Thursday.
And of course, Lyra’s been called away to deal with… Hermione’s not sure what. She thinks it has something to do with the way the castle had shaken as they had been walking towards the front doors for their second flying lesson. Lyra had sighed, mumbled something about the Crusaders and transfiguration, told her she’d be on her own for the lesson, and disappeared into thin air.
So, as she walks with the rest of the class into the small field used for flying lessons, she locks onto the nearest Gryffindor and is halfway through begging him to catch her when she falls before she realizes who it is.
Neville Longbottom.
Fortunately, he looks more amused than anything else, returning her hug as her words cut off short. “Welcome to the party,” he sighs. He looks up at the sky. “Sure, I’ll catch. In return, when I fall, could you catch me?”
She feels the heat rushing into her cheeks almost before she can fully process his answer. “S-Sure,” she mutters, her arms falling to her sides. Her wings twitch against her back as he returns his arms to his sides as well, blushing deeply- but she will not use them. That’d just be asking for an injury.
She looks up into the air again. If she’s honest with herself, she’s more likely to be catching Neville than the other way around; he never returned to class after being taken to Madam Pomfrey, while she had managed to get into stable flight. Only six inches in the air, sure, but she’d done it.
“Worried about getting into the air?” a drawling voice asks, from just behind her, in almost the exact opposite direction Neville is.
She whirls to look, her brilliant, metallic red hair swinging fluidly behind her in a manner that used to be impossible for her to get it to do before. Then she pauses, glancing at the boy’s blue-streaked, silver hair. “Oh, um, a little,” she mutters. “What about you? After…” She glances back past him, towards the two groups of girls hungrily eyeing his hair- one group of Gryffindors, the other Slytherins.
Malfoy glances back as well, and rolls his eyes back to her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he declares. “But no, I’m not worried. As I was telling people before last week, I’ve been flying for years.”
Hermione nods. Besides, you didn’t have any trouble flying when you came back after… whatever that was. “Did…” She glances off to the side, to where he had landed after teleporting Bonbon up to whatever that broom was. “Did that second fall hurt?”
He grins, and raises one hand to tap his forehead- no, correction, his hair. “Nearly indestructible,” he answers. “Not a scratch.”
She lets out a breath. “So if I do fall, and hit the ground, I won’t get hurt?”
He winces. “Eh,” he mutters. “It’s a bit more complicated than that… and I don’t know enough to say either way.”
“So,” she turns back to Neville. “Better safe than sorry, right?”
“Come on now, what are you waiting for?” Madam Hooch’s voice cuts in suddenly. “Stand by your broomsticks!”
“Wait a second,” Malfoy mutters, as he picks the broom next to Hermione’s, despite the action putting him right in the middle of the Gryffindors. “Where’s Potter? He didn’t crash, did he?”
Hermione shakes her head. “N-No,” she answers. “I guess he was good enough already they removed him from the class.”
“Alright now,” Madam Hooch calls. “Lift your brooms.”
Hermione opens her mouth, holding her hand out to the broom- but before she says anything, it leaps up into her hand. Nobody seems to notice; they’re all too busy shouting ‘Up!’ at their own brooms. Neville’s doesn’t move.
Next to her, Malfoy holds out his hand. “Up!” He catches his broom. Then he glances sideways at her. “Got it working, now?” he asks.
She looks at him; Madam Hooch is moving up and down the lines, instructing the ones that didn’t get their brooms to jump to their hands. “Working?” she asks.
He nods. “Yeah. Last week, I seem to remember you weren’t able to get it off the ground.”
“Oh, uh, yeah,” she mutters, looking back at the broom. “Funny thing is, I didn’t even say anything.”
Malfoy tilts his head. “What? It responded to a nonverbal command?”
She looks up at him. “Is- Isn’t silent casting a thing?”
He nods. “With a wand, yeah- Dad does that all the time. But brooms…
“I heard Nimbus is experimenting with a nonverbal summons ability, but no existing broom- especially not these ancient twigs- can do that.”
