He had been sitting there for far too long. The tell tale ache in is right shoulder blade was enough to tell him that. Oliver stretched his right arm across his chest hoping to coax the muscles into relaxing a bit. It never did much to alleviate the pain, but it felt good momentarily so that alone was reason enough to continue.
Oliver had hoped it was a temporary thing, something that would go away with time and use. It was a grandiose delusion, but a delusion nonetheless. Sitting on the wood floor of his apartment, back to the couch, quidditch plays scattered across the ground in front of him he knew that now more than ever. His body hurt, his head hurt, his soul hurt… but at the moment the only thing he could think about was how much his shoulder hurt.
The healers said it would fade. Told him to take it easy and the pain would subside. But when had Oliver ever taken it easy? He pushed himself every day- it was the only way to succeed. He always put his body through the wringer and until now it could take it.
Damn treacherous body.
Sitting in his apartment after a long day of practice his muscles burned and tensed like wildfire. Every movement was excruciating with throbbing pain, pins and needles picking under his skin. It felt like a constant weight pulling down on his arm- like he had carried something too heavy for too long.
And in a way he did.
He carried all of the emotion he felt from seeing people he knew die at the hands of evil. He carried guilt from making it out alive when so many others had perished. Didn't he fight hard enough, try hard enough, want it bad enough? Why him? Why did he live? . He carried the weight of his family in the back of his mind. He carried the knowledge of so many things he had yet to accomplish in his life. He carried the pain and torment of those who could not fight, forced to stand by and watch while their world caved in on them.
He carried the body of Colin Creevey through the corridors, down the stairs and outside the Great Hall where he placed him with the rest of the sleeping dead.
Oliver couldn't be sure, but he thought that's what destroyed his shoulder. Not being blown into a wall by exploding stone, not the stray curse that knocked him back down the steps, not even the constant wand work as spell after spell, curse after cruse rolled off his lips and out his wand. No, it was the weight of Colin Creevey that broke him.
Every time his arm hurt or his shoulder pained him all he could feel was that body in his arms. That was the constant weight he carried around with him. More than almost losing his own life, more than seeing his friend and teammate lying amongst the pile of those passed- that little lifeless body in his arms killed him mentally and physically. Drained him of everything he had believed and placed his faith in. Everything except quidditch.
Quidditch was an easy constant for Oliver- the ebb and flow as predicable as the seconds ticking away on a clock. Ups and downs, highs and lows always came and went. Another day, another game, another chance. That was the best thing about quidditch- the chance to redeem yourself. If something went wrong, a misstep a missed cue you always had another day to try again. You could learn from your mistakes- they could make you better and stronger. But how was Colin Creevey going to learn from his?
Oliver groaned and grabbed his shoulder, fire blasting down to his elbow as he struggled to make his legs work under his weight. One foot in front of the other he made his way to the bathroom and nearly ripped the medicine cabinet off the wall as he swung it open. A half empty bottle sat on the shelf and he made a hasty grab for it. The label was worn and smudged, but Oliver knew it by heart. He made his way back to the small living room and flopped down on the couch. A quick mutter of words and the bottle opened spilling out one large white pill into his hand. Oliver popped it dry. He looked over at the clock. 9:30 p.m. It was still early… for some. With that thought he closed his eyes and passed out, another night wasted.
-------------------
There was a loud rap on the door and Oliver woke startled and drenched in a cold sweat. He sat straight up and looked around half thinking he imagined the noise. He looked at the clock. 7 a.m. Shaking his head a bit he tried to clear out the sleepy medicine induced fog that had taken up residence in his mind. He pulled at his shirt and cringed as it stuck and clung to his skin.
Nightmares, another burden he was now forced to carry. Every time he closed his eyes he was back at Hogwarts, stone and bodies crumbling to the ground in front of him. The air so thick with spells he couldn't breathe.
With a loud huff he laid back down and closed his eyes. Another rap at the door and he forced himself back up. There was a dull throbbing settling in his muscles already and he worked his shoulder around in a circle on his way to the door. Leaning in he peered out of the peephole. A very frustrated and annoyed Marcus Flint stood on the other side. Shit.
"Open the fucking door Wood."
Oliver groaned and banged his head against the door. It had been his brilliant plan to get his life back together- turn to the only thing he knew…. quidditch. And who better to push him than the one person who egged him on the most? It made sense to him in some sick and twisted way because what did he have if he didn't have quidditch?
