Fixing to Fly
Chapter Eighteen
Author's Note: Grrr, why is it whenever an important event is about to happen in my writing world, the bloody real world has to intervene?? Between work, friends, sleep, and everything else under the sun, it's taken me a whole week to write this chapter!!! But at least its nice and long, and I'm quite satisfied with the way it turned out. I think you all will like it to, and I would love to hear all your honest reactions in your reviews. Speaking of reviews… Yay!!!! I got my hundred!!! Hundred and one, actually. Special love to No Name Face, who submitted my hundredth review to Fixing to Fly. Your prize? Chapter Eighteen!
Much love also to everybody who's stuck with me and been so supportive and encouraging with all your reviews. I couldn't have made this far without you, and I promise, from the bottom of my little heart, to be much more timely and productive with the rest of my chapters. Thanks so much to my readers and reviewers!! You guys are truly the best. I love you!! *Adele breaks down and sobs dramatically for several minutes* Okay, enough of that. You guys
are probably ready for some chapter!!
I also have to give a quick reference here to xxChinaDollxx, whose idea she so graciously lent me for the 'Oliver pep-talk' portion of this chapter. You'll see what I mean when you read. ;) Thanks again, xxChinaDollxx, you have my eternal appreciation.
Now, on with the Masquerade…
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Ow, ow, ow!"
"Keely, dear, you need to stop squirming."
The Beater glared up at her gold-haired healer. "But it hurts!" she hissed through gritted teeth. "It hurts very, very much! I don't think you are understanding me here…"
Darcy sighed in slight annoyance. "Yes, I understand that it hurts, but you're only making it worse by squirming! Now please hold still. The less you move, the quicker I can finish, and the sooner this'll be over, okay?" she said logically, and took Keely's silence for a signal of affirmation. Biting down on her lower lip in keen concentration, the blonde returned to her task of removing yet another honey bee stinger embedded in the flesh of Keely's forearm. The wounded girl hissed in pain as Darcy swiftly clamped down on the stinger with a pair of tweezers and plucked it from her skin.
"Please say you'll be done soon!" Keely pleaded, her eyes shut tightly.
"Just a few more…" The seventh-year-turned-surgeon added the removed stinger to the disturbingly large pile that had accumulated on the Prefect's bathroom floor before turning back to her patient. Keely's fist were clenched, white-knuckled, as she waited for the next jolt of pain. To distract her, Darcy queried lightly, "So remind how this happened again?"
"Well—ouch!—I was helping Loren get his costume ready; he wants to go as a beekeeper. And he thought it would be cool to have a swarm of live bees to hover above him to add the effect, so we worked it out that he—ow, bloody hell!—would transfigure a swarm from his bag of Gobstones, and then the second he finished I'd zap them all with a containment spell, so he could control them. Well, it sounded easy enough—"
"In theory," snorted Darcy as she added another stinger to the pile.
Glaring at the captain, Keely opened her mouth to retort until Darcy brandished her tweezers threateningly at the Beater. She settled for an annoyed growl, then continued, "So I got all ready with my containment—ow!—spell and he went ahead and transfigured his Gobstones—but he said the wrong spell! Instead of Bumblus Expectum, he said Bumblus Expellum, and before I could even react—ouch, Darcy, that one was deep!—I had a swarm of angry bees flying straight at me! It took him forever to get them all transfigured back and by that time… well, you can see the results for yourself." She indicted the stung and swollen flesh of her face and forearms.
"Oh sweety, I'm sorry," Darcy commiserated, though she was biting fiercely down on the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.
"You know the worst part? I swear Loren did it on purpose! He started laughing as soon as he realized I wasn't dead." The brunette growled again, but out of anger this time rather than pain. In fact, while she'd been talking, Darcy had pulled the last of the bee stingers from Keely's palm and then banished the pile with a wave of her wand.
Stepping back to contemplate her friend, the Seeker announced, "They're all gone."
"How do I look?" asked Keely with a touch of trepidation.
