Disclaimer: Harry Potter and family belong as always to J.K. Rowling and her publishers worldwide.
Author's Note: Cormac McLaggen was a last minute substitute in the previous chapter. He is ridiculously fun to write!
Daring, Nerve, and Chivalry
The Quidditch pitch was already dotted with Gryffindor and Ravenclaw first-years when Lysander and Alfie arrived. Tall, timbered stands rose fifteen meters into the air, topped by rickety bleachers. Lysander knew that the whole thing had to be supported by some serious charms, but it didn't make him feel any better.
Lysander searched the throng of first-years for his twin. Identical black hats poked up everywhere. "I don't see Lorcan anywhere!"
"Yeah, but someday you'll be able to summon him. Accio twin!" joked Alfie, waving his wand in a loopy figure eight. Nothing happened except a sudden puff of cobalt blue smoke. Laughter broke out around the boys. Alfie put his wand away with a sheepish look. Lysander looked around one more time. Alfie tugged on his sleeve. "C'mon, Coach is starting!"
A tall, thickly built wizard in Gryffindor Quidditch robes strode through the sea of pointed black caps. His uneven, swaying gait made Lysander think of a pirate. Coach McLaggen winked and gave exaggerated waves to students he recognized, as if the kids were the press corps at a match.
"Gryffindors! Ravenclaws! I'm Cormac McLaggen, flying coach and games coordinator at Hogwarts. Headmaster Sprout hired me to shake up the Quidditch program this year. I played professionally for six years: two as reserve for the Wimbourne Wasps, then four years as lead Keeper for the Chudley Cannons."
General laughter broke out at the mention of the unluckiest sporting franchise in Wizarding England. Even Lysander chuckled, and he knew only what his brother had forced him to learn about Quidditch.
"My professional career was ended by a little mishap during a match against the Holyhead Harpies. I was in St. Mungo's for three months," Coach McLaggen said proudly, lifting his robes to show the lower part of his right leg. The girls standing in front of them squealed. Alfie and Lysander turned to one another and shrugged: they couldn't see a thing.
"Sorry if I put anyone off their feed, but it's a good time for you all to learn the basics of broomstick safety. A broomstick's not like a Muggle car; you can't just pull over and stop if something goes wrong. You and the ground here -" McLaggen squatted down and slapped the turf with one scarred hand - "would suddenly be on very intimate terms. You need to be proactive! Ladies!" The chattering girls right in front of Lysander suddenly snapped to attention. "Broomsticks are in the tote behind me. Form two lines and stay at least a yard apart. Ravenclaws on my left: Gryffindors on my right. Lay the broomstick out on the ground beside you, and no more talking!"
Alfie and Lysander lined up with the Gryffindors. Directly across from them stood a tiny, freckled girl with wild brown curls foaming beneath her hat. "Alfie! Lysander!" she hissed, waving frantically.
"Lysander, look, it's Rose Weasley."
Lysander grinned. Even if he hadn't yet spotted Lorcan, it was a relief to see a friendly face in the Ravenclaw line. "Yeah, she used to help me and Albus hide from James sometimes. James never went after Rosie, though; she's dangerous. I remember one time when we were little kids, James came after Rosie with a Bludger, and she turned his hair into lo mein noodles. He smelled like a Chinese take-away for weeks."
"No talking!" boomed Coach McLaggen. On the way to discipline Alfie and Lysander, McLaggen spotted Rose. The coach stopped, his expression darkening. "Weasley, is it?" he asked, bending down to look the suddenly timid Rose in the eye.
"Yes, sir," squeaked Rose.
"What's your Mum up to these days?"
It should have been a friendly question, but McLaggen's sneer and hostile demeanor changed it into an interrogation. Rose ducked her head uncomfortably. "Sir, my Mum is lead assistant counsel to the Wizengamot."
McLaggen made a sound halfway between a cough and a sneeze. "And your Dad?"
Rose's ears turned bright magenta. She took half a step back and mumbled her answer. "Um, he used to be an Auror, Sir, but now he works in my Uncle George's shop."
McLaggen clapped his hands and laughed aloud. Rose looked even more upset.
"Leave her alone," Lysander said boldly. He was shocked as soon as the words left his mouth. Alfie took half a step back as McLaggen approached. The Coach's rugged face darkened with fury.
"Who are you, boy?"
"Lysander Scamander. Rose is my friend! You're upsetting her. Why do you care about her parents?"