"Come on Wood, I'm not gonna stand here all day."
Maybe the more surprising thing was that Flint agreed. Maybe he had his own demons to exercise as well. With one last head bang on the door Oliver opened it.
"Merlin- you look like hell Wood."
"Fuck off Flint."
Marcus never was one for tact.
Oliver turned his back to him and walked into the kitchen, leaving the door wide open. It was the only invite Flint was going to get.
They weren't friends, not really. They ran together every morning in an attempt to push themselves harder and further than they did the day before- so what if they ended up having a few beers back at Oliver's place at night or went to games together. It was always based in quidditch- just like everything else in his life.
Marcus looked around the room. "You feel asleep on the couch again." It was more of a statement than a question.
Oliver only grumbled as he rummaged through his apartment looking for his shoes. Once found he tossed them by the door before walking into his bedroom to change. He peeled off the sweet soaked tee-shirt and let it fall to the ground quickly replacing it with a clean dry one. No need to shower, he was just going to get dirty again anyway. A pair or workout shorts and he was ready to go.
"How do you expect your shoulder to get better if you keep sleeping on this damn couch?"
"Not your problem is it Flint?" Oliver hated the fact that Flint had been able to piece together information about him. He wondered just how much Marcus knew, but was afraid of the answer if he asked.
Trying to shove the thought out of his mind he bent down and grabbed his shoes, flinching in pain as he leaned down to tie them.
Oliver heard the clatter of a pill vile behind him.
"Here," Flint shoved the bottle into Oliver's hands. "You might need this."
-------------------
He had exactly 45 minutes to finish his workout, shower, change and get to practice. Then after practice it was dinner with Percy. Damn Flint for wanting to go the extra two kilometers. That only meant that Oliver had to insist they run three.
Oliver laid his back down on the cool wood floor of his apartment sending a small chill down his spine. He closed his eyes and rested for a minute before starting a round of sit-ups. It's not like he could let his morning work out be done with just a run. No, this was Oliver Wood… overachiever extraordinaire. After the sit-ups was squats, then leg lifts and finally… knowing damn well it would kill his shoulder… pushups.
He tried not to think about it instead focusing on the simple task of lifting his weight up and back down, up and back down. But it wasn't just his weight. It never was. It was the weight of every eye on him waiting for him to screw up and blow his role as starting Keeper. It was the weight of his teammates as they looked on wondering how many more games he could last, how much longer his shoulder could hold out. It was the weight of perfect fucking Marcus Flint and his perfect fucking body making toss after toss. Whipping quaffles around in the air with the same ease and grace he had at Hogwarts. No pain, no stiffness, no fucking weight bringing him down. A quick jab of pain and Oliver collapsed onto the floor.
This will not beat me. I've worked too hard, come too far for this to beat me.
With tears streaming down his face Oliver pushed himself and all the weight he carried back up, and down, and up, and down….
"Oi Wood!" Gabe shouted out from across the pitch. "'Bout damn time ye showed up!"
Oliver wasn't late, he was never late for anything quidditch… ever. Just happened that today Gabe, a Chaser for Puddlemear, beat him. They always meet a good hour or so before practice. Gave them time to gear up at their own pace and get some good one on one practice time in. Since Oliver was meeting Percy right after practice today he asked Gabe to show up extra early to help make up for the time he would lose by not staying late and flying laps.
"Ya, sorry 'bout that. Run this morning took a little longer than expected."
"You ran this morning?" Gabe asked with a quizzical look on his face. "You really are crazy Wood. No wonder your shoulder is shit."
Oliver froze. "You know damn well that's not it."
"Fuck- I'm sorry. You know how I am. Always joking."
Oliver went back to unpacking his equipment.
"Come on man- half the team has an injury of some kind. Look at me. My ankles are shot from that time I took a header off my broom. Went ass over teakettle and landed on both feet. Snapped my ankles- I was off for months!"
Oliver snorted in response. "That's different."
"How so?"
"You don't use your ankles to throw the ball."
"No, but I use them to help me steer, to help control the broom."
Oliver sighed and shook his head. "Ever wish things could just go back to normal?"
"Who's to say what's normal?"
"I don't know."
"Wood- normal for you is pushing yourself to the brink and then pushing again. You are crazy man." Gabe tossed the quaffle back and forth between his hands as he spoke. "So this… this is normal. Just a little bump in the road is all."