Darcy flinched; the Beater's normally tawny skin had gone pallid beneath the venom of the bees' stingers, and standing out against the pale white flesh were the hundreds of bright red swollen pinpricks that were the sights of the stings themselves. "It's pretty bad," the blonde said truthfully. "Are you sure you don't want me to take you to Madam Pomfrey?"
"I didn't come all the way down here to find you looking like this for nothing." Keely dared a glance in the mirror, and shuddered. "Besides, I trust you more than Pomfrey; she doesn't like me very much, and I'm sure she'd give me the most painful treatment she could concoct. You're probably twice the physician she is, anyway."
Though she appreciated the compliment, Darcy gave a skeptical laugh. "I've only had a year and a half of Magical Medicine classes, Keely, I hardly think I'm a trained professional."
"But I thought that's what you wanted to do after grad this year, right? Get your Wizard Doctor's license?" asked the brunette as she scratched tentatively at her cheek; all the stings had begun to itch violently.
"It is, but Mom's been pressuring me to be an Auror, like my father, and I know Daddy would love to have me at the Ministry. They've practically already written up a plaque with my name on it," the blonde explained, rummaging through a bag that contained her personal stash of medical ointments and supplies, filched during various visits to the infirmary and kept for just such occasions. Almost as an afterthought, Darcy added, "Don't scratch, Keely."
The Beater replied testily, "Would you get on with it, then? I feel like my face is about to fall off here…"
"Put this on." Darcy thrust a tube of pale green paste at her friend, who looked at the contents skeptically. "It'll draw the poison out of the stings and help reduce the inflammation. And try not to breathe it, if you can, it smells pretty rotten," she explained, drawing her wand back out of her robes as the Scot began applying the paste to her face and arms.
Keely wrinkled her nose and griped, "Ugh, DC, this smells like the locker room after we've been practicing for five hours on a hot day."
"I know, I know." The Prefect was attempting to ignore the odor herself, drawing shallow breaths through her mouth as she waited for Keely to finish with the paste. When the entirety of her bee-stung skin had been coated, Darcy gave her wand a quick flick at the brunette and muttered, "Reducio Inflammia!" Instantly the green ointment disappeared, and beneath it, Keely's skin had returned more or less to its usual appearance, save slight pinpoints of discoloration at the sights of the stings. "How do you feel?"
The Beater turned to examine herself in a mirror. "Much better. Looks a lot better too." She ran a hand over her healed skin. "Looks like I've been out in the sun too long; I'm all freckled. Which, in the long run, is not a good thing… I was going to go as Celestina Warbeck tonight, but I don't think that'll work now…"
Darcy examined the Beater again, and could easily see why. Celestina Warbeck, known as the Singing Sorceress and whose haunting, beautiful tunes were played regularly on the Wizarding Wireless Network, had pale, flawless white skin. Keely's temporarily acquired freckles would look rather awkward indeed.
"What should I do? I don't have a costume now," Keely lamented, a hint of panic creeping into her voice as she regarded the blonde with pleading hazel eyes.
"Calm down, Beater Girl," Darcy said quickly before her friend could fly off into a fit of hysteria. "I'll figure out something here for you, just give me a minute to think, okay?" She plunked herself promptly down on the white marble bathroom floor, her legs drawn to her chest so she could rest her chin on her knees in what she thought of as her 'contemplative' pose.
Only a few seconds of silence had passed before the brunette muttered, "I'm hungry."
Exasperated, the Prefect could only stare up at Keely. At lunch, Professor Dumbledore had advised them all to take on second and third helpings of the meal, if they could, as their dinner would be pushed back an hour and a half to correlate with the beginning of the Masquerade Ball. Keely, of course, had taken this advice quite liberally, and while Darcy was only able to consume a few additional turkey sandwiches and a second slice of pumpkin pie, the Scot had cleared the surrounding area of table of all edible items. That she could possibly be hungry now was beyond astounding to her blonde-haired friend.
"Did you not eat the equivalent of a small water buffalo at lunch, or was I under some sort of Hallucination Spell when I watched you eat a fourth Cornish hen… whole?"
