Chapter 19
Now…
“So, your first Quidditch match went…less than ideal.” His therapist said, blinking worriedly.
Oliver laughed. “Correct yes, but it was so long ago now I can laugh about it.”
“How about your mother’s reaction? Did that…affect you much?”
Oliver sighed. “Well, it wasn’t my first Quidditch injury. I think she hoped I would…be perfect after that. Obviously that wasn’t the case….”
Then…
Oliver wandered through the dungeons heading towards the potions classroom. Luckily, he didn’t run into any Slytherins, or any other students for that matter. Not because he was afraid of them, more likely he was afraid of what he would do if he stumbled upon Marcus Flint. His imagination was running wild, picturing anything from a fist fight to some complicated Transfiguration magic.
Oliver pushed open the doorway to the Potions room slowly. “Charlie?” He called, hoping that Professor Snape was literally anywhere else.
Oliver walked slowly into the classroom, following the distinct sound of scrubbing coupled with the smell of some very strong cleaner. He saw Charlie’s bright red hair bent over a cauldron. He was muttering to himself, mostly swear words.
Oliver cleared his throat, loudly.
Charlie jumped up, sputtering apologetic words. “I’m doing the best I can, I didn’t mean anything I was saying sir I-” He broke off when he noticed Oliver there, blue eyes wide, face flushed a little in embarrassment. “Ollie!” He practically yelled, dropping the cauldron and running towards Oliver.
Oliver felt like he was being crushed, Charlie was squeezing him in quite possibly the tightest hug in the world. “Charlie, I really don’t want to land back in the hospital wing.” Oliver wheezed out.
“Shit sorry! I just…I’ve been so worried about you and I couldn’t even sneak in to see you while your mother was sitting there the whole time. When did you get released? Are you sure you’re okay?” Charlie babbled at him.
Oliver couldn’t help the grin that was spreading across his face. “I just got out a little bit ago. I heard you were busy serving time on my behalf and thought I’d come and help.”
Charlie blinked at him, surprised. “Why’s that? You should be resting.”
“Yes Mrs Weasley.” Oliver said teasingly. “I’ve been resting, I wanted to come find you and try to…make up for things.”
Charlie looked at him curiously, the grin from Oliver’s joke fading. “Apologize? For what?”
Oliver laughed ruefully, looking down at the floor for a moment. “I was kind of an ass to you, before the match. Hell, the match too. I let you and the whole team down.”
“Oliver, look at me.” Charlie said gently.
Oliver blinked, and raised his head back up to Charlie, and was surprised to see the soft gaze there. “We both said some stupid things. Myself especially. I’m sorry for our…fight? Well, ignoring you, whatever it was. I didn’t mean to upset you. I know your family can be a touchy subject. You were right, sometimes I forget that not every family is like mine but believe me, we’re not perfect. As for the match, no one blames you Oliver, it was that idiot Flint’s fault. I was so close to beating the shit out of him.”
Oliver laughed. “So I heard. I’m sorry for our fight too. I just want to know so bad anything about my father. I want to know who he was, what he was like, literally any scrap of information besides his name. I need to know that there’s someone good as a part of me. Not just…her.”
Charlie’s expression changed, he frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. “Why not just ask your mother for more things? I’m being serious don’t give me that look.”
Oliver rolled his eyes, remembering he was trying not to bite Charlie’s head off about this. “I think after her visit this morning that she’s done giving me much of anything.”
Aside from punishment and disappointment. He added silently to himself.
“What did she do now?” Charlie grumbled, eyebrows furrowing.
Oliver sighed. “Oh the usual, I’m a failure with everything, it’s all my fault, blah, blah, blah.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Charlie exclaimed.
Oliver shrugged. “I’m used to it, it doesn’t bother me so much anymore.”
‘You’re becoming quite the good liar.’ The voice in his head said snidely.
“Don’t listen to her, Ollie. It was that idiot Flint who screwed everything up. Besides, we have a rematch soon and you can show everyone how good you really are.” Charlie had reached out and gripped Oliver’s hand tightly, his eyes wide with determination.
Oliver’s cheeks were bright red. He couldn’t help but notice how nice Charlie’s hand felt in his own. “I came down to see if I could help you, since it was sort of my fault you landed here anyway. Speed things up.”
“That is not allowed Mr Wood.” Snape’s cold voice said from the doorway.
Charlie pulled his hand from Oliver’s quickly, much to Oliver’s disappointment. “He was just leaving, sir.” Charlie said carefully.
“I shall make sure he does. Go on Mr Wood, Mr Weasley will see you once he is finished here. I for one can’t wait to see what sort of abysmal performance you’ll give us next at the rematch.” Snape said harshly, as Oliver headed out the door.
“Give Flint my best.” Oliver said, plastering a sickly sweet smile on his face.
Snape’s lips curled as he slammed the potions classroom door in Oliver’s face. Oliver rolled his eyes, turning back to head to the library. He could still feel the ghost of Charlie’s hand in his own. It had been nice, and Oliver would be lying if he said he didn’t want to do it again. Oliver sighed, remembering that he was heading to the library and the long task ahead of him. He’d flip through every book in there until he found something about his father if he had to. His mother wasn’t going to be more help, but he supposed if he let his friends help in his search then it would be less books for Oliver to flip through.
He paused in the corridor. An odd thought occurring, he was surprised he hadn’t thought of it before. He didn’t just have his father’s name. He had his house too, he had been in Hufflepuff. Maybe he had won an award while he was at school. There could be something on display in the trophy room! He walked as fast as he could without running, up the grand staircase and down the corridor until he finally found the Trophy Room, his gut filling with dread immediately.
“This is possibly worse than the library.” He told himself, staring around the large room cluttered with display cases and mountains of trophies and plaques.