On Saturday of the first weekend at Hogwarts, Harry awoke earlier than most. Following his usual custom, his internal clock caused him to rise much earlier than the rest of his classmates. With great peace of mind and as quietly as possible so as not to wake his roommates and housemates, he went down to the common room with a book in his hands to read until it was safe to go out into the halls without Filch apprehending him.
It was there that Professor Sprout found him a couple of hours later, when his colleagues were just beginning to wake up. The woman concealed her surprise at the fact that the boy was already awake, something completely unusual considering that the vast majority of children liked to sleep in on weekends.
"Ahhh… Mr Potter, I was looking for you," said his Head of House. "The Headmaster would like to see you."
Harry blinked in surprise, but assented. Without a word, he got up from the armchair where he had remained for the last few hours and followed the Professor. At that moment, curiosity consumed him; he hadn't done anything that would warrant being summoned to the Headmaster's office. True, he got along well with the Weasley twins, but that wasn't really a reason to be scolded, was it? And he doubted anyone knew about his secret room; it was too neglected for its existence to be known.
He pushed those thoughts away when he realised that they were in front of the gargoyle that he supposed guarded the entrance to the old man's office, and he reinforced what he considered his mental defence. It would be the first time he could test his defence against an experienced Legilimens like Dumbledore.
"Ahhh… Mr Potter, I was waiting for you," said the Headmaster in a friendly voice. "Sit down, sit down. You too, Pomona."
"Thank you, Albus," the Professor chuckled.
"Surely, you're wondering what you're doing here, aren't you, Mr Potter?" he continued. "Well, during this first week of classes, I have received news from your Professors about your great skills and capabilities… We have been discussing it and we have come to the conclusion that it is counterproductive for you to remain in the first year."
"What do you mean, sir?"
"Well, we've decided we're going to advance you a year," the elderly man explained. "During the next few months, your Professors will give you intensive classes to teach you the first year's curriculum, and then you'll move on to the second year. It'll be a tough course, but I think it'll be worth it, don't you, Mr Potter?"
In view of the Headmaster's statement, Harry's eyes lit up, and he was close to throwing himself at the old man and giving him a very strong hug. Instead of that, he opted for a big smile, making both the Headmaster and his Head of House smile as well.
"Thank you, Headmaster, thank you very much," the boy said, which made the Headmaster's smile widen.
"Nothing, it's nothing, Mr Potter. Here's your new timetable… you lose several hours of leisure, but you will see that it's a worthwhile sacrifice."
Harry looked at the sheet of parchment and realised that he would have several more hours of class than his classmates. Instead of finishing at three, he would finish every day at five, although his weekends would remain intact. Despite everything, Harry was enthusiastic; he liked to learn magic, and they were offering him the chance to learn more. He'd be an idiot not to agree.
He was willing to spend the rest of the day cleaning his new room, since the day before he had only had time to clean the main living area; the three other rooms had been impossible for him. Although that had been his intention, as he was still in the common room, Jonathan and Athenea appeared in front of him and dragged him to one of the sofas.
"Where have you been?" asked Athenea. "When we got up, you had disappeared."
"Professor Sprout came to pick me up; the Headmaster wanted to talk to me."
"What? And why?" Jonathan asked.
Harry explained to them what he had been told, and while they were going down to breakfast, he informed them about his change of year, as well as his new timetable—much more congested and demanding than the previous one, but with which he could learn so much more. The others, who had already noticed how easily their new friend grasped things, did what they considered most appropriate in this case: they congratulated him. Also, the fact that a Hufflepuff like Harry would be so exceptional that they would even do with him what they hadn't done with either the Dark Lord or Dumbledore was something truly fantastic.
"So, you're hardly going to have time for anything, are you?" Athenea asked, stroking her cat Ulis, already back in the common room.
"I'll be pretty busy, yes, but nothing I can't handle," the boy chuckled.
From that moment on, it was very easy to see how several times in each class, the Professors gave Harry different assignments. At first, some students thought of protesting the favouritism, of course, until they noticed how instead of being easier, his tasks were much more complicated. The Professors were truly amazed by the boy's progress, who despite the added difficulty continued to be stable and growing.
Anyone might think that as his workload increased, Harry would be unable to do anything else, but that was not the case. He spent practically all his leisure time in his secret room where he studied and did his homework. Cleaning had proven to be beneficial, allowing him to discover what was undoubtedly one of Hogwarts's greatest treasures; the library was magnificent and contained volumes that were believed to be lost or destroyed: surely Madam Pince, the Hogwarts librarian, would kill for just one of them.
