Fixing to Fly
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Author's Note: Err. Yeah. Definitely more than a few weeks. Sorry, guys, but RL pretty much sucked me away from writing for a while there. But, on the bright side, I'm determined to finish this fic, come hell or high water. I won't make promises about when I'll finish, or make any deadlines for new chapters, but you have my word that it will get completed. To those of you who have reviewed, e-mailed, or contacted me in other ways, you have my sincerest thanks for reminding me to finish what I start. :) And, as always, all my love and thanks goes out to my reviewers. If any of you are even still reading this, I can't even begin to thank you.
With her nervous gaze locked steadily on the laces of her sneakers, Darcy said in a tiny voice, "I don't want to be an Auror." She paused, and when no horrified gasps or angry shrieks answered her statement, she went on, "I've been studying to be a Healer, and I really enjoy it. And I'm not half bad at it either." She gave a weak laugh. Silence was still her reply, and so she jumped her final hurdle. "And I'm not with Kotter anymore. We split up a few months ago, and I think I might be in love with my new Keeper, Oliver Wood."
She blew out a deep breath, suddenly and insanely relieved, even though her parents had yet to say a single word in response. In her mind, she had just waded through the hardest part—forcing all those pent-up words past her lips and out in the open at last.
Now she listened, waiting for the result of her verbal catharsis. Her gaze remained on her shoes, until she knew whether to stare shamefully up at the disappointed faces of her parents as they berated her for dishonesty, or to blink in loving relief as they offered their support and understanding, ready to back their daughter so long as she was happy. These were the two most likely scenarios she had imagined. She had tried to convince herself there was only one outcome—a positive one—but she could not entirely eliminate that shadow of doubt that still lurked in the very bottom of her stomach.
And for once, that shadow proved horribly, devastatingly true.
She was not at all prepared for the iced detachment in her father's voice as he finally said, "I've raised a liar."
Though no one had touched her, Darcy rocked back in her seat as if she'd been slapped across the face. Her mouth fell open in shock, her eyes instantly rising to meet those of her parents. Thomas Reed's face was a blank slate, giving away no emotion, not even the pale blue eyes that were identical to his daughter's. Beside him, Nyssa Reed was the picture of scandalized disgust and did not try to reprimand her husband for his last statement.
"How could you do this to us?" she demanded, beginning to pace the length of the room. One hand was held flat against her chest, as though something deep inside was hurting her. "After all we've done… all the effort we've gone to for you… you… you ungrateful…!" She broke off, apparently too frustrated to speak.
Darcy suddenly couldn't breathe. Her mind absolutely refused to comprehend the words being told to her, and her stomach wanted very much to reject what little lunch she'd managed to get down earlier in the day.
Her mother was speaking again. Her sentences were coming fast and hard and hitting Darcy like tiny slivers of glass that caught under her skin, tearing her apart from the inside. "You've ruined everything. You've ruined everything you had, you stupid girl, how could you? Do you know how humiliating it's going to be for your father at work after this? And your sister will be starting at Hogwarts next year, imagine the gossip she's going to have to endure! Did you even think about anyone but yourself? I can't believe how selfish you're being."
A short little gasp escaped the blonde girl. "Mom… please, I never—"
"And Kotter, that poor boy. I bet you never even gave a thought to him as you were off gallivanting like some… some cheap whore with that Oliver Wood. Well, I hope he was worth throwing away your entire future for. Is Oliver Wood going to support you? Is he going to give you a nice home and a good life like Kotter could've?" She'd stopped her pacing and now moved to loom over her daughter, a cruel smile curling her lips. "But I guess you never stopped to think about that."
Darcy had begun to shake; terrible, hard convulsions that ached only slightly less than her mother's harsh words. She wanted to cry, scream out, defend herself, something. But she could barely force oxygen in and out of her lungs, and the look of utter contempt in her mother's eyes quelled any words she might've tried to say.
The older woman was shaking her head, bearing down on Darcy. Her voice had become absolutely venomous as she spat, "Don't you dare even think we'll be paying for this little whim of yours. But then again, since you've made all these plans for yourself without bothering to say anything to us, I guess you've got everything all figured out. Because you're just so smart, aren't you? Aren't you?"
"Nyssa. That's enough." The cool voice of her father cut through the room, and slowly Darcy turned her head to look up at him. For all her mother's rage and disgust, it was the single emotion she finally found in her father's eyes that hurt her the most. Disappointment.
