No further mention of the incident was made as the two students and teacher made their way back to school, and it was with immense satisfaction that Neville found himself happy- his new wands made casting spells much easier. As a matter of fact, he alongside Harry and Manny discovered that they could exchange their wands- either of them- and it wouldn't pose a problem in casting spells- something that harkened back to the prophecy. Our dual-sided protagonist kept that quiet though, not wanting to scare Neville so early.

Apart from that, the first-year Gryffindors thought themselves lucky they wouldn't have to endure the Slytherins' constant haranguing- which was led by Draco Malfoy- for more than two hours of Potions once a week. Or at least, they didn't until they spotted a notice pinned up in the Gryffindor common room that made everyone apart from Harry, Neville and Hermione groan. Flying lessons would be starting that upcoming Thursday- and Gryffindor and Slytherin would be learning together.

"I'd hoped we'd have flying lessons with the Ravens" Harry muttered darkly to Neville and Hermione. "We'dve been able to form deeper friendships there, at least!" He was bummed too, because he felt he'd like flying.

"You don't know that you'll make a fool of yourself," Ron suddenly said loudly but reasonably in response to Dean Thomas, who looked a bit nervous about flying. "Anyway, I know Malfoy's always going on about how good he is at Quidditch, but I bet that's all talk."

Malfoy certainly did talk about flying a lot. He complained loudly about first years never getting on the House Quidditch teams and told long, boastful stories that always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping Muggles in helicopters. Bullshit, in Manny's opinion- the Statute of Secrecy violation wouldn't be something even the Malfoys would be able to escape without notice, or public outcry.

He wasn't the only one, though: the way Seamus Finnigan told it, he'd spent most of his childhood zooming around the countryside on his broomstick- reasonable, if a bit risky. Even Ron would tell anyone who'd listen about the time he'd almost hit a hang glider on Charlie's old broom. Everyone from wizarding families talked about Quidditch constantly, especially in the leadup to the flying classes.

The study group was happy to calm every other nervous soul down. They convened that Wednesday to cover broom-flying, too, in a deviation from the norm.

Ron had already had a big argument with Dean about soccer. Ron couldn't see what was exciting about a game with only one ball where no one was allowed to fly. Manny had caught Ron prodding Dean's poster of the West Ham soccer team, trying to make the players move. He had made to reasonably explain to Ron that it was not going to happen that way, but Dean had caught Ron as well.

Neville had never been on a broomstick in his life, because his grandmother had never let him near one. Due to his clumsiness, probably, though Harry and Neville had been working on it, since his clumsiness was caused by the paranoia and fear induced by his relatives. He'd been better since they'd started working on it, though.

Hermione was really nervous about flying. This was something you couldn't learn by heart out of a book- not that she hadn't tried. At breakfast that Thursday she bored them all stupid with flying tips she'd gotten out of a library book called Quidditch Through the Ages. Everybody was very pleased when Hermione's lecture was interrupted by the arrival of the mail. Harry figured he should've staged an intervention, but couldn't.

He was broken out of his thoughts when a barn owl brought Neville a small package from his grandmother. He opened it excitedly and showed them a glass ball the size of a large marble, which seemed to be full of white smoke. "It's a Remembrall!" he explained. "Gran knows I forget things- this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red- oh . . ." His face fell, because the Remembrall had suddenly glowed scarlet, ". . . you've forgotten something . . ."

"Junk it." Manny took over and rebutted. "That thing's useless- unless you can remember what you forgot." Privately, Harry thought it was Augusta trying to remind Neville that he should be grateful to her for raising him. The charm that he detected on it, that made the ball always turn red till he proclaims his gratitude to her certainly seemed to support that theory.

Neville was futilely trying to remember what he'd forgotten when Draco Malfoy, who was passing the Gryffindor table, snatched the Remembrall out of his hand. Manny snatched it back and handed it back to Neville, glaring at Malfoy. That was apparently enough for him to skulk off.

So it was that at 3:30 in the afternoon, the Gryffindors hurried down the front steps onto the grounds for their first flying lesson. It was a clear, breezy day, and the grass rippled under their feet as they marched down the sloping lawns toward a smooth, flat lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the Forbidden Forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance. The Slytherins were already there, and so were twenty broom sticks lying in neat lines on the ground. Harry had heard Fred and George Weasley complain about the school brooms, saying that some of them started to vibrate if flown too high, or always flew slightly to the left. Needless to say, he hadn't liked that bit of info.

