Chapter 32
July arrived, making the summer even hotter, something Oliver did not think was possible. He had only received late night messages from Fred, George, and Marcus, nothing from Charlie. This was something that Oliver was choosing to ignore. It was fine, everything was fine, it was less distracting for him anyway.
He’d managed to finish all of his summer coursework by the time July arrived. Not constantly worrying about how Charlie was doing turned out to free up a lot of his time for training and school work.
“You did well today, Oliver,” His mother commented, a rare smile on her face as they both entered the house at sunset.
“Thank you mother, you’re a fantastic trainer that’s why,” Oliver replied, hoping he wasn’t laying it on too thick.
Since Oliver had finished his coursework and did well in training, putting his mother in one of her good moods, he’d decided that tonight would be the night.
He was going to ask about his father.
Oliver knew he was going to have to be the one to break the silence. He and his mother had sat down to dinner, and the only sounds filling the room were their silverware, and the two of them sipping their drinks.
Oliver cleared his throat, “I was wondering…if I could ask you something mother.”
His mother looked up at him from her plate, eyeing him curiously. “I suppose so, what’s going on?”
“Well I just wondered if you could tell me more about my father, you know, other than his name. What was he like? Where is he? Why did he never get to meet me? Did he…not want me?” Oliver’s voice broke a little at the end, he was unsure if it was nerves or fear.
His mother slowly lowered her silverware, setting them down on the plate with a soft clink. “You foolish boy,” She said softly, “He isn’t here because he’s dead,” She finished bluntly, before taking a drink from her cup so casually, as if she hadn't dropped earth shattering news.
“He…what? When? How? Why didn’t you tell me that?” Oliver gritted his teeth, trying to hold back the anger.
Why wouldn’t his mother, or hell even McGonnagall tell him that his father was dead? How many hours did Oliver scour that damn Trophy Room, the library, looking for something on his father for it to all be for nothing since he’s been dead since…when? Since Oliver was born?
His mother shrugged, “I figured you would forget about your father, but I can see I was wrong. He’s been dead since you were a year old. The fool was always off gallivanting after some magical creature or the other, and that’s what got him killed. It’s your fathers own fault really Oliver, he always had his head in the clouds worrying about creatures being poached and taken advantage of more than he was worried about me, his pregnant wife and future child. It serves him right. Now, finish your dinner and go up to bed and get some sleep. I want you well rested for tomorrow.” His mother waved her wand and the dishes cleared themselves, Oliver’s included even though he wasn’t done eating.
Oliver didn’t move, his body tense with rage and confusion. “What killed him?”
His mother sighed, as if Oliver was giving her a headache. “A dragon, I believe it was. Your father was always tracking something or other but I think he bit off more than he could chew. Well, I suppose the dragon did the chewing.”
Oliver stood up abruptly, his fists clenched at his sides. He left the kitchen, blindly stumbling up the stairs and into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him, barely hearing his mother’s annoyed yell.
Oliver paced back and forth in his cramped room. He flung the window open, wishing he was back at Hogwarts on the empty Quidditch pitch, so he could scream until his voice was hoarse. “My dad is dead,” He whispered, as if saying it again would make it more real.
It wasn’t helping. Oliver felt caged inside his room, he needed to get out. Oliver slowly opened the door, listening for his mother downstairs, but the house was empty. Oliver walked down the steps, skipping over the one he knew would make a loud creaking noise, and climbed out a window, landing in the soft grass, and walking to the broom shed.
Oliver grabbed his broom, and flew up as high as he could, the wind whipping in his face, making it easier to ignore the tears that were flying away in the breeze.
~~~//~~~
Oliver woke up the next morning feeling tired, miserable, and depressed. He trudged over to his desk, where a letter from Marcus sat unanswered. Oliver knew his friend was having a pretty shit summer, his father was forcing him to come to work with him at the Ministry most days, spewing who knows what about blood status and family legacy.
Oliver snorted at Marcus’ comment in the letter. ‘Father always goes on about his legacy, telling me how he expects me to marry a nice pureblood girl and settle down eventually and carry on the family name. If only he knew I liked the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, and on top of that, he’s a guy too. I think he’d drop dead then and there.’
It had been the first mention of Marcus’ feelings towards him since Hogwarts. Oliver sighed, wishing he could be so casual about his own feelings. He felt a stab of guilt as he thought that at least Marcus still had a father. Considering Marucs’ dad was more like Oliver’s mother, and Oliver wouldn’t wish that on anyone.
Oliver still wasn’t sure how he felt about Marcus. Was he just a friend…or something more? The same could be said about Charlie Weasley. Oliver felt a pang of loss, he needed all of his friends if he was going to get through the rest of the summer.
Pulling out two separate pieces of parchment, Oliver wrote the same message on both.
‘I did it, I figured out what happened to my dad. He’s dead.’
Marcus’ owl emerged from the copse of trees as Oliver held both pieces of parchment in one hand. “I need you to make a quick stop first okay?”
The owl eyed him skeptically, almost asking ‘Really? I have better things to do.’
“Please? He’s right over there okay?” Oliver thought he must be losing it, reasoning with an owl.
Finally, the owl grabbed both short letters and off into the sky.
Oliver watched it go, wishing he could fly away on his broom and never return.