“Huh,” she mutters, scowling at it.
Malfoy tilts his head, brushing his hair with one hand. “Maybe… Only one way to find out, I guess.” He drops his broom, and holds his hand over it.
Nothing happens.
He scowls. “Up! Yeah, no, it can’t be… Uh, the papa tango.”
Hermione blinks. “Oh, right. Yeah, if it’s not working for you… I don’t know. Maybe someone jinxed it?”
Malfoy is about to respond when Madam Hooch calls out to the class again. “Alright, mount your brooms!”
The number of people with bad grips is much smaller this time. And, this time, both Hermione and Malfoy have it right; neither had last time. Neville, though, is holding his wrong.
“Alright,” Madam Hooch announces. “When I blow my whistle, you will all kick off and hover a few feet off the ground. If you have difficulty keeping your broom under control, do not be afraid to return to the ground; I will be around to help. In Three, Two, One.” She blows her whistle, watching the whole class intently.
Everyone kicks off simultaneously. A couple people somewhere along the line wobble; one falls off their broom.
Hermione doesn’t even need to kick off. Her broom rises fluidly and precisely into position, before holding rock steady and perfectly still in the air. Funny, she’d been wobbling like crazy- and drifting as well- at the end of last week’s session.
Neville, on the other hand, doesn’t stop rising. His broom rockets high into the air with him hanging on for dear life, spinning like the rotor of last week’s helicopter.
“Oh boy,” Madam Hooch groans, right on time for his vertical flight path to bend to the side, out over the grounds.
“That can’t be safe,” Malfoy mutters.
“No, it’s not,” Hermione answers. “And he asked me to catch him. I…” She trails off, watching as he finally loses his grip, flying up and away from the broom, before falling back down. He falls faster and faster as she watches, before she comes to a realization.
He’s falling from over two hundred feet up.
If he hits the ground like that, he’ll die.
And Madam Hooch’s levitation spell, intended to deaden the impact, just missed.
She doesn’t think. She simply moves.
Her broom moves with her. She doesn’t even notice it.
The wind whistles in her ears; she can feel her hair blowing out behind her. And, she feels alive in a way she’s never felt alive before.
Neville is ahead.
She momentarily dives next to him, matching speed and direction just long enough to catch him in her arms before pulling up again. “You okay?” she asks Neville, catching his broom in one hand before floating back towards the party. Funny, she really can’t feel his weight.
He stares at her for a couple seconds, then hugs her so suddenly she lets out a squeak of fright. “Thank you!” he exclaims. “I thought I was going to die!”
Then Malfoy arrives, pulling up next to her and matching her speed. “How did you do that?” he asks.
She looks at him. “What?”
He shrugs. “The whole thing. These school brooms can’t go anywhere near that fast, and they’re not strong enough to hold two people at once.”
She blinks, lowering Neville to his feet before touching down herself. “Really?”
“Miss Granger!”
It’s Professor McGonagall, marching up the lawn.
“Uhh,” Malfoy mutters, looking over at the professor and touching down himself. “Should I be worried?”
Hermione looks at him. “You’re in Slytherin,” she answers. “Why should you be?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know.” It’s not a very convincing lie.
She raises her eyebrow at him, before lowering it again and turning to Professor McGonagall, now close enough not to have to shout. “Yes, Professor?”
“How-?” Professor McGonagall begins. “Never- Not in all my time at Hogwarts- What was that?”
“Hermione!”
“What?” Hermione asks, looking around.
“Hermione!” Malfoy repeats, waving from where he’s leaning against the wall. “Over here!”
She finally spots him and, head tilted inquisitively, walks towards him. “Something wrong?” she asks.
He shakes his head. “Nah, I just managed to deplete my thaumic reserves again.” He takes a deep breath, and stands away from the wall, tentatively removing his hand from it. “Ahh, there. I’m okay. Um…”
She nods slowly. “Is… Did you need something?”