A loud crack of thunder boomed overhead and both men looked up instantly.
"Always did love playing in the rain." A wide smile broke out across the Chaser's face.
"Always was better than you in the rain." Oliver tugged at the laces of his boot one last time before reaching for his broom- the handle practically flying into his grip without a word ever having to be said.
"Prove it Wood." He chucked the quaffle towards the Keeper and Oliver reached out scooping it out of the air one handed- not even noticing the pain.
Oliver ripped his shirt off over his head and reached over for the clean towel that lay next to him. Every inch of his body and clothes were caked in rain, mud or sweat. A violent storm had kicked up outside and since you just don't cancel quidditch they all played through it, flying through the rain, falling into mud puddles, playing like they were kids again. God it had felt good. Oliver looked around at the rest of the mud clad players standing around him and smiled.
There was something about this group that felt like coming home. They were his family, his comradely and his confidants. Everything he did, all the limits he pushed himself to he did it for them just as much as he did it for himself. Letting them down would be a blow he didn't think he could stand. His team and the game was all that mattered.
That was another great thing about quidditch. The game had this unique ability to numb him to everything else in the world. He could get lost in the subtitle little nuances of it. The hum of the crowd, the sound of the leather ball slapping against his hand, the voices of his teammates in the distance, it was all a drug to Oliver- one that he readily took. Better than anything any healer could prescribe. Quidditch was what made him feel alive again. It was the only thing that could lift all of the weight he carried around every day. When he was on the pitch things were right and everything else was drowned out in a sea of the mundane.
It was when he came up for air that he had the problem.
As long as he could hold it together outside he would be fine, but it was proving to be a difficult struggle. It was like turning on a faucet the moment he stepped away from the pitch. All of the pain returned weighing him down by the second. He didn't know exactly how to handle it; he had never been really good with those sorts of things… the sort of things that didn't involve a pitch, a quaffle and goals. So he did the only thing he could think of… self medicate. He would spend as much time and energy as he could each day on quidditch and the rest of the time he would pop a pain pill and sleep. Not the best way to cope or the most affective, but the only way he knew how.
Grumbling to himself Oliver rubbed at his sore muscles as he sat on the bench in front of his locker. With the rain the air had turned cold quickly and he could feel his entire body stiffening up. The locker room door swung open as one of the teams Beaters made his way in from the pitch and Oliver shivered instantly as a rush of cold flooded the room.
"Can't take a little cold anymore Wood?"
Oliver looked up to find Gabe standing next to him.
"You're just still sore that I blocked almost all your shots this morning."
"Aye, but you didn't get all of them did ya?"
Oliver laughed. Leave it to Gabe to see the best in every situation. The other man sat down next to him and stared to tug on his boots in an attempt to free himself for the wet leather.
"You really are a piece of work man." Oliver shook his head as he spoke. He grabbed his practice shirt off the bench and tossed it into his locker before reaching out for the blue and gold bag with the woods Puddlemear United and Wood embroidered onto the front. He rummaged through the contents looking for clean clothes, pulling out his shampoo bottle and workout clothes from earlier as he went.
A loud thud caught his attention and for a moment he had forgotten about the pill bottle in his short's pocket leftover from his run this morning. The orange vile rolled onto the ground and he made a quick grab for it, but Gabe beat him to the punch.
The Chaser examined the bottle before placing it into Oliver's hand. He quickly glanced around the room before leaning in close to the other man's ear and whispering.
"I thought you were off these things." He leaned back nonchalantly and continued to tug on his boots.
"I am." Oliver paused. "I was." His own voice was almost collapsing in on him as he spoke.
Oliver leaned over and hung his head in his hands.
"Talk to me man. What's going on with you lately?"
"Shit… I have no idea."
The room seemed to fall silent for a moment before Oliver felt a warm hand on his neck. The fingers of his friend working in slow deliberate circles massaging the tight muscles in hopes of coaxing a confession out of him.
"Ol- come on. I'm worried about you."
"It's all fucked up Gabe. I'm so fucked up." He laughed in an attempt to release some nervous energy, but instead it came out as a strangled sob. His shoulders shook with every breath as he struggled to hold himself together.
