Harry, Ron, and Hermione stepped onto the grassy lawn where the flying lesson was set to take place. The field stretched wide, positioned away from the Forbidden Forest, with a clear view of the castle in the distance. Lined up neatly on the ground before them were around twenty brooms—old and well-used, their handles scuffed from years of student use.
Harry's sharp eyes scanned them, and he immediately remembered Sirius's complaints about Hogwarts' school brooms. Some vibrated uncontrollably at higher altitudes, others had a persistent leftward tilt, and a few had a nasty habit of refusing to descend when needed. He had a brief moment of sympathy for the students whose first experience with flying would be on one of these temperamental relics.
Most of the first-years had already gathered. The Slytherins stood on one side, the Gryffindors on the other, the Ravenclaw and the Hufflepuff seemed to have banded together. Hermione was shifting uncomfortably beside him, her fingers twitching slightly—probably resisting the urge to consult a book about proper flying techniques.
Ron, on the other hand, was practically bouncing on his heels. "Finally," he muttered under his breath. "I thought this day would never come."
Just then, Madam Hooch arrived, her short gray hair ruffled slightly by the breeze. Her sharp, hawk-like eyes surveyed the gathered students with an air of authority.
"Well? What are you all standing around for?" she barked. "Step up beside a broom. Quickly now!"
Harry, Ron, and Hermione each took their positions next to a broom. Harry gave his broom a critical glance, already half-expecting it to misbehave.
"Now, extend your right hand over your broom and say, Up!" Madam Hooch instructed.
"Up!" the class echoed in unison.
Harry's broom leapt instantly into his hand. He barely had to try. Ron's took a second before it hesitantly lifted off the ground and into his grasp.
Hermione, however, was struggling. Her broom merely twitched on the ground. She frowned, adjusting her stance before trying again. "Up!"
It wobbled slightly but remained where it was.
Across from them, Draco Malfoy's broom also shot into his hand immediately. He smirked at those who were struggling, especially at Neville, whose broom wasn't budging an inch.
"Typical," Malfoy muttered loud enough for everyone to hear. "Some of us are just natural fliers."
Harry rolled his eyes, ignoring him.
Once Madam Hooch was satisfied, she moved on to the next step. "Now, mount your brooms properly—yes, feet firmly on the ground, don't sit too far back. Grip the handle lightly but with control."
Hermione looked incredibly tense as she got into position, while Ron looked entirely at ease.
Madam Hooch continued, "On my whistle, you will push off the ground, hover a few feet, and come back down. No sudden movements, no flying off. Understood?"
A series of nervous nods followed.
She blew the whistle, and the students kicked off.
Harry felt the familiar rush of weightlessness as he lifted off the ground. It wasn't much—barely a few feet—but the ease of being airborne, even on a faulty broom, was exhilarating. Ron grinned at him from the side, floating steadily.
Then—
A sharp yelp tore through the air.
Neville's broom jerked beneath him, twisting and shuddering violently. His fingers clenched the handle in terror. Instead of hovering like the others, his broom shot upward in a rapid, erratic spiral.
"I—I can't control it!" Neville's voice was high with panic.
Madam Hooch's face paled. "Longbottom! Lean forward—steady—"
But the broom had a mind of its own. It whipped from side to side before suddenly rocketing forward in wild bursts.
Harry's instincts kicked in. His grip tightened around his broomstick.
"Potter, don't you dare—" Madam Hooch started, but Harry had already kicked off the ground.
The rush of wind blasted past his ears as he sped upward, his body automatically adjusting to the air currents. He reached Neville in seconds, dodging as the broom twitched violently again.
"Hang on!" Harry called over the wind.
Neville's wide, terrified eyes met his. "I—I can't—"
Neville's broom jolted again, throwing him sideways. Harry, who had now caught up to Neville, reached out his hand to grab him but failed as the broom jerked to the otherside. He weaved through the air to get closer to Neville.
Neville's broom decided to go into a barrel roll at the same moment, making him lose his grip. He tumbled off and started a rapid descent towards the ground, screaming at the top of his lungs. Reacting swiftly, Harry plunged into a steep dive, the wind rushing past him as he closed the gap. With nerves of steel, he extended his arm, fingers outstretched, and caught Neville's hand just inches above the grass.
