Untitled Where do the Children Play?

Summary: It is often the children who are forgotten during war, their tales the ones that go untold. Percy Weasley. Oliver Wood. Marcus Flint. Three such children whose lives were changed irreversibly by the first war against Voldemort, a war that they were not only witness to, but unwilling participants of. Here are their stories

Warning: Contains occasional early 80's slang. Be scared. Thanks: Once again to my fantastic beta-reader - I don't know what I would do without you WT2 =)

Chapter Two - Oliver

*This* was what all the hype was about?!

He had heard tales of the great Quidditch stadiums. Fluted columns, golden facades. Looping archways that seemed to reach to the heavens above. They had always sounded like something out of those strange myths his sister was always babbling on about. Yet the Goldbridge stadium was none of those. It was dirty and crusty and rundown and, and .. tired. Yes - exactly. Tired and worn, like an old shoe. He took in the circular brick building with disdain, the faded bricks nothing more than a glaring lie. Vines now twisted randomly up the walls, stretching impossibly high.

If it smelled like an old shoe on the inside, he was leaving, Oliver thought, pouting. Quidditch was supposed to be glamorous and, well - groovy. This was about as groovy as his grandmother's bell-bottoms.

"It's far different inside," Alex, his much older brother promised, smiling at the scowl on the small boy's round face. "You'll see."

It had better be. He'd given up a whole day playing with Thomas to come watch the game.

If he had been in a more rational mood, Oliver might have admitted to himself that he had been begging Alex for months to take him to a game. That the many posters and tiny figurines that adorned every available space of his room was testament to his growing obsession with a game that he had never actually witnessed personally.

But Oliver wasn't known for his rationality, so he sulked instead.

The scowl that had made its way onto his face as a result of his viewing of the outside deepened as they finally *did* enter the stadium, along with a small but steady trickle of other wizards and their families. If possible, the stadium was in worse condition *inside*. Rows of wooden planks were all that served as seating, and there was little protection offered from the sun that was burning far too brightly. With a wistful glance at the wizard next to him, he wished he had remembered to bring a hat, the long brown strands of thick hair that annoyingly flopped around his face would offer little protection against the sun that was burning powerfully through the thick haze.

Alex took his hand, much to Oliver's disdain and embarrassment. He was SIX years old! He didn't need to be treated like a baby! Flaming a bright red that had little to do with his exposure to the sun, Oliver docilely - scowl still very much in place, followed Alex down a flight of stairs and into the winding tunnels below the stadium. The sour look that dominated his face was instantly replaced with wonder when his eyes caught sight of what *was* down there, however.

GROOVY!!

The walls of the corridor were lined with framed photographs of past teams, all brilliantly colourful and active, so different to the rest of the drab stadium. He bounced over to the nearest photo - a golden plaque beneath it proudly proclaimed the team 'GoldBridge 1923'. He waved eagerly at the players, who stared stocky back at him, not even flickering a wayward eyelid.

How rude. They could have at least smiled.

He frowned crossly at them, before moving on to the next picture. This time half the back row waved back, although they claimed innocence when the Captain turned and glared at them in annoyance. Oliver laughed in delight as he moved from picture to picture, growling at players who showed little interest in his game, applauding wildly those who did. Alex trailed along behind him, a small smile playing on his lips.

The last picture in the row was one of *this* particular stadium, although Oliver wouldn't have recognised it if it hadn't said so on the plaque. Gone were those horrible wooden seat thingies, in their place were individual seats with cushions in a bright floral blue. The brown pitch was instead a brilliant envy green, and the goal posts no longer were victims of faded, peeling paint, but coloured a vibrant, glowing gold.

"How come it looks so different now?" He quizzed his older brother, motioning towards the picture. Alex sighed, mindless of the growl that crept from his sibling as he patted him on the head.

"There is no money during wartime to be spent on keeping Quidditch grounds looking beautiful," Alex responded almost wistfully as he guided Oliver down yet another corridor. "Everything that was of use - the gold, precious stones and metals, was stripped down by the Ministry to be used against Voldemort. That which the Ministry did not take, looters did."

Oliver thought about this for moment, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out the few sickles that lay there.