At last Darcy managed to draw in a deep, shuddering breath. "Daddy… please," she pleaded.
Thomas Reed sent a short glance at his daughter, then quickly looked away, as if seeing her caused him physical pain. He instead fixed a steady gaze on his wife. "Let her be. She's made her choices… she doesn't need us anymore." He sent one final look at Darcy, then closed his eyes. "And so we won't need her."
"Daddy, no!"
Darcy sat up in bed, her flesh clammy and sweat-slick, those last terrible words from her father echoing hollowly through her mind. The room around her was dark and quiet save the soft snores from the other bed.
With a shuddering sigh, she closed her eyes and fell back against her pillows. "A dream, Darcy. It was just a dream," she told herself, the sound of her own whispered voice somehow comforting. She opened her eyes again and stared up at the low ceiling, trying to forget the latest subconscious manifestation of her insecurities. This was the third such dream she'd now had over the course of the week.
After a moment, she propped herself up onto her elbows and gazed over once more at the other bed. A small freckled arm and a wisp of long red hair poking out were the only indications that a person resided under the enormous lump of blankets. A surprisingly easy grin wrapped around Darcy's lips.
Even asleep, little Ginny Weasley never failed to elicit a smile from the blonde Seeker. From their first meeting nearly six days prior, Ginny had made an instant attachment to Darcy and refused to be separated from her, even against the worst torments and threats of her brothers. Darcy, who had a younger sister only a year or so older than Ginny, did not mind at all the constant accompaniment and was most patient about answering all the younger girl's questions about Hogwarts and Quidditch.
Darcy's smile deepened as she thought about the past week. If she had learned one thing, it was that there was never a dull moment at the Burrow.
Mornings were spent in nightgowns and pajamas, gathered around the kitchen table with Oliver and the rest of the Weasley clan as matriarch Molly Weasley pampered them all with endless delectable breakfast foods. Once the sun was high enough in the clear blue sky, they relocated out to a secluded paddock just south of the house, where endless games of makeshift Quidditch would last as long as the light did. When it was too dark to see, they would finally heed the calls of Mrs. Weasley to come inside, all crowding into the living room, bright-eyed and smelling of outdoors. Plates of sandwiches and other snacks made their way around the room as the Exploding Snap deck and Wizard Chess board were brought out. And then they would play late into the night, until they were all too tired to keep their eyes open any longer.
It had been one of the best weeks of Darcy's life, and she could think of no negative aspects save one. Despite Percy's assurances, Charlie Weasley had yet to make it home. He had sent an owl the day before she'd arrived, mentioning a problem in Romania with one of the dragon herds that would likely delay him a few days. But as the week drew on, no sign or further news of him was forthcoming, and it seemed Charlie would have to miss this particular visit.
Darcy was, of course, disappointed at not being able to see one of her oldest and dearest friends. But she also understood the requirements of his job, and the delightful atmosphere of the Weasley household swiftly pulled her out of any foul mood she might've slipped into.
And yet, as she lay in her borrowed bed in Ginny's room, listening to the gentle breathing of her roommate, a sudden flash of her father's disappointed face slipped through her mind's eye. Darcy frowned. It seemed even all the warmth and goodness that surrounded the Burrow could not completely allay her fears.
Before the images of her dream could return to her in full force, she rolled hastily from her bed, throwing her robe around her shoulders as she crept out of the room. She was careful to skip the stairs that she'd learned had a tendency to creak as she made her way down and into the kitchen.
She rested her palms flat against the counter top, stretching on her tiptoes to peer out the window. The very first touches of indigo and violet had only begun to tint the horizon, indicating to Darcy just how very early it still was. A small sigh escaped her as she considered her options. She was far too awake now to go back to bed… and she didn't care to risk another dream, at any rate. She thought about waking Oliver, talking to him about the troubles of her mind. But her dearest Keeper had been utterly exhausted the previous evening, barely able to remain upright when they all finally trooped off to bed. They'd all been rather tired, actually, having spent the day playing the longest and hardest Quidditch match they'd played all week.
Oliver wouldn't protest if she woke him, she knew. But she just didn't have the heart.
She sighed again and leaned her weight against the counter, staring idly out the kitchen window. And it was as she stood, lost in her own thoughts, that a glint of gold and flutter of wings suddenly appeared on the periphery of her vision. It was pure instinct and reflex that made her swiftly stretch out her arm, curling trained fingers around the small flying object. In the blink of an eye, Darcy had captured the golden Snitch.
