The Eagle and the Badger

Chapter Five: Bumpy Rides

Ån elbow to the ribs made Hugo jump.

"What?" he protested. "I could have put my eye out."

Trevor looked sheepish. "Sorry, man, but you've been holding your fork for the past five minutes without putting that bit of sausage into your mouth. Aren't you feeling well?"

Hugo sighed and put down the fork.

"I'm fine. it's just - it's been four days,since I wrote, and I haven't heard back from my mum and dad yet."

'Hmmm. You don't think they'll be angry, do you? Getting Sorted into Hufflepuff wasn't your fault.

"Anyway," Trevor went on, heaping applesauce into a bowl, "there's nothing wrong with Hufflepuff, is there?"

Hugo picked up a piece of toast, nibbled at a corner, then put it back on his plate. Every morning before the post owls arrived, he seemed to lose his appetite. He tried to distract himself by entering into a lively ongoing discussion of Quidditch rules with Robbie and Gabe Link, who declared he was definitely going to try out for the Hufflepuff team.

"First years almost never make the team," Robbie declared, "and you've never even been on a broom, have you?"

"My uncle Harry made the team," Hugo countered, "and he was raised by Muggles even though he was a wizard himself."

He had no time to elaborate, however, as a rush of wings signaled the arrival of the morning post. Hugo's stomach clenched as he recognized his mother's owl, Hecate, who soon landed in front of him and extended a feathered leg.

Heart beating fast, Hugo hesitated for a long moment before reaching for the parchment and untying it. Hecate hooted pointedly, and Hugo gave her a morsel of the abandoned sausage before the bird took off again.

The first years around Hugo fell silent as he sat staring down at the envelope in front of him.

"It's not going to bite you," Trevor pointed out.

"Yeah, I know." Still, Hugo hesitated another moment before unfolding the letter and beginning to read.

Dearest Hugo,

You poor boy, you must be wondering why we haven't written. It's just that the day you left for school, your grandmother Granger came down with some sort of flu, and between looking after her and a big case breaking at work, I somehow lost track of the time. I told your father to write, but I'm not sure he's done it.

Your gran's fine now, by the way, and she sends her love.

Anyway, darling, of course we don't really mind which house you got Sorted into. You've always been a hard worker, and you get on so well with everyone. So, honestly, I wasn't that surprised.

You know, I could easily have been Sorted into Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw myself, and I've often wondered why I was chosen for Gryffindor. Merlin knows, I've never had the slightest interest in Quidditch! (Your dad says I understand politics so well, I should have been a Slytherin, but he only says it when he wants to rile me up.)

In any case, I'm sure you will do just fine as long as you keep studying hard and don't let yourself get too distracted. Thank goodness, Hogwarts is a much safer place than it was when your father and I were there.

Be good, and write as often as you can!

Much love, Mum

Hugo read and reread the letter, feeling somewhat relieved. He did wish he knew how his dad felt about the whole thing, though.

ooOoo

Lucia watched the morning owls come and go with a growing sense of unease. At least she hadn't received a Howler. She knew it was silly, but she kept a keen eye out for red envelopes all the same.

After promising to teach Mike how to play wizard chess after lunch, she made her way to the library to finish her Transfiguration essay free of the distractions of the common room. It was a fine day, and the library was nearly deserted, though she was surprised to see Claudia Vector sitting in a corner, engaged in whispered conversation with a much older boy.

This was surprising, not only because Claudia seemed to be such a loner, but because the boy was so much older: sixth or even seventh year, perhaps. He looked vaguely familiar, and after a while Lucia realized she'd seen him in the Ravenclaw common room.

Oh, well, what did it matter? Lucia slipped past the girl and her companion to take a seat in a far corner.

Not until she'd unpacked her book, ink pot, and quill and spread her parchment out on the table did she realize how inadequate the light was back here. Not wanting to have to move everything, she took out her wand and whispered "Lumos," grateful to Professor Flitwick for teaching the spell to his class on the first day.

Lucia's wand tip lit at once, casting a bright pool of light onto the page. Now, if she could only figure out a way to prop up her wand; she could hardly hold it and write at the same time . . .

"You, girl! What do you think you are doing?"

