Thursday, 19 September 1991
Minerva McGonagall sat across her desk from Oliver Wood, the current Quidditch Captain, who was in her office for the third time that week begging her to let him watch the first year flying lessons because there was not one single viable candidate for Seeker out of the dozen that had tried out the week prior.
She was just starting to think she should send him on his way to the Charms class she was rather certain he was supposed to be in and then arrange for some sort of professional to come speak to him about his quidditch obsession when she spotted the crowd of first years gathering around the lined up brooms out her window and found she was rather curious herself.
"Alright," she finally relented, "let's go."
"Wait," Wood said, caught off guard. He'd apparently had no real hope of convincing her, it made her wonder how long he was planning to pester her before giving up. "You're serious?"
"Have you ever known me to be unserious?" she asked, levelling him with her best disappointed professor glare.
"No, Professor," he said, standing up and heading for the door. "Thank you."
They walked in silence out to the grounds where Madam Hooch was conducting the joint Gryffindor and Slytherin lessons. They made it just in time to watch Harry Potter cast what appeared to be a wordless, wandless Arresto Momentum, saving the young Mr. Longbottom from crashlanding and likely breaking a bone or two.
"How'd you do that?" one of the Slytherins (Miss Parkinson if she was remembering correctly) exclaimed, looking like she wanted to accuse Harry of being a witch which would be rather redundant seeing as they were at a magical school surrounded by flying broomsticks.
"Accidental magic," Harry said quickly, too quickly.
Minerva narrowed her eyes; she'd been rather sure that Dumbledore was very wrong about where Harry had grown up immediately upon seeing him but every day the evidence stacked up. That was not accidental magic. He still struggled with a wand but she'd caught him giving up and setting it aside only for the assigned transfiguration to happen mere moments later when he thought she wasn't watching. He was strangely adept at wandless magic and she really wasn't sure how to bring it up. She was just waiting for him to come to her.
The odd thing was that every single Gryffindor quickly backed up the claim, nodding along or making half formed explanations about how accidental magic can still happen in school-aged children when emotions are running high and obviously Harry's magic would react if Neville were in trouble, they're godbrothers after all, they've got a magical connection.
Minerva just stood back and let it happen, finding it oddly endearing how quickly her lions come to their classmate's aid and rather entertaining how miffed all of the Slytherins looked.
"Thanks, Hazza," she heard Neville say softly, just barely audible over the din of everyone else still rambling about accidental magic.
"Course," Harry agreed easily. "You ever been on a broom before?"
"No, gran wouldn't let me near one."
"S'alright, I've apparently been flying since before I could walk but I don't really remember being on a broom until I was about 8 and our house elf dug up my uncle's old broom for me to try out, he said the trick is to make the broom believe you're in control. It's a bit like riding a horse or working with a really difficult plant like you've mentioned before, you just have to be confident."
Neville paused to think about it while everyone else lined back up. Minerva watched as he nodded to himself and rolled his shoulders back before holding out his hand once more to command the broom to rise. It smacked into his palm before he even said 'up.'
She was shocked. Neville had been struggling in his wand-based classes and many people had been saying that his family was right, that he barely had enough magic to be considered a wizard instead of a squib, but she was starting to think that Augusta had gone on and forced the boy to use his father's wand like she'd mentioned at tea over that summer, much to the disagreement of every one of their friends.
The boy obviously had power. Brooms were much like wands, they required the person using them to have command over their own magic, they didn't create magic themselves. Sure, there were charms and enchantments woven into the wood, but a muggle wouldn't be able to ride a broom and a squib would have a difficult time going more than a few feet off the ground.
She pulled out her wand and conjured a couple of chairs and settled down to watch the lesson. Oliver was watching the ten young Gryffindors like a hawk, muttering under his breath about balance and wind resistance and she really started to wonder whether she'd allowed his quidditch obsession to run unchecked for too long.
Before she could ask him if he'd done his homework before coming up with strategies and game plans or, you know, slept recently, she heard a muffled shout from the air and turned just in time to see Harry darting after a streak of red like a bolt of lightning. He was nearly perpendicular to the ground, entirely composed and grinning like mad. She didn't even have time to shout out a warning before he caught the ball mere inches from the ground and levelled out, his toes brushing the grass as he flew back up toward his entirely awestruck classmates.
