The world's just spinning / A little too fast
If things don't slow down soon we might not last
So just for a moment, let's be still

September, 1865 — Hogwarts Grounds
Benedict Sterling

Around the time of his end-of-year exams before summer, Ari had discovered a new study spot in the grounds, a patch of grass tucked between the greenhouses and the slope down to the quidditch pitch, that was far enough from the path to be quiet, was always more deserted than the library, and caught the afternoon sunlight to boot.

He didn't have a great deal of homework to work on, yet - he was only a couple of weeks into fourth year (and naturally, had spent the summer reading ahead in all his new textbooks) - but he had settled on the grass there anyway, digging his Potions book out of his schoolbag to look over the instructions before their next class, and making the most of the September sunshine in the meantime. Merlin knew it wouldn't last long against the tide of autumn.

He could see some distant figures practising on the quidditch pitch, but someone was flying up here, not so far off; a boy in the year below. Ari found himself glancing up at him from over his book every few minutes. (Perhaps this was not the most productive spot to sit, after all.) It was interesting enough to watch, though - he hadn't been on a broomstick since the flying lessons of first year, which had primarily served to teach Ari how easily he got giddy. Which meant quidditch was a firm impossibility.

The dark-haired boy - he was on the Slytherin team, if Ari recalled correctly - seemed rather comfortable on his broom, though. It was hard to tell if he was actually practising or just showing off, or throwing himself into loop-the-loops and speeding about for the sheer fun of it.

Ari returned his eyes to his book, lest he get dizzy from just watching.

He could hear that the boy had gone into another dive - a fast one - by the way the air was whistling around him. When Ari next glanced up, it was just in time to see him narrowly avoid the ground, crashing instead into a nearby clump of bushes.

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"No way in bloody hell is that wretched looking thing cursed!" The words practically lent themselves to falsehood as Benedict headed towards the case of brooms their team had been allowed to practice with.

"They are, they are!" piped up one of his team mates, which elicited an eye roll from Ben. He was a newbie, so Ben felt the urge to give him a clap upside the head. "What, you don't believe me?"

"Not in the slightest!" he replied, scoffing and reaching to grab his own broom. His hand was blocked by the team mate, who had a glint in his eye.

"Then you practice on it, Sterling."

The dare really only needed to be extended for Ben to accept it immediately. He snatched the aforementioned broom out of the cupboard and marched onto the pitch. As he threw a leg over the handle of the broom, he tossed the rest of his team a ridiculous exaggerated salute before kicking off the pitch. The feeling of the air rushing through his hair was exhilarating as he swooped through the air.

The broom operated just fine - it was actually quite smoother than his current broom that he owned. He dove down to his team mate, shouting, "You owe me money, mate!" as he rocketed off further off the pitch, doing loop de loops as he laughed. He could hear his team mate shouting profanities at him, which just made him laugh harder.

He was only laughing for so long, however. The broom started to sputter like it was almost about to breathe it's last breath. Ben only had the briefest time to register that there was a good possibility he was about to go down, before he actually did.

Into an obliging set of bushes he went, and there he stayed, choking on leaves as he lay there.

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Ari wasn't sure if the crash had been the broom's fault or its rider, but it hadn't looked at all pretty. And, after he had screwed up his face in a sympathetic wince, he noted that everyone else who'd been watching the flying display was still further off down the hill, so - well, he was closest.

I should probably do something, Ari thought, folding down his page in careless haste and letting the textbook drop to the ground as he stood, abandoning his things and all hesitation in the same beat. He paced over hurriedly to the thicket of bushes, his brow creased in trepidation. Thankfully, he supposed, he heard a choking sound from them as he approached, which meant at least he wasn't going to be greeted by a mangled body, but - there was still a flutter of nervousness in his chest as he forced a few more leaves apart to better look down at the boy who'd crashed.

"Er," he began, swallowing down an unintelligible stammer in favour of a more straightforward question. "Are you alright?" Awkwardly, he stretched out a hand in an offer to help pull the other boy out of the bushes. (That was - if he hadn't broken anything in the process, and presuming none of his teammates - or fans? - were looking too closely. Ari expected the last thing the Slytherin boy would be after now was another reason for embarrassment.)