Madame Loftus, the librarian, stood before her, hands on narrow hips, looking down her long nose at Lucia, who had to resist the urge to shrink away from the obviously angry woman.

"Erm - just trying to shed a little light on my parchment, ma'am," said Lucia, hoping she sounded less defensive than she felt.

"Rule Number One, after No Talking, of course: There is to be absolutely no spell-casting in the library. Now, extinguish that thing at once. If you need more light than this library affords, feel free to take your homework out of doors."

Lucia heard giggles from a nearby table and felt herself reddening with embarrassment.

"Nox," she whispered, and stowed her wand in her pocket. Studying on the lawn on such a fine day sounded quite appealing, now she thought of it.

As she passed the table where Claudia and the older boy had been sitting, she saw they'd also left.

ooOoo

The following morning, Astoria Malfoy's owl, Dagmar, landed in front of Lucia. The owl stuck out an impressively taloned foot and glared at Lucia with a pair of disdainful amber eyes as the girl removed the folded parchment. Not waiting for a treat, Dagmar flew immediately out of the Great Hall.

It was almost as though the owl knew that Lucia was the youngest and least important member of the exalted Malfoy family.

Lucia suddenly lost her appetite for the toast and kippers on her plate. Trying to keep her hands steady, she unfolded the parchment and began to read.

Dearest Daughter,

I hope you will understand why it took some time for me to reply to your letter. Your not being chosen for Slytherin came as quite a shock, and I've not been certain quite how to respond.

You must not blame yourself for the Sorting Hat's decision, though it is well known that the Hat takes a student's wishes into account. You have never been very assertive, dear, so perhaps you didn't make yourself quite clear. Or perhaps things have changed since your father and I attended Hogwarts.

Still, I am certain that you will find your own success as a Ravenclaw. If there had to be a second choice, at least that is far better than either Hufflepuff or Gryffindor would have been. You will undoubtedly meet some clever people with whom, in time, you may form advantageous connections.

Your grandparents, especially the Malfoys, are of course quite disappointed. Naturally, they asked me straight away about your Sorting, and I had no choice but to tell them the truth. They have always doted upon you and your brother, and I cannot believe that they will hold this unfortunate turn of events against you.

Life is full of odd turns, my child, as I have good reason to know. You have intelligence and imagination - perhaps a bit too much of the latter - , and as long as you possess the will, you can surmount any obstacle. Just remember, you are a Malfoy first and foremost.

Yours affectionately,

Mother

By the time she had read and reread this missive, tears were threatening to spill from Lucia's eyes, though she couldn't have said exactly why. Her mother's letter was pretty much as she'd expected: no outright reproof, but an undertone of disappointment that stung every bit as much.

As for having too much imagination, wasn't it Asotria Malfoy herself who'd given her daughter the stories to read, who'd read and admired Lucia's own stories? Scorpius' twitting was one thing, but this - this felt like a betrayal.

Of course, her mother still loved her, but there was something between them now that hadn't been there before. Her mother had spoken of being in Ravenclaw as an obstacle, and perhaps in their world, it would be.

In any case, there was nothing she could do about it now except to study hard and try to make her mother proud of her again. And from now on, she'd keep her stories to herself.

All Lucia wanted at the moment was to get back to her common room. The weather had turned chilly and rainy, so she did not feel at all tempted to go outside. With a little effort, she could finish most of her homework before lunch.

Before she could start up the stairs, however, Scorpius caught up with her.

"I saw Dagmar," he said without preamble. "How did Mother take your good news?" His voice dripped with sarcasm, which both hurt and infuriated her.

She struggled to get her emotions under control, then pulled the letter out of her pocket.

"Here. Read it yourself, if you like."

She hoped Scorpius would refuse, but he grabbed the parchment from her hand. He took his time reading it, then folded it and handed it back with a little smirk.

"She'll put a good face on it, of course, but I wonder - will you still be Mama's little pet?" He turned on his heel and strode off.

It had never occurred to Lucia that her brother was jealous or that her mother played favorites. She thought back, wondering if there was a grain of truth in what Scorpius said. Hard as she tried, she couldn't think of anything her mother might have done or said to make her son feel less cherished than his little sister. But what did she know? Whatever the truth of the matter, Scorpius obviously harbored some bitter feelings.

