"Safety first" is the mantra of every teacher at Hogwarts, which I find amusing on many, many levels. But they are right about one thing: destruction is a sign of incompetence, not power. Or rather, power sans competence, which is worse.
It was remarkable how the magical fits of the sort that destroyed my neighbor's television (and plagued my tenth year of life with increasing frequency) all but vanished once I accepted my power. Not that I was ever against magic, itself. Just the form it took for me, of sensory implosion.
It makes me guilty to think Mum is still suspicious of all things magical for this reason. But if I am honest with myself, she would have been anyway. Our landlady once called Mother a lioness at heart, but if this is so, she is disguised very well as a housecat. My father moved in unusual circles, and so anything odd and exciting is linked in her mind with his death, however illogically. Magic falls firmly into that category.
Every step I took into this world was taken alone, so it is strange and wonderful to have skilled adults available and eager to answer my questions about magic, even when those questions fall well outside the usual realm of coursework. Slughorn, for example, will ramble about elusive immortality brews all day if you goad him into it, but he shut up like a clam when I asked him whether similar effects could be achieved by an enchantment. Since even apparently benign academic concepts are difficult to navigate without context, I have become very fond of the library. Madam Pince tolerates me, usually because she doesn't know I'm there. My peculiar preference is that people not know where I am.
Violet has displayed frustration over this on several occasions.
"You just missed the most brilliant game of Quidditch!" she cries despairingly one evening at suppertime. Having been researching flame-resistance potions in the library, I require a moment to blink out of my reverie."
"You know I'm rubbish on a broom, Vi…"
"I'm not talking about a silly three-on-three in Hagrid's garden. It was the Slytherin-Hufflepuff House match! The one everyone's been talking about all week! And you missed it!"
"Oh," I say, still thinking about salamander blood and not certain what my face should be doing.
"This is the part where you ask who won."
"Slytherin won."
"So you were there?" Now Vi sounds hurt that I didn't sit by her.
"No. But this table is twice as loud as usual." I pile fruit and meat pies onto my plate and get up to leave. "Let's go eat someplace else."
Violet huffs in exasperation, but she looks down the table to where Gary is attempting to perform an Irish jig with a pint of pumpkin juice in each hand, and takes my point.
"Where to, then?"
"How about the Quidditch pitch?" I suggest, wending my way around a group of rowdy fourth-years. "It's still warm out...and it'll be nice and quiet."
This time the huff of exasperation is more of a groan.
By the time we settle on the lawn, twilight has all but fallen. It's a clear night, and the stands block out the lights from the castle, leaving the stars clearly visible. Aside from a few bits of rubbish floating around from the match, it's perfect.
"Okay," Violet admits at length, as we lie side-by-side on the soft Quidditch green, stomachs full, squinting at the constellations high above us. "This is nice. Just as good a view as Ravenclaw tower, in its own way."
I raise my head and an eyebrow at her, and she flushes.
"One of my brothers snuck me in, okay? It's just that I grew up on stories of everything they got up to in that tower...and I always sort of thought…"
She falls silent, but I am deep in thought. It is the first I have ever heard Violet or any other Slytherin insinuate that they would rather be in another house. Like everyone else, she is wildly invested in inter-House competitions. I don't think I've ever seen her more pleased than after today's match, cheeks flushed with triumph. So the topic is a tempting one to pursue, but I don't. Because I don't like the note of regret in her voice, or perhaps because I fear it will bring up my Muggle parentage again. And what an outlier I am in every direction.
"Is that Orion?" I ask instead, jabbing a finger randomly at the sky.
"It's Casseopeia, like our roommate. Annie, you really are hopeless. That one's basic."
"Basic? If you want to discuss the truly elementary aspects of magic-"
"Don't get started on magical theory again, Annie. No one is into that."
"Maybe they should be."
"I thought you got full marks on Professor Sinistra's last exam. Do you really not know Orion from Casseopeoia?"
"I imagine I did at the time."
She scoffs. "You don't forget anything."
"That would be supremely inefficient. Of course I do. I prefer to invest mental power in things closer to Earth."
"I can't believe you don't care about the stars and planets, but you still put all that energy into...Muggle brain magic."
"Neuroscience. And it's terribly relevant."
