Be Careful
6: How High You Fly
By Anne B. Walsh
Ron caught his breath as the laughter in the small dining room died down. "You two sound like Fred and George," he said, waving at Draco and Ray. "You're sure you're not related?"
Draco had a brief moment of panic. He knew his relation to all the pureblood families of his own world, but this wasn't it. "I—don't think so—"
"Maybe somewhere," Ray said smoothly. "But it'd be a few hundred years back if it was. Not enough to count."
"You do have a relation," said Luna Lovegood, speaking for the first time. Her eyes, a blue-gray rather than Meghan's silver, went from Ray to Draco and back again. "Not a blood one, though. Your blood is very different. It's your minds and your souls that are alike."
"The oracle has spoken." Ray took Luna's hand and kissed it. "I thank you deeply, my lady, and beg you to forgive me for forgetting our plans for the end of this week in the strange events of this morning."
"You are forgiven." Luna kissed her fingertip and brushed it against Ray's cheek. "As long as you promise to lead me out first of all."
Ray laid his hand reverently across the place Luna had kissed. "How could I let another take my place?"
Draco frowned, trying to remember if the plans for the end of the week had been discussed at the meal just past. There'd been some talk about a party, but—
"It's Luna's coming-out ball, Draco," Meghan said, apparently seeing the confusion on his face. "She was sixteen in June, so it's time. Even if she won't be doing what most girls do." She grinned. "There's a reason it's going to be here and not at her home."
"Besides the fact that our house isn't nearly large enough for a decent ball?" Neville put in. "My mum married her dad a few years ago," he added to Draco, "but we're not rich. Not like some people."
"We're innocent victims of circumstance." Ray spread his hands wide. "We can't help that we suffer from excess wealth."
Harry snorted. "You do not. You enjoy every minute of it."
Draco sniggered with the rest at the injured look on Ray's face. "So humor me," he said. "Why is L—Luna's ball going to be here?" A silent sigh of relief—he'd caught himself before he called her Lovegood, or worse, Loony. It might be just a dream, he might technically be able to insult her and get away with it, but if he started bending the rules, the rules might start bending back.
"For the same reason mine's going to be at the Lion's Den in August," Ginny said. "Actually, for both the same reasons. Official and unofficial."
"And those are…"
"Officially, it's just because our families are very good friends," Harry said. "And we have the larger houses. Unofficially—" He took Ginny's hand in his and smiled at her. "You're supposed to become eligible for marriage the day you come out, but sometimes there are already promises made before that."
"Ah-ha." Draco looked from Luna and Ray to Harry and Ginny. "So it's like a secret signal saying, I plan to live here someday, hands off or else?"
Everyone laughed. "Basically," Harry said over the noise. "So does anyone want anything else to eat, or can we start the clock?"
Ron grabbed one last piece of bread, Meghan took a slice of apple from the fruit plate in front of her, and Luna picked a grape from hers. "I think we're ready now," she said.
Ray leaned back in his chair. "Excellent." He shut his eyes, his face took on a look of concentration, and—
Draco jumped six inches. The sound which had come out of Ray's mouth was not English, not even a human language.
All right. Maybe I wasn't as wrong as I thought I was.
A soft gong sounded three times. "Attention," said a mellifluous voice from nowhere in particular. "Attention. The evening game of Quidditch will commence on the back pitch in thirty minutes. All those wishing to play will please assemble on the pitch in thirty minutes. Thank you."
"Marvelous," said Hermione happily. "That gives us just time for a reading. What shall we have tonight?"
"Reading?" Draco asked Luna as the rest of the dinner group left, discussing the merits of various odd-sounding groups of words.
"Hermione's mother cut down some plays so that we could take parts and read them aloud," Luna said, smiling at him as he held the door for her. "Stories, too; we take turns with the descriptions and read the dialogue in parts like the plays. We generally have readings any night we don't have music or a full play."
"When you say music," Draco said slowly, "do you mean…"
"I play the piano," Luna finished for him. "And sing. We all sing. Most of us play an instrument. Do you?"
"No. I never learned. I wish I had, but…" Draco shrugged. "That was one thing Father didn't think was necessary. Too girlish, he said. Not fit for a young man."
Luna laughed. "Your father sounds silly. If no men sang, we wouldn't have any deep voices for the choruses, and half our orchestra would be missing if there were no male players!"
"I'll make sure to tell him that the next time I see him," Draco said with a straight face, and was rewarded with another laugh.
She acts saner here than she does at home. As much as I know about her there. I never really knew her, just saw her at a distance and heard what everyone said. Which is most of what I knew about Potter and Weasley and Granger, really, or Longbottom or Ginny Weasley, or any of them.
