By Emelinee
"Bring your own beverage"
Oliver Wood has changed. He is no longer the sweet innocent Scottie that we all grew to love. Here, Oliver has faced more than one hardships. Watch him as he struggles loosing battles with his mother, his best mate and the love of his life. Will anyone be able to help him? Warning for use of drugs, mild swearing and adult content.
Disclaimer: The idea of the main characters parents were a creation of Hovizi and Oliver Wood, Katie Bell and all other Harry Potter characters and plots belong to J.K. Rowling and unfortunately… not me. Although, it would be nice, dammit.
A/N: Hi! Enjoy! I love you all! You can shoot me for how long it's been! TERRIBLY SORRY! And no, Clow1619 (I don't remember the #s exactly) it was most definitely NOT the end. Not crazy.
POV de Katie/Flashback… then Oliver's POV :)
"Fine! Well, come on, Harry," I snarled, immediately turning on my heel and marching from the approacher. "This bint has wasted enough of our precious—"
"Now wait just a second, Bell," said Flint quickly, catching me off guard.
I turned toward him expectantly. "Well?"
He faltered then approached me uncertainly. "May I speak to you?"
He looked strangely sincere. Er… "Why can't you—"
"Just," he said briskly, taking deep breaths. "Will you?" he pleaded softly, something I never thought I'd live to see.
With some quick thinking, I decided that there was no other choice but to follow my arch-nemesis. I sighed and resigned to following him a few steps from the lot. I realized a little too late that poor Harry was left with five or six hungry Slytherins but figured that he'd come out of it alive.
My mind was racing. Firstly, why the hell would Flint be this nice to me? Why would he be nice to me at all? I barely knew him, other than the regular beatings on the pitch, which, I'm sad to say, he obviously wins in that area of expertise. He did nothing but taunt us, insult us and generally hate us. He's never helped us with any problem, but instead decide to cause them and leave it impossible for the problem to be fixed.
"What, Flint?" I snapped irately. I needed to find Oliver now. He could be in danger, in trouble…
"Look—I know where your bloody boyfriend is, all right?" he muttered quickly.
I gasped as I stared at the Slytherin with pain and fear. He knew
"You what?" I shrieked, but he hushed me. Screw you, Flint!
All along? And he didn't say anything? The bastard! Was he trying to kill him or something? I honestly didn't think that Marcus Flint had the act of murder under his capability file. I needed to know where Oliver was. He could be in danger, in trouble… and especially so if Marcus knows where he is.
"Why did you tell me this now? Why not before? And why the hell in private," I demanded of him, the last part a bit more to myself.
"I'm Marcus Flint, remember? Not all big-bad Slytherins go all mushy up to their arch-nemesis," he muttered angrily, glancing around quickly to make sure that his cronies were distracted, and indeed they were. "Or comply with Gryffies nonetheless. This is Oliver fucking Wood I'm saving here; not really on my list of things-to-do."
This is true.
Wait… "Well… why are you telling me then?" I asked sincerely. All joking aside, this was once in a lifetime. I doubted that I'd ever have a real, slightly civil conversation with the troll and here I was, commanding negotiations with him.
However, this last statement left him silent for a while. "That doesn't matter," he affected. Speaking quieter, "Just… you won't be able to find him… not until sometime later."
Bastard! "Why?" I argued desperately. "Why the hell tell me then? Get my bleeding hopes up!"
"Look, Bell, if you go where he's gone… I'm not sure it's really safe. And you don't really know where it is…" he trailed off awkwardly.
What the… then it clicked. And with that clickage, crashed upon me mounds of shock and despair. There was nothing I could do.
"Why would he go down there?" I asked more to myself. Oliver, like pretty much every Gryffindor is sworn against that of the dungeons and snakes that dwell in that lair. I mean, he hates Marcus Flint with a fucking passion. He'd rather die than submit to their will. Is he not the Gryffindor NAZI that we all have to endure for the whole Quidditch life we've had.
Flint merely shrugged.
