He tips the wooden handle down, the wooden twigs barely rustling behind him…

The unexpected weight of the world was thrown upon his shoulders without a backward glance and he never expected to be the saviour of a world he knew absolutely nothing off. He felt the burden of being a nobody, an inconsistency, treated like rubbish; within a second he was shifted off the position and had a new burden to bear. How he wished he were just another statistic. He just wanted to be treated like a normal kid. Couldn’t he have some semblance of it?

The wind bites at his face viciously.

Expectations and high esteem was held against him to be measured up to and it didn’t help that he was frequently the target of a Dark Lord gone wild with each tragic attempt to commit homicide for something that was his own doing. I would think that he would have gone insane if he did not have the help of his two best friends that talked to him, had faith in him, believed in him and protected him.

The blood rushes through him as he speeds on.

He found a pure rush that came from flying after a challenge that was cast upon him from someone he did not have much pleasure in liking. He immediately took to it like a duck to water and he felt a release of his energy to the adrenaline rushed environment that pushed against him as he soared around, oblivious to all that went on around him. Catching the Remembrall, that poor Neville had the misfortune of losing, with reflexes that were beyond his knowledge. He stared at his hands and a grin faulted the concentrated expression that inhabited his face.

Sending his heart pumping madly, almost ready to explode.

Everyone watched his amazing first fly even though he thought nothing of it and he knew he was supposed to receive punishment. Instead he received an opportunity to try out for the Gryffindor Quidditch Team and his talent to fly took him far, as he was made the youngest seeker in a century. He then cherished the moment that he had obtained his very first broom. The fine polished wood that gleamed before him held a sentimental position to him. Unfortunately in his third year, the Whomping Willow battered it to bits, during one particular stormy match and he lost his faithful friend. During the same year though he was lucky enough to be sent the latest model in racing brooms and he relished it completely as it seemed to fly based on his instincts and it flew faster than his old broom and it took him to a whole new level. This of course spurred an argument between his best friends that it was given by an outlaw, which was true to a certain extent but the intimacy shared was not known then. His godfather sent it and that made it even sweeter;. Someone who knew his parents and someone that could watch over him like a real parent, even if it lasted just for a few minutes at a time.

He didn’t realise that he was holding his breath, as he becomes a mere blur to everyone.

It was horrible whenever he had to go back to the Dursley’s for the summer. Not just because he was treated like a nuisance and was scorned ever so. He could handle that and was almost used to the ill repute that was given to him. It was that he couldn’t fly and had no other outlet to release the haunting voices in his head, the pain that frequented his scars and his fears. He was alone once more with friends he could not talk to, thrown in the shadows; helpless. During the darkest moments there, he would open his trunk to take a look at his broom and polish it with the help of the kit that Hermione had given to him for his birthday. She always knew what to give him.

Livid energy courses through him as he makes the swift dive,

He loved the pure joy of being up in the air out of everyone’s grasp and query. He was just himself and not just the image of heroism that plagued him. He loved to dive, to feel the blood rush to his head and his heart pound. The familiar sense of excitement and pure energy that always made him feel oh so invincible for that few minutes before he gets to the ground where all his worldly troubles lay.

In that few minutes, he’s free and he has wings.

It was a wonderful feeling that he wished he could explain or share with his best friends. Ron might be able to understand the blood rush but he wouldn’t understand how it made him feel. His bushy haired friend on the other hand might be able to but she was so afraid to fly and yet he wished she wouldn’t. He wanted her to understand and feel the same way and open her eyes. Why he felt so strongly to share it with her, he didn’t quite understand but he needed to.

The blood rushes to his face and he feels light with nary a worry, as the stars above shine.

He had no idea though that she had watched him when she could. Staring out her window from her dorm or sitting quietly in the shadowed corners of the Quidditch stands, like today, so as not to disturb his time alone that he cherished when he felt the walls closing in on him. Her eyes studied his face scrunched in concentration and could almost see the swimming endorphins that were making him grin madly. She did not want to encroach but she needed to get nearer to him as he made that bold dive that seemed to have gone on forever that her own heart jumped to her throat and she watched on in utter amazement.

Then he pulls up quickly and a laugh breaks out as his lungs heave for air. Making him giddy.

From the corner of his eye, as he goes on an upward ascent, he spots the person he was just thinking of and speeds off toward her, earning a shriek of terror as he hurtles forward with an arm outstretched to catch her. Her hands go over her eyes and she gasps as he takes hold of her by her waist and holds her close to him as he takes her up. Higher still, after her shrill cries of violent protests, he doesn’t bother listening to her but just keeps going till the desired level and his heart feels like it flew over a million miles. She trembles in his arms and he draws her in tighter as she rides sidesaddle. He whispers for her to open her eyes and she silently obeys and looks beyond with silent rapture. As she looks on with admiration she listens to his voice as he tells her of his superfluous flights of fancy. She closes her eyes and he shows her the feeling of every dip and dive as well as of every ascent and feeling. The journey slows down as they come to a gentle float skimming the lake and settling down onto the grassy field there after. He looks over at her and studies her face and her eyes hoping that she understood; understood how he needed it just like how he needed her and Ron. She leaned over and smiled before planting her soft lips on his own. He gasped but welcomed the warmth and smooth contours that fit with his. He deepened it and got the confirmation he needed.

She understood.  

‘Let me help you fly, Harry.’

She understood.

She gave him his wings.  

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