"Will this help?" He asked, holding his small palm out to Alex, the blunt coins shinning in the light. Biting back a grin, Alex glanced at his brother mock seriously.

"I believe that money will best aid the stadium if it was spent on hot dogs, don't you?" This time there was no holding back the grin as Oliver nodded sagely, placing the coins almost reverently back in his pocket. Glancing at the signs tacked almost hazardously to each door, Alex finally stopped in front of one.

"Ah, here it is!" He spoke brightly, pulling out the notebook he used whenever he conducted an interview. Alex Wood - Sports Journalist extraordinaire. Oliver had always thought his brother had one of the most radical jobs in the world.

"Now, Oliver - be a good kid and sit patiently in the corner somewhere, remember? Zimeran will shit bricks if he finds out I brought you along." Oliver screwed his face up at the mention of Alex's editor. He was always giving Alex a hard time, and according to his brother, wouldn't know a Bludger if it hit him in his face, knocked his front teeth out and exited through his left nostril. Oliver tended to agree. He doubted *anyone* could identify something while it was stuck up their nose.

So it was more out of respect for his brother than Mr 'as hip as a pair of gum boots in spring', Zimeran that he remained quietly at his brother's side as they entered the dressing room. The same element of decorum could not be said for Alex, who the moment he entered the room was wrapped in a giant bear hug by one of the players.

"Alex, mate! How ya been?" Alex smiled at the overbearing Australian before turning to introduce him to his brother.

"Oliver, this is -"

"Tama Cummings, Australian Seeker!" Oliver cut in breathlessly, idolising the man instantly. "I saw the vid of your World Cup match against Albania - brilliant!"

"I tend to think so," Tama replied with all the modesty of a ... well, Australian. He smiled down at Oliver before turning back to Alex. "The Pofters from the Daily Prophet didn't tell me they were sending *you* to do the interview, it wasn't until one of the blokes here told me you covered this scene that I realised. So, how has life post-Hogwarts treated you?" He questioned, suddenly changing gears. "It must have been 2, 3 years since we last saw each other!"

Oliver blinked back his surprise. Alex had gone to school with Tama Cummings. TAMA Cummings?! How could Alex not have told him something so gnarly?!

Alex laughed at something Tama said while Oliver had been lost in his thoughts, before going into a spiel about his recent journalism feats. None to gently, he pushed Oliver towards a nearby bench, either oblivious to the fact Oliver wanted to be near the living legend, or because of it. Pouting, he sat down, shooting his brother a withering glare as he did so. So caught up in his conversation, Alex failed to notice, which riled Oliver even more.

Slouching, he at first attempted to keep up with the bantering between Alex and Tama, but quickly grew miffed at having to hear about Alex's many escapades. It didn't help that the Australian had such a nasal accent that Oliver could barely pick out anything from *his* side of the conversation, other than to discover that he was here to keep in form during the Australian off season.

Unable to keep up with the conversation, he instead chose to study the famed Quidditch player. He seemed smaller than he appeared on the vid cube, more sleek than muscle, yet his build stills seemed to radiate with hidden power. Ivory white teeth gleamed in stark contrast to the dark, ink stained skin. Oliver had heard tales of the prejudice and opposition Cummings had faced on his way to becoming one of the top Quidditch players in the world. Although the Australians liked to deny it, the aborigine people were still often treated badly, were still held down by the many European settlers. Racism, poverty and prejudice had not stood in the small man's way, and it was one of the reasons he was so revered.

Simon Keller, who Oliver easily identified as one of the Beaters, joined the conversation. Little was known about the recent Hogwarts graduate or, more aptly put, Oliver knew nothing of him, therefore no one else was entitled to either. Unlike most Beaters, he was as slim a build as Cummings, and this caused Oliver to immediately doubt his ability. A good Beater needed to be powerful but this guy seemed to be nothing more than a pansy who even *he* could have taken in a fight.

That said, there were few people Oliver thought he couldn't.

