Chapter 28. Flying
Dumbledore's office was cluttered as ever as Harry finished up his shepherd's pie across from the man. Though some might have disapproved of the disorganization, Harry liked it. It gave him plenty to look at. Their conversation about Harry's classes and Dumbledore's latest foray into embroidery had drifted off pleasantly a bit ago, and Harry didn't mind the opportunity to watch the red miniature model dragon puffing smoke on the man's windowsill. It was scratching behind its ear with its hind leg like a dog, the small puffs of smoke fogging the glass of the dark window. He wondered if real dragons did that.
"So..." Dumbledore began, and Harry started a bit, glancing away from the dragon to find the professor surveying him over his half-moon spectacles. His voice was light and curious as he continued. "Harry. You seem happier lately."
"Yeah," he found himself agreeing. "Yeah, I am."
Both he and Dumbledore smiled at that. "I'm glad. I noticed... Did you and Minerva...?"
"We made up, yeah," Harry nodded. "We're talking and stuff."
"Good, good." The professor set down his knife and fork looking pleased. "I've always liked Minerva—not that I pick favorites," he added hastily.
Harry's lip twitched. "Of course not, sir," he said, vividly recalling his first year's end-of-year feast. "You would never."
Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled, and he shared a conspiratorial wink with Harry before he asked knowingly, "And Tom...?"
There was definitely a hint of teasing in his voice, and Harry could feel his damned cheeks flushing. "We're, er, we're good too."
"Are you now?" he asked, and this time there was no mistaking the tone. "Forgive an old man's curiosity, but are you two...?" He made a gesture with his hands that Harry took to mean—
"We're not dating!" he blurted. "I mean—I think we're not? I mean—I don't know." The professor looked deeply amused and Harry felt a pang of embarrassed irritation. "What does it matter anyway?"
Dumbledore put his hands up placatingly. "I was just curious. With the Hogsmeade visit coming up and all, I'm sure everyone is all a-buzz with talk about who's taking who to Madam Puddifoot's—I know the staffroom is, at least."
"Don't tell me you've got another bet going now," Harry said dryly, amused despite himself. Dumbledore always made the staff out to be far more gossipy than they must be, surely; he just couldn't see Professor Merrythought caring about that stuff. Though Professor Slughorn... Maybe Dumbledore wasn't exaggerating.
"Of course not," Dumbledore laughed before asking, "You'll be going to Hogsmeade this time, then? I noticed you didn't go the last weekend."
The last Hogsmeade weekend had fallen just after that disastrous Halloween; Harry had felt no desire then to go visiting a town that would undoubtedly be full of reminders of what—and who—he'd left. Now though...
"I will," Harry decided. "It'll be different than the Hogsmeade I knew, but it's still Hogsmeade."
The professor beamed. "Wonderful! I assume, then, that you'll be wanting some spending money—"
"No." He hadn't meant to say it. Harry's stomach twisted. "I mean—You don't have to do that, sir, it's fine. I've got the money I made this summer at Fortescue's." He didn't mention that he'd used most of it already on books and parchment.
Dumbledore, who had looked a bit startled at being cut off, frowned. "Are you certain, Harry? The holidays are coming up."
"I know. I'm fine."
The man stared before eventually nodding. "Alright, my boy. I won't press."
"Thank you," Harry said gratefully. The man had already done so much for him; it would feel wrong to take his money for something as trivial as Christmas presents.
"There is no need to thank me, Harry. Now, remind me—" His voice changed, becoming more business-like and Harry was glad for the change of topic, "When is your next private lesson with Professor Lyptus? She has asked that I remove your protective wards before then."
"She has?" This surprised Harry. She had told him the day before after Divination that the Headmaster had allowed for the purchase of a broom and that it would be arriving on Friday, but she'd said nothing of this. "It'll be this Friday. At three o'clock, I think."
"Hmm," Dumbledore hummed. "You will have to stop by my office before or after lunch, then." Harry nodded. "You are enjoying these lessons?" he asked.
"Well, 'enjoy' is a strong word," Harry mumbled. "Trelawaney is such a—" He cut himself off quickly as Dumbledore raised an eyebrow pointedly. "Sorry."
"Mm," he hummed before asking, "Have you found the lessons helpful at all?" Thankfully, it appeared the man did not wish to dwell on his comment, but Harry's stomach sank anyway. He should've seen this coming. He didn't like talking about Divination or dreams or his visions with Dumbledore but he always brought it up during their check-ins. Hopefully, he wouldn't get too much into it.
