Living without Danger
Chapter 23: Sparks Fly (Year 2)
By Anne B. Walsh
Chapter 23: Sparks Fly
The next morning was grey and overcast, making Harry feel rather sleepy on his way to breakfast. He would have been inclined to dismiss his recollection of his godfather and Pack-mother teaching Defense as an odd dream brought on by too much treacle pudding, but Meghan was sitting at the Gryffindor table between Hermione and Neville, cheerfully drowning her porridge in milk, and Letha was at the High Table, chatting with Dumbledore in between bites of bacon.
Padfoot was nowhere to be seen, but this didn’t surprise Harry. His godfather was not by choice an early riser — in fact, Harry suspected that if Padfoot had his way, mornings would begin around eleven.
Hope he doesn’t have too many morning classes.
Professor McGonagall was walking up and down the table, distributing schedules as students trickled in. Harry waited for her to come over to him, but she walked right by.
"I have it," said Hermione quickly before Harry could feel offended. "She gave me all of ours, to save time."
Harry accepted his and sat down, perusing it. Double Herbology was first on the list today, followed by Transfiguration, and then, after lunch, Defense Against the Dark Arts.
"What are you doing today, Meghan?" he asked, helping himself to porridge.
"Starting work in the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey says her potion shelves need reorganizing and cleaning."
"You sound excited," said Ron, arriving in time to hear this last.
"I am excited."
"About cleaning off shelves?"
"Why not?"
Ron looked at Harry. "You have a strange family," he said.
Harry rolled his eyes. "As if I didn’t know."
Owls were streaming into the hall now, carrying letters and packages, dropping them near or on their recipients. Harry wasn’t expecting anything, as half the people who usually wrote to him were here — Padfoot had just arrived in the Hall, robes not quite straight and hair in disarray. Letha looked exasperated when she saw him, and waved her wand at him, neatening him up a bit.
"We’ll be working with more interesting plants this year," Neville was telling Meghan. "More really magical ones, instead of the Muggle things that have magical uses. I can’t wait to get started."
Ginny came up the other side of the Gryffindor table and sat down opposite Harry. "Good morning," she said, sounding determinedly cheerful.
"G’mo’nin," Harry mumbled through a mouthful of porridge. At first he thought Ginny was staring at him, but then he noticed her eyes were directed over his shoulder. He swallowed and turned to see what had her interested.
Dudley Dursley had just come into the Great Hall and sat down at the Slytherin table. As soon as he had, everyone else sitting near there had moved. There was no one within ten feet of him on either side of the table.
"I suppose Nott’s passed the word that no one’s to have anything to do with him," said Hermione with a sigh. "Or his father did. I can’t help feeling a bit sorry for him."
"He’s a Slytherin," said Ron. "They’re supposed to be so clever — let him figure a way out of this for himself."
Draco and Luna were the last members of the Pride to arrive for breakfast, and Harry frowned as he watched them come up the aisle between the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor tables. They were talking as they came, with their heads bent in towards one another, and they appeared to be...
They can’t be. Please, no. Not in front of everyone...
As they drew closer, Harry sighed in relief. They were not, as he had thought at first, holding hands. Luna’s robes were a bit too long in the sleeve, that was all, so he hadn’t been able to see her hand, and Draco was simply walking close to her.
Very close.
Harry shook it off and said "Good morning" to them both as they arrived. Draco ducked under the table to sit next to Ginny, and Luna took a seat next to Harry. Hermione handed their schedules down the table.
"Bother, we’ve got Transfiguration today," groaned Draco.
"We have to have it sometime," said Hermione, returning to her eggs.
"Yes, but Transfiguration on a Monday — it’s not fair."
"At least it’s not Potions," said Ron.
"Amen," said Harry heartily.
"I don’t understand why you don’t like Potions," said Draco, pouring a glass of pumpkin juice. "I mean, other than Snape."
"And I don’t understand why you don’t like Transfiguration so much," said Harry. "It’s not the easiest subject here or anything, but it’s not as hard as you’re always making it out to be."
Draco seemed about to answer this, but let it drop in favor of getting at his breakfast.
"This can’t be right," said Ginny, perusing her schedule. "It says Astronomy class is at midnight on Wednesday."
"Why not?" asked Ron. "You can’t do Astronomy in the daytime."
