The detentions with Madam Pomfrey weren't as bad as Harry had expected them to be. The no-nonsense matron set her to doing simple tasks - folding sheets, making beds, sorting through old potions to check if they were still viable, and, once, helping her tend to a fourth year who'd managed to explode a cauldron after-hours. All without magic, of course, which had stymied her at first: she'd very rarely done any cleaning of her own, what with the house elves at Potter Manor and took offense whenever she so much as tried to make her bed herself.

Fred and George caught up to her the day after her first detention while she was working on homework with Neville in the common room - she knew that they would find out, since they were the team Beaters. With conspiratorial winks, they congratulated her on getting so far on her master plan in such a short amount of time. Neville had only watched, confused, his Remembrall set firmly in front of him on a handsome wooden stand that Harry had Transfigured from three matchsticks with copious help from Professor McGonagall, who had been only too pleased to have her most talented first year showing extra interest in the subject, especially one who might be the ticket to Gryffindor winning the Quidditch Cup for the first time in seven years.

In fact, the only thing that hampered her building excitement for Friday was Malfoy. The blonde had been smug on Wednesday morning, calling through the hall, "Enjoying your last meal, Potter?" She hadn't deigned to reply, and had smirked at him when she joined the Slytherins for Defense Against the Dark Arts later that day. Since then, Malfoy had been glowering at her whenever they saw each other, and had taken to insulting her irritatingly untamable hair and skinny build, even going so far as to mention her mother. Despite her best efforts to ignore him, Neville had had to hold her back in the corridor after Malfoy had insulted her mother.

Friday morning was the worst in terms of non-verbal assault. She had only just managed to catch the daffodil root Malfoy sent towards her cauldron, which would have resulted in an explosion and could have very likely killed her. Snape had turned a blind eye, and, from Harry's perspective, actually seemed disappointed that it hadn't connected.

After dinner, Harry made her way to the Quidditch pitch. Wood wasn't there yet, so she opened the broom cupboard with a spell she'd looked up while waiting for Neville to finish his Charms essay in the library. After five minute's careful inspection, she pulled the best of the - admittedly shoddy - brooms out and mounted it. As she kicked off, she could feel its inferiority to her own, three-year-old broom back at Potter Manor. She soared and twirled through the air, getting a feel for the slight quirks brought on by age - this particular broom shuddered when climbing too fast, and tended to veer to the right if she didn't keep both hands on the handle.

As the sun set completely, she heard Wood calling her down. She banked and dove straight at him, the wind rushing through her shortened hair. It was a nice feeling, but she wished she hadn't had to cut it - she'd become very used to having long hair, and even nearly two weeks later, she often made aborted motions to fuss with the end of her hair, only she reached for her elbows instead of the tops of her ears. Harry barely pulled out of the dive in time, and the broom vibrated heavily as she pulled up on the handle.

"Excellent, excellent," Wood complemented her, eyeing her speculatively once again. "You need a better broom," he commented as he set a large box down on the grassy field with a rattling thump. "A Cleansweep, or the new Nimbus if we can."

"I've got a broom at home," Harry offered. "I can ask Dad to send it."

"How old?" Wood asked, reaching up to scratch his ear.

"Three years. It's the only broom I'd ever flown on before Tuesday," Harry replied. "And we've got to hurry - I have detention at seven."

"Don't worry about it," Wood replied immediately. "She's expecting you at seven in the morning instead." Harry shrugged - she got up early all the time so it wouldn't be a problem, especially on a Saturday. "And you need a new broom - three years is too old." She nodded, although she felt a pang of sadness at the thought of giving up on her first broom, the one her brother had passed along to her, behind.

"Where's the rest of the team?" she asked, looking around as she realized that they were the only two on the pitch.

"They'll be along in about ten minutes. I just wanted to let you see all the balls first."

"Oh. Okay." She watched as Wood unlocked and opened the box. Inside were four balls. The largest - the Quaffle - was red, and made of leather. It had indentations that made it easier for Chasers and Keepers to grasp, but also gave it a curious flight pattern while in midair. Two of the remaining three were identical, and struggled against the restraints that kept them locked in place: those were the Bludgers. The last, and the smallest, was golden and had wings folded against its sides. Harry leaned forward and reached out her hand before jerking it back.