"I can feel him." Oliver talked through closed fingers. "And I can't shake it. I feel it all the time. So I take the pills to forget it… to forget everything. It numbs me, numbs everything and when I am so numb I can't feel the pain, can't feel the weight…" Oliver gasped again, tears leaking down his face. "The only thing left to feel is guilt. Like I should always carry that pain with me so I don't forget what I saw and did…like if I lose the pain then I will forget about him and what he did and died for, but I can't live like this. I'm no good to anyone like this… especially not to you guys."
"You have to let it go man." Gabe continued to rub Oliver's neck as he spoke. "Holding all of this in isn't any good for you. You are only hurting yourself." He leaned in closer and whispered into the Keeper's ear, his free hand clutching onto Oliver's hand that held the pill vile. "Please. I miss my friend."
Oliver looked up through puffy tearstained eyes. "I miss me too." Slowly he pushed the pill bottle into Gabe's hand before getting up, collecting his things and walking out the door.
Percy Weasly peered over the top of his glasses at Oliver.
"You're late."
"Ya, sorry. Seem to be having that problem today."
Percy didn't seem amused by the answer.
"Oh come on Perce- I ran and worked out this morning, had an early practice with Gabe to make up for missing flying laps after practice, then had actual practice. So cut me some slack would ya?"
"Didn't know dinner with a friend was such an inconvenience."
"Damnit it Perce- since when did you turn so bitter and cynical?"
"Same could be asked of you."
Oliver sat in silence for a moment before scrubbing at his runny noise. The cold feeling from practicing out in the rain seemed to have permanently set in and he shivered as he pulled his jacket tighter around himself. "So dinner ya?" He picked up a menu to avoid any further eye contact with the redhead across from him.
"You look like hell."
"So I've heard." He grumbled the response into the menu.
His mind quickly darted back to his locker room conversation. Who the hell did Flint think he was anyway handing those things to him before their run? Oliver could function just fine without them. He knew that. Managed just fine before the war and he could do the same now- he could prove it.
Prove himself to Flint, what an utter bullshit thought.
"Oliver…. Oliver!" Percy's voice broke through his thoughts.
"Hmm?"
"You're doing it again."
"Doing what."
"Spacing out."
There was a long pause before Oliver spoke.
"How do you do it?"
"Do what. Manage to not space out on my friends?" He laughed a little at his own joke.
"No. Deal with it, the loss, your brother… everything."
Percy sighed and set down the menu.
"You don't deal, not really. You wake up every morning, remind yourself to breathe and you move on with your day. It gets easier of course. The little things you miss about them become just that… little things in the grand scheme of life." He pushed his glasses back up the bridge of nose and continued. "Sure memories pop up and you have moments of all encompassing mind consuming grief, mostly at the most inopportune times. But that's life. You carry on because you know that's what they would have wanted. You never forget. And you never should. You will be o.k. Oliver, just remember to breathe." He smiled at his friend.
"You make it sound so easy."
"It's not. Trust me. After the battle I didn't think I could go on. The only thing I found refuge in was my family and work. Merlin knows my family was grieving enough already and work… the Ministry was so messed up after the battle that it is taking everything we have just to rebuild it. I threw myself into it so hard at first just to forget everything that I think I did myself more harm them good- didn't really give myself proper time to grieve."
Oliver raked his hands thought his hair and drew in a shaky breath.
"You have to let it go." Percy was almost stern in the way he delivered his advice.
"I can't."
"Oliver-."
"Don't you get it? Doesn't anyone get it? . It doesn't go away. I can only numb it. I thought you might understand that."
"I do. But I also know what it is like when you let it control your life."
Oliver leaned down and picked his bag back up.
"What are you doing? We didn't even eat yet."
"Suddenly I'm not hungry."
There were only two things Oliver knew of to take away the pain and seeing as he gave one up to his teammate earlier he only had one let to rely on.
"Where are you going?" His friend was clearly exasperated.
"The pitch." Without further hesitation he walked out.
---------------
The wind whipped by as he flew mere inches from the ground. With his hand outstretched he let the green grass slide through his fingers. If life could only be this simple all of the time.
Oliver buzzed around looping through the sky and cutting through the air. This had always been such a simple thing to him. It was all pure brilliance in a life so splattered with turbulence.
Percy might have his family and work, but Oliver had this. He had played quidditch for so long he could do it without thinking. His body so accustomed to the moves they were seconded nature to him, almost automatic. He could get so lost in the game that nothing else mattered. Not his life, not his friends, not his pain… nothing.
