His first weekend at Hogwarts passed in a haze of gold, and Harry loved it. He did manage to get his homework done, but it was a close thing when Draco kept wandering outside to enjoy the weather and explore the quidditch pitch, walk around the whole lake to inspect every little rock and creak along the way, and then spend the hours in which the sun cast long shadows across the expansive school grounds sitting high up in the pitch seating and explaining more about his favorite sport.
Draco wasn't super forthcoming with details about himself that didn't entail school or quidditch, but he seemed genuinely relaxed for the first time since getting to the school and so Harry had no problems with sitting and listening and imagining what flying would be like from this high up. Sunday was spent in a lot of the same way, although they added exploring bits of the castle to their list of accomplishments too. Harry was really starting to like the paintings that could talk and while Draco got bored in five minutes, Harry knew he could probably spend hours talking to the people who'd lived hundreds of years ago like the middle ages was only yesterday and never get tired of it.
They'd run into Peeves and let's just say Harry was not a fan—the poltergeist had taken to calling him 'Harry Pooper' and Draco got pegged with a simple 'Bad Snake' that seemed to have affected him way more than a schoolyard taunt from a childish poltergeist should've. He hid it well though and once they'd gotten free of the annoying creature he'd bounced back, but Harry had noticed.
He also noticed when Monday came around and Draco was suddenly a lot more tense and less chatty than he'd been for the past two days. Blaise made up for it by now seeming to willingly accept Harry's presence at their table and even between classes, and the guy truly was a chatter box. Somehow they could make it from the Great Hall to the other end of the castle and Blaise never once take a breath, and still somehow not say a single damn thing of substance. On the other end of the spectrum, Nott hadn't said a single word so far and Harry was actively trying to catch him saying something now but so far only caught him when professor Flitwick had called on him specifically and he was forced to give an answer.
He even said less than Neville, and honestly that was an accomplishment.
Draco's sudden lack of enthusiasm was kind of obvious; now it wasn't just them wandering the school grounds with the occasional odd look tossed their way from some stray student also exploring the grounds. Weekdays meant the Great Hall was full at mealtimes and the hallways jam packed between classes as people bustled about to get to their next session. Not even mentioning classes themselves where depending on the crowd you were essentially just stuck in a room with people looking at you—and judgmentally or not, it got on your nerves quickly.
Harry got used to it rather efficiently, but the looks he got were mostly the you're Harry Potter kind of thing, not the why are you betraying our house kind of thing. Not that he didn't get some of those latter looks, especially from upper years and especially right after being with Draco and the Slytherin then having walked out of the room.
People seemed more confident to say something or give him an obvious look when he was alone, and either gave him a wide berth while Draco was around, or he was sufficiently distracted by Draco to just not notice their dirty looks in the first place. When he was alone though, he definitely noticed quite a bit more.
And that was just Gryffindors and the occasional Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw giving him the stink eye. Harry knew for a fact that as soon as Draco walked away from him, he too was getting some filthy looks and particularly barbed comments shot his way—and Slytherin wasn't popular in the wider school, not to mention Slytherin itself was probably twice as vicious to one of its own than any Gryffindor could hope to be against their supposed 'arch enemy'. Slytherins put up a united front in the face of the rest of the school, but he was starting to think behind closed doors they were very much an 'every man for themselves' kind of house where you sank or swim entirely based on how competent you were as an individual.
And Draco was alarmingly silent in the moments Harry attempted to drop some hints and have a real conversation about what he was going through. He wanted to be an ally, but then again… he wasn't a Slytherin. There wasn't much he as a Gryffindor could do.
Operation fox couldn't come along fast enough, but the problem being that Harry still had no idea how to make it happen, and he could only sit there scratching his head until inspiration hit.
In the mean time this was just going to be their lives, but while Harry had Neville and the twins and about a dozen other people willing to talk to him and remain totally friendly despite his choices in friends, Draco seemed to be backing himself into a corner with how few people he was willing to talk to. And it infuriated him because he wanted to help, but Harry didn't have visibility to what was happening with Slytherin house, and none of them were spilling their inner workings—not even Blaise who was content to talk his ear off about whatever was on his mind that day, avoided any and all comments about how the school or his house was handling Draco's friendship with a Gryffindor.
