Notes: Flying lessons, among other things. I actually have some experience, long ago, in teaching Air Cadets to fly gliders, but when I saw the flying lesson in the first Harry Potter movie, I was irresistibly reminded of horseback riding lessons, which I have also taken (and taught). Anyone who has ever dealt with strong-minded old school horses probably shared my trepidation at the notion of twenty-odd kids being taught all at once on self-willed school brooms. I have, therefore, adjusted the first flying lesson just slightly to accommodate my own teacherly anxieties- and to reflect how I think the brooms would behave!

Also, I know a number of riding instructors who hired someone else to give their own kids lessons, much as my dad realized early on that he (a teacher himself) should not try to teach us to drive.

Warnings: Someone is a jerkbrain in this chapter. Three guesses who.

Chapter Seven

"I can't decide whether I feel like I need to wee because I'm excited, or because I'm terrified," George muttered as the Hufflepuff first-years hurried down the front steps of the castle to join the Ravenclaws on the grounds. It was Friday afternoon of their second week at Hogwarts, and the two houses were about to have their first flying lesson.

"You should always go before we set out anywhere," Mitchell muttered back, as Loki and Annie giggled quietly behind them. Loki, for one, wasn't making fun of George: one thing he admired about the bespectacled boy was the way he would admit to being scared of things. Loki had always done everything he could think of to keep his parents and his brother from finding out, for instance, that he was still afraid of the dark. George's willingness to come right out and say he was scared to start flying lessons felt almost heroic to Loki.

"Oh, ha-ha," George said sourly- and that was the other part of it, the way George would say he was nervous, and Mitchell would tease him about it, and that would distract George. Loki was beginning to think the two of them did it on purpose. George went on, "Easy for you to say, you've probably been flying all your life." He glanced around at the rest of the wizard-born kids in the group, some of whom nodded.

"Not me," Mitchell replied, "and you know it. Where would we go flying in London?"

"How about you?" George asked Loki, who wriggled.

"Not really," he admitted. Several of the kids looked startled at his words, mostly wizard-borns who had heard of his family. Loki explained, "I had one of those toy broomsticks when I was little, but those don't really count, do they?" Most wizarding children had them, tiny broomsticks which would glide so close to the ground the child's toes dragged, and stop at once if the rider began to lose his balance. "And Mum has an old Cleansweep Five she let my brother and me ride a little, when we were on holiday in Elder Cross, but she and Dad never really taught us to fly. Thor only learned properly here at school and they've had me wait, too."

"For goodness' sake, why?" asked Dennis. "If they know how- "

"Dad said his father tried to teach him, and spent the whole time shouting so much that Dad ended up hating to even think about flying," Loki explained. A few of the wizard-born Hufflepuffs winced knowingly. "And Mum tried a time or two, but she kept getting nervous and making us come back down. She says there are some things a parent probably shouldn't try to teach their own kids, and flying is one of them."

"That's too bad, though," Annie said. "If your brother could fly on holiday and you couldn't- "

"That didn't make any difference, though," Loki said unguardedly. "He wouldn't let me- well, he's older than me, you know?" He felt hot all over at his mistaken admission, but luckily by now they had reached the part of the lawn where the Ravenclaws waited next to two lines of broomsticks.

There were two teachers standing with the Ravenclaws. Madame Hooch, the flying teacher, was short, with spiky gray hair and yellow eyes like a bird of prey. Standing beside her, much taller and with a round friendly face, was Mr. Longbottom, the student Herbology teacher. George made a pleased little noise- Mr. Longbottom had been a Gryffindor at school, but if you didn't know that you'd swear he must have been a Hufflepuff, and the sight of him was reassuring.

"Hurry up," Madame Hooch ordered. "Everyone stand next to a broomstick. Come along, then, broomstick on your right." The two groups hurried to obey, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs mixing up together. Loki ended up standing across from Annie, and between Mitchell and Bruce. Next to Annie was Jane, who looked just as scared as George did despite being wizard-born and presumably familiar with flying.

Madame Hooch walked between the two rows of students. "Mr. Longbottom has agreed to act as my assistant today."

