It was a week before Emmeline began to get over the thrill of her flying lesson. Just as she was calming down, something happened to spark her excitement all over again.

On Wednesday morning, the Hufflepuffs sat in the Great Hall swapping answers for their latest Herbology assignment. David was making some quiet suggestions to Wayne, while Smith pleaded with Sally-Anne to let him copy her paper. Megan had already eaten, and gone off to explore the grounds.

The shuffle of wings announced the arrival of mail, and everyone looked up instinctively. Emmeline scanned the ceiling, but she didn't see Artemis among them. This wasn't surprising, as she'd already gotten a letter from Aunt Vee on Sunday. Still, she always checked just in case. Watching the birds was fascinating in and of itself, the different kinds, the different packages, and who was receiving what.

Amidst the chaos, a large parcel caught her eye. It was long and thin, and carried by no less than six screech owls.

She wasn't the only one looking. A wave of whispers washed down the Hufflepuff table, everyone nudging their friends and pointing upwards. The owls soared across the hall, headed straight for the Gryffindor table. They did a loop and zeroed in, fluttering down and landing in front of…

"No way," said Justin, craning his neck to see over the Ravenclaws. "I thought first years weren't allowed to have broomsticks!"

"They're not," Wayne confirmed. "Maybe they'll confiscate it."

Everyone looked to the high table, but none of the teachers seemed to be responding. Professor McGonagall was looking toward the Gryffindors with an expression close to a smile. The only one who seemed upset was the potions master, Professor Snape, though that wasn't unusual. Either way, he did not leave his seat.

"Wow," said Hannah, turning back to the far table. "He must be really good!"

Ernie was not as impressed.

"That's not supposed to matter, you know. The first year rule isn't just about safety. It's about discrimination. Not all students can afford the best brooms, even if they can fly."

"Anti-favoritism," scoffed Smith. "Figures it wouldn't apply to Harry Potter."

"I don't think that's fair." Sally-Anne was looking at Zacharias rather than the Gryffindors. "The staff might have a really good reason. We don't know what happened in their lesson."

"But that's exactly the point! Wasn't Potter supposed to be the one who got detention?"

"I think so," said Wayne. "I know the other Gryffindor boy was the one in the hospital wing. That's why he missed class Thursday."

"Neville," Susan supplied, and Wayne nodded.

"Right. I thought the Slytherins had said McGonagall pulled Harry from class to tell him off, something about flying without supervision. But I guess not."

"Ooh, I hope one of them got detention," said Hannah, glaring at the table of green. "They're all awful bullies."

"I doubt it," said Justin. "Sounds to me like Neville took a fall and Harry decided to take the opportunity to show off."

"I really don't think so," said Susan. "We sat with Neville on the train, and he said Harry was really nice. He sounded really humble."

"I agree," said Sally-Anne firmly. "I don't think he's like that."

"You're just saying that because you fancy him," sneered Smith.

"I do not!"

"You said as much after our first astronomy class!"

"Well so did David!"

The conversation devolved as everyone began arguing about whether or not Harry was cute, or if he was just famous, and what kind of broomstick he might have gotten in the post.

Emmeline looked over the crowd of students, watching as Harry and his red-haired friend rushed from the Great Hall with the parcel. It was most definitely a broomstick. She couldn't think of anything else that would come in such a package or make someone so excited. And if the staff knew that he had a broomstick, if they were allowing it, surely he couldn't have been showing off in class. Even if he were good, and Emmeline felt certain he was, he wouldn't be rewarded for flouting the rules like that. He had to have a really good reason, whatever it was.

Sally-Anne was right. They didn't know enough about what happened during the Gryffindor's flying lesson. But there was someone who did.

All through breakfast, Emmeline kept an eye on the Gryffindor table. As soon as the first years began packing up, she stuffed a piece of toast in her mouth and followed them to the door, leaving her roommates behind. She had to run a bit, but she finally caught up on the front steps of the castle.

"Neville!"

She noticed too late that he was not alone. Luckily, Hermione took one look at her and sniffed, marching on ahead on her own. Neville paused, waiting for Emmeline to catch up.

"Morning. Alright?"

"Yeah, thanks. How are you?"

"Fine."

"So, I was wondering…"

"Before you ask, I don't know anything about it."

"Nothing?" Emmeline sagged, pouting at him. "It was a broomstick though, wasn't it?"

