Chapter 4 - Volare Est Vivere

Harry only had a few days back in England after the Summer Tournament. Fortunately, there wasn't very much at all that he had to actually do, since there was no washing after the Summer Tournament – courtesy of the elves who'd kept all of their clothes clean throughout the week – and Harry didn't have to prepare for flight school. Not really, anyway, and even if he did it wasn't as if he could take to the skies on his broom in Little Whinging. So Harry simply had to get on with his homework. It was a good time for it, he supposed, since it was a natural break between duelling in Austria and flying in Italy, but it was still something Harry would have rather put off until later.

But he couldn't, since the latter half of the holiday would be spent in Greece on a family holiday, not to mention the possibility of multiple days before the Wizengamot. So it did make sense to get it done. Halfway through the short break Harry and Petunia were summoned to London for a meeting with Harry's lawmage, Valerian Spellman. As with the previous journey, Dumbledore arrived with a portkey on the day of the meeting to accompany them.

"Congratulations on your recent tournament win, Harry," Dumbledore said once Harry had let him inside the house. "You should be very pleased—the European Circuit's Summer Tournament is a very prestigious tournament to win."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said. "I'm really happy. For me, and for Tracey. She deserves it."

"As do you," Dumbledore said. "I am glad you decided to compete."

"Me too," Harry said. Originally he'd told himself that he'd done it for Tracey, since it wasn't fair for her to miss the opportunity it represented just because Harry had to worry about trials and prophecies and all that nonsense. But then he'd realised that he really did want to win the tournament. There was enough anxiety and frustration to be had in life that Harry thought he ought to take some more time to just have fun.

So Sirius said, anyway, and Harry was starting to agree.

"Aunt Petunia," Harry called out, "Professor Dumbledore is here with the portkey!"

Harry showed Dumbledore into the living room while they waited for Petunia to finish up in the kitchen. When she returned it was with two cups of tea.

"Tea?" she offered Dumbledore, who took one of the cups and sipped at it politely.

"Thank you, Mrs Dursley," Dumbledore said. "Did you enjoy your time in Austria? I quite enjoyed my visits to the grand garden at Hexenhochburg. Tell me, did you have a chance to see the fungal garden? It is quite delightful."

"Oh, yes, very much," Petunia said. "It was such an enriching experience for us all. I am so glad that we could all go—I'm sure we'll all look back on it fondly for many years." She sipped at her tea. "The fungal garden was… unique," she said. "I've never seen anything quite like it before."

It sounded almost like a compliment, but Harry knew his aunt well enough to know that it was her polite way of saying she didn't like it. Too many negative associations with the word fungus, Harry assumed, even though the lights were quite pretty.

She changed the subject.

"Have you had an enjoyable summer so far, Headmaster?" she asked, cradling her teacup in her hands and offering Dumbledore a slight smile.

"As these things go it has been quite pleasant," Dumbledore said. "I am of course very busy during the summers with ICW work, but I do make some time for myself as well. This year I have visited my friend Nicolas for the first time in quite a few years."

"Oh, how lovely," said Petunia. "I do find it important to keep up with old friends—it's such a shame how friendships can slip away over time, isn't it?"

Harry sat there, bored. It was the typical sort of conversation adults had with each other, all boring stuff about people dying or never having any time because of work. The only thing it was missing was something about knitting and book clubs, and Harry wouldn't put it past Dumbledore to be interested in both.

At least the portkey was nearly ready.

"When does the portkey activate?" Harry asked during a lull in the conversation. "You know, just so we're not late."

"Ah, thank you for reminding me," Dumbledore said. "We have a minute or so. Let me just…"

Dumbledore placed his teacup down onto the side table and then placed his hand into his pocket. He pulled out a tatty old leather glove.

"Our portkey."

"Great," Harry said. "Spellman's got good news for us, hasn't he? He said in his letter it went well, then when we saw him at the Summer Tournament he was pleased. So… we've not got anything to worry about, have we?" Harry asked. It was half a statement and half a question. Harry was worried that they did, in fact, have something to worry about and if they did, he hoped to hear something about it from Dumbledore first.

Just so he could brace for the bad news from Spellman.

"I am told the preliminary hearing went very well for us," Dumbledore said, "and so I imagine Valerian simply wishes to discuss our next steps."

Harry nodded. Good. That was good. Exactly what they wanted.

"Ah, the portkey is almost ready," Dumbledore said, glancing at the clock. "Hold on."

Harry and Petunia grabbed the glove, Petunia with a great deal of visible reluctance. Within moments the portkey activated and Harry, Dumbledore, and Petunia went whirling through the vortex. Not a minute later the portkey spat the travellers out in the street just in front of the Spellman and Spellman law offices in London.

Harry brushed himself down at the other end. Portkeys were getting much less stressful, and he thought that even Petunia was getting a bit better at them. She wasn't stumbling on the cobbles, anyway, and she'd worn the same high heeled shoes as the last time. Progress for everyone.

Once everyone had sorted themselves out, they entered the grand edifice that was Spellman and Spellman. Inside they met the same middle-aged witch as the first time, although she was paying a bit more attention than last time. Enough that she didn't miss them enter, anyway.

"Chief Warlock!" she said when Dumbledore approached her. "Mr Potter, Mrs Dursley. Lawmage Spellman is waiting in his office for you—just through those doors and it's the first office after the staircase."

"Thank you, madam," said Dumbledore.

