Chapter Nine | A Life Better Left Untouched


A few things happened at once after Oliver's lips touched mine, and I wasn't sure if they were good or not. I mean, usually when guys kissed me, or when I kissed guys – I didn't usually give them much time to react, seeing as it was strictly for amusement purposes – I didn't feel quite so...faint of breath.

I hadn't even realized my fingers were desperately trying to catch the short strands of Oliver's hair until I came to my senses and pulled away. His lips certainly were invigorating – I wondered if any other women thought so. And well, that thought completely ruined the mood, and I once again spiraled into the endless reminder of my past, and my future.

I was once again taken aback when I realized just how intensely Oliver was staring at me. The rest of my body began to regain feeling, and I also realized how tightly Oliver was holding me. His arms were wrapped around me with such force that I was lost in another hopeless dream that took me a few seconds to pull away from.

When I did pull away from Oliver a moment later, his face was unreadable. I had a feeling that mine was as well. I wanted to desperately reach up and kiss him again, if only to console myself that it was real, and not just a figment of my imagination. Before I could allow myself the pleasure, however, Oliver pulled away fully and cleared his throat awkwardly.

"I...I'm sorry," he muttered, shaking his head as though surprised, "I have no idea where that came from. I mean...you're a Death Eater!" he chuckled at this, as though he considered his actions to be the most ridiculous thing he'd ever done.

Though the fact shouldn't have bothered me, I felt myself slowly lowering from the satisfaction of the kiss. I was quickly landing right back to my normal mask of evil and bitterness. I barked out a laugh, though it sounded more hollow than ever, and agreed, "That's right. How silly of you to forget. I suppose that should be a lesson to both of us, hmm?"

I was already turning away from him, and I had no idea what emotions he might be showing. I didn't really want to know, actually, for the idea of being here another moment made me sick to my stomach,

"What lesson would that be?" Oliver wondered, voice completely void of any feeling.

I jerked my chin toward him and smirked an awful, Slytherin smirk that sent shivers down his spine. Clutching the edges of my cloak, I prepared to apparate away, but before I did, I spat coldly, "Try not to get in my way, Wood, and I won't get in yours."

And in a manner that I seemed to have mastered, I disappeared before either of us could say anything else.

Later that night, while I laid on my couch and tried focusing on a new charms book, my mind couldn't stop remembering Oliver's grip around my waist...and the sudden but oh so mesmerizing touch of our lips...and the way his eyes held a trust I never thought I'd see directed at me.

And, try as I might to put the moment behind me and convince myself that it had all been a mistake, just as Oliver claimed, I kept going back. I kept remembering the words my mother had spoken – the ones about how a man would one day fall in love with me and give me what I deserve. And though it went against every single moral and belief I'd ingrained within me, I found myself craving Oliver Wood's lips. That was what scared me the most.


Three weeks came and went. The winter chill was still very dense in the air, and it was no surprise why. February was hardly close to spring. I had tried to forget about Oliver Wood altogether during the past few weeks, but it was proving to be very difficult as of late. Voldemort was angry at me, for some unknown reason, and was forcing me to look into other aspects of Sports, alongside my 'job' on the Quidditch Pitch. I myself liked to call it 'babysitting'.

I knew I looked worse than ever, because somehow I had done something wrong. Only nights before Bellatrix had snapped, and we shared a duel that lasted no more than fifteen minutes. But it was enough to drain me of my energy and my normally hasty smirk. My lips, instead, stayed down in a self-depreciating scowl as I sat, hunched over, on the Quidditch pitch. Nowadays, there was rarely anything to console me. Which was why I was taking especial time to write out the letter before me.

It was a strangely sunny day, with no mud or remnants of rain at all. There were hardly any clouds in the sky, though the winds were chill and whipped around me regardless. The black cloak that was forever snatched around my figure flew in every direction as I pored over my letter. A bottle of ink sat beside me on the bleachers, and my quill was poised just above the parchment as I thought of words to write.

I hadn't seen my sister in many days, and since there was a sudden increase in things to do, I hadn't time to attend any Order meetings at all, though they've become more frequent lately. Nymphadora had already attempted to get a hold of me, and I needed to tell her about the strict security that was consuming my life in case she dug herself a ditch. Trying to reach me now would be liked sentencing yourself to a lifelong prison cell in Azkaban.