And then their teacher, who had short, grey hair, and yellow eyes like a hawk, descended on them from the entrance of the castle. "Hello to you all, I'm Madam Rolanda Hooch. I'll be your flying instructor." She said in a stern tone, leaving no room for small talk. "Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

Harry grimaced down at his broom. It was old and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles. "Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say 'Up!'" No one disobeyed. Harry's broom jumped into his hand at once, but it was one of the few that did. Hermione's had simply rolled over on the ground, and Neville's had risen a bit, thanks to his own self-confidence.

Perhaps brooms, like horses, could tell when you were afraid, Manny surmised; there was a quaver in Hermione's voice that said only too clearly that she wanted to keep her feet on the ground. Those unlucky ones were forced to pick it up. Harry didn't look too kindly on the lucky Slytherins who were laughing at those whose brooms didn't rise.

Madam Hooch then went up to each of them and showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips. Malfoy had an emphatic reaction to being told he'd done it wrong for years. When she was done, she walked back up to the head of the two rows and held her silver whistle in her hand.

"When I blow my whistle, like so," she demonstrated the signal, "you kick off from the ground, hard, keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle- three- two- one-" and the whistle came through.

And everyone did as told. But Neville pushed off a bit too hard- his nerves acting up at the wrong moment, they're working on it. "Come back, boy!" she shouted, but Neville was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle- twelve feet- twenty feet. Harry saw him nervously look down at the ground falling away, saw him slip sideways off the broom and WHAM! A thud and a nasty crack and Neville lay face down on the grass in a heap. His broomstick was still rising higher and higher, and started to drift lazily toward the forbidden forest and out of sight, before Madam Hooch summoned it back, after which she finally looked over at Neville.

"Broken wrist," Harry heard her mutter. "Come on, boy — it's all right, up you get." She turned to the rest of the class. "None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear." Neville, his face tear-streaked but stoic, clutching his wrist, hobbled off with Madam Hooch, who had her arm around him. Harry decided he'd visit him after class, since Hermione looked like she needed comfort at the moment, given she had latched onto him.

No sooner were they out of earshot than Malfoy burst into laughter. "Did you see his face, the great lump?" Most of the other Slytherins joined in. "Shut up, Malfoy," snapped Parvati Patil. "Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" said Pansy Parkinson, a hard-faced Slytherin girl. "Never thought you'd like fat little cry babies, Parvati." Parvati looked incensed, and so did Harry. Manny was wondering if their plans for Malfoy were worth it, but then both of them remembered why those plans were there.

"Look!" said Malfoy, darting forward and snatching something out of the grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him." The Remembrall glittered in the sun as he held it up. "Give that here, Malfoy," said Harry quietly. Everyone stopped talking to watch. Malfoy smiled nastily. "I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find- how about… up a tree?"

"Give it here!" Harry yelled, but Malfoy the git had leapt onto his broomstick and taken off. He hadn't been lying about flying well. Hovering level with the topmost branches of an oak he called, "Come and get it, Potter!" Not one to let that taunt go unchallenged, Harry grabbed his broom. And while Hermione would've normally looked to stop Harry, she remembered the game she'd been playing with him lately, and finally understood the point of said game, especially the latest round of that game.

Flashback: Last night

"Picture Yourself, Hermione" Manny had shot out as she was preparing to go up to bed. She was exasperated at this point, with this Picture Yourself game he was playing.

"We have a gunman moving through a road, shooting blindly. Given the corpses that have already piled on the ground, he's really notorious. And then comes a bobby, returning fire at the gunman. You're under safe cover, and watch as it happens. Suddenly, seizing the opportunity while he was reloading, the gunman fires at the bobby, whose gun flies at you as he falls, bleeding out. As the gunman keeps firing, you have the gun in your hand, and he's unaware of you, thus giving you a clean shot. You do also have an escape path." He finishes the rundown of the scene he's painting. "What do you do?"

Hermione was torn. She had been raised to respect authority, and given that that means police as well, she couldn't decide what she'd do. Previous such rounds had also given her the same conflict, where she was put between a rock and a hard place. But this time, she had a simple out, or so she thought.

"I'd use my escape path and bring in more cops." She answered smugly.

"And risk further casualties?" Manny counters. This put her back at square one.

