sunny down snuff [ackley]

Simon’s mother, wisely, had chosen never to indulge his requests to learn how to use various weapons (and had put wards on the knife drawer when he was seven) but, at long last, he was learning how to use a bow and arrow -- a proper bow and arrow, not the type he and Aldous used to make with sticks and rubber bands. (Never mind that the arrow had a rubber suction cup instead of a tip -- it was still a real bow.)

“My name is Simon,” he said, and put his hand out to shake -- he and his partner had been assigned to this target because they were younger than the others, hence the suction cup, and though he’d initially been sour about being treated like idiots because they were younger, there was probably still time to prove their worth and be granted a weapon. “What’s yours?”

He had put his bow on the way they did in the movies, almost immediately, across his chest, so he extricated himself with difficulty (this was not as easy as it looked in the movies) and frowned across the way at the target. Their target was closer than most of the others in this class, probably because their bows weren’t as powerful as the ones that the older kids got, but that was probably good. It would make it easier to aim.

They hadn’t been told to do anything yet, so when Simon notched an arrow he didn’t bother trying to shoot it, though he did close one eye -- he thought that was how it was supposed to work, at least. He lowered the bow, then, and stepped away from the little mark in the grass -- “So what school are you from?” he said, to his partner.

@Ackley Byrne

Lawrence and Beverly are going to be so jealous!

He was getting to handle a bow and arrow, a real bow and arrow! Okay, so, there may have been safely measures in place, but this was still closer than either of his siblings had ever gotten to handling such a weapon. Ackley felt like Robin Hood come to life! Now, all he needed was a villain to appear! A dastardly rogue like Prince John for him to steal from and give his earnings to the poor! Now wouldn’t that be a thrilling tale to share with his siblings. It was unlikely to come true, sadly, but surely he’d be able to convince someone to play heroes and villains with him. The others would have to be fools to pass up such an opportunity.

He was shaken out of his thoughts by the sound of the other boy offering an introduction and extending his hand. “Ackley, Ackley Byrne” he offered with a puffed up chest, as he tried to imitate a character in a movie his mummy had allowed him to watch with his daddy and Lawrence shortly before he left for camp. “Don’t worry, we’ll show them!” He whispered encouragingly having noted the disgruntled look on the other boys face when the instructor handed them the kid friendly weapon. Personally, while the real deal would have been nice, Ackley was pleased that he didn’t have to worry about accidentally maiming someone.

Since he had no experience with a bow and arrow Ackley decided to follow Simon’s example and strapped the bow across his chest. He instantly noticed that it was a lot heavier than he’d expected. “I am starting at Hogwarts this year!” He offered brightly. “My dad says if anyone asks I’m a halfblood, whatever that means, he’s a squid you see” he rambled without realising he’d gotten the term wizards used for a pureblood born without magic wrong.

It was then he turned his head to face the instructor as the woman began issuing instructions. They were to determine their dominant eye by completing a wink test, which involved putting their hands out in front of them, bringing the thumbs together so they were touching, changing the angle so the pointer fingers were touching and bringing the hands closer together to make a small triangle shape. Once they’d done that they were to focus on a target while closing one eye and then the other. The eleven year old listened to the instructions attentively before following them; his eagerness to learn at the fore.

“My left eye is dominant!” He excitedly concluded before literally jumping on the spot. A slight wince escaping him as the bow hit against his chest. “What about you Simon? Come on you have to try!” He ordered sounding slightly more bossy than intended.

(I have no clue about archery so I followed some instructions I found here and here.)

Ackley, Ackley Byrne sounded like someone who’d liked James Bond; Simon felt instantly like a fool for leaving out his surname (wasn’t it the grown-up thing to do, to introduce oneself by full name?) but it was too late now. Ackley, more concerningly, sounded like he’d heard Simon’s less-than-charitable thoughts toward the camp counselor, or had possibly just been looking at his face. He shrugged, as nonchalantly as he could -- "’Course we will,” he said, “Have you ever done this before?”

Hopefully not.

Simon brightened a little -- Ackley’s accent wasn’t just that of someone who’d liked James Bond, but he was actually English. “I’m at Hogwarts now,” he said eagerly, “Well, going into my second year. I can show you ‘round the castle if you ever want, when term starts.” That was, he knew, what the Prefects were for -- but Simon hadn’t been too impressed with the Prefects. At least in Gryffindor, they had an air of false superiority that drove him up a wall. Generally they didn’t even seem that keen on first years. He was so excited to be leaving that year behind.

“I’m a halfblood too,” he said, lowering his voice -- the counselor in charge was starting to make efforts to attract everybody’s attention. “But the other way ‘round. My dad’s a muggleborn. Like a reverse Squib.” His dad had been a muggleborn, but Simon decided quickly that the semantics were unimportant.