"Whatcha got there?" came a voice, sudden and unexpected by my ear.

I flinched and hurried to fold up my letter, hiding it from prying eyes. When the letter was safely pressed against my chest, I turned to look at the person who had addressed me. I was shocked to find Oliver Wood leaning against the bleacher railing, arms crossed lazily over his stomach as he gazed at me. There was no particular emotion within his eyes; a languid wall of brown was all I saw within them. It wasn't like the other day, all those weeks ago, when I could see everything he was thinking.

"It's nothing," I spat, eyes narrowing in near genuine anger. Uptight was a good word to describe my current state. What with the new onslaught of jobs I had to undertake, and the upcoming battle I knew would happen, I was nothing short of agitated. It seemed as though I hadn't enough time to do everything I wished.

Oliver raised a brow at me – pointed and doubting. He gently pushed off from his perch on the railing and shrugged. His voice remained uncaring, "Not that it bothers me," he began, face lapsing into unnerving dispassion, "but if you're writing to one of your fellow cult members, I'd hope it isn't about the team."

My eyes narrowed even more, but I didn't look at him. Head turned almost painfully away, I tried to think of words to retaliate. On any normal day, those words would fly from my tongue without any thought...but today it was different. I struggled to breathe, feeling lightheaded and unsure; my fingers gripped my letter tightly and possessively, as though suspiciously waiting for Oliver to snatch it from my hands.

"I..." trailing off, I saw Oliver's brow raise a little higher. I cleared my throat, suddenly standing. Without any other explanation, I began walking away, letter now wrinkling due to the tight grip my hand was exerting upon it.

Surprised, Oliver watched me walk away with the slightest bit of worry in his eyes. Just before I disapparated, he swore he saw one single sentence scrawled in strange, delicate cursive.

' – be fine. Don't return this message, Nymphadora; they're watching me.'


Oliver's POV

He wasn't sure what to think. Standing before this small, simple house made him feel rather foolish. 'Will they remember me...?'

Somehow, Oliver doubted they would...but then again, he was a professional Quidditch player. It would be impossible to forget about him...right? With a slightly nervous hand, he knocked upon the door.

Immediately, a few things happened at once. Bouts of yelling erupted within the house – quite plausible to Oliver's sensitive ears. Or maybe it was just because Molly was screaming so very loudly...

The door burst open, and two heads of bright red hair nearly blinded him. Oliver could only just make out the faces of his old team mates before they all but pounced on him, tackling him to the ground with excited shouts.

"Oliver's here!" someone – George? – shouted, grinning roguishly. He was the first to get off, and nudged his brother from Oliver's shocked figure before helping the poor man up, "What brings you to our humble abode, Mr. Wood, oh great Professional Quidditch Keeper?"

Oliver raised a brow – he should have known these two would blow up his title. Fred (he thought) grinned as well, and immediately Oliver was overtaken by their twinned expressions.

"I...ah, well – " he was cut off by the figure of Molly Weasley as she came ambling from the house.

"Oliver, dear! It's been years – years! Come in, come in, and make yourself at home," she all but pushed the Quidditch player inside, and then continued speaking, "Are you hungry? Oh, you look wonderful – all the Quidditch is doing you well!" at this, the twins began rolling their sleeves back and imitating Oliver's fit muscles. Molly clacked her tongue at them, "Oh stop it, you two."

Before Oliver could protest, a steaming bowl of soup was placed before him, along with a spoon and napkin. As Molly rushed to get a tall glass of milk, the boy spluttered out a weak, "Oh, no, that's quite alright...oh, why not...thank you, Mrs. Weasley...lovely, really, great hospitality..."

The twins were chuckling by the end of his confused drabble. Oliver tucked into his meal, shoveling a spoonful of the soup into his mouth. Before he could even swallow, however, Fred jumped up and wondered, "Why are you here, Oliver? Just wondering, of course," he grinned, and George finished, "And if it's not too much trouble, would you mind giving us your autograph?"

Fred chortled, "We figure it might get us a good lot of money."

Molly shook her head in an almost hopeless way and sighed, "An explanation might help, I suppose...unless you just wanted to visit?" she asked, sitting down at the table along with Fred and George.

Oliver didn't ask where the other Weasleys were. He knew that Ron was gone, out with Harry and Hermione in the run. He knew that Percy had long since put the family behind his job. Oliver didn't want to resurrect painful memories – for he was sure he would, if he inquired.

