Chapter 22
Oliver felt like he was hearing Charlie’s voice from miles and miles away, or from the depths of the Black Lake outside.
“My…dad? His name is there? Octavious Morgan? His name is on there? What for?” Oliver was rambling, excitement and nerves coursing through him. He was acting as if his father himself was hiding behind a trophy case, not just his name on a plaque.
“Yes here, look, see?” Charlie held the plaque out, an exasperated expression on his freckled face. He handed it to Oliver, who took it with a shaking hand. He read the plaque…and was left with only more questions.
‘For Special Services to the School:
Successful Ending to a Thestral Stampede
This Award is Presented to Octavious P. Morgan
The Hogwarts Faculty and Fellow Students Thank You’
The first thing out of Oliver’s mouth was not what he expected. “What’s a Thestral?” He asked, bewildered.
Charlie’s eyes lit up with excitement. “We’re learning about them in Care of Magical Creatures actually! They can only be seen by people who have seen someone die, they look like dark flying horses sort of, and they can be used to travel places and are apparently very friendly!” He looked quite proud of himself.
Oliver felt sick. “They can only be seen by people that have seen another person die? That’s…messed up.”
Charlie looked a little offended. “Professor Grubbly-Plank says they’re very misunderstood! They’re usually very gentle actually…” He trailed off his brows furrowing. “So then I wonder why they were…what was it? Stampeding?”
Oliver shrugged, looking back down at the plaque. “That and I wonder how my dad stopped them.”
Oliver was hoping for more answers, but instead was only getting more questions. Why were the Thestrals stampeding? How had Oliver’s father stopped them? Where was his father now?
“So, guess your dad knew a thing or two about magical creatures,” Charlie said, a small smile forming on his face.
“Sounds like someone else I know,” Oliver replied, sadness returning to his tone.
His earlier sharpness about Rosalie and Charlie seemed to change the atmosphere. However, Charlie, ever the optimist, was cheerfully giving him an idea. “Why not ask McGonagall or well I guess he was in Hufflepuff so maybe Sprout knows? Or if he was involved with magical creatures perhaps Grubbly-Plank? I’m sure one of them remembers!”
Oliver did not share in Charlie’s excitement. “What happens if they don’t? Then I’m left with nothing but this stupid plaque and the possibility that my father is out there somewhere. Why did my stupid mother have to be so damn difficult?!” Oliver’s frustration boiled over and he threw the plaque across the room, where it bounced off the stone wall and landed with a loud thud.
“Ollie, I wish this was easier for you but you can try to keep asking about him to the professors like I said. I’d be willing to help too if you want,” Charlie told him softly, approaching him warily like he was a Thestral about to attack.
“I think…you’ve done plenty to help Charlie,” Oliver said, hoping he didn’t sound as bitter as he felt. “I really appreciate you finding this, honestly. I need some time to think though.” Oliver told him, not really looking at him.
Charlie sighed, sounding defeated. “Alright, if that’s what you want. It was no problem Oliver, really. I’m just glad you found something. It’s still a win.”
Oliver nodded, and he watched as Charlie exited the Trophy Room. Oliver walked over to where the plaque had landed, picked it up, and hugged it tight to his chest.
If he closed his eyes, he could almost picture the idea of his father hugging him.
~~~~//~~~
In the end, Oliver still hadn’t decided what to do with the new found information about his father. Christmas break was fast approaching, and Oliver had not heard from his mother. She neither wrote to him demanding his presence for the holiday, nor banishing him from either.
Essentially, Oliver was stuck.
In the end, he decided simply to stay at Hogwarts. The Weasley’s of course, wouldn’t hear of it. Fred and George were adamant that he should come home with them and when Oliver politely declined, Bill Weasley took it upon himself to write Mrs. Weasley on Oliver’s behalf requesting permission for Oliver to come hoe with them.
This led to Oliver having to write a rather embarrassing note to Mrs Weasley saying that while he was grateful for the invitation, he’d like to stay at Hogwarts for the holidays to ‘stay ahead of things.’
Considering the holiday was coming up and there was obviously nothing to get ahead on, he was grateful to Mrs Weasley replying to him without calling him out on his obvious and rather poor lie.
Charlie did not say anything on the matter, which was perfectly fine with Oliver. They hadn’t seen much of each other since the Trophy Room, and Charlie was often found in the library or Great Hall or some secluded corridor with Rosalie. Which was perfectly fine in Oliver’ opinion.
He most definitely did not care.
He definitely didn’t blush or relish the feeling when it was Charlie’s turn to give him a hug goodbye as the Weasley’s grabbed their belongings and headed out the portrait hole of the common room.
Oliver sighed, he really needed to deal with….well, everything. Charlie, his father, his mother, extra Quidditch training, it was getting to be too much. The common room was eerily quiet, only a few older Gryffindors staying at Hogwarts for the holidays, mostly NEWT students, and the silence was giving Oliver too much time to get inside his own head.
With nothing else to do, and the weather clear for the first time in days, Oliver decided to tackle Quidditch training. Besides, being high up in the air and half-frozen would make it pretty difficult to think. He changed into his winter Quidditch robes and headed down to Madam Hooch’s office.
“Wood! You’re still here? Not home for the holidays?” She blinked at him in surprise, wide eyed.
“Yes ma’am, I was wondering if it was alright if I used the pitch for a bit? I’ll try not to be too long.” Oliver added, as her eyes narrowed suspiciously.
She gave him a brisk nod. “That’s fine Wood, but if you don’t report back here to me in one hour then I’m going to get you. If I find you’ve injured or frozen yourself I’ll make sure your Quidditch captain and Head of House hear about it, understand?”
Oliver nodded eagerly, looking down at his watch, making sure it was still working. “I understand, thanks so much ma’am.”
Madam Hooch smiled. “Don’t overdo it Wood, you and those Weasley boys need to know when to quit.”
Oliver nodded, trying to ignore the mention of the Weasley’s, and headed out to the pitch. As he was nearing the exit, he thought he heard footsteps behind him. But, when he turned to investigate there was no one there.
Shrugging and making sure he had his wand on him just to be safe, Oliver continued out to the Quidditch pitch, the brisk winter air sending chills down his spine. He was able to get the Quaffle out of the trunk, and charmed it to fly on it’s own easily enough at the one goal post.
As he was about to mount his broom a voice spoke behind him. “How about you practice with a Chaser and not just the Quaffle eh Wood?”
Oliver turned around and his jaw nearly dropped. Marcus Flint stood before him, broom in hand shifting his footing self consciously in the snow.