The Potter Timeline
Chapter 3 - Learning and Soaring
Harry scrambled down the steps from his Gryffindor dorm room as fast as his legs could manage. His robe flew behind him like a cape and his red and yellow striped tie flapped over one shoulder as he rushed through the common room and almost burst through the back of the fat lady's portrait before it could fully open.
He was late for his very first class. Really late.
After the excitement of the start-of-term banquet and then a late-into-the-night welcoming party for all the new Gryffindors, hosted in the common room by the Weasley twins, Harry had gone to bed completely knackered. When he finally woke and opened the curtains to his four-poster, he was stunned to find his dorm mates - Dean, Seamus, and Neville - not only gone, but their curtains were pulled back, their beds neatly made, and their textbooks missing from each bedside table.
Harry panicked.
Throwing on his shirt, tie, and robe as fast as possible, he snatched up his class materials and bolted out of the room. As the boy descended the stairs of Tower Hall in the direction of his Basic Transfiguration class, he thought back over George's instructions on how to get there:
'…Right at main corridor, left at witch statue with missing nose, down first set of steps, straight past Goblins at Dinner painting, right again, down second set of steps, straight past creepy cobweb-ridden door on left, then third classroom on the right…'
At the fifth step in the process, Harry thought he was making good time until a water pitcher materialized out of thin air in the middle of the corridor. It then turned over and dumped its contents onto the stone floor. Harry's momentum was too great to stop, and he hit the freshly made puddle, his feet sliding and then his legs flying out from underneath him. He landed on his backside with a thud while his class materials scattered all around him. Wincing from pain and shock, Harry glanced around to see who or what might have played such a cruel joke on him. But he saw no one. As he rose from the floor to tidy his robes, however, he heard giggling and turned to see the head of a ghost sticking out of a wall with a mischievous grin on its translucent face. Harry threw the ghost a very unhappy expression.
Peeves!
Fred and George had warned him about the annoying spirit and his poltergeist pranks. This was Harry's first experience with the prankster, and he could make life at Hogwarts a complication, to say the least. Still glaring at the ghostly form, who now laughed loudly and flew across the corridor into an empty classroom, Harry regathered his things and resumed his run to class.
Finally on the last leg of the journey, he skidded to a halt at the classroom door. Harry reached for the handle and pulled slowly. The door opened without a hitch, but if Harry thought he could open it quietly, he was mistaken. A grating, creaking noise erupted from the hinges, causing the eleven-year-old to wince. Standing wide-eyed and gazing into the classroom, Harry saw every pupil stop their busy writing and look back at him. Malfoy snickered and shook his head. Hermione threw Harry a severe, wide-eyed glare. The young man swallowed hard, closed the squeaky door behind him, and headed for the empty seat next to Hermione.
As he moved to the desk, he saw that Professor McGonagall was not at her desk. Harry felt relief. But he was surprised to find a gray, tabby cat sitting on the floor next to the professor's desk, looking up at him with squinty eyes. Harry was puzzled and wondered why McGonagall would bring her pet to class. He sat down quietly, pulling out his book and parchments, still smarting from the pain in his bum. Hermione, who had been writing what looked like a short novel on her sheet of parchment, stopped and leaned toward Harry.
"Where have you been?" she scolded him quietly with gritted teeth.
"Overslept," he whispered.
The brunette shook her head and went back to her parchment work.
"Good thing Professor McGonagall isn't here," Harry added while leaning toward her.
Hermione stopped writing again and this time threw him a terrified look. Harry was puzzled by this until he turned to find McGonagall glowering over him. Wide-eyed and red-faced, Harry shrank back.
"Yes, Mr. Potter. It is a good thing Professor McGonagall isn't here, otherwise she might deduct ten points from Gryffindor for lateness!" the woman uttered sharply.
Snickers erupted throughout the class.
Harry glanced at the floor and noticed the cat had disappeared. He now realized what happened. Despite his embarrassment, he was impressed by the woman's transformative ability.
"Sorry," he eked out, shrinking in his seat. She relaxed her strong gaze at him momentarily.
"I'll let you off with a warning this time. But next time, mind the class schedule!"
"Yes, ma'am."
The woman turned and moved behind her desk.
Harry then pulled his quill out and was about to ask Hermione what they were writing…
BLAM!