Blaise seemed to be immune to Slytherin gossip, which only made Harry even more suspicious, but he gave up for now to instead be thankful Draco had a least one ally in his own house at the moment.
That was, until Draco started getting snippy himself.
Harry wasn't shocked this cactus of a boy chose to get prickly when he was upset or felt cornered, but he didn't much appreciate being at the receiving end of that biting sarcasm he usually reserved for Blaise. He tried extremely hard to give Draco a pass for his souring mood since it was kind of obvious and also sort of Harry's own fault, but… his patience was faked and a skill he'd perfected over several years, not actually natural for him. And it took quite a bit out of him not to take the bait and come back at Draco's ever-increasingly bitter comments with something just as dark and bitter as the spoiled brat could even imagine.
Years of biting his tongue in front of the Dursleys' ire was the only thing that got him through the week, honestly.
And by the time Thursday lunch was ending, he was sorely missing his gold-tinted weekend and wondering just how badly he'd underestimated this Slytherin vs Gryffindor thing. He was tense and Neville was in hysterics that the Remembrall he'd gotten that morning was telling him he forgot something and he couldn't remember what it was. Also he'd lost it twice already, and Hermione had tried to "help" find it and made it very much worse for all involved.
Harry wanted to pinch the bridge of his nose in exasperation. It was only the second week people!
Luckily (or unluckily depending on your perspective on the event) it all came to a head in their first flying lesson that afternoon.
000
"How is that possible?"
Neville paused as if wondering if this was a joke before smiling in amusement. "Ah…magic?"
Harry made a face. "Of course it is. Are we ever going to get to the point in our education where we learn how magic, not just… because magic." He complained lightly with a dramatic wave of his hand. Neville smiled more widely as his pouting.
"I'm not sure. 'Because magic' seems to pacify most people."
"Most people is not me." He huffed, kicking at a stone on the ground as they walked down the field towards the quidditch pitch. They were learning to fly today, and even his annoyance in lack of answers about Neville's description of his fantastical, magical garden back home couldn't dampen his spirits.
Not even as he saw Draco walking with the rest of his year Slytherins several meters ahead down the path and not looking back at them once.
Okay, that dampened his mood a little bit, but he steadfastly ignored it for the time being. McGonagall's implication that flying was dangerous probably meant he should keep his wits about him for this.
Besides, Neville looked a little green around the gills at the prospect, so chatting with him to get his mind off their oncoming class what probably a better use of time than wondering how he was to fix a hundreds-year-old rivalry as an eleven-year-old. He was probably going to have plenty of time to worry about that not on his first day learning to fly.
"Is that a muggle band?" Neville interrupted his thoughts by asking, and Harry blinked once before realizing he was talking about his shirt. Flying was a free-dress period and while most didn't bother running up to change between their last class and this one, Harry had jumped at the chance to get out of the boring black robes like he did every day. He'd opted for a quarter-sleeve, deep red shirt with the band logo a black and clashing pink. He had admittedly listened to a couple of their songs before getting to Hogwarts and didn't hate them; didn't love them, but didn't hate them. He'd half bought these things to try and bond with muggleborns however it was pleasantly surprising it caught the curiosity of at least one pureblood too.
"Yes! I admit I'm am not fully familiar on their actual music but I liked the color." He grinned, Neville nodding along to that. Neville had a very enjoyable habit of asking about something he was wearing, like his loud colors and the shiny things he wore in his hair baffled, yet intrigued the quiet blond.
Harry found a surprisingly lack of attention was given to his odd outfit choices--probably because people were worried about the fact he as Harry Potter and apparently famous over what he was wearing, and if wasn't like he hadn't seen some purebloods sporting some weird outfits either. He had a feeling a lot of wizards had no idea what muggles wore but instead wore whatever muggle clothing they came across for the fun of it.
"Neville… dude this is a problem." They turned at Seamus' voice behind them, both he and Dean smiling wryly—with a white-clouded Remembrall in his hand.
"S-sorry!" Neville squeaked, quickly taking it back with a flush to his face.
Make that three times, Harry sighed, at least thankful it was Seamus to pick it up rather than Hermione this time.
"It's no problem," Seamus laughed it off while Harry patted the blond's arm gently.
