Boils & Broomsticks
Honestly, just getting to class seems just as difficult if not more so than keeping up with the coursework itself. There are a hundred and forty-two staircases in Hogwarts and very little time to learn where they go—wide, sweeping stairs; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday, some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump over. The doors, two, are strangely enchanted; some won’t open unless you ask politely, or tickle them in exactly the right place, and some that aren’t really doors at all, just solid walls pretending.
It’s just as hard, too, to remember where anything is or is meant to be, since nothing stays the same at all. The portraits up and leave their frames to chat amongst themselves, and Hana catches one of the suits of armor waving to a sixth-year after several days of thinking she’s gone mad mis-remembering where they’d been the day prior.
The ghosts at least are helpful hands, pointing them cheerily in the right directions regardless of House affiliations save for the Bloody Baron, who really just seems quite dour. Hana does have to warn Yuko not to take Peeves’ advice the one time he pretends to be a helpful ghost—honestly, he’s worth two locked doors and a trick staircase the few times Hana’s run into him between one class and the next, dumping waste paper baskets over her head and ripping rugs out from under her feet.
But the classes themselves are enjoyable. Hana—and really she doesn’t mean to brag—Hana is at least a head or shoulder above many of her classmates in terms of preparation; she’s already versed in the first three topics or more discussed in each classroom. Barring the one embarrassing day she confidently gives an answer from a textbook she hadn’t realized was so out of date, she’s certainly satisfied with her marks so far.
She could do without getting up at midnight every Wednesday morning to study the stars and planets, especially since they have an Herbology class first thing that morning. But she doesn’t really mind it—it can be quite pleasant, even, cool and dark with pretty nighttime skies amongst the first-year Gryffindors.
They share quite a few classes with Gryffindors. Three times a week, they group up with them in the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology with a thin, tired-looking woman called Professor Ieiri, who almost always has an odd-smelling cigarette tucked between her teeth. A plant flowering overtop her desk seems to feed off the smoke, and the overpowering scents of blooms and chlorophyll at least overpower it.
The Herbology classes are interesting enough, even in the crisp January air; they learn how to take care of all manner of magical plants and fungi and study how they’re used. This class is one of the most important classes Hana will take, being an aspiring Healer, so she buckles down to study as much as she can. Yuko, too, seems to brighten in the greenhouse in ways she doesn’t anywhere else, soaking up the sun and gentle mist like a flower herself.
She can’t quite convince Yuko to talk to Yuuji, surrounded as he always is with his friendly Housemates or adoring fans, but she seems content to bask in his startled laughter and gently tend her plants as instructed. There’s plenty of time after all, she says quietly, and Hana beams with pride at the first genuine signs of confidence in her new friend.
Professor Geto, the ever-genial man who’d escorted them from the Hogwarts train as well as their Transfiguration Professor, takes an uncharacteristically stern expression with them long enough to give Hana and the other first-years a serious talking-to as soon as they all sit down.
“Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts,” he warns. “Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned.”
Then he changes his desk into a pig and back again. Hana and the others are all very impressed and buzzing to get started, but she knows from the very first class that she isn’t going to be changing furniture into animals anytime soon. After taking a lot of complicated notes, they were each given a match tasked with turning it into a needle; the incantation is scrawled clearly on the board behind the Professor, but that certainly doesn’t make it any easier to actually cast.
By the end of the lesson, only one of the Slytherin students had managed to make any difference to her match. Professor Geto had smiled in a pleased, pointy sort of way and showed the class how it had gone all silver and pointy—and Hana spends the next two nights straight trying to catch up to the other student’s progress outside of classes.
Charms class is pleasant, even if Professor Kento is rather stiff and meticulous. In all her tutoring with the caretakers back home, Charms has always been her best subject—even before her wand, it’d been her most consistent outlet for magical overflow as a child. Floating, glowing, the air going hot and cold; all of it feels similar enough to the first spells the Professor teaches to come easily to the tip of her wand.
It certainly doesn’t seem to be Yuko’s best subject, considering she somehow manages to make her feather turn to stone instead of float, but that’s no matter. Hana can tutor her, and there are other subjects to master.
