It's the most beautiful feeling in the world.
He just kicks off the ground, feeling like he's defying gravity, wind racing through his hair and caressing his skin. It feels like he's unbeatable, like he can do anything in the world. There's no worries when he's on his broom.
Maybe he likes it a bit too much, but with all the pressure on him there isn't anything else that's as relaxing. But he was raised Muggle and there's just an appreciation for flying that purebloods don't get. He didn't get this sort of thing as a kid. He was always stuck with worries, piled with chores, grounded from just reaching up and flying up and away like a bird, soaring away from his responsibilities. He can escape, if just for a little, with his broom.
And so he flies high up, barely remembering to search for the Snitch whenever he's playing a game, without a care in the world. He's not Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, or Harry Potter, the Chosen One, or anybody important at all. He's a bird flying freely from his glided cage, with nothing stopping him. He's one with the wind. He flies.
When he finally becomes an Animagus everyone is surprised, except for him. They expect a lion, because he's the ideal Gryffindor, or a dog to honor Sirius, or a stag, because it's his Patronus and because he looks like James.
They're all wrong. He's a beautiful brown owl with an ochre breast that Hermione idenfies as a Spectacled Owl. He flaps his wings a few times in his new form and he takes flight around the room. He can fly with his own power now.
The sky is his sanctuary. His wings are his wand. His beak and claws are his fists. He's the ruler of his own land when he's transformed.
He loves flying.
Short... I got an idea though :DDD After a few months -_-
Word count: 333