Violet abandons her study of the stars and props herself on one arm to raise an eyebrow at me.
"Arithmancy and nerve-science are what you consider more down-to-earth than Astronomy?"
"One has to do with the mathematical manipulation of a fundamental force, and the other with our perception of it. I concern myself with studies that are at the root of everything, Violet. Astronomy is a major offshoot of physics, yes, but relevant to very little unless you're into Divination. Or a handful of quite specific potions. And in that case, I can always look up positions on a moon chart."
"You're missing the point," says Violet, sprinkling bits of grass onto my face. She giggles when I immediately shove myself up, cross-legged, to rub away the itchy sensation. By the time I have pulled out a fistful of clover to retaliate, she has rolled to a safe distance.
"What's the point?" I demand.
"The point is, you're a kid. Kids go to classes and do the work they have to do. And then we have fun."
"That is what I'm doing," I point out.
"Okay, here's Kid 101. Taught by Professor Violet, right now. Libraries are not fun. Quidditch is fun."
"Maybe if I could stay on a broom, like you." The best way to conceal my dislike for heights, I have found, is to make light of my supposed clumsiness.
Violet ignores this, and continues the lesson, ticking points off on her fingers. "Dueling is fun. Pranks are fun. Watching Quidditch is fun."
"False. Muggles say the same thing about their sports."
"That are played on the ground. Without magic, and with completely inanimate equipment. Come on, Annie! You can't compare Quidditch to that."
"But you're not doing anything. Just sitting there."
"You don't have to do anything." A breeze has picked up as night falls. Violet vaults to her feet and snatches a bit of Hufflepuff-yellow crepe paper as it rustles by, then cheers and holds it aloft.
"It's Asaju! Asaju with the Snitch! Violet Asaju wins one hundred and fifty points for Slytherin!"
"I thought you wanted to play Beater," I point out, mildly impressed nonetheless. All those evenings below the trapdoor, attempting to catch the correct key to open the next door, have done wonders for Violet's reflexes.
"I want to play anything," says Violet airily. "But Beater would be best. We never had any proper Bludgers at home, because Mum said they were too dangerous. My brothers always made me hit rocks at them instead…"
"Sounds cathartic."
"...so I figure I've got in some good practice."
"Here's a promise then," I say, rolling to my feet and stretching. "Once you're on the House team, I'll never miss a match."
Violet's grin flashes white in the darkness. "Really?"
"Of course really. But you're going to have to explore odd corners with me until the end of time, and maybe occasionally even step foot in the library."
"Excellent," says Violet, attempting to walk on her hands and falling flat on her back. "But there'll be one more condition."
I circle above her. "Yes?"
"Let's go flying."
"What?"
"Now. Tonight."
I taste my pulse in my throat.
Violet rolls over and looks up at me, earnest. "I mean it. Let's go snag some brooms from the shed. Coach will never know they're gone."
"What if it's locked?" This sounds feeble even to me.
"Then you'll do your magic...thing you do. Without a wand."
"The wand is just an amplifier. A director, if you will. With enough concentration, it's not hard to manage basic tasks by…"
"Yes, I know. Nerd things. Come one!"
This time it's me heaving a sigh as I follow Violet across the pitch. And, honestly, I don't know what this is all about. How did we go from discussing Quidditch to me personally sitting on a broom fifty feet above the ground in the dead of night?
"That's it, Andrea!" comes Violet's cheer from beside me.
I jump slightly. At times like this I envy her dark hair and skin. Wearing school robes, she is practically invisible as she floats next to me. Oddly, however, the black, moonless night calms me. Fear of heights becomes somewhat abstract when you can hardly see the ground.
"Feeling all right?"
"Okay," I admit, before I can stop myself. "Why are we doing this again? I took Flying Class. And passed it."
"With aplomb," says Violet, doing lazy loop-de-loops. "And precision. Every move precise, robotic, down to the nearest centimeter."
"So? I work best when I'm concentrating."
"And you got off the second you could, and never got on again. I have never once seen you relax on a broom, Annie. Doesn't it ever occur to you how amazing it is just to be up here, among the stars?"
"Do you know what it means to speak much, and say little?"
"No, but I know what it means to avoid a question. Don't you want to fly, Annie?"
"OF COURSE I DO!"
