Katie and Oliver returned to London the morning after the funeral so that Oliver could resume training with Puddlemere United. The team had a match in two days and Oliver had every intention of playing, despite the loss of his father.
Gretchen questioned if Oliver should play in a match so soon, but Oliver insisted he was fine and that their father would've wanted him to play. Gretchen, who knew he was right, dropped the subject after that.
Katie and Oliver said farewell to Gretchen and Mrs. Wood, who tearfully hugged them tight and made them promise to visit again soon.
The pair apparated to Katie and Alicia's flat, where Katie offered Oliver an encouraging smile.
"All right?" she asked.
Oliver nodded. "All right," he replied. "To be honest, I think getting back to quidditch will be good for me. It'll be a good distraction for me."
Katie nodded in understanding, but her eyes reflected concern. She had noticed the pain in Oliver's eyes when they said goodbye to Mrs. Wood and Gretchen, and she knew he was still putting on a brave face for their sake.
"Healing will take time. Just take things day by day," Katie said gently. She expected Oliver to say goodbye to head home before he was due for an afternoon training session, but he hovered as she tidied up the kitchen. Sensing that Oliver wasn't eager to be alone, she poured herself some tea and did her best to appear nonchalant.
"Do you want me to come by after you're done with training?" she asked casually. She didn't want it to appear like she was pitying or babying him. "I could bring dinner over."
"You don't have to do that." Oliver tried to match Katie's informal tone in an attempt to avoid sounding needy or desperate. "You've already done so much. I'm sure you'd love a break."
"Nonsense," Katie answered cheerily. "How about I make us dinner and come by around 7… or I'll pick up some takeaway. To be honest, I'm running out of recipe ideas. I don't exactly cook that much."
"You're good at it, though," Oliver offered.
Katie peered at him from her tea cup and blinked. "And you're a shit liar."
Oliver was relieved to set foot on the quidditch pitch again. Though he had just seen his teammates and coaches at the funeral, they all offered their condolences again and stopped to check on him. Once their words of encouragement were out of the way, it was back to business and Oliver appreciated the sense of normalcy.
Puddlemere United had a match against Ballycastle next, and though the Bats were nearly last in the league standings, Oliver knew better than to take them lightly. He also knew all eyes would be on him, questioning whether he'd be able to handle competing in a match so soon after his father's death. He was determined to prove himself, and to play in his father's honor.
After Oliver showered and dressed after practice, his manager, Bruce Wilcox, poked his head into the locker room.
"Oi! Wood! In here when you're ready."
Oliver sighed and trudged into Bruce's office. He felt exhausted and simply wanted to go home, a rare feeling from his usual self. He typically lingered after training to work out in the weight room, review plays or discuss tactics with teammates.
"Yeah, Coach?"
"Wood, glad to have you back," Bruce said. "I just wanted to check in and make sure you're all right."
"I'm all right."
"Are you really all right? You can be honest here, no judgment, and we can start Lennox against Ballycastle. We'll be fine if you want to take some more time."
Oliver sighed again. He appreciated having a manager who cared, but he had no desire to discuss his father. Talking about it made it feel too real and made him too emotional. He also had no desire to allow a reserve Keeper to start in his place; he was too competitive and his father would be livid if he chose to mourn him over playing quidditch.
"I'm really all right," Oliver answered. "And I'm good to play, really. I just want to get back out there."
"Well, all right," Bruce said, clapping Oliver on the back. "I'm glad to hear it. We need you."
Oliver walked home at a quicker pace than usual. He knew Bruce was merely looking out for him, but their conversation left him feeling choked up and anxious.
He hurried inside his flat and sank onto the sofa immediately. The adrenaline of returning to quidditch seemed to have gotten him through practice, but the reality of moving on and returning to life without his father seemed to hit him with a sudden and overwhelming force, leaving him void of any energy.
A sudden knock at the door reminded Oliver that Katie was coming by, and he looked around his living room in dread. He hadn't had time to clean up before training, meaning the flat was in the same state it'd been in before his dad's death.
"Coming," Oliver called out feebly as he attempted to kick a pile of Quidditch Weekly magazines under the sofa. His anxiety seemed to loosen its grip on him when Katie appeared from behind the door, a bag of food in hand.