But in his room, he had not only found books; he had found Potions ingredients that would make Professor Snape green with envy. Many were incredibly hard to come by and worth a fortune, others had simply become impossible to find, such as chimera flesh or manticore quills, and some were simply extinct. That laboratory was undoubtedly the most desired place for any Potions master. In addition, there was the fact that it was so well protected that no one outside of it would be able to know what was being carried out within its walls.
Taking advantage of this last benefit, Harry had chosen to experiment with his magic inside; something he had never been able to do except clandestinely and in very small quantities in the forest near his home. He didn't even want to think what would happen if one of his parents had discovered it! It was there where he finally dared to experiment with the elemental ability he had discovered before his accident in the lake, years ago. At that time, he knew that he had some kind of control over the natural elements, and Remus had offered all the help he could with his books, but it had not been until that moment that he could practice freely; he knew that this power could be useful to him one day.
After only two and a half weeks of practising, he had managed to control the air and was working on fire. He still didn't know if he would also have control over water and earth, but he would discover that later… For now, it was best that he focused on the fiery element.
"Today we begin the flying lessons," Athenea said at breakfast, approximately one month after the start of the term. "We share a class with the Ravenclaws."
"That's why almost everyone is so nervous," Jonathan chuckled, amused. "Your friend Hermione has been reciting 'Quidditch Through the Ages' to her housemates since she sat down twenty minutes ago. They have that class with the Slytherins right after us."
Harry turned at his friend's comment and saw that Hermione really did not stop reciting the book, with Neville's full attention. He also noticed that his companions were about to explode, especially Ron Weasley, Fred and George's younger brother, who had a very bad temper and little patience: a bad combination.
"Will you excuse me for a moment?" he asked before getting up and heading to the Gryffindor table. "Hermione, Neville, can I talk to you for a moment?"
"Yes, of course," said the girl, closing the book and getting up at the same time as Neville, to follow him out of the Great Hall. "What do you want, Harry?"
"Calm down," said the boy calmly. "Your companions are about to explode and say some rather ugly things. Why don't you leave that book alone?"
Hermione looked as if she had been hit a physical blow, so dazed was she, and Neville seemed dejected, but the Gryffindor said nothing, probably realising the veracity of the comment.
"But Harry, I need the book! I don't know how to fly! I've never done it and I need to prepare!" exclaimed the girl.
"Hermione, just because you read a book about Quidditch won't prepare you to fly. Broom handling is an art, and you must merge with it. If you only think about what a book tells you, you will never be able to learn… You don't have to know everything in advance."
"It's very easy for you to say; you'll have flown all your life."
"The truth is that I have never touched a broom. My parents never taught me how to fly, and even less how to handle a broom."
"Oh…"
"Now, calm down, and above all, enjoy the class."
After those words, he returned to the dining room and sat down beside Athenea and Jonathan and continued with his breakfast without paying attention to anyone else. He did not pay attention either when Hermione and Neville went back into the dining room and began to eat, putting aside the book and talking about other things, ignoring the perplexed looks of the rest of the Gryffindors.
"But what did you tell them?" Jonathan asked in amazement.
"Nothing important," he answered. "Shall we go? I want to learn to fly."
Ignoring the perplexed looks, Harry began to make his way to the school grounds, quickly accompanied by the other two and ignoring the glances given to him by the Gryffindor table.
Outside, Madam Hooch was already waiting for them, along with several brooms that were very well placed in two rows, prepared for each student to take one. The woman, who had eyes similar to a raptor, gave them a speculative gaze, especially at Harry, and then turned completely.
"Mr Potter, I know your father will have already taught you how to fly, being a Quidditch fan as he is, but I would appreciate it if you followed the class like the rest of the students."
"But, he hasn't taught me to fly," the boy murmured.
"What do you say?" the woman was astonished.
"He has never taught me…"
"I'd swear I heard him bragging that he was teaching his child to fly."
"He has taught Brian, but not me," Harry said, a faint murmur.
The woman stared at him with an expression of disbelief, and Harry knew why. He knew those stories about his father and his obsession with Quidditch and broomsticks quite well; in fact, he had lived through it as a silent observer while his father and his brother went and enjoyed flying, but he had never been allowed to participate.
The arrival of the rest of the students meant that the Professor said absolutely nothing more about the subject, although she gave him another look of disbelief. Adopting a strict teacher's expression, she waited for everyone to be there to exclaim that each one should acquire one of the brooms that were on the ground.
"Alright, now that everyone has a broom, put a hand on it and shout 'Up!'"