He spared the other members of the team little scrutiny, although his gaze did linger on each briefly. Linda McDonald, Chaser. Blindingly brilliant, with a fierce temper and a hooked nose to match. Jacob Hindi, the half Pakistani chaser who partnered Linda. Victim of overzealous parents who thought his name should reflect both heritage's. Serena McDonald, the younger of the two McDonald sisters and as icy as her sister was fiery. And lastly, the ageing Gary Anderson, Keeper. Oliver couldn't help but feel sorry for the veteran player - what a boring position Keeper must be! All the good places must have been taken when he had joined the team, Oliver decided. He simply couldn't understand why anyone would want to play such a bland and unimportant position if that wasn't the case.

Now *Seeker*, that was completely different. Closing his eyes, he could imagine himself scooting through the crystal air, dipping and tumbling, swerving elegantly as bludgers try to knock him from his broom. On he went, seeking the elusive snitch, being cheered on by thousands chanting his name. "Oliver! Oliver!" To new heights it drove him, to more daring aerial gambles ...

"We best be going, Oliver," Alex broke into his favourite daydream with a smile. "We want to get a good seat for the game."

The corridors were this time more crowded as they headed out of the dressing room. Although Oliver was loathe to admit it, he was secretly glad that Alex had grabbed tight hold of his hand as they moved steadily amongst the crowd. It was rather unsettling the way all these big people were pushing each other in an attempt to get up to the stadium.

But Alex would keep him safe. He always did.

When they finally reached the top of the stadium, Oliver was stunned by the transformation that had taken place in the 20 minutes that they had been below. Flooded with people, the stadium seemed to have come alive. Wave after wave of banners and flags danced in the air, and cheers and chants were already being sung full force.

Amazed, he let Alex lead him to a small space still unoccupied on one of the benches, midway up the west stand. it was a tight squeeze - the fat man on Alex's right refused to squish over, and the old bag on *his* side keep needling him with her bony elbows.

A loud roar thundered around the stands as the two teams flew into the stadium. As one, the crowd rose to their feet, and for a moment Oliver panicked as they seemed to close in, towering over him. The moment passed soon enough, and he belittled himself roughly for acting like a coward.

Slowly, the crowd lowered back into their seats, and Oliver could once again get a clear view of the pitch. Goldbridge were dressed in their accustomed flamboyant black and gold, while in start contrast, the Lidon Lions uniform was very much drab and dull.

"Who would want to support such an ugly team?" Oliver scoffed. Alex hushed him quickly.

"The Lidonian Valley has had a tough year, Oliver. Those uniforms were the best they could afford." Properly chastened, Oliver glanced down at his new sneakers with a sense of shame. The sharp shrill of a whistle, broke him from his thoughts, however, and in a fleeting moment the feeling of pity was gone as quickly as a summer rain.

Eyes wide, he watched in wonder as simultaneously both teams suddenly became active. He found himself unconsciously mimicking the actions of the players, dodging one way as the opposing Seeker barely missed colliding with his own goal post, then ducking wildly as a Bludger zoomed barely over the top of Serena McDonald's head. He squeezed his hands into fists tightly as first one Chaser from Lidon and then another passed the Quaffle tightly between them. With baited breath he watch as Simon Keller sent a Bludger spiraling up to one of them, but no! It went slightly to the left!

"Come on!" He cried, his call lost amongst the many others. Clutching his seat tightly with both hands, he watched in growing despair as the two chasers made their way to the Goldbridge goal post. All that separated them from scoring a goal was Gary. His breath deserted him as the Quaffle went speeding towards the goal, the angle seemingly too narrow, the ball sailing too high for Gary to reach it ...

"I don't believe it!" Alex yelled from his place beside him, pumping a fist in the air as the agile keeper seemed to practically dive off of his broom, twisting in the air to knock the Quaffle away. Glued to the spot in disbelief, Oliver missed the desperate and futile grab made by Tama in an attempt to claim the just noticed Snitch, or Jacob Hindi scoring at the other end.

Wow. Like ... wow. He'd never seen a *Seeker* do what Gary had done. And yet, even though the other man had just pulled off a practically suicidal dive, he was still tense, still on guard for the next potential attack.

Oliver shot a look of disdain quickly at Tama, who, having lost sight of the snitch, was now hovering above the other players, eyes on the look out. Seekers were lazy, Oliver concluded, as Gary knocked another Quaffle away. All they did was sit on their brooms and pose for the cameras. And then what? They swept in, grabbed the snitch, and got all the credit. One little moment of work, and they were heroes. Yet it was really the other team members who did all the hard work.

