Harry followed Professor McGonagall through the winding corridors of Hogwarts, curiosity buzzing in his mind. The last time he had been called by a professor in front of the entire class, it had been because he did something wrong. Yet, this time, McGonagall didn't seem angry. If anything, there was an odd spark in her eyes, a hidden excitement beneath her usual strict demeanor.
They finally arrived at a small office where a broad-shouldered, energetic young man was waiting. His brown eyes lit up with interest when he saw Harry.
"Wood, I've found you a Seeker."
Oliver Wood's expression went from curious to downright delighted in seconds.
"Wait—really? Him?"
McGonagall nodded sharply. "Mr. Potter here displayed some rather… extraordinary flying skills today. I think he'd make an excellent addition to your team."
Wood looked Harry up and down, sizing him up, before nodding firmly. "Alright then, let's see what you've got, Potter."
McGonagall led them outside to a private section of the field, away from prying eyes. Wood handed Harry a practice broom, and the moment Harry's fingers curled around the handle, he knew this was what he was meant to do.
The wind against his face, the sense of freedom, the sheer joy of flying—it was unlike anything else.
Wood explained the basics of each position, but Harry's eyes lit up when he heard about the Seeker. "So, I just have to chase after a tiny, fast ball and show off some cool moves?" he asked, grinning.
Wood laughed. "That's one way to put it."
They released a practice Snitch, and Harry immediately shot after it, weaving through the air with ease. His reflexes were sharp, his instincts even sharper. Within minutes, he caught the Snitch with a precise grab and a triumphant grin.
McGonagall and Wood exchanged looks.
"He's perfect," Wood said in awe.
And just like that, Harry became the youngest Seeker in a century.
Being on the Quidditch team made Harry even more excited about Hogwarts, but what made things even better was the way his friendships with Ron and Hermione grew stronger.
Hermione, ever the determined one, stuck to her word and joined Harry on his early morning workouts. At first, she struggled to keep up, but her sheer willpower and refusal to fall behind made her push through. Harry admired that about her—when Hermione set her mind to something, nothing could stop her.
She even began applying her bookish nature to fitness, reading up on different ways to improve endurance and flexibility. She and Harry would often chat about spell applications while stretching after a run, debating the uses of various charms and jinxes.
Ron, meanwhile, became Harry's go-to chess opponent. They played wizard chess almost every other night, and despite Harry's natural talent in many things, he could not beat Ron at chess.
"I don't get it," Harry groaned after another brutal defeat. "You're rubbish at schoolwork, but you play chess like a mastermind."
Ron smirked. "It's all about strategy, mate. Maybe you should think a few moves ahead instead of jumping in recklessly."
Hermione snorted. "Now that's advice Harry could use."
Despite the teasing, their bond was solid. They were an unshakable trio.
Harry and Hermione had always been competitive when it came to academics. They often finished their assignments before anyone else, answered the most questions in class, and absorbed information like sponges.
However, to Hermione's mild frustration, Harry was the one who got the most attention for it. Whether it was because of his fame or because he seemed to perform well so effortlessly, teachers and students alike began regarding him as the top student.
Hermione was slightly unhappy at first, but instead of sulking, she used it as motivation.
"Alright, Potter," she declared one evening in the common room, slamming a book shut. "You may be ahead now, but I will beat you."
Harry grinned. "Bring it on, Granger."
Their friendly rivalry only pushed both of them to work harder. It also meant that Ron had to endure more debates about spells, historical facts, and magical theories than he would have liked.
"Oi, can't you two talk about normal things for once?" Ron groaned.
Harry and Hermione exchanged amused glances before launching into a discussion about theoretical time-turner applications.
Ron buried his face in his hands. "I give up."
One day, during breakfast, a flurry of owls entered the Great Hall, delivering mail to students.
A particularly sleek owl swooped down in front of Harry, dropping a long, narrow package on the table. The moment he saw the broom-shaped wrapping, he knew.
Excitedly, he tore it open, revealing a Nimbus 2000—the fastest broom on the market.
The Gryffindor table erupted in whispers.
"No way!"
"Blimey, a Nimbus 2000? That's the best broom out there!"
Looking up, Harry caught sight of Professor McGonagall at the teacher's table. She had the faintest smirk on her face, her sharp eyes glinting with amusement.
Grinning, Harry gave her a grateful nod and mouthed, I won't disappoint you, Professor.
Her smirk deepened ever so slightly before she returned her attention to her meal.
Harry could not wait to try it out in training.
As soon as classes were over, he practically sprinted to the Quidditch pitch, Nimbus in hand. The moment he kicked off, he felt the difference immediately—the speed, the responsiveness, the sheer power.
He grinned wildly.
This was going to be fun.