As she hurried down the hill towards Hagrid's hut, Ginny could see a group of first year students straggling upwards. She was relieved to see none of them sporting bandages or bloodstains.

"That was amazing!" Ginny heard one skinny Hufflepuff enthuse to another. "I didn't think there were any outside the Modesty Rabnott Snidget Reservation! I never thought I'd see one for myself!" He turned to walk backwards. "Did you see how it just came straight to Hagrid's hand, like it knew it wouldn't hurt him?"

"I can't believe people used to play Quidditch with them," the slim girl he was talking to said. "How cruel!"

"I can believe it," another girl, much more sturdily built, said. That's Hermione's student, the one she used for the Polyjuice explanation. Maisie something … Wilson? Wilkins! "I mean, have you read the Transfiguration textbook? We'll be turning mice into snuffboxes by the end of the year. No-one would have considered switching to Snitches if the Golden Snidget hadn't become endangered."

"Mice into snuffboxes?" the slim girl said with horror. "That's horrible!"

Their voices faded as they passed her, and Ginny smiled to herself. If turning mice into snuffboxes bothers her, I wonder what she'll make of rabbit slippers?

She continued on down the path, waving when she saw Hagrid and Luna in earnest conversation.

"And I think it's an excellent idea, Hagrid," Luna was saying when Ginny came into earshot. "But wouldn't it be better — more interesting for the students, I mean — to take them on an excursion to somewhere that already has Horklumps? There's bound to be someone in Hogsmeade, you know."

"But then the students won't learn how to care for 'em, will they?" Hagrid objected. "No, raise 'em up from spores, that's the way."

Ginny sighed, foreseeing a busy afternoon using Streeler venom and the Knockback jinx to clear the Hogwarts grounds of a runaway infestation of Horklumps in her future. "Hello, you two. Class go well?"

"Not my best," Hagrid said. "But it didn't go badly, like."

"I think the students enjoyed it," Luna said serenely. "And that's the important thing, for their first class."

"Great," Ginny said. "Listen, Luna, I need a quick word." She glanced at Hagrid, hating not being able to include their staunch friend and ally, but knowing that Hagrid's record of keeping secrets wasn't the greatest. "About July."

"Alright," Luna said. "Hagrid, Ginny and I have to go and talk about something secret for a while. You don't mind, do you?"

Hagrid grinned. "Girl talk, is it?"

"Something like that," Luna agreed, took Ginny's arm, and drew her away.

Muffliato wasn't Ginny's best spell, but she cast it away, and then chose her words with care. "Luna, when you're looking into July, I wondered if you could keep an eye out for something else."

"Of course."

"I was talking to Aberforth last night, and he made a point of telling me that someone had trouble making friends."

A small wrinkle appeared on Luna's brow. "I don't think that's true, you know. Minerva wouldn't have been so angry, if they hadn't been friends in the first place."

"I asked Poppy Pomfrey and she more or less agreed with you," Ginny said.

"Then I wonder why Mr Dumbledore would tell you a lie," Luna said. "That's interesting, don't you think? Were you going to ask me to find out what I could about friends, when I was looking into July?"

Ginny nodded. "That's exactly what I was going to ask you."

"Certainly," Luna said. "Although I do wonder what Mr Dumbledore knows, and why he didn't just tell you directly." She paused, and added thoughtfully, "And how he knows what he knows, too. That's an interesting question."

"Maybe he has a portrait of his brother, now, as well as of Ariana?" Ginny suggested.

"That's a nice thought," Luna said. "And a sad one. To have your only family be paintings." She looked wistfully into the distance for a moment, and then brightened. "Still, he does have his goats, of course. That must be a great comfort to him."

Ginny walked back up the hill, thinking hard. Was it my imagination, or when Aberforth said 'Let him ask us for help' … did he sound a tiny bit miffed?

She didn't have much time to mull it over — sounds from the Flying Ground told her that Madam Hooch had already started that hour's lesson. Ginny slipped through the archway and tucked herself into the shadows, watching the first year students telling their brooms Up! with varying degrees of confidence, frustration and trepidation.

