Authors Note: Apparently I'm feeling kind today, I beta-ed another chapter for you. Actually, I'll be honest, I couldn't concentrate on my homework. This semester I have to read the entire New Testament for my Understand NT class--and I just couldn't force myself to read it anymore. And God wouldn't want me to drudge through his word, so I edited my fic instead. If Izzy's drunk behavior is not believable in this chapter I'm sorry, I've never been drunk so I don't know how it feels.
Disclaimer: Unforunately I own very little. I can pack my entire life in a van an move it to my dorm and back, and these characters (except Izzy) are not mine, so they don't go with me.
Chapter 8: A Father Reappears
The pale dawn light glided through the dirty locker room windows. It was Five AM and Oliver was already soaring through the sunrise, practicing his dives. This early morning flight was no dismal escapism. Actually Oliver had come to the pitch for an entirely opposite reason. Oliver's heart had miraculously grown wings and in order to prevent his heart from bursting out of his chest and joining the doves in the sky, Oliver had pulled out a broom and went flying with it.
When he walked back into the locker room his heart still seemed to be attempting escape as it pounded loudly. Oliver was startled to see another figure sitting in the dark room. "Hello Mr. Doyle," Oliver hoped his voice hadn't shook when he'd greeted him.
"Hello Rookie of the Year," even though Mr. Doyle's remark was obviously congratulatory, it neither seemed positive nor pleasant. Instead every syllable dripped slowly like icy water in December.
"Thanks sir, couldn't done it without you," Oliver tried to keep his composure. Why was their elusive distant manager sitting here in the locker room waiting for Oliver?
"But onto more important matters Oliver. I don't want you distracted from Quidditch," as if leaping across a canyon he jumped subjects. "That girl you were with is a Muggle isn't she?"
"Yeah, Isabella is a Muggle; it's not a big deal though," Oliver shrugged pretending his mind wasn't rushing with possibilities of why Mr. Doyle was asking him these questions.
"Well, be carefully with Isabella," he emphasized her name. "Muggles aren't a breed to mess with Oliver. Even when they are the most beautiful most amazing women in the world, it isn't worth it."
"All due respect Mr. Doyle, but it's my life to live."
"And it's my Quidditch team to run, Oliver. Be weary with the Muggle woman. They aren't on the same level as us and they don't understand our world. It's like mixing breeds of animals such as horses and donkeys; the offspring isn't ever quite right."
"I'm not sure how I feel about you calling my girlfriend a donkey, sir," Oliver's face was beginning to turn red.
"Just let me make myself clear, if your Quidditch game suffers due to you liaison with the Muggle girl, you will break up with her or never work for another Quidditch team in you life. And yes, Oliver, I will fire you. I don't give a damn if you're the rookie of the century if you aren't winning matches on the pitch."
With that, the cold presence known as Mr. Doyle stood up and left the room. It was the most Oliver had ever heard from him, and it was nothing Oliver ever wanted to hear from anyone. If it had been any other person, anyone who frightened him less, Oliver's blood would've boiled over and he wouldn't have kept his cool. But something about Mr. Doyle's aura pushed back his anger and replaced it with an uncanny fear.
-OoOoO-
"I can't believe you let that bastard say that," Izzy shrieked at the top of her lungs.
"You don't understand, Izzy," Oliver looked pleadingly into her eyes, "It was Brenten Doyle. Just seeing him from a distance gives me cold chills."As much as Oliver pleaded, Izzy wasn't listening. In her imagination she'd made Oliver her gallant knight coming to her defense, and here he had utterly failed. "Bloody hell, Oliver are you trying to tell me you're too big of a chicken to stand up to one mere wizard."
"No I'm telling you I'm a sorry ass and didn't stand up to my manager who could fire me," Oliver caught himself swearing and grimaced as the word coming from his mouth.
"Well you're right Oliver. You are a sorry ass. Have you forgotten how hard it was for me to come here? And you can't simply stand up to one person. Oliver, I'm fighting my own self daily just to be with you. I've had to put aside everything I know, everything I believe, and open my mind to something I thought was despicable...in fact something I still think is despicable all for the sake of you. And here you are sacrificing absolutely nothing!"
"I don't know what you want from me, Isabella! I said I was sorry and honey, I'm so sorry that I let you down." His last intention was to hurt her, but it seems that was just what he'd done. He reached for her hand, trying to make her understand, "but this could've cost me my career and who knows what else."
