RP: Mad World
Date: April 30, 2005
Characters: Oliver Wood
Location: Edinburgh
Status: Private
Summary: Oliver gets ready to go home.
Completion: Complete
Oliver fought not to show any emotion as he watched his Uncle Fergus shrink the last box and he realized that his childhood home would soon belong to another family.
He would have given anything to scream or rage or just sit in a corner. It would have been a relief after he’d pent up all his emotions for the past few months. He hadn’t even cried at his father’s funeral which seemed like it occurred so long ago, although it only happened in February.
But now, with the knowledge that he had to make decisions not only for his sister but his mother who’d had a severe breakdown barely a month after his father’s death, Oliver knew he had to remain strong. After all, it’s what people expected from him.
“Last one’s done.” His uncle’s voice made Oliver realize that he was bent over, picking up little pieces of packing material off the floor.
Fergus had been kind enough to offer his mother and sister a home now that mum wanted to get away from Edinburgh. Oliver would have joined them but Fergus’ home wasn’t big enough to fit one more and he wanted to be in Stoatshead, away from all his problems.
He blinked away his surprise and stood before he turned to his uncle. “Right, well, tell Donald that we need to do one more sweep of the house, then it’ll probably take two trips to move everything.”
“You know, I think the new owners will be okay with a little mess.” His uncle’s voice was full of sympathy.
Oliver’s laugh rumbled before he responded, “You know, we owe the MacAthol’s our best effort. Now, Donald will be wondering if we’re in here napping.”
“I’ll go see to him and meet you outside.” Fergus grunted in reply. “It’s a shame, laddie.”
Oliver nodded at his uncle before he looked around one more time. Stoic was what people had called him throughout his life. He’d always been the calm in the storm. The one who led others through the force of his will and by his own example. What they didn’t know that the Oliver was on the edge, his fingers clinging to the rocks above him while he longed for the abyss below.
He couldn’t let go, not now, not when people needed him. But then again, he wondered when they would stop needing him.
Oliver glanced at the now bare wall where his parents had proudly displayed every award their son had won. His dad had always wanted him to play Quidditch but he’d never forced Oliver. Instead, he exposed Oliver to the game and let his son become hooked on his own and for that, he would always grateful to his father.
He looked around the room again. He could remember running through the room he was standing in when he was five or staring out the window, hoping the rain would end when he was ten. He smiled as he looked at the door and saw himself as an eleven year old, his father on bent knee, hugging him as he held his letter from Hogwarts in his hand.
“Oliver?” He heard his sister, Ilana’s questioning voice from behind him.
When he heard her, he found he was bent over picking up a piece of popcorn again. He mentally cursed himself because he wanted nothing more than to remove every piece of debris off the floor. But he forced himself to stop before he stood up and smiled. “What’s up, squirt?”
Oliver ruffled her hair as she looked up at him and asked, “Where’s ma?”
“In her favorite place,” Oliver answered.
His sister furrowed her brow and then smiled her recognition.
He took her hand and they strolled through the house onto the back porch, looking toward the swing where their mother sat, her legs curled under her as she looked out over the backyard.
Oliver let go of his sister’s hand and she ran over to hug their mother. He watched mum smile wanly and wrap her arm around her daughter. He had always seen his mother as a source of strength, the one in the family who everyone leaned on but now she had changed and he almost didn’t recognize the frail, worn woman who sat in front of him.
“Why can’t we stay with you, Oliver?” Ilana said suddenly as she glanced up to meet his eyes.
He looked at his sister, surprise playing across his features as he replied. “We’ve been over this already. Fergus and Mary will give you two a home and they’ll be there to help mum.” Oliver took a moment, trying to remain calm before he said, “Besides, I live in a two bedroom flat. We can’t all fit in there.”
“You don’t want us.” His sister snapped and he grit his teeth. He looked over at his mother as an impotent fury built with in him. She hadn’t spoken much since her episode and not at any length except to tell Oliver to sell the house and shop, explaining briefly that the memories were too much. He thought he could use her help now.
“It’s not that.” Oliver’s voice was full of exasperation. “I can barely take care of myself. I can’t raise you. I can’t nurse mum. I’m not ready to be a father figure.”