Even amongst her Hufflepuff Housemates, notoriously the most passive House in Hogwarts, Defense Against the Dark Arts is the first subject on anyone’s tongue. Hana, too, is particularly eager to learn more—it isn’t something many wizards publish or teach outside of the classroom, but she’s already read every scrap of it she could possibly manage to comprehend.
Never again will she be helpless against Dark creatures. And besides, if she hopes to be a Healer or be anything like Megumi, the first step is making sure she’s well equipped to deal with all manner of curses and creatures and Dark Magic, just like he was back then.
Their first class on the topic falls on Tuesday afternoon, taught by a stubby, grumpy man in a dark turban called Professor Jogo. He had to stand on stacks of books to even reach his podium, which takes some of the wind from his serious topic even more than the odd smell of garlic that stunk overpoweringly in the room. A few of her classmates whispered and gossiped that he was terrified of vampires, and the funny smell that hung around his head was garlic cloves stuffed to bursting in his turban.
His turban, he told them, had been given to him by an Icelandic prince as a thank-you for stopping a volcano from erupting, but they weren’t quite sure they believed his story. For one thing, when another one of her classmates asked eagerly to hear how Jogo had controlled the magma, the Professor got even more grouchy and docked them all points for wasting precious classtime.
History of Magic seems to mostly be taught by a teacher’s aide—which is to say that Professor Nitta does all the handing-out and grading and extra lessons, but the lectures are occasionally interrupted by the ghost of a former teacher who forgets he’s dead. The ghost is very knowledgeable, of course, but… Well, to put it one way, it’s possibly the single most boring, droning series of lectures Hana’s ever been subjected to, and that’s saying something.
She does her best to keep up instead of falling asleep, taking meticulous notes as Nitta and the ghost drone on and on and on about nothing she particularly cares about. Even the classes she doesn’t need, she still needs to excel at, especially if she’s marrying into Ravenclaw history. Anything less than Exceeds Expectations in any class is a failure in her books.
They share History of Magic with the Gryffindors, too, but Yuuji spends more time than not fast asleep on his desk, lulled by the ghost’s awful ramblings. Helping him see his own fate in Yuko is proving to be a much harder task than she expected, Hana thinks irritably—maybe the following year would have better scheduling.
Yuko, for her part, mostly seems relieved to find out that she really wasn’t too far beyond everyone else. Plenty of people had come from Muggle families after all and, like her, hadn’t had any idea they were witches in the first place. There’s so much to learn so quickly that even Hana has to work hard to keep up even with all her studies in the last few years.
And then, finally, it’s the day of the week she’s been buzzing for all week.
“Double Potions with Ravenclaw!” Hana cheers at breakfast on Friday between bites of fluffy rolled omelets and plum rice. “Finally—how do we only have one class with Ravenclaw? It’s absurd.”
Yuko manages a smile. Her friend can be a little angry, Hana’s noticed, particularly around topics of weight and obvious bullying, but the rest of the time she seems friendly enough, if a bit timid. Her plate is carefully chosen, lined with healthy pickled vegetables and a bowl of miso soup with tofu that steams gently as they talk.
“I-I’m looking forward to it too,” Yuko admits, swirling soup gently in her spoon like aerating the broth will make it taste better. “Potions seems like fun. It—It can’t be harder than cooking, right?”
“That’s what the older kids said. You’re sure my hair looks okay?” Hana triple-checks, patting worriedly at the curls with her free hand. “It was so unruly this morning…”
“It looks great,” Yuko assures her. “But, um—you’ll probably have to redo it after Herbology.”
“Ugh.” Hana sniffs. “Do you think if I asked for extra lessons, Professor Kento would teach me how to charm my hair in place?”
Yuko giggles. “Or I can bring a bunch of hairspray next year. That’ll probably work too.”
Hana tilts her head curiously.
“What’s hairspray?”
