"I'll be back on the ground before she is."

"You shouldn't take Neville's Remembrall. It belongs to him."

He shrugs, turns around, and zips away towards some trees.

...then thinks better of it. "You know, I think a better place for him to look is in the lake." And he turns around again and flies towards it. He aims, throws—

—a bit too strongly, and now it's going to crash against the castle's walls—

- and it would be so, so stupid for Victor to try to do anything but by the time he thinks of that he's already in the air.

Flying is easy. Flying is wonderful. His hand closes around the Remembrall when it's three feet from a window, and he pulls neatly into a hover and looks at it in blank amazement.

Well that sorta ruins Dayo's plans grumble grumble but in the end it's probably better.

As long as, you know, no one's expelled, it would be devastatingly stupid if they got expelled over a Remembrall.

The blank amazement is however shared by several people—

—some less positive about it than others—

—and some much less expected and, perhaps, desirable than others.

"VICTOR EVANS!" shouts Professor McGonagall, running towards him.

...oh. Yes.

It takes him a few tries to get himself on course to return to the ground - he keeps nervously overthinking it - but he lands again in short order and steps away from the broom.

...shit.

"Never—in all my time at Hogwarts—" Professor McGonagall seems almost speechless with shock, and her glasses flash furiously. "—how dare you—might have broken your neck—"

"It wasn't his fault, Professor—"

"Be quiet, Miss Patil."

"But Malfoy—"

"That's enough, Mr. Weasley. Evans, follow me, now."

Draco, who managed to land just before McGonagall arrived, beams.

"Yes, Professor," he says quietly.

Professor McGonagall strides toward the castle. She's sweeping along without even looking at him, fast enough he might need to jog to keep up. Up the front steps, up the marble staircase inside, not a word exchanged. She wrenches open doors and marches along corridors, until she eventually stops outside a classroom. She opens the door and pokes her head inside.

"Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment?"

At least she doesn't seem to be expelling him from the school immediately...?

Wood turns out to be a confused-looking burly fifth-year boy.

"Follow me, you two," McGonagall says, and leads them up a corridor while Wood peers at Victor curiously. They reach a classroom empty except for Peeves, who's busy writing rude words on the blackboard. "Out, Peeves!" she calls, and the poltergeist throws his bit of chalk into a bin, which clangs loudly, and swoops out cursing. Professor McGonagall slams the door behind him then faces the two boys. "Evans, this is Oliver Wood. Wood—I've found you a Seeker."

His expressions changes from puzzlement to delight. "Are you serious, Professor?"

"Absolutely," she says crisply. "The boy's a natural. I've never seen anything like it. Was that your first time on a broomstick, Evans?"

So he's... not in trouble? Maybe? Um.

"Yes, Professor," he says, trying to hide his confusion.

"He caught that thing in his hand between Malfoy throwing it and it reaching the wall from a standing start," Professor McGonagall tells Wood. "Didn't even scratch himself. Charlie Weasley couldn't have done it."

Wood is now looking as though all his dreams have come true at once. "Ever seen a game of Quidditch, Evans?" he asks excitedly.

"Wood's captain of the Gryffindor team," Professor McGonagall explains.

"He's just the build for a Seeker, too," says Wood, now walking around Victor and staring at him. "Light—speedy—we'll have to get him a decent broom, Professor—a Nimbus Two Thousand or a Cleansweep Seven, I'd say."

"I shall speak to Professor Dumbledore and see if we can't bend the first-year rule. Heaven knows, we need a better team than last year. Flattened in that last match by Slytherin, I couldn't look Severus Snape in the face for weeks..."

He shakes his head very slightly at Wood's question and otherwise doesn't interrupt.

Professor McGonagall peers sternly over her glasses at Victor. "I want to hear you're training hard, Evans, or I may change my mind about punishing you." Then she suddenly smiles. "Your mother would have been proud," she says. "She was an excellent Quidditch player, herself.”

"I think it's unfair to put me on the Quidditch team when first years normally aren't allowed," he says, quiet and a little nervous. "I think if I'm allowed on the Quidditch team other first years should be too."

She blinks. "That would be harder to convince Albus of—and there's a reason for the rule—"

"If there's a reason for the rule, then what's the reason why I'm an exception?"

"Well, you've demonstrated aptitude far beyond most other first years..."

"Then maybe other first years should have a chance to demonstrate aptitude if they have it."