To Touch the Face of God---a Ravenclaw House story

Author's note: This story is dedicated to my cousin and my brother, and to all who risk their lives to push the envelope of flight farther out.

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;

Looking around himself, Nick Cleveland squinted, dazzled despite the dark goggles he was wearing. At thirty-six thousand, five hundred-and-change feet above sea level, the sunlight was incredibly fierce and bright. The wind clawed at him mercilessly, and it was nearly all he could do to keep his broom steady. Even in his heaviest Eskimo winter gear, the cold was bone-numbing and all-pervasive. He checked his gauges; his air supply was beginning to get low, and he knew he'd have to descend soon.

Even so, the view was magnificent. He was above all but the very highest clouds, and the sky was a deeper, darker blue than he had ever seen. The wind whipped the fur of his anorak's hood-ruff. Far below him, the hills of the Highlands stretched out, and he could see the North Sea.

"I wonder how much higher I can get?" he asked himself. Kicking the broom into gear, he leaned back and prepared to climb higher. When my mum wanted me to be more ambitious and get to a higher place in the school, she probably never thought I'd take her words this way! he thought. Guiding the broom with unconscious skill, he rose even higher, wondering if he could get high enough to see the Norwegian coast in the distance.

Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth

Of sun-split clouds, -- and done a hundred things

You have not dreamed of -- wheeled and soared and swung

High in the sunlit silence.

* * * * * * * * * * *

The whole thing had started at Hogwarts, with an idle question to Madam Hooch, at the end of a flying lesson. "Madam Hooch, how high can you go on a broom, anyway?"

The flying teacher gave Nick an odd look. "I don't know, Mr. Cleveland. I don't know that anybody's ever really tried to find out." She smiled rather ruefully. "I was always more interested in Quidditch myself."

Nick thought that was awfully odd. "But surely, Madam Hooch, someone must have tried!" Nick had spent a lot of time among Muggles, and one thing he had noticed was that if there was a record to set, someone would be out trying to set it. "Why hasn't anybody tried?"

"I really couldn't answer that one, Mr. Cleveland. I imagine that most wizards and witches don't like to get too high---too much chance of an accident with a Muggle aeroplane, and in the old days, brooms weren't always very reliable. These days, most broom manufacturers concentrate on the Quidditch market, where manouverability and speed are more in demand."

"Hmmmm...." said Nick, but he knew Madam Hooch well enough to know that she'd said all she was going to say. Falling back to let Madam Hooch get ahead of him, he cocked his head to signal his girlfriend, Melinda Yang, to join him.

Breaking off an all-girl confab with some of the other Ravenclaw girls, Melinda came over, curious as always to know what the one person she loved and trusted at Hogwarts wanted. "What's on your mind, Nick?" She smiled. "If it's another trip up the Astronomy Tower, I should tell you I've got detention tonight---got into another fight with one of the Slytherin girls who objected to my family."

"Gods, gods, Melinda, when will you learn to get along with people?" Nick sighed, running his fingers through his mop of dark hair. "I know you think you've got a lot to prove, being the first Yang to ever attend a non-Asian magical school, but for the love of Loki, can't you let little affronts slide?"

"But pounding other girls' heads into the wall is fun," pouted Melinda. "Don't like other girls from other Houses much anyway---beastly little vermin, most of them. Honestly, if you weren't such a bloke, you couldn't stand them either." She grinned slightly. "Have you ever tried to talk with most of them? Talk about rooms to let in the attic! Some---and I emphasise some---of our housemates are all right, at least not the Quidditch-heads---but having to live among girls all the time drives me stark staring mad!"

"Look, Melinda, I know how irritated you get with them. Please try to remember that most people aren't as smart as you are, and really can't help it. Beating them up when they irritate you is only a momentary pleasure, and is bound to get you talked about." He spread his hands and changed the subject. "In any case, I want your good mind working with mine---not that I'd mind a trip up the Astronomy Tower, mind you. I want to see if we can beat the record for altitude on a broom, here at Hogwarts."

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Hov'ring there,

I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung

My eager craft through footless halls of air. . . .

A week later, Nick had come down to a landing on the Hogwarts lawn, just outside the castle. Melinda watched, worried, as he swooped down to earth, hunched over his broom. "Nick! Are you all right?" she called, running up to him. "Gods! You've got ice all over your robes---and your hair's all over icicles! What in the gods' name were you doing?" She helped him off the broom, since he was too stiff to let go of it himself. "Let me help you into the castle! Madam Pomfrey needs to see you!"

