AN: Gotta love Olicia fics. I own the plot. That is all. Sob.
Summary: Alicia Spinnet is desparately missing her only confidant, Oliver Wood. She tries to get over him, but winds up hurt again and, somehow, in his arms. What will their newfound love reveal? How will it all transpire? Will things fall apart or come back together?
You see, the thing is, I love Oliver Wood. He's gorgeous, gentlemanly, caring, kind, sweet, and perhaps the biggest prick to ever walk the floors of Hogwarts. Why? Because he had to go get himself graduated, of all things, and left me here alone, that's why!
So, now I sit here in the library, pretending to look for a book near the Charms section because I can see the Quidditch Pitch from there. Yes, I know I'm a chaser on the team. Was. I quit because every time I climbed up on a broom, I burst into tears thinking about him. Okay, so maybe Angelina sort of warned me I would be kicked off the team if I didn't smarten up and maybe I ignored her and simply quit, my sudden lack of passion for the game urging me on while shouting 'Yes, yes, yes!'
So, yeah. That's about my life now. I sit and mourn and cry. Pitiful, isn't it. Sometimes Hermione Granger, the girl dating Harry Potter, will sit with me and put an arm around my sagging shoulders. It's during these moments when I wonder if the girl can read minds. That would be really cool.
I think she understands what I'm going through, to a degree. After all, she had to sit and watch Harry go through Cho Chang and Ginny Weasley and every other girl in the school before he realized he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. I sit here and read the paper, watching Oliver run through every professional Quidditch match, waiting for him to realize he wants me.
Except he won't.
You know, I think I'm done wallowing. It's been seven months, fourteen days, eleven hours and fifty-two minutes. I should be over a guy who can't seem to remember I exist beyond winning him three Quidditch games single-handedly when Katie and Angelina where out one year. Yeah, time to move on.
OoOoO
"Hey, Alicia." Hermione smiles as I sit down beside her. I give her a small smile back, full to the brim with nerves. She is working on more 'training schedules' for Harry and Ron, but I think she's really researching something about the Harry Prophecy, as everyone who knows about it calls it. I swear that boy needs some time to be a kid.
"Hey." I reply. Silence falls and she starts to laugh, quietly and hardly at all. "What?"
"You know, Ron's single and searching." She tells me absently. I stare. How could she know what I wanted? I have to admit, thought, creepy as it is, it sure saved my lunch from meeting her 'schedule' because of nerves.
"Really? Maybe I'll look into it. He's cute." I answer, receiving a fond smile from the not-so-bushy-haired-since-she-realized-fashion-existed girl sitting next to me. She chuckles and shakes her head.
"He's a good guy, Ron is. Never means to hurt a soul, just likes his funnies." Hermione gives her paper a half grin and begins writing again. This, I know very well, is not a signal to leave. No, in fact, it means 'please, ask me more' in Hermione language.
"Does he happen to like blondes?" I ask. A derisive snort bursts from her at my question.
"Just a bit." She says sarcastically. I smile, knowing that means 'majorly'.
"What about girls who play Quidditch?"
"I should thinks so. Only thing he's better than me at."
"What if I beat him?"
"He'll worship you. His head's a bit large. Thinks if you can beat him, you're a Goddess."
"Oh. Anything else?"
"Yeah. He's in the chair by the fire in our common room reading Quidditch Through the Ages. Again." With that, she hopped up and left, her papers following her like well-trained dogs. I watch until the last piece of parchment snuggled itself into her schoolbag and then stood. To the common room.
OoOoO
There he was, cuddled into the cushiony chair like a puppy on a hearthrug. So adorable. He looks up and I wonder why I never noticed his piercingly deep hazel eyes before.
"Hi." His voice is still groggy from disuse and it makes my stomach tingle slightly. I blush a pretty shade of pink and grin.
"Hi." I reply. He sits up and moves his homework; by the looks of what I can see, it's not started yet. Typical Ron. Typical Weasley. Anyways, it's moved off the chair beside him so I can sit next to his left side. He wants me near him!
"So, you look really nice. I like that blouse on you." Ron said shyly. My insides screamed with joy; Hermione had told me that he was terrible at compliments! I looked down at my shirt to see that it fell open really low, revealing a bit of my pretty pink bra. How embarrassing. I grin sheepishly and pull at it to cover a bit more.
