Fixing to Fly
Chapter Twenty-one
Author's Note: And, as promised, here's twenty-one. Should be lotsa good Darcy/Oliver sweetness in here. I don't think it'll end the way a lot of you expect though. Hope ya like it! And, even though I hate to do it, I'll set for myself a deadline, and say that you should have Chapter Twenty-two no later than Friday. Anyway. I babbled enough in the last chapter. I won't delay you in this one. ;) Much love, as always, to my super-cool readers and reviewers!
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The rain ended sometime in the night. Darcy was awake to hear it, as she slept very little, and at last crawled resignedly from her bed when the first touches of color lit the eastern sky. She dressed soundlessly, feeling almost jealous of the snores emanating from Keely's bed, indicating her roommate was deep in slumber.
Slipping down to the common room, she revived the embers in the fireplace and sprawled out next to its glowing warm, laying on her back to stare up at the high vaulted ceiling. It was the morning of the first Quidditch game of the season, and while her top-notch team slept peacefully in their rooms above her, the captain lay awake, restless and weary, her mind muddled with thoughts of her future—which had apparently been planned without her knowledge. Marriage, home, career… all the decisions she'd always assumed she'd have the final word on were now being made without any of her input. It simply wasn't fair…
She fell into a fitful doze there, on the rug in front of the fire, and for two hours she slept without any notice of the world around her. Her House mates, descending through the common room to breakfast, regarded the sleeping Seeker with affectionate smiles, and were particularly careful to maintain silence until they'd passed through the portrait and out into the corridor.
While her fellow Gryffindors ate breakfast, Darcy dreamt, shifting and moaning softly as the images came to life in her head. She was on the Quidditch pitch, on her Nimbus, and hot on the tail of the Golden Snitch. But as she neared the shimmering ball, she realized it wasn't a Snitch at all—it was her freedom, and no matter how hard she flew, she simply could not catch that which she most desired; it hovered eternally mere inches from her fingertips. She'd begun to lose hope, and was moments away from giving up… when suddenly, Oliver appeared, and with one easy grab, he caught her freedom in one hand—and held it out to her, offering her the most sacred of gifts, and immediately she reached for it without hesitation… but then something was stopping her, holding her back. She looked frantically over her shoulder and found Kotter, clinging determinedly to her Nimbus, keeping her from her freedom and brandishing a diamond ring at her as though it was a weapon, all the while repeating, "It's what's right for you…"
"No… I don't want it… it's not right… no!" She woke with a start as hands fell upon her shoulders and gently shook her.
"Hey. Hey, DC. You okay? C'mon, sweetheart, wake up now," came a voice, soothing in its familiarity, and the Gryffindor Prefect opened her blue eyes to find Brian Keeler kneeling by her side, carefully sweeping strands of gold hair out of her face. "There's my girl."
"Brian?" For a moment she goggled at her surroundings, then hissed painfully as a brilliant ray of sunshine blurred her vision. "Where am I? What happened to…" Consciousness swam suddenly back to her. She jolted to her feet, a slight undercurrent of panic in her tone as she demanded, "What time is it? I haven't missed the game, have I?"
Chuckling lightly, the Beater stood to join her, and replied with easy nonchalance, "The game hasn't started yet, Darcy, you're not late for anything—well, except breakfast."
A deep sigh of relief swelled up from the girl's chest. "Oh thank Merlin," she murmured, and swayed backward a step as vertigo took momentary lease of her body. Brian laughed again and caught her by the elbow, looping an arm supportively around her lithe waist as he guided her out of Gryffindor Tower and down to the Great Hall, where breakfast was in full swing. The rest of her team had helped themselves to full, heaping breakfasts.
"Morning, sunshine!" Keely teased when she spotted the Quidditch captain. "So kind of you to descend from your dignified position on the common room floor and join us! Want some eggs?" A bite of grease-coated food was thrust under Darcy's nose.
With a look of detached annoyance, the blonde replied, "I hate you, Keely," and promptly took her seat between Oliver and Kotter as the female Beater giggled.
Darcy located for herself a bowl of porridge and, as she began to consume her breakfast, her attention turned to her young fourth-year teammate, who was busy masticating an immense bite of sausage. With a smirk, she mused, "I take it you're not nervous, Ollie, eating a huge meal like that before the game." She indicated his plate, which was rife with bacon, sausage, eggs, toast, ham, and several other foods.
