Flying - Oliver Wood's Story
They say that I'm obsessed with flying. Am I? Well, I suppose I may act like it sometimes. After all, it -is-, in my opinion, the best thing in the world. Unless you have ever been on a broomstick, you'd never know. You can't imagine the freedom! The fresh air, blowing in your face! I love every thing about flying. I envy the birds, for they can open up their wings and rise up whenever they want, unlike us humans. We have to go in, get our broomstick, get out, mount, and then swoop up. There's a whole process. In Transfiguration, Professor McGonagall told us that it's easier to turn into an animal whose personality we match with. She also warned us that if we're not careful, we might think as that animal and forget being a human. I then wished that would happen to me. You see, I'd much rather be a bird than a human. I'd much rather soar in the sky than have two feet on the ground. I haven't told you yet the other reason why I love flying and Quidditch. They both mean something to me. Flying... the sky is somewhere that I can go to escape my problems and the issues that others mount up on me. And in Quidditch, I am the Keeper as you know. In a certain point of view, you can say that I'm protecting something from the enemy. In my case, I'm protecting my sanity.
My father showed me how to get on a proper broomstick when I was four. It was the best thing he ever did to me. It also was the last thing; because he left home a few weeks after. I wouldn't have cared much except that there was one less person at the table. The sight of the empty chair made me feel... bad. And my mother cried. I tried comforting her but I couldn't help... besides, my Auntie shooed me away. I didn't understand her tears. She and my father constantly fought- over money, over food, over family, over me.
I didn't understand their fights either. You see, none of them really acted like they cared about me. My day didn't involve them really- except seeing them at mealtimes. I woke up, dressed myself, did my bathroom things, ate breakfast, went out to play with my friends or went to school [to learn how to count and read and so on], came home when the sun started to set, ate dinner, ran around the house or whatever, went to sleep. Yes, I felt hurt at their indifference towards me. Not once had they asked 'how was your day', and I longed to hear them say 'I love you'. But the days melted together, and after a while, I didn't care anymore. But I didn't understand. I didn't understand why they fought over -me-! Over all the people, they chose the one that they ignored; nevermind the fact that I was their son. And, I didn't understand why my mother cried after my dad left. She said she loved him, but if she did, why did she fight with him? The frustration and confusion made me feel as if they were anchoring me to the ground. Right after my father left home, my fascination for flying grew. Because of the freedom. And because I was far away from the ground; far from where my troubles began and I doubted that they would end.
Not long after HE left [I don't want to call him my father anymore], my mother's attitude towards me changed for the better. I guess I'd have to thank him for leaving if he ever shows up in my life again. One day, she took me in her arms, kissed my forehead and told me she loved me and that she was sorry for ignoring me. She told me she'd love me no matter what. She said she was sorry for being so blind before. And as she said those words, the wall I put up between me and my parents as a result of -their- indifference towards me, crumbled down. It was the first time I cried in a long while. My tears rolled down my cheeks and sobs shook my body, as I lay there in her arms, as everything came out in the form of my tears [and mucus but let's not get technical]. For a while, every thing was great. I still loved flying; and it became my favorite pasttime. Sometimes, my mother would sit out on the porch and watch me swoop about. A lot of times she yelled at me to get off my Cleansweep Three. She didn't like me flying; thought it was too dangerous. But that didn't stop me. I can be very stubborn and narrow-minded [George and Fred would say that's an understatement, but I beg to differ].
When I was six, my mom remarried. She kept her last name- Wood- and so did I. My stepdad's name was Patrick Fowl [I can see why she decided to keep her last name]. He was handsome and charming. My mother was blinded by it all. She claimed that she loved him, which confused me, since she claimed she loved my biological dad. Women -ARE- confusing. Anyway, they got married on May 17. Mr. Patrick Fowl lifted me up and threw me in the air, caught me, and did it again. This brought shrieks from the ladies present because I was no 20 pound baby. I was a full grown child. I did not scream. I enjoyed it. See, I told you I loved flying; no matter what form it comes in [I know that doesn't make much sense. Leave me alone. It's my thoughts]. I think he was planning to drop me. My mother's quick temperness had saved me, for if he -did-, then oh, what a scene it would be (Imagine a bride, face red with fury, screaming and cursing out her groom while hugging her crying son with broken ribs. It would've been worth all the broken ribs in the world to see Fowl embarrassed in public like that).