"Looked like it," said Neville, not at all bothered. "It came with a note, but Harry didn't read it out loud. Then he and Ron just went running off."

"You didn't ask?"

"I didn't think to. Not really my business."

Emmeline let out a whine of frustration, and Neville grinned.

"You could always ask him yourself if you want to know."

"W-What?" She stared at him, flabbergasted. "No!"

"Why not? I don't think it'd upset him. He's actually really nice."

"Well, be-because I can't. Besides, why would he tell me?"

"Why do you think he'd tell me?" Neville countered.

She frowned at him. "Fine. You didn't overhear anything? They didn't say anything to anyone else?"

"Nah. They kind of stick to themselves, you know? Especially since…"

Neville did not finish his sentence. Emmeline looked around, trying to spot what might have grabbed his attention. But whatever was distracting Neville did not lie on the grounds. He'd pressed his lips together tightly, his cheeks turning pink under downcast eyes.

"Especially since what?"

He looked up at her quickly. "What?"

"You said 'Harry and Ron have stuck to themselves since,' and then you stopped talking."

"Oh! I don't know. Just since they've started being friends, I guess."

Emmeline frowned. "That didn't sound like it was what you were going to say."

"I just…I don't like thinking about it. It was awful."

"What? Flying? Are you alright?"

"No! I mean…" There was a pause before Neville groaned, glancing around them in a panic. Then, lowering his voice: "We weren't supposed to be out, alright? You can't tell anybody."

"I won't," she said immediately. "I promise."

Neville looked around them again. He leaned closer, walking lopsided so he wouldn't have to talk so loud.

"Last Thursday, I had to go to the hospital wing for my wrist. Madam Pomfrey fixed it pretty quick, but I was so shaken up that she made me stay through dinner. But when I went up to Gryffindor Tower, I couldn't remember the password. I waited outside for ages, but everyone was already back from dinner, so there was no one to let me in. I kept having to hide in corners in case Filch found me and gave me detention!"

"Oh, Neville," Emmeline said kindly, not sure where he was going with this. "I'm sure it's alright. It must be hard to remember a password that changes so often. I'm sorry. That is awful."

"What? Oh, that's not the secret. Everyone in Gryffindor knows I'm really forgetful. But I thought I might have to spend all night in the corridor, until Harry, Ron and Hermione came out around midnight."

"What were they doing out of the common room at midnight?"

"I'm not sure," he confessed. "They just said they had somewhere to be, and Ron was arguing with Hermione about something. We ended up going to the trophy room, and Hermione said something about Malfoy setting them up, because Filch was already looking for students out of bed when we got there. So, we had to make a run for it. And then we ran into Peeves, so we had to make a run for it again. And guess where we ended up?"

"Where?"

"The third-floor corridor!"

Emmeline gasped, then quickly tried to smother it. "Well, what was it? What's there?"

"A dog," Neville shuddered. "But it's got three heads, and it's gigantic. Like a monstrous bullterrier."

"Three heads?"

He nodded fervently.

"We bolted. All the way back to the tower. And by the next morning, Harry and Ron were laughing like it was all some kind of joke. Hermione was mad. She's not talking to them anymore—not that she really was before, mind. And I told them I never wanted to go back there again. I may be a Gryffindor, but I don't have a death wish."

"I've read about three-headed dogs before," said Emmeline, "but I didn't think they were real. Why would they keep something like that at Hogwarts? It could hurt someone!"

"It almost did," said Neville. "I don't know what it's doing here, and I don't care. So long as I never have to see it again."

"Well, I'm glad you're alright."

"Thanks. Me too. But you can't tell anyone, alright? I don't want to get in trouble. The nightmares are punishment enough."

It really did seem to be haunting him. Neville's face was pale just talking about the dog. Emmeline wondered if that was why he'd seemed so tired lately. As they neared the greenhouses, she decided to change the subject.

"What were you saying about Malfoy? That he set you up?"

"Not all of us, just Harry. I guess they were supposed to meet in the trophy room for something, only Malfoy decided to tell Filch instead."

"Why would he do something like that?"

"Probably hoping Harry'd get thrown out, or at least get detention. They hate each other."

Emmeline could only half-understand this. Hating Malfoy was easy. From what she'd seen, he was a bully who was not only arrogant, but outright cruel. She'd done her best to keep her distance, but their Charms class had never recovered from his first-week antics. Transfiguration was always tense too, though thankfully that was the only other class they had with the Slytherins. Flitwick might not have noticed Malfoy's nefarious motivations, but Professor McGonagall would never let anything happen in her classroom.