Entirely unaware of the satisfied smile that had found her lips, she stared down at the mysteriously random Snitch, rubbing a thumb over its smooth metal surface. "Now where did you come from?" she mused curiously, and had turned around to inspect the contours of the room when a voice from behind made her jump.
"I see you haven't lost your touch, Reed."
He stood in the doorframe, his stocky, muscular form outlined against the backdrop of darkness outside. A handsome grin was spreading slowly across his freckled face.
"Charlie!" Darcy squealed, and immediately launched herself across the room and into the arms of the second oldest Weasley son. "I didn't think you were going to make it home before I had to leave."
Releasing her from his embrace, Charlie took a step back and examined the young woman with mild surprise. "Like I would ever pass up an opportunity to see you, Darcy," he admonished, then slowly shook his head. "But Merlin, look at you! What happened to the short, skinny little second year who looked too small to stay on her broom?"
She bit down on her lip, trying hard not to blush. "Guess I grew up a little since then, huh?"
"I guess," he laughed. Giving her another long look, he added playfully, "Well, maybe not up. You're still short." He gave her shoulder a nudge, pushing the slender Seeker back a step.
"Hey, I resent that," Darcy protested and batted at his hand, but she failed to stifle the grin spanning her visage. "So, what, you thought you'd just sneak home in the wee hours of the morning and surprise us all when we came down for breakfast?"
"Oh no. I was definitely going to come upstairs and drag you out of bed." He flashed her a cocky grin, eliciting a laugh from the girl. "But speaking of sneaking around in the wee hours, just what are you doing up, Miss Reed? Unless you've suddenly become a Seer and foresaw my return during a meditation session." He pretended to eye her suspiciously.
Darcy rolled her eyes. "Not quite. No, I, ah… couldn't sleep," she said, trying to sound nonchalant. But she knew perfectly well that he could see past the act. He'd known her far too long to be fooled.
And indeed, Charlie didn't even bother to play coy. "What's on your mind, love?"
Blowing out a weary sigh, she said, "It's a long story. Long, long story. Don't ask me that question unless you've got a few hours."
He lifted his hands to indicate the empty room and the darkness still enveloping the world outside the kitchen window. "Even if it wasn't o'dark-thirty in the morning, I've always got time for you, Darcy. Here." He pulled out a chair and guided her into it. "Start talking. I'll make some tea."
She gazed at him uncertainly. "Are you sure?"
"Yes. Talk." He brandished a tea kettle at her threateningly. "Now."
Smiling slightly, she gave in. "Okay. Well… I guess it really all started third year…" she paused to giggle at herself. "God, this sounds like some sort of therapy session. I feel like I should be lying on a couch."
Charlie grinned. "Just call me Doctor Weasley."
After fixing him with an appropriately unimpressed gaze, she went on, "But anyway. It was third year when I started dating Kotter, and things just kind of went downhill from there…"
"Mmm," was all Charlie said at first.
Darcy had been speaking for nearly an hour, completely oblivious to the sun peeking steadily over the horizon or the three cups of tea she'd drank her way through. It felt immeasurably good to unburden herself, and Charlie had been the perfect example of a good listener, nodding at the right spots and making the appropriate sympathetic noises.
But now, as she fell silent, so did he. The redheaded dragon herder was giving the kitchen table a deeply penetrating stare, as though looking for answers in its weathered surface.
At last, he sighed and met her gaze. "You're unhappy," he said pointedly.
"Err…" For a moment, she was uncertain how to respond. "I… guess that would be an accurate summary of everything I've said so far," she conceded, hoping desperately that this would provoke him to elaborate.
"Okay. So then the answer to all your problems is, get happy." And then he grinned, seemingly pleased with his diagnosis.
Darcy stared blankly back at him. "Get happy," she repeated skeptically.
"Absolutely." He was still grinning.
That was when she lost her patience. "Oh, ohh, of course! Get happy. Now why didn't I think of that before? Silly me, miserable all these years, and it never once occurred to me to try and get happy! Well, don't I feel stupid! You've solved all my problems now!" Her words were practically drowned in sarcasm.
Charlie appeared wholly unaffected and continued to smile at her. "Haven't I?"
She gave a sharp sigh. "Look. Don't you think if I knew how to 'get happy,' as you so succinctly put it, I would've done it by now?"