The shout comes from out of nowhere, but Violet's needling has gotten to me at last. Don't I want to fly like a bird? Who the hell doesn't? If I could, I would, and I can't, and that's that.
Already I am ashamed of my outburst, and tilt my broom gingerly toward the ground. "I'm done, Violet."
She swoops down after me. "Wait, Annie. Stay with me. Please."
"We've both stayed out long enough. And you're missing the party."
"Andrea, humor me tonight, and I'll never bother you about flying again. Okay? I promise."
I pause, hovering in the air. Infuriating though it is to buy my own privacy, the offer is tempting.
"Andrea?"
"Fine," I say, turning my broomstick with difficulty. "Never again."
White teeth flash again.
"Okay," says Violet, with relief. "Okay, Annie. The first thing I want you to do is touch down."
We've not been in the air two minutes. I stare at her.
"Trust me."
A second later my feet are on the ground, and so are hers.
"Perfect," says Violet. "Now, freak out."
"Excuse me?"
"Freak out," says Violet. I can only suppose that my expression is more visible in the scant starlight than hers is, because she rushes to clarify. "Freak out. Go for it. I know you hate this. I know you hate heights, even if you never let on. I am so sick of your composure, Annie. So go on. Throw a tantrum, or whatever. You won't scare me off."
I open my mouth to tell Violet exactly how stupid and insulting an idea this is, but a strange, choking sound emerges instead. I barely have time to throw a silent Muffling charm in the general direction of the stadium entrance before all hell breaks loose.
"Feeling better?" Violet asks pleasantly, fifteen minutes later.
I dry my eyes on my sleeve. "I'm going to throw you off the Astronomy Tower."
In a swift motion, Violet hops onto her broom. I don't need light to know she is wearing her customary wicked grin. "You'll have to beat me there first."
I employ a few of Mother's least favorite swear words, which feels even better than the crying did, and soar into the air after her.
In the end we spend more time darting around the tower, playing a stupid sort of tag, than we do standing on it. My words were a joke, though the heat in them wasn't. Anger, I'm discovering, can be liberating - particularly when you are several hundred feet in the air with no room left for fear. Violet is laughing triumphantly, as though the violent edge to my swerves is proof that I am now a proper denizen of the skies. I open my mouth to tell her off, and am promptly distracted chasing a bat that brushes against my sleeve with an indignant squeak.
"One more thing," Violet gasps, after the poor thing has led us on a glorious five-minute chase around the spires of Hogwarts. Violet suggested we avoid lighted windows, and I insisted on the opposite. No one with a fire reflecting against the glass will possibly see us flitting around outside on a moonless night.
"I don't think I'm up to barrel rolls yet, Violet."
"Next time." I can hear the smile in her voice. "Land on the Astronomy Tower, would you?"
I step off my broom more lightly than I ever have before, though my heart still jars against my chest when I look over the battlements.
"Know anything about the towers of Hogwarts, Andrea?"
"More than the usual?" I have been too distracted with my Potions research to finish reading Hogwarts: A History, and we've spent plenty of time tonight discussing my academic deficiencies.
"Well, I do," says Violet. "One fact in particular might interest you: There's a Cushioning Charm fifty feet out around the whole castle. Fall off this tower and you wouldn't get a scratch."
I stumble backward. "Why would I do that?"
"Well, not on purpose, obviously...Are you okay, Annie?"
"Fine. Why are you telling me this?"
"I just figured...I figured you found it hard to concentrate in Astronomy because of the height of the tower," says Violet lamely. "Was I wrong?"
Yes, actually. The battlements are high enough that the possibility of falling never really occurred to me. Apparently it did to someone else.
Safety first. What charmed lives wizards lead, to jump off buildings without any repercussions.
Regaining composure is easy in the darkness, however.
"Thank you, Violet," I say, and find that I really mean it. "For everything."
"Don't mention it," says Violet. "Someday, when we're both on the Quidditch team...sorry, Andrea. I'm joking."
"I don't think I'm there yet either," I snort. "But...tell you what, Vi. Let's go out flying again sometime."
"Really?"
"Sure. But let's steal better brooms. I'm half-convinced this one keeps edging me towards the Forbidden Forest, which is tempting enough on its own…"