"Thanks." I stammer nervously. He gives me that suave look of desire mixed with seduction that I love so much. I remember seeing that look on Oliver's face once, when he watched his girlfriend, Eloise Midgeon, learning how to fly. I hated her so much for making him look at her that way that I hexed her so badly that she was terrified to look in the mirror. Yeah, that's right. That acne was no product of puberty.
Suddenly, to my enormous embarrassment, I burst into tears. Ron looked terrified for a moment before seeming to remember that when girls cried, you hugged them and said sweet things. He reached over and pulled me into his lap and pressed my face to his chest with his hand, his skin warm and rough against my soft cheek.
"Hey, I didn't mean to insult you. I thought you looked beautiful. Still do, in fact." He whispered softly into my hair. I hiccough, letting him kiss my cheek gently. That particular area on my face stayed warm for several minutes. "I know, you like Quidditch! Let's talk about Quidditch."
I look up to see a worried look pass over his features and decided it was probably fear for his mental health, so I let him change the subject. Typical guy; always Quidditch.
"Yeah, you go for the Cannons, right?" I ask, watching his face light up with excitement that I had actually paid attention to him that day in the dressing room before practice last year. Three hours of random facts on the Chudley Cannons. But it was so worth it now.
"Yeah, did you know they're on their way to the Cup?" Ron asked excitedly. I apparently looked surprised because he kept on going, trying to make me believe him. "It's true! They play Puddlemere United in July!"
Ouch. Puddlemere. Oliver's team. I know why they're going to the finals. They haven't had a decent Keeper since Heather George in 1876. Oliver is the greatest Keeper to play for them since then; in fact, they say he could rival even Heather.
"Yeah. That's great. You know, we should go see it together. The finals, I mean." I say, trying to make a pass on him but not be too obvious. Nearby, I hear someone snort in amusement. I look up. It's Harry with Hermione leaning against him tiredly. If the truth should be told, they both looked a little exhausted, but incredibly happy.
"What's so funny?" Ron asks in his usual oblivion. Harry grins.
"She wants you, mate. Go for it. Oh, and if you happened to convince her we need her on the team, I'd owe you one." Harry let Ron know. Ron looked at me, who really had no idea that I had just been basically laughed at because I was busy concentrating on my now deeply fascinating high-heeled black boots.
Ron nodded slightly, color rising up his neck steadily, turning brighter by the second. He studied his friends under a judgmental eye.
"Ew." He said after a number of seconds. I looked up now, colossally embarrassed at his comment. Was that aimed at me? "You just had sex, didn't you."
Perhaps it wasn't.
"Well, Ron, it was important!" Hermione said huffily. Ron raised an eyebrow in query. Hermione flashed a shimmering ring in front of his face and a grin broke out on his lips.
"Finally got around to it, huh?" He teased Harry. Out of the blue, I felt very out of place and left. Providentially, or un-providentially, they didn't notice me leave because Harry was busy looking tremendously proud that he'd had the chutzpah, Hermione was looking at Harry like he had bailed out the world (which, incidentally, he had – 16 years ago) and Ron was grinning from ear to ear, already making up clichéd Best Man jokes.
OoOoO
"Hey, Alicia – hey, wait up!" I heard a voice beckoning from behind me. I turned around nervously. Ron.
"Yeah?"
"Well, I was just wondering – you seem pretty nice. Do you want to hang with us this weekend at Hogsmeade?" Ron asked unceremoniously. Not even in a fake blasé way. He must be truly good at acting. Inside, my tummy was saying 'yay, yay, circus time!'
"I-I'd love to." I stammered with us much cleverness as a blast-ended shrewt. Ron beamed at pushed my hair back.
"Alright, see you there."
Oh my gosh. Ron Weasley just asked me out!
OoOoO
So, I'm sitting in the common room with a horde of giggling girls who all want to know how I got in with 'Potter's People'. It's about an hour before Ron is coming to get me and I'm about ready to shout that I chopped a Death Eater into little cube-like shapes. Probably wouldn't be successful.
"So, which one are you dating?"
"OMG, are you and Harry having an affair behind Granger's back?"
"Did Ron get you pregnant?"
"Did Harry get you pregnant?"
"You'd know by now, did Harry propose to Granger because he knocked her up?"
"OMG, she is such a slut!"
"Excuse me?" Hermione's voice mélanged with Harry's and mine. I looked up and gave them a beseeching look.
