Allow Me to Exaggerate A Memory or Two :: Chapter Four (4/8)
Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight
CHAPTER FOUR
ith the days turning darker and darker the further into November they got, many students used their lunch hour to catch some much needed daylight. Jon had eaten his lunch quicker than usual and was now sitting outside the entrance doors, enjoying a rare glimpse of sun, when he saw that Spencer was walking his way, obviously having had the same idea.
“Hey, Spencer,” he said, standing up and grinning as Spencer walked closer.
“Walker,” Spencer said coolly, then walked past him out into the grounds.
Jon frowned. “Hey,” he said, hurrying after Spencer. “Is this about me being so late this Wednesday? I'm sorry. There was this thing in the Common Room-”
“Which Common Room?” Spencer asked, still walking away from him. “Ravenclaw? Or Gryffindor?”
Jon stopped, realisation thundering into him with all the force and pleasantness of an icicle. “Look, Spencer-” he began weakly, not at all sure of how to finish that sentence.
“I'm kind of impressed,” Spencer interrupted. “I don't know how you did it, must it must have been hard. Some kind of Transfiguration?”
“A potion,” Jon said unhappily.
Spencer stopped. “Let me just ask you one thing,” he said, turning around and marching back towards Jon. “Was I the only one who didn't know?”
“Of course not!” Jon protested but, seeing the questions that lay ahead, knew that he was not going to like this conversation. “We had to keep it secret from everyone, you get that-”
“So you're telling me Brendon didn't know?” Spencer said-and that was one of those questions.
“Yeah, he knew,” Jon admitted. “Ryan told him, you know how-”
“And you changed places on the Hogwarts Express at the end of last year. I know you did. Lovegood was in the carriage that whole time.”
“She realised herself before,” Jon tried. “You know how Luna is. She just knew.”
“How exactly is that keeping it a secret from everyone, then?” Spencer asked, red in the face. “You seem to have told everybody short of Professor Dumbledore!”
“Ginny doesn't know either,” Jon said, realising as soon as the words left his mouth that it had been the wrong thing to say.
“Oh, great! There's one more person being kept out of your cosy secret. Fine, then,” Spencer spat, turning around again.
“Spencer,” Jon said, hurrying after him again and trying to laugh. “Come on, it wasn't serious, it was just a bit of fun, seeing how long until you figured it out...” He caught Spencer's sleeve, only to have it yanked out of his grasp.
“Do me a favour,” Spencer said coldly, “and don't speak to me. Ever.”
He stomped on towards the lake, anger practically radiating off him, and Jon watched him go.
r Urie,” Professor Sprout said. “I'd like you to stay behind, if you can.”
“Me?” Brendon said, confused, pausing with his tray of hellebore cuttings halfway to the bin. She nodded at him.
“If you can,” she repeated, then turned her head sharply. “Mr Aslam, you stop that right now! The Pouncing Primulas do not need your teasing at this stage of their growth.”
Brendon remained where he was, but when no further instructions for him seemed about to follow, dumped his hellebore unceremoniously and retreated back to his table.
“Why does she want me to stay behind?” he asked Spencer, who shrugged absentmindedly, still frowning over his hellebore. Spencer didn't like pruning.
Brendon filed out with the rest of the class and then remained by the doors while Professor Sprout wrestled one of the more active Venomous Tentaculas inside and slammed the door on it.
“What did you want me for, Professor?” he asked.
“Got something to show you,” Professor Sprout said, wiping her brow, then jerked her head for him to follow her around the greenhouse. “There's a Gwendolyn Kerr in Falmouth,” she said. “I seem to remember she's connected to the Uries somehow. Anyone you know?”
“That's my Aunt Gwen,” Brendon said, unsure of where this was heading.
“Her apples beat mine every year. I'm just about to give up.” She sighed, shaking her head, then stopped and swept an arm across the vista before them. “The vegetable fields. Do you wonder why we have them?”
Brendon frowned. “Because we need vegetables?” he suggested.
“Hah, yes, and the ones from Hogsmeade aren't good enough?” Professor Sprout said. “I teach a core subject, which means full classes from Year One to Five, as well as a NEWT class. I have a lot more students at this school than I probably should, but I still find time to grow the school's vegetables. And apples. Look at those apples! You'd think they'd beat Gwendolyn Kerr's at least once, but I have to admit, I don't think the judges have made a mistake. She has a hand with apples, that's true.”
She smiled at Brendon's bemused expression. “Let me ask you this,” she said. “How often have you seen me handle a wand in your classes?”
Brendon blinked. “You mean you're-”
“There are more of us than you might know,” Professor Sprout said. “I have a couple in each year that I like to keep an eye on. You're better taught now than when I was young, of course-I've hardly had any trouble in the last couple of years. There was that time with Penrose and the old Transfiguration class room, but I hear it's become a rather nice place for a picnic, and of course the Gobstones Club enjoys the challenge of it, so I suppose it has all worked out for the best. Even if Professor Vector has started to complain about tree roots coming down through her office ceiling.” She patted him on the shoulder.