"But you do know how," he insisted, and now his cheerful grin was morphing into a more meaningful smile. Gently he took her chin in one large calloused hand. "You've already told me what you need to do, Darcy. In fact, you've already done half of it. I'm not sure why you think you need to hear it from someone else before you can finish the job."
Frowning, she began, "I don't understand…"
"Well, look, you got rid of Kotter, didn't you?" he queried, and at her slight nod, he went on, "And that made you happy, didn't it?"
"Yes."
"So you're halfway there. The only thing you've left to do is talk to your parents, and I really don't think that'll be as hard as you're trying to make it." He pointedly ignored her skeptical glance. "So just go and do it. And then you'll be happy."
Slowly she was shaking her head. "But everything with Kotter… all that's happened over the past years… How am I supposed to explain—"
"You don't have to explain," he quickly interjected. "Well, you can if you want to, of course. The same way you just explained everything to me. But all that stuff's in the past. And the great thing about the past is…" he paused, as if building for dramatic effect, then wisely concluded, "it's the past. It's over. It happened, you've learned from it, and it's made you the person you are today. Now stop dwelling on it and start doing what you need to do to be happy right now."
For a very long moment, Darcy gazed thoughtfully up at Charlie. She hadn't realized at first, but the whole time he'd been trying to teach her, to mentor her as he'd always done. And as always, he was perfectly and absolutely right.
At long last, she smiled. "Thank you, Charlie," she said softly, and stretched forward to wrap her arms around her oldest and dearest friend.
He laughed. "Don't thank me, love. I was just repeating what you'd already told me."
"But thanks anyway," she insisted. She gave his muscled torso a tight squeeze, feeling suddenly much better than she had in months. Then a slight smirk came to her as she mused aloud, "Though you still haven't even mentioned the most important problem."
"Oh?" he queried with genuine interest. "What's that?"
She relaxed back into her chair and gazed at him keenly. "How am I supposed to win the Quidditch Cup this year now that I've lost three of my best players?"
Grinning brilliantly at her, he replied, "Simple. Catch the Snitch in the first five minutes."
Before Darcy could formulate a response, a loud gasp and a squealed cry of, "Charlie!" rang through the kitchen, emanating from the tiny red-haired, pajama-clad girl who promptly launched herself at her older brother. Charlie barely had time to prepare himself before Ginny was on him, her arms squeezed almost chokingly tight around his neck.
"Hullo, Ginny," he managed to gasp out as he embraced his sister.
"I thought I heard voices down here." Mrs. Weasley bustled cheerfully into the kitchen, gifting both her son and the blonde Seeker with hugs before she proceeded right to starting breakfast. "What time did you get in, dear?"
"Oh, early this morning," Charlie answered, trading a knowing smile with Darcy.
"That's lovely," Mrs. Weasley answered absently as she set the eggs to cooking by themselves on the stove.
"Are we having a party down here?" demanded George as he entered the kitchen with his twin in tow.
"And who forgot to invite us?" Fred added playfully. They both broke into identical grins when they spotted their newly-arrived sibling. "Would you look what the Kneazle dragged in? Where've you been hiding, brother?"
Leaning in close to the older Weasley, George said in a conspiratorial voice, "We've got some… interesting things to show you later."
"Of our own creation, of course," Fred put in.
"It better not be those trick wands I saw you two working on the other night," Mrs. Weasley warned, fixing the twins with a stern gaze. She shook her spatula at them as she added, "And you both better have all your school assignments done before we leave for King's Cross tomorrow. I don't want to hear that you were copying from your friends on the train."
The twins exchanged a look. "Wonder who would tell her we were doing something like that?" Fred intoned darkly.
As if he had somehow sensed his presence in the discussion, Percy strolled imperiously into the kitchen, pajamas wrinkle-free and hair already perfectly combed, despite the early hour. "How is a gentleman supposed to get his beauty rest with you all making such a ruckus down here?" he groused, serving them all a tragically offended look.
George snorted. "Beauty sleep? You better go back to bed for a few years then, Perce."
"More like a few decades," Fred mused in a none-too-quiet whisper.
With an indignant sniff, Percy announced, "I refuse to rise to your childish baiting."
But the twins were no longer paying attention to their brother, instead greeting Oliver, who had at last stumbled into the kitchen. He was the antithesis to Percy in his rumpled night clothes, hair sticking out at all odd angles. The Keeper directed a sleepy "G'morning" at Fred and George before flopping into the seat next to Darcy and resting his head against her shoulder.