As the ground approached rapidly, Harry executed a last-minute pull-up, bringing both of them out of the dive with heart-stopping precision. Although not enough precision since the broom was now holding up the load of two people.
His feet hit the grass in a stumbling halt, his knees bending to absorb the impact.
Neville tumbled onto the ground beside him, gasping but unharmed.
Behind them, Neville's rogue broom crashed into the dirt and snapped in two.
A stunned silence filled the field.
Then—
"POTTER!"
Madam Hooch's voice cracked through the air like a thunderclap. She stormed toward them, her expression a mixture of fury and disbelief.
Harry braced himself.
"WHAT IN MERLIN'S NAME WERE YOU THINKING? RECKLESS—UTTERLY RECKLESS—"
Harry exhaled sharply. "I had to. He was—"
"He saved me," Neville cut in, his voice still shaky. "If he hadn't, I—I don't know what would've happened."
Madam Hooch pinched the bridge of her nose, clearly fuming but at a loss for words. Finally, she let out a heavy sigh.
"You could've broken your necks. Both of you." She turned to Neville. "Are you hurt?"
Neville quickly shook his head.
Madam Hooch gave Harry a long, hard look before growling, "Stay put." She then spun on her heel, likely going to report the faulty broom.
The moment she was out of earshot, Ron let out a low whistle. "Bloody hell, Harry. That was brilliant."
Hermione, still looking pale, folded her arms. "That was dangerous!"
Harry ran a hand through his hair, still catching his breath. "Yeah, well, it worked, didn't it?"
From the corner of his eye, he caught Malfoy watching him with an unreadable expression. Whatever the Slytherin was thinking, one thing was clear—Harry Potter had just made an impression.
As the students were still processing what had just happened, a sharp, authoritative voice cut through the murmurs.
"HARRY POTTER!"
Harry turned, and there stood Professor McGonagall, her lips pressed into a thin line, eyes narrowed with a mixture of disbelief and something unreadable. He couldn't help it—his lips curled into a smile. He knew exactly what was about to happen here.
Here it comes. The epic moment in Hogwarts History.
Professor McGonagall was striding toward him with the speed and intensity of an oncoming storm. Her robes billowed behind her, her face pale with fury, and her glasses flashed ominously in the sunlight, "— how dare you — might have broken your neck — utter disregard for rules—"
Harry wisely schooled his expression into something more appropriate, though he was practically buzzing inside. This was it. This was the moment.
"Explain yourself." Her voice was clipped, firm.
Harry opened his mouth, but before he could speak, the other students jumped in.
"He saved Neville, Professor!"
"Neville's broom went mad—"
"Harry just swooped after him—"
"Dragged him right off before it crashed—"
McGonagall's gaze flickered toward Neville, who still sat on the ground, shaking slightly. Her lips pressed into a thin line.
"I see." She inhaled sharply before fixing Harry with a steely glare. "That still doesn't explain why you thought it was a good idea to disregard clear instructions and risk your neck flying after him!"
Harry straightened. "Because I had to, Professor." His voice was firm, unwavering. "Neville was going to get hurt. There wasn't time to think, only to act."
McGonagall's nostrils flared. For a moment, she seemed at war with herself. Then she exhaled sharply and turned toward the rest of the students.
"Twenty points to Gryffindor," she announced.
A stunned silence followed before the Gryffindors erupted in cheers. McGonagall, however, wasn't finished. "But," she added, her voice slicing through the noise, "you will still serve detention, Potter."
Harry barely suppressed his grin. Yeah hell lot of a detention this was going to be.
"Now," she continued briskly, "follow me."
She turned on her heel and marched off the field. Harry followed, biting back his excitement. This is it, he thought. This is where she takes me to Wood.
Harry walked behind Professor McGonagall with a stupid smile as he knew what was going to happen next. He made an effort to conceal his smile and maintain a poker face as he followed McGonagall through the castle. Harry had to almost run to keep up with her as she sweeped through the corridors.
Professor McGonagall stopped outside a classroom. She opened the door and poked her head inside. "Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment?"
Harry screamed with glee inside. He made it in the team. Oliver Wood, a burly fifth-year boy 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 shifted from puzzlement to sheer delight. "Are you serious, Professor?"