“The thing is, though,” she continued, now looking a lot more serious, “that I have begun to worry about you. I know you were taught control at an early age, and I thought all through last year that you seemed to know very well what you were doing. Now, however...” She peered at him quizzically. “Has something happened?” she asked.
Brendon swallowed. He nodded and then shrugged, not really trusting himself to speak right then. Professor Sprout nodded and patted his shoulder again.
“We don't have to talk about it if you don't want,” she said. “But I'd like you to come see me. A little time after Herbology, on Mondays perhaps, if that suits you. Look at those vegetables.” Brendon looked, dutifully.
“They're my outlet,” Sprout said softly. “You have access to a great deal of natural magic, Mr Urie. You need to use it. And if not in your daily work or studies, then you need to find some other way of letting all that magic flow through you. I want you to think about that, until next time. Good bye for today.”
riday night studying had turned into an awkward affair. Spencer had stayed away the first time after finding out about Jon and Ross's strange trick of switching places, but after that he had come back. He liked Friday nights. He liked Weasley's earnest focus, Ross and his textbook answers whenever someone asked him a question, Lovegood's crazy but soothing prattle about Astronomy or rain or one of her imagined creatures, and the general feeling of companionship as the six of them worked together. He didn't go to study group only for Jon's sake, and he wouldn't stop for Jon's sake.
Even so, it was awkward, and never more so than tonight. Everyone else was nervously chatting about Jon's first Quidditch match against Hufflepuff the day after, and Spencer had been working away quietly at an essay since he arrived. He was hexed if he'd wish Jon good luck. It wasn't as if he needed it or anything-he could always switch places with Ross and let him do the flying.
Jon left them early, muttering about an early morning, and the rest of them crowded around him to wish good luck or give advice (in Lovegood's case, advice that Spencer even in his current hostile state of mind sincerely hoped Jon would ignore). Jon was clearly seeking eye contact, but Spencer pretended intense interest in a chapter about shielding the castle and only gave a short wave in Jon's general direction.
He may not want to speak to Jon for the time being, but to ignore him completely would just be childish.
Lovegood took her leave about half an hour after Jon had left, and Brendon started to pack up his things shortly thereafter. He looked questioningly at Spencer, but the feigned interest had become real, and Spencer was in a good flow with his History of Magic essay by now. With a little work he might get the entire roll done tonight.
He was vaguely aware of Ross asking Weasley if she wasn't going back to the Gryffindor tower while he wrote about Muggle-repelling charms, and when he finally wrote the closing paragraph to the essay he looked up to see her watching him. She looked down into her own essay at once, but Spencer was pretty certain it hadn't grown very many inches in the last half hour.
“I'm heading back,” he said, and she made a show of looking at the clock on the wall.
“Right, it's almost curfew,” she said. The sentence had the hint of a rehearsed line about it.
She was almost packed already, and she stood up as soon as she was finished, watching while he stowed away inks and quills.
“I think you're being too hard on him,” she said finally.
Spencer stopped what he was doing, halting his hand in mid-air. “What?” he asked.
“He didn't mean to upset you, or me,” Weasley said. “Ryan, neither. But you're punishing Jonathan.”
Spencer glared at her, dropping his last ink bottle into his bag. “He kept it a secret from,” me, “us for almost a year,” he said. “I think I have the right to be hard on him. I don't care if he didn't mean to upset me or whatever-he thought it was a good joke to see how long it would take my thick head to realise that sometimes the person I called Jon was actually Ross.”
Only once before had the world been swept from underneath his feet like that-last spring, when everything he thought he knew about Brendon had changed. The sick feeling of vertigo was even worse now. For the last couple of weeks, he'd found himself going over conversations and meetings again and again, trying to spot the times when he'd been talking with Ross behind Jon's face, the times he'd pulled an inside joke and failed to get the correct response.
“I don't think he meant it like that,” Weasley said, fidgeting with the straps on her backpack. “And I know they didn't want to be mean. I don't think they thought about it much, not about how it would be for-” She broke off and shrugged. “They just wanted to keep the secret safe, I think.”
Ross told Brendon right away, Spencer thought and did not say, because he hadn't figured out a sentence to follow that one yet.
“I don't understand how you can be so calm about this,” he said instead, trying to steer the conversation away from himself.
Weasley shrugged, looking down at her shoes. “I don't know,” she said. “You don't have any brothers. I have six. Boys can be prats. I mean. No offence.”
Spencer stared at her, then felt rage returning to him again. “Fine,” he said, tumbling the rest of his books into his bag in an angry mess. “That's great. I didn't learn how to take any crap thing people do to me without caring, because I only have younger sisters. Poor me. I clearly lost something in my upbringing.”
He stood up, shoving his chair back abruptly. “I get it, you're fine with being treated like a complete idiot, but I'm not,” he said hotly, and then he looked up.
The expression on Weasley's face said that maybe he was worth the label “idiot”, after all.