"Ah, some… keg party, I presume?" I asked remorsefully. Of course… I should have expected Oliver to blow up here at Hogwarts. What with everything at home—his mother, best friend, all that he has to deal with—I knew that he drinks and goes a little off edge when he's at home. But he's never done that when he's here. Here he's more secluded, civilized and normal. No one would expect that Quidditch-loving Oliver Wood, sexy accent, Quidditch build, and random style with the occasional punk like dress and that sexy tattoo on his biceps… All boys have their rocker show off as they rebel against their parents, but for Oliver, it's like he doesn't have any parents. So as he's being normal here off at school, why would he change to drinking and drugs at home?
"Yeah…" Flint continued, unaware of my thoughts. "Of sorts. I do know that he went to talk to someone, but have no idea why he'd… ya' know, be there other wise…"
The bloke trailed off, not knowing how much this was affecting me. I sighed again, realizing that Oliver missed his oh-so-spectacular meeting over Slytherins and booze, probably not in that particular order, but an order nonetheless. Only on rare occasions had that inner-punk spazzed out at Hogwarts and apparently this was one of them. I suppose I was one of the few, only maybe, who knew about his home-life and the conditions that he had to live with. I've experienced it first hand too. He'd be crazy if booze was absent in his life—I'm surprised that he goes to school without it. Everything should have ruined him further.
"But, uh, Bell? You're not going to like this…"
Flint was still talking but I already knew what he was going to say. It was all the same. But I gave him my attention anyway.
"He was drunk, Bell. I doubt he'll have been able to help it," sympathized the captain.
Wait… sympathized? No… this is surreal. There is no way in hell that Flint would ever do this. Why was he being so nice? Ever? Was this really Marcus Flint or is this some crazy dream?
I squinted my eyes at him. The bloody bastard had been playing me the whole time!
"He, uh… he made out with a witch," he said shortly and clearly uncomfortable. "But he was drunk."
My breath was hitched and back tense. No matter how much I didn't believe that this was the real Flint nor did I believe that Oliver would do that to me, drunk or not, the words stung as hell. I had gone through this type of thing before and knew that it was nothing but trouble. I wasn't going to give in though. I wouldn't let those words faze me because I knew that I still had Oliver's love, no matter how many witches those luscious lips had been attached to. This is not the true Flint, the prick. He's a bloody liar. Remember: Slytherin! But my conscious was no fight for Marcus Flint. Damnable Marcus Flint.
I glared him, through my unshed tears, rage filling me. "I don't believe you, you git," I said harshly, my voice low and breaking slightly.
He looked at me shocked. I don't think he expected that one. Bitch.
His face contored of rage and pure hatred and I had a feeling that that was the wrong thing to say. "What?" he barked. This surely caught the attention of Harry and the range of cronies a while down the hallway… did Harry have orange hair? "You are one stubborn idiot."
Ouch, Flint. Sorry, but you'll have to try harder.
"You whore; how can u not believe me?" his rage exclaimed louder. "Here I am, I bloody pouf trying to bleeding save your little fucking prince… and you don't believe me?"
"Now wait just a minute, Marcus," I interrupted. Like hell I'd let him play with my mind. He wasn't taking the upper hand in this, even though he already had a fair deal of it. "Give me one good reason to believe you! All you ever do is bully us, tease us, insults all-around hate, and us, which, may I remind you, we do too! And you expect me to just believe you? Like that? Are you joking? That you aren't lying for a change? Where have you not lied to me, huh?"
"That isn't the point," he growled, cutting off my indignant cries. "The point is—is that your bloody little 'au chantey' might not live to see another day!"
I gasped. He wasn't serious. I couldn't lose Oliver… no—I wouldn't let him die! There are so many things I haven't said to him, like how before I had gotten to know him, I couldn't stand the way he writes. Now, I cherish it and look forward to that everyday. The way his shirts falls, how he is so crazy about Quidditch that it's so bloody annoying, but if he did it any other way, I'd hate it. That smile, the way his lips move to side whenever he says his little Irish sayings, or "ay" when he wants me attention. How he stares at me as if I'm the only person in the world and, if there were more people, the only one he wanted to see. His stupid little jokes that are possibly the worst jokes ever. ("Why is an elephant big, gray, and hairy? Because if it was small, white, and hairless, it'd be an aspirin tablet.") His bright blue eyes hypnotize me and his rich, handsome laugh melts me. I couldn't live without him… like now it feels as if I'm loosing him forever.