"It's my pleasure, Chief Warlock," said the witch. "I'll just let Lawmage Spellman know you've arrived." As the group walked away Harry saw her scratch out a little note onto a piece of parchment. Moments later it flew past like a parchment bird. When they reached the door to Spellman's office he called out immediately.

"Come in, come in!" he said.

Inside the office, all was as it had been the first time. Not a single thing out of place, other than Spellman in a slightly different set of robes. But the rest of it – from the books to the little ornaments and the strange devices Harry didn't recognise – was just how it had been before.

"Take a seat, please," said Spellman cheerfully. "I've asked Mim to bring us in some tea—since I know you lot aren't interested in anything stronger! She won't be long, I'm sure."

"Thank you, Lawmage," said Petunia.

"Now," said Spellman once everyone had sat down, "first off—congratulations on your duelling win, Mr Potter! I've said it already but I'll say it again: what a fun day out that was, eh? Shame about the Prophet, mind, but that's to be expected."

Despite Harry not giving any comment to the reporter's inappropriate question the Prophet had managed to write an article around it anyway, which was … well … typical, Harry supposed.

"Thank you," Harry said. He shrugged. "The Prophet's always like that. I'm surprised it wasn't any worse, to be honest with you."

"I sent them a strongly worded letter," Spellman explained. "Curtailed the worst of it, I should expect. Now, I do recall you saying something about flight school next week. Tell me, there isn't a competition at the end of that, is there? Because if there is—and there's press about—I'd like a bit more notice this time."

Harry shook his head.

"No. Not that I know of, anyway. It's just… well, you know, a summer flight school. Not like the EDC Summer Tournament. Might be press there, mind. Depends if Krum will be there or not. He did win a spot."

Spellman considered that.

"Hmm. Well, I don't suppose it will be too much of an issue if the reporters don't have any access to you in particular," he said. "Let me know what's happening and I'll clear a spot for you if need be."

"Er, right," Harry said, hoping with as much optimism he could muster that that wouldn't be necessary. "I'll let you know."

"Excellent, excellent," said Spellman. "Next, we should—oh, there you are, Mim. I was starting to think you'd got lost!"

"I know this building just as well as you, Uncle Val," said Mim as she placed a tray with teas and a teapot onto the Spellman's desk. "Need anything else?"

"No, no—that's fine. Don't want to waste any more of your time, especially with what you've been working on. Better get back to it actually—we've got to present our work to the Undersecretary for International Affairs tomorrow, after all!"

"My work, you mean," said Mim. She nodded towards Harry and the others. "Have a good afternoon."

She left.

"Where were we?" said Spellman.

"We were about to start discussing the outcome of the preliminary hearing, I would think," said Dumbledore.

"Ah, yes! That. Well, as I wrote in my letters, it went very well. As we had thought, the Malfoys' defence seems to rely almost entirely upon Mr Potter having cast an unknown Dark spell upon young Draco. Of course, Lucius has denied casting the Imperius Curse, but we expected that. He'd hardly want to admit to it!"

"But the jury… the… the… Wizengamot," Petunia said. "The Wizengamot believes Harry?"

Spellman nodded.

"The small section of it which has overseen the preliminary hearing does, at least," Spellman said. "They seem to agree with us that young Draco's scarring is congruent with Mr Potter's story about a Dark object. Indeed, it has been rumoured for several years now that Lucius Malfoy is in possession of some very Dark artefacts… so it is unsurprising that certain members of the Wizengamot are inclined to believe contact with one has harmed his own son. Now, previous attempts to search Malfoy Manor have been inconclusive in this regard, but it is easy to believe that young Draco has been harmed by his father's foolishness. This of course helps us greatly." Spellman smiled, a vicious little thing, all teeth. "And I should think that certain personages on the Wizengamot will be pushing for Veritaserum during the trial. On Lucius alone, of course, as Mr Potter and Draco are both still children."

That actually sounded quite promising. Of course, Harry was telling the truth – mostly – and so the evidence should back it all up. But that didn't mean the Wizengamot would agree… or even that those who did agree would say they agreed. Malfoy gold could go a long way to buying silence or support.

But with Veritaserum in the mix, well… depending on who asked the questions and what questions they asked, that was very good news indeed.

"Veritaserum?" asked Petunia.

"Truth potion," Harry said.

"Well, that's just wonderful news," said Petunia. "Isn't it?" She looked over to Harry, then at Dumbledore. After a few moments Dumbledore nodded.

"It does seem that way," Dumbledore said. "I assume you've had access to the healer's report, Valerian?"

Spellman nodded.

"Indeed. Or, well, a summary of it, anyway. It seems that Draco is still in recovery from an interaction with 'Dark magic'—so says the report. Nonspecific Dark magic, you understand, not from a Dark object. The report claims he's experiencing difficulty concentrating, pain, all the usual stuff. They say it's bad enough that he won't have to give a live statement. We're going to argue that the absence will obstruct the Wizengamot from making an informed decision over the nature of the injury, but we don't expect that to work. They'll see an injured lad and won't want to dig deeper. But we've got to try for it."

"Do we know if they're lying about it?" Harry asked. Lying about Draco's condition would be totally on brand for the Malfoys. Harry didn't doubt that there was some sort of aftereffect from the horcrux, but whether it was serious enough that Draco couldn't be seen in public… well, that was another thing. While it was possible Draco was still incapacitated, Harry did think the Malfoys would prefer to exaggerate.

"Perhaps they've embellished matters somewhat," Spellman said, "but the healer who submitted the report is a scrupulous sort. We can try and get a healer of our own to make an assessment, if you'd like…?"

