Fixing to Fly
Chapter Nine
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Tuesday morning dawned bright and early, and again Darcy was awake before the sun could rise. She was tired, yes, but the sense that something was left to be done found the blonde on her feet and dressing once more in her Quidditch robes. As she pulled the thick red and gold sweater over her head, her gaze fell on Keely's note, sticking slightly out of Quidditch Though the Ages. She glanced back at the bed where her friend lay asleep, and smiled slightly as she dug out a slip of parchment and hastily scribbled a note of her own.
Keely,
YOU SNORE.
Love, Darcy
After charming the note to hover above Keely's head, the first thing the Scot would see upon waking, Darcy slipped out of the castle.
He was already there when she entered the Quidditch pitch, just as he'd been the previous morning, and for a moment she found herself in a state of shock. It wasn't so much the fact that she'd expected him to be there, rather the realization that she'd been afraid he wouldn't be, that froze her to a spot beneath the goalposts and almost revealed her presence. She dodged into the shadows at the last moment, just as a dive brought him to the exact position where she'd been standing seconds prior.
The corridor to the Gryffindor locker room was open, and she swept back into it while he was distracted, taking a seat on the wooden floor where she could still see him hovering above. For the second time, Darcy watched Oliver practice his Keeping skills as the sun rose in the eastern sky, though it quickly became apparent that this morning was not like the last.
As he played, Oliver's heart just didn't seem to be in it. He flowed through the motions mechanically—lunge here, flip there, grab and toss yet once more—but the joy was not present, nor the touch of extra exertion she'd witnessed before, the one that clearly professed Oliver Wood's love for Quidditch. Her memory instantly produced scenes from the previous night of him morosely picking at his dinner and later, in the common room, sitting all alone. Something was certainly bothering Mr. Wood, and she had a sneaking suspicion she knew what it was.
Badly she wanted to ease his troubled mind, if for no other reason than to put the labor of love back into his Quidditch playing. But Friday would come soon enough…
When Oliver descended to pack up for the morning, she took it again as her own cue to exit, her sleeplessness finally catching up with her as she walked through the Gryffindor locker room and up toward the castle. As she passed the Great Hall, already beginning to fill with students, she decided to skip breakfast. First class was a free period again for her this morning, and her second class, Herbology, didn't begin until eleven. She could get in at least a two hour nap before she had to be at the greenhouses.
Yet, lying once more amongst the cradling comfort of her bed, she found her mind on Oliver Wood, the look of quiet desperation that haunted his usually-cheerful features locked immovably into her mind.
She contemplated telling him, but then talked herself out of it, reasoning that it would be unfair for her to tell just one person. She'd promised herself, after all, that no one would know save herself till Friday morning; it was bad enough the Weasley twins already knew, though as far as she could tell, they were both keeping their promise of silence. Resolve strengthened, she vowed not to speak a word until the appointed time came. Oliver would manage to survive till then like everyone else.
That morning she gained only a few brief moments of fitful sleep, and then the rest of the day seemed to drag on for eternities, until finally she found herself back in the dorm that evening, greedily eyeing her waiting bed as she changed into her pajamas. She'd received essays for homework in both Herbology and History of Magic, her third class, and had finished both during her fourth class free period. The evening had been devoted to researching and writing her Potions paper. Not for the first time, Darcy thanked her unique gift with words, which allowed her to spit out a paper of excellent quality in a quarter of the time it took some of her classmates to scratch out a report that was, at best, mediocre.
It was a few minutes after ten, and Keely, Brian, and the rest of her friends were all downstairs in the common room, unwinding, as Darcy climbed beneath her covers. She felt secure in the knowledge that she would drift almost instantly to sleep, what after the last two nights' broken rest, but this turned out to be false, and within minutes she was up pacing the length of the dorm.
Restlessness had returned to her body, tensing her muscles to the point of discomfort, until finally she gave in, and did the only thing she could.
The sky stood cloudier this night as she soared high above the Hogwarts grounds on her Nimbus, still clad in her pajamas. But the Quidditch pitch was bathed in enough light for her to clearly make out the brown crate, in the same position it had been last night, and again she dug out the Quaffle. But instead of playing Chaser, as she'd done before, she took a page from Oliver Wood's book and placed a quick enchantment on the red soccer-sized ball, allowing her to amuse herself with her own rusty Keeping skills. More than once, she was hit by the cavorting ball, a few times hard enough to leave bruises, but by the time she began to feel tired, she'd gotten so she wasn't missing a single shot. Her talent, she admitted, was still quite far off from the brilliance of Oliver, but not bad for a girl who spent the majority of her time chasing around a gold walnut with wings.
