Note: This was bloody hard, like for real. I love writing, but Merlin, this chapter was tough, for reasons you'll see why in a second, but perhaps first, a little bit of background without getting too* much into it.
Ollie is a very damaged character, he was right from the start when I created him, in pretty much all of my versions of him, though it started in Worth the Risk. Coming from a family where all the men (save for him) were Death Eaters, and grew up in a severely abusive household, and as such, has a hard time trusting people.
His view of Norah is totally different when she's awake and yelling at him lol (he sees her as not Tonks and is still struggling to get a grip on his feelings for his best friend).
And I feel like, in the early stages of their partnership, they would either be attracted to one another or want to tear each other's throats out, but as we all know, there's a fine line between love and hate.
Ollie, considering he came from an abusive household, which I touch on later, doesn't know how to address these 'foreign feelings' he is getting for his new partner and is overwhelmed and does not know how to react or respond to these new feelings, or to Jameson.
I hope he isn't a bad or unlikeable character, but he IS flawed, and a bit rough around the edges, but hopefully Norah can soften him up, in time and it will be happening much sooner than we think.
There is maybe 1 swear word in this chapter, and I'm debating on possibly changing the rating, but I still want to keep it as close to a Harry Potter feel as I can, so let me know if I should.
I hope that you enjoy it, my lovely readers, and please if you liked it, don't hesitate to leave a review, follow, or favorite! Happy Reading!
15
OLLIE felt his words flee off him as he felt a horrible tightening in his jaw beginning to hurt as he looked towards his new partner, Jameson, with utter contempt. Their tense breaths were the only noises left audible in the room that was now filled with shadows.
There was no denying the stunning sensation he felt upon coming into close contact with Norah Jameson for yet the third or fourth time in one night, the first night of their new partnership that had gotten off so horribly, the ire that rendered him immobile, and a shame that forced him to swallow down past the growing lump in his throat as he leaned in close to her.
The light from his wand flickered wildly across the young blonde wolf's face as Ollie unceremoniously, perhaps a little too roughly than he would have liked, slammed her up against the adjacent wall of the room.
No doubt she was blinded by the light emanating from the tip of his wand, which he had deliberately thrust into Jameson's face to prevent her moving, but also fearful of what was going to become of her for trespassing.
Brennan smiled, feeling a sickening surge of satisfaction at her obvious discomfort around him. Good. She ought to be scared.
She had trespassed. He felt Jameson flinch as the tip of his lightened wand hovered dangerously close to her pale, pristine skin, but the wolf barely moved, thanks to his ironclad grip. For a werewolf, Jameson had surprisingly supple flesh.
Not at all rough and calloused like Remus Lupin's hands were. Letting himself sigh in an exasperation fashion, Ollie gave a weary sideways glance at the portrait of his recently-deceased father.
As much as he wanted to get to know his new Order partner better, he knew a bastard like him did not deserve such a delectable, beautiful creature as his partner, and it was better that she stays well away from him.
It was for her own damned good, and his as well, for he was not certain that he trusted himself around this prickly girl. He was an impatient man, eager to get this bloody over with.
She had trespassed into his room without his knowledge. She was guilty. He could tell just by the look on her face.
Of that, Ollie was absolutely sure. Lowering his wand in his hand, he turned his gaze lazily back towards the insolent piece of filth now cowering in front of him. What was Dumbledore thinking, pairing him with a werewolf?! As cute as the blonde witch was, there was no denying what she was, and Ollie was not sure he could work peacefully with an aggressive, prickly little she-wolf, who looked like she wanted nothing more than to dig her own fangs into the column of his throat.
Yes, he had saved her life, but he did not think that she could fully be trusted, but… But there had been that look just outside Headquarters when he'd held her in his arms, she had opened those bewitching blue eyes of hers.
Ollie blinked as those same two youthful, almond-shaped eyes stared back at him, widening in horror as Brennan locked his gaze with Norah Jameson's, and felt his throat start to tighten and constrict, feeling like it was cutting off his oxygen.
She was a beautiful woman, her status as a fully-fledged werewolf notwithstanding, of that, even Ollie could not deny it. He could feel her trembling beneath her hand as she was breathing heavily.
Jameson wasn't much in terms of height, with the tip of her nose barely reaching the top of his broad shoulders.
It would explain why she'd managed to hide for so long behind the door of his bedroom without giving herself away until he'd caught a glimpse of pale blue peering out at him from the shadows.
