This document beta'd by the generous LadyDisdain2014

Chapter 10: Shoot for the Moon

"I can't believe it's only Thursday!" Hermione chatted excitedly as she, Harry, Ron and Neville made their way down to the Great Hall. "I must say our classes so far have been really interesting, I feel like I've already learned so much!"

"What about History of Magic?" Ron asked, stifling a yawn. "That was bloody boring."

"But it could be so interesting! I think the history textbook is my favorite. It has a whole new world of history, full of rebellions, magical conventions, monsters and-"

"But it's taught by Professor Binns!" Ron argued. "He's so boring he killed himself from sheer boredom and then kept right on teaching."

"Well, the subject is still fascinating," Hermione declared. "Even if the delivery can be lacking."

"I like Herbology best," Neville said, looking at Harry for affirmation as Ron and Hermione continued to argue. He still seemed rather unused to hanging around with friends all the time, but Harry had dragged him along for the past two days, and neither Ron nore Hermione had objected. Hermione seemed to actually like Neville quite a bit, as he allowed her to boss him around, and Ron liked the fact that Neville wasn't always going on about "muggle nonsense" like Harry and Hermione.

"I'm looking forward to flying today," Harry said. "I thought Defense Against the Dark Arts would be fun, but Quirrell gives me a headache. I think it's the stutter and that awful smell that he has."

"I heard from Ron's brothers that he keeps his turban full of garlic to scare off a vampire he met in Albania," Neville said, looking around nervously as if a vampire were going to really appear in the corridors.

"I dunno, it smelled kinda rotten to me, and a bit like gunpowder," Harry said.

"What's gunpowder?" Neville asked.

Harry blinked. It was weird how much stuff Ron and Neville didn't know. They seemed to know all kinds of things about magic and wizarding in general, but they didn't know what rockets or electric lights were. "Um, it's an explosive. It's what non-magical people use to fight and stuff."

"I thought muggles used swords and pitchforks and torches," Neville said. "That's what they use in the stories my gran tells me."

"Don't be thick Neville," Hermione interrupted. "We stopped using those as weapons ages ago. Guns, tanks, planes, rockets, all that sort of thing is what norms use these days." Hermione seemed to have picked up on the fact that Harry avoided using the term muggle, unlike Ron and Neville. Harry's dad had said it was a bit patronizing, which he had explained meant it was insulting.

"Oh," Neville said.

Ron, however, wanted to know more. "Planes? Like an aeroplane? Isn't that what muggles use to fly? My dad's always on about those. I think it's his life's goal or something to figure out how they work."

"Their wings generate lift so they can fly," Harry said.

"Do they flap their wings like a bird? That's what my Uncle Algie thinks," Nevill said.

Before Harry could answer, Hermione jumped in. "No, they use jet propulsion now mostly, which runs by igniting petrol to spin a turbine very quickly which compresses the air and shoots it out in a jet stream behind the plane to generate thrust."

Ron blinked and looked at Harry. "You understand any of that, Harry?"

"Er, kind of. They burn stuff and that makes something spin really fast and it moves the plane forward."

Hermione rolled her eyes at that explanation, but Ron and Neville quickly agreed they now understood to avoid further argument, as they had arrived in the Great Hall and wanted to eat. As Harry was digging in to a plate of bacon and eggs, the post arrived. An enormous parliament of owls swooped in, some bearing large packages, others bearing sealed envelopes and a few clutching rolls of parchment. Hedwig landed on Harry's head and dropped a large package into his lap, then gently pecked at him until he offered her a few pieces of bacon. She happily took the bacon, allowed Harry to reach up to scratch her neck a bit, then flew away.

Harry opened the package to find several packages of pens and three notebooks, along with his book on the Apollo mission, a National Geographic on the American and Russian space programs, and a pamphlet on Helen Sherman who had been the first Englishwoman in space earlier in the year. He grinned and waved the pamphlet under Ron's nose. "See? Proof! We have been to space! They sent a British citizen up there in May!"

Ron's eyes crossed as he tried to focus on the waving pamphlet. Harry held it still, but before Ron could take it the pamphlet was wrenched from his hands.

"What's this then? More of your muggle nonsense? Gracious, Potter, everyone would think you're a mudblood instead of being descended from purestock."

