"Up."

The broom jumped to his open palm and Harry couldn't stop a grin as he hurriedly mounted the broom in the darkened Quidditch pitch.

"What are you gonna do, eh Umbridge?" Harry viciously whispered under his breath. "You're not even born."

When he finally left the ground and started flying, something wonderful happened.

It wasn't just the ground he had left. As he flew higher, wind rushing through his hair, he realized that it was also all his fears he's left behind. All these worries he's had ever since he's time travelled, all his troubles, he's left them all on the ground and he was finally free. For as long as he was up there, he was free.

Harry laughed and playfully started flying around the pitch, for a few minutes not trying his more complicated moves yet. He just let the wind hit his face, barely realizing he was taking longer than usual to reach the goal posts or that he needed more force to change trajectory.

It was when he tried to brake that it happened.

Usually, whenever Harry was asking his broom to stop the broom stopped. It may take a couple of meters for the broom to do that, but barely more. This broom, however, it seemed, had a rather appalling braking distance.

Which meant that, rather than stopping where he wanted, Harry hit the wall.

Harry loudly swore and barely managed not to be ejected out of the broom which seemed to have gone crazy after the impact.

Harry put his hand on his nose in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

There was something seriously wrong with the broom, he couldn't help thinking as the broom kept shaking between his legs. When Harry finally landed on the ground, he took the broom and tried to see where the problem was.

When Harry read the name engraved on the handle, his heart stopped.

Oakshaft 79.

That school broom he had borrowed was a bloody Oakshaft 79. The Oakshaft 79 which was created in 1879 and was well-known for its utter lack of agility and being the worst broom for Quidditch. The Oakshaft 79 whose place in Harry's mind had always been in a museum.

The Oakshaft 79 which currently was in Harry's hand.

Harry numbly looked at the broom.

Of course there were no Firebolt, no Comet, and no Nimbus, Harry couldn't help thinking. Even a Silver Arrow or a Moontrimmer, Harry wouldn't find one no matter how hard he searched.

All these brooms belonged to another century after all.

He heavily sighed.

That was bound to happen. Of course things were different here. Of course the Wizarding world has changed in one hundred years. Harry might not be able to see the differences, that didn't mean they didn't exist. It only meant Harry didn't know his world well enough to spot them most of the time.

The Oakshaft 79 was an antiquity to him, but that was because Harry didn't belong here. Every broom here was an antiquity in his eyes. And maybe the Oakshaft 79 was terrible for Quidditch and he had trouble controlling it because of that, Harry was painfully aware that they could give Harry the best broom in the world, it would not change a bloody thing and he would struggle all the same. Would he even manage to get the seeker position, considering how things currently were?

Harry looked at the blood in his hand and grimaced.

The way things currently were? No, he wouldn't. He was used to more obedient brooms and the Oakshaft 79 was anything but that. He didn't know how to control the broom and even a mere lap had been pushing it. Realistically, Harry shouldn't even dream of getting the seeker position and should rather go with the First Years to learn how to fly this antiquity.

It all came down to this, Harry thought. Could he go past this? Could he go past this and learn how to fly with that old broom that or was he bound to stay on the ground?

Harry considered the question and grimly smiled when he realized that basically summarized his entire situation.

Could he manage to go past everything and keep going, or would he crash and burn?

Slowly, he mounted the broom.

Only one way to find out, he supposed.


Albus Dumbledore

1st Place

Barnabus Finkley Prize

Somebody spat on the trophy.

He then angrily started rubbing it with a rag.

He did it on purpose, didn't he? Aberforth furiously thought as he cleaned yet another prize in the trophy room. Not the whip, not the shackles, it would have been far too kind. No, it had to be that. Him cleaning Albus' bloody trophies all week.

He discretely eyed the caretaker and wondered if he could strike the trophy and get away with it.

Considering the glare he was giving him, no.

Last day, he mentally repeated, this is the last day. One more day and you'll never have to step a foot in that bloody room.

