Chapter 1 : What Pride Could Take.
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Notes: I keep re-doing this, I apologize. But this time I love it, every part and would only change things like spelling errors or grammar errors. Please enjoy!
My eyes scanned the familiar green field, the glorious golden hoops, the wooden stands, and the glorious banners.
I could feel my heart struggling with each strong beat, seeming to almost come from my chest each time. This place, this field it was too much.
Tears stung in my eyes, my emotions getting entangled and raging around inside of my chest.
I urged my muscles to move, to being to walk, to just take one step at a time. They obeyed, but as I began descending the stands, my muscles seemed to be made of hard concrete. Somehow, this didn’t feel real. Everything felt cold and numb, and I couldn’t really feel correctly.
I climbed over the railing that barred the fans from the playing field, and landed on the cool grass. My feet landed perfectly balance and my hands were held out to retain that. My nimble fingers strayed in the all familiar grass for a moment.
I then rose, mechanical and stone-faced, and marched over to the locker room. The Gryffindor locker room.
After splitting into the Women’s side, I easily found my locker. It was covered in Puddlemere United posters, along with one or two of the Holyhead Harpies. Gryffindor stickers patched them together, completing my completely ridiculous collage.
I lifted a hand to reach out and stroke one of the player’s faces, the one that repeated the most on my locker, and then my nails dug into the paper. And my hand ripped down, slashing into the moving players’ faces and brooms. Some sort of mental-ness overtook me and soon I was ripping at every poster, only leaving a pile of paper on the floor.
After I had finished, I could feel the tension in my muscles, in my body. I could feel it trembling in anger and sadness.
I ripped open the door and pulled out my beautiful Nimbus 3.5, the best of the best. I also reached for my uniform and my broom kit. I charged from the locker room, back out onto the green pitch.
I thrust my things a few feet from me, anger boiling behind my actions. I retrieved my wand from my pocket and with a flick, set my things ablaze. The wood of my Nimbus cackled under the heat and my uniform shriveled.
I watched the smoke rise, and with it I could feel pieces of my soul leaving too.
That was the previous year, or rather four months ago before the summer. Time itself hadn’t cured me, and I strongly doubted it ever would.
My father was shipping me off for my final year, my NEWT level year. His worried brown eyes flickered to me every few seconds as we approached the platform. Probably thought I was going to spontaneously combust.
Which I had been doing emotionally lately to be rather honest.
We walked through the column between platforms nine and ten, long over running through it.
“You know, Olive, I could still talk to Puddlemere’s-,” He started for the sixth time since we got to the train station.
“No,” I cut him off, “I’m not playing.”
My voice was dead and harsh, demanding that he end this tirade of Qudditch for me.
“I will never touch a broom again,” I said, leaving my stunned father to begin my seventh and final year at Hogwarts.
Veronica Finnigan, my long ago friend, crossed my path.
“Hey, Olive,” she said softly, concern laced in her words.
I looked at her smooth face, slightly tanned from summer. Her deep blue eyes were like pools of pity and only made worse by her angelic blonde hair.
Without a word of response, I shoved past her, far too proud for her pity or anyone else’s.
I pulled my things onto the train with me, shoving back the ones in younger years and moving for the back of the train. Prefects rarely came to the back, and only liked to if they heard a subsequent amount of noise. It was perfect for me; it was my place of solitude.
I found the one at the very back to be empty to my delight and settled in. I sat on the seat that faced the way we were to travel, and was dismayed when I saw the faces of parents. They were crying and giving watery goodbyes to their children. One couple, both with dark hair, hugged their small child and pushed her off onto the train. The women leaned on the man’s shoulder, crying and waving. The man put an arm around her and smiled as their girl went off to school.
And that’s when I noticed the tears streaking down my face, and the pathetic sobs coming from my mouth. Because I was supposed to have that one day, but now I never would.
I was too broken, too shattered, and too wrecked.
My body lay over on the leather compartment bench, my long brown hair spilling over the burgundy leather. The tears pour from my face, some venturing across my nose, and down to where my face touched my hair.
I pulled out my wand, tucked away in my sweater and put a silencing charm on my compartment. I could feel myself beginning to breakdown again.
I curled into a ball, letting my wand fall to the train’s floor, and pulled my arms into myself.
I squeezed my eyes shut another sob breaking the silence, and making me feel pathetic. I felt my breath losing control, and my tears falling faster. They were hot and salty and stung on my skin and my mouth had gone dry.
Throughout this it seemed that the time to take off had come, and the train lurched into motion. The whistle blew loudly and I could hear shouts outside of my window, and all of it could not muffle my pain.
I choked a bit, gushing tears again and wiping my face blindly with my sweater’s sleeve.
I heard some clattering in the hall but it calmed and I assumed the person had found their compartment. Most likely some pathetic first years.
I wiped my nose with my sleeve, taking in a deep breath. My eyes were hurting now, and my throat was sore. But none of that mattered because right then someone opened my compartment door.
“It’s taken,” I threatened, pushing my hair from my face, and glaring at my intruder.