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There was a small cloud of dust that radiated from his head as he shook the leaves from it. Ben coughed a little before squinting through the dust at the person who had come over to help him from his little predicament. The question offered had been tentative as if he wasn't sure how best to preserve Ben's dignity. Truth be told, there was plenty left of it; shame wasn't a word often used in the boy's superlatives. He found himself laughing with ease as he accepted the hand up. He tugged, grunting as he righted himself with the help of the Hufflepuff boy. "Perfectly well, thanks!" he beamed, shaking the mop of curls atop his head once more.

He glanced back down at the broom which now lay in pieces at their feet. Ben winced. "Can't say the same for this one however, poor thing." He bent down to pick the pieces up before straightening again and getting a good look at the boy who had come to help him. Rather like Ben, the boy had dark hair and unusual eyes; a kind blue-grey that in this very moment conveyed mild concern. He gave him a reassuring smile. "Thanks for coming over to help me," he said.

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The boy shook off the leaves like a wet dog; Ari was surprised to see just how easily he shook off the fall, like it hadn't bruised him or his ego in the slightest, as though he was somehow untouchable. And he wasn't even a Gryffindor.

Amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth - the other boy's high spirits were almost infectious enough to suppress his concern. He was laughing it off already, see, falling out of the sky. "You're welcome," he said sheepishly, half-wishing he had not. The boy clearly hadn't died, and he hadn't been any help, so really, it had been an overreaction. He really had to stop worrying about everything all the time.

Easier said than done: Ari watched as the Slytherin boy gathered up the remains of the broom, the real casualty of the accident. Ari didn't know much about brooms, really, but even that looked beyond the work of a hefty Reparo. He was surprised again to observe how little impact the destroyed broom - the boy's own, he assumed - had on him, too: a wince aside, he seemed unflappable. "Sorry about your broom," he offered, his brow furrowed in sympathy. He was sure other boys he knew would have been sobbing by now.

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Ben shrugged, grimacing slightly at the broken splinters in his hand. He'd get a walloping for this, no doubt. "Well," he began with an air of resignation. "they did say the broom was cursed, so perhaps I'll escape on a lighter sentence this time, eh?" He threw a slightly reckless grin again and sighed, gathering up the pieces.

Truth be told, embarrassment hadn't entirely escaped him though he hoped he hid it well. The last thing he wanted was for people to think he was a poor flyer. The boy didn't seem too judgemental though; perhaps a little shy and uncertain, but it was around those personality types that Ben seemed to get even more hyper. Perhaps he thought that if he were more excited, they might gain a little more energy from his. Of course, not everyone's energy worked that way but it was just beyond the boy's social understanding that managed to fly completely over his head.

He'd finished gathering up the pieces of the broom and threw the other boy another grin. "Well!" he declared, tilting his arms and checking to see he had all the parts of the broom in hand. "Thanks for the help! It was nice meeting you."

As he took one definitive step forward, his ankle buckled with pain. He gave a shout of anguish and then down went the Slytherin boy as he fell flat on his face.

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Ari’s eyes went a little wide at mention of the broom being cursed. Merlin, he knew what the boys in his year were like, never mind the younger ones, they’d do anything no matter how stupid, but this was - well, reaching new heights. Ari had enough self-preservation not to comment.

And that reckless grin had him softening to the boy’s stupidity. Just a little. It explained the gaggle of onlookers down towards the pitch, anyway; Ari was struck by a touch of envy at the boy’s easygoing manner - and not just easygoing, but like everything came naturally. Flying, crashing, keeping a smile on his face, talking to strangers.

He had just been leaving, and Ari had quietly returned the smile, turning back towards where he’d so unceremoniously abandoned his Potions book. It was then the boy gave another shout, and Ari spun back on his heel just in time to see him fall over his feet again.

