From this point forward you're going to find some of the elements of the older version of this story - I mean, I had scattered them here and there, with the kitchens and everything. But this one is very directly lifted from My Dear Fellow. Some of you might remember it, but I'm not going to spoil you early soooooo, here we go!
Olive by Dinah Maria Craik
Sally O'Connell still seemed to be expecting him to ask her out, despite the fact that he hadn't seen her since Hallowe'en. He had no intentions to ask her out on the final Hogsmeade trip before the Christmas holidays, not when all of his plans involved heading to Zonko's with James.
It wasn't that he didn't date – he'd had girlfriends before, but he only ever did it because it was convenient. He had never felt particularly strongly for any girl. Remus said it was because he never gave them enough time to grow on him, but he somehow doubted it. Even the sanest and least fangirly of girls didn't appeal to him beyond a point.
And now there was this girl.
He looked forward to her letters. He looked forward to hear her talk endlessly about wizarding literature, about the history of the printing press in history. He even looked forward to the books she sent. He'd finished The Tombs of Atuan in no time – and there had been a long and chatty letter in the middle of that for Papillon. She really knew what would appeal to him – a prisoner escaping from a French penal colony? It kept him awake for many days. When he wrote to her, he had detailed how he would escape from a prison if he had to. She'd pointed out that Azkaban wasn't as impossibly secure as before, what with the dementors off supporting You-Know-Who. She'd also said it wasn't fair if he was trying to escape from Muggle prisons, being a Wizard. They wouldn't even know what his wand meant.
She was always careful not to ask him about his life. She drew a line – a very strict one, he noted. She never asked about his classes, about his friends, about his family. He would have told her, too – there was a sense of comfort around her, which he didn't have with people who were not James. But she strenuously avoided talking about either of their personal lives, and he respected her decisions.
With nothing else to go on, he paid attention to her writing. He noticed her letters were becoming more comfortable, he'd noticed that she didn't seem to be thinking as much of whether the sheet was perfect and without any cut letters. Her more recent book had been – had been something of a curiosity. He could tell, even by the way it was given – that this one was important to her. As important as Pride and Prejudice.
In the corner of the writing, he had wanted to read what she had written. Her books, normally peppered with her thoughts, normally telling him all of what she was thinking for him to decipher – made it easier for him to read what her relationship with the book was. This time, however, the notes and thoughts were scarcer. He had noticed that she had underlined many different lines. She had scribbled small hearts under the ones she liked. Memorably, sometimes some lines were underlined thrice.
This was… this was important to her.
When he wrote his note – all he had really asked her was: was this important to her? And she had said yes.
This, he didn't even tell Williams. Williams was fast becoming his confidant in all things related to his reader – but he kept this bit to himself.
As Christmas approached, and the holidays became closer, he'd noticed Williams always hanging around her spot in the library, working away as earnestly as she always did. It was so much easier to be around her while reading – she never commented on what he was reading, she only ever asked him what it was. Sometimes, her eyebrows would be raised in a mark of her curiosity. It had begun to snow since the last week of November, too – and to his own surprise, he was beginning to understand the appeal of a good book in cold weather.
On the morning of the weekend at Hogsmeade, he was settled somewhere in the common room. The night had been long – it was a full moon. He had collapsed in the common room itself when he came back, covered in a blanket. He had a feeling Peter had been the one to drop that on him.
He woke up to the sound of someone scrambling in the common room. His eyes fluttered open – someone's face blurred into his vision. Blonde hair, diminutive size –
Williams?
He watched as Williams jumped across the sofas and to the window. She was watching the outside world with a kind of enchantment he had never seen. She smiled (it occurred to him briefly that she didn't always smile, and never without being self-conscious about it), her fingers touching the window panes and leaving their imprints on the cold glass.
Then she grabbed something that she had kept on her side and ran out of the common room.
He pulled out a piece of parchment and tapped his wand on it. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he whispered hurriedly. She was rushing to the grand staircase.