The part Emmeline didn't understand was hating Harry Potter. How could anyone, especially someone raised by wizards, hate someone who had already done so much good? It made sense that they wouldn't get along, of course. Malfoy was in Slytherin, Harry in Gryffindor. Maybe Harry standing up to Malfoy's behavior would put them at odds, but to go as far as to have someone expelled? How could anyone try to do that to Harry Potter?

She wanted to ask for details, but before she could, they were joined by two more Gryffindors.

"Talking about Harry?" asked one boy, with a thick Irish accent. He had sandy hair and a wide, excited smile. "Not surprised they're letting him have a broom after that stunt he pulled with Hooch."

"What happened?" asked Emmeline.

It was a mark of how desperate she was for information that she even managed to ask at all.

The boy gaped at her, his smile growing wider. "You haven't heard?"

"Destroyed Malfoy is what he did," offered the other boy. "First flying lesson was very eventful."

Emmeline turned to Neville, who was already beginning to flush. "You said you didn't know anything!"

"Know anything?" echoed the Irish boy, slinging an arm round Neville's helpless shoulders. "Neville's the one who started it all!"

"I wasn't there for any of it," Neville defended. "Madam Hooch had to take me to the hospital wing for my wrist."

"Yeah, but it was your Remembrall, wasn't it?"

"So what happened?" Emmeline insisted.

Neville did not answer, but his classmates were not ashamed to take the reins.

"So last Thursday," the first boy began, "we all head out to the field for our first flying lesson. And within the first five minutes, Neville's up fifty feet in the air!"

"It wasn't that high, Seamus…"

"Then WHAM! He's back on the ground, and Madam Hooch is taking him to the hospital wing. Only when he fell, his Remembrall fell out of his pocket. So it's sitting in the grass, and Malfoy's the first to grab it up. Go on, Dean."

Dean cleared his throat, pretending to hold the ball up to the light and doing a remarkable impression of Malfoy's voice. "Oh, look what I've got! It's that thing Longbottom's gran sent him! I'm so cool because I already know how to fly!"

"But then Harry stepped up," continued Seamus, "and he said, Give it here, Malfoy!"

"That sounds rubbish," Dean laughed, and Seamus hit him.

"Well, of course, Malfoy hated that. So he was like…"

"I think I'll go hide it up a tree!"

"And Harry started yelling…"

"No! Give it here, Malfoy!"

"And they both took off on their brooms! Now Malfoy had already been bragging everyone's ear off about how great he was, and I guess he's decent, but Harry—wow! I never thought someone who'd never touched a broom would be able to fly like that!"

"It was wicked. Twice as high as Neville was, maybe higher. And he didn't blink for a second!"

"So they're up there, and—well, we couldn't hear them anymore, obviously. But they were still yelling at each other. And suddenly Malfoy just chucks the ball, and Harry goes flying! I could barely see where it was from the ground, let alone from the air!"

"And he zooms into this fifty-foot dive, one handed, heading dead straight for the ground…"

"And he bloody caught it! Ten inches off the ground and he caught it, and just sorta rolled into the grass. Not a scratch on him. It was incredible."

"And the look on Malfoy's face! You'd have thought he wet himself!"

"Probably did, the idiot. Of course then McGonagall came out and dragged Harry out of class, and Hooch went mental when she came back and found out what happened."

"Malfoy tried to throw Harry under the bus and Ron nearly punched him. Hooch threatened them both with detentions too, but they got off."

"Anyway," finished Seamus, "we all thought Harry was a goner, but they didn't chuck him out. So it all turned out right in the end."

It was an eccentric performance, but very well-rehearsed. Emmeline imagined the boys had told the story at least a dozn times over the past week. It was also much more believable than Justin's theory that Harry had just been fooling around. This sounded like the Harry Potter Emmeline knew.

Emmeline couldn't help but stare as they filed into Greenhouse One. Harry and Ron had arrived only a second before Professor Sprout, both beaming and whispering in excitement. She didn't feel any of the resentment the other Hufflepuffs seemed to have. Yes, she wished almost more than anything that she could have her own broom at Hogwarts. But if anyone should be the exception to a rule, it should be Harry Potter. He wouldn't abuse it or take it for granted. He alone deserved it.

