-12-
Oliver and Darcy made their way to the red-walled dining room. A table that sat at least twelve rested beneath golden chandeliers. What was by far the most surprising was that the table was laden with still-steaming platters of hot food and set for two. Their arrival should have been unexpected.
"Is this for us or..." Darcy trailed off, wondering if someone was already living there.
Or maybe there were squatters with really expensive taste? She had seen no trace of servants despite the fact that the house was very free of dust. She stopped to listen for a long moment. All she heard was the distant heavy ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer. It was unsettling.
"Well, there's enough food here to feed a herd of hippogriffs. I suppose we could have some," Oliver shrugged, "I'm starving."
As amazing as the food was, they ate in an uneasy silence, expecting someone to jump out of the shadows and accuse them of trespassing. They talked very little and decided to pick out a bedroom to sleep in. After all, their coach had disappeared and it was far too late to go off to look for somewhere else to stay. Besides, the house truly was in the middle of the Kentish countryside, surrounded by miles of vacant rolling downs in every direction.
Full of comforting hot food, they climbed the staircase that hugged the foyer wall and noticed that only one room had a fire going. It also had one large bed. Oh, hell no! Darcy thought though she had to admit that Oliver looked hilarious with the way he surveyed the bed, then looked to her, then looked back at the bed.
"You take this room and I'll take another one. I'll just pile on some blankets. I'm sure I'll be warm enough," Oliver offered. Ever the gentleman, Darcy thought fondly.
Just as he was about to leave the room, Darcy stopped him. "Wood, wait. Look!" she pointed to the end of the bed where their missing trunks sat.
"Okay, something is very wrong here," Darcy whispered. She opened the lid to one of her trunks and found her nightgown along with everything else she had packed. Oliver did the same, still hating the blasted nightshirt he had to wear every night.
"Don't worry, I'm sure there's a rational explanation for everything," Oliver soothed.
It helped ease Darcy's fears just a little. She went to the mantle and took down a brass candle holder and lit the candle with the fire from the grate. She handed it to Oliver.
"To find your way," Darcy explained quietly.
Oliver hesitated a moment then leaned over to briefly kiss her forehead, nodded his thanks for the light and wished her a good night. A combination of the giddiness from the kiss and the eeriness of the house, Darcy didn't know if she'd be able to sleep. She had always loved this house but her gut told her that something was fundamentally wrong. She leaned against the doorframe until she saw what room Oliver was going to occupy: the door across from hers.
She bolted upright in her bed. She had no idea what had woken her. She thought maybe the old grandfather clock had chimed and woke her but just as that thought had occurred, she heard said clock chime one in the morning. The fire in the grate was slowly dying and the embers threw very little light on the room. The shadows in the room seemed to move as Darcy lay back down and hugged an unused pillow close to her.
Her eyes strained against the darkness, trying to see if anything was about to attack her. Her heart beat frantically. She tried to slow her breathing. Jesus, Darcy, get a grip! she scolded herself. Just as she had started nodding off, she heard something scuttle across her hardwood floor. Her eyes went wide again and she clamped a hand over her mouth to stop herself from screaming. She was terrified. It could have been anything from a mouse to a murderer.
After a while, she thought she might have imagined it. Then, with her eyes still wide, she distinctly saw something flit in front of the fire. Just a small shadow really but something was definitely in her room. She was not alone.
Without a second thought, Darcy tore off the sheets, reached the door of her room in a single bound, wrenched open the door and tore across the hall to Oliver's bedroom. She yanked open his door, slammed it behind her and threw herself onto his bed landing half on top of the sleeping man.
"Wood! Wood!" Darcy shook him hard, "Something's in my room!" she tried with all her might not to scream lest The Thing in her room came after her. It didn't help that the room was black as pitch; the candle next to his bed had gone out.
"What the hell, Harris?!" Oliver was wide awake after she had virtually assaulted him.
"Something's in my room!" she said again as she recounted what she had seen and heard.
