Oliver Wood and the Muggleborn's Wand
Chapter 21
Alhazred - ssjDOTalhazredATgmailDOTcom - alhazredDOTlivejournalDOTcom
Not For Profit work. Harry Potter and related materials © J.K. Rowling.

Oliver didn't remember any dreams he may have had when he woke up, but he remembered a knife, and a sword. He jumped a little, only because he realized that the last place he remembered being was a place where he had more than one pointy object going through his skin.

Soon, the new surroundings registered to his senses, and he calmed down. He recognized the smell, the feel of the sheets he was laying on, the soft blanket over his legs. Someone nearby was snoring. He'd been here before; the most memorable time for a Bludger he took two minutes into a game.

Seeing the outline of his wand on the nightstand, he grabbed it and gave it a wave. His arm felt stiff, but not a scary kind of stiff. It was stiff just because he was lying in bed and hadn't moved for awhile. When the lights came on, Oliver's guess proved correct; he was lying in a bed at St. Mungo's.

A curtain divided the room into two, so it wasn't a private room, but he knew there was a silencing charm on that curtain. He could see darkness seeping in from around it. More importantly, the source of the snoring was someone he knew, and someone on his side of the room.

Harry Potter looked like he was going to wake up with a backache, from the way he was sleeping in his chair. Grateful for the company, but curious enough to override politeness, Oliver said, "Hey...hey, Potter."

Harry didn't stir. Letting out a sigh, Oliver's eyes rolled. Giving up for a moment, he glanced around again, and something colored caught his eye.

It was a piece of stationary, crudely folded so the corners didn't meet. His name and room number were scribbled on it. The color seemed familiar, but Oliver didn't place it until he opened it and saw the Tutshill Tornados emblem on the top.

Wood,
Heal fast. Beating Puddlemere is pointless without you.

Be seeing you,
---Marcus

Flint's bizarre tendency to be friendly now was only offset by the "XOXOXO" scribbled at the bottom. Oliver snorted and tossed the paper to the side, but it didn't go to the floor; it didn't fly at all and landed on the bed, next to his leg. "God!"

Snorting, Harry twitched in his sleep and started sawing wood all over again. He was in very immediate danger of drooling on himself. Pointing his wand somewhat meekly, trying not to let thoughts of Flint hurt his brain, Oliver said, "Reenervate."

When Harry jerked awake, it was worse than when Oliver had. He almost fell off the chair. One hand went to his back as he groaned, the other wiping his mouth. "Oliver? You awake?"

"More awake than you," Oliver chuckled, slumping back into the mattress. He felt tired; moving around had brought way too much fatigue. "Waking you up for early morning practice used to be less trouble."

Fishing his glasses out of a pocket, Harry added, "Yeah, I'm getting too old for this...how're you feeling, though?"

"You have no idea," Oliver chuckled again. It was kind of funny, looking back on it. The ceiling intrigued him, with all the little pockmarks in the tiles. He saw them so clearly it was tempting to count them. Then again, the sheets were so soft that he wanted to curl up and go back to sleep. Just to take advantage of the linens. It hit him, then. Harry seemed perfectly normal. He wasn't staring at Oliver with wide eyes, wasn't yammering out questions. He sat back up. "Wait...why are you here?"

"I'm supposed to be questioning you," Harry said. "But I'm just...curious. And your friends couldn't be away from work any longer. I told them I'd keep an eye on you...speaking of which, was your Muggle phone in any of your pockets?"

Eyes going to the ceiling again, Oliver thought back...he'd had no need of his phone during the recent debacle. "It...should be in the jacket."

Getting up, Harry trotted over to the closet and fished through Oliver's clothes. Seeing this, Oliver realized he wasn't wearing his clothes, and looked himself over. The standard-issue hospital gown was expected, but the bandages wrapped around one of his arms surprised him. It jogged his memory, and he recalled the spell he took in the arm.

"The healers said that would be fine," Harry said. Finding the phone, he turned towards the door. "I'll be right back...the hospital is like Hogwarts, electronics don't work inside..."

Letting out a sigh as Harry left, Oliver resigned himself to flopping back and staring at the ceiling again. It inspired him to look around the room and take everything in, and Oliver was a little surprised to notice thateverything was like the ceiling. Colors were vibrant, details stood out. The hospital bed that anyone else would consider hard and low-budget felt better than his bed at home.

When Harry came back, Oliver asked his question before he had both feet in the door. "Did they renovate this place?"