“I never said I was fine with it,” she said, and she turned her back on him and walked away between the bookshelves without looking back.
he last orienteering meeting for the term took place on a glittering cold December Sunday. The last Quidditch match of the season-Ravenclaw against Hufflepuff-had been two weekends before and Jon had come off the pitch victorious but frozen stiff. Since then, snow had covered the Hogwarts grounds and turned the castle into a frosted fairytale confection, and Ryan had learned from Jon's mistake and loaded up for orienteering with heating spells and lots and lots of scarves.
He was on his way to the broom cupboard when he saw Brendon walking back from the lake. Brendon waved happily, wading through the snow a little faster to get to him.
“Hey,” he said as he intercepted Ryan's path, cheeks flushed with the exercise and the cold. “Do you want to go for a flight?”
“Sorry,” Ryan said. “I mean, I'd love to. But I have orienteering. And it's the last time this season, so-”
“Really?” Brendon said, and his initial disappointment seemed to fade. “Do you think I could come and watch?” Ryan raised his eyebrows, and Brendon shrugged. “You talk about it all the time. It sounds fun. I mean, if it's OK with you.”
“Sure,” Ryan said. “But it's not all that interesting. Everyone just goes off in their own direction and you can't really see what's happening.”
“Still,” Brendon said. “I'd like to.”
Ryan shrugged. “Yeah, of course. You can probably stay with Professor Sprout-I think she's supervising today.”
“Cool,” Brendon said, grinning at him. “Can't wait to finally see what it's about.”
“Like I said, I don't think you'll see-” Ryan said, not wanting to get his hopes up too high, but Brendon just kept grinning.
“I know, I know.”
A lot of the orienteering members were already waiting, hopping from one foot to the other or sharing a jar of bluebell flames with a friend. A few of the more industrious students had jumped on their brooms and were attempting to keep warm by hovering just high enough to keep their legs out of the snow, while Gamp and a boy from Hufflepuff Ryan thought might be called Kirke were engaged in a snowball fight. Ironically, they looked as though they were keeping the warmth better than any of the other students-darting around each other, swooping their brooms low enough to catch some snow in a mitten and then rising again to try and hit the other with a sodden lump barely fit to be called a ball.
Their fight was just getting interesting-and some of the older students had just started taking bets-when Diggory arrived among them, laughing and putting a stop to the spectacle.
“We're lucky this isn't a snowball tournament,” he said, grinning at the sight of the two snow-spattered students, almost steaming from their exertion. “The rest of us wouldn't stand a chance. Right! So as you all know, even though it's the last course of the season, today's course will be a short one. With the weather as it is, we can't be out for too long. Today the theme is Transfiguration. Professor Sprout,” he turned and gesticulated behind him, where the professor was ploughing her way through the snow drifts, “is today's supervisor. If you run into any trouble at all, she'll be aware of it, but I would also like you to remember that you should always send up red sparks if you run into difficulties. And if you feel yourself getting cold-please abort the course.” He glanced over at Gamp and Kirke, who were being steamed dry by older students, and raised his eyebrows. Gamp gave him a thumbs up, causing a ripple of laughter to run through the group.
Ryan glanced at Brendon, to see if this cautionary speech had scared him off. Diggory had a tendency towards Safety First that could seem daunting-it had taken Ryan a couple of meetings to work out that the idea wasn't to restrict, only to make everyone comfortable with the idea of asking for help. But Brendon looked just as cheerful as before, looking from face to face with interest. He waved at Professor Sprout, then turned back to Ryan and grinned.
“I'll go join her,” he said. “Good luck!”
Ryan watched him as he plodded over to the Herbology professor and was greeted with a pat on the shoulder, then lined up with the others and received his map. He glanced quickly at it and smiled. His first stop was at the top of the Astronomy tower, and he thought that if nothing else, he'd start his course with a spectacular view.
“On your marks,” Professor Sprout called. “Get set. And go!”
As he kicked off, rising quickly into the air, Ryan thought he heard Brendon's voice in a fading “Go, Ryan!”
“Think you're going to beat me today?” someone called, and Ryan turned his head to see Selwyn keeping pace with him.
“I beat you last time,” he pointed out, laughing, and she sniffed.
“Only because the Whomping Willow doesn't like me,” she said. “This time, just you wait. You'll be crying tears of shame and humiliation before this is over.”
“I think that's basically the same speech you gave me last time, right?” Ryan asked, and grinned at her mock scandalised expression. “Where are you heading?”
“Ravenclaw tower. You?”
“Astronomy.”
“Right, see you on the other side.” She winked at him and changed course, calling over her shoulder, “May the best witch win.”
“You can dream!” Ryan called after her, then flattened himself against the handle of his broom and shot upwards, banking sharply when he reached the top of the Astronomy tower and halting in the air to look around him.
The world was spread underneath him like a painting on one of Brendon's Christmas cards (like all cards Brendon made, a key component was glitter). The lake was completely frozen over, covered with tracks where students had walked across the snowy surface, and Hogsmeade looked like a village from the most picturesque of tourist guide books. Even the Forbidden Forest, with its trees like stark, brown squiggles among all the white, looked pretty from this angle, aglow here and there with lights from the centaur colony or a fairy nest. Ryan turned slowly on his broom, taking it all in, and finally glanced towards the Ravenclaw tower, where the form of Selwyn could be seen swooping close to one of the ramparts.
