Harry Potter and the Flying Squad

Christmas morning, Harry awoke with a rush of expectation. Today he would receive presents and - equally important, maybe more - he would find out whether the others liked his presents as much as he hoped. He'd spent a considerable amount of money on them, and while that wasn't significant by itself, he would be bitterly disappointed if his efforts in finding a meaningful present were lost on the particular person.

For two presents, he hadn't found a way to give them in advance. They were the smallest present and the most expensive one in his collection. The first was Fleur's; giving it to her would be an untroubled pleasure. Harry and Ron had tested it thoroughly, so to speak, delighted by its effect as much as the thought of Fleur's reaction.

What Charlie had found, and what had required a tremendous amount of semantics, in addition to the money, was a small box which at first sight looked like a music box. Inside stood a small figure, a tambourine man but with several instruments. A tiny hat lay at its feet, facing up as if waiting for coins from passers-by. You had to put a drop of liquid into it, then the figure started to move and a song was played.

The first liquid they'd tried was simple water, rewarding them with a shanty. Then they'd used tea, receiving a minuet. With a dash of wine, a drinking-song came up. A drop of sweat brought a soldier's march song, and so forth. And throughout all this, they'd not gotten a single repeated song. Even at its hefty price, the box was a bargain.

The other present Harry hadn't given yet was Cho's, which Fleur had delivered only two days ago. Tiny was it, didn't move, didn't play - naturally so for a Muggle item. Harry had inspected the thing, had examined the incredibly fine features, and had agreed full-heartedly that it was indeed simple and perfect.

Less perfect was his imagination - how to give it to Cho, and when? Yes, today of course, but where? The task didn't look simple at all.

---

He started to unwrap the boxes that were waiting at the foot of his bed. Ron was busy the same way.

Harry opened the largest box first - from the Weasleys. As expected, it contained a cake and - surprise - a sweater. This year's was green with light stripes down the sleeves, quite elaborate, he thought.

"Hey, Harry - been promoted to a flight lieutenant?"

It really resembled the rank stripes of a Muggle pilot, only the Squad had no ranks, except for -

"Oops - sorry, I forgot." Ron seemed only slightly contrite. "But look here - for once, it's not maroon."

Ron's sweater had the same pattern, its colours black with white stripes. A badge on it would look splendid - maybe better to keep the thought to himself; Ron might not take it well.

The next parcel came from Hermione. Inside was - right, you guessed it, a book. Magical Moves: Ritual Dances of Witchcraft and Shamanism, by Amanda W. Hopskin.

Harry had to grin; his own present for her was a book, too, about vampirism and its role in Muggle mythology. He scanned through the volume and found weird titles. Cauldron Dance ... Blocksberg Orgy ... Grass Dance ... probably nothing to try with Fleur or, hm, Cho.

Opening another package, he found a collection of unfamiliar sweets and a small card.

"Hey, Ron, listen to this." Harry read the card aloud.

"Yeah, I've got a similar one." Ron sounded sceptical. "Very unusual, them giving me a Christmas present." He pointed at the sweets. "I don't dare try any of them. Harry, be careful about who you offer this stuff to."

Harry watched as Ron opened the present from himself. His friend was holding it up and down, trying to figure out how it worked. It was a calendar and time organizer in book shape, very much like ordinary Muggle stuff, except for some magical tabs. The simplest of them opened the calendar at the present date, another one conjured a line showing the time until the next appointment, and so on.

"Wow - that's cool." Ron looked like a child with a toy wand. "Can't wait to get it to work in the office ... Mind, even Myrtle might be able to use it." Next moment, a nervous flicker appeared in Ron's eyes.

Which told Harry that the thing in his hand had to be Ron's own present. It felt like a roll of parchments, only smoother. Harry opened it and found a strange fabric, like a mat. Unrolling it, he recognized what it was: a miniature carpet.

Harry flexed it, holding it flat. Suddenly, the carpet straightened.

Reflexively, Harry released it, his hands twitching back.

The carpet didn't drop. It rested motionlessly in the air. A flying carpet!

"Put something on it," said Ron.

Harry took Hermione's present and deposited it carefully on the carpet. There was a slight dip, then the carpet was motionless again. The cake came next, with another dip.