Ollie almost had to stop himself from smirking at her little achievement. She reminded him of a dog in a cage, one that he would try to help set free if she would let him. It was those haunting blue orbs of hers, that's what it was…
Ollie stared at her. He saw the blood drain from her face, making her even paler.
"How…kind of you to visit me, Jameson," he heard himself speak in a flat, listless, grating voice that he swore sent a shudder of fear down her spine as he thought he caught movement from the corner of his eye.
Jameson pursed her pale, perfect lips into a thin line and made a quick scan of Ollie.
"What brings you up here to see me this late?" he questioned in a calm and composed voice.
For a moment, as the young blonde she-wolf continued looking at him, Ollie felt rather self-conscious and decided to try to convince himself that he did not look funny at all.
"I…brought you food, Brennan. M—Molly made them." Her voice was faint, almost a whisper, as she gave a curt jerk of her head towards a small little plate of brownies that she'd set on the table pushed up against the wall, just underneath his father's portrait. "And…I was…lost…trying to find the…my—my room, sir, I—I didn't mean to…barge in like this," she confessed, lying through those fangs of hers, he could tell.
Ollie could read the woman's mind like an open book and almost snorted at the lie. He marveled at how his new partner could be so timid at the mere sight of him, how much he craved to touch her again, as he had earlier when she'd been knocked unconscious, knowing if he were to try again, she'd probably resist and fight his attempts to do it.
But there was a stronger urge, a baser instinct that he fought wildly against, urging him to reach up a hand and caress her cheek. He swallowed hard and clenched his fingers as they gave a twitch.
"Lost? This place," he added in a pleasant tone, glancing around his desolate bedroom, referring to the rest of Grimmauld Place, "is your home now, Jameson. How can you possibly be lost? Your room is across the hall from mine, Miss Jameson."
He lowered his arms and relinquished his grip on her arm, placing his arms strategically behind his back, careful not to startle her anymore than the werewolf already was.
Jameson breathed in a shaking breath and wet her lips with an almost dried-out tongue, not knowing how just that simple movement caused Ollie to feel a surge of heat in his chest.
They were barely an inch apart now, and to him, his new partner was even more beautiful up close, but then everything about this Norah Jameson girl was. Jameson pursed her lips into a thin line and scowled.
"I'm sorry to have barged in on you like this, Brennan. You seem…"
Her voice trailed off as her breath hitched in her throat as she looked towards the oil painting of his father, only seemingly just now noticing what looked like claw marks off to the side of his father's face, though she knew those markings well. Dagger-made. She swallowed past a lump in her throat.
"Tired." Norah finished her sentence lamely and actively refused to meet the man's gaze.
Ollie noticed the hint of unease on her voice and moved his hand to cover hers, which was practically shaking, and her knuckles white-boned, clutching onto the corner edge of the small table to steady herself.
He furrowed his black brows into a frown, feeling how violently her hands trembled at his gentle, delicate touch.
"Your fingers are freezing, Jameson. Your hands are like ice." He was calmer and more resolute than he had been earlier downstairs in Sirius's living room when Tonks had informed him of his father's death.
Neither of them could explain the peace starting to wallow his soul.
His fingers intertwined with hers, and neither of them could also explain the electric, jolting, tingling sensation that spread through both of their fingers.
"Let me…" Ollie heard himself speak in a gruff voice that did not at all sound like himself at all, but instead, that of his father, calm, resolute, and strangely cold. "Let me keep them warm for you…"
Even as he spoke the words, Ollie could hear Norah's spasmodic breaths as her breathing quickened, though her fear of him did not stop him from relishing the feel of her smooth palm against his as his thumb stroked its way over a scar on top of her knuckle. Her hand was bone white-, pale, perfect, small, soft, and pure against his callouses, his scars. It felt like the break of sunshine through the clouds after a long, brutal winter.
And it immediately ended when Jameson immediately shook her hand off, not having expected the sudden interaction between the two of them, her cheeks flushed with rosy color, her blue eyes placid and disturbed at the same time that he would try this at all.
Ollie looked away, stifling his growl of frustration, his emptied hand now forming a fist that felt more to him like a claw.
Jameson turned her head to the side to cough once to clear her throat and squirmed out of his grasp. With her back now facing him, her front facing towards the bedroom door, she spoke in a soft voice.
"I should…leave you alone now, Brennan." And at her words, every single bit of Ollie felt like it protested.
A moment ago, he had almost been in heaven, where he felt eerily apathetic with all the hurt that had been haunting him, plaguing his nightmares, and now his precious ticket to that sweet heaven was leaving him.