Quickly pulling her hand away Izzy uttered words that turn Oliver's heart to ice. "It's nice to know you'd choose you're career over me." With those dreaded words, Izzy slammed the inn door and sped down the street trying to reach a safe haven before the tears flowed freely. She loved Oliver, but she still couldn't bring herself to love wizardry. The hatred of magic instilled by her mother still burned deep inside Izzy. Though she pushed and repressed, it resurfaced and smoldered anew. Her steps slowed and she turned back to look towards the window where she new Oliver would be watching. He knew better than to chase her. He would wait till she had cooled down then come looking for her; Izzy almost smiled at how well Oliver knew her. Glancing back at the window she could see his pained puppy dog eyes following her down the street. "Damn it," she uttered to herself and quickly found a bar to slip into.
"Do you have a backroom?" she asked the bartender quietly.
"Sure do missy," he replied still wiping the counter.
"Then I'll have a bottle of firewhiskey," Izzy ordered the strongest drink she could think of.
"That's strong stuff, missy," the bartender finally looked up at the anguished girl. Teardrops clung to her eyelashes and her hands were shaking. As a bartender, he'd learn to notice when a patron was upset and try to be sensitive to it in order to protect them.
"I'm tough, I can handle it," Izzy slid her money across the bar.
"Back rooms down the hallway and up the staircase. Not many people use it, and most go to drown their sorrows privately missy. Hope that's not what you're up to," he handed her the bottle. He could tell from her demeanor some deep wound was hurting her. He stopped just short of asking what was bothering her; instead he slid her change across the bar and offered a comforting smile.
"Afraid so, sir," Izzy attempted a weak grin.
The hall leading to the backroom looked as though it hadn't been dusted in centuries and Izzy was afraid to touch the handrail due to the inches of dust that lingered there. Opening a creaky door, Izzy found herself in a rather large dark back room. The only light sources were beams of sunlight sneaking through a dusty window and old candles, which made the room smoky and dim. One other person sat in a corner booth and goose bumps rose on Izzy's arms as she passed him. Sitting in the opposite corner, Izzy started downing the firewhiskey. A welcomed numbness gradually seeped into her head and she started humming to herself. Under the influence of alcohol, all problems seem to disappear and she was a little girl in love with a cute boy. Some old romantic melody graced her lips as she let out a giggle, the firewhiskey was stronger than she expected. Izzy stood up to leave, she had the sudden urge to run back and kiss Oliver. In her haste she knocked her bottle off the table. Chasing it across the room, she ended up crawling under the table of the only other patron.
"So this is what Oliver Wood is wasting his time on," a dark voice from above the table rained on Izzy's happiness.
"What do you mean 'wasting his time," Izzy hit her head on the way out from under the table. The alcohol definitely inhibited Izzy's judgment, so her arguing skills were unquestionably sub-par.
"Isabella the Muggle," the man's voice made Muggle sound worse than any swear word Izzy had ever used.
"So what if I'm a Muggle? Oliver loves me anyways," Izzy said boldly much like a child would defend herself.
"Isabella... you know that name sounds oddly familiar," the man said. "Does Isabella the Muggle have a last name or is she an unwanted bastard child."
"Don't speak to me that way! Even if I were a bastard you're a bigger one," she traded insults with the older man who obviously held his alcohol better.
"Maybe I am, Isabella Doyle," he laughed as her eyes opened widely in shock and her jaw fell open.
"How did you know that," she whispered fearfully, "no one is allowed to know that."
"Maybe I have a bit of seer blood in me," the man said sarcastically and took a swig out of an almost empty bottle. He was getting a kick out of toying with the obviously intoxicated girl. Nothing quite boosted his mood like tormenting someone who didn't quite grasp why.
Suddenly Izzy's eye's widened. "I know who you are. I bloody know who..." she stood up in complete shock trembling. She scuttled backwards, tripping over her own feet in her haste.
"No one bloody knows who I am dear," the man was unfazed. He carelessly took a swig of whiskey, "That's the wonderful thing about being me."
"Maybe nobody else does, but I do," the drunk girl said in a voice so serious that the man grinned menacingly.
"Well if you do then we have a problem, Isabella Leanne Doyle," he stood from the table and his dark presence paralyzed the girl. "A really big problem."
"Stay away from me. I'll scream for help." Izzy used all her strength to make her voice sound brave but she faltered as her voice weakly cracked.
"No you wont," he spoke to her like a disobedient child. A few phrases of what sounded like gibberish soundproofed the room. "Isabella Leanne, aren't you going to hug your daddy?"
A/N: If you review, odds are I'll swing by and check out your fanfiction. Isn't that a lovely trade off? I hope you like this chapter, apparently Izzy's mysterious past is more important than any guessed!