"Well, I'll answer your delicate little questions." Harry said furiously. The girls dwindled away as he gripped his wand. "I am most definitely not having an affair against Hermione, Alicia is not pregnant so far as I know, and Ron and I had nothing to do with it if she is, Hermione is certainly not 'knocked up' and she is not a slut."
"Thanks, Harry." I say pathetically as Hermione takes my hand and gracefully helps me to my feet off the couch. "I dare say some people have no lives."
"I'll say." He muttered forebodingly. Hermione kissed his cheek tenderly, whispering something along the lines of 'so protective' and 'lots of thanking tonight'. Harry grinned down at her, bringing her left hand to his lips and kissing her ring. "I love you."
"Me too." Hermione grinned coyly. "All of you."
"Okay, gross." I smiled, pretending to gag. Hermione pushed me with her shoulder lightly and giggled, something Hermione never does unless she's with 'her Harry'. "Let's get to Hogsmeade."
We hit the road, looking for Ron, who we found near Ravenclaw's common room with Luna Lovegood. Something looked peculiar to me, but I ignored it, falling into step with Ron as Luna did. A quick frown crossed my features, but I brushed it away. Nothing to worry about. Luna's just a buddy. Just like Hermione is.
Agreed.
Or not.
I thought she was no opposition until I say a pair of hands laced through a head of red hair. Hands with nails the colour of a greenish, orangey brown. No one but Luna would wear that. Closer scrutiny showed me that a pair of fig-scented lips were attached to some full, succulent ones that I knew belonged to the red haired guy. Okay, maybe you guessed, but it was Ron and Luna making out on a barstool at the Hog's Head. Repugnant and heartrending.
That's when I went home. To Hogwarts. Back to my window seat in the library, where I have a striking view of the Quidditch pitch.
So that's where I am. In the library looking intently at some guy in periwinkle Quidditch robes fly around on a Firebolt Nine Fifty. It takes a moment for me to realize that the robes aren't a school colour and, being a prefect and all, I really should do something about it.
Sighing terribly, I drag myself off the seat and plod down to the pitch. The one place at Hogwarts I have forestalled being around even more than the fourth bed from the left in the Seventh Year Boys Dormitories. Yes, Oliver's bed. I slept in it a lot; mostly when I got knocked out a practice and Oliver wouldn't let me see a Healer because he knew they'd make me take a potion, something I am deathly petrified of. It's like muggles and needles, okay? And when I was crying over another smashed heart and Oliver was the only one who worried enough to listen. He really was a splendid guy. Quite strapping, too.
Was? Huh. It's not like he's dead. Well, maybe a little bit in my world because I've compacted him with his Keeper's gloves so hard that his face is swollen to double the size it should be. Dreams, sweet dreams.
I get to the pitch and comprehend something else. Periwinkle is Puddlemere's colour. Anomalous. I signal the attire delinquent down and commence to shout at him through the tears that have been falling for the last hour.
I'm hysterical and the poor kid probably just didn't have his standard Quidditch robes clean today. I bellow and wail and screech because I can. I can take my anger out on this kid instead of Oliver. Mostly because I haven't seen him in almost eight months. Suddenly:
"Ali-bee, you're a mess." The guy whispers mellifluously, reaching out for me. I halt. Ali-bee?
"Oli-bear?" I dare to ask, my rasping voice incredulous. It doesn't look much like Oliver, with extended hair and an exhausted expression on his face. But it is. He grins the grin he forever held in reserve for me and I disintegrate into fresh tears. I hurl myself at him, secreting my face in his chest and breathing in his lovely man smell. "Oh, God, Oliver! I missed you so much! My marks have gone way down, Dumbledore wants to suspend my prefect badge and I got kicked off the team and - "
"You what?" He exclaimed. I look up from his chest to see him staring at me, horrified. Loathing that look, I bury my sorrowfulness in his robes again.
"Kicked off the team."
"You better mean Gobstones or Chess or something." He growled. I sank away from him sadly. What was it with him?
"Quidditch."
"What the Hell? How? What happened to you?" He sounded angry, more so than I'd ever seen him. I pushed his arms away and took a step back. He pursued me, but I kept going.
"Leave me alone." I hiss, hiding my hurt with anger. Anger at myself and at him. But he keeps coming. I turn on my heel and run as fast as I can in the direction of the castle, which isn't nearly as fast as it used to be. When I was happy.