"He must have been one of the best flyers, when he was here," Jane whispered to Annie, who nodded. Mr. Longbottom overheard her.

"Actually, Miss Foster, I was one of the worst, to begin with," he said easily. At the skeptical expressions on some of their faces, he insisted, "That's not false modesty. I really was awful, I needed a lot of extra help." Madame Hooch let out a bark of laughter, and Mr. Longbottom smiled reminiscently. "I was in the same year as Harry Potter, you know. Harry was a natural."

"I've never seen anything like him," Madame Hooch agreed readily. "Could have played Seeker for England."

"And the thing is," Mr. Longbottom went on, "when a person learns something as easily as he did flying, they can't always explain how to do it to someone else. I don't think Harry could." He grinned. "Defense Against the Dark Arts, yes. Flying, no. I, on the other hand, could look at any of you making a mistake and remember what it felt like when I did the same thing, and how I had to fix it."

"In fact," said Madame Hooch, "I think we'll ask Mr. Longbottom to give a short demonstration of our first lesson, so that you can see what will be expected of you. Everyone turn so you can see him."

Mr. Longbottom walked out to a clear stretch of grass, where a broomstick was lying, and looked to Madame Hooch for instructions.

"You will hold out your right hand, over the broom, and say 'Up!'" said Madame Hooch. Mr. Longbottom did so, and the broomstick- a fairly new Bluebottle commuting model that probably belonged to Mr. Longbottom- leaped up into his hand.

Madame Hooch walked her assistant through the process of taking off, hovering briefly, and coming straight back down. Then he took off again and flew in a big circle around the lawn, landing gently at his takeoff point.

"All right. Now that you've seen what will be expected of you- " said Madame Hooch, and gestured to Mr. Longbottom to come back to the group to help her correct the students' grips on their brooms.

They spent the next half hour practicing takeoff, hovering, and landing. This was something Loki could already do fairly well, but everyone quickly got quite good at it, including George and Jane. One of the Muggle-born Hufflepuffs, a pigtailed girl called Pippa, muttered a lot about horse-riding lessons and something called a longe line, but she seemed to pick up the necessary skills remarkably quickly.

Loki remembered Thor, in his first year, writing in his letters home about flying lessons. He had complained that the school's lesson brooms were mostly off-balance and inclined to have a sort of mind of their own. Loki quickly realized the broom he was riding felt very different from his mother's tidy, biddable old Cleansweep: it was as if this broom was so used to the mistakes of beginners, and the routine of first lessons, that it would almost go through its paces without any input from Loki at all. He had to be alert not to let it touch back down before he asked it to, and also had to be conscious that it seemed to want nothing more than to return to the ground and the company of the other broomsticks.

This became even more obvious in the last half of the class, when Madame Hooch had everyone take it in turns to fly a big circle and come back to the group. About half the students, and not only the Muggle-borns- who understandably had no experience at all with broomsticks- couldn't make their brooms leave the group at all. Pippa went about fifteen feet on her first attempt and then her broomstick ducked back hard, nearly unseating her.

She did not have to be encouraged to try again: face set, she kicked off, shifting her grip and weight to hold the broom toward the outside of her intended circle. When it ducked the second time she was ready for it, pulling hard sideways and making a very strange gesture with her inside leg, as though trying to kick the broomstick in its non-existent ribs. After that she had no further trouble, and when she landed she patted her mount as if it was a pony.

George was one of those who couldn't make his broomstick leave the group. Madame Hooch had anyone having such trouble walk to the other side of the lawn and then fly directly back to the group, which all the brooms were willing to do- although sometimes a little faster than their riders seemed comfortable with.

When it was Loki's turn, his earlier insistence on giving commands before the broom could touch down seemed to pay off, because he was able to take off and fly his circle without anything unexpected happening.

Well, not with his broomstick, anyway. As he flew, he realized the other students were laughing and pointing at something. He looked around just as a mottled shape went cruising silently past his head, long wings beating in the irregular pattern that gave the short-eared owl its oddly floating way of flying.

"Hi, Bronwyn," he called as she came gliding back around, as if to show him how flying was supposed to be done.