"Not that I know of." Stopping dead in his tracks, Harry looked at Oliver with every bit of curiosity he'd said he was here for. "Why?"

Thinking back to that imaginary Quidditch pitch, Oliver wondered if maybe, just maybe, he wasn't sitting here in St. Mungo's, talking to Harry Potter. There was something different about it here, though. Everything seemed more real, but there weren't subtle cues suggesting it couldn't be real. "I just...feel like I haven't been noticing the world, like when the colors on a Muggle TV are set wrong, you know?"

"Like the world is more real," Harry said, like he was saying it to himself. He stared off into space, sitting back down.

It freaked Oliver out a little. "You...you know something I don't, don't you? You know why I've," he drawled off, wondering if it would at all be smart to finish the sentence with 'why I've been seeing myself.' At Harry's continued lack of response, Oliver wondered if maybe, just maybe, Harry had seen his other in the cemetery. "Potter?"

"I," Harry paused for a long moment, "Have a pretty good idea. Can't be certain."

"I'll take an idea over the feeling I've been losing my mind since the war ended," Oliver told him.

He figured the look he gave Harry must've been a good one, because after a good staring contest, Harry consented. "I think...the world looks better because you're a whole person now."

Oliver may have been the consummate jock, but he was no fool. This just cinched it for him. Whispering, afraid the walls would hear, he said, "You saw him too."

It wasn't a question. Harry nodded his head. "More than a ghost...less than a person...most wizards have never seen anything they can describe like that. I've seen it twice, and I know it wasn't one of the things that can do it." Seeing Oliver's question coming, Harry added, "Because you weren't dead."

"Well, that's a comfort." It led Oliver to the next obvious question. "And the other time?"

"You're not a bad person," Harry answered him. "You know that, right?"

"Sometimes I wonder," Oliver said, honestly. "Six months ago, I never would've thought I could ever hate anyone. I mean really...really hate."

"And lately," Harry said. He wasn't asking a question, and he moved on, his voice barely a whisper. "Oliver...who did you murder?" When Oliver turned stiff, his lungs sucking in a long breath, Harry leaned back in his chair. He pulled something shiny from the inside of his robes and flashed it clearly. It was his Auror badge. "Nothing leaves this room. Promise."

He moved to set the badge down on the floor, dropping it instead of leaning over. The metal made an ignoble sound and then came to rest. Oliver became a little less tense, but no less apprehensive. "It was during the war," he blurted out, praying to be given the same vindication as any soldier who'd killed in combat. "During the battle. Just...just before the Dark Lord said he wanted you in the forest. It was the Death Eater that killed Kate," his voice began to falter, weighed down by shame, "I didn't have to. He wasn't armed. I wanted him to die."

"When you murder someone," Harry said, "It tears your soul apart. There's nothing worse you can ever do to yourself. Especially someone like you."

The shame ever-growing, Oliver instinctively defended himself. "I'm not-!"

"I know," nodded Harry. "That's what I mean. You're a good person," he repeated, "You're a good person who had one moment of weakness. What happened to you...you didn't do it on purpose, I don't even need to ask that, even if you were inclined, I'd doubt you found the book with the spell..."

"What spell?" Oliver blinked. He could tell Harry was rambling, it was frighteningly obvious that when Harry had said he was curious, he meant that the entire thing had somehow hit him close to home. Unable to fathom why, Oliver could only hope for more of an explanation.

"Never mind," Harry shook his head, "It's not important...that piece of you couldn't cope and just went to the nearest place of comfort, and you loved her that much, so..."

Desperately feeling the need to change the topic despite this information, Oliver said, "Is that...is that why he came out? Because he was in her wand the whole time?"

"It's as good an explanation as any," Harry shrugged. "You and Katie had wands with twin cores, yours started showing someone you'd killed, hers...well, hers wasn't exactly a normal wand anymore. To tell you the truth, I still had a little doubt if I was really making a good guess, until you woke up. You've been less than a whole person since that night...no wonder everything around you seems fresh and new."

It began to make a scary kind of sense. The sheer amount of pain he'd gone through...he'd done something so horrible that a part of himself had run away from it, not because he'd chose for it to run away, but interror. That little piece of himself had been happy to be somewhere else. He remembered torturing Jessica's ex-boyfriend, and couldn't blame himself for wanting to be elsewhere. The memory made him feel ill.

He had more pressing concerns to worry about, though. "Where's her wand?" At Harry's silence, he added, "Potter...what happened to Kate's wand?"

