Dark Kingdom.

In a final act of vindictiveness, he hurled the diary in his hand as hard as he could out onto the lake. Harry watched it arch through the air and time seemed to slow. In his hands, his broom suddenly felt alive, and he could feel its will and desire like a physical sensation. And he was suddenly streaking past a startled Ron.

The diary began to fall and Harry instinctively angled the broom towards the water. He could see his own dark shadow grow as he reached the water's surface, halloed in the glittering reflection of the sun. Her drew closer and closer, until he could see beyond his shadow to the strange shapes of plant life and giant fish (mermaids?) and then leveled out. He clung tight to his broom, tucking in his arms and legs to increase his control. So close the water's surface he was, that if he had unwrapped his leg from the wood it would surely have hit the water and sent him crashing. But his leg didn't drop down. Instead his arm reached out, and with perfect ease he snatched the falling diary right out of the air.

His goal achieved, he felt himself slow and carefully rose a little higher and made a slow turn back towards the shore. The sight that met him nearly made him loose hold of his broom. Professor Gimms stood stony faced with Ron's ear twisted in his grip, but he had eyes only for Harry. He hovered for a long moment, uncertainty and the first inklings of fear seeping into his psyche. Finally, knowing that prolonging the inevitable wouldn't make it any better, he steadily flew to eventually stand beside the professor.

"The both of you will return to your dormitories immediately, while I finish the rest of the lesson. I will have a word with both of your Heads of House to work out a thorough and suitable punishment for your stupidity," Professor Gimms said, scowling darkly at both of them.

Both boys stared guiltily at the ground and said nothing. He released Ron, who immediately went to collect his things and disappeared into the castle. Harry shuffled passed, but not before the man snatched up the diary and gave his hearty slap upside the head with it.

"Dunderhead!"

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooo

The wait for Professor Gimms punishment was perhaps the second most nerve-wracking wait of his young life. The first had been his trip to the Headmistress' office, but the longer the time dragged on the more intense his nervousness became. His imagination provided all sorts of cruel acts and bizarre punishments that might be inflicted on him.

Perhaps they would forbid him from flying ever again. Or lock him in the dungeons for a month. With the Nagini incident not even two weeks old, they might decide he was too much of a troublemaker and expel him.

These were the tamer punishments.

The more severe ones involved Voldemort and the cruciatus curse. Professor Snape and a cane or whip or a potion so vile it couldn't be taught in school. And worse of all was the thought that they might snap his wand. He didn't know if he'd be able to survive that.

To make matters worse, it would all be for nothing.

His irritation so great for the blasted journal had motivated him to opening it and discerning its owner so he could wail at him or even her. It was empty. Aside from the ruined cover page there wasn't even a smidgen of ink or pencil anywhere inside it. One of the other boys probably got it as gift from a relative and decided they didn't want it, tossing it on his trunk and refusing to claim it. He was so tempted to throw it in the fireplace.

However, he decided to hold onto it when he finally made his case to McGonagall. He doubt he'd get out of punishment, but proof that he hadn't actually started the trouble might go a long way. He could just imagine Ron attempting to explain himself to Snape, and result was rather amusing in his own head. Of course, Snape wouldn't deduct points like McGonagall might. Everyone new the man would sooner assign a detention than deduct a single point from his own House. "Hey, Harry," came a voice behind him, followed by a another very similar.

"We heard that you-" Fred and George were suddenly sitting on either side of him.

"Our bright and shining hero-" "Had a delightful adventure-" "With our prat of a younger brother-" "And are now awaiting your execution." Harry ignored them, in no mood to be teased. Instead of being dissuaded, they crowded in closer until they were practically snuggling with him.

"We heard you performed brilliantly on your broom. Like a professional instead of a first timer," said Fred, putting his arm around Harry's shoulder.

