Printer Friendly Version ] [ Report Abuse ]
<< >>

Olive Wood: A Guide to Falling in Love by FWHPObsessed
Chapter 4 : On Hangover Remedies, Places Near the Sea and Blond Veelas
 
Rating: MatureChapter Reviews: 3


Font:  
Background:   Font color:  

Disclaimer: I own none. I'm not happy about it, but it's true ;P




Brilliant chapter image by shudder @ tda :D


  
On Hangover Remedies, Places Near the Sea and Blond Veelas:

Not only do I feel like shit from waking up with a raging headache and a absolutely roaring throat. I also wake up to the sound of my cousin being sick into a bucket. And to top it off when I throw my very mangled and twisted cover off myself, the corner happens to land in said bucket.

“Oh, yuck, Drake!” I say, falling off the bed while smacking my head against my bedside table.

I don't think it's possible to feel any worse than this.

Oh, that's right, Rose knows about me and Scorpius.

And I positively just killed my throat from talking.

I take it back.

“What?” he says, angrily. “Would you rather I was sick all over you?”

I decide to ignore his pointless question.

“You could have at least gone to the bathroom!”

My voice isn't even loud, but it still gives me a knock to the head with every syllable I say.

“Well I didn't.”

No duh.

“Would've at least given me some more time to sleep,” I mutter under my breath.

“You think sleeping's going to get rid of your hangover quicker?” he chuff's.

“I do not have a hangover!” I say, he takes this time to retch smoothly into his bucket.

I am in denial. That's right.

I do not want it to be that obvious that I have a hangover. I have a bloody interview with the caption of the Holyhead Harpies in a certain amount of hours, say, around three or two, something like that, at least. That's it, I need to find that hangover potion my dad has. But first I should have a shower, it's enough that I reek of Firewhiskey, but if I keep looking like this I will most certainly throw my dad into madness.

OK, now Drake's being sick again. That's it, I'm out of here, before he can catch me on my previous bluff.

The hallway is empty and oddly quiet and even though the bathroom is just a door away, I'm surprised I can even make it there without my dad leaping out from behind a corner. Yes, my dad is far too overprotective. Actually let's change that, he is far too paranoid. I mean, it's not like I'm his 'little girl' any more, I mean, technically I am of age. Even if I'm younger than he was when he left school it doesn't matter. I am sure he did the exact same thing when he was my age.

OK, no that's not true he was way too focused on Quidditch. I mean, he was mental about it. Obsessed, isn't even a strong enough word to describe it. He was more obsessed than me and I am borderline onto the next level above obsessed. Let's get rid of the 'was' too, he still is completely over obsessed. I've heard he was the worst coach. That was what my mum used to say, though I'm sure she was just teasing him.

I verge my thoughts off that topic and begin to think about washing my hair. I'm not even sure what shampoo I'm using right now. For all I know I could be using Luke's! Meh, Luke doesn't even have his own shampoo. Yes, that's right, he is disgusting. Or maybe he just uses mine, who knows. On second thought I think I'm using conditioner and I have managed to miss my shampoo. Yes, I have. Great, I'm sure my hair's probably going to fall out now, or be oily for the rest of my life. God knows! Still, at least I know I'm using – actually no, I don't. I do not have the slightest idea whether my hair (if it manages not to fall out) is going to have curls or be pencil straight or there's this weird looking stuff called Beachy Curls that I could've used. That sounds disgusting, plus it's from the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

Oh Merlin. Goodbye hair, I loved you while you were there.

I decide I should probably get out now, before I manage to make my skin green or something idiotic like that.

I still look a sodding mess. I simply do not understand why I have got bags under my eyes, I did have a good sleep for once. And there's a bruise forming on the side of my head from when I rolled off my bed and hit the table. Not to mention the redness on my cheeks which always comes after a decent amount of alcohol intake. And don't forget about the redness around my eyes from what I am going to do about Rose. That's if she ever talks to me again.

I cast the simple, silent spell that dries me and I can finally see what conditioner I used in my hair. It must be the beach stuff, because my hair has never looked like this before. It honestly looks like I have just been swimming at the beach by Shell Cottage. My highlights seem to be a lot brighter and my browner bits darker. I look like a surfer. I love it.

Remind me to thank my brother for putting this conditioner in here, or my cousin or dad or whoever was amazing enough to put it in my shower accidentally.

I open the door a crack to see if there's anyone outside. There isn't, but it doesn't matter, I am so not risking the risky-nude-dash-from-the-bathroom-to-your-bedroom. Even if I make it without being seen, there's no guaranteeing that Drake has left my room and God it would be embarrassing if I rush in there stark naked and he's still being sick in a bucket. And what would be the point of having a shower if I just went ahead and put my stinking party clothes back on?

I take my wand out of the secret pocket in my dress and point it out the door.