Harry shrugged. Looked over at Dumbledore and Petunia to see what they'd prefer.

"Who would you have in mind?" asked Dumbledore.

"Someone from St Mungo's—they do this sort of thing all of the time. The only problem there is that Lucius Malfoy is one of the patrons, so perhaps there'd be a conflict of interest," Spellman said. "I'll make a note of it and have Mim see to the arrangements."

"Yes, please," said Petunia. "If you think it would help."

"Indeed," said Spellman. He made a note of it on his parchment. "In slightly happier news—for us, anyway—Old Ambrose has gone and snuffed it." At Harry's blank look Spellman explained. "Ambrose Plopp, Member of the Wizengamot for Nimlet's Head. No foul play, he was just very old. But the reason it's good news for us is that he was a key Malfoy sympathiser—known to vote whichever way Lucius wanted. With him gone the bugger's an ally down on the Wizengamot, and every vote helps, eh?"

It felt a bit ghoulish to celebrate the death of an old wizard Harry had never known, but on the other hand, said death did make a Malfoy victory in the trial less likely, so… well…

"I hadn't heard," said Dumbledore. "A shame. I shall have to offer my condolences to his wife."

"They've not made the announcement yet," Spellman said after sipping his tea. "Waiting for all the family to hear the news. I only know about it because my wife is friends with Elladora Plopp. Tragedy for the family, of course, but for us… let's just hope we get someone a bit more amenable to our way of thinking after the by-election, eh?"

"What if his replacement is worse?" asked Petunia. "Could that happen?"

Spellman shrugged.

"Honestly? I don't think it can. Plopp was Malfoy's man through and through. With some luck, we'll have a more independently minded man after the election… and if not? We're just where we were to start with."

"I suppose," said Petunia.

That sounded reasonable enough to Harry. At least this way they had a chance at getting someone better in the seat, although given his luck, Harry thought it unlikely.

"Aside from that," continued Spellman, "we've just got the one thing that needs doing. If you're amenable to it we'd like to have Mr Potter seen by a St Mungo's healer. Just to have a little look at that cursed scar—the new one, not the famous one. I know your schedule is a bit busy so if you can manage it tomorrow, we'd like to do it then. Before you get off to Rome and that flight school of yours."

Harry looked at Petunia.

"Er, could we?"

"Well, we don't have any appointments," she said, "but I haven't the faintest idea where this St Mungo's is, nor do I know how to get there…"

"Ah, it's easy enough, madam," Spellman said. "It's in London actually—even has a muggle-facing entrance you can use. If you ask our receptionist on your way out she'll give you all the details!"

"I suppose we could drive in," Petunia said. "Yes, that would fine. If you can give us all the right information."

"Wonderful!" said Spellman. "Now, I do believe that's that. We've had your character references back—nothing to worry about, glowing reports from all involved—and once you've had that scar of yours examined by the St Mungo's lot there's nothing to do but wait. I'll let you know should anything change!"

"Thank you, Lawmage Spellman," Harry said. It was all very tentative, but Harry thought things sounded quite positive. Positive enough that Harry felt good about swanning off to Rome for flight school, anyway.

"Excellent," said Dumbledore. "There was one other thing, Valerian—that matter we discussed last week. Do you suppose…?"

"Ah, that. No need to worry, Albus, we've got the meeting scheduled for… Tuesday, yes. Unless you think we should push it back…?"

"No, no, Tuesday should be fine," said Dumbledore. He stood. "Good day."

"And to you all," said Spellman.

They trudged out of the office and back to the reception area where Petunia was provided with a full description of St Mungo's and the directions for how to get there. The witch wrote it down onto a piece of parchment, anyway, so Harry didn't bother listening. Not when he could just have a read over it later on. Then, once all that was done, it was back outside to wait for the portkey home.

The next day, it was a swift trip to St Mungo's for an examination by the healers – a trip which went surprisingly smoothly in Harry's estimation – and then after that, Harry was free to enjoy the few days until flight school.

As with the Summer Tournament, the organisers of Harry's flight school had sent along a portkey for all the attendees to take to the site. Some sort of ancient site near or just outside of Rome, according to the letter Harry had been sent. Perhaps a bit warm for extended flying, but Harry wasn't going to complain too much, as a week of being trained by the very best flyers in Europe was a privilege even if it would be in plus 30-degree heat. Even Dudley was looking forward as unlike Hexenhochburg, flight school had a pool on site.

It was going to be, at least as far as Dudley was concerned, the highlight of the week. Harry didn't mind. Whatever got him to go, and to be happy going. Sirius would accompany Harry, Petunia, and Dudley once again disguised as 'Uncle Dave'. An easy enough ruse, considering he'd spent a week doing just that already.

So, on the very last Thursday of July, Harry waited once more in the living room for a portkey to activate. Much easier than the plane journey that Petunia and Vernon had booked to take them all to Greece later in August… and only marginally more unpleasant. Unlike the journey to Hexenhochburg, Dudley was ready and waiting in the living room.

He'd even dressed appropriately, although in muggle summer wear rather than summer robes, which Harry thought was fair. And this time there hadn't been the faintest argument over his summer homework, as he seemed to accept that Petunia was adamant that it get done even if Dudley was traipsing all over Europe while doing it.

And Petunia herself was keeping her pottering to the bare minimum – she busied herself rearranging the ornaments along the mantelpiece while they waited. So it was really only Sirius Harry had to worry about, and as Sirius could apparate directly into the home, Harry wasn't very worried at all.

