Oliver Wood and the Muggleborn's Wand
Chapter 19
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Not For Profit work. Harry Potter and related materials © J.K. Rowling.

Oliver was sure that Percy had somehow arranged for this. It was the only explanation, and it was also yet another indication of how good a friend Percy was. This was the second time Oliver had grossly inconvenienced him in the recent past, third if he counted screaming at the poor man in the Leaky Cauldron.

This had to be the worst of all. Calling a Ministry official so he could use his pull to help make a report of a stolen wand seem more important than it really was...Oliver suspected that Percy was trying to make amends with his family by being overly nice to everyone he knew, even if it meant bending rules.

It was the only explanation for why Harry Potter, Auror-in-training, was sitting across from Oliver at his kitchen table. It had taken Harry the better part of the afternoon to get here, but...still.

Jessica had pulled up a chair next to him, sat with an arm over his shoulders, and stayed put, just like that, while Oliver gave his statement. "That was it...just came home and it was gone. Not a very exciting crime scene..."

"They never are," Harry said. He was scribbling notes down with a Muggle pen, on Muggle paper. "You can't Apparate into the flat? The door's the only way in?"

"Yeah, just the door, I took my sweet time on it when I moved in, but I put up the charm," Nodding, Oliver's eyes suddenly closed halfway, as if he were holding back tears. "No...no, all you'd need is a broom to get in through the windows. You could even climb, it's not high."

"Do the windows open from outside?"

Looking back up at Harry, Oliver wondered why, on Earth, that was important. "Err...no. And those, I remembered to lock, too...why?"

"Because," now Harry was tapping the end of his pen against the pad, the gears in his head turning, "If they don't open from the outside, it means it was either a Muggle or a wizard without a wand, or they'd have used magic to get in. They could've used an unlocking charm on the door every time you remembered to seal it up or something to get in through the window that wouldn't break it."

Shocked, Oliver thought back to the very first day he'd moved in, how he'd been so confident that locking the door magically made the place invincible. He'd just never thought he'd have to worry about anything but an unlikely Muggle burglar. "Oh..."

"And since the wand is the only thing that's been disturbed at all," Harry continued, "I'm inclined to believe it was a wizard without one to begin with. Or else it wouldn't have been touched."

"A Wizard stole Katie's wand," Oliver repeated. Breathing became hard; this information somehow made it even worse. The idea that a Muggle might've swiped something so useless to them was infuriating, but the idea that another wizard would steal Katie's wand, that piece of Oliver which meant nearly everything, for their own use, for their own enjoyment...

"Potter...please, you've got to find that wand."

Flipping his little notebook closed, Harry stood up. "I'll do my best, Oliver," he said, in a way that Oliver knew he wasn't just being patronized. "I can't promise much, unless you can find someone who saw them come inside while you were at Puddletown."

"You've got to," Oliver repeated, nonetheless. "You've got to...you don't know what it means to me..."

He didn't even try to get up, he just let Harry go. Once his old Seeker was gone and the door was shut, Oliver lost it. Crying in front of Harry Potter, of all people, was just out of the question. Crying in front of Jessica...well, she had stayed close for support this entire time. If he was going to stop holding back the tears in front of anyone, there wasn't anyone better. "I can't...I can't believe I...I let it get stolen..."

She took her arm off of his back when his shoulders started to shake, but she stayed close. "He'll find it, Oliver. He's your friend, right? Not just a random cop you don't know? He'll actually want to find it."

"Yeah," Trying several times to take a full, deep breath, Oliver wiped his eyes with his sleeve. "Yeah...big tough guy I am, eh? It's not even my wand..."

"Oliver, you keep saying that, but you're still human," she said. Rubbing a hand over his back, she added, "And who cares of it's yours or not? It's important to you. You've every right to be upset."

"It's not that, really." Oliver hicupped. He tried to bring his hand up to his chest, but it was hard to hold it steady. "Kate's in...in here. Her wand is just...I don't know, it just makes me feel at peace, because it's something that meant so much to her..."

