Stuck Without you
Thunder and lightning always leave a feeling of bitterness in his stomach. They bring back memories of his mother and father's nearly unending arguments. They make him want to hide beneath his covers at Hogwarts, even now as an eighteen year old. Only now he can't hide under the warm blankets that promise good nights sleep with dreams bathed in golden light. No. Now he has to face this storm in a cold, sterile house, sitting across from his furiously pissed off mother.
Loud cracks of thunder echo around Oliver Wood's small house, each one seemingly closer than the last. He merely sits still, flinching ever-so-slightly every time he hears another one. He can only think that she might be out there, stuck in the rain. But then he realises that she would have Disapparated. And then he remembers that she's too young to Disapparate, and so the worry settles in, seeping under his skin.
In the corner of his eye, he sees a quick flash of lightning before the room fades to black again. He can't be arsed to light the lamps - he's too tired. His wand sits next to him, but he's fine sitting the complete darkness. He likes the way it envolopes him, like a safety blanket from his mother's accusing eyes.
"Oliver," she starts, but another clap of thunder stops her. Even when it's gone she remains silent once more. Oliver's glad - he doesn't want her lecture right now - but he can't help feeling a little bit guilty. He starts to shake his head before he stops himself and tries to remain composed - even though no one can see him.
Katie, Katie, where's Katie? His thoughts are drowning in worry . . . almost drowning him. They want to suffocate him; they're leaving him breathless.
"Oliver?" His mum's voice sounds concerned, and Oliver realises he's been gasping for breath for a while now. Another crack thunder breaks the settling tension, followed a little while alter by another flash lightning, exposing his mother's worn face for a second, before it disappears once again. "Oliver . . ." she says again, this time with uncertainty in her tone.
He says nothing, but Bernadette Wood is a persistent woman (where did you think Oliver got his persistent nature from?) and so she tries again, this time moving to sit next to her son.
"Oliver, that girl is only fifteen. She's still in bloody school for Merlin's sake, Ol." More thunder sounds, but the lightning doesn't follow this time. Oliver remains silent, his nearly white lips the only indication he's annoyed at his mum. He wants to tell her - so badly - that he loves Katie, that her catching them in bed together does not make their relationship seem 'cheap' or 'wrong', even though he knows that their relationship is partially wrong while she's still at school. He also wants to tell his mother that it's not the first time they've had sex. But he bites his tongue; he knows only words she would not approve would fall out of his mouth unwarranted.
More thunder. He flinches again, once again worried about Katie's reaction to the noise. He knows she's indifferent to thunder storms, but the worry doesn't seem to dissipate like he wants it to.
A loud sigh heaves its way out of Bernadette's mouth before she grabs Oliver's hand, jerking him to face her. "Tell me," she demands, squeezing his hand, "Why you seem to always be with Katie? She . . . she's only fifteen. There's loads of pretty, older girls bursting for your attention - but you choose to sleep with the underage one. Why? That's all I want to know."
"Because - because - I - she . . . Mum, it's hard to explain." It isn't, not really, but the word love doesn't seem to want to form on his tongue, so he babbles like he's a crack head until something appropriate surfaces in his mind.
Bernadette takes in a sharp, releasing his hand. Rain patters against the windows, and Oliver's heartbeat picks up. What if Katie's out in that? He knows her parents don't live too far away - but it's not like they live right next door.
"Is it a sick little game? Are you just going drop her like a pin?"
Oliver shakes his head, eyes wide with distaste at that thought. He would never ever ever do that to anyone . . . especially note his Kates. "Of course not," he replies quickly, his voice gruff. Bernadette smiles somewhat softly at her son.
"Oliver," she says gently, taking his hand again – this time as a gesture of love. "Do you love her?" He nods vehemently. "Then go find her."