Ginny watched for a while. Harry's feat aside, it wasn't very likely that any of the first years would end up on the Quidditch teams, but still, it was easy to see the ones with potential. A tall and slender boy from Hufflepuff showed excellent control of his broom and no trouble following Madam Hooch's instructions. If he fills out a bit, he might make a Chaser. Beside him, Maisie Wilkins was deliberately jostled by her neighbour. Without changing expression, she kicked his broom hard while Hooch's back was turned and sent it careering into the students on the other side.

Ginny grinned to herself as Madam Hooch whirled around and began berating him. Little Miss Wilkins shows definite potential.

One of the Ravenclaw students was having more difficulty than the others. First he wasn't able to get his broom to rise to his hand, and then, when it did, he clung to the handle white-knuckled as it rose from the ground.

"Now, just relax, Rowland," Madam Hooch said briskly. "The broom — I said relax — ease your grip and lean back —"

Rowland was now wrapped around the broomstick like a spider-monkey as it rose higher and higher. He had considerable natural magic, Ginny could guess, and that, combined with his fear of falling and his prone position on the broomstick, was urging the broom to put distance between him and what was currently scaring him.

Unfortunately, what's scaring him at the moment is the ground.

She strode forward. "Broom," she said to the nearest students, holding out her hand. Maisie Wilkins was the quickest to respond, bringing her broom lower and swinging her leg clear as she did so. Ginny grasped the handle and Maisie kicked herself clear and dropped to the ground as Ginny vaulted onto the broom.

It was as neat a manoeuvre as if they'd rehearsed it, but Ginny could spare only an instant of appreciation. Above her, Rowland was rising ever higher and his broom was starting to pick up speed.

She bent low over the handle and shot after him as if he were a Snitch.

His yells of terror whipped back to her in the wind. As she slowly gained on him, Ginny could see that one of his feet had slipped from the footrest and the other was askew. If he lost that purchase, he'd fall in seconds.

"Comeon, broom," she urged, wishing for her own Nimbus and not this staid and ancient besom suited for first year students to learn on. She loosened one hand from the handle and stroked the wood, feeling the roughness that spoke of the inadequate maintenance old learning brooms usually got. "This probably wasn't where you thought you'd find yourself, is it?" They were above the walls now and heading towards the lake. "But I bet there are some great flyers who learnt on you, right? Seekers and Chasers and racers, too. It's a huge responsibility, being a learning broom." Was it her imagination, or had the broom picked up a little speed. "Broom, there's a student ahead of us who's about to have a nasty fall — unless we catch him. And then he'll be scared of flying, maybe his whole life. Which seems like a shame. So, broom — can you give me everything you've got?"

For a second or two, nothing happened. Ahead of her, Ginny could see that Rowland had lost his second footrest. She began to rehearse left hand slides forward — right hand takes out wand — cushioning charm —

Beneath her, the old learning broom accelerated with a jerk that would have put a top-range racing broom to shame. "Oh, go you good thing!" Ginny cried. She was gaining on Rowland, she was next to the bristles of his broom —

She was alongside him. Relying on her legs, her balance, and her broom, Ginny leaned over and grabbed Rowland's arm with one hand and his broom with the other.

"Help!" he squeaked.

"Helping," Ginny pointed out tersely, thinking through her options. She could drag him over to her own broom … "Now, listen — what's your name?"

"Michael!"

"Michael. Mike. Or Mick?"

"Mike."

"Okay, Mike." They were well over the lake now, although Rowland's broom had slowed down considerably with Ginny's touch and her own had matched its pace. "Mike, I need you to reach back with your right foot and find the footrest."

"Can't," he whimpered, gaze fixed on the shining waters beneath them.

"Don't look down. Mike, listen to me. Don't look down. Lift your chin, look straight ahead." She waited until he gulped and followed her instructions. "Good. Now reach back with your right foot and find the footrest. That's it. Now the same with your left. Good. Good. Now I need you to sit up. Up straight, like in a chair."

He shivered, but made an effort, and managed to get nearly a foot of distance between his chest and the broom-handle. In response, his broom slowed further.

"Good," Ginny said again. "When you lean forward and hold on tightly, the broom accelerates. When you sit back, and loosen your grip, the broom slows down, and goes lower. Sit up more, and you'll see."