Right, the course. He opened his map quickly and read the instructions.
Icicles strive downwards, but up here we could probably find another direction.
Wingardium Leviosa, Ryan thought immediately, and then, No, Transfiguration.
He looked at the icicles on one of the balustrades, and then downwards at the tiny specks of what was-probably-Professor Sprout and Brendon far below. And then he thought again of Brendon and his cards.
Slowly, smiling all the way and, at the same time, very unsure of whether he could pull this off, he raised his wand and pointed it at the icicles.
They took a few seconds to even start changing, and for a moment Ryan thought he would have to try something else, but then the ice started to twist and shape itself. Flakes of ice split off and turned soft, and while the very end of the icicle remained sharp and pointed, the ice around it bulged and formed a head, and a neck, and eyes...
Two transparent, glittering bluebirds soared away from the parapet, tumbling around one another, and flew away into the sky. Ryan laughed out loud.
For a moment he considered following them, but his map had changed and was telling him to go to a group of trees on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. Giving the icicle birds one last look, he pointed himself in the direction of the forest and left the tower.
He finished by the greenhouses and hurried to the starting point, but wasn't the first back by a long way. To his chagrin, Selwyn was amongst those already gathered around Professor Sprout, and she gave him a smug grin. He waded towards the group, seeing as he got closer that Brendon was still standing beside Professor Sprout, with both his arms stretched out in front of him. He had one icicle bluebird sitting in each palm. They were starting to turn back-one bird's wing had turned hard and unwieldy, and the other's tail feathers had broken off-but Brendon didn't seem to mind.
“They're amazing, Ryan,” he said, beaming. “What was it you were asked to do?”
“Make icicles strive another direction than downwards,” Ryan said.
Brendon grinned again. “This is awesome,” he said.
One after the other, the rest of the students arrived back, and the noise rose as people greeted their friends and exchanged experiences. Finally Professor Sprout nodded at Diggory, who cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted over the hubbub.
“All right,” he called, “now that we have everyone back, let's go through today's result.” He glanced at Professor Sprout, who cleared her throat.
“Fastest today was Miss Selwyn,” she said, and clapped along with the rest as Selwyn grinned and bowed. Ryan sighed. She'd be unbearable at the next meeting.
“Best Transfiguration,” Professor Sprout continued, “goes to Mr Entwhistle for a very clever use of Switching Spells to pave his way. And,” she continued, once the applause for Entwhistle had died down, “an honorary mention for Mr Ross and his birds.”
Ryan blushed. It was the first time he'd been singled out, and it was in equal parts great and awkward to be applauded.
Selwyn moved closer and nudged him. “Maybe we'll call it a draw,” she said, smiling.
The meeting broke up shortly after that, with many “Merry Christmas”-wishes and hugs. Brendon let the two bluebirds go, and they weaved off across the grounds, their hardening wings making flying difficult. Then he shook his hands, blew on them and finally rubbed them together vigorously. He laughed.
“You don't need to look so guilty,” he said. “It was my choice to hold on to them.”
“Maybe I should have tried for something less cuddle-worthy,” Ryan said, grinning at him.
Diggory came up to them as they were getting ready to head back to the castle.
“Great work today, Ryan,” he said, jerking his head towards the birds. Ryan smiled, embarrassed at the praise.
“It's already breaking up,” he said.
“But a beautiful Transfiguration,” Diggory insisted. “So did you like it?” he added, turning to Brendon. “Orienteering, I mean. I don't know how much you could see, but-”
“Professor Sprout told me how people were doing,” Brendon said happily. “And I saw some of the students who were closer to us and what they were doing. It must be fun-the flying, and then to do magic at each stop-I think it looks great.”
Diggory looked at him curiously. “You're the new Slytherin Chaser, right?” he asked. “Kayla's brother? You're free to come and try it out for yourself once we kick off next term, if you want. We start again in February.”
“Oh.” Brendon's face, already red from the cold, coloured further. “Thanks, that's great. I'll have to-maybe.”
Diggory shrugged. “Just ask Ross if you ever feel like it. He'll give you the information you need.” He smiled at them. “So have a great Christmas, if I don't see you before the end of term.”
Ryan and Brendon watched him walk over to another group of orienteering members, clapping one of them on the back with a laugh, and then they turned to make their way back to the castle.
“Is it the Quidditch?” Ryan said.
“Huh?”
“Why you're not sure about orienteering. Are you afraid it'll interfere with the Quidditch?” Ryan asked. Brendon looked away from him.
“No, I just-um. I don't know.”
“I think you'd like it,” Ryan said.
Brendon shrugged uncomfortably. “And you-you wouldn't mind?” he asked, and then, glancing at Ryan and seeing the incredulous expression on his face, went on quickly, “It's just-it's like your thing. And I don't want to take that from you or anything...”
Ryan stared at him, unsure of how to reply. “Don't be stupid,” he settled for eventually. “Do I usually hate flying with you?”
Judging from how Brendon stopped frowning and smiled happily at him, it seemed to be the right answer.