After further thought, she had another answer. "I'd hand the gun back to the copper and point out the advantage." But this didn't cut it either. "He's bleeding out, Hermione."

Neville, who'd been there for all these rounds of Picture Yourself as well, raised his voice for the first time. "If it were me… and I had a clear shot, I'd take it." he said, unsure at first, but becoming steel strong at the same time. He wasn't ignorant of Normal culture, or Normal stuff, unlike most of his peers, since his grandmother, in one of her wiser moments, had taken it upon herself to teach him about the Normal world… though it was more because she wanted him comfortable in that world in case he was a Squib…

"And if you were condemned as a criminal?" Manny asked. "I'd ask them two things, Harry. Can they honestly say they'd be able to hold onto their morals in a fight for their life? Because that situation is what it is. And can they deny that I acted in self defence for myself and others? Because by law, I can claim that." Neville admirably responded. "Of course, were this less dangerous, I'd try not to kill, but the gunman's clearly gone 'round the bend and is a danger to everyone." He also clarified his stance.

Manny simply smiled at him, and said… "Good man. But can you live with the consequences yourself?" in a complete shock for Hermione. With that, the two men bade her good night and went up, Manny urging both of them to sleep on it.

Flashback end

And as she'd slept on it, she come to the conclusion that it was a problem of her morals and the authority worship she'd been raised to espouse above all else clashing. These scenarios she had to Picture Herself in all made her confront all of her authority-respecting nature, which further made her conflicted that Harry of all people was asking her to do so. She wasn't certain that he was right, though.

Which is why she didn't stop him as he rode up. It wouldn'tve worked anyway, since blood was pounding in his ears. He mounted the broom and kicked hard against the ground and up, up he soared; air rushed through his hair, and his robes whipped out behind him- and in a rush of fierce joy he realized he was a natural thrill-seeker- which was wonderful. He pulled his broomstick up a little to take it even higher, and heard screams and gasps of girls back on the ground and an admiring whoop from Ron Weasley. He turned his broomstick sharply to face a stunned Malfoy in midair.

"Give it here," Harry called, "or I'll knock you off that broom!" "Oh, yeah?" said Malfoy, trying to sneer, but looking worried. Harry knew, instinctively, what to do. He leaned forward and grasped the broom tightly in both hands, and it shot toward Malfoy like a javelin. Malfoy only just got out of the way in time; Harry made a sharp about-face and held the broom steady. A few people below were clapping. "No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy," Harry called.

The same thought seemed to have struck Malfoy. "Catch it if you can, then!" he shouted, and he threw the glass ball high into the air and streaked back toward the ground. Harry saw, in adrenaline induced slow-motion, the ball rise up in the air and then start to fall. He leaned forward and pointed his broom handle down- next second he was gathering speed in a steep dive, racing the ball- wind whistled in his ears, mingled with the screams of people watching- he stretched out his hand- a foot from the ground he caught it, just in time to pull his broom straight, and he hopped off the rickety thing, Remembrall clutched safely in his fist and a wide grin on his face.

"HARRY POTTER!" Only for it to be wiped off his face. Professor McGonagall was running toward them. He got to his feet. " Never- in all my time at Hogwarts-" Professor McGonagall was almost speechless with shock, and her glasses flashed furiously, "- how dare you- might have broken your neck-"

Which was how he was dragged off by her before everyone, who shut down all arguments from fellow Lions. Harry caught sight of Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle's triumphant faces as he left, walking in Professor McGonagall's wake as she strode toward the castle, his wrist in her hand. He wasn't worried about being expelled, Dumbledore would prevent that. "Professor, why isn't Mr. Malfoy joining us?" He asked.

McGonagall stopped dead in the middle of the hallway and turned to him. "Can I assume that no one was supposed to be in the air?" She asked faintly, belatedly noting that Madam Hooch was absent on the field.

"Yes." was his reply. This stumped her. "She had to take Neville to the infirmary since he suffered an accident." he explained.

"Well, in that case… Twenty points from both Slytherin and Gryffindor for disobeying a teacher's orders." She stated before dragging him again. Up the front steps, up the marble staircase inside, and still McGonagall didn't say a word more to him. She wrenched open doors and marched along corridors with Harry unceremoniously dragged behind her, stopping outside a classroom. She opened the door and poked her head inside. "Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment?" Wood? thought Harry, amused; was Wood a cane she was going to use on him? But Wood turned out to be a person, a burly fifth-year boy who came out of Flitwick's class looking confused.