Neville dropped his bag next to Emmeline, joining her on her bench.

"I was going to tell you," he said softly. "I just sort of…forgot."

"Forgot?" she asked incredulously.

"I did! I really wasn't there, so all I knew was what Dean and Seamus told me."

"You could have said that."

"I know, I just…" He sighed, staring down at the worktable. "I like talking to you. All the time. Not just when you want to talk about Harry."

Emmeline stared, affronted. "I don't always want to talk about Harry."

"I just wasn't sure if you were talking to me because you wanted to be friends, or just because I was in Gryffindor."

"Neville," she said, softening, "of course you're my friend. You were my friend before anyone else—my first friend ever. And that was before the sorting, and before Hogwarts. It's only that…"

"No, I know. It's Harry Potter," he agreed. "Everyone wants to know about him, not just you. I was being stupid."

"You're not stupid. You're my friend."

Neville's smile was small, but he certainly seemed to be in better spirits. Still, Emmeline decided to drop the subject of Harry Potter for the time being.

They chatted about their herbology assignment while Professor Sprout made her rounds. Neville was extremely enthusiastic. Apparently his Great Uncle Algie was something of a gardener himself, so plants were a subject Neville was comfortable with. Emmeline, in turn, told him all about the flowers Aunt Vee grew in the garden, and the different flora in the Hufflepuff dorms. She was halfway through her story about the melodicius clematis in their dorm when Professor Sprout cleared her throat.

"Alright! Well done, everyone. Glad to see you're not all so comfortable as to begin slacking off just yet. Let's see how long we can go without any missing assignments, shall we? And five points to each Hufflepuff and Gryffindor for one hundred percent completion.

"Now, if you'll turn your attention to the flower pots—a very calm practical session for today, but very important! Can anyone tell me what we've got here? Hm?"

Hermione's hand had been up before Professor Sprout had even asked her question.

"Yes, Miss Granger."

"It's the Moly flower—native to the earliest Mediterranean colonies of magic, and recognizable by their distinctive black stems and roots, and either white or blue flowers."

"Very good, Miss Granger. Have a point to Gryffindor. And another for the person who can tell me its use?"

"Please, Professor," said Hermione, her hand in the air once more, "the Moly flower has powerful curative properties, and can be consumed to counteract various curses and jinxes. It's also a common ingredient in antidotes and restorative potions, notably the Wiggenweld Potion."

"Ah, yes. Well, another point to Gryffindor. As Miss Granger noted, Moly is particularly useful in countering dark enchantments. Now, we're looking at the flowers, but the most powerful part is the root. In a bind, ancient wizards were known to harvest them, cut them up, and eat them before going off for duels—just as you or I would with parsnips!"

"But Professor Sprout," started Hannah, "if they're so good at warding off jinxes, why don't wizards eat them all the time?"

"I'd rather eat Moly than beetroot," said Ernie, and everyone laughed.

Hermione's hand was up again, but this time Professor Sprout ignored her.

"I highly doubt you would, Mr. MacMillan. Ingesting Moly in high doses has dire side effects."

"Is it poisonous?" asked Seamus.

"No, but it does give you an awful case of the runs. More to the point, Moly is a finicky herb to harvest, so we won't be trying to today. This crop is for the NEWT-level potions classes, and we just want to ensure that they're nice and healthy. They're most prevalent in the Mediterranean, so that means they like things warm and dry, and that's what we'll be checking today!

"As you can see, most of the blooms around the room aren't quite white. The Moly flower turns blue when it's not getting enough nutrients, when the magical conditions are not quite right for harvesting. So we're going to repot them and warm them up until they're all feeling a bit better.

"There's ten stations, so everyone partner-up! Come get a watering can and some potting dirt, and we'll set to work on our new friends. And make sure you pay attention to how much water and soil each batch gets! Just a bit! You'll be recording it to report at the end of the lesson, and incorporating it into your assignment this week. Chop chop!"

"Partners?" asked Neville, turning back to Emmeline.

"Yeah."

"Cool. I'll get the watering can."

Emmeline brought their things to the closest work station and pulled out her notebook. She labelled each flower pot with a number and scribbled down a chart for how much water and soil each plant was going to need. When she glanced up front, she saw Neville with his arms full of supplies, talking to a crestfallen Hermione. She looked over, catching Emmeline's eye, and Emmeline quickly turned away.

