4.3 | Astoria ✓

02 | 1994

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!"