Next chapter
CHAPTER FOUR
ith the days turning darker and darker the further into November they got, many students used their lunch hour to catch some much needed daylight. Jon had eaten his lunch quicker than usual and was now sitting outside the entrance doors, enjoying a rare glimpse of sun, when he saw that Spencer was walking his way, obviously having had the same idea.
“Hey, Spencer,” he said, standing up and grinning as Spencer walked closer.
“Walker,” Spencer said coolly, then walked past him out into the grounds.
Jon frowned. “Hey,” he said, hurrying after Spencer. “Is this about me being so late this Wednesday? I'm sorry. There was this thing in the Common Room-”
“Which Common Room?” Spencer asked, still walking away from him. “Ravenclaw? Or Gryffindor?”
Jon stopped, realisation thundering into him with all the force and pleasantness of an icicle. “Look, Spencer-” he began weakly, not at all sure of how to finish that sentence.
“I'm kind of impressed,” Spencer interrupted. “I don't know how you did it, must it must have been hard. Some kind of Transfiguration?”
“A potion,” Jon said unhappily.
Spencer stopped. “Let me just ask you one thing,” he said, turning around and marching back towards Jon. “Was I the only one who didn't know?”
“Of course not!” Jon protested but, seeing the questions that lay ahead, knew that he was not going to like this conversation. “We had to keep it secret from everyone, you get that-”
“So you're telling me Brendon didn't know?” Spencer said-and that was one of those questions.
“Yeah, he knew,” Jon admitted. “Ryan told him, you know how-”
“And you changed places on the Hogwarts Express at the end of last year. I know you did. Lovegood was in the carriage that whole time.”
“She realised herself before,” Jon tried. “You know how Luna is. She just knew.”
“How exactly is that keeping it a secret from everyone, then?” Spencer asked, red in the face. “You seem to have told everybody short of Professor Dumbledore!”
“Ginny doesn't know either,” Jon said, realising as soon as the words left his mouth that it had been the wrong thing to say.
“Oh, great! There's one more person being kept out of your cosy secret. Fine, then,” Spencer spat, turning around again.
“Spencer,” Jon said, hurrying after him again and trying to laugh. “Come on, it wasn't serious, it was just a bit of fun, seeing how long until you figured it out...” He caught Spencer's sleeve, only to have it yanked out of his grasp.
“Do me a favour,” Spencer said coldly, “and don't speak to me. Ever.”
He stomped on towards the lake, anger practically radiating off him, and Jon watched him go.
r Urie,” Professor Sprout said. “I'd like you to stay behind, if you can.”
“Me?” Brendon said, confused, pausing with his tray of hellebore cuttings halfway to the bin. She nodded at him.
“If you can,” she repeated, then turned her head sharply. “Mr Aslam, you stop that right now! The Pouncing Primulas do not need your teasing at this stage of their growth.”
Brendon remained where he was, but when no further instructions for him seemed about to follow, dumped his hellebore unceremoniously and retreated back to his table.
“Why does she want me to stay behind?” he asked Spencer, who shrugged absentmindedly, still frowning over his hellebore. Spencer didn't like pruning.
Brendon filed out with the rest of the class and then remained by the doors while Professor Sprout wrestled one of the more active Venomous Tentaculas inside and slammed the door on it.
“What did you want me for, Professor?” he asked.
“Got something to show you,” Professor Sprout said, wiping her brow, then jerked her head for him to follow her around the greenhouse. “There's a Gwendolyn Kerr in Falmouth,” she said. “I seem to remember she's connected to the Uries somehow. Anyone you know?”
“That's my Aunt Gwen,” Brendon said, unsure of where this was heading.
“Her apples beat mine every year. I'm just about to give up.” She sighed, shaking her head, then stopped and swept an arm across the vista before them. “The vegetable fields. Do you wonder why we have them?”
Brendon frowned. “Because we need vegetables?” he suggested.
“Hah, yes, and the ones from Hogsmeade aren't good enough?” Professor Sprout said. “I teach a core subject, which means full classes from Year One to Five, as well as a NEWT class. I have a lot more students at this school than I probably should, but I still find time to grow the school's vegetables. And apples. Look at those apples! You'd think they'd beat Gwendolyn Kerr's at least once, but I have to admit, I don't think the judges have made a mistake. She has a hand with apples, that's true.”
She smiled at Brendon's bemused expression. “Let me ask you this,” she said. “How often have you seen me handle a wand in your classes?”
Brendon blinked. “You mean you're-”
“There are more of us than you might know,” Professor Sprout said. “I have a couple in each year that I like to keep an eye on. You're better taught now than when I was young, of course-I've hardly had any trouble in the last couple of years. There was that time with Penrose and the old Transfiguration class room, but I hear it's become a rather nice place for a picnic, and of course the Gobstones Club enjoys the challenge of it, so I suppose it has all worked out for the best. Even if Professor Vector has started to complain about tree roots coming down through her office ceiling.” She patted him on the shoulder.