What was Albus expecting anyway? That he'd suddenly be inspired and try to do better in class? That he'd feel something akin to guilt because he was that stain in his otherwise unblemished record?

Well, Aberforth loved doing the opposite of what everybody expected him to do.

He stopped cleaning. For a second, he thought he had seen Albus' face looking at him on the now shiny trophy. Judging him.

But no, this was just his reflection.

Aberforth looked away.

Why did he have to look so much like him? he couldn't help thinking. They were nothing alike so why? Why did he have to look so alike when they were anything but? Albus was good in class when he was not, Albus was good with people when he was not, Albus was calm and collected like their mother when Aberforth had inherited their father's temper.

And yet, whenever somebody was looking at him, it was always Albus they were seeing and never Aberforth. Even their mother, she was always so busy looking for either Albus or their father in him that she was never looking at him.

The only one who really saw Aberforth for Aberforth was Ariana.

At the thought of his sister, Aberforth stopped rubbing the trophy and sighed.

In another world, he couldn't help thinking, she would be a First Year. In a better world, Ariana would be here, at Hogwarts, and Aberforth would be showing her all the best places in the castle not even Albus knew. And she would be so happy to be with her old friend who has asked him after thanking him for saving them from these Slytherins how she was and why she wasn't here.

He had promised her he was going to ask his mother if she could write to Ariana but he had his suspicions of what her answer was going to be.

"Stop daydreaming and get back to work!" the caretaker snapped Aberforth out of his reflections. "Youth today! You're all lazy kids who think they can solve everything with a flick of a wand!" Aberforth rolled his eyes and went to clean a trophy some ponce who wasn't his brother had won while the caretaker kept telling him how he was nothing, how youth today had no respect and had no idea how real work was like.

Aberforth tuned him out and went back to work. The last day, this was the last day.

Several dirty trophies later, Aberforth looked at the Quidditch shelf.

Aberforth paused and snickered.

If he got the spot in the team and Gryffindor won the cup this year, it would not be Albus' name that would be there but his.

That'd show him if he earned his place here.


The day of the try-outs, Albus came.

"I told you not to come!" Aberforth had shrieked but Albus had just smiled.

"What can I say?" he cheerfully told his little brother who was now glaring at him. "As a Gryffindor, I am naturally invested and need to know what the chances of Gryffindor winning the cup are." He raised a hand. "If however you do not want me to watch you flying, I understand and can leave the pitch when it is your turn if you so wish and come back afterwards. Also, I suppose I can skip the Quidditch matches if you get the spot or close my eyes whenever I see you."

"I'll throw the bludger to your face," he hissed as the Quidditch captain walked in their direction.

Her face lit up. "Dumbledore! Are you here for the try-outs as well?" She ignored his little brother, put her hand on his shoulder as she gave a soft smile. "I am sure you would be an excellent seeker."

"I am rather fond of Quidditch, but I admit I prefer enjoying the match from the stands," he amiably told her.

"Even beater, I am sure you would be amazing," she softly told Albus. "You are amazing at everything after all."

Somebody puffed. "Sorry," Harry said when he saw the three looking at him. "I just…" He snickered. "Just the mental image."

The witch somehow seemed put out and crossed her arms. "Potter, right? Which position are you seeking?"

"Seeker."

She looked at Harry's broom and scoffed. "Is that an Oakshaft 79? This is the worst broom for Quidditch. A seeker with an Oakshaft…" She shook her head and looked at the other Gryffindors on the pitch. "I suppose everybody is here. Alright," she shouted, "everybody not here for the try-outs go to the stands!"

She pointed in the direction of the numerous bats and bludgers Albus had seen her multiply a few minutes ago. "The ones for the beater position, get a bat each! Your goal is to hit as many seekers as you can! The one with the most hits is in the team. Those for the seeker position, you will have to survive the beaters and we're going to release the snitch after ten minutes. The first one to catch it gets the spot."

