Title: The Truth
By: PreHarris
Disclaimer: Everything you recognise belongs to JK Rowling, Bloomsbury, and Warner Bros. Everything you don't is mine.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: When a habitual liar is briefly forced into honesty – what he says could wreck his friendship. He has to get into the girls' dorms to apologise. The problem is- how?
Chapter Two – Six Downs
Jack's second attempt to get upstairs required a bit more thought that before. He needed a way to get up the steps without actually touching the floor and flight was the first thing that came to mind.
He went and snatched his much battered but sturdy bag and tossed it to the ground in front of the steps. Tony sunk into Jack's vacated seat and offered Deborah a Chocolate Frog, which was practically his way of saying hello.
Jack rooted around inside it for his wand and then tapped his bag with it. "Wingardium Leviosa!"
The bag rose to nearly two feet off the floor. Jack kicked it a few times to make sure it wouldn't drop suddenly and then stepped on board.
"Good idea," said Tony, and promptly turned back to Deborah to discuss the revision for their upcoming OWLs.
Jack swallowed back nausea. He was not good with heights – not if he couldn't work out what exactly held things up. Planes were no problem, he liked those. Hang Gliders were fine. But spells? Brooms? It all seemed a little unsteady to him.
By the time he'd inched the bag far enough up the steps to see the door the Penny's dorm, he was having problems. The bag was shaking under his weight and it was becoming harder and harder to keep the spell trained on the bag.
He pushed on regardless, but suddenly the bag gave an almighty shudder and Jack had to stagger to remain on the bag at all. In doing so the strap dropped onto the steps and the spell immediately died under him. All the parchment and books slid out of the bag and there was a tinkle as he landed on the inkwell which broke and seeped into everything.
The dorm was in sight and the steps were shuddering underneath him. He pushed himself up and sprinted forward even as the steps disappeared underneath his feet. He made one final, desperate leap for the doorknob, but missed and seconds later he, his bag, his ink-soaked parchment and books, and the broken inkbottle landed back on the Common Room carpet.
It was Tony who had talked him into his third plan. Jack was not keen to fly anywhere any time soon. Tony explained, as the three of them charmed Jack's parchment and books dry, that flying with a broom was a totally different experience to a floating bag.
A broom was reliable. A broom was safe. A broom was not designed for carrying your homework around.
Jack had a pretty good idea of what this enthusiasm was leading up to.
"I'll even let you borrow my broom!" said Tony, looking at Jack as though he was personally announcing him Minister of Magic.
Tony's Comet 180. A relic to anyone who knew or cared about brooms, but that didn't bother Tony. This broom had belonged to his Grandfather. This broom was reliable, attractive, and had enough features that no broom ever had or would compare to it.
Jack didn't like brooms. The kind of brooms he was used to had detachable heads and swept his mother's kitchen floor everyday. And while it seemed a fun thing in books, flying about on them in real life was not something Jack had much enthusiasm for.
Still. It was only going to be a short ride. He wouldn't even have to go up high.
He carried it over and gingerly climbed aboard. "Planes, what was wrong with those?" he muttered mostly to himself as he scrambled aboard. "Or helicopters, I don't mind helicopters, or hang gliders…something where you can see what keeps it up…"
He inched the broom forward.
"Don't go too fast!" called Tony. "It doesn't like flying indoors…"
"What?" he called, turning to call over his shoulder. The broom wobbled and jerked down suddenly. "What do you mean 'doesn't like-'"
The broom dropped. Jack reached out automatically for support, slapping his hand down onto the steps.
The broom and Jack out of the air. Tony gave a shout of horror – although whether this was because of the broom or Jack falling onto the steps, Jack was unclear. The steps became smooth, and when Jack slid back onto the carpet, there was a popping and he found himself wearing a fetching blonde wig.
"You gave me a lecture about every move this twig can make and you didn't feel it necessary to mention that it doesn't fly indoors?" he spat around a mouthful of blonde hair.
"The model does," said Tony. "When you take into account lack of wind and favourable atmosphere it probably flies faster indoors than out…but er, this one was hexed by my Great-Gran after my Granddad started racing it around the house. It's never been the same since."
"So what are you going to say to Penny when you get up there?" asked Deborah thoughtfully. Jack and Tony were sitting at her table again. Jack was slumped rather dejectedly in the chair, blonde wig still sitting askew on his head.
"None of your business," snapped Jack.
"Jack…" hissed Tony in warning. Jack remembered what Tony had said about Deborah not having any friends and squirmed in apology.
"I don't know," he grunted finally. "But I've still got plenty of time before tomorrow morning to get up there and figure it out." He pulled the blonde wig off his head and tossed it on top of the heels which were tossed into a corner. "And I have an idea that doesn't involve stairs, slides, or girly clothes at all."
He moved over to the fireplace and picked up a handful of Floo Powder. Then he tossed the powder into the flames and climbed in.
