Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters.
The Great Hall, July 1997 (21) …9:09 a.m.
Harry Potter could not wait to leave Hogwarts.
The crush of bodies within the castle made him want to run screaming for the hills. Had it just been the students he'd likely still feel the same, but the additional family members, dignitaries, and occasional nutcases that got past the Aurors at the school's gates made things a thousand times worse.
Everyone wanted a piece of him—a word, a handshake, a moment to press gifts on him. A week ago, a squat, red-faced wizard tried cornering him near the corridor leading from the newly restored entrance doors. The wizard had a sheet of parchment. "A certificate honoring Harry's bravery," he claimed.
When he got too close, Draco snatched the parchment out of his hand and stepped in front of Harry. "Who are you?" he demanded coldly.
Harry rolled his eyes and sighed loudly. The instant he'd begun venturing around the castle after leaving the hospital ward, Draco and Snape had developed the maddening habit of treating him like a damsel in distress when strangers approached him. Harry had protested (loudly and often), telling them that he didn't need them hovering over him like a dragon guarding its egg, but neither Slytherin listened.
"I asked you a question!" Draco's voice had increased in volume.
"Draco…" Harry muttered when the man flinched and stared, shocked.
Draco didn't care. Something felt off. The wizard's smile held no warmth and he twitched a lot, as if uncomfortable in his skin.
"I meant no harm, Mr. Malfoy. I simply wished to…"
"How did you get in here?" Draco drew his wand. This caught the eye of a passing Auror, Brân Savage.
"Problem?" he said, striding over to them.
Draco indicated the red-faced wizard. "This man doesn't belong here."
"I beg your pardon!" The wizard blustered. "I simply hoped to bestow upon our young hero a token of my esteem!" Twirling his finger in an exaggerated motion, he gestured at the parchment in Draco's hand.
"I want to know how you got in here! Now!" Draco demanded, again.
The wizard rolled his eyes at Savage as if lamenting the insolence of today's youth. Savage cocked an eyebrow. "Answer him."
The wizard's good humor evaporated in a flash, then he muttered something unintelligible. Draco later told Snape that he'd never felt a rush of hatred like the one coming from that wizard. Meanwhile, Harry had been more concerned by the man's inexplicable focus on Draco's hand—the one holding the parchment.
When Harry looked down, Draco did, too. The edge of the parchment that was hanging towards the floor blackened and curled, as if on fire, yet there were no flames. The black traveled fast, closing in on Draco's fingers. The Slytherin cried out and threw the parchment to the floor.
Harry yanked him back, shouting, "Protego Bubblis!"
A bubble materialized around the parchment. Within seconds, the sheet exploded, scorching the flagstone. The wizard snarled and spun on his heel to flee, but Brân whipped out his wand and muttered a spell. The wizard went down but continued trying to get away, his thick body crabbing an ungainly path across the floor as Brân advanced. Then the wizard began writhing and moaning, his skin rippling grotesquely as his body began to shrink. Passersby stopped to gape at the spectacle, watching as the voluminous robes deflated to puddle around a petite frame, a woman. The transformation made moving difficult, but the witch still struggled to pull something from her robes' pocket.
"Expelliarmus!" Brân barked, thinking she was going for her wand. Instead, she clapped her hand over her mouth and swallowed.
Draco shouted, "Don't let her…" but, too late. The blonde witch's body trembled, then stilled. Her green eyes were wide and sightless; a tiny vial glittered in her open palm. Only seconds had passed, but her skin already had a bluish tint to it. Draco stepped towards her. "Aconite," he said as Brân knelt to examine her. "Unadulterated. Nothing else could work that fast."
Snape had been livid, demanding that Kingsley sack the Aurors that had been guarding the gate. Harry understood the man's anger; he also acknowledged that without Draco's suspicious nature that witch could have maimed or killed them.
While he could deal with Snape's overprotectiveness and Draco's hyper-vigilance, he desperately wanted a respite from the never-ending stares and whispers from everyone else within the castle. It didn't matter that the attention was mostly favorable. He told Draco that the good attention could be as aggravating as the bad.
Since his first year at Hogwarts people had resented him for his—to quote The Daily Prophet—"undeserved" notoriety, so he could handle the jealousy and bald-faced hatred, as it was nothing new. But now that he had gained even more renown for defeating Voldemort, his critics didn't spare his feelings. They repeatedly, and rather viciously claimed that luck, not skill or depth of magic was the reason he had bested the Dark Lord.
