Chapter VII: Freedom Seeker

It was a cold but clear September afternoon that saw the Gryffindor and Slytherin first years heading out into the grounds by the quidditch pitch. Madam Hooch led the procession carrying a large case. Harry walked beside Neville and Ginny, both of whom were shaking - Neville quivered fearfully, while Ginny was buzzing with excitement. Harry thought it rather funny that the two Gryffindors he got on with best were such polar opposites, but it was obvious that the dynamic was working; Ginny was doing her utmost to endear Neville to the idea of flying, while he was reminding her of all the ways said activity could get you killed.

Secretly Harry felt Neville had the right of it, but he was willing to give it a shot. Ginny was a wild one, but she wasn't stupid, so if she said flying was 'the best thing since ever' then he'd take the chance that she was right. They probably wouldn't be going very high or fast on their first lesson anyway.

Up ahead an older student was leaning against the stands of the quidditch stadium. As the group approached he came forward and spoke quietly with Madam Hooch as she was retrieving brooms from her case - the brooms were longer than the case, which was a bit of magic that no longer surprised Harry at all. Their chat wasn't a long one as the student soon returned to his leaning post and Madam Hooch addressed her class.

"Each student will take a broom, and then the class will form two lines facing each other." - Hooch's voice brooked no discussion as she laid down the law - "You will not mount your brooms until instructed to. You will not activate your brooms until instructed to. You will not interfere with another student at any point. You will follow every direction I give you immediately. Failure to adhere to these rules will result in detention. Any action which I deem to endanger other students will result in a flying ban which only I have the authority to rescind. Am I understood?"

Sometime during that speech the usual jockeying between the opposing houses had stopped. Fifteen twelve year olds stared slack jawed at the teacher they'd written off as 'just the quidditch instructor'. They mumbled and nodded their assent, which apparently was enough to sate Hooch as she waved them to the broom pile.

The Slytherins barged their way to the front, joined by Ginny who somehow muscled through the boys to be second to the pile. She emerged from the crush proudly brandishing a pair of brooms, one of which she threw to Harry; he flinched back even as he reflexively caught it one-handed.

"Sorry Neville," she said, giving the boy a genuine look of remorse as she held her broom tightly, "but I didn't think you'd mind being left a slower one."

"Slow sounds nice," Neville chuckled nervously. "Maybe there's one that doesn't even get off the ground?"

Ginny's look turned disapproving, but a smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. Harry could already see some very spirited conversations brewing in the future as Ginny would stop at nothing to get her friend to enjoy her favourite hobby. The rest of the brooms were rapidly distributed, with Neville going last. He returned to the forming Gryffindor line with a beat up broom that had more dents than twigs and a tentative smile on his face. If any broom in the world wouldn't take off, it was his.

"Very good," Madam Hooch declared, pacing the avenue between the two lines. "Place your brooms down, on your right side, facing forward. Yes, that's it. Now, hover your hand, palm down, over the broom, and command it 'up'."

Harry did exactly as instructed. Nothing happened. Most of the other students had their brooms up in their grip already, and even Neville's tragic stick was rolling around on the ground like it was trying to rise. Harry's was no more animate than the broom in his cupboard at home. Not home. The Dursleys'.

"What's the matter, Potter?" Darius Harper, one of the Slytherins, mockingly asked, "Can't get it up?"

Harry ignored him, and his idiot friends' laughter, and focused on the broom. Was it broken? No - Ginny would have picked a good one for him, and she knew her quidditch. So the issue lay with him. He commanded it "up" again, to no effect.

Bloody thing!

He tried again, but it just wasn't listening to him. Even Neville's had risen by now! It might help if he knew how a stick of wood was meant to listen to a verbal command anyhow. He tried putting more force into the command.

"UP!"

Obey me!

The broom wobbled. Harry felt - or perhaps only imagined - a tingling in his fingers as it did. The same sort of tingling that he felt when he held his wand, although lacking the comfortable warmth. Curious, and a little desperate, he focused on that feeling; imagined his wand in his grasp; imagined the broom was his wand; and wordlessly commanded it.

Rise.

