-10-

The next morning when Oliver and Darcy sat down to breakfast, everything was perfectly normal and routine until Oliver casually sucked some marmalade off the middle finger of his left hand.

At that simple gesture, a dream that Darcy had just last night came rushing back to her recollection and she dropped her spoon into the bowl of porridge before her. Her eyes widened as more and more detail cascaded into her mind's eye and Darcy Harris felt a horribly hot and distinctly uncomfortable sensation rising to her cheeks.

She kept her eyes fixed on the sugar bowl slightly to her right as visions of the man in front of her raged through her mind like wildfire. There were dark eyes, there was precious little clothing, there was firelight, there were hands everywhere, and there were two bodies so entwined that it was difficult to tell where one began and the other ended.

What made it worse, in Darcy's opinion, was that is wasn't even one of those dreams that felt like you were watching a movie. No, Darcy had been on the receiving end of this one. Bloody hell, she had probably been the instigator but her recollection didn't go that far back.

Her brain was still stuck on the feel of the branding his lips had given her body as she had grabbed fistfuls of his hair in pleasure. That was the worst part: she had enjoyed it all immensely.

Oliver, of course, noticed Darcy's widened eyes when he had looked up at the sound of her spoon clattering into her bowl. The poor girl looked petrified; he imagined that's what a Basilisk's victim would look like.

"Are you alright?" Oliver asked, ducking his head trying to catch Darcy's eye.

Her head snapped up at the sound of his voice. His voice that had moaned her name over and over last night. Stop it! Darcy shook her head to clear it.

"Sorry, what?" Darcy inwardly cringed at the breathless sound of her voice.

"I asked if you were alright. You were fine one minute and the next you looked like you were frozen in your seat. You still sort of look like a deer in the beam of lumos maxima."

"It's nothing. I'm fine," Darcy's voice betrayed her; clearly demonstrating that she wasn't fine.

"Wait a minute," Oliver peered at Darcy, "Are you blushing?"

"I, sir, do not blush," she spat the word as if it were foul tasting. "I just find it slightly warm in here."

No sooner had those words left her mouth that visible goose bumps appeared on her skin. Darcy had to fight the very strong urge to push her bowl of porridge aside and bash her head repeatedly against the mahogany table.

"Liar," Oliver called her out. "Tell me," Oliver coaxed, giving her a crooked grin and looking at her with those eyes.

When had brown eyes become so sexy? she wondered. She had always thought she was more of a blue eyes kind of girl. Darcy clenched her teeth and shook her head vehemently like a stubborn child refusing to eat her vegetables.

"Did I do something wrong?" Oliver asked.

Dear God, you did everything right last night! Darcy thought.

Darcy huffed. She knew he wouldn't leave her alone until he knew and she would feel bad if she let him think he was in the wrong.

"If you must know, I had a bad dream and I just remembered it. Jack the Ripper was disemboweling me," Darcy lied.

Oliver studied her with the keen eyes of a Keeper. She was lying; he was sure of it. Being with her for weeks on end hadn't gone idly by for Oliver. He had started noticing things about her that would normally go unnoticed. For example, she was left-handed, she took her tea with a splash of milk, she preferred going barefoot around the house when she thought no one noticed.

He had only recently believed himself able to tell when she was lying because she would tilt her chin up slightly as if to challenge someone to defy her statement. He thought she must do it unconsciously but it made perfect sense. It was just like Darcy to try and intimidate someone into believing her. That small tilt plainly said 'You know you're wrong and I'm right' and she was doing it now.

"You're lying," Oliver whispered. "Now I just need to know if it's about Jack the Ripper," he paused, no reaction, "Or about the dream?" he finished and...

Right there! Darcy did that barely perceptible head tilt and did his eyes deceive him or did her cheeks get a little pinker?

"Ah! So it was the dream, yeah?" Oliver smirked.

Darcy's eyes widened. How did he know? He had never been able to tell when she was lying before!

To Darcy's complete horror, a look of comprehension dawned on Oliver's face.