Accio Clothes.”

I don't even know what clothes will come flying in here. It could be all of them, or it could be a pair of shorts and a bra. All I know, is that some sort of shorts need to come flying in here soon, or I will have to transform a face cloth into a towel, which, trust me, if not something you want to watch me attempt. Unless you like the thought of watching a face cloth transform into something outrageous, that might possibly, be able to eat you.

Yes, I didn't think you'd like the idea of that.

A whooshing sound reaches my ears as some clothes come flying through the air and into the object that is my face. They fall to the floor, landing in a puddle of water. Just my luck. I step back and shut the door. With another sweep of my wand, my clothes are dried, well, almost. Some of them are still slightly damp in places, but I ignore it. Turns out, it's a complete outfit: my old pair of skinny jeans that only just fit over my arse and are still near impossible to do up; (luckily I rack my brain for the spell that makes things go elastic-y, and they're fixed) my sneakers I had worn the previous night; thankfully, a bra (and underwear, if you're wondering); along with a t-shirt that goes tight down the bottom and loose as it gets to the top. It's orange, my favourite colour.

I pat some foundation under my eyes to attempt to hide my black bags. It doesn't work, of course. I throw on some grapefruit lip balm and a little mascara and puff up my hair a bit to give it some shape, it's lovely and soft, even though it doesn't look it.

Who knows who I could see downstairs? It could be Louis – and now I'm trying not to think of all the possible scenarios that could happen by going to the kitchen, each of which ending with him snogging me senseless and getting Rose to forgive me. Great mind I've got, gets me excited about idiotic things such as descending a floor.

I tiptoe past my fathers room and almost trip over my feet as I go down the stairs. The huge, square clock that hangs above our kitchen counter says that it is half past five. The kitchen is quiet and empty. So I begin to shuffle through our various cupboards. Searching for the little, swirly, orange potion that always manages to cure you of your hangover headache. I remember the exact place I had left it after my last (and less obvious) catastrophe like this. It's either been moved or it's gone. My dad, probably did it to make sure that if I had a hangover he would notice.

That was OK, I'll stay away the whole day if I have to. Speaking of staying away, I really need to find a place of my own. When am I going to do that, exactly? Nerves shoot through my stomach, just thinking of living away from my dad, it would be exciting, but completely terrifying at the same time.

“Are you looking for this?”

I nearly jump out of my skin. Heart hammering, I turn myself around as quick as I can, making our glass salt shaker fly off the bench and shatter on the ground. Also, making my fingernails roar with pain.

“Fuck!” I say to the broken salt shaker that made far to much noise to be reasonable when it smacked on the ground, and to the pain in my nails.

I hop around a bit, shaking my hand like mad.

Wait.

Why the hell am I hopping?

It's my hand that's in pain, not my foot!

I stop and look up to the person who had spoken.

Oh, great, just the person I want to see, while my face is flushed, my eyes are red and have bags under them, I have a raging headache, a far too obvious hangover and I'm hopping around even though it's my hand hurting. This is not funny. When is life going to give me a break?

“Louis.” I say, plainly and awkwardly, still shaking my hand.

“Did you want this?” he asks, holding out the swirling hangover potion.

“Great, please,” I say.

I was meant to say, 'yes' not, 'great', but I guess it's too late for that.

I feel my face burning and he eyes me weirdly. I try not to look directly at him as I step forward, the glass crunching under my sneakers, and take the small phial. I take a mouthful. It burns my throat like Firewhiskey, but it tastes, far sweeter. Almost sickly sweet. I screw up my face to force myself to swallow it down, then I hold it out to Louis.

“Have you had some?” I ask, after taking a gulp of vodka from a bottle, just to get rid of the taste.

Oh, good job, Olive, I'm sure you don't look like a drunk at all.

“No, I was waiting for someone to come down so I could ask,” he mumbles and takes a mouthful of the sweet concoction. His face screws up too and I hand him the bottle of vodka to down the sickly taste.

Once he's finished my stomach growls loudly and I blush even more. He smiles though, and somehow he manages to light up the whole room.

Stupid, Veela-blood. Why does he get to be so amazingly good-looking?

“Well, I better be going now,” he says, putting the bottle down.

“OK, see you, Louis.”

I force myself to turn, so I don't come off like I have nothing better to do than watch him Disapparate. I take to raiding the cupboard, instead. There is no food, of course. It takes a second for me to realise I haven't heard the sound of him Disapparating yet.

I look behind me to see him standing there watching the raid of the cupboards. He's standing a few feet away from where he was. Trust me to notice that unimportant piece of information.

“There's a little café in the town near Shell Cottage. It's one of those ones that open early for all the Muggles that have to get to their jobs and for all those people who can't make a decent coffee to save their lives and are suffering from a hangover. D'you wanna go with me? I was going to go there anyway.”

