Fixing to Fly
Chapter Two
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"So, did we ever find out who the new Head Boy and Girl are?" asked Keely Merath as she pushed a loose strand of her thick, curly brown hair out of her face. The beautiful, dark-eyed Scottish girl was seated across from Darcy, fiddling with the knot of her red-and-gold school tie.
Brian sent a very discreet smile Darcy's way, who in turn bit down hard on her bottom lip to stifle a smirk. Their friends had joined them several hours prior, and so far, Darcy had been able to keep the conversation on mostly neutral topics, like Quidditch, school classes, and her new broom. But Keely, whom Darcy considered her best female friend, had a knack for being rather blunt, and stubborn, as well. She didn't dare try to redirect the topic this time without looking suspicious.
Luckily, before Keely could ask Darcy her opinion, Loren LaRose intoned in his flowing French lilt, "I was speaking wiz Leslie Green from 'Ufflepuff earlier, non? And she told me le garçon is Nick Levine—"
"From Ravenclaw?" interrupted Keely.
"Oui, but as for la fille, elle ne sait pas." Loren gave a helpless shrug.
"Elle ne say what?" The Scot sent a questioning look to Brian, the only one amongst them besides Loren who had any knowledge of the French language.
"He said she didn't know," Brian translated and added casually, "Not that it matters anyway, Dumbledore will announce to the whole school during the feast tonight who the new Boy and Girl are." He sent another secret glance at Darcy, who refused to meet his gaze.
The stunningly handsome seventh year male seated next to Darcy had his arm around her, and gave her shoulders a quick squeeze as he announced, "Well, no matter who the new Head Girl is, my Darcy is better than her. Right, sweety?" Kotter Baines affectionately nuzzled her hair, and for an uncomfortably long moment, Darcy thought she might be sick.
He'd been this way since he'd first entered the cabin, greeting her with a fierce hug and many loving kisses, making a special point in telling her—loudly—how much he'd missed her over the summer. Not a single word was spoken in regards to their argument, or the unpleasantness that had occurred between them recently. In fact, to uninformed observers, such as Keely, Loren, and their other friend, Toby Resner, Kotter was being the perfect boyfriend—attentive, caring, considerate. Darcy was hardly fooled by his hospitality, knowing the real fight would resume later, out of the public eye, and for this same reason she was forced to play along, if only in order to keep their dispute private.
Producing a replica of an adoring smile that was almost convincing in its sincerity, she modestly agreed, "I guess so," and, gritting her teeth slightly, she managed the word, "sweety."
Suddenly Brian was coughing, and the cabin's other inhabitants all stared at him with concern save Darcy, who understood Brian's outburst for what it was—a muffled bout of laughter. He managed to avoid her gaze as he cleared his throat, swallowed a few times, and said, "No, no, I'm fine. Just a touch of a cold, I think."
Kotter pulled Darcy closer, as though trying to ward off Brian's germs. "Maybe we should go sit in another cabin, DC," he told her, whispering into the gold curls of her hair. "Wouldn't want my baby getting sick…"
That was the final straw. She couldn't stay in the cabin anymore, or she would be getting sick, though not from Brian. "Well," she announced loudly, untangling herself from Kotter's grasp as he watched her with a disappointed gaze, "I think I'm going to see if I can go find the food cart witch. I just had the strangest craving for a box of Bertie Bott's."
A groan came from Keely as she protested, "Merlin, DC, won't you ever learn? You must have the most rotten record with Bertie Bott's Beans of all time, and you still eat them! Are you mental?"
"Probably," said the blonde with a touch of sarcasm. "Besides, my record's not that bad…"
Immediately Toby Resner chimed in, "Hmm, let's see. Last time it was paté, before that it was toilet water, and before that it was compost. Tell me, DC, what flavor do you have to come across before you stop eating them?"
"One that tastes like you, Tobias." She shot the hazel-eyed seventh year an exceedingly saccharine smile, making him laugh. "Anyway. If you'll all excuse me, I'll be back in a bit. I'll probably change into my robes while I'm at it, so don't worry about me if I'm gone a little while," she said, digging into her trunk for her Hogwarts uniform. Toby, Keely, Kotter, and Loren had all changed earlier; she and Brian were the only two still sitting in their street clothes.
As she slipped out of their cabin, she heard Kotter call, "Don't be too long, baby! I'll miss you!" and slammed the door behind her a bit harder perhaps than she meant to.
She changed first and sent her clothes back to her trunk with a simple wave of her wand, a feat that should technically have been illegal to a student such as herself. But she'd learned long ago, as did all students second year and up, that leniency was given aboard the Hogwarts Express, and so it was not uncommon to witness small spells being practiced within the train's many compartments.
