Chapter 3 High
up in the Sky
Author's note: Miss Pince has my endless gratitude for
rescuing me from rhyming hell and write an absolutely lovely poem for
this chapter (you'll recognize it when you see it). Otherwise you would
be subjected to the likes of "That ugly git Snape, he's really an ape
Zsenya keeps on ROXin' as my beta-reader, making fun of
my typos and such ;) And my reviewers ... you're the best!!!
“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you ...” Angelina turned in
her bed. Why had the Quaffle in her dream started singing? She
was just about to score with it. It kept singing and was starting to sound
very much like Alicia. Angelina pried her eyes open. The mild winter sun
shone into the dormitory and sitting on her bed were her two best friends,
Alicia and Katie.
“Finally! We thought you were going to sleep all day. It’s your birthday,
young lady,” said Katie and tossed a pillow in Angelina’s face, “aren’t
you curious to see what we are giving you?”
“Frankly, no,” said Angelina and yawned, “at least if you are giving
me what you’ve been threatening.”
“Relax, you’ve got yourself a real-life boyfriend now, no substitutes
needed.”Alicia handed her a small box and Angelina fought the urge to
sigh in relief. She raised herself in the bed and started unwrapping the
“Oh, girls. You’re the greatest,” she said when she had seen it was
a bottle of her favourite fragrance. They hugged her and made it clear
they would make the whole Gryffindor table sing the birthday song if she
wouldn’t hurry and get dressed.
Fred smiled at her across the Gryffindor table when she came downstairs.
He was sitting next to George and they were pouring over some piece of
parchment. She realized he had no idea that this was her eighteenth birthday.
Should she tell him? What for? She prodded with her spoon into her bowl
of cereal. Fred was fantastic and all but he didn’t seem to be the romantic
type. He wouldn’t surprise her with a candlelight dinner and roses. She
looked in his direction and saw he was watching her. Something warm rose
in her chest as the right corner of his mouth was pulled up in a grin
that showed his dimples. No, she wouldn’t need any candlelight dinners.
History of Magic didn’t get any better even though the students were
in their seventh year. Binns was now giving a lecture about the influence
of wizards on Muggle politics in the twentieth century.
“... silly stories about Mrs Thatcher’s supposed magical origins. As
a matter of fact, it is far too earlier to speculate about magical influence
and the Conservative government, though ...”
Angelina stared absentmindedly out of the window. Next to her Alicia
was sleeping soundly on her textbook and Lee Jordan was snoring rather
loudly. Her eyes traveled over the room and settled on the back of a head
with flaming red hair. Fred seemed to dozing off because every now and
then he would jerk slightly. That didn’t seem to bother George, who was
fast asleep with his head on his brother’s shoulder. She kept her eyes
on Fred and started to think about what had transpired between them two
nights earlier. He had said that he loved her, and she remembered the
mix of emotion that she had felt when he had uttered those three words.
That helplessness, what was she supposed to say? The boy she had been
pining for, saying he loved her just out of the blue. It just kept her
grounded and she had watched the panic rise in his face, yet the only
thing she had been able to do had been to smile. Then he had kissed her,
a passionate kiss which filled her senses. There was Fred everywhere,
he was the ground she stood on, he was the breeze that played in her hair,
he was the moonshine and the twinkling stars. They tried to melt into
each other, helping each other discarding their cloths in order to touch
the bare skin of the other. The skin on his shoulders and his chest was
smooth, while his hands felt rough on her body. That was Fred, a combination
of these two, rough on the outside but smooth on the inside.
It was a Shame that their little encounter had been interrupted by a
curious dog. Angelina couldn’t help but wonder how far they would have
gone if Fang hadn’t mistaken them for rabbits. Deep inside she was glad
it hadn’t got any further because that kiss they had shared because entering
the Gryffindor common room had been truer somehow. Maybe because she had
then also declared her love, maybe because she was more content with that
pace of the relationship.
“... the knowledge of the British wizarding community is known to the
following Muggles; the Queen or should I say the Monarch, the Prime Minister,
the head of the Scotland Yard and the head of the MI-5. I’m, of course,
excluding the Muggle families of many wizards and witches ...” Binns was
still droning on and Fred had finally fallen fast asleep leaning a bit
backwards in his chair. George’s head was still on his shoulder. Angelina
smiled, she was proud of how close Fred and George were. She knew Fred
would tell George all about her but that didn’t bother her. It was still
amazing to her that their relationship had healed quickly after all the
damage Eve had caused.
“... in the Second World War, most military intelligence offices knew
of Grindelwald’s existence and his connection to the ruling party in Germany
at that time, National Socialist German Workers' party or the Nazis ...”
Angelina’s eyelids began to drop and for the rest of that class she slept
as soundly as her classmates.