My first thought is to say yes or sure. Or something along the lines of: I really want to go, even if it's not a date, even though I want it to be, yes, please let me come with you. But a lot more subtle.

Instead, I go with, “I don't have any Muggle money …”

He does seem surprised that those are the words that come out of my mouth, but he quickly comes up with a compromise.

“I'll pay, don't worry.”

And with that he takes my hand and begins to Apparate with me hanging off him. Before it goes black, I manage to see the fiery colour of Weasley hair, watching us from outside the window.

 

*

 

It's windy when we arrive. We're standing of the sand dunes surrounded by flax. To one side, Shell cottage can be seen in the far distance. Lonely, but beautiful, several hundred feet away from the sand dunes. In front of us is a small town. The streets are cobbled and fading away into dirt roads. Each building seems to be made of the same white stone as the roads, with shells decorating the window sills, or at least, the closest house has them. Louis begins walking down the slope of the dunes towards the closest road.

I follow along and we talk meaningless chatter. About the weather, how he's so lucky to live in a place like this, how his parents are doing and what he's planning to do when he got out of school. He's going to go to Healer-school (where all the other female Healers in training can drool over him, not that I want to be one of them or anything) and work on his skills while his band try to hit it big. I didn't even know he's in a band. It makes me feel like I've never really liked this guy as much as I thought I did, even though I do. I guess it just means I don't like him like a stalker would.

This place seems to bring out a different side of me. I can talk to Louis like he's a friend, like he's just Scorpius and my heart only starts racing when I look into his eyes. It's not awkward and I don't blush. I know for a fact that I am going to raise my children in this place. It's comforting, just knowing this. That no matter what I do with my life, I will come here and I will stay. Some day. I smile a lot while I'm here too, though that may partly be because of who I'm with. I like to think it's not.

I sit myself at one of the tables on the deck, while Louis goes and orders me an ice coffee and what ever he's having to eat. The wind wisps through my hair and I feel like this would be a perfect picture moment, if it was Dom or Rose or Spencer sitting in my seat, as I'm not very photogenic.

Louis comes back with two plates, each one with a huge double chocolate muffin on it.

“My type of food,” I say, grinning.

He smiles. “My type of girl.”

There's silence as I look away smiling. Trying not to jump in joy because of that statement. When I look back he's also looking away.

“I mean a girl who isn't afraid of what she eats.”

“Girl?” I ask.

“Woman.” he states looking back at me. “Lady. Which ever you prefer.”

“I think we'll stick with girl until I'm in my twenties.”

I rip a chunk of muffin off my muffin and eat it. He watches me.

“Sounds good to me.”

He goes with taking a huge bite out of his muffin.

Show off.

His face is still clean.

There should be muffin all over his face.

Maybe I'm the only one who gets that …

“So … you and Scorpius, huh?”

“Yeah,” I say, sadly. “Biggest mistake … How was Rose?”

“Angry.” he stated, letting the waitress put down his coffee and my iced one before he continued. “She came back to have a go at him and he just took it. It's like he knew he deserved it. Then he told her, it wasn't your fault and he had forced you not to tell her and that if it changed anything, they were on a break when it happened. Then he said it was a drunken mistake and something about a spiked drink and how it meant nothing to him. Then she sort of cried a bit more, took a bottle of Firewhiskey and began downing it. Scorpius tried to take it off her and she screamed at him and told him to leave so he Disapparated. And then …”

He pauses to take a sip of coffee, but I can tell he's just trying to be dramatic.

It's rather cute.

“… and then Uncle Ron came rushing over.”

I nearly spit out my drink. Instead I swallow it hastily and begin coughing everywhere. Louis looks like he doesn't know what to do and the Muggles at the other table on the deck stare.

While I choke I wonder if they have heard our entire conversation. Do they realise I'm head over heels for him? Do they know he doesn't like me back? Have they been guessing how old we are the whole time we've been here? Wait a second. Louis was just talking about Disapparating. Do they think we're crazy? Do they know we're not Muggles, too?

All these questions are wiped from my mind when Louis speaks again.

“Are you OK?” he asks, his hand almost reaching out to mine, but he puts it on the table instead.

“I'm fine,” I say, giving another small cough, before continuing. “So what did Ron do?”

“Well, he was really awkward at first. He didn't really know what to do so he just hugged her and she sobbed a bit …”

There's not even words to describe how guilty I feel, just to hear about Rose sobbing on a shoulder that isn't mine.

“Then he just looked at me and expected me to tell him everything …”

“Did you?” I asked, knowing the answer.

“Yeah.”

Oh God. Ron Weasley is going to kill Scorpius … and probably his father too. Old childhood enemies never got along well when it came to their kids, but Rose and Scorpius together … he would have a heart attack. Heart attacks are never good.