"We get to stay up all night?"
"Not all night," said Hermione. "It ends around one-thirty or so."
"You won’t have any early classes on Thursdays," added Harry. "They know you’d never stay awake for them."
"Our first Defense lesson is on Thursday," observed Luna. "I think I’ll like the new teachers."
Harry sneaked a glance up at the High Table just in time to see Snape’s hair turn green as he took a mouthful of scrambled eggs. Padfoot was sipping his tea, looking quite pleased with himself.
"I think I’ll like them too," Harry said.
xXxXx
Double Herbology was, for once, as interesting as Neville thought it would be. Professor Sprout took them to greenhouse three and had them repot Mandrakes. Hermione earned twenty points single-handedly by virtue of knowing the answer to everything Professor Sprout asked, and Ron seemed torn between admiring Hermione for the points she’d just gotten Gryffindor and being disgusted by her habit of knowing absolutely everything.
Mandrakes looked like completely normal plants, until you pulled them up. Then it was revealed that their roots looked like babies, and acted like them as well, wiggling about and crying. Harry had to assume the crying part, since Professor Sprout had them wearing earmuffs which blocked out all sound. This was because, as Hermione had informed them, a Mandrake’s cry would kill you if you heard it.
The Mandrakes they were handling were quite young, Professor Sprout told them, so their cries probably wouldn’t kill, but they could knock people out for a good four or five hours, and Harry didn’t want to miss Padfoot and Letha’s first lesson, so he made sure his earmuffs were on tight. He was grateful for Marauder signs, which made it possible for himself and his Pridemates to carry on a sort of conversation through class, and which allowed Hermione to tell Draco, when his Mandrake bit him on his unprotected wrist, that they weren’t poisonous at all.
"In fact, they’re antidotes," she said after class, when they were hurrying up to the castle to wash up before Transfiguration. "Mandragora, that’s what you call it when it’s in a preparation, is a restorative, one of the most powerful. It reverses transfigurations and curses and things like that."
"So, if anyone was trying to poison you, you’re all right now," said Ron.
"I’d almost rather have the poison," said Draco, making a face as he scrubbed the bite out with soap. "That hurt."
In Transfiguration, Harry found himself almost sharing Draco’s feelings about the subject. He felt as if he was back at the beginning of his first year, with no idea even how to get started. The beetle he was supposed to be turning into a button nearly flew away twice, and he almost squashed it with his wand tip several times. The only real progress he made was having its shell develop four holes.
Ron and Draco were having similar difficulties, but Neville took the prize for most interesting mistake of the day when his beetle suddenly grew so large that his desk collapsed under the weight. Hermione, sitting behind him, pulled his chair back just in time to keep his legs from being trapped underneath it, scattering buttons everywhere as she did.
"How many did you do?" asked Ron in sheer envy.
"A few," said Hermione, ducking her head, as the bell for lunch rang.
They met the rest of the Pride-girls for lunch. Ginny and Luna were full of stories about their first morning at Hogwarts — they’d had Professor Flitwick for double Charms — and Meghan proudly reported that the first injury of the school year had been successfully treated.
"What was it, Pearl?" asked Draco.
"A Ravenclaw fourth year had a nasty hangnail."
Ron nearly choked on his sandwich.
"A boy named Colin Creevey wants to meet you," Luna said to Harry. "He’s in our class. He thinks you’re very special."
"He kept asking us about you," said Ginny, taking a drink of pumpkin juice. "Because he saw us sitting with you at breakfast. I told him..." The blush was back. "I told him to ask you yourself — I hope you don’t mind..."
Harry shrugged. "What’s he like?"
Ginny and Luna looked at each other. "Small," said Ginny finally. "And eager."
"He makes me think a little of a puppy," said Luna. "He’s very excited by everything, and he likes to talk."
"I think you’re about to find out for yourself, Harry," said Hermione, nodding down the table.
The small, mousy-looking boy Draco had said was probably a Muggleborn was coming tentatively up the aisle, clutching a camera and looking rather awestruck. He turned red when he noticed that Harry was looking at him, but he kept coming.
"All right, Harry?" he said breathlessly. "I’m Colin Creevey—"
"I know," said Harry.
"You do?" Colin looked amazed.