Going from Herbology—sunny, outdoors, with their hands buried in dirt and loam and fertilizer—to Potions—towards the bottom of the dungeons, cold, and lined with discomfiting jars of small pickled animals floating in mysterious green and blue liquids—is, to put it one way, disconcerting.
Their Professor is perhaps even stranger, face completely hidden from view by a thick blue braid trailing down her chest, save for a coy smile and a few sideways glances. For one thing, they can’t call her Professor Mei Mei—just “Professor” or “Mei Mei.” Hana is horrified by the concept of calling a Hogwarts professor by their first name alone, but she also gets the distinct sort of feeling that Mei Mei might not even be her real name, judging by the teasing glint in her eye.
“You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking,” the Professor, because Hana is not using her first name even if it is fake, says softly. “As there is little pretty wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don’t expect you will really understand the beauty of a softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death—be warned, though, that such powerful magic all has its costs.”
She talks in a lilting, disinterested sort of way as she goes over the first chapter of their textbook, sifting through a sleek box of ingredients on her desk. It’s all very interesting, but she keeps her Housemates’ warnings about the rumors of her playing double agent for the Death Eaters during the Wizarding War—not as a spy, but as a turncoat leaping to the winning side at the last moment—in the back of her mind.
The Professor is the Head of Slytherin House, after all. As a Hufflepuff, Hana thinks it’s safe to be wary of someone like that—someone who could sell her out in a moment to the first rich Dark Wizard who asks.
But it’s certainly a hindbrain thought considering Megumi is sitting three seats away!
It distracts her all through the first half of the lesson, after which the Professor has them group into pairs with one small pewter homework cauldron between them. They don’t get to use the classroom cauldrons yet—bigger, sleeker and heavier than the personal cauldron she’d gotten with Miss Himari—but soon, they’ll be making thicker, more complicated potions that necessitate them.
Hana whips towards Megumi as soon as the Professor makes the pairing announcement, but he’s already sighing and looking away towards his Ravenclaw classmates, and the nerves seize her vocal chords. It’s not that she’s anxious, it’s just—she really should impress him first. She can’t imagine anything more horrible than hounding him to be her partner and then messing up their very first potion together.
Mind made up, she’s quick to acquiesce when Yuko taps hesitantly at her shoulder. “Um. Do you want to be partners?”
“What? Huh?” Hana swivels her head back away from Megumi, blinking at the brand-new cauldron in Yuko’s arm. “Oh, yes, of course!”
The Professor sets them up with a pre-portioned set of ingredients, measured and sorted neatly into their jars, and has them all turn to a recipe for a simple potion to cure boils. She weaves between them as they work, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, occasionally critiquing a student’s technique but otherwise silent as a ghost.
Hana, for her part, does her very best to pay attention to Yuko and their potion, carefully measuring everything and handing over several cups of things to be sliced, squashed or soaked by Yuko’s steady hands. She herself busies herself with the mortar and pestle, being more used to these sorts of things from the kitchens back home.
Don’t stare, she tells herself as Yuko stews horned slugs according to the Professor’s chalkboard instructions with a critical eye. It’s rude! And besides, you’ll mess up your potion and Yuko’s grades.
Oh, but it’s tempting. She’s so distracted by the thought of Megumi possibly watching her—remembering her!—that she very nearly adds the porcupine quills too early in her fervor, and Yuko’s hand flashes out to stop her, fingers of her other hand trailing intently down the page of their textbooks.
“No!” she says quickly, shaking her head. “You’ll make a potion to cause boils. It has to cool first.”
Hana flushes nearly scarlet, eyes whipping down to the text, and—yes, adding porcupine quills before taking the potion off the fire and letting it cool would completely reverse the effects of the mixture. There’s a half dozen warnings in the textbook alone, she doesn’t know how she missed it.
Her hand clenches tightly enough around the quills that she feels the stalks straining to snap against her fingers, but she quietly adds them to the potion instead at Yuko’s directive once the potion’s cooled. They melt into the mixture like she’s dunked them in a pot of acid, leaving little more than a thin puff of green smoke behind as Yuko stirs it clockwise.