She had grabbed his arm in a death grip and refused to let go.
"Are you sure?" Oliver whispered.
"Positive! I swear I didn't dream it!"
Oliver, though he couldn't see her, knew she wasn't lying. She sounded absolutely terrified and like she was trying to hold back sobs. Oliver didn't know how to handle crying females very well but he had seen enough of Fred and Angelina to know that when your girl was upset, you should at least give her a hug. So Oliver pulled Darcy into a hug and rubbed her back in a somewhat awkward manner until he felt her shaking subside. She had her arms locked around him and didn't seem to want to let go in the near future so he just kept holding her.
"I don't care what you say, I'm staying here until the sun comes up," Darcy whispered next to his ear.
"I'll protect you," Oliver assured her, half serious, half joking.
"I don't need protection. I just need someone to use as a shield in case it comes back," she whispered again, sounding a bit more relaxed.
He could hear a bit of a smile in her voice.
"I'll never get to sleep now," she complained.
Despite that statement, barely ten minutes had passed before Darcy had fallen asleep in Oliver's arms. Oliver kept holding her anyways. If anything, she provided warmth in his cold bedroom. And hey, what sort of a husband was he if he didn't spend his wedding night with his new wife? He allowed his fingers to run through her loose red hair, marvelling at the silky feel as he idly wondered what on Earth was sharing Darcy's bedroom. Darcy let out a contented sigh curled up next to Oliver and he just couldn't help himself: he placed a kiss on her temple and settled in to keep sentinel over her.
Early the next morning with the day's first pale rays of sunshine starting to filter through the drapes, Darcy cracked open her eyes. She felt marvellously warm. She groggily noticed she was wrapped up snugly in the arms of Oliver Wood and she didn't mind one bit.
It did take her a minute to remember why she was in his room. She sure as hell didn't sleep with him. She would have remembered that. She thought of The Thing that was in her room last night only now, in the light of day, she felt incredibly stupid. She must have imagined it.
Darcy looked up to see Oliver already awake and staring fixedly at the door. He must have noticed her gazed because he looked down at her with a tired smile.
"Sleep well?" he asked her.
"Exceptionally," she told him truthfully. She never slept that well unless she was home for Christmas or summer holidays, "You?"
He looked at her strangely. "I didn't sleep," he informed her, as if she must have known why.
"What? Why?" Darcy wondered if this old creaking house had kept him awake. "I hope I don't kick in my sleep."
"You don't," Oliver smiled, "I was making sure the creature in your room didn't come back to get you," he told her, returning his gaze to the door.
"You were awake all night?" Darcy gaped. Oliver just shrugged, as if it were no big deal.
"Good God, Wood. You really shouldn't have done that for me. It's still early. Get some sleep!" Darcy exclaimed.
That was incredibly sweet of him but she couldn't believe he watched over her to the detriment of his own sleep. Oliver nodded and closed his eyes with a sigh. Almost immediately she listened to Oliver's breathing as she lay awake, still in his arms. She gazed up at his face softly illuminated by the early morning light, thinking of how incredibly handsome and also how unbelievably kind he was. He would make some girl extremely happy some day. Hell, he had made her happy without even trying.
"Stop staring at me," Oliver suddenly mumbled with his eyes closed.
Darcy's eyes widened in surprise. At least he didn't sound angry. He actually seemed slightly amused.
"I- I'm not staring at you," Darcy weakly replied, wincing at how she stumbled over her words.
"I can see you, you know," he told her quietly with his eyes still seemingly closed.
Darcy peered a bit closer and could see a glint of his eye: it was almost imperceptibly cracked open. Darcy huffed and caught the slight upward curve of Oliver's lips before tucking her head against his shoulder.
