8
OLLIE breathed in a shaking breath as he crept towards the bed, where she laid as still and lifeless as the last time that he had gotten a glimpse of her when he had followed Tonks up here. The young man felt himself give a sharp intake of breath.
The young witch was even more breathtakingly beautiful than he remembered her being a few hours ago.
The Legilimens stiffened and tensed his posture the moment he saw the blonde woman's brow crinkle a bit, but other than that, she made no movement and didn't wake, for which he was glad.
He did not want her to see him like this.
Brennan admittedly wasn't sure if he should be concerned or relieved that she still had not woken up.
She had fallen and hit her head on the sidewalk and had broken her ankle, not to mention her hand was the most grievous out of all of her injuries, as he reflected back on the Healer's words to him.
Had she hit her head harder than he thought? Was there a possibility the young witch had a concussion?
Ollie stood there a fraction of a second longer before moving further into the room and as gingerly as he could so as to not disturb her, stood by her side, though he made no move to sit at the edge of the young woman's mattress, for he had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that the moment he sat, the slight jostling movement would wake her, and her seeing her was the last thing he wanted given his current vulnerable state of mind.
Though his fingers gave a spasmodic little twitch, and Ollie felt a sudden urge to touch her.
His mind became stuck on this one thing only, and he could not quite shake the budding sense of annoyance that prickled down his spine and had begun to spiral as a strange warmth in his chest.
He tightened his shaking hands into fists at his side to prevent himself from acting on this sudden inexplicable urge to reach out and sweep the young witch's blonde bangs off of her forehead so he could get a better look at her features, his knuckles practically white-boned and shaking with the effort to restrain himself from acting on the urge to do it.
As Ollie continued to stare at the still form of the sleeping young witch, he allowed himself the fleeting feeling of gratitude that he had arrived in time to save her life, that Rookwood hadn't killed her.
There was a strange pressure in his chest that seeped as warmth into his body as he looked at her. It was admittedly one of the strangest feelings that he had ever encountered, a foreign, almost forgotten feeling that invoked long-forgotten urges.
Thoughts he had not had since thinking of Tonks. He was skeptical of it at first, unable to understand whether or not what he felt in his chest as the warmth surged and spiraled all the way up to his spine and down to the tips of his toes was something that Ollie wanted to feel repetitive.
This was a new desire for him. He wanted to touch this witch to know that she was really real. But Brennan couldn't bring himself to do it though. He did not know this witch, it would be highly inappropriate, considering their status as partners, and they had not met, much less talked.
Just being in close proximity to her like this was enough to make the former Slytherin lose his breath and suddenly feel quite weightless, dizzy. It seemed as if he forgot the proper way to breathe as his throat suddenly went dry and his palms, still clenched into fists, begun to sweat.
What…what in Merlin's name…was this? What was he feeling? Why did this witch who he did not know to make him feel this way? What happened? So many questions and no one to ask them to. He surely couldn't go to Dora and Remus with this.
Swallowing down hard past a lump in his throat, Ollie shook his head to clear his mind and continued to stand at the edge of her bed, staring.
"Professor Dumbledore," he called out in a low, hushed tone that was almost a whisper as Ollie turned his head sanguinely to the left to meet Albus's questioning blue eyes. "What if she's hungry when she wakes up? Could Molly make her a plate?"
Professor Dumbledore's cobalt blue eyes twinkled from behind the lenses of his silver half-moon spectacles, as his beard twitched without prompting and he inclined his head as he nodded.
"I will tell her to prepare something for her. If she's hungry when she wakes, she will eat," he murmured, pursing his lips into a thoughtful line.
Ollie noticed the aging old warlock's almost pensive stare as a vein in the man's brow twitched.
He furrowed his brows in a frown as his gaze flitted from Dumbledore's and to the woman.
"What? What is it? What's wrong? Is it her wounds, sir?" he breathed, not bothering to hide the note of panic that seeped its way unbidden to the surface, though he was not sure why this was, really.