There was no need for her to feel bad. Hermione didn't have a claim on Neville as a partner any more than Emmeline did. Besides, she was tired of working with Zacharias Smith, who only ever seemed to criticize her for moving too slowly. It would be nice to work with someone she liked for a change. And if Hermione didn't have any other friends to talk to, it wasn't Emmeline's fault.

Neville rejoined her, and they set to work. Emmeline let Neville take the lead watering and potting, acting as a scribe as he cared for each plant. Slowly but surely the blooms began to pale, periwinkle petals turning to a stark white that glittered in the sun.

"She's not bad, you know," said Neville, interrupting Emmeline as she sketched one of the flowers on her worksheet.

"Who?"

"Hermione. I know you two didn't get on in our compartment, but she helped me with my potions work the other day. She can be really nice when she wants to."

Emmeline chose not to answer. It would be a shame, she thought, to argue with Neville after she'd just confirmed that he was her friend.

"It's hard in Gryffindor," he continued, unfazed. "We're only a month in and everyone's already sort of paired off. Harry's always talking to Ron, Seamus hangs out with Dean. And Lavender and Parvati have been glued to each other since the sorting. Everyone's nice, but…"

"But you still feel left out." Emmeline nodded, her voice quiet. "I know what you mean."

"That's part of the reason I always talk to Hermione. She doesn't seem to have anybody either. I know she's—well, she's a bit much, but I think she's just lonely."

"That doesn't make it okay to be mean."

"I know. Maybe she just doesn't know how to talk to people?"

Emmeline stared flatly until he withered.

"Or not. Sorry. I'll just…"

He scampered, hurrying to the back of the greenhouse to refill the watering can at the waterspout.

They did not talk about Hermione Granger for the rest of class. Emmeline did feel a bit bad—not for Hermione, of course. But she was certain that friends were supposed to like the same things, the same people. Surely if Neville was friends with Hermione, that meant Emmeline should be too.

She just could not understand what Neville saw in her. So she'd given him the answers to their potions homework. Was that a surprise? Hermione loved correcting people. She wanted everyone to know that she had the correct answer. She wanted them to know that she was smarter than all of them. That wasn't nice, even if it was true.

Still, at the end of Herbology, Neville said goodbye and jogged to catch up with Hermione on their walk to the castle. It stung, but Emmeline did not have time to dwell on it.

"So?"

Emmeline jumped as Sally-Anne appeared at her side, wide-eyed and breathless.

"So what?"

"I saw you talking to the Gryffindors when we showed up for class! Did they tell you anything? Was it a broomstick? What happened?"

It seemed almost everyone in Hufflepuff had gathered around to hear the story. Emmeline was hesitant. She had promised Neville that she wasn't talking to him just to get information on Harry Potter. Would telling the story to the rest of her classmates mean she was betraying Neville against her will?

Everyone was still looking at her, their faces flushed with excitement. It was a nice feeling, knowing that people wanted to hear what you had to say. So Emmeline relented, and did her best to retell the story of the Gryffindor's flying class with the Slytherins. It was not nearly as exciting as it had been when Seamus and Dean had told it, but it did the trick. Her mind was back on the broomstick, and on Harry Potter.

They swapped theories between classes for the rest of the day. Hannah was sure Harry was being given the broom as a reward for standing up to bullies, and to discourage the Slytherins from continuing their behavior. Smith stuck with his lecture about favoritism, certain McGonagall had approved it to give Gryffindor an edge. With his own broom, Harry would do much better than anyone else during flying lessons. That way he could earn more points, and put Gryffindor in the lead for the House Cup. Wayne joked that as long as Miss Granger was blurting the answer to every single question in class, Gryffindor wouldn't need an extra edge to win the cup. Emmeline had laughed with everyone else.

The conversation segued into Hufflepuff's chances for the House Cup, and what they'd have to do to win. But as usual, Emmeline's mind buzzed long after everyone else had moved on. Why had Harry really been given a broomstick? What kind was it? Who had paid for it? Or had his family bought it for him before term had started, and the professors were just now allowing him to bring it onto the grounds?

Incidental as these questions were, Emmeline could not get them out of her mind. They bounced around her brain all through dinner, clouding her vision when she tried to work on her homework. When she laid down to take a short nap, her dreams were full of broomsticks and round wire glasses.