"Mr. Odinson, is that your owl?" Madame Hooch called, as Loki finished his circle- holding his broomstick back from diving toward the group on the ground. Bronwyn sailed past them and completed another circle on her own, apparently to show off, before landing nearby on the lawn.

"Yes, Madame Hooch," he said nervously. The owlery was always open so its occupants could fly about at will, and Loki and his friends took advantage of Bronwyn's sleeping patterns to play with her almost every day. She was an excellent post-carrier- she had flown to London with his letter in only a couple of days, returning halfway through the week with a nice long one from his parents- but she definitely acted more like a pet than some of the other owls did.

This did not seem to bother Madame Hooch.

"You'll need plenty of practice, if you're going to fly about with an owl," she remarked. "All right, Mr. Mitchell- " this was his proper name, of course, but the Hufflepuffs all smothered giggles at the way it made him sound like a nursery-school teacher- "it's your turn."

Bronwyn, who was of course friends with Mitchell, obligingly flew around with him as well, and then Annie. Annie had been having a little trouble with her broom, earlier, but it seemed pleased to have someone else to fly with, and went along quite happily with Bronwyn.

The lesson ended just as Bronwyn got tired or bored and flew back to the owlery. The students helped put away the broomsticks and then went back to the castle for lunch, chattering excitedly among themselves.

By the time they entered the Great Hall, the house tables were quite full and the great chamber was very noisy. Mitchell glanced over at the Gryffindor table.

"Oh look, there's Clint," he said. "Didn't they have their first flying lesson yesterday? I wonder how it went." And without waiting for his friends to say anything, he hurried over to speak to the other boy.

Clint, who was sitting quite near Thor and his friends, looked up as Mitchell hailed him. Loki edged toward his brother, who didn't seem to notice him.

"We've just had our first flying lesson," Mitchell was telling Clint. "How was yours?"

"Not bad," Clint said, looking uncomfortable.

"Too bad they had to have it with Slytherin," Fandral remarked loudly. Loki cut a startled look at him: of course Thor and his friends didn't much care for Slytherin- the houses were arch-rivals, after all- but he couldn't believe Fandral would say such a thing in front of someone whose own brother was in Slytherin. And besides, wasn't Clint friendly with Natasha?

Clint said nothing, although he looked even more uneasy. Not knowing what he should say, Loki said nothing. Instead, he tapped his brother on the shoulder.

"Hi, Thor," he said awkwardly, as his brother finally turned toward him in acknowledgement. "How... how's your term going?"

Thor shrugged, picked up his goblet of pumpkin juice, and drained it.

"Busy," he said shortly.

"I was... I was wondering if we could, maybe- " Loki began, faltering in the face of his brother's obvious indifference.

Thor wiped his mouth and said, "Look, we've got to go- we need to practice some flying of our own before Quidditch tryouts tomorrow afternoon. Sif's going to try for Chaser this year. And we've got to hurry up before Herbology."

"With Hufflepuff," Sif giggled. "Everything takes twice as long as it should, with that lot." Loki went hot all over, but nobody noticed because he was pushed to one side as Volstagg got up from his chair.

"Do you want to come watch us?" Thor asked, and for half a second Loki thought the invitation was directed at him. And then he saw Thor was looking at Clint, who nodded hastily and bolted the last of his lunch while the older Gryffindors waited for him.

"Thor- ?" Loki began, almost giving in to the urge to catch at his brother's robe. Thor didn't seem to hear him, and walked away with his friends. Loki stood there, watching him go.

Someone tugged at Loki's arm, and he turned to find Annie standing right next to him, her eyes wide with concern. His friends, Loki recalled, had never seen him with his brother before this.

"Come on," she said quietly. "We had better have our lunch." Loki followed his friends back to the suddenly quiet Hufflepuff table.

~oOo~

All the houses had their Quidditch tryouts scheduled for this weekend: Hufflepuff and Gryffindor on Saturday, Ravenclaw and Slytherin on Sunday. Loki had not slept very well on Friday night, in spite of the calming sachet under his pillow, but he got up early with a large contingent of Hufflepuffs going to watch the tryouts, which were to be held after breakfast.

