Dedication: For Starry. And for Az, because I feel bad that Starry does, and always will, like me more ;)

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. So sue me.

Free falling is an experience unto itself. The courage it takes to fling yourself out of a gaping hole in the side of a high flying plane, and sink like a stone toward the flat mass of land far below, is almost unthinkable. To gather up all the trust you might possess, and put it in a tiny canvas filled sack that looks like if you pull the right strings it would unravel in a neon splay of orange threads in your hand, is a feat not attempted by many sane people. One of these such "parachutes" was stuffed into my arms as I stared out through the gaping door in the side of the small aircraft.

A blast of wind barreled through the open door, yanking my dark red hair all over my face. I glanced distractedly at the employee standing next to me. He wore a stark white nametag announcing "Hi, my name is Flynn" above "Freefall Skydiving Adventures" on a new red jumpsuit, a mop of mousy tousled hair, and an expression that suggested he was the one about to jump, not me.

The pilot pivoted around in his chair long enough for me to catch a glimpse of a pair of keen ebony eyes set above a slightly crooked nose, and a cigar protruding from a scraggly gray beard. At a shout and a waving motion from him, Flynn blinked his wide brown eyes, started, and then scuttled up to the cockpit. Even with the roar of the wind and my Medusa-like hair tossing all over my head, I could still catch snippets of their conversation, although it was obvious that the two men thought they could not be overheard.

"Not sure...chute stuffed right...only one left...the rest...back at the base..." Flynn shrilled in a surprisingly high voice. The pilot glared at him for a moment, then quickly examined the parachute, muttering something. Finally he returned it to the nervous employee, bellowing something that sounded unnervingly like "going to have to work...need the money". Flynn's face held a hesitating look, and he looked toward the back of the plane. "Looks like there might be one rolling around back there, Cap'n..." he said slowly but audibly.

The pilot looked as though he was having a hard enough time trying to see through the swirling clouds enveloping the plane, and was not putting up well with being harassed by new employees. He consequently raised his already hoarse voice, and bellowed loud enough for my straining ears to pick up, "It's going to be your noggin rolling around if you don't get a move on!"

Flynn jumped as if he had been smacked and scuttled back across the floor toward me, holding the chute in front of him like a bomb while grabbing at the handles on the roof with his free hand. He started to help me into the small backpack. I tried to protest, yelling, "Are you sure this thing is completely safe?" but he just pulled me over to the door and motioned for me to grab one of the handles attached to the side. After a quick explanation of what to do, and when to pull the small handle that would let out the chute, he stood back and waited.

I opened my mouth, shut it, decided words were useless to describe my confusion, and settled for gaping at him. There was no way I was going to go though with this!

My trembling fingers groped at my neck, and I found the small wooden hawk that hung there on a cord. I remembered my great grandpa, once a wonderful craftsman, looking tiredly at me as he lay on his death bed, smiling, and pulling the smooth wooden bird out of his pocket.

"It will bring you luck, and aid you in the time of confusion when all other possible exits have been blocked." he mumbled. Then, in a voice that made me have to lean in to catch the scratchy words, he said, "It is... the key."

Though as my mom often said of him, "The elevator didn't always go the top floor", and our family had become accustomed to random murmurings of his. So at the time, I had let the comment pass and fade into my memory.

Another icy blast of wind brought me back to the present. Why I had let my friends talk me into this... well, I did know why. It was technically part of the Muggle Studies summer assignment: take part in an unusual Muggle sport or activity. And Potter (damn him) had dared me to do skydiving. And it simply went against my nature (forget my pride) to back away from that. Plus, when I had argued that skydiving took way too much time and planning and my summer schedule just didn't allow for it, he had volunteered to plan it all for me, and even to escort me up in the plane, supposedly to make sure I had a "safe flight". Hah. As if.

At the thought of him, I looked toward the back of the small aircraft. Potter was standing far enough away so as not to be sucked out the door, and hadn't heard a word of the conversation that had been going on. At my frantic look in his direction, however, he made his was carefully up the slanting floor.

"Whatcha waiting for, Evans?" he asked. "I even said I'd come with you, you'd better not let me down now." And grinning at me, he pulled another orange sack from behind his back and started to strap it on.

My mind had been reeling before. Now I stared at Potter, his black hair whipping all over his face, and half hiding his hazel eyes and brilliant smile. Brilliant, evil smile, that is.

"Potter, are you out of your mind?!" I trilled. "One of us doing this is insane enough, why would you come too?"

"Why Evans, I told you I would go with you, didn't I?" He said carelessly, now swiping unsuccessfully at his face in an attempt to un-obscure his vision.

I gaped some more. I'm sure it looked very intelligent. His grin broadened.

"Right, on the count of 'jump', okay?" He yelled over the roar over the wind. "Ready—"

"Wait, James, I mean Potter, what—"

"JUMP!"

He grabbed my hand and we sprang from the aircraft.

I was hurtling toward the ground, not in the correct "skydiving position" with my stomach facing down, but tumbling and turning in every direction. One hand still frantically clung to the small wooden hawk at my throat, and the other had become separated from Potter's, and was now careened wildly in the air trying to gain me some balance. After a series of twists and turns, I managed to face more or less downward, and turned to the problem at hand.

Potter was watching me nonchalantly as we fell. "Okay, Evans, almost time to pull the plug!" he bellowed. "One, two... three!"

I yanked with all my might at the small handle flying back behind me.

Nothing happened.