"When's Sirius going to get here?" complained Dudley. "We can't go if he's not with us, and the portkey's soon."

"I'm sure he won't be late," Harry said. "He doesn't want to miss the portkey either."

Not a minute later Harry heard the telltale crack of apparition from inside the hall, which meant Sirius had arrived.

"See?" Harry said. "He's here now."

Sirius appeared at the doorway to living room only moments later, already disguised as Dave. He entered the room with a big smile.

"How are we all today?" Sirius said as he sauntered into the room. "Excited?"

"Oh, hello, Sirius," said Petunia, glancing over at him from where she stood. "I shan't be long—just wanted to do a little tidying up before we go."

"It's only Dad staying here when we've gone," said Dudley, "so I don't know why you're bothering. It's not like he cares."

"But I care, darling," Petunia said.

"I reckon it's going to be great," Harry said, ignoring Dudley and Petunia's exchange. "D'you know they've got instructors for basically every broomsport that there is? I mean, okay, so I don't fancy playing Quodpot myself, and I think technically I'm signed up for the speed and hazard racing because those are the events I won, but that's still really cool. Right?"

If anyone would understand Harry's excitement it would Sirius. Dudley thought all flying was cool, but didn't really get it as he'd never flown before. Petunia made all the right noises at all the right times, but Harry knew she was only pretending to understand. But Sirius – Sirius had flown himself. Knew the thrill of broomflight.

"Definitely," said Sirius. "I'd have killed for this sort of thing when I was your age. Mind, I was never as good on a broom as your dad was, so between the two of us he'd probably have made better use of it. But it does sound like good fun."

Harry nodded along as Sirius spoke. He'd known his father had flown, of course. Certain people mentioned it more or less every time Harry got on a broom while at school – including Hooch. But James Potter had been a Quidditch player, a chaser. Whether he would have been interested in hazard flying or speed racing…

Although perhaps Sirius knew.

"Sirius," Harry said, "did my dad ever do speed racing or hazard flying or anything like that? I know it's not been that popular over here—the scene is more Quidditch, isn't it—but I was just wondering…"

"I don't know that he did," Sirius said. "Like you said, it's always been more Quidditch here. We never did other broomsports at school though. I know he played Quodpot a few times—didn't much care for it. But I reckon he'd have loved watching you fly in the hazards. Loved a bit of danger, James." Sirius grinned. "Can't say Lily would have been quite so thrilled to watch it, mind you, but… mums, eh."

That was surprisingly disappointing, though Harry couldn't quite put his finger on why. But even though he didn't share the specific sport with his father, it was nice knowing that they shared talents. Shared interests, a love of flying. That something of James Potter – other than his physical appearance, anyway – had made its way to Harry was … comforting.

"Right, portkey's nearly ready," Harry said after taking a slightly deeper breath than usual to steady himself. He held out the portkey – an undersized decorative wooden broomstick – for everyone to grab hold. "Er, remember your bags and stuff, Dudley," he said to Dudley, and then grabbed his own bag. He wasn't travelling with a suitcase as he'd asked Sirius to expand the inside of his bag. Inside, Harry had everything he needed – including his Firebolt. "Aunt Petunia?"

"So soon?" she said, looking between Harry and the ornament – some ghastly porcelain woman in a ridiculous dress – before finally setting the ornament back down onto the mantelpiece. She crossed the living room and grabbed on to the portkey along with Dudley and Sirius. "I had been hoping to—" she said, and then stopped abruptly as the portkey activated.

The two Dursleys, Harry, and Sirius were sucked into the portkey vortex and sent spinning across time and space.

The portkey deposited Harry and his guests on the somewhat cramped lawn in front of a grand Roman villa. The building itself seemed to have been pulled directly from Imperial Rome, being in pristine condition. Despite the warmth of the sun there was a slight chill in the air, and upon closer inspection of his surroundings, Harry saw that they were atop a mountain of some kind.

The hills outside Rome, Harry realised as he looked around. He bet that once in the air he'd be able to see muggle Rome itself if he looked in the right direction. But for now, all he could really see was the sprawling complex of the flight school itself.

And its dozens of other guests, all dropped in via portkey at the exact same time as Harry. Casting his gaze around the manicured lawn Harry saw several of his fellow Aerobaticum competitors – Giovanna with a witch who was presumably her mother; George Weasley with his mother, Ron, and Ginny; a handful of others from all three schools; along with Serrano and his guests. Harry gave a tentative wave to each of them when they noticed each other but didn't make any moves to greet them more personally. There would be time for that later, and he wasn't at all sure he even wanted to speak with Giovanna.

Or whether she wanted to speak with him.

So Harry decided to leave it alone, at least until they met each other in a more organic kind of way throughout the week of flight school. And scattered all around the lawns were people totally unknown to Harry, carrying bags and broomstick cases.

"Where do we go from here?" asked Dudley, also looking around. "I can't see a pool."

"It'll be further in," Harry said idly, not really caring. "Past the buildings. I think we've got to head for the main building and then they'll tell us where to go, I suppose."

"That's what everyone else seems to be doing," Petunia said.

Petunia was right. Those other attendees who had recovered from their international portkeys in were already streaming towards the main building's main entrance in a messy, haphazard mass. In the absence of anything else which looked like a welcome area, Harry followed, bag in hand.

Slowly, Petunia, Dudley, and Sirius followed him and they joined the crowd as everyone attempted to gain access to the main compound. Closer to the building Harry saw white-painted walls surrounding the grounds, topped with a small roof with bright terracotta tiles. The walls stretched off into the distance and followed the peaks and troughs of the hill on which the complex had been built.