She stepped out of the bathroom sporting her standard school uniform, the scarlet and gold of the tie and crest on the robes giving her away as the Gryffindor she was. Her captain's badge had been relocated to the collar of her robe, a necessity now that she was in uniform, but she'd again tucked the Head Girl badge away, this time on the hem of her white button-down, hidden beneath her sweater. Until the feast that evening, she still had the option of keeping it under cover.
Feeling much improved, she started off through the train. A quick glance at her watch told her the food cart would be somewhere towards the back, just starting the afternoon snack rounds. She continued along at a leisurely pace, stopping occasionally to poke her head into a cabin and greet various friends and acquaintances.
At last she stepped onto the correct passenger car, and as she spotted the food cart down the corridor, Darcy suddenly found herself ravenously hungry, and not just for Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. She was waiting patiently for the group of first years blocking her way to move, visions of cauldron cakes and pumpkin juice occupying her thoughts, when a peculiar sound suddenly reached her ears.
She paused, head cocked thoughtfully to listen as she attempted to pinpoint which cabin the sound was coming from… behind and to her right? Turning, she peered in through the window of the proper cabin, and was rewarded with the source of the sound.
Inside, a tiny boy sat with knobby knees folded up to a skinny chest, sobbing wildly onto his sleeve. Darcy didn't even have to guess to know he was a first year. Seated beside him, attempting to comfort the distraught young wizard, was another boy she couldn't quite recognize, though he looked strikingly familiar. Neither of them were wearing their school robes.
For a long moment she continued to peek into the cabin, her growling stomach forgotten as she tried to hear what they were saying to each other. Finally, she shed her mind's automatic warning for caution and indulged herself in the age-old bane of cats, small children, and blondes—curiosity. Before she could change her mind, she'd slipped into the cabin, shut the door behind her, and taken a seat across from the two. Both were immediately focused on her, the first year looking hopeful, the older boy strangely defensive, as though he expected her to taunt his crying companion.
She let them get a good look at her captain's badge as she queried, "Everything all right in here? Anything I can do to help?"
The older boy opened his mouth to speak—no doubt to tell her that, Quidditch captain or not, she needed to mind her own business—but the first year beat him to the punch. His voice hitching with sobs, he pleaded with her, "P-please, oh please c-can you help? This is muh-my first year at H-H-Hogwarts, and I fuh-forgot Bu-Bu-Benny!"
Confused, Darcy gazed at the older boy, an eyebrow raised questioningly.
"It's his teddy bear," he explained in a thick brogue that definitely proclaimed him as Scottish in origin. "Told me he can't sleep without it—"
"I can't!" interrupted the younger wizard with a wail.
Glaring at Darcy as though it was her fault for upsetting him again, the Scot turned away from her and attempted to console the boy. "It's all right, Christian, don't worry. I'm sure we can find you a replacement till your mum and dad can send—"
"NO!!" shouted the boy labeled Christian, with such vehemence that both Darcy and the Scot jumped. "I-I wuh-want muh-my Benny!!" His crying hit a hysterical peak, causing Darcy to flinch and resist the urge to cover her ears. The Scot, looking pained by the noise, only put his arm around the first year's shoulders and gave him a reassuring pat. Obviously having reached the limits of his usefulness—and patience, the older boy sent an uncertain smile at the blonde, wordlessly pleading for her aid. He shrugged in an unspoken, 'What can you do?'
Darcy knew what she could do. It was a little risky…
She sent a last look at Christian, and decided she'd never seen a thing more pitiful, sobbing so hard his whole tiny body shook. An intensely compassionate person she'd never considered herself, but she was still human, and she could remember what it was like on her own first train ride to Hogwarts. How scared she'd been, and how comforted she was by her own stuffed otter named Sniffy…
"Hey, hey, don't cry, sweety," she found herself saying as she kneeled before Christian. The stricken look in his big, tear-filled green eyes seemed to dissolve the last of her reservations. Bolstering her voice with a new wave of confidence, she told him, "I think I know how I can bring Benny to you, but if I do it, I need you to promise that you won't tell a soul, okay? This could get me into a lot of trouble."
The first year was staring at her with unabashed pleading. "On my granmum's grave I swear it! I won't ever say a word! Just… please…"
Darcy sent a quick glance at the Scot, who was now watching her with keen interest in his chocolate-colored eyes. Out of sheer curiosity, he replied, "Not a word from me. Promise."
