A/N: Before we start, I would like to give a *massive* thank you to GinFizz, who helped me figure out how to write a normal 10 year old child (one that isn't plagued with trauma basically).

In case you haven't checked her fic out yet, I highly recommend it! It's called Quidditch is For Losers, and the way she writes Ginny in it is absolutely fantastic to the point where I can't believe it exists! It's my favourite WiP at the moment (right alongside Regretfully Uncaring. Don't ask me to choose).

Lastly, JK Rowling owns Harry Potter. I do NOT, nor do I wish to.

《••••••••••••••••••••》

31st May 1990

To say that Harry Potter was an unusual boy, would be a lot like saying the sky was blue. What made him unusual, however, were not the things that most people would notice. It wasn't the fact that he had a Lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead, nor that he was quite skinny for his age, nor that he wore clothes several sizes more than what would fit him…

See, Harry was unusual only for the reason that he could do Magic.

It had taken him the longest time to come to that conclusion. At first, he only thought that he could do Magic. He wasn't really sure how else he could describe what he did, after all. It wasn't as if there was a list of superpowers hidden in some library somewhere that he could find.

This Magic was dead useful, though. He could use it to do his chores, he could use it to pass time, and he could even use it to mess with the Dursleys. That last one was extremely satisfying, and he often got quite the laugh out of it, the most memorable being when Harry had made Vernon think that the house was haunted because the spiders followed Petunia everywhere.

They didn't really, but Harry could easily levitate one and drop it near the woman.

The Dursleys were, technically, his family (he was using that word very lightly), but Harry did not count them as such.

He'd lived with the Dursleys almost ten years, ten miserable years, as long as he could remember, ever since he'd been a baby and his parents had died in that car crash. He couldn't remember being in the car when his parents had died, though.

His Magic made living with the Dursleys slightly better though. It was fascinating, actually, watching things move to his whim, doing whatever he wanted them to, within a limit.

He could make things float, summon them to him, send them away, and he could even control objects by himself, being able to make them spin in place, or do a barrel roll… and the best part was that it was all his. The Dursleys couldn't take that away from him, even if they knew of its existence.

There were also the other strange things that had happened around him before. Once, Harry had accidentally, and unintentionally turned Dudley's hair a shocking shade of purple, which had earned quite the laughter from their class at the time, even though no one knew who'd done it.

The other times were less directed towards others, and more towards saving his own skin. Dudley and his thugs had been chasing him one of these times, and Harry had simply teleported up to the roof. He had no idea how, and he'd never been able to repeat it again, but it had happened.

And then the most recent incident, where Harry had fallen off of the roof of the Number Four Privet Drive. That had been scary, and Harry had asked, and begged, and pleaded for something to save him, but it turned out he didn't need to, for he had simply… bounced.

Ever since that day, Harry's belief in Magic had only started to grow, and he had been certain that what he could do was actually Magic, despite Vernon, his "Uncle", insisting time and time again that Magic wasn't real.

He'd even taken to reading about the tales of Merlin to confirm his suspicions. He knew Magic was only supposed to be fantasy, and yet, everything he'd found in those story books more or less covered what he could do, along with a few other things. Thus, he couldn't help but equate his powers with Merlin's Magic that he'd read about in the books.

But a few days ago, he found out for certain.

A letter had arrived in the mail, one that was addressed to him. Harry had been floored. No one had ever written to him. Ever. He had no friends, he had no relatives, but there, on the top of the letter, plain as day, were the words: To Harry Potter.

He had taken the letter and stuffed it into the pockets of his oversized trousers, and decided to go about his day normally. He made the Dursleys' breakfast, he cleaned the kitchen and the car, he went to school, avoided everyone and everything, and then waited till it was nighttime, which was when he finally had a chance to open it.

The letter was not written on paper, though. It had been written on Parchment (who even used that anymore!?), and the writing seemed too nice for it to be one of Dudley's tasteless pranks.

The letter said that he'd been accepted into a School of Magic called Hogwarts, and someone named Albus Dumbledore was its Headmaster. They would also wait for his owl, which, funnily enough, wasn't something that Harry owned. There was also a list of books and equipment that he would need for the coming year, and it seemed so… real, that he couldn't help but believe it. It couldn't possibly be from the Dursleys.

Then, who?

The answer was simple: more people like him. People who could practise 'Witchcraft and Wizardry'

It had caused him great joy, really, he felt like screaming in glee when this became clear to him, but they hadn't included a return address, and Harry was at a loss. Naturally, he had simply decided to cast away his disappointment and wait.

