IMPORTANT

Fun fact: did you know that the events of Astoria span over fifteen years? So if you're looking forward to seeing the Draconian gang (and then some) all the way in the future, then keep reading!

x Noelle

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THE GRASS IS still wet from the morning dew. It clings to her socks, making her shiver. She hates the cold, but she seems to feel it more often than warmth. Positioning her broom at the right angle, she puts one leg over and plants both feet firm on the ground.

"Okay, you can do it this time," she hisses under her breath. "Come on, Astoria, don't be a wimp!"

"You know you're going to fall if you take off like that."

She gasps and whirls around at the voice. Unfortunately, she's still halfway on the broom. She flails for a bit in an attempt to get off, before she flops ungracefully onto the cold, wet grass. Urgh.

She hasn't interacted with Ronald Weasley since the first time she met him. Of course, it had been easy to find out who he was. There's a Weasley in almost every year. The mop of red hair is unmistakable. So is the fact that this Weasley, in particular, is best friends with the famous Harry Potter. But he's two years above her, the same as Daphne and her friends, and sorted into Gryffindor. And Astoria, in true Greengrass glory, is in Slytherin. Gryffindors and Slytherins do not mix.

She'd like to, though. She doesn't believe in all that pureblood or blood traitor crap her sister and Draco Malfoy go on and on about. And now she thinks she may have her chance, with Ron Weasley headed towards her, dragging his own broom behind.

"You okay?" he asks, and holds out a hand to her. "Didn't hurt yourself, did you?"

Only my dignity, she thinks, and takes his hand. Only two years older than she is, but already his hand envelops hers. She feels a rush of warmth, and lets him pull her to her feet. She tries not to look too disappointed when he quickly releases her after that.

"Thanks," she says, an echo of what she said the first time she met him. "Guess I fell without even taking off anyway."

"Your posture's all wrong. You know that, right? Not balanced at all." He demonstrates perfectly, and his broom already hovers several feet off the ground. "You're leaning too far back. It's like you don't trust the broom to take you where you want it to."

"I don't trust the broom at all," she mutters under her breath.

"What?"

Clearly, she isn't as subtle as she'd hoped to be. She flushes and bites her lip, looking away.

"Wait, do you...do you not know how to fly?" An edge of surprise seeps into Ron's voice. "Didn't Hooch already teach you?"

"Of course she did."

"Didn't you learn?"

"I did."

"Really?"

"No." She looks anywhere but at him. How mortifying—a second year not knowing how to fly. Everyone learns in their first year, but she doesn't know why no one ever takes into consideration that some people with, well, delicate sensibilities will have an aversion to flying. She nibbles on her lip until she remembers that it's a bad habit, and finally blurts, "I hate flying!"

There's a stunned silence. She reluctantly lifts her gaze back to his. Ron looks like she just told him she hates something far worse than flying. Like puppies. "You hate flying?"

"Well, I...I think I would, if I actually did try to. Which I can't because I don't ever want to leave the ground. My granddaddy once put me on his pet Thestral—"

"A what?"

"A Thestral. You know, those skeleton horses," she explains, but Ron blinks at her. She waves a dismissive hand at him and continues, "Anyway, I didn't have a good enough grip on the Thestral, so I slid right off. Broke my wrist and everything. It hurt so much I had to be homeschooled for the rest of that term. Afterwards, I swore to myself I'd never leave the ground unless I absolutely have to."

She's said it all in a rush, and by the end of it, Ron simply gapes at her. He looks like he doesn't quite know what to do with her, which, in all honesty, is quite fair. She's basically just unloaded a whole season of childhood trauma on him. Several awkward seconds tick by, until he angles his broom towards her.

"Come on."

It's her turn to blink. "What?"

"No one should go their whole life without flying once. And I'm quite good at it, if I do say so myself."

When he lifts a hand to her, she almost scrambles away. "No!"

"Astoria—"

He knows her name. And he doesn't call her Greengrass, like the way he calls every Slytherin by their surnames. She almost caves. "I—"

"One flight. We won't even go up that high."

She hesitates. But with his hand stretched out to her, how can she resist? Her shoulders slump as she goes over. She thinks it might be worth it when she sees the triumphant grin on his face. Slowly, reluctantly, she climbs up behind him. Her hands shake as she wraps them around the broom, but he throws her a look over his shoulder.

"What're you doing? Hold onto me."

"Are you—"

The words die on her tongue as he grabs one of her hands and pulls it around his waist. He wraps her other hand around him as well, and that shuts her up completely. His actions force her to scoot up, until she's almost pressed against his back. His body is lean and wiry, and she can almost feel his ribcage protruding beneath his Gryffindor sweater.

"Ready?" he asks.

She squeezes her eyes shut.

Flying feels like falling. A rush of wind; a shift in the air. She gasps when the ground vanishes beneath her feet, and her stomach swoops low the higher they rise. She fists her hands around his sweater and burrows closer to him, pressing her cheek against his back. In front of her, Ron lets out a loud whoop of delight. It's clear that he loves flying. She almost wants to see how much he loves it, but she'll be damned if she opens her eyes. The winds rush around her, whipping her hair into her face, and she counts down the seconds until it's over.

Suddenly, they come to a halt. The air is still and quiet, save for her harsh breaths against his back. Is it over?

"Astoria."

She makes a strangled sound in response.

"Astoria, open your eyes."

"No!"

"Look."

She looks. She doesn't know what it is that makes her trust him. Perhaps it's the Vision she'd received, or the conviction in his voice. Slowly, she peels her eyelids open, wincing as the sunlight hits her eyes. Ron's a liar, is the first thing that comes to her mind. Contrary to what he's told her, they have gone really high up. Another swooping feeling rushes through her when she registers how far she is from the ground. A fall like that from this height...

But then her gaze lands on the Hogwarts castle. A speck beneath her feet. The Forbidden Forest spread beyond, the wide lake farther ahead and even the winding train track that's brought them all here—a landscape that spreads as far as she can see until it fades into the horizon.

"It's like having the world at your feet, isn't it?" Ron says, sounding as awed as she feels.

She looks at him. It's understandable that Ron feels this way, being a Weasley and all, but the Greengrasses do have the world at their feet. Although this, she suspects, is different. She can have all the money in the world, but where else would she get a magnificent view like this? She can fly up here with anyone else, but it will not be the same.

The Vision she had last year tells her so.

"Yes," she breathes at last. Ron tosses a glance back at her and grins.

When they return, she climbs off the broom quickly. Thank Merlin she's back on the ground. She sweeps her hair back from her face and looks up at him. With belated adrenaline still rushing through her veins, she finds she has the courage to voice the question she's wanted to ask for a whole year. "Ron?"

"Hm?"

"I was wondering if you...uh, sense—see something different about me." Did you see it too? is what she really wants to ask. Did you see what the future holds?

Ron blinks. "Er...like that you're getting taller?"

Disappointment tightens in her chest, but it's over in a flash. It's okay that he can't see it. She's long suspected that she's the only one who can, anyway. "Yeah, kinda. I always wanted to be taller than Daphne."

"You might be. Not taller than me, though, I think I'll really grow." He grins and props his broom over his shoulder. "Anyway, I have to go practice."

"Oh, of course. Thanks for the ride." She scrambles for her own broom and bag. But something nags at the back of her mind, of a dream she had some nights ago, and she falters. "Hey, Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"You've got a pet rat, right?"

"You mean old Scabbers? Sure."

She nods and bites her lip. "Look out for him, okay?"

"Oh, don't worry, I look after him well enough. Thanks, Astoria."