Strangely, according to the newspaper's reports, the naysayers had not been Voldemort supporters. Harry didn't get it. Draco had explained: "Potter, some people aren't happy unless they're criticizing someone. You could cure lycanthropy tomorrow and they'd wonder why it had taken you so long."
Regardless, the hostility of those rabid few didn't trouble Harry half as much as the toadyish pandering of people who barely knew him. He understood what it meant to admire powerful people; he had admired Dumbledore, and he nearly worshipped Snape. But he had grown up around those men. People who had never laid eyes on him regarded him as their hero and savior and he hated it. He didn't want that burden. He wanted to be Harry Potter, sixteen-year-old wizard, Severus Snape's son, Hermione Granger's boyfriend, and Ron Weasley's best mate. He wanted to be normal, which explained his and Draco's late arrival to breakfast. After the meal, he knew McGonagall would follow protocol and give an end-of-term speech, and because this term had ended so spectacularly, he knew there would be no avoiding mentioning his part in it.
Harry gripped the handle of his walking-stick as he, Draco, and Fang prepared to leave Snape's quarters. "Let's go eat," he said. Fang uttered a gruff woof and trod on Draco's pricey leather loafers as the Slytherin held the door open. Thanks to Greyback ravaging his shoulder the night of the battle, the boarhound had a hitch in his gait when his right front paw hit the ground. He never let it slow him down though, particularly when treats were offered, which was often these days. Everyone in the castle doted on him, even McGonagall, who had never paid him much mind before the battle.
The doors to the Great Hall were propped open. The sound of conversation mixed with the clatter of knives, forks, and spoons spilled out into the corridor, greeting Fang and the boys long before they arrived at the hall's entrance. Inside the hall, the tables were laden with platters of bacon, steaming sausages, and ham, bowls of beans and fried eggs. Pyramids of toast, biscuits, and croissants sat next to pitchers of pumpkin juice, orange juice, and apple juice. Pots of tea and aromatic urns of coffee peppered the tables as well. But, instead of the usual sea of black-robed students, the benches were packed with families.
This was the last meal of the term and everyone had wanted to be there. To accommodate the overflow, smaller tables had been set up against the walls. When Ron stood and waved at them, Draco and Harry made their way to the Gryffindor table, sliding into the spaces Ron and Hermione had saved for them. Nearly an hour later, McGonagall stood and tapped her fork against her crystal goblet. The hall went silent as everyone looked up at her, expectant.
"It has been quite the year," she said. A soft murmur of agreement traveled round the hall. "While we have already honored many of our dead, before we part from one another, I wish to take a moment to honor the living."
"Hear! Hear!" Someone shouted and pounded their fists on the table. Other shouts and bursts of applause followed.
"As many of you know, Dumbledore worked tirelessly to bring as many allies into the fold as he could. It was not always easy to convince those who lived at great distances to leave the safety of their homes for the uncertainty and danger of war. But one ally answered the call immediately, and she answered it without question." McGonagall looked to her left. "Madame Maxime."
Beauxbaton's headmistress, clad in a sky-blue robe with a luxe rope of golf ball-sized pearls around her throat, and her gleaming black hair pulled back into a loose chignon, had a regal, somber air about her.
"I fear to think where we would be without your help," McGonagall said. "You brought the giants and we won the war."
The hall exploded with cheers, applause, and cries of "Vive Madame Maxime! Vive Beauxbatons!"
Visibly moved, Maxime nodded her head and clasped her hands before her breasts. "Merci. Merci tout le monde," she rumbled, her black eyes liquid with emotion.
Once the applause faded, McGonagall spoke to the centaur standing near the Great Hall's entrance. "Firenze, your expertise forged an unlikely crew of warriors. Unafraid to do their part they were led by one of the bravest magical beings I've ever had the honor of knowing. Dobby?"
The crack of house-elf Apparition filled the hall as elves popped into the room, lining the aisles between the House tables. The students (with the exception of Hermione) didn't know it, but before the battle the elves had numbered in the hundreds. Out of 184, only 72 remained. Some students jumped up onto their seats and stamped their feet, hooting and whistling. Others knelt down to hug the little creatures or hold their hands, whispering words of praise. Many of the house-elves, embarrassed, nervous, and unused to such attention, clutched their ears or their Hogwarts tea towels and looked around shyly. Dobby, sporting a painfully bright red pair of socks with a gold scripted D embroidered onto them, winked and waved at Harry when the boy shouted his name.