Surprisingly, that wasn't easy. His mind kept coming up with imaginary situations again, only this time it was random, faceless people who would whisk him away to the world of Magic.

It had caused him to fall behind in his studies too, and even though there was a week till exams started up, he wanted to prepare well this time, so he couldn't really afford any such distraction, as beautifully nice as it was.

"Mr. Dursley!" His teacher's voice cut through his thoughts and Harry sat up a little straighter, trying to remember what he had been teaching.

"Yes sir?" Harry's cousin Dudley Dursley asked, his voice sounding like a squeak.

For once, Harry couldn't blame Dudley for his very scared face and voice. Really, Mr. Peters was a terrifying man with his thick moustache and beard, as well as the permanent scowl attached to his face. He was never unfair to Harry, though, so he liked him. Plus, he never hesitated to have a little fun at Vernon or Petunia's expense.

"What is a mixed factor?" Mr Peters asked, and Dudley looked at his desk again, pretending to be deep in thought.

Harry would have been surprised if Dudley had ever heard of a mixed fraction.

"Well, Mr. Dursley?" Mr. Peters asked again. "I haven't got all day, you know."

"I don't know, sir," Dudley said, not looking up at their teacher.

Mr. Peters nodded. "Very well," he said. "Mr. Potter, would you care to try?"

Dudley whipped around and glared at him, as though daring him to give the answer. Harry looked down at the table. He knew the answer, of course. He knew the answer to almost every question in math, but the Dursleys had forbidden him to appear smarter than Dudley because it would make their son look bad, as if he wasn't doing a brilliant job of it himself.

The consequences of appearing smarter than Dudley weren't worth it, though. He'd tried it once, but as it turned out, an entire day in a cupboard with minimal food just… sucked.

Mr. Peters sighed, seeming disappointed, and Harry had to bite the inside of his cheek and take a deep breath in order to hold himself back. A part of his mind practically begged him to say that he did know the answer, that he wasn't dumb like Dudley, that he was actually somewhat smart, but Mr. Peters had already started explaining the topic again, and he had missed his chance.

Harry closed his eyes in frustration and took another breath and let it out before opening his eyes and seeing Dudley staring at him with a smug look, as though he'd actually won, and maybe he had, Harry thought. But that thought only made him want to wipe that expression off the boy's face. Preferably with a punch.

He balled his fists, shook his head and focused on Mr Peters' words as the man began writing on the board. He needed to suppress his anger. He had no other choice.

Harry listened as Mr. Peters went on and on and on and on with his class, along with what they'd be studying in the higher classes. The bell rang not long after, and Harry was one of the first to be out, not even bothering to look back.

Today also happened to be Harry's birthday, and if he was right, then he was about to get cornered by Dudley and his thugs. Maybe they'd beat him up, or maybe they'd try to steal something from him… Harry didn't know, but he wasn't about to let that happen. Not today. Not on his tenth birthday. He wouldn't let them ruin it.

Thankfully, he'd managed to avoid any and all traces of Dudley and his thugs and made it back to where Petunia was standing, waiting for Dudley and, grudgingly, for Harry.

Harry decided to go back to Privet Drive without her. Really, he didn't want his day ruined by Dudley and Petunia, but apparently, Petunia had other plans.

"Harry," she called, and Harry had no choice but to grit his teeth and turn to the bitch with a smile.

"Yes?" He asked, trying not to sound rude.

"Come here please, I would like a word," she said. More and more people looked on as Harry just stayed rooted to the spot. Could they not leave him alone just for today? Was it too much to ask?

Sighing, Harry walked towards the woman as Dudley waddled out of the School gate and towards his Aunt. Harry scowled as Dudley began regaling Petunia with everything that had happened that day.

Harry took some time to observe the rest of the children, interacting with their families, smiling, and in some cases, looking embarrassed at the attention they were getting.

He would kill for anything like that… not really, of course, but still…

"We'll go to the park today," said Petunia as they began walking towards Privet Drive. "A friend of mine will be meeting us there. I expect both of you to be on your best behaviour. Understood?"

"Yes, Mum," replied Dudley, ever the obedient son (pig).

Harry simply nodded and Dudley kept shooting him funny looks and wagging his eyebrows in a manner he probably thought was threatening. In reality, he just looked like an idiot.

Soon, however, they reached the park, and another woman was seated there. She looked like a horse, just like Petunia did. Her dark hair was straightened and her eyes were brown.

"Ah! Petunia!" The other woman cried.