"Ginny and Luna were just telling me about you," said Harry, indicating the girls. Ginny looked as if she rather wished he hadn’t. "They said you wanted to meet me."
"I did — I do — everyone’s been telling me about you. About what you did. How you stopped You-Know-Who and the scar you’ve got on your forehead and I was wondering — could I have a picture?"
"Of what?" asked Harry blankly.
"Of you — so I could prove we’ve met — or maybe could one of your friends take it, and I stand next to you?"
"Tell you what, Colin, why don’t you wait until dinner," said Draco before Harry could say anything. "Then you can get one with Harry and Professor Black."
"Really?" Colin’s face lit up. "That would be wonderful — I heard all about him too, how everyone thought he was guilty when he was really innocent, and how he’s your godfather, and he stole you from your relatives and lived secretly in Professor Freeman-Black’s house for years — someone said they had a daughter, that she was staying at Hogwarts since they’re both teaching here—"
Meghan cleared her throat noisily. "Meghan Black," she said, holding out her hand to Colin. "Nice to meet you."
Colin shook her hand, beaming. "And wait—" He turned back to Draco. "Someone said something about a boy who disappeared — who used to be named Malfoy—"
Harry had never been so happy to hear the bell for afternoon classes.
"We’ve got to go," said Hermione hastily, standing up. "We’re going to be late for Defense if we don’t, come on, everyone..."
"I’ll see you at dinner, then, Harry," Colin called after them.
"Serves you right," Harry muttered to a slightly pink-faced Draco as they left the Great Hall. "Volunteering Padfoot like that, you know he doesn’t like having his picture taken, and neither do I..."
"I was trying to get him to go away, in case you hadn’t noticed. I don’t like people staring at me any more than you do."
"Then maybe you shouldn’t walk around like you did this morning with Luna. You were about an inch away from her — what were you talking about that was so interesting?"
"Why’s that any of your business?"
"You looked like you were walking down a lovers’ lane somewhere. I thought you were holding hands. You can’t do that sort of thing in public."
"Are you trying to tell me who to spend my time with?"
"No. I’m just trying to tell you that if you keep on doing things with Luna that way, people are going to notice."
Draco scowled. "Why don’t you let that be my lookout." He speeded up, turning a corner at the top of the stairs.
"You know he hates people giving him advice," said Hermione, falling back slightly to walk beside Harry. "You shouldn’t have done that."
"He’s not the only one who hates it." Harry knew he sounded disagreeable, and he didn’t care. The rest of the walk to the Defense classroom was silent.
Letha was already there, stacking the desks and chairs by the wall with her wand. "Good afternoon, everyone," she said as the class filed in. "Leave your bags against the wall, please, and wands out. We’re going to do some preliminary testing today."
"A test? Already?" Neville looked worried.
"Don’t worry," said Padfoot, coming out of the door leading to the office, levitating a box beside him. "It shouldn’t be anything you can’t handle."
Neville gulped a bit nervously as Padfoot lowered the box to the teacher’s desk, which remained in place. Letha opened the box, and she and Padfoot together distributed the things within, which looked like miniature archery targets, to places against the two bare side walls of the classroom. Another wave of their wands, and the targets grew to full size — they must have been shrunk for storage, Harry thought.
"Everyone pick a target," said Padfoot, waving at them. "Go on, they’re all the same."
"Stand at the blue line," added Letha, creating said lines on the floor about ten feet in front of each target.
It took only a few moments for everyone to find a place. This seemed interesting already.
"Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts," said Padfoot. "I’m Professor Black, this is Professor Freeman-Black, and before you ask, yes, we are married."
"If you happen to go to the hospital wing, you may see our daughter Meghan there," said Letha. "She’s nine, and apprenticing informally to Madam Pomfrey, since she hopes to be a Healer after attending Hogwarts."
"Now, we want to give you the best possible education in Defense Against the Dark Arts," said Padfoot. "But to do that, we’re going to need to find out what level you’re currently at. There will be no points for today’s exercises, they’re skills testing only. We’ll do book tests next class." His eyes flicked across Hermione as he said this. "After we tabulate your scores for both sets of tests, we’ll have some idea where to begin."
"So, your first task today is in front of you," said Letha. "You can all shoot sparks from your wands, I trust? Raise your hand if anyone can’t."
Even Neville could manage that, Harry knew. No hands went up.