"I think that thing is maybe more stress than it's worth. If you've forgotten something, it'll turn up eventually right? No need to worry about what you've forgotten in the moment, I'd think."
"But Gran gave it to me…" Neville mumbled slowly, fidgeting with the ball in his hands, his shoulders slumped. "She's kinda scary but she means well… and she never actually gives presents other than birthday and holidays."
Harry smiled widely. "Maybe she misses you then." Blue eyes snapped up to him, going wide. "I mean, this is the first time you've been away from home for a long time, right? If giving a gift is so out of character then it's probably because she's thinking of you—or worrying at least, like grandmothers do." He tried to make his tone lighthearted, but Neville ducked his head with eyes glistening a bit.
Seamus, bless him, not only noticed of the moment Neville was having, but took mercy and changed the subject gently.
"Excited to fly then Harry? We've only drilled the rules of the game into you by now but you've never actually flown right?"
"Nope! And yeah I'm super excited—Draco showed me the pitch of the weekend and it looks amazing!"
"I've only ever played football but quidditch as a sport sounds amazing; and actually flying!? I'll race ya' to see who can stay on the broom longest, Harry." Dean joked too, and Harry grinned at him.
"You're so on—get ready to lose!"
"And what will we be betting on today gentlemen?" Seamus grinned as the field they were going to be practicing on finally came into view.
"You and your betting… fine, then how about transfiguration notes?" Dean suggested far too innocently, causing Harry's red flags to go up.
"Transfiguration notes? What about them?" He demanded.
"If I win you lend me your notes on our next transfiguration class. I mean, it's only been two weeks but everyone in our year knows you're good at that class already." He grinned, and Harry narrowed his eyes—Blaise's presumptuous face filling his mind's eyes.
"No deal—I'd need something just as good in return if I win then and no offense but what were you planning to bet? Your charms notes?"
"Brutal," Dean complained while Seamus burst out laughing—and even Neville had to bite his lip to keep from chuckling. Dean had unfortunately fallen asleep in their first charms class this week and gotten a rude awakening when Seamus had inadvertently blown up the twig they'd been practicing on. Him falling feet over head in his chair with a startled screech and nearly crushing Flitwick was not something they'd be letting him forget anytime soon. "Well what do you want in exchange then?"
Harry made a show of tapping his chin trying to think, before he realized that he actually had no idea. Dean had nothing he wanted and maybe he was hanging out with the Slytherins too much, but something about that struck him as odd.
"Everyone settle down!" A woman with severe grey hair and intense golden eyes caught their attention and they automatically moved to gather around her.
"How about just bragging rights for now?" Harry copped out, but Dean didn't seem to mind as he gave a silent thumbs up as Madam Hooch introduced herself.
Harry's first impression of Madam Hooch was that she and McGonagall must be related, but he didn't have time even consider plotting to get on her good side before she was lining them up in two lines facing each other, a rather suspect looking broom on the ground beside each of them as she waltzed up and down the line citing the rules of this class and how important it was they listen to her or they'd immediately be expelled.
But then, as she finished her mini speech and turned to face them, she actually broke a smile. "Alright, put your dominant hand out over the broom and in a strong voice, say 'up'."
"Wait, shouldn't there be more on the actual, you know, how to fly bit besides just 'do it'?" Harry blinked, and by Neville's pale face beside him, he wasn't the only one thinking this.
But, no one paid his question any heed and everyone else was already commanding their brooms to jump up into their hands with various levels of success; not even Hermione was questioning it so… Harry gave a weary sigh and put his hand out. Honestly, this school…
"Up!" And low and behold, a broom was suddenly in his hand. He blinked at it in surprise, only half expecting that to have actually worked.
Okay, magic is wicked cool.
Pleased with himself he looked around the class, most of the Slytherins were waiting patiently with their brooms already in-hand and the few others who Harry had guessed were purebloods seemed to have confirmed this for him by also being experts at this already. As he watched, several others finally got their wiggling brooms on the ground to lift shakily into the air and reached out their hands to grab it—one or two stragglers still had defiant brooms on the ground and one person's broom hadn't even twitched.
Neville's face melted in embarrassment and frustration.
"Hey," Harry caught his attention and nudged his shoulder with a kind smile. "You don't even want to fly, right? I'm pretty magic is smart enough to know that much, so it doesn't want to fly either. It's not about you."