"Tracy!" Petunia said sweetly before hugging her.

Tearing his eyes away from the downright hideous sight in front of him, Harry decided to go and sit as far away as he possibly could without it being seen as impolite. He truly did not care, but he didn't want to starve for two days straight if he didn't do as he was told.

There was no one there, which was a good thing for him as he was able to occupy the swings without worrying about whether other people would need it. He sat down and gave the swing a push with his legs, and another, and then another, going higher and higher with each push…

Until he was pushed off the swing itself.

He flew forward and landed face down in the grass with a thud. "Ow!" Harry cried. His head hurt, and so did his nose and his elbows, upon which he had landed.

Petunia had ignored this, as did her friend.

Harry let out a huff of air and tried to stand up, knowing full well who the culprit was. Really, who else could it be?

As Harry had suspected, Dudley giggled ( actually giggled) and waddled over to him. He shoved Harry back to the ground, grabbed a hold of the hair on the back of his head, and pulled his head up. "Happy Birthday, Freak!" He exclaimed.

"Dudley, piss off!" Harry cried, clutching at Dudley's meaty hand. It hurt when Dudley pulled his hair back even more in response, and laughed.

Laughed.

Harry's anger flared. After everything he'd done to him that day, after everything he'd done in the years before that day… the meaty little shit had the audacity to stand there and laugh, with that same smug expression on his face-

Without even thinking about it, Harry balled his fist, and with all the strength that he had, he punched Dudley square in the nose.

He felt a lot of pain in his hand, but he heard a loud cracking noise before he was released, followed by the sound of Dudley wailing to the skies. "MUMMY!!" he yelled.

Petunia immediately rushed over. "Dudley!?" She shrieked, falling to the ground beside her son (pig). "Oh, Dudley, what did he do!?" She asked, glaring at Harry.

Harry swallowed. He really shouldn't have done that. It was a bad idea, and now Harry's hand was starting to hurt even more. He tilted his hand so that the knuckles were visible to him, and he saw that they were red.

It definitely felt good, punching Dudley, and he definitely deserved it, but… Vernon would probably skin him alive for it.

"Oh, dear," Petunia's friend said. Great. That was exactly what he needed. Petunia immediately came to Dudley's side, and held his head in both her hands.

"MUU-MMY!!" Dudley wailed again, and Harry seriously was seriously considering blasting music at a high volume to block the noise out. "HE HIT ME!"

Petunia's friend gasped and Petunia herself glared at him with an expression of such hatred it would have made anyone else quiver in fear. "He pulled my hair!" Harry snapped in response.

"That doesn't matter!" She shrieked. "You broke his nose!"

"I think he looks better now, don't you?" The words slipped out before Harry could stop them, not that he was trying that hard to do so.

"MUMMY!"

He had a feeling it was only Dudley's howls that had saved him from getting slapped.

"Okay, popkin," Petunia said, turning to Dudley and squeezing his shoulder comfortably. "We'll go to the doctor, yes? Tracy will join us." The woman in question nodded.

"You, boy!" Petunia said, forgoing all semblance of pleasantries. "You'll go straight back to your room. You know the one. You'll stay there until Vernon gets you out. Understand!?"

Harry just stared back defiantly.

"I asked you a question!"

"Mummy!"

"He'll start bleeding," Harry said, nodding at Dudley.

Petunia glared at him, and then she and her friend walked away, Dudley waddling away between them. Was it worth it? He asked himself. Yes, it was. It absolutely was. He still didn't fancy dealing with Vernon, but the fact that he'd managed to get one on Dudley cheered him up.

Scowling, Harry went over to a tree nearby and sat down against it, making sure that it covered his body completely. He brought his knees up to his chin and rested it on them, using his arms to bind his legs together.

This was how he lived his life everyday. Sure, he was no saint, but why was everyone else treated better than him? He hated his life. He hated that he was so unlucky, he hated that the Dursleys existed, he hated that he had no other relatives that could come and rescue him, and he hated that his parents didn't take him with them when they died…

Tears sprang to his eyes once more; he screamed his anger out and punched the tree behind him, and with a thud, a sharp, singing pain enveloped his knuckles and he groaned, shaking his hand.

Red blisters had formed on the knuckles of both his hands, and they stung. A lot. But Harry didn't feel any less angry. In fact, he thought it felt better with the pain.

"Quite counterproductive, don't you think?" A soft voice asked, and Harry whirled around, his eyes wide.