The door to the classroom flew open and slammed against the wall. The two pupils standing outside the classroom had been laughing prior to accidentally flinging the door open. But that laughter died instantly at the loud sound and the death stares they now received from nearly everyone inside. Ronald Weasley and Sean McManus of Hufflepuff stood frozen like statues, their faces pale as they also received a threatening glare from Professor McGonagall at the front. The two boys slowly walked to the remaining seats and sat down, neither looking up at the woman who had moved from her desk to theirs.
When they finally settled, they hesitantly raised their eyes at her. Harry didn't think the professor's face could become more severe. He was wrong.
"Ten points from Hufflepuff from each of you, Mr. Weasley, Mr. McManus…"
The two eleven-year-olds groaned.
"…and a night's detention with Mr. Filch. At least Mr. Potter had the decency to try to enter the classroom quietly."
The two boys threw Harry a frown, then pulled their class materials out. McGonagall spun on her heels and moved back to her desk.
"Bloody hell. Mum's really gonna kill me," Ronald complained while placing his book and parchments on the table.
Harry looked at Hermione who had been gazing at the latecomers with disdain. She shook her head and resumed her work. Harry followed suit.
The young man now struggled with the essay question he was to answer during the first half of class: "What is the primary characteristic an object must possess in order to transfigure it into another and why?"
Even though this preliminary quiz was open-book, it took some time to find the answer and at the same time get his quill to work right as it seemed to leak more ink than hold it. His very first class, then, showed that Harry's time at Hogwarts wasn't going to be all fun and games. There was no magical way to avoid plain old schoolwork. But if Harry thought his Basic Transfiguration class had been a debacle, his next one would be even worse: Introduction to Potions.
On the way to the dungeon for their class, Hermione threw a less-than-satisfied look at the boy next to her.
"You do know that your tie is crooked, and your robe is backwards, don't you?" she pointed out with that bossy tone of hers.
Harry looked down at his wardrobe.
"Well, I didn't have much time to check myself in the mirror," he told her in defense.
"Humph," she replied, "perhaps next time you should use a waking charm on your bed so you won't be late. I do."
Harry's face contorted at this.
"How does a waking charm get you up on time?"
"First, it causes the bed to whistle at you and if you don't respond in time, the bed spits you out."
She was perfectly serious at this, but Harry couldn't help but chuckle.
"I can teach you the spell, if you'd like," she finished.
Hermione then went on to explain her answer to the transfiguration quiz which both impressed Harry and made him nervous. The boy was amazed at her intelligent thought on the answer and realized she wasn't simply reciting something she had read in a book. On the other hand, it made his response to the essay question appear…paltry in comparison. This made him worry McGonagall would reward his pitiful effort with a poor mark - not the best way to start off first-term…or his career at Hogwarts for that matter. Harry saw he was going to have to do better than he used to in primary school.
By the time the pair arrived at potions class, Harry's head was swimming in a multitude of other facts Hermione decided to share with him - which began getting on his nerves. A little was great, too much was…grating. But among the facts she provided, one was both fascinating and scary.
"According to Hogwarts, A History, the chamber our potions class is in was once an actual dungeon where the Medieval lord who owned this castle would imprison and sometimes torture his enemies."
No sooner had Hermione informed Harry of this, than Professor Snape entered the chamber with a disgruntled look. Harry tried to hold back a snicker. Perhaps Snape was a long-lost descendant of that Medieval lord. But all amusement died as soon at the potions professor spun around to address the class.
"I'll have no wand waving or silly incantations in this classroom!" he uttered with a disdainful look at his pupils.
Everyone except Slytherin students gulped. The pale man in all black swept the room with his dark eyes as though looking for something errant. As he did, Harry held his own gaze on the man with curiosity. There was something he wanted to know ever since the previous night.
At one point during the start-of-term banquet, Harry looked up at the faculty table and happened to catch the raven-haired professor staring at him. At the precise moment their eyes locked, Harry felt a brief, but sharp pain in his scar, causing him to wince. From that moment until now, Harry wondered what the man had done to cause the pain. His scar had burned a few times over the years during his life with the Dursleys. But this was the first time a person seemed to invoke it with a stare. What magic or power did Snape possess to be able to do that?
"I expect the most serious attention in my classes and will mete out the most serious punishment for those less inclined to obey my instructions…"
Snape's scowl remained on his face while slowly moving from one end of the class to the other.
"…On the other hand, if anyone has the potential, I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even put a stopper on death, but it will take serious work…"
At this, the professor gazed right at Harry.
This was the moment.
Harry stared right back at the man, expecting the pain in his scar any second.
