Oliver Wood (die__trying) wrote in snark_n_bark, @ 2008-05-09 22:33:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | complete, oliver |
To live and die it seems, is a waste without a dream
Character: Oliver Wood
Summary: You don't always find what you're looking for
He fell to the bench in the locker rooms, staring up at his teammate in something like shock.
“What did you just say?”
The teammate, Campbell, merely shook his head. “Blimey, Wood. You really don’t pay attention if it’s nothing to do with Quidditch, do you? P’raps if you read something other than the sporting page of the paper once in a while…” he trailed off, his tone teasing rather than accusatory. They all knew their captain’s obsessions quite well after so many years together, and never missed an opportunity to tease. “It’s been all over the papers, dead folks walking around again – not ghosts either, the real people. Breathing and all. It’s happening all over England, apparently. And the other day, my grandmum shows up at the house for tea. Been dead near on ten years and there she is, bold as brass, demanding Mum whip up some fresh scones for the occas—Oi! Where’re you going?”
For Oliver hadn’t waited to hear more. He’d simply risen and dashed from the locker room as if hell itself were chasing him. Not caring that he hadn’t managed to get his shirt buttoned properly, or even pulled on his shoes, he tore from the room and was half a mile away from the pitch before he managed to remember that he was a wizard.
A blink later, he’d Disapparated to the outskirts of a forest he’d not set foot in for years. Not since… He stopped that train of thought with a shake of his head, because if he dwelled on the last time he’d been here, he wouldn’t be good for anything.
Slowly, and barely registering the sting of branches and leaves on his bare feet, he entered the forest and started looking. It was only when his foot found a particularly jagged rock that he took a moment to conjure a pair of trainers and slip them on. Once shod, he set out again at a more brisk pace. He didn’t dare call out, afraid of the same answering silence he’d encountered last time. Instead, he walked. Hours, miles, all went unnoticed as he traversed the woods and checked each clearing, wiping occasionally at the traces of moisture on his cheeks. He’d come here, he thought. Over and over he told himself that’d he’d be just behind the next grouping of trees, or the next one, or the next one…
After close to two hours with nothing to show from his efforts but twigs in his hair and scratches all over his arms and face, Oliver was forced to rethink. This was no easy task, given that his mind and body were fatigued nearly to the point of collapse. But think he would, because the idea that he wasn’t here, that he hadn’t come back when many had? That was unthinkable.
Stubbornly, he strode back to the edge of the wood, found a tree stump and sat. Waiting. Perhaps that’s what was wrong. Campbell’s grandmother had returned to the family house, so that must be the way it worked. He simply had to wait until he arrived.
Echoes of the past knocked around inside his head like Bludgers as he waited, each unleashing another memory.
What d’you mean he’s gone?
Then
I heard Daddy talking to Mummy, he and Uncle took him out to the woods. Came back alone, Ollie. Where’d he go?
Then
I’m not saying another word on the subject, Oliver. It’s done.
Each remembered voice brought back the pain afresh, each thought had it’s own picture in his mind – things he kept buried in the deep recesses of his subconscious in order to function. Each bringing the sting of guilt that he hadn’t lived up to the promise he’d made so very long ago.
When Oliver came back to himself he realised dark had fallen completely. He had no idea of the time, but based on the brightness of the stars he could see through the canopy of leaves, it must be quite late. And he was still alone but for the remnants of his past.
He wasn’t here. Whatever magic had brought the dead back to England, it hadn’t brought him back. The one person he wanted to see again above any other.
Tears openly streaming from his cheeks, Oliver looked up towards the stars again. Only one word tumbled from his lips, but it carried all the grief and anger still lingering in his heart for what he’d lost because of his father’s cowardice.
“Faelan.”
And then, the phrase sounding as if it had been ripped straight from his soul, “I’m sorry.”