A/N: This chapter has one of the ideas/scenes that actually made me start this story in the first place, so I hope you enjoy it. Deviation from canon, yay!

Guest: Thank you so much for catching that! I sort of write out of order, jumping around before I forget the thought, and then come back to fill in the blanks after the more difficult part is finished. It usually works for me, but somehow I just forgot to write in that part – even though I knew pretty much exactly what was meant to go there. Well, it's fixed now, thanks to you. :)

Last updated 12/29/2019

Chapter Seven
Flying Lessons

Music is a language more intuitive than the spoken word, more deeply intrinsic and vital to the human soul. Its crests and falls, its withering refrains and punctuated staccato beats, all of it ties together to create a harmonious – or a disharmonious, as it may be – song. There is a sort of meaning within every phrase, as every sentence carries its own weight, just as a note is to a word.

But I digress. My point is that music is a form of discourse far more intimate than the simple word. It can bring a sense of community, of shared elation, of joy. It can also trigger haunting memories, a chilling fear or sense of horror, a depression – as well as a sense of catharsis. It is all of this that seemed to have affected me at that moment, as I sat in the common room and heard true music in Hogwarts for the first time. When I finally listened to what I heard.

Perhaps Dumbledore was right, with his proclamation of music being a magic beyond the wonder of Hogwarts. Perhaps these are simply sentiments expressed by two old fools.

But I'm inclined to trust in my own experience, and so I stand with these words, words that I believe are potent enough to rival only the simplest tune or jig.

Growing Up

Neville had long since been taken out of the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, had declared him fit to leave and attend classes within the hour.

Now it was Thursday of the next week, and all the Gryffindors were once more staring at the assignment board, groaning as they realized that the class which they had looked forward to the most – flying lessons, on a broomstick – would be shared with the Slytherins.

Breakfast was spent eagerly (or nervously, as the case may be) discussing the topic.

"Flying!" Danny had said in awe when he sat down at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, a stupid smile on his face. "Today! Flying!"

The incoherence of his words could, perhaps, have been attributed to the dizziness he felt due to his extreme excitement at this new, wondrous facet of the Wizarding World.

Seamus slapped him friendly on the shoulder, an equally stupid grin on his face.

"I'm glad you can appreciate good sport, my American friend," he said dramatically, but the red flush on his cheeks showed that he was no less excited than Danny. "But yes! Flying! Quidditch!" He grinned in such a way that everybody couldn't help but laugh.

Well, except for Hermione. Her nose was deep into a book, her eyes looking almost frantic as they darted wildly from line to line.

"What are you reading?" he asked her curiously.

"Quidditch Through the Ages," she said, finally looking up. She bit her lip. "It's just – I'm so –"

"Worried?" Neville suggested weakly. Danny looked at him, and saw that instead of the red flush he and Seamus had been sporting, Neville looked quite pale.

He remembered how Neville had professed his disability to fly on the train, and frowned.

"Yes, that's it," Hermione said, uncertainly. "I'm… worried."

"But why?" Seamus asked incredulously. "Flying is easy."

"That's easy for you to say," she scowled. "I don't know anything about it except… except what I've read in this book! I didn't have a magical upbringing like you."

"Danny's also Muggleborn," Dean said reasonably, "but he's not scared."

They all looked at him. Danny struggled to contort his face into a reassuring smile.

"Er, yeah," he said. "I'm sure the teachers wouldn't let anything bad happen."

Seamus snickered. Danny glared at him.

"Of course," Hermione said, relieved. "You're right. The teachers wouldn't let anything bad happen." She spoke it like a mantra.

Danny glanced at Neville, noticing how he didn't look so reassured as Hermione.

"What's wrong?" he asked, even though he thought he knew.

Neville squeaked.

"Look," Danny said, "we're all going to be fine! It'll be fun!"

Hermione nodded fervently, somehow jumping onto his side of the conversation. "He's right, Neville. And I've learned loads of tips from Quidditch Through the Ages already! Would you like to hear them?"

Neville nodded, and somehow it turned into a full-blown lecture after that. Hermione rattled off her tips while Neville listened eagerly and everybody else looked bored. Danny tried to listen, he really did, but there was that odd quirk of trying to listen that made it more difficult the more earnest the effort was.