“The thing is, though,” she continued, now looking a lot more serious, “that I have begun to worry about you. I know you were taught control at an early age, and I thought all through last year that you seemed to know very well what you were doing. Now, however...” She peered at him quizzically. “Has something happened?” she asked.
Brendon swallowed. He nodded and then shrugged, not really trusting himself to speak right then. Professor Sprout nodded and patted his shoulder again.
“We don't have to talk about it if you don't want,” she said. “But I'd like you to come see me. A little time after Herbology, on Mondays perhaps, if that suits you. Look at those vegetables.” Brendon looked, dutifully.
“They're my outlet,” Sprout said softly. “You have access to a great deal of natural magic, Mr Urie. You need to use it. And if not in your daily work or studies, then you need to find some other way of letting all that magic flow through you. I want you to think about that, until next time. Good bye for today.”
riday night studying had turned into an awkward affair. Spencer had stayed away the first time after finding out about Jon and Ross's strange trick of switching places, but after that he had come back. He liked Friday nights. He liked Weasley's earnest focus, Ross and his textbook answers whenever someone asked him a question, Lovegood's crazy but soothing prattle about Astronomy or rain or one of her imagined creatures, and the general feeling of companionship as the six of them worked together. He didn't go to study group only for Jon's sake, and he wouldn't stop for Jon's sake.
Even so, it was awkward, and never more so than tonight. Everyone else was nervously chatting about Jon's first Quidditch match against Hufflepuff the day after, and Spencer had been working away quietly at an essay since he arrived. He was hexed if he'd wish Jon good luck. It wasn't as if he needed it or anything-he could always switch places with Ross and let him do the flying.
Jon left them early, muttering about an early morning, and the rest of them crowded around him to wish good luck or give advice (in Lovegood's case, advice that Spencer even in his current hostile state of mind sincerely hoped Jon would ignore). Jon was clearly seeking eye contact, but Spencer pretended intense interest in a chapter about shielding the castle and only gave a short wave in Jon's general direction.
He may not want to speak to Jon for the time being, but to ignore him completely would just be childish.
Lovegood took her leave about half an hour after Jon had left, and Brendon started to pack up his things shortly thereafter. He looked questioningly at Spencer, but the feigned interest had become real, and Spencer was in a good flow with his History of Magic essay by now. With a little work he might get the entire roll done tonight.
He was vaguely aware of Ross asking Weasley if she wasn't going back to the Gryffindor tower while he wrote about Muggle-repelling charms, and when he finally wrote the closing paragraph to the essay he looked up to see her watching him. She looked down into her own essay at once, but Spencer was pretty certain it hadn't grown very many inches in the last half hour.
“I'm heading back,” he said, and she made a show of looking at the clock on the wall.
“Right, it's almost curfew,” she said. The sentence had the hint of a rehearsed line about it.
She was almost packed already, and she stood up as soon as she was finished, watching while he stowed away inks and quills.
“I think you're being too hard on him,” she said finally.
Spencer stopped what he was doing, halting his hand in mid-air. “What?” he asked.
“He didn't mean to upset you, or me,” Weasley said. “Ryan, neither. But you're punishing Jonathan.”
Spencer glared at her, dropping his last ink bottle into his bag. “He kept it a secret from,” me, “us for almost a year,” he said. “I think I have the right to be hard on him. I don't care if he didn't mean to upset me or whatever-he thought it was a good joke to see how long it would take my thick head to realise that sometimes the person I called Jon was actually Ross.”
Only once before had the world been swept from underneath his feet like that-last spring, when everything he thought he knew about Brendon had changed. The sick feeling of vertigo was even worse now. For the last couple of weeks, he'd found himself going over conversations and meetings again and again, trying to spot the times when he'd been talking with Ross behind Jon's face, the times he'd pulled an inside joke and failed to get the correct response.
“I don't think he meant it like that,” Weasley said, fidgeting with the straps on her backpack. “And I know they didn't want to be mean. I don't think they thought about it much, not about how it would be for-” She broke off and shrugged. “They just wanted to keep the secret safe, I think.”
Ross told Brendon right away, Spencer thought and did not say, because he hadn't figured out a sentence to follow that one yet.
“I don't understand how you can be so calm about this,” he said instead, trying to steer the conversation away from himself.
Weasley shrugged, looking down at her shoes. “I don't know,” she said. “You don't have any brothers. I have six. Boys can be prats. I mean. No offence.”
Spencer stared at her, then felt rage returning to him again. “Fine,” he said, tumbling the rest of his books into his bag in an angry mess. “That's great. I didn't learn how to take any crap thing people do to me without caring, because I only have younger sisters. Poor me. I clearly lost something in my upbringing.”
He stood up, shoving his chair back abruptly. “I get it, you're fine with being treated like a complete idiot, but I'm not,” he said hotly, and then he looked up.
The expression on Weasley's face said that maybe he was worth the label “idiot”, after all.