"So she does---after we've had a little talk, you and I." Melinda and Nick both froze in their tracks, turning to see Madam Hooch standing not far away. From her stance, and the look in her eyes, both Ravenclaws knew that they were in Deep Kimchee. Stalking forward, she poked a finger at Nick. "Just what do you think you were doing? When you checked a school broom out, I didn't expect to find you coming back covered in ice and shaking! You could have been killed up there!" Looking at Nick more closely, she visibly relented. "Gods, you're blue! Hot bath for you first, Mr. Cleveland, and a look-over from Madam Pomfrey---and then you had better have some good explanations, you and your accomplice here!" They helped Nick stagger into the castle, Melinda whining about always being blamed when one of Nick's schemes went wrong, and Madam Hooch reminding her at length that she was usually involved in those schemes, up to her ears.

One hot bath later, Nick was in fresh robes and looking very much his usual self. Madam Pomfrey had clucked over how blue his fingers, toes and extremities were, but had certified that he hadn't frostbitten himself---"although how you avoided it, I'll never know." In any case, it was time for Nick and Melinda to deal with Madam Hooch.

"Pity you couldn't join me in that bath," he murmured to Melinda. "Up to our necks in hot, soapy water---a bit of Paradise!"

She giggled, and pretended to swat at him. "Sybarite." Then Madam Hooch cleared her throat, and they turned to face the music.

"Now that we know that Mr. Cleveland isn't going to die, would you two favour me with an explanation of what he was doing? Among other things, he was out far longer than he led me to believe when he checked that broom out." She peered at the Ravenclaws knowingly. "Was it that bloody altitude record?" At their nods, she exploded. "You idiots! You morons! How chuckleheaded can you get? Don't you two realise that these school brooms are nearly clapped-out? You're lucky you didn't fall and break your neck, Mr. Cleveland! That'll cost Ravenclaw House ten points---and a detention for you. With me!"

* * * * * * * * * * *

When Nick Cleveland returned to the Ravenclaw common room, he looked rather nonplussed. Melinda had been waiting for him, worried---she was always getting into trouble and winding up on detention, and had lost more points for Ravenclaw with her fighting than anybody else, but Nick generally had a clean record. "Well? What did she do? Last time I was on detention, Professor Snape had me de-braining a tub full of pickled newts." Her smile suddenly turned evil. "I misdoubt he'd have liked how I got through that---I just pretended every pickled newt was a Slytherin girl, and I sailed right through!"

Nick looked very thoughtful. "Well, Madam Hooch wasn't really very angry at me---she still hasn't forgiven me for not liking Quidditch, but she thought that an altitude record and altitude tests would be a good idea. Just not with the school brooms." He flexed his fingers, his face thoughtful. "She had me going over all the school brooms with her, doing the scut-work while she checked each one over for flaws. I must say, it was an informative detention; I now know far more about brooms, how they work and why they work, than I ever did before."

"You were out trying to set an altitude record?" asked Pat Chisholm, the Ravenclaw prefect. "And you didn't think of getting us in on it?" At Nick's head-shake, she tut-tutted, shaking her finger. "I suppose you just tried to do it on impulse, like some---some bloody Gryffindor or something like that?" Nick's shrug confirmed her suspicions. "Well, guess what? Melinda told us about this, and you're going for that altitude record---with Ravenclaw House right behind you!"

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Material strengths. Magical stresses. Spell components.

"Will you hand me down that Handbook of Broom Construction?" asked Cho Chang. The Quidditch team had thrown themselves into what Nick was calling the "Ravenclaw House Skunk Works" with enthusiasm, and she was so interested in seeing just what broomsticks could do if pushed to the limit that she was even forgetting to be horrible to Melinda Yang, and vice-versa; Melinda was not at all sure about this latest project, but Nick was so enthusiastic that she went along with it, hoping that he'd not break his fool neck.

With the thick, heavy tome in her hands, Cho began turning pages, muttering: "I knew I saw something about that here somewhere..." When she found what she had been looking for, she nodded abstractedly and pulled out a Dicta-Quill, making copious notes.

Procurement difficulties. Spell interference. Rethinking designs

.

Pat Chisholm and Penny Clearwater were working on abstruse calculations on a blackboard. "See?" crowed Penny, as Pat turned away, defeated and scowling. "I told you those Cushioning Charms were interfering with overall power and speed!"

"Okay, you've made your point," grumbled Pat. "But how are we going to keep the pilot on the broom, without a Cushioning Charm?"

