Author's Note:
I was watching POA and I got to the scene where Harry first casts a patronus charm. If you all remember, his first try did not go so well, and the conversation that follwed when something like this.
"The first time I rode a broom."
"Well, that's not good enough. Not nearly good enough."
And that's when this story hit me. For oliver, I figured, that memory would be good enough. At least for a little bit. Please tell me what you think, I would love feedback on this.
Disclaimer:
Rowling owns all.
Not Nearly Good Enough
The first time he rode his cleansweep. Now that was a feeling. Blazing through the open air without abandon. Diving into harrowing falls only to twist back up into an ascent. The ground bellow releasing its anchor, the hold of the earth letting go of him completely.
Free, Oliver Wood felt entirely free.
So, when he was asked to choose a memory to fuel a patronus, it was only natural for Oliver to pick his first flight upon a broom. And powerful magic was the result. On his first attempt, a golden eagle soared forth, swooping and rising with inherent skill. Flying was just so easy for him.
That was until now.
Never had magic failed him before, especially magic he had already mastered. Something was wrong, something had to be wrong. He was certain.
The very same memory that secured Oliver praise from his teachers and peers, the memory which let him duel against the black cloaks of Azkaban, let him send out warning calls, was not cutting it anymore. Riding a broom, even in memory, was failing him. And with a defeated sigh, Oliver Wood finally realised that flying was not the answer anymore.
The one thing he always thought to be infallible finally became fallible. It felt like he was losing his religion really. What else could be so right, all the time? Oliver was not sure on what, but he was definitely confident on who.
Hermione Granger. Hermione bleeding Granger, that's who.
He still remembers her shrill voice yelling at him during Quidditch practise. What did she say again?
'Oliver, one day you'll learn there is more to life than flying.'
Well, there you have it. She was right about that. What more proof did Oliver need?
Soft green flames surrounded him as he stepped through the fireplace at Grimwald Place and, mumbling a hello to the passing order members, Oliver walked up to the study. Wasn't the library where Hermione always resided? Books were her go-to solution so it would make sense that, if there were indeed answers, they would be in there. They had to be.
Stepping through the door, he immediately started grabbing books. Every text he could find that listed anything remotely related to the Patronus charm ended in his grasp. The books were stacked high, teetering over his head as Oliver made his way through the aisles. When his arms strained under the weight of the knowledge, Oliver settled in the corner of the room.
The pile fell forward on the table, sliding into a mess of paper and ink and he immediately began righting the books into neat piles. How exactly had Hermione managed to do this every day? Considering how small she was, the load of the tomes she had carried around probably outweighed her own body. Not to mention, the sheer boredom of reading a slew of irrelevant facts, before potentially stumbling on something useful, was just tedious.
How in Merlin's name did this bring her joy?
Oliver leaned back into the cushions of his armchair and turned the page. This chapter was just as worthless as the last, just another instruction on how to interact patronuses. With a groan, he tossed the book aside and reached for another off the heap, only to repeat the process. He was beginning to wonder whether the Black family had any magical talent at all. If they had, they would not need so many pedestrian manuals on manageable castings.
Oliver was halfway through a rather thick text when he heard someone behind him clear their throat.
"Oliver," Remus Lupin said after a moment, but Oliver did not look up from his research. "Aren't you supposed to be on a mission?"
"Aye," he mumbled, tossing the heavy hardcover aside. "Just got back."
"Everything go smoothly?" Curiously, Remus eyed the books as he raised a brow at Oliver when he moved to reach for another publication.
"Aye, all under control." Oliver was speed reading now. Seriously, how did Hermione do this? This was just manic. Five books and still no answer. There had to be one in here somewhere.
"Oh, good," Remus continued, and Oliver was startled slightly. He had not thought Remus lingered about, considering how engrossed Oliver was in his study. "Oliver," Remus asked quietly when the Keeper refused to meet the werewolf's eye.
"Hmm," A hum was given in response, the printed words were far more important at the moment. Oliver had to figure out what was happening to him. Why was his magic failing? Was he becoming a squib?
"What are you doing?" Remus probed finally.
"Reading."
"Is everything all right?" Glancing at one of the discarded texts, Remus gingerly lifted it off the table. The title was beautifully embroidered into the cover, the silver thread catching the light and glinting away. But Oliver hardly cared for it. That particular book was redundant and useless. It belonged in the growing pile of rejects.
"'Course," Oliver said, his voice with an almost awkward cheer, as he hurriedly read through the paragraphs. Hermione would probably kill him for the way he was tossing books aside. No matter how irrelevant they truly were, she would always care for her novels. "Why wouldn't it be?"
"Because you're scouring through books like a madman." Remus deadpanned.
"Ah, that." With a slight nod and a quick glance upward, Oliver returned to his work.
"Yes, that," Remus pressed, leaning forward slightly, "are you sure you're all right?"
"Peachy."
"Right then," Oliver was sure that Remus was about to walk away. At least, he hoped Remus was about to walk away. Potentially being a squib was not something he wanted to discuss with anyone. But, Remus's voice spoke again, accented by the dropping of a book on the table, "why are you reading up on the patronus charm? If I recall correctly, you had it on your first try."
"Well," Oliver was hesitant, not sure how this conversation would exactly go, "it's a little difficult to explain."
"Try me."
"You see, um, the thing is," Stuttering was so out of character for the Scot. His confidence never faltered before, but then again, neither had his magic. "It's not really working."
"Not working?" Taking a seat across from Oliver, Remus slid the pile of books inbetween them to the side.
"Aye," Oliver nervously ran a hand through his brown hair, his palm scratching at the back of his neck, "I tried but it remained deflated and trapped within the wood."