As expected, Aberforth hit four seekers in under ten minutes and sent the bludger in his direction thrice.

He was sure this was just an accident, he nodded to himself as he lowered the shield charm.

It became interesting when a Fourth Year screamed he had caught the snitch only to realize this was only a yellow golf ball once he was on the ground.

And an army of golden balls suddenly appeared and filled the pitch.


Harry loudly swore at the sight of the hundred golden golf balls freely flying all around the pitch.

Catch the snitch. More like seek the snitch.

"It you catch a golf ball and not the snitch," the Quidditch captain's voice resonated in the pitch. "You're out."

Harry grimaced and narrowly avoided a bludger a beater had sent in his direction.

This was hell. Twelve bludgers and hundreds of golf balls, and he was supposed to avoid the bludgers and seek the right snitch. And these golf balls looked so much like the real snitch, the only things differentiating them from one another being the various shades of gold and the not so exact size of the balls.

A player nearby cursed and threw away the now inanimate golf ball. "How are we supposed to know with one is the good one is we can't catch it?" he screamed.

It should be impossible, Harry couldn't help agreeing. It was like searching for a needle in a haystack or like-

His mind stopped and Harry couldn't help looking in the direction of the stands, dumbfounded.

Or like seeking the correct key among hundreds in a room under a trapdoor.

Harry hadn't finished his thought that three bludgers were coming closer. And if the younger Dumbledore hit one and changed its trajectory, Harry had to roll on his broom to avoid the other two.

That key had a bent wing, he remembered. And the ball lazily flying under his nose didn't have any.

They were not supposed to look for the golden ball, he suddenly realized. They had to look for the silver wings.

Harry cursed and flied higher to have a better view of the pitch. The broom protested, clearly not used to flying so high, but after a week spent trying to tame it, Harry could control it.

He had to look for the silver and ignore the gold and Harry couldn't stop a wince at how difficult this was going to be. He then flew down and started weaving through the whirl of false snitches, trying to ignore the urge to just catch the ones right in front of him.

Finally he spotted it. Near the stands with five others was a golden ball the size of a walnut in the middle of a suspicious silver glow.

Harry didn't even think and just dived, broom at its maximum speed.

"Yes!" he yelled when he grabbed the snitch right a couple inches away from Albus' face, the silver wings protruding between his fingers, struggling for release. Turning to the dumbfounded prefect, he grinned. "Thank you."

The wizard dazedly blinked. "Y-You're welcome, I suppose."

But Harry had already turned away and was flying to the ground. With a grin, he presented the snitch to the Quidditch captain. Seeing the lack of reaction, he asked, "I get the spot, right?"

The witch looked at him, then at the snitch, then at the broom. "You caught the snitch."

Harry, still high from his catch, laughed and enthusiastically nodded.

She raised her head where the numerous false snitches were still flying before checking her watch. "You actually caught the snitch."

Harry freed the snitch before catching it again. "I've got the spot, right?"

"Y-Yes. Yes, you do. Welcome to Gryffindor Quidditch Team." She then walked away muttering something under her breath that sounded an awful like 'but he's got an Oakshaft 79' and 'he actually did it'.

Honestly, it was as if she had never expected anybody to catch it.


"Some strange student comes here. He is good at magic, he beats Albus Dumbledore himself in a duel, he is a seer and now he is devilishly good at Quidditch?" a Gryffindor who got rejected for the seeker position mumbled as they left the Quidditch pitch to let the new team train. "What is it going to be next?"

"I don't want to know. Maybe he's going to beat Higgs and we'll get the Cup this year?"

He snorted. "As if. My sister used the dices to find out who was going to catch the snitch for the Slytherin-Gryffindor match this year. Do you know what the dices told her? One hundred. As in, you know, the youngest Quidditch player in a hundred year. We're going to lose."

"I thought you couldn't predict these kind of things."