Several girls approached Firenze, presenting him with long necklaces they had made using wildflowers from the sloping northeastern end of the grounds. He gracefully lowered himself to his forelegs and allowed them to loop the garlands over his head while flashing that enigmatic smile of his. The girls blushed and giggled, then scurried back to their seats. A grinning Dobby raised a hand and snapped his fingers, disappearing. Within seconds the other house-elves followed.
Once the applause quieted, McGonagall said, "Aderyn and her band of Adar Llwch Gwin flew south last month, back to their ancestral grounds. In a show of gratitude, the Ministry signed an accord ensuring that, while the Minister of Magic is privy to their general location, he or she shall never be allowed to seek them out, for any reason, in perpetuity. With that said, we must acknowledge a debt of thanks to our own Hermione Granger, who –" A fierce eruption of applause drowned out McGonagall's words. When she was able to continue, she said, "Hermione Granger, who in the midst of the battle, convinced the Adar Llwch Gwin to turn on their Death Eater masters and fight with us."
Hermione flushed and threw up a little wave as everyone roared her name and clapped wildly. She laughed, delighted, when fourth-year Slytherin, Hank McCoy, dashed over to give her a bowling ball-sized bouquet of freshly picked bluebells, her favorite wildflower. Realizing he must have risen with the sun to gather that many of the little flowers, she bussed the grinning boy's cheek.
Trying to be heard over the cheers, McGonagall continued her roll call: "Luna Lovegood, George Weasley." The applause soared with each name until McGonagall gave in and cast the Sonorous Charm. "Bill Weasley, Ginny Weasley, Arthur and Molly Weasley, Andromeda Black Tonks, Filius Flitwick, Charity Burbage, Pomona Sprout, Irma Pince, Argus Filch, Madam Rosmerta, Ambrosius Flume, Poppy Pomfrey, St. Mungo's staff lead by Healers Brady and Reddy, Bogrod the Bearded and his goblins. Aurors Savage, Williamson and Proudfoot, Ossie, the Glass Hoof's Watchman, and Aberforth Dumbledore. We must also acknowledge our Slytherin comrades who worked undercover: Bram Nott, Charles Davis, Marcus Flint, and Danny Jugson."
Slytherin students rose as a unit, their wands in the air, acknowledging their House's contribution. Nott, Davis, Flint, and Jugson, sitting at the end of the Slytherin table with their families, nodded soberly at McGonagall.
"And although he could not break bread with us this morning, I dare not forget our new Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt." The applause was deafening by then. McGonagall paused to let it go on. She cleared her throat and drank deeply from her goblet, soothing her exhausted vocal chords. As she drank, her eyes wandered the room, taking in the House tables.
Like the other three tables, Slytherin's was packed with students and their families, but the dearth of Slytherin faces cut deep. Some were sitting elsewhere, but nothing disguised the fact that they made up barely a quarter of everyone there. Weeks before the Final Battle, Dumbledore had spoken to a number of Slytherin parents who had removed their children from school after the attack on Hogsmeade. He had begged them to return, trying to change the minds of the more reasonable among them, telling them that if they did not want to send their children abroad, Hogwarts was the safest place for them. Of the twenty or so willing to hear what he had to say, only four families allowed their children to return.
Gregory Goyle, orphaned after his parents refused to surrender to Aurors at the Riddle House, sat near the middle of the table, clapping his large hands together in an awkward, brutal way, as if he were trying to swat a gnat and kept missing it. Luna sat across from Goyle, her father beside her. The sight of him made McGonagall want to weep. No one could ever accuse Xenophilius of having a ruddy complexion, but after so many months of being imprisoned and tortured, his skin looked as translucent as a fly's wing, giving him a corpse-like appearance. Luna held one of his thin hands, stroking it, as if to soothe him.
Despite the jubilant atmosphere, a number of people were crying. McGonagall's own eyes shimmered like black diamonds as she sipped more water. Blinking rapidly, she put down her goblet and clasped her hands in front of her as the hall finally calmed.
"Ron Weasley –"
"Has barely a quarter of my brains and none of my exceptional good looks," Blaise Zabini crowed from the Ravenclaw table.