"I didn't eat that much, DC," Keely shot back irritably. "I couldn't. Half the food they served today was seafood, and you know I haven't been able to eat any sort of seafood since that terrible restaurant when we went to Greece last summer. I swear, I spent the majority of my bloody vacation in our hotel room puking, while you were out flirting with all the surfer boys…"
In the depths of Darcy's distracted mind, a light bulb went on. "That's it!"
Confused, the brunette queried, "What?"
"Surfers!" A light of enthusiasm had come on within the blonde's sapphire eyes, but Keely seemed to be missing the point entirely.
"Yeah, DC, the surfers… don't tell me you don't remember those Greek surfer boys! Merlin, you must've had about twenty of them just tailing you around, like a flock of bloody seagulls begging for a treat…" The Beater rolled her eyes in mock disgust. "And they were all bloody gorgeous too! If I hadn't been sick, I would've been out there in my cute little black bikini, and then I would've had my own little harem, but because of you and that stupid seafood restaurant that we just had to go to—"
Before Keely's tangent could proceed on much farther, Darcy quickly interrupted, "No, Keely, that's not—grrr, you're making me forget my idea! What I was trying to say was, do you remember what the surfers looked like? Besides bloody gorgeous?"
The Scot stared blankly back at her. "Really blood gorgeous?" she offered.
"No. They were all freckled, because of the sun. They looked like you do now. You can go as a sexy surfer girl!" the blonde exclaimed, and a smile crept steadily across Keely's face as Darcy continued to explain, "You can wear that cute black bikini you love so much, and the pair of flowered tiki shorts you got for your birthday. I'll lend you a pair of my flip-flops, and we'll see if we can borrow some seashell jewelry from Alicia Spinnet; she's always wearing stuff like that. I could probably even figure out how to transfigure your broom into a surfboard…"
Keely beamed at her friend as she teased, "Bloody hell, DC, I think you might actually be smart sometimes!"
"I get a good idea once every few years," was Darcy's retort.
The Scot laughed and shook her head. "C'mon then, you prat, and help me get dressed. We've only got an hour until the Ball starts!" Before Darcy could protest, Keely had her by the wrist and was dragging her out of the Prefect's bathroom, up toward Gryffindor Tower.
* * *
"We are amazing, Keely."
"Oh yeah."
"We are bloody brilliant."
"Mmm-hmm."
"We are the sexiest women on the face of the earth."
"Amen, sister!"
"Can I get a hell yeah for being super hotties?"
"Hell yeah!"
And the two Gryffindor girls dissolved into giggles as they stood before a full-length vanity mirror, examining their now-complete costumes. With Darcy's help, Keely's ensemble had come together perfectly—even the broomstick-turned-surfboard, which Darcy had spent the better part of ten minutes deciding how to transfigure. As the Scot had gone to find Alicia Spinnet and acquire the finishing touches, the blonde had changed into her own outfit. An auburn-haired devilish beauty with lightly red-glowing skin had met Keely at the door upon her return to the dorm, and the two girls had examined each other with pleased satisfaction.
"What time is it?" asked Keely as she slid a pair of borrowed sunglasses up into her hair. "I'm supposed to meet Toby in the Entrance Hall at ten till seven."
"You have five minutes then," Darcy replied after sparing a glance at her alarm clock. "And I should probably go find Oliver, so we can get down there ourselves. Whichever of us gets to the Great Hall first saves seats for the other, right?"
Keely nodded. "Righto."
"Cool. I'll see you in a few then." Both girls exited the dorm together, the Beater descending down to the common room and out the portrait hole, the Seeker heading up the stairs to the fourth-year-boys' dorm, careful to mind the long train of red silk that now glided around her bare legs with each step. She had raised her fist to politely knock—when she realized the heavy oak door was already partially ajar and, feeling a giddy thrill of mischief shiver its way down her spine, she dared to silently enter.
She found herself staring, open-mouthed, at Oliver Wood, who stood across the room in front of his own mirror. The fourth-year was absolutely stunning, all dressed up in his angelic costume with ethereal glow, as he thoughtfully contemplated his own reflection. She'd opened her mouth to call to him when he startled her by speaking himself.
