Authors Note: I suck as a person. The story has been finished since summer and I haven't updated because my I lost my beta reader. Well technically I didn't lose her perse, she just kinda couldn't think of any suggestions for thi chatper. I wanted suggestions, so I just kinda put it on hold and forgot. So I apologize, I know I've lost all my readers. If anyone is an uber-good beta reader be sure to tell me via review.
Chapter 11 Returnings
"Hey grandma." The sunlight silhouetted Oliver's figure in the doorway. A white haired woman sat knitting in the kitchen. She paused at the sound of the creaking door opening. Looking up her eyes widened, shocked to see her long departed grandson.
"Oliver dear! We haven't seen you aren't here in ages," The woman threw her knitting needles on the hardwood floor and quickly stood up. Moving as fast as an elderly witch could move, she rushed to the door and kissed Oliver on the cheek.
"I just felt like coming home Granny. There still a room for me here?" Oliver didn't want to say it, but his apartment was rather lonely. Actually, his life was rather lonely. Staying alone only added to his misery. In order to move on (if that were even possible) he'd have to start over. So in he walked to the home he'd left years ago hoping somehow to turn back the tides of time.
"There's always a room for you here honey," her unyielding hug almost cut off his breathing. "The only question if why are you home? Did you have a fight with your lady friend?"
Oliver couldn't help but release a slight laugh at hearing Izzy called his "lady friend". "My 'lady friend'," he responded curiously because he'd never told his grandma, "where'd you hear about her?"
"Daily Prophet Oliver! Don't you read the paper?" His grandmother grabbed a newspaper with a picture from the awards on the cover.
"Actually I never read the paper," Oliver picked up the newspaper and laughed at his and Izzy's moving picture on the cover. The caption read: Rookie of the Year award winner Oliver Wood and his mysterious Muggle date Isabella (no last name) enjoy a magical evening at the Quidditch Awards. "Have we been in the paper much?"
"Only a couple of times. I have the other articles upstairs if you want to see them," Oliver's grandma headed for the stairway in excitement. With her grandson home for the first time in years she would try to do anything she could to make him happy.
"No that's okay. I just can't believe I haven't seen these yet. Wow we're practically a celebrity couple," Oliver laughed at his own fame. He found it hard to believe that people wanted to read about his personal life.
"You are a celebrity Oliver. You never seemed to realize that. I've been following your life in the paper ever since you graduated and signed with Puddlemere." His grandmother smiled, "I'm glad it hasn't gotten to your head."
"I'm sorry Grandma," Oliver sighed. "I guess you're suppose to hear these things from me aren't you?" Unintentionally his grandmother brought a wave of guilt over Oliver.
Sensing his reaction, she immediately smiled brightly at him. "It doesn't matter. You're here now," she tried to straighten his ruffled hair.
"Thanks grandma. I'm kind of tired I think I'll just go to bed early," Oliver grabbed his duffle bag and started up the stairs.
"Bed? Already? It's only 8:00," his grandmother turned around quickly with concern.
"It's been a long couple of weeks grandma. I just need some peace," he turned and quickly went up the stairs to avoid any further questioning. His grandmother was bewildered at his behavior; something had to be wrong.
Oliver walked up the long cobblestone path to the Doyle manor house. He had tried to fly, but strangely enough the Quidditch manager had an anti-flying ward around his mansion. It was hard to believe the huge mansion before him was inhabited by one man. One bitter lonely man, Oliver added in his mind. The mansion was story upon story and seemed to sprawl on forever. The huge mahogany double doors had serpent insignia's winding around the edges. Oliver couldn't ignore the dual nature of the sign; it stood for both slytherin and the evil prejudice the wizard world was constantly at odd with. The serpent brought memories of Voldemort, his father, and Brenten's cruel words about Izzy in the locker room. With careful deliberation Oliver picked up the snakehead knocker and slowly hit the door three times.
A wiry house elf came to the door. "Evening Mr. Wood. Come in, come in," the house elf anxiously ushered Oliver across the marble floor. Knowing the cold and modestly dressing Doyle, Oliver was shocked by the opulent décor of his house. High, richly painted ceilings rose high above and grandiose golden chandeliers hung down casting a warm glow across the foyer. As beautiful as the decorations were, the house felt cold and empty. Oliver took a seat in a Slytherin green armchair. No fire burned in the fireplace, no pictures sat on the mantle, and there was no sign of habitation in the mansion.
"Oliver would you like a drink?" Mr. Doyle entered from a back hallway.
"No thank you," Oliver responded nervously. He knew better than to think he'd been asked over for a social call. Kindness was not an act in Mr. Doyle's repertoire.
"Good answer," he sat down the bottle.
"Why am I here?"
"Because you're having a problem and I have every intention of winning this tournament," Brenten Doyle poured himself a glass of wine.