Neville didn't respond but ducked his head again to manually bend down and pick up his broom as Madam Hooch waltzed by already telling them to mount their brooms for the next step and ignoring those who hadn't figured out the 'up' command yet. Rather rude, but then again maybe those who were meant to have their feet on the ground should really stay there for their own safety.
Giving up on Neville's issues for now, Harry mounted his own broom—eavesdropping as Madam Hooch corrected Draco's grip from a couple people down from him and trying not to grin as he planned to use that against him later—and corrected his position according to what everyone else around him was doing. It felt super awkward, but the purebloods (ahem, Slytherins) seemed to be the epitome of comfortable and regal, perched on their household cleaning appliances.
Harry wanted to roll his eyes but was distracted by the command to give it a shot and hover a couple feet in the air and suddenly his pulsed picked up in excitement. Pushing off the grass and imagining himself lifting off the ground…
He felt weightless, his heart hammering like thunder in his cheat and head, his stomach flipping in butterflies as he got taller and then the weird disorientation of getting taller turned into the feeling of flying and he just…
He felt totally breathless when his feet hit the ground again—it took everything in him not to just take off into the sky because… because he could and that feeling was wonderful. He wanted it again more than he'd ever wanted anything; wanted it like hunger and thirst and sleep.
To be free.
Only the threat of expulsion shook him out of the euphoria and, grudgingly, he lowered himself back to the ground. But he was already itching to try it again, waiting for the class to end so he could get a broom and run down to the pitch with Draco and test it all out and—and—!
"Mr. Longbottom!"
Hooch's voice snapped him out of his daze and Harry realized with no small amount of horror that Neville's feet were at his eyelevel beside him and rapidly rising out of view and his head snapped back in surprise—one look at his friend's face and he knew Neville was not in control of the broom beneath and he was utterly paralyzed by fear.
"Neville!" He shouted in warning, but the blond just tensed even more and went higher—too high now, dangerously high—and Harry felt his own stomach bottom out in fear for his friend, nearing panic at how hard Neville himself must be panicking.
"I—I can't—I didn't-!" He stuttered, face going pale as he was now too high to just tilt off the broom to escape— and then the thing started bucking.
"Mr. Longbottom get back here!" Hooch commanded in a scold as if she couldn't see the boy had no control at all, and something inside of Harry snapped at the sheer audacity of it all.
There were a thousand things he could've said to her in anger and fear for Neville, but none of them would save his friend so before he got himself expelled by yelling at a teacher, he automatically kicked off the ground on the broom he was still mounted on.
In an exhilarating heartbeat that he would've enjoyed way more if he wasn't so panicked, he was by Neville's side and ducking and weaving as the rouge broom bucked him here and there, Neville's cry of fear and nausea at the sudden movements breaking his heart.
"Neville! Just—calm a bit, just hold on and tilt yourself forward to the broom to slow it down!"
"I—I—!" Neville clearly attempted just that, but then the broom took off like a bullet into the air—more importantly, directly towards the castle behind them.
"Oh sh-" Harry took off without even thinking, panicking and suddenly it felt like adrenaline made everything clear and he pressed forward to urge his broom faster and faster still and—
—and he was gaining and then all of a sudden he was side-by-side and didn't even have time to look at Neville or panic about what a stupid thing this was to do because he just reached out and grabbed the front end of Neville's broom and very awkwardly fell off his broom to forcefully drag the rouge stick earthwards again. It was an awkward grip and he felt his heart lodge into his throat as the weightlessness of flying his own broom disappeared and then both of them were tumbling to the ground with an unhelpful broomstick between them. Neville screamed and it was all Harry could do to hold onto the broom handle with one hand in a death grip, and fist the other into Neville's robes for dear life.
The ground came up to meet them fast, and it was a sheer miracle his grip on the broom was just enough for him to forcefully command to it to do its bludgering job and FLY for Christ's sake and it stopped mid-air in its intended floating position just about twenty feet from the ground. Still way too high and as it lifted he was whipped around forcefully, his shoulder screaming in pain as an abrupt reminder that holding onto both the only thing keeping them airborne and Neville's now free-falling body was a bad idea. He only held on long enough to stop Neville's momentum dead before he couldn't hold the broom anymore from the force of it and slipped—two boys and a stupid broomstick going tumbling to the Earth in a free fall that was a lot less scary than it'd been three seconds ago.