"C'mon," she tugged, gently, at his back, "Let's go for a walk. I'll get you something to eat."

Part of him wanted to refuse, but he felt so utterly drained, that the path of least resistance won out easily. Nodding sheepishly, Oliver stood on wobbly legs. He wasn't sure he'd have been able to muster the will to walk at all, if not for Jessica staying close, nudging him on.

He didn't bother with the locking charm on his door; there was no point. He did keep one hand gripped tightly on his wand, tucked nicely into his pocket. It wasn't Katie's, but it was some modicum of a ground to reality.

Jessica's idea of 'getting something to eat' turned out to be a chocolate bar at the closest convenience store once they hit Station Road. He ate it gingerly, piece by piece, while Jessica let him walk on without bothering him with talk.

It wasn't until they passed King's Guard Surplus that she said something, her eyes dancing around as she surveyed the store inside the window. "I thought Conner said he couldn't get today off...hope he's not still home and hung-over..."

The mental image of Conner lying where they'd left him, but awake and groaning in agony, brought a faint smile to Oliver's face. He dropped another piece of chocolate into his mouth, and spoke around it. "Wouldn't surprise me...we should've gotten a picture..."

The chocolate actually made him feel a little better; good food did that, after all. Jessica thought he still looked like a train wreck, and she was right. His eyes were still red and puffy, they still ached, and his stomach still felt like it was displeased over the breakfast he hadn't had.

The world seemed a little clearer around him, though. Oliver stopped hearing the blood pump through his head, and his feet felt lighter. It was easier to think, easier to believe that Harry would find something.

"We'll check on him when we get back," she added. It couldn't have been better if it were planned. Her phone rang from her pocket, and after taking a glance at the caller-ID, she looked back at Oliver and said, "Creepy, that." This done, she answered the call. "Conner! How's your head...wait, what? Wait!"

Watching Jessica pull the phone away from her ear and stare at the screen, Oliver raised an eyebrow. "What was that about?"

"I don't know," she continued staring at her phone for several seconds, as if hoping it would give her an answer. "He just hung up. Said he wanted us to meet him over at 117 Cove Street."

Seeing no significance, Oliver asked the obvious question. "What's there?"

"St. John's Church," she shrugged, her eyes wandering up and down the street. She a feeling someone was going to tell her she was on Candid Camera any second now. "It's his church, I don't know why he didn't just say that..."

"Oh," Oliver nodded. Religion wasn't really his area of expertise. "Is he...praying?"

"I'll believethat when I see it," said Jessica. "He's been moping about how he's a terrible person for only making it to church every other month for more than a year now. His family's always guilt-tripping him over it."

"Huh," Oliver started to stare off into space. Something didn't seem right. Conner could barely be dragged to church anymore, but now he was inviting others? It was an important place, and he described it with the street number? "Weird..."

It took a nudge from Jessica to spur Oliver into walking. He had no doubt she was planning on heading right back down Woodland Road for her car, and then to Cove Street to find Conner. He didn't protest.

Yet another strange detail presented itself when they reached their building; Conner's car was still in the lot. "That's a long walk," Jessica told him. "Probably just wondering what he was thinking and wants a ride home...you couldn't do that...disappearing thing of yours to get there, could you?"

"Not really," Oliver's shoulders slumped a little; he hated admitting he wasn't good at something. "I'm not too great at it, see...if I'd been there before, maybe, but I'd be liable to mess it up with someone along side."

Chucking as she stuck her key into her car door, Jessica said, "Ah well, had to try."

The sun was setting by the time she pulled out of the driveway. It was something Oliver noticed, given Conner's sudden urge to go out for long walks. "I hope...I hope he's not upset over the whole magic thing again..."

For the briefest of moments, Oliver entertained the absurd idea of introducing Conner to Marcus Flint. Surely, being hit on by a man would push magic right out of his mind. Imagining the scene, Oliver caught himself grinning.

"No way," Jessica answered. "He has a fit over things, and then he doesn't remember what was so bad about it in the first place. It's how he works...for better or for worse."