"Not bad," said Sirius as they approached. "They've got a full-sized Quidditch pitch put in, look." He nodded towards the west, where Harry could just about see the tops of Quidditch hoops poking over the walls.

"I wonder what their hazard course looks like," Harry said. "I bet it's at least as good as what we had for the Aerobaticum." Or perhaps not, as Harry dimly remembered that the Triwizard organisers had put on a truly top-notch hazard course according to the papers, but then, the Daily Prophet was a rag. But judging from the way that flight school looked, Harry was expecting great things.

Harry wondered if Krum had bothered to attend, or if he'd skipped it. No one would have blamed him for doing so, especially as he was already a professional flyer. At the very least, Harry couldn't see him anywhere. Well, it didn't matter. There were already people Harry knew in attendance, and even if there hadn't been, Harry was mostly confident he'd be able to make some new acquaintances. As the throng of guests moved closer to the main building in the compound Harry saw three officials directing the flow of traffic into three columns. There didn't seem to be any specific sorting method, as Giovanna and Serrano had both been sorted into different columns, so Harry picked the one with the least people in it.

And then it was just a matter of waiting. Harry passed the time by idle conversation with Sirius and Petunia, as Dudley was more interested in complaining about the heat and the waiting. But even that passed quickly enough, and Harry was soon shown inside the near-palatial Romanesque villa.

Although slightly dimmer than the full sun of the outside, inside the villa was still bright and airy. A grand mosaic of eagles in flight covered most of the floor, while animated frescoes lined the walls. Deeper inside half a dozen or so witches and wizards stood with little writing boards receiving guests. When he saw a chance Harry headed right for the nearest one who was free.

"Excuse me," Harry said, "I'm… er… well I'm here for the flight school," he said. "I'm Harry Potter. I won one of the—actually technically I think I won a few of the prizes—well, I'm here, anyway."

The official – a stocky young witch with a no-nonsense hairdo olive skin – scanned her parchment.

"You are on the list," she said. "May I see your wand? And your guardians' wands?"

"Er, yeah," Harry said. He grabbed his wand from his robe pocket and handed it over, then gestured for Sirius to do the same. "But my aunt doesn't have one—she's a muggle. So's my cousin."

"That won't be a problem," she said. She took down Sirius's assumed name. Then she took out an odd device, did something to both Harry and Sirius's wands, and handed them back. At Harry's sceptical look she explained further. "We need to check in your wands so we have a proper way of identifying you. This isn't a problem?"

Harry shook his head.

"No, no—I just didn't recognise that thingy you were using, that's all. I've not seen something like it before."

"Ah." She paused. "So, you will want to go through here into the adjoining chamber where one of my colleagues will show you to your villa for this week. Please, have a wonderful time and do not hesitate to ask for assistance should you need it!"

With a polite smile and a subtle gesture, the witch dismissed Harry and his guests to attend to the next lot of people. Harry didn't mind. Instead, he moved on through the building and went in the direction the check in witch had indicated. Through a set of wooden double doors and into a long hallway with windows overlooking a courtyard.

Flight school didn't appear to have quite as well-planned logistics as the EDC Summer Tournament as, once inside the long hallway, there was an equally long wait to be seen by a member of staff. But Harry supposed the scale of the two organisations was quite different, and as flight school didn't appear to have a horde of house elves at its beck and call, perhaps the slow service was the trade off.

The reason for the slow service soon became apparent as Harry realised that the staff were gathering up larger groups of people before leaving. Harry found himself in a group with mostly people he'd never met before, as well as George and the other Weasleys in attendance. Harry said his hellos to the Weasleys, then focused on the wizard again. No doubt there would be time later for chit-chat, especially as Molly Weasley represented the single person in the entire compound that Petunia already knew.

"I think this is enough," said the wizard who'd gathered them all together. He spoke in Latin, just as the staff and officials at Hexenhochburg had. Harry kept up a basic translation for his aunt and Dudley's benefit. "Let's go. I am Marcos and I will be your guide this afternoon! Follow me, everyone."

The wizard led the group outside of the building and talked them through everywhere they passed by. Once outside, Harry saw manicured gardens leading away from the main building… and dozens of little buildings scattered about, each of them mostly hidden by the landscaping but not entirely.

"You'll all be staying in one of our little villas," the wizard said, gesturing to the little buildings strewn about. "These are fully equipped with everything you need in your stay, but if anything isn't to your satisfaction please do not hesitate to contact a member of staff. Your lodgings are towards the middle, so please follow me and try not to get lost."

"I can't see a pool," Harry heard Dudley say to Petunia while he was translating.

Harry ignored him.

"So, with that out of the way, let me welcome you all to Istituto di Volo Estremo Roma!" the wizard continued. "We pride ourselves on offering the very best experience for anyone who is serious about broomstick flight and broomsports, and we are very happy that you have joined us here today. We have programmes for the major broomsports played worldwide, with a specialisation in Quidditch, hazard flight, and speed racing; we offer specialised training in every Quidditch position, all done on one of our full-sized Quidditch pitches; and we have a truly world-class hazard course set up and regularly inspected by the World Hazard Racers' Federation. And more than this, we are able to offer taster sessions in less popular broomsports such as Quodpot and, later in the week, we offer an opportunity to experience magic carpet flight. So there is much for you all to look forward to!" said the wizard.

He turned at a fork in the path which led deeper into the gardens with all the little villas.