“I never said I was fine with it,” she said, and she turned her back on him and walked away between the bookshelves without looking back.
he last orienteering meeting for the term took place on a glittering cold December Sunday. The last Quidditch match of the season-Ravenclaw against Hufflepuff-had been two weekends before and Jon had come off the pitch victorious but frozen stiff. Since then, snow had covered the Hogwarts grounds and turned the castle into a frosted fairytale confection, and Ryan had learned from Jon's mistake and loaded up for orienteering with heating spells and lots and lots of scarves.
He was on his way to the broom cupboard when he saw Brendon walking back from the lake. Brendon waved happily, wading through the snow a little faster to get to him.
“Hey,” he said as he intercepted Ryan's path, cheeks flushed with the exercise and the cold. “Do you want to go for a flight?”
“Sorry,” Ryan said. “I mean, I'd love to. But I have orienteering. And it's the last time this season, so-”
“Really?” Brendon said, and his initial disappointment seemed to fade. “Do you think I could come and watch?” Ryan raised his eyebrows, and Brendon shrugged. “You talk about it all the time. It sounds fun. I mean, if it's OK with you.”
“Sure,” Ryan said. “But it's not all that interesting. Everyone just goes off in their own direction and you can't really see what's happening.”
“Still,” Brendon said. “I'd like to.”
Ryan shrugged. “Yeah, of course. You can probably stay with Professor Sprout-I think she's supervising today.”
“Cool,” Brendon said, grinning at him. “Can't wait to finally see what it's about.”
“Like I said, I don't think you'll see-” Ryan said, not wanting to get his hopes up too high, but Brendon just kept grinning.
“I know, I know.”
A lot of the orienteering members were already waiting, hopping from one foot to the other or sharing a jar of bluebell flames with a friend. A few of the more industrious students had jumped on their brooms and were attempting to keep warm by hovering just high enough to keep their legs out of the snow, while Gamp and a boy from Hufflepuff Ryan thought might be called Kirke were engaged in a snowball fight. Ironically, they looked as though they were keeping the warmth better than any of the other students-darting around each other, swooping their brooms low enough to catch some snow in a mitten and then rising again to try and hit the other with a sodden lump barely fit to be called a ball.
Their fight was just getting interesting-and some of the older students had just started taking bets-when Diggory arrived among them, laughing and putting a stop to the spectacle.
“We're lucky this isn't a snowball tournament,” he said, grinning at the sight of the two snow-spattered students, almost steaming from their exertion. “The rest of us wouldn't stand a chance. Right! So as you all know, even though it's the last course of the season, today's course will be a short one. With the weather as it is, we can't be out for too long. Today the theme is Transfiguration. Professor Sprout,” he turned and gesticulated behind him, where the professor was ploughing her way through the snow drifts, “is today's supervisor. If you run into any trouble at all, she'll be aware of it, but I would also like you to remember that you should always send up red sparks if you run into difficulties. And if you feel yourself getting cold-please abort the course.” He glanced over at Gamp and Kirke, who were being steamed dry by older students, and raised his eyebrows. Gamp gave him a thumbs up, causing a ripple of laughter to run through the group.
Ryan glanced at Brendon, to see if this cautionary speech had scared him off. Diggory had a tendency towards Safety First that could seem daunting-it had taken Ryan a couple of meetings to work out that the idea wasn't to restrict, only to make everyone comfortable with the idea of asking for help. But Brendon looked just as cheerful as before, looking from face to face with interest. He waved at Professor Sprout, then turned back to Ryan and grinned.
“I'll go join her,” he said. “Good luck!”
Ryan watched him as he plodded over to the Herbology professor and was greeted with a pat on the shoulder, then lined up with the others and received his map. He glanced quickly at it and smiled. His first stop was at the top of the Astronomy tower, and he thought that if nothing else, he'd start his course with a spectacular view.
“On your marks,” Professor Sprout called. “Get set. And go!”
As he kicked off, rising quickly into the air, Ryan thought he heard Brendon's voice in a fading “Go, Ryan!”
“Think you're going to beat me today?” someone called, and Ryan turned his head to see Selwyn keeping pace with him.
“I beat you last time,” he pointed out, laughing, and she sniffed.
“Only because the Whomping Willow doesn't like me,” she said. “This time, just you wait. You'll be crying tears of shame and humiliation before this is over.”
“I think that's basically the same speech you gave me last time, right?” Ryan asked, and grinned at her mock scandalised expression. “Where are you heading?”
“Ravenclaw tower. You?”
“Astronomy.”
“Right, see you on the other side.” She winked at him and changed course, calling over her shoulder, “May the best witch win.”
“You can dream!” Ryan called after her, then flattened himself against the handle of his broom and shot upwards, banking sharply when he reached the top of the Astronomy tower and halting in the air to look around him.
The world was spread underneath him like a painting on one of Brendon's Christmas cards (like all cards Brendon made, a key component was glitter). The lake was completely frozen over, covered with tracks where students had walked across the snowy surface, and Hogsmeade looked like a village from the most picturesque of tourist guide books. Even the Forbidden Forest, with its trees like stark, brown squiggles among all the white, looked pretty from this angle, aglow here and there with lights from the centaur colony or a fairy nest. Ryan turned slowly on his broom, taking it all in, and finally glanced towards the Ravenclaw tower, where the form of Selwyn could be seen swooping close to one of the ramparts.
