Harry thinks that she's brilliant, for having thought of that, for figuring to utilize these powers while she's in pursuit of learning new ones from a completely different universe. He also thinks that she's going to have a lot of problems, if she has to think about it this much. It seems like the same clash that Hermione had against Divination, except of course, that Divination was legitimately woolly and obscure and the worst the way they were taught it, but a fairly fat proportion of Hogwarts students could ride a broom. Incidentally, Hermione isn't the best with broom riding either.
Nonetheless, history has established that while Harry rather dislikes having his memories meddled with, broomsticks constitute some very happy ones. He doesn't tend to guard and hoard his happiness with jealousy. "That makes sense. Could help to bridge the gap between our uhhh," he starts generously, but his mind blanking now, only to sputter up only the recollection of Dudley's video game console, "systems." He reaches up to touch his scarred forehead, only now recalling how tremendously terrible he is at this.
Well, he's bad at guarding his mind. Maybe sharing's easier. He blinks hard a few times behind his glasses, mildly apprehensive. He doesn't think anybody's actually got the hang of these abilities yet. But in a moment, and without any further ceremony or flourish, it begins.
Or at least, in her mind, there's a shock of English sunlight, instead of green creepers. The wind picking up in her hair, brisk, chilly enough to numb even the worst memory of pain in her scar, and the lake shining like a mirror of burning silver far below. Hogwarts looked grander than its name would perhaps suggest.
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Harry thinks that she's brilliant, for having thought of that, for figuring to utilize these powers while she's in pursuit of learning new ones from a completely different universe. He also thinks that she's going to have a lot of problems, if she has to think about it this much. It seems like the same clash that Hermione had against Divination, except of course, that Divination was legitimately woolly and obscure and the worst the way they were taught it, but a fairly fat proportion of Hogwarts students could ride a broom. Incidentally, Hermione isn't the best with broom riding either.
Nonetheless, history has established that while Harry rather dislikes having his memories meddled with, broomsticks constitute some very happy ones. He doesn't tend to guard and hoard his happiness with jealousy. "That makes sense. Could help to bridge the gap between our uhhh," he starts generously, but his mind blanking now, only to sputter up only the recollection of Dudley's video game console, "systems." He reaches up to touch his scarred forehead, only now recalling how tremendously terrible he is at this.
Well, he's bad at guarding his mind. Maybe sharing's easier. He blinks hard a few times behind his glasses, mildly apprehensive. He doesn't think anybody's actually got the hang of these abilities yet. But in a moment, and without any further ceremony or flourish, it begins.
Or at least, in her mind, there's a shock of English sunlight, instead of green creepers. The wind picking up in her hair, brisk, chilly enough to numb even the worst memory of pain in her scar, and the lake shining like a mirror of burning silver far below. Hogwarts looked grander than its name would perhaps suggest.