He could not let her leave him alone with just his thoughts for company.
Quickly, Ollie locked the werewolf within his scopes and formed a triangle with the edge of his table, his strong, scarred arms bracing the edges, with Jameson now trapped firmly between him.
His hands gripped on either side of the wood, not giving a damn if the table gave him splinters for it. The pain of the wood piercing his skin making him bleed was nothing if this sweet creature left his sight a second time.
He leaned in, her thigh accidentally brushing against his leg, and he heard the witch give off a small gasp.
The fine hairs on the back of Norah's neck stood upright. She was positively a trembling wreck at the feel of Brennan's face on her hair and seeing the glistening moisture of unshed tears in those cobalt blue orbs was too much.
"Go? But…you just got here, Jameson…"
Ollie leaned in, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled the scent of autumn. She smelled like pinewood, of the forest. Lupin did too. He briefly wondered if this scent was a wolf thing if all werewolves smelled like fall. She smelled like myrtle beside a clear stream, like fresh almonds, of fern, wild purple orchids, periwinkle blossoms. Jameson smelled like magic and sunshine, and Ollie, a creature of darkness and shadow, who'd spent his whole life isolated, inhaled her scent selfishly.
He wished he had a small glass vial that he could somehow bottle her scent, that he could hoard it and keep it for himself in a pocket of his shirt, close to his chest. Jameson looked up at him with defiant eyes as he lifted his hand and slowly grazed her cheek with the back of his hand.
He heard Jameson gasp at the sudden contact, and her cheek was shockingly warm. Ollie felt an urge to continue caressing her cheek. "So cold," he said. Nerves were beginning to work on him, his heart thundering against his chest.
He tried not to dip into her mind, Merlin, he tried, but he couldn't help it at all. Her being in such close proximity was leaving Jameson with such an amazing conflict. She did not feel safe around him, not yet, but…she was willing to try…but…someone, some dark man, another wolf, was after her…wanting to hurt her, kill her if she didn't listen.
It was not something she felt she could articulate.
"Who?" he growled in a low, coarse voice, causing Jameson's eyes to widen and glisten with even more tears. "Who's hurting you, Jameson? Another werewolf?" he demanded, cringing as he heard his voice rise an octave.
He forced himself to keep it together, swallowing back a lump in his throat. Jameson had already had a difficult night tonight as it was. Ollie did not want Jameson to fear him, but the thought of another man hurting her, whether they be a werewolf as she was, as Lupin was, or just a man, caused his hands to tremble with fierce rage.
He wanted to kill this nameless wizard. The only thing she was giving him was that someone was after her, but she was purposefully keeping his name secret.
Keeping him out! Blocking him! Ollie throttled the urge to roar like an enraged dragon at this. His new partner was in danger, and their partnership not off to the best of starts if she was hellbent on keeping the identity of her stalker a secret from him. He wanted to kill this man.
Again, and again and again, whoever he was, for reasons that he could not explain even if Ollie tried. He wanted to hear the bones crack, to watch the floor beneath their boots in his mind turn red with his blood.
Ollie wanted to see the light leave the man's eyes, though Ollie was abruptly pulled from his swirl of darkened thoughts at the sound of her voice. Her sweet, shy, quiet voice, like music to his ears.
"I came up to check on you," Jameson whispered in a meek sounding voice. Every muscle in Ollie's body was tense. Every cord pulled taut across his broad form. "We're partners, Brennan, like it or not," she whispered. "Don't you think that we should try to get along? Otherwise, the next several months for us are going to be a living nightmare, sir. Can we...try?"
She left her question hanging in the air. Norah Jameson was scared of him, of his burn mark, of him in general, it was written on her face.
Her voice trembled. A bead of sweat rolled down the back of his neck. The skin beneath his growing two-day jaw stubble itched. He remained standing in front of her, though he reluctantly relinquished his grip on Jameson's wrist.
Staring into the wolf's warm, pleading blue eyes, he felt his annoyance and anger quickly dissipate and vanish.
He'd heard of men, other wizards, he'd heard Father talk about it sometimes to men he worked with, forcing themselves onto unwilling young witches, but he had never agreed with such despicable, disgusting behavior.
There was nothing enjoyable in seeing a witch suffer like that, and though Ollie thought himself an immoral man, he was a Brennan after all, even he would never stoop that low. Tonks would bloody murder him where he stood if he ever were to try. Not that he would.
Glancing down at the small creature in front of him, however, he realized Jameson believed that to be his intention. He did not even have to read her mind to see it.
