[Fic] "Theories of Magic" -- Harry Potter
Feb. 3rd, 2004 01:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
edenfallingIt was there. I wrote something. Astonishingly, this one came in under the time deadline, which is very odd as I write quite slowly.
It's loosely Harry Potter, in that it relies on the basic system of magic, Muggles, and owl post, but mostly it's just about a woman, her father, and a sailboat.
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Theories of Magic
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When Lydia was five, her father took her sailing for the first time. Before that she was too young, he said, but now she could listen and help him pull the ropes. He didn't call them ropes, of course, but that's what they were.
And it was like flying, out on the lake with the wind at their backs. The gusts and the water chilled her, chapped her lips and made her see why her father had insisted she wear her ugly sweatshirt, but Lydia didn't care. She belonged to the wind and the water and this tiny, improbable bit of wood and plastic, metal and rope, that kept her balanced between them.
Later, of course, the owl came and she learned about magic and drifted away from her Muggle family. She didn't want to, but she lived in a different world now and there was nothing she could do about it, particularly when she joined the FBMI as an Auror and the Department of Magic swore her to secrecy on any number of things, both important and ridiculous.
She never regretted the magic, though. Magic let her fly, really fly, fifty or a hundred feet in the air with nothing but a piece of wood and some charms between her and certain death. The wind raced with her and sang in her eyes when she flew. She played Quidditch in school -- first Seeker, and then Keeper when she grew taller than she'd expected -- but she never really liked it. The game took away from the purity of flight.
And then, one day, Lydia realized she hadn't been to the lake in nearly five summers. She packed her bags, took her saved vacation days in a three-week lump, apologized to the friends she stood up, and Apparated to the family cabin.
She hadn't called, but her father was waiting, watching the clouds race across the sky. He didn't turn at the noise or the puff of air that accompanied her appearance.
"Hi, Dad," she said, setting down her suitcase and backpack.
"Hi," he answered. "Good wind out there today."
Lydia joined him at the window. "Yeah. The boat on the buoy?"
Her father nodded.
"If I bring it to the dock, will you go sailing with me?"
He smiled. "I might be persuaded to do that."
And when they pulled away from the dock, tacking to catch the wind and picking up speed, it was like the first time she'd been on the water, when her father's hands had closed over her own and guided them over the lake. The spray flecked her shirt, her hands burned from the unfamiliar pull of the ropes -- after all these years, she still refused to call them anything else -- and Lydia smiled.
This was better than flying.
This was real.
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Inspired by the February 2![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
15minuteficlets picture
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There's a certain amount of self-insertion in this one, but not as much as one might think. Also, it's been a couple years since I sailed; bear with my vagueness and lack of proper terminology.
It's loosely Harry Potter, in that it relies on the basic system of magic, Muggles, and owl post, but mostly it's just about a woman, her father, and a sailboat.
---------------------------------------------
Theories of Magic
---------------------------------------------
When Lydia was five, her father took her sailing for the first time. Before that she was too young, he said, but now she could listen and help him pull the ropes. He didn't call them ropes, of course, but that's what they were.
And it was like flying, out on the lake with the wind at their backs. The gusts and the water chilled her, chapped her lips and made her see why her father had insisted she wear her ugly sweatshirt, but Lydia didn't care. She belonged to the wind and the water and this tiny, improbable bit of wood and plastic, metal and rope, that kept her balanced between them.
Later, of course, the owl came and she learned about magic and drifted away from her Muggle family. She didn't want to, but she lived in a different world now and there was nothing she could do about it, particularly when she joined the FBMI as an Auror and the Department of Magic swore her to secrecy on any number of things, both important and ridiculous.
She never regretted the magic, though. Magic let her fly, really fly, fifty or a hundred feet in the air with nothing but a piece of wood and some charms between her and certain death. The wind raced with her and sang in her eyes when she flew. She played Quidditch in school -- first Seeker, and then Keeper when she grew taller than she'd expected -- but she never really liked it. The game took away from the purity of flight.
And then, one day, Lydia realized she hadn't been to the lake in nearly five summers. She packed her bags, took her saved vacation days in a three-week lump, apologized to the friends she stood up, and Apparated to the family cabin.
She hadn't called, but her father was waiting, watching the clouds race across the sky. He didn't turn at the noise or the puff of air that accompanied her appearance.
"Hi, Dad," she said, setting down her suitcase and backpack.
"Hi," he answered. "Good wind out there today."
Lydia joined him at the window. "Yeah. The boat on the buoy?"
Her father nodded.
"If I bring it to the dock, will you go sailing with me?"
He smiled. "I might be persuaded to do that."
And when they pulled away from the dock, tacking to catch the wind and picking up speed, it was like the first time she'd been on the water, when her father's hands had closed over her own and guided them over the lake. The spray flecked her shirt, her hands burned from the unfamiliar pull of the ropes -- after all these years, she still refused to call them anything else -- and Lydia smiled.
This was better than flying.
This was real.
---------------------------------------------
Inspired by the February 2
15minuteficlets picture---------------------------------------------
There's a certain amount of self-insertion in this one, but not as much as one might think. Also, it's been a couple years since I sailed; bear with my vagueness and lack of proper terminology.