"May I?" she asked.

"Of course." Wood looked excited just to watch her inspect the Golden Snitch. As she held it in her hand, the wings, also golden, sprung out from its sides and started fluttering madly, like the wings of a hummingbird, so fast that they blurred together. She let it go, then, as it started to dart away, snatched it from the air.

"Nice," Wood said admiringly. "I can see why McGonagall recommended you. Best reflexes I've seen since Charlie Weasley left."

"How long ago was that?" Harry asked. She'd met Percy, Ron, and the twins, but had only heard the names of their elder two brothers, Bill and Charlie.

"Beginning of last year," Wood sighed. "Good thing we found you, or we'd be dead in the air again. We haven't had any good Seeker talent besides Charlie for six years."

"Good thing indeed." Fred and George, closely followed by three other boys, came up to Harry and Wood. "You should've seen him at the feast - caught my drumstick from his seat." The other boys snickered.

"Not like that, you perverts," Fred snapped.

"Although," George said, eyeing the one in the middle, "I wouldn't say no to catching your drumstick." Everyone except Harry laughed at the expression on the other boys face.

"I'm only joking," George protested as the rest of his team, minus Harry and Fred, who were trying their best not to burst out laughing, gave him cautious glances.

"I believe him," Harry said, stepping up and hoping to Merlin she could keep a straight face. "Although I did find him in the first year's bathroom on Monday…" she muttered loud enough for the rest of the team to hear.

"Harry!" George cried, folding his hands over his heart in mock sorrow. "It makes me bleed to hear such sordid accusations from an innocent spirit like yourself!" Now it was the rest of the team's turn to struggle with laughter. Fred gave her an approving smirk as he patted his brother consolingly on his back.

"Don't worry, Georgie," he said. "I don't care if you're gay. I'll name my first son after you." Harry couldn't help it - she burst out howling. If George hadn't caught her, she would have fallen to the ground.

"Hey, leave my Seeker alone!" Wood protested, but he had a smile on his face as well. "Don't go ruining his sitting area." This started the laughter up all over again, although Harry's was slightly more subdued as George gave her a sly wink. She had nearly forgotten that the twins knew her secret.

"All right, enough's enough!" Wood barked out. The other players immediately shut up. "Into the locker rooms and get changed, on the double!" George hoisted Harry over his shoulder and took off with her, ignoring her protests.

"What's this?!" he exclaimed when they finally got to the locker room. "That's not my broom!" The other players snorted at his rather lacking attempt at a joke, but Harry smiled innocently.

"No, but you're welcome to take me for a ride anytime." As the other players gaped at her, Fred and George included, she added sweetly. "Once you've found your broom. I'm very sorry you've lost it." The locker room echoed with laughter.

"I think - ," a tall boy with brown hair choked out through his laughter, " - you've finally - " another gasp of laughter " - met your match." The other boys could only nod their agreement.

Finally, the laughter died away, although Wood would occasionally snicker, drawing apprehensive and slightly scared looks from the rest of the team as they opened their assigned lockers and started to strip.

"Um, Wood?" Harry asked, making sure not to stare at any of the many naked chests.

"Oliver. You're my teammate, so call me Oliver."

"Er - right. Oliver, then. I don't have a uniform or any practice uniforms." Oliver froze with his pants halfway down. He didn't seem to notice, but Harry did and had to fight her instincts to look away. She could only hope the dim lighting prevented the others from seeing her blush.

"Charlie's old ones wouldn't fit you, even if he hadn't taken them with him, the wanker," Oliver mused, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "I'll see what we've got in storage." He kicked his pants off and walked towards a closed door clad only in boxers. After a few minutes, in which Harry studiously avoided the other boys naked bodies (although Fred and George made it difficult at times with their playful shoving one another over), Oliver returned with an armful of clothes.