This was Harry's secret spot in this park. No one was supposed to know about it, yet… here this man was. The man was old. Very old. Actually, no, he could be considered young. About 100 years ago…

The man was wearing a purple sort of costume, and he had a long pointed hat. His eyes were twinkling behind his half moon spectacles, and his white hair was dropping down to his shoulders, while his white beard was long enough to reach the man's stomach.

He was weird, and yet, he gave a very warm and friendly smile, which threw Harry off quite a bit. Adults never gave him that smile.

"Am I right in assuming that you are Harry Potter?" The man asked in a polite tone.

Harry blinked for a bit before cautiously answering. "Yes."

"Splendid!" The man smiled, and held a hand out. "I am Albus Dumbledore," Harry's eyes widened in recognition, "the Headmaster - "

"The Headmaster of Hogwarts!" Harry breathed. So here he was. Had he come to get him? No, probably not.

This time, it was Dumbledore who blinked. "So you did get the letter?" He asked.

Harry nodded. "I don't have an owl," he said.

Dumbledore closed his eyes and winced. "Ah, forgive me," he said. "I should have known the Dursleys wouldn't tell you about the Magical World."

"So it is real?" Harry asked, wide eyed.

"Hold your injured hand out," Dumbledore said, and hesitantly, Harry complied.

Dumbledore gently turned his right hand over so that the red stingy spots on his knuckles were visible. He then proceeded to draw out a long, beautifully crafted stick from the pocket of his costume.

"This is a Wand," Dumbledore said, "most Wizards use it to perform Magic."

Harry still didn't see what that had to do with his hands. "Are you going to give that to me?" He asked, furrowing his brow. He winced a moment after saying that. He shouldn't have said that, now Dumbledore would tell the Dursleys and he'd already punched Dudley-

But Dumbledore chuckled.

"Oh, no," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. "This Wand is not something I'd give away so easily. You shall get your own soon enough."

Dumbledore pressed the tip of the Wand against the knuckles on Harry's right hand, causing him to wince because it stung again, but a moment later, the pain disappeared, along with the red spots on that hand.

Harry couldn't stop his jaw from falling open, and Dumbledore took that moment to heal his other hand. "Feeling anger is a good thing," Dumbledore said after he was done. "But too much of it will only cause you to hurt yourself."

Harry nodded in understanding, trying to stop the heat rushing to his cheeks. He didn't know why exactly he had punched the tree. He'd just been feeling so… angry, and…

"I'm sorry," he said.

Dumbledore blinked again. "That's hardly something you should apologise to me for," he said, furrowing his brow.

Harry didn't know how to respond to that, and the Headmaster seemed to understand that he was uncomfortable, so he quickly changed the topic. "Tell me," Dumbledore said. "Do you have any questions you would like to ask? You said you'd received the letter, is there anything else you would like to know?"

Harry shrugged. He truly didn't know much about the Magical world, and he said so.

"That's quite alright." Dumbledore smiled in response. "To put it simply, Harry, you are a Wizard. Wizards and witches have the ability to channel Magic within their own limits. This Magic presents itself in various forms… tell me, have you ever seen strange things happen around you?"

Harry considered telling the man about the fact that he could do Magic without a stick (Wand), and that he'd been doing so for a while, but he had just met him and… well, it was rather fun to keep to himself. Besides, there were the other strange things that had happened around him… things that he had no control over…

"Judging from your expression." Dumbledore's voice broke into his thoughts. "I would say that you have."

Harry nodded, and Dumbledore smiled. "That would be Accidental Magic," he said. "There are times when a child possessing Magic gets emotional, perhaps due to sadness, or anger, or any other reason. Regardless, when the child experiences extreme emotions, Magic is forced out of their body in a random manner. This Magic may do anything, ranging from an increase in temperature, to explosions."

Harry's jaw dropped open.

"Hogwarts is where almost every single Magical child in Britain goes to learn to control their Magic so that such incidents are prevented," Dumbledore continued, adopting a consoling expression at Harry's response. "There are a few, who elect not to go there, but the parents of those children often find a different school to hone their talent."

"And… I have to go there too?" Harry asked. "To Hogwarts?"

"If you wish to," Dumbledore said, "then yes. You can go to Hogwarts."

"But…" Harry trailed off. Vernon had always, always, said that Magic wasn't real… and now that Harry was being offered the chance to go and learn at a Magic school, Vernon would never agree to pay the fees…

"The Dursleys won't let me go," Harry said sullenly, looking at his feet. "They're -"

Dumbledore held a hand up. "They are not your parents," he said. "And your parents had made it quite clear that, unless you say otherwise, you would go to Hogwarts."