The drive wasn't much longer than five minutes, and Oliver realized she hadn't been kidding when she said it was a long walk. The day had gone by so fast, and the sky was a brilliant mix of colors at one end as the sun fell under the horizon. Wondering if Conner had felt the same because of his walk, Oliver watched the shades of red and orange slowly fade. Or at least, he tried; the direction they drove in didn't always lend itself well to it.

As nice as it was, Oliver tried to stop seeing it after a minute. The colors started to remind him of his dreams, and his dreams reminded him of Katie's wand.

Trying so hard to avoid looking at the sky, it was only natural that Oliver caught sight of Conner before Jessica did. "Hey, there he is!"

Conner was standing next to the gates in front of the church. That was all; he was standing there, perfectly straight in his posture, not fidgeting, not leaning against the wall. The subtle lack of any body language made him look bizarre, even during the quick glimpse they saw while Jessica drove by.

She found a place to park soon enough, and she was out of the car faster than Oliver, just in front of him by the time she'd walked down the street far enough to be in comfortable shouting distance. "Conner!" He made no move at all; if he heard, he didn't seem to care. Increasing her gait to a mild jog with Oliver close behind, shouted louder. "Conner!"

His head turned, and, after staring at the two of them for a few seconds, Conner turned on the spot and walked through the gates.

A cold feeling ran through Oliver. This just cinched it, between the slightly-off phone call and the slightly-off hike and now the slightly-off robotic movements...so much was slightly off that it added up to something being just plain off.

"Wait," he grabbed Jessica on the arm, stopping her. "Wait, he's being a little too weird...let me go first."

He wasn't at the point where he expected Conner to ambush them, but the strange behavior was making him think of a possible reason. He wanted to be wrong. He probably was wrong, but then again, he'd also thought nothing would ever happen if he stopped being paranoid and didn't put the locking charm on his door.

Through the gates, Oliver saw that the church had a decent amount of land around it. The building was off-center inside the perimeter of the rustic stone wall surrounding it, with a medium-sized graveyard occupying the right side of the property.

Conner was walking there, going right through the center. He left footprints in the snow; it hadn't been plowed or shoveled here like it had been in the streets and sidewalks and the sound of it crunching under his weight seemed loud. His walk was slow, as if he were counting the tombstones. The lack of real light made the cemetery look surreal, like Oliver was dreaming. The shadows were so intense that Conner white T-shirt made him stand out.

It wasn't until Oliver reached the threshold of the cemetery that he tried to say something. "Conner?" He hadn't expected a response, and, with Jessica still behind him, he ventured between the tombstones. Conner had stopped at the far end, and he was simply staring at the wall. Having had quite enough, Oliver pulled his wand. With his free hand, he tugged gently on Conner's shoulder, nudging him into turning him around.

It was like rotating a turnstile. Oliver finally had a good look at his face, at the blank stare, he was certain his hunch had been right.

"It's like he's on drugs," Jessica waved a hand in front of his face, to no effect.

"No," Oliver muttered, his teeth clenched. Slowly, the pieces came together. Conner had led them into a space enclosed by a wall with only one way out. He'd led them to a spot with obstacles laying about in no real pattern. In that moment, Oliver felt extremely, extremely vulnerable. "He's imperiused."

"Repello Muggletum!"

Whirling around, wand pointed at where he thought the voice came from, Oliver saw nothing at first. Jessica had jumped, so he knew he wasn't just hearing things. Holding his wand close, Oliver decided that he wasn't going to play games. "Homenum Revelio."

Instantly, a blob of dark-blue mist, vaguely shaped as a human, appeared in the space between the cemetery and the front gate. Subtly tugging Jessica as he moved, getting her out of Conner's arm's reach, Oliver raised his voice. "Isn't it a little late for a Muggle-repelling charm?"