An owl swooped down to the table, dropping off a package and cutting off the lecture, much to the majority's relief. Everybody turned to Neville curiously. They watched him as he tore open a small carefully-wrapped brown package and revealed a small glass ball full of white smoke.

"It's a Remembrall!" he explained, his nervousness from earlier turned into a strange sort of distracted excitement. "Gran knows I forget things – this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red – oh…"

It had turned red.

"... you've forgotten something…" he mumbled. His face screwed up as he concentrated hard, trying to remember what he had forgotten. Danny frowned as he looked passed Neville to a group of boys who were passing the Gryffindor table. He took a moment to remember who they were.

Of course. It was the blonde-haired Slytherin from Potions class who had laughed at Harry, with his two thick, stocky cronies.

His fine-honed instincts from middle school warned him this wasn't going to end well. He stood up from his seat, just as the Slytherin snatched Neville's Remembrall straight from his hand.

He strode to the Slytherin, an angry scowl on his face –

"What's going on?"

It was Professor McGonagall. Danny felt immensely grateful. A teacher who would actually act.

Unlike Snape, he groused.

"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor," Neville said, squirming as the teacher's eyes rested on him. The Slytherin student – Malfoy – dropped the Remembrall carelessly back onto the table with an ugly expression on his face.

"Just looking," he said, and left.

Danny noticed Harry and Ron, who had been sitting just a little ways down the table, sit down. He let his feet guide him back to his own table, and smiled.

Maybe Neville had more friends than he thought.

Humanity

Before their first flying lesson, however, they again had Charms. It was to Danny's great misfortune that he had not recruited Dean and Seamus' help in arriving there, for Danny had crashed into Mr. Filch and Ms. Norris in a last-ditch, running, effort to not be late.

Mr. Filch was the caretaker of the school. The title was a misnomer, however, because it implied a sort of "care" that Mr. Filch lacked. Danny heard he liked to hang students to the ceiling by their fingernails if they upset him.

Ms. Norris was his cat. She was arguably one of the things that made Mr. Filch even more terrifying, as it seemed that she had eyes and ears everywhere.

So it was indeed to his great misfortune that he had crashed into them. All three tumbled to the floor, somehow meshed together into a spinning ball that ended in a tangle of limbs – both cat and human – and wizard robes.

As they all slowly untangled themselves and stood up, Danny heard words that he doubted were appropriate for a child of his age to hear, in a school, nonetheless.

"You – you imbecile!" shouted Mr. Filch, with such a volume of voice that seemed impossible for his thin and scraggly frame. "Stupid arrogant student, running in the halls!"

That was the least of it that Danny had heard. The curses only got worse as Mr. Filch dragged him by the collar of his robe toward the caretaker's office.

"I-I have to go to Charms class," he protested, when he first realized they were going in the wrong direction.

"Do you now?" Mr. Filch snarled. "We'll see how much is left of you by the time you get to Charms class." He said the words mockingly.

Danny gulped.

He never did arrive at Charms that day.

Growing Up

"Where were you?" Hermione hissed to him when he arrived onto the Quidditch pitch, more traumatized when he had last seen her yet fortunately with all his fingernails intact.

"Mr. Filch caught me," he said, and it seemed that the horror in his voice was excuse enough for doing something as dastardly as skipping.

"How did you escape?" Neville asked sympathetically.

Danny shook his head, shivering at the memory.

"McGonagall saved me," he said. "But I think I made it worse by turning Filch's cat green."

"What?"

"I was surprised too," he said, and refused to say anything more on the topic. Desperate times had called for desperate measures.

Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short, gray hair, and yellow eyes like a hawk.

"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

The three quickly scurried over to the neat line of brooms. Danny stood between Hermione and Neville, and looked uncertainly down at the broomstick.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," ordered Madam Hooch at the front, "and say 'Up!'"

"UP!" everyone shouted.

Danny's broom gave a half-hearted jump, not quite reaching his hand. Hermione's sort of rolled on the ground, and Neville's didn't respond at all. Looking at their terrified faces, an idea sparked in his mind.