“Don’t make us go.” Ilana’s eyes brimmed with tears of frustration.
“You’re nine. You don’t understand that you’d be better off with Uncle Fergus, dammit.” Oliver hissed, his eyes smoldering as he fought for control. He wasn’t mad at her. He was angry at his father for dying, at his mother for giving up on life, at himself for being too weak to even care for his own needs. “I can’t do it,” he whispered. “I can’t do it.”
“We’d be a family.” Oliver was startled to hear his mother’s voice and turned his head to face her. He watched his mum warily, wondering how lucid she was but it seemed she had a gleam in her eyes that he hadn’t seen in a while.
“Fergus will take care of you,” he argued, trying to bite back cursing at them.
Mum sat up, her legs unfurling from beneath her and she stood, filled with a vitality Oliver hadn’t seen in months. “I’m sorry for what I did. I drank too much and next thing I know I was in the tub.” Oliver watched her look over at Ilana. “I can never make up for what I did to both of you.” The force of conviction in his mother’s voice startled him as she said, “But I won’t lose the two of you now.”
His mum’s eyes returned to him as she continued, “I want the two of you in my life. I miss your father desperately. But I know that I got a second chance. I need you two to become strong again.”
Oliver sighed. He knew his mum was right and he needed to be there for her. He ran his hand through his hair before he said, “I’ll try to find a place near Fergus’ then and we’ll be close.”
“Didn’t you move to Stoatshead for a new beginning?” His mum asked. She reached out and took his hand. “I think we could all use that.”
“We can’t all live there.”
“Oliver Wood.” The finality in his mother’s voice told him that this discussion was at an end much like the countless number of talks they had in the past that were halted by those two words.
Oliver glanced between her and his sister and saw the expectation play on each of their features. He knew he had lost and the life he wanted free of responsibility had ended before it had even begun. He shook his head as his mother and sister reached out to him and pulled him close. They wrapped their arms around him and Oliver stiffened, his mind telling him to fight for what he wanted. But when he glanced down and looked at the joy in his mother’s eyes, he realized this is not just what he wanted but what he needed. He curved his arms around the both of them and said, “Let’s go home.”
Characters: Oliver Wood
Location: Edinburgh
Status: Private
Summary: Oliver gets ready to go home.
Completion: Complete
Oliver fought not to show any emotion as he watched his Uncle Fergus shrink the last box and he realized that his childhood home would soon belong to another family.
He would have given anything to scream or rage or just sit in a corner. It would have been a relief after he’d pent up all his emotions for the past few months. He hadn’t even cried at his father’s funeral which seemed like it occurred so long ago, although it only happened in February.
But now, with the knowledge that he had to make decisions not only for his sister but his mother who’d had a severe breakdown barely a month after his father’s death, Oliver knew he had to remain strong. After all, it’s what people expected from him.
“Last one’s done.” His uncle’s voice made Oliver realize that he was bent over, picking up little pieces of packing material off the floor.
Fergus had been kind enough to offer his mother and sister a home now that mum wanted to get away from Edinburgh. Oliver would have joined them but Fergus’ home wasn’t big enough to fit one more and he wanted to be in Stoatshead, away from all his problems.
He blinked away his surprise and stood before he turned to his uncle. “Right, well, tell Donald that we need to do one more sweep of the house, then it’ll probably take two trips to move everything.”
“You know, I think the new owners will be okay with a little mess.” His uncle’s voice was full of sympathy.
Oliver’s laugh rumbled before he responded, “You know, we owe the MacAthol’s our best effort. Now, Donald will be wondering if we’re in here napping.”
“I’ll go see to him and meet you outside.” Fergus grunted in reply. “It’s a shame, laddie.”
Oliver nodded at his uncle before he looked around one more time. Stoic was what people had called him throughout his life. He’d always been the calm in the storm. The one who led others through the force of his will and by his own example. What they didn’t know that the Oliver was on the edge, his fingers clinging to the rocks above him while he longed for the abyss below.
He couldn’t let go, not now, not when people needed him. But then again, he wondered when they would stop needing him.
Oliver glanced at the now bare wall where his parents had proudly displayed every award their son had won. His dad had always wanted him to play Quidditch but he’d never forced Oliver. Instead, he exposed Oliver to the game and let his son become hooked on his own and for that, he would always grateful to his father.