Realizing he was caught, perhaps not caring, the unknown wizard pulled off the invisibility cloak he was wearing and tossed it away. Once it was rumpled on the ground and slightly visible, Oliver could see that it was an expensive cloak, woven from Demiguise hair. A simple plank of wood was tied to the end of it, sure to cover over any footprints the wearer might leave.

Immediately, Oliver noticed the man was dressed in the robes of a Death Eater, sans the hood and mask. He took a small step forward, trying to keep Jessica and Conner behind him. He needed to keep track of Conner, as well; if he was made to do anything particularly nasty against his will, Oliver fully intended to blast him across the Cemetery with a stunner.

The Death Eater stepped forward as well, confidence gleaming in his eyes. He stopped at the first line of graves. "Not at all," he said. His voice carried a sense of finality. "The two of them are fine. I just don't want any interruptions."

The lampposts nailed to the wall flickered on, lighting the cemetery in white even as the sunset hadn't completely faded away. Staring intently, Oliver felt unnerved by the dark wizard before him. Something seemed familiar about him, even though he was positive he'd never met the man. "Do I know you?"

"Oh no," the Death Eater said. "We've never met. You've met a friend of mine, you killed him the same night his son died."

Specific children dying didn't ring a bell with Oliver, but there was only one person he'd ever killed. Thinking back, he tried to remember what he should recognize about someone who called Crabbe a friend...he knew Crabbe's son had been in Draco Malfoy's clique since they started at Hogwarts four years behind Oliver himself.

Pansy Parkinson didn't seem relevant, but there was one other Oliver could remember, one other face that was always around if he bore witness to a Malfoy moment of bothering Harry Potter. Much like with Crabbe and his son, the resemblance was uncanny. "Goyle."

"Right," Goyle's answer was sharp.

Not nearly as sharp as Oliver's voice when he saw the wand in Goyle's hand, the wand that was most assuredly not his. "You've no right to that."

"Don't talk to me about rights!" Indignant, Goyle was practically shouting at the top of his lungs. "Rights, like what Mudbloods are given at the expense of us? Rights, like when you live with Muggles and let them into society? You kill a pureblood like it was nothing and you talk to me about rights?"

Oliver wasn't at all interested in Goyle's pureblood mania. He felt no desire to redeem the man, to convince him of the error in his ways, not even wishing to see his reaction if he found out the wand he'd stolen belonged to a Muggleborn. The only thing Oliver wanted was that wand back.

And Jess and Conner getting out of here safetly...and Jess and Conner, he had to remind himself.

As such, he said nothing, and Goyle certainly wasn't done. "Well, that's all over for you now, little man. This will be worth everything I've gone through, waiting for you to leave that door open just to get a wand after you scared my Dementor away, being forced to live in a Muggle shelter with the worst of the wretches...I'm going to make you watch your friends die..."

Oliver laughed.

He wasn't hysterical, nor was he truly amused. The irony of the situation simply seemed humorous. His laugh sounded angry, starting deep in his throat and continuing until he'd wrapped his brain around how absurd this man really was. "You're an idiot."

"What?" Pointing Katie's wand halfway up, Goyle was so surprised by his lack of an ability to get a real rise out of Oliver that he stopped moving.

"You stand there," growled Oliver, "Ranting and raving about this and that...you're so indignant that I killed the enemy? Are you kidding? And now here you are, threatening people that are important to me. You know what you and your friend have in common?" Oliver didn't wait for an answer, "You both do the exact same thing to piss me off." And before Goyle could fully process the idea that Oliver would go on a warpath instead of going without a fuss, Oliver swung his wand up. "Reducto!"

The Reductor Curse crashed through a tombstone as Goyle jumped out of the way, aiming Katie's wand right back. "Crucio!"

While Goyle had ducked for cover behind another tombstone, Oliver literally went for a dive, hearing the curse hit concrete somewhere behind him. Hauling himself up on a tombstone, trying to stay behind it for cover, he fired off another Reductor Curse. It bore through another grave marker just inches away from where Goyle stood behind it.

Expecting Goyle to take another potshot, Oliver ducked out just long enough to aim one of his own, and was more than a little surprised when he heard Goyle's incantation. "Avada Kedavra!"