OoOoO
"Ali-bear!" Oliver shouts, his voice hoarse and raspy from doing so for hours. I shrink father into my bed, hoping no one gave him the password to my room. Yes, Dumbedore gave me my own room because I was annoying the other girls with my sobs at night. Some friends, huh?
"Screw off, Wood." I mutter angrily into my pillow. The door clicks open and I make a mental note to curse the statue guarding my door later. Seconds later my mattress sinks and gives a small groan. I pull down my covers long enough to see Oliver laying next to me before pulling them back up.
"I'm gonna talk." Oliver said in a voice so soft and gentle that it gave me goose bumps.
"I'm not gonna listen. I made it clear I wanted you to stay away." I mumble, not meaning a word of it. I feel him moving closer, so I could shift one leg and touch his toes. I did and entangled my foot with his leg for comfort.
"Then you talk."
"Fine."
Silence. His foot rubs mine slowly in soft strokes and my face heats.
"Oh, fine! I missed you. Every time I played Quidditch, I burst into tears. I didn't want to play, I didn't even want to think about it. I learned to hate it. So Angelina kicked me off. She gave me a warning, but it was only a push for me to try harder to get kicked off." I told him, my voice cracking under the strain of tears and a sore throat from the screaming.
"Why'd you want to get kicked off?" He whispered. I could hear tears in his voice and almost laughed; eight months without him and suddenly he was crying for my well-being. Jerk.
"See, I thought if you believed there was just someone better than me, you wouldn't be disappointed. Of course, that was when I hoped you gave the slightest damn as to what happened to me." I stared at the wall, away from his face. I knew what I'd find there and I knew I wouldn't like it. Indifference being forced into concern. "Eight months, Oliver, and not a word. I thought – convinced myself, more like – that you were just working hard to stay on top of things with Puddlemere, but after a while it's hard to fool yourself without being a fool. One letter, and I would have been able to stay on that team. One."
"Ali-bee, I didn't know." He whispered. I could hear him pushing sadness into his voice, twisting it into something realistic.
"I know you didn't. You never bothered. I mean, I know we weren't best friends, but I wanted…something. I thought those late nights studying together and sneaking into the kitchens at two in the morning meant something to you. And the talking? I told you everything and you just went off to Professional Quidditch with it and forgot. I hate it when people forget, Oliver." I whisper, desperately trying to keep my voice steady. He knew what I meant. "People always forget."
"I won't forget, Ali-bee."
"Don't say that."
"Say what?"
"Ali-bee."
"I'm sorry." Was all he could come up with. I bit back a sob.
"That's always been the way it is, hasn't it? I pour my heart out to you and you match it with an 'I'm sorry' or a 'It'll work out'. I hate it. I bloody well hate it."
"I'm…I want -"
"Well, 'it'll work out' isn't going to undo this one, Oliver. I wasn't your best mate, but you're all I had left and you…you forgot, too. You just up and left with all my secrets in your pocket. I had nothing left."
"Alicia, I want to -"
"I don't care what the hell you want. I cried so much after you left, I couldn't sleep at all. It hurt so bad I…I lost it, Oliver. I lost it." I began to sob in earnest now, shaking into my covers, my foot still tucked around his. I heard a sharp intake of breath. I knew he knew.
"Oh, shit, Ali-bee." His whisper filled the air with painful realization. I could feel him crying as he pulled himself over me, clutching me as I sobbed. His Quidditch robes had been shed and he lay over my in his PJ pants and t-shirt. Why he wore PJ pants to fly, I'll never know. He always had. "Oh, shit, oh, shit, oh, shit."
"It hurt so much. The pain of her leaving me and the pain of knowing you weren't there to hold my hand, no matter how disgusting I got. " I gave a small chuckle, remembering him saying he would be there through the pain and blood, no matter if I showered hourly or not.
"I wish I was there. You should have owled, floo-ed, had someone apparate to me. Anything." He said thickly. I could tell he was crying still through the husky sound of his voice.
"I did. I owled. I said, 'Oli-bear, I wish you were here. It hurts so much, but I had to tell you. I need you now. I'm broken again and no one's here to pick up the pieces. Come, please. Love, Ali-bee.' I told you and you didn't come to me. I felt so empty, Oli, I had no idea emotional pain could actually make your heart ache." I was crying still, unable to let go of the one time he let me down. Unable to see past my own pain. "The Healers told me that depression put me into early labour. Having a baby at four months is too early. They couldn't save her; her lungs weren't developed properly yet."
