Draco Malfoy certainly knew more, and he wasn't shy about saying so. He complained loudly about first years never getting on the house Quidditch teams, and told long, boastful stories that always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping Muggles in helicopters.
Indeed, every single person who grew up in the wizarding world had similar stories. Michael Corner and Terry Boot had told several stories about near misses and incredible dodging skill. The sort of death-defying stunts sure to impress their housemates. Even Mandy Brocklehurst had boasted about racing her sister.
There had been some debate in the common room about muggle and wizard sports. Terry Boot had had an argument with Anthony Goldstein about Anthony's Tottenham Hotspur's 'Yid Army' poster, which eventually moved on to muggle and wizarding sports in general. The poster had made Michael Corner nervous, he could often be seen glancing at it, sure that the players would move as soon as he would look away. Despite Harry's and Anthony's insistence that it was normal, Michael believed he was being pranked somehow.
Harry could easily see through their lies about riding brooms with a glance, their words dripped with falsehoods, but they seemed to be having fun with it. It didn't take a mind-reader to realise that, on some level, they all knew the others were lying too. It confused Harry more than why no one had banished Peeves.
Neville Longbottom, the boy with the teleporting toad and unfortunate name, had evidently never been near a broom. His Grandmother had – with seemingly prophetic foresight – seen fit to never let him near one. Harry quietly agreed, eyeing the boy with the almost constantly-red Remembrall. Neville was missing his tie today, and probably a few other pieces of clothing. The boy had detonated his matchstick in transfiguration with impressive, if alarming, force. Harry felt that the remembrall was a good thing for Neville to have, even if it didn't seem to help him much. His grandmother had tried her best it would seem.
Hermione Granger was almost as nervous about flying as Neville was, if for different reasons. This was something she couldn't learn by heart out of a book, though she had done her utmost to try. Harry had seen her in the library reading Quidditch Through the Ages. It was a dense tome even he wouldn't touch. He could hear her lecturing the other Gryffindors this morning from half the hall and two tables away.
Of course, she still looked nervous standing with the rest of them in the cloistered quad that had been set aside for the lesson.
Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived precisely on time. She had close-cropped, gray hair, and alarming yellow eyes like a hawk.
"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."
Harry glanced down at his broom. It was old and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles. He was sure that it was fine… probably.
"Stick out your right hand, over your broom," Madam Hooch called sharply, wisely stood far away from Seamus Finnigan, who produced explosions more violent and frequent than Neville.
Someone must have warned her.
"Now say, 'Up!'" She commanded firmly.
"Up," Harry all but whispered. The wood snapped firmly into his hand. He grinned.
Later, Harry would watch as Neville floated away uncontrollably, then start to fall. Harry watched him fumble his Remembrall and, before he knew what he was doing, he was twenty feet off the ground and had the little glass sphere firmly in-hand. Harry found himself smiling, enjoying the wind whistling past him and exhilaration of feeling his fingers close around the ball. He would, however, be wrong about what he had thought earlier, about them not getting hurt.
Neville fell, and he hit the ground with a noise which made Harry think of the Dursleys. Harry watched Neville's broom float away, lazy and free. He felt weirdly certain that it wasn't coming back. Harry descended to the ground, still holding the Remembrall, as Madam Hooch collected the boy. But, when she picked him up to take him to the Hospital Wing, Harry's Head of House had come excitedly waddling across the grass.
"Marvelous catch Mr. Potter, truly marvelous. Would you follow me for a moment?"
Had he been watching for something like this?
He dragged Harry off to meet with the Ravenclaw captain. Stating that Harry had potential as a seeker. Roger Davies, a chaser on the Ravenclaw team, later informed him that all the Heads of Houses watched the lesson to spot talent. He learned from Flitwick that his father possessed a talent at the game and had played as a chaser for Gryffindor. Harry didn't know what to feel about this alleged similarity to his father. He knew that it was important, as a nebulous concept, but it was a strangely distant feeling.
Daphne had practically dragged him away after dinner.
"You're going to be a seeker?" She seemed more thrilled at the idea than he did.
"Well, I don't have a broom," he stammered out, "and I really don't know the game that well, and there are supposed to be try-outs. Don't tell anyone, I'm supposed to keep it a secret."
Daphne looked at him like he was crazy.
"Everyone already knows all about it! It's not a secret at all! Tracey heard from Millicent who was… anyway, the rumor is that Flitwick sent out a letter requesting a broom for you. Someone saw the address on the letter he sent from the Owlery-"
I need to check on Hedwig.
"-and since first years can't bring their own brooms – and there's no way you can be a seeker on the school brooms – I imagine that he'll be the owner and he'll loan it to you for certain occasions."
Harry thought for a moment. "Like Quidditch games?"
"And practices." She nodded. She still seemed really excited.
Flitwick had indeed ordered a broom for his personal pleasure. A Nimbus 2000, which he allowed Harry to use. He had explained it all with a wink, eyes full of mischief.
Daphne had been very pleased that she was right about Flitwick's plan when Harry told her later.