"That's not what you were screaming last night!" Ron shot back. Laughter and catcalls rolled across the hall.
"Oh, ew." Someone offered.
"Well, he may not have the looks," McGonagall said. "Oy!" Ron cried when more laughter filled the hall. "But," McGonagall continued, "he might someday make a fair healer or mediwizard should he decide to buckle down and apply himself. Mr. Weasley saved many lives that night, bringing in the wounded, comforting them as he did so."
"Hear! Hear!" shouted Tracey Davis.
Then a chant, beginning somewhere in the middle of the hall (Ron figured it was probably Blaise, again), quickly spread: "Weas-ley! Weas-ley! Weas-ley!"
Red as a beet and feeling suddenly shy, Ron shook his head. He hunched his shoulders and suffered Harry blowing kisses at him until McGonagall raised her hand for quiet. Her voice had grown raspy. She imagined it would leave her soon if she didn't finish.
"Many of us, Slytherins in particular, made agonizing choices between what was right and what was easy. Draco Malfoy," McGonagall said, piercing the boy with a sharp look. "You turned your back on everything you knew, carving your own path, even at risk of death. You exemplify how one's beginning in life need not dictate one's path. And, you have proven yourself wise, brave, and loyal."
The hall was quiet. There was no sudden eruption of applause, no bawdy outbursts in response to McGonagall's words. Not for him. Not for the son of Lucius Malfoy. The weight of that silent attention made Draco want to disappear. Why had McGonagall singled him out? Didn't she know that it didn't matter that he had denounced his family, that he had escaped the Dark Lord and much of who he used to be? She had to know that most of his schoolmates still despised him, giving him crooked looks in the corridors, whispering behind their hands because he'd done too much damage over the years. He inhaled sharply and bowed his head as an unfamiliar wave of shame washed over him. He wasn't used to hiding who he was; he wasn't used to feeling inferior. He hated it and desperately wished he were anywhere but the Great Hall.
Then the place exploded with applause, making him jump. Boys sitting nearby got up to clap him on the back; girls lined up to hug and kiss him. Bewildered and a little frightened, Draco looked over his shoulder at Ron. Ron smiled and nodded; Draco nodded back, then looked down to find his right hand entwined with Ron's. He hadn't realized he'd reached out until that moment. He gripped it a bit tighter and felt himself relax when Ron did the same. He then watched Harry use Neville's head and shoulder to stand up on the bench with a terrified Hermione and Pansy spotting him. Once he was upright and steady, Harry hooted and yelled and clapped louder than anybody.
Frowning, Draco stood too, stretching across the table to brace Harry, even though he couldn't reach him. "Get down before you kill yourself!"
Harry just threw his head back and howled as Hermione and Neville held onto his legs. Draco looked at the High Table. Snape hitched a brow at him and shook his head. Draco turned back to Harry, who was still carrying on. "You're an idiot!" he said, but when his lips curved into a small, annoyed smile, Harry laughed and pumped his fists high above his head.
McGonagall leaned over behind Madame Maxime to have a short discussion with Madam Pomfrey as the applause went on. She was going to need something for her throat after the castle emptied. Once everyone settled back into their seats, she said, "There is an old saying that a hero is a man who is afraid to run away. I must say I can't think of a more profoundly fitting description of Severus Snape –" The hall shook with the noise. "And Harry Potter!" McGonagall shouted. She then raised her goblet, first to Snape, sitting to her right, and then to Harry.
Everyone followed her lead, bellowing: "Severus Snape! Harry Potter!" It quickly turned into a call-and-response competition, one side of the hall calling out Harry's name while the other side shouted Snape's.
Hermione slipped her arms under Harry's to hold him from behind. "You've always been my hero," she whispered into his ear.
Harry covered her hands with his and leaned back into her, trying to bury his face in her neck and hair, but then Neville leaned over to plant a kiss on Harry's forehead. Harry laughed and took Neville's face in his hands. He pressed the boy's cheeks together, making his lips poke out. Neville laughed and pulled him into a hug. "Love you, mate," he said into Harry's ear. Stunned, Harry jerked back to look at him.
