Eliana was confident Gryffindor could win the Quidditch Cup—she watched them every day.
Don't get the wrong idea. She wasn't there for Harry or anyone else. She was practicing on a broomstick.
How the hell was she supposed to know first-years had to ride a broomstick for their final exam? She started puking three minutes after getting on one. How was a hopeless flyer like her supposed to pass?
But she refused to let a single grade below O appear on her report card—even in Flying Class, she wouldn't accept anything below an E!
What else could she do? Practice!
She refused to believe there was anything in this world she, Eliana, couldn't learn.
—Though perhaps, sometimes, she could stand to be a little less confident in herself.
Face set, Eliana rode one of the school's battered broomsticks thirty centimeters above the ground at a snail's pace of fifteen meters an hour.
A snail would despair at the sight, and a koala would weep. If Voldemort had traveled at that speed back then, Harry's family would still be singing karaoke ten thousand years after he set off.
Eliana pressed her lips together and sped up a little.
Thirty-five meters an hour.
Three minutes into the flight, her face went pale, and she reached into her pocket for the bag she'd prepared.
She snapped it open.
"Bleegh!!!!"
White as a sheet, she said defiantly, "I refuse to believe I can't ride one lousy broomstick!"
She picked up a little more speed.
"Bleegh!!!!"
(Very loudly—)
"I. Don't. Believe it!"
(Speeding up.)
"Bleegh, bleegh, bleegh—"
Still, the grueling training of flying with a plastic bag hanging around her neck while she puked into it did some good. A week later, Eliana could fly at fifty meters an hour for fifteen minutes without throwing up.
—As long as she didn't turn.
The moment she turned, the puking started again.
So if she wanted to extend her vomit-free record on a broomstick, she had to keep flying straight ahead.
Most of the time, that was easy enough. But, you know, little accidents were hardly unusual in the magical world.
Today, she'd managed to stay on her broomstick without puking for twenty minutes. She'd also reached eighty meters an hour and climbed higher than ever before, almost level with the tower. A little too pleased with herself, Eliana planted her hands on her hips, closed her eyes, and basked in her achievement, completely forgetting she was still sitting on a broomstick.
And the broomstick was still moving.
By the time she opened her eyes and found herself facing a glass window, it was too late.
Of course, she tried to brake. But while the Nimbus 2000 obeyed Harry's every command, a broom from the school broom shed seemed to have a mind of its own when Eliana rode it. Eliana blamed the broom.
She yanked it upward. Perhaps she pulled too hard in her panic, because instead of stopping, she spun through a full three hundred and sixty degrees. Then, with even more force behind her, she crashed through the window.
—A head-on collision would have hurt so much!
Terror filled Eliana's eyes. All she had time to do was pull out her wand, shout "Confringo!" and clamp her hands over her face.
Albus Dumbledore was enjoying some Cockroach Clusters. Beside him on the table sat a freshly brewed bottle of tooth-strengthening Potions. Being able to enjoy dessert without worrying about the consequences was one of life's greatest pleasures.
Thank you, Severus!
Dumbledore spooned a lethal amount of honey into his tea, then added half a jar of sugar cubes. The tea was so thick he could barely stir it. Full of anticipation, he took a sip.
That was the taste. His tea-making skills hadn't slipped a bit!
Delighted, he rewarded himself with a Cockroach Cluster that was still wriggling. "Severus," he said to the grim-faced Snape across from him, "would you like one?"
Snape eyed the cockroach legs struggling beside Dumbledore's mouth with disgust. "No."
"A cup of tea, then?" Dumbledore offered eagerly. "I make excellent tea!"
"I'm afraid I can't agree," Snape said coldly. "The undissolved sugar in your cup looks like the brains of those rampaging little trolls, badly stirred."
"Severus." Dumbledore set down his teacup in disapproval. "They're simply a group of sweet children with a little too much energy."
Snape gave a cold laugh. "Yes. Roaming the castle at night, brawling, blowing up cauldrons, hexing one another, and draining the Hospital Wing's Potions stores like a flood. So energetic. So adorable."
"Does our esteemed headmaster think his humble Potions Master doesn't have enough to do?"
"Ah, well..." Dumbledore looked away awkwardly and changed the subject. "I heard you were invited to spend Christmas with little Ellie this year. How was it? Did you have a nice time? Ellie is a warmhearted, kind child. I could tell when I brought her to Hogwarts."
A muscle twitched in Snape's face.
"I'm sorry to learn your health has deteriorated so badly. After the sugar rotted your teeth, has syrup clogged your eyes and brain as well?"
Snape's lips pulled into a false smile. "Warmhearted? Kind? Eliana?"
His expression suggested Dumbledore had just kissed him. He looked thoroughly revolted.
"Oh?" Curious, Dumbledore leaned forward. "McGonagall and Flitwick have both told me how much they admire the child."
Snape ground his back teeth. "Forgive me, but I can't see anything well-behaved about a little Hippogriff that charges at everything in sight."
"Oh, Severus." Dumbledore chuckled and leaned back in his chair. "We ought to be a little more forgiving of children."
"Don't you find these young people endearing? They're so small, their worries are so small, and even the trouble they cause is small and charming. Just watching them makes me feel younger."
Snape said acidly, "Perhaps that's because I already have one foot in the grave and am beyond saving."
"Don't be like that, Severus. You're still young." Dumbledore sipped his tea, then clasped his hands behind his back and eagerly beckoned Snape toward the window. "Come see what the children are playing at out there."
A little secret spying.jpg
Snape took a sharp step back, his mouth flattening into a line. "Would our esteemed headmaster permit him to—"
Suddenly, a tremendous clatter came from the window. A shrill cry of "Confringo!" rang out, and the glass exploded.
Dumbledore dodged back with agility that belied his age as a dark shape hurtled in through the shattered window.
—What was going on? Had Voldemort attacked Hogwarts?
Snape had his wand trained on the shape almost the instant it came flying in. But when the thing let out its first whimper, he raised an eyebrow and lowered his wand.
He was in no hurry to leave now. With undisguised delight at Dumbledore's misfortune, he said, "Your warmhearted, kind child, whose little mishaps are so charming, has arrived."
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