With a sigh, she trudged up flight after flight of stairs, lost in gloom. The Sorting Hat certainly had complicated her life, hadn't it?

ooOoo

Perhaps it was Lucia's depressed mood that made Charms so difficult the next time the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors met in Flitwick's classroom.

Amanda, who seemed to know everything there was to know about Hogwarts, had informed her that the teacher's first name was Junius and that he was the nephew of the famous Filius Flitwick, one of the heroes of the last war. The older man - half-goblin, rather - was legendary for his skill at dueling as well as his magical inventiveness. Of course, both Flitwicks had been in Ravenclaw.

This Professor Flitwick was of normal, though below average, stature and had greying rust-colored hair a shade lighter than his neatly trimmed beard.

He seemed a bit impatient with his novice students' failed attempts to cast spells without creating magical mayhem. That was understandable, perhaps, but it had the effect of making everyone even more nervous - and more inept - than they might have been.

"It seems you need a bit of practice, Miss Dooley," Flitwick said, swooping down on poor Ruth, who looked as though she wanted to bolt for the door. Somehow, she'd managed to melt the lock on her box instead of opening it with the Alohamora spell.

"Here, I'll show you."

Professor Flitwick grasped Ruth's wrist and modeled the correct wand movements until he was satisfied she could perform them on her own.

"Thank you, Professor," she gasped, looking profoundly relieved when he moved off to correct the Gryffindor boy who'd crumbled his own box to rubble. With a flick of his wand, Professor Flitwick reconstructed it and made the boy practice until he could pronounce the spell correctly.

Lucia's own efforts left a good deal to be desired. So far, she hadn't destroyed her box, but she hadn't managed to open it, either. Meanwhile, Mike had already mastered the spell and earned five points for Ravenclaw.

Bored, she forgot this was Charms class and not Transfiguration and decided to try a spell she'd come across in her textbook: changing the box into a box turtle.

Unfortunately, though she managed to get a turtle head to appear at one end of the box, it promptly clamped down on her finger.

"Ow!" she yelled, jumping up with the box still attached. "The bloody thing bit me!"

Lucia was horrified, but most everyone else burst out laughing at the flailing Ravenclaw.

"Hubris, Miss Carmichael, hubris. It's destroyed a good many witches and wizards, I regret to say."

Professor Flitwick waved his wand, and the box resumed its normal shape, crashing to the floor. Red-faced, Mike picked it up and placed it on the table.

"You have your homework assignments, I believe," Professor Flitwick said, strolling to the front of the class and pointing at the blackboard. "Please pay especial attention to the section in Chapter Four that deals with knowing one's own limitations.

"Not that I don't expect you to overcome them in time," he said with a little smile. "Class dismissed."

ooOoo

At breakfast the following Saturday, Hugo sat looking down at his plate, mentally rewriting the first set of marked essays he'd received during the week. They weren't bad, bad, exactly - all A's for "Acceptable" - but they weren't very good, either.

How could he have such a clever mum and be so dim-witted? How could he have confused spiderwort with wormwood? After a few more moments of useless self-flagellation, he pushed his plate away, got up, and started out of the Great Hall.

"Hey, man, watch where you're going!"

It was Trevor, whose irritation vanished when he saw who'd just trod on his heels.

"Sorry, Trev, I was just - "

"Being an oaf, I got it. Hope you're more graceful on a broomstick than you are on the ground."

He made swooping motions with his arm, almost hitting their classmate Susan Pho in the face as she tried to pass.

Hugo gaped at his friend, confused. "What are you talking about?"

Trevor stopped swooping, a look of amazement on his face. "Flying lesson this morning. How could you forget something like that?

"Oh," he went on, embarrassed. "With your sister and all those cousins on the Gryffindor team, you're probably an expert flyer already. Me, I've never had the chance to learn, and I can't wait!." He pumped the air to reinforce the point.

Trevor was partly right; Hugo had been flying practically since babyhood, /But did that make him an expert?