"Absolutely," McGonagall replied crisply. "The boy's a natural. I've never seen anything like it."
She crossed her arms, her stern demeanor betraying a hint of satisfaction. "He caught a student mid-air after a fifty-foot dive and didn't even scratch himself! Charlie Weasley couldn't have done it better."
Harry fought to keep his face neutral. He desperately wanted to grin, but he schooled his expression into something resembling calm interest. He had expected this moment, but actually living it was something else entirely.
Wood looked like Christmas had come early.
"Ever seen a game of Quidditch, Potter?" he asked eagerly.
Harry nodded. "Yeah… played a few times at the Burrow over the summer."
"Wood's captain of the Gryffindor team," McGonagall interjected, though Wood hardly needed the introduction—he was already scrutinizing Harry like a prized racing broom.
"He's just the build for a Seeker, too," Wood mused, circling him. "Light, quick—definitely fast reflexes—" He stopped and turned to McGonagall, eyes shining. "We'll need to get him a proper broom, Professor. A Nimbus Two Thousand or a Cleansweep Seven, at the very least."
McGonagall pursed her lips but nodded. "I'll speak to Professor Dumbledore. If anyone deserves an exception to the first-year rule, it's Potter."
She sighed, her expression softening just a fraction. "Heaven knows we need a proper team this year. That last match against Slytherin—" she shook her head, as if the memory pained her. "I couldn't look Severus in the face for weeks."
Then, fixing Harry with a sharp look, she added, "You'd better write home for a broom, Potter. I'll make sure Dumbledore allows it, but I expect you to practice hard. If I hear otherwise, you'll find yourself serving extra detentions instead."
Harry nodded, trying not to show just how excited he was.
And then, to his surprise, McGonagall's stern face softened completely, and a rare smile appeared.
"Your father would have been proud," she said quietly. "He was an excellent
Quidditch player himself."
Harry felt warmth spread through his chest. He already knew that, of course—Sirius and even Petunia had told him countless stories about James's Quidditch days—but hearing it from Professor McGonagall, seeing that glimpse of affection in her normally strict eyes… it hit differently.
The news spread through the school faster than a rogue Bludger.
By the time Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat down for lunch in the Great Hall, half the Gryffindor table was whispering and sneaking glances at him. Even a few Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were eyeing him with curiosity, and one particularly bold second-year from Hufflepuff had actually come up and asked if he really caught Neville in mid-air.
Ron halfway through his sandwich. "But first years never—"
"—Yeah, yeah. Youngest in a century." Harry said it like he was reciting a weather report, not a legendary accomplishment. "Apparently catching someone mid-dive impresses people."
"Bloody hell," Ron muttered, now staring at him like he'd grown a second head.
Hermione, on the other hand, looked pleased. "That's amazing, Harry. You'll do great."
"Thanks, Hermione," Harry said, flashing her a grin. "Should be fun. Looking forward to a real match—finally."
Ron leaned back in his seat, whistling low. "Youngest Seeker in a hundred years... Merlin's beard."
Hermione smirked. "At least now we know why McGonagall didn't yell for longer."
Harry laughed. "Oh, she did. Nearly took my head off before awarding points. Classic McGonagall."
Ron looked at him, "You talk about McGonagall like you have known her for years."
Harry mentally slapped himself. He should have been thinking. "How long does it take you to learn about a person, Ron?"
Ron frowned thoughtfully, chewing on a mouthful of potatoes. "I dunno… a bit longer than a week, probably."
Harry shrugged, taking a sip of pumpkin juice. "You'd be surprised how much you can pick up if you pay attention. McGonagall's strict, sure, but she's fair. I kind of like her, to be honest."
Hermione nodded. "He's not wrong. Professor McGonagall is firm, but fair. And I think she likes Harry now."
Ron gave him a sideways glance. "Yeah, well, she didn't recruit me onto the Quidditch team after my first flying lesson."
Harry smirked. "Maybe you should've tried saving Neville mid-air."
Ron snorted. "No thanks. I like having my limbs in one piece."
Hermione gave them both a look of amused exasperation. "Honestly, you two. It was dangerous, Harry. You could've been hurt."
"I wasn't," Harry said simply. "Besides, I couldn't just sit and watch Neville crash. I had to do something."
Ron suddenly snapped up, "Did you already write home for a broom?"