"Excellent. When we give the word, we want you to shoot sparks from your wands at these targets. They’ve been bespelled to record hits and misses, so we’ll know how often you can hit a stationary target. Then, in the second round of testing, the target will move back and forth along the wall, and you’ll have to try to hit it again. Then up and down, as well as back and forth, for the third round. You’re to stay on your mark in these rounds, by the way."
"In the final round, you’ll have a sort of shielded box to yourself and your target," Padfoot took over. "You can move around, try to chase it down, but it will be enchanted to avoid you as long as possible. Rather like a Golden Snitch. Your task is the same — hit it as often as possible with wand sparks."
"You’ll have eight minutes in each round," finished Letha. "And there will be shields between you, so that you don’t hit your neighbor’s target — or your neighbor — by mistake. Does everyone understand?"
A wave of nodding heads and a few "Yes, Professor"s answered her.
"Very good. But before we get started, there’s one thing we need to do. There’s a number on everyone’s target, and a list going around. Sign your name next to the number of your target on the list, so we know whose is whose."
Harry signed his name next to the number nine and passed the list to Ron.
"On your marks, then, everyone," said Padfoot, taking the list from Dean Thomas, at the front of the other side of the room.
Harry turned to face his target.
"Get set." A wave of Letha’s wand set shields all down Harry’s row, as Padfoot did the other side. "Go!"
Harry aimed and shot, aimed and shot again. Once he found his range, his target was soon speckled with little burn marks. Padfoot looked in on him, winked, and pointed his own wand at the target, briefly painting it with an image of Snape’s face. Harry grinned and peppered the picture with sparks.
Eight minutes seemed too short. Neville’s target had a fair number of scorch marks on it, but to be fair, so did Neville himself. Hermione’s had neat little patterns of burn holes all around the bull’s eye. Ron’s had several fairly large burns in it, but the wall was somewhat darkened as well. Draco’s looked rather like Harry’s own, except, Harry thought with a bit of pardonable pride, his own target had more marks on it.
"Well done, everyone," said Padfoot, restoring the targets to their original pristine condition. "Round two — on your marks, get set, go!"
This was a bit more difficult. The target seemed to be waiting for Harry to point his wand at it before it moved. Still, it wasn’t moving far, or fast, and Harry soon had its range again. He didn’t score nearly as many hits this time, but neither did anyone else.
Round three was more difficult again. Letha hastily added roofs to their little cubicles of shields after a wild shot of Neville’s went over the top of his "walls" and nearly set Lavender Brown’s robes on fire. Harry was several times tempted to step off his mark, to get just one step closer to the target, but he knew that would likely be counted against him, possibly even considered cheating.
When the shields disappeared, Harry decided that the class could be divided into two general types — the ones who had tried to aim every shot they took, and the ones who had decided that if they just shot enough, something was bound to hit. The first type, which included all the girls, Draco, and Harry himself, had only a few marks on their targets, but they themselves were unharmed. The second, the other boys in the class, had a distinct odor of smoke about them.
"Final round," said Letha. "Everyone ready?"
"Yes, ma’am," said the class eagerly, almost in unison.
"This will be very difficult," warned Padfoot. "Some of you may not score at all. Remember, that won’t count against you. This isn’t for a grade, it’s just so we know what level to start at. So — ready..."
Shields appeared all around Harry, turning everything outside them blurry and hard to see.
"Steady," said Padfoot’s voice, a bit muffled now.
The target, once more brightly colored and spotless, whirred to life, leaving the ground and hovering in the center of the box.
"Go!"
The target spun around, presenting its back to Harry.
He had a nasty feeling that shots which scored on the back wouldn’t be counted, so he dashed around to the other side of the box.
And discovered the target’s back still facing him. It must have turned as he ran.
Harry stared at it angrily, then ran around it again, getting the same result. He swore under his breath. How was he supposed to score on it if he couldn’t get at it?
Then he had an idea. He began to run slowly, around and around the target, always in the same direction, forcing it to turn continuously — then, suddenly, stopped and ran the other way. The target continued to turn in the original direction for a moment before it caught up with Harry’s movement.
A moment was all Harry needed to get off three good shots.
Unfortunately, the target seemed to learn from its mistakes. Harry had to think up new ways to get shots in. He was just running out of ideas when Letha’s voice called "Time!" and the shields vanished.