Harry blinked. "My parents?" He asked, feeling excited at the thought.

The first question that entered his mind was what would they think of him? What would they say if they were there when Harry had punched Dudley? Would they be like Petunia and side with their son? Or would they scold him for it? Would Dumbledore know all of that?

"Indeed," Dumbledore said, oblivious to Harry's thoughts. He stood up. "The way I see it, Harry, you have a choice."

He raised his eyebrows, waiting for Dumbledore to say something.

"You may either come with me, and I can take you to get your School supplies," Dumbledore said, and Harry's heart skipped a beat in excitement, "or you may choose not to go to Hogwarts -"

Dumbledore had wanted to say more, but Harry cut him off right there. "I want to go!" He exclaimed, causing Dumbledore to blink. Really, it wasn't even a question. If there had been a return address, Harry would have been out of Privet Drive before Vernon could say, 'Boy!'

"Are you certain?" Dumbledore asked, a concerned expression on his face. "This is a big decision. I would advise that you take a few days to think about it carefully."

Really, it wasn't even worth thinking over. It basically boiled down to either living with the Dursleys, or going with the non-stranger stranger, otherwise known as Dumbledore, who could do Magic with a stick, and apparently knew his parents.

It was an easy choice.

《••••••••••••••••••••》

Moonlight spilled in through the curtains in her room, illuminating the room in a beautiful moonlight, but Ginny Weasley pretended to sleep through it all. She had to. She didn't even wake up when her mother came to check on her. For a long time, she just kept her eyes closed while thinking about what she was about to do today.

The thought of her brothers' possible reactions made her giggle a little, but she quickly shut herself up. If someone was listening, then they'd rat her out, and she didn't fancy having to learn to do the laundry all by herself. She didn't want to touch her brothers' private clothes, thank you very much.

She turned her head slightly, and saw that it was nearly 1 am. Nearly twelve hours had passed since Charlie had said that she couldn't learn to fly because she was too young to do so. Well, she would show them, she thought, glancing at the Holyhead Harpies poster in her room, specifically at the red haired chaser to the left that Ginny had coloured there.

Shaking her head, Ginny slipped out of her bed, walked across her room, and gently pulled the door open. There was no one there, thankfully, which meant that she had unrestricted access to her goal.

Her heart was pounding against her ribs, and her breathing was unusually fast, like she had just run around the Burrow twice after pranking Fred and George, but she had never heard any footsteps coming from outside her room at this hour, so she pushed aside the nervousness, and walked outside.

She carefully avoided the creaking staircase, and descended into the dark sitting room of the house, making her way to the back door. Having a room on the first floor really did have several advantages.

Unfortunately, she wasn't able to reach the lock to the door.

Her jaw dropped open in indignation. Sure, she was short, but not that much. She settled for glaring at the door and looking at any other possible places she could escape from. There was a window on the kitchen platform. She could use that, if she could get up there.

In the end, she decided to take Bill's favourite chair over to the kitchen counter. He wouldn't teach her to fly, so she would use his favourite chair to get herself out. It was only fair, right?

Nodding at her own question, she climbed on top of the chair, then the kitchen counter, then she opened the window, and jumped out, landing on her feet with the grace of a cat. She grinned to herself.

She could practically feel the excitement in her body as she ran towards the broom shed, not stopping even when she almost tripped over a stone. Nothing as small as that would stop her from learning to fly right under her brothers' noses, without them hearing so much as a whisper about it because she was just that cool!

She'd tried sneaking out to the broomshed several times before. She'd tried it when she was six, and that had been scary, but there had been a lock. She tried breaking through the lock twice when she was seven to no avail, and she'd nearly given up by the time she was eight, but then Bill had decided to Enchant it, and they'd moved the lock to their Dad's private shed where he tinkered with anything Muggle that he found.

Just when Ginny was about to lose all hope, Bill had presented her with Curse Breaker Puzzle Boxes, which helped her to realise that Bill favoured a particular pattern to unlock his stuff. He'd said that she had a talent for it, and she was about to put it to the ultimate test.

She reached the little broom shed within a minute, and took in the sight. It was handmade, and it wasn't all that fancy, but Ginny loved it anyway. It was pretty.

"Okay," she whispered to herself, nodding her head. "Okay."

She reached up to the door of the broomshed and knocked twice, waited for a second, and then knocked twice more, and then banged her first against the door three times.