Harry shook his head. "Not yet. Hedwig's still out—she should be back by tonight, though. I'll send the letter as soon as she returns."
Ron nodded, then leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "You know, if you do get a Nimbus Two Thousand, you'll be the only first year in history with their own racing broom. Fred and George will absolutely lose it."
Harry chuckled. "I'm counting on it."
Hermione frowned thoughtfully. "You really think Professor Dumbledore will approve it? First years aren't allowed brooms."
Harry shrugged, a confident glint in his eyes. "McGonagall said she'd talk to him. And let's be honest—if she wants something to happen, it usually does."
Harry shook his head. "Not yet. Hedwig's still out—she should be back by tonight, though. I'll send the letter as soon as she returns."
Ron nodded, then leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "You know, if you do get a Nimbus Two Thousand, you'll be the only first year in history with their own racing broom. Fred and George will absolutely lose it."
Harry chuckled. "I'm counting on it."
Hermione frowned thoughtfully. "You really think Professor Dumbledore will approve it? First years aren't allowed brooms."
Harry shrugged, a confident glint in his eyes. "McGonagall said she'd talk to him. And let's be honest—if she wants something to happen, it usually does."
Ron grinned. "True. She's scary like that."
"She's efficient," Hermione corrected, but even she was smiling now. "Still, I think you should add a line in your letter about how it's school-sanctioned. Just so your family doesn't think you're sneaking around rules."
Harry nodded. "Good point. Sirius will probably be thrilled anyway, but mum might send a Howler if she thinks I got into trouble."
Ron looked confused. "Lady Dursley? Didn't know she was so normal…"
Harry looked at Ron as if he grew a third head. "What did you think she was like?"
Ron scratched the back of his neck, clearly trying to find the right words without offending him. "Well… I dunno, you just hear the name Lady Dursley, and it sounds like someone who drinks tea with their pinky out and screams at house-elves if the toast is too cold."
Harry burst out laughing. "You've been reading too many of Malfoy's bedtime stories." He continued. "Nah, Mum's not like that. She's the kind of person who'll make you a cup of hot chocolate if you're up late studying and scold you gently if you don't wear your jumper in the garden. But don't let that fool you—she was brilliant at charms in school, and if she sees someone threatening her family, Merlin help them."
Hermione blinked. "That's... not what I expected. And Sirius? You mentioned him earlier."
Harry glanced between them, as if deciding whether or not to tell her. "Sirius Black. He's my godfather. He ended up in Azkaban when I was a baby. Everyone thought he betrayed my mum and dad."
Hermione gasped. "What? But—he didn't, did he?"
Harry shook his head. "No. It was Peter Pettigrew. He faked his own death and let Sirius take the fall. But I caught him. This August, when I was at the Burrow. Something felt off about Ron's rat, and… well, let's just say one quick stun and a truth-revealing episode later, and the entire Weasley family was screaming."
Ron looked slightly sheepish. "Yeah, my rat was a criminal. Mum still hasn't forgiven herself."
"Sirius is free now," Harry continued, "but it's only been a month or so. He mostly stays at the Dursley estate. Mum and Dad—Petunia and Vernon—insist he rests and recovers before even thinking of doing anything."
Ron whistled. "No wonder she might send a Howler if she thinks you broke the rules."
Harry rolled his eyes. "She wouldn't send one. But I'd get a two-page letter about responsibility and recklessness and how Abigail looks up to me."
Hermione smiled. "Sounds like she cares a lot."
Harry nodded. "Yeah. She does."
Harry grinned. "Which is why you didn't try catching Neville mid-air."
Ron grumbled into his goblet. "One heroic act and suddenly he's Quidditch royalty…"
Hermione shook her head fondly. "Honestly, you two."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Classes had ended for the day, and the autumn sun hung low over the castle grounds, casting a golden haze across the lawns. Most students were trickling into the common rooms or lingering in the courtyards, basking in the fading warmth. But Harry had other plans.
He led Ron and Hermione down a lesser-known side corridor of the castle, past the narrow stairwells and unused classrooms, until they reached a side door that opened out toward the forest boundary. The moment the door shut behind them, Harry pulled out Elythral to cast a Disillusionment charm on the three of them.