Harry's eyes turned down, and Oliver soon realized he wasn't looking at the floor. Following Harry's glance, Oliver looked down at his own arm, and at the small bit of magical bandage curling up from the bottom. He turned it over and peeled the bandage away, revealing a thin line of burnt skin underneath, pain stinging him now that he was aware of it. His other arm had a similar bandage.

"It burned into your chest, too," Harry said. "I'm sorry...I didn't know it would do something like that...one second you were holding it and the next," obviously fighting for words, Harry quickly added, "The Healers couldn't figure it out, they're going to turn into scars."

It seemed unreal, that Katie's wand was just gone. Feeling detached, Oliver wondered if actually seeing it happen would've made him more angry. As it was, he just couldn't believe it wasn't going to be there, sitting nicely on the bureau as always. He stared at his arms, wondering if maybe, just maybe, he wasn't hearing the whole story. "You didn't take it."

He didn't think Harry was lying, he really didn't. He just had to hear it, and Harry seemed to understand. "No, I didn't. I wouldn't. Something like that isn't for study. It shouldn't be allowed to exist, anywhere. I'm sorry it was something that meant so much to you."

"I thought I was going to die," Oliver said. "Twice. I thought he was going to kill me, and I thought I was going to kill myself, and the funny thing is, the Killing Curse doesn't seem nearly as scary anymore."

"Well." Pausing, Harry eventually added, "Funny things can happen, when you're willing to die for love. Or friendship, or doing the right thing. Whatever you want to call it, it's all the same, really."

"Remorse takes work," Oliver said, blankly. He knew he'd heard it somewhere before, he just couldn't remember where.

"Of course it does," Harry laughed. "Us Gryffindors always feel extra-guilty about everything. Trade-off for all the courage and whatnot."

There was a distracted tone to Harry's voice, and Oliver knew without much thought that he'd skirted something Harry didn't want to touch, as if the ability to feel remorse had been the deciding factor in everything. He couldn't stop his words, couldn't resist putting more effort into the idea. "You're sure the wand's gone?"

Harry's voice was near to a monotone, and he continued to look as though he wasn't thinking about being in the room. "I must not tell lies..."

The door to the room opened, giving way to Jessica and Conner. Her apron was a dead giveaway that she'd been in a kitchen, and both of them were wearing visitor's badges like the Ministry of Magic used, identifying them as Muggles. Oliver very briefly wondered how they'd gotten here, wondered if Potter had given them some Floo powder, but then again, there weren't any fireplaces in their flats...

Snatching his badge from the floor, Harry stood up and winced. The full effect of sleeping in an uncomfortable chair for lord knew how long was hitting him. Conner was the first one to say anything. "Ollie! Finally awake, sleepyhead!"

"What?" Oliver blinked.

Giving him the answer to his question, Jessica chuckled, "It's been two days, Oliver."

"Merlin," Oliver sighed, slumping back once more. "My parents are going to kill me. Please tell me no one's called my parents!"

"You just said they'd kill you for not calling them!" Conner said.

"They'll kill me more if they find out I dueled a Death Eater in front of a church and ended up in the hospital," he groaned. "I've never been so glad to have my own health insurance through Puddlemere."

"Well, after the scare you gave us," Jessica said, "We've half a mind to kill you!"

With Oliver shooting him a questioning look, Harry took off his glasses and wiped them clean with the bottom of his shirt. They didn't seem all that dirty to begin with. "Oh, my fault, that. When the wand burned up I tried to see if you were still alive."

"And," Oliver prodded, straining to hear the mumbling. He wondered why he was the one getting death threats when Potter was the one who'd apparently goofed.

"And, I learned I know how to find a pulse about as well as I know any healing magic."

"Oh." Thinking that the answer had been anticlimactic, Oliver asked one last question. "How'd you find us, anyway?"

"You have clever friends," Harry put his glasses back on, pulling Oliver's phone from his pocket and tossing it to Jessica. "She found Percy's name on your speed-dial, Percy stuck his head through the fireplace in the common room, and naturally it was too good to pass up being a hero again." Taking an awkward glance around, Harry added, "Well, I have to get back to school before curfew, Filch isn't really impressed by an Auror badge, you know...get a hold of me if you need anything, alright?"

Nodding, Oliver knew that he was talking about needing help with inner demons. Yet, he had a funny feeling that he would be fine. "Oh, Potter! What about Goyle?"