"Our dining hall is back where we have just left and is where you will eat most of your meals this week. Every meal is prepared by our world-famous chefs, contracted here specifically for each session. I eat here very often, and I should say that I am never dissatisfied. But, if you find the food not to your liking, please inform a member of our team—we will do our very best to help!" he continued. "Just after the residential area is our space for relaxation and recreation, which is fully equipped with a swimming pool, a stage for Summoner's Court and even an open-air bar and lounge."

"See," Petunia said to Dudley after Harry translated, "there is a pool."

"And here's the villa for, ah… Tomasz Wojcik and guests," said the wizard. He gestured towards the nearest of the small buildings, the little villas. "Please, settle in and get ready to join us for drinks and snacks later this afternoon! Our next stop will be the lodgings for Harry Potter and guests, so please follow me everyone."

Now that was promising. As nice as it was listening to the wizard reel off the flight school's major features, Harry felt sure that there would be some literature available in their rooms where he could read over all of that at his leisure. But he wanted to set down his things and figure out exactly what he had in store for the next week, and milling about in the admittedly very nice gardens was quite low down on the list of things he wanted to get done.

Marcos walked past several more villas and then stopped in front of one.

"Harry Potter, here is your villa for the week. Please, call a member of staff if you've got any questions! Moving on…"

Harry left him to it. He unlocked the villa door with his wand and gestured inside.

"It looks a bit small for all of us," Dudley said, lingering by the door. "We're really all meant to be in here?"

"It's probably bigger on the inside," Petunia said. She glanced at Harry. "Isn't it?"

"Yeah, probably," Harry said. "Let's just get in."

Inside, it really was bigger than it looked from the exterior, with a central room flanked by several other rooms. A bedroom for everyone, and separate bathroom. Still rather small, but definitely good enough for the week – at least in Harry's estimation. Perhaps his aunt would have other opinions, but Harry was happy enough with it all.

Dudley dumped his things onto a long sofa and looked around.

"It's not as fancy as that castle was," he said. "And we've not heard from our elf. How are we supposed to call her if we don't know her name?"

"Maybe there isn't an elf," Harry said. "I don't think we've got elf service here anyway."

"Really? Why not?"

Harry shrugged.

"Dunno. But I've not seen any elves and none of the letters or anything mentioned it."

"I can answer that one," Sirius said. "Italian labour laws. It's a wizard-first job market. I remember when they brought the law in—I was only a boy, but my mother was furious about it. Basically, organisations like this aren't allowed to use elf labour."

"Really?" asked Harry. "That's… progressive," he said, settling on that although it didn't feel quite right. "What about in houses?"

"Still allowed in private homes. And some businesses, too, I think," Sirius said. "Unless it's changed since I was a boy."

"Hmm," Harry said, thinking on it. It did seem good that elves weren't being used to provide unpaid labour for wizards who were making gold hand over fist… but then, they were still providing unpaid labour in wizard homes anyway, so Harry didn't think it was that much better.

Dudley, however, seemed not to have considered the philosophical or economic ramifications of this at all.

"So, how will we ask for snacks and drinks and stuff like that, then?" he said. "If there's no elves."

"Marcos said about a bar-lounge type thing," Harry pointed out. "So you can probably just order it there." Although whether that was true or not, Harry didn't particularly care. He was at the Istituto to fly, not to lounge about eating, so he assumed the dining hall would be more than adequate for his needs. He shrugged. "I'm going to look for an info pack," he said, and left Dudley to it while his aunt made her usual checks.

Harry assumed there would be a pack somewhere, as the flight school was usually something people paid quite a lot of money to attend, and no doubt they would be peeved to arrive and find information lacking. Of course, there had probably been a brochure of some kind before booking, but Harry hadn't actually booked, so he'd received nothing. After a while looking through the villa Harry found what he wanted and settled down to read it.

That didn't quite take him up to the time for 'drinks and snacks' later that afternoon, but it was close enough, and he had enough time to change into a nicer robe for it, too.

Snacks and drinks turned out to be reasonably fun, even if Harry spent the whole afternoon itching to fly. Unfortunately, there would be no flying until the next day, as the arrival day was meant to be something of an icebreaker for all the attendees. So after the drinks and snacks session ended, Harry spent the rest of the afternoon lounging about by the pool. 'A bit of family time,' Petunia had called it, so Harry acquiesced without argument.

But after that – and a night spent at the outdoor bar-lounge area with George and the other Weasleys – Harry was able, finally, to fly.

The next morning Harry turned up to the racers' orientation event with his Firebolt in hand and his flight goggles at the ready. He even had his gloves in his robe pocket just in case. The previous evening Harry had been given the chance to sign up for various training session, and although he'd considered Quidditch, he'd decided against it in the end.

Hazard flying and speed racing seemed a bit more fun, and a purer expression of flying besides. That meant Harry was put in a group with George Weasley, Emiliano Serrano, and also Giovanna.

"Alright?" Harry said to Emiliano and Giovanna once he'd arrived with George for their event.

"Good to see you again," Emiliano said.

"Hello, Harry," said Giovanna with a little smile.

Harry relaxed immediately. He'd been worried it would be awkward after how things had ended between them, but it seemed as if they were both on board with the idea of just being friends. But there wasn't much time to stand about chatting at all, as their instructor for the week – renowned hazard flyer Beatrix Csaba – got things started.

"Good morning!" she said, her voice strong and clear, her Latin impeccable. "You are all here today because you want to get serious about broomstick racing. Some of you have already won competitions at a high level," she said, and here she glanced at Harry, George, and the other Triwizard competitors, "and some of you are less experienced. Do not worry about this because we are very experienced in meeting all our students' needs. Any questions?"