Hermione’s target had only one small burn on it, out on the left rim. She looked close to tears. Ron was limping on one foot, but his target was respectably marked, including one quite near the bull’s eye. Draco’s had a few good-sized burns, but nothing closer to the center than the second ring. Portions of Neville’s robes were missing entirely, but his target had a large section right of center completely burned out.
Harry looked again at his own. The center ring had two or three shots in it, with several more nearby, and a few random shots over the rest of the target. He felt quite proud of himself.
"Well done," said Padfoot, collecting the targets from one side of the room with a wave of his wand, as Letha did the other. "Remember, we’ll be book-testing on Wednesday — class dismissed."
"You need the hospital wing," said Harry to Ron, offering his arm, as they left the classroom. "What did you do, burn through your shoe?"
Draco snickered.
"It’s not funny," said Ron angrily. "Bloody target flew between my legs — I’m lucky I didn’t burn anything else."
All the boys winced.
In the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey sent Meghan for a certain salve, which she applied to Ron’s foot, making him sigh in relief. "Playing with sparks," she muttered to herself. "Still, they seem to have some semblance of ideas about safety — at least they had you shielded..."
"How did you do, Neville?" asked Meghan, closing the pot of salve.
"Not so well," said Neville.
"Not so well?" repeated Draco. "You had that whole big section gone! How is that ‘not so well’?"
"It was an accident," said Neville resignedly. "I tripped and sparks went everywhere. Some of them had to hit the target."
"I bet it wasn’t an accident at all," said Meghan. "I bet you’re just trying to make everyone else feel better because they didn’t do as well as you."
Neville grinned, looking pleased and embarrassed at the same time.
"Say, where’s Hermione?" asked Ron, putting his sock back on. "Didn’t she come with us?"
"She may have stayed behind," said Draco. "She didn’t look happy about how she scored on the last round."
"Do her good not to be the best at everything," said Harry. "I wonder if we’ll ever find out how we scored?"
"Let me save you the trouble," said Ron. "You were the best in the class."
"What? I was not!"
"Yes, you were," seconded Neville. "Almost all your hits were close to the center, and you had a lot of them. Other people had more hits, or closer to the bull’s eye, but no one had more in the center than you."
Harry smiled, feeling flattered. "Wow."
xXxXx
"I’m just no good," said Hermione, a bit tearfully, in the Defense teachers’ office. "Not with that. Not with being fast and hitting things that move around. Harry can do it, Draco can do it — I can’t."
"Correction," said Aletha, sitting down on the couch beside her Pack-daughter. "You can’t do it yet. Or rather, you can’t do it well, yet. Your natural talents are in other areas, and you know it — who’s always top of the class in every book subject? Not Harry, nor Draco. I think you’d find they’d be willing to swap you places, if it were possible."
"You’ll get better, Hermione," said Sirius from across the room, where he was recording the scores from the different targets. "All you need is practice. You know that — remember when you were learning to fly?"
Hermione smiled. "I thought I’d never be able to go any faster than I could walk," she said. "Because I was so afraid of losing control."
"But now, you may never go out for a Quidditch team, but you can get around by broom just fine," said Aletha. "Your wandwork will be something like that. You will improve, but it’s going to take lots of time and lots of practice. Don’t go giving up the first day, little love."
"No, wait until the second day," quipped Sirius. "Because after that, you won’t feel like giving up anymore, because on Wednesday we’re doing something you’re much better at."
"Yes, the book tests." Hermione nodded eagerly. "What book are you taking from? The one by Trimble we used last year, or the Guartec? Or both?"
"Now, now, no trying to get information from your teachers," said Sirius in a mock-scolding tone. "Go on, the others will have missed you by now. Just study the way you always do and you’ll be fine."
"Because you always study too much for your own good," said Aletha, copying Sirius’ tone. "Shoo, now, off with you."
Hermione giggled and ran out of the office into the hallway, closing the door behind her.
Aletha sighed. "She’s more right than she knows when she says she’s afraid of losing control."
"It seems to be a family trait." Sirius set aside the target he had just finished and picked up another. "But Danger’s overcome it more — obviously, since she’s had twenty more years to work on it."