"Think I'm excited, more'n anything," he replied around a bite of toast, shrugging casually. "I mean, with our team—" he paused to swallow, "—I don't see how we could lose."
Smiling, she glanced around at all the individual Gryffindor players. "I'm inclined to agree with you," she said, and dug into her breakfast, enjoying the feeling of excitement that was rapidly flooding her system as they neared game time.
She escorted her team out of the Great Hall and to their locker room with a half hour left before they were to play. Darcy was the last one out of her dressing room, taking extra time to focus herself, and prepare for the battle about to take place. When she at last emerged to join her team, all eyes could not help but to turn and stare at their captain. She strode out of her dressing room, looking brilliant and confident in her red and gold robes. The mass of her gold hair had been piled and secured atop her head like a crown, and a royal gleam had appeared in the depths of her cerulean eyes. Studying the way she carried herself with an aristocratic air, there could be no doubt why she was called the Quidditch Queen.
"All right, you guys," she said, seating herself among her team as they performed last-minute maintenance on their uniforms, padding, and gear. "We've made it this far, through rain, sleet, cold, mud, and all other forms of adverse weather—and with only minor complaining."
A few chuckles rose at this.
"But in all seriousness, I want to tell you right now that I believe, deep in my heart, that there has never been a finer Quidditch team at Hogwarts. Ever. And I am so proud of every last one of you, I can't even begin to describe it. It won't even matter if we win or lose today, because the greatest pleasure I could ever have is just being able to say that I was your teammate, and I played with the most amazing group of people to ever exist." She paused to smile at them all, receiving six blushing, flattered grins in return. "Though I won't protest at all if you amazing people feel the need to go out there and kick a little Slytherin ass today…"
Cheers erupted from the team as they leapt to their feet, converging around their captain in a circle with hands joined in the middle.
"All right kids, let's hear Gryffindor on three!" shouted Brian. "Ready, one, two, three—"
"GRYFFINDOR!!!"
A blur of gold and red exploded from the Gryffindor locker room, racing down the darkened wood corridor that led beneath the stands to the field, trailing a cacophony of joyful yells and shouts as they went. Her Nimbus propped on one shoulder, Darcy lingered slightly behind her team, grinning. No matter the thoughts that had been plaguing her mind over the past weeks—and months—she couldn't help but feel enrapt by the excitement and enthusiasm of Quidditch.
Up ahead, her team had disappeared from sight, though she could still hear them just fine, and with a laugh, she broke into a jog to catch up. She rounded sharply a bend in the corridor—and nearly smashed into Oliver, skidding to a halt mere centimeters from the Keeper, who was standing, pale and motionless.
"Merlin, Ollie, what on earth are you—?" she started to demand, when his ashen-faced appearance came to her attention. He was gazing uncertainly down at his shoes, and when she spoke his name, wide chocolate eyes rose to meet her curious stare.
"Darcy…" he managed at a mere whisper.
Concerned, the captain reached out and took his chin in her hand, examining his features with a studious eye. "Oliver, you don't look too good. Are you sure you're…" That was when she noticed the slightly green tint to his flesh, and the way he was now swallowing compulsively. With a startled yelp, she had just enough time to jump out of the way as the fourth-year promptly vomited all over the front of his robes. He gaped at her, mortified.
"Guess you were a little more nervous than you thought, huh?" she mused, suppressing a smirk. He could only give a tiny squeak in reply. Somehow managing to ignore the unpleasant acidic odor of vomit as it assailed her olfactories, Darcy produced an easy smile as well as her wand and said cheerfully, "No matter. Clotha Cleanlius!"
A burst of white bubbles exploded from the tip of her wand, attached themselves to Oliver and wiggled their way down his soiled uniform, making him feel like a thousand tiny fingers were tickling over his body. Then they dissolved away, and his robes were spotless once more.
Satisfied, Darcy smiled, and motioned him to follow her. "C'mon, we'll be late!"
For a moment, he failed to move, stunned as he watched the shapely shadowed female figure hurrying down the corridor. Then his senses returned to him and, jogging to her side, he muttered, "Darcy, I am so sorry…"
"Ah, don't be," she laughed, shoving a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear. "It's just nerves. I'll tell you a secret—Toby's first year playing as Chaser, he used to throw up before every single game, one time all over the rest of us. At least you managed to avoid that."
