Chapter 9

"Have you seen Rory?" Oliver demanded as he charged down the staircase to the commons room.

"Haven't seen him," a fourth year answered, yawning.

Swearing, Oliver pushed through the door and raced down the hall, his feet thudding on the stone floor. He ducked into a courtyard full of Hufflepuff second-years, into the library bare of everyone except for Hermione Granger. Back through the Great Hall. His chest was heaving with effort from running, but there was no sight of Rory anywhere.

"Damn it!" He lashed at the closest thing to him-a wall, unfortunately. White-hot fury erupted inside of him, and just after, the overwhelming pain that bloomed in his hand, rooting him to the ground, preventing him from moving for one, two, three seconds. "Shit!" He pressed his knuckles to his mouth, his own blood bitter on his lips. He drew his hand back to survey the damage. At least one broken knuckle-the middle one was already swelling. He sighed. Rory was gone. Did that mean-Did that mean that his mother had gotten worse?

He walked through the Great Hall, which was emptying for the start of classes. "Parker!" he shouted, weaving between a flock of first and second year Gryffindors, wincing as his hand snagged painfully on one of their books. He shifted to hold it above their heads as he hurried. "Parker!"

She looked up from where she was chatting with Greg Abbott to Oliver, who scowled at her. She rolled her eyes but turned to Abbott. Oliver could see her telling him something, and then he kissed her before stopping to direct the traffic flow of students rushing to make it to class on time, his golden prefect badge shining in the lantern light. Fred, George, and Lee walked past in the opposite direction. "Nice hand," Lee commented.

"Where can I get one?" George asked, nodding to the blood dripping down. Oliver grimaced and wrapped it in a cloth napkin he snatched off a table. As the trio left, he heard Fred say, "That could be an interesting thing-something that would make it look like you were hurt, or sick, to get out of classes-without actually making you sick, of course…"

"That would take the fun out of it for everyone else," Lee argued as their voices grew more distant.

"What do you need?" Parker asked, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Stop kissing him, why don't you?" Oliver nodded to Abbott. "I think I might vomit."

"What do you need?" she asked, exasperated, although Oliver thought he could see amusement glimmering in her eyes.

"Rory's gone."

She grew somber. "It must be bad."

"Must be."

They stood in silence for a few seconds, students pushing past them. "So, um, what are you going to do?" Parker asked.

"What can I do?" Oliver asked despondently. "He doesn't want to be my friend."

"You're going to have to be his friend, Oliver," Parker answered. Her voice was brisk again, all business, the way he was used to. "He's hurting. It doesn't matter if you fought."

"It matters to me," he muttered.

"Get over yourself," she answered. "Your pain isn't equal to what his is-or will be, if it's bad enough that he left school." Oliver recoiled, but she pressed on. "You've got to help him. Or at least try. Be mature enough to help him, for Merlin's sake."

"I thought you would at least understand," he said testily.

"Understand what? That both of you are too stubborn to apologize?"

"No-"

"Look, I've got to get to Potions," she said, sighing. "We'll talk more at lunch."

"Sure you won't be talking to Abbott?" Oliver retorted. He knew he was overstepping sensibility by a mile, but he didn't care.

Parker, with all of her intelligence and business attitude, lacked in one thing: cleverness. She glared at him, her fists clenched. Then she sighed. "He doesn't- He's not as important to me as you and Rory," she said at last, a little guiltily.

Oliver nodded, but he was touched by her confession. He waved his hurt hand. "I've got to go to Pomfrey's," he said. "I'll be late to class."

"What'd you do?"

"I'll tell you at lunch. Or in Herbology. Just tell Snape I'll probably miss class."

"He won't be happy."

"He can screw himself."

She pursed her lips, but he thought he caught a glimpse of laughter in her eyes. Parker was too good to say something like that about a professor, but that didn't stop her from laughing occasionally. "Okay. Good luck, Oliver." She hesitated for a moment before standing on her tiptoes to give him a light kiss on the cheek. "You can talk to me whenever, never mind Greg."

"Thanks. You'll be late to class."

