Chapter Five - Felicity's flying lesson
"Feliciteeee..."
Felicity half-opened her eyes and rolled over in bed to look at the door. Aunt Joan was standing in the doorway, wearing blue jeans and a T-shirt. In each hand she held a broom.
"Come on, get up, we have some flying to do," she said in a hushed conspiratorial tone. "I want you to surprise your folks," she added.
Felicity climbed out of bed.
"You had better wear pants or shorts or something. It's best not to learn flying with a skirt on, at least not if you're a lady," Joan giggled.
Felicity dressed in her long red shorts and a pull over top.
"Here," her aunt handed her one of the brooms. "It was mine when I was about your age. I found it out in the shed."
Felicity and Joan crept down the stairs to the kitchen. It was clear that Aunt Joan had planned for a day's outing for she had packed her travel bag with a picnic and a blanket. She gave Felicity a muffin and glass of milk. Once finished, the two slipped out the back door.
When they were beyond earshot of the cottage, Aunt Joan opened up and became her chatty self once again.
"Normally, a girl's mother would teach her how to fly. But, in your case, that is just not possible."
"Aunt Joan, how did Mother and Father meet?" Felicity had not thought of the matter before her father had told her that, in some places, magical and non-magical peoples seldom married.
"Didn't they ever tell you?" Aunt Joan seemed surprised. "That brother of mine! He's too private for his own good. I suppose he didn't tell you about the facts of life, either!"
"Mother did," Felicity said, feeling a bit embarrased.
"Well, I'm glad about that!" said Joan with a smile. "One less thing that I have to teach you," she laughed.
"Your father and mother met at Gringotts."
"But Mother's not magical; what was she doing at Gringotts?" Felicity asked.
"Well, that is just it, she wasn't supposed to be there at all. It seems that a young wizard who was studying at the School of Design had some paintings out in the park one day. He had placed a charm on the paintings, you see. Your mother had stopped to look at them, when a gust of wind caught the painting and blew it into your mother.
"As quick as you could say Ômagicla ars,' Anne fell into the painting. The painting was of the street in front of Gringotts. She fell headlong into your father who was just coming out of work.
"You might say, my dear, that they Ôfell in love.'" Joan laughed at this clever use of words. She then went on.
"So Anne and Martin fell in love and got married at the church across the street from your house. I can tell you that Father was none to happy at first about having a muggle in the family, but he got over it, particularly after you were born. Those green eye of yours assured everyone in the family that you were magical.
"And, over time, your mother has come to fit in quite well in our world. Why, there are some who have no idea that she's a muggle at all."
Felicity gave a quick look at her aunt at the second use of muggle in referring to her mother.
Joan let out a long sigh. "Oh, I know I'm not supposed to call her that. It's ever so rude of me. It's just one of my many bad habits, I fear."
As they walked through the neighborhood, people would occasionally give a second look at the two of them with their brooms.
"I bet they're wondering what we're up to," Joan said coyly. "Just keep smiling," she chuckled, then continued. "You have to be careful not to be doing magic around mug--- non-magical people, less you have a permit from the Commissioner."
"Commissioner?" Felicity looked up from kicking a small stone along the roadside.
"The Commissioner of Magic, he's the one who gives out permits and what not. Arthur Daniels Williams is his name. His office is not far from where your father works. One of the oldest families in Rhode Island, they say."
"Williams..." Felicity said slowly. "Any relation to...?"
"That boy you're so fond of?" Joan said, smiling at the memory of her own girlhood crush. "He's his father," she replied.
Felicity turned this matter over in her mind a bit.
They came to the seashore at the eastern edge of town and climbed several rows of sand dunes before coming to a spot which Joan felt was suitable. She put down her bag and spread out the blanket in a protected spot. She then took Felicity out into the open. After checking to ensure they were alone, she began Felicity's flying lesson.
"First thing you need to remember is to never let go of the broom," Aunt Joan said. "If you do, you'll fall and the broom may not be able to catch up with you before you hit the ground.
"Now get on your broom."
Felicity straddled the broom next to her aunt.
"It's really quite simple. All you need to do is point the broomstick in the direction you want the broom to go. Point it up and you will rise; down and you will fall. You get the idea?" Aunt Joan looked at Felicity.
Felicity stood on the beach, the wind coming in off the Atlantic and mimicking her aunt's movements.
"You use your legs to control your speed," Joan continued. "If you put them in front of you, you'll slow down; put then behind you and you go faster."
"How do I get it to go up in the air?" Felicity was getting excited about the prospect of flying; it sure beat using a bicycle.
"Hold on to the broom tight now."
Felicity took a tight hold of the broom.
"Now say ÔVolaticus.'" As Joan did so, her broom lifted gently into the air and hovered about three feet off the ground.
"V-O-L-A-T-I-C-U-S," Felicity said slowly. But rather than gently floating into the air as her aunt had done, the broom lurched wildly into the wind. Felicity grasped the broom even tighter as it rocked and bucked under her, but it was no use. She soon found herself on the sand, the broom next to her.