"Erm, yeah, they've been helpful," he lied. The few lessons he had actually gone to had felt pointless to him. Why Dumbledore thought they'd be able to help when they both knew he wasn't a real Seer was beyond him. "I'm just glad I'll be able to fly again, I haven't flown in forever."
"I was never fond of brooms myself," Dumbledore commented and Harry found himself relaxing as the conversation drifted away from Divination.
"This is all your fault!" Trelawney whined in her high-pitched voice. The first year looked pathetic with her frizzy hair and huge glasses as she clutched her robes tighter around her. Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes. Though the wind was particularly crisp against Harry's skin, Dumbledore having removed the wards just hours ago, it wasn't that cold. You would think it was the dead of winter the way she was carrying on. "It's so cold and foggy and I'm going to get mud all over my shoes and it's all your fault!"
They were walking across the grass to the open field just outside where Hagrid's hut would be, though the house did not exist yet. Trelawney could only have been whining for a minute or two but it felt like hours. Her voice grated on his eardrums. Harry prayed for strength as he looked up at the cloudy sky.
The girl followed his eyes and tipped her head back too only to huff. "Ergh! If it rains on us, I'm going to curse you! Why do we have to have our lessons outside, this is unbearable!"
"You're unbearable," Harry retorted, finally fed up. "Honestly! It's just some light fog."
The first year seemed to puff up, bristling with resentment, but before she could do anything Professor Lyptus called out, "Over here Harry, Sybill!"
Harry happily turned away from Trelawney and jogged over to where the Divination professor was waving, a broom in one hand. She appeared to have conjured up a small tent which she stood next to and in it, Harry could see a small round table with a crystal ball on it. That would be for Trelawney, Harry surmised. Lyptus hadn't made him attempt to read a crystal ball once since the first of their private lessons.
"Good afternoon, Professor," Harry greeted as he walked up to her.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Evans," Lyptus said, smiling warmly at him. Harry waited for her to continue speaking, unable to help glancing longingly at the broom in her hand, but she seemed to be waiting for Trelawney whose tiny legs could only go so fast on the damp grass. When she finally trodded up to them looking utterly miserable, the professor wished her a good afternoon as well. Trelawney simply scowled.
"Thank you both for making your way over here. As you both know, today Mr. Evans is going to be trying out something new to get him in tune with his Inner Eye."
Harry grinned broadly, excitement brewing like a storm in his chest as the woman presented the broom to him. He took it from her, holding it reverently. It was a Silver Arrow according to the handle, and Harry was suddenly reminded of Madam Hooch fussing over his Firebolt months back. She had said then that she had learned to fly on a Silver Arrow, hadn't she...?
"And me?" Trelawney demanded. "What am I going to be doing?"
"You'll be starting off with the crystal ball today Sybill, and if that goes well we'll be practicing again with palmistry. Why don't you get started while I talk to Harry now, hm?"
She nodded respectfully at Professor Lyptus before glaring at Harry and scurrying inside the tent. He was happy to see her go.
"Now, Harry," Lyptus began once Trelawney was gone, "Today isn't just about flying. This is about centering yourself and letting the mundane worries of the day dissolve. We must help to forge a connection between your magic and your mind."
Harry nodded, hiding his skepticism. As long as he got to fly...
"I want you to be focused on clearing your mind while you fly. Breathe. Feel the wind against your skin. Let go of extraneous thoughts."
"Yes ma'am." He was practically buzzing with anticipation now.
She looked him in the eye, face serious. "After about twenty minutes, I'll call you down and we can try triggering a vision, alright?"
"Yes. Yes, that's fine." C'mon, just let me fly! he thought.
"I believe in you, Harry."
The utter seriousness of the statement threw him off and Harry blinked, the itchy excitement ebbing away a bit. "I... Thank you?"
"You're welcome," she said. She then gestured for him to go and he was off.
It was glorious. The swooping freedom of it, the rush of air, the weightlessness. Flying was as fantastic as he remembered it—better even. Everything else seemed to melt away as it became him, his broom, and the sky. Though a part of him registered that this new broom was nowhere near as good as his Firebolt or even his old Nimbus, he couldn't bring himself to dwell on it. Instead, he soared and swooped and turned in the sky. Nothing else mattered.