"Hermione will get there." Aletha gazed out the window. "I think maybe when she falls in love, that control of hers will start cracking. When she finds out she can’t control him, she’ll start coming to terms with the fact that she can’t control a lot of things."
"Thinking ahead, are we? Have a boy in mind for her already?"
"Don’t you think she’d suit Ron nicely?"
"Ron?" Sirius guffawed. "Ron Weasley?"
"That sounds like a no."
"Well..." Sirius looked at the wall, thinking hard. "They get along part of the time, but they do fight a lot."
"So did James and Lily fight a lot. And they didn’t even get along part of the time until sixth year."
"You have a point. All right, I suppose it might work. But it’s early days to be thinking about that kind of thing." Sirius returned to his work. "Thank goodness, Meghan won’t be thinking about anything like that for another four or five years."
Aletha shook her head, smiling fondly.
I do love the man, but there are days I wonder if he has eyes in his head.
xXxXx
On Tuesday, Ginny Weasley was just leaving her own Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, feeling elated and surrounded by a faint haze of smoke, when she thought she heard crying.
She followed the sound and discovered Dudley Dursley in an empty classroom nearby, sobbing.
"Is something wrong?" she asked.
Dursley jumped a foot. "N-no, I’m fine, just fine, really..."
His face crumpled, and he let out a wail. Ginny hastily came inside the room and shut the door. "What’s wrong?" she asked, as gently as she could.
"My broomstick," Dursley managed to get out after wiping his face with Ginny’s handkerchief. "It was an old one, used, because my dad cut off my pocket money, he doesn’t like me being at Hogwarts, so I had to use my savings — it was the only one I could afford, and it wasn’t very good, but it was mine, and now they’ve gone and smashed it..."
"Who?"
"Crabbe and Goyle — and I wanted to try out for the Quidditch team, and they knew it..." Dursley sniffled hard. "Ever since I learned about Quidditch, I’ve wanted to play. I saved all year for that broomstick, and it might not even have been good enough, but it was my only chance..."
"Listen," said Ginny, patting him a trifle awkwardly on the shoulder. "Here’s what you can do. Go to Professor Snape, he’s your Head of House. Tell him what they did. You didn’t do anything to provoke them, did you?"
Dursley shook his head. "It’s all because I gave up running around with them and Nott," he said. "Nott told them to do it, they do whatever he says."
"Tell Professor Snape about it," Ginny urged him. "He ought to make them at least pay you back what you paid for the broomstick. Or it might be able to be fixed or something. But you’ll never get anywhere by crying."
"All right." Dursley sniffled once more, then handed Ginny back her handkerchief. "Thanks. I’ll do that."
xXxXx
Wednesday night was full moon, and the Pride showed Ginny and Luna around the Den. Ginny was awestruck by the indoor Quidditch pitch, while Luna went straight into the library. "This is wrong," she announced. "The piano needs its own room. The library is a place for quiet. We need a music room."
A section of bookshelf-lined wall swung slowly open.
"Good." Luna began to push the piano towards the new opening in the wall. Draco helped her.
The room beyond was not overly large, but the grand piano fit inside with room enough to walk all around it, and Draco suspected, and confirmed by having Luna play while he shut the door from the library, that it was soundproof. There was one panicked moment when he couldn’t figure out how to get the door open again, but he shortly realized that the book called "Sweet Harmony" functioned as a sort of doorknob, the door opening when the book was pulled out.
"Have you made up with Harry yet?" asked Luna in her blunt way as Draco came back in.
Draco punched the wall moodily. "Not yet."
"Remember what Mrs. Danger told you. Always apologize first, even if the other person was wrong."
Draco laughed.
"What’s funny?"
"Well, in the first place, if anyone but you, or Danger, said something like that to me, I’d be mad at them. And in the second place, how’d you even know about that?" Draco held up his hand to stop her. "Never mind, I know — Sophia told you."
"No, Mrs. Danger told me. Before the year started. She said she was counting on me to smooth over fights, since I don’t get upset easily."
"Easily? Try at all. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you really upset — except when your mum died."
Luna’s hand went to her chest. "Is this room really soundproof?" she asked, her voice a little wavery. "Does any sound get out at all?"
"I don’t know, but I don’t think any sound gets out. I couldn’t hear a note from the library, and you weren’t playing quietly."
"All right." Luna got off the piano bench and crawled under the piano.