"Here," he said, dumping them into her arms. "Three practice uniforms and an old game uniform from way back that you can try on. If it fits, we can take the name off and sew yours on." Harry unfolded the game uniform and nearly dropped it. In large block letters, the name 'Black' was emblazoned on the jersey.

"No," she gasped. The others looked at her in surprise.

"What's wrong?" George asked, coming over, Fred close behind.

"This was my godfather's uniform," she managed to get out.

"So?" the compact, blonde-haired chaser said. "You've got a familial connection to it. All the better."

"I never met him," Harry snarled, turning on the chaser, who nearly tripped over himself as he tied his Quidditch trousers. "He disappeared a few months after I was born." The locker room had gone oddly quiet. Everyone knew what she meant when she said disappear.

"D'you want a different one?" Oliver asked, reaching over to take the uniform back.

"No!" Harry pulled the fabric to her chest. "I'm keeping it." The others shrugged and returned to getting dressed, even Fred and George, although they did cast worried glances at her. She ignored them and gently set the old uniform aside. Forcing herself to act natural, she stripped off her clothes until she wore only her boxers. She couldn't help but compare her body to those of the other boys - her legs were skinnier, her waist more slender, and her shoulders had no definition whatsoever. As she pulled on the white skintight shirt, and then the red practice jersey, which had no name on it, she worried about what would happen once she hit puberty - there was no way she would be able to disguise her body then.

"Everyone ready?" Oliver called out. Harry shoved her worries from her mind - she'd deal with it once it happened. Quickly, she pulled on the Quidditch trousers, and then paused.

"What sort of shoes do we wear?"

"Damn," Oliver swore. "What size are you?"

"Umm…the smallest you have?" It came out as a question. The other boys looked at her. "I have small feet," she said defensively.

"You have small everything," the olive-skinned chaser commented with a wry smile. He spoke with an odd accent that Harry couldn't place. His remark was true, though, especially when she compared herself to her other team members. She was easily the shortest, skinniest, and least-muscled of the lot. She knew she would have a hard time explaining her lack of muscles in the coming years.

"Accio shoe size five." Oliver's voice broke through the snickers. Within a minute, a box zoomed around the corner and halted in front of Oliver, who grabbed it and handed it to Harry. "Don't lose them," he warned. "You'll have to pay for them if you do. And that goes for your uniforms as well." Harry nodded and sat down. As she worked the shoes, which were a little loose, onto her feet, Oliver introduced her to the three Chasers.

"This is Ryan Henry," he said, indicated the tall brunette. "He's a fourth year, as is Zakir." The olive-skinned boy grinned at her, flashing white teeth. "Aiden here was our reserve last year. He's just a year ahead of you." The blonde boy nodded seriously at her, but his hazel eyes sparkled with excitement as he gripped his broom, a Nimbus 1700, previously one of the best racing brooms on the market until the newer Nimbus 2000 replaced it. "And you already know me and the twins, so that's it." Harry nodded. "Let's go," Oliver said, shouldering his broom, also a Nimbus 1700, but with a slightly different logo on it than Aiden's.

Harry thought the practice went well. Fred and George had set up a sort of gauntlet with the Bludgers, and each of the other players had to fly through it without getting hit. Harry had a near miss her first go around, and Oliver had made her fly it three more times, even though she emerged unscathed the second time. After that, they focused on the Chasers, who worked seamlessly together. At times, Harry couldn't keep track of the Quaffle as it blurred between hands. And Oliver himself was an excellent Keeper. Just from watching him, Harry could tell that he was spectacular - everything she'd read about Keepers seemed personified in him. He was incredibly agile, and seemed to have a third sense as to which hoop the Quaffle would head for. Harry herself was put through her paces. Since it was too dark to use the actual Snitch, Oliver had all of the rest of her teammates throw Muggle golf balls through the air. She didn't miss a single one.

As they walked back to the changing room, pleasantly tired, Oliver couldn't keep the grin off his face. "Give me two weeks, and we'll have the best team in Hogwarts!" he crowed, carelessly stripping off his clothes. Harry turned to her locker just in time to miss the boxers joining the rest of the clothes.