The broom slammed into his palm so hard it hurt. His fingers curled around the shaft and it stopped still, rooted to nothing so firmly he could lean on it. Grinning, he glanced at Ginny. She beamed back at him, holding her own broom confidently; she'd been first to get it up, naturally, but he noticed hers was bobbing slightly, floating on the air like it was water. Like it was working with the air to defy gravity. Harry's was up in spite of gravity.

Madam Hooch raised an eyebrow and said, "Right. Now, you will mount your brooms. Do not take off."

Harry watched Ginny mount up to see how she dealt with the robes getting in the way. Where the other girls were mounting side saddle before gracefully bringing a leg over, Ginny practically jumped onto her broom, throwing her leg so high her robe billowed clear. The broom dipped a good six inches as it took her sudden weight.

Her technique was effective, and sufficiently boyish, so Harry copied it. His groin smashed into the unyielding broom, luckily not catching anything important. He still winced; that was going to bruise.

Damn broom. Work with me here!

The broom quivered and relaxed under him, dipping until his feet were firmly planted on the ground.

"Very good," Hooch said with a clap. "Now, when I blow my whistle, you will push off from the ground and pull up lightly on the shaft of the broom. Try to hover five feet from the ground."

That didn't seem like a lot of instruction to Harry, and it didn't make any mention of willing the broom into action, as he'd thought it would. Was the actually flying done purely through physical input? That seemed rather stupid when you could seemingly just tell the broom what you wanted verbally, if not mentally.

Hooch blew her whistle, and the class thrust off, taking to the air. Except for Neville, whose broom barely lifted him off his tiptoes, and Harry who jumped into the air and came right back down, the broom taking its own weight and nothing more. Once again, Harry had followed the instructions to no effect. He'd be questioning if Hooch was as bad a teacher as Lockhart (hadn't that been a useless half lesson!) if it weren't for everyone else doing just fine. Some of them had flown before, but he knew Colin and Selina hadn't, and there they were five feet above him.

Ok then broom, we'll do it the other way.

Harry closed his eyes as he concentrated on the feeling of the broom under him. He felt the way it undulated since it had unanchored, the subtle vibration in the tail like a rattlesnake ready to lunge and the magic - pure magic! - thrumming through it.

The mental instruction he sent it wasn't anything that could be vocalised, just the image, the pure concept, of rising from the ground to join his classmates. He felt the magic responding, the ground falling away from his feet, and opened his eyes. He was in the air, perfectly level beside Ginny to his left and to his right… The space Neville should have occupied.

Neville was still on the ground, tugging at his broom and hopping. For a guy who didn't want to get off the ground he sure was annoyed at not being able to. Then he looked up at Harry, fixed himself with a determination that looked entirely out of place on his babyish face, and yanked on his broom hard. It promptly threw him backwards onto his arse and shot up into the air, sailing well above Harry's head. Harry watched the errant broom peak and start falling straight at him. He didn't fancy trying to catch it, so he ducked right to dodge it, throwing his weight one way, then the other to stay above his broom as it swept him to safety.

The broom clattered to the earth, and no-one watched it land. All eyes were on Harry.

"Wow, Harry, how'd you do that?" Colin gasped.

"Well avoided, Mr Potter," Madam Hooch remarked before he could answer, striding past him to Neville. "Mr Longbottom, are you alright?"

"Um, yeah," Neville muttered, sitting up and rubbing his back., "I'm good. Can I stay on the ground from now on?"

"That may be for the best," Hooch agreed.

Harry, meanwhile, was buzzing. The adrenaline had kicked in and he felt invincible. He wanted to lean forward and drive his broom forward, to sway left and right as he cruised between the towers of Hogwarts. He wanted to fly.

His broom lurched forward eagerly and he reined it in sharply. He wasn't going to do anything with Hooch's permission, because a flying ban had just become the worst punishment imaginable.

"Mr Potter, please return to your position."

Somehow that counted as permission by his reckoning. She hadn't told him how to return, and although there was only so much he could get away with…

He leant over to his left, leaving the broom where it was, only allowing it to rotate with him. As his centre of gravity shifted it fell into an unstoppable roll. He gripped the shaft for all he was worth, unanchored his broom and tucked his body in to accelerate the roll. The world flipped around in his vision and in a moment he was back above the broom, hovering right next to Ginny.