Not that twenty feet didn't still feel like a long way and while Harry managed to right himself and land on his feet enough to roll with a bone-shaking thump, Neville hit chest first and there was a sickening crack that had Harry shaking off the stars he was seeing to scramble over to him.
"Neville! Oh my god Neville—are you okay!? What was that—did you break something!?"
He managed to get to him and pull him over onto his back, biting back a grimace as what was broken was immediately made clear by the ugly angle his wrist was pointed as it cradled against his chest.
"Oh no… I'm so sorry," He huffed, trying to comfort his friend but utterly failing as Neville was just crying quietly now—fear and pain and whatever else he must be going through too much and honestly Harry couldn't blame him.
"Mr. Longbottom!" Hooch was suddenly there, many footsteps of the rest of the class close behind her and honestly Harry had forgotten all about them for a second there. Not that Hooch was his favorite person by any means now and he glared at the back of her head as she brushed him aside to help Neville to his feet.
"Poor dear, a broken wrist…" She tutted like caring about her student after he got hurt would win her any points back in Harry's mind, and he glared harder, just barely biting his tongue. She lifted her head to address the rest of the class. "I'm taking Mr. Longbottom to the infirmary; everyone will keep two feet on the ground or you'll be expelled faster than you can say quidditch." She commanded them all, dragging poor Neville away as he tried to stifled his tears now that he realized the whole class was watching him and not quite being able to.
Harry wanted to say something, wanted to be the one to walk him there, but he couldn't. First of all he was only half sure where the infirmary was and Neville needed to get there asap, not suffer through him wandering around half lost. Second, Neville seemed incredibly humiliated on top of terrified and in pain, and Harry sensed his presence would not be welcome.
It pissed him off to an unbelievable degree, that nothing he did seemed to be enough to help his friends. First Draco, his first friend ever much less in the magical world, and now Neville, who he'd become fiercely protective of out of nowhere and now being this helpless drove him insane.
And to top it all off, Hooch was now on his list and she would be paying for being such a piss poor teacher if he had anything to do with it. McGonagall had warned him day-one about brooms being dangerous, yet the very teacher who was supposed to educate them on it seemed to give zero snitches about actually being safe while flying. And Neville had paid for her mistake, and that was unforgivable.
Had he flattened himself on the ground or flown off into the abyss by accident, he wouldn't have a problem. But it wasn't him who got hurt, it was Neville, and that could not stand.
Harry seethed in molten rage as he stood where they left him, watching the door Hooch and Neville had disappeared through long after they'd gone, too furious for words and absolutely at a loss of what to do about it. And he had no idea how long he'd stayed there because time seemed to melt in on the heat of his frustration.
"-Malfoy! Ron you heard what they said—get back here!"
Hermione's shrill voice finally penetrated his internal temper tantrum and Draco's name being called forced him to turn his head, and he felt his jaw drop open in shock at what he saw.
Draco quaffling Malfoy and Ronald dunderhead Weasley—on their brooms.
Midair.
With Neville's Remembrall clutched in Ron's pudgy hand and both their faces in a now-familiar sneer that Harry was getting sick and tired of seeing. But then, it hit him.
Neville's Remembrall.
Something inside of his brain snapped with an audible crack, and the feeling left his hands and feet cold as adrenaline started kicking in harder than even when he was free falling—or maybe it just hadn't stopped, and he was losing his mind from his body working double-time in fear and anger and rage on a deceptively peaceful, sunny, Thursday afternoon.
"If you want it so bad—go get it!" Ron shouted and then he was officially dead to him because Harry would never be able to forgive him for winding back and chucking the glass ball into the air.
Draco made an attempt to chase it but it was glass, and as soon as it left Ron's hand the smoke inside it turned transparent. As it streaked at a high speed against the clear blue sky it seemed to just disappear, and the Malfoy heir seemed to lose sight of it quickly.
For the second time today, Harry's body went rouge and he was running full-out across the grass before he even recognized what he was doing, mentally calculating where it was going to come down and forcing his body to run faster than he'd ever run away from Dudley's gang before. Dudley wasn't fast after all, but Harry could run miles without much effort thanks to his practice at it in the past couple years and while he'd never done it before, for a hundred meters with as much adrenaline in his veins as he currently had, he could run as fast as he needed to.