He wasn't very hungry, either, so he spent most of breakfast pretending to re-read the letter his parents had sent him with Bronwyn late last week. He was a bit surprised by the length of it: with two sons at Hogwarts, Loki had assumed his parents would write one letter for Thor to share with him, or perhaps include a message to him at the end of Thor's letter. Apparently they realized better than he had how difficult it would be for brothers in different years and different houses to spend any time together.

The letter had been written mostly by Mum, asking questions about his classes and the new friends he had described, and how Bronwyn was liking the other owls. Bindi had added a little postscript at the end, in her spidery handwriting. She had found a new Muggle sport called "ice hockey" that was nearly as fast as Quidditch, but with a great deal more crashing into each other, and she hoped there would be games for them to watch together when he came home at Christmas.

And just above Bindi's few lines was a section, a few inches long, in Dad's big square script. It ended:

Congratulations on being Sorted into Hufflepuff. Pomona Sprout is a very sound witch, and I know you will be happy there.

Loki read that bit several times, wondering what Dad meant by it. Knowing how Thor felt about Hufflepuff, did this mean Dad thought he couldn't cope with a more challenging house? Was Dad really pleased about this result, or was he hiding his disappointment, knowing Loki was apt to have another crying fit at any hint of criticism?

He was getting himself into a bit of a state as he thought about it, when George poked him. At the end of the table, Rogers had gotten to his feet with the other Quidditch hopefuls. Loki pocketed his letter and followed the other Hufflepuffs toward the Quidditch pitch.

The tryouts were closed to other houses, as well as they could be with the pitch so large and visible from various windows of the castle. The Hufflepuff spectators, students of all years, scrambled into the stands to watch and cheer indiscriminately for everyone's good plays.

Rogers was the team captain, of course. He was in sixth year and had been captain since his third, which Becky explained was very unusual, but Hufflepuff had had some really terrible teams in the preceding years and Rogers, the keeper, had been the only bright spot. The team's fortunes had improved quite a lot since Rogers became captain, and they had finished second in the tournament last year.

There were no first-years trying out- they were officially allowed to, but were almost never selected, and none of this year's class could fly well enough anyway. Loki didn't yet know any of those trying out, but he thought there were some very promising prospects, and it was fun to watch them all skimming about.

Madame Hooch finally blew her whistle, signaling the end of Hufflepuff's time on the pitch. The spectators began to trickle away to lunch. Loki would have gone, too, except he realized the Gryffindor team was coming onto the pitch already. The Head Girl, Potts, was shepherding younger students up into the stands to watch, and Loki suddenly made a decision.

"I'm going to ask Potts if I can stay and watch Gryffindor," he told his friends. "Maybe she'll let me- "

"She might let you, but she won't let us," Mitchell said decidedly. "We'll see you back in the common room, yeah?"

"Okay," Loki agreed. As his friends walked away, he went over to Potts.

"Hello," she said pleasantly. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm Loki Odinson," Loki explained. "Thor's brother. I was wondering... could I watch some of the tryouts? I haven't seen much of Thor since- I'd like to- " Watching him fly is better than not seeing him at all.

Potts was looking doubtful, perhaps suspecting he was a clever spy. A lump rose in Loki's throat, and he took a step backward.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, "I'll just- "

"No, no, it's all right," Potts said quickly, looking very hard at his face. "Go on up into the stands."

"Thank you," Loki beamed.

"Well, just don't be telling everyone what you see here today," Potts warned half-heartedly. Loki nodded eagerly, looked up at the spectators. There was a cluster of first-years sitting near the top of the stands. Clint was among them. Loki waved- Clint didn't seem to notice- and started toward the tall wooden staircase.

As he reached the bottom of the steps, a hand fell on his shoulder like an eagle owl on a mouse, jerking him back.

"What are you doing here?" Volstagg demanded, swinging Loki around and glaring down at him. Loki gaped up at him, badly startled and suddenly very aware of the difference in their sizes.

"I'm just going to- I asked if I could- " Loki faltered, as Thor walked up with the rest of the team. Volstagg let go of him as his brother approached.