"Follow me, you two," said Professor McGonagall, and they marched on up the corridor, Wood looking curiously at Harry. "In here." Professor McGonagall pointed them into a classroom that was empty except for Peeves, who was busy writing rude words on the blackboard. "Out, Peeves!" she barked. Peeves threw the chalk into a bin, which clanged loudly, and he swooped out cursing. Professor McGonagall slammed the door behind him and turned to face the two boys. "Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Wood… I've found you a Seeker." Wood's expression changed from puzzlement to delight. "Are you serious, Professor?" "Absolutely," said Professor McGonagall crisply. "The boy's a natural. I've never seen anything like it. Was that your first time on a broomstick, Potter?"

"Yes, but what's this about a Seeker?" He responded, acting flummoxed. She chose to ignore this. "He caught that thing in his hand after a fifty-foot dive. Didn't even scratch himself. Charlie Weasley couldn't have done it." she exulted to Oliver, who now looked like all his dreams had come true at once. "Ever seen a game of Quidditch, Potter?" he asked excitedly. "Wood's captain of the Gryffindor team," Professor McGonagall explained, like it should've been obvious.

"Nope, and I'm going to need an explanation right now, since it sounds like you're trying to shoehorn me into something I may not even want." He hard-countered. This shut Oliver, who looked to be teeming with analysis, up. Manny smiled from within Harry's mind. They knew of Quidditch in detail, of course, but no one knew he knew, which allowed him to craft an image of partial isolation and ignorance- perfect for fooling Dumblefuck.

Abashed, McGonagall explained. "Well, , Quidditch is a seven-player contact sport played between two teams. Each team has three Chasers, they handle a ball called a Quaffle. Two Beaters, who protect their teammates from two free balls of chaos called Bludgers. A Keeper, who protects the three goalposts, one of which the Quaffle must pass through after being thrown by the Chaser to score 10 points. And finally, a Seeker, who flies around to catch a tiny ball called the Golden Snitch to end the game and score 150 bonus points. Wood can give you the detailed rules later, though currently, the Gryffindor team only needs a Seeker."

Harry looked to be in deep thought… and then he answered. "First, if I were to accept this, shouldn't try-outs be held for this sort of thing? Second, wouldn't there normally be a restriction on who can apply?" He asked.

"No one was good enough in the try-outs." Wood despondently responded, though his spirits rose after that. "As for the rules, normally only second-year and up can do so, but given Mc- er, Professor McGonagall is vouching for you, I suppose she'll try convincing the Headmaster to bend that rule."

"Indeed, I shall speak to Professor Dumbledore and see if we can't bend the first-year rule. Heaven knows, we need a better team than last year. Flattened in that last match by Slytherin, I couldn't look Severus in the face for weeks. . . ."

McGonagall peered sternly over her glasses at Harry. "I want to hear you're training hard, Potter, or I may change my mind about punishing you."

"Contingent on it not infringing on academics, of course. And didn't you already punish me for what led to this?" He responded, unwilling to compromise on his academics for Quidditch. "Also, is there any requirement in grades for remaining on the team? I can't imagine that Quidditch is something so important that you neglect school for it…"

She nodded, then she suddenly smiled. "Your parents would have been proud," she said. "Your father was an excellent Quidditch player himself, and both of them were academically well-versed." Then she turned thoughtful. "That last one might be something to raise in the next staff meeting. Thank you for pointing it out, Potter."

That evening, at dinner, Harry was sitting at the Ravenclaw table with his friends, which now included Mandy Brocklehurst and Terry Boot. He even managed to form a friendship with the Patil Twins and second-year Cho Chang, and all of them currently have their jaws dropped. Harry had got to Neville at the Hospital wing, and managed to convince Madam Pomfrey, the insistent matron of the school to let him off.

"Keep it on the down-low, will you? It's a secret." Harry implored, having told them about being the youngest in a century to make a Quidditch Team.

The Weasley Twins had just entered the Hall, and spotting him, they hurried over to the Ravenclaw table.