Despite how relaxed she was, she couldn't get in a few more hours of sleep. She thought of all the things Oliver had done for her since they'd arrived in London. He had bought her an engagement ring when she hadn't expected anything at all, he had carried her home after the too-tight corset fiasco, he had offered to help with the wedding (although she had refused), he had organized the entire honeymoon and he had stayed awake to make sure she was safe from the probably imagined creature from last night.
And what had she ever done for him? She couldn't think of a single thing. She felt like a horrible and selfish person. She shuddered to imagine what an intentional guilt trip on his part would be like. She resolved to do something nice for him; she just didn't know what yet.
It hit her with the force of what she imagined Avada Kadavra felt like. She was falling for Oliver Wood. Not only did she find him gloriously attractive, but his character was just as beautiful. She wanted to be held by him every night. She wanted to wake up to him every morning. She wanted to eat all her meals with him, to tease him and be teased in turn. She wanted his friends to be her friends and by all that was holy, she wanted him to kiss her properly. Truth be told, she wanted him to snog her senseless. While she had kissed him at their wedding, that didn't count. It had had no feeling behind it. She wanted all of him in his Quidditch crazed glory.
Then she sighed, remembering Oliver Wood's indifference towards her. She recalled the night he had called her his friend and while it was better than hatred, it left a lot to be desired. He really had no reason to like her at all. She was a coward, she was spoilt, and she was obnoxiously vain. She didn't deserve him but by Merlin, she was going to try. Darcy decided to just enjoy the moment, cuddled in his arms, breathing in his intoxicating scent, and start fresh when they both woke up.
A few hours later, Oliver had woken up and stretched luxuriously, effectively disengaging himself from Darcy.
"Merlin, did I sleep!" he exclaimed.
He looked down at his chest to see that Darcy had placed her hand there. It was a strangely intimate gesture – though not entirely uncomfortable, her hand was pleasantly warm – he frowned and chose to ignore the feeling. Instead, he focused on revelling in the warmth under the feather duvet.
"You awake, Darcy?"
Darcy had still been thinking about how wonderful Oliver Wood was.
"Mmmm, I'm awake," she mumbled, "You're calling me by my first name," she observed neutrally.
"Uh, yeah. I guess I am. Is that a problem?"
Darcy couldn't see his face but she could feel the discomfort in his voice. Oliver didn't even realize he had said it. It had just slipped out in the morning fog he always experienced when waking up.
"Not at all. I quite like it actually. The way you roll the 'r' in Darcy," Darcy smiled and Oliver heard it in her voice. It pleased him. "Though I'm so used to Harris. Maybe you can call me Darcy for special occasions," she paused. "Would you like me to call you Oliver?" Darcy asked timidly.
Oliver thought about it for a moment. He was so used to her barking "Wood!" at him; it would no doubt sound incredibly strange to hear her say his given name. "I guess we could try it out," he said.
"Oliver it is, then," Darcy agreed. A comfortable silence ensued.
"So...about that thing in your room..." Oliver started. Darcy sighed.
"I'm sorry. I feel really stupid about that, it was probably just a stupid, vivid dream."
"Harris, you were terrified! I really don't think you made it up," Oliver moved to get out of bed.
"No! Why are you moving? It's so cold in this bloody house!" Darcy whined.
Oliver raised his eyebrows.
"I really never took you for a whiner," he told her.
"I'm a Slytherin, of course I whine," Darcy looked at him with a 'duh' expression.
"Well you're not a Slytherin here. You're just Darcy Harris, and Darcy Harris is going to get out of bed," he said, trying to pull her out of bed.
"You are so annoying," Darcy smiled despite herself, still struggling to stay in bed by grasping the brass headboard.
Oliver released his grip on her arm and moved to grab her around the waist and tossed her over his shoulder and carried her to the room where she had started out last night. Darcy squealed and flailed her limbs trying to get him to release her, to no avail.
"This is not dignified! Put me down you bloody highland barbarian!" Darcy laughed even with the blood rushing to her head uncomfortably.