"Her?"
"Yeah. Olivia Jillian. I know she wasn't yours, but I wanted you back, so I named her after you."
"Oh, Bee, I'm sorry." He murmured. I sighed quietly.
"Is that going to last forever? Me getting hurt and you being sorry?"
"No."
"Prove it, then, Oli! 'Cause I'm still hurting."
"I love you, Ali-bee." He said fiercely into my hair as he held great chunks of it like precious gold. And, yes, I acted exactly how most girls would have to that statement coming from the most gorgeous man in the history of Hogwarts. I slammed my lips to his and kissed him, hard. Oh, and did he ever kiss me back.
His hands slipped inside my blouse and cupped my breasts wantonly, massaging them shakily. I knew he was nervous, I could tell by how he was holding back. Oliver never held back about anything. So I slipped my tongue against his, earning myself a low, wonderful groan of appreciation. His lips moved down my neck, stopping only to push my unbuttoned shirt away. I felt my bra loosen and fall from my shoulders.
"Oh, Ali-bee." He moaned, his beautiful eyes taking in my chest before letting his hands discover it more thoroughly. I blushed, slightly embarrassed at having Oliver Wood see me like this; nearly naked, blushing, and tear-stained.
"Oli!" I shouted in surprise and pleasure, arching into his touch, as his mouth took my breast lightly. I felt his teeth and moaned. Apparently, Oliver forgot how nervous – petrified – I had become of gentlemen's anatomy since that fateful night ten months ago because he ground his erection into my hips, just inches from where I wanted it the least. "Oh, no, no, no! No, don't touch me, Oli!"
"Oh, God, Ali-bee! I'm sorry! Oh, fuck, I'm sorry!" He immediately moved away, completely against his instinct to reach out and hold me. I shook like a trauma patient, knowing it was stupid. Oliver would never hurt me, but I couldn't help it. I was terrified. The horrified look on his face was enough to tell me he had thought I might have recovered from that.
"No, it's fine. I'm sorry, I know you'd stop if I said 'no', I just…"
"Ali, oh, Ali…" He was close to tears and I knew it was because he was hurting for me. I wanted to stay away for my safety, but I wanted to comfort him, too. "Oh, I've ruined everything, I'm sorry, so sorry…"
"You didn't do anything, Oli. I love you and I always will. And I want you, just like you apparently want me, but I can't get the memory of his hands on me, everywhere I wanted you, taking something I could never give again." I whispered, hoping he would understand. I was sure he wouldn't. He would realize that there were plenty on girls out there who wanted him, who lead perfectly untainted lives without the burden of sexual abuse perched upon their shoulders like a deadly disease. "I want so badly to be able to love you, Oli, I do. But I just can't do it yet."
"I know. It's my fault; I shouldn't have pushed you. I know you just lost your baby six months ago and I know you loved it even if it wasn't made from love. It's just, you're so fucking sexy when you moan like that…" He groaned and I felt a sharp burst of electricity shoot through my most private area.
I looked at the lust on his features and I felt horrible. Who was I to refuse a man sex? It was what we were meant for, not to have silly little nerves because we'd had someone forced upon us. I owed it to Oliver to give him this; he obviously came here for it. I had to give it to him.
I brushed away my stupid inhibitions and moved closer to him. I knew what I had to do. I had to be sexy, but not overly so. I had to let him do what he wanted, and always give him what he wished for. I had to be a good, faithful girl and do as God sent me to do.
"Oli, I'm sorry. I didn't realize you wanted this so much. I'm being silly, I want it, too." I forced myself to look at him, making my eyes sultry. I ran a finger down his bare chest, resting at the tie on his PJ pants. His shirt had been discarded in our flurry of lips and hands just minutes before. The look on his face made me happy; the longing and the lust slicing my soul, but telling me I was being an obedient girl. I was doing this right. "It wasn't ever really that bad. Maybe I was kidding myself."
Lies! My heart screamed for me stop, but my well-trained mind told me I was being good. Thanking Malfoy for training me into what a girl should be, I pulled the knot on Oliver's PJ pants.
"Ali, what -"
"Shh, let me get it." I pulled down his pants to reveal his cock. I nearly threw up with fear and horror, remembering the last time I had seen one, but I kept it in control. Do not ruin this for Oliver. Do not make him look like a fool. You know what happens then. It hurts. My fingers shook as I stroked him gently. His moan made me terrified, but I knew I must keep going.
