Fixing To Fly
Chapter Five
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She had been dreaming before she awoke, something about Kotter getting bitten by a tuna fish and George and Fred Weasley trying to steal her favorite pair of silk boxer shorts, but the details of the dream faded away as her sapphire eyes fluttered open. Hints of blue and purple had just begun to touch the stars above her head, and as she peeked out from the barrier of her bed curtains, she saw that a dim glow lit the room. Her watch proclaimed the hour to be half past five and, though she'd slept only a few hours, Darcy found herself feeling rejuvenated.
Without really thinking about it, she climbed out of bed and changed into her Quidditch robes, grabbing her new Nimbus before slipping quietly out of the dorm. The common room was, unsurprisingly, empty, as was the majority of the castle she passed through on her way to the Quidditch pitch. She had over two hours before breakfast began at eight, plenty of time to get the hang of her new broomstick and squeeze in a little practice with the Snitch.
The sun peeked over the horizon as she set foot on the glistening green grass of the pitch, accompanied by a warm breeze that tossed her gold locks around as she mounted her broom. She had just kicked off the ground and was starting a slow climb towards the sky when she realized she was not alone—a figure flitted between the goal posts at the opposite end of the pitch, dodging in and out between the three raised hoops.
Curious, she drifted over toward the mystery player, and as she drew closer, she saw that whoever it was wasn't just flying around the hoops, they were defending them. A charmed Quaffle made sudden swoops at the goals, only to be intercepted by the practicing Keeper and thrown back toward the middle of the pitch, where it would pause a brief moment before coming around once more.
Darcy found herself intrigued watching the unknown player, impressed at the speed and skill with which they handled the Quaffle. Sleek, graceful spins and twists were used to intercept, while deft flying kept the player in position to continually defend whichever goal the Quaffle next plunged for. In the following two hours she spent watching, she could count on one hand the number of times the Quaffle actually made it through a hoop.
Sun had fully flooded the pitch when the unknown Keeper caught the Quaffle for the last time, sweeping back down toward the ground with the soccer-ball-sized red orb clutched beneath one arm. As he glided closer—and indeed, she realized, it was a he—Darcy recognized the soft, cherubic features of none other than Oliver Wood. Brian had definitely not been lying when he'd said the fourth-year had talent.
Swiftly Darcy flew off the pitch and back into the shadows of the stands before Wood could see her, not wanting the boy to know she'd spent the past two hours watching him. Besides, it was nearly time for breakfast now anyway, likely the reason Wood was leaving as well. She flew back up to the castle with a pondering mind; watching Mr. Wood had given her much to think about.