"Sorry?" Remus's eyes widened, growing to an almost comically large size, but Oliver did not notice. His focus remained on the book in his lap. He was not reading again however, just staring at the boring black cover, drawing nervous patterns with his finger.
"No wisps of white," he whispered, "just nothing."
"Ah, Oliver," Remus interrupted, "what exactly are you talking about?"
"My patronus."
"Oh. Oh! Yes," Remus chuckled slightly, drawing Oliver's focus to him finally. Magic was failing him and Remus was laughing. This was nothing to laugh about. His brows knitted together in irritation, and he attempted to reach for another book, but Remus spoke again. "So, it isn't working?"
"Not a bloody bit." Oliver snapped as he opened another text, the dusty pages making his nose wrinkle. His lungs ached from the amount of dust in them already and he was only seven books in. Hermione's lungs must be more dirt than air by now.
"Right," Remus immediately caught on to Oliver's annoyance, and though he settled from the hilarity that was the situation, still smiled, "what memory are you using?"
"The first time I rode a broom," he said.
"Well, that's not good enough," seriousness embodied Remus as he morphed back into the professor he once was. "Not nearly good enough."
"Believe me," Oliver added another book to the discarded, "it is good enough. It's always been good enough. That's the point. It stopped working."
"You're telling me that at the age of seventeen you mastered a full bodied patronus using that memory?" Remus asked with his eyebrow raised in question. Hermione would have been jealous to see the sight, Oliver in his prime.
"Aye, that's exactly what I'm saying." Remus laughed again when Oliver spoke. Irked even further, Oliver was about to tell Remus to leave, but the werewolf spoke before he could.
"You're a born Quidditch player, Oliver." The words made him sink further into his depression. Flying was abandoning him. Some Quidditch player he was. He could not even fly his eagle anymore, how was he supposed to trust himself on a broom. Merlin, he was at Hermione's level of flying now, except she could still perform a patronus charm.
"Obviously, that's not the case, now is it?" He scoffed.
"Oh, come now, Oliver," Remus's smile was reassuring though Oliver did not want to be reassured. No, what he wanted, what he needed, was answers. "Calm down for a moment, I am sure we can figure this out."
"Good," Oliver reached for another volume, flipping through the pages instantly.
"Before you go on reading yourself to death," Oliver paused his actions, glancing at his former professor with intrigue. "Let's think of the situation rationally. Why do patronuses change?"
"Change form?" Remus nodded at Oliver's question. "I'm not sure."
"Backtrack, what are patronuses made from?"
"The happiness within a person takin' form." Oliver answered and Remus beamed.
"Yes, and does happiness within a person ever change?" Remus asked.
"Suppose it does," Oliver contemplated.
"The little minor things that made us happy as children aren't always going to cut it as adults." Remus said and Oliver was beginning to understand.
"So, a patronus can erupt from new memories," Oliver asked, before adding, "or even change form from one animal to another?"
"It all depends on the person," Remus nodded. "What he truly feels, and what makes him happy. So, what makes you, the adult Oliver Wood, happy?"
The question rocked him. What did make the adult Oliver Wood happy? He would have to think about that.
Flying for Puddlemore United was definitely something that brought him joy. Soaring through the air always would, even as an adult, but just being on the team brought him to a level of sheer content. He was apart of something great, with a bunch of his good mates.
After practise and after game drinks were also a favourite of his. Firewhiskey added a certain level of pleasure, along with the company of his friends. Laughter and grins coming from the faces of those he cared about were definitely a joy. A rare one within this war.
Friends not on the team, like Fred and George Weasley, or Lee Jordan, elated him also. Not to mention his family. He loved his family, his siblings and parents, so immensely. Their safety and future mattered so much to him that he joined the war effort.
All of these things and people brought him joy. But, none of their faces entered his mind.
What he thought of was beyond all that.
A smile, a very particular one, blasted through his thoughts. Her smile. Hermione Granger's perfect smile as she looked up at him from her book. Every time he returned to Grimwald Place from a mission, she was there to give him that oh so perfect smile. She was there to talk to him when he stress became too great. She was there to remind Oliver what he needed to fight for.
He needed to fight for her.
Instantly, Oliver stood.
"Oliver?" Remus asked, but Oliver did not respond. He just pulled out his wand and yelled the incantation he was so familiar with. Her perfect face the only image in his memory.
And it happened. Finally, it truly happened. The bright white wisps of familiarity burst through the tip of his olive wood wand, melding until they took the shape of his eagle. In the sky was where his heart would always be, but apparently half of it belonged elsewhere.
That was all because Oliver Wood had fallen. Truly fallen. In that instance, Oliver tumbled down, crashing into the hard ground of reality, and his life changed forever. Oh, boy what a fall it was. Just not off his broom.
Oliver Wood had fallen in love. With Hermione Granger.
"Well done, Oliver!" Remus applauded, but Oliver remained transfixed on the floating eagle. It eyed him, cocking its head to the side, and Oliver smiled knowing what had to be done.
His fingers reached out to stroke the feathers, whispering to the bird softly before it took off out the window of the library. With a wave of his wand, the books that littered the table buzzed through the aisles to their proper resting places. Without a word, Oliver turned from his table and began a purposeful march.
"Where are you going?" Remus called out, getting up from his seat, slightly taken aback at the moment. Oliver turned back, still moving towards the door with reverse steps.
"To tell Hermione Granger that I love her."
With that, Oliver walked out of the library, leaving a very confused werewolf in his wake, content with the answers indeed found. Flying may be fallible, but she was anything but. Hermione Granger had all the answers and Oliver Wood had plenty of questions.
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