"Girl's Fifth Dormitory," he announced.
There was a rush of air and he began to spin nauseatingly quickly, he tucked his arms in and screwed his eyes shut…yet another firm of magical travel he hated. If Apparition's this bad, the thought, I'm getting a car, or a motorbike, or a plane…
Finally he reached out and there was solid fireplace around him. He stepped out of the ashes, feeling absurdly pleased with his success. He rubbed his eyes and a different sight than expected met him. There were no beds in this room, nor any posters of Quidditch players, and the room was at least half the size of a dormitory.
There was a desk though, a stack of freshly marked homework on top of it. In front of the desk was a chair he had sat on himself just last week to discuss his career…
McGonagall's office!
He scrambled out of the fireplace, frantically searching the mantle for a pot of Floo Powder to get him back. There was a little locked chest that looked like it held the powder.
There were steps outside – she was coming back!
"Alohomora!"
The chest popped open and he hastily grabbed a handful. He dashed back into the grate, only to collide with another had appearing in the fire.
"Did you get through?" asked Tony breathlessly. "Hang on, why are we-"
"Get out!" hissed Jack, pushing his way in, but it was too late – the door to the office opened. McGonagall walked in. Jack immediately felt Tony's hands on his robes and he was dragged back through the grate with a whoosh of green flames.
"How did I end up there?" demanded Jack as he and Tony lay panting in the grate seconds later.
Deborah, unfazed as always, shrugged.
"How should I know? I suppose Hogwarts doesn't allow you to Floo into dormitories so it sent you to the closest grate."
"You didn't mention this before? Why?"
"Well I didn't know," said Deborah sullenly. "Where did you end up?"
"McGonagall's office!"
"Did she see us?" asked Tony. He climbed to his feet and looked at the fireplace as though expecting an irate McGonagall's head to appear any moment.
"I don't know," said Jack with a nervous look at the fire.
A minute later, McGonagall's irate head had yet to appear in the fireplace and Jack had calmed down somewhat.
"Why did you come through the fireplace?" demanded Jack, brushing the last of the soot off of his robes.
Tony grinned. "While you were gone, I had a thought. My sister sent me a pot of glue that allows you to walk on ceilings for Christmas! I thought if the Floo thing hadn't worked, you could try that next."
He told them to wait and returned from the boys dormitories with a large pot of what looked like honey.
"From Zonko's," he said proudly. "It wasn't cheap either…"
He opened the pot carefully. There was a brush attached to the lid and when he lifted it the mixture fell back into the pot with a satisfying 'gloop'.
"Come on Deborah, help us." said Tony.
Deborah put her Quill down and wandered over looking less than exhilarated. However, she looked like that most of the time, so it was hard to tell.
Tony took Jack's removed shoes and reverently spread the glue on, pressing them to the wall where they remained stuck. Then between them, Deborah and Tony had to lift him into the shoes and hold him up so that he didn't bend backwards.
Jack pulled one shoe from the wall with a puckering noise, and began to walk upwards with Tony and Deborah still holding him up.
"Let go now," he said when he lifted one foot up to the ceiling. He sounded rather strained, but he couldn't help thinking that the idea of hanging head first from a stone ceiling was much worse than a low flying broom.
He marched bravely on though, trying to ignore thoughts of getting stuck up here. All the blood was rushing to his head and he swallowed back nausea. Still, he had to admit, he was almost past the first door now!
Suddenly there was a noise rather like a plaster being ripped off skin. He yelled as the shoes gave way and he was dropped to the ground. He landed hard on the stone and tumbled down quite a few before they smoothed out.
He glared at Tony and rubbed his sides, only then realising that over his pyjamas he now wore a shimmering cerulean blouse.
"I, should have checked the bottle, shouldn't I?" said Tony meekly. "It, uh, says here that it lasts for five minutes only…" he looked down at his shoes, and then brightened. "Still, at least the walls are thick – no one heard that scream."
"Nothing else to do with ceilings, flying, or falling, okay?" he said, glaring at Tony and Deborah as if they were forcing him to do this and fighting to tug the top off his body.
Would it be so bad to go back to bed and wait for tomorrow, he couldn't help but think. But some deep inner part of him ignored it, he wanted to know what she had been going to say to him in that corridor. Whether her odd expression had meant something…whether she minded that he liked her.
"I do have another idea," said Tony.
"Does this one last longer than three minutes?" Jack couldn't help but ask. He gave a sort of guilty body shrug that Tony seemed to accept as an apology.
"Yes it does actually. Boys can't get up the stairs, but girls can," said Tony, as if this explained everything.
"And…?" asked Deborah.
"And, so what if a girl carried you up!"
"And by 'a girl' you mean me," said Deborah. "I can't carry him."
"Of course you could," said Tony, sailing on ahead with the idea. "Jack's built like a bean pole and you…" he trailed off.