Hana holds the funnel as Yuko carefully spoons it into a crystal vial for the Professor’s inspection. She holds it up to the light when they’re done, swishing it this way and that before uncorking it and dipping a delicately manicured pinky nail inside to spread a few drops over her skin, and smiles faintly when nothing happens.
“Excellent,” she says approvingly. “A bit too diluted, of course, and the color’s a bit off, but it would certainly sell for a respectable amount as it is. One point to Hufflepuff for both of you.”
A strange compliment, but Hana’s embarrassment fades slightly anyway at the obvious praise. The Professor hands their vial back and glides off to another shared desk to inspect their mixture, and Yuko looks pleased with herself as she takes it, swirling it experimentally and staring as the liquid twirls and glimmers.
“Could we sell it, d’you think?” Hana muses, curious despite herself. “It’d be nice to have some extra sickles.”
Yuko laughs even if it hadn’t been a joke, finally setting the vial carefully back into its stand. “It reminds me of cooking with my mom,” she explains, a nostalgic sort of smile stealing over her lips. “I wonder if they have a cooking club or something here.”
“We can check the notice board,” Hana offers. “There’s always new clubs and things popping up. Or you could start one!”
Megumi never looks her way even once, but by the end of class, she’s too busy chatting with Yuko to notice it.
For her first week at Hogwarts, Hana thinks it’s gone fairly well—she’s earned a few points for Hufflepuff and even made it to the Astronomy Tower on time regardless of how tired and frazzled she’d felt. Her only shared class with Megumi was potions, and they’d done well enough to be acknowledged by the Professor even if Megumi was occupied with his own potion.
Week two is homework week, according to her housemates back at Agatha House, so she makes sure to set a routine for herself from the very first day—she goes to bed early on Tuesdays and rewrites her notes in the afternoons when she doesn’t have any classes, just to make sure she’s fully absorbed the material. Hana refuses to be caught slacking in her very first year, after all.
But even with homework, the second week is looking even better when they spot the flyer on the notice board looking for club updates: Flying lessons for first-year Hufflepuffs would be held on Thursdays just before lunch—and they’ll be having them with Ravenclaw.
Excellent, excellent! Hana claps her hands gleefully, fingers slotting together as she turns to Yuko with an excited smile. Yuko looks a little green at the thought, but that’s no matter at all. “Flying lessons! I wondered when they’d start. And with Ravenclaw—it’s perfect!”
“Like, on broomsticks?” Yuko says disbelievingly, eyes wide. “I thought that was a myth. Do you actually—? Oh my gosh. What if you fall off?”
“We won’t be flying very high,” Hana assures her. “It’s mostly just to make sure you know how. But don’t worry! If you do fall, the Professor will probably catch you.”
Yuko grimaces. “‘Probably?’”
“Well, one of my older brothers did break his arm during second-year flying practice,” Hana says thoughtfully, crossing her arms. “But Madame Pomfrey fixed him right up. It’s all magic, remember? You’ll be fine! More importantly, how should I style my hair…?”
“You’re not worried at all?” Yuko says, incredulous. “Are you—not afraid of heights?”
“Oh, I used to float away all the time as a kid,” Hana says offhandedly, squinting at a nearby copper pot to inspect her reflection as she fluffs her hair experimentally. “And I’ve been flying on practice brooms since I was a little kid. Miss Eleanor says I’m a real talent.”
“Oh, good,” Yuko mumbles, voice wry. “You can catch me then if I’m too heavy for my broomstick or something.”
“Quit that,” Hana huffs sternly, pausing in her ministrations to frown at her fellow Hufflepuff. “If a broomstick can’t handle your weight, they’d never manage a professional athlete. You’ll just need to be careful not to lose your grip.”
Her friend stares distrustfully at the flyer. “And it’s not optional?”
“Only for the first year, I think.” Hana taps her fingertips over her lips, considering. “Most people join a Quidditch team if they want to keep flying after that, but then again it’s good practice for tryouts.”
