Harry intended to listen. He really, really did. But he didn’t do slow on a broom. The moment he was given the permission to fly, he was off. All thought had officially turned off. It was just him and the breeze whipping his hair and the stinging cold of nearly proper autumn air. It was the scent of ozone crackling in the wind and the way his eyes stung from how quickly he was going. His glasses nearly went flying, but Bethesda whipped out, viper quick, to snatch them.