Flying class was to be held out on the lawn, and I wondered what sort of safety precautions they were going to take. Back in the States, even in a hellhole like Winslow they were very cautious about the risk of injury from school activities for fear of lawsuits.
I wasn't worried for myself. Despite my body's weakness, I'd flown before, on the back of a giant beetle, and using a jetpack. I'd had some experience with this sort of things, but I was fairly sure that some of these kids wouldn't have.
All I saw was two lines of brooms, and a professor.
We lines up on one side, and the Gryffindors came a few minutes later. This was the first time that I'd had a chance to really get a close look at them outside of meals, and they were roughhousing with each other as they came out onto the lawn.
They were laughing and shouting at each other, and there was none of the quietness that I saw with the Slytherins. If they'd been in a restaurant, I'd have been tempted to put a fly in their soup.
I saw a dark haired boy in glasses staring at me, with a redhead whispering in his ear. They both stared at me unabashedly, not that their classmates weren't doing the same thing. The others, though at least pretended to look away when I looked at them.
It was three thirty in the afternoon, and the sky was cloudy and gray.
The Slytherins had wisely chosen the newer looking brooms. They'd tried to push me over to an old looking broom, but I'd made sure I got one of the better ones, and no one was willing to push me on the matter. I didn't like the look of some of the brooms the Gryffindors were using.
Neville waved at me and I nodded to him. One of the other Gryffindors whispered in his ear, but he shook his head and continued waving.
Good for him.
Madam Hooch barked at the Gryffindors to hurry up.
"Stick your right hand over the broomstick, and say UP," she said.
Willpower seemed to be a component to these things, and so I willed the broom to come up to my hand. It snapped upwards into my hand. I noticed that the same thing had happened to the dark haired boy and a few of the others, but most of them were having trouble.
Madam Hooch had them repeat it until everyone had control of a broom, and then she showed us how to mount it.
There should be some sort of safety mechanism, otherwise riding on a broom was suicidal folly. What happened if you slipped off, if your hands got slippery or if you got a splinter?
Most likely there were protective charms on these things, because otherwise, no one who wasn't suicidal would get on one.
She blew her whistle, and Neville shot up into the air. He was out of control; it was obvious, and quick look at Madam Hooch showed that she didn't have it under control. Her face had turned white, and she didn't have her wand out.
I didn't have a lot of options. Even when I'd been at full power my bugs couldn't have carried someone of his weight, and if I were to try to fly up and catch him, I doubted that my body would be able to hold him. Most likely we would both slip off out brooms.
That left magic, and there was only one spell that I had that would be useful.
I let my broom drop, I pulled out my wand, and I shouted, "WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA."
The levitation spell would not affect a human being, but it could affect clothes. Neville was at the upper limits of what I could probably lift with the spell, but if I could slow him down at least, then I might be able to save his life.
Grimacing, I saw him struggling as his clothes pulled tight, and his entire weight rested on them. The weight was distributed over his entire body, but I was still afraid that his clothes were going to rip, leaving him falling and nude. The broom dropped away from under him; it fell with a crash, shattering on the lawn below.
I let him drop, probably faster than I should have. I could hear a ripping sound from where I was. I dropped him heavily onto the lawn, and I saw him hyperventilating. It looked as though he was having a panic attack.
"That was well done, Miss Hebert," Madam Hooch said faintly. "I wasn't aware that Mr. Flitwick was teaching that spell on the first day of term."
"We haven't had his class yet," I said, dropping my wand. "I studied ahead."
"Ten points to Slytherin," she said. "I think I'd best take Mr. Longbottom to the infirmary to get a calming potion."
I noticed that she pointed her wand at him, and the bugs I had near him heard the sound of clothing repairing themselves.
She turned to the rest of us. "None of you will touch your brooms until I get back, on threat of expulsion."
With that, she was gone.
"Did you see his face, the great lump?" Malfoy said.
I could see the Gryffindors bristling, and it looked like they were spoiling for a fight. The last thing I needed was to have to hurt someone because we got into a brawl out onto the lawn. The older kids knew what they were doing, and deserved whatever I could do to them, but these were just kids.
"I don't need a broom to make you fly," I said testily.
His mouth snapped shut, and he paled.
The Gryffindors who had been about to say something stopped and stared at us with wide eyes. I noticed that the dark haired kid was staring at me more intently than the others. Was that a sign of intelligence, or did he need his glasses prescription changed?
Pansy Parkinson said, "You can't talk to him like that! Do you know who his father is?"
I turned and stared at her.
The color drained from her face, and she looked down at the ground. I nodded.