"Then fix it," Oliver voice rose with pain, "For goodness sake I invite you to fix it if you can. I want to win this just as much as you do." Oliver couldn't stand this man standing over him trying to talk to him like a naughty child. Fixing his problem wasn't as easy as it sounded.
"I know what the problem is. It's that Izzy girl isn't it?" Mr. Doyle sipped his wine and looked knowingly at Oliver.
"Izzy is none of your business. You never liked her because she was a Muggle." Mr. Doyle's opinion on Izzy was what started everything, Oliver didn't know if he could hear it again.
"I didn't dislike her. I just know what's worth my boys' time. And frankly she wasn't. Whether you understand it or not, I know more about her than you'll ever understand. I know things she never told you," Mr. Doyle spoke cryptically.
"What did you do investigate her or something?" There wasn't a logical reason Oliver could think of that Mr. Doyle would know anything about Izzy.
"Didn't need too. Would you win again for her sake?" The tone of the question was imperative.
"What?" Oliver asked exasperated. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"It has everything to do with everything," Mr. Doyle's face turned as hard as stone and morphed into a completely unreadable expression. "Put your wand on the mantle and follow me."
"Why would I do that? My father taught me to never put my wand down." Auror's always stayed on their guard, and Oliver's father had taught him the value of protecting oneself. The situation with Mr. Doyle reeked of suspicious activity and it was exactly the type situation his father had always warned him against. At this point putting his wand down sounded like a stupid idea.
"Do you really think I'd endanger my keeper during the tournament. Just put the wand on the mantle and follow me." From the inside pocket of his robe, Oliver pulled the wand and sat it carefully on the fireplace. "I'm putting a disorienting spell on you so you can't navigate my house by yourself. Disortenato." A strange feeling rushed over Oliver and he wasn't quite sure of his surroundings anymore. Mr. Doyle grabbed his arm roughly and carelessly pulled him down a hallway. The hallway seemed to twist and turn in unnatural and unbelievable ways. They went up, down, sideways, until finally they came to an ugly metal door. Brenten removed the spell. Suddenly it felt like a dizzy spell had ended and Oliver looked around at a straight empty hallway. Everything seemed normal again. Brenten muttered a spell Oliver had never heard before and the door swung open. They stood in a long corridor that looked like a prison. Barred jail cells lined the walls. Oliver stayed a few steps behind Brenten, the jail-like environment made him wish he hadn't left his wand behind. Suddenly he felt unsure of his safety. The intimidating manager walked to the last cell and unlocked it. At first Oliver was reluctant to follow, then he noticed a head of white blonde hair between the bars.
"IZZY!" his heart practically leapt out of his throat. She was sitting in rusted chains, curled up on the floor not looking up. Instead of running to her he turned to Mr. Doyle, "You did this to her!" His anger was sweltering, seeing Izzy in chains brought out the worst in Oliver. He was ready to hit Brenten Doyle, punch him and kick for what he'd done. Letting his anger overcome his rationale he grabbed his manager by the shirt collar and shoved him against the concrete wall "Why did you do this to her?"
Suddenly Izzy recognized Oliver's voice and slowly raised her head. Seeing Oliver's rage Izzy shook her head sadly. "Don't Oliver," she said softly. "He's not worth your anger."
Remembering Izzy he let go of Brenten and ran to the girl on the floor and wrapped his arms around her. Seeing her, holding her, was the only remedy for Oliver's heartbreak. Tear stung in his eyes, and Oliver didn't feel too manly to cry. "Oh my God Izzy. I never thought I'd see you again." All he wanted to do was hold her. "Give me the key," Oliver yelled across the room and Brenten threw it at his head.
"I'll leave you two alone," he left the room and shut the cell behind him.
Hands shaking Oliver undid the chains around Izzy's wrists and ankles and looked at the girl he'd grown to love. She was thin and frail, her piercings were gone and her hair was disheveled. Tears had washed off her makeup but her eyes still stood out from her pale skin. "I've missed you so much," Oliver found himself sobbing. "I'm a wreck without you."
"This is exactly the type of thing I was scared of Oliver," Izzy pulled away from his embrace and stood up to stretch her aching legs. "You're the one who brought me into this world I hate."
"You're mad at me for what that monster did. I'm sorry Izzy, I didn't know this would happen. I still don't even know why this happened."
Izzy shook her head and looked up at Oliver. "He did this because I know his secret." She didn't quite have the words to tell Oliver the monster who had kidnapped her was her father.
"What secret could possibly constitute treatment like this," Oliver searched her eyes. "And how do you know his secret?"