Hermione's voice echoed faintly as they blended in with their surroundings. "We're going to the Forbidden Forest, aren't we?"
"Yes," Harry replied.
"You do realize it's forbidden for a reason?" she asked, her voice edged with anxiety. "We could die—or worse, get expelled."
Harry couldn't help but roll his eyes. Or worse, get expelled. There is something seriously wrong with this girl. "We won't," Harry said as he started on the path he showed the two of them before. "We're not going deep. It's just a clearing right past the edge. I know where to step."
Ron grumbled under his breath. "You sound way too used to sneaking around."
Harry only smiled, adjusting his pouch on his waist. "Follow the path I showed you guys."
They quickly made it across the ground and past the edge. As they passed beneath the treeline, where the air grew cooler and the light filtered through branches in streaks of gold and shadow. The trees whispered above them as they moved, the scent of pine and earth thickening with every step. After Harry was sure no one could see them, he quickly removed the Disillusionment Charm as walking in a forest while being invisible wasn't exactly very safe.
It wasn't long before the forest opened into a small glade nestled between tall oaks. The light here was softer, gentler. Harry raised a hand to pause them and surveyed the clearing.
"He's not here yet," Harry murmured, lowering himself onto a fallen log. "He'll come."
Ron squinted through the underbrush. "Who exactly are we waiting for?"
Harry smirked back at him, "You'll see soon."
Hermione echoed Ron's question. "And who exactly is that?"
Harry leaned back, hands braced on the log behind him. "Just wait.."
A few minutes passed in hushed anticipation, the forest alive with the rustle of leaves and the occasional birdcall. Then, from somewhere in the trees, came the faint, unmistakable sound of hooves pressing into soft earth. A rhythm—light, precise, and oddly soothing.
Ron sat upright. "Do you hear that?"
The sound grew louder, closer, until something stepped into the clearing.
Hermione gasped.
A unicorn emerged from the trees, its silvery coat radiant even in the dappled sunlight. It moved like a creature from a dream—graceful and poised, with an otherworldly glow clinging to its form. Its eyes, dark and intelligent, scanned the clearing until they landed on Harry.
"Bloody hell," Ron breathed, frozen in place.
Lumos neighed softly at the sight of Harry, lowering his head in greeting. The two met halfway, and Harry reached into his subspace pouch, pulling out a pouch of honey-glazed apples from it. He offered one, and Lumos accepted it delicately, chewing with a low, bell-like hum of contentment.
"I met him when I came here to test my wand." Harry said as he stroke Lumos's mane. "Let's just say that we became friends quickly."
Hermione whispered, barely audible, "He's beautiful…"
"Can we—?" Ron asked, not finishing the sentence.
Harry glanced back and nodded. "It's safe. You can approach him. But do it slowly since I don't know how he will respond to other humans."
With cautious movements, the two stepped forward. Hermione approached first, reverently, as if stepping into a sacred space. Her hand hovered before gently brushing the unicorn's neck. Lumos responded with a soft hum. Ron followed, hesitant but awestruck, and Lumos welcomed him too.
The three of them stood there in silence, gathered around a creature out of legend, the weight of the moment sinking in.
Harry broke it gently. "Unicorns don't usually come this close. Especially not to humans. I don't know why he does that."
They didn't stay long. The sun began to dip further, and Lumos gave Harry a look that felt almost like a farewell. With one final nuzzle and a flick of his glowing tail, he turned and disappeared into the trees.
None of them spoke until they were safely back on the edge of the forest.
Back in the castle, they slipped through the halls unnoticed and made their way into the Great Hall just as dinner was being served. The chatter around them was the usual hum of students discussing homework, Quidditch, and house gossip—but Harry, Ron, and Hermione remained unusually quiet.
At the Gryffindor table, as roast chicken and pumpkin pasties floated into place, Hermione turned to Harry with wide, thoughtful eyes.
"That was one of the most incredible things I've ever seen."
Ron nodded slowly. "I'll never forget that. Ever."
Harry offered a quiet smile, his fingers still tingling from Lumos's touch. "Yeah. Me neither."
As they ate, Harry recounted his previous meeting in the forest—how Lumos had appeared and how the unicorn had let Harry approach, how it had stayed. He didn't embellish, didn't dramatize. Just told it plainly although keeping some finer details to himself.