The Professor watched as several children shouted "Up!" decisively and how the broom lazily rose to their hands. Harry looked first at his friends, whose brooms went up lazily, and then at Terry, whose broom had climbed pretty fast.
"Mr Potter, may I know why you haven't obeyed? I think I told you to call your brooms," Madam Hooch said, at which the boy sighed.
"Up!"
As if propelled, the broom shot into his hand, before the boy's astonished gaze. Honestly, he had expected it not to even move, although from the Professor's expression, it seemed to be expected.
"All right, now… Mount your brooms."
Professor Hooch inspected each of the students, correcting them if necessary and saying nothing if it wasn't. She didn't say anything to Harry, though she nodded, smiling. He didn't know what the woman was thinking, but it was obvious that she hoped he would do well on his broom, although he himself believed that he would be terrible at it, but oh well, he would find out. After having reviewed all the students, Madam Hooch came to the front and indicated that when she counted three, they would all kick off the ground and go up a couple of metres, no more… It would be to get a little feel for the broom, and then she would tell them what else they needed to do.
When the Professor counted three, sixteen brooms were raised into the air. Though the great majority remained still, there were some who began to climb into the air, ignoring Madam Hooch's orders. Harry was divided; on the one hand, there was his desire and his knowledge that he must obey his Professor, and therefore remain grounded. On the other hand, it turned out that he knew what to do! In some strange way, he knew what he had to do to fly, and in some strange way, he needed to let go and fly without any barrier. His body craved it, and his tattoo seemed to vibrate…
"Very well, those who already have an idea, can start flying," the Professor said resignedly.
It was as if a weight was lifted off his shoulders. Harry threw off all his inhibitions and allowed his body to take control of its actions. His mind focused only on the magnificent sensation of the wind on his face, the freedom that surrounded him, the adrenaline… If he had paid more attention, he would have noticed that what he was doing was much more than just flying… He was flying, yes, but he also performed dives, climbs, and tricks that even more than one professional would have had problems performing. Nor was he aware of all the attention he was receiving from his companions, who had abandoned their own activities to watch him fly attentively, ecstatic; even Madam Hooch looked very surprised, although the boy's euphoric scream made her return to reality.
"Mr Potter! Get down immediately!"
The boy was interrupted in his amusement when he heard Madam Hooch's voice, and with a sigh, he went down to see what he had done wrong; maybe he hadn't known what to do despite what his body had told him.
"Yes, ma'am?"
"Mr Potter, I thought you had told me that it was your first time on a broom," the woman said very seriously.
"That's right, ma'am."
"What you were doing up there was so much more than anyone would do during their first time."
"Well… When I went up, it seemed like I already knew what I had to do; it was as if my body knew it beforehand."
"A natural…" said the astonished woman. "Not even his father was a natural; someone very good, yes, but a natural, no. Class cancelled… Go back to the castle, all of you. Mr Potter, you come with me."
"Yes, ma'am," he murmured despondently.
Harry followed Madam Hooch through the halls of Hogwarts to what appeared to be the staff room. He didn't know why she was taking him there, but surely it would not be for something good; his experience with his parents had shown him that if he had attracted attention for something, it was never good. Two more seconds, and Professor Sprout was right in front of him and Madam Hooch, and after approaching an empty classroom, she turned, asking for explanations.
"Well, what's happening?"
"Pomona, you know I had your first-year group just now, don't you?"
"Of course I do, but that's not what I was asking."
"I have just taught Mr Potter, or if you may call it so… Pomona, the boy is a natural! We should get the restriction for first-year students removed."
"Do you want him to be part of the Quidditch team?"
"Yes! He's got talent on the broom; I'm sure he would be a great player… either a Chaser or a Seeker… although I would opt for a Seeker."
"It will be complicated, but if you are right, we wouldn't do badly… I'd like to win the Quidditch Cup this time."
"Excuse me…" Harry interrupted. "But do you want me to become part of the Quidditch team?"
"That's right, Potter," Madam Hooch replied. "Your capabilities cannot be wasted."
"But I'm not that big a deal either," the boy murmured. "I'm sure there are many more people who will play better than me."
"Mr Potter, please let us try to get Captain Potter to give him a try-out… if he considers that he is good enough to join, would you?" Sprout asked.
"Well… If he says so… I suppose so…"
"Perfect!" Professor Sprout exclaimed. "Leave it to me."
After that, they let Harry leave to do as he pleased, and his Head of House went out in the direction of the Headmaster's office to ask them to make an exception for him, and allow him into the team.