"Now touch it and say, 'Akh'oleth'," commanded Ron.

"Say what?"

Ron moved closer, held two fingers under the carpet, and murmured, "Akh'oleth." Then he turned and walked away.

The carpet's edges curled slightly upward, then the thing followed Ron's steps.

Ron came back and touched the carpet. "Eshem." He stepped aside; the carpet stayed motionless.

"Now you."

Harry laid his fingers under the carpet, feeling the rough side. "Argolethe." He stepped forward, then turned to check.

The carpet didn't move.

"Sharper," said Ron. "Cut it in two."

After some more tries, the carpet finally agreed to follow Harry. What a funny feeling, being pursued by a tray with a book and a cake.

Harry touched it. "Etch'em".

The carpet wasn't impressed. Only the third attempt made it stop.

"That's marvelous, Ron. Thank you!"

Ron beamed. "I thought - with Transportation and so on, you know. Be careful, though, using it in public. Remember, it's on the index! Would be a shame Filch confiscating it."

"How did you come across?"

"Playing to my strengths, Harry." Ron grinned. "In this case, the strength happens to be a brother working in Egypt."

No longer, thought Harry, then realized that he didn't really know, only guessed. Fortunately, Ron hadn't seen his change of expression.

---

They went down for breakfast, Harry after pocketing a small parcel and Ron with Fleur's present. They were late; the carpet training had taken time.

The hall was noisy, full of laughter and shouts of surprise. Owls swooped through the air, busy delivering more presents.

Harry checked around. At the teachers' table, Fleur was nowhere to be seen. At the Gryffindor table, Hermione sat waiting for them. At the Ravenclaw table, Cho was sitting and talking with Almyra, legions of other girls around.

At that moment, Almyra looked up, saw him, turned to Cho, and said something. Cho - Cho stood up and was coming toward the entrance, passing Ron on his way to the Gryffindor table.

Reaching Harry, she greeted him, then pushed more than urged him around the corner and out of sight. "Thought I'd better come over," she said, "the others are teasing me a lot, no need for you getting it too."

"What do they say?" Harry felt startled; after the ball two days ago, it had to be something about him.

"You really want to know?"

He didn't want to know. "Yes."

"All right, might be better you hear it from me first." Cho examined the floor. "They call you Young Potter. Stupid brats."

Harry felt a hot rush in his face. He hadn't known what to expect, anyway, not that. His hand, shaky, reached in his pocket.

"You don't mind, do you?"

Looking up, Cho found the answer in his face and said, "Forget it. I don't care. For some reason or other, you get into things people think you're too young for." Her smile faded. "Like tournaments." A grin appeared. "The youngest Seeker at Hogwarts in a hundred years ... So what, I don't give a damn."

Harry held the small box, his fingers unsteady. "Happy Christmas. That's for you."

Cho took it. "Thank you. By the way, you'll find something at your seat. It might come in handy" - they both smiled at the familiar quote - "although here at Hogwarts, it's most unlikely that you'll need it."

Another riddle to think about instead of differences in age. Cho had the wrapping off, had opened the box -

"Oh my God ..." her voice came in a choked whisper, "the Green Dragon ..."

What she held was a tiny figure in smoky glass of dark green, miniature red spots for the eyes. Small as it was, the details were perfectly carved, from the big nostrils, the ears, the claws, to the tail.

"It's so beautiful." Cho inspected the figure from all sides. "How did you find it?"

"To be honest - I had some help." From friends in strategic positions, he added in his mind.

"Thank you, Harry." Cho looked around. "Erm - I have no fan with me, so - that's all I can say now."

He was blushing again and felt grateful when Cho said, "Let's get some breakfast before the others start looking for us."

---

Reaching his seat, he found Ron eating and Hermione smiling. His rosy face provoked no remark.

On the table in front of him laid a small parcel. He took it and examined its shape, which was long and thin. A toy broomstick? Opening it, he stared at two thin wooden sticks, about six inches long. There was a note.

"Ron, look here." Harry held the sticks up. "I guess now we can test Fred's and George's sweets."

The others examined them. After making sure that the card was safely stored in his pocket, Harry explained the special power in the chopsticks.

Hermione seemed impressed. "I read about Chinese magic. They have a long tradition of poisoning each other in rather tricky ways. Snape would be surprised even by some non-magical stuff they have developed there."

