The first few weeks went by in a blur. Harry was still terrible at potions, which was rather embarrassing as he has technically graduated. However, every other subject was insanely easy. Charms was a piece of cake, transfiguration was like clicking his fingers and Defence Against the Dark Arts he could've done with his eyes closed. The best thing was being surrounded by familiar, though younger, faces. He couldn't even bring himself to be mad at the Slytherins. Malfoy wasn't bothering him nearly as much as he used to, and none of the others had actually joined Voldemort yet. Life was calm for the first time, since, well, forever.
Defence Against the Dark Arts, or DADA for short, was pretty much the worst subject in Harry's opinion. It was even worse than potions. Quirrell was, quite honestly, a terrible teacher, not counting the fact he was sneaking the Dark Lord into the school to help him return to power. All they did was theory, never any practical work, and Harry had already learnt everything they were taught. He had tried to curse Quirrell's turban a few times when he wasn't looking, but every single time, he turned his head. Harry was starting to think that it might be worse than Lockhart's classes. Lockhart. Harry would have to deal with him all over again next year.
First years weren't allowed brooms, so Harry couldn't even go flying to relieve stress. Flying... They had their first broom lesson today. If Harry remembered correctly, it was where he got invited to play for the Gryffindor quidditch team and become the youngest seeker of the century. Though, the reason was quite foggy.
That morning, the post arrived. Ron had a letter from his parents, Hermione down the table also seemed to have a letter, and Neville, who was sitting across from Harry and Ron, had a small parcel. He opened it up excitedly to find a remembrall.
"It's a remembrall!" he explained to Ron and Dean who looked confused. "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..." Neville's face fell as the ball turned scarlet, "it means you've forgotten something."
Just as Neville was trying to remember what he had forgotten, Malfoy came over. He hadn't been bothering Harry per se, but that didn't mean he wasn't still a right prick to everyone else.
"Hello Malfoy," Harry said, hoping to avoid any conflict between his friends. Not that Malfoy was his friend. He just didn't know what to call him now that they weren't enemies.
"Potter." Malfoy sneered, "I was just coming to see what Longbottom had received in the post," he said innocently, picking the ball up off the table and inspecting it closely.
"He got a remembrall if you must know. Could I have it?"
"I suppose," Malfoy drawled, handing it over to Harry. "It suits him well, don't you think? Pity it doesn't tell him what he lost though." He laughed with Crabbe and Goyle.
"Ha. Ha." Harry said sarcastically, "really great of you to come to check up on us Malfoy, I know you care so much, but it would be great if you could leave now. Bye."
"Hm. And just so you know, I don't care." Malfoy said and then strode away, his cronies following along.
"I don't know how you put up with him," started Ron, "He's a right git in my books."
"Yeah well, I'd rather us be civil than have to worry about starting a fight every two seconds." Responded Harry, thinking of the old days. "Also I don't put up with him," Harry added.
"You two may not fight, but it doesn't mean the rest of us don't."
Harry did think it was strange he was the only Gryffindor Malfoy was remotely civil with, but figured it was because he never said anything rude directly to his face.
Later that day, they had their first flying lesson, which was both fortunate and unfortunate for Harry. Fortunate because he missed flying, but unfortunate because he didn't remember how to land himself a spot on the quidditch team. Madam Hooch's whistle brought him out of his thoughts and he looked up to see her marching down the path, to where the first years stood, eager and nervous for their first flying lesson.
"Well, what are you all waiting for? Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up." Once they were all in place, Madam Hooch continued, "Stick your right hand out over the broom" everyone did as they were told, "and say, 'Up!'"
All the first years stood by their brooms and yelled 'UP!' just as Madam Hooch had instructed. The broom flew straight into Harry's hand, as well as some others, and Harry felt instant relief. Just touching a broom calmed his nerves. He looked around, and same as before Hermione was one of the last to grab hold of her broom.
"You just need to say it more fiercely. You can do it," Harry said to Hermione with a smile upon his face. Hermione smiled back nervously and exclaimed 'Up!' to her broom. It slowly rose into her hand. Flying must be about the only thing she couldn't learn through reading.