"You leave Harry alone!" Neville cried, standing and shoving the sneering Malfoy back as he clumsily grabbed for the pamphlet.

Crabbe and Goyle were there in an instant, one grabbing ahold of Neville as the other held Ron and Harry back easily, the two other boys having jumped up to help Neville.

THUNK! Crabbe and Goyle both sat down hard, dazed and rubbing their heads.

"Mate, you don't want to do that," Fred said calmly, putting a hand on George's shoulder. The more impulsive twin had just slammed the two Slytherin's head's together, hard.

"I should think so!" Malfoy sputtered. "Tell your brother to keep his filthy blood traitor hands off of-"

Malfoy suddenly found legs in the wrong place, and joined the other Slytherins on the floor.

"He was talking to you," Percy said, extending Malfoy a hand as he kicked Fred's boot out from under Malfoy. "It isn't wise to pick a fight with a Weasley. We have a habit of multiplying."

George sniffed loudly and wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. "Oh Perse, it moves my soul to see you finally taking after us."

"Brother mine, I think we actually might be related to him after all," Fred agreed, dabbing at his eyes with George's robe's collar.

"Back off you two. These three are all firsties and can't even begin to fathom how out of your league they are," Percy growled. "Let a prefect handle this."

"Fine, fine," Fred agreed easily, bending over and freeing the pamphlet from Malfoy's quivering hand. "Here you go Harry, have your paper back." He paused before giving it to Harry, frowning as he read the title aloud. "'British Heroes: Helen Sherman, first in Space.' Oy, Harry, what is this? Looks like this muggle was...blimey! Fred, look at this."

"What, what is it?" Ron demanded, standing on his tiptoes to try and read the pamphlet that Fred and George were fascinated by.

"It's a bunch of muggle lies and propaganda that Harry and his mud-muggleborn friend are trying to feed us," Draco growled.

Sighing, Percy helped Crabb and Goyle to their feet. "You three just don't learn. Now clear off before I call a professor, or worse yet, turn my back the next time you pass this lot in the corridor."

"I'm not afraid of Potter," Draco grumbled as he stomped off.

"It's McAllister," Percy snapped at his retreating back. "And I was talking about giving my brothers a free hand." He glanced at Fred and George, who were still gazing fixedly at the pamphlet. "What, no cracking witticism at the Slytherins' expense? You two are slipping."

"Yeah, yeah, Draco's a rotter," George muttered as he flipped the pamphlet over, eyes racing over the text.

"Slytherin stinks," Fred agreed absently. "Harry, is this for real? Can you really go beyond the Earth? This says that this Helen lady lived on out a platform of some sort beyond the world for eight days."

"Oh! Is that on Helen Sharman?" Hermione asked brightly. She held up her own recently arrived package, which indeed contained her Dorling Kindersley Illustrated Guide to the Solar system, and a new book, Eyewitness Spaceships, which had a small plastic model attached. "This is a brand new edition! My parents were so thrilled I hadn't forgotten all about the non magical world and its education that they got me a new one! It has the whole Soyuz craft and the Mir space station in it!"

"You can't possibly be going on about that still," Percy said, sounding skeptical. "Malfoy was a brat about it, but he was right. His great-great grandfather did prove that beyond Earth there are no magical ley-lines, and as such a wizard can't draw power. Therefore, you can't travel beyond the Earth."

"Yeah, but they did this with explosives. We could make those," Fred said, grabbing the Eyewitness book from Hermione. He and George were soon pouring over it, their breakfast forgotten. Percy shook his head, gave Harry and Hermione a pitying glance, then went back to his own meal.

"It's too bad Britain doesn't have a space program of her own," Harry remarked as he turned back to his own breakfast. "Helen had to travel with the Americans."

"The Soviets, actually," Hermione corrected. "It was a gesture of international cooperation. It was in all the papers. I used to dream of being an astronaut, but now…."

Fred and George both suddenly looked up. "What? Why wouldn't you still want to be an astronaut?" Fred demanded.

"It says here that the Americans went to the moon!" George agreed.

Fred held up the book, pointing to an illustration of a predicted future craft. "The MOON Hermione! And they have this craft here that could go to Mars."

"Can you even imagine?" George whispered, his expression reverent."That would be...that would be like the greatest prank ever." "

Fred nodded. "You'd be famous forever."

"You...you think that's real?" Ron asked hesitantly.

