Richard didn’t realize he was afraid of heights until his very first flying lesson. He had never travelled in a plane before, or climbed a mountain, or even a skyscraper, so at the beginning of the lesson, he had actually been quite excited. The way Jocelyn had waxed lyrical about flying had been contagious, so he had said “Up” as instructed, and mounted his broom under Madam Hooch’s watchful eyes without second thought.

But when he kicked off and the ground dropped away underneath him, his stomach did the same, and he found himself bent over the handle, both hands locked in a death-grip around the wood. His breath was coming in short, shallow bursts that each seemed to kick him in the gut. Through the ringing in his ears, he could just barely hear Potter’s: “What’s the matter, Smith? Scared of falling off?”

“Richard?” Jocelyn asked, closer to him.

“It’s all right, boy.” Madam Hooch was suddenly right next to him. “Feeling dizzy, yes? Happens to everyone the first time. Just give it a gently push, just a nudge, downwards – no, don’t look down!”

But it was too late: Richard had already glanced past his hands, too eager to get down again, and the world started spinning. Just as he thought he would surely slide off and crash, two hands grabbed him, one on each side.

“Thank you, Miss Davidson,” Madam Hooch said. “I’ve got him, if you could direct his broom downwards?”

It seemed to take forever, but it probably were mere seconds. Finally, Richard found himself safely on the ground again, the broom tangled up between his quivering legs, and Madam Hooch’s hand still gripping the fabric of his jacket, to stop him from falling.

“There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Madam Hooch said, as she helped him to straighten up. “Maybe have a seat for a moment.”

While Richard was still trying to understand what had happened to him, Madam Hooch turned to the rest of the class. Gryffindors and Slytherins were all staring, of course.

“I do hope you all took note of Miss Davidson’s flying just now,” the teacher said. “That was a quick reaction, very level-headed, and perfect fine-control on the flying.”

Richard could feel himself blush scarlet. It didn’t help his embarrassment that a few minutes later, he was joined by a girl from the Slytherin group, who had only gotten a few feet higher than he had before she, too, had gotten sick. She sat next to him, her head between her knees for a moment.

Madam Hooch joined them when the girl looked up again.

“This is a mild pick-me-up potion,” the teacher said, holding out a fairly large vial. “If you want to have another go, it’ll help keep your stomach calm.”

“Do we have to?” the Slytherin asked at once.

“You don’t have to, today,” Madam Hooch said. “But I very strongly recommend it. You will have to participate in class next week, and it will only get harder if you wait.”

Richard took a deep breath, and held out his hand for the potion. James was circling just a little way away, grinning at him like a maniac.

“There, that’s true Gryffindor-spirit,” Madam Hooch said. She smiled, when the girl scrambled to her feet, too, and gave each of them a drink of the potion. Then she turned back to class, and let a ball rise into the air. Richard had seen it at the quidditch try-outs. Quaffle, it had been called.

“If you feel secure enough, throw a few passes at each other,” she instructed the students up in the air. “Now, you two, nice and easy does it.”

Richard needed three tries to even get his broom to follow his command of “up” this time. Apparently, the broom could feel his unease at the thought of going up into the air again. It didn’t help that everybody was staring at him.

If the bloody sorting hat had put him in Ravenclaw, like he had asked, Richard mused, he likely would have refused to get up at his broom again. It seemed like the sensible thing to do. But the hat had placed him in Gryffindor, and now he had to pretend like he actually belonged there. Being known as the cowardly Gryffindor just would not do.

“You’re doing fine,” Shila tried to encourage him, but when Richard glared at her, she seemed to understand that he didn’t want to be cheered on.

His leg was shaking like mad when he swung it over the broomstick, and his fine motor control seemed off, so he ended up giving a much harder push than he had meant to. Jocelyn rose with him like she had been born with wings, whooping all the way.

Richard swallowed hard. He barely managed to level his broom so he wouldn’t rise even higher, or sink down again.

Shila, too, joined them. Of course, she was a wizard-child, so she had probably flown plenty of times before.

Who was he kidding? He would always be bad at this. It took him the biggest part of the lesson to just complete one rather jerky circle around the quidditch field, while all around him students were throwing the quaffle back and forth and scoring through the big goal posts. Several times, he tried to tell Jocelyn and Shila to go away and join the others, but they just ignored him, and he couldn’t muster a proper glare to sent them running.

