Disclaimers and other info in Prologue
...is indistinguishable from magic. – Arthur C. Clarke
CHAPTER 12: Airs Above the Ground
Tim, Harry, Ron and Hermione trooped down to the Quidditch stadium with the rest of the students around seven-forty-five that evening. The sun had set not long before, but the stadium was brightly lit by huge enchanted lanterns, set at the tops of long poles evenly spaced around the perimeter of the viewing stands. As the students climbed to their seats in the various House sections of the stands, they saw a most peculiar setup in the center of the arena.
A number of broomsticks floated in the air above the pitch, spaced approximately ten feet apart. Most were hovering in a horizontal position, either parallel or perpendicular to the long axis of the oval field, at heights ranging from twelve to sixty feet above the ground. There were also a few vertical broomsticks scattered, apparently at random, among the horizontal ones.
At precisely eight o'clock, Professor Dumbledore stood up.
"As I mentioned this morning, there has been a rumor circulating around the school for several days now. I am afraid I must remind you that rumors are the weapons of the cowardly, spread by those who wish to create mistrust and damage honor, yet who themselves are untrustworthy, too craven to honestly and openly stand behind their words. This is unacceptable at this school, especially in light of recent events. If we cannot trust each other, we will become easy prey for Voldemort and his followers."
He paid no attention to the shudder that rippled through the crowd as he spoke the name.
"It would appear that some of you think – or would like others to think – that there is something shameful and dishonorable about being a Muggle, despite the fact that many wizards are of Muggle parentage. So I must also remind you that Muggles are not second-class citizens. Even if the information in this rumor were true, there would be no dishonor in it. But to my knowledge, not one of you has had the courage even to refuse to listen, much less insist that the speaker provide proof of the assertion."
He paused, looking around at the students and the teachers, many of whom squirmed uncomfortably under his implacable gaze.
"Rumors, true or not, are by their nature divisive, inherently designed to create factions and weaken a group of people. Therefore, I have brought you here to see for yourselves just how little truth there is in these particular allegations you have been so diligently passing among yourselves. I ask you to pay close attention to tonight's demonstration, and remember it next time someone whispers an unfounded accusation in your ear.
"Ladies and gentlemen, Professor Richard Johnson."
Dick strode out of the locker room onto the field, stopping just below the lowest broomstick. He unfastened his blue-and-black cloak and let it drop to the ground. Under it he was wearing a leotard and tights, which glittered in the light from the lanterns.
He reached over his head, bent his knees, and jumped straight up, easily catching the broomstick handle six feet above his head. Flexing his legs, he began to swing forwards and backwards, the angle progressively increasing with each oscillation, until his body arced completely over the handle in a perfect circle. He continued to swing around and around, his legs, body and arms absolutely straight, building up momentum with each cycle, until, unexpectedly, he let go of the handle. His body flew upward through the air until his hands made contact with a higher broomstick. He repeated this maneuver several times, until, moments later, he was revolving around the uppermost broomstick, high above the spectators.
Dick slowed his circles, until he was poised in a perfect handstand on the wooden broomstick handle. He held that pose for a moment, then pushed off powerfully with his hands, twisting his body in midair to land, standing, on the handle. He remained in that stance for two full seconds before diving off head first, to the shocked gasps of everyone in the stadium.
That was the beginning of a lightning-fast routine. Dick flew gracefully from one broomstick handle to another, flipping and rotating his body in midair. He tucked into a tight ball, spinning fast in multiple somersaults, stretching out just in time to catch and swing around the next broomstick in his path. Switching hand positions, he reversed direction almost faster than the crowd's eyes could follow. Sometimes he twisted with his body in a straight layout; sometimes he launched into a perfect pike position, falling only to catch another handle at the last moment and send himself soaring skywards again. He caught a broomstick with his feet and swung around it. The swing transitioned into a front flip, and yet another dive to a lower broomstick. Occasionally he would reach out with one hand, snag a vertical handle and pivot around it, switching to the crosswise set of broomsticks to continue the show.
Meanwhile, his eyes apparently fixed on Dick's performance like everyone else, Bruce was in fact constantly scanning the stadium. He wanted to make sure that no one was going to take advantage of this opportunity to harm Dick, whose attention was totally focused on his flying. He also wanted to see if there was anyone among the teachers or the students who seemed disappointed that Dick was truly a wizard, instead of being thoroughly enthralled by his aerobatics.
There appeared to be no danger. Everyone was staring at Dick with rapt attention, gasping or applauding at his maneuvers. Snape, who had probably instigated (or at least encouraged) the rumors in the first place, was gazing skyward, open-mouthed in astonishment. Some of the older Slytherin boys looked rather unhappy, but that was only to be expected, given the report Bruce had heard about Dick's first class. But no one, not even Draco Malfoy, was doing anything other than watching in complete fascination. Even Tim was paying no attention to his surroundings. This was understandable. Although Tim had seen Dick in action many times, he had never seen anything like tonight's performance.
Dick was now approaching the finale of his exhibition. Swinging himself back to the center of the field, he caught the handle of the centermost vertical broomstick, circling it several times to bleed off most of his momentum. At last he swung himself to its apex, perfectly balancing himself on its tip with one hand. He remained motionless, appearing to float in midair for a moment. Then he pushed himself free and dropped. His other hand caught the broomstick handle as he fell past, pulling it towards himself. The broomstick carried him around into a perfect loop, ending with him straddling it in normal wizard-flying position. He rode it once around the stadium, finally coming to a smooth landing exactly where he had started.
Complete and total silence reigned for a moment. Then thunderous applause rose from the stands as Dick made an elaborate bow to Professor Dumbledore and the rest of the teachers. He then turned and bowed to the students, before gracefully reaching for his cloak, swirling it dramatically to settle around his shoulders, and walking off the field.
Tim let out his breath and looked around. Next to him, Ron, Harry, and Hermione were applauding loudly with the rest of the Gryffindors, whistling and cheering at the tops of their lungs. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs' roars of approval were just as loud. Even most of the Slytherins were clapping. Glancing toward the teachers' box, Tim quickly nudged Ron.
"Hey, Ron, you said you wanted to see Snape's face. Better look fast," he advised with a grin. Ron and the others quickly looked up. Most of the teachers were applauding in a dignified yet enthusiastic manner, and Professor Dumbledore looked as delighted as any child at the circus. Snape, however, was scowling like a thundercloud. Ron's face took on a look of supreme contentment.
"Look, Malfoy's just as mad as Snape is," Hermione pointed out. "You don't think they'll try something else, do you?"
"After already making themselves look like fools in front of the entire school? You worry too much, Hermione," Ron retorted. "They'll probably be licking their wounds for days." Hermione glowered at him for a moment, but didn't reply. As they made their way out of the stands and back to the castle, she decided she didn't want to argue. Dick's performance had been too... well... magical... to let anything spoil the mood he had created.
TO BE CONTINUED...