"Ah, no, it is not that, Mr. Brennan, not at all," Dumbledore explained after a moment, jumping slightly as the Headmaster was jolted out of his thoughts. "I was merely woolgathering for a moment. Now that I see her up close in better lighting, I recognize this woman. She was a student at Hogwarts around your time, Brennan. She was a Gryffindor if memory serves. Born to Muggle parents that died at quite an early age, and the poor dear is like Mr. Lupin, I am afraid. Thus far, she and Remus are the only two werewolves to have ever attended Hogwarts."
Ollie felt a wash of cold inexplicably waft over his body, rendering himself feeling as though he had been doused in a bucket of ice water. His mind felt like it was reeling.
She was…a wolf?! But…she surely didn't look like the werewolves he had met throughout his life when he'd still lived under Father's roof. There were no scars like Remus's that littered her visage. Her face remained untouched, so how…? Ollie gave his head a shake to clear his mind.
"What's her name?" he breathed in a hoarse, rough voice. "Tell me," Ollie demanded in a low voice that could only be described as a low growl.
Professor Dumbledore merely proceeded to raise his grey eyebrows in alarm as he turned to regard the young Slytherin and Legilimens with a look of utter astonishment on his lined features.
"What would be the fun in revealing that to you? I do believe, that remains why we are here, Mr. Brennan, but considering the poor thing is still deep in the throes of sleep, we cannot ask her." Noticing Ollie's crestfallen expression, Albus Dumbledore allowed a dark little chuckle to escape his lips. "Why not try speaking to the young woman? I've heard talking to one in a night of deep sleep can sometimes rouse them, cause them to become more aware of their surroundings. Talk to her…"
Ollie startled, feeling what little color remained in his face drain completely, and the blood rushed to his face and eardrums as his heart thrummed wildly against its cage.
Could he…could he talk to her?
Was it really that simple? Father had always taught him to be wary of witches that weren't' purebloods, and his father's words flitted through his mind.
Oliver, as time passes, the seductions of women will never die, but you must fight this urge. His heart tremored within him as Father's menacing baritone voice clouded his thoughts. If you should ever bring home a witch that is anything less than pure and noble blood, I should flay you alive until there's no skin left on you, boy.
The memory of Father's voice the last time they had spoken shortly before Ollie's graduation from Hogwarts in his seventh year was clouded, but the dark-haired, blue-eyed former Slytherin could still recall his father's cold and daunting glower.
Gods be damned, but he felt…wrong, or more so, what he was feeling right now was wrong.
It just had to be. Father had instilled in Oliver at a young age to be wary of witches who weren't pureblooded, to never trust them, but no matter how hard Ollie had tried to believe and follow in Father's advice, after Tonks had come into his life, he couldn't.
A sudden and sharp pain thrashed through his heart. How could what he was feeling possibly be true? Tonks. And for some strange reason, this girl.
How could both of them be evil?
Tonks had been the one to show Ollie what it meant to be kind and had changed the way he viewed the world the moment she had spoken up for him during a hearing at the Ministry of Magic where he had been called in to testify against one of his former friends.
Their bond was forever inseparable, no matter whom Dora married, and as much as his heart ached for Tonks to be his, his dream could never come to fruition.
She had chosen Remus, not him.
The moment of the young woman's serene blue eyes opening when he'd held her outside the front steps of Headquarters drenched his memory.
Ollie never would have imagined a witch besides Tonks could invoke these old, forgotten feelings yet, here he stood, broken, scarred, beaten, but still nevertheless very much feeling…feeling… Feeling what? His brow furrowed in a frown as he wracked his brain trying to determine just exactly what it was that he was feeling right now.
Whatever he was feeling, something deep within Ollie fought against it. These feelings were light and breathless, yes, but underneath it all, there was something dark lurking within the man's heart.
This 'wrong' feeling. Not only did he feel 'wrong' by looking at this young witch this way, but a snakelike voice that sounded entirely too much like his former Head of House and now fellow Order member, Snape, sat at the back of his mind.