"I'll bet it was one of those dreams, wasn't it?" Oliver unsuccessfully hid a snicker.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," Darcy said, pointedly ignoring the man across from her.

"You know exactly what I mean. I bet it was really kinky," Oliver laughed. "So who was it about? Flint?" Oliver taunted.

"Ugh! If my dream had been about him, I would have already Obliviated myself!" Darcy declared before realizing her mistake.

She had pretty much just confirmed what the subject of her dream had been but mercifully not the star of it.

"Hmm. William Kensington?" Oliver taunted again.

"I will never tell you, Mr. Wood," Darcy narrowed her eyes playfully at him but meaning what she said. "Now drop it."

"Oh wait, I know! It was Snape!" Oliver laughed openly.

"My God! What is wrong with you? That's just disgusting!" Darcy made a face but chuckled despite herself. "That may be your fantasy, but it certainly isn't mine!"

"Oh Merlin," Oliver shuddered at the thought, "I take it back."

He held up his hands in surrender and Darcy, if only for a brief moment, let her thoughts revisit short snippets from the dream.

The rest of the day had passed incredibly quickly for Darcy even though it had been spent with (an uninvited) Mrs. Faversham. Darcy didn't actually mind though seeing as it did concern her wedding.

The big event was only days away and more work still needed to be done. Oliver had impressed Darcy when he offered to help with the plans, not wanting to anger Darcy like he had last time by abandoning her to the prying clutches of Mrs. Faversham, but Darcy had declined.

This surprised Oliver but he wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Had this been his own real wedding, he obviously would have wanted to help but then again, if it were real Mrs. Faversham would not be there. So Oliver had occupied himself with organizing the honeymoon with the help of Mr. Faversham.

Darcy Harris had never learnt so much about Victorian weddings as she did in those few days. Apparently, the dress was not usually white. Darcy had decided that her dress would be bottle-green. After all, it was Slytherin's colour and set off her red hair to perfection. A few days after deciding on her dress, she found a poem in a book of poetry while curled up in the small library of the townhouse:

Married in White, you have chosen right,
Married in Blue, your love will always be true,
Married in Pearl, you will live in a whirl,
Married in Brown, you will live in town,
Married in Red, you will wish yourself dead,
Married in Yellow, ashamed of your fellow,
Married in Green, ashamed to be seen,
Married in Pink, your spirit will sink,
Married in Grey, you will go far away,
Married in Black, you will wish yourself back.

According to the poem, she should be ashamed to be seen. However, that was not the case. She was in no way ashamed to be seen; not beside someone like Oliver but she thought it funny nonetheless.

She also had no idea what "Married in Pearl, you will live in a whirl" meant.

It would have been more accurate to have dressed in black. She did wish herself back. She missed home more and more as every day passed.

She and Mrs. Faversham had pored over books to see if they could incorporate anything Scottish to the attire. In a bit of a miracle, they had found the Wood Clan's crest and Darcy nearly burst out laughing when she noticed that the colours of the Clan were green and silver. Now she was convinced that some higher power was at work here.

Mrs. Faversham suggested weaving oak leaves in her bouquet of orange blossoms. The oak leaves were present because it was the representative tree of the Wood's and orange blossoms stood for good fortune, eternal love and – Darcy's wasn't so keen on this last meaning – fertility. Regardless, it would look beautiful.

It was the day of the wedding and Darcy felt incredibly ill and this time it wasn't because her corset was too tight. She couldn't actually wrap her head around the idea that in only a couple of short hours she would be a married woman. This whole thing was ludicrous! She wondered if Oliver felt as sick and nervous as she did. She suspected not. Men never seemed to cared about events like this.

However, Darcy was sure that if he were marrying a woman he loved he would care very much. Oliver was just the sort of person who would be loyal to a fault in regards to his loved ones. As to where Darcy was concerned, he probably couldn't give a damn. In all likelihood, he had never liked her in any kind of remotely romantic capacity.

Darcy was starting to realize that the person she was at Hogwarts was a right bloody bitch. She talked down to everyone, she gloated as much as possible, she took advantage of her good looks and she manipulated anyone to get what she wanted. Even the pathetic excuses she used to justify her actions sounded weak to her own ears.