"When do we get to use the hazard course?" asked one boy from behind Harry.

"You'll all get a chance in the Stack," Csaba said carefully, "but until we've properly assessed your skill-level, we're going to focus more on the fundamentals. That's what we're going to be doing all day today—some basic flight assessments, moving on to a bit of work with bludgers. Anyone else?"

No one had any questions. Harry was of the opinion that they, like him, just wanted to get up in the air. They'd all come to fly, after all. And so, with no more questions to answer, Csaba had everyone up in the air flying basic manoeuvres for the first part of the morning.

As simple as it was – it was very basic flying, stuff Harry had left behind right at the start of the previous school year – Harry enjoyed. Perhaps because of the simplicity. It was, after a rough year and a week's hard work, just what Harry needed. A chance to get lost in the sheer, unbridled joy that was broomstick flight.

So Harry spent the morning right up until lunch flying, feeling the wind through his hair and the Italian sun on his face. Harry very reluctantly landed and put away his broom when it was time for lunch, and joined his aunt, Dudley, and Sirius at the dining hall.

"Good day's flying?" Sirius asked when Harry joined them once again.

"Brilliant," Harry said. "Really good. I mean, we've only been doing basic bits, but the instructor—Beatrix Csaba, do you know her? She's brilliant, a world champion hazard racer—is great. Really knows what she's about. Can't wait to get in the Stack, honestly. I bet it's going to be crazy."

"Can we come and watch when you're doing that?" Sirius asked. "We didn't get to see your hazard races."

"Dunno," Harry said. "Probably? I'll ask."

"I don't know if I could manage," Petunia said. "The hazard flying sounds awfully dangerous. And before you say anything, Harry, I know they've got healers and I know you know what you're doing. But even thinking about it gives me a heart attack."

"It's not that bad," Harry said. "And to be honest, I think because everyone who's here is paying so much to be here, they won't do anything really dangerous anyway. Worst thing, I reckon, would be losing an arm or something. Which is fine since I can just grow another one." Harry shrugged.

That seemed to make Petunia more anxious rather than less, so Harry wisely changed the subject.

"Er, did you all have a good morning?"

"We went to the pool," Dudley said. "Mum just sunbathed, but they've got slides and stuff so I went on them with Si—Dave."

That actually sounded like fun to Harry. Probably not as much fun as flying, but definitely something he wanted a go of later on in the week. If there was time.

"I'll give them a go if I've got time," Harry said. "Sounds like fun."

"You should," Dudley said. "They've got this one, right, where it's like…"

The rest of the week followed on from that first day of flying. Harry spent most of his days up in the air, alternating between increasingly tricky speed races and jaunts into the Istituto's K-Stack. Then, once the day's flight training was done, he joined Dudley – along with Sirius and, on more than one occasion, the Weasleys – at the pool. Evenings were a mixed bag, sometimes spent with his family and the Weasleys, and sometimes with his friends from flight school – including Giovanna and Emiliano, whose company Harry found that he enjoyed quite a lot. After all, they did share participation in the Aerobaticum.

On one evening near the end of the week Sirius had booked them all a flight on the magic carpets. Harry hadn't been overly enthused to go on them, as he wouldn't be flying it himself, but he supposed it was a good opportunity to give Dudley and Petunia a taste of wizard flight. So, as the sun was setting above the mountains outside Rome, Sirius, Harry, and his family made their way to the carpet dock.

"That carpet is going to hold all of us," Dudley said when he saw the large carpet, "and we're going to fly on it." For all that it was a question, it didn't sound like one, as Dudley's tone was totally flat. Almost as if he didn't believe the carpet could fly at all, which Harry thought was… stupid, given everything he'd seen of magic.

"Yeah," Harry said. "It's not—I mean, it is just a carpet, but it's not a normal carpet. It's got all sorts of spells on it to make it fly. Right, Dave?"

Sirius nodded.

"Yeah. Perfectly safe. Mind you, I've not been on one in years—not since I was little and we were on holiday in France. They're banned back home, see."

"Banned? Why?" asked Petunia.

"So muggles don't get them confused with normal rugs," Harry said. "I know it's stupid—we use brooms—but that's the reason for the law." He shrugged. "Shall we go on? I think they're ready for us."

They stepped forward and were shown onto the expansive carpet by the attending wizard.

"No running, jumping, or standing while the carpet is in the air," the wizard said in a flat, bored monotone. "The carpet is charmed with all the safety charms necessary, but in the event that you do not follow the safety guidelines we will not be held liable for any damage to yourself or your belongings which may occur. Prior to take-off we will be casting a Disillusionment Charm upon you all and the carpet itself as our flight path takes us over muggle areas in Rome. Any questions?"

Harry had none. He suspected that Petunia would have at least half a dozen or so, mostly centred around safety, but she said nothing.

"What happens if we fall off?" asked Dudley. Harry debated whether to bother translating Dudley's question, especially as it seemed designed to provoke Petunia's anxiety, but then Dudley looked at Harry expectantly. Privately, Harry thought Dudley ought to be able to speak enough Latin to ask the question himself, given Smeltings's curriculum… but what Dudley ought to be able to do and what he was able to do were sometimes miles and miles apart.

So Harry translated.

"If you follow our safety guidelines that won't happen," the wizard said in the same bored tone. "But if you don't follow them and you fall off, you'll die."