And her eyes aren't buggy, either. They're just wide. She always looks surprised, but it's happy surprise. She's glad to see whatever she sees.
I wish I could learn how to do that.
Still talking about music, they started down the hall towards the reading room, where Hermione was already distributing copies of A Midsummer Night's Dream.
Remus pulled Cecilia aside as the adults of the house party went into the dining room for their sweet course. "I have to ask, Cecy," he said softly. "Is it possible this boy is the one we've been waiting for?"
Cecy spread her hands. "It is possible. Whether he is or not, that I could not tell you."
"Which is why I didn't ask. A possibility is all I need at the moment." Remus kissed her cheek. "Thank you. It takes a load off my mind."
"No, thank you," Cecy corrected. "For allowing me to make shameless use of your house, and for instructing your children and the others here to treat this mysterious stranger as though he were nothing more marvelous than a visitor from overseas, to ask him few questions and accept oddities without shock. It is more than I could have hoped."
"Then you don't know me very well, do you?" Remus teased.
Cecy smiled, but lowered her eyes. "I was more deeply within Draco's mind than he knew," she said. "It is not a world I will soon forget."
"Oh?" Remus offered her his arm, and they entered the dining room together. "Are there any stories which are appropriate to tell while eating?"
"A few." Cecy chuckled. "Let me decide what I shall have, and then I will attempt to recall them."
"Give me your hands, if we be friends," Ray declaimed, his book set aside on a chair, "and Robin shall restore amends."
The small group, now augmented by the nearest siblings of all parties—Fred and George Weasley, rising fifth year Lyssa Potter, and rising fourth years Marcus Black and Jonathan Beauvoi—applauded dutifully, almost drowning out the soft gong.
"Time," Ray said, jumping up.
The voice from nowhere spoke again as Hermione and Luna swiftly gathered up the books. "Attention. Attention. The evening game of Quidditch is about to begin. All those who wish to play, please proceed to the pitch. All those who wish to watch, please proceed to the stands. Thank you."
"To the broomshed!" Harry called. "Last one there gets the Cleansweep Three!"
Draco dodged the first rush of people out the door, then joined the half-dozen stragglers who brought up the rear, laughing and chatting. Lyssa sneaked up behind Marcus, laid her hands on his shoulders, and hoisted herself into the air, landing neatly on his back. He grunted but wrapped his arms back around her, then twisted his head to look at her. "How's the weather up there?" he inquired.
"Wonderful, thank you," Lyssa said sweetly. "Move along, now, we don't want to be late."
"You'd better watch out," Jonathan warned. "You might find yourself with a bucking bronco."
"I'm not worried." Lyssa patted Marcus’ close-cropped head. "He's my sweet widdle horsie."
The ‘sweet widdle horsie’ snorted, lowered his head, and charged down the corridor, scattering people to each side, Lyssa shrieking and clinging to his shirt.
"Well, they won't get the Cleansweep Three," Fred Weasley said.
"But at this pace, we might," George noted. "Let's pick it up a bit, people—march! ’eft, ’ight, ’eft, ’ight…"
Draco stepped out of the way of the quick-marching twins, then fell in behind them, taking care to walk a bit off the beat. Jonathan, he noticed, didn't seem to be in a rush. "You coming?" he asked over his shoulder.
"I'll get there," Jonathan said, examining something on the wall. "You go on ahead."
"You're not worried about getting a bad broom?"
Jonathan looked up and grinned. "I live here, remember? I can't ride my own broom in a match, it wouldn't be fair, but I can swap someone else for theirs. Besides, I play Keeper. Don't need to be quite as fast for that."
"Good point." Draco half-turned to follow the crowd, then stopped. "Are there fixed positions people play?"
"Not fixed, but we all know who likes to play what." Jonathan shrugged a shoulder. "We get it figured out most games eventually."
"Thanks." Draco jogged down the hall, a half-formed idea appearing in his mind. He let it be—it would either clear itself up or it wouldn't, he couldn't force it.
Right now, there's Quidditch to play.
"Are you sure you want to let this kid come and go in your house if he's got Dark magic on him?" James asked Remus on the way down the stairs to the Quidditch pitch. "Won't that attract you-know-what?"
"They have a name," said Lily from the next step down. "Just saying it won't make them appear. Besides, if we can't trust the wards here—"
"I know, I know, but I wouldn't want to tempt fate, or God, or whatever. Moony?"
Remus glanced out the stairway window at the sunset sky. "A little temptation is good for the soul," he said mildly. "And I could do with a few of those floating torches you make so beautifully."
"Should have known better than to try to get a straight answer out of you," James grumbled.
"They don't willingly travel by day," Lily pointed out. "And that's when he'll be here the most. He must know how to defend himself from them—unless his world doesn't have them?" She tilted her head, directing the question back to Cecy.