An expert on a broom was his Aunt Ginny, who played for the Holyhead Harpies before she had his cousin James. Or Uncle Harry, the youngest Gryffindor Seeker ever. Just about every Weasley played Quidditch at Hogwarts - always for Gryffindor, of course.

Hugo shrugged. "I'm okay, I guess." He had to admit that basic instruction seemed a little beside the point, but he walked with Trevor down to the Quidditch pitch where the lesson was to take place.

A brisk wind was blowing as the first year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws reached the pitch. Master Wood, the flying instructor and Quidditch coach, was just placing the last of the school broomsticks on the ground. He turned to meet his charges, no hint of a smile on his square, somewhat jowly face. Wood didn't have a beard, but he looked as though he could use a shave.

Hugo knew that the flying teacher had once played professional Quidditch for Puddlemere United until an injury ended his career. From his expression, Hugo guessed Master Wood was less than thrilled to be teaching basic flying to a bunch of kids.

Taking out parchment and quill, the flying teacher read off their names. "All accounted for, then," he said, putting the parchment in his pocket.

"Now, listen up. Who's flown solo before?"

Quite a few students, Hugo included, raised their hands.

Master Wood nodded briskly. "Right. Well, that doesn't mean you know everything there is to know. So pay attention, everyone."

Hugo barely heard as the flying teacher reviewed the basic techniques of mounting the broomstick, taking off, and controlling the broom's motion. He was listening to the wind, which had increased noticeably since morning. It whipped at the students' clothes, causing some of the girls to shriek as they struggled to keep their robes from being blown up over their heads.

"Mr. Weasley!"

Hugo came to with a start. Everyone except him and Lucia's friend - Ruth, he thought her name was - had already mounted one of the school's battered broomsticks. The Ravenclaw was still trying to get her broomstick to jump into her hand and failing miserably.

Hugo quickly mounted his own broom, then looked around. Trevor looked excited, Robbie Macmillan bored. To Hugo's surprise, Lucia Malfoy face was white and her mouth set in a tense line.

How could that be? Like him, she came from an old wizarding family. Hadn't Uncle Harry said that her father, Draco, made the Slytherin team as Seeker his first year, same as Uncle Harry? Granted, he'd apparently done a bunk, but if he wasn't around to teach his daughter, wouldn't she have had a flying tutor or something? The Malfoys were rolling in it . . .

Before he could devote any more thought to this subject, Master Wood gave the order to kick off. At once, Hugo's broomstick zoomed into the air. Owing to their advanced state of decrepitude, most of the school brooms were erratic in their flying behavior. Hugo's had a tendency to wobble. Between that and the wind, which was stronger the higher he climbed, he had to struggle to keep his broomstick on course.

He circled the pitch at a moderate pace before venturing a look at the ground. Several students, including Ruth and Gabe, had yet to get off the ground. Making the Qidditch team might be a stretch for Gabe, at the rate he was going.

Trevor, he was delighted to see, was circling just below him, though his posture was less relaxed than usual. He, too, seemed to be fighting the wind, though he was obviously managing so far.

Hugo looked around for Lucia, but she was nowhere in sight. Perhaps she was among those still on the ground. Looking down again, he saw no one but Wood and Ruth, who'd managed to get her broomstick to lift her so that her toes barely dragged on the ground. Wood seemed to be shouting instruction, though the wind snatched the words away.

A scream ripped through the air, seeming to come from above. Hugo jerked his head up and was astonished to see Lucia Malfoy some thirty feet overhead, clinging desperately to a wildly plunging broomstick and looking terrified.

The flying instructor's whistle blew, but Hugo scarcely heard it. He pointed his broomstick upwards into a steep climb and then leveled off beside Lucia.

"I'm going to fall!" she shrieked over the wind. "I can't hold on!" She was clearly panicked, and Hugo, whose own broomstick was bucking madly as he tried to match her pace, worried that she might be right.

"Miss Malfoy! Mr. Weasley! Come back at once!" called the flying instructor, obviously under the impression that the two high-flying first years were deliberately ignoring his warning not to fly too high.

Hugo drew his broomstick as close to Lucia's as he could, fighting to maintain his position.

"You are not going to fall," he said with more confidence than he felt. "Just hang on tight and I'll get you down. Point the nose of your broomstick downward, but not too much - just like mine - that's right. Now, just try to stay steady."