"Who says that a 'broom' has to look much like a broom, Pat?" asked Nick Cleveland, coming over to see what the calculations said. "After all, a standard flying broom like we use here at Hogwarts doesn't look a thing like the ones Muggles use now---or, for that matter, like the ones Muggles used back when we sorcerers started using flying brooms. Why not rethink the whole design from the ground up?" He peered at the blackboard. "You know, I never realised how much a Cushioning Charm interferes with a broom's performance! What if we got rid of that completely, and instead, mounted a molded-wood saddle, and stirrups depending from a crossbar ahead of the saddle, on the broom?"

"Excellent idea, Nick!" said Pat. "Get us the exact weights of these things, and we'll figure out if it makes sense!"

Mail delays. Wizard World-Muggle World interfaces. Equipment selection.

"Look," snapped Nick, irritated at how stuck-in-the-mud some of his housemates were, "if Muggles have already solved some of these problems, there's no shame in using their methods! Just because---Muggles invented indoor plumbing, for example, and I don't notice any of us refusing to use the loos here at dear old Hogwarts!"

"So you don't want to use spells to keep yourself alive at high altitudes?" asked Melinda. "You want to use Muggle gear?" She said the word "Muggle" as though it designated something extremely sticky and smelly that she'd stepped in on the street.

"Melinda, I know you don't have much faith in anything Muggles do, but honestly, spells to keep people alive as high up as I'm planning to go---you should see the specifications for this broom!---are still in the experimental stage. 'Experimental' means, in this case, 'too bloody risky for me.' I'm going with the tried-and-true this time out, love-of-my-life."

"I hope you don't end up regretting it," muttered Melinda. "If you get killed, I'll---I'll never forgive you!"

Weather forecasting. Location Charms. Design compromises

.

"Here's those twigs we ordered," said Pat Chisholm, signing for a large package that had been carried into the storeroom the "Skunk Works" had taken over by several very disgruntled owls. Once freed, the owls circled the room, hooting their pleasure at freedom, and then made a beeline for the Owlery to rest up before heading back home.

"Right, get those firsties who wanted in on this project to sorting them out for length and smoothness. If they aren't up to standard, I'll be sending those people a real Howler," ordered Nick.

A house-elf came in, carrying an even larger package. "Here is that saddle you ordered, Mr. Nicholas Cleveland!" the little creature squeaked. With a cry of pleasure, Nick took the package from the elf, who bowed and scampered back to his work, and tore it open. Inside, a plastic saddle shaped like a chair, with attachments to fasten it securely to the broomstick, rested.

Nick admired it for a moment, before remembering the next step. "Melinda, Altair, take this thing and put it through the cold tests. I want to know if it'll get brittle and breakable once it's really, really cold. If it does, we can't use it."

"On our way!" Altair Payne, a seventh-year Ravenclaw and bright particular star on the Quidditch field, looked curiously at the saddle as he and Melinda carried it off to the corner of the Skunk Works where all the components were tested for resistance to extreme cold.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Finally, the Big Day arrived. In Ravenclaw Tower, an hour before sunrise, Nick Cleveland was standing in the common-room, climbing into his cold-weather gear. Melinda was fussing around trying to help. "Gods, Nick, where did you get authentic Eskimo clothes?"

Nick paused, having just shrugged into his loose-fitting anorak, to give her a wink. "Remember? I grew up in North America, and my parents both work there, studying non-European-derived magic systems and how they interface with the European styles. Dear old Mum and Dad are in Labrador, in the Torngat---that's 'Sorcerer' in English---Mountains, trying to track down whatever's been keeping the Inuit scared of the place. When I asked them for this, and sent along my latest measurements from Madam Malkin, they were able to get me the best stuff the Labrador Inuit could supply." He looked into a mirror, grinning at the sight of himself covered in furs. "I must say, it does become me. Pity the climate here's so bloody mild---I'll not get to wear this stuff again."

"Mild? You call this mild? I've been freezing half to death every day I've been here!" Melinda was Singapore-bred, although she'd been born in the UK, and did not like Scotland's climate at all. She had been appalled when Nick had been caught skinny-dipping in the lake; not because he'd been naked, but because she was sure that the lake was one degree above freezing, at best.

"If you're cold, come here." When Melinda did, Nick swept her into a hard hug. "Here---this way you can get the benefit of my furs, at least for a minute." She clung to him, as though she didn't want to ever let go.