Unbelievably intrigued, he shrugged of his blankets and summoned some warm clothes. He kept an eye on the map, watching her scurry downstairs to the grounds – and head directly to… the lake?
Around the lake, he noticed. He put on his scarf and hat and ran after her as well – down the grand staircase, and into the icy cold. She was moving fast – who knew Williams was so speedy?
There were foot prints to follow now – the snow was deep, she had put on her snow boots. There were indentations and creases where she had moved. For such a small person, her boots were a little large.
Her foot prints were slowing down, but he couldn't spot her. He glanced again at the map – and it told him that she was beyond some of the trees – in what seemed to be a slightly hidden corner near the lake. Williams really was a fucking curiosity.
He carefully peered through the trees.
What he saw really did shock him. Williams was staring out into the lake, her feet in front of her – a book on her side, and ice skates kept on the other. She was putting on one of the ice skates on her feet, but seemed to be constantly distracted by the breaking of the sunlight on the edge of the horizon.
He was so confused and so interested, he didn't even think to keep hiding. "What are you doing?" asked Sirius, breaking out of the forestry.
She would have screamed. As it was, she fell on her side, clutching her heart. "What are you doing?" she demanded.
"I saw you come downstairs," admitted Sirius. "And I followed you."
She glared.
"Are you reading?"
She tried to grab the book, but Sirius was too fast. He snatched the book instantly, and read the cover. Mansfield Park by Jane Austen.
He looked at her.
"Thought I'd see what the fuss was about," she muttered. "Sarah lent it to me."
Sirius laughed. "You really are something, Williams."
"What are you reading?" she asked, a hint of accusation in her voice.
"Olive, by Dinah Maria Craik. It's good. You should read that next."
"Har-har," she said with a grimace.
He wasn't lying. It was a good book. The heroine was a little oblivious to the hero's advances, and there was a lot of interesting stuff going on about artistry and genius – what does female genius mean and all that. He had read her notes in the background of this – of what she thought of hard work and writing, of how she felt about the heroine's cluelessness and insecurity. As if Williams was going to read it, though – he was surprised to find her with a Jane Austen.
He ignored all that, and focussed on the second mystery out of three: "And what is with the size of your snow boots?"
"What about them?" she asked defensively.
"Why are they so large? I know your feet aren't that big."
"Oh – they're my mum's old ones," said June.
"It's dangerous to wear giant ones, you know."
"And you're the foremost expert on safety."
"You know I am. Now, before you explode -"- and she looked quite close to exploding –"- What are the ice skates about?"
She went a bright orange. June Williams had a variety of complex blushes, all of which were enchanting to trigger.
"I thought I might skate," she said, chewing her lip. "It's gotten cold enough. This part of the lake is always thick."
He was looking at her with amusement. "Come on, let's get going then," he said. "Skate!"
"You skate too! I'm not putting on a show for you."
Sirius sighed long-sufferingly. "The things you have to do," he said. He conjured a pair of skates from thin air. "Now if these bite, it'll be your fault."
June scoffed. She shrugged off her giant coat, which hid away her entire body. When she stepped on the ice, Sirius held his hand out.
"What?"
"I can't skate, Williams."
She giggled. She actually could look pretty when she laughed that way – trying to smother away the bit of happiness. June rationed laughter, like if the world noticed, it would be gone.
She held his hand and dragged him forward. "Can you balance? It's like walking."
It was his turn to glare at her. "You realise it's a thin blade we're standing on?"
She pressed her lips together to hide her laughter. "Come!" she ordered.
She held both his hands – moving smoothly from side to side. Sirius tried copying her, but he slipped. "It's like you're skating! Haven't you ever roller skated?"
"Blood-purity fanatic parents, June," he reminded her tersely.
"Oh – right. Well, I think your problem is that you are too afraid to leave the ice. You can't drag the blade – you have to lift! Then when you land, you glide."
He frowned. The colour seemed gone from his face entirely.
"Lift your foot, Sirius Black!" she commanded.
Sirius did. They didn't move from the spot, just practicing lifting a leg and putting it down again without losing balance. "Do you have some balance?" asked June.