For the second night, she returned to her bed smelling of fresh-cut grass and summer breeze, and fell immediately asleep as her head hit the pillow.
When she woke before sunrise on Wednesday morning, she almost groaned aloud. A horrible pattern of sleepless nights was forming, and her propensity for early rising—something she'd never done until now—was wreaking havoc on her REM cycles.
But she was awake, and only one thing was left to do. So she did it. And he was there. And she watched him. His performance had not changed, still emotionless and automatic, and it hurt her to have to see it, though she seemed unable to tear her eyes from him.
She drug herself through the rest of the day like a zombie, emerging from an hour-long lecture in her Defense Against the Dark Arts class without having taken a single note. Only Brian and Keely seemed to notice that something was amiss; Kotter was too absorbed in his annoyance that she hadn't kissed him in two day's time. To top it off, Oliver Wood had apparently stopped speaking to or looking at her, which served to delight Kotter, but a sense of disappointment lodged immovably into her stomach at this new development. Friday, she decided, could not come soon enough.
That night she didn't even attempt sleep before sneaking straight to the Quidditch pitch, a light jacket wrapped around her shoulders as it had been raining most of the day. But when she soared onto the field, the sky seemed to suddenly dry up, and within minutes, the moon was out in its full splendor, illuminating the field so brilliantly she even dared release the Bludgers and take out her night's aggression as a temporary Beater.
Despite the greatly increased number of bruises and sprains on her body as she returned to bed, she fell instantly asleep, and was not at all surprised when she woke at dawn the next morning. For the fourth day in a row, she watched Oliver play, and then somehow conjured the energy to stay awake through the rest of her day.
Evening presented her with two new essays to write—one for DADA class, and one for Wizarding Psychology and Sociology, one of the specialized courses she was taking that year. The common room seemed particularly noisy and full as she attempted to begin her homework, and Darcy found herself strangely relieved when Percy Weasley invited her up to the quiet of his dorm to help him with a Transfigurations report.
"You look tired," he remarked casually, peeking over the rims of his glasses at her as she proofread his essay.
She laughed. "You're sweet to say it, Perce, but you don't need to lie to me; I know I look like shit." She paused, circled something on his paper, made a quick notation, then went back to studying his tiny, precise script. "Needless to say, I haven't been sleeping too well as of late. I'm restless as soon as I go to bed, then I don't fall asleep till the early hours of the morning, then I'm awake again before sunrise. I feel like death—I like what you did here, by the way, this is a brilliantly written passage—and I'm not surprised that I look it, too."
The fourth-year just shook his head and ran his thumbs gently over the twin dark circles haunting Darcy's gorgeous blue eyes. "You need to sleep," he told her, stating the obvious, but the look of caring concern on his freckled face stopped her from snapping back at him.
"I know, I know. But it's easier said than done, Percy," she said, then grinned playfully at him. "Might help if you, say, gave me a backrub."
Instantly Percy flushed red. Darcy wasn't sure whether he had a crush on her or not, but he seem to get extremely uncomfortable when it came to close contact between them, sensual or not. "I, um, I-I don't think—"
"Just kidding, Perce, I was just kidding," she giggled, flashing him a lovely smile.
He haughtily resettled his bony shoulders and tried to look disapproving as he said, "Well, at least your insomnia has yet to effect your sense of humor, though I'm not sure that's a positive sign." She laughed again, especially when Percy's mouth seemed unable to keep from twitching into a smile. Finally he relented and allowed himself a brief moment of levity, revealing to her the relaxed, easy-going Percy that only she got to see. "It's good to know you'll always be a pain in the ass, Darcy, even if you are the walking dead."
"Ooh, just for that, now you have to give me a backrub. Get your skinny freckled ass over here," she demanded, "Prefect's order."
He didn't argue this time, nor did he blush, but simply fell into place behind her as he began to methodically knead her shoulders. Relaxing into his ministrations, she went back to reading his essay, and for a moment comfortable silence passed between the two. Then Percy said, "I want you to promise me something."
"Of course, Perce," she answered automatically. She was used to making a great deal of promises to Percy, most of which involved the breaking—or as she thought of it, bending—of one rule or another, and most of which she ended up not keeping anyway. But once in a while she actually heeded his advice and it never hurt to listen to what he had to say.
"I want you to promise me that if you're still having trouble sleeping by Monday, you'll go and see Madame Pomfrey and have her take a look at you."
"I promise," she said, not even looking up from the paper.