"They certainly exist," Cecy confirmed. "But his exposure to them has been limited. The evil in his world wears a more human face… if you could call that face human." She grimaced. "I will attempt to reproduce it at some future point. Not now. You would none of you sleep tonight."
"That bad?" James said.
"That bad."
The rest of the descent was silent.
Outside, on the full-sized and brightly-lit Quidditch pitch where Draco's mother's formal garden was (this particular dream-touch had his wholehearted support), Harry threw the Comet Two-Sixty he'd be riding straight up into the air. As it came down, Ray caught it in his right hand. Harry quickly wrapped a hand around the handle above Ray's, and Ray placed his other hand above Harry's. Harry countered with his other hand, Ray released his original grip to take hold of the last of the handle, and Harry slapped a palm flat on top, laughing. "First pick!"
"First pick," Ray conceded, letting go of the broom and stepping back.
"Ron," Harry said without hesitation. "Need a good Keeper when it's late."
Ray took a moment to look over the assembled players. "Malfoy," he said after a moment, holding up a hand to indicate this was not yet his pick. "What position d'you usually play?"
Draco slid between Ginny and George to come to the front of the group. "Seeker."
A long "Ooooohhhh" rose around him, and twelve heads turned to look at Harry.
Harry grounded the end of the Comet and leaned on it. "You any good?" he asked nonchalantly.
Draco copied the pose on his own Nimbus Two Thousand. "Fair to middling," he said in the same tone.
The Weasley twins snickered to one another, Hermione and Lyssa covered their mouths, and Marcus and Meghan both had suspicious-sounding fits of coughing. Harry merely lifted an eyebrow. "We'll see, won't we?"
"I don't know. Will we?" Draco asked Ray.
"I think we will." Ray nodded. "C'mon over."
The picking moved quickly after that, and when it was finished Draco took a surreptitious look at his team. He'd be flying for the Green Team alongside Neville and George as Beaters (there seemed to be an unwritten rule that the twins could not play on the same team); Luna, Meghan, and Ray as Chasers; and Jonathan as Keeper. Harry's team, Red Team, had Ron for Keeper; Ginny, Hermione, and Lyssa as Chasers; and Fred and Marcus as Beaters.
Merlin, is my mind strange. I'd never have imagined playing with, or against, a team like this…
Should be fun, though.
"Who's going to ref?" he asked, pulling a loose green jersey over his day robes.
"Who do you think?" George hooked a thumb at a tall, red-haired figure emerging from the house, carrying a box under one arm and a broom over the opposite shoulder. "He's perfect for it."
Draco squinted and made out, not at all to his surprise, horn-rimmed glasses and a prim look of distaste on the approaching face.
All right, that I could have made up.
"Why do you always leave me with the Cleansweep Three?" Percy Weasley demanded as he stepped over the boundary line onto the pitch.
"Because you're never fast enough," Fred said, straddling his own broom. "Let's have it, pregame talk, let's go, move, move, move."
Percy set the box of balls on the ground and opened it, taking out the Quaffle and a whistle on a lanyard, which went around his neck. The Bludgers, straining at their straps, and the Snitch in its pouch he left alone. "We're going to have a clean, friendly game," he called aloud, his voice clearly reaching the small stands in which the adults and younger children were now sitting. "No fouls, no foolery. And remember—"
"Don't fly outside the lights," both teams chanted, Draco coming in late and guiltily.
Don't fly outside the lights? That doesn't sound like it's just against the rules…
"Players aloft!" Percy shouted. Draco shoved off, the Nimbus responding well to his commands, if not up to the standards of his own broomstick at home.
I'd rather fly a clunker in a real game than the best broom in the world alone.
Ron and Jonathan sped off for the goals, Neville, Marcus, and the twins spread out with their bats, and Harry parked himself above the small circle of Chasers in the center. Draco opted to stay near his own end, keeping his eyes on the box where the Snitch still lurked. If I can see where it goes…
Percy pulled out his wand and released the Bludgers and Snitch. The Bludgers whirred up into the air next to him, while the Snitch disappeared instantly in the whirring way Snitches had. Draco made a face. So much for that. Just another game against Potter, then.
He glanced up at Harry, who grinned across at him and threw him a thumbs-up.
A friendly Potter. All of them, friendly.
Draco grinned back and returned the gesture.
And I bet they'll stay friendly even if I beat them.
"On the whistle!" Percy bellowed. "Three, two—"
A shrill note, and he flung the Quaffle aloft. The Bludgers shot off in different directions, one of them speeding straight at Draco, and his mind assumed its Quidditch thought forms without waiting for permission.
Stay on broom now. Have long philosophical thoughts later.
He shot under the Bludger with a whoop and set himself to looking for the Snitch.