He didn't know how he could keep track of the nearly invisible target, nor did he know how he managed to move that quickly, but he was only a few meters short when it fell in front of him, and he dove for it. Miraculously, his hand-eye coordination was better than even he thought it was, because it landed safely in his hand even while he took a nasty tumble from the speed he'd been running and the angle he'd flung himself at in order to catch it. He ended face-up on the grass, panting as his lungs violently protested the sudden exertion so soon after a near-death experience, and he just lay there trying to take all the sensory information in and utterly failing…
And then, when the blood pumping in his ears stopped deafening him… he heard arguing in the distance.
Familiar voices arguing.
And oh yeah, he was pissed.
He was on his feet in a second, stumbling a bit as his body protested all he'd just been through and knowing he was going to feel that sprint and the fall before it tomorrow morning, but for now he only had two targets on his mind and ignored his body's protests as he marched across the grass field towards them. They were on the ground now, which was good… he couldn't throttle them if they were still in the air.
He never knew what people meant about the term blinding fury, and even now he wasn't blind; he was still alarmingly calm on the outside and could see where everyone was standing in groups around the two arguing boys, varying degrees of annoyed and worried and amused on their faces, with what felt like painfully intense clarity. He even saw Nott catch sight of him and watched his blue eyes go wide at whatever he saw.
He supposed 'blinding fury' meant more that whatever consequences or reasons held you back in a normal conversation suddenly disappeared, falling away like leaves on a tree during a windy autumn day. Or ripping off their branches during a September hurricane.
He felt something inside of him break loose, and suddenly it was all he could think about. The rage, the frustration, the audacity…
No more.
He refused to be helpless and do nothing, not when if felt like he was about to explode from this feeling.
Ron and Draco were still exchanging barbs and getting in each other's face, but for the life of him Harry neither heard nor cared what they were saying. As he passed by in a storm of wrath and ire, he ripped the broom Blaise still had in his hand from the tall Slytherin's grasp and simultaneously tossed the Remembrall he still had at Hermione, who was the closest Gryffindor to him who first noticed his sudden re-entry into their class. She caught it in surprise the same moment Blaise made a startled noise, but that was all they could do before Harry wound up the broom behind him like a baseball bat without breaking stride.
CRACK!
"Bloody hell!" Ron howled in pain, collapsing to his knees immediately and clutching the top of his head in agony from being beamed in the head with a wooden stick. Harry was half sure people in Hogsmeade had heard that crack of it both hitting his head and the wood giving way against his skull by the way the whole class—all houses alike—flinched in sympathy pain.
"Ha!" Draco crowed triumphantly at the red head on the ground, and given that the broom in his hand was now in two pieces and useless as a blunt weapon, Harry tossed it over his shoulder as he strode past the keening lion on the ground and wound up one more—this time with his fist.
"Oof," Blaise grimaced, all of Slytherin wincing as well as Draco's head snapped back from the force of the right hook to the jaw and also landing on the grass, clutching it immediately and whipping his head back up to blink in wild betrayal and surprise at the red head above him.
Harry had no sympathy for either of them, and gave a rather dramatic inhale—but hey, he was going to need the air…
He breathed in.
"ARE YOU ACTUALLY STUPID!?"
The entire field was dead silent in the aftermath of his shout, both Draco and Ron freezing solid and shock at their classmate glaring down at them, and everyone else just watching with jaws slightly agape and too stunned/horrified to do much more besides stare and/or lean back from the scene in alarm.
Harry continued, uninterrupted.
"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!? SHE CLEARLY SAID YOU'D BE EXPELLED IF YOU GOT ON THAT STUPID BROOM AND YOU'VE ONLY BEEN HERE TWO WEEKS--WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING!? IF YOU GOT YOUR STUPID ASS EXPELLED AND LEFT ME HERE ALONE I'D TRACK YOU DOWN AND KILL YOU MYSELF—NO STUPID BROOM STUNTS NECESSARY!" He directed most of that at Draco, before spinning around to barrel down on Ron who shunk into the ground in surprise and wide-eyed fear/pain.