"You can if they are certainties. So there. He is good, but not that good."

He was actually very good, Albus couldn't help thinking. When the man had explained how he had spotted the snitch, the other players had all looked at each other and even Albus had to admit he hadn't actually seen the snitch's wings even though it had been right under his nose.

And when he had flown in his direction and stopped inches away from his face only to smile at him as he showed him his prize…

"I suppose we should have seen that one coming. A seer must have good eyes, right?"

The boy behind Albus snorted. "If you had picked divination or if you were actually reading the newspaper, you would know how wrong you are."

A sigh. "What did you think of Dumbledore?"

A puff. "I get why they chose him. He did stop a few bludgers from hitting a few seekers while others kept attacking."

And in Quidditch, the beater also had to protect his own team, Albus mentally finished. It had never been said out loud but Aberforth had realized once he had been in the lead that it was more beneficial for him to stop the player in second place to score more points than to keep attacking. It had for this reason only been natural for him to get the position.

Albus sighed and looked in the direction of the pitch where seven figures were flying.

Harry and Aberforth seemed to have hit off after everybody had been on the ground, he couldn't help thinking.

Hopefully Aberforth wouldn't say anything too embarrassing about him.

When the two wizards came back two hours later and Harry started snickering in his direction, he knew that had been wishful thinking.


Harry liked Aberforth. He really did. Maybe he had a short temper but Harry had a temper too and he was straightforward in a way very few had been with him. Compared to Professor Dumbledore who hadn't even bothered telling him he was going to get stuck in the past, it was a welcome change.

But sometimes he could be really annoying. Like that time he had puffed at him and asked if he needed help for naming his butterfly.

"What are you reading?" Aberforth asked him one day as he unceremoniously took the book from his hands. "Occlumency?" he said after reading a page. "That's rubbish," he finally said as he threw it behind him. "You wanna learn occlumency? No book is gonna help. You need a teacher."

Harry grimaced. "I… I had a teacher, I suppose. Hated my guts, but he did teach me. It's just…" He grimaced, not knowing what else to say.

If somebody were to use legimency on him, he knew that person would find out he was a time traveller in a second. A glimpse at the twentieth century muggle world would be as good as a confession and even the wizarding world and the people he knew would show he was from the future.

"You want a better one," Aberforth finished. "Luckily for you, I know one."

He sighed. "I don't want to bother your brother and-"

"Who said anything about Albus?"

Harry blinked. "I just… w-who then?"

The Third Year pointed at himself. "And I'm better at occlumency than he is." He paused a second. "Probably because there's less on my mind to clear."

"Y-You? An occlumens?"

"Surprised, eh?"

Harry spluttered. "It's just that… Your brother taught you occlumency?"

Aberforth horrifyingly looked at him. "I'd rather die than let him teach me anything. Nah, it's mum. Taught us both occlumency when we were kids."

Harry paused. "Your mum."

It supposed that made sense for Dumbledore to actually have a mother, Harry distantly thought. Even a father, it wasn't that strange. Like him being young, really.

Next he'd learn he had a sex life if Harry wasn't careful.

"It's just…" He shook his head and tried to chase the disturbing images his mind had just conjured. "I'm not comfortable with… somebody using legimency on me and-"

"Who said anything about legimency?" Aberforth interrupted.

Harry stared. "Isn't that how you learn occlumency? The teacher uses legimency on you, finds your deepest secrets and taunts you when you cannot protect yourself and he sees your cousin beating you?"

The other boy stared. "That's some horrible teacher you've had," he stated and Harry sighed at the understatement. "And even if that's how it works, I don't know legimency. Nah, mum taught us how to clear our mind. Took me five minutes. Took Albus a month."

"And… that's it?"

"Nah, but I'm not gonna teach you for free." He intently looked at him. "Everybody says you're good at Defence," he slowly began and Harry shrugged. "So, you do my homework in Defence and teach me real spells, and I help you with occlumency."

"Deal."