As Madam Hooch instructed them to sit on their brooms, Harry's memory rushed in. Neville falling off his broom, Malfoy taking Neville's remembrall, Harry following Malfoy on his broom and being spotted by Professor McGonagall. A thud from Harry's left told him that it was all happening again and he began to panic slightly, he didn't want to do anything that could potentially ruin the peace he had worked so hard to create between himself and Malfoy.
Harry watched as Neville got taken off the field to the hospital wing by Madam Hooch and saw Malfoy reach for the remembrall.
"Hey Malfoy," Harry yelled, "Whatcha doing with that? I thought you didn't care?" Malfoy looked over to see who was speaking to him and saw it was Harry.
"I don't, Potter." He replied defensively, "I was just checking it out. I didn't get that good of a look before."
"Malfoy! Leave it alone!" A voice called out and Harry turned around to see Ron marching towards them. A small smile formed on Malfoy's lips and Harry watched as, almost in slow motion, Malfoy's arm tensed up. Knowing what would happen next, Harry gripped his broom tight, waiting for the right moment.
"You want it, Weasley?" Malfoy taunted, "Then go get it." His arm pulled back then flung it forward, releasing the ball high into the air. Immediately Harry jumped onto his broom and raced after it, praying that Professor McGonagall was watching. He watched as the ball peaked, before hurtling towards the floor, gravity pulling it down. Harry reached his hand out, and milliseconds before impact he grabbed it and pulled up, narrowly missing the ground. Right on cue, Professor McGonagall marched out, yelling his name.
"Mr Potter! Come with me!" Murmurs began to form in the group of first years, the louder ones coming from the Slytherins. Harry watched their faces, ranging from Hermione's in absolute shock; Ron's in awe and Malfoy's, something that Harry could not entirely read.
Harry followed Professor McGonagall down the twists and turns of the halls, fighting to keep down his grin. He searched McGonagall's face for any sign of what was going to happen, but she held a stern expression. Only when reaching the class that Oliver Wood would be in, did Harry notice the edge of her lips turn upwards. She rapped her knuckles sharply on the door and a few seconds later, Professor Flitwick's face was greeting them at the door.
"Hello Professor Flitwick," McGonagall said, "Could we please borrow Oliver for a second?" Flitwick turned around and gestured for Oliver to come to the door. Professor McGonagall did a little nod of the head, then turned and briskly walked down the hallway, expecting Harry and Oliver to follow. By the time they reached her office, Harry was finding it painful to hold his smile in, and felt like he was about to burst.
"Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Wood - I've found you a seeker".
Not being able to hold it anymore, Harry used his grin to show his excitement at this new position he was given, praying it also conveyed a look of shock.
"Are you serious, Professor?"
"Absolutely," said McGonagall crisply, "The boy's a natural. I've never seen anything like it. Was that your first time on a broomstick, Potter?"
Harry felt conflicted. No, it wasn't his first time, obviously, but how would he have been on a broom in the muggle world? Thinking it best to lie, Harry nodded.
"He caught the ball in his hand after a fifty-foot dive. Didn't even scratch himself. Charlie Weasley couldn't have done it."
Wood looked ecstatic.
"Ever seen a game of Quidditch, Potter?" he asked excitedly.
"Yep, plenty," Harry responded, happy to finally be getting parts of his old life back. He hadn't played Quidditch much after the war, but flying still held a special place in his heart.
"Well, tomorrow I want you up and out early in the morning, just you and me, and we'll give it a practice to see if you're as good as Professor says." Turning to Professor McGonagall he asked, "If he's a first-year he won't have his own broom. Something light and speedy would do. A Nimbus Two Thousand or a Cleensweep Seven, I'd say."
"I shall speak to Professor Dumbledore and see if we can bend the first-year rule. Heaven knows we need a better team than last year, I couldn't look Severus Snape in the face for weeks..." McGonagall peered sternly over her glasses at Harry.
"I want to hear you training hard, Potter, or I may change my mind about punishing you. Your father would have been proud," she said, and finally, Harry saw her smile, "he was an excellent Quidditch player himself."