Joan landed nearby. "It happens to everyone their first time out. But you'll get used to it. It's no more difficult than riding a bicycle."
After several attempts, Felicity was able to get the broom airborne without too much difficulty. Aunt Joan was right; flying was a very nice way to travel. Felicity skimmed along the beach, only occasionally being blown off course by a gust of wind. She looked down with delight at the broom, which carried her so effortlessly wherever she wished to go.
Aunt Joan flew alongside, her mind ripe with the memories of her own girlhood along the same stretch of deserted beach. It was as if she were reliving that magical time when her life changed as well.
Felicity and her aunt sat on the blanket eating their lunch.
"Aunt Joan, can I ask you a question?"
"Oooh, must be serious if you have to ask if you can ask it first," Joan said with a smile. "Sure, go ahead."
"Who was Lord Voldemort?"
At once, Aunt Joan's cheery disposition changed. She turned and looked at Felicity. "You must never say that name aloud, Felicity. Do you understand?"
Felicity shrunk back. "No, not really," she said.
"It is because of him and his family that the troubles were visited upon our people so long ago. It is because of him that we can never return to Salem, Massachusetts."
Felicity looked completely baffled. "We can't go to Salem?"
"No, no magical person can. The spell can only be broken when Ôthe widow's son' returns and we don't know who that is.
"The first Lord placed the curse on the town. His family has been the cause of considerable trouble in the magical world and continues to be so even to this day. By not speaking the name, we do not grant the family any more power than it has. Fortunately for us, they seems to have lost interest in Salem."
Felicity now realized why her father had become so upset at the mention of Voldemort's name.
"Felicity," her aunt continued, "you must promise me never to utter that name again, you promise?" Her aunt look deeply at Felicity.
"I promise."
"Good, then," her aunt had returned, as if by a spell, to her usually cheery self. "How about some more cake?" she said, handing her another slice of the chocolate cake Felicity's mother had made for her birthday.
The late afternoon sun shown through the haze as Felicity, now grown accustomed to handling the broom, raced along the shore. Aunt Joan sat on the beach admiring the view, satisfied at the training of her young niece.
Felicity did not notice the forms of two people approaching on a broom behind her. She was startled a bit as they rose to greet her. It was her parents, who were as surprised to see her as she them. Martin Stockwell was in front with his wife behind, her arms around his waist. They waved and said nothing, but flew alongside their daughter in the sea air, gulls swooping in front of them.
Felicity looked over at her mother, whose chin rested on her husband's shoulder. She looked so happy to be flying with him, not having to hide from Felicity; like she must have looked when they were newlyweds, Felicity thought.
"Feliciteeee..."
Felicity half-opened her eyes and rolled over in bed to look at the door. Aunt Joan was standing in the doorway, wearing blue jeans and a T-shirt. In each hand she held a broom.
"Come on, get up, we have some flying to do," she said in a hushed conspiratorial tone. "I want you to surprise your folks," she added.
Felicity climbed out of bed.
"You had better wear pants or shorts or something. It's best not to learn flying with a skirt on, at least not if you're a lady," Joan giggled.
Felicity dressed in her long red shorts and a pull over top.
"Here," her aunt handed her one of the brooms. "It was mine when I was about your age. I found it out in the shed."
Felicity and Joan crept down the stairs to the kitchen. It was clear that Aunt Joan had planned for a day's outing for she had packed her travel bag with a picnic and a blanket. She gave Felicity a muffin and glass of milk. Once finished, the two slipped out the back door.
When they were beyond earshot of the cottage, Aunt Joan opened up and became her chatty self once again.
"Normally, a girl's mother would teach her how to fly. But, in your case, that is just not possible."
"Aunt Joan, how did Mother and Father meet?" Felicity had not thought of the matter before her father had told her that, in some places, magical and non-magical peoples seldom married.
"Didn't they ever tell you?" Aunt Joan seemed surprised. "That brother of mine! He's too private for his own good. I suppose he didn't tell you about the facts of life, either!"
"Mother did," Felicity said, feeling a bit embarrased.
"Well, I'm glad about that!" said Joan with a smile. "One less thing that I have to teach you," she laughed.
"Your father and mother met at Gringotts."
"But Mother's not magical; what was she doing at Gringotts?" Felicity asked.
"Well, that is just it, she wasn't supposed to be there at all. It seems that a young wizard who was studying at the School of Design had some paintings out in the park one day. He had placed a charm on the paintings, you see. Your mother had stopped to look at them, when a gust of wind caught the painting and blew it into your mother.
"As quick as you could say Ômagicla ars,' Anne fell into the painting. The painting was of the street in front of Gringotts. She fell headlong into your father who was just coming out of work.
"You might say, my dear, that they Ôfell in love.'" Joan laughed at this clever use of words. She then went on.
"So Anne and Martin fell in love and got married at the church across the street from your house. I can tell you that Father was none to happy at first about having a muggle in the family, but he got over it, particularly after you were born. Those green eye of yours assured everyone in the family that you were magical.
"And, over time, your mother has come to fit in quite well in our world. Why, there are some who have no idea that she's a muggle at all."