A small drop of water splattered against his skin followed by another and then another. Oliver halted in the air. It had been raining on and off all day since practice and now it seemed the sky was threatening to overtake him again. But Oliver had other plans. Nothing was going to take this moment of clarity away from. This was the only place he could function, the only place he could feel like himself again and no amount of rain was going to take that away from him. He pointed his broom towards the far end of the pitch and took off wondering how many laps he could get in before his wet clothes started to weigh him down.
-----------
With every step he took he could feel the cold squish of his socks inside his shoes. A slow smile breaking out across his face as small beads of water rolled off his hair and down his neck. He loved the feel of it all. Reminded him of playing in the rain back at Hogwarts, chasing his team around the pitch running drill after drill until they were all soaked to the bone cursing his name because no one could feel their fingers anymore, but they would all thank him- he knew that. They would thank him during the next game when they were that much tougher, that much quicker and smarter than their opponent. Even if they never said it, he knew it.
Still riding his quidditch high he opened the door to his flat dropping his bag to the ground with a loud and wet thud. It was well past 9 p.m. and with any luck Oliver would be able to shower and drift right to sleep before the aches and pains of practice caught up with him. He started to peel of his wet tee-shirt when there was a knock at the door behind him. Caught off guard he jumped slightly at the sound, his muscles quick to react to the sudden movement sending a dull ache through his body.
"Ugh…. who is it?"
"Your mother you right fowl git, now open the damn door."
Oliver rolled his eyes as Flint's voice drifted in from the hall. Yanking on the handle hard he swung the door open. "What do ye want?"
Marcus held up a brown grocery bag. "Got bored, knew you would have anything better to do." He walked in past Oliver and set the bag down. The telltale clanking of bottles filled the air and Marcus reached into the bag pulling out two beers handing one to Oliver.
"Thanks."
"No protest. I'm impressed." A crooked smile plastered on the Chaser's face. "And what happened to you… fall in a lake?"
"Practice." Oliver winced as his voice cut out on him. "If you didn't notice it is raining out." He coughed a few times hoping that would fix the problem.
"Don't tell me you have been at the pitch this whole time," he took a swig from the bottle in his hand. Flint stood with his back to the wall leaning against it for support with his eyes closed.
"It's call discipline Flint or don't you know what that means."
"It's called running from your problems Wood."
Oliver clenched his jaw in response. "Like you would know about it."
"Know plenty." Another sip from the bottle and Oliver tightened his fists at how relaxed the other man seamed. "Know you are using quidditch as some kind of sick coping mechanize for whatever post war depression it is that you are going through."
Oliver's eyes flickered with anger as Flint pushed himself away from the wall and moved closer to him.
"I know you are scarred of something because I can't remember the last time I ever saw you so rattled. And I know you don't really want to be alone right now because you didn't throw me out the moment you saw me."
Oliver was on him in a matter of seconds his cold fingers tighten across Flint's neck.
"It's just so easy for you isn't it, standing there and judging me. You weren't even there Flint so don't you tell me about post war anything!" He dropped his hands and walked over to where the brown bag still sat on the counter. Oliver quickly finished the beer in his hand and grabbed another from the bag. With a loud pop he busted the top off on the kitchen counter. He stood there back facing Flint so he didn't have to look him in the eye.
"Merlin Wood- you really are fucked up."
Oliver didn't respond instead raising his beer to his lips as he started to drain the bottle.
"What, can't stand to hear the truth? Want me to baby you like everyone else in your life? I'm sorry- I don't do that."
Oliver squeezed his eyes shut in hopes of blocking out the Chaser standing behind him.
"No- you know what? I'm not sorry. I'm not. Maybe what you need is to hear the truth not some sugar coated version of it."
Oliver only shook his head in response. "Hear what Flint? That I'm on the downward spiral? Washed up? Has been? Ya, believe me I've heard it."
"Bullshit."
Oliver turned and eyed the other man. "What did you just say?"
"You heard me, I said bullshit. You are your own worst enemy Wood. You have so much talent and you are just throwing it away!"
"I work my ass off on that pitch everyday! I always give-"
"I'm not talking about quidditch Wood. I know that might be a difficult concept for you to grasp."
"Fuck off Flint." Oliver walked past him on his way to the living room, making sure to bump shoulders with the Chaser as he went. He settled himself on the floor and leaned his back against the couch. Without giving any second thought to Marcus standing in his kitchen Oliver pulled his playbook off from the table next to him and began to read.
