He was flying. Beneath him was his broomstick, beyond that the quidditch pitch drawing closer, ever closer. He pulled up sharply as he neared the point of no return, and the crowd cheered to see him soar back into the sky. Curious at finding himself in the midst of a game, he looked around to see which team he was playing against.

A dark haired boy, almost a man, grinned boldly back at him, as though to say he hadn't been fooled by the deep dive Harry had just executed. Harry couldn't help but grin back, the yearning for an enjoyable competition singing in his veins.

Banking away to his right, he circled round the pitch, his eyes darting this way and that, searching for the elusive snitch. He barely noted the unfamiliar faces of his teammates, for once seemingly incapable of worrying, losing himself in the twin joys of flying and friendly rivalry. When he spotted the snitch he almost passed it by, not wanting the game to ever end. Yet the other seeker had seen it, too, so Harry dove in concert with the other boy, spiralling closer in the snitch's wake until an outstretched hand settled the match to the crowd's approval.

"Good game, Harry," said Cedric with a breathless smile, then flew off to join his teammates, glancing back long enough to lift one hand, a casual goodbye.

Harry smiled, and raised his own in fond farewell.