"Azkaban," Harry answered. "He was so knocked out that he didn't wake up until after he'd been assigned a cell."

Nodding, Oliver watched him leave. He felt proud that a piece of his own soul could conjure a stunner so insanely effective.

Once Harry was gone, there was an awkward silence in the room. Oliver stared at Conner and Jessica, more than a little embarrassed to be looking up at them from a hospital bed. They stared right back, until Conner broke the ice. "Oh!" He reached into his pants pocket, pulling out a Muggle candy bar. "Harry said you'd appreciate this."

Eying the chocolate as though it were a bag of Galleons, Oliver forced himself to blink his eyes before taking it. He meant to be polite, but the urge was uncontrollable and he ended up snatching it clean out of Conner's hand.

The chocolate was slightly melted, but Oliver didn't care. He peeled at the wrapper the way he'd have peeled at a banana, careful not to go too fast. Half of it was gone in one bite, and he talked with his mouth full. "Thank you."

"Maybe you should slow down a little," Conner started, but Oliver had practically swallowed the candy bar whole at this point. "Never mind...don't blame me if you get a stomach ache, ay?"

Staring at the melted chocolate covering his fingers on one hand, Oliver reached for his wand with the other. "Scourgify. You know, it'll be worth it."

"We talked to the doctor on the way in," Jessica said. "He said you could leave, if you wanted. We just have to go grab a nurse to wheel you out."

"Oh, screw that," Oliver's tone was, despite his words, utterly gleeful. He flung his blankets off, and only afterwards became accurately aware of the hospital gown he was still wearing. "Uh...grab my clothes for me, will you?"

He wasn't asking either of them specifically, but Jessica did it.

Oliver had his pants on in short order. His arms screaming the effort, the price of being immobile for two days. Once his sneakers were secure, he gladly threw the hospital gown off, intent on and pulling his T-shirt on just as quickly.

The look on his friends' faces gave him pause, and he looked down at himself, Harry's words ringing in his mind. It burned into your chest, too.

It was bandaged like his arms, but Oliver could imagine the deformity. From the middle of his sternum, it ran straight down, cutting off at the naval. Nothing else seemed to exist; pulling his arms around himself, Oliver tried to match up the bandages on them with the ones on his chest, imagining how he must've been holding Katie's wand when it had gone up in flames.

"Oh," Conner broke his daydream, "Forgot." Pulling off his backpack, he held a strap with one hand and pulled the zipper open with the other. Reaching inside, he made a fair amount of noise ruffling through some things, finally coming out with a T-shirt folded into an imperfect square. The exposed side bore several letters from the name of a Muggle football team. "Here."

Taking it gingerly, Oliver stared at it in his hands before carefully unfolding it and slipping it on. The shirt was tight and he knew it must've been Conner's, that wasn't what bothered him. He felt like it would display the scar on his chest for all to see, and he didn't mind that, not really. He just didn't want anyone to ask about it. It was something that needed to be put behind, he knew Katie wouldn't want him to mope around and dwell on it. As if his exposed arms weren't bad enough...

Tight or not, the shirt chased away the chill in the room. He shrugged his jacket on without stopping. In the end, he was grateful for at least one thing; the lack of Muggle IV needles in St. Mungos. He wasn't sure he liked the idea of needles to begin with, but right now, he was glad that he didn't have anything to fuss over.

Then again, maybe distraction would've been a nice thing to have. "Okay, then."

He tried to stand, and ended up leaning forward once he was on his feet. Legs numb, he heard joints crack, and felt his balance slowly ebb away, his arms flailing on reflex. "Woah!"

It was slow enough that Jessica and Conner tried to catch him. They did, ducking down, each flinging one of his arms over their shoulders. But it didn't help. Afforded one more moment of stability, Oliver soon lost even that and fell back to the bed. Conner and Jessica sat on it next to him on either side, his arms still uselessly around them.

"Well," Conner said, blandly, "I'll go see what's taking the nurse so long with that wheelchair, right?"

Wanting to protest, Oliver briefly entertained the idea of putting a body-bind curse on him. Still, he couldn't deny that his legs just didn't want to carry him around right now. He couldn't deny that, even once Conner was out the door, Jessica was still sitting next to him, and making no effort to remove his arm. Oliver didn't look at her, instead focusing on the old shirt he'd almost put on, still rumpled on the bed. He hadn't noticed it before, but even with it folded all over itself, the long hole running down the front, surrounded by burnt fabric...it seemed obvious.