I hoped that Mr. Patrick Fowl will pull a muscle. I did not like him at all. In my opinion, he was far from handsome. He had an overly big nose, his hair looked oily, his eyes slanted and they were black. I don't mind black eyes; Hagrid has black eyes and I like him very much; but Fowl's eyes were black and cold. Kinda like Snape's. Fowl's cheeks were kinda flabby in my opinion. And he acted differently towards me when my mother wasn't around.
When My Mom is Here:
Fowl: Hello, Oliver! I heard you like flying! Are you any good?
Me: I think so
Fowl: That's great; I know a player for the Chudly Cannons. Maybe you'd want to be a Quidditch player when you grow up?
Me: I wanna be the Keeper
Fowl: ::laugh:: You know a lot about Quidditch don't you?
When My Mom is NOT Here:
Fowl: It's Oliver again
Me: Hi
Fowl: Look kid, me and your mom are gonna need some time alone tonight so do you mind keeping your smelly farty self out of the house? You know, stay outside for the night?
Me: ...
Fowl: You best get out tonight. You know what I would do.
I didn't tell my mom the things he said to me because he told me he would hurt her if I did. He told me he would kill me if I ever disobeyed him. So again, I fell away from my parents again. And my mom proved to be a liar when she said that she wasn't going to ignore me again. My schedule returned to as usual.
I have a few bruises from Fowl. See this one? On the arm? he hit me with the clock. I told my mom that he called me a skinny fucking dumbass and she got mad at him. Foul Fowl got out of it by denying it. And he luckily brought flowers for her when she confronted him, so her anger was pretty much cooled down. But he encountered me afterwards and beat me with the closest thing- which was the clock. On the arm. The same spot. Continuously. I tried to run away, but he was faster and stronger than me. I screamed and cried, but my mom was out in the garden. The walls of our house proved to be strong and soundproof. By the way, the clock broke. Fowl made me tell my mother that I was running in the house and I bumped into the clock, which is how I got the bruise, and the clock fell and... broke.
For every seen bruise, every scar, every broken bone, I had to lie about it. I had to say that I hurt myself while flying, that I got into a fight with someone, or that the dog [Golden Retriever. Name is Lucky Charms.] bit me. I even had to lie to my uncle, the one I trusted most, but I think he had an idea of what I was going through. My uncle has a really sharp eye and has rightfully earned the title of Sherlock Holmes. My lies broke my spirit and self esteem. I acted different at home. For example, I was silent. The only time I felt good about myself was when I was on my Clean Sweep Three. I was sensitive about lying because first of all, I didn't want to do it. Second of all, I believed it was a quality of a Slytherin, and both my parents were Gryffindors. It felt... wrong. I wanted HIM [my father] back. I knew how to deal with his silence, but I had no idea how to deal with Fowl's abuse. At least HE didn't walk in front of me, push me, yell at me for walking into him [when it was the other way around] and beat me. I was scared peeless and was alone in my torture. Yes, I hated him. Most of all, I wanted him to die and suffer in bloody hell.
I was pretty happy when I got my Hogwarts Acceptance letter. Aside from the fact that it showed that I was no Squib, it meant that I got to be away from home. Fowl was sucking away my mother's money- Sickle by Sickle. My uncle saw it as well and tried to warn her, but she refused to listen, claiming that 'he loved her back and wouldn't do anything like that'. My uncle told her she dreamt too much about true love. So he took a few precautions, using his connections in the Ministry of Magic, he ensured that Fowl won't put our family into debt and poverty. Meaning that he can't get his filthy hands on some of our wealth. I like my Uncle Tom a lot. Not because he sees Fowl the same way I do, but because he likes to laugh and make jokes. He's the merry one in our family; but also the most dedicated-to-his-work one. They say I got my stubbornness from him. But anyway, my mom and Fowl were there on platform 9 3/4 on King's Cross to see me off to the Hogwarts Express. At least Fowl had the decency to not keep her from doing that.
So I came to Hogwarts with my books, my robes, my quills and ink bottles, and I snuck my trusty broomstick in too. Remember when I said that my spirit was broken? It was rebuilt here, in Hogwarts, with the help of my friends (I suppose I DO have to give the twins some credit) and by playing Quidditch and enjoying the freedom with thirteen other people on the field. And now I look back at all I wrote, found out that I went on a tangent towards the end, but eh. At least I took the time to write all this. Now my hand is tired. Oh! I forgot to mention that in my fourth year, I recieved a letter alerting me of my mother's divorce of Fowl. Looks like he was cheating on her for quite a while and stole her pearl necklace and sold it. Don't ask me how she found that out. Must've been Uncle Tom's investigation, that sneaky dog.