"Mr Potter, did you intend to do that?" Hooch asked. She stood in front of him with her hands on her hips, but her voice was oddly lacking the intensity he had come to expect from it. That observation inspired his reply.

"Would I be in trouble if I said yes?"

The mischievous grin she gave him was all the answer he needed, and all he received as well. She turned to face the Slytherin line and as she began to instruct them to form a slow flying circle, Ginny nudged his arm.

"I thought you said you'd never flown before," she whispered.

"I haven't."

"Oh come on, pull the other one! That roll was as good as one of mine."

"I really haven't done this before, I swear!" he asserted, "The broom just listens to me really well I guess."

"The broom listens to me…" she ruminated, "you sound like Charlie."

"Is that bad?" Harry asked, hoping he wasn't sounding like a lunatic. Did Ginny not have any connection to her broom?

"Bad? He was quidditch captain. Could've gone pro if he wanted!" she shook her head in clear disappointment at her brother's life choices.

The conversation ended as Hooch returned to the Gryffindor side and schooled them into the same flying formation the Slytherins were in. It was a simple circle, all at the same height, teaching them to control their speed and execute a gentle turn. After the second rotation she called Ginny and Harry down to where she stood alongside the older student from earlier.

"Ms Weasley, Mr Potter. This is Oliver Wood, captain of the Gryffindor team." That was all the explanation she gave before walking off to start a new drill with their classmates.

"Hey there," Wood started, shaking their hands eagerly, "now as I'm sure you know, our team is looking good for this year, with one exception; we've got no-one interested in the seeker position who's worth putting up there."

Ginny was nodding, so Harry did too.

"Normally first years don't play, but with our head of house being deputy headmistress too, I got some strings pulled. If I can find any real talent among you lot, I can sign you up."

Ginny smacked her mouth open and closed a few times like a fish, and Wood was obviously waiting on a response, so Harry spoke his mind.

"Are first years really going to be good enough for that?"

Ginny glared at him like he was crushing her dreams.

"Honestly, no," Wood replied forlornly, "but if we can get a talented player some game time now then they'll be decent by next year and possibly captaining the team when the current roster all graduate. A drought's the best time to plan for the future, that's what Charlie reckoned."

"Well that sounds like a brilliant plan!" Ginny forcefully assured him. "I'm more a chaser, but I can play anywhere you'll have me!"

"So I've heard. Your brothers said you were keen and pretty skilled."

"Yes! So when's training start?" Ginny squealed, bouncing up and down.

"Heh, not so fast squirt. You haven't earned your spot yet."

"Oh come on, I'm clearly the best player in first year!"

"I expect you are," Wood drawled, "but are you the most talented?" He fixed Harry with a hungry stare. "Potter, this is your first time on a broom yes?"

"Yes sir."

The 'sir' had slipped out. Wood's stare was reminding Harry of Dudley when he wanted - and was therefore going to get - Harry's lunch.

"I'm way better than Harry is! He doesn't even know how the game works!" Ginny shouted. Harry might have been insulted if he didn't entirely agree.

"That can be taught," Wood sagely stated, "but if you're so certain of your ability, you'll have no trouble proving it, right?" He took a small brass ball from his pocket, which sprouted dragonfly wings and strained against his grip. "This is a training snitch. It's charmed to go lower and slower than the real thing, but it should give the two of you a decent challenge. First to catch it's on the team!"

He threw the snitch over his head and it immediately darted away toward the pitch. Ginny snarled - actually snarled - and mounted her broom at a run to give chase. Harry wasn't far behind her.

Alright broom; let's see what you can do.

Harry leant forward and willed his broom forward. It surged at his command, almost throwing him off with the force. Ahead of him, Ginny followed the snitch through the tunnel into the stadium; a few seconds later he did the same. He only realised just how fast he was going when the tunnel's support posts whipped past him in a blur.

Harry couldn't see the snitch anymore, but Ginny was pulling up and banking right confidently, so he matched the move and gained a little by cutting the corner. They raced toward one of the spectator towers, snitch back in sight briefly before it darted inside the tower. Neither chose to follow, so Harry pulled up alongside Ginny.

"Now what?" he shouted.

Ginny flinched and jerked her head around to exclaim, "Harry! You kept up?"