Angelina, Alicia and Katie hurried off to dinner, there were few things
that worked up their appetite than Care of Magical Creatures and this
class had been an exciting one. They had been studying Winged Horses and
the girls had been the only ones who had been allowed to mount them. The
horses had all been Abraxans and Angelina was sure they were Madame Maxine’s
whiskey-drinking steeds. Fred and George hadn’t been allowed to mount
the horses, Hagrid had had some reservations and mentioned something about
‘them Weasleys, too foolhardy.’
It had been like nothing she had ever tried, to feel that enormous beast
soar with her. It wasn’t the high speed of a broomstick, this was much
more graceful. It had awakened some hidden princess dreams in her, she
had been like a goddess, a muse that could drive men wild. She was more
confident now and frankly she couldn’t wait to see Fred.
Angelina had nearly finished eating when Fred came to dinner. He sat
at the table right across from her and looked straight at her.
“How was it flying that horse? I wish that Hagrid had let me fly it,”
he asked as he piled mashed potatoes on his plate.
“Incredible, nothing like it. Not even a Firebolt. Best birthday present
I’ve ever got,” she said without a thought. Fred dropped his fork on the
“What?” he mouthed, “it's your birthday today?” She didn’t know what
to say and looked down. Could he be angry with her?
“Why didn’t you tell me? I mean, I’d've given you something or done
something. You’re my girlfriend,” he said, blushing and running a hand
through his hair.
“I just forgot somehow, there was no need for you to do anything,” she
said in a weak voice. He bit his lip nervously and seemed to pondering
something. Then his face brightened and he got up.
“Come with me,” he said and reached for Angelina’s hand. “I’m going
to show you something.” He led her out of the Great Hall and out of the
castle onto the grounds and towards Hagrid’s hut. When they stopped in
front of the paddock which contained the Winged Horses, she finally understood
what he planned to do.
“This seems a bit easy to me, I’ve just finished telling you how much
I loved flying on the horse,” she said laughing.
“Well, this time I’m going to be with you,” Fred said in a determined
voice and walking into the paddock and freeing one of the horses. “I’m
not going to miss the fun.”
The horse didn’t seem to have any objections to let them both mount
and soon they were flying high above the Forbidden Forest. She had the
reins and Fred sat behind her and had his arms around her waist. The horse
didn’t need egging on to fly at a speed Angelina felt comfortable on which
was, of course, furiously fast. Fred seemed to enjoy it too, for she heard
him laughing with delight. After few moments of dives and ascents that
would makes most people sick but gave Angelina and Fred only a mild case
of butterflies in their stomachs, he grabbed the reins and slowed the
beast down until they were hovering over the Quidditch pitch.
“What are you doing?” she asked curiously. He just smiled and cleared
his throat. Then he started singing:
The way you touch my skin
The way you wear your hair
The world that I live in
Has changed 'cause you are there.
The way you smile at me
You're all that I can see
We're flying you and I
High up in the sky.
Angelina gaped, Fred had really nice voice, a mild baritone voice which
fitted the song quite well. The song was a rather old ballad, made popular
on the WWN by the crooner Bob Billson, better known as The Swinging Sorceror.
Fred kept on singing:
I've made a few mistakes
I know I've made you blue
I'll do anything it takes
To make it up to you.
The way you make me feel
Too good, it can't be real.
We're flying you and I
High up in the sky.
The way you make me laugh
The way you hold my hand
I can't ever get enough
And the best; you're still my friend
You're an Angel in a way
And I'm sure that we can stay
Forever in the sky
Flying, you and I.
Angelina’s heart was beating fast, it was like he meant every word he
sang. She felt dizzy like she was afraid of heights. Absentmindedly she
guided the horse down to earth where he landed with a thud.
“Fred, I didn’t know you could sing,” she said and turned to him.
“Actually, we Weasleys are pretty good singers except for Percy. He
think he is, though,” he said with a grin.
“But why did you sing to me? Why that particular song?” She looked him
in the eye. He just kept on grinning.
“Because I think it's about us two and because you're an Angel, in a
way,” he said and kissed her. Then he got off the horse and helped her
down. He kissed her again with the same passion he'd, few nights earlier.
She had her hands around his neck and his rested on the small of her back.
Finally he broke the kiss and whispered in her ear, “Happy birthday, my
angel high up in the sky.”
George watched his brother lead his girlfriend out of the Great Hall.
He sighed. He was genuinely pleased for Fred but there were other things
on his mind now. Like that letter he had received this morning,
I dreamt a dream about you. We were up in the air on your broomstick
and I was showing you the stars. I hope this dream will come true.
Love always, your secret admirer.
He clenched his fists in frustration. Who was sending him these letters?
Ginny hadn’t come with any noteworthy information though it seemed that
the female population of Hogwarts had a certain fondness for Quidditch
players, according to Ginny. Apparently, she had heard girls from various
houses talking about the cute boys on the Gryffindor team. What did he
care about if some sixth year Hufflepuffs thought he was cute? He wanted
to know who that secret admirer was and he was more sure than ever that
it was a Gryffindor, for he had found this morning’s letter in his shoe.