Ron was more interested in the practical purpose. "We have to figure out whether they work on the twins' jokes."

Fleur arrived in the hall. She came over to their table and greeted them all in the French style - cheek to cheek, twice. Harry and Ron were used to it; for a change, it was Hermione who blushed.

Fleur had a present for each of them, received hers from Ron - "It's from us three together" - and hurried to her table. Although being late, she was in no risk of finding empty dishes. Not too happy with English breakfast, Fleur had organized a constant supply of croissants from Beauxbatons. She had offered them to others, finding no one who tried more than once.

Harry glanced over to see if Fleur would open their present immediately. She seemed busy with croissants and coffee, so he opened hers.

A sandalwood frame was the first thing he recognized. It held one of those magic pictures, in this case the Beauxbatons castle seen from high above. Small figures stood on towers, waving.

Harry felt puzzled. Nice as it was, somehow it didn't match what he'd have expected from Fleur. Flipping the frame around, he found a note.

Check the people? He had no idea what she meant. There were waving students, yes. So?

He scanned the picture again, not getting any wiser. Looking up, he saw that Hermione was holding something in her lap, delight in her face. Was hers the same?

Apparently sensing his stare, Hermione looked up. "The small tower at the left, Harry." Her eyes fell down again.

So she had the same, and had it already deciphered - of course, she was the brain champ.

Shielding the picture, Harry checked again. Then he saw what she meant. In a window of that tower stood a waving figure whose hair was unmistakably Fleur's.

He touched the spot.

The figure curtsied. The Beauxbatons picture faded - since he'd watched George preparing the fan for Cho, Harry knew that charm. A shape appeared on the picture surface and formed a half-profile ... Cho!

Harry gasped. Quickly, he scanned to find the reverse spot.

It was an awkward sensation to touch all over the picture, trying to hide her again. When he touched her lips, the picture faded, and Beauxbatons came back.

Exhaling deeply, he looked up. Nobody was watching him.

Noise and laughter from the teachers' table caught his attention. There was Fleur, surrounded by a small group. Harry saw her dipping a finger in a cup and dropping it at something. Heads came forward, then, after a moment, another wave of laughter. So she'd found out, too.

* * *

The breakfast was over; however the hall didn't empty. Students kept sitting with another cup, chatting, fiddling with presents at tables that were full of wrappings, ribbons, and boxes.

This morning's owl traffic had been remarkable, heavier than ever as long as Harry could remember. It hadn't finished yet, a rushing made him look up to see another - no, two - three, four owls!

Somebody, not afraid of distance nor weight, had sent a larger present, quite large, actually. It was long, almost like ... like ...

Heartbeat drumming in his ears, Harry watched the owls coming down, swooping to ... Viktor's place.

Viktor??

As closely as possible from the distance, Harry examined the long box while trying to remember how his Firebolt had been packaged. The shape was unmistakable, yes, but still, somehow it didn't look familiar.

The noise in the hall had faded. Heads were turning to Viktor's table, watching him as he examined the parcel, ripping off some wrapping.

Another noise, from above, made heads tilt upward: more owls!

The new quartet came down to the Slytherin table, dropped an identical parcel, and climbed immediately.

Viktor had lost his audience. People were staring up at the ceiling, or at the Slytherin table.

Murmuring grew, then there was a shout: the next owls had come also to the Slytherin table. Then the next ... another one ... The noise in the hall was incredible; the first groups were gathering where a box had come down. With eyes closed, one could have counted the owl quartets, as each of them was accompanied by new shouts of surprise.

Around the tenth delivery, Harry had identified the pattern, also becoming aware that there was one more person in the hall who might recognize it. The order in which the owl quartets were delivering the parcels was exactly the order in which he'd listed the Flying Squad members in his letter. Viktor had been on top, right, that was why ... But Viktor already owned a Firebolt; Harry felt sure that he'd specified that.

Thrilled to the hairs, he watched the turmoil that was heating up more with every new owl quartet. With the number of groups growing, more and more students were staring spellbound at boxes, unless they preferred to watch the spectacle in the air.

Nobody noticed that he wasn't joining a group.