I met someone I hadn’t expected in a million years. His golden-green eyes met my blue, and his hand disheveled his dark brown almost black hair. His most significant outward appearance was the black square glasses perched on his nose, and he stared at me.
“Find another c-compartment,” I bit back, faltering a bit when I uttered the last word.
He eyes traveled down my tear-streaked face, my messed up hair and then finally back to my eyes.
He parted his lips slightly so say something, but I never knew what that was.
“Al, why are you just standing he-,” but the female voice didn’t finish as her head poked around his form.
Rose Weasley took me in, her stare hardened and a bit put off by my presence. Part of that irked me, but another part was indifferent. I didn’t care for Rose Weasley’s affections.
“This one’s taken Rose, go find us another,” He responded, his eyes still completely on me.
She grumbled, not seeing why she had to go find another one, but left in search of one. I listened until she had closed the door, and then turned my cold gaze on Albus.
“What?” I snapped, pushing myself into the corner of the seat, staring up at his looming form.
He just stared at me, shoving his hands into his jean pockets.
Albus’s style had always been clean-cut, and neat. His jeans were tight but not in the skinny jean way. His torso was decked out in a purple striped cardigan and a white v-neck, and his shoes were brown oxfords. He was the definition of well-dressed, but he had to be. Harry Potter’s youngest had to be up-to-date on all fashion trends.
My tears had dried up, and my eyes were all puffy. I had to be an absolute mess, so what made him stare so hard.
My eyes snapped up when he moved, he had taken his hands out of his pocket now. He was approaching me, steadily getting closer to my curled up form.
I pressed back into the corner, turning my face from him.
“Don’t…,” I started but soon his arms enveloped me.
He pulled me from my curled up position, and pressed my face into his shoulder.
“Why,” I broke out, choking on tears again, the emotion too overwhelming and his embrace too comfortable.
I clutched onto his neat clothes, pretty sure I was getting mascara all over them.
You might think this is strange, me holding onto Albus Potter. But it’s completely logical to me.
He used to be my best friend. Before him that is. We were inseparable ever since we first met at the Potter-Weasley Christmas party at the young age of seven. We played Qudditch together and studied together in Hogwarts, before his brother walked into my life. That was when it all changed, when my world was flipped for the better I thought.
I had always crushed on Albus, but never dared to like his brother. He was a year older, and nearly the most famous kid to walk through the halls of Hogwarts. He was a Qudditch star and easily the most attractive male to ever walk. But when James kissed me at Christmas during my fifth year, I was head over heels. We came back from the holidays arm in arm, shocking everyone, but madly affectionate of one another.
He was my captain too, and a bloody good one. He played one of the Chaser positions, and I had gotten the Keeper position. Even with our relationship he pushed me harder than most in practices, and I loved him for it. Even if I attacked him when I was on my monthly cycle that one time he pushed my buttons on the field.
We were legendary in that time. Couples strived to be us, and single people were envious. I drifted from Albus and into James’s circle of friends. I had a posse of girls who clung to my every word, and were heckled by paparazzi every Hogsmeade trip. I had to shape up my wardrobe, and bring up my grades. I had to be perfect to fit into James’s perfect world.
Then something stirred in our relationship. After sixth year it was obvious James didn’t want to go back for his NEWTS, and with a spot on Puddlemere United I did not blame him. That would mean I wouldn’t get to see him every day, or even very often. But who was I to keep him?
So, he went off to live his dream. And we stayed together too. We owled as much as we possibly could, and met up on every holiday I got from the school. I remember our Christmas Holiday so well, especially on New Year’s Eve. We skipped out on the raging party at the Potter’s, and went out into the forest in a clearing. We had blankets and hot cocoa and each other. It was perfect and we rang in the New Year snuggling together and our lips never separating.
What I never even imagining happened, what I never even fathomed possible did in fact happen.
One night, March 24 to be exact, I was nestled in my four-poster bed content with life. Then an owl came pecking at the window of my dormitory. I opened the small hatch and a beautiful snow white owl flew in. I recognized it immediately as Harry Potter’s, yes the Harry Potter. I grabbed the note from the owl’s foot, and gave it a treat. Sure that the name etched on it was Rose’s. I glanced to check and found myself staring at the words neatly scrawled, Olive Coraline Wood. I opened the seal and began to read,
I’m sorry to have to tell you like this, but we just got the call, and Hedwig II is easier since Hogwarts can’t receive calls. It seems like something went wrong at James’s game today, I’m sorry to tell you but James is gone….
The letter fell from hands and I collapsed right off.
Since then I have never been quite right. I have been cold, cynical, and alone. And I’m ok with that. People die and I never want to be that close to someone again, not after all of this pain.
But Albus Potter, he has permission. Sort of.
He pulled me back, clasping my head in his big hands, and one let go to wipe the tears from my cheeks.
“I don’t know,” He answered, staring me straight in the eye. And for once I was ok with that answer.
It wasn’t a “It’s going to be ok,” or “Time will heal it,” it was a solid uncertainty. And I needed that more than pity, my pride could take that.
Notes: Thank you for reading this, and I hope you enjoyed it. What do you think of Olive? Albus? Rose? Let me know in the small gray box!