Confused, Draco bent down just in time to see her burst into tears.
"Oh no," he muttered to himself. "I’ve done it now." He hesitated a moment, then got down on hands and knees and crawled underneath with her. "I’m sorry, Luna, I didn’t mean to..."
"It’s all right," she said through her tears. "I just miss her sometimes..."
Slightly hesitantly, Draco put his arm around Luna, and was surprised when she leaned into him. They stayed that way for what felt like a long time, though by Draco’s watch it was only about five minutes, while Luna cried herself out.
"I’m better now," she said after a while. "Thank you."
"Any time," said Draco, and to his surprise, meant it.
He crawled out, got up, and went looking for Harry.
The entire rest of the Pride was in the Quidditch room, tossing the Quaffle around. Draco picked up his own broom, which he’d brought down to den-night with him, and took off, intercepting Ron’s throw to Ginny.
Quaffle under one arm, he flew over to Harry. "I’m sorry about Monday," he said, tossing the ball to his brother. "I overreacted. You were just trying to help."
"No, I’m sorry. You were right — it’s none of my business what you do."
"Shake?"
"Sure."
Harry transferred the Quaffle to his left arm and held out his right hand. Draco shook it, then cross-punched with his left fist, knocking the Quaffle out of Harry’s grasp, and dove to catch it. "Let’s play!" he called back.
"Cheater!" yelled Harry, but he was smiling.
xXxXx
The rest of the week was more or less normal. Colin Creevey finally cornered Harry and Padfoot together after dinner on Thursday to take their picture, and promised he’d give them a copy as soon as it was developed. Harry corrected the story Colin had heard about Draco, which cast the Pack as ruthless kidnappers, and promised, with a trace of malice aforethought, that he and Draco would pose for a photograph together soon.
History of Magic was still boring, Transfiguration was still difficult, and the Gryffindor second years still had Potions with the Slytherins. Snape was, if anything, ruder than before to Harry and the other cubs. It seemed no one in his first three classes on Monday had told him about his hair, so that he hadn’t discovered it was green until he went into the lavatory and saw himself in the mirror.
Padfoot had pulled Harry aside after their Defense lesson on Wednesday and asked him if Snape had taken any points off in that morning’s Potions class. When Harry admitted he had, Padfoot asked for details, and promptly awarded Gryffindor fifteen points, since he said that was the number probably due to his own actions.
"I’ll replace anything he takes because of me," he’d told Harry. "If you annoy him yourselves, you’re on your own."
The Pride had planned to follow up on Hagrid’s invitation to come and see him on Saturday. Harry, though, was rudely awakened, at what he thought groggily must be what Padfoot called an ungodly early hour, by Oliver Wood shaking him hard.
"Huh?"
"Come on, Harry! Quidditch practice!"
Harry pried his eyes open. Wood’s face, which he could dimly see, was filled with a sort of maniacal enthusiasm.
Harry groaned as he realized why he couldn’t see Wood well. "Go’way, Oliver, it’s not even light out yet. Besides, we can’t have practice now."
"Why not?"
"We haven’t had tryouts." Harry rolled over, intending to go back to sleep.
"Who needs tryouts?" asked Wood, sounding surprised. "We’ve got a full team. Now come on, let’s get cracking."
Harry sighed. Obviously, Wood wasn’t about to leave him alone. "Do you remember last year?" he said, grudgingly sitting up. "How we had to forfeit a game because we didn’t have a reserve Seeker?"
The expression of pain on Wood’s face made it quite clear that he remembered.
"So it might do good to have a few reserves. Right?"
"Yes, I suppose, right. Why, did you have someone in mind?"
Harry nodded. "Draco and Ron both wanted to try out."
"Hmm." Wood seemed to be giving the matter serious thought. "Are they any good?"
"Yes. Draco outflew me once, in a friendly at home. And Ron’s a decent Keeper — not as good as you, but you’re leaving in two years."
"And we’re going to have that Quidditch Cup before I do," said Wood decisively. "All right, get them up, they can try out now. Fifteen minutes, on the pitch."
When Wood had gone, Harry started waking Draco, since Ron was a heavy sleeper and would need both their efforts to rouse him. Once he understood that this was his chance to get on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Draco got up.
"Early to bed and early to rise..."