She stood there, watching him in pure anticipation, and Ollie realized that this was not what he wanted at all. She was scared. People got scared of him when they saw him out and about in Diagon Alley or Knockturn Alley. Pointed at the burn mark underneath his right eye. All the others had that look in their eyes as well.
"I'd like to try again with you, Brennan, if that's all right with you. Can we try to start over, get off to this partnership right, sir?" Jameson continued speaking hesitantly, her voice cracking as Ollie's breathing increased.
He sucked in large breaths through his nose.
The smell of apples, her shampoo, was practically flooding his olfactory senses now and overwhelming him. Electricity coursed through his wretched limbs. A raw, fiery passion. A need he didn't understand.
There were no words he could use to describe…this.
His fingers twitched. His lips parted as his body hardened. He felt overwhelmed with a sudden urge to kiss her.
"Brennan!"Norah's voice was shocked, her eyes wide as she looked at him in incredulity and disbelief.
Ollie jumped back, startled. His eyes found hers, utterly confused. His heart pounded against his ribs. Just a little bit closer. A little bit more. Her skin…it was so soft. So warm and inviting. He had never felt more confused.
He tilted his head, forcing his attention back to meet the young blonde witch's gaze.
Even now, she refused to be the one to look away first. He recognized her courage, wondering if she had been sorted into Gryffindor when she was at Hogwarts. The blonde werewolf was tougher than anyone gave her credit for.
She'd proven that tonight when she'd held out as long as she had against Augustus Rookwood. Finally, Ollie managed to regain control of his voice.
"I'd…like that. More than anything. I'm…sorry for…for this evening. I was…not myself, my...my father's death was...unexpected, and I...am having...difficulty managing my...my feelings, Jameson. If I hurt you, I apologize, I don't mean to," he managed to gasp out as a light pink blush of shame speckled its way along his cheeks. He watched as Jameson gave a curt nod, moving to turn away. When she spoke to him, she kept her back turned towards him.
"I forgive you. You should try to get some sleep." Her voice was curt, though he swore he heard a faltering crack and dip.
He wished he could see into her eyes, to see the shift within, to know what she was thinking. Her walls were up, not letting him in.
She did not bother to stifle the squeak of surprise that left her lips, however, when he, in a last-ditch effort to ask one last question of his new partner for the night, caught her by her wrist and prevented her from leaving yet again.
"Will you…will you stay with me, Jameson?" he asked, referring, of course, to their partnership.
He supposed he wouldn't blame Jameson if she went to Dumbledore first thing in the morning and told the old warlock of the despicable way he had yelled at her, treated her, and demanded a reassignment.
"And…" He hesitated, biting his lip. Ollie wasn't even sure he should be asking this question or not, but the query tumbled unchecked from his lips before he could even stop himself.
"What is it?" she asked, confusion evident in her voice as well as on her face.
"Do you believe that there's…someone out there for everyone?" he asked out of the void of his new partner, echoing something Tonks had said to him after dinner, that if he could get Jameson to look again, she might be impressed by what she finds in her partner.
The two of them just had to give each other a fighting chance. Her answer would help to cease the madness in his brain, to silence the dark, demonic voices, those damned entities that were telling him he was not good enough.
"Yes." If Norah Jameson was at all surprised by his question, then she hid it well, her face remained a perfect mask of neutrality, but it was those blue eyes of hers that felt to Ollie as though they were bearing straight through him and into his heart and soul, could see every desire.
And there, Ollie surrendered, letting go of her wrist, feeling moisture trapped behind his eyes, letting Jameson walk away from him yet again, for the third time.
Only now. He heard Norah sigh with what sounded like relief, perceiving the cage bars lifted from around her as he stepped back and allowed Jameson to walk by.
"You should get some sleep. Dumbledore wants us tomorrow to check out the…the murders near Diagon Alley. I'll be waking you up early, so get some rest. Not that you won't wake up earlier than I do, with the way that wretched little Kreacher skulks and bangs about this place, it's a wonder any of us sleep at all," Ollie blurted out, unable to keep the note of defeat from his voice, though it was momentarily lifted when he thought he saw the edges of the young witch's lips turn up in a smirk.
Norah immediately moved away from him and decided to see her partner for the last time tonight, before quickly ducking her head to continue her path towards his closed bedroom door to head for her room, not wanting the man to tell her a third time to go. But when her hand twisted the doorknob and opened the door, Ollie clamored within, desperate.
