"Good sky for flying lessons." Harry comments to himself as he looks up to the blue sky while heading to the next lesson with his housemates. "Hey Ron, I heard that you and your brothers played Quidditch a lot in summer, right? Did you plan on giving the school team a go?"

"First-Years can't bring their brooms, you remember? And the ones in my family can't compete with the current models."

"Skills matter more."

The clock hits three-thirty, and the Gryffindors have arrived to where they will learn how to fly with the Slytherins. The teacher, Madam Hooch, urges the kids to start standing next to the broomsticks lying on the ground, one for each. Harry takes a look at the broomsticks and, to his slight disappointment, sees them having reached the end of their ages as some have twigs sticking out at all angles. Though he can't ask for anything, budgets are a thing.

The teacher then instructs them to stick their hands over the brooms and shouts 'UP!' to get them up to the air. Harry's broom instantly jumps to his hand the moment he commands, and it's one of the only few that does so. Ones like Hermione's only move a bit, or Neville's doesn't even move. He has heard Malfoy bragging about his flying skills, and Harry believes it to be somewhat true because his broom is in his grasp. Though he and Ron have a good snicker when madam Hooch starts berating on how wrong the blondie is holding the broom wrong despite 'years of flying'.

When everyone has their hold on the broom properly (with Harry noticing how anxious Neville is), madam Hooch commands: "When I blow the whistle, kick off the ground hard. Keep yourself steady a few feet up, then lean forward slightly to come down. On my mark…"

Before the teacher can even count, the poor Longbottom has already kicked his legs and flown himself up like a busted cork from a shaken champagne. It happens too quickly that Harry isn't able to react, and before he knows it, the poor boy has already fallen off his broom and drops to the ground, emitting a crack sound clearly indicating broken bones.

The teacher's white face somehow turns even whiter as she examines Neville's body. "Broken wrist… okay dear, nothing too major. Up you go." She puts her arm under his unharmed one to support him standing up, as she turns her head to the rest of the class and warns: "Do not move while I bring him to the hospital wing!"

Everyone turns silent as they watch madam Hooch bringing Neville away. Ron then whispers to Harry: "You think he's going to be okay?"

"Given that he can still walk, yes." He whispers back. "Even if his bones snap, it would be easy to fix…"

"Did you see his face, the great lump!?" A certain boy laughs, followed quickly by his house students.

"Shut up, Malfoy. Nobody asks you."

"Oh, sticking up for Longbottom? Never thought you'd like fat little crybabies, Parvati."

The laughter turns louder, and Harry only shakes his head in disapproval. Not to say that he and Anonydeath have never made fun of others' pain, but those were mostly just scratches that were made by dumb decisions. Neville was clearly just too nervous, so he has no reasons to joke about it.

"Hey, what is that on the ground?" The blondie then picks something round on the ground and raises it up in the air. "Is this the stupid thing his Gran sent him?"

"This again, Malfoy?" Harry speaks up, and the others stop talking. "Give it here."

"Hm… how about leaving it somewhere for the Longbottom to pick up…" The blondie smirks dangerously. "How about up a tree?"

"Typical."

He tries his best to try throwing his arm towards the item as fast as possible, but Malfoy is one step ahead and leaps on his broomstick and hovers to the level of the topmost branch of the oak tree. The blondie taunts: "Come and get it, Potter."

"Oh you just asked for it." The boy reaches for the broomstick…

"Don't do it!" Hermione shouts, causing him to temporarily turn to the girl while his hand is clutching on the broomstick. "Madam Hooch said to not move…"

"Oh please, Hermione." While he understands the girl's intention (and he knows she just wants everything to go peacefully), he's not one to turn down a challenge. "She just doesn't want another student to injure themselves. And I don't intend to go meet madam Pomfrey today."

Before the bushy-haired girl can say any further, Harry gets on the broom and kicks himself off the ground, and within seconds he's already facing the bully, who widens his eyes in surprise at how fast Harry learns to fly. "Now, where were we? Give it here." He repeats his request.

"Oh yeah, and if I don't?"

"Do you truly think I'm not used to flying?" To demonstrate that, Harry launches himself to Malfoy, who only gets out of the way in time. The glasses boy quickly turns the broom back so both face each other, and due to a habit, when he turns the broom, Harry uses the momentum to throw his body up and lands both his feet on the broom to stand straight, causing the students below to screams and gasp, with Ron roaring in triumph. "Last chance, mate. Just you and me, no Crabbe or Goyle to interrupt."