"Ah, our famous celebrity, Harry Potter…"
Nothing. No scar pain. Harry was surprised.
"Tell me, Mr. Potter, what would I get if I added powdered root of…" the man went on to rattle off names Harry had never heard of before in his life…and he didn't have time to even crack his Magical Draughts and Potions or One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi books before this class.
"I...don't know, sir," was all he could utter.
At this, Snape seemed to glare even harder at him…but no scar pain.
'Huh?' Harry thought with confusion.
Hermione's arm now shot up like a bottle rocket, the girl eager to answer as she had probably read through both textbooks before setting foot in Hogwarts.
"Tut, tut," Snape muttered, "fame clearly isn't everything. Let's try again, shall we? Where, Potter, would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"
'A be-what?' Harry now wondered. It was clear Snape was picking on him specifically for some reason, as though he wanted to humiliate him in front of everyone. Why?
But still there was no scar pain. Harry was definitely puzzled.
"I don't know, sir."
He glanced at Hermione and had no idea the rather short girl could reach so high into the air. But the professor ignored her.
"As you can see, class, even famous celebrities have to study…"
The man then went on to explain the various mixtures and herbal objects he had quizzed Harry about as well as their intended uses. He suddenly stopped.
"Why aren't you all writing this down?" he snapped at the class.
Twenty pupils immediately grabbed their parchments and began writing. Hermione, a disappointed look on her face, finally lowered her arm and did likewise. Afterward, Snape had the class concoct a basic potion for curing boils. As the man moved around the class, Harry heard him criticize this and criticize that - he was clearly stringent in his expectations which made everyone nervous. At one point, the professor had so lit into poor Neville for messing up both his and Seamus' concoctions, Harry thought the kid might have a nervous breakdown.
And this was the very first potions class of the term!
By the end, at least one student in each of the Houses of Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Gryffindor had several House points deducted by Snape for one infraction or another. Harry thought that if this continued, by the end of term there would be no more House points left to deduct. Of course, Slytherin students seemed magically exempt, which even more inflated the egos of Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle. When the torturous class finally ended, Harry had never been so glad to leave a place since he departed 4 Privet Drive the day before.
He and Hermione then made their way to Flitwick's Basic Charms class. That was a breath of fresh air compared to Snape's. The cheerful, tiny man with the white mustache and white head of hair was so different in his comportment toward the students. By the end of that class, the professor had awarded so many points to various students, Hermione receiving most of them, that Harry felt they could easily make up for their losses in potions.
Lunch in the Great Hall was next followed by History of Magic by Professor Binns who, to Harry's astonishment, was a ghost of all things! There wasn't a whole lot to do but listen to the ghost lecture for nearly an hour. And it seemed as if Binns was simply talking to himself the entire time while forgetting the fact that he had students in his classroom. However, Hermione managed to get his attention every so often and add a fact or two to the ghost's historical lecture. This earned Gryffindor several more points which made her fellow House mates happy. But while this class seemed relatively easy, Harry was concerned. If they had to listen to a self-important ghost go on about how the magical world developed down through the centuries, right after lunch, it would be extremely difficult not to fall asleep.
After, was Professor Sprout's Introduction to Herbology class, which was rather uneventful and, to Harry, somewhat boring. The second to last class, however, piqued Harry's interest: Quirrell's Defence Against the Dark Arts. The classroom itself was dark and gloomy, Quirrell insisting the shutters to the tall casement windows remain closed for some strange reason. Harry found it a bit difficult to even see the professor at times as the man began his lecture - a lecture that had every student in fits. But it wasn't because of what the professor lectured on, it was how he lectured.
Harry remembered the man's awful stutter in his brief conversation with him at the Leaky Cauldron. Harry was annoyed having to hear it now for nearly an hour. The students around him seemed to feel the same way as they stared slack-jawed at the man with the purple turban, some trying very hard to understand him, some reacting as though they had an upset stomach. As Harry listened to a rather general lecture on the nature of the Dark Arts and those who use it, he noted how the professor seemed to keep pushing the notion that dark wizards really weren't bad, they were just…misunderstood. This seemed bizarre for someone teaching them how to defend themselves against the wizarding world's most wicked citizens.
But at one point in the lecture, Quirrell turned around to write something on the blackboard. As he did, Harry felt the sharp pain in his scar again. This really perplexed him as Quirrell, unlike Snape, was not looking at Harry at all. He would continue to ponder the meaning of it until the class ended.