"Aye, lad. You are good. Damn good. Oh yeah. Never has a man existed quite so spiffing as yourself, Ollie, lad. Aye, you have got it. Yes. Yes, Oliver! Yes!"
A snort of laughter escaped her before she could stop herself, and Oliver spun instantly, a brilliant red blush creeping from the collar of his shirt all the way up to his hairline as he stared at his date. "Darcy?" he squeaked, voice unusually high. "W-what are you doing here? You could've knocked…" Irritation and amusement were battling for control of his features as he observed Darcy doubled over giggling.
"Oh… Oliver, I'm sorry…" she managed to gasp between fits. "I was about to… to say your name… but then you… so funny!" A new spasm of laughter washed over her until tears streaked down her flushed cheeks and she was forced to swipe them carefully away while minding not to smudge her eyeliner. At last she explained, "I apologize again, Ollie. Don't think I'm laughing at you. It's just… you are so completely priceless, you know that? Giving yourself a pep-talk…"
He had allowed the first hints of a smile to tug at his mouth once he'd realized she wasn't making fun of him. "Well, I needed to build myself up a little for tonight."
Darcy's amusement melted to honest surprise. "Why would you need to build yourself up? Look at you! You're absolutely amazing! No, wait, I'm sorry, you're absolutely spiffing," she corrected, utilizing his own words.
The Keeper chuckled at this. "Yeah, I am pretty spiffing, aren't I?"
"What about me?" queried his date, giving a light spin so he could view her in her full devilish glory. "Am I spiffing enough to be your date?"
"Darcy…" He crossed the room, taking both her delicate, soft hands within his own as he gazed meaningfully into her sapphire eyes. "You are a Greek goddess, and the reason I had to give myself a pep-talk. If you would've came in two seconds earlier, you would've caught me pinching myself to make sure this wasn't a dream."
The insanely overwhelming urge to kiss him was creeping back through Darcy's body, and before it could completely seize her, she produced a light chuckle and said airily, "I promise you, Mr. Wood, this is not a dream. See?" And then she pinched him herself, right beneath his ribcage, so he squawked in protest and made a quick jump back. Smiling triumphantly, she queried, "So are we going to go down and make everybody jealous tonight or what?"
The angelic fourth-year offered a charming grin as he linked arms with his devilish seventh-year date. "Shall we, milady?"
Darcy flashed a smirk that easily fit her diabolical persona. "Who you callin' a lady, Halo Boy?" She gave her auburn curls an indignant toss. "Now let's make like a tree and blow this popsicle stand; the little devil in me is starting to get hungry."
* * *
The Hogwarts staff had outdone themselves decorating the Great Hall that year, and not a single student passed through the doors of the magnificent room without his or her jaw dropping open in amazement.
Occupying one half of the room, instead of the four long House tables, were several hundred smaller, round tables, all cloaked with orange and black table cloths and set with crystal-clear dishes and utensils. The other half of the hall was claimed by a glittering dance floor, the borders of which were marked by a luminescent ring of fairy lights. Soft, golden mood lighting illuminated the great room, created by numerous candles and jack-o-lanterns hovering far above.
A brilliantly clear night sky shone down from the ceiling, the dazzling vista of stars broken only by the occasional passage of the live cloud of bats that glided noiselessly around the hall.
The overall mood of the Great Hall, as Darcy and Oliver entered, was one of relaxation and good cheer. Most of the school had turned out for the Ball, all dressed in fabulous costumes that were a sight to behold. And yet many stares followed the Gryffindor couple in particular as they made their way to a table where Keely, Toby, and Brian sat waving at them.
"Why do I feel like people are watching us?" Oliver murmured nervously, clamping down a bit more tightly on Darcy's hand than he meant to.
Because you're not Kotter, the blonde mused to herself as she answered him teasingly, "Well, we are glowing." When this answer did not seem to assure, and his grip on her hand became nearly unbearable, she added in a softer voice, "They're watching, Oliver, because they're curious. They're wondering, who is that boy, looking so handsome? And then they're realizing that it's Oliver Wood, and that none other than Darcy Reed, the Head Girl, is walking arm-in-arm with him. And then they're thinking, wow, look at those two. They are stunning." She gifted him with a warm, beautiful smile. "Right now, every single girl is glaring at me jealously because they wish it was them by your side, and every single guy is shaking his head, wishing he could look as good as you do. That's why they're watching, Oliver."