"AND YOU! YOU'RE ABSOLUTELY STUPID IF YOU THINK IT'S OKAY TO GO AROUND CHUCKING OTHER PEOPLE'S PROPERTY AROUND LIKE A LUNATIC. THAT WAS NEVILLE'S YOU ABSOLUTE LOON AND IF YOU GO MESSING WITH HIM OR HIS STUFF AGAIN I WILL END YOU WEASLEY, AM I PERFECTLY CLEAR!? WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU TWO!? WE'RE ALL YEAR MATES SO GET OVER YOUR OWN DAMN SELVES BEFORE I LOSE MY MARBLES ON THE BOTH OF YOU AND TRUST ME I DON'T NEED MAGIC TO BEAT YOUR IDIOTIC ASSES."
He both figuratively and literally exploded in their faces; unbeknownst to him, that snapping sound he vaguely half-heard in the back of his head was actually his magic cracking under the force of extreme stress, and it unleashed itself in the form of an intense heat wave that crackled the once-green grass around them into slightly crispier, browning lawn. His anger and rage not only felt unbearably hot while trapped inside of him and demanding an outlet, but it also felt hot to literally everyone standing within five meters of him.
By the time he finished yelling, other than the two idiots on the ground, everyone had quickly backed up—some only taking a neat step back in alarm, others quickly evacuating the zone the heatwave touched, and some rightly cautious Slytherins were all the way back by the castle by the time he was blinking past his haze and panting tiredly from the afternoon's ordeal.
He ignored everyone else and glowered down at the two in front of him, who both flinched automatically. He crossed his arms over his chest, still infuriated but the red hot fury quickly becoming at least a but more controllable now that he'd gotten some of it out of his system.
"Morons. Honestly, what's wrong with you two!?"
They could only gape at him, even as he stood there awaiting an answer.
Actually, pretty much everyone was staring at him now, the field eerily silent.
Until…
"Ahem… Mr. Potter."
He felt his anger cool it a bit as he paled, turning and blinking widely at none other than Professor McGonagall, who was in the doorway to the school a bit a ways away, observing the scene in front of her with the killer poker face she was known for. She wasn't the only one who jumped—apparently many had been so wrapped up in his temper tantrum that not even the Slytherins or more observant Ravenclaws has even sensed her arrival until she'd spoken.
Crap. I'm dead.
McGonagall gave nothing away though as she nodded to the two boys on the ground, then met his gaze sternly. "I see you've taken it upon yourself to reprimand these two."
Draco and Ron had the decency to flinch at her tone, and Harry wasn't feeling charitable enough to pity them. Also, he figured he was in trouble too and was selfish enough to be more worried about himself at that point.
"Mr. Weasley, Mr. Malfoy, detention with me for the next week. Mr. Potter, come with me."
Wait… what?
000
"Seeker?"
"It was an amazing catch. A glass ball is harder than a snitch in a lot of ways and he wasn't even on a broom." Seamus was even more enthusiastic about it than Harry himself when he's spilled the news at dinner that night.
"And you kind of caught Neville which proves you can at least fly too. She must have faith you can put the two together." Dean offered diplomatically, which Harry appreciated.
"I hope so, I really did like flying and it's cool I get to do it a year early." He agreed, still rattled from today's events but feeling a bit jittery and dazed—mostly aftershocks from the adrenaline of it all but also in intense relief he hadn't been expelled or even reprimanded for attacking two students and breaking a school broom. "I'd be more upset she was treating me special because of my last name but I get the feeling she just really likes quidditch and wants to win. I could probably be a poltergeist and she wouldn't care so long as I could play."
Both boys snickered at that… McGonagall was practically preening at the teacher's table now which was a weird look on her and many people noticed. She'd told him to keep it quiet (he was supposed to be a 'secret weapon' or something for the start of the season) but really she was giving it away herself by being so out of character.
Harry still wasn't sure how he really felt about being voluntold that he was going to be on the quidditch team, but since as McGonagall had introduce him to Wood he'd been 100% sure he was going to be expelled or at least given detention for the rest of his days at Hogwarts, the turn of events was enough of a relief to get him to agree to anything just not to be in trouble. Also, his reasoning was true in that McGonagall really hadn't treated him special at all prior to that, and the manic gleam in her eye when talking about quidditch was a lot like Seamus', and Dean's when they talked football, so he kind of got it.