"Here," he called casually, like he hadn't just pulled off a dive several professional Seekers would've struggled with and tossed what Minerva now realized was a Remembrall to Neville who caught it and shoved it back in his pocket with a dazed expression on his face. "Sorry, Madam Hooch," Harry said, grimacing slightly, "I know you said no tricks but I didn't want it to shatter, his Gran just sent it this morning."
"No problem, Mr. Potter," Hooch said, looking just as stunned as the first years.
"Him," Wood said, looking like he'd just been dosed with Amortentia. "He's the one. Please, Professor. Please let me make him Seeker."
Minerva had already been lightly accused of playing favourites seeing as Harry was the only student she'd openly smiled at in public since 1971 when James Potter had perfectly transfigured his matchstick into a needle on the first try, so she thought she might as well lean into the accusations if it meant a Gryffindor Quidditch victory, "go for it," she said, knowing it was an uncharacteristically informal answer, but she couldn't quite be arsed to speak properly, "that Cup had better be in my office by June, Wood."
"I swear it, Professor."
* * *
"Oh hello, Harrykins," Fred said, a shit eating grin on his face as he plopped down on Harry's left side.
"Hello," Harry greeted, slightly wary though based on Fred's grin he thought some level of fear was rational.
"Well done," George whispered, a smile on his face that suggested far less chaos than his brother's, "Wood told us. We're on the team too – Beaters."
"We're going to win that Cup for sure this year," Fred said. "We haven't won since Charlie left, but this year's team is going to be brilliant. You must be quite something, Harry. Wood was nearly skipping when he told us."
"Youngest Seeker in a century," Ron said proudly, obviously quite pleased his best mate was on the team. He'd mentioned hoping to join when Wood graduated, he favoured Keeper and thought it'd be quite fun to be able to play together. Harry rather agreed. He knew they had a younger sister too and wondered whether she was any good, he thought it'd be funny if they could make a majority of the team Weasleys by the twins' last year.
"Congrats again," George said softly, smiling at Harry in a way that made it impossible not to smile back.
"Anyway," Fred cut in, "we've got to go. Lee Jordan reckons he's found a new secret passageway out of the school."
"Bet it's that one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that we found in our first week," George said, though he still looked quite pleased at the prospect of new information, "see you."
Harry laughed as the pair all but disappeared into thin air and turned back toward his plate. He wasn't able to eat so much as a bite before Draco materialized to his right, "how did you do that?"
"Do what?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow at his cousin.
"Any of it," Draco said, waving a hand wildly. "Have you been secretly training with a professional team? Did grandfather send you to some sort of camp?"
"No," Harry laughed. "I don't even have my own broom, I've just been using Regulus' and flying around when it's nice out. I enjoy it, took to it rather quickly."
"Took to it rather quickly, he says," Draco huffed, turning to Ron as if he could provide some sort of back up. "Your best mate's insane."
"Oh he does something crazy and all the sudden he's mybest mate?" Ron asked, looking like he was biting back a laugh, "what happened to him being your cousin?"
"He can be my cousin again when he stops making my head hurt."
"I don't foresee that happening," Harry said, a mock pout on his face as he tsked. "You're just going to have to get used to it little Dragon."
"I'm older than you."
"And I'm taller."
"That's not fair," Draco huffed, "you're taller than most of our class."
"Whatever," Harry said before his eyes lit up and he pulled his bag off the ground, "I forgot, grandfather sent me some sweets and sent along some chocolates for you, said they were your mum's favourite so he was guessing they were yours too but you should tell him if he got it right when you send him a thank you note, I think it might've been a rather poorly veiled ploy to get you to write to him," Harry said, laughing lightly, "he gets quite bored, he'd love to hear from you."
"I don't know him all that well," Draco admitted, though he took the offered chocolates like they were something precious, "I haven't seen him since I was 4 and even then it was just briefly for holidays."
"He wasn't doing well for a few years there but he's much better now, you should come over during Yule. He'd like to get to know you."
"Alright," Draco agreed softly. "Thank you."
"Write to him!" Harry reminded him as he stood to head back to the Slytherin table.
"I will," Draco promised.