He stuck his thumb out in front of him -- didn’t that have significance, of some sort? -- and busied himself trying to wink -- it was one of those things, like rolling his tongue, that had always eluded Simon. He could manage an uneven squint at best. Finally he resorted to covering one eye at a time with the palm of his hand (he had to carefully set the bow down on the grass first) and announced, “My right eye is.” That made sense -- he was right-handed.

He put his hands down and picked the bow back up. Miranda was going through the pairs now, correcting their stance -- he gestured at the mark in the grass and said, as graciously as he could, “Would you like to go first?”

Ackley silently shook his head as the other boy asked had he done this before. The eleven year old suddenly felt a spike of apprehension. Was the use of medieval weaponry common in the wizarding world? From what he’d seen the magical world did seem to resemble something out of the pages of a history book at times. Was he about to make a fool of himself failing at something wizard grown kids had learnt from no age?

“It really is a castle?” He whispered in an awe struck tone. “I thought dad was just having me on!” He admitted sheepish. In Ackley’s mind castles were grand places inhabited by princes and princesses not regular kids like him. He wondered what it was like. “Are there really secret passages that only open at night? And ghosts of previous inhabitants wandering the halls?” His thoughts translated into words before he could even think to stop himself from speaking. His questions were based on the contents of books he’d read; the closest to being in a castle the young Briton had ever been. Ackley bit his lip as he eyed the boy in front of him nervously. Was Simon going to think he was stupid for not knowing the answers already?

He scowled when Simon told him about him about his dad. Not because of any ingrained prejudice: he’d been raised in the muggle world after all. Rather he was angry about his own stupidity. Squib, that was the word he’d been looking for! No wonder the older boy felt the need to discretely correct him. He must think I’m so stupid! He internally bemoaned. “It’s so interesting how the gift of magic seems to appear randomly. I wonder what causes it” he mused aloud. Simon was getting a peak at the part of Ackley many overlooked until they got to know him. While he might initially come off as flighty he actually had a curious streak a mile long.

Ackley nodded when Simon offered to let him go first. He was pleasantly surprised at the gesture. Had Lawrence been here he’d have insisted on going first while smugly proclaiming ‘big brother privilege’.

The brunette took a deep breath as he tried to follow his teacher’s advice. Right foot in front of the left (as he was left handed) with both feet shoulder width apart, he grasped the bow using an advised three finger style and proceeded to draw his bow. Unknown to Ackley, Miranda had enchanted the bows so they wouldn’t cause the finger damage experienced by muggles who used it without proper protective equipment. He was getting ready to aim when Miranda appeared at their sides. “No, no, no, boy!” She impatiently scolded.  “Straighten up that lower back! Do you want to do yourself an injury?”

Face flushed with shame the Briton did just that while trying not to let said shame show. Apparently satisfied, the counsellor moved on to the next group. Ackley released the arrow and watched with disappointment as it easily missed the mark. Still it wasn’t too bad a first attempt, at least he hadn’t hit someone!

“Yeah,” Simon confirmed, “Seven stories! I’m in Gryffindor, so I live in one of the towers -- do you know what house you want?” Then -- realising that if Ackley hadn’t known that Hogwarts was a castle, there was no reason to believe he’d know all the houses, “Has anybody told you ‘bout the houses yet?”

Simon was loving this, he decided -- it was absolutely excellent to be the older, more experienced, more mature one. This must be what Aldous felt like all the time -- big brotherly. Simon didn’t think he would trade being a youngest child for being an eldest one -- or, worse, a middle child like Archie -- but as a trial run, this was alright. A youngest child got away with anything, but an oldest child commanded respect, at least in theory. He puffed his chest out just slightly.

Ackley seemed pleased to be asked to go first -- score! -- so Simon retreated a few steps to let him take aim. They may have been given loser arrows, but they would probably still hurt at high velocity.

Then, startlingly, the counselor swooped down on them, correcting Ackley’s posture -- Simon, who was exactly as unlearnt as Ackley in the art of archery, felt sheepish anyway for not having noticed it; discreetly he tried to straighten his own lower back, not entirely sure how to do that -- until right this second he didn’t think he’d ever tried to use his spinal muscles, if they existed. Ackley’s arrow went wide; wordlessly Simon took up position in front of the target. His arrow also went wide.

“Do you reckon we go get them, or should we wait ‘til Miranda tells us?” he said; then, in answer to his own question, “Actually, we probably have to wait. Wanna go again?”

He stepped back again, trying to see if he could learn from the way Ackley was shooting, whether as a cautionary tale or as a shining example, and trying to decide if there was anything else he should immediately clue his new friend into. The war seemed too much, too soon -- and besides, did Ackley know about the ghosts yet?