“What did he do?” I ask, not sure what his answer will be. I hope Ron didn't yell, he yelled a lot, but if he yelled at Rose while she was at her most vulnerable, he would get some of his yelling thrown back at him. Rose was a sweet, funny girl, but she could sure as hell stand her ground.

“He went really red,” he says, plainly struggling to remember exactly what he had looked like. “And he gritted his teeth a bit and then, I guess he took Rose home. He just, sort of left with her, without saying much. I don't think he was angry at her, he was just angry at Scorp. I mean, do you remember how long it took him to be all right with them being just friends?”

I nod.

Of course I remember. It took Ron a long time to actually talk to her again, she was miserable for weeks. Of course, Ron never knew it, he wasn't used to the vulnerable side of Rose as she never allowed herself to show him that side of her.

It honestly makes me feel like shit. That strong-willed, smart, too-good-hearted-for-her-own-good girl has been through too much. She's had to go through her father not even talking to her and I've never really appreciated how strong she really is. And now I've gone and broken her heart, like I don't even care about her. If I could take back any of my mistakes, I would take away that moment.

I wouldn't take back my last words to my mum.

I wouldn't take back the time I tried to play Beater and ended up smacking James Potter on the head, giving him random headaches for at least a week before they could finally make a cure.

I wouldn't take back the time I stole ten galleons from Luke because I was angry at him and ended up crying myself to sleep for a week, because I felt so guilty.

I wouldn't take back failing my Potions OWL and ruining my chance to be a Healer.

I would take back the spur-of-the-moment kiss between Scorpius and I, that ruined one of my best friends life.

I need to apologise to her, that's the least I need to do, but it will have to wait a day or two. For now, I have an hour before my interview and I need to do some apartment shopping.

There has been silence between us for a while now. Thankfully, not an awkward one.

I take the last chunk of my double chocolate muffin and eat it. Dusting my hands, I stand up and look at Louis, drawing up some courage for my next words (hey, I wasn't in Gryffindor for a reason.)

“So, Louis,” I say, my voice shaking slightly, I never do things like this. “Do you wanna go apartment hunting with me?”

OK, so it isn't exactly what you were planning to come out of my mouth, trust me it isn't exactly what I was planning to say either, but those words were a lot easier than the ones I thought in my head.

It's a friend sort of thing to do, isn't it? To ask someone to go looking for apartments with you? It's not like he thinks … oh, God, what if he thinks I'm asking him to come look for an apartment for us to live in?

No.

He isn't that stupid, is he?

“Sure,” he says, leaping up from his seat. “I've got nothing better to do anyway.”

My face falls a bit.

What a great thing to say to a girl: fine, I'll go looking for apartments with you, but only because I've got no one else to be with and nothing better to do. That makes me so happy.

Note the sarcasm going on in my head.

We leave our plates and cups on the table along with some strange paper Muggle money and begin our way down the pebbled path that leads back down to the beach.

“So, Olive,” he says, a cheeky tone floating around his voice. “Is Scorpius good in bed?”

My mouth pops open a bit, but I still smile.

“Louis Weasley, that is completely inappropriate.”

“No, I'm serious,” He's still grinning. How is that serious? “Young Mr Malfoy, with his fit Chaser body … he's knows how to work a broomstick. Was that enough?”

Is Louis Weasley gay?

No, he's had girlfriends before.

I was worried there for a second.

I don't reply, but I still smile a bit. I grab his arm and we're Disapparating before he can speak.

The cheek in Weasley's!

It doesn't matter. I'm still head over heels for him.

I don't think I'll ever have any control over that.
  





Author's Note: So ... does that give you a better view of Louis's personality. I'm not sure about him as a character, usually guys I know more about are the funny ones or the bad-ass ones (: I hope I got good characterisation of the good guy type. Sorry about the absense of any Rose/Scorp/Olive information, it shall be like that for a while, I'm sorry (:

Up Next: 


“Look, Olive, that's not the point!” Dad begins, I roll my eyes without letting him see. “I woke up in the morning: your bed was empty;” What? Would he have rathered there was a half-naked guy in there instead? “there's a bucket of sick stinking out your room;” That stupid cousin of mine is going to die. “your bathroom is covered in water;” Now he's just overreacting. “there's glass all over my kitchen floor and my hangover potion is empty! For all I knew you could've been kidnapped!”

 

 

 

“I wish,” Luke mutters under his breath.

 

 

 

P.S: You should review? because review?'s are cool :D

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Favorite |Reading List |Currently Reading

<< >>


Review Write a Review
Olive Wood: A Guide to Falling in Love: On Hangover Remedies, Places Near the Sea and Blond Veelas

Review

(6000 characters max.) 6000 remaining

Your Name:
Rating:

Prove you are Human:
What is the name of the Harry Potter character seen in the image on the left?


Submit this review and continue reading next chapter.
 

Other Similar Stories

No similar stories found!