Harry was definitely happy that he and Hermione were both alive following the close encounter with the Troll. He was also happy that Hermione had worked through her shock and taken his monster problem so well. The only downside was that now she had questions.

So. Many. Questions.

"Is it actual electrical energy or does it generate heat? Or both?"

"I don't know, it's magic?"

"Have you tested the weight capacity of your bones while enhanced?"

"...no."

"How hot can you make the green fire? You can make green fire right?"

"Ummm, yes, but I don't know?"

"You said you can feel magical people's 'sparks'; can you identify individuals by their magical signature?"

"I guess? If I was familiar enough with it. I mainly just use it to watch for threats."

"Can you extend your healing factor to other people?"

"That… never even occurred to me."

"Can you fly?"

"Not without a broom, yet."

"Do you actually slow down time, or are you just simultaneously speeding up your mental perception and your body in tandem?"

"I… don't know."

"You really should, Harry."

...

Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.

"It's not that bad Harry. This is important! You have these stupidly powerful abilities and you've just been making it up as you go!"

Harry stopped hitting his head on the common room table and looked up at her. It was late and the only remaining students were some stragglers dozing on the couches on the far side of the room. Still, they kept their voices lowered as Hermione added to her endless notes on Harry's abilities.

"You know, you're lucky I have a 'stupidly powerful' healing ability, or my brain would have leaked out of my ears three hours ago."

Hermione gave him an unimpressed and slightly hurt look.

"I just think that-"

"I know, I know. Sorry. You're right, this is important. I've been playing defense for years, just doing the bare minimum when I should have been proactive in my training. I appreciate your help, really. I'm just being dramatic." Harry said, straightening up and stretching with a series of satisfying pops.

"That's probably not good for your back."

Harry grinned. "Supernatural healing factor. I doubt that I'm at high risk for arthritis."

Hermione couldn't help but smile back at him as he peered down at her notes.

It was weird, seeing his power laid bare in Hermione's neat and orderly script. All of the nuance and instinctive uses that he had come up with over the years, documented and picked apart by her razor-sharp mind. He could already see the benefits and resolved to be more efficient and creative with his magic rather than "just hitting things really hard in the face," as Hermione put it.

He was halfway through proofreading when Hermione suddenly gasped. He looked up at her just in time to get hit in the head with a textbook.

"The rat! You turned Ron's rat yellow! You sneaky insolent cheeky excuse for a-"

Harry cracked and cackled madly as he dodged the second swing with the book and decided that it was time to make a tactical retreat to the boys' dormitories.

...

Hermione froze in the middle of the hallway on the way to breakfast, her face going eerily blank as she stared off into the distance.

"You've been holding back. This whole time, you've just been doing the bare minimum to appease the professors..."

"Ummm… yes?" Harry said.

"You outscored me on every exam while you were holding back."

"Ah. Yes. Right."

Harry followed her warily, but her face just remained carefully empty until they made it to the Great Hall, and she got her coffee.

...

Despite his original misgivings, Harry decided that ultimately being forced to join the Gryffindor Quidditch team to escape the consequences of his previous unapproved flight was worth it. He soared high over the castle grounds, enjoying the crisp, cold breeze on his face as he escaped from the world. His magic spiraled around him as he let it flow, far enough away from anyone and anything to cause trouble. He may not be enthusiastic about the sport itself, but the freedom to fly without supervision was priceless.

He never got tired of flying.

Out of everything he had discovered since the letter arrived at Privet Drive, nothing beat this feeling. The freedom from earthly concerns, the peace and detachment. He never felt nearly as content as he did when he flew; not for Quidditch practice or during class, but like this. Just his thoughts and the open sky.

The only way it could have been better was if Hermione were here.

He leaned back on his broomstick and pondered his magic's connection to the magical focus beneath him. He was extremely pleased with the Nimbus 2000 that McGonagall ordered for him and was ecstatic that he was exempt from the traditional first year rule. Malfoy's face had been priceless. It channeled his magic and intent perfectly and was a steadfast companion for his frequent journeys to the heavens.

Despite that, Harry wished that he could fly under his own power. He would keep working at it, despite all of the books that he could find proclaiming it impossible. He did impossible things all the time. He just hadn't managed this particular one yet, even though it was the one that he wanted the most.

Harry leaned forward again and flexed his magic. His other favorite parts were the speed, the power, the exhilaration of flight. He pushed his power into the broom, connecting to the point that the Nimbus seemed to respond to his thoughts rather than his movements as it eagerly harmonized with his magic and-

Harry felt rather than heard the thudding boom as he exploded into motion. His magic tightened into an angry, swirling cocoon to keep the cold wind from damaging him excessively as he corkscrewed and twisted across the sky. He rounded the Quidditch pitch far below and rocketed back towards the castle. He pushed more and more of his power into the broom, and it accepted it flawlessly, accelerating and singing underneath him as he made it to the castle in mere seconds. He dipped and weaved through the spires of the ancient school, his magic guiding him as much as his eyes while he dove and spiraled through the air.

He pulled back and careened upwards, climbing and accelerating until he passed the wispy clouds, and the air grew thin. At his maximum speed he kicked off of his broom just like he had on his first flight, sailing through the empty sky until his momentum started to wane.

Harry briefly imagined himself with glorious wings of silver and gold, soaring through the heavens unaided and unimpeded. Powerful and free.

He shook off the strange vision and lazily flipped at the apex of his arc, plummeting back to earth. He reveled in the frigid wind against his face as he fell, gaining speed until he sighed inwardly and called his broom back to him, reclaiming control and speeding off across the grounds.