The stunned look on Malfoy's face shows that he just also thinks of it. However, to Harry's slight surprise and amusement, the boy starts raising the Remembrall and aims it in a direction. "Try to catch it then!"

Ignoring that the Slytherin books it after throwing the ball, Harry lowers his body and uses his hand to turn the broomstick to the direction of the throw then leans towards, commanding the item to chase quickly after the ball. He keeps on the downward movement to follow the falling ball, and when the ball's about a foot off the ground, Harry catches it with one hand, while the other quickly pulls the broom up so he wouldn't crash. Stabilizing himself in the air, Harry looks at the glass ball and says to himself: "Neat, like a hoverboard then…"

"HARRY POTTER!" Taking his eyes off the ball, the boy looks to the voice to see a white-faced McGonagall running to him with widened eyes. Jumping off the broom, Harry stands the broom vertically as he watches his House Head stumbling in her words. "Never… in all my times… you could have broken your neck…"

"It's not that bad, Professor." The boy shrugs, his mind already making up ways to get out of the situation with minimal problems.

"Professor! It wasn't his fault…"

"I'm not talking to you, miss Patil."

"But Malfoy…"

"That's enough, mister Weasley. Mister Potter, follow me now." The professor orders, and doesn't wait for his answer before walking away.

"Heh, guess I'm just unlucky." The boy shrugs again, earning him gasps of surprise at how nonchalant he takes the situation. He then gives his broom to Ron and says: "Tell madam Hooch that Professor McGonagall requested my attention, do you?" He winks and starts following the Professor, ignoring the shout from his friends and the triumphant faces of the bully trio.

After a few marble staircases, with both saying no words between the way, McGonagall finally stops before the door of a classroom and knocks on it. She then opens the door, pokes her head in and asks: "Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, can I borrow Wood for a moment?"

'Wood? The Fifth Year?' There's only one Wood he remembers meeting, and that's from the frequent morning run. 'Why would she need Wood for my problem?'

A few seconds later, the student walks out with a confused face, and it intensifies when he sees Harry.

"Follow me, you two." The duo quickly obeys the order and enters another classroom. During the time McGonagall shoo Peeves away from the empty room, the burly student gives Harry a gaze of 'What happened?' and the younger boy just shrugs again.

Once everything's silenced, the Professor closes the door behind them and faces the two. "Potter, this is Oliver Wood. I suppose you two have met?" The duo nod. "Wood, you are correct about him being a good Seeker."

"...Yes!" His expression quickly changes to excitement. "I knew I made the right call!"

"He's a natural." The Professor is barely holding her own feelings. "Potter, was that your first time on a broomstick?"

"Uhm… technically, Professor." Inwardly, the boy's guessing that he's not at all being in trouble…

You ALMOST were in trouble.

'Oh don't ruin it Dad.'

"He managed to catch the thing in his hand after a fifty-foot dive. And he didn't even sit on the broom, just crouching on it with just his feet. Charlie Weasley couldn't have done risky moves like that."

"Oh, I can see that!" Wood now turns his attention to Harry. "His body's just built for a Seeker! Light, speedy, with a tricky side on him too! We will have to give him a decent broom…"

"Excuse me." The boy interrupts. The teacher and the other student look at him curiously. "Just to make it clear… Professor McGonagall, are you suggesting that I enter the Quidditch House Team?"

"Of course." She turns poker-face, though Harry suspects it's just for formality. "I would like to hear you training hard, or I may change my mind about punishing you."

"...Oh now I feel bad." Her eyes slightly narrow when Harry cheekily smiles. "And just after I suggested Ron join the team."

Hearing that causes the eyes to blink, then the Professor's expression breaks into a smile, seeing how the boy still thinks of his friend first despite the current situation. "I shall speak to the Headmaster to see if we can't bend the First-Year rule."

"You mean the rule about joining the Quidditch team, Professor?"

"She meant the rule of you not being able to bring your broom."

"We can't use the school's broomsticks?"

"That… Well, technically you are allowed." Wood says while trying to not widen his already big smile.

"Then that's it, right? I can just pick one and play with it. No need to bend the rules."

"...I will ask, just in case." The Professor's smile turns softer. "Your father would have been proud. He was an excellent Quidditch player himself."

"As I heard from Uncle Sirius and Uncle Lupin."