"Oliver?"

"Huh?" Turning his head, Oliver realized that he'd briefly forgotten Jessica was there, again. He tightened his arm around her just slightly; she smelled faintly of bacon and eggs from being at work. "I..."

Conner chose that moment to come back, and Oliver figured that he hadn't done much to bring the nurse any faster, just sort-of followed her around. He seemed a little exasperated. She was an older woman, cheerful and fitting the stereotype of someone who enjoyed working at a hospital perfectly. Oliver flopped very unceremoniously into the wheelchair, heaved into it by Jessica and Conner, the task made much easier with the nurse's help. Cheery or not, she probably did this twenty times a day. Briefly, Oliver wondered if this had been the nurse to sponge-bath him while he'd been unconscious, before summarily condemning his mind for running off to places he really didn't want to think about.

Hoping he wasn't turning red, Oliver stared up at the ceiling as it rolled by, wondering if Katie could see him through the roof of St. Mungo's. For the first time, he thought of Katie watching him as something other than a ball and chain. His own wand sitting in his lap was a poor substitute for hers, but, finally, it just didn't matter.

Once the receptionist was done with him, he tried to stand up again, and met with a little more success. The joints were still stiff, but the act of walking was slowly coming back to him. He looked forward to going home and getting some rest before getting back to practice with Puddlemere. There would certainly be other games to win, and he did plan on winning, next time.

Briefly taking note of the Floo-linked fireplaces in the reception area, Oliver remembered that their flats didn't have fireplaces, let alone fireplaces linked to the network. A creeping realization came over him, and he blanched. "Oh, great...we'll have to take the Knight Bus."

---

The ride on the Knight Bus has not been any less unpleasant then last time, with the addition of Conner. In stark contrast to Jessica and Oliver, his very first words after getting off the bus on Woodland Road were, "Can we do that again?"

"No," Jessica said, glaring at him.

Oliver's reaction was much more subdued; he still couldn't walk fast, sitting down andfalling down on the bus hadn't helped this issue. He had to work to keep up with them on the pathway leading up to the front door. "I think I need to go back to the hospital."

Not skipping a beat, Jessica added, "I think I need to go back the hospital..."

He wasn't quite expecting the two of them to follow him into his flat, the flat that didn't have a locking charm on the door. He didn't put one on after going inside, either. What was Goyle going to do from Azkaban? Beyond Goyle, it seemed like the materiality of the place no longer had importance. He liked it, he enjoyed living here, but it was mostly a vehicle for getting sleep without his parents being around. Somehow, the wizarding world seemed less like a thing he wanted to keep distance from, anymore.

Naturally, it was a copy of the Daily Prophet sitting on the table that grabbed his attention. It was piled on top of two older copies, and the window was wide open. The atmospheric charm he'd put on the place kept it at a nice comfy temprature despite the Winter weather outside, but Oliver wondered how many Obliviators the Ministry would send to deal with anyone who wanted to know why he had a window open for two days straight at this time of year.

The paper was worse, though. The portrait he'd had shot as part of Puddlemere's press package adorned the front page, the smile on his face, determined game-winning body language...it was all in stark contrast to the headline.

Quidditch Star A Hero Off The Pitch; Stops Death Eater From Harming Muggles.

"Hey, you're famous, Ollie!"

Conner's enthusiasm was something Oliver would've shared in under normal circumstances. How many wizards would or could actually stop an experienced Death Eater, even one so dim-witted as Goyle? Goyle's lightning curse was something Oliver had never even heard of, and the Battle of Hogwarts had been a losing fight right up until the non-humans had dived into the fray.

No, Oliver lacked enthusiasm because this was the Daily Prophet, and his parents were subscribers. "Someone at the hospital must've blabbed the story. I should call my parents and get it over with, maybe they haven't seen this yet."

In what was quite possibly the absolute worst coincidence to occur over the past several months, an owl flew through the window, and dropped a red envelope on the table.

"I'm never going to get used to the owl thing," Conner said.

Jessica started to talk, but Oliver beat her to it. "Well, so much for hoping they haven't seen it...that's a Howler. It's gonna scream at me..."

Even as the words left him, the Howler began to shake around, nearly shaking itself right off the table. Figuring it was better than letting the thing explode, Oliver leaned towards the table, and poked it open with his index finger.

Immediately, he shied away. His mother could be loud enough as it was, but his mother through a Howler...