"Any thought to joining the quidditch team? Our last real Seeker left last year, and this year we had to put Angelina in that position. She's normally a Chaser, but no one else is small enough for the position," said George, putting his arm around Harry's other shoulder. "She's alright, mind you, but we need some real talent this year if we're going to finally beat Slytherin in the championship."

Despite himself, Harry felt his curiosity rise.

"Does Slytherin win often then?"

The twins shared a rare disgruntled look.

"Try every year. At least since Voldemort took the school. He comes to almost all of the games where Slytherin play," said Fred. "I think his presence intimidates the rival players into losing. Especially the Seekers." "And I suppose you want me to be a Seeker?" "Well, you are the right build," said George. "And have good speed, or so I've heard," continued Fred.

"Plus you must have had good eye and hand coordination to catch that book while flying that close to the water."

"And of course, Voldemort already hates you, so... Hey, no loss there."

"Oh thanks! Why don't you just stamp 'Please Cruciatus Me' on my forehead?" "And mar that beautiful soft skin of yours?" "Never!"

With that, the twins really did snuggle up to Harry, pressing their freckled cheeks to his. Harry let out a frustrate sound and shoved them both off and away from him, snagged a pillow and smacked them both upside the head with it. His mistake was soon apparent when both twins shared a grin and took up their own fluffy weapons. The pillow fight that resulted soon grew beyond just the three and quickly involved anyone unfortunate enough inside or passing through the commons room. When Professor McGonagall and Professor Gimms finally arrived to discuss Harry's punishment, they were immediately coated in a fine cloud of feathers and a suddenly tense silence. Harry quickly tossed his half ruined pillow behind the sofa and hoped neither had noticed. Judging by the slight twitch in the corner of their Head of House's eye, it seemed a futile hope.

"Weasleys, I want this room cleaned up and the pillows repaired by the time I return or you'll be cleaning more than just feathers out of the owlry this weekend. Potter, follow us." Sheepishly, but considerably calmer than he had been, Harry jogged after the retreating professors. They said nothing to him, and thinking they might need time to reign in their anger, he did not disturb them. Instead of going to either McGonagall's office or the headmistress's like he had thought they would, they made their way instead outside the castle and towards the quidditch pitch.

It was lunch time and the grounds and pitch were almost empty. None of the first years or the Ravenclaw quidditch team remained. The only person present was a sixth year boy he recognized as a Gryffindor with large chest set beside him. He regarded Harry intently and (was it his imagination?) hopefully.

"So this is him?" the older boy said.

"Yes, this is Harry Potter," replied McGonagall, "Professor Gimms believes he is just what you need."

"Huh?" Harry said stupidly, now thoroughly confused. Was this other boy going to be in charge of his punishment somehow?

"Mister Potter," the stern witch said, finally turning to regard him fully, "this is Oliver Wood. He's going to help us perform a few tests involving your maneuvering skills on a broom. How well you perform will determine the shape of your punishment. I recommend you do your very best."

"Huh?"

Professor Gimms took his hand and shoved a broom into it. "Don't think about it. Just get on your broom. We're going to release the snitch. The faster you catch it the less trouble you'll be in. Understand?"

"No!" "Go!" shouted Wood. The wooden trunk was now open and something shiny and golden flew out. Harry leapt onto his broom and was immediately after it. Again the feeling of rightness returned as his feet left the ground. Fears and anxieties were blown away in the cool autumn wind. His usual tumult of feelings were simplified into a singular sensation of freedom and his only thought lay in catching the Snitch.

It was much harder than his first flight across the lake. The lake had been open and flat and relatively safe. The journal had flown in an easily calculated trajectory. The quidditch pitch was a myriad of obstacles: the stands, the stadium walls, the goal posts. And the Snitch flew like a living thing, weaving about these obstacles, diving up and down, pausing, turning right back around, spirals, and loopty-loops and always at the speed of a hummingbird.

✨Visit my site at tiendup for more advanced content...✨

✨Read the complete novel in PDF, available at my Store!…✨

 ✨https://smithnovels.tiendup.com/✨