He found the shouted "Harry!" later startling. It was difficult to believe twenty minutes had passed and it was with reluctance that he dove down and landed.
Professor Lyptus didn't say anything as he dismounted, instead reaching out her hand. He knew without direction what to do next. Harry reached out and touched her hand.
Before, a touch had cracked the world in two, cleaved everything down the middle as he was torn into a vast expanse of nothingness where waited three golden silhouettes. The visions had been abrupt, violent things. This time, the vision unfurled gently in his mind.
He had willed away visions before, drawing himself out and back to the present, during the summer when he had practiced with Tom. It had taken monumental effort then to turn away from those strings; it was just easier to touch one of the thousands of golden strands of sand and experience the past or future. Since coming to Hogwarts, there had been no need to try thanks to the wards. But now... This time felt different.
The strands of golden sand undulated hypnotically before him, tying together the three silhouettes of Professor Lyptus. Though curiosity burned at him, though something in his chest ached for him to stretch his hand out, he knew he could not reach forward and touch one; that was not his goal. Instead, he breathed—as much as he could "breathe" in a vision like this—and pulled himself away from the sight. He strained. It was difficult, but not nearly as difficult as it had been this summer. He was almost there. He closed his eyes and—
Harry was back. The sharp, fresh scent of rain hit him before the chill air did.
"Did it work?"
Harry blinked. Professor Lyptus stood before him, eyes wide, excited.
"Yes," he gasped. "Yes, it did."
Tom watched with a mix of grudging admiration and irritation as Harry looped and whirled through the air above him. Harry had gotten the broom last Friday and had been instructed to fly it once a day, apparently. He really was very good.
He could've called for him at once—he'd been intending to—but instead, Tom just stood there. Even from this distance, it was easy to see how relaxed Harry looked. There was an easy grace to his movements, a nimbleness that belied great skill. A skill Tom didn't have.
Tom had gone into his first flying lesson with an easy confidence born of his exemplary performances in his other classes. Every spell, every incantation, every potion had come laughably easily to him. Why would flying be any different? He would undoubtedly succeed.
He had been wrong.
Madam Flemings had fixed his broken nose easily but "Episkey" had not mended his bruised ego. He'd barely mopped up the blood on his tie before he'd gone to the library. There had to be other forms of magical transportation.
It was infuriating that that had been the first vision Harry had had of him. Whacked in the face with a rickety, old broom.
Who needed brooms anyway? Brooms were slow and clunky, not to mention dangerous. Being reliant on a hunk of wood did not appeal to him at all. Far superior forms of transportation existed. Apparation for example. Floo powder. Even Portkeys were arguably better than brooms.
And yet they were annoyingly popular. It made no sense to Tom, though he logically knew the reason for it. Quidditch. Quidditch single-handedly saved the broomstick from falling to obscurity. Their only use was recreational. Broomsticks were playthings for adrenaline junkies.
Still, Tom thought as he watched. Harry looked good on a broomstick.
As if he'd heard Tom think his name, Harry suddenly seemed to notice him, turning in the air. Tom watched as he waved before angling his broom toward him. About time. They'd agreed yesterday to meet at six, and it was almost seven now.
A moment passed and Harry hadn't moved. He was just hovering there. Confused, Tom raised his hands and irritably motioned toward the ground as if to ask, Are you coming or not?
Tom squinted up at Harry, trying to make out his face when the teen suddenly swerved up only to dive unexpectedly, steeply. A gasp escaped him at the shocking motion and Tom moved without thought, stumbling backward as the blurred figure began to streak toward him now, gathering speed. Harry was heading straight for him! Was he insane? He was going to get them killed!
Tom shrieked and ducked as Harry zipped by laughing within an inch of him. Incredulous, heart pounding, Tom whirled around to watch, cursing as Harry looped around the field before stopping right in front of him.
"What the ever-loving fuck—?!"
"Hi, Tom!"
Harry rolled off his broom into Tom's arms. Tom dropped him.
"Hey!" Harry cried, but he was laughing as he stood. "C'mere."
"Excuse m—?"
Harry took his face into his hands, cutting him off immediately as his eyes flickered gold. Flickered...
"Go to Hogsmeade with me?" Harry asked.
Tom gaped. He spoke without thought. "Yes. Yes, of course," he breathed.
The Gryffindor nodded, pleased. "We're dating now," he decided.
As if it was a question. "Of course," he repeated.
His were green when Harry kissed him thoroughly.