He nods. “Do you have a minute, or…?”
She winces. “A minute, I suppose.” She glances at her wrist, and the wristwatch Lyra had given her, complete with its lighted, computerized display. She could swear she’d read in Hogwarts: A History that electronics don’t work here, but this thing seems to work just fine… just like the phone in her pocket that it’s paired with. “Yeah… right about.”
Malfoy flinches. “Er… what is it?”
She sighs. “I teach Charms with Bonbon,” she informs him. “I need to get started preparing for class in a few minutes.”
“Ahh,” Malfoy mutters. “Do you mind if I, ah, tag along for a couple of those?”
She shrugs. “Sure, I guess.”
“Then… I was wondering… Since we’re currently the only, ah, subjects of the ‘papa tango’...”
She blinks. “You mean, you want to work with me?”
He nods. “I figure it can’t hurt,” he states. “And, according to Lyra, there’s something in our magic that we have and Equestrians don’t. Or, at least, something I have, but she said it was general to all British wizards.”
“... Oh. But… Are you sure?” I mean, you’re in Slytherin.”
He shrugs. “So?”
“I’m muggleborn.”
He stops short. “... Oh.” He resumes moving, trotting to catch up; she hadn’t stopped. “Yeah, that’ll make it complicated. But it- Woah!” His persistent dizziness, unfortunately, is not gone. It’s low enough he was able to walk through it but, apparently, trotting is too much. He’s managed to lose his balance- and fallen over. Not towards Hermione, thankfully- rather, he’s fallen forwards, past her. He tries to do some kind of save, throwing his hands up in front of himself, but he’s not fast enough- and gets a face full of bronze feathers.
The feathers shift under his weight, pushing him upright again, and Hermione’s hand touches his shoulder. “Are you okay?” she asks him seriously.
He carefully rebalances himself, looking up at her. “Yeah, sorry, just a little…” He trails off, following the feathery bronze object back to Hermione with his eyes. “What in the world?”
The wing quickly vanishes behind her back, and Hermione blushes darkly. “P-Please don’t tell anyone?”
“Ahh, sure,” he mutters, leaning against the wall.
“Here, c’mon,” she states, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him forwards. As she does so, he feels her wing pushing at his back again, urging him away from the wall. “I’ll help you stay upright. You were saying?”
“Thanks. Um, yeah. I knew I was looking for trouble when I started looking for you, but… Well, you being muggleborn will complicate it even more. Not that I’m going to let that get in my way, if you don’t mind- after Bonbon showed me their home, and Lyra showed me just what we are after the ‘papa tango’...” He shrugs. “I was curious if we could, you know, coordinate, find out more about… well, us. Maybe find more, ah, willing subjects for Lyra.”
Hermione gives him a scandalized look. “What-?! Hey, I was willing!”
He raises an eyebrow. “Anyone would be willing with that as the alternative.”
“Point. So, ah…” She glances backwards. “You said you exhausted your magic? How did you do that?”
“Teleported,” he states. “And too many times in quick succession at that, nearly knocked myself out. I… wasn’t sure where you might or might not be, had to try a few places.”
“... And you managed to exhaust your magic? Isn’t magic inexhaustible?”
He nods. “Kinda. The way Lyra described it… If I remember right, our British wand magic is inexhaustible, so long as there’s magic in the air around us. Equestrian magic, like virtually every teleport capable of, ah, ignoring Hogwarts’ wards, is more innate by nature- draws on our internal reserves.” He sighs. “As such, it’s impossible to create a ‘deadzone’ like Azkaban- our Equestrian magic works anywhere, including places where wands are useless.”
“And,” Bonbon inserts, leaning suddenly out of the door Hermione is guiding him towards, “the wizards don’t realize it, but most British ‘accidental magic’ draws from those reserves, rather than the environment. Plus, Lyra’s working on a way to convince wand magic to draw on our internal reserves. Among other things.”