"Going to shower with us, Harry?" George asked, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

"Never with you, you lecherous pedo," she shot back, not once letting her eyes stray from her locker. The rest of the team laughed, George included.

"Ah, well," he sighed melodramatically. "You'll never know what you're missing."

"I never want to know what I'm missing," Harry corrected. "And I'll shower in the tower, I think, right before bed." The other boys shrugged.

"See you tomorrow!" Aiden called after her as she trudged from the changing room, hands stuffed in her robes pocket.

Oliver kept to his promise of making the best Quidditch team at Hogwarts, and scheduled practices four times a week. With the addition of the Quidditch practices to her schedule, time flew by faster than ever. Ron, upon discovering she had made the team, stopped speaking to her altogether, even to ask for help in Transfiguration, his worst subject. Harry ended up partnering with Neville in Potions whenever a partner was needed. Snape seemed to like having both of his least favorite students working together, although he became frustrated quickly when their potions always turned out perfectly even though it took quite a bit of effort on Harry's part to keep Neville from melting their cauldron. Only Hermione had results as good as theirs, and she didn't have to put up with Neville's unfortunate ineptitude.

The week after her first practice, Wood showed up at her dorm with a Nimbus Two Thousand. "McGonagall got special permission from the Headmaster," he said, grinning excitedly. "Slytherin won't know what hit them." He shoved the broom into a gaping Harry's hands and strutted up the stairs to his room, doubtlessly ready to make up new plays. The entire Gryffindor House had been charged, upon pain of the Weasley twins, to keep mum about Harry's position as Seeker. Oliver wanted to keep Harry's new status a secret as long as possible.

Sept. 19
Dear Harriet,

I am glad to hear you're doing well at Asclepsius Academy. It took years of me applying for
you to get a spot. Keep studying those Charms. Transfiguration should come easily to you, as
it was my best subject at school as well. Your mother was quite advanced at Potions, as well
as Charms. I'll try to find something to help you in Charms, but it may be a while. Work is
very demanding right now. I don't believe your brother told you, but he made the Gryffindor
Quidditch Team. He hasn't told me which position he plays yet. Unfortunately, I don't believe
I'll be able to get away from work to watch him fly. I am so very proud of him.

Your Father,

James

Sept. 20
Dear Alex,

Dad finally got back to me. He's going to ask you about which position you play. It's Seeker. And you
got a new broom from the school, a Nimbus 2000. You wouldn't believe how well it flies. I hadn't even
noticed how slow that beginner broom at home is until I flew the Nimbus! We need to find a better
way to communicate over the summer. Letters are too difficult and take too long.

The twins names are Fred and George, in case you were wondering. I had to get a bunch of books for
them on Color-Changing Charms, something you may find interesting. I am actually very impressed
with them, even if I won't ever say so to their faces. Color-Changing Charms are fifth-year curriculum,
sometimes even sixth, and they're only in their third year! I'm thinking that they're like you, and
Charms is their best subject.

Use a different owl next time, please, like I am. After all, it's not fair for us to only use the same one all
the time - poor thing actually glares at me whenever I walk into the Owlery! The first Quidditch match is
November 23, in case Dad asks. Your teammates are Oliver Wood, Keeper and Captain; Fred and George
Weasley, Beaters; and the three Chasers are Zakir Akran, Ryan Henry, and Aiden O'Connor. Other names
you may need to know: Professor Flitwick, Charms, Head of Ravenclaw; Professor McGonagall, Transfiguration,
Head of Gryffindor; Professor Snape, Potions, Head of Slytherin; Professor Sprout, Herbology, Head of
Hufflepuff; Professor Sinistra, Astronomy; Professor Binns, History of Magic; Coach Sturnis, Flying Instructor;
Madam Pomfrey, school nurse; Professor Dumbledore, Headmaster. I don't think the names of your teachers
will be as much of an issue since Dad didn't go there. Oh, and Hagrid is the grounds-keeper. He knew Mum and
Dad pretty well, apparently. Good luck with astronomy, and tell Jonah that your brother says hi!

Love,

Harry