Chapter 39
Time at the Weasley’s seemed to be blurring together. Oliver chalked most of it up to the fact that he was getting very little sleep. Sleeping in Charlie’s room, on the floor near his bed in a very comfortable sleeping bag, was proving more difficult than he thought.
His nerves were always on high alert, having Charlie so close at all times…he also snored which didn’t help Oliver’s sleeping habits either. But, if he was being honest with himself, it felt like he was intruding on Charlie and his space. Oliver felt like he wasn’t supposed to be here, in Charlie's room, in any capacity. It felt like he was invading.
“We’re happy to have you here Oliver, I don’t mind sharing,” Charlie kept reassuring him, practically sensing Oliver’s awkwardness.
He wasn’t sure how to behave around the Weasley’s in their own home. They were all welcoming, and close knit, that Oliver felt overwhelmed, like they were trying to shower him with as much love and care they could. It was…strange, to say the least, considering how very little positive attention he had received from his mother in thirteen years.
So, while Oliver lay awake at night, Charlie’s snoring filling the small dark room, Oliver sent messages to Marcus in their shared journal.
Shit, Wood, I’m sorry to hear about your situation. I mean, I guess I’m glad you’re not around your crazy mom, but still. I’d say you’re more than welcome to come here but I fear my father would curse us both if he knew I’d like you stay here. I can’t wait to see you at school soon though, have you been reading through the Ancient Runes book at all? It looks fascinating. Keep me posted!
Oliver sighed in relief. Marcus always knew not to tiptoe around things, it was one of the things Oliver liked most about him. He didn’t pretend like everything was normal, he didn’t seem to be sympathetic or simpering after him like most of the Weasley’s were doing. He knew how to easily check in, see how things were, and then carry on with business as usual.
It’s been a little hectic here, the Weasley’s on their home turf are…a lot, but they’ve been very kind. I’m not sure about sneaking around in Hogsmeade this year since my mother never signed my form. The professors are really strict about that, especially McGonagall. But, I hope you will have a good time when you get to go. Ancient Runes looks really intriguing, but I’m hoping it makes a little more sense once the year starts. I appreciate the offer, but your dad wouldn’t exactly be a reprieve from my mother unfortunately. See you soon!
“Do you write to your boyfriend every night?” Charlie’s sleep filled voice nearly made Oliver have a heart attack.
Oliver sat up and looked over at Charlie, who was blinking blearily at him. “He’s not my…What are you doing up?!” Oliver asked instead, not wanting to try and discuss his relationship or whatever it was, with Charlie.
Charlie shrugged, sitting up in bed. “I could ask you the same thing. Do you do this every night? Is that why you always look so tired at breakfast?”
Oliver sighed, setting the journal aside. “Yeah I’ve been up writing or reading most nights. It helps.”
Charlie raised an eyebrow, and Oliver was trying to ignore how adorable he looked, sleep rumpled in the moonlight, his red hair a mess from his pillow. “Helps with what exactly? Because it certainly doesn’t help you sleep.”
“It helps take my mind off things,” Oliver said defensively.
Charlie frowned, his blue eyes filled with concern. “It’s almost time for school Ollie, things will get better, you’ll be Quidditch Captain! And you won’t have to worry about sleeping on the floor, and for break you can come back here with us!”
Oliver tried to share in Charlie’s enthusiasm, but it was difficult. Especially considering the letter he had written and kept hidden, unsure if he should send it. Oliver was grateful for the darkness in the room, Charlie hadn’t seen him flinch when he mentioned Quidditch Captain. The letter, that he had kept hidden, was for Professor McGonagall, and it was letting her know his plan to resign from being Quidditch Captain.
From Quidditch altogether. What was the point if his mother wasn’t there coaching him on, telling how to improve, to be better?
The other side of the argument, however, was Oliver didn’t know anything else but Quidditch. What exactly was he supposed to do?
Oliver cleared his throat, “Yeah, I suppose that’s true Charlie, thanks.”
Charlie smiled, “That’s the spirit! What do you say tomorrow we do a little bit of training? You haven’t gotten your broom out since you’ve been here!”
Oliver plastered a fake smile on his face, “Sure, that sounds great!” He said, hoping he sounded convincing.
He must’ve because Charlie yawned, and replied sleepily “Good. See you in the morning, Ollie,” before rolling over, his snores filling the room again a few moments later.
Oliver laid awake, still filled with dread. He had been avoiding flying his broom and training, knowing that the feeling of the wind on his face, the thrill of stopping a quaffle, would drag him right back into it. He wanted to have an open mind but…he felt like it would just influence his decision. He’d end up playing Quidditch again next year no matter what.
Now…
“So it would seem you’ve always had an addiction to something then, wouldn’t you say?” His therapist asked him.
Oliver leaned back in his seat, worrying at his bottom lip for a moment. “Huh, I guess I never thought about it like that. Quidditch was my vice for a really long time I suppose.”
“It may not have been pills or alcohol, but it was addicting anyway. You’ve often described flying, and playing matches, as a thrill, the best thing in the world…until it wasn’t. Until you found other things that made you feel that way, correct?”
Oliver nodded, not daring to speak, shame filling his body like an ice bath.
His therapist noticed this and asked, in a gentler tone, “My guess is that you continued to play then?”
Oliver replied bitterly, “What do you think?”