Charlie sighed. He'd made his opinions on the matter quite clear on numerous occasions, but in the end, it wasn't his choice to make. Crina was right. They did need a new intern.

"Before we even think about getting you up close," he barked—more gruffly than he was used to, the days of Quidditch captaincy were long past—"you have to show that you can handle yourself on a broom. Do you play Quidditch?"

Dominique shook her head, not looking up.

"More's the pity. In the morning, before you start the food work, I want you to practice flying. When you can do two back-to-back laps from here to...that mountain," he pointed, "without stopping, we'll talk again. Until then, you report to Crina."

He could see her doing the math in her head. She barely had two months between terms. That wouldn't be much time, and despite her slender build, she didn't look like she was very used to exercising. Her hunched-over posture as she walked away didn't give the impression she expected to make it.

When he saw her in the afternoons, she looked exhausted, but eager to do whatever he asked. At first, he had her reading letters and lists of symptoms. It was Crina, by the end of the third day, who had to tell him that she'd been holding her own (and, just as importantly, not holding her nose) when dealing with the Swedish Short-Snout carcass, and they might as well give her smellier tasks. That was what she was there for.

So, still skeptical, Charlie let her do muddy groundwork. Every time he saw her, she looked more exhausted than the last at first glance, but at least she was holding herself upright. Halfway through her second week, she stopped him as he was leaving work with an "Oy."

"Oy?" he mockingly echoed.

"I mean...er...hold up a minute."

He realized what was going on as she led him outside. Charlie raised his eyebrows, but crossed his arms and said nothing. Straddling the Comet 300, she took off unhurriedly, as if to save herself the embarrassment of starting fast and burning out.

His stomach had began to rumble as she reached the mountain the first time—he really ought to have specified when she could show off, but there was no chance to stop then. She seemed to gain altitude without meaning to on the return leg. Drifting could be dangerous, she ought to...well, there'd be time for that later.

On the second trip out, she started losing altitude. Again, this seemed unintentional, but more like what he'd been expecting. She paused, maybe two-thirds of the way there, but then seemed to worry that this would count against her as she quickly sped up and then resumed a slower pace.

By that time Charlie had to let himself be impressed, if only to take his mind off how hungry he felt. Dominique whirled at the mountain and started approaching once more. Had she charmed herself or something? She didn't seem to have taken her hands off the broom...

There was nothing to do but watch her creep closer, closer still, until she hung in the air directly above him, not coming down, but showing him that she could keep going if he wanted. She was dripping with sweat, but dead silent. He could see little of the whiner Bill and Fleur had wrote to him in desperation about—perhaps the work was taxing enough to drain all the noise out of her.

"Well done," he said. Then she couldn't hide the pride on her face, swiftly landing and staring him in the eyes. Perhaps he'd been brusque enough to make this come as a real surprise. So much the better. "We'll see about getting you into the air and working with some of the Longhorns, maybe by August." A glint of calculation—obvious in her face, if she could pull off real subtlety she wouldn't be a Hufflepuff—and he knew she thought she could do whatever it took to get there by the end of the next week. She was right.

Two years later she was trying her luck against all sorts of magical creatures in Greece. She'd never felt the pull of the sky, really, never seen anything in dragons that other beasts couldn't provide. It was never about sight—it was the squelch of mud and dragon dung, the scars of hide, the smell of blood and life and smoke, the feel of something really done under her fingers.