A slight blush rose in his cheeks as he returned a grin to his date and replied, "Actually, sweety, I think it's you the guys can't take their eyes off of."
"Darcy! Oliver! Oh my Merlin, can you believe this place?" Keely had risen to meet them as they finally reached the table, indicating the chairs she had saved for the Keeper and Seeker. A place for Brian had also been reserved, and Loren and his date, a Hufflepuff fifth-year, were already seated. The Scottish girl continued to babble excitedly on, "I can't even believe my eyes! Everything looks so… so… different! And these plates! Merlin, these plates are the bloody wickedest thing I've ever seen! I just can't believe it! I think every single person in the school is here tonight…"
Not everyone, Darcy wanted to say, and as she traded a glance with her date, she could tell his thoughts were similar to her own. She whispered, "Forget about him for tonight, okay?"
"Only if you promise to, also," was his quiet reply.
A genuine smile spread across her visage as she gazed up at him, hints of adoration glittering in her azure eyes. The remarkable, attractive, kind-hearted Mr. Oliver Wood, and she was his date…
"Any place left at this table for a lady?" came an all-too-familiar and very male voice, as Brian Keeler finally made his appearance at the Masquerade. The six occupants of the table stared curiously up at the late arrival, amusement and skepticism touching their various faces as they took his attire—a long black sequined dress and stiletto heels. He grinned at them all, his costume obviously having the effect he'd desired on his friends. "Sorry I'm running late; took me forever to find a Gryffindor girl willing to let me borrow a dress for the night. Finally talked Katie Bell into it, though she made me promise seven times that I'd shrink it back when I was done. I told her not to worry about it; it'd take me longer to brew up the potion to reverse the hair-growing elixir I took then it would for me to shrink her dress back to size." He gave his dark brown hair, now hanging long and straight down past his shoulders, a light toss and sat down between Loren and Toby. "Has dinner started yet?"
"I think you're just in time, actually," said Toby, and indicated a larger round table at the head of the room where all the Hogwarts teachers were seated. Professor Dumbledore was rising gracefully to his feet, and producing a swift silence from the students with his mere presence, despite the rather comical pirate costume he sported.
In his dignified, sonorous voice, he announced, "A very good evening to you all! I am quite pleased to see such an impressive turnout, and believe this night shall be a festive one, indeed. We will take an hour to dine and enjoy the pleasure of each others' company, and then we will open the dance floor with our two Head students and their dates in a special spotlight dance. As we have no live entertainment for the evening, the selection of songs shall be up to you all; our own Professor Flitwick has graciously volunteered to receive your requests."
A smattering of applause arose respectfully for the tiny teacher, who stood upon his seat and gave a curt bow to the room.
Dumbledore smiled pleasantly. "Yes, thank you, Professor. Now, to all of you, may your evening be a magical one, and that said, let us begin our dinner!"
With a sweeping wave of the headmaster's arm, every plate across the room filled instantly with the favorite foods of the witch or wizard it sat before. Beside Darcy, Keely was overcome by a paroxysm of joy as her own dish overflowed with a porterhouse steak, stuffing, bacon sandwiches, french fries, and corn casserole. Her nearby dessert bowl was filled with an entire pumpkin cheesecake.
Hyperventilating, the Beater gasped, "So… much… food!" before diving into her meal, only the occasional glint of a spoon or knife discernable in her frenzy.
The conversation at the table was light-hearted and pleasant, dominated mostly by quips traded between Brian and Darcy regarding their various costumes. Loren's Hufflepuff date, whose name they learned was Lorelei Creighton, proved to be a quite accomplished conversationalist, if not a bit giggly, and even Keely managed a few contributions to the discussion when her mouth was not full. By the time Darcy consumed her last bite of cinnamon ice cream—fed playfully to her by Oliver—she was feeling decidedly cheerful.
