A/N: Just a short story I wrote :) Okay, it was actually for a challenge; I had to write about Oliver Wood, coping with death. Hopefully you'll like it :)
Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own the world of Harry Potter...
Fred was dead.
As if it wasn't bad enough that this three-word-sentence rhymed, it was also true. And that was very hard to believe. Oliver didn't think that he had ever seen one of the Weasley twins without the other, but he would have to get used to that now.
He couldn't quite imagine what this loss had to mean to Fred's family, the Weasleys. He himself had never had to cope with loss, he had never lost anyone close to him. He didn't know how it felt. In fact, he didn't think he could remember anyone he knew dying until… three years ago, when Diggory had died. After that, Dumbledore had passed and then more and more people were murdered, one after the other. Many people had gone into hiding, had been captured or had been killed.
And then, the Final Battle had come. Sure, Harry had been able to defeat Y – Voldemort in the end, but there had been so many losses by then. Oliver had even helped carry in some of the bodies, and it had made him rather uncomfortable. It made him realise what he was doing – what could happen – what the worst case scenario was.
He could die. He could've died that night, along with so many others.
Of course – one wrong move on a broom and he could be dead any day during practice or during a match, but this was different. People died, and not just a few. He had heard that at least fifty people on their side had been killed, and there were so many others who had been injured.
And like everything, however inappropriate it might be sometimes, seemed to come down to Quidditch for Oliver, even this did. If it hadn't been for Quidditch, he wouldn't have known Fred at all. Oh, he would have known of him. Everyone knew Fred and George Weasley, from the first years on their first train ride to Hogwarts, to the graduated seventh years, from the House Elves in the kitchens and the paintings on the walls and the ghosts, to the Professors, Filch, the previous Headmasters and, who knew, perhaps even the creatures in the Forbidden Forest.
But he wouldn't have known Fred personally. And in a way, he still didn't. Off the Pitch, they had hardly ever talked. Looking back, Oliver realised that that was actually quite a shame. To him, Fred had always been one of his Beaters, one of the Weasley twins, one of the biggest pranksters in school. George had always been his counterpart. It was… unnerving, to know that that was over, that they were now about as far apart as was humanly possible.
Again, it was quite a shame that he, Oliver, had never really taken the time to get to know the people on his team personally. Because before you knew it, it was over. He had never asked them what they thought about certain things, what they did and did not like, and loads of other stuff. Alright, it would be rather out of character for him, he knew it, but he couldn't get rid of the slightly guilty feeling that told him that he should've at least tried to form some sort of bond with his teammates before it was too late. Like now.
He had been their Captain and they had been his Beaters, Chasers and Seeker. That was all. Nothing else. Nothing more. He didn't know them. He hadn't known Fred. And now it was too late to get to know him.
Yet he did feel the loss. He knew that somehow, they had bonded, somehow, there had been some weird kind of friendship, if that was the appropriate term. They, and the rest of the team, had shared certain moments. But whether that was enough, he didn't know and he would never know, probably.
Today, the day of Fred's burial, was a strange day. The weather – unsteady. The mood – unstable. The people – unhappy. As he stood by Fred's coffin, Oliver still couldn't believe what had happened.
His beater, beaten.
A/N: So, what do you think? Did you like it? Hate it? Have some other opinion about it? :) Whatever it is, let me know, please review!