Who: Alicia Spinnet & Percy Weasley What: Returning Firebolt while trying to avoid running into Oliver Alicia gets the chance to have a bit of a chat with Percy instead When: February 20, 1998 Where: Alicia’s flat in London, then the Weasley/Wood flat in Hogsmeade Rating: PG - for vivid dreams in the beginning (?)
Still panting and her heart pounding hard and fast in her chest Alicia opened her eyes, suddenly very awake, and highly aware that it had all been a dream. An absolutely amazing dream that had left her skin damp, her muscles a delicious kind of sore and her mind utterly frustrated that all the sweet touches had all been imaginary or courtesy of her own hands and fingers. With a sigh she draped her arm over her head, and did nothing but let her body calm down from the incredible high of the unexpected release, all the while she mentally cursed Oliver for feeding her already vivid imagination enough inspiration to make her bed seem even more empty.
That thought had her sit up straight, and with a growl she climbed out of bed, heading directly for the kitchen – careful not to wake Michelle who was sleeping behind a screen equipped with the foil George had recommended for privacy - pouring herself a large glass of ice cold water. Since when was Oliver the object of desire in her most personal dreams? She looked at the clock on the wall and sighed again. Since ten hours ago, that’s when, which reminded her; they never managed to even taste the food before they had gotten... interrupted.
Not long after, Alicia sat down by the small table with a plateful of steaming warm lasagne. She inhaled deeply, remembering the aroma from last night, her mind immediately projecting images of Oliver that sent shivers down her spine. Alicia glanced down at the food. It looked so delicious, absolutely mouthwatering, and still all it made her think about were warm lips on her neck and searching hands holding her against a firm, muscular bod- with a wave of her wand, the lasagne was sent to the rubbish bin, and Alicia did what any sane woman would do; pretended it never happened and channelled all her frustration into something creative.
Her creativity this morning, before the sun had even risen, came out in several batches of Cauldron Cakes, pretending that it had nothing at all to do with Oliver’s farewell greeting last night. No no, it didn’t, not at all, she just happened to have all the ingredients at hand, and they were a favourite cake of several of her friends thus making it easy to hand off later on in the day. And just as she had sat down with a freshly baked cake and a mug of coffee Firebolt made an almost comically slow entrance into her kitchen.
Dammit!
That just wouldn’t do, because if Firebolt really was in her flat, then that would mean that the silly memory she had of finding him in her locker last night was real, which would mean that Oliver had... No, no, no no, because friends did not do any such things, so Firebolt would have to go back to Hogsmeade, as fast as possible. The only problem was, that for him to go back there, Alicia would have to take him there. It was freezing cold outside, and she didn’t think the little guy could stand the long flight by Owl from London to Scotland. It wouldn’t do to simply drop him off outside his door either, because what if he ‘ran’ away?
Leaning back in her seat, nursing her mug in her hands, Alicia tried to think of the best way to avoid the awkwardness that was bound to be there. Oh, she didn’t plan on avoiding him forever, just... a couple of days, a week perhaps, to get the worst of it out of her system and regain a more normal perspective on her friend. It wouldn’t do to show up with fresh fantasies of how his hands and tongue felt...
Alicia shook her head, clearing her head of those thoughts, and nearly whooped with joy when she spotted the tickets to today’s match between Puddlemere United and Ballycastle Bats. If Oliver was on the Pitch, it meant that he wouldn’t be at home, and for the first time ever, she actually hoped that Percy would be. Now all she had to do was wait for it to be late enough for Oliver to have left, but not so late that it would seem like she was avoiding him either.
Around half past ten that same morning, Alicia had both showered, washed the containers that had held the food, filled a box with a couple of Cauldron Cakes, and packed up Firebolt nice, warm and snugly in a small cardboard box. The tickets to the match were safely in her purse, and she had the perfect excuse ready as she knocked on the door to the boys’ flat.