* * *
Padfoot,
Harry addressed the letter just to his Papa, knowing everyone would end up reading it but that he'd be the most excited about anything quidditch related. Harry was settled in his bed with the curtains pulled half shut, wearing a pair of football shorts and his father's quidditch hoodie, grinning like a fool when he realized soon enough he'd have an 'H. Potter-Black' hoodie to wear as well.
I made the quidditch team! I know, I know, I'm just a First Year, but apparently they had no good candidates for Seeker so the Captain talked Prof. McGonagall into allowing him to observe our flying lessons. Neville's Remembrall fell out of his pocket and, on instinct, I dove to catch it. Apparently that was enough for Wood (the Captain) to decide I was his new favourite person.
Prof. McGonagall offered to buy me a broom using the House vault but I said I had one at home, would you be able to send it over? Or I can owl order one, I just didn't want her to dig into funds meant for the school when I have plenty of galleons myself.
I'm apparently the youngest Seeker in a century which is rather cool. She told me that my dad had been a great quidditch player and that he'd be proud of me. She also told me that my grandfather was her cousin and showed me some photos of him and his brother, Fleamont, when I was in her office. They both had the exact same hair dad had, the messy hair I have now. It's nice to see that I have things in common with these people I never got a chance to meet.
She also asked me what name I'd like on my equipment. I decided on Potter-Black. Most everyone here calls me just Potter but I like knowing I've got your name as well, and it felt fitting to have Black on my jersey when I'm playing the same position as Regulus.
I told my friends that Prof. McGonagall mentioned my dad had played and Hermione ended up dragging me along to the trophy room to show me pictures of your team when you won the Cup in your last year. I found a picture of Reg as well, from the year prior.
Dis bonjour à Em, grandfather, et Dad de ma part. Vous me manquez tous, je vous aime tous.
Toujours avec amour,
Bambi
He pulled open the window and whistled, a moment later Hedwig came soaring in, she truly was the smartest owl he'd ever met.
"Take this to Padfoot," he said softly, not wanting to wake up Dean who was taking a nap across the room or disturb Seamus who looked like he was about four seconds from throwing his potions homework into the fire. Hedwig let out a soft coo, nipped at Harry's nose affectionately, and then took off into the early evening sky.
* * *
Tuesday, 21 September 1991
"Mr. Potter," McGonagall called as Harry was making his way out of the classroom. "Could you stay back a moment?"
Harry nodded and set his bag back down on the desk, waving his friends along saying he'd see them at lunch.
"Come with me," McGonagall said, walking toward her office at the back of the room. "You're not in trouble I just have something for you and also have a couple of questions if you'd be willing to answer them."
"Alright," Harry agreed easily. His guardians had all already told him that McGonagall could be trusted and even if they hadn't, his magic was telling him she was safe and he wasn't one to ignore his magic.
"First," she said with a small smile once they reached her office, "this came for you." She pulled a wrapped package out from behind her desk and handed it over. Harry smiled wide, excited to see the familiar broom. It'd been top of the line in the late 70s, one of the early versions of the Nimbus, and the charms had held up incredibly well. His favourite part though was the outline of the Leo constellation carved into the grip of the handle. He'd noticed that most of Sirius and Regulus' belongings that Kreacher had brought over from Grimmauld Place had their constellations carved or stitched into them rather than their names.
But when he unwrapped the package it wasn't the familiar broom with an ebony handle, equally dark bristles, and silver accents, it was a shiny new broom with reddish coloured wood and golden bindings, Nimbus 2000 was etched into the top of the handle in shining gold ink but right along the grip Sirius had etched the Leo constellation in gold with Regulus as the only silver star.
Harry blinked hard, swallowing around the lump in his throat. He wasn't sure why he was so overwhelmed with emotion, he'd gotten gifts for every birthday and holiday and even on random Wednesdays when someone thought of something he needed or saw something he'd like while passing by a shop, but for some reason this gift, with his constellation carved in the grip just as Sirius and Regulus had done, exactly like the broom Regulus had stashed away at Grimmauld Place that Kreacher had found and quietly offered to Harry, brought tears to his eyes.
"You know," McGonagall said softly, eyes locked on the broom's grip, "I knew a pair of brothers who labelled everything they owned that very same way."
"I think it's a Black thing," Harry said, voice cracking slightly, "Draco does it as well."