He managed to sit up a little more, and the broom slowed further. He turned to stare at her. "It works!"

Ginny bit back a comment that would have confirmed her unsuitability for teaching for all time. "Now, we're going to turn," she said instead. "Lean to your right, just a little — it's alright, I've got you — that's right —"

It took a lot of patient talking, but eventually Ginny got them turned around through a wide loop and headed back towards the school. As they got closer, though, Rowland's broom slowed almost to a stop. Ginny glanced at him, and saw his face white and set. "What is it?"

"Am I going to be expelled?"

"No," Ginny assured him.

He gulped. "How can you be sure?"

Ginny grinned at him. "Well. Let's just say you're not the first student in the history of Hogwarts to fly further and faster than they were supposed to. Now. Stopping is actually the trickiest bit. We're going to fly in right down to the ground, and then sit back hard and loosen our grip on the brooms, alright?"

The upturned faces of the rest of the class grew closer, and closer. Rowland looked down at them and let out a whimper.

"Chin up, look ahead, Mike. Now … three, two, one — sit back!"

He managed to sit back, but not to loosen his grip, and for a moment the broom bucked, confused by his conflicting instructions, until Madam Hooch snapped from the ground, "Hands off the broom, Rowland!"

He let go. The broom stopped. Ginny hauled him off and Madam Hooch caught him and let him down the rest of the way to the ground.

"That was brilliant," a skinny Hufflepuff boy said.

Ginny vaulted off her broom and handed it back to Wilkins. "Give it a good polish," she said. "It's earned it."

"Do you need to go to the Hospital Wing?" Hooch asked Rowland.

He shook his head. "No, Madam Hooch."

"Do you think you can go on with the class?"

He nodded.

She clapped him on the shoulder. "Good lad. Right, everybody — as you've just seen, braking is the most important thing you can learn, so, leaving your brooms on the ground, practice the position. Weight on your heels, knees bent, leaning backwards — "

When the class was over, Ginny waited as the students filed out. "Miss Wilkins?"

The girl came over, carrying her broom. "Yes, Madam Weasley?"

"What you did back there — if Madam Hooch had seen it, you'd have detention."

Guileless blue eyes looked up at her. "You mean when I lost my balance and my foot slipped?"

Ginny chuckled. "Yes, then. I noticed it was the only time you lost your balance. Have you flown before?"

Maisie nodded. "For ages. My mum isn't very good but Dad was on the team here and he's still mad for Quidditch."

"So you've played? Which position?"

"Not really played," the girl said. "Just with Mum and Dad and their friends. We almost never had enough for a proper game, but when we had enough, I was always a Beater."

Ginny eyed her. "You're a bit small for it, aren't you? Weren't they worried you'd get hurt?"

The small, firm jaw set. "Toss up a Bludger and see."

"I might do that," Ginny said. "If you come to coaching this evening."

She sent the girl to join her friends, and waited for Rolanda Hooch.

"Hello, Ginny," the Flying instructor said cheerfully. "What did you think of them? Apart from Rowland, who'll either be a Seeker or a disaster."

"It might not be aptitude," Ginny said, falling into step beside her. "Rowland, I mean. It could just be very strong magic."

Madam Hooch nodded. "I've seen that. Longbottom took off like a rocket, the first time he was astride a broom. Nothing to do with being a natural flyer — just raw magical talent, although it took a while for it to show itself properly. And apart from him?"

"A couple of the Hufflepuffs show potential," Ginny said.

"Wilkins and Smythe? Yes, I thought so. Give them a year or two and they'll be trying out for the team. I don't suppose you'll be coaching any Firsts, though."

Ginny shrugged as they passed through the archway and into the courtyard. "I'll take anyone who turns up, so long as they're safe on a broom. Don't worry, I won't put the little ones up against the real players, but if they want to learn?" She shrugged again.

Madam Hooch laughed. "Careful. You'll be over-run, if you don't set some limits. You should see the number of Holyhead Harpies posters in the Gryffindor dorms."

"How are you finding being Head of Gryffindor?"