"Hello, beautiful," he murmured into the fabric of her robe.
Smiling genuinely, she ruffled her fingers through his messy hair and kissed the top of his head. "Hello, love," she replied lightly, and when a slight nudge to her ribcage drew her attention, she turned to find Charlie grinning at her.
"Happy yet?" he asked softly.
Darcy sighed. "Getting there."
The morning sky was only slightly lighter when she rolled out of bed the next day, moving silently around Ginny's room as she got dressed and gathered her belongings. She hadn't intended to leave quite so early, but after several long hours of lying sleeplessly on her back, her mind unable to focus on anything but what she was about to do that day, she could finally wait no longer.
It was in the stairwell between the second and third floors that she paused to scribble out a quick note, her lit wand clutched between her teeth as she wrote. Then she continued her stealthy trek down and into the kitchen.
She left the note on the center of the table, weighted down beneath a salt shaker against the slight breeze flowing in the open back door. Then she began to search for the Weasleys' supply of Floo powder. She'd considered leaving a few Sickles in repayment for what she would be taking, but had just as quickly realized that the money-conscious Weasleys would not accept it, and she didn't want to offend her wonderful hosts. Again she felt a pang of regret at leaving so silently, unable to say her thanks in person. She could only hope her note would be enough.
After a solid five minutes of looking, she still had yet to locate the Floo powder. As the sky outside continued to grow brighter, Darcy began to get frustrated. "Now where…" she uttered.
"In that old flower pot on the mantle, I think."
Only by a most supreme effort did she manage to stifle her scream, spinning sharply around to locate her surprise visitor. She blew out a heavy breath of relief when she discovered Oliver smiling genially back at her.
"You are looking for Floo powder, right?" he added.
"Good lord, Oliver, you scared the life out of me! What're you doing up so early?" demanded the Seeker, seemingly oblivious to his previous statement.
He shrugged, taking hold of her hands as he closed the distance between them. "Didn't think I'd let you leave without saying good-bye, did you? Besides, I wanted to wish you luck."
Fixing him with an appropriately confused look, she queried, "Why would I need luck?"
The Keeper just laughed. "You think you're so sneaky, Miss Reed, but you're an absolutely terrible actress. I knew you were thinking about leaving for home yesterday by the way you kept looking between the clock and the fireplace. Like you were deciding the best time to slip away. It didn't take me long to figure out you'd try to leave sometime this morning."
Darcy tried—and failed—to hide her smile. "You're getting too clever for you own good."
"I learned it from you," he replied smartly. But then his cocky smirk melted into a soft smile and he gave her hands a gentle squeeze. "I'm holding you up. You need to get going before anyone else wakes up, otherwise you'll never get out of here."
Swallowing down the lump that suddenly wanted to form in her throat, she lovingly studied her significant other. He understood everything perfectly, and she hadn't even said a word. "Oh Ollie," she murmured and threw her arms around his neck, nuzzling into his embrace as she felt his arms close around her waist. She stayed that way for a long moment, feeling utterly loved and entirely unafraid of anything in the world.
Even of the conversation she was about to have with her parents.
"I'll see you at Platform 9¾," she said, at last untangling herself from the fourth year.
"Of course." He gave her a last supportive smile as he released her hands, watching as she stretched up to get a pinch of Floo powder from the flower pot.
She stepped up to the fireplace, where Mrs. Weasley had, for some reason, left a low fire crackling overnight. It suddenly occurred to the girl that perhaps Oliver wasn't the only one who'd figured out her intentions. She turned momentarily back to him. "That letter on the table is for Mrs. Weasley, but please tell her that I can't thank her enough for this week," she instructed.
He nodded. "Will do."
"Thank you," she murmured, stepping toward the fire.
"Hey."
Sending a glance over her shoulder, she queried, "Yes?"
Oliver was studying her with those endearing brown eyes of his. "No matter what happens… I love you, okay?" And he couldn't stop himself from sweeping forward and embracing her one last time, lifting her chin up to steal a tender kiss.
Slowly and certainly, Darcy kissed him back. "I love you too," she whispered against his mouth, hating the knowledge that she had to pull away. But at last she managed, and she felt a small shiver of pain ripple through her head as she tossed her Floo powder into the fire. She frowned, hoping against hope that it wasn't the start of another headache. She'd managed to make it through the entire week without suffering a single one, and it was the last thing she needed at that particular moment.