I guess that is about when it sunk in…That the last time I saw him, I didn't touch him enough, talk to him genuinely, stared at him hard enough… tell him how much I … how much I love him…
The world seemed to stop around me as my breathing grew louder and all I could see was my Oliver, in all his humanely glory.
That was it.
He can't die—I won't let him.
"Flint, where the fuck is my boyfriend?"
"I can't—"
"Flint!" I yelled. "Don't play games!" I quieted down. "I won't be able to live…"
"He's not dying," was all he could say.
"It sure as hell sounded like that," I muttered to myself.
"It came out wrong…"
I couldn't handle this. "Well, are you going to do something or just leave my boyfriend out there to die? Because you said it yourself, he is dying…"
He growled. "Not. Bell, I'll go rescue your little Woody, all right? But you owe me big time…"
I stared hard at him, willing for him to suddenly jump around, screaming, "Gotcha!" and telling me that everything is fine with Oliver, but no cigar. He was drop-dead serious.
I looked at him shocked that he would do that for me.
"Fine."
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The bullet is a man
From time to time he
strays
I compare my life to
theirs
To this I remain
And unwilling to listen
to your answers
And I'm not ashamed to
tell you
I need you today
Won't you light my way?
Won't you light my way?
Won't you light my way?
Won't you light my way?
--------------------------------------------
Oliver's beautiful POV… of loveMy eyes were blearily opened to be received by the harsh lights of… where was I? They snapped shut again. Oh, the light! Ah, the agony! It surely wasn't my dorm room, nor was it the infirmary (God, praise you). Was I… was I in the girls' dormitory?
…
SWEET! All I've ever wanted was to be up here—my DREAMS HAVE COME TRUE! But… aw, what the hell? My pounding hangover was on me like a swarm of bees. Bleeding alcohol. Why do you have to be so good and addictive but so horribly bad for you at the same time?
It took an effort my eyes to roam around the room, but eventually they did. Yes, It was confirmed that this was indeed the girl's dormitory.
I was terribly confused and I had every right to be as rustling occurred around me. I could feel a presence beside me, indicating that there were people around me… people, as in girls? Girls as in… no clothes? I quickly tried to open my eyes again but the light was too blinding so, naturally, they returned to their closed position with a sharp intake of breath to stifle my cry. Unfortunately, the rustling and shadows stopped as my breath returned to normal (trust me, the headache is worse) and I realized that my cover had been blown. Damn… it.
A body moved beside the bed and I felt a warm hand craze my arm. "Oliver?" a small voice asked me through my haze. I recognized it immediately as Katie's. Relief immediately filled my body as the weight of what happened left me.
Last night was a blur and definitely how I landed myself in the girls' dormitory (not that I'm complaining). I do remember talking to a random guy in the hallways and him leading me down to… the Slytherin common room? The rest was a haze. All I could remember was the feeling of claustrophobia, being cold and lost; winding paths, not being able to hear anything as my body soon was sweaty. I figured that all of these things must have happened sometime last night but for the life of me I had no recollection of them.
I sighed wearily and the pounding headache seemed to return full throttle. With much effort, I found my eyes open and staring into the wide, petrified green eyes of Katie Bell. Sure, they looked petrified and absolutely bloody shot, but they were the most comforting pair of eyes I had ever had the ability to see. A smile crept onto my face as I stared at my girlfriend, the girlfriend I had missed so much.
Slowly, I had a chance to look around the room and saw that it wasn't just Katie and I (DAMMIT!) but instead met each with a pair of eyes of my Quidditch team… What are they doing here?
"We're glad you're back, Ol," Katie said kindly, moving away slowly. A look of confusion passed through my eyes. What was going on?
"Why—am I in the girl's dorms?" I questioned, moving to sit up but finding my limbs didn't want to work.
Katie nodded her head. "Yeah, and strangely we only found you thanks to Marcus Flint," she said, looking away.
… FLINT? "You talked to Flint? What happened? Are you okay?" my mind was racing. "Did he hurt you? What did he do?"
"Oliver!" she interrupted. "Calm down, jeez. We just met him and he said he knew where you were and he brought… you out for us."
"Brought me out?" I asked confused. What? Why did Flint freaking rescue me?
"Listen, Oliver," she said, more serious now, her eyes not reaching mine. "We… I mean its—why were you down there in the first place?"