"What is it?" Thor asked- and then he saw Loki and his face went hard. "What do you want?"

"I asked if I could watch you," Loki again started to explain.

"So you could spy for your new friends?" Thor demanded. Loki started to deny it, but broke off with a yelp as Thor grabbed him. He might have intended to get a handful of Loki's blue pullover, but his fingers dug hard into Loki's bony shoulder as he jerked him forward. "Get out of here," Thor ordered.

"Odinson, what are you doing?" an angry voice demanded, and for a second Loki thought it was directed at him. Someone caught him around the chest, quite gently, and pulled him away from Thor. Above his head the voice of Rhodes, the seventh-year prefect from the train, went on, "If I ever catch you - "

Potts came running over, looking really angry. "What's going on here?"

"Spy," Hogun said shortly, jerking his head at Loki.

"Little brother," Potts flashed. "He just wanted to see Thor fly."

"And tell the Hufflepuffs all about our practice," Thor argued. "You know how they stick together."

"Yes," Potts said distinctly. "I do. And I know Rogers wouldn't stoop to spying, and that he knows perfectly well this year's team is probably going to be nearly the same as last year's. Unless someone gets kicked off." Her blue eyes were icy as she stared Thor up and down.

"And," said Rhodes, who wore the captain's C on his robes, "if I ever get wind of you treating a first-year- or anyone else- like this again, I can guarantee that'll happen. As it is, you just lost Gryffindor ten points."

Thor looked at Loki as if he really did hate him. "He's my own brother," he grumbled.

"Twenty points, then," Potts snapped. As Sif opened her mouth to argue, Potts glanced around at Thor's friends and added, "I would really, really advise you all to shut up- unless you want me to add the word each." Sif subsided, glaring at Loki. Potts reached out and, as Rhodes let go of Loki, put her arm around his shoulders. "Come on," she said, in a tone that managed to somehow be both imperious and comforting at the same time.

Loki kept his eyes on the ground as she walked him off the pitch.

~oOo~

"What happened?" Mitchell asked, as Loki came sliding through the entry to the Hufflepuff common room. "Potts didn't let you- ?"

Loki ignored him, slipped through the round door, and ran down the hall to their empty dormitory. His bed was in the corner, and Loki ducked into the space between it and the wall, curled up with his hands over his mouth.

Thor hated him. Hated him, hated him. Loki didn't know if it was because Thor didn't want a brother who wasn't good enough for Gryffindor, or if he thought Loki had turned his back on the family house on purpose, but Thor definitely hated him, and Loki didn't know what to do about it. Was there anything he could do?

Probably not, Loki admitted to himself. He remembered Professor Sprout's words, the night of the Sorting, about how your house would become like your family at Hogwarts. Clearly Thor believed that, and he didn't want his other family, or at least not his stupid Hufflepuff brother, to interfere with that.

Loki hugged his knees desperately. He couldn't... he didn't want to... But if Thor didn't want him, it wasn't like Loki could make him change his mind, could he?

He was still going around and around on that idea when he heard something completely unexpected: the door of the dormitory opening.

"Loki?" George called, sounding worried. "Are you in here?"

Loki froze, and then went smaller, pressing his forehead into his knees. Nobody ever came looking for him-

"Of course he's in here," Mitchell said impatiently. "Loki? Please come out."

And then incredibly, Annie's voice- what was she doing in the boys' dormitory?- said, "He must be- " There was the quick scuffle of feet coming closer, and suddenly Annie's voice said, right next to him, "Hi, Loki."

He looked up. Annie was sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed, looking worriedly at him.

"I don't think you're supposed to be in here," he whispered stupidly.

"Probably not," Annie agreed. "But you're not supposed to be all alone when you're upset about something, either. What happened?"

There was a creaking sound from his bed as George and Mitchell crawled onto it to look down at him. Loki looked around at two anxious sets of brown eyes and one of blue, and sniffled.

"It's your brother, isn't it?" Annie asked, and Loki nodded miserably. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Loki sniffled. "Not really," he said.

"Okay. Do you want us to stay here with you, until you feel like coming back out?"

Loki nodded again.