Marnie came to collect them at half past eleven. The prefects would escort the first years to astronomy for the first half of term, she explained, until they were certain they had a good grip on the route through the castle. They met the boys outside and headed for the tallest tower—tired, but no more than they had been their first week.

It had turned into a cloudy evening. This seemed to put Professor Sinistra in a particularly tetchy mood. She gave her entire lecture in clipped sentences, pausing every now and then to glare at the sky overhead.

"Well, your practical for this evening was meant to be completing a star chart of our visible night sky. But as the sky has chosen not to be visible, we'll just have to make do. Sketch what you can and use our notes from the previous lessons to fill in the gaps for next class. I'll allow multicolored ink for this assignment, to indicate how you reached the conclusion for each placement."

There were several murmurs of complaint. More homework—the last thing anyone wanted to think about at the close of their first month.

"Can't you just move the clouds?" asked Dean from Gryffindor. "You know, with magic?"

"Certainly, Mr. Thomas. But magic is not always about ability. Weather-modifying charms are high level magic, and their use is highly contested by the Committee on Experimental Charms. If wizards could change the weather whenever they wanted there would be catastrophic meteorological consequences, as you can imagine. Unless you'd care to bear the burden of a Ministry inquiry?"

Resigned, the students turned to their tables, adjusting their telescopes as needed so they would be ready when the first clouds broke.

Emmeline glanced out of the corner of her eye. Harry Potter sat next to her once more, staring aimlessly up at the sky. He seemed in good enough spirits, more bored than anything. His quill rolled between his fingers, his chin in his other hand.

It took her several minutes to build up her courage.

"That was really nice, what you did for Neville."

He looked at her, taken aback. "Sorry?"

"What…what you did for Neville the other day," she repeated. She tried to make her words clearer without having to speak any louder. It was difficult to think when he was looking right at her. "Standing up to—to Malfoy. I…well, I heard some of the Gryffindors talking about it this morning."

"Oh, right, um…" He looked away quickly, looking embarrassed but not displeased. "I didn't really do anything. I mean, anyone would have."

This was not true, and Emmeline desperately wanted to correct him. But the words kept getting jumbled in her brain. She forced them away, taking a few seconds to rehearse her next sentence before she spoke.

"Did you really catch his Remembrall after a fifty-foot dive?"

"Uh, I guess. Yeah."

She allowed herself only a moment to gape at him, impressed.

"Did you get in trouble?"

"Not really. I mean, uh…a bit." He was beginning to look distinctly uncomfortable, and would not meet her eye. "Professor McGonagall didn't give me detention, but she said…she um…she took house points from Gryffindor."

"She did? I didn't notice."

"Well I think—I think Hermione answered a question and got some points back at—at the same time. Something about broom history."

"Broom history?" Emmeline was steadily growing more confused. "Madam Hooch didn't ask us about that."

Harry shrugged with a non-committal hum and did not answer.

The clouds parted overhead, distracting them from their conversation. Even as she sketched out the position of Cassiopeia, Emmeline was debating her next move.

It didn't make any sense. Harry had received a broomstick in the mail, been allowed to keep it against regulation. Clearly, he was not in any trouble. He was pretending that he was—but why? She knew Gryffindor hadn't lost points, that he couldn't have served detention and been granted an extraordinary privilege. Yet he was dodging all her questions.

She wasn't making any progress like this. She would have to be more direct.

The constellations were eclipsed once more, and gradually, the scratching of quills came to a stop. Harry turned back to Emmeline.

"So, how long have you and Neville known each—?"

"What kind of broom do you have?"

He froze, his eyes threatening to grow beyond the size of his glasses. "E-Excuse me?"

"Your broom. You're really lucky. I wish I could have brought my broom to Hogwarts."

"No one's supposed to…I mean, that wasn't…I don't know what you're talking about."

Emmeline stared at him. Panicked as he looked, it was difficult not to feel affronted.

"I know what a broomstick looks like," she said defensively.

"It wasn't," he assured her, though he was having trouble supplying an alternative. "It was an…it was a…"

"A broomstick," she finished. "Everyone saw it at breakfast. It's all anyone's been talking about all day."

"It is?"

Harry looked around in surprise, as though he expected the other students to be waiting for his answer as well. No one paid them any mind.

"Is it supposed to be a secret?" asked Emmeline, watching him closely. "That's silly. If they didn't want anyone to know, they shouldn't have sent it in the morning post."

"Another clearing, everyone!" called Professor Sinistra. "Get to work."