"You are joking." It's dinnertime, and Harry secretly tells Ron about the conversation. The latter has ignored his food and focuses entirely on the story. "A Seeker? First-Years have never… you must be the youngest house player in…"

"A century." Harry chuckles as he finishes the sentence. "Sometimes opportunity just comes. You are joining next year, you hear me?"

"Are you kidding? The other roles are still good enough."

"Why not? Having back-ups is always good. Anyway, I will start training next week, but Wood wants it to be secret."

"Oh you won't hear me bragging about it. Win against Slytherins and laugh at Malfoy's face will you?"

"You bet I will."

"Having the last meal, Potter?" Just in time for the devil to come. "When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?"

"...Really? Muggles?" Harry bursts out laughing, angering the bully trio. "How about you own your damn business? I suggest you try fighting more on your own, without those buddies of yours."

"I'd take you on anytime on my own. Tonight, if you want, Wizard's duel. Wands only, no contact…"

"Nah, you are boring."

"Boring? You think Wizard's duels are boring?"

"If what you described is true, then yes." Harry blatantly answers, earning another interesting look from the others, and further anger from the trio. "Seriously, just firing spells at each other? No thrills whatsoever." Holding his cup with his palm, Harry moves the juice like how you move wine in a glass and continues: "With how bratty you are, I doubt you know what 'classy' even means."

There's a clear 'OOOHHH!' from a certain twin that echoes through the hall. Malfoy's face now turns red, but he's smart enough to pull his friends away and back to their seats, not wanting to create further problems.

"Heh." Taking a sip from the cup to finish the act, Harry puts his cup down and says: "Guess that's a no then."

"Nice work there!" The twin then approaches and talks to him in a low tone. "Wood told us. We're on the team too, Beaters."

"We're winning the Cup this year for sure. Wood basically skipped when he told us that his request had been heard."

"Anyway, we're going now. And keep classy, ay?"

"To you too." Harry raises his hand first for a fist bump, and the twin returns the gesture with eagerness before leaving.

"...Are Wizards duels that bad to you?"

"It's just to kick Malfoy away. I'm sure real duels are much more intense."

"Just what kind of 'intense' have you seen?"

"Imagine fireworks literally being aimed at you. Anyway, let's go and check on Neville after finishing dinner. That fall might be serious if he's not leaving the wing yet."

"Congrats, Harry. I knew you could join the team sooner or later." Sirius grins from the other side of the mirror as the two talk with each other when the others are already sleeping. "But I was surprised that it was that soon. I thought you might join next year."

"Well things happened." The boy grins back. "Any advice for the next generation?"

"Ignore everything and keep focus on the Golden Snitch. And try aiming the Bludgers to your Beaters if they chase you, your teammates will handle them."

"Gotcha." The boy then turns serious as he asks: "Do you know Professor Snape?"

"Ah… yes, I do. We were in the same years. Why?"

"What was he like back then? I think he hates me or something when he mostly focuses on me in his classes."

"That… We have history with him."

"And he carried the grudge to me?"

"That's something I'm not sure about. Snape is somewhat petty, but I don't think it's wise to be rude to someone who has nothing to do with James' mistakes."

"I'm his son."

"My point still stands, though."

"Guess I have to ask him directly then… Do you know if Professor Quirrell is somewhat like Professor Snape?"

"Oh, those two are completely opposite. I think you already knew it…"

"But there's something wrong with him. My scar hurt a bit when I saw him. And even Dad confirmed it."

"...Something wrong, huh?" Sirius rubs his chin in wonder.

"So you know nothing?"

"I'm afraid so. If I find anything, I will tell you, Meanwhile, be careful."

"Like the dog on the third-floor?"

"Of course you know about it!" The seriousness breaks as the older wizard slaps his leg and laughs. "Did you try poking it?"

"Oh no I wouldn't dare. Only saw what it was and then returned to my daily routine. Also I won't do anything."

"That's good. Don't want to see you flipping the school up that soon." The two share another laugh. "Well goodnight, and good luck on your Quidditch training."

"Thank you, and good night."

After shutting down the call, Sirius puts away the mirror and starts thinking if he has heard more of Quirrell's stories. He only knew the guy as a timid person, and he's not that obsessed with Dark Arts… oh is he?

The Animagus quickly adds the information into the letter he's writing and sends it to Dumbledore. If the God has confirmed it, then Harry's scar might help him a lot more than the old wizard has anticipated.