Marcus slammed his beer down on the kitchen counter and headed for the door. If bloody fucking Oliver Wood wanted to live in his own self induced misery then so be it.
"Enjoy the rest of the beer Wood."
Marcus slammed the door behind him.
"Wanker!" Oliver shouted the words towards the now closed door not caring if Flint heard him or not. Knowing fully well the Chaser would be there in the morning to push him further and harder. Shit. Maybe that was Marcus' way of helping Oliver cope- not like they could just talk about it. Not with the way their relationship worked.
A quick loud knock on the door caught Oliver's attention.
"Come back for your beer have ya?" Opting not to get up he just shouted the words.
The door swung open and Gabe stuck his head around the corner.
"No, but if you are offering I am more than willing to help you drink those." He smiled widely at the Keeper.
"Hey, sorry man." He apologized. "Thought you were someone else."
"Nope, just me. You should like shit."
"So I've noticed. Too much yelling at practice. Grab a beer and stay a bit."
Gabe shoved off his coat and hung it on the small rack by the door before grabbing a beer out of the bag and sitting on the couch behind Oliver.
"What ya working on?"
"mmm, new play."
"Will ya let me see?"
Oliver reached behind to hand Gabe the tattered leather playbook, his right shoulder blasting with pain as he did so. Instantly his left hand shot up to rub at the sore spot.
"Here. Need these?"
Gabe reached around the front of Oliver, an orange tattered pill bottle sitting in the palm of his hand.
Oliver just turned his head and stared at his teammate.
"What… why…. I thought…"
"Ya, and I thought you might need them. It was wrong of me to give you shit early. I don't know what kind of pain you are in and if you need them, then you need them."
Oliver just looked at his friend. It was the first time someone hadn't tried to trivialize what he going through or told him they knew how he felt or how he should or would feel.
"Thanks."
"Not a problem. Anything for a friend."
Gabe stuck the play book in his lap and leaned back on the couch. "This is pretty tricky stuff Wood."
"What? Don't think you're up to it?" He turned his head and cast a quirky grin back at his friend.
"You know me, I'm game for anything. Just don't get me killed alright?"
"Nonsense." He started to rub at his shoulder again. "Wouldn't do well to kill you- where would we find a new Chaser on such short notice?"
Gabe gave him a quick shove from behind. "Bugger off Wood. You know you would me miss."
Oliver laughed. "Aye, something like that."
Another shove and Oliver flinched at the pain. "Alright alright- you win."
"Just remember that Wood." Gabe paused watching Oliver stretch and move his shoulder around in front of him. "Here, why don't ya let me help?"
Before Oliver could protest he could feel Gabe's warm fingers pressing into the muscles of his right shoulder.
"You're tense as hell man."
Oliver let his head drop and lull gently from side to side. He hated letting others think that he needed them or was helpless, but at the moment he could care less. Yet as quickly as it started Gabe pulled his hands away and stood up.
"Practice is an early one tomorrow." Oliver frowned as he felt his friend's hands leave his skin. "Should get some rest." Gabe suddenly seemed nervous as he looked around the room and shifted his weight awkwardly from side to side.
"Ya, rest." He knew he never would be able to.
"Don't be late tomorrow like you were today Wood!" His friend called on his way out.
The click of the door signaling that he was alone again Oliver picked up the vile and went to pop open the cap, but something stopped him. He took a good long look at the bottle before he tossed it back on the table unopened and walked into his bedroom.
It was the middle of the night when Oliver woke, a strangled scream piecing the quite of his room. His heart was racing as he kicked and struggled to free himself from the confines of his sheets. He clutched at his chest in hopes of calming his breathing. A split second decision had him racing to the living room in search of a pen and parchment. With a shaky hand he quickly scribbled a note, attached it to his owl and sat down on the couch to wait out whatever it was that had hold of him.
It was as if the seconds were taking hours to slowly tick on by. Oliver steadily drummed his fingers across the hardwood living room table as he forced himself to calm down. He knew he couldn't sleep again, not tonight… not like this. His mind raced with flashes from his dream…. the school slowly crumbling, bodies everywhere, Death Eaters running at him, a bright flash of green….
A quick knock and Oliver whipped his head around and starred at the door almost in disbelief- who would be here this late at night….or was it morning now? He pushed himself up and walked over. He turned the handle slowly before pulling the door open just enough for him to pear out.