"Nick? You be careful up there, you hear me?" She sniffled, and wiped away a few tears, which startled Nick---he had almost never seen her cry, even after losing a fight with three older Gryffindor girls that had landed her in the infirmary for days. "If you get killed, I'll---I'll never forgive you!"

"I'll keep it in mind, best-beloved. In any case, time's a-wasting." Giving her one last squeeze and kissing her gently, he disentangled himself and finished getting ready, strapping a parachute, a mountain climber's oxygen mask and tank, and a wristband with a thermometer on, and stuffing a pair of long gauntleted mittens through his belt. He finally turned and stumped out, Melinda trailing along behind him.

Outside, Madam Hooch was waiting, along with most of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team and the Ravenclaw Skunk Works. Beside Madam Hooch, the broom itself was waiting, poised and ready. It looked very little like a standard wizards' broom, with its molded-wood saddle, handlebars, crossbar with stirrups dangling from it, and long, straight twigs. On the front of the "stick" was the broom's name, Rowena Ravenclaw, in gold letters. A quiet round of applause greeted Nick.

"Well, good luck, Nick," said Madam Hooch. "I've put a Homing Charm on the broom, so that if you get lost up there we can find you. If you need to activate it, press the red button in front of your saddle."

"Thanks, Madam Hooch. Thanks, everybody." Nick shook everybody's hand, and hugged Melinda one last time, before throwing his leg over the broomstick and settling his feet in the stirrups. "Time's wasting, so---up, up and away!" With that, he soared up into the brightening morning sky.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Up, up the long, delirious burning blue

I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace

Where never lark, or ever eagle flew --

The Rowena Ravenclaw proved to be a very fast, stable broom, confirming all the tests that the Skunk Works had put it through before Nick's test flight. Leaning forward into the wind, Nick was soon above the lowest layer of clouds, watching the sun rise in the East and turn him and his surroundings orange. He hummed a tune as he kicked the broom into higher and ever higher gear, until he was tearing along at a rate that would have awed the Quidditch team, gaining altitude at an incredible rate.

The speed was absolutely exhilirating; Nick had always loved flying and this broom, he rapidly decided, was the broom he'd always wanted. Wondering how well it manouvered, he leaned into a succession of turns and dips and jumps, which it handled remarkably well. The Skunk Works really did an incredible job, he decided.

Reminding himself just why he was up there, he regretfully abandoned the aerobatics to pull the broom back and go for more height. His Muggle-made altimeter, mounted on the stick in front of him, spun rapidly, and as he saw it passing the fifteen-thousand-foot mark, he paused for a second, hanging high in the sky, as he pulled on his oxygen mask. The first lungfuls were incredibly refreshing; he hadn't really realised just how thin the air was up there. Before he went farther up, he looked down, his eyes widening with delight.

Below him, an abyss yawned, with Scotland visible through the scudding clouds. He could make out Hogwarts Castle itself, and Hogsmeade; the lake beside the school glinted in the sunlight. Nick had always loved being high up, and this beat Muggle aircraft, such as he had ridden to get to Britain, all hollow, he decided.

Once his oxygen supply was assured, Nick went higher as fast as he could. He knew he had several hours' worth of oxygen, but wanted to get the maximum benefit from them. Several times, he found himself riding through clear-air turbulence that threatened to throw him, and he was quite grateful for the saddle and stirrups that had replaced the Cushioning Charm. With nothing but a Cushioning Charm, he'd almost certainly have been thrown from the broom, and although he had a parachute, he didn't much fancy trying it out.

As he rose, it grew colder, and colder, and still colder. He had been in the Arctic before, and he had dressed warmly, but the icy winds of the high atmosphere were like nothing else he had ever experienced. They clawed unendingly at his clothes, trying to leach the heat from his body through any leak they could find.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod

The high untresspassed sanctity of space,

Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

At long last, at fifty-five thousand feet, Nick decided that he'd gone as high as he could. His oxygen supply was getting very low, and he knew that trying to live at such heights without an air supply was suicide.

Before heading down to earth, he took a look around himself. He was far above even the highest clouds, and the sky above him was a blue deeper than he had ever seen in his life. The sun blazed down from the noonday sky, flooding his world with light, and even with the freezing wind biting his exposed face, he was extraordinarily happy to be up there. He wondered briefly how he could describe what he felt, and decided that he'd deal with that question once he was on the ground.