Like the Keeper. Now *that* was a real position.

So lost was he in his admiration of the Keeper, he didn't hear the first terrified scream that rose from the ground. Even if he had been listening for it, it was doubtful it would have reached him over the bubbling and enthusiastic crowd. When first one, then another, cry joined in however, the whole crowd fell silent for one brief moment, before erupting into a chorus of screams and cries.

"Death Eaters!" Alex breathed desperately, astonished. "How?! They shouldn't have been able to get past the charms!"

Oliver didn't hear a word his brother said, instead his gaze hovered horrifyingly on the group of Death Eaters that had flown into the middle of the stadium like a swarm of locusts, dispersing the players in panic. As if suddenly awoken from their petrified stupor, the crowd as one moved towards the exits, panic robbing them of all sensibility.

"Come on!" Alex practically hissed, pulling Oliver to his feet roughly. Eyes darting wildly, his older brother seemed to be attempting to gauge the best way out, yet the sudden surge from the crowd around them prevented any such attempt. Being shoved from all sides, Oliver lost his footing with a groan, and for a moment fell to his knees, Alex somehow managing to drag him back up onto his feet. He yelped as someone stood on his foot, clinging desperately to his brother's hand as they blindly tried to weave their way through the crowd. The crowd that was crushing in on them from all sides had other ideas, and all they could do was try and move with the flow of it.

He cried out in pain as an elbow crashed into the side of his head, sending him spiraling to the ground. The sudden movement pulled his small hand from Alex's, and in despair he thrust his hand to where Alex's had been, to find it already swallowed up by the crowd who had surged quickly into the space.

"Alex!" Desperation took control as he vainly tried to get back to his feet, only to be pushed back down again by panicking hands. He caught a brief glance of his brother, trying to fight his way back through the crowds to get to him, before he too was swallowed up. Sobbing, he grabbed wildly at the nearest person, begging silently for help. Yet, he was brushed off impatiently, and he lost the precious little balance he had gained as he went tumbling down again. He cried as first a random foot connected with his chest, then a knee hard into the back of his shoulders. The sky above him had narrowed into a tiny dot, the light the sun had offered practically blacked out by the towering people above him.

"Alex!" He sobbed again, choking slightly as someone stamped on his already bruised fingers. However, this time it was accompanied by a muffled curse, then strong arms wrapping themselves around him and hoisting him up in one, fluent sweep. He clung to his saviour, his desperation making it impossible to thank the man. Mere seconds after being in the man's grasp, however, he was lifted up, breaching the layer of people and emerging in the light up above.

"One, child!" His saviour yelled into some device attached to his shirt, and it was only then that Oliver comprehended that he was one of the security men that had littered the ground. Eyes wide, he watched in amazement as one of the Goldbridge players zoomed in his direction, and without even pausing, whisked him from the grasp of the guard and up onto the broomstick. Clinging desperately to the strong back, Oliver tried to stem the tears that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in his eyes.

"It's all right kid," The man- Anderson, it was Gary Anderson, softly uttered, as they flew low over the crowd to one of the more deserted and covered parts of the stands. Landing near the base of one of the empty corporate boxes, he gently shoved Oliver inside.

"Hide in here until everything calms down," Gary spoke quietly, yet with a tone that demanded obedience. "They will not search up here, and the exits are a death trap."

Oliver nodded numbly, desperately trying to block out the terrified screams laced with pain as his own personal nightmare began to slightly fade. No, not fade - just change setting. He glanced around the small room - chairs laid knocked over, and expensive wine was spilt on the carpet where in a rush, the occupants had dropped their glasses. He turned scared eyes on the Quidditich player, who had turned to exit the room.

"You're ... you're not leaving, are you?" He asked desperately, unable to keep the tremor from his voice. Pausing, Gary turned back around and laid a hand gently on his shoulder.

"It will all be over soon, kid - you'll be fine here."

"I think it would be best to re-evaluate that thought," A cold voice spoke from the doorway, causing Gary to swiftly turn towards the voice. Oliver stared in disbelief at the Death Eater who now stood guarding the only way out of the room, his wand raised.

