Disclaimer: Disclaimer, in the form of a Haiku:

Potter is not ours.
We am poor and don’t get paid.
So please do not sue.

“Firebolt, take me away!”

Harry’s cry echoed in the infamous Astronomy Tower storage room, startling nearby birds and snogging teens. Looking quite pleased with himself, he made his way back to the Gryffindor tower, carrying his Firebolt with great care.

“Hey, Harry,” Ron greeted as Harry stepped gingerly through the portrait hole. He was playing wizard chess with a bored-looking Hermione. “Where’ve you been?”

“You’ve been gone every night for the past week,” Seamus spoke up from beside the fire.

Harry paused, rubbed his backside, and held up the broom.

“I’ve been practicing some new tricks with the Firebolt,” he explained slowly. “You know… For the match against Slytherin.”

“But Harry,” Ron said, scratching his head. “That game is four months from now.”

Harry paused again, looked away.

“Well… You can never be too prepared.”

“But Harry,” it was Hermione’s turn to protest, “you’ve been neglecting your studies with all of these late night practices.”

Harry paused one more time.

“Right, well, I’d best be off to get to work, then…” He then proceeded to the boy’s dormitory. Once he had left, Hermione nudged Ron and he sighed, nodded, and reluctantly got up from his chair to follow Harry.

“Harry!” Ron exclaimed, shocked. He had walked in on Harry rubbing his stick. “Don’t you think that thing is smooth enough?” The Firebolt was gleaming.

Harry looked away, blushing. “I don’t want any slivers,” he muttered.

“Ah,” Ron sighed in understanding. “I can imagine, what with you riding it all the time. Slivers down there would be pretty embarrassing.”

Harry nodded, keeping his eyes averted, and continued rubbing.

“Hey, Harry,” Ron started, sitting on the bed next to Harry’s, so they were facing each other. “Herm and I have been feeling a little, well, neglected. Have we done something to piss you off?”

“Eh?” Harry almost looked Ron in the eye. “No no, Ron, of course not.” He flashed a small smile. “It’s just that, well, this broom makes me feel so good. It takes me to new heights.”

“Yes, flying’s brilliant,” Ron interrupted, a misty look to his eyes.

“Uh, yes, flying.” Harry focussed once more upon his broomstick, trying to hide his blushing face.

Ron’s solemnity was replaced by the excitement he felt whenever the topic of flying was brought up. “You know,” he said conspiratorially, leaning forward, “I never did get a chance to try out the Firebolt.” He stroked it shyly.

For the first time during their conversation, Harry looked at Ron. He smiled.

“If you come with me one night, I’ll let you try it out.”

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