They picked up their quills, scribbling furiously to get down as much information as possible. Emmeline chart was quickly becoming chaotic. She'd rather copy over a complete chart to make it more organized than have to look all of the stars up again. That would take hours, surely.

She did not push when the clouds had closed once more. She and Harry sat in silence, Emmeline now twirling her quill and Harry eyeing her nervously.

"Do you like to fly?" he asked after several minutes.

Emmeline knew he was trying to change the subject, but she couldn't contain her smile.

"Yes. Almost more than anything. I live in the country, so there's never any Muggles to worry about. I can fly through the fields for hours, or over the trees down by the lake. Sometimes I just go straight through them. You have to weave back and forth. Aunt Vee doesn't like when I do that 'cos she thinks I'll get hurt, but it's not that hard. She got me a Cleansweep Six so I could play Quidditch in the yard, and it…it handles really well."

She realized too late that she was rambling and closed her mouth. Her cheeks were undoubtedly turning red.

"What about you?" she asked, not wanting the conversation to end. "Do you like to fly?"

Harry nodded. "I'd never flown before that lesson. It was amazing. As soon as I was in the air, it was like I knew exactly what to do. I know that doesn't make much sense, but…"

"No, it does," she assured him. "With magic there's always so many things to remember—motions and letters and stuff. With flying…well, there's still a bunch to remember, but it's easier. For me anyway."

"Exactly. It was incredible." Harry smiled, and looked back down at his star chart. "It was kind of a relief. To know that I could do it, you know? It was one of the things I was really excited about. I used to think about it all the time. Anything to get away from the Dursleys."

"Who?"

"My aunt and uncle. They'd probably be furious if they knew they were teaching me to fly."

"Why though?" Emmeline asked with concern. "It's perfectly safe."

"No, it's not that," Harry explained softly. "They hate magic. Anything unusual, really. They never…they never told me anything about Hogwarts, or my parents. I didn't find out until I got my letter. They had to send it loads of times because my Uncle Vernon kept ripping them up."

Emmeline gasped. "He what?"

"Yeah. They had to get pretty creative. There were letters inside of our eggs, and in our chimney. We even tried leaving, but they were still getting through somehow. In the end Hagrid had to come and get me. He's the groundskeeper, the one who took us up to the castle? He was the one that told me everything. If he hadn't shown up, I don't think the Dursleys ever would have let me come to Hogwarts."

"I'm sorry," Emmeline said, more out of instinct than anything else.

Harry shrugged. "It's alright."

But it wasn't. She struggled to find something else to say, but came up short. She wished the clouds would move out of the way again, so she could hide in her work. They only swirled tumultuously, never parting.

Never in her life would she have imagined something like this. Her whole worldview was shattered. Harry Potter was a hero. He should have been cared for, admired, loved by his family as much as the whole world. She'd known he'd had grown up with Muggles, but she'd never thought they'd be Muggles like that—anti-magic, stubborn, cruel. If they'd fought so hard to resist magic, what must they think of it? What did they think of Harry? How poorly had they treated him that even when he hadn't known they truth he'd dreamed about hopping on a broomstick and flying away?

At times, Emmeline had hated the isolation of Sebara Cottage—its high security measures, Aunt Vee's strict policies. But at least she'd felt safe. Aunt Vee loved her, and always made sure she was as happy as she could be. It was difficult to accept that not everyone had grown up the same.

Emmeline bit her lip, staring up at the sky.

"Aunt Vee isn't really my aunt," she said quietly. "She's my godmother. My parents…they died when I was really little. So I was sent to go live with Aunt Vee in the country. It's only ever been the two of us, and I never really left. Neville was the first person I'd spoken to in years."

"That sounds awful," said Harry.

"Sometimes. It was lonely, but I didn't really know anything else, you know? And I could still do whatever I wanted, so long as I didn't leave. I could fly or swim or read. I don't remember my parents, but I really love Aunt Vee. And she loves me."

"Still, I'm sorry."

Emmeline shrugged. "It's alright."

It was not what she'd wanted to say. She wanted to tell him the truth. That her parents hadn't just died, they'd been murdered. That they'd been killed by Lord Voldemort's followers for fighting on the right side of a war. That if anyone on the planet didn't have to feel sorry for her, it was him. He'd already defeated Voldemort. He'd already done more for her than anyone else in the world.

