1971

Severus picked up the twitching broom from the ground. Soon he would be flying, soaring into that azure sky. The wind would be in his hair and his cloak would billow behind him like hawk’s wings. What did it matter if the broom had not smacked straight into his hand as it had Potter’s? What did it matter that even that idiot Pettigrew had caught his broom before he had? It was not the Summoning that mattered – it was the flying, and Severus knew he would be a good flyer.

He glanced across at Lily; she was looking scared but also excited. They had talked of this during their last few weeks at home. Severus had dug out an old book about Quidditch and together they’d pored over the pages.


“It looks dangerous,� she said.

“Don’t be scared, Lily,� he whispered in reply. “Flying will be easy, I’m sure.�

“I’m not scared,� she said, a touch scornfully. “I said it looked dangerous, but it also looks fun.�


And that was Lily all over. Brave as anything. He should have known then that she would be a Gryffindor.

He watched as she sat astride her broom, giggling as it lurched upwards. Her new friend, a girl called Mary, was already hovering steadily. Potter was flying in lazy circles exhorting Black to try harder – to join him in the air.

“Ahh,� cried Rolanda Hooch, their flying Instructor, “You’ve managed to catch your broom at last, Mr Snape.� She moved behind Severus. “Now then, swing your left leg over, young man, and kick off with your right foot.�

Severus listened intently to Madam Hooch’s instructions but as he was about to kick off, he heard a whoop of joy. He looked up to see one of Potter’s other cohorts – the brown haired boy he thought was called Lupin – had managed to levitate a few inches off the ground.

Determinedly, Severus dug his heel into the ground and pushed up. Almost at once, the broom reacted. He grinned and looked at Lily who was staring at him, her eyes shining with pride.

I knew I could do this.

The broom bucked suddenly, and Severus slipped around the handle. Trying to adjust his position, he overcompensated and the broom lurched upwards. He fell inelegantly into a muddy puddle.

A girl laughed – he wasn’t sure who it was – and then he heard the obnoxious braying of that idiot Potter as everyone joined in.

“Are you all right, Mr Snape?� asked Madam Hooch.

Sullenly, he nodded as he surveyed the damage to his robes. They were dirty and he didn’t have another clean set – unless he counted the old ones of his mother’s that were at the bottom of his trunk. Someone held out a hand to him – a small freckled hand – and he looked up to see that Lily had dismounted and had crossed the path towards him. He felt a surge of gratitude mingled with a faint wave of self-loathing and envy.

She managed it, he thought.

***

1976

At Quidditch matches, they were divided, and Severus knew it was useless to attempt to sit with Lily. She professed that she didn’t really enjoy the game and flying wasn’t her thing, and she attended the matches only to show house loyalty.

“Mary’s my friend, too, Sev. She’s just made it onto the team as a Chaser, so I have to support her. Besides, now that I’m a prefect, I should be cheering on Gryffindor more regularly. You do understand, don’t you?� she asked as he tried to persuade her to skip the match, as they used to, and sit in the grounds together.

So he sat in the stand decked in green and silver (despite the fact it was Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff) and watched as Lily’s friend made her debut. Mary was good; she looked at ease on a broom and exhilarated. Severus envied that exhilaration although he still didn’t understand it. What was so great about flying? There was a modicum of skill involved – true. But it didn’t engage the brain at all, so how could anyone be impressed? When Mary scored her fifth goal, the Gryffindor stand erupted into a maelstrom of cheers. Their girl was doing well. Severus raised an eyebrow sardonically when he saw Potter holding Mary’s arm aloft. What would Lily make of her great friend being so pally with the loathsome Potter?

But as he trained his gaze on her, willing her to turn her head, he noticed Lily smiling at her friend and cheering along with the rest of her house. Then, as the two Chasers parted, he watched as Lily’s eyes followed one of them – Potter.

She told him, continually, that she loathed Potter. Whenever Severus brought up the subject, she would declare Potter to be arrogant, a bighead, and a jerk. But now, when she thought she was unobserved -- because surely, everyone was watching the action -- he could see her watching only James Potter.

It hurt to his core. Right deep in his gut, he could feel the anger he tried so hard to repress, ripping his insides. Potter. Potter.It always came back to Potter. From that first time on the train, when he’d been so amusing about Slytherin, Potter been a constant irritant, his jibes stabbing like knives. It hadn’t mattered before because he could hold his own. He could take him on and win because he, Severus Snape, was not cocky enough to believe he’d always win. And Lily relished his victories, however small.

Or she used to.

Now she was distracted.

Now she professed an interest in Quidditch, saying she had to support Mary and her house.

Now she watched Potter hurtle through the air at breakneck speed and cheered her head off when he scored.

Now she looked impressed.

Now she ignored Severus.

Was flying really that important?


Waking early the next morning, Severus made his way to Madam Hooch’s broom cupboard. The brooms were so old and useless that no students ever broke in to steal them, so Severus found he had a wide selection. He selected the newest-looking one and, striding purposefully, he made his way towards the Forbidden Forest. Behind Hagrid’s hut, there was a large expanse of earth. Hagrid usually planted pumpkins there, but this year it was lying fallow.

There was nothing to be afraid of. If Potter could do it, then so could he.

He laid the broom on the ground. “Up!� he ordered. The broom twitched violently.

“UP!� he urged again and this time the broom flew into his hand. Severus felt a smile curve his face. Perhaps it was merely a matter of confidence and maturity. He swung his leg over the broom, and kicked off the way he’d seen Potter do, so many times. The broom bucked fiercely, but Severus was ready for it. Instead of leaning to one side, he gripped firmly and straightened out his back. The broom stopped, and he loosened his hold. The next second he was sent soaring into the air. Landing on the soft loamy earth, he picked himself up and returned to the recalcitrant broom.

He knew the importance now of persistence, of never giving in.

He would master this.

Three hours later, Severus walked into breakfast. He was sweaty, dirty and his bones ached from the unexpected exercise, but he felt a thrill inside him. He had managed to hover above Hagrid’s hut. He had managed to circle the fallow field and, after a few false starts, he had managed to land successfully without landing headfirst in the mud. He felt exhilarated and proud. Across the Great Hall, he saw Lily sitting with her friends. She glanced across at him, almost unconsciously, and he smiled at her. She raised her hand slightly then turned back to Mary. Severus watched as Potter and Black sauntered across to the Gryffindor table. Leaning over Lily, Potter grabbed a piece of her toast. She scowled at him, but Severus noticed that as he walked away to sit with his friends, her eyes followed him.

Flying, he thought. It’s the only thing he’s better at than me.

Mulishly, he kicked the table leg and walked out.

Severus got up early the next morning, the next, and the next. He practised every day for a month until he was sure he could circle in the air, dive like a hawk and hold a Quaffle in his hand. He knew now he would not be good enough to make the team – certainly not mid-year – but he didn’t care. Somewhere along this arduous month of intensive practise, this had stopped being about Potter and Quidditch. He could fly – he could fly well. This was no longer for Lily’s sake – this was for him and him alone.

He laughed, not the hollow, sardonic cough he was given to uttering, but a joyful, euphoric shout of a laugh. He would show her, however. He needed to show Lily that there was nothing remarkable about flying, that any fool could fly as long as they practised. She would realise that Potter was not so special, and certainly wasn’t worth the adulation heaped on him by others.

Returning the old broom to the cupboard, Severus smiled to himself.

When the O.W.L.’s are over, I will show her I can fly.