---

The first boxes were open. Yes, they were broomsticks, that was all he could see from his position. And all he could hear were sounds of astonishment, questions shouted ... the word Firebolt didn't fall.

Meanwhile, the owl rain had reached the Gryffindor table. Fred's sample arrived, then George's.

Harry decided to join them, now desperate to find out what exactly was being delivered in those parcels.

He stood up and took a step. At that moment, he was stopped by a rush above his head: four owls were coming down right on him, then dropped their load at his seat. Harry's mouth fell open as his eyes followed the disappearing owls.

The air was empty. There were no more owls.

With trembling hands, he cut the box open. No watchers for him - Ron had joined the twins, and Hermione was standing at Viktor's table.

The box contained a broomstick all right, plus some other bits and pieces Harry couldn't identify. The model was also unknown to him, in particular as it looked totally different from a Firebolt: no glittery polish, no shining surface. The dark matter seemed to suck in the light.

There was a small plate. "Steel Wing Mk II," and a registration number. He checked the other items.

There was something like a belt. The next two items consisted of a transparent, flexible material, a bigger and a smaller one. Then a booklet, entitled Steel Wing Mark II Rider's Manual. A letter was folded inside. Harry saw other people reading, too - also letters. He opened his own.

Two pages - no, two letters. Why two?

Checking the parchments, Harry saw the Gringotts emblem on both of them. Then he realized that the first letter was sent to him personally while the other one addressed the receiver of the broomstick. He took that letter first.

Individual branding? Looking at the groups around the earlier deliveries, Harry could see several attempts to make a broomstick behave as expected, staying in the air for the rider to mount. No success wherever he looked. One broomstick banged to the floor, raising an angry shout from its new owner.

Again he examined his own model, then the other items in the box. With its dark surface, the broomstick emanated an aura of determination, of controlled power and seriousness. At least one piece was identified: the safety belt. It held the rider around the waist; the other end was hooked to a ring in front of the saddle.

There was a large button. Harry pressed it and saw the ring opening - one feature that worked before the broomstick was - er, branded.

He took the first letter, the personal one, and started reading.

So the broomsticks were assigned to the individual members. That didn't make a difference - well, it did, but not before next year. Again that personal branding ... and what was so special about the number twenty-nine? Four Quidditch teams plus a Squad commander made twenty-nine, that wasn't his merit. At least they liked it ... Good.

Reading the quote again, it dawned on Harry. Of course - twenty-nine Knuts made a Sickle, seventeen Sickles a Galleon. For the Goblins with their money orientation, these would be lucky numbers, or whatever.

Sickles to mourn ... he tried to think about it, then dropped the thought; it was too much at once. That would come later, after those broomsticks had been made fly. Harry stored the second letter away before anyone could recognize that he'd received more than one.

---

The hall was in a frenzy. Squad members were asking Viktor, trying to get an explanation. Viktor was caught in a discussion with Hermione: she was pointing to the Steel Wing in front of them while Viktor kept pointing to the letter in his hand.

After all the thrill, Harry almost laughed out loud at the picture, which was all too similar to the day when his Firebolt had arrived. But the letters were signed by Gringotts, there was no way denying that. With smug pleasure, he watched Hermione addressing McGonagall - for once the wrong person to support her position.

Ron came back from the twins. Harry saw them reading in the manual, exchanging comments with Lee and the girls. Maybe they already knew more, since they hadn't received two letters.

"Ron, do you know what that means, branding?"

"All I know is those broomsticks have to be activated by their individual owners. Afterwards, they won't accept another rider. Imagine, the Enforcement Squad, what they deal with - "

"So after this thing's branded" - Harry pointed to the Steel Wing on the table - "nobody but me can fly it?"

"That's what the manual says."

Nobody else ... twenty-nine single-minded broomsticks for twenty-nine Squad members, each of them owning another -

"What about the old broomsticks?"

"Ask their owners," replied Ron. "Fred offered me his Nimbus Two-Thousand, George said his own is newer ..."

Harry stared at Ron, Ron stared back.

Harry had a Firebolt, a top-level broomstick until fifteen minutes ago, and now ...

A glitter appeared in Ron's eyes.

"Ron, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"I hope so." Ron tried to look expressionless, but he wasn't as good as Bob.

"I think I have a Firebolt to ... dispose of."