Grabbing Oliver's hand Izzy sat down on the little cement bench in the cell. She was about to drop the biggest bombshell of her life. "Oliver," she bit her lip and held onto his hand for strength. Looking at the opposite wall, tears well in her eyes as she finished the sentence, "damn it, he's my father." Oliver stared blankly back at Izzy. He felt flabbergasted and blown away by the revelation. It wasn't what he expected. "My name is Isabella Doyle. My mother was a Muggle, my father was a death eater. It's not that hard to figure out why I had to disappear." For a moment Oliver took in the implications of everything she'd said. Voldemort had risen again, if Mr. Doyle had been a death eater odds were he remained a death eater. The snake emblem on the door took an even more sinister meaning.
"Izzy, I can't believe this," he hugged her again. "I'm surprised he didn't kill you. Thankfully surprised," Oliver replied and then without thinking blurted out, "Why didn't he kill you?"
"He said I had my mother's face and he could never kill her."
"Your mother was the most beautiful woman I never knew," Mr. Doyle didn't even announce his re-entrance. The fondness in his voice startled Oliver, it was as though he'd actually loved Izzy's mom.
"And you were the most vile man she ever got involved with," Izzy spat back.
"Probably true," the truth didn't faze him. "Oliver I bet you're still curious as to why I brought you here."
"If he's not I am," Izzy stood up and walked over towards her father. "I'm curious about a damn lot. If you fuckin' plan to keep me here forever then why couldn't he just get on with his life?"
"Because he was doing a damn bad job getting over you!" Mr. Doyle had never said anything truer.
Oliver stood up and walked over to stand by Izzy taking her by the hand. "And this is suppose to help me get on with life." If he never saw Izzy again he knew he'd always picture her, cold and alone in chains in this horrible man's basement.
"This isn't about you getting on with life anymore. This is about winning. Hell it's always been about winning." To the end Mr. Doyle was self-serving.
"How the hell is torturing your keeper going to help you win?" Hours alone how left her time to contemplate, think up insults and get pissed off. Finally after a month of stewing, she was able to discharge her anger.
"Because I'm a businessman little girl. I'm offering a bargain to Oliver. If he wins the next match, you stay safe and maybe even get treated a little better." He turned to address Oliver, "If you win the next match you can come back and see my daughter again."
"And if we don't win?" Oliver asked cautiously. If winning kept Izzy alive, Oliver didn't want to think about what losing meant.
"We will win so it doesn't matter. I'll give you a few more minutes to have parting romantic moments," the loneliness was evident in Mr. Doyle's voice.
Tears had welled up in Izzy's eyes and she looked up at Oliver, "I want so much to hate you at this moment but I don't," she was shaking. "I can't live in this world but this past month without you has been the worst month of my life."
"I have a feeling there are plenty of reasons besides my absence for that," Oliver laughed despite his tears.
"You're right. But the fact that I love you doesn't help," she gently kissed him. "I hate your world but not you; never you."
"Izzy I'll save you somehow. Everything will be like it used to be," Oliver pushed her dirty hair behind her ears and made a solemn vow "I'll fix it. I promise."
"You're so naïve, it's cute but unrealistic. Everything will never be like it was. You can never hit rewind on life." One of the terrible realities about living was that you could never go backwards; life will remain stuck in forward motion forever.
"Rewind?" Oliver looked puzzled.
"It's a movie term. It means you can't go backwards," Izzy wiped a tear from her eye. "You can never go backwards." Silently in her mind she added, as much as you may wish you could. There were twenty-million time Izzy would've went backwards if she could've. Oliver was just one such instance, so was her mother's death.
"What if I want to," water was filling his deep brown eyes.
"You can't Oliver. Life doesn't work that way," Izzy wiped a tear from his cheek.
"I love you Izzy. I'll figure something out. I promise you that," Oliver kissed her forehead.
"Oliver do me a favor; just win," Izzy playfully wrapped her arms around him. "I'd like to see you again next week. A girl can get rather lonely in a dungeon all by herself." She knew he had to leave on a positive note, for his sanity. As much as she denied it to herself, she also knew she wanted him to come back.
Oliver's boyish grin spread across his face and he leaned in for one last kiss. "You're amazing." By this time Brenten Doyle was waiting at the door to let Oliver out. "If you put the chains on her again and I'll kill you with my bare hands" Oliver added threateningly.
As Mr. Doyle shut the cell door Izzy remembered something that Oliver had to know. She called after him and informed him, "I was on my way back."
"What?" Oliver turned around looking at Izzy through the bars.
"That night. I was coming back," Izzy looked honestly at Oliver. Maybe they could never go back, but he had to know what had happened that night. A light came on in his eyes; she had said exactly what he needed to hear. Izzy sat alone on the cold concrete floor and listened intently as Oliver's footsteps got further and further away.
Authors Note: Oh the melodrama. If I get reviews I'll probably post the next chapter tomorrow. Otherwise I'll forget. It isn't bribery, it's my being forgetful.