"He, er, says you won't fall off if you follow the rules. But if you do, you'll die." Harry paused. "Let's just get on, shall we?"

All that decided, the four of them climbed on to the flying carpet and settled in. It was much more comfortable than Harry would have thought, being quite cushioned in spite of looking like an ordinary carpet. It even had little handles to hold onto. Once everyone was properly seated, the wizard came back around to cast Disillusionment Charms on them. When he reached Harry and cast the spell, Harry shivered. Almost like an egg had been cracked atop his head, a cold dribble crawled down the back of Harry's neck as he shimmered out of sight.

He could just about see the outlines of where Dudley, Petunia, and Sirius were, along with the carpet itself. But for all intents and purposes, they were invisible, no cloak necessary. A nice enough trick, Harry supposed, even if the results weren't quite as nice as his Invisibility Cloak.

Their guide Disillusioned himself and climbed aboard the carpet. Then, without warning, the carpet rose up into the sky and shot off away from the flight school compound.

Harry leaned over the edge of the carpet to watch their ascent. The mountains outside Rome were magnificent, the dying light of day casting shadows over the landscape. And then, in the distance, the multitudinous lights of muggle Rome flickered into being. The city sprawled across the landscape like nothing Harry had ever seen, beautiful in its complexity and horrifying in its imposition upon the landscape.

A land of contradictions.

"Oh, my," Harry heard Petunia say. "So high…"

The carpet rose higher and higher. Got faster, too, although it didn't feel all that fast to Harry. Certainly nowhere near as fast as his Firebolt. But it was a gentler kind of flight than any broom Harry had tried and more comfortable besides, for all that it did seem to lack a bit of the sheer thrill. But it was fun enough, and Petunia and Dudley both seemed to be enjoying it.

Their wizard guide flew the carpet along what was surely a well-flown route, one he knew by heart. They dipped closer to old ruins and bits of crumbling architecture for the view, then back up when they grew too close to muggle houses. And through it all Harry was struck by the beauty of the Roman countryside and the suburbs outside Rome. Old, almost impossibly ancient ruins alongside more modern constructions, some of it magical and some of it muggle, all coexisting. Side by side, as they had for centuries, and Harry could see it all from the air.

"This is nice," Sirius said after taking a sip of his Polyjuice. "Nice and relaxing, and even better because we don't have to fly ourselves, eh?"

"I have to admit," Petunia said after a few moments, "this is much nicer than I'd thought it would be. It's quite… lovely. Vernon would enjoy this. He'd never say, but I think he'd love the romance of it."

Harry thought that unlikely, but he supposed Petunia knew Vernon better than Harry did.

"It's good," Dudley said, "but I thought it would go faster."

Harry asked the wizard.

"We can go faster," he said, and the carpet surged forward. Not nearly as fast as a Nimbus, but still faster than they'd been going before. They sped towards Rome itself and flew over the buildings, watched the cars and people below as they went along their business. The wizard took them along a route which passed by most of Rome's famous landmarks, which Petunia pointed out whenever she noticed one. Once they'd covered most of the city they turned back towards the Istituto, and returned about two and half hours after they'd left.

More or less just in time for dinner.

"That was lovely, Dave," said Petunia as they made their way from the carpet dock. "Thank you for booking it."

Sirius shrugged.

"No problem. I thought it'd be fun, and it was. Glad you enjoyed!"

"Thanks, Dave," Harry said. He was glad his aunt and Dudley had been able to experience flight. They'd done the cloud surfing back over the Austrian Alps, but that wasn't quite the same as flying, and even though they'd still never flown on a broom… well, the carpet ride had been very nice. And it had given his aunt something cultural to do as well, so at least Harry didn't have to worry about any unexpected excursions.

After that it was just a matter of completing the week's activities. Speed races, the odd hazard course, and even an introduction to Quodpot, just for a change. And it the end of the week Harry felt more relaxed, more at ease, than he had done in a very long time indeed.

The final day at the Istituto di Volo Estremo Roma brought with it a handful of exhibition flights for the participants in front of their guests. Nothing too exciting, although Harry was glad for the chance to show off regardless. After that, the organisation's heads presented all of the participants with certificates proving their successful completion of training at the flight school. That was nice enough, Harry supposed, although it was really more of a souvenir than anything useful. But it would be nice to keep. All of that took up until dinner time, after which the portkeys home had been handed out.

Despite the week's fun and games, Harry was keen to get home. For a little bit of normalcy now that he'd finally managed to relax and destress. So, after saying his goodbyes to Giovanna and Emiliano, after making vague assertions with the various Weasleys that they'd see each other in Hogwarts, it was time to go home.

After a full week's flying in the sun – along with more than a little lounging and swimming – Harry, Petunia, Dudley, and Sirius were deposited back in Number Four, Privet Drive courtesy of their international portkey. That late in the evening Vernon was home, and he near enough jumped out of his skin at their arrival.

He recovered soon enough, though, and turned to address them all. Harry didn't like the look on his face, not one bit – it was exactly like that time he'd failed to secure Grunnings a new, high-value client after weeks of work.

"Bit of bad news, I'm afraid," he said gently, more to Harry than anyone else. "You'll be wanting to sit down, I imagine."

Harry regarded him warily.

"What? What is it, Vernon?" Petunia asked. "Has something happened—is it Marge? Or…"

"Nothing to do with Marge," Vernon said. He gestured to a paper sat on the table next to his chair. It was the Daily Prophet, closed but with the front page pointing out. "That Malfoy's gone and got himself elected to that Wizengamot thing."