"Like Viktor."

"Viktor - he has Hermione to help him with that." Harry grinned. "I might need help, too ... Of course, I'm not going to break into family bonds, which weigh a lot - "

"Yeah, but you know, they can be overrated. For example, a Nimbus Two-Thousand plus family bonds - well, I guess, that might be as good as a Two-Thousand-and-One, but still falls short of - "

" - a Firebolt," completed Harry. "Sirius would never forgive me if it fell into the wrong hands, Ron, so I hope you take care of it personally."

"I promise, Harry ... thank you." To Harry's surprise, Ron held out his hand.

He took it wonderingly.

"I have to say something else," said Ron. "I like being around the rich and famous - er, contrary to what I said before. And I hope you'll be back in the Squad soon."

Harry jabbed him in the ribs. "Let's hear what Viktor has to say."

---

They walked over, only to find the path blocked by other Squad members with the same desire.

Ron pushed his way through; there was no doubt that he'd be needed to organize the next steps, and he didn't carry a Steel Wing. After a moment, Harry heard Ron's voice shouting, "Sit down, everybody ... SIT DOWN, DAMMIT!"

The members closest to the table tried to follow the command, finding themselves blocked by the others who would have done so in a second but first had to catch a glimpse of what was happening there.

Harry went back to his seat.

Slowly, the noise settled and the members trotted back to their places. Viktor was talking with Ron, then with McGonagall. Then Viktor stood up and announced a meeting in an hour, outside on the Quidditch pitch, to do the branding with "all members." At these words, he sent Harry a glance.

Harry nodded.

When Viktor sat down, some members started once more toward his place, to discuss details, or maybe to offer a second-hand broomstick for the Hogwarts stock. Others sat reading, still others walked away to do the same somewhere else.

Harry didn't know what to do first: try to talk with McGonagall or browse through the book.

Ron came back to collect his items. "I'm in the office. Harry, don't burn your arse while branding." He left.

Now Harry was the only Squad member still at the Gryffindor table. He caught McGonagall's eyes.

The witch hesitated, than came to him. "Mr Potter, you heard what Mr Krum said. There'll be the branding, and probably some other tests, or flights ... I agreed with Professor Dumbledore that you'll be with the Squad for those purposes." She raised her voice a bit. "With the Squad, Mr Potter - is that understood?"

"Yes, Prof."

McGonagall looked less stern. "About the other details - we'll have to talk, but later, and not here."

"I got a letter," said Harry in a low voice. "I mean, another one. Can you keep it for me?"

McGonagall nodded.

He handed the letter to her, then watched her leave without looking at the parchment.

This done, he started to collect his presents and Steel Wing paraphernalia. One hour, that meant just time enough to go through the manual. He would read it in his dormitory, which was also the right place to check again the picture on Fleur's present, with nobody looking over his shoulder. With Ron in the office, he'd be alone.

That reminded him. He had no idea what might be found in Ron's picture. Was Ron's present the -

"Another letter, Harry?"

He jumped around. Cho! Had she seen him and McGonagall? What was no lie and still not the truth?

"Yes ... and a broomstick, and a manual ... Some other things I don't know yet ..."

Cho looked excited, though not happy at all.

He tried a question. "What do you think of it? Looks strange, huh?"

"Harry, I swear," said Cho with a strangled voice, "with that thing, if we ever again have a Quidditch match against each other, I'll show you something you haven't seen yet."

"Which is?"

"The other Seeker catching the Snitch before your eyes. You'll be surprised what a feeling that is."

About to answer, he stopped. She was right, he'd lost a game but hadn't seen how the Snitch was caught. It had been Cedric ... Was it on purpose that the memory of Cedric came up right now?

Cho looked furious.

"Cho? What - "

"I'm mad! Mad at - " Cho interrupted herself, too late to avoid some heads that were rising after her shout. She turned away, hiding her face from Harry's alarmed glance.

After a moment, she shook her head and turned back, then pointed at the Steel Wing. "What do I think? Yes, it looks strange, deadly serious ... Enforcement Squad, that's just what I've been looking for, and today's the day."

Harry watched her. Cho had calmed down, although her voice still sounded bitter, her face red at her cheeks and her eyes.