That afternoon, he and Hermione went to Hogwarts library to study and do their first homework assignments. The old place full of wooden shelves containing thousands of old tomes smelled like a mixture of parchment and mold, especially from the Restricted Section. The dark, gloomy atmosphere of that space at the back of the library seemed both fascinating and spooky to Harry upon first glance. What fearful books did it hold that it must be deemed 'Restricted'? After several hours of study, the pair headed back to Gryffindor Tower.
As Harry lay in bed that night, he gazed up at the ceiling of his four-poster. His first day at Hogwarts had been enlightening and yet exhausting. He felt shell-shocked at all the newness and his head swam with a multitude of facts on transfiguration, potions, charms, magical history, and the history of dark wizards. This magic business was intense, to say the least.
Soon his weary eyes shut and he fell fast asleep.
~HP~
The next day was a repeat of the same classes with one exception. In place of Binns' History of Magic, they would attend a more practical class, one Harry was actually excited for: Flying Broomstick Lessons.
Twenty first-years walked into a clearing behind the walls of Hogwarts castle. Madam Hooch led the way and directed the class to a spot where twenty wooden broomsticks lay on the ground.
"I want each of you to stand by a broom," she commanded with a curt voice and piercing gaze.
The students obeyed. Harry and Hermione stood by two broomsticks next to each other.
"Now, hold your right hand over the broom and with strong conviction say 'UP'!"
Harry held his hand out, looking at the broom below him. The thing appeared rather worn-out - who knew how many students had used the object before him? Nevertheless, he immediately shouted.
"UP!"
The broom flew into his hand with a jolt. Harry was amazed and grinned widely. He then looked around and saw that only a handful of students had been successful like him at getting their broom to obey the very first time. Malfoy, unfortunately, was one of them and his arrogant smirk widened all the more at his success. Most, Hermione included, struggled to get so much as a wiggle from their broom.
"With conviction, I said!" Hooch yelled out, clearly not happy with the results she was seeing.
The students yelled louder and tried harder. One broom finally left the ground and flew straight up in the air. The student next to it, the redheaded Weasley kid, completely missed catching it and the next thing he knew, the broomstick fell back down and conked him on the head. Another broomstick, this one belonging to one of the Ravenclaw students, instead of shooting into her hand, shot straight between two students opposite her, nearly impaling one of them, flew across the field, and slammed into the castle wall. A very put out Madam Hooch pointed her finger at the broom while glaring at the poor girl. The girl then ran across the field to retrieve the object.
Harry, still holding his broom at the ready, looked at Hermione only to see total frustration on her face. Thus far, the girl had out-shined not only him but nearly every other student in each of their classes. Could it be that Harry found something he was better at than her?
After another five minutes of trying, with Madam Hooch exhibiting a bit more patience while coaching individual students, everyone had finally gotten their brooms into their hands.
"Now, I want everyone to straddle their broom like this," she told them while demonstrating the action, "sink your legs slightly, then, kick off from the ground, hover, and then lower back down by dropping your legs below the handle."
She demonstrated this and it seemed pretty straight forward. The class followed her example and practically everyone, including Hermione, was successful in getting their broom to hover off the ground by a meter. When Harry did it, he couldn't quite explain the feeling, but it seemed as though he made an instant connection with his broom, as though it could think and anticipate what he wanted to do, eagerly awaiting his next command. This surprised him, but it also intrigued him and made him eager to do more…to actually fly if possible. And because of what happened next, his wish would be granted.
Madam Hooch, finally revealing a smile for the first time since class began, was just about to go into the next phase of their training after the students landed their brooms - all of them but one, that is. Neville gave out a yelp as his broom, instead of descending, ascended even higher despite kicking his legs below the handle. The hapless kid's eyes went wide with fright as he now hovered some five meters above the ground. Madam Hooch's perturbed look instantly reappeared.
"Mr. Longbottom! Come down at once!"
But Neville didn't seem to hear her as he was so scared Harry could see his arms trembling.
"Mr. Longbottom! Did you hear what I said? I said come down…"
Before she could finish, every student gasped as Neville's broom took off like a rocket across the clearing. Eyes wide and hearts racing, every first-year watched as Neville sped off toward the castle wall. But before the boy smashed into it, the broom did an about face and flew right along the wall until spinning him over while moving into a figure eight in the middle of the clearing. The poor boy's face went white as a sheet one moment and then turned green like he was going to puke. Madam Hooch had already jumped on her broom with alarm and swooped toward Neville to rescue him from his out-of-control broomstick. But before she could reach him, Neville's broom, strangely sensing what Madam Hooch was about, did a ninety degree turn and yanked Neville completely off. The eleven-year-old crashed onto the field and rolled nearly fifteen feet before coming to a stop.