"After what just happened, anybody who even thinks about touching a broom is crazy. Forget about what the professor said. I don't know any healing spells yet, and it would be very easy to break your neck. I don't save idiots either."
"Who are you calling idiots?" the red haired kid shouted.
"Anybody stupid enough to get on one of these death traps without supervision. Personally, I'd be writing to your parents about the poor quality of the brooms here," I said. "Look at those things."
I pointed at some of the worst looking brooms. "My guess is that the spells on those things aren't working right, which puts all of us in danger. Isn't that what Malfoy should be writing his father about, since he actually has some pull at this school?"
Malfoy stared at me, then nodded slowly.
"Yeah, Malfoy," a boy whose name I didn't know said. "Isn't your Dad a bigwig here? Can't he do something about this?"
I could almost see Malfoy's chest swell at the attention. He nodded slowly, and then more enthusiastically.
"If you see something that should be changed, you go to people who can do something about it," I said. "If they can't do anything about it, then you do something yourself."
Malfoy picked something up off the ground. "He dropped this. What a stupid thing."
"What is it?" I asked.
"A Rememberall. It tells you that you've forgotten something, but it doesn't tell you what you've forgotten."
I frowned. "Well, I can see how that would be of limited usefulness. He probably didn't get it for himself, though. It sounds like the kind of thing parents force on us."
"He's being raised by his aunt," the redhead said defiantly. "Lost his parents in the war... hurt by you lot."
"Well, certainly not me," I said. "I'm from America, and even if I wasn't, I don't think anyone here was there during the last war."
"Their families then!" he said.
"So because there were people in their families who made some bad decisions, they should pay for it?" I said. "So you should have to pay every time one of your brothers plays a prank?"
I'd heard people talking about the notorious Weasley brothers. I wasn't sure which one this one was, but the line between pranking and abuse was very thin. Emma and Sophia and Madison had used the just joking excuse more than once, and teachers had bought it.
I was going to reserve judgment until I saw examples of what they were doing. Was it in actual good sport, or were they using it to humiliate and hurt people who were less powerful than them?
I'd have to convince them that it was important to punch up instead of down.
"You think I don't?" he asked.
"You want to be judged as your own person, don't you?"
"Yes...?" he said, sounding a little less hostile.
"So why not give them a chance? If they turn out to be bad people, then you can treat them the way bad people ought to be treated. If they turn out to be good people, then you've made a friend."
He scowled, and I heard mutters from all around me at the idea of being friends with Gryffindors or Slytherins.
It was barely at the end of the first day of school! How had they already brainwashed these kids into hating each other. It had to be the families who had gone here in the past; the muggleborns didn't know enough to know any different.
Undoubtedly they would learn, though, and then they'd pass it on to their own children.
"So you're saying we should all be friends?" the dark haired kid asked. Potter, the killer baby.
"Why not?" I said. "We'll have time to kill each other when we're older, but why should our parents' wars have anything to do with us?"
"Easy for you to say," I heard Pansy Parkinson say. "You've got nothing to lose."
"That's true, and if people want to bring war to my doorstep, I'll be happy to oblige them," I said. "But I'd prefer not to have to kill anyone...yet."
All of their eyes were on me now.
"There are going to be people who try to pressure you into one side or the other. Some of them may be in your own families. But if you don't make your own choices, then you aren't any better than a house elf... a slave."
"What would a... muggleborn know about it?" Pansy asked. "You don't know anything about us!"
"Has anybody tried to tell me?" I asked.
The Gryffindors were looking at me like I'd grown two heads. House unity in Slytherin normally caused them to keep disagreements within house, leading the other houses to think that they all agreed with each other. I suspected that this was part of the reason that the other houses thought poorly of them.
Madam Hooch came rushing back to us, looking relieved that no one was up in the air. The rest of the lesson was rather tame after that. I caught the Potter boy looking rather disappointed. Presumably he'd wanted more acrobatics and horseplay, but as far as I was concerned, this class was already insanely dangerous for eleven year old children. Keeping it tame enough for a five year old seemed wise.
The day ended with a meal, and I headed for the library. I found Hermione there.
"I heard about how you saved Neville," she said excitedly. "I didn't think that the Levitation spell was supposed to be strong enough to lift an entire person."
"It almost wasn't. You need to talk him into losing some weight," I said. "Or learn how to fly better."
"They said you moved like lightning!" she said.
I shrugged. "I suspected something bad was going to happen, and so I was ready for it."
She lifted her notebook, and underneath I saw an entire box of matches. At my look, she flushed. "I wanted to get better at it before the next class. Do you want some?"
I nodded, and I spent the next hour transforming matchsticks into better and better needles. I found myself in competition with Hermione, odd as it was. I found that by changing my image of the needle, I could change other things about it.