Felicity gave a quick look at her aunt at the second use of muggle in referring to her mother.
Joan let out a long sigh. "Oh, I know I'm not supposed to call her that. It's ever so rude of me. It's just one of my many bad habits, I fear."
As they walked through the neighborhood, people would occasionally give a second look at the two of them with their brooms.
"I bet they're wondering what we're up to," Joan said coyly. "Just keep smiling," she chuckled, then continued. "You have to be careful not to be doing magic around mug--- non-magical people, less you have a permit from the Commissioner."
"Commissioner?" Felicity looked up from kicking a small stone along the roadside.
"The Commissioner of Magic, he's the one who gives out permits and what not. Arthur Daniels Williams is his name. His office is not far from where your father works. One of the oldest families in Rhode Island, they say."
"Williams..." Felicity said slowly. "Any relation to...?"
"That boy you're so fond of?" Joan said, smiling at the memory of her own girlhood crush. "He's his father," she replied.
Felicity turned this matter over in her mind a bit.
They came to the seashore at the eastern edge of town and climbed several rows of sand dunes before coming to a spot which Joan felt was suitable. She put down her bag and spread out the blanket in a protected spot. She then took Felicity out into the open. After checking to ensure they were alone, she began Felicity's flying lesson.
"First thing you need to remember is to never let go of the broom," Aunt Joan said. "If you do, you'll fall and the broom may not be able to catch up with you before you hit the ground.
"Now get on your broom."
Felicity straddled the broom next to her aunt.
"It's really quite simple. All you need to do is point the broomstick in the direction you want the broom to go. Point it up and you will rise; down and you will fall. You get the idea?" Aunt Joan looked at Felicity.
Felicity stood on the beach, the wind coming in off the Atlantic and mimicking her aunt's movements.
"You use your legs to control your speed," Joan continued. "If you put them in front of you, you'll slow down; put then behind you and you go faster."
"How do I get it to go up in the air?" Felicity was getting excited about the prospect of flying; it sure beat using a bicycle.
"Hold on to the broom tight now."
Felicity took a tight hold of the broom.
"Now say ÔVolaticus.'" As Joan did so, her broom lifted gently into the air and hovered about three feet off the ground.
"V-O-L-A-T-I-C-U-S," Felicity said slowly. But rather than gently floating into the air as her aunt had done, the broom lurched wildly into the wind. Felicity grasped the broom even tighter as it rocked and bucked under her, but it was no use. She soon found herself on the sand, the broom next to her.
Joan landed nearby. "It happens to everyone their first time out. But you'll get used to it. It's no more difficult than riding a bicycle."
After several attempts, Felicity was able to get the broom airborne without too much difficulty. Aunt Joan was right; flying was a very nice way to travel. Felicity skimmed along the beach, only occasionally being blown off course by a gust of wind. She looked down with delight at the broom, which carried her so effortlessly wherever she wished to go.
Aunt Joan flew alongside, her mind ripe with the memories of her own girlhood along the same stretch of deserted beach. It was as if she were reliving that magical time when her life changed as well.
Felicity and her aunt sat on the blanket eating their lunch.
"Aunt Joan, can I ask you a question?"
"Oooh, must be serious if you have to ask if you can ask it first," Joan said with a smile. "Sure, go ahead."
"Who was Lord Voldemort?"
At once, Aunt Joan's cheery disposition changed. She turned and looked at Felicity. "You must never say that name aloud, Felicity. Do you understand?"
Felicity shrunk back. "No, not really," she said.
"It is because of him and his family that the troubles were visited upon our people so long ago. It is because of him that we can never return to Salem, Massachusetts."
Felicity looked completely baffled. "We can't go to Salem?"
"No, no magical person can. The spell can only be broken when Ôthe widow's son' returns and we don't know who that is.
"The first Lord placed the curse on the town. His family has been the cause of considerable trouble in the magical world and continues to be so even to this day. By not speaking the name, we do not grant the family any more power than it has. Fortunately for us, they seems to have lost interest in Salem."
Felicity now realized why her father had become so upset at the mention of Voldemort's name.
"Felicity," her aunt continued, "you must promise me never to utter that name again, you promise?" Her aunt look deeply at Felicity.
"I promise."
"Good, then," her aunt had returned, as if by a spell, to her usually cheery self. "How about some more cake?" she said, handing her another slice of the chocolate cake Felicity's mother had made for her birthday.
The late afternoon sun shown through the haze as Felicity, now grown accustomed to handling the broom, raced along the shore. Aunt Joan sat on the beach admiring the view, satisfied at the training of her young niece.
Felicity did not notice the forms of two people approaching on a broom behind her. She was startled a bit as they rose to greet her. It was her parents, who were as surprised to see her as she them. Martin Stockwell was in front with his wife behind, her arms around his waist. They waved and said nothing, but flew alongside their daughter in the sea air, gulls swooping in front of them.
Felicity looked over at her mother, whose chin rested on her husband's shoulder. She looked so happy to be flying with him, not having to hide from Felicity; like she must have looked when they were newlyweds, Felicity thought.