"Ali, aren't you scared?" He managed through his pleasured stupor. I was glad he could hardly see, because I knew he would notice my tears if he could.
"Scared? Honestly, Oliver!" I laughed, forcing myself to control the stupid feeling that I shouldn't have to do this. That I had the right to stop. Malfoy had reminded me daily that I had no rights, that he owned my body because I was a mudblood and didn't deserve to have freedom. I belonged to whoever wanted me, which I was told was nearly no one. Dear Draco had done me a favour, taking me in like that. He had saved me from the disgrace of being a mudblood.
"Ali-bee, too many clothes." He groaned wildly as I drew circles on his cock with trembling fingers. His hands pulled at my uniform skirt and soon it was off. A hand slipped inside my panties and I almost screamed for help. Oliver, let me stop! Tell me to stop! As soon as the thought passed through my mind, I knew I was a horrible girl. I had no right to ask him for anything! I was here for only one purpose and I was not to disobey him. I managed to turn my scream into one of passion.
"Oliver!" I screamed over and over. He kissed me and I felt my heart breaking. I loved this man and I had to keep him happy. It was my duty, but I desperately wanted him to tell me he was bored, that he never wanted to do this again. Anything to make me stop.
The next thing I knew, he was pushing inside me. I was writhing in terror and could do nothing. What could I do, anyways? I was nothing. I was in pain, too. The Healers had said that sex would damage me permanently after giving birth to Olivia. They said I would bleed a lot and would never be able to have children again if I had sex before I gave myself a few years to recover from the scarring.
"Ali!" He shouted, muffling it in my hair as he shot deep inside me after settling into a rhythm for what seemed like hours. It stung like nothing ever had before. I screamed out in pain, unable to hold it in any longer. A moan escaped him and I knew I had passed it off for an orgasm well. He rolled off of me and laid on his back, breathing hard. "That was perfect, Ali-bee."
"Yes, it was." I looked away from him to hide the tears of agonizing pain. I blinked several times and turned to look at him, forcing a dazzling grin onto my face. "I love you, Oliver."
"I love you more."
I smiled softly, knowing it was true. I wished he could love me in a less physical way, though, even if I knew I must allow him at every opportunity now.
I lay beside him, rubbing his chest lightly until he drifted off into what appeared to be a satisfied sleep. At last, I got up and moved to the bathroom sorely. I tended to the bleeding and washed my face thoroughly. I couldn't let him see the tear tracks. It would make him angry and he would hit me. They always did after sex. I was such a failure.
I left the bathroom and stood over him, watching him sleep. It was a shame I could never admire his perfect body, so toned and refined, to it's fullest potential. All I would see is the sheen of sweat from sex that would happen for reasons I wished weren't true. I could only hope that he wasn't as strong as Draco and his friends. Looking at his arms, I knew it wasn't going to happen.
OoOoO
I sat on my window ledge, looking out to the Quidditch pitch. I wished I had never gone to tell him off for wearing the wrong colour Quidditch robes. I never would have had sex, gone back into that feeling of self-worthlessness, or caused myself to be unable to ever have children.
In actual fact, if you wanted to look at this from a long-range point of view, it was Dumbledore's fault. If he hadn't send me that letter when I was eleven, I never would have met Draco and I never would have been taught to be so obedient. Yes, Dumbledore's fault.
Click.
I looked over to the door and saw Oliver coming towards me at an alarming pace. I shrank back into the window, not caring if he saw the fear now. It's what they all wanted to see: that they had complete control.
"What the hell is this?" He demanded angrily. I shook with fear, looking to the sheet he held in his hand that I hadn't noticed before. Tears rushed to my eyes instantly as I saw the blood. This one would hurt.
"I'm sorry, Oliver. I should have cleaned it." I whispered in scared apprehension. He looked extremely confused. "It will not happen again."
"What?" He asked. I looked down, remembering that I was not worthy to look at a man directly. "And stop calling me Oliver."
"Yes, of course. Is there anything else you would like?" I asked. I knew to always ask this question. It saved him the effort of always telling me to do something.
"No. Yes. I want to know what the hell is going on!" He shouted. Madame Prince glared at him from several rows of shelves away before turning on her heel and leaving. I sat perfectly straight with my hands folded in my lap.