By the time we were done, I had a pile of needles in front of me, and Hermione had a pile in front of her. My needles had gotten to be better and better metal over time, until they were indistinguishable from real needles. Hermione's by contrast, had gotten sharper and sharper.
I sensed Draco Malfoy hiding behind a bookcase.
"Can I help you, Malfoy?" I asked.
He stepped out from behind the bookcase, and he gave an uncertain look at the pile of needles in front of me.
"I'm getting ready for Halloween," I said pleasantly. I doubted that he got the joke.
"Can I talk to you?" he asked.
Glancing at Hermione, I said, "It looks like you are."
"Alone," he said.
I shrugged and rose to my feet. Turning to Hermione, I said, "If he goes missing, you didn't see anything."
For once she was quick on her feet.
"See what?" she asked.
Stepping two bookcases over, Malfoy took a deep breath and faced me. "Why did you do that today?"
"Do what?"
"With the brooms," he said. "Making me look good?"
"Did I do that?" I asked. I thought for a moment. "I've heard you bragging about your family in the common room. Do you really think anybody cares about that?"
He stared at me as though I was crazy. "My father is-"
"Not here," I said. "Most of these kids have never met him, and hopefully they never will. They've met you though."
"What do you mean?" he asked suspiciously.
"If I started bragging about what my muggle family accomplished, what would you think of me?"
"That you were an idiot," he said. "Who cares what your muggle family did? It's different among our kind..."
"It's not, though," I said. "People care about what you can do for them. That's it. They don't care how rich you are or how nice you are. They care whether you can make their life better."
He stared at me. "Right?"
"So what have you done for them to brag about?" I asked. "It's just the first day, so the answer is nothing. So you've got power and influence... use it."
"What?"
"If you get the school new brooms, then people will really believe that you have the kind of pull that you say you do."
"I'm not sure..." he began.
"How much do school brooms cost?" I asked.
He shrugged.
"Enough that your father couldn't easily afford twenty of them?" I asked.
He shook his head angrily. "Of course not! The Malfoys are one of the oldest, richest..."
"So you talk your father into it. Talk about how dangerous the brooms are, and how grateful the students' parents will be if he donates them to the school," I said. "It will solidify your position with people as the guy who can get things done."
He looked thoughtful.
"Nobody cares who your family is," I said. "But they care about what you can do for them."
He was silent for a moment, and then he nodded. "This doesn't mean that I can afford to be seen around you."
I shrugged. "Do I look like I give a damn?"
He glared at me, and a moment later he was gone.
Hermione stepped out from behind the stacks. I'd known she was there, of course, but it hadn't bothered me that she was listening.
"How could you say all that to him?" she asked indignantly. "About people only caring about what you can do for them?"
"It's true," I said.
"People aren't all greedy and... money grubbing..."
"It doesn't have to be money," I said. "Maybe it's just that you make them smile. Maybe you make them feel good about themselves. Maybe you support them emotionally, or you are fun."
"You didn't say that to him," she said, mollified.
"He's not ready to hear it," I said. "It fits enough with his beliefs that he'll actually listen, and maybe take it to heart. Even if he doesn't, if the school gets better brooms, then we're all better off."
And maybe I wouldn't have to spend the next seven years hearing him brag about his family when he thought I wasn't listening.
"Why are you helping him anyway? He's a horrible person. He called me a mudblood on the train."
"He's been told that muggleborn are terrible his whole life," I said. "Do you think that meeting one is going to change that right away"
"Well... no... but..."
"It's going to take a while for him to change his mind," I said. "And the only way it's going to happen is if he meets muggleborns who challenge his preconceptions."
"It shouldn't be our job to teach him!" she hissed.
"That's true," I said. "But if not us, then who? Wizard society is full of people like him, and the only way we're going to change it is one heart at a time."
"You sound like my mom," Hermione muttered. "Sometimes you sound like an old woman in a kid's body."
I stiffened. Did she suspect something?
"But I guess maybe things are different in America?"
"Things were different back home, yes," I said.
"Do you miss it?" she asked.
"My family," I said. "But I try not to think about it much. I had friends back there too. Other than that...not really."
It was true. Brockton Bay had been a hellhole, and I'd been too driven about my work in stopping the Slaughterhouse and saving the world to really enjoy Chicago.
Hermione frowned. "Are you just telling me things that I can accept, because you think that I can't handle more than that?"
I put my arm around her shoulder.
"Would you believe me if I said no?"
"No."
"Good girl," I said. If I was right about what was coming, she needed to learn how to discriminate between lies and the truth, sooner, rather than later.