They say that I'm obsessed with flying. Am I? Well, I suppose I may act like it sometimes. After all, it -is-, in my opinion, the best thing in the world. Unless you have ever been on a broomstick, you'd never know. You can't imagine the freedom! The fresh air, blowing in your face! I love every thing about flying. I envy the birds, for they can open up their wings and rise up whenever they want, unlike us humans. We have to go in, get our broomstick, get out, mount, and then swoop up. There's a whole process. In Transfiguration, Professor McGonagall told us that it's easier to turn into an animal whose personality we match with. She also warned us that if we're not careful, we might think as that animal and forget being a human. I then wished that would happen to me. You see, I'd much rather be a bird than a human. I'd much rather soar in the sky than have two feet on the ground. I haven't told you yet the other reason why I love flying and Quidditch. They both mean something to me. Flying... the sky is somewhere that I can go to escape my problems and the issues that others mount up on me. And in Quidditch, I am the Keeper as you know. In a certain point of view, you can say that I'm protecting something from the enemy. In my case, I'm protecting my sanity.
My father showed me how to get on a proper broomstick when I was four. It was the best thing he ever did to me. It also was the last thing; because he left home a few weeks after. I wouldn't have cared much except that there was one less person at the table. The sight of the empty chair made me feel... bad. And my mother cried. I tried comforting her but I couldn't help... besides, my Auntie shooed me away. I didn't understand her tears. She and my father constantly fought- over money, over food, over family, over me.
I didn't understand their fights either. You see, none of them really acted like they cared about me. My day didn't involve them really- except seeing them at mealtimes. I woke up, dressed myself, did my bathroom things, ate breakfast, went out to play with my friends or went to school [to learn how to count and read and so on], came home when the sun started to set, ate dinner, ran around the house or whatever, went to sleep. Yes, I felt hurt at their indifference towards me. Not once had they asked 'how was your day', and I longed to hear them say 'I love you'. But the days melted together, and after a while, I didn't care anymore. But I didn't understand. I didn't understand why they fought over -me-! Over all the people, they chose the one that they ignored; nevermind the fact that I was their son. And, I didn't understand why my mother cried after my dad left. She said she loved him, but if she did, why did she fight with him? The frustration and confusion made me feel as if they were anchoring me to the ground. Right after my father left home, my fascination for flying grew. Because of the freedom. And because I was far away from the ground; far from where my troubles began and I doubted that they would end.
Not long after HE left [I don't want to call him my father anymore], my mother's attitude towards me changed for the better. I guess I'd have to thank him for leaving if he ever shows up in my life again. One day, she took me in her arms, kissed my forehead and told me she loved me and that she was sorry for ignoring me. She told me she'd love me no matter what. She said she was sorry for being so blind before. And as she said those words, the wall I put up between me and my parents as a result of -their- indifference towards me, crumbled down. It was the first time I cried in a long while. My tears rolled down my cheeks and sobs shook my body, as I lay there in her arms, as everything came out in the form of my tears [and mucus but let's not get technical]. For a while, every thing was great. I still loved flying; and it became my favorite pasttime. Sometimes, my mother would sit out on the porch and watch me swoop about. A lot of times she yelled at me to get off my Cleansweep Three. She didn't like me flying; thought it was too dangerous. But that didn't stop me. I can be very stubborn and narrow-minded [George and Fred would say that's an understatement, but I beg to differ].
When I was six, my mom remarried. She kept her last name- Wood- and so did I. My stepdad's name was Patrick Fowl [I can see why she decided to keep her last name]. He was handsome and charming. My mother was blinded by it all. She claimed that she loved him, which confused me, since she claimed she loved my biological dad. Women -ARE- confusing. Anyway, they got married on May 17. Mr. Patrick Fowl lifted me up and threw me in the air, caught me, and did it again. This brought shrieks from the ladies present because I was no 20 pound baby. I was a full grown child. I did not scream. I enjoyed it. See, I told you I loved flying; no matter what form it comes in [I know that doesn't make much sense. Leave me alone. It's my thoughts]. I think he was planning to drop me. My mother's quick temperness had saved me, for if he -did-, then oh, what a scene it would be (Imagine a bride, face red with fury, screaming and cursing out her groom while hugging her crying son with broken ribs. It would've been worth all the broken ribs in the world to see Fowl embarrassed in public like that).