"Jameson." He called out to her one final time.
Jameson stopped midway from exiting his bedroom and silently waited for whatever it was that he wanted of her, despite only seeing his back unmoved from where she'd left her partner. Ollie turned his head down, so Jameson could only see the side of his profile, his blue eyes looking downward.
"Don't," he told her, his voice hard.
He could almost picture her furrowing her brows. "What…?" he heard her soft whisper of confusion.
"Don't believe it if you know what's good for you." Ollie felt Norah stun at his comment but dared not look up at her as he continued speaking.
"Why?" she asked, and he almost read her mind, but resisted it. The world around them was cruel, devoid of love. But he was surrounded by it daily, watching Lupin and Tonks, Molly and Arthur, Shacklebolt and his wife.
And perhaps, to this werewolf, the concept of love was not a phantasm. It was real but isolated, yes.
I don't have it.
"Because…I don't have it…" he whispered in a hoarse voice. He did not see the girl leave. Without even seeing Jameson, Ollie could imagine her staring plainly at him, and he knew she had left. Her footsteps faded, and once more, he was alone. Ollie heaved a tired sigh and collapsed onto the edge of his mattress, glancing down at his trembling hands.
He filled his mind with the image of Norah Jameson's face, her crystal ocean blue eyes staring up at him. He would be happy if those eyes were looking at him, in the same way, that Dora always looked at Lupin. Ollie wondered if Mundungus Fletcher would do him a favor.
He wanted to know more about her, and there was a strange look he'd shot the young blonde witch during dinner, when Jameson hadn't been looking in his general direction, and has such, had missed he'd seen it. Fletcher, the git, had such a look of terror on his pudgy features, he wondered if the man knew Norah.
Either way, he wanted assurance that Jameson would be his partner, no one else's, wanting to know what Jameson does when she wasn't around him, and that piece of trash Mundungus Fletcher owed him a solid favor anyways after getting him out of a rather tight spot with a well-known Death Eater a month back, Ollie he figured it was the least Mundungus Fletcher could do for him, considering the countless times now Ollie had covered and saved him from a spot.
He nodded slowly to himself as he collapsed back onto his bed's mattress, resting his head against the pillows, his entire body aching, and there was a constant feeling of fear that Jameson hated him, and this was only the first night of their partnership, not even a day into the arrangement.
Ollie could only think of what was to come for the two of them alone on their first mission tomorrow to go inspect the bodies of those poor souls.
Still, he shuddered slightly at the thought of what might have happened to the young blonde had he not Apparated onto the scene when he had. With deep, slow breaths, Ollie attempted to slow his pounding heart.
He wondered and wracked his brain, thinking about what he could have done to handle his little outburst and that whole unpleasant situation earlier in the living room parlor differently, but nothing came to his mind.
You did what you had to do. Now be strong. For you. For Jameson. She's counting on you to protect her. Grow up and get over yourself. You can't wallow in pity forever.
The words inside of his mind, self-deprecating thoughts were aimed rather viciously towards himself. It was how he used to survive Father's abuse, growing up. He would force himself to grow up faster. To stop being a whining, sniveling child.
It was eventually how he'd convinced himself to run away when he was sixteen years old. Ollie fled to Tonks's house, where Andromeda and Ted, Merlin bless their souls, had only been so happy to take in their daughter's best friend.
Now, he hoped that this same tactic would see him through this partnership with Jameson in the Order.
Ollie nodded slowly to himself as his head rested against the satin pillowcase, his eyelids growing heavy. Take care of her, he thought as he nodded. At the very least, the beginnings of understanding were beginning to form slowly in his brain at thoughts of her.
He knew what he needed to do to help her. Warm and content, Ollie thought he would be facing another sleepless, fitful night plagued by nightmares of Tonks's almost-death in the Department of Mysteries a few weeks back.
However, almost the minute his head rested against the pillow, Ollie fell into a deep, peaceful sleep. The man enjoyed the first tranquil sleep he'd known in ages.
That night, for the first night in a long time, he did not dream of Nymphadora Tonks. Not even once.
No. Tonight, Ollie dreamed of Norah Jameson.
Well. That could have gone a lot worse, considering the awful night the new partners have just had. Glad both Norah and Ollie want to try again in the morning and try to make amends.
Coming up in Ch. 16, Norah receives an unexpected and surprise visit from, you guessed it, Daddy Greyback when she steps outside for fresh air before a certain Order member can manage to intervene, but how will her 'Father' react to the news that she's not wanting to do as he asks of her?