"I got us Thai food from that spot you like over on Baronet Road," she said as she kicked off her sneakers. "There's probably enough food here to feed 10 people, so I hope you're hungry."
Oliver smiled for the first time that day and suppressed the urge to hug her in gratitude, instead deciding to fetch some plates from the kitchen. As Katie waited for him, she glanced around the flat and noticed her wine glass from several nights earlier remained on a side table. She fished her wand from her purse and flicked it, sending the wine glass sailing toward the sink. Another flick and the sofa cushions straightened themselves, a stack of newspapers zipped toward the rubbish bin and the bookshelves were relieved of dust.
"You didn't have to do that, I swear I was going to," Oliver said as Katie sat down at the kitchen table to eat.
"Yeah, but you aren't as good with those spells as I am. Now pass me some chopsticks."
They ate mostly in silence, chatting a little about Oliver's training that day. Oliver told Katie about his conversation with Bruce, and Katie noted that Oliver was fortunate to have a caring manager.
"I'm not mad for playing in a match so soon, am I?" Oliver asked. Katie met his gaze and seemed to be mulling over her response carefully. She was worried about Oliver, as any friend or relative would be for someone who had just suffered a terrible loss. She wanted Oliver to grieve and heal his father's death, but she also knew that quidditch provided him with stability and control.
"Honestly? No one would think you're mad if you decided to take some more time off, but no one will think twice about it if they see you playing this week either," she finally said.
"That's not a very helpful answer," Oliver laughed.
"Ol, I can't tell you what to do," Katie said seriously. "If you feel like you're ready to play again, I think you should. But if there's any voice in the back of your mind holding you back, it's okay to take some time."
"I'm just not sure what the right thing to do is."
"The only thing to do in this case is what feels right to you," Katie pointed out. "No one's going to judge you either way – no one who actually cares about you, that is. If The Prophet wants to run a story about how you rushed back to play after your dad's death, that says more about them than you. You have to look out for yourself now."
"My dad would want me to play." Oliver swallowed as the thought of his first match without his father made his chest hurt. He tore his gaze from Katie and began piling up their empty dishes to conceal his expression.
"Your dad would want you to do what's best for you," Katie noted as she watched him place the dishes in the sink. "He loved you and just wanted you to be happy."
Oliver nodded as he quietly considered her words. "I'm going to play," he said confidently, though his eyes weren't convincing.
Katie offered an encouraging smile, hoping her own eyes didn't give away her concern. "Everything will be all right," she added, rising to her feet to help Oliver clear the table.
Once the dishes were clean, Katie lingered in the kitchen, unsure of what to do next. It suddenly dawned on her that she hadn't slept alone in her own bed in a week.
Oliver had already come to the same conclusion, but said nothing.
"Well, I'll let you get to it," Katie finally said. "I'm sure you want to get some sleep."
"You mean some sleep without someone stealing all the covers?"
Katie narrowed her eyes. "Excuse me, but I do no such thing."
"Katie, I haven't had a warm night's sleep in a week thanks to you," Oliver teased.
"You're such a liar!"
Oliver laughed and a heavy silence settled around them, forcing Katie to shift from one foot to another. Oliver sensed she was about to move toward the door, so he blurted out, "Wait." Katie looked at him curiously.
"I just wanted to say thank-you for… well, everything this past week," Oliver continued. "I know I already said this, but I really am grateful for all you've done. You didn't have to do all that, or this," he gestured aimlessly, "and it really has meant a lot."
"It's nothing, really," Katie said honestly. "I know it's been hard and I know you've still got a lot of healing to do… and I also know you're more of the type to put on a brave face than admit to any of that, so I'm here for you."
Oliver chewed on his bottom lip as Katie waited patiently for him to speak up. She could sense that there was more to this conversation, but she wasn't confident enough to take the lead.
Vulnerability wasn't Oliver's strength, but Katie's presence was soothing. He glanced toward a window as if he was observing that it was dark out.
"Are you sure you're okay to walk home?" he finally asked. "It's late."
Katie understood. Oliver didn't know how to ask for help, and it wasn't fair for her to expect him to; not when he was already so emotionally drained.
"I can stay over, if you want," she offered gently. She gazed at him with kind eyes, hoping he understood that he was in a safe space. Oliver nodded in response and Katie smiled. "I call dibs on the covers, then."