Thanks again for reading! Chugging along still! And if you haven't guessed, yes, there will be seven, possibly eight chapters to this story, one for each year of their lives at Hogwarts, and very likely an epilogue at the end.

Now, I don't remember what all would have been covered on a student's O.W.L. exams, but I decided to make it a little bit of everything, including one area that is "most basic" for a witch or wizard, but sometimes it's those "basic things" that we struggle with at school. Anyway, just go with it ;o)

Again, thank you for reading and reviewing! I hope you continue to enjoy!


Chapter Three

1914

Sybil smiled from she sat in the Quidditch stands overlooking the pitch. She had brought her charms text book with her to study, but she was far too engrossed in watching various members of the Hufflepuff Team practice…including the team's newest beater.

WHACK!

Sybil gasped as Tom sent a bludger soaring, before lifting her gloved hands and clapping enthusiastically for his hit. "Well done!" she called out, smiling as he turned and smiled back and even lifted his hand to wave—before quickly turning his attentions back to the returning bludger just in time to give another solid whack.

He was really very good, Sybil observed, though she wasn't too surprised; after all, he had quickly excelled at flying a broom when they were first year students, and last year he could just fly circles around all the other students, including those that were sixth and even seventh years! But his excellent flying skills weren't enough to convince the then Hufflepuff captain to put Tom on the team. Told Tom to come back and try out again when he was a third year, and in the meantime to work on his skills at beating a bludger. With Matthew's help, Tom improved and not only made the team, but had quickly become one of its star players! Matthew would mutter that perhaps it hadn't been such a good idea, tutoring Tom—Gryffindor had been undefeated until they had played Hufflepuff last week.

"Ugh, why did we have to meet out here?" a voice groaned from over her shoulder. Sybil turned and offered a smile to her sister, despite Edith's sour expression. "Lord, it's freezing," Edith grumbled, her frown only darkening as she plopped herself down right next to Sybil. "Alright, what was so important that I had to be dragged away from the library?"

Despite her sister's grim mood, Sybil continued to smile and moved a little closer to help block out some of the late autumn chill. "How are your O.W.L.'s coming?"

Edith groaned and rolled her eyes as the question. "Much better when I was inside the warm confines of the Hogwarts Library!" she all but spat, growing more and more annoyed by the second.

Sybil sighed, knowing it would be better for everyone if she just came right out and told her sister why she had asked her to meet her at the Quidditch pitch. "I understand that you're having some difficultly with the more 'practical' side to the exams?"

Edith frowned at this. "Every part of one's O.W.L.'s are practical! Honestly, I don't know why you would think—"

"No, you misunderstand," Sybil interrupted. "I mean, I know that…well, that you've always struggled when it comes to mounting a broom and flying…"

Edith immediately turned a dark shade of red at her sister's words, however she didn't contradict them.

"…And I know that you want your O.W.L.'s to be perfect…"

It was true, of course. Mary had gotten perfect marks on her O.W.L.'s when she had taken the exams last year, and Edith couldn't abide the thought of not getting at the very least, an equal score.

"…And while I know that you're very studious, and would hardly need any help in a class like Potions or Charms or even Defense Against the Dark Arts—"

"Oh yes, fine," Edith groaned. "Yes, yes, I admit, I can manage to sit on a broomstick whilst floating above the ground, much less ride one while flying…" She lowered her head in her hands, looking utterly mortified at the confession. "Some witch I am…can't even ride a proper broom."

Sybil reached forward and put a gentle hand on Edith's shoulder. "But I have the solution!"

Edith lifted her head and looked at her sister with curious eyes, though there was some wariness in them as well. "What solution?"

Sybil's grin only grew wider, and without even saying a word, she simply made a gesture with her hand towards the Quidditch pitch, or rather, towards the sky where a certain Irish Hufflepuff third year was flying and zooming and whipping through the air with the greatest of ease.

"I don't get it."

Sybil groaned and rolled her eyes. "Tom, Edith! Tom is the solution!"

Edith's brow furrowed. "Tom?" She looked out at the Quidditch pitch again, following Sybil's finger at who she was pointing. And then suddenly realization struck her. "BRANSON!?" she gasped, turning and looking at Sybil as if she had grown a second head.

Sybil frowned at her sister's tone. "Don't say his name like that! He's not a boggart," Sybil grumbled.

Edith pressed her lips into a thin, disapproving line. "You know that Papa doesn't approve of you being friends with him. He blames Branson entirely for that silly business with the House Elves—"

"Tom, Edith, his name is Tom," Sybil muttered. Yes, she remembered her father's outburst over the summer, how angry and "disappointed" he was by her "rash" behavior. All she had done was write an article and sent it to the Daily Prophet (with Tom's help), about the unjust and barbaric treatment of House Elves. "And I don't care what Papa says; Tom is a wonderful boy and I will not give him up!"

Edith eyed her in that way that made Sybil squirm, somewhat. It was similar to the look that Edith often gave Mary whenever Matthew was mentioned.

"Look, Tom is the best flyer in all of Hufflepuff, and one of the best in Hogwarts' history, according to Prof. Hughes," Sybil proudly stated, as she recalled what the head of her house had told them after one of Hufflepuff's Quidditch games. "He's the perfect person to teach and help you with mastering a broom!"

Edith still didn't look so convinced. "He's just a third year-"

"Oh for heaven's sake!" Sybil groaned, her temper growing short. Hufflepuff's were known for their patience, but it was Sybil's most "un-hufflepuff" like quality. "Do you want help or not?"