A debate had broken out between Toby and Lorelei, who played as Chaser on the Hufflepuff House team, over Bludger-avoiding tactics. Keeping half an ear to their deliberation, the Head Girl let her gaze wander around the room, taking in its various occupants, till it at last came to rest on the teachers' table.
Of all the occupants in the room, she believed she'd found the one who was least enjoying the Masquerade Ball; Professor Snape sat looking quite unpleasant indeed, with arms folded bitterly across his chest, scowling at any individual that dared speak to him. The only change he had made by way of costume to his usual all-black ensemble was to add a Slytherin House green-and-silver tie, hanging loosely over his robes.
As though he could feel her questioning gaze upon him, Snape's pale ebony eyes swiveled suddenly to the blonde, and he began to glare—until he spotted Oliver seated beside her, one arm now slung comfortably around her bare shoulders. A greasy grin slithered across his sallow features as he regarded the girl, sending a disgusted shiver down her spine.
"Cold, Darcy?" came Oliver's concerned voice, pulling her away from the sliminess of the potions master. He scooted his chair closer to her own and drew her to him, till she could feel the soft heat of his body caressing her own flesh. "Better?"
She smiled dazzlingly up at him. "Much."
Across the table, Brian was contemplating the pair with a knowing smirk, and when he caught Darcy's eye, she could almost sense the 'I-told-you-so' thoughts rolling merrily through his mind. She shot him back a single raised eyebrow, eliciting a laugh from the Beater.
"What's your malfunction, Keeler?" Toby demanded, thinking Brian had been laughing at his proposal of a national holiday to celebrate the birthday of his Quidditch hero Arvo Moldoya. "Did you get your pantyhose too tight or something?" Chuckles broke out at this, especially from Darcy, who shot the cross-dressing seventh-year a particularly amused smirk. Brian seemed wholly unfazed.
"Actually," he replied, staring directly at the devilish Seeker, "I'm not wearing any pantyhose. I did, however, manage to obtain a very lovely pair of blue silk panties from our very own Miss Reed that she left in the locker room once after practice."
Darcy's eyes went wide. "That's where those got to! You underwear thief!"
And as she yelled this, the room suddenly went silent, with many eyes turning to stare at the Head Girl as a brilliant white spotlight fell upon her. In the background she could hear Dumbledore: "—will now rise and grace us with the first dance of the evening?" Across the hall, she saw Nick Levine and his date, another seventh-year Ravenclaw named Sydney Harris, making their way to the dance floor. Oliver had stood up beside her and was waiting patiently for her to follow suit.
Oh hell… the thought rolled through her mind, and gracefully she took to her feet, beaming a wide grin. Her date quivered with barely-contained laughter as he took her arm and led her toward the front of the room. Through her fixed smile, she hissed, "Shut up, Oliver."
One of Celestina Warbeck's soft, flowing love songs had begun to play as they stepped onto the dance floor, and Darcy let the Keeper's hands fall onto her slender hips as she linked her fingers behind his neck, the two swaying along in time to the music as a spotlight followed their progress. The only other couple on the floor swept swiftly up to meet them.
"Bloody hate this part of the evening," muttered Nick Levine. The Head Boy was dressed as the Sorting Hat, and his date Sydney was outfitted as Roweena Ravenclaw in robes of blue and bronze.
Darcy had History of Magic and DADA classes with Sydney; the two often passed notes back and forth between them during the most droning of Professor Binns' lectures. Feigning disappointment in her friend, the blonde sadly shook her head and said, "I can't believe you gave in, Syd. You should've went with your original idea and gone as a Quaffle and a goal post."
Indifferently, the Ravenclaw girl shrugged. "Eh. Nick promised me he'd let me pick out his dress robes for the Yule Ball if I went as Roweena Ravenclaw," she replied.
"You sure that was a smart idea, Nick?" Oliver piped in as the Head Boy looked uneasily at his date. As the Ravenclaw couple drifted off to another part of the dance floor, the fourth-year shared a smile with Darcy. "So does that mean that, since you got to pick our costumes for tonight, that I get to pick your dress robes for the Yule Ball?"