"Only because you jumped," Oliver replied mournfully. His cheeks reddened as images of him throwing up all over the beautiful Seeker played repeatedly through his mind's eye.
Catching his expression and accurately predicting his train of thought, she pulled the Keeper to a stop and scolded him teasingly, "Hey, come on now, Oliver. Don't beat yourself up just because you're a little scared. It's happened to all of us at some point, believe me. You think I was this confident my first time playing? Please! I was a terrified little second-year, who'd somehow managed to catch the attention of the amazing, godlike Charlie Weasley, and suddenly I was on the field with hundreds of fans screaming at me. Needless to say, I was a little uneasy."
A look of alarm was growing within the chocolate depths of the fourth-year's gaze. With a touch of trepidation, he queried of the captain, "What happened?"
She shrugged. "I simply reminded myself that I was chosen for a reason, because I was good at playing Quidditch, and that all those people were there to watch me because I was good at playing Quidditch. I couldn't bring myself to disappoint several hundred people who'd all come out to see me play. So I played, and I played well, and we won, and I haven't been scared since."
"Yeah?" he said hopefully.
"Yep. And I wasn't nearly half as talented as you when it came to pure skill and natural grace, so I don't know why you're worried. People are going to be blown away when they see you today," she confided, flashing a brilliant grin. Lowering her voice as though sharing a conspiracy, she added, "Truth be told, I think Kotter's a bit jealous that he's no longer the golden god and main attention-getter of the Gryffindor team."
At last Oliver laughed, reassured as he always was by the blonde's confidence and wry wit. "I hardly think I'm a golden god."
They started up the corridor again, toward where the rest of the team was now visible waiting for its two final players. Her elegant head thoughtfully inclined, Darcy seemed to reevaluate her youngest teammate, then nodded precisely and said, "You're right. You're not a golden god. You're definitely pure diamond. And you know what they say…"
Smiling slightly, he fed into her prompt and replied, "What's that?"
Glorious mirth glittered in the sapphire depths of her eyes as she answered smartly, "Diamonds are a girl's best friend." She left him then, as they reached the rest of the team, and she moved past them all to take her spot at the front of the group. The large wooden gate that would admit them to the field had not yet been raised, but began a slow, creaking ascent as the Quidditch Queen reached it, her timing perfect as ever.
She waited till the gate had lifted completely, blinking at the sudden flood of sunlight that bathed she and her team as they prepared to take the field. "All right, kids," she said, a smile tracing across her lips. "Let's go kick some Slyth ass."
With that, she mounted her broom, and soared into the clear, dry November sky. It had turned out to be a marvelous day for the first match of the year; all the previous night's rain had left the world seemingly cleansed and fresh, with a pleasantly warm breeze trickling in from the north. The Quidditch Stadium was an explosion of color, with every single resident of Hogwarts seated up in the stands, except for the fourteen players and Madam Hooch, the referee. In addition, many of the villagers from Hogsmeade had turned out for the game, sporting the colors of their favorite teams. Darcy was delighted to note the startling majority of red and gold.
Both the Slytherin and Gryffindor teams made several warm-up laps around the stadium while the game's commentator, Gryffindor second-year Lee Jordan, gave his opening remarks.
"And welcome to the first game of the season! We've got an exciting match in store today as Gryffindor takes on Slytherin!" He paused a moment as various cheers and jeers filled the air for the two opposing teams. "Righto, and the two teams are taking their positions at centerfield as Gryffindor Captain Reed and Slytherin Captain Flint shake hands."
Darcy glided forward toward Marcus Flint with an expression of cool indifference cemented to her visage, pointedly ignoring the leer that occupied the face of her opposite number. With Madam Hooch carefully observing them from below, the two captains shook twice, and as Darcy swiftly moved to free her hand from Flint's sweaty grasp, she found herself locked in the grip by the Slytherin, his grin more vile than ever.
"How 'bout a little wager, Reed?" he offered, voice so low that only she could hear.
Pumping the proper amount of disgust into her tone, she replied, "What could I possibly want from you?"
"What about the password to the Slytherin common room?"