I hoped that Mr. Patrick Fowl will pull a muscle. I did not like him at all. In my opinion, he was far from handsome. He had an overly big nose, his hair looked oily, his eyes slanted and they were black. I don't mind black eyes; Hagrid has black eyes and I like him very much; but Fowl's eyes were black and cold. Kinda like Snape's. Fowl's cheeks were kinda flabby in my opinion. And he acted differently towards me when my mother wasn't around.
When My Mom is Here:
Fowl: Hello, Oliver! I heard you like flying! Are you any good?
Me: I think so
Fowl: That's great; I know a player for the Chudly Cannons. Maybe you'd want to be a Quidditch player when you grow up?
Me: I wanna be the Keeper
Fowl: ::laugh:: You know a lot about Quidditch don't you?
When My Mom is NOT Here:
Fowl: It's Oliver again
Me: Hi
Fowl: Look kid, me and your mom are gonna need some time alone tonight so do you mind keeping your smelly farty self out of the house? You know, stay outside for the night?
Me: ...
Fowl: You best get out tonight. You know what I would do.
I didn't tell my mom the things he said to me because he told me he would hurt her if I did. He told me he would kill me if I ever disobeyed him. So again, I fell away from my parents again. And my mom proved to be a liar when she said that she wasn't going to ignore me again. My schedule returned to as usual.
I have a few bruises from Fowl. See this one? On the arm? he hit me with the clock. I told my mom that he called me a skinny fucking dumbass and she got mad at him. Foul Fowl got out of it by denying it. And he luckily brought flowers for her when she confronted him, so her anger was pretty much cooled down. But he encountered me afterwards and beat me with the closest thing- which was the clock. On the arm. The same spot. Continuously. I tried to run away, but he was faster and stronger than me. I screamed and cried, but my mom was out in the garden. The walls of our house proved to be strong and soundproof. By the way, the clock broke. Fowl made me tell my mother that I was running in the house and I bumped into the clock, which is how I got the bruise, and the clock fell and... broke.
For every seen bruise, every scar, every broken bone, I had to lie about it. I had to say that I hurt myself while flying, that I got into a fight with someone, or that the dog [Golden Retriever. Name is Lucky Charms.] bit me. I even had to lie to my uncle, the one I trusted most, but I think he had an idea of what I was going through. My uncle has a really sharp eye and has rightfully earned the title of Sherlock Holmes. My lies broke my spirit and self esteem. I acted different at home. For example, I was silent. The only time I felt good about myself was when I was on my Clean Sweep Three. I was sensitive about lying because first of all, I didn't want to do it. Second of all, I believed it was a quality of a Slytherin, and both my parents were Gryffindors. It felt... wrong. I wanted HIM [my father] back. I knew how to deal with his silence, but I had no idea how to deal with Fowl's abuse. At least HE didn't walk in front of me, push me, yell at me for walking into him [when it was the other way around] and beat me. I was scared peeless and was alone in my torture. Yes, I hated him. Most of all, I wanted him to die and suffer in bloody hell.
I was pretty happy when I got my Hogwarts Acceptance letter. Aside from the fact that it showed that I was no Squib, it meant that I got to be away from home. Fowl was sucking away my mother's money- Sickle by Sickle. My uncle saw it as well and tried to warn her, but she refused to listen, claiming that 'he loved her back and wouldn't do anything like that'. My uncle told her she dreamt too much about true love. So he took a few precautions, using his connections in the Ministry of Magic, he ensured that Fowl won't put our family into debt and poverty. Meaning that he can't get his filthy hands on some of our wealth. I like my Uncle Tom a lot. Not because he sees Fowl the same way I do, but because he likes to laugh and make jokes. He's the merry one in our family; but also the most dedicated-to-his-work one. They say I got my stubbornness from him. But anyway, my mom and Fowl were there on platform 9 3/4 on King's Cross to see me off to the Hogwarts Express. At least Fowl had the decency to not keep her from doing that.
So I came to Hogwarts with my books, my robes, my quills and ink bottles, and I snuck my trusty broomstick in too. Remember when I said that my spirit was broken? It was rebuilt here, in Hogwarts, with the help of my friends (I suppose I DO have to give the twins some credit) and by playing Quidditch and enjoying the freedom with thirteen other people on the field. And now I look back at all I wrote, found out that I went on a tangent towards the end, but eh. At least I took the time to write all this. Now my hand is tired. Oh! I forgot to mention that in my fourth year, I recieved a letter alerting me of my mother's divorce of Fowl. Looks like he was cheating on her for quite a while and stole her pearl necklace and sold it. Don't ask me how she found that out. Must've been Uncle Tom's investigation, that sneaky dog.