She sighed, then managed a weak grin. "What I was going to say, I'm mad at - trying it out. I have to look into the manual, so - see you there."

Before turning, she pointed at his box. "Don't forget that letter."

* * *

The manual confirmed what Ron had said. Branding had to be done by sitting on the broomstick and tearing off a seal. Afterwards, the Steel Wing would revolt and buck if any other body tried to mount.

Studying the manual, Harry quickly realized that it didn't explain basic techniques of flying broomsticks, instead was written for experienced riders. It explained the parts and features of the Steel Wing that weren't expected on a normal broomstick and probably didn't occur anywhere else. The Table of Contents already looked sinister: Stealth and Camouflage - Spell Resistance - Magic Impact Detector - Anti-Theft Protection. On the inside of the back cover was a diagram with a legend.

Harry started with the unknown items.

The belt was already identified. The manual listed several reasons to use it, on top of them the fact that the full acceleration of the Steel Wing significantly exceeds the capacity of the mass power compensator. In plain words, pushing too hard without being hooked to the thing could rip its rider off. Another reason was safety: even a rider who was knocked unconscious would be held - although not in an agreeable position.

As he learned, the Steel Wing was programmed to carry its owner in that state out of the combat zone before it would slow down and finally sink to the ground. The description created a weird image in Harry's mind - a figure, hanging like a dead rat in the fangs of a sky terrier. Still, that was better than dropping.

The big transparent piece was a wind shield, to be applied to the front of the Steel Wing. With the body pressed flat on the broomstick, it covered the rider quite well, allowing for higher speed and less exposure to the weather conditions. In addition, according to the manual, the shield offered a limited ability to deflect spells. All considered, the thing came close to an armoured broomstick.

The smaller item of the same material was an eye shield, fixed on a thin, semi-flexible helmet. Harry tried it. If he could trust the sensation in his fingers, the cap made efforts to adjust to his head. Knocking on it, he sensed a sudden hardening of the fabric, probably not enough to withstand a blow with a quarterstaff, more designed to protect the head when crashing through underbrush. The eye shield could be flapped up and down; it covered the face from top to the nose. Water-resistent, no less.

The light-absorbing surface served a double purpose. One was stealth; the Steel Wing would not reflect any light during a night raid. The other was shielding, as it provided a high immunity from curses attempting to cause a malfunction.

Close to the belt ring, Harry found what the manual called a CDL - a Curse Detection Luminescense. It was an attack warner: when the Steel Wing was in the focus of a spell, the spot would glow.

All that was very nice for an Enforcement Squad, but what about Quidditch? Harry wondered if the designers had compromised on the fine balance he was used from the Firebolt. If so, he might be forced to borrow his old broomstick from Ron for Quidditch matches; generally speaking, navigation was more important in a game than speed. But he didn't really believe it.

The other features sounded more familiar. Shock absorber ... Self-regulating drift suspension ... He stopped - what about the instantaneous brakes? They weren't mentioned. Then he found the line. Instant braking is provided up to about 50% of the maximum speed. Above that limit, time-to-stop grows to a maximum of five seconds.

Harry started to itch for his first flight. He shouldered his Steel Wing and headed toward the Quidditch stadium.

* * *

The branding started unspectacularly. The Squad gathered on the pitch, forming a half circle around Viktor. Everybody took his Steel Wing as if sitting on it, except that the broomstick had to be held with both hands, otherwise it wold have dropped like dead wood.

"Seal off!" called Viktor.

Harry tightened one hand to hold the full weight, grabbed the small strip, and ripped the seal off. Was there a short, tingling sensation, or had it been imagination? Anyway, the dead weight of the Steel Wing disappeared, the broomstick responded like a spring under a thin layer of softness, ready to jump.

"Hold it!" shouted Viktor. "Cross check!"

He dismounted from his own Steel Wing, which rested in the air like any other broomstick. Then he stepped to the Hufflepuff Keeper next to him and said, "Let me."

He grabbed the Steel Wing and tried to mount. Next second, Viktor was lying on the frozen ground, muttering, cursing, and holding the arm that had grabbed the handle.

It was an impressive demonstration. Not even the twins could be motivated to try the same.

Viktor's arm was badly bruised. He would have to see Madam Pomfrey before he'd be able to join the more advanced flight tests that were planned after lunch. For now, the Squad was ordered to stay within the boundaries of careful experimenting, no show-offs, no full-speed dives.