He forced himself to forget the errant twigs, the broken line of the broom, and to instead recall the feeling of elation at the thought that he was going to fly.

"Up!" he set, and the broom shot up into his hand. He grinned.

Next, Madam Hooch showed them how to mount their brooms properly, and once everybody was on, she walked down the line correcting grips. Danny smiled to hear her telling Malfoy, the Slytherin bully, that he had been holding his broom wrong for years.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," Madam Hooch told them. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle – three – two –"

Because of his nervous anticipation (he had leaned into the broom, tensing his feet, ready to kick off and fly), he almost didn't notice Neville already kicking off the ground, before Madam Hooch made the call. But he did notice, and so when Neville jolted off the ground, he found himself rising with the boy, his hand tightly grasped against Neville's arm.

When he realized just what had happened, and the fact that there was no broom under him, his first thought was oh, crap.

His second was, Why does something bad always happen to Neville?

And third, Wow, I'm really flying!

After that, however, he concerned himself more with the staying alive bit.

With a strength he didn't know he had, he lifted himself onto the broom with Neville, so that he wasn't hanging only off of his friend's arm.

"Neville!" he yelled, remembered Madam Hooch's instructions, "Lean forward!"

Unfortunately, the combined forward weight of the boys was too much, and they were both sent spiralling straight towards the ground. Danny managed to keep a hold of the broom, pull it beneath both of him with a tight grip, and keep Neville behind him so that when they crashed, Neville would have the softest landing.

All things considered, the crash went much better than it could have been. Danny had forgotten about his hand, however, and it impacted the ground with a nasty snap. The broom shattered upon impact.

A blistering pain shot through his wrist.

Madam Hooch rushed over to them, her face pale. He wasn't quite sure what she said, but suddenly he was being carried over to the Hospital Wing, deposited in front of Madam Pomfrey, the nurse. It happened all quite fast, and all he could think about was the pain in his arm.

He remembered his words from earlier. "The teachers wouldn't let anything bad happen."

Hermione had been an idiot to believe him. If this wasn't bad, he didn't know what was. He stared at the ceiling of the Hospital Wing, wondering why it was him who faced such pain when surely the teacher could have just saved Neville with magic.

Danny was suddenly aware of Madam Pomfrey eying him critically.

"It's only a broken wrist," she said, finally. "Easy enough to solve. Now give me your hand." He gave it to her obediently, and she grasped it firmly, pulling out her wand. "This is going to hurt," she warned.

"What!?" Danny shrieked, and tried to pull his hand away. It already hurt enough. But it was too late; she had already cast the spell.

There was a brief flash of pain, and then he looked at his healed hand, whimpering.

"There, there," Madam Pomfrey said. "It'll feel better soon. Now, I expect you to get plenty of rest and not pull any stunts like that again. Understood?" She shoot him a stern look.

Danny nodded meekly.

"Alright." She sighed. "Well, I suppose you can go now."

It took a moment, but then Danny lit up. He was healed. It was alright now. His hand was no longer in pain.

"Really?"

"Yes," she said. "Go on now. Out with you."

She seemed rather eager to get rid of him, but Danny barely noticed. He rushed out of the hospital wing and to the Gryffindor common room in what must have been a record time. Well, a record time to him at least, considering he had never been in the hospital wing before – it had still taken at least half an hour, but the time passed quickly to his dazed mind.

When he arrived, he stopped right in the middle of the portrait entrance, gobsmacked.

They were having a party.

A party.

What?

He hesitantly stepped inside, and noticed one of the prefects playing a banjo. And another one playing an electric guitar (one that he suspected was from the showcase in the Muggle Studies class). And Fred and George, singing like it was Karaoke night.

That is, they were singing awfully.

Everybody gave a collective cheer as Danny entered.

"For the little firsties first flying lesson!" Fred (or was it George?) toasted.

"And for the hero that went to the hospital wing for it!" the other Weasley twin continued.

What.

"Uh…" he said intelligently.

Seamus sidled up to him, putting an arm around his shoulders, holding a tankard in his hands that Danny eyed suspiciously. Seamus led him further into the common room.

"Here, have it," he said, thrusting the drink into Danny's face. "It's butterbeer! Fred and George sneaked them in after they heard."