Oliver made his way to the hospital wing, hand throbbing by the time he found himself in front of the infirmary. He pushed inside. "Madam Pomfrey?"

"Just a moment." She was tending to a Slytherin student on the other end of the infirmary. She glanced up. "What can I do for you?"

"I think I broke my hand."

"That's not good," she said, frowning. "Quidditch injury?"

"Uh, no."

"Tsk, tsk. Better not let it get in the way of your throws on the pitch next month," she said severely.

"It'll take that long?" Oliver asked, alarmed.

"No." She chuckled. "No, you don't have to worry about that. I'll have you done in a moment."

"I was kind of hoping I could get out of Potions," he admitted.

Pomfrey shook her head. "I can't let you do that," she said. She sat down on a stool and gestured for him to sit on the cot beside her. "This might hurt," she warned, pressing the tip of her wand to his bruised knuckle as she began to mutter an incantation under her breath. There was a sharp crack and Oliver yelped. "I know," she said sympathetically. "Should feel all better in a day."

"Thanks," he grunted. It hurt like hell, but he tried not to let it show. As he studied his knuckles, the swelling already began to recede. "Can I have a late note?" he asked.

She filled one out and handed it to him absently as she went back to work on the injured Slytherin student. Oliver stepped outside, contemplating skipping the rest of Potions. He could just show up for the last five minutes with Pomfrey's written excuse.

Rory was gone, without even saying goodbye. Had he been less stubborn, Oliver might have apologized the evening before. He sighed to himself, thinking of Rory's mother and Isador, and their family holding each other in a St. Mungo's waiting room.

He barely paid attention to where he was going until he found himself standing at the door leading outside, down to the Quidditch pitch. He checked his watch. He had twenty minutes to kill before he even had to begin heading back to Potions. Almost unconsciously he pushed through the door, hearing it creak behind him, as he began down the path to the pitch and locker rooms. He found his broom in his locker and after a quick glance around, slid onto it and kicked off of the ground.

Flying felt liberating, like emancipation from how miserable he felt while moping around. He wondered if Katie felt the same way when she flew. She was always there in the back of his mind: of how smart she was, how quick-spoken she was that evening when they had talked, how completely beautiful she was. He wondered if Parker was right: that he should just get over her, quickly, and forget about her. He'd tried, but he couldn't, not when she was everywhere, not when they hadn't even done anything-not even kissed. But for some reason he could never fully stop thinking about her.

"Bloody hell," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. She was always there, when he should have been helping Rory.

Checking his watch, he landed in the center of the pitch and shoved his broom back into his locker before nearly taking off in a run up the path back to the school. He slipped on some ice and fell with a thud that shook his vertebrate. Once he made it inside, he took off down the halls to the dungeons.

The bell rang just as he stepped inside Potions, Snape's mouth a thin line of irritation. Parker raised an eyebrow. Percy's brows lowered in disapproval. "Sorry I was late, Professor," Oliver said breathlessly, handing him the signed slip. If he had been in a better mood, he might've flashed Rory a thumbs-up while Parker and Percy shook their heads. But he was in a shitty mood, and Rory was gone anyway. Parker caught his eye, hers reflecting concern.

"Very well," Snape muttered, glowering at him. As the students filed back into the hallway, heading for their next classes, Parker fell in step beside him.

"So?" she asked.

"So what?"

"How's your hand?"

"It's fine," Oliver muttered, shoving it into his cloak pocket.

This was followed by a few seconds of terse silence, after which Parker burst out, "You're angry with me, aren't you?"

"I don't know," he muttered. But he knew he was lying. He was angrier than he liked to admit-especially because he knew she was right. He had to be there for Rory, but he couldn't, not when his friend shut him out.

"What did you do to your hand?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"It's fine now."

Percy fell in step on Oliver's other side. Parker scowled. It seemed like that's all she did nowadays. "I've got to go," she muttered.

"Off to see Abbott?" Oliver jeered. She didn't answer. As soon as she was out of earshot, Oliver turned to Percy. "What the hell's with her?"