"Gabe?" Oliver was completely shocked to find his teammate standing outside his flat. "What in the hell are ye doing 'ere?"
"You owled." The man looked more tired than anything, punctuating his last word with a yawn.
"Ya, 'bout tomorrow." Oliver opened the door to let his friend in. "Just as a reminder that was all."
"What sane person owls a bloke at…. what in the bloody hell time is it?"
"Uh… 3."
"At 3 in the morning about quidditch practice?"
"Just wanted to make sure you would be at practice early so we could-"
"Oliver," Gabe quickly cut him off. "I'm always there early. So are you. So what is this really about?"
"N-nothing." Oliver quickly pulled his hands behind his back so Gabe wouldn't see them shaking. "Just couldn't sleep, nervous energy is all."
"Bullshit."
Was he talking to Flint again here or what?
Oliver just shook his head and walked away.
"Oliver- enough is enough. Talk to me. Let me in. If not me then someone."
"What are ya lookin' for me to say Gabe? That I'm messed up? That the healers were wrong? You already know all of that already."
"Then tell me something else."
"Tell you what?"
"Tell me how to help." Gabe walked up behind the Keeper and placed both hands on his shoulders. "Let me help."
"How much can you carry?" Oliver closed his eyes as he spoke, not expecting the other man to understand what he meant.
"As much as you are willing to unload." Gabe gently guided Oliver over to the couch. "Now sit."
Oliver did as he was told. He sat hunched over with his fingers twisted in his hair. Gabe sat sideways next to him with one leg bent underneath himself and the other firmly planted on the ground.
"I'm not going anywhere so there's no rush. Just whenever you're ready."
Oliver pulled his hands from his hair and held them in front of his face. He watched as they continued to tremble and shake.
"What if I can't play anymore?" Oliver's eyes never left his hands as he spoke.
"You will be fine, it just takes time and-"
"No… no bullshit…. not anymore." Oliver looked up at his friend, determination set in his eyes. "What if this is it?" He quickly looked back at his hands.
Gabe starred at the shell of a man across from him for a moment before grabbing Oliver's hands in his own. "No bullshit… not sugar coating?"
"Please."
Gabe took a deep breath. "If you can't play then you can't play and no amount of pill popping will fix that. You know just as well as I do how short a player's career can be. With all those damn plays you think up I am lucky you haven't killed me yet!" He smiled.
Oliver let out a tiny laugh. "Well if you didn't executive them so well I wouldn't have to dream up new ones for ya."
"If I didn't you would kill me yourself."
"Aye, true."
"Is that what this is all about, life without quidditch?"
"No, not completely." Oliver pulled his hands into his lap. "I watched people die Gabe. I lost a friend. I saw shit there that I can never forget. I fought a fucking Death Eater for crying out loud. I almost died... I…"
"But you didn't."
"Ya, I didn't. And now I have to live with all of it. Everyday. I carried that boy's body. Merlin he was so young. It's so wrong, all of it. He shouldn't have died. None of them should have."
Gabe sat in silence letting Oliver say everything he needed to finally get out.
"I risked everything… never thought twice about it. But now, now with my shoulder I do. Sometimes wish I never even went. What kind of person am I? I wish I wasn't there so I could save my career when others gave their lives so I even had a career to come back to?"
"You're not a bad person Ollie. You were there, you helped."
"Then why do I feel so rotten? I've never had anything quidditch couldn't fix. Did badly on a test, went and played quidditch. Got in a fight with my mum, went and flew laps. It always fixes everything… always. If I lose that…" his voice was starting to waiver so he quickly stopped mid sentence.
"This isn't just some test or a fight with your family Oliver. This was the biggest thing to happen in our lifetime. It's going to take awhile to get over. Give yourself a break. You can't just will these feelings away or expect quidditch to fill some void."
Oliver looked at his friend. "But I need it to."
"There are lots of other things besides quidditch ya know?"
"Such as?"
Gabe looked surprised at the question. Not sure if this was the right time for a bleeding heart confession he stood up and quickly started pacing the room. "Friends for example. Family. Hobbies." He looked over to see Oliver shaking his head no in response to each suggestion he gave. "Me."
Oliver's eyes shot upwards and locked with the Chaser's.
"Oh come off it Wood. How many times does a bloke have to throw himself at you before you do something about it?" He practically laughed as he nervously ran his hand over the back of his neck.
The Keeper's eyes quickly darted around the room as if looking for some piece of information he missed.