Relieved, he saw that she had regained her seat and had her broomstick pointed in the right direction. Just to be safe, he remained glued to her side.

"Now, when we get close to the ground, level off and you'll come down gently."

Lucia imitated Hugo's angle of approach. In moments, they were both safely down. Lucia slipped off her broom, shaking, and sank to the ground as though she'd been hit by a Jelly-legs Jinx. She looked up at Hugo with an attempt at a smile. "It seems as though you're always having to rescue me," she said. "Thanks again."

"Don't be silly," Hugo said. "You would have been fine. Anyway, it took a cool head to follow directions the way you did."

Before Lucia could say anything, Master Wood hurried over to them.

"All right, there, Miss Malfoy?" he said, holding out a meaty hand to pull her to her feet. "Whatever possessed you to fly so high, especially in this wind? You could have come to serious harm."

Not that you did anything to help her, Hugo thought. The man really was thick if he thought Lucia's high-flying act was intentional.

But the Ravenclaw girl only said, "Sorry, sir," and turned to walk off the pitch.

The lesson soon ended, and the students straggled back to the castle, some elated, others more subdued.

"Cheer up," Hugo said to Gabe, one of the gloomy ones. "You did fine for a first try, and there'll be other lessons."

"Yeah, I suppose," Gabe replied, but he seemed disinclined to discuss flying any further at the moment.

Hugo spotted Lucia ahead of him and hurried to catch up.

"All right now?" he asked. "That wind was something fierce, but things will go better now you've got the hang of it."

"It wasn't just the wind," Lucia told him. "I've never been on a broom in my life. I thought I'd be lucky to even get off the ground, but the broomstick just took off before Master Wood had a chance to tell us how to come down again."

Hugo couldn't believe his ears. "But - your family's magical, isn't it? How come you've never flown?"

Lucia shrugged. "My mother doesn't much care for flying herself, so we never travel by broom. Scorpius had a flying tutor, but I suppose Mother didn't see the need for me to have one. In her day, girls didn't ever play for Slytherin, and without Quidditch . . . "

She didn't want to admit to Hugo the lengths her mother went to to protect her children, especially Lucia, from any possible danger. Lucia supposed her attitude must have something to do with raising her and Scorpius without a father, but she'd never really given the matter much thought.

Come to think of it, she owed her mother a letter, though it might be a short one. Astoria Malfoy would be getting a highly censored version of the past week's events.

ooOoo

Hugo dragged through the following week. Something was bothering him, though he couldn't think what it might be. Classes were going a little better; he'd even received an E and some nice comments from Uncle Neville on his second Herbology essay.

Too, the Hufflepuff common room was starting to feel more and more like home. It reminded him a little of the Burrow, shabby but comfortable. He decided he must be a typical badger, enjoying life in an underground den with all his badger mates.

As the week drew to a close, bringing another letters from his mum, he realized what was making him feel so edgy. His dad still hadn't written.

At last, an owl he thought he recognized from the shop landed in front of him with a letter addressed in Ron Weasley's familiar scrawl. Hugo gave the owl a scrap of egg and opened the letter with just a tinge of apprehension.

Dear Son,

You must think I'm the world's biggest prat for not writing sooner. Of course, we both read all yours and Rosie's letters, but I've developed a bad habit of leaving the correspondence to your mum. She's so good at writing.

It's great to hear that you're doing well and making friends. Don't worry about not being a shining star at everything yet. I was far worse at your age, believe me, mostly because I never did any homework. You're a hard-working Hufflepuff, not a Gryffindor slacker like your old dad.

In case you were wondering, yes, it was a surprise. But if there's one thing I've learned, it's that life is full of surprises. Hey, your mum picked me, didn't she? Now, that was a surprise! And a good one, too.

Don't let your cousins or your sister give you a hard time. They mean well, remember that.

Wish you could be in Diagon Alley on Halloween. We've got some great new stuff in stock. I'll send you a few samples to amuse you and your friends.

Love,

Dad

P.S. Tell Rose I'll write soon, I promise.

With a light heart, Hugo folded the letter, put it in his pocket, and returned to the serious business of breakfast.