Try as she might, she couldn't help but feel intrigued, though a touch of suspicion still lingered strongly at the back of her mind. "You would actually give me the password to the Slytherin common room, if we win?" Flint nodded. "What's the catch?"
"No catch," he replied, with a surprising amount of honesty—for a Slytherin. "If you win, the password's yours. I'll give it to you as soon as you've got that Snitch in your hands. But…" The wicked grin was suddenly back, his horrifically crooked teeth more prominent than ever as he added, "If we win, you have to publicly break up with Kotter at the end of the match and go out with me for a week."
Trading one devil for another, she mused to herself, though she hardly feared having to live up to the terms; there was no way Gryffindor would lose. So she let a smug, determined smirk sweep over her features as she replied, "Deal."
Flint's own grin widened. "By this time tomorrow I'll know just what those famous curves of yours feel like."
A slight shudder hit her spine at the thought of the Slytherin's hands invading her body, but she managed to hide it and instead answered sharply, "By this time tomorrow, I'll be watching Fred and George Weasley load up your dorm with all the nasty little pranks and tricks they can think of. Hope you enjoy sharing your bed with creatures as wretched as yourself." She jerked her hand out of Flint's before he could react, and swept quickly back into position with the rest of her team, but not before catching his last scathing remark.
"What, are they going to smuggle Kotter into my bed?"
Despite her better judgement, she actually felt inclined to agree.
"What was that about?" asked Brian, as below them Madam Hooch proceeded to lay out the rules and expectations of the game, something all the Gryffindor players save Oliver had come to know by rote.
"Do me a favor, Bri," said Darcy, glaring over at a smirking Flint. "Every single chance you get to bust up Marcus Flint—take it."
Brian grinned. "Aye-aye, Captain."
"—on my whistle!" Madam Hooch gave the familiar wooden crate a swift kick, allowing the Bludgers and Snitch to escape up into the air. The Gryffindor Seeker's eyes locked instantly on the tiny gold orb, her pulse racing, her muscles painfully tense as she waited for the shrill blast of the whistle that would release her after her target. From the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of red as the Quaffle was flung up into the air—and then came the whistle, and she was off like lightening.
Higher and higher she climbed, up above the tallest towers of the stadium, nearly eighty feet above the ground. Below her, the game had commenced with a fury, and as her eyes roved for a glint of gold, she let her ears take in the running commentary of Lee Jordan.
"Gryffindor Chaser Toby Resner with the Quaffle, racing up the field—dodges a Bludger sent by Slytherin Beater Bole—Resner slips past Flint—OUCH! That had to hurt, Resner takes a Bludger to the face by Slytherin Beater Derrick. But Gryffindor Chaser Loren LaRose recovers the Quaffle—he's past the Slytherin Beaters—inside the scoring area—Slytherin Keeper Bletchley dives for it—GRYFFINDOR SCORES!!" An explosion of cheers from Gryffindor's supporters washed over the field, with only a minimal amount of competition from the moans of the Slytherin fans.
Hovering above the action, the blonde Seeker let a smile touch her lips. Barely a minute into the game, and already they'd scored. She wondered if Flint would keep his end of the bargain once Gryffindor had won…
A flash of gold from the left brought Darcy instantly to attention. There! She'd seen it: the Snitch was hovering around near the bottom of the Gryffindor goal posts. She rolled into a sharp dive, swerving sleekly around a Slytherin Chaser who was attempting to block her. This is almost too easy, she mused as she stretched out to grasp the fluttering gold orb, her fingers mere centimeters from its surface—and she had it! She spun in midair, ready to soar back into the sky and above the crowd to show off her acquired prize… when suddenly her world jolted down into horrible slow motion, and with wide blue eyes, she watched tragedy unfold before her.
Oliver had turned to watch her in her swift bid for the Snitch, completely unaware of the Bludger that had been hit squarely at him. With all the force of a freight train, the Bludger smashed into the side of his head—and knocked him right off his broom. From over sixty feet up, he was now falling, with nothing but the rock-hard earth below to catch him.