"Only if you want to find out what it feels like to have a Beater's club jammed up your—"
His warm fingertips fell across her lips as the Keeper laughed. "I'll take that as a no," he mused and lightly swept a fallen rouge curl from Darcy's forehead.
Ignoring the tingling sensation that was spreading from the base of her spine at his soft touch, she answered sarcastically, "You're a smart boy," and sighed with relief as, at last, the song came to an end and was replaced by a jazzier, more upbeat melody. More couples began to filter onto the dance floor.
"So, Ollie," she mused, forced to raise her voice over the murmur of the crowd that now pressed in around them, "I suppose it's too late to ask if you know how to swing."
He stared at her with amazement. "Do I know how to swing? Come on, now, Darcy, I'm from Scotland! We invented the Riverdance!" At his date's horrified look, he laughed and quickly added, "Just kidding! But maybe you ought to give me a quick refresher course on fast-dancing, and I'll follow your lead."
Satisfied that the Keeper would not break into any sudden, high-kneed kicks, Darcy began to dance, and let her body fall into synch with the undulating mass around her.
* * *
The hours of the evening rolled by with startling speed, soon passing midnight, and still the Masquerade Ball rolled on. The dance floor proved to be a constant center of activity, with the students rotating between there and the snack table that had been set up at the back of the room as the night progressed.
Giving her weary feet a break after two solid hours of dancing, Darcy left Oliver to chat with a group of other fourth-years and wandered off in search of Keely, the Scottish girl having apparently set up camp next to the cheesecake slices on the snack table. As she passed the drink cart, the Seeker reached out to grasp a bottle of butterbeer—and found long, icy fingers locked around her wrist.
"Only third-years and up are allowed to—oh, it's you." Unpleasant as ever, Professor Snape stared down at her with a sickly grin, clucking his tongue. "Not setting a very good example to the younger students, are you, Miss Reed?"
She glanced distastefully down at the hand still clutched at her wrist, and replied coolly, "I haven't had anything to drink all night, butterbeer or otherwise."
Snape's almost-black eyes narrowed threateningly. "You would do well to mind your tongue, Reed. I might have been forced into attending this foolish Ball against my will, but most certainly was not stripped of my ability to hand out detentions… or take House points," he hissed, and released her arm with a sharp jerk. A final piercing glare was her departing gift, and then the potions master crept away to prey upon a Hufflepuff couple dancing too closely.
"He's just shirty because no one wants to dance with him," came Keely's voice as she paced over, munching thoughtfully on a cauldron cake. "I'd offer, but I'm too afraid of coming away permanently covered in grease."
Darcy snorted a laugh and popped the top on her butterbeer. "You're such a considerate girl, Keely," she said, and downed half her beverage in one swift gulp.
"Hey, isn't that the song you requested?" queried the Beater, her head inclined to listen to the music playing through the hall. Darcy followed suit, and as the first few lyrics met her ears, she let out a squeal of excitement.
"Finally!" she exclaimed, and thrust her half-finished butterbeer at Keely as she began to search frantically for Oliver. But he was right at her elbow as she turned, smiling charmingly.
"Can I have this dance?" he asked, politely offering his arm to the blonde. Demurely she accepted, and followed her angelic date to the dance floor where his warm, strong hands slid once more down the curves of her waist.
There was something very comforting about being wrapped up in Oliver's arms for the Seeker, and she leaned instinctively into his body, pressing her lithe form up against his muscular frame without a second thought. It had been a very long time since she'd slow-danced with a man—Kotter wasn't exactly the dancing type—and she'd forgotten how deliciously comfortable it could be. Darcy let a contented sigh pass her lips as her fingers wound carelessly up to tangle in the short, silky hairs at the nape of his neck.
Oliver inhaled sharply at her touch. "Darcy…" he murmured into her auburn curls, his warm breaths tickling at her ear. "I think—"
"Shh…" she silenced him with one manicured finger pressed gently to his lips. "Don't think." And then she smiled, with lips that shamed the red, red rose pouting delectably up at him. The honey flesh of her naked shoulders was like velvet beneath his fingertips, the delicate vanilla and lavender scent of her perfume fogging his mind as it enticed his olfactories. He gazed down into the liquid depths of her sapphire eyes.