As he had reached the last corner of the field and struggled to jerk the broom around, he bowed too low over the handle, and the broom shot forward like a bullet. When he braked to quickly, throwing himself backwards and nearly off, he felt something dislodge in his pocket. His wand.

When it fell, he said a word that made a lot of heads turn to towards him. He felt he was justified, though. He really couldn’t afford to buy a new one, if this one broke.

Jocelyn was already diving after it, and Richard’s breath caught. There was no way she was going to catch up with the wand in time, she was going to crash, and he’d be blamed, she – caught it, less than a meter above the ground, somehow still landing elegantly. Quickly, she pocketed it, and a huge cheer went up from the other students.

“Oh my,” Madam Hooch said, landing right next to her. “Oh my, I wish Oliver Wood had seen this! That was quite a catch, Miss Davidson. Perhaps it’s time for another exception, we’ll have to see… May I see the wand? Just to make sure?”

Jocelyn handed over the wand, while Richard did his best to land his broom without help.

When he hurried over towards them, he realized that Jocelyn hadn’t given Madam Hooch his wand at all. His was a much darker wood than the silvery colour of the wand the teacher was turning over in her hands. Confused, he reached into his back pocket, and he felt his heart skip a beat. His wand was still there, still where it belonged.

The knife was missing.

Richard and Jocelyn walked back in silence towards the castle. Shila chatted excitedly about Jocelyn’s flying, but it didn’t take her long to notice that something was amiss. When she fell silent as well, Jocelyn reached into her pocket. She made no move to give Richard his knife back.

Richard wondered what the best strategy was here. Should he try to apologize? He hadn’t done anything wrong, and he certainly hadn’t asked her to risk his life for the knife. But it still might be more prudent to feign some remorse, in case she thought about telling a teacher.

“Why did you even bring that to class?” Jocelyn asked, just before they reached the castle.

“Just habit,” Richard said.

“What’s so unusual about bringing a wand?” Shila asked.

Jocelyn sighed and reached into her pocket, pulling out the knife. She flicked it a couple of times, until the blade came out.

“That’s a knife!” Shila said, stunned.

“It’s a gravity knife,” Jocelyn said sternly. “Those are illegal in the UK, Richard!”

She closed the blade again. When Richard held out his hand, she made no attempt to hand it back, instead searching his face. After a second, Richard dropped his hand.

“You know what, maybe it’s better if you keep it,” he said.

“Yes, I think so, too.”

He was surprised about the change in Jocelyn. Gone was the timid girl who wouldn’t dare look James Potter in the eye. For the first time, Richard thought that maybe he could see why the hat put her into Gryffindor.

“Why do you even have a knife that’s illegal amongst Muggles?” Shila wanted to know.

“It was a gift,” Richard sighed. “From a very close friend of my father.”

“A very close friend of your father gave you a knife?”

“His father’s in prison,” Jocelyn explained for Shila.

Thanks, Richard thought. Just go ahead and tell everybody.

Shila looked at him, head tilted to one side. “You know, that explains a lot, actually,” she said.

Richard glared at her, but she didn’t look particularly impressed.

“How do you know what kind of knife it is, anyway?” he asked Jocelyn after a moment.

Jocelyn shrugged. “Father’s a police officer. I actually asked him if he knows anything about your father, but he wrote back that there are way too many Smiths.”

Richard glared at her, too. She shrugged it off, just like Shila.

Maybe he needed to find a mirror to practice. Clearly, he was losing his edge.

But for now, he went to lunch with the two girls, even though his stomach was still tied in knots.

James cursed inwardly when the three of them walked off, and waited a few more seconds before he came out from behind the tree that had hidden him. Smith had to be real shaken from that flying lesson. He was usually much harder to sneak up to.

And why had Jocelyn decided to keep the knife? That would have been just perfect, if Smith had kept it.

James allowed himself a brief fantasy of a well-executed ripping charm, aimed at the pocket of Smith’s ratty old jeans, of the knife dropping right at Professor McGonagall’s feet. Illegal amongst Muggles, Jocelyn had said. The headmistress probably wouldn’t have been amused by such an object. Even if it wasn’t enough to get him in trouble right away, it might just be enough to show the teachers what kind of person their new star pupil really was.

It might certainly be useful to know about Smith’s father. He just had to wait for the right opportunity to drop it.