Quickly ducking back behind the marker, Oliver had no time to wonder if it was adequate cover or not, no time to think before green light flared around it and the marble exploded in his face, sending him sprawling into his back.

Getting his eyes opened, Oliver looked up in time to see Goyle abandoning his cover, again flourishing his wand. Knowing what was coming, he pointed his want at a nearby grave. "Accio headstone!"

"Avada Kedavra!"

Again, green light met marble, and the tombstone exploded violently as it flew in front of Oliver. "Stupefy," he yelled, pushing himself up as he did so. Closer now, Goyle was almost hit by the stunner, but not quite. When he ducked back out from behind his cover, he only pointed his wand in a seemingly random direction.

"Kill her," he shouted, "Kill her and cut your own throat!"

Conner and Jessica. Oliver had completely forgotten them in only such a short amount of time. Jessica had been hiding behind a grave herself, whereas Conner just stood next to her, still dazed out of his mind.

He didn't stay that way. Horrified, Oliver watched him pull a combat knife he must've gotten from work, and approach her. She noticed it as well, falling onto her back on account of the shock and trying to scurry away.

Not hearing her cry out in fright, Oliver only heard his own voice as he changed targets. He tore his throat raw, yelling "Stupefy!" and his spell hit Conner dead-on, sending him onto his back.

It was too much time to ignore an attacker. Whatever hex Goyle had hit Oliver's outstretched arm with, it was a good one. He nearly dropped his wand, barely managed to scamper back behind the graves for cover. His arm just above the elbow started to sting underneath the sleeves of his T-shirt and jacket, with a distinct wet sensation. The pain felt somehow dull, as if it should've been worse. Maybe it was shock.

Back pressed hard against a headstone, Oliver heaved breaths in and out of his lungs, trying to hear over himself. He listened for Goyle's footsteps and found a rough direction; the man wasn't the most intelligent person in the world, and he gave no thought to dead leaves and twigs crunching with the snow under his feet.

He didn't give any thought to being quiet at all; he preferred taunting. "Hiding? You just want to watch me kill them first? Is that it?"

Knowing for sure that the man wasn't terribly close, Oliver yanked his jacket off quickly; the cold air bit into his skin, but it felt soothing on his arm, and he tried to calm his breathing down so he wasn't heaving out entire breaths that formed large clouds in front of his face. Chancing a look under his sleeve, Oliver found that a good portion of skin had been burned, not with fire or heat, but as though with acid. The outside of the wound was red and irritated, and the impact point radiated out an area of darker color as the skin peeled away, dotted with boils.

Really, it hurt a lot less than it looked like it should have. Forcing himself to not be concerned with it, Oliver tightened his grip on his wand. Pushing onto his feet and spinning around all at once, he leveled his wand at the first sight of black he saw.

"Impedimenta," he snarled, wondering what, exactly, he might do if he managed to disable Goyle. The thought was frightening and elating all at the same time.

His spell missed the mark, however. Taking the opportunity to retaliate, Goyle moved out of cover once more.

This time, Oliver planned on stopping the stalemate. He wanted to end the duel as fast as possible, and the best way to do that against someone like Goyle was to think creatively. Someone like Goyle usually only thought about what was right in front of their face.

Thinking this, Oliver had a wild idea, and he went with it. As Goyle fired off a curse, Oliver didn't attempt to counter it or send off a spell of his own. Focusing solely on the spot right behind Goyle, Oliver pulled off the best Apparation of his life.

It was almost perfect. He'd reappeared facing the same direction he'd started in, which meant his back was to Goyle now, and he had to take the time to turn. It gave Goyle an extra second to figure out what was going on, and as they came into each others' eyesight once more, Oliver realized he would never raise his wand in time.

So he did the next best thing; he threw a left hook with his free hand, and decked Goyle square in the jaw.

