firecracker ???

1-7

"Sweet."

"I will. Just so you know. Even if I fall off a broom first."

Elestara grinned. "You're already embarrassing enough. Try not to make it worse."

He shoved her lightly. She shoved him back. Harder.

-

Harry sat on the edge of the field, legs stretched long, hands still slightly shaking from the adrenaline. The grass was cool beneath him, grounding. He replayed the moment in his head again and again—how the wind had rushed past his ears, the way the broom had responded to his every movement, and that final second where the Remembrall had slid neatly into his palm like it had always belonged there.

He hadn't meant to show off. Or maybe he had. He wasn't sure. Something in him had simply acted, like a spark catching in dry tinder.

He looked across the field.

She stood with Theo and Pansy, arms folded. Her posture was as composed as ever. Her expression was unreadable. She hadn't said a word. No reaction. No smirk. No scoff.

What did she think?

He shouldn't care.

But he did.

Behind him, a voice carried. Clear. Icy.

"Celebrity broomstick syndrome."

Elestara.

Harry stiffened.

He didn't turn.

Didn't speak.

He just sat there, staring at the horizon, feeling both victorious and entirely deflated.

-

Later that evening, in the Slytherin common room, Draco was still fuming.

"Did you see him? Acting like he's Merlin reborn. I bet McGonagall gives him a crown to go with his broom."

Elestara lounged across the chaise by the fire, one leg lazily draped over the side, flipping through a thick transfiguration text.

She didn't look up. "I'd give him a muzzle."

Daphne snorted. "You think he's enjoying the attention?"

Theo leaned against the hearth. "They say he might be getting on the team."

Elestara stopped flipping pages. "Already?"

Theo shrugged. "Gryffindors talk too loud."

She exhaled slowly, returning her gaze to the book. "Of course he is."

Draco muttered something about cheating and favoritism, but Elestara only hummed faintly, lips pursed.

-

The next morning at breakfast, the Great Hall was already buzzing when Harry arrived with Ron. The previous day's events had clearly travelled fast. Students at nearby tables whispered as he passed, eyes flicking from his face to the empty space beside him.

Then Professor McGonagall swept into the room, carrying a long, narrow parcel wrapped in brown paper.

She didn't slow as she approached the Gryffindor table. She dropped it in front of Harry with a thud and fixed him with a look that was both warning and approval.

"Your broom, Potter," she said briskly. "Do not open it here. And remember, flying practice is after classes."

Gasps rippled through the hall. Whispers broke out like wildfire.

"A broom—did you see that?"

"First year on the team?"

Harry stared at the package. His face warmed. His hands hovered over the wrapping but didn't touch it.

Ron leaned in. "You're practically glowing. Might want to tone that down before someone sets you on fire."

Harry let out a breath of laughter. It felt like something huge had just shifted. Like maybe, just maybe, he belonged here after all.

He couldn't help but glance across the hall.

Elestara sat beside Draco, stirring her tea with deliberate calm. Her eyes flicked to the package, then away.

"I suppose next he'll be crowned king of Gryffindor," she said, not quite under her breath.

Draco snorted. "I'd bet they're designing his throne already."

Harry looked away before they could see him watching.

But the grin hadn't left his face.

She noticed.

Even if it was just to insult him—she noticed.

And that meant something.

Something he hadn't even known he wanted.

He didn't need her to like him.

But he was going to make her see him.

Really see him.