He looked around the room again. He could remember running through the room he was standing in when he was five or staring out the window, hoping the rain would end when he was ten. He smiled as he looked at the door and saw himself as an eleven year old, his father on bent knee, hugging him as he held his letter from Hogwarts in his hand.
“Oliver?” He heard his sister, Ilana’s questioning voice from behind him.
When he heard her, he found he was bent over picking up a piece of popcorn again. He mentally cursed himself because he wanted nothing more than to remove every piece of debris off the floor. But he forced himself to stop before he stood up and smiled. “What’s up, squirt?”
Oliver ruffled her hair as she looked up at him and asked, “Where’s ma?”
“In her favorite place,” Oliver answered.
His sister furrowed her brow and then smiled her recognition.
He took her hand and they strolled through the house onto the back porch, looking toward the swing where their mother sat, her legs curled under her as she looked out over the backyard.
Oliver let go of his sister’s hand and she ran over to hug their mother. He watched mum smile wanly and wrap her arm around her daughter. He had always seen his mother as a source of strength, the one in the family who everyone leaned on but now she had changed and he almost didn’t recognize the frail, worn woman who sat in front of him.
“Why can’t we stay with you, Oliver?” Ilana said suddenly as she glanced up to meet his eyes.
He looked at his sister, surprise playing across his features as he replied. “We’ve been over this already. Fergus and Mary will give you two a home and they’ll be there to help mum.” Oliver took a moment, trying to remain calm before he said, “Besides, I live in a two bedroom flat. We can’t all fit in there.”
“You don’t want us.” His sister snapped and he grit his teeth. He looked over at his mother as an impotent fury built with in him. She hadn’t spoken much since her episode and not at any length except to tell Oliver to sell the house and shop, explaining briefly that the memories were too much. He thought he could use her help now.
“It’s not that.” Oliver’s voice was full of exasperation. “I can barely take care of myself. I can’t raise you. I can’t nurse mum. I’m not ready to be a father figure.”
“Don’t make us go.” Ilana’s eyes brimmed with tears of frustration.
“You’re nine. You don’t understand that you’d be better off with Uncle Fergus, dammit.” Oliver hissed, his eyes smoldering as he fought for control. He wasn’t mad at her. He was angry at his father for dying, at his mother for giving up on life, at himself for being too weak to even care for his own needs. “I can’t do it,” he whispered. “I can’t do it.”
“We’d be a family.” Oliver was startled to hear his mother’s voice and turned his head to face her. He watched his mum warily, wondering how lucid she was but it seemed she had a gleam in her eyes that he hadn’t seen in a while.
“Fergus will take care of you,” he argued, trying to bite back cursing at them.
Mum sat up, her legs unfurling from beneath her and she stood, filled with a vitality Oliver hadn’t seen in months. “I’m sorry for what I did. I drank too much and next thing I know I was in the tub.” Oliver watched her look over at Ilana. “I can never make up for what I did to both of you.” The force of conviction in his mother’s voice startled him as she said, “But I won’t lose the two of you now.”
His mum’s eyes returned to him as she continued, “I want the two of you in my life. I miss your father desperately. But I know that I got a second chance. I need you two to become strong again.”
Oliver sighed. He knew his mum was right and he needed to be there for her. He ran his hand through his hair before he said, “I’ll try to find a place near Fergus’ then and we’ll be close.”
“Didn’t you move to Stoatshead for a new beginning?” His mum asked. She reached out and took his hand. “I think we could all use that.”
“We can’t all live there.”
“Oliver Wood.” The finality in his mother’s voice told him that this discussion was at an end much like the countless number of talks they had in the past that were halted by those two words.
Oliver glanced between her and his sister and saw the expectation play on each of their features. He knew he had lost and the life he wanted free of responsibility had ended before it had even begun. He shook his head as his mother and sister reached out to him and pulled him close. They wrapped their arms around him and Oliver stiffened, his mind telling him to fight for what he wanted. But when he glanced down and looked at the joy in his mother’s eyes, he realized this is not just what he wanted but what he needed. He curved his arms around the both of them and said, “Let’s go home.”