Darcy stared evenly back, and wondered what it would be like to simply lean forward and claim his lips in her own. She imagined tracing her tongue up the defined curve of his jaw as her hands explored the washboard plane of his chest, feeling the vibrations of his moans of ecstasy.
What would be so wrong, she mused, with simply giving in? Allowing the desires that plagued her body, her mind, her heart with every breath she took to at last overcome her? For everything that felt wrong about loving Oliver Wood, there were a hundred more things that felt right, from the way he said her name to the feel of his hair wrapped around her fingers. Things like that had never felt quite right when she was with Kotter. And Kotter—
—was standing in the doorway of the Great Hall, his ice-cold gaze fixed on the dancing couple. Immediately Darcy tensed, and Oliver looked concernedly down at her.
"Darce? What is it…?" Then he followed her gaze, and all the color seemed to drain from the fourth-year's face. In a low, nervous voice, he whispered, "What's he doing here?"
"I don't know," was her reply, "but I'm going to take care of this once and for all." She extracted herself reluctantly from Oliver's warm grasp, a bubble of irritation swelling rapidly through her mind. She told the Keeper, "Stay here; I'll be back," and marched away across the room, feeling confident that she was at last ready to end her relationship with Kotter. She didn't stop walking when she reached him, instead headed out into a deserted corner of the Entrance Hall, indicating he follow. When she was sure they were alone and out of earshot, she hissed, "What do you want, Kotter?"
"I needed to see you," he whispered back, and there was a desperation in his voice that was altogether unsettling. "I needed to see for myself. I think I'm losing you, Darcy…"
"You lost me a long time ago," she shot back instantly, folding her arms across her chest. It was several degrees cooler in the Entrance Hall than in the Great Hall, and a slow chill was working its way through her bones.
As if realizing the precariousness of the situation, Kotter moved quickly on, his words spilling off his tongue in a vigorous stream. "No, no, I haven't lost you yet, Darcy, not all the way. You wouldn't even have come out here if I'd lost you all the way. I've got one last shot now, one last try, and I have to do it now before you slip away for good." He jammed his hands into the pockets of his robes, searching for something.
Darcy sighed with irritation and said, "Kotter, just let it go, I think it's over between—"
Suddenly Kotter fell to his knees, his hands stretched out before him as he thrust a small box up toward her skeptical visage. Inside the tiny black box came a glimmer of gold and diamond, and as the realization of the box's contents dawned on her, he spoke solemnly, "Darcy Madeleine Reed, will you marry me?"
Her jaw made a slow descent toward the floor, all oxygen ceasing flow to her brain, and she was left only to stare at the immense diamond ring he held inches away from her face.
"I promise that if you become my wife, there won't ever be a single thing missing from your world. I will make your life a perfect haven, and anything you would ever wish from will be yours without question. I just want to make you happy, Darcy, and I know that I can. Please… just…" He stretched the ring a bit closer, almost pleading. "What do you say?"
"I…" Words failed her. What would she say? What could she say? "I… it… but…"
Kotter sighed, and stood slowly. "I think I understand," he said, and for one blissful moment she dared to believe he was letting her go—and then the real world came crashing back down on her. "I thought you might be a little overwhelmed by this all, and that's okay. I understand completely. But don't you worry." He carefully closed the little box and, taking her hands, folded them around the packaged ring. "I'll leave this with you, baby, and give you some time to let it sink in, until you're ready to make the right decision and say yes." He grazed a kiss lightly across her forehead. "I'll see you tomorrow morning, my sweet Darcy."
And then he left her there, speechless, trapped in the horrible jumble of her thoughts.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
So… what did we think? I know it probably wasn't the result a lot of you were hoping for… but I've got huge honkin' plans for the next chapter, which is the first Quidditch game of the season chapter, and the chapter where Ollie takes that fateful crack to his noggin. My only hint to you all is to reread the last few paragraphs of Brian's speech to Darcy at the end of Chapter Sixteen… I shall say no more… ;)
Let me know what you think! Loves and hugs to you all ~ Adele