Someone must have snuck into his dormitory in the middle of the night
to put the letter there. He had also found letters in his book bag and
once between in a stack of newly pressed robes. Fred had insisted that
the secret admirer had to be a house-elf. He went on talking in a squeaky
voice, ‘Oh, sir. I is loving you, sir. I is your secret admirer, sir.
Is the sir wanting a hot water bottle in his bed? Dipsy not good at holding
bed hot herself sir.’ George laughed at Fred, but just to rule everything
out, he had gone to Hermione and asked her if house-elves could write.
She had mistaken his interest for an interest in S.P.E.W. and handed him
a stack of leaflets before she had told him that house-elves indeed couldn’t
write and it was horrible how house-elves were kept oppressed and undereducated.
Why was this person and her letters and notes bothering him so much?
He made his way up to the Gryffindor Tower and muttered the password dully
to the Fat Lady. Maybe it was the invasion of his private life that bothered
him; the idea that someone out there was watching his every move. George
wondered if it was because he was a twin, he already had someone who knew
about his innermost thoughts.
Ron was sitting at a desk in a corner of the common room, looking displeased.
George decided to join him, they could be surly together.
“What are you doing?” he asked his younger brother who was flipping
furiously through some thick volume and scribbling strange symbols on
a piece of parchment.
“Some ruddy homework for Divination. It's a star chart and I’m supposed
to be predicting my romantic future. Guess who suggested that to that
foggy-brain crystal gazer? Those annoying giggling twins,” Ron pushed
the parchment away from him in frustration.
“Giggling twins? Whom are you talking about?” asked George, wondering
vaguely who those giggling twins were.
“Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, I know they aren’t twins or anything
and Parvati has Padma or what’s her name but they could be twins, always
giggling in unison.”
“Fred and I don’t do everything in unison, you know that.” George furrowed
“I know but you are boys, they are girls. Girls are weird.”
“Isn’t one of your best friends a girl?”
“Yeah, Hermione's a girl, but she’s Hermione. She doesn’t giggle over
some bloody star chart. She thinks Divination is rubbish, which it is,
but don’t tell her she’s right. I hate it when she puts up her ‘I told
you so’ look.”
“So, how is your romantic future?” asked George deliberately,
right after Ron’s ramble.
“What do I know about star charts, all just circles and lines and strange
symbols. I mean, how can something high up in the sky, like stars, have
influence on my life here down on the ground?” Ron mumbled. “Besides,
Trelawney wants it tragic. The more tragic, the better marks I get. Usually
I make one up to make her happy but I do it with Harry and he's gone off
“But if you didn’t have to turn your prediction in, how do you see your
romantic future?” George had hard time not to grin.
“Why do you ask that? But I dunno, really. Marry someone nice, I suppose.”
It seemed like Ron had never thought about that. George didn’t give up
though, he wanted to know certain things.
“What kind of a nice girl? Pretty, smart, funny, kind ... what?”
“Err ... maybe all those things,” said Ron, and his ears were slowly
turning bright red.
“Is there a girl you know who is all of that?” Ron didn’t reply to George’s
question because the rest of his face was turning as red as his ears.
Then he slowly nodded and George fought even harder to hold back his grin.
“I think there’s a girl. So, why haven’t you made your move or something?”
he asked then and felt like he had won a good sum of money.
“Why do you think there’s such girl?” Ron mumbled. “Maybe there is but
maybe she has a boyfriend who is just leagues above me in money and he’s
famous and rich and all girls fancy him and ...”
“Hold it right there,” said George who was now on the verge of bursting
out laughing. “First of all, remember that we Weasley men are devilishly
handsome and no woman in their right mind would turn us down, though we
might not be the richest blokes in the world.”
“Shut up, George,” said Ron who seemed to sense the mirth in George’s
voice. “I’m not going to let you tease me about this. Maybe I like a girl
but she has a boyfriend.”
“Well, there's just one girl I can think of who could possibly maybe
have a rich and famous boyfriend,” said George, “her name is Hermione.”
“George, promise not to tell anyone. It is so stupid to like your best
friend in that way.”
“I promise, but you know that Viktor Krum isn’t her boyfriend. She told
me that herself.”
“What? I’m always asking her and she refuses to tell me?!? Why?” Ron
“Maybe because she isn’t sure why you're asking. I think she doesn’t
understand your interest in her affairs. Relax, little brother, I’m sure
if she likes you more than a friend, things will progress on their own.
Just don’t anything you’re not comfortable with.” George was now grinning
and having fun watching his brother wriggle in his seat.
“What about my Divination homework? I need a tear-jerking romantic future,”
Ron finally said, still with red ears.
“Oh, how about that the love of your life flies away with some handsome,
foreign man who is rich and powerful and when you are pursuing them, attempting
to save your love, you fall of your broomstick and break your neck?”
“Very funny, George but it will make that insect-eyed tea-leaves lover