Disclaimer: Not mine
Flying Dreams
Chapter Seven: One Mummy Needed
Oliver
I checked the timepiece strapped to my wrist as I jumped along with the Weird Sister fans and sighed - time to call it a night. When I mentioned the possibilities of leaving to the girl by my side, Lucia giggled and batted her eyes flirtatiously in hopes of getting invited into my tent for a nightcap but I wasn't in the mood. And I told her so.
"You're no fun," she pouted teasingly, shouting over the screaming music fans. I turned to look at her curled brown locks and glitter-smeared face with amusement.
"No?" My hand made its way to graze her bare stomach and I pulled her closer to my body in rhythm to the song. If I was never going to see this girl again, might as well leave a lasting impression. The media liked to interview my flings for juicy details and it would never do to disappoint. We swayed along to the slow tempo and I lowered my lips to plant soft kisses along Lucia's bare neck. "Still no fun?" I murmured. My free hand now played with her shiny curls.
"Maybe if you go slightly lower…" she hinted huskily, directing my lips.
A grin spread across my face and I unattached myself from her. "No can do, sweetheart. You're cute, but not cute enough to cost me half an hour of endurance with Pete Garrett's spit raining on my face." Before she should answer, I melted into the raving crowds with a cheery wave.
I was in good spirits as I made my way to England's campsite. We had won against Germany 240 to 30 - all down to my superb skills - and I had had a good companion for the concert tonight. That may explain why I never saw the owl coming as I was replaying my grand saves this afternoon in my mind, evaluating the reaction time and performance against my personal best.
When I lifted my tent flap up to enter, a massive shadow separated from a clump of tree branches and swooped down on me. I yelped and made movement to protect myself but the only attack came from an envelope hitting me on the head.
Feeling slightly foolish, I picked up the letter and went into my tent. "Stupid owls," I muttered meanly, hoping there wasn't any undercover paparazzi in the bushes that took advantage of my cowering moment. Ripping open the letter with more violence than required, I pulled out a photo and an accompanying letter.
"What the hell…?" I took one look of the photo and all the blood left my head. It was of Katie stuck between a human form and that of a lumpy pink thing that had handles attached to it. Hurriedly, I unfolded the letter and scanned through the contents, a foreboding feeling unfurling in my heart.
Dear Mr. Wood,
May we first congratulate you on the spectacular England victory against the Germans today? Your flying was simply awe-inspiring.
However, on to business: As you've no doubt observed from the photo, your 'friend' Katherine Bell is currently being held captive by a spell and she remains in limbo between the human and Gucci handbag form. We understand the photo quality is poor, to say the least, so we have thoughtfully provided small labels enchanted onto the picture so you would not have to strain your eyes to make out any significant details.
I glanced at the glossy image in my hands again and just as the letter said, white writing appeared line by line next to each item and disappeared again when the vaporous Katie moved. My lips curled in disgust as I watched the words: 'This is KT's nose, not her hair', 'this is the Gucci handbag', 'this is KT screaming (in pain)' and such emerged with sparkly arrows pointing to specific areas. Thoughtful my arse. I carried on reading.
If you wish to save her, then you must give in to our conditions and place two Rocket Triple 30 inside the box that you'll find behind the Rentals Shed under the lavender bush before noon tomorrow (12th August). Fail to do so, and you'll receive a disfigured designer handbag as a present in the evening tomorrow. We understand that such a present is very enthralling, but may we just remind you again that Katherine Bell's life is in your hands. Yes, your Quidditch gifted, extra large and calloused hands.
Keep up with your Quidditch wins, Mr. Wood, and a pleasure doing business with you.
Love,
The Conscientious Kidnappers of Katherine Bell
(TCKOKB for short, pronounced as Teh-Ko-Ke-Beh)
P.S. Tell anyone and TCKOKB will become TDOABPKAKB- The Disposers of A Bag Previously Known As Katherine Bell. As you can see, such a name is hardly striking so we are reluctant to don such a title unless you force us to. )
I blinked as I finished reading and breathed in deeply.
And then took a second deep breath.
And another.
And a fourth time.
My blood had gone cold and I didn't know how long I stood there, holding the dirty scrap of letter and the photograph. All I could think about was how Katie needed me.
I exhaled slowly and rubbed my temples. What the hell was I suppose to do? Chris' warning from this morning ran strong in my mind. 'You'll find Katie isn't the most popular gal at the minute.' That was probably the understatement of the century.
"I need my mummy," I whined petulantly.
That was a short one! But my super-fast update should have made up for it, no?
Review please!