Oh dear. His first thought was something in the manner of pride comes before a fall, soon followed by a wince of worry, and sympathy. Ari didn’t move away, ready to offer another hand if the boy was not too proud to refuse it - and he was waiting to sneak a better look at the ankle; he had enough siblings who’d gotten themselves into scrapes to know a thing or two - but he couldn’t help saying something. “I think that might’ve been the curse at work,” Ari deadpanned, biting his lip so as not to smile and wondering whether the Slytherin would still see the funny side. Sprained - fractured, or even broken - it was still probably a lighter sentence than the poor broom had gotten.

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It might have been the throbbing pain in his ankle that had made him hear wrong, but Ben could have sworn the boy had said something funny. His eyebrows knitted together and his mouth popped open in a surprised "o" . The other boy had been so solemn and serious, it was hard to imagine him joking. However, the glint in his eyes and the slight but definitely there smirk proved otherwise.

It was a moment before Ben started laughing; as if his further comments didn't signal he might have had a few screws loose, his laugh definitely could have. He cackled, clutching his side in glee. "You're joking!" he guffawed, rolling on his side and bracing himself against a thicker looking branch of the bush he was next to. "You looked so solemn there mate, I was worried you didn't know how to!" he commented as he pushed himself upright. His words might have been blunt, but the gleeful expression on his face might have quelled any thoughts of rudeness on Ben's part.

The leaves were back in his curls and so for that matter were a few twigs from the sacrificed broom. Ben coughed into his hand to expel the dust and dirt he'd inhaled. His mother would have had a field day if she saw him right now.

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The look on the other boy’s face almost made Ari want to try to be funny more often. His reaction was definitely more amusing in itself than any comment Ari could’ve made, and he might have come to the conclusion that the Slytherin was laughing at him, if he had not been grinning quite in that way.

So it gave Ari a thrill of confidence that he abruptly tried to push down again, feeling quite unlike himself. Still, he could not resist trying to court the boy’s attention for just a moment more. (It would not last, of course: he was far too dull.) “I’ve been known to try it,” Ari offered about as wryly as before, a glimmer of humour in his eyes and the smile threatening, irrepressibly, at the corner of his mouth. “But best not tell anyone that,” Ari said, teasing, “I don’t think they'd believe it if you did.” He didn’t think any of his siblings had ever thought him in the least bit funny, and it hadn’t much changed at school. (He had a reputation to uphold, after all, as a sensible, studious, responsible sort of student, one possibly in line for prefect.)

He wished he could keep the witty nonchalance up, but in spite of the leaves now sticking out of the Slytherin hair, Ari’s eyes kept dropping (worried, and a little fascinated) to his ankle. “I do think you should go to the nurse, though,” he pointed out apologetically.

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Ben reached up and shook the remaining debris out of his hair. "Well, you should try it more often, you've a good sense of humor about you, mate." He responded, coughing into his sleeve again as a small poof of dust emitted off his person. So that meant that the boy was often seen as quiet. Perhaps he was just used to being quiet. In his experience (as much experience as he could have at this age) that quiet people didn't have this kind of humor.

His eyes followed the boy's down to his ankle and he tapped it gingerly on the ground as if he were testing it. "I don't know," he mused, putting more weight on it. It twinged a bit, but perhaps it wasn't something that needed immediate attention. "I reckon I'd be able to do without some bandages for a few hours or so?"

And with that, without even waiting for an answer, he took another step forward. Of course, he was quite wrong and barely made it a step before he toppled into the other boy with another shout of surprise.

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Ari carefully filed that advice away, in case he decided it was ever worth trying to con some more outgoing people into being friends with him. Even younger, more boisterous boys like this. Of course, if he could handle being brothers with Julian and Leonid combined, he supposed he would manage being friends with someone like this.

Until the boy took another thoughtless step and went stumbling down again almost as soon as he’d gotten back up - only this time he didn’t hit the ground, because he’d just slammed right into Ari instead. He let out a sharp intake of breath as the collision knocked the wind right from him - it must have done, for he could see no other reasonable excuse for holding his breath at this sudden contact. Bravely, he caught the other boy as best he could, trying to avoid his eyes - a deep forest green - as he propped him better upright and then, in spite of how much he (desperately) wanted to let go, tucked one of his own arms under the boy’s to steady him.