Taking advantage of Goyle's surprise, Oliver kicked him in the gut as he stumbled, and brought his fist down to hit him again. Somehow, Goyle managed to regain his situational awareness and caught Oliver's wrist in his own free hand, bringing Katie's wand up with the other.

Oliver beat him by a hair, bringing his own wand-arm up the inside and pushing Goyle's away, getting Katie's wand pointed at anything but his face. For a moment, this worked fine...until Goyle's arm slid up and ran across the injury on Oliver's arm. Startled, Oliver let out a yelp and loosened his arm just enough for Goyle to get Katie's wand pointed at him. "Incendio!"

He knew he was in trouble as soon as he heard the first syllable. Throwing his head back, Oliver leaned to get further away, giving up balance for the sake of keeping his face. The fire charm flew right by his eyes, and he tried to push back as it passed, tried to force Goyle backwards now that he didn't need to dodge anything.

It worked at first, until Goyle dissaparated from the spot. Oliver had inspired him by doing it himself, it seemed. People like Goyle, thick in the skull and thin in the brains, were the types to be imitators rather than innovators. Turning, Oliver came face to face with him again; Goyle had reappeared in the middle of the lawn, away from the cemetery.

Then again, Goyle was still a Death Eater. As little as that meant in the post-war era, perhaps nothing more than a destiny in Azkaban, it didn't change the fact that the man knew dark magic and wasn't afraid to use it.

He hadn't expected Goyle to whip out anything incredibly flashy. The Muggle-repelling charm did nothing to obscure sights and sounds. When Goyle made a gesture with Katie's wand that Oliver didn't recognize, a rather complicated one, and shouted, "Fulgoria,"well, Oliver was caught a little off-guard.

The spell started out subtly enough, with a crackle of thunder and a pulse of light down the wand...and then all at once, light exploded from the tip. Pointed right at Oliver, Katie's wand let loose a massive, booming stream of lightning, several lines of bright-blue electricity curling and corkscrewing around in the air.

It was near-blinding, lighting up the cemetery as though daylight, melting the snow on the ground directly underneath as it traveled. Oliver's reflexes saved him, but just, just barely. He pulled his hands close as it started, yelled out "Protego!" and couldn't even hear himself over the sounds of Goyle's spell.

Oliver's shield charm strained instantly, deflecting the attack every which way but faltering under the curse's power. Oliver tried to hold on, he gave it everything he had, but he could still feel the force exerting on his hands, pushing them into his sternum as he held his wand in a deathgrip. His feet slid through the snow, the ground underneath slick and refusing to hold him in place against the lightning's push.

All at once, Oliver threw his arms out to the side, shouting a huge cry of rage and frustration. If his shield charm wouldn't be sufficient, he wouldn't stand there and wait to be fried; doing his best to change the bubble's shape, Oliver could already feel pricks of the spell hit his fingertips, he could feel the jolt in his hands and starting down his arms, but in the end, he succeeded.

Cast off in many directions, the lightning bowled over tombstones and melted snow, some of it flying through the air, some of the marble or concrete stones shattering, some simply slamming over.

The shattered ones, those were the ones Oliver focused on, making the motions even before the lightning died down and the light faded. He threw his arms up from the sides, crossing them at the wrists right over his head. Not even thinking of trying the spell non-verbally, Oliver called out, "Leadocalxi!"

The fragmented stone all around gathered into the air, swarming behind Oliver and climbing towards the sky in the span of a few seconds. Goyle's surprise at the sight of this, after watching his powerful curse be narrowly deflected, bought Oliver those precious seconds. He kept his arms up, wand in the air, kept his eyes on Goyle, and the spell reached its next stage. Every one of those broken pieces of stone, the small ones, the larger chunks, the marble, the concrete, the dull and the pointed...every one of them flew over Oliver's head or around his sides, picking up speed as the cloud of wrecked cemetery went straight for Goyle.

Goyle, for his part, had pretty good reflexes, too. Just in the nick of time, he disappeared. Frustrated, infuriated, Oliver dropped his arms, and the stone flying through the air fell more naturally, dotting the pristine snow across the long with skid marks every which way.