She did not say this. She didn't have much experience with conversations, but she was fairly certain that would be considered oversharing. Hopefully, Harry would be her desk-mate for the rest of the year. She didn't want things to be awkward.

The moon peeked out overhead, and the students picked up their quills. The clouds seemed to have given up and were rapidly blowing south. A comfortable chatter raised with the class's relief. Everyone was able to finish their star charts with a few minutes left to spare.

Emmeline began to pack up her things, going slowly as always and trying to stretch out the time she spent in her chair next to Harry.

"It's a Nimbus Two Thousand," he blurted, and Emmeline nearly dropped her telescope.

"What?"

He shushed her hurriedly, and she clamped a hand over her mouth. Several people had turned to look in their direction. Emmeline flushed.

"Sorry," she whispered. "But is it really? How did you get it? Are they really going to let you keep it?"

"I hope so," said Harry, with a small smile. "Professor McGonagall got it for me, I think. So I can play Quidditch for Gryffindor. But I'm not supposed to tell anyone."

She gaped at him, torn between outrage and awe.

"Wow. No wonder they're being quiet about it. What position are you playing?"

"They want me to be a Seeker. If Wood keeps me on the team."

"Of course they're going to keep you," said Emmeline, probably louder than she should have risked. "They wouldn't buy a Nimbus Two Thousand for just anyone. You must be amazing."

Harry chuckled awkwardly, his cheeks pink under the rims of his glasses. Emmeline flushed again and did her best to backtrack the conversation.

"Lucky," she said with a grin. "I wish I could play."

"What position would you play?"

"Chaser, probably. That's all I've ever gotten to practice at home."

"They play with the Quaffle, right?" Harry asked. "I only started learning the rules today. Ron tried to explain it to me on the train, but it was a little confusing."

"Right," Emmeline confirmed. "And the Beaters aim the Bludgers at the Chasers before they can get the Quaffle through the three rings. Each goal is ten points, and the Snitch is worth a hundred and fifty. But only the Seeker can catch it, otherwise it's a snitchnip. That's a foul."

"Right. Erm…Wood hadn't mentioned fouls yet."

"There are loads. About seven hundred, I think. But don't worry," she added when his face went pale, "it takes ages to learn them all. So long as you stick with the basics, you shouldn't have a problem."

"Seven hundred?" he repeated, still shocked. "How can there be seven hundred fouls?"

"Most of them are for really stupid stuff, like trying to hop onto another player's broomstick or using different kinds of jinxes to affect the outcome of the game. You know, things you'd assume no one was going to do anyway. But every now and then someone tries to get creative in the international league, and they have to write another rule."

They spent the rest of class discussing Quidditch, Emmeline going over different kinds of fouls and restrictions. Much like Harry, she had never actually seen a game of Quidditch, so all of her knowledge was theoretical. But she'd read enough books to have a solid comprehension and had been flying long enough to understand how it was applied. She was worried about sounding like a know-it-all, but Harry kept asking her questions, and she didn't want to be rude. Still, she watched him carefully for any signs of boredom, so she could stop talking before too much damage was done.

Professor Sinistra collected their papers and dismissed the class, firmly reminding them that they still had an essay due next Wednesday. There were a few groans, but no one seemed too upset. They'd all avoided having more work with their star charts, if nothing else.

Harry cleared his throat as they stood up.

"You—you won't tell anyone, will you? About me playing?"

"I promise," said Emmeline resolutely.

"Thanks." Harry smiled, picking up his bag. "See you tomorrow, Emmeline."

"'Night, Harry."

As Emmeline headed back to the Hufflepuff Basement, she reflected that it was the most she'd ever talked in one day. Her throat was nearly sore from the extra use. It was a pleasant kind of ache, the same way her cheeks hurt from smiling, and her hands gripped her books just a little too tight. But no matter how many people asked her what had happened, why she was so happy, what she and Harry Potter had spoken about, she refused to give an honest answer.

It was a strange feeling, having a secret. Emmeline never kept much of anything from Aunt Vee. Now she had two secrets to keep, for two different friends, all in the same day. She decided that she liked the new feeling. It made her feel important. If necessary, she would take her new friends' secrets to the grave.

A/N: Ah! Sorry this is a day late! Thank you to Orla who left the review reminding me, haha! I'm working two jobs at the moment and completely spaced. All is well, but it's very busy because of the holiday weekend. That being said, G'mar chatima tova to those who celebrate Yom Kippur!