Harry Potter and the Hoverbroom (patent pending, Stark Industries)
One week ago, Harry and Ron had met Tony Stark and had come to an agreement.
Harry hadn't been sure what to expect. He didn't want to place too much hope in the man, even if Hermione did say he was remarkably smart. It would mean too much to him to have things turn out alright this once. Things had been miserable with Sirius and Remus' disappearance, and now, with Sirius back and getting better, things with Kate going well, things with Ron and Hermione going well, classes that he actually enjoyed in session and all of his friends content if not outright happy, Harry did not want to rock the boat with disappointment. He wanted things to stay the same or get better, and had the awful feeling that might not be.
And then Tony Stark had strolled up to him, a broom in hand, and breezily informed him that Hermione could make the rest, if she paid attention to his incredibly genius designs.
Harry hadn't known what to say beside a choked thanks which, thankfully, Tony Stark took before strolling off. It was too good to be true. The racing broom, perfect in every way except that it couldn't fly, had been outfitted with pieces of technology that Harry couldn't begin to understand. All that he did understand -- all that mattered -- was that the broom could fly.
His first thought was that he had to find Ron. Immediately. But his second thought, which very quickly and firmly knocked the first thought out of his head, was that Harry had to try it out. He pressed what looked like the on button and was thrilled to see that the broom did in fact fly, hovering a foot above the ground, just waiting for Harry to climb on. His breaths shallow and excited, Harry threw his leg over the smooth wood. (He had polished all the brooms regularly since he had received them in January, even if they were useless for anything but cleaning, and he would have never, ever, ever used them for cleaning.) Gripping the handle with a relaxed but firm hand, Harry cautiously pulled upward and felt the broom rise up, taking him with it.
"Merlin's fucking balls," he cursed, hardly knowing what he was saying.
The handling wasn't perfect, but it wasn't a magic broom anymore. It wasn't technically a Firebolt, so it wouldn't respond like a Firebolt. But it responded very well indeed for all that. The added machinery created some drag, but not nearly enough to disappoint. A light touch, a shift in his weight, and the broom floated one way and then other, climbed higher and dipped down. After a solid minute testing this out, Harry felt he was ready for the real exam. The fun part.
Pulling up until he was above the treeline, Harry shifted his grip, leaned forward on the broom and took off like a shot. The wind whipped through his hair as he sailed south roughly following the line of the boardwalk until he hit the beach where he took a sharp right. It was brilliant. It was amazing. It wasn't a Firebolt exactly, a part of his brain insisted. But with a whoop of joy as he cut across the sand and over the boardwalk again, he decided he didn't even care. It was perfect, just as it was.
[[Feel free to find him anywhere on the island, landing or flying. I am going to limit this right now to five tags. If you see five people have tagged in, please ask me if you can tag in, too. I'll probably say yes, but I would like to at least pretend that I have some sense of restraint. This rule does not apply to canonmates (even Draco). Have at.]]
Harry hadn't been sure what to expect. He didn't want to place too much hope in the man, even if Hermione did say he was remarkably smart. It would mean too much to him to have things turn out alright this once. Things had been miserable with Sirius and Remus' disappearance, and now, with Sirius back and getting better, things with Kate going well, things with Ron and Hermione going well, classes that he actually enjoyed in session and all of his friends content if not outright happy, Harry did not want to rock the boat with disappointment. He wanted things to stay the same or get better, and had the awful feeling that might not be.
And then Tony Stark had strolled up to him, a broom in hand, and breezily informed him that Hermione could make the rest, if she paid attention to his incredibly genius designs.
Harry hadn't known what to say beside a choked thanks which, thankfully, Tony Stark took before strolling off. It was too good to be true. The racing broom, perfect in every way except that it couldn't fly, had been outfitted with pieces of technology that Harry couldn't begin to understand. All that he did understand -- all that mattered -- was that the broom could fly.
His first thought was that he had to find Ron. Immediately. But his second thought, which very quickly and firmly knocked the first thought out of his head, was that Harry had to try it out. He pressed what looked like the on button and was thrilled to see that the broom did in fact fly, hovering a foot above the ground, just waiting for Harry to climb on. His breaths shallow and excited, Harry threw his leg over the smooth wood. (He had polished all the brooms regularly since he had received them in January, even if they were useless for anything but cleaning, and he would have never, ever, ever used them for cleaning.) Gripping the handle with a relaxed but firm hand, Harry cautiously pulled upward and felt the broom rise up, taking him with it.
"Merlin's fucking balls," he cursed, hardly knowing what he was saying.
The handling wasn't perfect, but it wasn't a magic broom anymore. It wasn't technically a Firebolt, so it wouldn't respond like a Firebolt. But it responded very well indeed for all that. The added machinery created some drag, but not nearly enough to disappoint. A light touch, a shift in his weight, and the broom floated one way and then other, climbed higher and dipped down. After a solid minute testing this out, Harry felt he was ready for the real exam. The fun part.
Pulling up until he was above the treeline, Harry shifted his grip, leaned forward on the broom and took off like a shot. The wind whipped through his hair as he sailed south roughly following the line of the boardwalk until he hit the beach where he took a sharp right. It was brilliant. It was amazing. It wasn't a Firebolt exactly, a part of his brain insisted. But with a whoop of joy as he cut across the sand and over the boardwalk again, he decided he didn't even care. It was perfect, just as it was.
[[Feel free to find him anywhere on the island, landing or flying. I am going to limit this right now to five tags. If you see five people have tagged in, please ask me if you can tag in, too. I'll probably say yes, but I would like to at least pretend that I have some sense of restraint. This rule does not apply to canonmates (even Draco). Have at.]]