For days after the kiss, I felt as if I were walking on clouds.
Jamie quickly picked up on my unusually-giddy behaviour, and although I knew she suspected something had happened, she didn't press for information as I had expected her to.
Pansy, on the other hand, was relentless.
"It's a boy, isn't it?" She grinned widely when I didn't say no. "You have to tell us who, we'll find out eventually anyway!"
I just gave her a wry smile and turned back to the textbook in my lap, humming softly to myself. Catarina sat cross-legged on her bed, trying to study and looking rather tempted to cast a silencing charm on Pansy.
"Mackie!" Pansy snatched the book away from me. "Tell me!"
"Is it Draco?" Jamie asked mischievously, glancing at Pansy.
Catarina coughed to cover her laugh as Pansy's face went white. "It better not have been. Mackenzie Doyle, if it was Draco, I swear to Merlin—"
"It wasn't Draco," I assured her with a laugh. "We look too much like siblings, people would talk."
Pansy's shoulders slumped with relief as Jamie howled with laughter.
"Then who is it? Miles?" Pansy pressed again, once she had recovered.
I made pointed eye contact with Jamie. "I wonder what's for dinner tonight?"
* * * * * *
The first Triwizard task came and went like a flash of lightning.
We had gathered in the arena to watch the four champions take on their first task—dragons—and cheered for our respective favourites. Hogwarts's double-champion situation had divided the student body. Most cheered for Cedric, including the Slytherins, who had taken it upon themselves to be exceedingly anti-Potter. I had allowed Pansy to pin a 'Potter stinks' pin to my robes with a wry smile.
Most of Potter's supporters were Gryffindors. I caught Fred frowning at the button on my robes, and I gave him an understanding look, pulling it off and pocketing it.
Now we were returning to the castle, the first task behind us.
"Diggory nearly got his face burnt off," Miles remarked.
"But he made it!" Jamie countered. "And using transfiguration as a distraction—how smart!"
"I thought Potter's move was pretty brilliant," I interjected, earning groans from the others. "I mean, I wouldn't have thought of summoning my broom!"
"Trust Doyle to cheer for the Gryffindor," Miles teased.
"I'm not 'cheering' for anyone, really. So long as it's a Hogwarts champion, I don't mind who wins." I thought that over. "Or Krum."
"So, really, anyone but Fleur Delacour?" Lucian raised his eyebrows.
I winced, laughing lightly. "Guess so."
"Typical."
"Mackie!" A call came from behind us. Ginny Weasley was hurrying her way up the steps.
My friends let out a collective groan and walked ahead as I paused, allowing the younger girl to catch up.
"Hi, Ginny," I gave her a warm smile.
"Thanks for waiting." She was a bit breathless, and I slowed my pace even more to allow her to recover. "I have a question for you."
"Ask away." I put my hands in my pockets as we walked, tracing the edges of the smooth button with my fingertips.
She took a deep breath, and then all her words seemed to tumble out at once. "It's about Harry's broom. It got burnt during the task, and I know he's too proud and possibly daft to ask you, but George told me you've got a knack for repairing broomsticks."
My stomach did a little flip at the mention of George's name, but I forced myself to focus on the conversation at hand. "How bad is the burn?"
"Difficult to say. I haven't gotten the chance to see it yet, but I noticed the brush was smoking as he finished the task."
"I can take a look at it," I offered. "If the whole thing's burnt, there's not much I can do, but if it's just the brush I should be able to figure something out."
"Thank you." Ginny's voice was light with relief. "I know there's no Quidditch this year, but we're going to need him at the top of his game next season."
I winced. "You'll have a pretty strong team next year, I hear."
She gave me a sideways glance. "So will you."
"I doubt it," I sighed. "We're losing most of our current team."
"Right, but I reckon you'll be Captain, and you've got an eye for talent."
Her words struck a chord; I hadn't even thought about who would be Captain next year. Then, cracking a grin, I nudged her. "Are you sweet-talking me so I'll fix the broom? I already said I would try."
She gave a light laugh. "Maybe a little."
* * * * * *
The next day, I made my way down to the Quidditch pitch, my repair kit tucked under my arm.
George, Ginny, and Harry were all waiting for me there. I looked between them a little nervously, not expecting such a crowd.
Harry stepped forward and offered me his broomstick. "Thank you for doing this, truly."
I gave him a small smile and examined the broomstick, remembering then that it was a Firebolt. I had never held one before, let alone worked with one, and I couldn't help but admire its build.
"Pretty broomstick you've got here, Potter," I remarked, setting it down and unfolding my repair kit.
"Do you think you can fix it?" he asked, an edge of distress to his voice. "I've only just gotten it."
I eyed the charred brush. The burn had only reached the very end of the broomstick, its dark wood a little blackened, but all in all it wasn't too bad. "I'd say so."
The three Gryffindors let out a collective sigh of relief.
I smiled to myself and pulled out a comb from my kit, easing it gently through the burnt brush. As the comb worked, the brush grew longer, healthy bristles growing from the end of the broomstick and the charred bits falling away. In about a minute or so, the brush was long enough to cut. I used a pair of scissors to snip off the remaining burnt ends, leaving a clean brush. Then, applying a bit of moisturizer to the fresh brush, I smoothed it back into its original shape.
"Incredible," George remarked. "Doylie, you've done it again."
Harry stepped forward to collect his broom, but I snatched it away from him. "Hold on, not quite done."
I used a bit of wood repair balm on the burn part of the broom handle, carefully working it into the worst parts of the burn. "This balm isn't really meant for dragon fire burns, but it might do the trick." The balm sat without doing anything, and I eyed it nervously. Then it fizzled away, leaving a cleanly-repaired handle.
"Here." I stood and offered the broomstick to Potter. "Now it's finished."
He took it with an expression of astonishment, looking over his Firebolt with awe. "That's brilliant."
I smiled at his remark, repacking my repair kit. I caught George's eye, then, and he winked. "Doylie here is practically a professional."
"Hardly," I laughed. "More of an enthusiastic amateur."
"No, really, this is incredible. Thank you." Potter looked at me with wide eyes. "How much do I owe you?"
I opened my mouth to respond but hesitated, having not anticipated that question. Before I could speak, though, George stepped in. "Five galleons for the repair and kit materials, plus tip if you're feeling generous, mate."
Harry dug in his pocket and pulled out the coins, handing them over without blinking an eye. I accepted them wordlessly, admiring the shining gold pieces in my palm.
"Potter," I spoke as the younger boy moved to leave. "Good luck with the rest of the Tournament."
Potter nodded in thanks before departing, Ginny close behind him.
Once they were gone, I rounded on George, the six galleons still clenched in my fist. "I wasn't planning on charging him."
"Don't worry. He's got quite a bit saved up." George stepped forward to stand close to me, a small smile on his lips. "Besides, you can't keep doing these things for free, that's an awful way to run a business."
"It's not a business, just something I do for friends."
"But Harry's not your friend." George shrugged.
"But you are. And he's your friend, so by extension—" I broke off as George's face came very close to my own, inhaling sharply.
"Just take the money, Mackie." His voice was soft, his fingers coming up to play with a piece of my hair.
I bit my lip and nodded, slipping the galleons into my pocket and silently willing him to kiss me.
And he did.
I threaded my fingers through his rust-coloured hair, his fingertips burning through my jumper and into the skin on my hips. When we pulled apart, we were both grinning wildly, his hair standing a bit on end.
"Any other friends need broomstick repairs?" I asked breathlessly.
George laughed.