What was it Oliver had said to her all those weeks ago? "Is that why you're so evil? Because you hate yourself?" Good God, he thought she was evil. Darcy felt a foreign emotion at the mere memory. It was shame. She did hate herself. Well, hated her persona at Hogwarts at the very least.

She was incredibly mean to younger Muggle-borns because they represented everything she wanted to be but couldn't. They were free to be themselves without fear of rejection from their peers. They had friends who accepted them for who they were; friends who couldn't care less about blood status. She envied them beyond belief and for that, she hated them.

She wondered again for the umpteenth time what House she should really be in. She was definitely a hard worker but loyalty, patience and value of fair play weren't exactly on her list of desirable traits so Hufflepuff was out.

She was reasonably smart and she had wit but would never be clever enough to answer a riddle correctly every time she had to get into her common room. Being a Ravenclaw would leave her sleeping just outside the common room more often than not.

Gryffindor valued bravery, daring, nerve and chivalry. Darcy smiled to herself, thinking this fit Oliver to a tee. She, on the other hand, was not very daring and was definitely lacking in the bravery department though she valued these traits. She was a coward for hiding her heritage and for lying to everybody at school.

This left Slytherin. Her house was all about cunning, ambition and resourcefulness. Darcy felt that she embodied these traits quite well and figured that she was rightfully a Slytherin. However, another niggling thought told her that she only exhibited these traits because she had to in order to fit in. She was nothing if not resourceful because she had to lie and deceive others just to find a place to belong.

Maybe she could have been a Gryffindor given the opportunity. In any case, it was too late now. There was no going back.

Trying to clear her head of all these depressing thoughts, Darcy mentally prepared herself for getting ready for the ceremony that would be happening in less than three hours time. She sat up in bed in darkness waiting for Mary to come in and help her dress. She still hated the thought of having someone to help her dress.

Not for the first time since she and Oliver had "arrived" in Victorian London, Darcy wanted to go home. She missed her mother and father horribly. She missed her friends (although there weren't many that she now considered true friends). She actually missed her classes and the castle. She missed the Black Lake and the Forbidden Forest and the Great Hall. She definitely missed Quidditch. She could only imagine how Oliver felt about the matter. Heaving a small sigh, she heard Mary knock on the door and enter.

On his side of the adjoining door, Oliver was feeling... well, he wasn't sure how he felt. His stomach felt as though it was in knots and he had the distinct impression that last night's dinner was about to revisit him in a most unpleasant way. This shouldn't be a big deal to him. All he had to do was say "I do" and get the hell out of there.

In his free time while Darcy was organizing the ceremony with Mrs. Faversham, Oliver had made his way over to see Mr. Faversham. In his visits, he had gone over everything that had to be done. Mercifully, Oliver had realized that on the whole, Victorian weddings were similar to magical ceremonies without the magical element, of course.

The honeymoon – Oliver cringed at the thought – was all planned out as he and Darcy would be going to Darcy's parent's country house in Faversham, Kent. Oliver found this incredibly ironic. He really hoped the Faversham's didn't also live there. Apparently the house was called Belmont House and according to Mr. Faversham, it was one of the finest estates in the country though he had never visited.

Reluctantly, Oliver donned his kilt and Prince Charlie jacket. Physically, he was ready to get married, mentally he was a mess. It got to the point that he just wanted this over and done with. This whole wedding was a massive waste of his time. Time he could put to better use in figuring out a way to get back to Hogwarts and to his friends and family.

He glanced once at his reflection and, satisfied with his appearance, he strode out of the townhouse and was off to the church with his best man in attendance. His best man turned out to be John Woodhouse whom he had met only a few weeks ago at the so-called engagement party at the Faversham's residence. Of him and Mr. Kensington, Mr. Woodhouse was by far the preferable choice.

It didn't really matter anyway.

A/N: Not only does Darcy not know what "live in a whirl" means; I don't know either. Any ideas?