Harry and his classmates had all changed physically over the last few years, but Neville's transformation was probably the most remarkable. The round-faced boy Harry had met on the train nearly seven years ago had morphed into a young man whose face was now all angles with the sharpest edges lining his cheekbones and chin giving him a rugged, more mature look. He had the same mousy-brown curls on his head, but the whiskers on his cheeks, chin, and upper lip had a rusty tinge to them. His hands, once pudgy and clumsy, had become square and coarse, his nails blunt from pushing around dirt most of the day, yet his touch was always gentle. Harry's shy, young friend was now a confident, handsome man. Harry grinned at Pansy when she reached around Neville to grasp one of Harry's hands.
Everyone in the hall was on their feet. Harry only noticed when they began shuffling past to touch him, to talk to him, to demonstrate the absolute sort of behavior he despised. But he forced himself to bear it. Hermione kept an arm around him, aiming to stave off the more enthusiastic folks in the line. Neville and Pansy did the same, but mostly people just wanted Harry to acknowledge them with a shy strained smile or a soft "Hey", "How are you?" or "Thank you."
A great number passed by the Head Table to nod at Snape; some even extended their hands to him. Snape graciously shook each one as Harry watched, noting how supremely uncomfortable the man looked. Harry understood because, like him, Snape loathed this sort of attention.
"Everyone," McGonagall called after most of the hall had made the rounds past Snape and Harry. Her voice was nearly gone. "Take your seats, please. Thank you. Now that you've made my Deputy Headmaster want to run for the – Johnson! Don't you dare put that honey in Creevey's hair!"
"But ma'am!" The third-year Slytherin whinged. "I –"
"Hush! Put it down, now!"
"It's not like I was gonna put all of it in!" Harry heard the boy grumble as his mother glared at him. Harry laughed, before looking back at McGonagall.
"This year tested us in ways we couldn't have imagined, yet here we are, battered, but not beaten, fewer, but united as never before. Our school is in shambles, but come September 1st its doors shall open. The grounds may not be as pristine as we're used to and the two towers, the North Tower and Ravenclaw, may still be under repair at that time, but Ravenclaws needn't worry. Slytherin's Head of House has offered up room in the dungeons until your tower is completed."
Students slapped the tables and stomped their feet. McGonagall held up a hand for silence. The noise didn't die, but it did fade. "As I said, this battle has changed us, but life here at Hogwarts shall go on. Letters shall be dispatched within the next few weeks; Diagon Alley shall be overrun with shoppers, and come October, Hogsmeade shall welcome you back—third years and up, of course."
It now sounded like a crowd at the Quidditch World Cup. Fang, lying in front of the Head Table at the foot of the dais, raised his head and howled. A child, no more than three years old, who had been eyeing the dog greedily since Fang arrived, slithered free from his father's arms and tottered up to the boarhound. His pudgy arms and hands stuck straight out to balance himself with each wobbly step, but as he got close, Fang's long back leg tripped the boy up and he fell, face first into the dog's stomach.
The boy's father jumped to his feet and raced towards him. He stopped when Fang nudged the child up to stand, then dragged his tongue up the boy's face. The tinkling sound of his laughter and squeal caused Snape to stand up and lean over the table to see what was going on. The toddler had looped his arms around Fang's neck and was giggling uncontrollably. His father, an adult version of him with close-cropped black hair and copper-colored skin, crept towards him, face frowned up in concern. Snape knew Fang wouldn't harm the boy, but he rose to go see to the dog anyway.
As McGonagall motioned for quiet once more, a piercing whistle cut through the din.
"Let her finish!" Theo Nott shouted. "Let her finish!"
"Thank you, Mr. Nott," McGonagall said when the hall finally quieted. "Right, then. For those who shall be traveling by train, carriages are waiting outside to take you to the station. For those going by Floo, they are now operational. Those of you using Portkeys, please proceed to the garden gate for your departures, and travel safely. Until September," she said, then moved to step down from the dais.
"Headmistress," Neville called. "Let's have a song, shall we?"
McGonagall turned back and looked out at the sea of faces looking back at her. She nodded. "Go on then."
Neville stood and began singing in a lovely, clear tenor:
"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,
teach us something, please…"
After the end of the song (sung in the eccentric style that Dumbledore had encouraged with some singing slow, some singing fast or even rapping) the mad scramble to leave the castle that normally took place on the last day of term didn't. Instead, people lingered, shedding tears, making promises to write and demands to visit.
Draco had joined Blaise and his mother near the front of the Ravenclaw table. Blaise smiled as his mother embraced Draco. Harry thought she was stunning. She was shorter than Blaise, who was 6'3", but not by much. She had skin the color of mahogany, black, almond-shaped eyes impeccably outlined with kohl, and full bow-shaped lips pulled back in a warm smile revealing snow-white teeth.