Yuko furrows her brows, mouthing the word back like she’s testing the weight of it. “Quidditch? I remember you saying that on the train, but I thought you were kidding about the brooms…”
Hana brightens, hands clapping together. “Only the most popular wizarding sport in the country! I’ll tell you all about it on the way to Herbology.”
The days pass painfully slowly. Saturday and Sunday and Monday crawl by, and the only thing they have to pass the time is the stacks of essays they get assigned for the next two weeks for Potions and History of Magic and instructions to practice wand movements for the others.
Hana works diligently to finish them all, but it does little to distract her from knowing that on Thursday she’ll be able to show off one of her practiced skills where Megumi is sure to see her. Flying may not be the most glamorous or useful ability, but surely it’s impressive nonetheless. She’d even learnt how to do a Jinksy Side-Spiral maneuver just that summer!
She’s so distracted that she barely notices a clumsier owl staggering over her breakfast plate that morning on its way to another student, and it’s a struggle to pay attention in Charms that morning let alone take decent notes. But she manages, because of course she still needs to succeed in Charms, too, and every other class, but she shifts impatiently in her seat the whole lecture.
And then finally it’s ten-thirty in the morning, and the first-year Hufflepuffs all hurry down the front steps onto the grounds for their first official flying lesson. It’s a clear, breezy day, grass rippling underfoot as they march down the sloping lawns toward a smoother, flatter field on the opposite side of the grounds to the forbidden forest, whose trees sway darkly in the distance.
The Ravenclaws are already there, as are twenty-odd broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground. Hana already knows from her older Housemates to be wary of the school brooms, but it isn’t like she’s ever flown with any sort of high-quality or even first-hand broom, so she’s confident it’ll be fine.
Their instructor, Professor Takuma, arrives slightly late, looking rather winded and a tad disheveled. He’s a plain-looking sort of guy, Hana thinks privately—certainly not one she recognizes from any of the Quidditch Games she’s watched from the living room of Agatha House. But if he’s employed by Hogwarts, that’s telling enough on its own.
“Hey, everyone!” he says cheerily as he seems to realize he’s the last one there, a bashful sort of grin on his face. “Who’s ready to learn how to fly? All right—everyone line up next to a broomstick.”
It isn’t until Hana does so, flouncing happily to her broom next to Yuko—nervous and a little green in the face as she inspects the old, worn-looking broomsticks on the ground—that she realizes a crucial problem:
Megumi isn’t here.
Hana raises her hand before Sir Takuma can go any further with the lesson. “Excuse me, sir—I think we might be missing a student. Shouldn’t we wait for him?”
Oddly, there’s a few grumbles from the Ravenclaws, mutters and elbows amongst themselves. The instructor snaps his fingers and points at her, still with that same lopsided grin. “Good eye! A future Seeker, eh? Yes—Megumi Fushiguro. No worries, though, kiddo; Mister Fushiguro tested out of flying lessons last week. Real talented kid.”
She doesn’t stop smiling, but Hana does feel herself tense, pleasant expression frozen on her face like she’s been smacked point-blank with a glacius spell. “Oh,” she says dumbly, and doesn’t hear the first few words of the lesson after that.
Of course he is. Of course he’s such a good flyer that he’s been excused from lessons in the first place—really, she should’ve expected this. But she can’t help the bitter pang of disappointment in her chest as her excitement deflates, sinking to the bottom of her chest with little more than a dejected sigh.
The instructor’s sharp clap drags her back to the present. “Right, with all that out of the way, let’s get started. Hold your dominant hand—usually your right—out over the broomstick and say, ‘Up!’”
“Up,” Hana says crisply amidst the unnecessary shouting of her classmates. The broom leaps to her palm and she catches it easily, the movement old hat by now. Even by her standards, it’s not the best sort of broom, twigs stick out of it at odd angles and it holds a tad crooked. A broom is a broom, though, and even gloomy as she is, it listens easily.
Hers is one of the few that does, though—Yuko’s had simply rolled over on the ground, and a few other students’ hadn’t moved at all, especially on the Ravenclaw side. Yuko’s face turns red, but she’s far from the only one.