"Okay then." She still had her doubts about the older boy, but she doubted even more that she'd be able to convince him to leave, so she instead focused herself on Christian. Turning on her sweetest, most charming smile—the one Brian said melted every bone in the male body except one—she took one of the first year's hands and said, "To do this, I'm going to need your help, so I need you to hold onto my hand." Sudden, painful pressure smashed down on her fingers, making her flinch and gasp, "Maybe not so tight, huh?"
"Oh. Sorry." Christian gave an apologetic smile, easing his grip a bit.
"It's okay, don't worry about it. Just close your eyes now, Christian, and think about the last place you saw Benny. Can you remember?"
Eyes tightly closed, the boy sniffled, "He was on my bed. I forgot him there."
"All right, good, now hold onto that thought. Keep thinking very hard about exactly where you left him, down to every last detail: where he was laying, how he was laying, the color of your bedspread, everything. This is really important." She gave him a long moment to concentrate before asking, "Have you got it?"
"Yes!" In his eagerness, he clamped down on her hand again.
Ignoring both the squashing grasp and intense look of fascination on the Scot's face as he watched her, Darcy let her own eyes slip shut as she produced her wand from the depths of her robes. She could feel the fragile link that had formed between their minds, connected physically by the flesh of their hands, as Christian's thoughts bubbled up into her own like a slow leak. Quickly she locked her mind down on the picture that was slowly forming—a London suburb, the blurry image of a bedroom, and a neatly-made bed with a… green bedspread? No, blue bedspread, and light blue pillows to match, and something lying between those pillows, tattered brown fur, black button eyes, velvet nose… ahh. The much beloved Benny. Yes. She had it.
A smile spread over her face and she gave her wand a precise flick as she murmured, "Accio Apparata Benny!" She let her eyes snap open… and felt an instant measure of satisfaction at the matted, fuzzy teddy bear face that stared back at her. Benny the bear rested innocuously in Christian's lap, as though it'd been there the whole time.
The blonde heard a gasp from her left, and found the other boy staring at her with eyes wide and mouth open. Christian, meanwhile, was blinking sleepily, as though coming out of a deep trance. Then he noticed the stuffed creature in his lap. Squealing in delight, he wrapped the teddy bear up in a fierce hug. "Benny!!"
Darcy allowed herself to enjoy the pure bliss on the first year's face as he cradled and caressed his prized possession. All her own troubles seemed to fall backburner to the pleasure she derived from helping the little boy, who'd begun crying all over again in his joy. His eyes flickered up to Darcy and, before she could prepare, Christian had thrown himself off the bench and had his arms around her neck, knocking her backward to the floor.
"Thank you, thank you!" he gushed, smattering her face with sloppy kisses. "I can't tell you how much this means!" He grinned madly, finally easing up off her and allowing her to rise.
"You are very welcome," she laughed, her own smile trying to break her face in two. "Just remember our secret, right?" She held out her hand to shake with him. Instead, the first year flung himself at her again, though this time she managed to catch herself before hitting the floor.
"I promise!" He gave her a last tight squeeze which nearly cut off her air supply before skipping out of the cabin.
She tenderly rubbed at her neck, watching him disappear down the hall as she slid up onto a bench. And then, casting a look at the cabin's remaining occupant, she burst out into laughter. If Christian had been the most pitiful creature she'd ever seen, this boy was definitely the most humorous. His eyes seemed quite ready to pop out of their sockets, his jaw practically detached from the rest of his face, his short brown hair sticking up in wild tufts as though he'd frantically run his fingers through multiple times. As she stared back at him, giggling, he suddenly came to life, his mouth attempting to form a single word. "H-ho… How…?"
"How did I do it?" she offered.
He nodded rapidly.
"Well…" For a long moment she stared at him, debating. She had no idea how trustworthy this one was—she didn't even know his name!—but he'd already seen what she could do, and it would likely be better in the long run if he knew the truth. "Suppose I might as well tell you then, so you don't run around spreading wild rumors. At least this way if you rat me out, people won't think I'm secretly practicing the Dark Arts or something." She rolled her eyes dramatically.
"Then what is it?" The Scot had apparently found his voice again, and was leaning forward with interest.
Surprised, if not slightly flattered, by his curiosity, she explained, "Well, the Ministry of Magic calls it tactile telepathy. I just call it a pain in my ass." She flashed him a smile here, which he returned. "But anyway, the simple explanation of it is, when I touch another human being—wizard or Muggle, it doesn't matter—I can sense what they're thinking."
"You what?" His jaw had dropped again.