It taunted poor Ollie Brennan. His blue eyes were left unblinking, his breaths hitching in his throat.
You are truly pathetic. The voice was a mixture of Snape and his father's, Jack's voice. You have not learned your lesson at all, Oliver, have you? These intrusive thoughts left Ollie speechless. Oh! And what would Dora say to all of this?
Ollie let out a barely audible moan and a heavy hand found its way to his face, though he dared not tear his gaze away from the young blonde witch still unconscious on the bed. Ollie tightly snapped his tired eyes shut in an attempt to drown out the voices.
The mocking tone was laced with judgment and a sickening amusement that made his stomach churn and a coil in his gut twist until he thought he might be sick.
Unfortunately, he was familiar with the tone.
Did you love Tonks? Truly love her. From what it looks like, you've moved from one girl to the next, you're no better than Black, flitting through them like they're just scrolls of parchment.
"No!" Ollie's cracking voice erupted from the confines of his chest, throat, and lips as though this single utterance would be the silencer to the disgusting voices that mocked him in his mind.
His shallow breaths worsened as the seconds passed, and if Professor Dumbledore, who still stood patiently next to Ollie, was at all disturbed by Ollie's speaking to himself, he made no mention of it.
"Y—you're w—wrong. I—I'm happy…" he choked out, burying his head in his hands, pieces of black hair sticky every which way as they tangled his fingers as he seized on a tuft of hair and tugged.
The poor bloke was practically hysterical at this point. Ollie's lungs burned as the air thrashed in and out of him at a speed that he couldn't slow down to save his life.
The thundering of his heart beating numbed his chest, his throat hollowing and tightening. Ollie was sure slick tears would slip from his eyes at any moment.
He tried in vain to fight down the salty liquid and looked around the room for something to distract his thoughts with.
His gaze, yet again, landed on the young witch and he recollected Professor Dumbledore's words.
If she were in pain, and this witch laying motionless was looking more dead than alive on the bed did happen to be in pain, he wanted to be able to do something about it, though he, the monster that he was, thanks to Jack Brennan's upbringing, did not deserve such a celestial-like creature by his side, still wanted to try to help her in what way he could.
But what the bloody hell on Merlin's green earth could he honestly do that the Healer already hadn't, other than ensuring Mrs. Weasley brought up a plate for her in case she got hungry when she woke? Could he…could he perhaps speak to the girl?
One glance at the Headmaster out of the corner of his eye told Ollie that Dumbledore was not going to help him out with this, judging by the twinkling sheen in the older wizard's light bright blue orbs.
Ollie's stomach churned and revolted at such a thought, but considering she still showed no signs of waking up, he saw no harm in what it could do.
Maybe Albus is right, he thought wildly, biting down on his lip in a nervous fit of agitation. Perhaps it would pull the woman from her unconsciousness.
It was worth a try, at the least. Taking a cautious half step forward towards the young witch's bed, Ollie nervously cleared his throat.
"Ah, h—hello," he whispered, his voice suddenly was quite hoarse and he felt as though he were making a bloody fool of himself, thinking this could not possibly get any more awkward than it already was, though as he glanced back over his shoulder to gauge Dumbledore's reaction, he was relieved to see the Headmaster and Order of the Phoenix give him a light, encouraging nod, urging him to continue.
Steeling his breath, he exhaled a puff of breath before continuing.
"Y—you're probably confused, thinking…h—how the bloody hell did you wind up in this mess. I know I—I sure am," Ollie stammered. His blue eyes widened in shock.
Oh, gods be damned, that could be taken utterly the wrong way, and he immediately stammered and began trying to correct himself.
"N—not that I blame you for what happened, of course. I—I don't usually find myself in a position where I have to save a woman," he joked weakly, letting a soft, albeit nervous chuckle escape his lips as he twisted his hands together. "We're going to be partners. I…look forward to getting to know you. For what it's worth, and my word isn't much, but…I'm glad you're here with us. And safe."