Looking around, Oliver couldn't see where Goyle had went, but his thought that he might've run away was dispelled soon; a blast of fire hit Oliver square in the wand arm, right in the spot that had been burned already. He couldn't help it; the surprise of being caught off-guard and getting hit in that spot, coupled with the pain, was just too much, and he fell over. His wand escaped his hand and rolled three or four inches, leaving a wide little trail on top of the snow.

"Gotcha."

Seeing Goyle to the side, Oliver rolled around and grabbed for his wand, but Goyle would have none of this. "Sectumsempra."

In the end, there was very little pain. The sensation was much worse, the feeling of flesh across Oliver's back coming apart, cleaved by a non-existent knife.

The sensation and the blood and the scream that Oliver didn't realize was his own until he fell onto his back and felt himself bleeding onto the snow, felt it gout even more when he tried to move or breath...

Goyle had won. Oliver had no wand, he was going to bleed to death, and the man was walking calmly over, Katie's wand never faltering in its aim. He was going to die by Katie's wand, and Oliver was sure there was some irony in there even as Goyle gave him one last taunt, "I hope you don't think you're getting a Killing Curse...that's far too easy..."

Then, Goyle screamed, more than Oliver had, as the knife went clean into his leg above the knee, all the way to the hilt. Oliver turned as Goyle did, both of them greeted by the sight of Conner standing tall, long free of the Imperius Curse, one arm outstretched from throwing the knife, the happy look on his face making it evident that he was thinking, 'I can't believe that worked!'

Nothing if not easy to anger, Goyle forgot Oliver and turned to Conner. His smile fading, Conner seemed ready to turn invisible and hide. Or at least, he seemed like he wanted to, especially when Goyle, all of his weight on his other leg, snarled at him. "How dare you! You filthy Muggle, you do this to me? Ava - "

But Oliver had realized what Goyle was going to do the very moment he started to form the words, and his one thought was to protect his friends, to do whatever it took to ensure no harm came to them. In the heat of the moment, in the panic that came with forcing himself to roll over and grab his wand despite the huge cut going across his back, in the half of a second he had to figure out what he should actually do to stop him, Oliver could only think of one thing, one very simple thing that would unquestionably stop the Death Eater in his tracks.

As Oliver swung himself up onto one knee and pointed his wand, Goyle noticed him and quickly changed his aim back. He was too late to stop Oliver, and their respective curses were spoken as one, finished at the exact same time:

"Avada Kedavra!"

In that instant, Oliver knew he was going to die. He knew the Killing Curse couldn't be stopped, couldn't be countered or deflected by sending another spell through it. As their spells met and snaked around each other, he expected nothing more spectacular than the curses dodging each other to reach their intended destinations, content in the knowledge that, though he may die, he'd saved Jessica and Conner from Goyle's self-righteous, indignant wrath.

And then, instead of moving on through the air, the two lines of green light snapped together, connecting, green turning into brilliant gold, a bright wave of light bounding out from the center between them with a crack like a Muggle gun being fired.

Goyle looked just as surprised as Oliver felt. The wand in his hand seemed to have a mind of its own as it started to shake. Oliver wasn't sure if the tingle in his hand was from blood loss or whatever it was his wand was doing, but he managed to stand, managed to ignore the wet feeling at his back, clasping his free hand over the one holding his wand to keep it steady.

He didn't know what to do, let alone what was going on. He hadn't saved Jessica and Conner after all, he would surely lose consciousness before he could figure out how to stop Goyle...in the end, Oliver had failed, and it hurt as badly as when Katie had died...out of the corner of his eye, he could see Conner standing next to Jessica, Jessica holding something next to her head...Jessica being surprised when another person appeared out of thin air right next to her...and Oliver could swear it was Harry Potter before he felt compelled to give the situation at hand all of his attention...

From the center between the two duelists, a dome of light formed out of the connection their wands made, the gold band between them staying ever locked. To his great shock, a misty, ethereal shape formed at the tip of Oliver's wand, growing until it spilled out and took a human form. It seemed less than a ghost, less than a real fragment of someone left over, but there was detail. It wore the robes of a Death Eater and the face of a man Oliver had murdered.