Fred and George both nodded, their faces serious. "Ronnikins, do you remember the firework we set off three years ago New Years? The really big one."

"Yeah, why?" Ron asked, confused.

George closed his eyes. "We wanted that one to hit the moon. Make a big explosion, leave a mark on it."

"We even got it off before mum could take it," Fred agreed.

"But the explosion was pretty cool. It lit up the whole sky," Ron protested. "Dad said the Ministry had to wipe a few memories because it could be seen for so far."

"We wanted it to reach the moon. Mum and dad set us down and gave us a talking to after," Fred explained.

"Mom was mostly angry that we'd done something so dangerous," George said.

"But dad was more concerned about our space obsession. Said it was, impossible, dangerous-"

"-and that he would personally skin us if we broke the international statute of secrecy before all of England."

"So we stopped, but only because he and Mum convinced us we really couldn't hit the moon."

"We were so naive."

"So young."

"So tender."

"But not anymore."

"And now we have proof."

"If a bunch of muggles-"

"-Americans and Russians even-"

"-a bunch of non-British especially thick muggles then-"

"-can make it into space-"

"-then there is no reason that two British wizards can't."

Neville looked extremely confused, clutching at a glowing red ball he'd got in a letter of his own. "What are you on about? Going into space?"

"It's something Harry and Hermione were on about on Monday," Ron explained. "Something to do with muggles going to the moon."

"Oh." Neville thought for a moment. "Well, that sounds exciting at least. Personally I'd rather keep my feet on the ground. I'm not looking forward to flying later."

"Here, take my book," Harry was whispering to Fred and George. "If you're really interested, let me know. It'd have to be a secret, but I might be able to help you two become astronauts."

Fred and George looked as if they'd just received a divine mandate on their new purpose in life as they held the book on the Apollo Program reverently. "Oh, I think we will Harry," Fred said.

"Come to our dorm after dinner," George agreed. "We can talk privately there."

And with that, breakfast was over, much to the regret of Harry and Ron, who had spent most of their breakfast doing things besides eating. They managed to grab slices of toast to eat as they ran to Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Harry had started off with high hopes for Defense Against the Dark Arts on the first day, but all Quirrell had done was natter on about how they had to be careful around dark magic and that danger lurked around every corner. At first Harry had thought he was building up to something, but eventually he seemed to frighten himself so much with his own lesson that he had to sit down and sniff smelling salts for a minute. While he'd done that he'd turned his back to the class, and Harry had started to develop an ache in his scar.

Today was looking to be no different. Quirrell was at the blackboard, stuttering as he pointed to some diagrams of what might have been some fascinating stuff, but the stutter was so bad and Harry's scar hurt so much he could barely focus.

"N-n-n-now c-c-class," Q-q-q-quirrell began. "A-a-a-as I have s-s-s-said, light, light is most u-u-u-useful in in repelling the d-d-d-darker creatures. W-w-w-we will p-p-p-p-practice this simple spell. L...l...lumos!"

A faint light flicked out of Quirrell's wand. All this seemed to be too much for the man. He collapsed in a chair as if nearly fainted, and waved to the students to practice while he fanned himself with a large paper fan.

"Wow. I think I learned more about defending myself in my first lesson in the dojo," Harry grumbled as he partnered up with Neville. Ron was determined that he would learn how to hex like Hermione, even if he did have to put up with her bossiness.

"Is that like muggle Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Neville asked.

"It a form of non-magical defense, yes," Harry corrected.

"Oh. So what'd they teach you?"

Harry looked Neville dead in the eye. "Run away really, really fast."

Neville blinked twice, then a guffaw escaped him. He covered his mouth with his hands, looking around to see if anyone had noticed. Quirrell was still busy fanning himself, and Neville lowered his hands. "Actually, that doesn't sound like half bad advice. Even if it isn't very brave."

"'Only fight the battles you have to, and when you do, don't fight fair,'" Harry quoted. "Anyway, let's see if we can get the hang of this. Lumos!"

Harry and Neville were both among the last of the class to master the spell, by which point it was nearly time to go. With Hermione's tutelage, Ron was actually doing quite well, a steady beam of light emitting from his wand that was only eclipsed by the one Hermione was producing herself.