"Don't get all excited yet, it's not half as interesting as it sounds," she added, waving her hand dismissively. "There are a few exceptions. For starters, certain people can actually build a sort of wall up around their thoughts, block me from seeing inside. I can also only see what they're thinking at that exact moment, so it's not all that useful if say, I'm trying to find out of a guy likes me, but when I touch him, he's thinking about Quidditch. There's also the nasty side effect that some people can turn it around on me and look into my thoughts while I check out theirs. About the only good thing is that I can consciously control when I want to read someone's thoughts; it doesn't just happen every time I touch somebody. Shit, if it worked like that, I probably would've killed myself years ago." That thought in itself had kept her awake many nights when she lay considering the 'gift' she possessed.
The Scot appeared to be collecting his thoughts, his mouth working as though he were talking to himself. Finally, he said, "So you could read my thoughts, if you touched me."
"Maybe," corrected Darcy.
"Maybe. And so you tapped into Christian's thoughts to find Benny. But how did you just… make him appear? And you just… I mean…"
She held up a hand to silence him. "Now that was just everyday magic. A modification of a Summoning Spell you'll learn your sixth year, if you take Experimental Charms. It combines the Accio spell with Apparating, and technically, since I'm not supposed to be able to Apparate until I've passed the exam, I'm really not supposed be using the spell. So I'd really appreciate it if you didn't tell anybody… about any of this."
"Oh, I won't," he said, fixing her now with an amiable smile. "I mean, I wouldn't want to get you in trouble or anything since… you're the Gryffindor Seeker."
She laughed. "Ahh, one of my fans, huh?" The feeling that she knew this boy came back to her, though her memory still refused to match a name to the face. "Well, it's promising to know that if nothing else, my status as a Quidditch Queen will keep me out of trouble."
"Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't tell even if you weren't Gryffindor's Seeker," he replied quickly, and then, as color flooded up his cheeks and an embarrassed smile found his face, he added, "but my favorite thing about this school is Quidditch, and you're the best Seeker of the four teams. I… I've never missed a game when you played."
Feeling herself flush slightly, she murmured, "Um, thanks. I appreciate the support."
He gave her a brief nodded, and then swiftly, to change the subject, he asked, "So have you found a new Keeper for this year?"
Relieved to no longer be the topic of conversation, she let an easy smile come over her face. Quidditch was something she could always talk about. "No, not really. I was going to wait until tryouts next week, kind of get a good look at the various auditions, but Brian Keeler, one of my Beaters? He says there's a fourth year named Wood who's got a lot of talent." Her mind was elsewhere as she spoke, otherwise she would've caught the sudden rise of her companion's eyebrows. Unnoticing, she continued, "I've never seen him play myself, but from the way Brian talks, he just might be Gryffindor's new Keeper. Of course I'll have to see him play first, but I trust Brian's judgment, and… never mind. Sorry about that, going off on my own little tangent."
"That's all right…" he replied, and she mistook his wide-eyed expression for amusement.
"Anyway, where's my head? I haven't introduced myself." She held out her hand to him across the cabin. "Darcy Reed, seventh year, Gryffindor House." A glint of metal on her collar caught her eye. "And reluctant Quidditch captain."
As he took her hand, he chuckled. "Nice to meet you. I'm—"
"DC!"
The cabin door slammed open, admitting Brian, Keely, and an annoyed looking Kotter, whose eyes were instantly on the stranger whose hand Darcy still held. Keely looked a little less surprised and announced in a tone of great exasperation, "Did you get lost? I thought you were just changing and getting food!"
Darcy glanced over at her still-nameless new acquaintance, whose hand she kept forgetting to release. "Ran into a little problem that required my… intervention."
"This I see," said Brian, eyeing the Scottish boy. He nodded at the stranger. "I thought you told me you didn't know Oliver Wood, DC."
Instantly Darcy's gaze was on the younger boy, memory clicking with recognition. That's why he looked familiar; he was Oliver Wood. She felt the sudden crazy urge to laugh, even as a blush crept from Oliver's collar all the way up to the roots of his hair. She couldn't imagine what he had to be embarrassed about, since she was the one to sit here and gush about him. But she only smiled, too amused at how strangely her life often turned out, and finally released his hand. "It's good to meet you, Oliver Wood," she said.
"Yeah, yeah, c'mon, Darcy," said Kotter once she'd let go of Wood. "We've only got about an hour before we reach Hogwarts. Better leave him—" he glared viciously at Oliver, "—so he can change." And before she could protest, he was dragging her out of the cabin, all the while shooting daggers at the young Scot she'd just met.
She only had time to yell, "Hope to see you at Quidditch tryouts!" before Kotter slammed the door shut behind them.
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