She felt the heat of his hand when it made contact with her bare calf as a pleasant shiver ran through her at the touch. She thanked the powers that be that the charm she had used to strip the hair off her legs had lasted as long as it had. She doubted Victorian ladies shaved their legs.
"Don't be such a child," Oliver said flippantly.
He got to Darcy's room and set her feet down on the gleaming, and cold, hardwood floor allowing his hand to slide up Darcy's leg as far as he dared. By Merlin, her skin felt like silk!
"You carrying me was so unnecessary," Darcy crossed her arms and sat down on her bed only to jump up again when she noticed it was now made-up.
"What the hell?" Darcy asked no one in particular.
"Do you think this house is magical?" Oliver asked.
"Well, normally I'd say so but the pictures don't move and I always assumed my ancestors to be Muggles," Darcy shrugged.
Oliver seemed to be puzzled by something he saw behind her. She followed his line of sight and saw nothing out of the ordinary. She frowned.
"What are you looking at?" she asked, still scanning for something odd.
"What is that?" Oliver walked over to the tasseled rope near the bed.
"It's a bell-pull. You know, to call servants. There's one in all the rooms back in London," she explained.
"Why would we have a bell-pull if there're no servants here?" Oliver asked, looking at Darcy with a curious expression.
He had a point. She walked towards him and watched as he pulled it. Almost immediately, a loud crack was heard and a small creature appeared in front of her.
Darcy shrieked and roughly pulled Oliver in front of her.
"Merlin, you really weren't kidding when you said you'd use me as a shield," Oliver laughed.
"How can you be so calm about this?" Darcy asked shrilly, "There's a...a...thing in my room!"
She peered around Oliver's broad back at the tiny creature with huge ears and big round eyes. It seemed to be wearing a dirty pillowcase. When it saw she was staring at it, it curtseyed! I guess it's a girl, Darcy thought. Darcy gaped and released the fistfuls of Oliver's dressing gown that she hadn't realized she was gripping with white knuckles.
Oliver laughed. "Darcy, this thing is a house elf," he explained gently and pulled her forward.
"Um...hello?" it came out as a question when she greeted the house elf.
"Hello! Can Sooly get anything for you, Missus?" it squeaked.
"Uh...Maybe a glass of water? Please?" she asked, still stunned.
"Right aways, Missus!" Sooly squeaked again and departed with a loud crack. Two seconds later Sooly reappeared with a cool glass of water and handed it to Darcy.
"Thank you," Darcy whispered.
Sooly looked thrilled at having received approval from her mistress and asked if anything else was needed.
"I think that's all, Sooly. Thanks," Oliver said. Sooly smiled a toothy grin that dominated her face and left with one last crack.
Darcy sank onto the end of the bed silently sipping her water.
"Well, everything makes so much more sense now!" Oliver remarked, flopping down beside her on the bed.
He started ticking off the recent magical events on his fingers, "There must have been a Confundus Charm on the drivers of the coach, the disappearance and the reappearance of our luggage, the door only opening for a Harris, the food always being ready..." he trailed off.
"Have you really never seen a house elf before?" he asked, seeming amused.
Darcy shook her head. "I've only ever heard of them from the richer families in Slytherin. I never thought I'd see one."
"They pretty much run Hogwarts, did you know?" he nudged her shoulder and she looked at him.
"I didn't know that," Darcy admitted.
"Fred and George took me to the kitchens when I was in fifth year. The place is just milling with them," Oliver reminisced.
"I've never been to the kitchens," she confessed. Oliver gaped at her.
"Seriously?"
"Yeah. Where is it?"
"It's near Hufflepuff's Common Room. There's a bowl of fruit and you tickle the pear."
Darcy looked at him incredulously. "You tickle a pear?" she asked in a tone saying "you-must-be-joking".
"I'm serious! Like this," he reached his hand out to tickle Darcy's ribs. She giggled and swatted his hand. "And then the pear giggles just like that, only not as cute."
Darcy rolled her eyes bashfully at him and set her gaze on the comforter.