When the first members took off, shrieks and shouts of astonishment went through the air, indicating that Viktor's order had been good advice.

Belt around his waist, Harry hooked the short rope into the ring and jumped.

Theoretically, with his Firebolt's strength as the level from where to start, he should have become accustomed to the new powerful device a bit quicker than others. Even so, he decided to take it as easy as Viktor wanted. The manual had impressed him more than expected, and the sight of some others, for moments hanging squarely from their Steel Wings before regaining balance, were warning enough.

He went through some manoeuvers, testing the steering control. It was fine, smooth, responding immediately, nowhere short of the Firebolt's accuracy. Nothing more, either, but then, there had never been a reason to complain.

Nonetheless, the overall feeling was totally different, the slightest push threw him forward as if kicked by a gentle Giant, reminding him that his reflexes weren't adjusted yet, not after two years on a Firebolt which, until yesterday, had been the most powerful broomstick money could buy. The jolting manoeuvers of the other Squad members told him they had to fight still harder.

He drew a wide circle, intermittently pushing, stopping, pushing, slowing, gradually getting a touch for the finer increments. The range in which the Steel Wing responded with a decent acceleration seemed pretty narrow.

He swerved back and looked around. How was Cho getting along? Then he saw her across the pitch, practising formations with what had to be Katie and Alicia. Well, right now, maybe the Steel Wing was improving her mood better than he himself. After lunch, when Viktor could use both arms properly, they'd do a first investigation of the Steel Wing's power limit.

He wandered back into the building.

* * *

The atmosphere in the hall was different from any Christmas lunch Harry had experienced. The laziness of the breakfast had vanished; this morning's owl storm and the Steel Wings were the hot topic. When trying to prepare a strategy for the discussion that would come, the best Harry could find was to keep a low profile.

Fred was the first. "Oy, Harry, do you know more about the Steel Wings?"

"No - was a total surprise for me." True. "I've never before heard about such a model." Still true.

None of the Weasleys had heard of them, either. The Enforcement Squad wasn't unknown to Mr Weasley; in fact, he called them often enough, but he didn't hang around to watch. To be honest, he didn't care what they used, and was more interested in Muggle cars.

Ron was next. "Who owns that much money? Who can spend a fortune for Hogwarts and the Squad ... and has connections to the Ministry?"

"Don't ask me," said Harry, totally honest.

The sheer presence of the Steel Wings, their sinister look, and their hair-rising features dominated the talk. Serious questions about the anonymous client would come later. Ron had made the closest hit, except that the financial aspect impressed him more than the unknown identity. Also, he had an achievement to protect: an anonymous sender wouldn't put his new Firebolt in jeopardy.

Hermione didn't ask. She looked very thoughtful.

Almost at the end of the meal, when Ron was already back in his office, Harry felt safe enough to make some conversation. "What's Viktor doing with his Firebolt?"

Hermione looked up. "Giving it to me, I guess."

"You don't sound very interested."

Her expression was indifferent. "Well - there are more interesting things."

"Such as?"

"Steel Wings, for example."

"Yeah, that's true." He tried a little challenge. "Were you satisfied with their origin? This time?"

Her answer told him that challenging Hermione had been a mistake. "You mean the letter from Gringotts? Not quite. Okay, there isn't anything dubious with them" - a faint smile confirmed that the hint hadn't been lost on her - "but it's strange ... A puzzle, a very intriguing one."

"A puzzle?"

"Yes, Harry." Hermione sounded like a patient teacher with a slow student. "Some weeks ago, there was one letter from Gringotts. Today, there are twenty-nine - that I know of."

Harry stared. "Are you talking about my letter? ... Hermione, that's absurd! I didn't get money. I didn't order Steel Wings. I was totally perplexed when I got mine - honestly."

"I believe you every word, that's exactly the puzzle," replied Hermione, her eyes glittering. "As you may have noticed, Harry, I was very reluctant to ask questions, and I'll tell you why."

"Why?"

"Because I had something better to do. Listening to the others. Listening to all the questions about who and why and how, and to all the wild guesses ... Listening to your comments, Harry" - her eyes met his - "which didn't come."