He cleared his throat, "Actually...it's about Tonks."

Brows were raised. Confused, Molly leaned forward and gestured for him to go on. Oliver cleared his throat again, uncomfortable, and asked, "Her full name...it's Nymphadora, isn't it?"

He wasn't well adept with the Order of the Phoenix, or any of it's members, but he was sure this woman was a part of it. Having never have met her, Oliver felt rather silly asking about her, but his curiosity was so great that he couldn't help it.

"Well, yes, it is," Molly responded, still unsure about Oliver's questions, "Why are you asking?"

Rather than answering her own question, Oliver asked another. It was burning on his tongue, and in a quick manner, he blurted, "She has a sister...?"

He hadn't meant to voice his words as such, but it did the job well enough. The suspicious glances cast between the Weasleys certainly had him on edge. George spoke up, "That's quite an inquiry, Oliver. Tell us why you want to know."

Oliver sighed. His fingers tangled in his short hair. Casting his eyes directly into Molly's, he responded, "I know Belladonna personally, Mrs. Weasley. You must understand, I'm not trying to scrounge around her history or anything. I'm just worried...she doesn't seem...like a – "

"Death Eater?" Fred supplied suddenly. His eyes had a dazed look in them, but he seemed to be very in tune with the situation; he sat straight, fingers clutched together, and seemed to be very mature. It was rather unnerving to Oliver.

"That's because she's not...actually," Fred continued, lips curving upward into a mischievous smirk. Molly sent him a warning glance, but Fred merely continued, "What I want to know...is why you're so worried about her, Oliver."

The boy cleared his throat once more. His heart hammered in his chest, and his thoughts swirled together in confusion and misunderstanding. Why did he care about her, and why was he so worried? Oliver couldn't think up an answer; he merely stared hard into the wood of the table, until finally he gazed up into the bright eyes of his friends, "I'm not sure. I just have a feeling that she's in trouble, that's all."

The hard stares being directed at Oliver made his palms sweaty. Fingers clutched at the sides of his jeans, he swallowed thickly and watched as the twins exchanged looks. There was something in their eyes that had Oliver on edge. Shifting uncomfortably, he wondered, "Well? Are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

A tiny chortle escaped George's – or was it Fred's? – lips. His eyes sparkled in amusement, "Oliver, mate, why don't you ask her yourself?"

And, gesturing to the door, Oliver followed his gaze and nearly jumped in shock at the woman standing in the threshold, cold and gaunt and staring with wide, unseeing eyes directly at him.

Her lips moved soundlessly, and for a moment, Oliver thought it might be some wandless spell that rolled from her tongue. But after a moment, when nothing happened, Oliver realized that nothing was terribly wrong...except maybe that a Death Eater was standing in Molly Weasley's house.

Finally, after a long, drawn out moment of utter silence, Belladonna's lips curled into a sneer that was very familiar to Oliver. Her hand moved to clutch onto the edge of the door, and her other hand was positioned in a strange place at her stomach. Her fingers curled into her black cloak, pulled so tightly around her that it looked like death itself had claimed her body.

Surprisingly, Belladonna did not address Oliver. She merely sent him a glare of the utmost hatred before wobbling into the kitchen and collapsing into one of the many chairs. It was then that Oliver realized something was wrong.

"Belladonna, dear, you're hurt!" Molly exclaimed, bustling around the table to hover above her. She waved her hand and murmured a soft, cold 'I'm fine', before pressing her elbow to the table and gazing up at the woman.

"I won't ask what he's doing here," she sneered, not even bothering to give him a look, "But I suppose you'll fix up his memories so that he won't remember this unfortunate meeting, hmm?"

Oliver didn't appreciate being spoken about when he was sitting right beside her. He opened his mouth to argue, but was cut off by a strangely solemn Fred, "So...What's going on in the Ministry?"

At the question, her eyes took on a frightfully dark look. It was different from her normal glare, which could have frozen any living thing within a mile's radius. There was a wilted sort of sadness in her expression, almost as though she was carrying a merciless burden that she couldn't seem to shake; she had tried to, but after all her useless attempts, she had shriveled up inside herself and didn't bother anymore.

With a shrug of her thin shoulders, Belladonna answered, "They're getting ready." Oliver was about to ask what it was they were getting ready for, but Belladonna beat him to it. In a weary voice, as though all her time had run out on her, she finished, "You know...for the battle."