Ignoring Oliver, the shade of Crabbe glared down the twisting line of golden light, giving Goyle all of his attention. "What are you waiting for? Kill him!"

Not at all prepared for this, for the specter of a dead comrade to suddenly appear from nowhere, Goyle could only stare at the shade and barely speak, "What...what magic is this..."

"Kill him, Goyle!" Crabbe's ranting didn't calm down. "Kill the blood traitor! Kill the..."

Crabbe was gone, the mist forming his shape dissolved into the air as someone batted it away from behind with their arm. Oliver could barely see them out of the corner of his eye, wondered if Potter had somehow worked that special brand of magic he had, that knack for pulling off what everyone always thought was impossible...

Nothing could compare to the shock and fear Oliver experienced when a Quidditch-gloved hand came over his own, helping to steady him, helping to keep his wand from shaking its way clear out of his grip. Another gloved hand held onto his arm, and Oliver turned his head, seeing the too-dark red Gryffindor robes, seeing his own face staring back at him with red eyes.

And he heard his own voice, calming, soothing, a man sure of what was going to happen trying to reassure him in turn. "It's okay, Oliver. He can't hurt you, not really. Not as long as I'm here."

Nodding, Oliver looked back at Goyle, and knew from the look on Goyle's face that he wasn't imagining things. The Other was really standing there, really holding on, really trying to help, but...it couldn't be real. Duplicate, red-eyed versions of oneself didn't exist in reality; it had to be a dream...

"He doesn't know what's going on anymore than you do," the Other said. "He has no idea. This isn't really a contest...I can help, Oliver. I'll be around long enough. What do you want to do? Do you want to kill him? That's what you tried, right?"

Indeed, Oliver remembered casting the Killing Curse. He remembered hitting Crabbe with it, murdering the man for revenge. He still didn't feel sorry for it, still felt like Crabbe had deserved it, and yet, that one act had led to where he was right now, had led to his friends being put in danger. Would Goyle had even known who he was, if he'd merely stunned Crabbe and watched him be sent to Azkaban?

"I...no...no, I don't...I don't want to kill anyone, I just want to protect the others...he can't...he can't hurt my friends..."

"It's your decision, after all," the Other said. His red eyes never blinked. "Break the connection. Break it now."

The lock had scarcely been going on for two minutes, if that. Oliver had felt like he'd been holding on for days, and he'd never once considered that stopping it could be that simple. With a nod to his Other and a final look at Goyle, Oliver yanked his arms up, yanked his wand away from the golden light.

It was gone, just like that. He stumbled a few steps, as did Goyle, but Goyle recovered first. He raised his arm, intent on resuming the fight...but to his great shock, Katie's wand was no longer in his hand.

Staring in disbelief, Oliver watched his Other point Katie's wand and calmly say, "Stupefy."

It was an impressive stunner. As if he'd had to fuel it with his very being, the Other vanished the moment the red light left the wand, firing off before it fell to the ground. Hit in the sternum, Goyle literally flew backwards, crashing into the snow with little pizzazz. He didn't move.

His back and legs covered in blood, Oliver felt woozy. He didn't care about Goyle, didn't care about Jessica and Conner - now that they were safe, he could prioritize - and forced his feet to carry him, forced himself to move the few steps to where Katie's wand lay on the grass. He collapsed to the ground, not even feeling the snow biting at him, concerned only with the wand, thoughts of his red-eyed doppelganger entering his mind as he reached out and took it, his fingers too numb to feel the wood.

He didn't care. Satisfied, or at least satiated, Oliver pulled it close, hugging it to his chest. He understood that, logically, feeling like he was now somehow complete made no sense, but he didn't care. He couldn't care. All was well.

Clutching the wand like the rest of the world didn't exist, Oliver felt his eyes slide shut...and he couldn't have opened them even if he'd wanted to.