"Oliver Quercus Wood! What in the world is wrong with you taking on LEFTOVER DEATH EATERS! You could have at least called for help from the experts! LET THE AURORS DO THEIR JOBS! And let your parents know you've been in mortal peril BEFORE THEY HAVE TO READ IT IN THE NEWSPAPER! Turn on your Muggle phone THIS INSTANT AND CALL US RIGHT NOW DO YOU HEAR ME!"

Teeth clenched, squinting at it with one eye and the other clenched closed, Oliver was happy when it was all over. The wording, though; he found it interesting. Apparently, Harry had left out any mention of Jessica and Conner in his report. Nothing about how Goyle had apparently been stalking him from a homeless shelter for months until he'd had the chance to grab a wand.

All in all, Oliver was pretty happy for that. He wanted his parents to know he'd been targeted as revenge for a murder about as much as he wanted Rita Skeeter to sit down with Conner and talk about what it was like being under the Imperious Curse.

When he turned back to his friends, he found Jessica pulling her fingers out of her ears and Conner staring at him blankly, as if the sound hadn't bothered him at all. Jessica, staring at the remains of the letter, said, "Your mother kind-of scares me..."

Half-wanting to crack a joke about how scary his mother was, Oliver waited for Conner to say something, and he was a little surprised when 'something' turned out to be, "Your middle name is 'Quercus?'"

"Oh, shut it," Oliver sighed. "My parents hate me. Apparently. As if that just now wasn't a good indication! Merlin; I better call them and get it over with..."

It took effort to sit down; Oliver's legs gave out at a certain point in the process, unable to hold his shifting weight, and he fell into one of the chairs awkwardly. Flipping his phone open, Oliver remembered that he wasn't alone, and stared back up at his friends silently. He wasn't worried about them overhearing the conversation; they had, after all, met his parents. He was concerned about being rude, more than anything.

Jessica solved this problem for him, though. "We'll come back," she said, nudging Conner towards the door. "Just take it easy, okay? I have to go back to work but I'll stop by when I'm off."

"Yeah, Ollie," he added, "Come get me if you start feeling funny, too..."

Apparently having more faith in the healers at St. Mungo's, Jessica shushed him in an attempt to keep Oliver's morale up, and Oliver chuckled as he watched them leave. When the door closed after them, he started dialing his parents' number, slowly and painfully. The speed-dial would've just brought on the yelling way too fast.

With the last number dialed in, he set his thumb on the "Call" button and...didn't press it. Looking up at the door, Oliver realized he was only finding additional ways of procrastinating, but he didn't care. He thought about the day he'd brought Jessica to Diagon Alley and given her his scarf, he thought about how utterly terrified he'd been before that when a maniac with a baseball bat had gotten bored.

He thought about leaving the hospital and feeling like Katie would never want him to make desicions based on the idea that she would dissaprove from beyond the grave. Thinking about how this feeling was still going strong, Oliver put his phone in his pocket, stood up, and left the flat.

He jogged to the front doors, even though it was a chore. By the time he was out the door, he was also out of breath, and used it to lean on. The cold air hitting his face didn't help. Feeling like he was going to pass out, he nevertheless took a deep breath and called out, "Jess!"

Halfway to her car, Jessica turned and, surprised, trotted back over to him. "Oliver, are you procrastinating?" she said.

Deciding he was just going to power through it, Oliver looked her square in the eyes, distracted by his breath coming out in clouds in front of his face. He felt foolish, the kind of foolish he often felt like as a schoolboy constantly surprised by the world around him. It made him smile a little when he asked, "You want to go see a movie sometime?"

Surprised, Jessica didn't say anything at first. Oliver added, "I mean, uh. I've never actually been to one. I mean, I've seen some movies, just not at the cinema..."

She cut off his babbling long before he ran out of breath, her day clearly brightened by this turn of events. "I'd love to."

And that was it. There was no pain, no regret, no horsemen, no rain of fire, and no end of days. It was done. "Okay, I'll...call you."

"Okay." She smiled at him for a second, just a second before turning to walk away again. There was an extra, excited beat to her step.

Turning around, Oliver felt weak in the legs, and not because of his two days in bed. He had to stop, had to lean back against the wall once he was back through the door for a moment, nearly sliding down it. Still, his fluttering heart and the great sense of anxiety weren't inspired by terror. If anything, Oliver was nearly euphoric. He barely realized the whisper in his ear was his own voice.

"I'm so glad I'm still alive."