I stopped short of my thoughts. Why? … where had I been? I tried to recollect my thoughts from last night. I remember speaking to some bloke in the middle of the hallway after finding nothing to do. I don't even know a name. The only other thing I remember is going to someplace dark—the dungeons?—and then it was loud, smelly, cold and hot at the same time and I had no idea what was going on.
Down there? Did I go down to the Slytherin common rooms?
"Kind of," came a voice, shocking my beyond belief. I said that aloud?
"Yes," came the voice again. Damn it. I didn't know that I said my thoughts aloud.
"Well, you do," the voice couldn't just help it. I have a serious problem. Must be from why I have a bloody headache. I sighed. Why couldn't I control my thoughts?
"I dunno."
"Okay, I got it. Don't answer everything that I say," I said, annoyed and sighed. My mind flickered through the different events like before. If I had gone to the common room, then—wait, kind of?"
"I kind of went down to the dungeons?" I asked Katie, still standing in front of me.
"Yeah, well it wasn't exactly their common room," she explained. I was confused.
"I don't remember anything from last night," I confessed. "All I remember doing is… talking to some guy in the hallway, and then… we were in some place that looked like the dungeons and it was cold, dark, smelly, and… that's all. I don't even know anything else that happened. Music? I remember a large red door, too. That's it."
They looked at me defeated.
"Flint said that it was one of those Slytherin parties you hear about all the time but never know about," Harry spoke up.
FLINT? Wait… Slytherin parties? "Oh, a dungeon party?" I questioned. They nodded. Unfortunately, this didn't stir my memory.
"Sorry guys, but I have no idea why I went there," I said remorsefully. I suppose that whatever the hell I had been thinking hadn't been such a good idea.
--------------------------------------------
School continued as normal, unaware of my little escapade. Like many of the Slytherin Dungeon Parties, not many of them were known. There were rare occasions when the public found out about them. Usually, it was by accidental eavesdropping and then a friend tells a friend. This usually results in no one knowing what it is and assuming that it's like any other house's parties. They must be wrong. According to my team, it's one of the most serious parties that ever existed. I knew this, of course, but it would have been nice to remember at least a little bit of it.
I sighed as our year made our routine trudge to, sigh, Transfiguration. I hope McGonagall hadn't found out. That would have been horrible.
It wasn't until lunch time when Fred and George sitting two seats beside me made me remember something that had been wiped blank from my mind: our strategy meeting. Oh, shit. A pain filled my heart as I realized the whole reason for my cover being blown. It was probably good that this happened—who knows. I could have been dead by now.
As for now, I still had a bleeding hangover from TWO NIGHTS AGO! When does that ever happen? Isn't a hangover supposed to leave you the next day or whatever? That's how my hard-core "drunkfests" went. Because, you know, my "drunkfests" are so hard-core. Strangely, I was still finding it hard to concentrate.
FINALLY, the day was through and I was just ready to eat it on my bed because I was whipped. It didn't sound like that was going to happen any time soon. The guys were still up in my room and Fred and George were feeling a very raucous game of Exploding Snap. Oh, pee-shaw. The night went incredibly slow as I managed to barely rescue my eyebrows from a terrible infringement, thus the frying of my beautiful, luscious brows. Heaven forbid!
The bed was a great haven for me when Fred and George were tired out (FINA-FRICKEN-LY) and the dorm room had calmed down considerably. The jeans were off and I was in bed, my head lying down—wait... what was that? My head shot up quickly and I glanced down warily. Sitting serenely on my pillow was a note. And it had my name on it.
Strange.
I popped a quick squat on my bed and unfolded the letter to find the simple words displayed before me: Come home.
For a moment I couldn't move. The shock had stirred in me for a while before I regained my breathing. I looked at the two words that glared at me and taunted me. I couldn't believe it. I wouldn't believe that it was true; I just couldn't. But there was no denying that handwriting.
Mum was awake.
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A/N: Please don't shoot me now. :) Here's your story! YAY! Gracias to all my loyal reviewers. I'm sorry you had to wait this long. I have been so FRICKEN BUSY AHHH! And thanks to all those newbie peeps who reviewered here. That reminds me that I have to send you a message thanking you! AH!
The song was Audioslave's, P.S.!
HEARTS!
Eme-whoo?
Emelie!