AUTHOR'S DISCLAIMER
Okay folks, here's how it is:
My computer has crashed and taken all my current writing projects with it. It's taking an inordinately long time for any of my data to be recovered, and Wandslake (which I'm sorry to say I have really abandoned in favor of other pieces) and its notes, etc, is one of the few that remains on my backup laptop.
I am desperate to keep writing as a creative outlet, and without my notes for other original projects, I'm left with fanfiction and this is what I've got handy. I've always loved this story, however, so I'm glad to be back with it, though my writing style has changed (and I hope to god improved) over the years, so don't be surprised if it's a little different; hopefully it will be even more enjoyable and won't put long-time- (and I mean REALLY long-time-) readers off.
Most importantly, though, I can't promise how long I'll be working on Wandslake again. I have another epic fanfiction in a different 'verse under a different penname, as well as several non-fiction works and a couple novels, and they will take precedence the moment I get the data recovered. I might keep this on as an exercise in juggling several different projects, but I already have a lot to keep me busy, so it is doubtful.
Anyway, enjoy it while it lasts, if you're still interested.
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George managed to avoid another blow from anyone's elbow on arrival at the airport, ducking back as Kyle unbuckled his seatbelt. Unfortunately, George then stood up into the sliding door frame as he exited the van, swearing profusely and clutching the top of his head, making tufts of flaming red-orange hair stick up between his fingers.
Now Ann and Mel were trying to push past him but there was already a pile-up in front as Donna and Charles both stood frozen and gaping up at the sky.
"Merlin's beard, would you look at the size of that thing?" muttered Gary, pointing over Donna's shoulder at a massive Boeing 747 as it disappeared behind the terminal, presumably landing at the nearest runway.
"Guys, please, move," Taylor called from the furthermost seat in the back of the van. They were taking too long to unload; there was a taxi already trying to wedge into the spot they held in the queue, honking repeatedly.
"What do they want?" Oliver asked, frowning over his shoulder as he stared out the back window.
"They want us out of the way," Taylor said, frustrated, pushing a hand in the small of Oliver's back as he lumbered his way forward, bent almost double in the cramped quarters of the van. She glared back at the taxi driver, too, and they briefly exchanged rude hand gestures.
Her teammates were milling around on the sidewalk, somehow managing to take up all the available space in front of the doors leading into the terminal (though Mel was giving the sliding doors a wide berth, Taylor noticed). Hurried businessmen and anxious families with gigantic rolling suitcases were visibly angry, trying to weave in between the gawking wizards and witches.
"Get out of the way, guys, just move to one side!" Taylor called, finally disembarking last from the van. She was trying to help their driver unload the team's luggage and was annoyed when no one else paid enough attention to lend a hand. "Please, somebody..."
Taylor looked around to Oliver, hoping for help—he's the captain, he must be able to control them!—but he was just as much distracted as everyone else by their alien Muggle surroundings. Frustrated and desperate to catch everyone's attention, Taylor finally noticed again the magically enhanced briefcase that held all of the team's Quidditch gear (including her own), tucked safely under Oliver's arm. She reached forward and pulled it out of his grasp before he could stop her, though he lunged for the case reflexively and looked at her in bewilderment as she hoisted it up over her head.
"Taylor, what are you—"
"Wandslake!" Taylor shrieked, shaking the case in both hands. "I swear to god, I will throw this under a bus if you do not get over here, now!"
There was an impossible instant of total stillness and silence throughout the crowd outside the terminal. Other travelers were staring at her surprise, and even taxi drivers had paused in their hurry to ferry their fares' luggage to the curb, frowning, puzzled by her behavior. Then the moment passed and it was the usual flurry of activity again; no one really cared about some madwoman screaming nonsense.
Except the ten faces gone chalk-white in horror. Taylor's teammates had all frozen for a fraction of a second as they looked from Taylor to the briefcase over her head. Then they were gathered around her in a tight circle, as quickly as though they had apparated there.
Taylor lowered the briefcase again (it was remarkably heavy for its size) and glared fiercely around at her teammates, noticing for the first time that she was easily the shortest person among them. Four inches shorter than anyone else, Taylor marveled at how even Charles—the tallest of them all—seemed somehow diminished under her glare.
"Help him, for god's sake," Taylor said, pointing at their driver. He too had frozen at Taylor's outburst and now held Donna's misshapen bag upside-down, dangling half-in and half-out of the back of the van. Richard was the first to reach the man, but Donna used her slightly larger bulk to push him out of the way and seized her bag from the stunned-looking driver.
The Wandslake team emptied the van in a matter of moments and gathered again at Taylor's side, where most of them nervously eyed the briefcase she still held. Taylor dug her hand in one pocket and produced a tip for the driver, who immediately returned to the van and peeled away from the curb, clearly glad to be rid of them.
The honking taxi driver that had been vying for their spot was beaten to it by another passenger van, and the drivers and occupants alike were all shouting fiercely now. Taylor suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Oliver pointing down at the briefcase with an expression of mild unease.
"Can I have that back, now?" he asked, hesitantly.
"No!" said Taylor, turning her body to shield the case from him. "If it's the only leverage I've got on you lot, I'm not letting it go. Now get inside," she ordered.