Ackley’s eyes widened as Simon confirmed the size of the castle. He couldn’t imagine roaming the halls of somewhere so big. What if he got lost? What if he wandered down a secret passage way and never found his way back. His apprehension wasn’t that surprising when you considered the fact he had spent all of his life living in a cramped bungalow and sharing a bunk bed with his older brother Lawrence. The eleven year old forced those fears down. He was a big boy now, damn it!

The brunette nodded when Simon questioned his knowledge of the Hogwarts houses. While his father hadn’t attended Hogwarts he had lived with an older brother and parents who had. Therefore, Eoin had been able to share basic knowledge of the castle with him. It had been Ackley’s question of the summer. What house did he belong to? His father was convinced he’d be a Gryffindor while his mother proclaimed him a Ravenclaw (after Eoin explained the concept of houses and what they stood for to her). The Briton honestly didn’t know. He doubted he’d be a Slytherin though. Ackley didn’t care about fame and success and all that. He just wanted to live his days having fun and helping people whenever possible.

It was then Simon took aim and missed the mark; a fact that secretly pleased Ackley. It wasn’t that he wished failure on Simon. He simply didn’t want to make a fool of himself by being the only one to flop. Plus, they could share in the joy of success later. “Hard luck mate” he offered amicably before giving the older boy a comforting pat on the back. That was what friends did for each other. Were they friends? Of course they were! They would soon be attending the same school and Simon was such a nice bloke.

“I’d love to go again” he offered with a wide grin as he stepped forward and started going through the motions. This time Ackley tried to make improvements based on feedback he heard Miranda giving nearby pairs such as holding the bow less stiffly. With an air of determination, he released the arrow and waited for the results with baited breathe. “I missed again!” He offered sadly, but on the plus side he was a little bit closer to the mark than he had been last time.

Ackley ignored the question regarding the collection of fired arrows and instead returned to the earlier discussion of houses. “I honestly don’t know. Mum seems to think I’ll be a Ravenclaw while dad thinks I’ll be a Gryffindor like you. I guess we’ll find out in September. I’ve been studying my books just in case I have to face a troll or something.” What did that sentence make him? Was he a Ravenclaw for spending his summer studying, or a Gryffindor for being open to the idea of one day facing such a dangerous beast? He bit his lip as he nervously asked “You couldn’t tell me what the sorting involves could you? Dad claims he doesn’t know. Apparently his family wouldn’t tell him when he was a kid wanting it to be a surprise and then didn’t see the point in sharing once it became clear he wouldn’t be able to attend." The eleven year old couldn’t imagine being in his dad’s position. To know all about magic and not be a part of it must have been such a nightmare.

He waited impatiently on an answer only for Miranda to return and suggest Simon make another attempt before the older boy could answer. Ackley stepped back to give Simon room, but not without first whispering a hurried “good luck!”

Ackley didn’t say much, which made Simon suspect he didn’t know much, but didn’t want to look stupid. Taking his clue, Simon elected to go on: “There’s Prefects and professors to show you ‘round, though. Even most of the upperclassmen are decent about it.” He’d gotten a few eyerolls, but he’d never been pointed in the wrong direction.

He nodded wordlessly at the other boy’s consolation -- despite himself, he was sort of liking Ackley in a less condescending way than he’d set out to. Hard luck, indeed; he cast a longing look at the classmates his age who’d gotten to partner with each other instead of him.

Simon shook his head -- determinedly, he decided that he just ought to focus on the lesson, and feel left-out later. Ackley’s second shot had been an improvement -- Simon frowned a little, trying to gauge what had changed since the first. He didn’t have an archer’s eye; he had no idea what he should have noticed. Ackley’s stance? his line of sight? had it been a trick of the wind? “Better luck next time,” he said offhand -- but hopefully not before Simon. That would just be embarrassing.

As Ackley pondered the houses, Simon nodded along politely, focused more on stringing his arrow again. He was determined to land a hit this time, so he frowned down his arm at the target, both eyes squinted in an attempt at a wink, and tried to make the most miniscule movements he could (a tough feat for a restless child) even though his arms and shoulders were getting sore with how long he’d he’d had the arrow pulled back.

“That sounds sort of Ravenclaw to me,” he said, “You probably won’t need to face a troll though. I’ve never seen one, and neither has my older brother who’s been at the school longer.” Not much longer, but longer. Simon tried to remember the last time he’d heard of a troll being at the school -- surely one of the older professors would know. (The really old ones -- he had a couple professors who’d told him they remembered his father.)

The counselor came around again before Simon could decide whether to lead Ackley on or not; finally Simon let his arrow fly. This time it went too short; Miranda gave him a few pointers (his stance, his aim, and why was he squinting like that?) and then turned to Ackley; as Ackley was taking his turn again, Simon decided it was prudent to just tell the truth.