Harry and the rest ran toward the boy as Madam Hooch flew down next to him.
"Ow!" Neville muttered in pain as Hooch turned him over. His right hand was limp and appeared broken.
"Oh, dear!" the woman said with a deep frown of concern, "come, Neville, let's get you up."
She and another first-year helped the boy stand - he now looked like he was going to faint. The professor placed one arm around his shoulder and looked at the others.
"I'm taking Mr. Longbottom to the hospital wing. Don't any of you move. If I see so much as one of you mount his or her broom, I'll have you expelled faster than you can say 'Quidditch'!"
The fierce look in her eyes said she meant business, and everyone nodded in response. The woman took Neville and they disappeared back into the castle. Harry turned to Hermione who had a worried look in her eyes.
"I sure hope he'll be alright," she told him.
"Me too," Harry replied.
Malfoy, who had been laughing over Neville's misfortune with Crabbe and Goyle, now looked down and picked something up from off the ground, gazing at it in his hand. Harry immediately recognized the object as Neville's Remembrall.
At lunch the previous day, Neville showed everyone the item his grandmother had given him. Harry wondered what was so special about the small glass ball. Neville then explained it was to help him remember things he'd forgotten and that the sphere would glow in different colors depending on what he was supposed to remember. The boy then told everyone he was afraid that if he lost this Remembrall, his gran would send him a second Remembrall so he could remember where the first one had gone off too.
Harry, seeing how important the item was to the boy and at the same time feeling defensive toward his fellow House mate, stepped forward.
"Give it here, Malfoy!" he demanded.
The blond-haired boy threw Harry a rather ugly look.
"No! If you want it, Potter," he spat out while mounting his broom, "then come and get it!"
Draco shot into the air and hovered some ten meters high, holding the Remembrall out while smirking in triumph.
Out of sheer instinct, Harry mounted his own broom, staring at Malfoy with determination.
"Harry, NO!" Hermione yelled out while grabbing his sleeve, "you heard what Madam Hooch said! You'll be expelled! Malfoy's trying to goad you into it!"
Harry saw her reasoning. Draco would most likely not get expelled because of his family's influence. However, Harry hated bullies and hated it more when bullies seemed to get away with their dirty deeds. He wasn't about to sit by and let that happen if he could help it.
The boy shrugged off Hermione's grasp and took off like a bullet toward Malfoy, his broom instantly recognizing his intention and responding as though the two were a team. When Harry came to a stop next to the blond kid, the wind he produced blew Draco back a little, stunning the brat.
"I said give it here, Malfoy!" Harry reiterated while holding his hand out.
Malfoy's face grew angry again.
"And I said 'NO'! If you really want it, then go FETCH IT!"
The boy reared back and threw the Remembrall as hard as he could, the glass ball flying across the field. In an instant, Harry honed in on the object fading quickly into the distance. His broom, sensing his intent, immediately pointed itself at the object without Harry even having to think about it. The boy and his broomstick then hurled like lightning in the direction of Neville's possession.
Every first-year in the field gasped as Harry flew past them to retrieve the ball before it hit the ground. And within a fraction of a second, he and the broom were right up on it. Harry reached out and snagged the Remembrall mere inches above the ground. Adrenaline coursed fiercely through Harry's body as he came to a stop and gazed at the ball in wonder, blinking and trying to convince himself what he had just done was actually real.
'That was incredible!' Harry gasped in amazement. He had never felt such a rush in his life!
Hearing cheers behind him, Harry turned to see every first-year, except the Slytherins, rushing toward him excitedly. Apparently, they had never seen anything like it either! The students surrounded the boy and cheered wildly.
"That was bloody brilliant!" Ronald Weasley uttered in amazement, a look of pure awe on his face.
Hermione even clapped with a stunned, wide-eyed look, though Harry wasn't sure whether she was stunned by his flying demonstration or his impending expulsion. But Harry grinned wildly, elated at all the handshakes and back slaps of his fellow students. Until, that is, a dreaded voice boomed out.
"HARRY POTTER!"
