Present Fic: Harry has some thinking to do, which means flight, of course.
DATE/TIME: 16 September 2007, morning
CHARACTERS: Harry Potter
PLACE: Hogwarts
RATING: Gen
STATUS: Complete
Harry had brought his broom up to the Astronomy tower with him, intent on doing something as a Professor that he'd never been allowed to do as a student. The grounds were almost desserted, the Fall weather of Scotland forcing most of the students into the castle for warmth; Harry loved days like this - crisp, clear air and the only sound the rushing of the wind in your hair. He got to the tower - higher even than Gryffindor, though slightly lower than Professor Trelawney's classroom - and opened one of the observation windows. He was sure no students would see this take off, and he was glad for it as Minerva would probably have his head for it if he were caught.
He began with a quick nose dive down the length of the tower and brought himself back up to the large window, satisfied that it would make a perfect launching spot. Mounting the broom one more time he flew off and out away from the castle, revelling in the speed the high take off had brought to his broom and the cold of the Autumn day biting through his flying robes. He felt exhilerated, refreshed. The first two weeks of school had taken their toll on him - students curious for his story rather than lessons; parents writing to request meetings, only to be fanatics who want to meet The Boy Who Lived - it was all too much, he'd needed this moment to himself.
Harry let his broom do most of the movement, adjusting his weight every so often to direct the course, but as he flew up and over the Forbidden Forest, his worries and tension from classes melted away. The lazy pace of his flight was reflected in the grin on his face and way his body seemed to meld into the broom - they moved as one and Harry felt just as happy as the first time he'd flown. He felt certain a feeling like this was strong enough to produce a corporeal patronus, but then, he thought with an even larger smile, he didn't need flying for such things anymore. He had Hermione, his 'Mione. Who was swamped with work, the thought of which wiped the smile from his face and caused him to move in a way that dropped his broom a few feet closer to the forest's tree tops. He'd been busy with classes, of course, but it seemed ever since the second announcement of the Tournament, she'd been unreachable. And of course, thinking of Hermione made Harry think of Ron. He hadn't heard from him once since the Ball, with the exception of the news that Hermione had gotten letters from him and that he knew they'd come together. Harry had been so excited when Ron had returned - it had been ten years. The war cost him so much, and so soon after the death of Ginny, Ron was gone as well. It had been the worst blow of them all, and with Ron's return Harry had felt maybe they could remake the damage, maybe the war's scars could all finally fade. Harry sat up straighter on his broom and rubbed at the lightning shaped scar on his forehead absent-mindedly. Some scars, it seemed to him now, just couldn't fade.
Harry continued his lazy flight for a bit more, no longer refreshed and enjoying the cool bite of the sky, instead he thought hard and ignored the gnawing at his skin by breeze that seemed too chilled for mid-September.
CHARACTERS: Harry Potter
PLACE: Hogwarts
RATING: Gen
STATUS: Complete
Harry had brought his broom up to the Astronomy tower with him, intent on doing something as a Professor that he'd never been allowed to do as a student. The grounds were almost desserted, the Fall weather of Scotland forcing most of the students into the castle for warmth; Harry loved days like this - crisp, clear air and the only sound the rushing of the wind in your hair. He got to the tower - higher even than Gryffindor, though slightly lower than Professor Trelawney's classroom - and opened one of the observation windows. He was sure no students would see this take off, and he was glad for it as Minerva would probably have his head for it if he were caught.
He began with a quick nose dive down the length of the tower and brought himself back up to the large window, satisfied that it would make a perfect launching spot. Mounting the broom one more time he flew off and out away from the castle, revelling in the speed the high take off had brought to his broom and the cold of the Autumn day biting through his flying robes. He felt exhilerated, refreshed. The first two weeks of school had taken their toll on him - students curious for his story rather than lessons; parents writing to request meetings, only to be fanatics who want to meet The Boy Who Lived - it was all too much, he'd needed this moment to himself.
Harry let his broom do most of the movement, adjusting his weight every so often to direct the course, but as he flew up and over the Forbidden Forest, his worries and tension from classes melted away. The lazy pace of his flight was reflected in the grin on his face and way his body seemed to meld into the broom - they moved as one and Harry felt just as happy as the first time he'd flown. He felt certain a feeling like this was strong enough to produce a corporeal patronus, but then, he thought with an even larger smile, he didn't need flying for such things anymore. He had Hermione, his 'Mione. Who was swamped with work, the thought of which wiped the smile from his face and caused him to move in a way that dropped his broom a few feet closer to the forest's tree tops. He'd been busy with classes, of course, but it seemed ever since the second announcement of the Tournament, she'd been unreachable. And of course, thinking of Hermione made Harry think of Ron. He hadn't heard from him once since the Ball, with the exception of the news that Hermione had gotten letters from him and that he knew they'd come together. Harry had been so excited when Ron had returned - it had been ten years. The war cost him so much, and so soon after the death of Ginny, Ron was gone as well. It had been the worst blow of them all, and with Ron's return Harry had felt maybe they could remake the damage, maybe the war's scars could all finally fade. Harry sat up straighter on his broom and rubbed at the lightning shaped scar on his forehead absent-mindedly. Some scars, it seemed to him now, just couldn't fade.
Harry continued his lazy flight for a bit more, no longer refreshed and enjoying the cool bite of the sky, instead he thought hard and ignored the gnawing at his skin by breeze that seemed too chilled for mid-September.