A kind of liquid panic flooded Darcy's body, and she was in motion before she could even pause to consider it, urging her broom into a steep dive as she angled herself beneath the plummeting Keeper. Only a few feet above the ground, her toes skimming the grass, she came to a stop, just as Oliver fell into her lap. Many nights in the future, she would look back and try to understand how she managed to catch and hold onto the fourth-year, who was easily three inches taller and fifty pounds heavier than the lithe female Seeker. The physics of the situation would never be made clear to her, but the point was she'd caught him safely in her arms, and who ever had done this to her Keeper would rue the day…
Brian appeared at her elbow, carefully helping her lower Oliver's motionless body to the ground, as the world around the female Seeker resumed its normal speed. "—okay, Darcy? Are you okay?" came Brian's slightly startled voice.
"I'm fine," she insisted, and hopped off her broom, taking the unconscious boy's head into her lap and ignoring the flood of teammates, supporters, and teachers that were now crowding in around her. Taking Oliver's face gently in her hands, she stroked her fingertips over the smooth flesh of his cheeks, urging him softly, "Come on, Ollie. Wake up. Wake up and look at me. Tell me you're okay. Wake up, Oliver. Please wake up…"
And slowly, as if swimming up through the depths of some deep ocean of unconsciousness, his eyes fluttered open and, after a moment of wavering confusion, honed in on Darcy's smiling visage.
"Hey sweety," she whispered.
"Darcy?" His lips quirked up into a weak smile, one hand finding its way to her face. He sighed. "Merlin, you are beautiful…" And then his eyes fell shut once more, and Oliver Wood was out for the count.
A voice filled with quiet authority spoke gently from above her shoulder, "If you will allow me, Miss Reed, I will escort the young Mr. Wood to the infirmary while you and your team take a moment to celebrate your victory." Professor Dumbledore gave a slight wave of his wand, and instantly Oliver's body lay across a stretcher, floating lightly over the ground. With Professors McGonagall and Sprout leading the way to part the crowd, the three teachers guided the downed Gryffindor player out of the stadium.
The red-clad Seeker stood, questions, comments, and congratulations pouring in from all sides as she continued to stare after the receding stretcher and its injured passenger. At last she snapped back to reality, and a single word fell from her lips. "Who?"
Standing nearest the Gryffindor captain, Keely glanced anxiously around at her fellow teammates, as though sharing a secret, unspoken communication with the other four players. In a calming gesture, she placed her hands lightly around Darcy's shoulders and began, "Okay now, DC, we are going to tell you, but you've got to promise not to do anything rash…"
"Who?" Darcy insisted again, but before any of the Gryffindors could explain, a smug voice emerged from the back of the crowd.
"Not half bad, Reed," said Marcus Flint, grinning maliciously as he shoved his way toward the blonde captain. "That was quite the save you made. Would you do the same for me if I fell off my broom?" He took in her scowling expression, then mused, "No, I suppose you wouldn't. Too bad, really. Guess next time I'll have to hit myself in the head with a Bludger. Maybe then you'll touch me like you do Wood—"
Flint's nose gave a tremendous crack as it met with Darcy's fist, sending a spray of blood down both their robes. With a squawk of protest, he folded his hands up over his shattered nose and stared uncertainly at her, caught between surprise and hostility.
"You bastard," were the only words she could get past her lips, her entire body quivering with pent-up ire. It took all her strength not to hit him again. "Leave."
Cautiously he eyed her, and the bloodied fist still balled at her side, ready for another strike. For once, the Slytherin captain decided not to tempt fate. Petulant and sulky, he gave her one last belligerent glare and stalked away to tend to his injury.
The crush of people around her had started to ease up; everyone was giving the angry Gryffindor Prefect room to breathe. Even her teammates seemed wary in approaching her, until at last Brian sidled up next to her and queried gently, "Darcy? Hun? Um… are you… like… okay? Because you hit him pretty hard…"
Darcy stared down at her bloody right hand as though seeing it for the first time. This was also the hand she'd caught Oliver with, while her left had clung to both broomstick and Snitch. A slow throb of pain had started in her overtaxed right appendage. Absently, she mused, "My wrist hurts. I'm going to see how Oliver's doing," and she wandered off toward the castle, leaving her bewildered teammates to stare after her.
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Righto, hope you smiled, laughed, growled, cheered, gasped, and otherwise enjoyed this latest (slightly delayed) addition of Fixing to Fly! All input is, of course, appreciated, and again my apologies on the long wait. You guys are the best, my readers and reviewers!!
My continued love and thanks ~ Adele