This wasn't how it was suppose to happen! Oliver thought desperately. It was supposed to be a funky game of Quidditch, the odd hot dog or two, and time spent with his older brother. THIS was not suppose to be happening!!

"You don't want to do this," Gary softly spoke, gently pushing Oliver behind him with his spare arm. The other, still holding his own wand, was tense with expectation. "You know that if you don't leave now, the Aurors will be on you like maggots to a dying carcass - they will be here any moment." The statement brought a harsh laugh from the Death Eater.

"The Aurors will not save you, Quidditch player - nor will they save the child," dark eyes lingered greedily on Oliver, who had peeped around the corner of Gary's brilliant robe. "It has been far too long since I killed one, I had forgotten how much enjoyment it brings to watch their innocent faces contort in blinding pain before life is drained from their very souls. Rather poetic, really."

"Killing a child would have you put in front of the Dementors within seconds," Gary bit back, and Oliver was shocked when the seemingly marble Death Eater flinched. What was a Dementor that it scared even a Death Eater?! "The Aurors - "

"The Aurors are not coming!" The Death Eater interrupted triumphantly. "And your delaying tactics will not work, you play Quidditch far better than you divert attention." With that he aimed his wand at Gary's chest. "Occumbo!"

"Move!" Gary shouted, shoving Oliver harshly to the right as he himself dived to the left. Crashing hard into the legs of a table, Oliver whimpered softly before rolling under it. On the other side of the room, Gary barely missed the powerful bolt that was aimed at him, and was ducking behind an upturned chair, wand aimed at the Death Eater.

"Quiesco!" Gary cried out in return, the spell easily avoided by the more powerful Death Eater.

"The time for games is long past," The Death Eater growled, a quick spell vaporising the chair into a small pile of dust. "Death awaits you, Quidditch player, and his patience is wearing thin." Unprotected, panic stared to appear for the first time on Gary's face. A spell was half out of his lips when the Death Eater beat him to it.

"Avada Kedavra!"

"No!!" Oliver's scream pierced the deathly silent air as Gary collapsed into a tangled heap, eyes frozen forever in fear and twisted with an indescribable pain.

"Nononononono ..." Oliver murmured to himself, eyes growing in panic as the Death Eater turned to him, malice etched into every feature of the cold face. He scuttled backwards, eyes locked on the approaching figure. "Please, I ...I ..." He stuttered, words deserting him in terror. What could he say? What *did* one say to someone who was going to kill you?

"Sweet child," The Death Eater spoke quietly, eyes dancing with a perverted delight. "This will hardly hurt at all, and think - your youth will forever be preserved, something many a wizard longs for in their old age." Oliver looked at him in disbelief, the guy was nuts!

"Doesn't killing someone rather defeat the whole purpose of always looking young?" He asked timidly, knowing not to provoke the man in case he ... in case he what? Killed him? He was going to do that anyway!

The Death Eater frowned, before speaking up again.

"You may have a point, although it does sound rather lovely, don't you agree? Pretty prose aside, where was I?" He mused in mock reflection. "Ah, I remember! Avada Ked-"

"Occumbo!"

Oliver's sob this time was in all encompassing relief, as this time it was the Death Eater who crumbled to the ground, unconscious. "Alex!" He cried, launching himself at his brother who stood just outside the room, wand still raised. Leaching onto his brothers waist, he let himself be pulled up into his brother's arms, were he clung desperately to him.

"Oh, Alex! It was horrible! Gary is ... and he ... and you!" Everything came out in mumbled gibberish as he rested his head on Alex's shoulder sobbing softly. "How did you, how did you *know*?"

"I saw Gary fly overhead," Alex spoke up quietly, hugging his brother close. "I tried to get here as soon as possible, I tried ..." His voice trailed off as his gaze lingered on the dead body of the Quidditch player. He closed his eyes in grief as he pulled Oliver tighter in to his chest. "I'm sorry Oliver, I'm so sorry."

Sobbing, Oliver didn't hear a word he said. Alex was here, Alex would make everything better.

He always did.

var yviContents='http://us.toto.geo.yahoo.com/toto?s=76001089 yviR='us';yfiEA(0); geovisit();