"Heard what?" Danny asked dizzily.

Seamus grinned.

"Fifty points from Slytherin. And look at Neville! The Slytherins were bullying him – when McGonagall came, she was furious."

"McGonagall?" he asked. He nodded fervently.

"Oh yeah. And do you know what Neville did?"

"What?" he asked. It didn't feel real.

"He told Malfoy – he really said this – that he should go make friends with a piece of dung, because they were so much alike! And then – and then – Neville's Remembrall turned red!" Around them, the common room roared with laughter, and Danny was suddenly aware that everyone was listening in.

"Oh," Seamus then added, like an afterthought, "Malfoy was holding the Remembrall then." Then he noticed Danny not drinking the mystery tankard and pushed it into his face again. "Come on, drink it! It's really good!"

"But I'm a minor?" Danny said.

"No alcohol," Seamus said, grinning. He skipped away, ostensibly to get another drink. Danny noticed he had veered off to where the Weasley twins were.

"Did you really save Longbottom?" an unfamiliar second year girl asked a moment later. He blinked at her.

"Er, I guess so."

Then it dawned on him.

I really did save Neville, didn't I?

"That's awesome!" she said, grinning, and gave him a friendly punch to the arm that made him wonder if he was already disobeying Madam Pomfrey's instructions. "Welcome to the House of the Brave!"

Then she left. Danny tried a sip of his drink.

Huh. It was really good, like warmth and memories of home (the good ones) in a drink. He took another sip.

"So –"

He nearly spilled the drink when he heard a loud voice speak right behind his left ear.

"You're Danny Fenton, right?" a minisculey different voice spoke from behind his other ear.

He looked up and realized that the awful Karaoke noise that had been produced by the Weasleys had been replaced with awful Karaoke noise that was currently being produced by Seamus and Dean.

He should have known.

"Yeah, that's me," he said, eyeing them skeptically.

"Great!" one of the red-headed twins grinned.

"Would've been a shame if we introduced you as the wrong person," the other said.

Danny floundered for words. Then, remembering the drink in his hand and what Seamus told him, he asked, "You smuggled this in to start up this party?"

They both looked very smug.

"Of course."

"Just popped by Hogsmeade."

"Bought it in loads."

"We bring in good business to Honeydukes –"

"– so they gave us a discount."

They both nodded, as if they had just imparted a wisdom worth an entire treasury. Danny decided not to ask about their possibly-shady dealings.

"Why is there a party in the first place?" he blurted.

The Weasley twins exchanged glances.

"Well, fifty points off Slytherin –"

"– not to mention that thing with Harry –"

"– and Neville's grown a backbone –"

"– but really, we just wanted to throw a party."

They grinned, in an eerie unison.

"Well, keep up the good work, firstie!" One of them clapped him on the back.

"We have to go now."

"You know, pranks to plan."

"Parties to throw."

"So long!" They threw him another grin, and dashed away to who knows where. Danny was left to stand there rather awkwardly with a drink of butterbeer in hand but a bemused smile on his face, and so eventually went to join Neville and Hermione, who were both also looking somewhat bemused.

Once the Karaoke stopped, the music was actually pretty decent. He still didn't know how they had persuaded the Muggle Studies teacher (whoever they were) to borrow the electric guitar, where all those other instruments had come from (he thought he saw a clarinet out there), and how the students had even gotten so good at playing with no official Hogwarts band, but he found himself having fun. Hermione was somehow persuaded to laugh at some pretty stupid things (like spilling butterbeer on Seamus' head for his horrible singing) and Neville was blushing the entire time as people went and congratulated himself for "growing a backbone." Danny himself felt a warm glow of pride that he could either attribute to the butterbeer, the presence of good friends, or the feeling of having performed a heroic act.

He realized, to his great surprise, that he felt happy. Tucking his butterbeer closer to his chest, cheeks glowing, Danny smiled, and the smile was wide and unrestrained in a way it hadn't been since they left Amity Park.

He thought, maybe this is it. Maybe this is what I need. Maybe this is the final stop, and I can stop worrying now.

And he held his happiness to his chest like a warm candle, a soft glow in a room full of dancing, music, and laughter.