He had no idea how fast he was going, and he didn't care to test it. He was free.

...

"Olly, I feel like I have to bring you into the loop on something."

Oliver Wood floated over to Harry's position above the quidditch pitch. Practice was in full swing, Fred and George worked flawlessly through their bludger drills while the chasers worked on their passing at the other end of the pitch.

"Hey Potter, what's up? And I'd prefer it if you didn't call me Olly at practice. Or ever, really."

"As your unruly prisoner, blackmailed into indentured servitude under threat of expulsion, I feel that it is my duty to be overly familiar and irritate my long-suffering supervisor."

"I'm not even going to try and parse that. What do you want?" Oliver sighed.

"I should probably have told you sooner, but I know where the snitch is at all times and could feasibly catch it at any moment."

"…what?"

"It's a long story, but I looked it up and officially, utilizing magical sensory abilities like mage sight is not technically against the rules as long as you don't cast any spells before or during the match, or use a wand or other magical artifact."

"Are you saying that you have mage sight?"

"I'm not saying that I don't have mage sight."

...

The crowd cheered far below as Harry circled the pitch. He didn't go too high, but he didn't want to risk being caught by a stray bludger either. Not that it would really hurt, but it would be inconvenient. He idly wondered if he could see Hermione from up here. He did a lap of the pitch and actually managed to catch sight of Hagrid's enormous bulk in the stands. Harry was happy that he got to come and watch.

Harry's first Quidditch game was more boring than it seemed on the surface. He had strict orders from Oliver. Wait at least 5 minutes unless the other seeker seems to have spotted the snitch, then wait for them to score as many points as possible before catching the tiny golden ball. If they fell behind by more than 50 points, go ahead and catch it. Make sure the other seeker doesn't get it. Otherwise, wait for Oliver's signal. Easy peasy.

At least, it was easy until Harry felt a looming, ominous presence with his magic. He was allowing his power to subtly permeate the pitch, tracking the sparks of the other players and the enchantments on the balls. He kept it away from the stands just in case, but now he was under attack. He strengthened his magic as he felt another powerful aura slam into his, wrestling for control as it wormed its insidious fingers into the connection between his power and the broom underneath him.

The Nimbus kicked rebelliously before Harry managed to push the oppressive magic back. He threw more of his power into the contest, fighting an invisible battle in the sky as his magic swirled and raged against the intruder. In the brief moments of contact between their wandless, wordless magic, Harry's scar burned, and he got the distinct impression of malicious, glowing red eyes.

Quirrell.

Harry's mind raced. What was the professor playing at? Why was he making his move here? Dumbledore would be able to sense that something was wrong, but he rarely came to Quidditch games. Maybe that was all there was to it? Just an easy opportunity?

Harry's hidden duel continued as he tried to move lower, but his broom wasn't purely his to command anymore. It was a Herculean effort just to keep it level and controlled. Harry lost ground as the dark miasma threw itself against him with incredible force, making him grit his teeth as he was forced into a magical tug of war that he wasn't prepared for. Harry was starting to panic until he felt another presence, thin but strong cords of magic that felt protective and restraining. The spell slithered into the cracks of Quirrell's magic and pulled, dragging it back and letting Harry breathe enough that he could focus on the staff section of the stands.

Harry locked eyes with Quirrell as he frantically tried to think of a way out. The professor's expression was intense, brow furrowed, and jaw locked with focus. Harry swore that he saw a brief flash of red in his eyes before something else caught his attention. Snape was also standing stock still, staring up at him and muttering furiously.

Huh. Snape was helping him. I'll be damned, Harry thought.

Then Snape went up in flames.

...

"You set Snape on fire?"

"He was cursing you!" Hermione exclaimed.

"He was helping me; Quirrell was cursing me." Harry said, flopping down on the grass beside the lake.

"I... what? Quirrell?"

"Oops. I guess we didn't cover that during our Q&A session. Quirrell is totally evil. Didn't know that he was trying to kill me until today, but still."

Hermione took a deep breath and sat down next to him. Luckily, Quirrell was knocked over in the stampede following Snape's spontaneous combustion, so Harry was able to break free and quickly catch the snitch.

"You really need to stop doing this to me, Harry."

"Doing this to you? Out of the two of us, who was it that went rogue and set a teacher on fire?"

"I was trying to save you!" Hermione wailed quietly.

"You did succeed in that, so thank you. Really. I was probably toast even with Snape's help. He should have just set himself on fire in the first place and saved us both the trouble," Harry said.

Hermione groaned and leaned back against the cool grass next to him. They lay on the damp ground quietly for a moment before Hermione spoke up again.

"Please tell me next time. I can't help you if I don't know what's going on, and I was scared."

Harry looked over at her and nodded slowly. "I've been doing this alone for so long that it's hard to keep that in mind. It's not a good excuse, but I'm not used to anyone caring about me."

Harry couldn't quite identify the churning mess of emotions behind Hermione's eyes, so he contented himself with lying back and staring up at the cold November sky.

"Can you... do the thing?" Hermione's voice was soft.

Harry hummed in agreement and let his magic flow, not too far but just enough to completely saturate the area around them. He increased the intensity until a low green light leaked off of him and he heard Hermione sigh, relaxing into the earth beside him.

They stayed there in peaceful silence until the sun went down and it started to snow.

Notes:

Another chapter! Little bit more slice of life in this one, with a little bit more snark from Harry coming through. As always, still figuring out the whole writing thing, so feedback and criticism is welcome. Don't let your indentured servitude under threat of expulsion get you down. I don't own Harry Potter.