Whatever she was speaking of, it surely sounded bad. Oliver watched the facial expressions of those around him. If their grave countenances were of any help, he was right in thinking this battle would not be a crusade.

"So soon...?" Molly whispered, lips thinning as she stared wildly at Belladonna's face. The other woman seemed more withdrawn than Mrs. Weasley, as though she had long since come to terms with the shortness that they had. Though the shock was great, neither lingered on that topic for long. Molly quickly wondered, "And what about you, dear? How are you feeling?"

Belladonna moved her hand to flick away an invading strand of hair, "...Don't worry about me. I'm more concerned with Potter. You've seen the article in the paper, haven't you?"

This time, Oliver knew exactly what was being said. The news involving the most recent location of The Boy Who Lived was far from trivial. After Bathilda Bagshot was found dead in her house – in the same neighborhood that Potter was born in – there was no doubt that he'd taken a short visit. Oliver was just curious on why Belladonna was so concerned about this information. (Shouldn't she be a little more angry about the fact that he got away? And what in hell's name was she even doing here at all?)

Molly Weasley nodded slowly, fear rising up upon her features, "Yes, yes, of course. Oh, I do hope they're all ok..."

Belladonna didn't say anything to that. She merely stared hard at the wall opposing her blankly. Oliver was just beginning to filter out the strange information he'd received when she suddenly jumped up, discomfort written about her face.

"I must go," her hand was clutched to her forearm in a similar way, and Oliver felt dread overcoming him.

Mrs. Weasley stood as well, two hand on the table as though to support her weary self, and nodded. It was all happening so quickly, and Oliver wasn't sure if he was dreaming or not. He stood up just as suddenly as her, "Wait!"

He held in a shiver when Belladonna's darkened eyes found him. Her face was ridden in annoyance, and it was only intensified as the curly curtain of her hair fell into her face. Her voice was just as cold as her eyes were, "The Dark Lord waits for no one, Wood."

With a flurry or robes, Belladonna was out the door before Oliver could say 'Quidditch'.


First of all, I'm so dreadfully sorry for not updating like a good little writer D=

Second, I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed, new and old. I haven't been on FF in months and hadn't seen ANY of the feedback whatsoever. When I checked in today I was like 'PEOPLELIKEMEYAYY!' - my smile was huge~! So thank you so much for reviewing! I've just come back from seeing Harry Potter in the theater - I hadn't seen it yet cause I don't like the crowds :3 I can promise now, since I'm very inspired after seeing the movie, that more chapters will be coming out very soon ^^

My bleedingheartbeatingneedsyou: Quite a long username. Figure since I seem to be remarking on them I might as well say that XD Anyway, your review had me laughing. Belliver is brilliant! (Sort of reminds me of Justin Beiber and all his crazy names, but ah well~) Let me know if you come up with anything else!

MistressWiggle: Love the username. But more importantly, love the reviews! You've been the source of my inspiration for Chapter 9 and made me smile quite a lot throughout your many reviews. I've read and re-read your feedback and I have to say that you've got some good points. I'll have to have to make Belladonna suck it up some more, hmm? After all, I can't have a suicidal OC! D= And I guess I never really explained the family thing, so I'll try my best right now. (Cause I don't know how I'll fit it into the story )

Belladonna's mother is Andromeda Black - or, as of now, Tonks. Her father is in Azkaban Prison and is a Death Eater. He's never mentioned in the books and therefore is a character of my own making. Andromeda had Belladonna back before Ted Tonks was a part of her life, which means she was still associated with the Darker side. Her relationship with Belladonna's father was more or less a fling. She hadn't meant to get pregnant and he certainly had no desire to become a father. The mother and daughter were immediately shut out of his life once he found out.

As for Nymphadora, I believe I mentioned that she was Belladonna's half sister in the first or second chapter? Obviously Nymphadora is Ted Tonks and Andromeda's daughter, which makes her Belladonna's half-sister. Belladonna is in no way related to Ted Tonks, but she thinks of him as the father she never had. (Of course, in this story, Ted Tonks has already been killed.) I hope that sums it up for all of you - I know many of you were confused as to her real father. He's still alive and will probably come back before I finish it! (Which, of course, I've every intention of doing~)

Feel free to drop a review on your way out =D