Miranda departed, and Simon said, “There’s a hat that can look into your head, it picks your house. You can talk to it too.” He’d gotten a short conversation out of it, at least -- though a few of his classmates had been sorted at the drop of -- well, a hat. “What house do you want?”

Ackley sighed in relief when Simon reassured him there would be perfects to guide him through the castle. At least he didn’t have to worry about getting lost and his urge to go adventuring could be followed without it getting scary.

The Briton watched with polite interest as the older boy raised his bow and concentrated on making the shot. Why did he squint his eyes funny like that? Had that been a part of the instructions he missed? Should he be doing it too? Either way it was very weird looking. Ackley’s shoulders slumped when Simon spoke against the idea of encountering a troll. Thank goodness for that! While he was prepared to do so, if it was needed to attend a place as awesome as Hogwarts, he hadn’t relished the idea; in fact the Briton had more than one nightmare of such a confrontation since receiving his letter.

A soft smile of solidarity was sent in Simon’s direction when he failed to hit the target once more. At least he wasn’t the only one struggling. Ackley listened with keen interest as Miranda offered the Gryffindor some pointers. He sniggered slightly as she mentioned the squinting! He knew that had been funny looking!

“A hat?” He repeated with a confused frown. How on earth could a hat have the intelligence to decide what house they attended? “It can see inside our heads” the Briton repeated with incredulity. “Can it see everything?” Like all the times he secretly grabbed one of his grandmas cookies before dinner. The eleven year old bit his lip as he anxiously waited for the older boy to answer. What if the hat saw all the times he’d ever misbehaved and decided he was too bold to attend Hogwarts? He would never survive the teasing from Lawrence.

Now that was an interesting question. No one had ever asked him that before. Lawrence hadn’t wanted to hear about Hogwarts, something which saddened Ackley, while the rest of his family made a guess and proceeded to explain why their theory was the best one. What house did he want to go to? “Definitely not Slytherin; I really couldn’t care less about money and all that. Hufflepuff sounds kinda dull to me… I mean loyalty is a good thing, but what are the conversations like? ‘Hello Ackley, what loyal thing did you do today?” He giggled at his own joke. “I think I’d have to agree with my parents that it’s between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. I do like adventures, but I don’t want to go on ones all the time. But then I don’t want to sit in a corner reading books all day either.” Ackley was stereotyping and hadn’t stopped to consider the idea that people could be more than the traits associated with their house at Hogwarts.

The whooping from a nearby pair as one of the girls succeeded in getting a bullseye reminded the brunette of his task. The eleven year old squared his shoulders, lifted the bow, and carefully considered Miranda’s earlier pointers before letting the arrow loose. At first the eleven year old felt his heart beat rise with anticipation as it looked like he was going to succeed this time! However, the arrow had wound up just a little right of the target. Still that had been considerably better than his previous attempts. He could do this! It was just a matter of practice. “I was really close that time!” He boasted with a bit more confidence than before. The round had been a loss, but at least it was a good loss. “Your turn! I bet you’ll get it this time!” Although a part of him hoped not as he’d love to be the one to succeed first.

“I mean, I guess,” said Simon -- he didn’t know how the hat worked and he really didn’t think anybody else did, either. “Some people the hat barely talks to though -- guess they just fit in so perfectly with their houses.” He didn’t know whether he was meant to be jealous of that.

He grinned with mild relief, a little glad that his new friend didn’t like the idea of Slytherin. “Slytherin’s a lot of bad eggs anyway,” he said -- his dad had always encouraged a little more nuance in house judgments than this, so he added, “Not all of ‘em, obviously. And my brother’s a Hufflepuff! So’re a lot of my friends.” He tilted his head thoughtfully, trying to decide what he thought Ackley seemed like, on first impression. He didn’t seem too bookish -- but what did Simon know? They’d known each other for like ten seconds.

“Well, I hope you get sorted Gryffindor,” he said. “It’s the best house. Our house ghost got almost beheaded and we almost won the house cup last year.” He didn’t mind that Hufflepuff had, though -- he had six more years to win and Aldous only had four.

The girls nearby were making a ruckus -- Simon followed Ackley’s gaze to their bullseye. “Whoa,” he said -- it seemed to have inspired Ackley, at least, for Ackley took careful aim at their target again. It still went wide, but by a narrower margin: Simon took his turn, now feeling a little more urgently like he had to at least graze the target. he did not; this one went over the target.

Curse whatever Cresswell ancestor he’d inherited his inability to wink from.

“Your turn again,” he said, then, “So what sort of things do you like to do? Like in your spare time?”