. He soared higher, above the game, concentration completely devoted to his task.

Beneath him, quaffles were occasionally being fumbled, and bludgers drifted astray, in a sort of ordered pandemonium. However, Harry paid it no attention. He was the seeker; there was only one aspect of the game on which he must focus.

And there it was. A flicker of glinting sunshine, fluttering low around one goal post. Harry shot off like a Nike Missile, victory his goal. Closer and closer he soared, the familiar and yet unfamiliar exhilaration of the chase driving his adrenaline. His fingers lifted off the broom, seeking the tiny, daring ball.

Harry's hand closed around the tiny ball, seconds before he was overcome with a sudden vision.

~~~Oliver Wood raced into the fray, not on foot, but on broomstick. His dark robes fluttered eerily around his well muscled figure, resembling a phantom menace. Curses rained down upon those below him, as he fired off every hex and curse that came to mind.

Katie Bell was down there, somewhere. Oliver knew she would be battling to save Gryffindor's seeker; she always had been a dashingly brave chaser. The fear had overcome him, when Katie's owl had reached him just over an hour before. Her tone implied that havoc was on his way, but it was not the world Oliver was concerned about.

It was Katie.

For years, he had been developing a crush upon the girl. Eventually, it had become more than that. He had not wanted to quell it, and now his only thought was of telling her. If she went, or if he did, it would not be without Wood's declaration of undying love.

He heard her voice, suddenly; clear and lovely through the raging battle. Then her thin, tall image came into his line of site, and Oliver threw himself towards her. Leaping off his broom, Oliver's keeper instincts overtook him, and he launched suddenly towards a bolt of death. It had been aimed for Katie, but Oliver took it instead. Eyes rolling back, he swore his dying promise. "I love you, Katie Bell. I always will."~~~

Harry re-opened his eyes, to seek the hawk like features of Captain Juno Lewis staring down at him, jaw slightly slack. "You alright, Potter?" Quite surprisingly, Lewis sounded genuinely concerned.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm alright." He sat up, shaking his head to rid the buzz from his ears. In his palm, the tiny golden ball remained clenched. "I'm sorry I feel off my broom," Harry began to apologize, only to receive a delighted clap on the shoulder.

"Potter, my boy, why didn't you tell us you were a bloody brilliant seeker! That's the fastest we've ever had it caught!" A wide grin spread across his face, and Harry glanced around, only now seeing the wide smiles on his teammate's faces.

"Er, yeah, well thanks." He had never been one to like compliments, though inwardly he was now glowing with pride.

Until the vision returned, and guilt overwhelmed him.

~*~

So, what think you, of readers of fanfiction? I know there's no Ginny, but you don't get to know just what she does yet. But there's Harry! And Hermione! And Phil! And FLYING!!!! I love flying. Do you? And, I really need to know—Next chapter, would you like violence action? Or romance action? I plan on doing one or the other. Review, and tell me!