The instructor has them all try a few more times until, eventually, most of them can successfully call their brooms. Hana helps Yuko with her posture and the strength of her voice as he goes up and down the rows to assist, dropping her own again to call it in demonstration.
“They can sense if you don’t want to fly,” she explains as it leaps into her hand again. “A safety feature, I imagine. If you’re scared, the brooms don’t listen.”
“You say that like—like they’re alive,” Yuko says hesitantly. Hana laughs in reply, and it does small wonders for her sour mood.
“They’re not, don’t worry. They’re just spelled, you know—enchanted,” she tells Yuko, who looks less than reassured. But on the next try, the broom somewhat reluctantly floats to her fingers, and her friend catches it easily and clutches the old thing to her chest.
Honestly, it’s a perfect day for flying—not too hot, with a nice breeze and plenty of sunlight. On any other day she’d already be itching to take off; maybe spin a few lazy loops to clear her head. She just wishes Megumi were here to see it, too, so she could finally show off…
Instructor Takuma goes up and down the rows, showing students new to flying how to properly mount their brooms. He corrects a few grips, smiling as he comes up to check her own. “Stellar posture! Have you flown before, Miss…?”
“Kurusu,” Hana supplies. Her smile comes a bit more naturally at the praise, and she straightens her shoulders. “Yes—I’ve been flying for years.”
“Kurusu? You’re Hana, then?” At Hana’s nod, his smile gets somehow even wider as he gushes, “Oh, I could’ve guessed by your hair! I’m not the smartest, heh. Man, it’s been a while since I’ve seen your mom.”
Hana perks up even further, thoughts of Megumi Fushiguro banished from her mind. “You knew my mother?”
The instructor beams at her. “Aw, not personally! Sora Kurusu was Gryffindor’s Quidditch Captain back when Nanami—er—Professor Kento was playing! He always said she was an excellent Keeper—said she flew like nobody else in Hogwarts. He took over when she graduated, you know.”
Hana can’t stop herself from blurting, “She played Quidditch?”
“‘Course! Never did go Pro, though,” he says thoughtfully. “I heard she had a kiddo instead—that must be you.”
Her hands tighten on the broomstick. Yuko is openly staring at her now, and so are a handful of classmates close enough to overhear, but she can’t bring herself to care.
Her mother had played Quidditch? Had nearly gone pro? Suddenly she thinks it’s a crime nobody ever broadcasted the Hogwarts games, silly as that would be. Maybe she would’ve had a picture or two of her flying—maybe she can check the library for old school papers—? And Keeper, of all things?
“Anyway, excellent form, Miss Kurusu,” the instructor says cheerily before moving on like he hadn’t just dropped an exploding bonbon between them, critiquing the form of the boy next to her.
“That’s cool,” Yuko says softly as they wait, gripping awkwardly at her broomstick. “About your mom, I mean. Did she not tell you about it?”
“Oh.” She supposed she hasn’t told Yuko yet—it’s not exactly something that comes up in polite conversation, after all. Still reeling, she just says, “My mother is dead.”
The look on Yuko’s face might have been a little funny in any other circumstance. As it is, Hana doesn’t really react except to paste on a charitable smile and turn her head back to the front as the instructor claps once more for their attention.
“Now, when I blow my whistle, you all kick off hard from the ground,” he instructs. Hana ignores Yuko’s near-silent but distinctly noticeable attempts to get her attention from behind and, probably, harriedly apologize for the social blunder, but Hana would very much rather be in the sky already. “Try and keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward a bit. On my whistle: three—two—”
Hana’s airborne the second the whistle touches his lips. As much as she wants to go higher, though, she does as instructed, savoring the familiar sensation for a few hovering feet before lightly touching back down. One or two students stumble and trip over their brooms, mostly on landing or taking off, but a few manage to float and descend without any major issues.
For Yuko’s part, she fumbles—probably distracted by her own embarrassment from earlier—and wobbles precariously, but it’s more anxiety than lack of skill. She so obviously wants her two feet back on the ground that she looks like she might just pass out with fear, and the relief is palpable when she manages to land without rolling any ankles.