"Nothing is wrong, Oliver." I told him, smiling sweetly. He scowled in frustration.
"Are you stupid? And I told you not to call me that!" He exclaimed. I was afraid that he would break all restraints and begin to beat me in public. I could not let that happen.
Yes, Sir, I am. I am nothing."
"Ali-bee, you are everything. Stop criticizing yourself."
"I'm sorry, sir. Would you like to continue in a more private area? I would not enjoy you being caught." I asked him shakily. In actual fact, I would love for him to get caught. He would never require my body again.
"Caught at what?"
"Well, at disciplining me for my disobedience." I said quietly so no one else could hear if they happened to be close by. It would not do to have someone discover Oliver at his business. Some people just didn't understand that I was nothing. That was their misconception, believing I was as important as Oliver. They were wrong, but I knew better.
"Disobedience? What –?" Sudden apprehension fell upon his features and his shoulders sank with the run of emotions. I saw anger, hurt, confusion, hate, love and just about everything there. He seemed to grow smaller with the realization.
"Please, do not worry. I will not tell a single person. I never have, except to you." I told him reassuringly. I felt my insides crumble as I realized that I had made a mistake. I had confided in someone who could use my hours of tears against me: a man. Man. I looked down again, remembering I was not to make eye contact unless it was requested.
"You never told me they hit you." He said softly. I was so tempted to look up, but I held back in a furious attempt to keep his flying fists away for a minute longer. "Why?"
"I assumed it was obvious. Bruises, scars, welts everywhere."
"Ali-bee, look at me." He said firmly, pulling my chin towards his face. I flinched at the touch and he released me immediately.
"Yes, sir."
"Don't call me sir."
"Yes…yes."
"Ali-bee, you never wanted it, did you." He said softly, I could see the tears welling up in his big, brown eyes. I looked away and back instantly, remembering I was asked to look at him.
"Of course I did." I told him. Say 'no' and it'll hurt more, remember.
"You didn't. What made you do it?" His hand trembled as it took mine, holding it to his cheek. I looked at his hand in terror. He had me trapped. I couldn't escape, trapped between him and the window while he held onto my hand. In my heart, I knew I would never run, though. He would only hurt me more when he found me.
"It is my duty. Mudbloods are meant to obey whoever wishes for their body. I have no right to disobey you."
"Fuck, Ali-bee, who told you that?" He growled. I shot to the back of the window seat at his harsh tone. I knew it was directed at me.
"I'm sorry!" I whimpered helplessly, pressed against the cool glass. He looked horrified.
"No! Ali, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you." He reached out for me and I couldn't help but flinch away. His hand fell limp on the seat and he kneeled down so he was level with me.
"Draco, dear Draco, taught me how to behave. My attitude towards men was appalling before he helped me. I couldn't have learned to please you, and you would be angry." I said, a smile on my face. I had convinced myself months ago that Draco had helped me.
"Please me? Is that it? You needed to learn to please someone?"
"No, no, much more than that. He helped me understand that I must let men have my body because I am too filthy to keep it to myself. I must allow men to satisfy themselves."
"Doesn't that scare you?"
"No!" I shouted, horrified that he would discover that I was afraid of letting him have what was rightfully his.
"It does."
"No, it does not."
"Ali-bee, don't lie to me." I was stuck. He gave me an order, but he would not like the answer. I bit my lip before realizing that Draco had said that was bad. I let it go and stared at the tile floor, which I was sure I would be seeing up-close after I gave my answer.
"It does." I whispered, hoping against hope that he wouldn't hear me. Suddenly, his arms were tight around me. He's squeezing me to death, I thought comatosely. Then I realized: it was a hug. "Mister Wood, why are you…hugging me?"
"Because I love you." He murmured. "And I'm sad for you. I'm sorry I used your body like I did without making sure you were absolutely sure. I didn't hurt you, did I?"
Merlin had sent me more than I could handle. I burst into tears, sobbing into his shirt again.
"Yeah." I managed to whimper. His grip on me tightened in the tension of knowing he had hurt someone he loved. "I…broke. I can't have another baby, Oli."
"Oh, Ali-bee, did I do that? Is that the blood?" He groaned in horror. I nodded quietly into his chest and he flung himself away from me in anger. I jumped, wondering what I had done. "How could I? Oh, fucking MERLIN!"