Harry didn't have to mention that the label of his robes was embroidered with Harrison James followed by the outline of Leo, the lion's heart the largest of the stars, instead of having his second middle name spelled out, he was pretty sure McGonagall could guess.
"What did you want to ask me, professor?" Harry said after the room had fallen quiet for a moment too long.
"I'd just like you to confirm that you weren't raised with the Dursleys," she said evenly, though he detected an almost angry flair in her magic when she mentioned their name.
"I've never so much as met them," Harry said, a wry smile on his face before he offered more than she'd asked, "I was raised by Arcturus Black and my adoptive fathers, Arcturus' youngest son, Archer Black and Remus Lupin," he held direct eye contact the entire time. He watched her eyebrows pinch slightly as if trying to think of who the third child could be before she heard Remus' name and the ball dropped. It was clear in her gaze and from the slight uptick of her lips that she understood exactly what Harry was saying. He didn't like not mentioning Merlin but it was rather hard to find a way to describe him that wasn't 'sorcerer of legend' or 'friend of my dad's distant relative' (he could just see how that conversation would go; oh, who's the relative? you ask, oh, just Sir Gwaine, heard of him?).
"Well that explains the accent," she said with a laugh.
"Accent?" Harry asked, he hadn't really realized he had anything distinct about his voice. There were students at Hogwarts from all over the isles, even some who'd been raised abroad but whose parents were alumni so they'd been offered a spot. It wasn't strange to hear a wide variety of accents walking down the halls.
"What was your first language?"
"I'd assume English with my parents but I spent most of my childhood speaking Gaelic and Greek then later on French and Welsh."
"You sound quite a bit like Remus," McGonagall explained with a soft smile. "Both your parents had British accents, your father's was a bit more posh while your mother had a rather thick Scouse accent when she arrived for first year, it toned down a bit over the years I knew her but it was still quite clear."
"Huh," Harry hummed, he thought he sounded a rather lot like Merlin but he guessed Remus did have the most similar accent of the lot, and he was quite happy to be compared to his dad, nonetheless.
He'd thought it odd how Merlin's accent and language had developed, making him sound like he'd grown up deep in the west country of Ireland when he'd been born and raised in Wales and Britain. He'd asked once why his guardian tended toward Gaelic and Merlin had explained that it was the language that had changed the least. Sure it'd changed and developed based on the region, but modern Gaelic, whether Irish or Scots, was at least recognizable to someone who'd learned the language a thousand years prior. English, on the other hand, was decidedly not. It was also why he preferred to read texts written in Latin and Greek, they withstood the test of time unlike the more modern languages.
"Can I ask," McGonagall said before trailing off.
"Ask anything, I'll answer what I can."
"Are you happy at home? Safe?"
"Yes," Harry said immediately, a soft smile on his face as thoughts of home - of the warmth of the castle, the lands full of creatures and adventures, the love of his guardians – filled his mind. He missed Camelot dearly. "I am both happy and safe, I promise."
"Good," she nodded. "Pass along my thanks to your guardians for raising such a fine young man. I'd love to meet that Archer sometime, if he's anything like his dearly departed nephew I'm sure he's lovely."
"Oh, he's great," Harry said with a bright grin and a mischievous glint in his eye, a glint he hadn't yet realized kept his professors up at night with how similar it was to one Sirius Black who'd run about these halls years ago wreaking havoc with his merry band of brothers.
McGonagall grinned in return before glancing at the clock, "you should be headed to lunch. But first, as you know, first years aren't allowed brooms and we've made a special allowance for you, the Headmaster has agreed so long as this broom is only used for official practices and games. I'll keep it in my office for now until you're assigned a spot in the shed and then we'll store it there. You can continue with the flying lessons with your classmates if you'd like or you can use that time for study hall, I don't believe you'll be having practices during that hour as I'm forcing Mr. Wood to actually attend his classes rather than spend every waking hour thinking about quidditch."
"Percy said he talks about plays in his sleep, Professor. It's not just his waking hours."
Harry couldn't help but grin as McGonagall muttered 'so help me God' under her breath before letting out a huff and pointing Harry toward the door, "run along now, Mr. Potter, and remember you can stop by if you ever need anything or if you'd just like to talk."
"Thank you, Professor," Harry said, heading back toward the classroom, "I'll see you later."