Expecting to Fly

Expecting to Fly

Out on the Quidditch pitch it's cold as anything. My arms are hugged to my sides in a futile effort to keep warm. My breath wafts out in front of me as I walk slowly to the very center of the field.

I stand there for a while staring up at the sky, my head tilted back and my eyes closed against the glare. I must look really stupid but I don't move, there is a strange exhilaration circling through my mind.

On an impulse, I throw my arms wide, and twirl in a circle until I feel dizzy and fall down. I lie there with my eyes closed thinking that this must be what it feels like to fly. A sudden sense of vertigo makes me open my eyes. To my disappointment, I'm still lying on the field, not floating off into some far away heaven.

What'cha doing Evans, expecting to fly?

It's him. The edges of my stomach curl, and I sit up and look around. There's nobody there. I laugh to myself at that thought. Of course somebody's there. The voice couldn't have just come from nowhere now could it?

Alright, Potter. I know you're there, no use pretending you're not.

No one answers. Maybe I imagined it. I try again. Come on, I won't stand here talking to thin air. Either come out or... My voice trails off. I can't punish someone who supposedly isn't there, even if I am Head Girl.

No worries Evans.

He appears in front of me, casual and confident, as if he already knows how this encounter is going to end. Now, really, were you expecting to fly? Because you know, there's no way without a broomstick. But if you wanted to learn, well really, I'm the only one to teach you. That arrogance! Without thinking, I open my mouth to say something, anything.

Have you ever heard of the story of Peter Pan, Potter?

It just sort of comes out of my mouth, taking me by surprise. Obviously it has wrong-footed him too: he shuffles his feet and shakes his head. Peter Pan was a boy who didn't want to grow up. He believed so hard, and so long that suddenly it happened. He never ever grew up. And you know what else, Potter? He could fly. He could fly without a broomstick. All because he believed that it would happen.

Now he's staring at me, gaping. He has no idea why I'm bringing this up and frankly neither do I. I plow on anyway. So you know what the moral of this is, Potter? If I wanted to fly, if I really and truly, with all of my heart expected to fly, then guess what?

You would have flown? He ventures. I nod, pleased that such a concept has made it's way so quickly through his overblown head. He's mulling what I said over, nodding his head, ruffling his hair, pushing his horn-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. Suddenly he starts to grin. He turns to look at me, and now he's really beaming. The corners of his eyes are all wrinkled up and he has perfect teeth.

Hey Evans? Want to go out with me?

I groan and fall back to the ground where I had lain before I was so rudely interrupted.

No, Potter.

I'm moaning this from the ground, my eyes closed, all fight gone. It always comes back to this. He must be crazy if he thinks I'll go out with him.

But you just as good as said you would!

Now I know he's crazy. All the same, I'm curious. I sit up and motion for him to continue.

Well, you said that if you believe in something long enough and hard enough it will come true.

I have no idea where he's going with this, so I nod. Well, I believe! I really do, that you will go out with me-- so it has to happen! Just like the guy who could fly! I believe, Lily! Please! He's on his knees, begging. I stand abruptly, brushing him back onto the cold pitch.

Potter,

I say sadly. Sometimes you need something else too. Sometimes belief just isn't enough. I turn on my heel and fly off the field.