"I like them. The Weasley twins," Darcy told Oliver suddenly, "I don't think I've ever said five words to them but they're funny, apart from that god-awful Howler they sent me once," she said in response to Oliver's surprised face. "I have feelings, did you know?" she echoed Oliver's words.
Oliver just gazed at her lovely smile. She offered him some water which he took absent-mindedly, sipping some. Handing it back to Darcy, he nearly dropped it when he heard a loud sigh.
Darcy's head darted around, looking for the source of the sound. She then saw movement from the painted oval portrait of a woman pictured from the shoulders up. She wore an incredibly uncomfortable looking box-like headpiece and pearl necklace with a pendant of the letter B.
"'Tis about time," she said, giving a pointed look to Oliver and Darcy. "My eyes were beginning to water from being open thus long."
"Sorry?" Oliver offered. He felt much better knowing that this house was, indeed, magical. He was on more familiar territory now.
"It is no matter now that we may move. We were all quite worried you were only Muggles and we would not be allowed to move about for quite some time. You had both best be dressed soon for the morning meal," she advised.
"Right, then," Oliver said, heading for his trunk. He stopped to look towards Darcy. "Will you be needing help to get dressed?" he winked.
"No. I packed accordingly," she grinned.
Bending over her open trunk she rummaged around until she pulled some rumpled grey garments out.
"Here!" she thrust Oliver's Hogwarts uniform towards him, disentangling the sleeve of her white button-up shirt from his grey sweater.
Oliver grasped the blessedly familiar cloth. He felt so indescribably happy to have some normal clothing again.
"Harris, I could kiss you!" he exclaimed as he ran from the room, presumably to put on his new (or were they old?) clothes.
"You can't kiss me from another room!" Darcy called after him. She huffed.
"Men," she muttered at the same time as the painting. Darcy looked to the painting and they shared a smile.
"Were men the same in your time too?" Darcy asked the painted lady as she began changing into her shirt and skirt behind her dressing screen. Changing in front of a painting would feel awfully awkward.
"Men were ever so. It saddens me to see that they have not changed over the centuries," she heard the lady say.
Peeking her head out from behind the screen Darcy introduced herself. "I'm Darcy Harris, by the way. Well, more like Darcy Wood now. I married that bloke," she nodded her head to the door where Oliver had run out like a madman.
"Anne Boleyn."
Darcy gaped, wide eyed. Dear God, she was talking to Henry the Eight's first wife. And here she was sharing how annoying men were. The irony was palpable.
"I'm not sure if this is rude of me to ask, but you are aware of what happened to you, right?" Darcy placed a hand on her neck.
"I am," she nodded solemnly.
"Were you a witch?" Darcy couldn't help but ask.
She wasn't exactly sure how magical paintings worked; if you needed to be a magical person to be immortal on canvas.
Anne smiled. "Most people believed that. They said that I had bewitched the king. Henry certainly thought so," she fell silent, as if reminiscing.
Darcy shifted her weight, not sure if she should say something.
"I was a witch," Anne finished.
"Wouldn't you have been able to save yourself?" Darcy asked.
"Had I been burned at the stake like Thomas Moore, then yes I could have. Henry chose to have me beheaded instead. There was not much I could do then in front of the people," she raised a hand to her slender neck. Darcy winced. "But it is no matter. Your husband seems to be far kinder than my own. I hope he is not demanding a son from you."
Darcy felt her face grow warm with the implications of giving Oliver a child. That would be moving things insanely fast.
"I can see that you love him," Anne stated, smiling slightly.
Whoa, I only just realized I fancy him! I don't love the man! Do I? Darcy asked herself.
"Love is an awfully strong word," Darcy chuckled.
Awfully strong and that's what I'm feeling, God help me, Darcy realized.
A/N: Poor Anne Boleyn. I once read a historical fiction novel that says she was accused of sorcery so her portrait seemed to fit here.
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