Deborah closed her book and looked at the carpet. She wasn't an ugly girl, as such, but she had been cursed with big bones and broad shoulders. When combined with her grim face and quiet nature you did often feel as though you were socialising with a tractor.
"Sorry," said Tony.
"Come on," she said with a sigh. She walked over to the stairs and there was a brief discussion about different positions. Jack was tossed about a bit as he was shifted, dropped, and re-arranged. Finally they settled on a piggy-back position, and Jack, uncomfortably aware that this was the closest he'd ever been pressed up to a live girl, allowed himself to be carried upwards.
Within a few steps Deborah was staggering under his weight slightly.
"Um, thanks for this," he said awkwardly. He felt rather unstable being carried by someone who was possibly lighter than him.
She continued carry him, but he received no sign that she wanted to reply.
"Is Penny…you know…a bitof a girly-girl sometimes?" he asked suddenly.
"Don't know her that well."
"Oh," he said, disappointed.
"She doesn't talk to other girls much," said Deborah suddenly. "Just you, and Tony."
He was aware he was sliding lower down her back as she climbed and she began to wobble. He tried to keep the conversation going. "So…uh…no posters of boys…or…or…practicing her signature for when she becomes 'Mrs. Penelope So-and-So?"
"No posters, don't know about the other," said Deborah.
"Oh."
His bottom was sliding lower and lower, if he gripped her neck any tighter she might fall backwards, and his knees, which were being hooked by her arms, were the only things preventing him sliding totally onto the floor.
"Two more doors," she gasped. She tried to readjust him, but his bottom slid, unheeded, onto the steps and the stairs gave way underneath them.
When they reached the carpet, Jack was wearing a turquoise Ra-Ra skirt, and Deborah was wearing a pair of Y-fronts over her skirt.
"Well, I'm out ideas," said Tony.
Jack groaned, they were sitting back in their armchairs again. Tony was eating another Chocolate Frog, but didn't feel inclined to share this time.
"I just…I really wanted to get up there tonight," said Jack.
"I suspect loads of other people have tried to get up there before," said Tony kindly.
"Girls mostly," said Deborah, who was running her fingers along the cover of her book.
"What am I going to say to Penny tomorrow though?" said Jack, miserably thumping the table. "I'll bottle out and I'll be too embarrassed to talk to her, and she'll be too embarrassed to talk to me and we'll just stay that way and start to hate each other."
"Jack, as usual, you are talking crap," said Tony. "People aren't going to talk about this forever. And you can tell her how hard you tried to get up there to talk to her straight away."
Jack sighed and gestured for a piece of chocolate. "Do you really think she'll believe me?" he asked sarcastically.
"The boy who cried wolf," said Deborah.
Jack, who had heard that one more times than he cared to count, ignored her. It was quarter to two, he was just about ready to call it a night. "At least I've got a fetching set of girl clothes," he yawned. "My sister will probably like that Ra-Ra skirt."
"Maybe if you'd worn the clothes the stairs would have let you up," said Deborah, with something that for her was approaching a smile.
Tony laughed.
"Worth a try," said Jack with an indulgent smile.
He pushed himself up and over to the corner where the various silky, lacy, and frilly items have been dumped. "What's one more embarrassment? Turn around a minute."
Tony clearly couldn't believe what Jack was suggesting. Deborah was clearly shocked he was using her idea – and such a silly one at that.
Okay, it was stupid, and embarrassing, and if anyone found out he'd never hear the end of it- but it was one last chance and he'd rather they were talking about him wearing a dress than fancying Penny. He pulled the wig rather haphazardly onto his head, grappled to quickly change out of his robes and jeans, tugged on the thin girly clothes, and forced his feet back into the scary heels.
"Well?" he asked.
"You look…" said Tony, "utterly…daft." But he grinned anyway and Jack felt suddenly incredibly pleased that Tony still liked him whether he lied through his teeth or wore a dress.
"Deborah? Could I pass for a girl?"
Deborah didn't say anything for a moment, just stared, and then for first time he'd ever known, she gave a faint giggle.
"I'm glad I get your seal of approval" he said. Then he threw them a jaunty thumbs-up and tottered towards the stairs.
"Good luck Jackie," called Tony.
Jack turned accusingly. "'Good luck Jacqueline', I think you mean. And if this fails – you both have to tell Penny I did this for her."
He stepped gingerly onto the first step. Then he began the long totter upwards in such a painful pair of shoes. He was half way there! He sped up, it was actually working!
Then the pointy toe of the shoe missed the step, he stumbled, tried to balance, and accidentally brushed the wig from his head. It landed on the steps. Seconds later he was rolling downwards again.
He hit the carpet, uncomfortably aware that a large portion of his legs were on display and that his legs were now in cased in a pair of sequined tights.
"Mr Dillion! What on earth do you think you're doing?"
Deborah and Tony were sitting looking guiltily at the table, and there, in the fireplace, was Professor McGonagall's head.