Ollie desperately wracked his brain for something more to say, but the shy, damaged Slytherin could not for the life of him, not even if he were being held at wandpoint, formulate his thoughts into words, at least not any that would make sense.
It did not help his spiking anxiety levels or his blood pressure that he was afraid the blonde creature on the bed would wake up at any moment, and once she got a good look at him, at his face, she'd want nothing to do with the scarred, broken bastard that he had always known himself to be in this life.
This was admittedly something Ollie had been hoping to avoid thinking of for a while, if, once this woman, this stranger, woke and she saw the broken bastard standing in front of her, cracked and taped together at the seams, but very much feeling, what she would think of him, if of anything at all, really.
As he crept closer towards the bed, inching his way forward for a better look, it quickly became apparent that at least a little bit of color had returned to the witch's complexion. He knew he could not avoid meeting her face-to-face forever.
Though Ollie was well aware that the moment the young woman took one look at the scars that littered his face and extended their way down his neck and torso, though more specifically, at the burn mark that scarred under his right eye, from when his father had punished him with an Incendio Charm when he was only twelve years old, that just that alone would be enough to frighten the girl back into her state of unconsciousness if his face happened to be the first thing she laid eyes on.
Maybe lingering in the shadows of the room behind the door while Dumbledore did the talking when she woke up would be the best course of action for him to take, though it made him feel like such a Merlin-damned bloody coward, and he hated himself for it, though Ollie couldn't help it.
Gods be damned. He'd never had to deal with a problem of this magnitude before. Ollie felt his mind was racing. He'd not felt this nervous since he'd first met Tonks in his sixth year, and she was a third year.
Their relationship, at least his feelings for her, were forbidden, taboo. He'd rather not think about it. A fast hand found its way to his head as he brushed through his thick tuft of short black hair nervously. No.
He could not let her see him.
Though the thought of allowing the celestial like creature before him to see his wretched face, to look upon the burn mark that marred an otherwise handsome visage, it made him bloody nervous and his stomach to churn and swoop nauseously, it still gave Ollie something to hope for, that she'd wake.
Just then, the young blonde stirred in her sleep, making a small noise at the back of her throat, her eyelids fluttering a few times and her fingers snaking through the bedsheets as she rolled on her side.
Oh, damn, Ollie thought, grinding his teeth.
The fact that she stirred left the dark-haired Legilimens with a feeling of truly amazing conflict.
He could not let his newly appointed partner see his marred face, to let those piercing eyes of blue that reminded the man of his own see his burn scar just underneath his right eye that no salve or magic could heal.
A permanent reminder that Father hated him and Jack Brennan always would.
This, to let her see him, would be a brand new injury, a brand new humiliation, a new part of him that this witch would ultimately shatter. His sense of safety would be no more.
And yet, at the same time, there was a feeling of satisfaction at seeing the girl stir, knowing that she would wake, and soon Ollie could see her features more clearly for himself.
To look at the girl's beauty, wanting nothing but to bottle it for himself and keep it selfishly. It was not something he could articulate.
Thanks to his father, the concept of showing his emotions was a foreign thing to him, and this conflict within the former Slytherin caused his hands to tremble with rage.
He wanted to track down Father and kill him. Again, and again and again. He wanted to send the last and worst of the Unforgiveable Curses, the Killing Curse, straight to the man's chest and watch the light leave his eyes.
He wanted Father dead, but more importantly than that…he wanted this young woman to wake.
To look into her eyes, to see the brilliant pools of crystalline blue again. The woman made a noise, and Ollie went completely rigid as his limbs tensed and froze up, rendering him motionless and unable to move.
It was bloody happening, this was it, Dumbledore's advice of talking to the girl worked.
Merlin damn it, it had worked! He couldn't believe it.
She was waking up.
I love how nervous Ollie is around Norah. It's sweet and endearing in my mind. Coming up, she finally wakes, but what will her reaction be?