"I'll thank you to keep your mind on your own flying and address a teacher with respect," snapped McLaggen. "Five points from Gryffindor!" he thundered, loping away on his gimpy leg.
A rush of dissatisfied whispers flew down the Gryffindor line. Angry faces turned toward Lysander. Abashed, he suspected that getting House points docked during their very first class wasn't a super way to make friends.
As McLaggen gave directions on how to raise the broomstick from the ground, Rose Weasley waved at Lysander. She whispered "Thank you," and Lysander smiled back.
Most of the class had little trouble getting the broomstick to leap from the damp grass to their hands. There were a couple kids, probably Muggle-borns, who met with more resistance. Lysander was surprised to see McLaggen working patiently with the kids who were having trouble. Maybe he wasn't all bad, even if he was a nosy, pompous blowhard.
Coach McLaggen strolled up and down the ranks of first-years. Ten Gryffindors and ten Ravenclaws stood at attention. "Call your brooms!" McLaggen boomed.
"Up!" the students shouted as one. All twenty brooms responded. A girl from Ravenclaw yodeled with glee. Coach McLaggen grinned back.
"All right, we'll do this one at a time. Remember what I told you. Kick off from the ground and point your broom up at a thirty-degree angle: no greater than that on the first try, or you'll be sorry. Then fly!"
Lysander was first to be called on the Ravenclaw side. He'd flown as a kid at home, but never anything more than a slow spin around the garden. The pure power of the broom in his hands was exhilarating. Lysander dug his heels into the ground and the broom leapt into the sky.
"Lysander!" screamed Rose Weasley. "Hang on!"
Lysander slipped backwards, his fingers reaching desperately for a grip on the smooth handle. Grabbing at anything he could reach, Lysander broke off a double handful of twigs from the tail. Crumbling to uselessness, the twigs fell slowly to the Quidditch pitch far below. The unmanned broom careened back toward the line of terrified students on the ground, accelerating as Lysander plummeted to earth.
Lysander opened his eyes. His own worried face hovered over him, spikes of blonde hair mashed flat. Lysander moaned. "I'm having an out-of-body experience."
Lorcan laughed with relief. "You sound just like Mum!"
"Lorcan!" Lysander grabbed his twin around the neck. Lorcan fell on him. "Ouch! Where were you?"
Lorcan rolled off, laughing, and reached over to ruffle his brother's hair. "I was late. Got lost, actually. Just got here. Man, you took quite a beating."
"You're going to be fine!" said an encouraging female voice at his side.
"Rose?"
Rose Weasley rubbed at a grass stain on his face with an outstretched finger. "Oh, bother. Tergeo!" she declared.
"Hey!" Lysander batted Rose's wand away. He felt like Rose was scrubbing his skin off with sandpaper. Mum's cleaning spells were a whole lot gentler than that.
"Sorry, did I hurt you?" Rose patted his shoulder. "I don't know what in the world McLaggen could already have against me; for Merlin's sake, I just got here, but you stood up for me. Thanks." Lysander blushed.
"I heard from my Dad that McLaggen has a thing about Weasleys," said Alfie grumpily, scratching his scalp under his hat. "I guess he has a thing about Scamanders now, too. You all right, mate?"
Lysander didn't answer. His head swam as he listened to his friends and brother chatting pleasantly together. He felt worse and worse. First, he felt hot all over, and then cold. His gorge rose. "Ugh, Lorcan. I think I'm going to..." Lysander hurled his breakfast into the grass. Alfie leapt out of the way just in time.
"Scamander!" barked Coach McLaggen. He stormed up to their group, moving Lorcan out of the way with a firm hand. "You've put three of your classmates into the infirmary! What did I tell you? Never - kick - off - without - holding - onto - the - blasted - broomstick!"
"Yes, sir," said Lysander weakly. Alfie handed him a handkerchief to wipe his mouth. He felt horrible, with puke all over his sleeve and robes.
"Madam Pomfrey is on her way back down here with a stretcher. By some form of dumb luck, you, the perpetrator, are the least injured of the three, so she left you till last. You're going to miss at least the first two days of term if I'm not mistaken."
"Oh, no!" cried Rose. "I'll take notes for you, Lysander, I promise."
"Me, too," Alfie pledged.
Lysander smiled wanly. "Thanks, you guys."