"Yeah…"

"I didn't think you'd…" she pretty much whispered, and Harry got the impression she was saying it to herself. She shook herself out of it and said, "Now we watch for it to show up again."

"Right."

Harry adjusted his glasses and wished he had a more recent prescription. That was probably something he should get sorted now that he thought about it - maybe he could just get his eyes magicked better? The number of wizards he'd seen in glasses, not least of them Dumbledore, suggested otherwise but were they just fashion accessories?

He broke from his tangent of thought when he barely spotted a golden blur flit across in front of green bunting a hundred yards away. He flicked his broom about and shot off after it. An indignant cry let him know Ginny was on his tail. He resisted the urge to turn and gauge her position and focused entirely on gaining speed, laying his chest onto the broom-shaft like a motorbike racer. He didn't actually know why that would make you go faster, but it worked.

He glanced down to check the ground was still a safe distance away - How weird is it that higher is safer right now? - and saw Ginny below, skirting the ground and already ahead of him. How is she that fast? The snitch had dived down too, putting Ginny closer. There was nothing Harry could do as she closed the distance to thirty yards, then twenty, then ten. Then the snitch leapt upward into a straight vertical climb with a turn Ginny couldn't possibly match. Harry, with ten yards more room to manoeuvre, could.

A hard yank had his broom vertical. His normal grip was suddenly not enough; he had to cup a hand over the front end and brace his feet against the twigs to gain enough purchase to hold on. He came up alongside the snitch as it hit its height limit. All he had to do was reach out and take it. That was the exact moment he became acutely aware of the ridiculous danger he had put himself in: Hanging onto a pole a hundred feet in the air, about to let go with one hand.

He questioned if the risk was worth it. Not getting on the team wasn't going to stop him flying. Ginny was really the better flier; she deserved the spot. Harry had never even been on a sports team, and couldn't be sure he'd enjoy the experience on the whole.

He had never been on a team because every time he tried to join one Dudley had something to say about it. And Dudley spoke with his fists. But Dudley wasn't here. The choice was finally his to make, and whichever he decided, that felt good.

Ginny came screaming toward him, fixated on the snitch, desperate to take it from him. If she did that, she'd take his choice with it.

Unacceptable.

Harry reached out and snatched the snitch from the sky, leaving Ginny's hand to close on empty air. Sorry Ginny. He stuffed his prize into the pocket of his robe, grabbed back onto his broom for dear life, and teased it down gently until his feet were back on solid ground. His trembling knees failed him and he ended up sat in the muddy grass. Ginny landed nearby and stormed toward him, making a myriad of frustrated noises.

"Merlin's arse Harry!" - she did not sound happy with him - "Why do you have to be so… so… perfect…"

"Sorry?" Harry shrugged.

She made no indication that she'd heard him. Instead, much to Harry's bemusement, her cheeks flushed nearly as red as her hair and with a strangled squeak she dropped her broom and hurried away. She made it twenty paces before Wood caught her coming from the other direction and dragged her back with an arm around her shoulders.

"So, who's got a snitch for me?" he asked with a manner that said he already knew. Harry drew the snitch from his pocket and offered it up.

"Ha! Brilliant Potter! Hold onto that; you can give it back at training next week."

"Um, thanks?"

Wood laughed darkly. "You won't be thanking me when you're up at six for speed drills."

Harry didn't see any need to mention that he woke up at six most days anyway. He'd learned that letting people think you were going out of your way to please them was generally a good idea.

"Good flying by you too Weasley," Wood assured her.

"Not good enough," she pouted, "stupid snitch did me dirty."

"Heh. That's quidditch for you. Right, you two had better get back to Hooch. Go on!" Wood dismissed them as he collected Ginny's discarded broom and handed it to her.

Harry hastened to do as his captain said, telling himself it was a matter of respecting his authority and not fleeing from Ginny's returning vicious demeanour. He hadn't considered that ramification while he was hanging from his broom, but as she stomped along next to him to the pitch exit, he was having regrets.

"Oh, and Ginny…!" Wood called after them, "I'll be seeing you at training too, aye? You'll make reserve seeker next year!"

Ginny faltered in her step, then puffed up her chest and hooked her arm through Harry's - forcibly. He allowed the contact, without complaint, and silently thanked Wood for saving him from the fury of a woman's wrath. Or some of it, anyway.