“Nice, nice!” Takuma cheers. “Great start! Now we just need to work on flying form. Hana, Hachiro, Kasumi—you three clearly have a handle already, so just go ahead and practice for now. Don’t go any higher than ten feet, and stay where I can see you, okay?”
It’s a nice break from everything else, flying about without instruction. Hana flies as high as she dares without going against the instructor’s rules, chasing about with her Housemate Hachiro while the students new to broomstick-flying get hands-on instruction.
Disappointing, yes. But it gives her a moment to breathe, and to digest what she’s been told about her late mother. Details are so sparse as to be nonexistent—Agatha House had done their best, but really, there isn’t very much she knows for certain.
Her grandparents—Sora’s parents—had been killed by Dark Wizards in the Wizarding War. Hana’s father was a muggle who, quite possibly, has no idea she exists in the first place—if he does, the caretakers certainly had no way of finding out. Her mother had gotten an eleven-inch cedar wand from Ollivander’s when she was twelve, and played so well at Quidditch that she’d been the team captain for some of her Hogwarts stay.
She basks in the sun until it’s time to head to lunch, showing off the tricks she’s learned and cheering Yuko on as she hovers precariously in a straight-ish sort of line. It’s a relief as, when they finally have to dismount, Yuko gives her an understanding smile and says nothing about Hana’s mother.
“Are you gonna join the Quidditch team?” she asks curiously instead as they head inside for lunch, which she can smell even from the courtyard. “Mister Takuma seemed super excited about your flying.”
“Join the Quidditch team?” Hana echoes, brows furrowed. “I—Well, I suppose I could, but first years aren’t usually allowed to play.”
Yuko’s brows furrow. “Why? Is it against the rules or something?”
“No—normally first years just aren’t that experienced,” Hana explains, but her mind keeps butting up against the idea. Playing Quidditch? She’s supposed to be studying to be a Healer; surely a sport like that would be time consuming. But… “It’s a pretty dangerous game, you know, you can get hurt.”
“You seemed pretty experienced,” Yuko points out. “And—anyway, wouldn’t that be great for your plan with Megumi?”
“What?” This catches Hana off guard; she pauses mid-step to blink at her friend. Yuko startles under the attention and stops also, anxious. “How would it?”
“Th-The instructor said he tested out, right?” At Hana’s nod, she continues, expression brightening as she lifts a finger up to point at the castle ceilings. “Then he must be a really good broomstick flier. Wouldn’t he like Quidditch? Maybe it would impress him.”
Hana’s eyes blow wide as she absorbs this idea, hand covering her mouth. Their other classmates outpace them on their way to the Grand Hall, but Hana stalls in place, foot tapping rapidly against the stone floor.
It’s genius. Yuko’s right; if he’s that good at flying he must already like Quidditch—first years are almost never accepted, but she wouldn’t be barred from trying out, right? Neither would he. Having something like that in common would definitely make it easier to talk to him, too, moreso than hey, remember when you saved me from that boggart nest? I’m in love with you by the way.
Hana knows a few famous Quidditch players had been first-years in Hogwarts, it’s not unprecedented. Even if she didn’t make the cut, she could make a good impression for the next year. It would take some time from her studies, but surely she can manage this much. And anyway, she does miss flying; it’s not like first years are allowed to have their own brooms even if they’re on the team—joining would give her regular flight and practice time; she’d have to get used to the bludgers but—!
Elated, she claps both hands to Yuko’s shoulders. Yuko flinches in place but doesn’t fight Hana as she pulls her close enough to nearly touch noses, beaming.
“Yuko,” she says seriously. “You only have good ideas.”
Yuko flushes bright red like a cherry tomato, but offers a hesitant smile. “Um, thanks?”
Hana claps her hands once more against her shoulder in friendly camaraderie before letting her go to twine her arm in one of Yuko’s, who helps and stumbles with her as she makes her way to the Grand Hall.
“It’s destiny that we met, Yuko,” she declares into the otherwise empty corridor, her own voice bouncing off the walls. “Let’s go eat, and then it’s time to make a plan!”