When he looked down, though, he noticed that while he had been climbing, the clouds had rolled in, and as far as he could see, a field of fleecy white clouds covered the surface of the earth. To Nick, it looked very like an Arctic landscape seen on a sunny winter day. The cold merely added to the effect, to Nick. He smiled to himself at the thought of his old friends in the Arctic, and wondered what they'd say about what he was doing now.

A glance at the gauge of his oxygen tank wiped the smile off his face. He was almost completely out of oxygen, and he had to get down right then! Pushing the nose of the Rowena Ravenclaw forward, he went into a steep dive. Wronski, eat your heart out! he thought, as he stooped on the clouds like a hawk descending on a mouse in a field.

When he hit the deceptively-solid-looking top layer of clouds, he found himself in what felt like a fog. Forcing himself to pay no mind to his surroundings, he kept his eye on his altimeter, glancing every so often at the oxygen gauge to make sure that he still had air.

He had cut it very fine---at fourteen thousand feet, the oxygen tank finally hissed its last. Nick knew that he could breathe at this altitude, though, so he pulled off the face mask and pushed it to one side. He was still stuck in the clouds, and not very happy about it, but he knew that it was still a very long way to the surface.

Finally, at about a thousand feet or so, he broke through the bottom of the clouds. At first, he was just glad to be out of that fog, but when he looked down, he gave out with some language that would have gotten him detention had any of his teachers heard him use it. Below him, instead of the familiar Scottish hills, was nothing but an eternity of tossing, gray waters. He could see a Muggle ship---it looked like a ferry---plowing along through the water. Instinctively, he rose again, until he was just within the lowest clouds and could barely make the ship out. He knew that he was much smaller than even the smallest Muggle aircraft, and the chances of being spotted were negligible, but he didn't want to take a chance.

Time for that Homing Charm---and thank you, Madam Hooch, he thought. He pulled off his mittens and reached for his wand, which he had foresightedly tied to his upper arm with a leather cord. That was one thing he didn't want to take any chances on losing; Quidditch players didn't carry them into games partly for just that reason. With a wave of his wand and the command words "Nullus est locus instar domus, kyrie eleison!" the charm activated. He at least now knew exactly where he was. "Blimey," he muttered, "I'm fifty miles out over the North Sea! Those winds up there threw me around worse than I had thought!"

Turning his broom west, Nick cranked on the speed, until the wind was so strong that he was glad yet again of his Arctic gear. We were building this thing for altitude, but we also built ourselves a real speed racer! he thought. Hmmm...I wonder...if we put a windshield of some sort on the front of this, or on another like it...could I break the sound barrier on a broom?

Lost in his thoughts, Nick almost didn't see the cliffs in time; he let out a startled squawk and pulled the Rowena Ravenclaw up, clearing the cliffs with mere yards to spare. He had gotten lower and lower, until he was skimming along just above the water's surface, after checking carefully to make sure that no Muggle ships were anywhere in sight. Damn, damn, damn fool! he cursed. I could have splattered myself! No more taking silly chances! With that, he soared back into the sky, until he was safely in the clouds.

Safely hidden in the clouds, he circled around, pulled up his goggles, and took a look at the land. That's Meg's Craig there, or I'm a house-elf, he thought. That would mean I'm not far from Arbroath. Now he knew just where he was, and didn't really need the Homing Charm, so he went up a little higher, pointed the broom west-northwest, and put on a burst of speed.

After a half hour or so, the Homing Charm started beeping at him, and he knew that he was almost back at Hogwarts. Descending through the clouds, he came out below them to see...

"Loki's blood! What in the world..." Even from two thousand feet up, he could see a huge crowd gathered out on the Quidditch field. "Is there a game going on today or what?" Even a total non-Quidditch-player like Nick Cleveland couldn't help but be aware of the game schedule, and he knew there was no game going on. "Well, might as well come in for a landing and see what's happening."

As he got lower and lower, the crowd let out a roar that he could hear, even at his altitude. He got the shock of his life when he saw other fliers coming up to meet him---the Quidditch teams! The Ravenclaw regular and reserve teams got to him first, forming a guard of honour around him, with the other Houses' teams flying aerobatics around them, shooting off Filibuster fireworks. The crowd was chanting "Hog-warts! Hog-warts! Hog-warts!" The Hogwarts school band and orchestra were striking up the theme from Chariots of Fire.

I never expected a welcome-home like this, thought Nick. He pulled down his goggles---his eyes had suddenly misted up, and he knew he'd never hear the end of that if any of his classmates had seen. Looking down, he suddenly noticed that the crowd had taken up the whole Quidditch field, where he had planned to land. Pointing his wand at his throat and using the Sonorus charm, Nick hovered a couple of hundred feet off the ground and said: "Please, please, people, get out of the way so I can land safely!"