With a clicking sound, the door opened, and Ginny grinned at her success. Of course she'd got it right. Sure, she only knew the pattern to the broom shed because she knew that it was Bill that had enchanted it, and he loved this pattern for some reason, but still! It was good!

Her thoughts were interrupted when the moonlight spilled over one of the six brooms, making it glow in the darkness. It didn't belong to any of her brothers, and she hadn't ever seen it used by anyone.

It seemed fitting that she should be the first one to take it out for a spin. The moonlight had made it glow, after all. It was a sign.

Slowly moving forward, she gripped the handle of the broom in her hand, and lifted it off of the hook it was hanging on. It was heavy. Much more so than she was, but Ginny still managed to drag it away from the shed and far away from where her parents could see her using the window.

She eventually made it to the left side of the Burrow, which only had one window, and that room belonged to Bill, who wasn't even here. She was definitely in the clear.

She dropped the broom to the ground because it was getting too heavy. "Now what?" She asked, looking down at it.

The broom just stared up at her, though. It didn't move, or offer any encouragement, or advice. Her dad always said that no one should trust an object if they didn't know where it kept its brains, so she wasn't sure if she was relieved or disappointed at the broom's non-response.

Pursing her lips, she grabbed hold of the broom handle, bringing it up so that it was on the same level as her waist. She then put her right foot over it, like she'd seen her brothers do, and once the broom was safely between her legs, she hopped…

…and landed on her feet.

Wait, what? Wasn't she supposed to fly? What else did she have to do? She'd heard that brooms didn't work as they were supposed to if someone was scared, but she wasn't scared. She was excited. There was a clear difference there.

Maybe she had to just… let the broom fly her up? No, probably not. It wasn't a Dragon or a Hippogriff after all. Maybe she had to push instead of hopping? That would work, right?

Ginny took a deep breath, gripped the handle of the broom tighter, sent a silent prayer to Merlin so that he could manage to get her out of this without getting hurt, and pushed off the ground with all her energy.

This time, she stayed in the air.

A laugh escaped her lips as she swayed in the air a few feet above the ground. She was hovering in place as though a simple Levitation Charm had been cast on her, but that didn't stop a giddy from enveloping her whole body.

"Lean forward to go forward," Bill had told her and Ron once. "That's how it works."

It was just a summary, she knew, but that didn't stop her from trying it out. The giddiness only intensified when she felt herself slowly flying forward, although her motion was far from smooth. It felt like someone was deliberately rocking the broom up and down.

For some reason, Ginny felt even more compelled to master flying on this broom. So what if it hadn't been the best? It was hers now. She would make it the best.

Deciding to be a bit bolder, Ginny leaned even further forward by a considerable distance. Now, the speed had picked up, and Ginny could feel the air flapping against her face as she shot off towards the Burrow.

A part of her mind would have cautioned her to be careful if she ever bothered to pay attention to said part, but right now, in the air, all she cared about was the warm and slightly nervous feeling in her tummy. She pulled the handle of the broom towards the left, and the broom followed her lead, managing to avoid hitting the Burrow.

She straightened and then pulled the handle upwards. The stars stayed where they were, unfortunately, but Ginny knew that she was getting higher and higher, and she didn't want to stop.

She didn't.

At least not until she reached a height where her broom started wobbling like crazy.

But still, that was pretty high up, she thought. She wasn't at the highest point of the Burrow, or anywhere close to it, but she was near the attic. At least she thought she was.

It didn't matter either way though, because she had learned to fly! She felt proud. So proud. And giddy. And happy. And she felt invincible. Like she was at the top of the world and no one could ever touch her there.

She pumped her fist in the air and let out a loud whoop before she leaned forward even more, and shot off towards the forest. The air was cold, but she didn't stop to pull her jumper around her. Instead, she kept on going until she reached a nice looking clearing.

There was just a single problem now.

How did a person land?

She bit her lip. Surely, she could just dive, right? Yes, she could. But did she want to break her new broom? Probably not, she thought with a pout. She sighed. She would just have to slowly descend. Slowly.

She decided to go down by using a corkscrew motion she'd seen her Dad do once during the family Quidditch game. Of course, she hadn't been allowed to play then, she thought bitterly.

Slowly, but surely, the ground began getting closer and closer, and when she thought it was close enough, she drew her left leg up and jumped off the broom, unable to stand the slowness of it all. Really, it was sickening.

She felt extremely tired now that she was on the ground. Her broom fell to the side and she slumped to the ground, and rolled onto her back, taking deep breaths as she stared up at the stars above her.

Despite her exhaustion, though, she wished she could have so many more nights like tonight.