He stopped massaging her shoulders and spun her in her chair, so she faced him. Looking very stern and parental, he lifted her chin until their eyes met and said, "No, not one of your promises where you say you will and then turn right around and do the opposite. I mean a real promise this time, Darcy. Please." With his fingertips still lingering upon her jaw, she could sense the thoughts currently running through his mind and, for a moment, she could see herself through Percy's eyes. To him, she was a confidante, an equal, trusted advisor and source for intelligent conversation, someone around whom he felt no need to put on airs. Darcy was very important to him, and at heart, he had only her best interests.
Not that she needed to see his thoughts to know this. Behind the glasses, which made him look far older than his fourteen years, his soft brown eyes radiated affection and concern. It was this Darcy could not resist or lie to.
Meeting his gaze evenly, she promised, "I will go see Madame Pomfrey first thing Monday morning if I'm still not sleeping."
A rare smile lit his face, touching all the way up to his eyes. "Thank you. I know you will," he said, then sighed heavily. "Now if only Oliver were as easy to talk to as you."
At the mention of the Keeper, her attention was immediately piqued. "What's wrong with Oliver?" she demanded, then realized her own tone, she added, "I mean, I've noticed he's been a little out of it lately… did he say anything to you?"
"Mmm, a little. Very little," said Percy absently as he continued her backrub. "I think I'm about the only person he's talked to in the past few days, and that's only because we're roommates. Plus, I can be very persuasive."
"You mean annoyingly persistent," she teased.
"Yes, that too," agreed the fourth-year, as a particularly tight, almost painful squeeze wrenched down upon her left shoulder. She chose to ignore this as he went on, "Whatever you want to call it, I did manage to get him talking though, didn't I?"
She sighed indulgently. "Yes, Percy, you did. Now why don't you tell me what he said?"
"I can't do that," he said soberly, shaking his head. "What Oliver said, he told me in confidence, and if I told you, I'd be betraying that."
Annoyance began to set in to the blonde, but she managed to keep the majority of it out of her voice as she replied, "Forget you're a Gryffindor student talking to the Gryffindor Prefect for a moment, okay? This is just you, Percy, talking to me, Darcy, the girl who has kept every last one of your secrets without exception. Okay?"
He frowned at her. "Well… I'm still not sure about this…" he sighed, obviously torn. "All right, I will tell you that something is bothering him, and it has to do with the little announcement you'll be making tomorrow morning, but I don't think it's my place to say anything more. If you're still curious, you can go and try to talk to him yourself."
"That should be a productive conversation, seeing as he isn't speaking to me," she groaned.
At this Percy looked surprised. "Really? I'd thought you'd be the first person he would talk to. You two are practically kindred spirits."
She cocked a skeptical eyebrow at him. "And how do you justify that?"
"Well, besides the fact you're both fanatical about Quidditch…" he shot her a playful smile. "Which, of course, I mean as a compliment. I don't know, you both just seem about the same temperament, same sarcastic sense of humor. And apparently neither of you can get a decent night's sleep. I really shouldn't tell you this, but as a Gryffindor concerned for the welfare of his House, I suppose it's my duty to—"
With an upraised hand, she interrupted, "Just… tell me already, huh?"
He was looking slightly put-off again as he told her huffily, "Yes. Well then. The other night, I caught him sneaking back into our dorm. I wouldn't have said anything, if it hadn't have been so late—after three, by my watch. When I asked him where he'd been, he said he'd needed to get out for a while, and that's when he told me about what was bothering him…"
"Mmm," was all she could think to say. Her own late-night adventures had suddenly crowded into her mind.
"Are you done with my paper?" Percy asked, pointing the roll of parchment that she was slowly twisting over in her hands.
"Oh… yeah. Here." She gave him back his essay. "I made a few notes and corrections, but otherwise, you've got yourself a flawless paper. As usual." Leaning back in her chair, she smiled upside-down at him as he hovered above. "Honestly, I don't know why you ask me to read over your stuff; you really don't need the help."
Pretending to busy himself reading over her commentary, he replied nonchalantly, "Maybe I enjoy your company." He scowled at something she'd written on his paper. "Though I don't know why…"
She grinned. "Well, if you don't need me anymore, Perce, I think I'm going to go toss and turn for a few hours. But hey, you never know. Maybe I'll actually sleep tonight. If nothing else at Hogwarts, I've learned to believe in magic…" He shot her a curiously raised eyebrow, making her laugh. "Goodnight, Percy."
"Sleep well," he said and, like a true gentleman, walked her to the door of his dorm.
Exuberant voices were still drifting up from the common room, amongst them Keely, Brian and Kotter's, as Darcy paced up to her own dorm. She made sure the door fell silently shut behind her, then, without a second thought, she moved straight to her trunk and pulled out her broom and Golden Snitch. She had the feeling this was the last night she would need to do this, and tonight she would do what she did best.
The tiny gold ball clutched tightly in one hand, Darcy swept out into the night.