Taylor was relieved to find an electronic ticketing kiosk by their airline's desk and checked them all in herself (she had to slap George's hand away when he offered to help). Then everyone was somewhat reluctant to relinquish hold of their bags, watching those belonging to other travelers trundling off on the conveyor belt until they disappeared behind the attendants' desks. Taylor had to assure them all that their bags would go into compartments under the plane, just as they had done on the bus that morning, but still ended up having to forcibly pry Kyle's fingers from the handle of his luggage.
Their next hurdle would be passing through security, and though Taylor had walked her teammates through the process in minute detail while they were on the bus, she decided it couldn't hurt to do it again. Plus, she had checked the timing as their tickets printed out at the kiosk and was annoyed to find they had arrived some five hours early for their flight; at least it meant more time to coach those who were less confident.
Some time later, Taylor wearily decided she had done the best she could to prepare her thoroughly non-Muggle compatriots (at the very least, least none of them had anything metallic in their pockets), and she sent them lined up single-file into the security check arena. She had decided to stay near the back of the group, trying to oversee the proceedings from the rear as opposed to going through first and risk leaving anyone behind.
Things seemed to be going mercifully smoothly, until Taylor heard a tell-tale buzzing noise. She peered worriedly around Donna's broad shoulders.
"They've stopped Gary at the metal detectors," Taylor said anxiously. "Why have they stopped Gary at the metal detectors?"
At her elbow, Oliver glanced forward (Gary was only a few people ahead of them in line) and Taylor watched his eyes widen in sudden comprehension. "Oh," he said. "Oh, no..."
"What?" demanded Taylor, seizing Oliver's arm. He turned to her and began speaking very quickly, keeping his voice low.
"Okay, here's the thing: Gary comes from a long wizarding line, and I mean long. We're talking back to Greek mythology here," said Oliver. "There's even some speculation that his ancestors were the basis for several of the lesser gods in the Greek mythos."
"Yes, fascinating, get to the relevant part," hissed Taylor, watching airport security pulling Gary aside now to let Ann pass through the metal detectors while they searched him.
"Well, his wand has been handed down through the family for centuries, and—if you believe the stories—its core is a strand of the Golden Fleece."
"Okay, wait," said Taylor, rubbing her temples furiously. "We're talking Jason and the Argonauts' Golden Fleece, here?" Oliver nodded, and Taylor started panicking in earnest now. "Oh my god, this is not happening..."
"What do we do?" This was George, who had evidently been listening over Taylor's shoulder. He was watching Gary with growing concern as a security officer started patting him down.
"Where does Gary keep his wand?" asked Taylor quickly, an idea forming in her head.
"I don't know," said Oliver, looking confused as to why she would even ask. "Probably his pocket, like most people." Taylor pushed her way forward toward the metal detectors, elbowing her teammates aside until she stood at the front of the line. She hurriedly put the Quidditch-gear briefcase on the conveyor belt and gave a silent prayer than the resizing spells would fool the x-ray machine. The attendant there frowned for a moment, reversed the conveyor belt to look at the case again, and then shrugged and let it through. Taylor wondered momentarily if there was a confundus charm on the briefcase, too.
But now she turned her attention to Gary, who was still being looked over by a security officer on the other side of the metal detector's gate. The officer standing before Taylor now looked down at her, frowning suspiciously at her earlier insistence to push her way to the front of the line. Taylor just ignored the man, looking past him and waving to catch Gary's attention.
"Gary!" she called. "Darling? It's your hip, love. Remember?" Gary was staring at her now in complete bewilderment. "The pins, from your surgery." Taylor turned to the officer in front of her and explained, "My fiancé. Old football injury, you know." Then she rolled her eyes and lowered her voice to add, "How he manages to forget every time we travel, I've no idea." She quickly looked Gary over, head to toe, and saw the familiar slender bulge in his right pocket that could only be a wand.
Rapping her knuckles against her own right hip, Taylor called out to Gary and the security officer who was now looking him over more contemplatively. "On the right side, sweetheart, that must be what's set them off."
Thankfully Gary seemed to have understood what she was doing, and said, "Oh, that's right, the pins. Thanks, love," he added, laughing, "I forgot." The security officer dutifully waved the metal detector wand over Gary's right side and it chirped happily at his pocket.
"Go on, then," said the officer, jerking his head sideways to usher Gary along. The officer in front of Taylor beckoned her forward through the gate and she hurried to meet Gary, not sure if she was going to tell him off or thank him for catching on so quickly.
She was completely surprised when Gary snaked one arm around her back and pulled her forward into a close embrace, crooning, "What would I do without you, pet?" And then, before she could stop him, he kissed her, solidly, on the mouth.
Someone gave a bark of laughter, which was cut short immediately, though Taylor still recognized it as George's.
After the initial moment of shocked disbelief, Taylor shoved Gary away (he narrowly avoided the sucker-punch aimed for his stomach) and growled through gritted teeth, "Don't embarrass me, love, we're in public."
"Yeah, get a room," advised Charles, who was just walking through the metal detectors, grinning broadly. Taylor glared daggers at him before seizing the briefcase from where it rested at the other end of the conveyor belt, and then waited impatiently for the rest of the team to make it safely through security.
Gary wisely stayed well out of range of any more retaliatory attacks.
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A/N: P.S. Also, it is likely some details/plot points might not quite add up now, given such a long interval between writing and scattered notes, so bear with me. Feel free to point them out, if you are so inclined, and I'll see what I can do to rectify the situation.