"A jolly sight easier than Minerva found it, when she had you lot to deal with!" Madam Hooch's yellow eyes flashed with amusement. "You led her quite a merry dance, at times! The nuisance is, I can't referee any more — too much potential for 'perceived bias', Minerva says, but I think she just enjoys doing it herself. She was quite the player, in her day."

"Do you mind? Not refereeing?"

Rolanda shrugged. "A bit. But it's worth it to see Minerva's sour expression every time she's forced to be fair to Slytherin."

Ginny grinned. "Who won the Cup last year? With Minerva McGonagall refereeing, it was Gryffindor, right?"

"It was Ravenclaw, of all things!" Madam Hooch shook her head. "Sometimes I think that Hat is losing its touch. There have been some fine athletes Sorted into Ravenclaw, I had a Hufflepuff last year who could argue all four legs off a Niffler and then persuade it to part with its gold, and Slytherin has a Third year — Fourth year now, I suppose — Keeper who literally threw herself off her broomstick to stop the Quaffle. If Filius hadn't been so quick with his wand, she would have broken her neck, and that's a very nasty week in the Hospital Wing, I can tell you from personal experience."

"Maybe the Hat is making a point," Ginny suggested, remembering the conversation and and Harry had had with Ron through the Floo. "That just because a House values one sort of characteristic, doesn't mean the people in it don't have others."

They'd reached the edge of the courtyard, and Madam Hooch paused, looking out over the valley, golden and green in the summer morning. "I still expect to see him down there by the lake, sometimes," she said uncharacteristically softly.

"Professor Dumbledore?" Ginny asked.

The Flying instructor shook her head. "Severus. He used to walk down there, at night. Gathering potions ingredients, or he just couldn't sleep, or both. More often than not I'd see him when I was out blowing the cobwebs off my broom before breakfast. Usually by himself, sometimes with Pomona."

Ginny took the opportunity. "Did you know him well?"

Madam Hooch gave a short laugh. "It turned out none of us did, did we? I taught him to fly — on a broom, that is, not that flitting about he learnt to do later. He had a terrible time of it, couldn't stand heights, you get that sometimes. But he stuck to it, gritted his teeth, never got terribly good but he wasn't going to let it beat him." She stroked her broom absently. "Never had a feel for it, though. Even when he came back to teach, you'd never see him on a broomstick unless he didn't have a choice. Certainly never one to fly for fun."

"I can't really imagine that he was," Ginny said. "So you weren't particularly friends?"

"No, he had more to talk about with Pomona, and Poppy of course, what with brewing the potions and salves for the Hospital Wing. He used to play checkers with Filius, in the staffroom, but once that rotter Voldemort came back he stopped. No time, I daresay." She paused. "And Charity, of course. Poor Charity. She had some mad idea about improving potion brewing using Muggle technology, always going on about it."

"Professor Snape must have hated that," Ginny said. I can just imagine the look on his face — the exact same one he used when someone added a Billywig sting instead of Billywig sting slime, probably.

Madam Hooch smiled. "You know, I think it amused him, more than anything. He would sit there, marking essays, to all appearances completely ignoring her, and then raise an eyebrow and completely demolish her argument in one or two sentences. And then she'd laugh and say she needed to do more research, and he'd recommend a book." She shook her head. "And Charity would read it, and they'd start all over again. They kept at it, right up until — well."

Ginny shivered a little, despite the warm sunlight, remembering the brief account Lucius Malfoy had given of Charity Burbage's death. The Dark Lord used the killing curse, and then fed her to his snake. "Poor Professor Burbage," she said softly.

"Poor all of them," Madam Hooch said brusquely. "That was a good day's work Potter did." She swung her leg over her broom. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Ginny, I think I'll take advantage of the good weather while it lasts."

Ginny watched as the Flying instructor rose in the air, leaned forward, and then shot through the archway as if shot from a cannon. She longed to follow her example, to let speed and wind blow away the shadows that had crept out of the past and wound around her.

But I'm on staff here, and have to be responsible, and the Headmistress is expecting me in … Ginny checked her watch. Fifteen minutes.

She tapped her toe, thinking, and then grinned. Once around the castle won't hurt.

Pointing her wand, she cried, "Accio Ginny's Nimbus!"