Right, the course. He opened his map quickly and read the instructions.
Icicles strive downwards, but up here we could probably find another direction.
Wingardium Leviosa, Ryan thought immediately, and then, No, Transfiguration.
He looked at the icicles on one of the balustrades, and then downwards at the tiny specks of what was-probably-Professor Sprout and Brendon far below. And then he thought again of Brendon and his cards.
Slowly, smiling all the way and, at the same time, very unsure of whether he could pull this off, he raised his wand and pointed it at the icicles.
They took a few seconds to even start changing, and for a moment Ryan thought he would have to try something else, but then the ice started to twist and shape itself. Flakes of ice split off and turned soft, and while the very end of the icicle remained sharp and pointed, the ice around it bulged and formed a head, and a neck, and eyes...
Two transparent, glittering bluebirds soared away from the parapet, tumbling around one another, and flew away into the sky. Ryan laughed out loud.
For a moment he considered following them, but his map had changed and was telling him to go to a group of trees on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. Giving the icicle birds one last look, he pointed himself in the direction of the forest and left the tower.
He finished by the greenhouses and hurried to the starting point, but wasn't the first back by a long way. To his chagrin, Selwyn was amongst those already gathered around Professor Sprout, and she gave him a smug grin. He waded towards the group, seeing as he got closer that Brendon was still standing beside Professor Sprout, with both his arms stretched out in front of him. He had one icicle bluebird sitting in each palm. They were starting to turn back-one bird's wing had turned hard and unwieldy, and the other's tail feathers had broken off-but Brendon didn't seem to mind.
“They're amazing, Ryan,” he said, beaming. “What was it you were asked to do?”
“Make icicles strive another direction than downwards,” Ryan said.
Brendon grinned again. “This is awesome,” he said.
One after the other, the rest of the students arrived back, and the noise rose as people greeted their friends and exchanged experiences. Finally Professor Sprout nodded at Diggory, who cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted over the hubbub.
“All right,” he called, “now that we have everyone back, let's go through today's result.” He glanced at Professor Sprout, who cleared her throat.
“Fastest today was Miss Selwyn,” she said, and clapped along with the rest as Selwyn grinned and bowed. Ryan sighed. She'd be unbearable at the next meeting.
“Best Transfiguration,” Professor Sprout continued, “goes to Mr Entwhistle for a very clever use of Switching Spells to pave his way. And,” she continued, once the applause for Entwhistle had died down, “an honorary mention for Mr Ross and his birds.”
Ryan blushed. It was the first time he'd been singled out, and it was in equal parts great and awkward to be applauded.
Selwyn moved closer and nudged him. “Maybe we'll call it a draw,” she said, smiling.
The meeting broke up shortly after that, with many “Merry Christmas”-wishes and hugs. Brendon let the two bluebirds go, and they weaved off across the grounds, their hardening wings making flying difficult. Then he shook his hands, blew on them and finally rubbed them together vigorously. He laughed.
“You don't need to look so guilty,” he said. “It was my choice to hold on to them.”
“Maybe I should have tried for something less cuddle-worthy,” Ryan said, grinning at him.
Diggory came up to them as they were getting ready to head back to the castle.
“Great work today, Ryan,” he said, jerking his head towards the birds. Ryan smiled, embarrassed at the praise.
“It's already breaking up,” he said.
“But a beautiful Transfiguration,” Diggory insisted. “So did you like it?” he added, turning to Brendon. “Orienteering, I mean. I don't know how much you could see, but-”
“Professor Sprout told me how people were doing,” Brendon said happily. “And I saw some of the students who were closer to us and what they were doing. It must be fun-the flying, and then to do magic at each stop-I think it looks great.”
Diggory looked at him curiously. “You're the new Slytherin Chaser, right?” he asked. “Kayla's brother? You're free to come and try it out for yourself once we kick off next term, if you want. We start again in February.”
“Oh.” Brendon's face, already red from the cold, coloured further. “Thanks, that's great. I'll have to-maybe.”
Diggory shrugged. “Just ask Ross if you ever feel like it. He'll give you the information you need.” He smiled at them. “So have a great Christmas, if I don't see you before the end of term.”
Ryan and Brendon watched him walk over to another group of orienteering members, clapping one of them on the back with a laugh, and then they turned to make their way back to the castle.
“Is it the Quidditch?” Ryan said.
“Huh?”
“Why you're not sure about orienteering. Are you afraid it'll interfere with the Quidditch?” Ryan asked. Brendon looked away from him.
“No, I just-um. I don't know.”
“I think you'd like it,” Ryan said.
Brendon shrugged uncomfortably. “And you-you wouldn't mind?” he asked, and then, glancing at Ryan and seeing the incredulous expression on his face, went on quickly, “It's just-it's like your thing. And I don't want to take that from you or anything...”
Ryan stared at him, unsure of how to reply. “Don't be stupid,” he settled for eventually. “Do I usually hate flying with you?”
Judging from how Brendon stopped frowning and smiled happily at him, it seemed to be the right answer.
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