After that was another session of Potions, again with the Slytherins. Harry did his best to keep his head down and follow the directions on the sheet. It was a bit like cooking or chemistry, which he was very careful not to mention to Professor Snape, as Harry was certain that would deeply offend the man. Still, he'd practiced with a PeeWee Chemistry kit he'd gotten two Christmases ago and he'd helped with cooking often enough to read a recipe and follow directions. Hermione had told Neville that he really needed her help, and that left Harry with Ron. Together, the two of them sort of managed to make the simple Cheering Flask, though instead of being a bubbly yellow, theirs was a sputtering light orange.

"Not awful, McAllister. Perhaps if Mr Weasley were paying more attention, the two of you might have more fully succeeded," Snape sneered as he passed their cauldron by.

"I think Ron was a big help, sir," Harry said stoutly.

Snape ignored this, as well as Neville and Hermione's potion which was a happily bubbling yellow that seemed to glow the color of sunshine on a bright summer's day.

"What a tosser," Ron muttered as Snape inspected Lavender and Parvati's cauldron, docking two points for Gryffindor because it had somehow turned a putrescent green color. "Our's wasn't half bad, and Hermione's looks like it was made by a bloody sixth year. And he gave Daphne two points for a potion that was just as good as ours!"

"At least he's not boring," Harry said, a bit louder. "I'll take Potions over History of Magic or Defense Against the Dark Arts any day. I don't fall asleep, and I don't get headaches. Plus, at least here we learn something useful. All Quirrell has taught us is how to turn our wands into a torch and Binns couldn't teach his way out of a wet paper bag."

"There is no need for side conversations, McAllister. Do it again, and I will be forced to dock points," Snape growled.

Harry gave him a smile and a wink. "Yes sir."

"What are you doing with Snape, Harry?" Ron demanded later at lunch. "It's almost as if you like the bloke."

"My dad always said that if you were stuck with a bad superior, the best you could do was kiss ass and make the best of it," Harry said pragmatically as he took a bit of Shepherd's Pie. He frowned when he bit into it. "What is it with the obsession with pumpkin? I think they put some in the Shepherd's Pie. I mean, it's not awful, but there are other things to eat and drink."

"Pumpkins are good for magical energy," Hermione explained.

Neville nodded. "Yeah, they have properties that can enhance your magical reserves and are good for developing wizard's minds. It's in Grenada Greenthumb's Guide to a Greater Garden. My gran got it for me, but I left it at home."

"Huh." Harry looked at Ron, who just shrugged.

"I just like the taste. Still though, I don't like Snape. I think he hates us or something."

"Don't let him get to you," Hermione said. "Just keep a stiff upper lip and get through it. You've got at least four more years with him. Make the best of them."

Ron grumbled at this, but even he couldn't really argue with the wisdom of Hermione's advice.

After lunch was Transfiguration, which was interesting enough, but Harry couldn't wait until McGonagall had finished. He practically leaped from the classroom, excited to finally get to fly.

"I've always wanted to fly," Harry gushed to Ron as the two of them sped through the corridors. Neville and Hermione were lagging behind, not nearly as enthused. "I used to dream about riding on a flying motorbike, and I've always wanted to be a pilot."

"I've been flying for years," Ron bragged. "My brothers and I play Quidditch all the time. I reckon I'll be a decent keeper one day, or maybe a Beater like Fred and George."

"What's Quidditch?" Harry asked.

Ron looked at Harry as if he'd just committed a sacrilegious act. "Only the most brilliant sport in the whole world! You play one brooms and have to fly to score with the Quaffle while avoiding the Bludger, and then the Seeker has to catch the Snitch. It's really dangerous too, sometimes people get hurt or vanish and turn up the next county over a few weeks later. No one's died in years though."

"Sounds brilliant! Do you think they'll teach us to play in class?" Harry asked as they hurried down the steps. He came to a sudden halt. "Oh. Fantastic. Of course we're with the Slytherins again."

Lined up outside were the Slytherin first years in their green accented robes. As soon as they saw Harry and Ron on the steps, several Slytherins turned away and sniggered. Others openly pointed and laughed.

"Going to try flying to the moon, McAllister?" someone called.

Harry ground his teeth, and Ron clenched his fists.

"Just ignore them," Hermione said, coming up behind Harry and Ron.

Neville looked to Harry, who simply shrugged. "I don't want to get in trouble now. Let's just be the best damn fliers here and make them look like idiots."