"Who's Snape talking to?" Ron asked.
Harry turned towards the Head Table to see Snape engaged with the toddler's father. "Dunno," he said as another boy, a few years older and bearing a strong resemblance to the child and the man dashed over to Snape and grabbed his leg.
"Professor!"
Unfazed, Snape lowered his right hand to touch the crown of the child's head. "Hello, Naji," he said.
Naji pointed to the toddler, now gnawing on Fang's neck. "That's my little brother, Bram. Remember I told you? Bram's short for Abraham."
"I do." Snape nodded.
"So, you're the infamous Professor," the man said. "To hear Naji talk, you're Merlin reborn."
Snape snorted softly. "Far from it."
"No," the man said, extending his hand to take Snape's, "better. You risked your life, going into that den of snakes again and again for my boy, for all of those children."
"He looked different every time, Dad!" Naji said, still holding onto Snape. "And then when he was alone with us, he changed back to look like the way he does now. Annie thought he was a vampire at first, but I knew he wasn't 'cause he never once turned into a bat."
"Bat! Bat! Bat! Bat!" Bram shouted lustily into Fang's ear. The dog groaned and licked the boy's face, making him giggle again.
"The name's Abdullah, Kalil Abdullah. Professor, you don't know what you did for me, for my boy. They're mum… She was killed when they took Naji. Bram and I had gone to the park; she needed a break. The boy had been an absolute terror all day, but Naji didn't want to leave her, promising to be quiet so that she could rest. He said they were napping on the sofa. The sound of the front door exploding woke them up.
"Zora always had her wand to hand, but not that time… They killed her, took my boy… I didn't know what to do. I'm not magical, but I know things from Zora, from my boys—both come into the world little wizards. 'Course I didn't have to be magical to know what that green skull with the snake in its mouth hanging over my house meant. My neighbors were panicked and either unwilling or unable to help, save one…"
"Mr. Tonks. Ted."
"Yeah, he and his wife, good people. Bram and I, we were coming up the street, going towards the house and he saw us and cast some sort of spell or charm to make us invisible. Then he yelled at me to run. He paid for it, though, for helping us. I saw them shoot him with a green light. Later, when I read that their daughter, the Auror, was killed trying rescue Harry Potter, I... S' damn tragic, losing a child like that. Damn tragic."
Snape said nothing. He looked over at Harry when he joined them.
"Hey," Harry said.
"Harry, I want you to meet…"
"Bat! Bat! Bat! Bat!" Bram had made his way over from the dais. He bounced up and down, his arms held out for Snape to pick him up.
Snape's eyebrows jumped and he looked at Abdullah, who smiled and said, "He don't take much to strangers, but he seems to like you."
"Bat!" Bram tugged at Snape's robes until the man leaned down to pick him up. Unsure of how to manage the wriggling tot, Snape held him straight out in front of him. The boy giggled and kicked his legs. "Fly! Fly! Fly! Fly!" He shouted.
Harry laughed at Snape's expression. The Potions master looked as if he were handling a cauldron full of rancid bubotuber pus. Bram wasn't bothered; he looked back at Snape, big dark eyes smiling, curious.
"Fly!" He demanded. "Bram, fly!"
Snape cleared his throat and looked at Abdullah again. "It's something I can't do," the man said, his smile sad. "Zora used to float him round the house all the time. I figure he's bound to play Quidditch once he's old enough to sit a broom."
"Go on," said Harry.
After flashing him a look, Snape muttered, "You're so eager, you make the little monster fly."
Harry grinned and directed his finger in a small circle. Bram's eyes widened with glee when his body drifted away from Snape, who gently let go.
"Daddy!" Bram squealed. "Flying, Daddy! Flying, like wit Mummy!"
"Yes, son, I see. S'wonderful."
"Fly, Naji! Fly wit me!"
"No, Bram. You fly. Have fun. You having fun?"
"Yeah! You not goin' way, are you? Like last time, you won't go way?"
"No, I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere, okay?"
"'Kay." Bram looked at Harry. "Fly higher!"
"Only a little higher, all right?" Harry said.
"Higher!" Bram giggled as Harry directed him to soar over his father's teasing hands.
"Fly, Bram," Naji told his brother.
*SP