Aberforth suddenly handed him his essay on the table. "For tomorrow morning."

For some reason, he had the distinct feeling he's just been had.


After the younger Dumbledore had started training him in occlumency and shared with him his wisdom which literally was 'Do not think of the polar bear', Harry finally managed to get some semblance of occlumency level when he realized that trying not to think about something was literally the best way to think about it. So he was just focusing on Quidditch and whatever homework the teachers were throwing at him for the time being and trying not to accidentally talk about wizards who weren't to be born before eighty years in his essays.

It was strange sometimes to think of how outdated some potion facts were or that nobody was ever going to ask him about the twelve uses of dragon blood.

And before Harry noticed, September had gone and it was almost Halloween.

"All Hallows' Eve," Professor Mesmer began. "The most sacred day when the veil between life and death is at his thinnest. Normally, I would teach my non-existent NEWT students the noble art of communicating with the dead to learn the future-" Seeing Black's eyes widening, he hurried, "Not a word, Mister Black. Not a word. This year however, it is not without some pride than I can tell you I have managed to invite the divination guild here at Hogwarts."

Elphias frowned. "The-?"

"Divination guild. A group of the greatest divination practitioners and whose noble goal is to use our gifts for the betterment of our world." He took a pause. "Mostly, we just play cards. I have also invited a very imminent seer and can assure you this will be very educational for all of you to see us at work." He looked at them and smirked. "This is why, for all my students who have picked divination, your presence tomorrow afternoon is mandatory. Is there anything wrong, Mister Potter?" he asked him when he saw Harry's face.

Harry shook his head. "It's just…" For a moment, he considered telling him something stupid such as Halloweens being cursed and ultimately dropped it.

"It's just you and All Hallows' Eve have a very strong relationship." Mesmer knowingly nodded. "This is rather common to these souls born on this day. But, as you are I have no doubt intent on controlling your third eye and becoming a powerful seer, this is more reason for you to understand why this day has such a strong hold on you so I hope you will pay extra attention tomorrow."

Harry stared at him. "Sure," he just said.

Mesmer smirked. "We're going to have so much fun, I can See it."


"How did you do it, sir?" Black breathed when on Halloween he and Harry saw the ten men and women in colourful clothes that would make Professor Dumbledore look like a boring accountant. "No really, how did Father ever accept this?"

Professor Mesmer lowly chuckled. "Talent, Mister Black. Pure talent. Now, we're going to do everything we can to not remind him of what I've done. I'm the only one who managed to survive the salary cuts last year and I want to keep it that way. What time is it, Mister Black?" Once Phineas had checked his watch and answered his question, he sighed. "They're late."

"You mean there's more of them coming."

He nodded. "Two. I more or less expected that of her but him..." He shook his head. "I know he's going to come but when… That's the thing, you see," he told Black. "About seers, we are terrible when it comes to tell the time."

The door to the room Professor Mesmer had picked for his Halloween party suddenly opened and a woman in a white dress and a deep blue scarf covering half her face suddenly appeared.

"Don't tell me-"

"Oh God…"

"Is that-"

"Yes, that's definitely her," Professor Mesmer whispered as he left their side to come in the middle of the room. "Ladies and gentleman," he began, "she has travelled all thorough Europe, she has foretold the last decade's most important events, the most prominent royal families in Europe wants the honour to even see her and today we are granted the honour of her coming here, in our school."

The woman turned her head Harry heard a few muffled gasps.

"Did you see her eyes?" somebody whispered.

Mesmer chose to ignore the interruption. "And even though she cannot see, she has so kindly agreed to open her Third Eye and reveal our future. I present you, our century's greatest Seer, the great Cassandra Trelawney!"

When she finally turned to him, Harry saw her eyes were a milky white.

Cassandra Trelawney suddenly let out a horrified scream and fainted.

"Alright," Mesmer slowly said as a few students ran to stop her fall. "I admit I didn't see that coming."