The four Gryffindors were soon joined by the others in their year, and trooped out to the field as Madam Hooch, the flight instructor, appeared.

"Right, no waiting around. Everyone, find a broom and stand by it. No, one of you to a broom. Crabbe, Goyle, you're both far too large to even be considering sharing. Right, everyone have a broom then? Extend your hand and say, 'up!'"

Cries of "up" filled the grounds. Harry's broom snapped straight into his hand after his first word. Ron's took two or three, but Hermione's and Neville's simply flopped around on the ground for several seconds before reluctantly hovering up to their hands.

"Very good, very good. Now this is you you mount a broom properly. Watch where my hands are. You need to have a proper grip to get the most performance out of your broom. Malfoy, stop sneering at Longbottom. His grip's a far sight better than yours. You've obviously developed your grip wrong. Like this! No, no, there. Better."

Harry carefully matched his hands to where Madam Hooch's were.

"Right then. There is simply no way to learn to fly without actually flying. So, when I blow my whistle you'll kick off from the ground, hard. Hover for a few moments, then lean forward to descend back to the ground. Don't lean to far or you'll fall of flat on your face." She quickly demonstrated the proper technique, then once she was back on the ground gave a sharp blast on her whistle.

Harry kicked off easily, getting a good ten feet in the air. He felt a thrill down his spine, and glanced around to see how everyone else was doing. Ron was on a level with him, as was Draco and a few others. They all leaned forward and started back down towards the ground.

Except for Hermione, who did exactly as Madam Hooch had told them not to, and tipped straight off of her broom. She landed with a loud thump.

Ron was instantly at Hermione's side, Harry only a step behind. Hermione was biting her lip, trying to keep the tears back, but it was obvious she was in a great deal of pain. Her forehead had a large gash which was bleeding profusely, as head wounds are bound to do. Without thinking, Harry ripped his robe's sleeve and quickly bound the wound as Madam Hooch elbowed her way forward.

"That's exactly what I was talking about. You have to keep a firm grip and lean forward, not lay flat and then fall straight off. Yes, that's a rather nasty gash. Probably have a concussion as well. Right then, hospital wing for you."

"I can help," Ron said, putting his shoulder under Hermione's arm and helping her stand. "Give me a hand, Neville."

Neville quickly took her other side, and followed after Madam Hooch, he and Ron having to carry the still dazed Hermione.

"Stupid mudbloods, can't even sit a broom properly. Probably didn't help that she was carrying trash like this." Harry turned to find Draco sneering while he held up Hermione's book on spaceships.

"Hey! Drop it Draco, that's Hermione's!" Harry cried, stepping forward angrily.

"What are you going to do, McAllister? Make me?" Draco drawled.

Crabbe stepped forward, flexing his arm menacingly. Harry punched him in the solar plexus then danced away from his pawing arm, then hit him hard on the side of the head. The bigger Slytherin dropped, and Goyle paused at seeing his compatriot handled so easily. Draco paled slightly, then shouted "Up!" and lifted into the air on his broom, still clutching the book.

"Come and get it McAllister! Oh, that's right, you can't, they don't have brooms at your muggle house, just make believe rubbish!"

"Up!" in a moment, Harry was level with Draco, closing fast. He wasn't going to take any more guff from Draco, and he wasn't going to let Hermione continue to be insulted. "Give it back Malfoy, or Hermione won't be the only one in the hospital wing!"

Draco sped away across the grounds, and Harry followed. It was difficult to keep pace and course, the broom was vibrating now and veering slightly to the left, but Harry had eyes only for Draco and managed to stay the course.

"Fine, you want it so bad McAllister, catch!" Draco suddenly went into a steep climb, then tossed the book as hard as he could.

Harry reacted without thinking, doing a loop in midair to reverse course and going into a dive to catch the book. He let go of the broom with his hands, keeping a grip with his legs. He managed to catch the book a bare foot from the ground, and had to climb again to avoid a crash.

"HARRY MCALLISTER! YOU GET DOWN HERE RIGHT THIS INSTANT!"

Harry flushed and gulped. Professor McGonagall was striding towards him, gesticulating wildly for him to descend immediately. Reluctantly, Harry leaned forward and brought his broom down gently. He tucked his book in his robes and scuffed the ground with his trainers.