“To the nurse, now,” Ari instructed, the authority in his order dampened ever so slightly by the hateful twinge of breathlessness in his chest. “If you want to be a professional quidditch player someday,” - he was hazarding a guess here, if only from the daredevil evidence he had been presented with today - “you’ll thank me later.” (If he kept his tongue firmly in his cheek, it might almost pass for a reproach.)

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Luckily unlike the previous accident, this one thankfully didn't knock the wind out of him. It did seem to knock the wind out of the other boy and he scrambled to right himself. "Sorry!" he yelped. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry!" All the scrambling was pretty much for nothing since he couldn't do much because of his ankle.

In the end, he was grateful for the support of the other boy; despite his lack of a filter to let him know when to feel shameful, this seemed to be his threshold. That, plus the firm admonishment by the other boy seemed to seal that. His head dipped in mild embarrassment. "Might as well thank you now," he muttered sheepishly as he limped along. As in pain as he was, he still caught the mild breathlessness of the one supporting him. "Are you okay, I didn't hurt you did you?" That would be all he needed - was to tell the school nurse he'd injured another student in his act of stupidity and receive a wallop because of it all. His backside hurt enough as it was.

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“No,” Ari said quickly - almost too quickly. “No, I’m fine.” He wasn’t hurt, really, only the shock had thrown him off, and that was nothing for the other boy to be sorry for falling into him for. Besides, now the poor lad was stuck with him all the rest of the way to the hospital wing, because there was nothing that would deter Ari from seeing him in that doorway to be seen by the nurse now.

(Even if he would really much rather let go.)

Maybe to chase that uncomfortable feeling away, or maybe because the other boy was actually kind of funny, Ari ended up laughing a bit at his muttering of thanks, in spite of himself. He tried to suppress it in his shoulders - he was supposed to be supporting him, after all, not making limping along more of an ask - but he was still battling a grin, nonetheless. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine too,” he added, with bright assurance, before he added, a touch more tentatively, “I’m Ari.”

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As much in pain as he was, Ben had to fight a grin as well, however, he was rather ill-suited to be hiding glee seeing as it took a while for the other boy to show any sort of cheerful attitude. At first, he wasn't entirely sure he'd be seeing the boy – Ari – around the castle again after this. He seemed rather nice, but a bit too reserved for Ben. But after this, he found his previous resolve weakened. "Nice to meet you, Ari." he replied, his voice slightly strained as they made their way off the castle grounds. "I'm Ben. Benedict Sterling."

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“Fisk,” Ari put in as they walked - well, limped - towards the castle. Ben, or Benedict Sterling as he had just affirmed, sounded slightly worse for wear the further they went, so Ari quietly tried to take a little more of his weight, and tried, too, to distract him with a little more conversation.

“So what are you, Ben, a - second year?” Ari guessed, keeping a straight face as though he was quite serious. It was not that far off a guess, realistically, but Ari had a hunch he’d seen the Slytherin starting in some of his OWL classes in the last couple weeks, and he knew he hadn’t been there last year. (He was too loud to miss, that was obvious.)

But just as any fourth year would bristle to be called a third year, so he suspected a third year would be indignant about being called a second year. Although - with how daft he’d been being on the cursed broom back there, Ari thought he might’ve even called that first year behaviour. But, it turned out, he found he liked Ben Sterling too much already to say that.

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He was about to give an indignant response, however, the fact that his latest decision ended with him in a heap of broom splinters, Ben thought it might not be the best to plead his sanity at this time. "I'm...I'm actually third year!" he said, recovering as best he could. He turned to look at the boy's face -- he might not be exactly able to tell just yet, but something told him the other boy was saying it in jest.

"Why, are you a third year too?" he demanded, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. He knew the boy was likely older than him, but really Ben just wanted to throw the question back in his face.

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