"I think so," he said. He was concentrating a lot to stay still on the ice.
"Leave my hand for a second," she said. "I'll demonstrate."
He did, but after a lot of pleading on June's side. Eventually, when he left her – the air blew. Her hair fluttered in the wind, and she stood straighter, facing the sun. Her eyes were shut for half a moment. When she opened them again, there was a strange sort of fire in them.
She went off.
Up, down, glide – up, down, glide, up, down, glide, up-down-glide, up-down-glide, updownglide, updownglide!
She was moving faster and faster, it was making him dizzy. He saw what she meant – when she lifted her feet and brought them down smoothly, they flew across the ice – as if they were meant to support her body this way. She was going faster, even, spinning a circle around him. She bent forward as she flew – her hands arching gently behind her – and then spun into a twist.
She turned to face him.
Her cheeks were pink with the exercise already – and she was grinning. She had this brilliant smile plastered over her face.
"You know," he said, surprised. "You look pretty when you smile."
Instantly, the smile was gone. She blushed red now, but did not smile.
"Can you copy my movement?" she asked.
"Not the way you are doing it exactly," he said ruefully. "Where did you learn this?"
"Mum and I used to skate every Christmas," she said.
"No wonder your skates are sized right," he said. "Alright, I can try."
Up, and down, gently. He had no intention to go as fast as her. But movement – that was something he understood. It was a cross between flying and running, he told himself. His feet slid across the ice – and she gripped one of his hands. "Come on," she said, half laughing. He held her small hand for support – and moved slowly across the ice. She was patient – even when he gripped her tightly and made them both topple into the ice.
"Sorry!" he said.
"S'alright," she said, her fingers raking through her hair as she shook some of the cold out of her head. "You don't know how many times I used to fall when I first started."
They kept skating – ice and flying, ice and flying. He was pink by the end of it, too.
"Much as this is fun," he said. "And it really is. Would you like to eat some breakfast?"
She blushed and agreed. She hung her skates off her back through their laces, tied around her shoulder. Sirius' skates vanished, as conjured things often do. "I have some bites," he said. "But that's alright."
She smiled. "It's fun, isn't it? Mum and I used to – every Christmas until I was thirteen, maybe."
"What happened after that?"
"Ah – she didn't – well, I don't – things got – well, um – complicated."
"Oh, don't be that way," he said in dismay. "We went a whole morning without you being that way."
She laughed – open, not a bitten down giggle or half a laugh. "Okay," she said.
They went to the Great Hall, where people were milling about for breakfast before the Hogsmeade day. "What are you doing today, Williams?" asked Sirius, as he swung into one of the benches.
"Sarah and I were going to Jobber & Knoll. She – she wanted some books. And I – I mean, if things – well, um, if they go well – have an errand to run – to run for Hagrid."
"I had no idea Freegood was such a bookworm. Maybe she is the mystery reader after all."
June was studiously putting butter on her toast. "Maybe."
"I just don't see it, though," he said. "She's very no-nonsense. The mystery-reader is a little fanciful."
Williams bit into her toast. "Right."
"In any case. I'm heading out with James."
"No date?" asked Williams.
"I don't like Sally O'Connell that much."
"You normally aren't single this long."
"You been noticing, Williams?" he said with a wink. She went a furious red.
"No!" she said.
"Relax. I just haven't felt like it – not since my correspondence."
"Oh," she said. "Alright."
She was staring at him. He looked back – but in an uncharacteristic move, she did not turn away immediately. "What?" he asked.
"Nothing," she said. "Just something Sarah said. It clicked."
God, you know, I remember when I was sixteen and I was writing the ice-skating scene - and I really enjoyed writing it! I sort of really felt like including that here, and I changed it a lot. I think in the last one, its June who doesn't know how to skate and Sirius did. But in this one I figured I'd switch it up because it serves the purposes of the plot better - something I am MUCH better at from the last time I wrote this story!
Do review! I love it when I get reviews!