"Professor I-"

"I don't want to hear a word of it! Such reckless! Of all the things! I never!"

"Malfoy was being a git, ma'am," Dean said loudly. "He really insulted Hermione, then he-"

"Mr. Thomas I won't want to hear another word! Mr. McAllister, with me, now. If any of you even thinks of touching those brooms before Madam Hooch returns, you'll have detentions until you graduate!"

Harry sulked after Professor McGonagall, focused on how massively unfair the whole thing was. Draco had been flying recklessly too, but McGonagall didn't even seem to care, and she was his head of house. They began to descend into the dungeons, and Harry started to become worried. He'd heard rumors from older students that Argus Filch, the caretaker, kept some instruments of torture down in dank old chambers. When they stopped in front of the Potions classroom though, Harry was slightly confused.

"Professor Snape, my apologies, I need Wood for a while," McGonagall called into the classroom.

After a moment, the older Gryffindor boy who'd explained the wizarding world's prejudices against squibs appeared, looking rather confused.

"McAllister, Wood, come," McGonagall ordered. They went a few paces away from the classroom, Harry and Wood exchanging confused looks.

McGonagall turned after a few paces, but instead of looking furious as Harry had thought she would, she was beaming. "Oliver, I think I've found you a Seeker!"

Wood's face brightened instantly. "Really, Professor? McAllister's just a first year, and practically a muggle born to boot. You don't really think-"

"He's a natural. Better than Charlie Weasley in his prime!" McGonagall said, her tone near rhapsodic.

Harry studied Oliver and McGonagall carefully "So…I'm not in trouble then?"

McGonagall harrumphed. "I'll give you a choice, Po-McAllister. Either you agree to play Quidditch for Gryffindor, or do lines for me for a month. And not because of your stunt earlier, but because I simply couldn't bear to see such talent go to waste."

"And because I'm not nearly half as mad for Quidditch as you ma'am," Wood said, giving the Professor a grin and a wink. "Oh relax Harry, she's not serious. Ever played a game of Quidditch?"

"Erm, no, but Ron told me it was a sport you played on brooms and that it was kind of dangerous, so naturally I'm all for it. I think flying is my all time favorite."

Nodding, Wood began to pace around Harry. "Good, good. You've got the build for a Seeker too. You'll need a decent broom though. One of the new Clean Sweeps, or a Nimbus would be ideal. Think we can manage that, Professor? He's a firstie after all."

"I'll make the arrangements with the Headmaster and write to his parents," McGonagall vowed. "Harry, do you think they could be persuaded to get you a broom?"

Harry remembered his father's wistful face when commenting on the fact that they couldn't get Harry a broom this year, probably thinking of what an excellent opportunity was going to waste to analyze such an important wizarding tool in the lab. "Oh, I think they'll come round, Professor. My father was in the paras you know. He's rather keen on flying, and he knows I am too. What's the best broom around, for reference?"

"The Nimbus 2000," Wood and McGonagall said together.

Thinking of how delighted his parents would be with the great strides he'd made uncovering the wizarding world's secrets and recruiting new allies, Harry flushed with excitement. "Well then, I'll just have to tell my dad nothing else in the world would do for an aspiring Quidditch player like me."

A slightly predatory look came over McGonagall's face. It reminded Harry of a cat who'd just caught a bird it hadn't really thought it would. "Severus will never know what hit him."

Later that evening, Harry was up in the third year boys dorm, alone with Fred and George. They'd convinced Lee Jordan and their other bunk mates to clear off, having implied that several spectacular stinks were about to begin emanating from their combined poster beds. Harry was carrying his and Hermione's books on space, having gotten permission from her after visiting her in the hospital wing.

Fred and George were simply devouring the books, their faces lit with intense interest and pleasure.

"There's just so much here we don't even understand," George muttered as he studied the diagram of a Saturn V rocket.

Fred nodded, he was studying a Soyuz diagram. "None of this is magic at all. I don't really get how they can make such sustained explosions without bewitching or enchanting stuff."

"Look at how heavy this stuff was," George said, pointing to a picture describing the fuel payload.

"Yeah. 2000 tonnes of the stuff. But I bet with the right magic, you could create just as much thrust without nearly that much weight."

"But then you wouldn't NEED that much thrust, if you reduced the weight of the fuel."

"Right, right, because the payload could be lighter. Or-"

"Heavier payload, but less fuel!"