"Don’t you start on me too." Harry made a face in the general direction of his pillow. "Are you coming? I’m going to be flying."
"Since I am awake already, why not."
Harry climbed back on his bed, and the green snake slithered up his arm, disappearing under the red Quidditch robes.
They ended up having to remove Ron from his bed physically and pour some water from the pitcher down his back. Draco had the forethought to cover Ron’s mouth with a pillow, silencing the inevitable yell. Ron was not happy with them, until Harry explained exactly why he was dragging his best friend out of bed at the crack of dawn. The word "Quidditch" changed Ron’s outlook almost exactly as it had Draco’s.
"Though if Wood’s always like this, I may rethink it after all," said Draco as they went down the stairs in single file, having left a note for Neville, asking him to explain to the girls.
"He was kind of maniacal about it last year, but he never got us up this early," said Harry. "I guess missing the Cup by one game hit him kind of hard."
"It’s not like it was your fault or anything," said Ron. "Well, it sort of was, we wouldn’t have had to forfeit if you’d been there, but you couldn’t help being unconscious... unless we hadn’t gone after the Stone..."
"Ron," said Draco. "Shut up."
They detoured slightly into the Great Hall and grabbed a piece of toast each from the racks which were only just appearing on the tables. Ron took two, and ate one on the way down to the Quidditch field, where Harry led them into the changing rooms.
The rest of the team was already there. The Weasley twins were leaning on one another, half-asleep by the look of it. Alicia Spinnet, next to them, was resting her head against the wall behind her, eyes closed. Across the room on the other benches, Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell seemed to be having a yawning competition.
"There you are," said Wood cheerily. He was so awake it was almost rude. "Black, Weasley, nice to see you — what positions do you play?"
"Chaser by preference, but I can Seek if you need me to," said Draco. "That’s if Harry ends up in the hospital wing again."
Harry elbowed him.
"Keeper," said Ron. "But I’m not anywhere near as good as you — I get nerves."
"So did I, once," said Wood. "You’ll get over it. Have a seat — we’re just going to have a little talk about strategy before we get to the flying..."
Ron perked up at this, looking interestedly at the complicated diagram Wood had drawn of the Quidditch field, and even more so when Wood animated it. Harry was grateful for his friend’s rapt attention — it meant he himself wasn’t expected to make comments or ask questions.
Three boards and nearly an hour later, when Wood finally ran out of things to say, he led them out onto the field, handing Draco a Quaffle. "Let’s see how you handle it," he said, taking off. "Try and score past me."
Draco did one or two maneuvers with the Quaffle before even approaching the goal hoops — tossing and catching it, rolling it around in his hands, even balancing it on the back of one arm. It looked like he was showing off, and he was, a little, but he was also getting a feel for the Quaffle, Harry knew. All Quaffles were slightly different.
Without warning, Draco shot for the goal hoops, aiming directly for the left one. Wood moved to block, and Draco veered to the right, making an easy goal. Wood looked chagrined as he retrieved the Quaffle. He blocked Draco’s next two shots, but let the third one slip past.
"Can I try some team moves?" Draco asked as Wood tossed the Quaffle back to him.
"Don’t see why not — Katie, Angelina, let’s have you up here."
Draco and the two girls passed the ball around a bit among themselves, then ganged up on Wood, tossing it rapidly back and forth so that he was never sure which of them would try to score. They made four of their ten attempts, after which Wood signaled them back to the ground.
"Welcome to the team," he said without preamble, sticking his hand out to Draco. "If you can score on me that easily, you ought to fly circles around Bletchley."
Draco shook Wood’s hand, grinning.
"All right, Weasley, let’s see what you can do," said Wood, waving Ron up to the goal hoops.
Katie, Angelina, and Draco took to the air again, this time with Alicia along, trying to score past Ron, who blocked not quite half of their throws.
"Well, you’re not the best Keeper I’ve ever seen," said Wood frankly when Ron had landed again. "But you’re far from the worst. And being reserve, you’ll practice with us and have some time to improve — so welcome aboard."
Ron looked like he couldn’t believe his ears.
"Last one to the other end of the pitch is a rotten dragon egg!" shouted Harry, and sped into the air, grinning. From inside his shirt, Siss gave the loud hiss that was the snake’s equivalent of a happy yell.
It was definitely going to be a good year.