"I'm going to have a word with your Head of House about your cheek," said Coach McLaggen as Madam Pomfrey levitated Lysander onto a waiting stretcher. " You've gotten off on the wrong foot here at Hogwarts. I hope you're more respectful in your other classes. Seriously, boy, I wouldn't ever cross Professor Longbottom if I were you." McLaggen shuddered as Madam Pomfrey waved her wand to move the stretcher.
Lorcan walked beside Lysander all the way to the infirmary. It was the first time Lysander had been in the oldest part of the castle. Fighting renewed waves of nausea, he felt a little sad that he wasn't able to appreciate it. Lysander felt a lot better knowing that Lorcan was by his side.
"Hey, Lorcan?"
"Yeah?"
"You think Mum and Dad will be mad at me?"
Lorcan squeezed his arm. Lysander knew his own expression was mirrored on his twin's thin face. "Our Mum and Dad? I don't think so. They'll be proud you stood up for Rosie. I thought sure they goofed when they split us up last night, but now I know you're meant to be a Gryffindor. Daring, nerve, and chivalry," Lorcan grinned.
Lysander lolled back against the pillow, gratified but confused. Near the library, they passed a tall girl with silver-blonde hair. "Who's this? Oh! Scamander! And another Scamander?" Victoire Weasley peered down at Lysander. "What in the world happened?"
"First flying lesson," said Madam Pomfrey with weary acceptance. "There's always someone."
"The poor dear." Victoire laid her cool fingertips on Lysander's forehead for a moment. Instantly, the nausea disappeared. Lysander felt like he could leap off the stretcher and fly through the open window, no broomstick required.
"What about the other kids I hurt? I feel so bad."
Madam Pomfrey smiled fondly. "They'll be all right, dear. At least you'll have company in the infirmary."
To Lysander's surprise, Victoire walked behind the stretcher, accompanying Madam Pomfrey to the infirmary. Bandaged Gryffindors occupied a few other beds. Victoire waited while Madam Pomfrey settled Lysander in bed. Just the sensation of being floated off the stretcher was enough to make Lysander feel horribly sick again. He groaned with agony, both from the pain and from mortification at Victoire Weasley seeing him this way.
"Victoire, if you haven't got anywhere to be right now, I'd appreciate it if you could go to Lysander's dormitory and pick up some clean clothes."
"Of course, Madam Pomfrey. It wouldn't be any trouble."
"I'll give you a few moments to say good-bye to your brother, Lorcan, and then I expect it'll be time for you to head toward your next class." Madam Pomfrey lifted her wand and the blue-and-white striped curtains around the bed slid quietly closed.
"That's the girl from last night," Lorcan remembered, sitting on the edge of Lysander's bed.
"Yeah," Lysander said miserably.
"She's good-looking."
Lysander laughed at the understatement. "She's the most incredible girl I've ever seen."
Lorcan quirked a pale eyebrow at his twin. "Lysander, she's got to be seventeen years old."
"And we're eleven. I know." Lysander closed his eyes. He felt he could drift off and at least dream of the girl he was too young to ever be friends with... or more than friends.
"Lysander, you've got a concussion! I can't let you go to sleep till I've gotten the inflammation under control." Madam Pomfrey stuck her bonneted head in between the curtains. "Insomnio!"
Madam Pomfrey's waking spell jolted Lysander's insides and increased his heart rate. Lysander grabbed hold of the folded blankets.
Lorcan reached for his hand. His twin had a worried look on his face. "Listen, I've got to get to class now. I've got Herbology."
At the thought of Professor Longbottom, Lysander's anxiety increased. He remembered what McLaggen had said about the Gryffindor Head of House. It didn't fit very well with the hazy memories of Mum and Dad's old friend, who was always kind and thoughtful. He usually brought Lorcan and Lysander a weird plant for a present; they had a whole patch of them in the garden. Maybe McLaggen's opinions weren't to be trusted.
"Okay, have a good time." Lorcan parted the curtains to leave, then knelt on the bed and hugged Lysander as tight as he could. "Lay off. I might hurl on you again."
"Yeah, it wouldn't be the first time." Lorcan stood up, chuckling as he straightened his Ravenclaw tie. "Listen, I think Professor Longbottom will probably be writing to Mum and Dad about your fall, but I'll let him know you're doing okay now. I'll be up to see you later."
Lysander felt a horrible pang of envy; Lorcan was going back to class. He turned his head into the pillow, closing his eyes even though he knew Madam Pomfrey's spell would keep him awake.
