THC - Slytherin - HoH - Standard

Prompt - Sunday 5:45

IWSC - Ilvermorny (Death of a Leader) - Year 1

Prompts - (Mandatory) [Character] Oliver Wood, and (optional) [Word] Hopeless.

Word Count - 1300

Beta's - Fires of Eden Red Rose Aurora, flickmadhatter, Magpie, CupCakeyyy

WW3

The cool dark room gave Oliver the right sleeping conditions as he tried to drift off. His excitement was always overwhelming the night before a big game, and, in less than five hours, he'd be at the Quidditch Stadium warming up and getting ready to go against the Catapults. Oliver finally felt himself relax and fall into unconsciousness.

Suddenly, a bright light shone out of nowhere, illuminating the quiet room. He rolled over and threw an arm over his eyes; there was no way it was morning yet. His alarm charm would have gone off.

A voice filled the room, causing Oliver to jump up in unexpected fear. However, he quickly froze at the rushed words as he stared at the owl Patronus.

Viktor Krum and his family murdered.

Meeting immediately.

Oliver blinked as the Patronus faded, rendering him back into darkness. Had he just heard that correctly? Did they just say that Krum had been murdered? As in… he's dead?

Krum was his mentor, captain, and friend.

Apparently gone.

That couldn't be correct. Must be misinformation.

He'd joined the Pollinds Punishers two years ago and had loved every second of it: the high stakes, the skilled teammates, and the leadership. Krum had taken over this small and relatively unknown team about three years ago and gathered the best of the best. He wasn't sure how he had fit into this but was extremely thankful regardless. But now… now he wasn't sure what he wanted anymore.

Krum being killed had felt like a punch to the gut. One which took away every ounce of hope that Oliver had for the future.

But now wasn't the time to think about himself, he had somewhere to be. Death wasn't a common occurrence anymore, not since the war ended four years ago. It wasn't something anybody expected anymore. In fact, nobody would be expected to be contacted in the middle of the night.

He threw clothes on, grabbed his go-bag, and headed out.

Oliver walked into instant commotion. Aurors were dotted around, eyeing up everybody. There were even a few representatives from the Ministry. His team was there, as well as other Quidditch players he recognised. It was madness.

He walked up to his team, who were the quietest, the most solemn. "Do we know what happened?"

Trenton, one of the Chasers gave him a nod. "Aurors received his owl at 5:44, they arrived at 5:46 but it was too late."

That was specific timing.

"Mr Wood," a familiar voice spoke.

Oliver turned to see a very much grown-up Harry Potter. Instantly, he knew it wasn't the time for small talk. "Auror Potter."

"Where were you this morning?"

"Asleep."

"Can anybody vouch for that?"

Oliver shook his head. He had been alone last night; it was always better to sleep alone. Unlike most of his teammates, Oliver had never settled down with anybody. Sure, he had dated, but he had also put Quidditch first. "When did he die?"

"5:45 this morning."

"On a Sunday morning?" he questioned, mainly to himself. "Who would do such a thing?"

Harry rested a hand on his shoulder. "That's what I am going to find out."

It was hopeless.

The Aurors had interviewed every single person and had come up empty. Yet, they were still sitting here. Despite being told that Krum and his family were killed at 5:45 today, they still didn't know anything new.

It was one thing knowing that Krum had been murdered, but his wife, Hermione, and their little boy, too? It didn't make any sense. Why kill a whole family?

It must have been a very heartless person to have killed a two-year-old child.

Children were supposed to be protected. Without that certainty, how was hope to be maintained?

Oliver couldn't do this anymore. He couldn't just sit around, hopelessly, and not help!

For all he knew, this was the start of another war and he would not sit on the sidelines and wait for his friends to be killed again!

He went up to the first Auror he found and tapped him on the shoulder. "I want to help."

In his haze of hopelessness and determination, he hadn't noticed the colour of the individual's hair. Ron Weasley turned around, his eyes red, and his face sour. He knew that he had been best friends with Hermione, so had Harry when he thought about it. This couldn't be easy for him to try to solve her death.

"I want to help," he repeated when no response came.

"If you could just sit down…"

"Sit down? Krum was murdered! Hermione was murdered! A toddler was murdered! I am not going to sit down, Weasley." Oliver took a deep breath. "You have been walking aimlessly around here, with no hope of finding their killer in this crowd. I don't know what the Aurors outside of this Quidditch field are doing, hopefully, more than you. But…"

Ron gulped as his face reddened. "I was sidelined."

"What?"

"I punched a suspect and was sent here for crowd control and to keep the spirits up." He sighed deeply. "But I saw her body. It looked as though she was sleeping."

Oliver could see the horror in Ron's eyes. There was something he didn't know. "Why was she murdered?"

They locked eyes. "It was a message. War is coming. They…" He drifted off, leant closer, and whispered. "Staged it."

"What?"

"Krum was found by the front door, Hermione in the nursery, and Michael in the crib."

"The Potter's murder."

"Though, Michael was sleeping. We think he slept straight through it."

Recreating the most well-known murder in recent history; that wasn't right. Why did they choose Krum and his family, though? Michael couldn't be another chosen one. We weren't in a war and there wasn't even a prophecy. Things were peaceful. And a Sunday morning? It was also June, no significance there. "They're wanting to start a war," he muttered, his words barely forming as a wave of grief and fear washed over him.

He had already lived through one war, he didn't think he could manage that again.

Unable to collect his thoughts, he backed away from Ron. He hadn't even fully accepted that Krum was gone. But how could he ignore the words by somebody who had been there?

His breathing quickened, his heart started racing, and the blood drained from his face. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't really be happening.

How was he supposed to accept this?

Krum couldn't be dead.

He couldn't be the sign that another war had started.

Oliver felt pressure on his arms the second his legs gave way. He was propped up against something, but that didn't help.

He gasped but he couldn't get enough air. He tried to talk but it came out in gargles. He tried to look at those around him but the tears fogged up his sight. He tried to listen but the sounds around him were deafening.

It was really happening.

Krum was really dead. He would never be able to lead them to victory again. Or give advice. Or laugh over his mispronunciations.

He wouldn't see his son grow up. Or take him flying ever again.

He and Hermione wouldn't reach their fourth anniversary which was in a few months. Krum couldn't reveal the surprise that he had already planned.

His life was over. Gone. Another star in heaven.

But it was worse than that.

Somebody had destroyed the greatest man he knew for nothing.

Somebody had decided that Sunday, at 5:45 am, was the time to announce they'd be starting another war.

And that 'somebody' would feel his revenge and pain, Oliver vowed. He would bring the hope back by taking down whoever had felt it fit to do this.