RP: There's work to be done
Date: 10 March 2006 Characters: Oliver Wood Location: Hogwarts Private/Public: Private Rating: PGish Warnings: None Summary: Oliver decides he's too sick to work.
The day had not started out well. Oliver awoke to pox marks all over his body. He never had dragonpox - or the Muggle equivalent of chicken pox - as a child. He would be damned if his beautiful -- divine -- physique was about to be ruined by pox marks. His body had made it through years of Quidditch, part of a war, and it would make it through dragonpox, or his name wasn't Oliver Wood, but it is, so all will be well.
Resisting the feverish pain that ached his head, Oliver had gotten dressed and made the journey up to Hogwarts, where he easily meandered the empty, winding corridors. The runts must be in bed, thank Merlin.
The cauldrons were just getting warm as Wood found the salve he needed. Plopping down on the stool, his head began to swim a little. Focusing his eyes, he demanded his body to obey his will. And he set to work...
A burning, acrid smell filled Oliver's lungs as he awoke with a jolt. He didn't know how long he had been out, but the cauldrons before him were close to boiling over. Grabbing for his wand, he waved it wildly trying to put the cauldrons out. Too wildly.
There was a rather noisy explosion as Wood was thrown off the stool and collided with the wall behind him. It took several moments for his eyes to focus again. Once they did, he saw the burners were out and although the cauldrons' contents now covered the work table, he figured it was safe enough if he took a short nap.
Just a short one. He was so tired that he found the floor comfortable.