Nick watched in wonder as the crowd parted below him, clearing a space. From his vantage-point, he could see Hagrid and Fang enthusiastically pushing people back, and Professors Flitwick, Snape, McGonagall and Sprout commanding their prefects to help out. When he finally had a hundred or so square yards open, he swooped down and made a perfect landing. Then he tried to dismount the broom, got his feet tangled and found out just how stiff his legs were from so long in one position, and fell flat on his face.

Before he could get back up, Nick was grabbed, as the Ravenclaw Quidditch team landed by him and hoisted him up on their shoulders. The Rowena Ravenclaw was also carried aloft, as all of House Ravenclaw formed up for a victory march, singing their House song:

We're the Hogwarts students, the cleverest, it's true!

R-A-V, E-N-C, L-A-Double-You!

If you aren't part of our House, it's just too bad for you!

R-A-V, E-N-C, L-A-Double-You!

Ravenclaw!

Ravens rule!

Ravenclaw!

Others drool!

Our I.Q.s, OWLs, and NEWT scores all are high,

High, high, high!

So tag along and watch us do things no one else can do!

R-A-V,

(Ve haff vays of finding t'ings out!)

E-N-C,

(See how clever we are?)

L-A-Double-You

!

Borne along in triumph, Nick pulled back his anorak's hood and yanked off his goggles, waving to the crowd while his grin threatened to split his face. Flashbulbs popped and popped as the photographers in the crowd took picture after picture, and questions were shouted at him from every direction at once:

"Plan to go up again?"

"What do you plan to do after leaving school?"

"Any trouble with Muggles?"

Just then, Nick saw a struggle break out, as several men grabbed for the Rowena Ravenclaw, tearing it from the hands of the Ravenclaw second-years who were carrying it. "Hagrid!" Nick yelled, before remembering the Sonorus charm, "Hagrid! Those men are stealing my broom! Stop them!"

Hagrid swung into action, with Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall right behind him; a short confrontation later, the would-be broom thieves were on the ground, nursing broken arms and wrists, as Hagrid gently took charge of the precious broom, loosening Fang's leash enough to ensure that he got a respectful zone of privacy.

When his housemates finally put him down, Nick found himself whisked into the Hogwarts infirmary by an agitated Madam Pomfrey. "Dragons, dementors, Dark creatures and now altitude records, I don't know what this school is coming to..." she muttered as she hauled him in, efficently got him out of his Arctic gear and pointed him toward a hot bath.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

A few days later, when he got a moment to himself, Nick moaned to Melinda: "If I had known what was waiting for me, I'd never have come down! Or I'd have flown to Durmstrang and asked to transfer in!"

"What's the matter, Nick?"

"Matter? What isn't the bloody matter?" he howled. "I had to get Professor Snape to lock the Rowena Ravenclaw up in his secure storerooms to keep it from being stolen---Pat Chisholm caught someone from the Nimbus company literally sneaking out with it! I can't stick my nose out of the castle without being pestered half-to-death by people who want me to endorse things, people who want to know what I'm planning to do after I leave school, and idiotic reporters who want to interview me!"

"I saw one of those interviews," offered Melinda shyly. "I quite liked the picture they had of you." With that, she showed Nick a copy of Witch Weekly, with his face on the cover. Nick had to allow that it wasn't a bad picture; his head was framed by the ruff of his anorak's hood, thrown back over his shoulders, and he was grinning a Cheshire-cat grin.

But the interview itself..."Oh, gods," moaned Nick, "that bloody Skeeter woman made about all of this up! I had three questions with her before Professor Dumbledore tossed her out of the castle!" He made as if to rip up the magazine, only to stop at Melinda's woebegone expression. "Oh, very well---if it means so much to you, do keep it." She gave him a sunny smile and tucked it safely away.

"In any case, you've more than beaten all known altitude records for brooms. I've heard that some European wizards have been trying, but since they don't use Muggle gear like oxygen tanks, they can't get nearly as high as you did. Your record's safe." This was from Madam Hooch, who was basking in reflected glory and loving every minute of it.

"In that case---I had an idea. What's the speed record for a broom, Madam Hooch?" Melinda groaned a here we go again groan, seeing the familiar light in Nick's eyes as he pulled out a sketch of a broom covered in a very streamlined cowling, and began explaining how he was planning to break the sound barrier.