It was now Edith's turn to squirm. In one hand, she feared their father's wrath if he found out that she was continuing to encourage her baby sister's friendship with the Irish muggle-born by accepting this offer and allowing Branson to help her with broomstick flying...but on the other hand, she really couldn't stand the idea of Mary lording it over her for the rest of her life that she had gotten perfect marks on her O.W.L.'s, while she, Edith, a Ravenclaw, had not. And especially in something as basic as "broomstick flying".

"Alright..." Edith finally muttered with a sigh. "But what makes you think he'll do it in the first place?"

Sybil rolled her eyes. "I'll ask him, of course!"

"Branson-"

"Tom!"

Edith now rolled her own eyes. "Fine, Tom," she corrected. "He may have 'better things to do' than waste his free time-"

"TOM!" Sybil cried, smiling and waving her hands high overhead for her friend, and Edith's face turned a dark shade of red.

"What are you doing!?" she hissed, but Sybil ignored her and continued to wave her hands.

In a few seconds, the Irish muggle-born whom they had been discussing guided his broomstick over to their side, panting slightly from the rigorous practice he and his fellow Quidditch players had been having. He was smiling as he drew closer, however as soon as his eyes darted over to see whom Sybil's companion was, that smile began to fade. He swallowed and gave a slight nod of his head to Sybil's sister. "Lady Edith," he murmured in greeting, though one could hardly call it warm and welcoming.

Edith nodded her head in return. "Branson," she greeted back. Sybil shot her a look, and Edith sighed, before turning her eyes once again to the boy and said, "I mean...Tom."

Tom's brow furrowed in confusion, clearly not used to hearing anyone outside of his friends call him by his first name, and certainly not by another member of the Crawley family. But before the confusion could settle, Sybil was speaking up to explain the meaning behind their strange little gathering.

"Tom, Edith, as you know, is in her fifth year, and is working on her O.W.L.'s at the moment."

Tom nodded his head, offering Edith what could only be described as a slight "sympathetic" smile, but continued to still look a bit confused at the purpose of their meeting.

"And...well, she needs some help with one section of-"

"Oh for heaven's sake," Edith muttered, her embarrassment reaching a fever pitch. "Look, Bran-I mean, Tom," Edith interrupted. "Sybil called you over here and summoned me all the way out here because she thinks that you can help me with..." she took a deep breath, swallowing her pride. "With flying a broom."

Tom's eyes widened slightly at listening to Edith, and then his brow furrowed once again. "You...you don't know how to fly a broom?"

"OF COURSE I KNOW HOW TO FLY A BROOM!" Edith sputtered, before quickly glancing nervously around, hoping no one else had heard her. "I...I just don't fly one very well," she admitted.

Tom glanced at Sybil, who looked back at him with hopeful eyes. "I know it's a lot to ask with your busy schedule, especially now with Quidditch, but...do you think you can help her? You're the best flyer in the school's history-oh stop rolling your eyes, YOU ARE!" Sybil insisted. "And..." she glanced at her embarrassed sister, before looking back at her friend. "Well, I know that you will not judge or be unkind to Edith...or anyone, really," Sybil's lips curled into a smile then as she held his gaze. "It's not in your nature."

Now it was Tom's turn to turn red. "That's flattery I don't deserve."

"Poppycock," Sybil dismissed, before giggling as she poked her tongue out at him, especially after the gasp Edith gave at the "un-ladylike" gesture. "So Tom? Will you do it? Will you help?"

He glanced at Edith who looked back at him, a little warily from what Sybil could see, but also a little hopeful as well. Despite her sister's pride and long-held obedience to their father, Sybil knew that deep down, Edith's longing for perfection would win in the end.

Tom sighed, ran a hand through his hair and then gave a resolute smile before nodding his head. "Of course, if Lady Edith wishes it."

Sybil opened her mouth to gasp, "Of course she does!" but stopped when Tom gave her a look that more or less told her, "let your sister speak for herself."

Edith, however, despite her earlier display of snobbery, was actually beaming at this announcement. "Oh goodness, thank you, Branson, thank you!"

"Tom, Edith," Sybil muttered under her breath. Her sister-both of her sisters, actually-really needed cease calling him "Branson" as if he were just another servant or something.

"When shall we begin?" Edith asked, sitting a little more forward.

Tom glanced back at the pitch, taking note that the rest of his teammates had gathered the Quidditch equipment and left them alone, and so he smiled at his new "pupil" and held his arms out to his side, before answering, "why not now?"

Edith's smile of relief instantly disappeared. "NOW!?"

"We have the pitch to ourselves, and I take it that this is something you would rather not advertise..."

Sybil did her best to hide her laughter behind her gloved hand.

Edith, her face red again, glanced around and then sighed and nodded her head. Tom grinned and made a gesture towards the field below. "There are some extra brooms in the Quidditch supply shed."

She sighed but rose from where she stood, giving Sybil a look of warning-"don't you dare laugh or say any of this to Mary!"-before turning and leaving the stand to go and fetch herself a broom. As soon as Edith had stepped away, Sybil let out her giggles and then turned back to Tom, her eyes shining with thanks. "Thank you, Tom, I knew you would help, thank you so much-"

"It's alright," he mumbled, his own face turning red once more. "And I'm glad to help, I mean that."

Sybil's smile grew and she gazed back at him in a way that caused her heart to beat a little bit faster, and her stomach to flip and flop, though not in an unpleasant sort of way. And then she remembered the look Edith had given her earlier, the one that made her squirm, and she coughed and looked back at the textbook in her lap. "Well, good luck to you both!"

Tom chuckled and gave a somewhat "dramatic" roll of the eyes. "Thanks, I think we're both going to need it," he sighed, before giving her a wink and flying away from the stands.

Sybil's heartbeat increased at the tiny gesture, and her face felt like it was burning. Good heavens...that had never happened before. Was she coming down with something? Surely that must be it...