"Brilliant!"

They both turned to look at Harry, who was suppressing a grin. "Sure you don't think it's all muggle rubbish?" he asked.

George made a rude sound, and Fred shook his head. "Look, we didn't get much schooling in maths, mums not too keen on them. But we're right brilliant at them. Have to be, to pull of the pranks we have."

"Yeah, you've got to calculate exactly how much manticor blood it will take to power your fireworks-"

"-or how much Pixie dust it will take to levitate an object of a certain mass, say one cat around the size of Mrs. Norris, for three hours-"

"-or how much Kelipe venom will put your enemies to sleep, but not hurt them-"

"-right. The point is, we're good at that sort of thing. Always have been."

"And the maths here make sense, Harry."

"We can't prove it, we don't know how-"

"-and even if we did it would probably be too much for us now-"

"-but we could learn how."

"So, tell us, how could you put us in connection with the people who COULD teach us this?"

"And make us the very first wizards on the moon."

"Or Mars."

"Venus might be better"

"We're not picky, point is-"

"-we've always had one goal in mind."

Harry looked back and forth between the two twins, struggling to keep track of who was whom and who was talking. "What goal is that?"

"To be rich."

"And famous."

"Or famously rich."

"To be unforgettable."

"To bring a laugh to everyone-"

"-and never be a joke ourselves."

"You may not have noticed this Harry-"

"-but ickle Ronnikins has a bit of an inferiority complex."

"Don't tell him, but he's not the only one."

"And don't tell Dad-"

"-or God help us, Mum-"

"-but we don't want to end up like our father."

"Stuck doing what other people tell him-"

"-the butt of every joke at the ministry-"

"-too poor to afford to actually pursue our dreams-"

"-and forced to do things for other people-"

"-who get the credit for every good deed we do-"

"-while we get all the blame."

Feeling slightly confused, Harry frowned. "But your dad seems like a great bloke, and he seems to be a pretty good wizard."

Fred blew out his cheeks, and George shook his head. "Oh, don't get us wrong. Dad's a great chap."

"We love him dearly."

"But he's a small part of a big thing-"

-instead of being a big part of a small piece of history."

Harry considered that for a moment. "So, you'd actively consider working for muggles, even if you ended up breaching the international statute of secrecy or whatever?"

Fred and George exchanged looks, then nodded. "Of course."

"Always thought it was a bit stupid anyway."

"Muggles have some great stuff."

"Big fans of Roman Candles."

"And juggling. Taught ourselves ages ago, though it's easier with a bit of magic."

Harry thought hard. "Alright, I can't make any promises now. Or tell you too much. But I will tell you this much: some muggles have had it."

That elicited raised eyebrows from Fred and a frown from George. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well, think about it. Do you really think the muggles didn't notice it when Voldemort-oh, grow up, he's not a demon or something, he won't appear if I say his name. Anyway, when Voldemort was going around blowing up villages and killing people left and right, do you really think the muggles never noticed."

George sat back, thinking hard, but Fred shrugged. "I figured they did, but the Ministry just obviated anyone who really did notice."

"You can't mind wipe everyone with a brain. And you can't obviate a computer."

Fred glanced down at the book that was still in his lap. "Yeah, meant to ask you, what is a computer? I keep seeing it mentioned, but I haven't the faintest what one of those is."

Harry rubbed his chin. "I'm probably not the best person to explain. But I think I know someone who is?"

"Who?" George demanded.

"Hermione. She's bloody brilliant. And some friends of my Dad's. But listen. This isn't something we can talk about at school. I'll write to my folks, and my dad can come up with a plan. But if you're really serious, there is one thing you can do now."

"What?"

"We'll do anything. Well, almost anything."

"Yeah. We won't snog Malfoy for you."

Harry just ignored the last one. "Study hard. Become the best damn wizards you can. Because if you do throw in your lot with the right people, they'll need every ounce of magical know-how at their disposal."

"That would really take the piss out of the Ministry," Fred said, frowning.

"And be the best bloody prank of the millennia. We'll do it."

After a moment, Fred nodded as well. "Why not. Who wants to just be a regular old wizard anymore?"

Later, as Harry composed his letter to his father, he couldn't help the huge grin on his face. Things were going better than he'd ever imagined, and far faster too. What could possibly go wrong now?