"Don't tell me you didn't know."
Oliver stood quickly. Unsure of what exactly to do with his body at the moment so he opted for crossing his arms.
"I uh… I…." he stammered suddenly at a loss for words. "Is this your way of distracting me?"
"No." Gabe smiled as he leaned back against the wall. "Why… is it working?"
"You're so full of shit ya know that don't ya?" Oliver couldn't help the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth.
"Ya, but it got ya to smile again didn't it?"
Oliver thought about it for a minute before he nodded a small yes.
"Look," Gabe pushed himself away from the wall and walked over to his friend. "Tomorrow we will go to the team healer and see what they have to say. Nothing can be worse than not knowing right?"
"I guess," the Keeper looked at his feet while he spoke. "And the rest?"
Gabe wrapped his strong arms around Oliver's waist and rested his forehead against the other man's. "The rest we can take as it comes." He tilted Oliver's chin up with his hand so they were looking each other in the eye. "But ya gotta tell people. No more secrets."
Oliver took one more breath to steady his nerves. "Right. No more secrets."
"Right and just…." There was a long paused as he searched for the right word.
"Breathe." Oliver piped in, remembering his conversation with Percy.
"Ya, just breathe."
Months later:
"The Chaser has the quaffle….. passes it to Flint who dives in for the score….. Wood dives….. and he blocks it!" The announcer's voice boomed with excitement though the stadium. The crowed roared with cheers and applause as Oliver swung himself back up onto his broom and smirked back at the astonished looking Flint.
"That's it… they've done it!" The announcer's voice pierced through the roar of the stadium again. "Puddlemear has caught the snitch…. Puddlemear wins!
Oliver felt a quick surge of adrenaline pulse though his veins at the words. In one quick fluid motion he swooped down to the ground where his teammates were starting to gather.
"Wood you were bloody brilliant!" One of the team's Beaters clapped him on the back.
"Thanks man! Not too bad yourself." Oliver smiled back before quickly shifting his gaze around the pitch looking for a certain familiar figure. Instead his eyes fell on a rather disgruntled looking Falmouth Chaser.
"Wood," despite the obvious anger from losing Flint walked up to the Keeper and stuck out his hand. "Hell of a good save."
Oliver smiled as he shook the Chaser's hand. "Hell of a good throw."
Much to Oliver's surprise Marcus smiled back. "Tomorrow morning then?"
"Tomorrow morning."
Marcus nodded before trotting off towards the locker rooms. "This time don't drag ass on the last kilometer!" He shouted over his shoulder, a wicked grin plastered to his face.
Oliver couldn't help but laugh.
"There you are I've been looking all over for you." A warm voice from behind caught his attention. Oliver tuned to find Gabe who was holding both arms triumphantly in the air.
"I'm right here. Have been since the game ended."
"Don't get smart with me Wood." Gabe walked up and wrapped his arms around Oliver. "Thought you were a goner when you dove off your broom after Flint's shot."
"Never count me out. Have I let you down yet?"
"No," he leaned in and gently pressed his lips against Oliver's. "Not yet."
Oliver smiled against the other man's mouth. "Come on, not out here."
Gabe looked at him for a minute before he shoved him playfully away. "Alright alright, big Keeper image to uphold."
"Don't be daft. You know what I'm on about."
"Ya ya," he grabbed Oliver's arm and pulled him towards the locker rooms. "Hey, how's the shoulder?"
"Eh, little sore… but all in all not too bad. Healer said to keep up with physical therapy and I should be back to good in 'bout a month or so."
"Good." Gabe's hand instantly reached up and started to rub at Oliver's sore muscles. "And the rest?"
"Taking it day by day. Helps that I have other things to distract me," He reached over and intertwined his fingers with the Chaser's free hand. "Just taking it as it comes ya know?"
"Sounds like a good plan."
"Ya, best plan I've had in a long time."
Both men smiled at each other, the moment seeming so quiet and intimate even among the chaos of the pitch.
"Oh- did I tell you about this new play I thought of?!" Oliver voice was quickly filled with excitement. "First you would fly up under the opposing Chaser, then you swing your legs off the broom and kick the quaffle out from-"
"Oliver!" Gabe quickly interrupted him.
"What?"
"You really are trying to get me killed aren't you?"
"You'll be fine Gabe," Oliver let his fingers slowly pull away from Gabe's as they walked into the locker room. "Just remember to breathe."