The students around Harry instantly quieted and moved aside. The boy now saw one person he did not want to see at this moment. Professor McGonagall was marching briskly in his direction, her emerald-green robes flapping violently, as she held that severe look on her face while gazing straight at him.
Harry gulped and his heart started hammering.
When the woman was upon him, his face turned scarlet.
"Come with me, young man!" she ordered fiercely, motioning with her hand.
Harry handed Neville's Remembrall to Hermione whose face was etched with fright. He then moved to McGonagall's side and the two headed for the castle, Harry still holding his broomstick in his hand.
As they moved through various corridors, most likely in the direction of Dumbledore's office where the Headmaster would official expel him, his head buzzed in an attempt to come up with some valid excuse for his behavior. Harry felt embarrassed, guilty, and sad all at once. He couldn't believe that he would actually get expelled from the wizarding school...on only his second day! He could already imagine the gleeful look on Uncle Vernon's face while picking up his crazy nephew at King's Cross for failing at the silly magical school before he could properly begin. And the thought of having to return to Privet Drive under these circumstances made Harry's stomach churn.
This was a complete disaster. He felt like vomiting.
However, despite his rumination on his impending ejection, Harry was surprised that the professor said nothing to him. Knowing her to this point, he was amazed she didn't immediately lecture him on his unruly behavior and disdain for the rules. Nevertheless, her demeanor suggested a verbal thrashing the moment he landed in Dumbledore's office.
But to Harry's further surprise, instead of ascending the stairs to the Headmaster, McGonagall walked straight to Flitwick's class. Motioning to Harry to remain at the door, she stepped inside.
"Professor? Can I borrow Wood for a minute?" she asked the small man standing on a pile of books behind his desk.
Harry gulped. He had no idea he would receive corporal punishment as well as expulsion!
This was turning into a nightmare!
A moment later, McGonagall returned from the classroom with a student next to her - a tall, burly-looking chap with short-cropped brown hair and a pleasant demeanor.
"Wood, I have found you a Seeker!" she uttered in excitement, her face lighting up and a huge smile of pride breaking across her face while peering at Harry. The eleven-year-old was gobsmacked.
"This is Harry Potter," she continued, "Harry, this is Oliver Wood, the Quidditch team captain for Gryffindor."
There it was again. Harry remembered some students in the Great Hall going on about something called "Quidditch", but he had no idea what they were talking about. And the next mention he heard of it was Madam Hooch's threat to expel anyone using their broomstick. But by now he guessed that it was some sort of sport like football.
And apparently, they used broomsticks!
"Nice to meet you, Harry," the fifth-year spoke with a Scottish lilt and a pleasant smile.
"Nice…to meet you too," Harry muttered, still blown away by this whole episode.
"Wood, you should have seen it! This young man is a natural! He caught Mr. Longbottom's Remembrall without so much as a scratch on him!"
Professor McGonagall had not expressed emotion quite like Harry saw it now and it boggled his mind.
"And he's the right size too," Oliver added with an approving look. Harry could tell the young man was trying to contain his own excitement.
Harry's curiosity was piqued.
"Excuse me, but what exactly is a Seeker?" he asked.
The professor and Wood exchanged amused looks. Wood then leaned down and placed his hand on Harry's shoulder.
"A Seeker is a very important team member in Quidditch, Harry. I can tell you all about it at our first practice tomorrow, if you can attend."
The boy glanced at McGonagall to see yet again a rare smile from her beaming back at him.
"Sure, that would be great," he replied, still not quite understanding but recognizing this Quidditch business was very important to the two people standing before him.
"Excellent!" McGonagall uttered while clasping her hands together, "thank you, Wood."
"Thank you, professor," the Gryffindor Captain replied, "see you later, Harry."
He threw the boy a nod and smile and then returned to class. McGonagall turned back to Harry.
"Now, this way Potter. We have much to discuss…"
~HP~
That evening, after going to bed, Harry once more stared up at the ceiling of his four-poster. But this time he felt neither exhausted nor shell-shocked. Instead, he felt like his whole body was glowing. The idea of being a Seeker on the Gryffindor Quidditch team was exhilarating and yet scary at the same time. But he couldn't wait until the first Gryffindor practice the next day - he couldn't wait to fly on a broom again. Of all he had experienced at Hogwarts thus far, Flying Broomstick Lessons was the absolute coolest class...and bloody fun too!
The boy with the lightning-shaped scar lay there for a while longer, pondering it all. He then fell asleep and dreamed of soaring like an eagle through the clouds.