His screaming made me shrink into my seat with fear. He seemed to come around from screaming after several moments of throwing things through the glass of the library windows and the restricted section door. His toned body fell to the floor in a heap of loss and pain.
"How could I hurt you like that?" He croaked, almost in tears. His voice and body shook with sadness and self-hatred. "I took everything from you, Ali. How can you ever forgive me?"
"Everything was gone long before you came, Oli, trust me." I whispered to him softly. He looked up, eye's brimming with the unshed tears of anguish he had been holding in for the last eight months.
"I came back here to find you, ask for you, marry you, love you, make a family with you. I managed to royally screw that plan for the future up in about three minutes." I looked at him and suddenly my heart didn't seem so afraid. Why should I fear a man who will let himself cry before me? That was true passion right there. He loved me and wasn't afraid to show it.
"Well, you screwed up the part that involved kids." I smiled. He looked up and the disbelieving look on his face nearly made me burst into laughter.
"You still want me?"
"Yes."
"Will you agree if I ask for you?"
"Yes."
"W-would you marry me?"
"Yes."
"I know you won't love me."
"I already have, Oli. And I will again."
"You will?"
"Yes. Loving you makes me want to explode; it's not like it was with Malfoy and his friends. Once I got passed the terror reflex, it was nice for a minute."
"Really?"
"Yes. I've never seen one like Little Oli. It's perfect."
"Ohhh…don't do that to me!" He pleaded; my hand had slid along his crotch, fondly rubbing him through his pants. He sprang to life in my hands instantly. "That's gonna take some work later on, you know."
"Oli! Do you really…you know, like guys do…in the bathroom…?"
"Only every time I'm alone, Ali. You won't get out of my head. I close my eyes and you're riding me, your hair tickling my legs as you throw your head back…I love to hold your chest to me when you finish…mmm, mmm."
"Oli!" I shrieked. He grinned and planted a kiss on my lips to keep me from shouting at him. When he pulled away I spoke more quietly. "Oli, you touch yourself! That's wrong and you know it!"
"Have you ever tried to handle a hard on through a professional Quidditch match?" He grinned again. I rolled my eyes, beginning to warm up to this conversation.
"You've played Quidditch with an erection?" I laughed. He smiled and sat beside me on the window seat.
"Yeah, that one against the Appleby Arrows."
"Wondered why you looked so distracted."
"You were there?"
"At every game."
"Huh."
"Yeah. Tell me more." I flushed at his look of surprise, but held his gaze, just the same.
"Naughty girl. Well, one time I was walking down the corridor – just last year, actually – and I saw you, er, adjusting yourself inside your, er, thing that girls wear and, oh Merlin, I couldn't help it. It was just you and me, so I reached down and…it only took a few good pulls."
"Oli! You were there?"
"Yeah, I just looked around the corner to see your hand slide down your shirt…lovely view, really."
"Hmm. More?"
"Remember that time you came running into my room and I was all flushed and bothered? Well, I just finished of then. It was your fault, too. You didn't lock the change room door before your shower. I opened it and you were there…all covered in water, so wet…" His eyes closed momentarily and I smiled at his expression. "I've never wanted to be in a shower more than I did at that moment."
"You've seen me starkers before?"
"Yup. Fucking sexy."
"Er, thanks."
"Ali-bee?"
"Oli?"
"Marry me. Now, Dumbledore can do it. I want you to be mine. I love you."
"Really?"
"Merlin, yes."
"Then let's go."
And so they did. They got married right then and there. They waited a while before taking their 'honeymoon', though, due to Alicia's condition.
On their fourth anniversary, Alicia asked Oliver if he wanted children. He stated the obvious: Malfoy had taken her ability to have children. Alicia stated another obvious: there were thousands of kids out there without family – help them. So, they adopted girls from Canada, The Ukraine, Holland, Switzerland and Hawaii. They adopted boys from the US, Cambodia, and Germany.
They also bought a dog in Ireland one year. He was a nice little collie dog named Collie. How original. Though, I daresay they've had enough originality for a lifetime.
AN: TADA! I loved writing this. I hope you all love reading it. And reviewing it. Hint. I might consider writing another chapter if I get 100 reviews. Hint, again. Also, if you drop me a line or ten explaining why I should write another chapter or five, that would work, too. If you catch my drift. The drift being that I desperately want to talk to some FFF (FanFiction Freaks), just like myself. I am tremendously FFF deprived. Screw computer viruses.
Bridgette – Blue Dazzles