"Well done," said George in a low voice. "Wood told us. We're on the team too — Beaters." "I tell you, we're going to win that Quidditch Cup for sure this year," said Fred. "We haven't won since Charlie left, but this year's team is going to be brilliant. You must be good, Harry, Wood was almost skipping when he told us." "Anyway, we've got to go, Lee Jordan reckons he's found a new secret passageway out of the school." "Bet it's that one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that we found in our first week. See you."

Though the twins had hardly left when Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle came up to taunt.

"Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?" "You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you," Harry replied coolly. There was of course nothing at all little about Crabbe and Goyle, but as the High Table was full of teachers, neither of them could do more than crack their knuckles and scowl. "I'd take you on anytime on my own," said Malfoy. "Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only- no contact. What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?"

Manny smirked, since everyone had heard what Malfoy had said. "You're on. Neville, be my second?" Manny asked. Neville nodded, more confident of his duelling abilities. "Who's yours?"

Malfoy looked at Crabbe and Goyle, sizing them up. "Crabbe," he said. "Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked." Saying so, Malfoy left, unaware and thus uncaring of the fact that he had majorly fucked up.

"Cho, kindly ask to meet Professor Flitwick privately after dinner- I'll join you in his office." Manny immediately asked Cho to do something for him.

"Alright, Harry. But is there a particular reason you want my Head of House?" she asked in reply.

"Well, a duel needs a referee, and Flitwick is the resident duelling champion…" Harry trailed off, with Cho, Hermione, Susan and the Patils staring at him slack-jawed at that assertion, having connected all the dots. With that, he finished up and left for his office, and Cho went up to the Professors' table to ask for a private meeting, under the pretext of doubts regarding choices for third-year electives.

Needless to say, Professor Flitwick was happy to set additional rules and be referee for this duel, after verifying that a duel had magically been sanctioned at the stated date and venue. There was a spell for detecting that kinda thing as well. They arranged to meet Professor Flitwick at the trophy room at midnight, and informed them that Malfoy himself had not set anyone else as referee. Naturally, they got a pass for the night.

And so it was that at 11:30 pm that night, Harry, Neville and Hermione, who volunteered as witness ("It'd be a nice experience, watching a wizard's duel", she had replied when her interest was questioned), walked out to the trophy cabinet. Just as they met Flitwick, however, one Argus Filch came about, ranting about students out of bed.

Harry and Manny were the only ones not surprised at the turn of events. They knew this was Malfoy's plan, after all. Still, Flitwick's incensed expression was priceless. He dismissed them, assuring them that none of them were in trouble. As they walked back, though, they mistimed a staircase, and landed on the forbidden corridor. Mrs. Norris, who wasn't aware of their permission to roam a bit to get back to their common room, had to be avoided. And where do they hide, bit in a locked room- Neville used the Unlocking charm. Peeves managed to distract an enraged Filch in his usual charming way, giving them a bit of leeway.

"He thinks this door is locked," Harry whispered. "I think we'll be okay — get off , Neville!" For Neville had been tugging on the sleeve of Harry's bathrobe for the last minute. "What?" Harry turned around — and saw, quite clearly, what. For a moment, he was sure he'd walked into a nightmare. Manny dismissed that notion, given head no access to Harry's dreams.

They weren't in a room, as he had supposed. They were in a corridor. The forbidden corridor on the third floor. And now they knew why it was forbidden. They were looking straight into the eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog that filled the whole space between ceiling and floor. It had three heads. Three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses, twitching and quivering in their direction; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs. It was standing quite still, all six eyes staring at them, and Harry knew that the only reason they weren't all already dead was that their sudden appearance had taken it by surprise, but it was quickly getting over that, there was no mistaking what those thunderous growls meant. Harry had taken a quick look around, noting the trapdoor, before acting scared.

Harry groped calmly for the doorknob- between Filch and danger, he'd take Filch. They fell backward- Harry slammed the door shut, and they ran, almost flying back down the corridor. Filch must have hurried off to look for them somewhere else, because they didn't see him anywhere, but they hardly cared — all they wanted to do was put as much space as possible between them and that monster. They didn't stop running until they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady on the seventh floor. Where they ignored the conversation starter and moved in after giving the password.

Once inside, the trio sat down, tired. And then the discussion began.

AN: SO! Harry here has his position as Seeker! Now that he has connections within Hufflepuff, he is gonna use that for his broom, but before that, there is Halloween!

Anyway, Read and Review! Flames go to the grill/barbecue!

Seiichi is Bonkers at the Races!