Also, he realized it meant he would be flying quite a bit and have a legitimate excuse to do it nearly year-round now, and he already decided he loved flying. Even the near-death flying he'd done with Neville… it was exhilarating and kind of addicting. Even if it was favoritism and people would talk about him being the youngest seeker in a century or whatever, much less if they said it was linked to his being the Boy Who Lived, if he got to fly again then he just didn't care.
Just then, he spotted Neville entering the Great Hall and waved him over immediately, the blond ducking his head but with a tiny smile on his face rather than the tears he'd left in. It unwound something tight and ugly in Harry's chest and he relaxed fully for the first time in what felt like hours when Neville slipped onto the bench beside him and gave one of his very earnest, hesitant smiles.
"Hi, Harry… thanks for trying to catch me." He seemed very genuine grateful, and still a bit embarrassed by it giving the pink on his cheeks.
"No worries! Are you alright? How's your wrist?" He picked up Neville's wrist himself to inspect, being extremely gentle until he realized there wasn't even a bruise there, although the blond let him do it contentedly.
"All healed—Madam Pomfrey's good at what she does, if not a bit scary."
"That's amazing; magical medicine is truly a miracle." He was actually very stunned at the total lack of evidence of what was a pretty gnarly injury, before grinning up at him reassuringly. "How's the nerves though? Still interested in learning to fly?"
"Ah, no… I'm good keeping both my feet on the ground." Neville shrugged, but seemed better than he had earlier for some reason. "I heard what you did for me, too… Hermione told me when she gave back my Remembrall. And everyone's talking about how you're the youngest seeker in a century now." He smiled hesitantly again, almost teasingly as if he knew how being "famous" irritated him, and Harry wanted to be annoyed but Neville was the one who'd brought it up so all he could do was give a playful grimace.
"I just want to fly, none of that." He waved it off quickly. "But it's good you're okay. The ball is okay and all that?"
"Yep!" He slipped it out of his pocket to hold it up as proof that it was still perfectly undamaged but frowned as the smoke immediately turned red under his touch. "Still don't know what I've forgotten though…"
Harry just put his hand over it to push it back down and shot him a wink. "I'm sure it'll turn up, whatever it is." Neville considered that for a moment before smiling slightly and returning it to his pocket. Harry wasted no time in grabbing his plate and loading it up for him happily . "Sit and eat something! You almost died, that has to make you hungry!"
"Not sure that's how it works." Came a hum from across from them.
"Shut up Dean, the guy needs treacle tart after that."
"Right, right…"
"Also, Harry," Seamus looked up as if he'd just remembered something and caught their attention. He just grinned wickedly though. "Remind me to never to piss you off."
Harry was a bit surprised by his face getting hot at that, even more so when everyone dissolved into a fit of laughter—even Neville started laughing quietly and he put the plate down quickly to do his best Blaise impersonation by sticking his nose in the air.
"Okay, I lost my temper, ha ha…"
"That's quite the temper though. Gryffindor loves that you punched a Malfoy and the Slytherins are in hysterics that Weasley still has a lump on his head--they say Pomfrey said they should have their bruises healed on their own since it wasn't induced by magic. They're relatively harmless aside from being a bit sore, and they deserved it for acting like children." Seamus explained cheerily—far too cheerily, in Harry's opinion.
"I heard her say that to them too, in the hospital wing," Neville seconded that with a sly grin far too devious for the kind blond. Harry wanted to be both proud and indignant and settled for adding more food to Neville's plate than he knew his friend could eat as vengeance.
He did feel a bit guilty for marking up Draco's unnaturally perfect complexion with a huge black, blue, and green bruise, but he deserved it for being a child. He didn't feel all that guilty for giving Ron a mild concussion though, and wondered what that said about him.
"So if it's not magic I can get away with whacking people. Excellent." He nodded to himself, both Dean and Seamus' faces going sober in a second at that.
"No—no, no, bad logic!" They back tracked quickly, and they all dissolved into laughter that time as dinner carried on as usual to close out a particularly eventful day.
If Harry spared the Slytherin table no spare glances that night as his own form of revenge, the Gryffindors around him didn't notice.