But her mind cleared as she stepped into flames, which had now taken on a brilliant emerald hue and surpassed her in height. She turned and found Oliver looking as if he desperately wanted to jump in after her. But instead he raised a hand and waved awkwardly.
She smiled and returned the gesture. Then, in a clear voice, she said, "Number fourteen Falmoore Lane, Tunbridge Wells, East Sussex."
Thirty whirling, soot-filled seconds later found her tumbling out into a large cozy living room, landing knees and palms down on a lovely soft rug placed there for just that purpose. Darcy stood and slowly steadied herself, caressing her gaze over the familiar surroundings. "I'm home," she whispered.
The pale flicker of lamplight from down the nearby hallway told her that her parents were awake, sitting up for breakfast. Steeling her nerve with thoughts of Oliver and their parting kiss, she made her way to the kitchen, coming to a stop in the doorframe. The scene before her was a familiar one—her mother, sipping idly at a mug of tea as she tended to the breakfast simmering on the stove; her father at the table, hidden behind his just-delivered issue of the Daily Prophet. Nyssa Reed had one hand resting on her husband Thomas's shoulder, a gesture of silent affection that was somehow touching in its simplicity.
Gazing upon this, something twitched in the pit of her stomach, and Darcy realized quite abruptly just how much she'd missed her family, and how far she'd been pushing them away as she cloaked herself deeper in omitted details and half-truths. At that moment, the thought of finally telling them the truth was no long frightening. She was ready.
Sidling a few more steps into the kitchen, she queried softly, "Mom? Daddy?"
Her mother startled, then promptly charged across the room, trapping Darcy in a tight embrace before she could react. Over the top of the newspaper, a slow smile was forming on her father's face.
"Oh honey! I'm so glad you're home! We've missed you terribly!" Nyssa had her daughter's face cradled between her hands, examining her with a worried eye. "Darling, you look so thin. Have you been eating properly? Can I make you something for breakfast?"
A small laugh escaped the girl. "I'm fine, Mom, honestly."
"Are you sure I can't get you anything?" her mother pressed. Without waiting for an answer, she proceeded to fish an empty mug from the cupboard and fill it with tea.
As the steaming beverage was thrust into her hands, Darcy mused lightly, "I suppose I wouldn't mind a cup of tea." She let her mother guide her into a chair, smiling as her father leaned forward to kiss her on the forehead. "Hi, Daddy. I've missed you."
Thomas Reed swept a stray lock of hair off his daughter's brow. "Same here, sweetheart." Fussing with the slightly-fraying hem of Darcy's shirt, her mother said, "We thought you were going to stay with the Weasleys for the holiday. Why didn't you send an owl to let us know you were coming home?"
"It was… a spontaneous decision, I suppose," the Seeker answered carefully.
Her mother smiled. "Well, spontaneous or not, I'm so glad you're here." Her tone, so full of love and sincerity, caused a small lump to form in Darcy's throat. But then the older woman laughed and waved her hands absently. "Listen to me, chattering on, when we haven't even seen you since September! I don't know about your father, but I'm dying to hear what's been going on with you. You've hardly written at all this year, so I imagine you've got plenty to share." She closed one slender hand over that of her daughter, eyes gleaming with curiosity.
"Well…" Looking between her parents, Darcy sucked in a sharp breath. A last touch of anxiety had suddenly reappeared in the pit of her stomach, drying up all the saliva in her mouth till she barely thought she could speak.
Frowning slightly at her obvious discomfort, her father pushed aside his newspaper, turning his focus on his daughter. "What is it, Darcy?"
Nothing! Say nothing! her mind was screaming at her, accompanied by the nearly-overpowering desire to run and hide. She drew a hand up to try and calm her wildly beating heart—and instead found the tiny golden Snitch pendant, resting between the fuse of her collar bones on its glittering chain. Tightly she closed her fist around Oliver's gift, slid her eyes shut, and slowly exhaled. "Mom. Dad," she spoke aloud.
Then she opened her eyes, and with as much calm as she could muster, she announced, "There are a few things I need to tell you."
Well, there it is. All my love, again, to my readers. You're the inspiration that keeps me from quitting entirely some days. Hugs to you all.
-- Ginevieve (formerly Adele, and yes, I changed my penname)