"What?"

"I'm not an idiot, Perce, however much you take me as one."

"I don't take you as an idiot-"

"That's hilarious," Oliver said drily. "Have you thought of going into comedy, Percy?"

He flushed. "Why were you late to class? And where's Rory?"

"Rory's not gone, and I broke my hand."

"You broke your hand?"

"It's not broke anymore."

"It's not broken," Percy corrected. "Simple language mechanics."

"Did you pull this rubbish with Parker, is that it?"

"Is what it?" Percy asked evasively.

"Is that why she can't bloody stand to look at you?" They climbed the staircase to step into the Transfiguration wing. "I'm no genius when it comes to girls, Perce, but it sounds like you're worse than me at romance."

"Just drop it," Percy mumbled.

"What was that?" Oliver asked, feigning deafness.

"Just drop it, for Merlin's sake," he snapped. "How's it going with Katie, anyway?"

"Uh-It's going great," Oliver said, not without sarcasm.

"I figured as much, with my brothers helping you," Percy said. "I wouldn't've pegged you as a guy who'd have trouble with girls," he added. "Being Quidditch captain and all."

"Well, Katie's an odd one," he answered. Truthfully, Oliver didn't know much about girls. Rory was much more fluent in that latitude. Girls practically threw themselves at him. He looked like a young Frank Sinatra (Oliver's mother had all of the Muggle musician's records, which she played tirelessly, especially the Christmas ones), which proved to serve Rory as an advantage in the dating pool.

"For what it's worth, I'd date you. If I were a girl, I mean. Or gay. Or whatever." The flush crept up Percy's neck, his face turning tomato-red. "I mean. If I were a girl and you were my type, I'd- Um."

"Are you hitting on me, Percy?" Oliver grinned. "Really, what's with Parker and you?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"I'd really rather not discuss it with you."

"Afraid I'll tell Rory? Or Fred and George?"

Percy shrugged. "It's just none of your business, that's all." They stepped into Transfiguration, taking their desks in the back of the classroom as other Ravenclaw and Gryffindor students began to fill in. Parker was last, taking her seat in front of Oliver. McGonagall frowned disapprovingly at Oliver. "Mr. Wood, may I speak to you in the hallway?"

He stood and followed her out. She shut the door and glared at him. "Why were you outside at the Quidditch pitch this morning?"

"I-"

"I'm going to have to give you a detention, Mr. Wood."

He sighed. "Professor, I-"

She gave him a severe look. "In this room, at seven o'clock."

"We've got practice at seven!"

"You'll have to cancel, won't you?"

"Professor, our next match-"

"I know full well about the next match," she said. "It's a good three weeks away. This room, at seven o'clock."

Oliver's day seemed to get even worse from then. At lunch Fred bewitched a tureen of gravy to fly across the table, until it collided with another dish, splattering Oliver with food. George and Leanne were arguing profusely over something on the other end of the table, which ended with George, red-faced, standing and leaving, and Leanne's hands shaking with anger as she watched him go. An empty glass shattered-the way things do when wizards can't yet control their magic-and bits hit Oliver, one scraping his face. To make matters worse, while walking to Alchemy he saw Katie and Cedric, their hands entwined and both with goofy, lovesick smiles. That evening in the commons room he saw Parker and Abbott talking in one corner. If Rory were here, they would have sneered at them.

At fifteen till seven, he stood and headed down the halls to McGonagall's room. Several other students were waiting as well, unabashedly awaiting detention. McGonagall unlocked the door and they sat down, awaiting directions as she wrote a line on the board that they would undoubtedly have to memorize and write until their hands cramped.

Just as the clock struck seven, the door flew open again, and a girl stepped inside. Oliver almost groaned. Of course his luck would bring him this.

"Sorry I'm late," Katie Bell said, breathless, parchment spilling from her arms and her bangs a wild tangle against her forehead. She had never looked prettier. "I was in the library."

"Take a seat, Miss Bell," McGonagall said sternly.

She sat down in the seat closest to the door-and closest to Oliver. This time he did audibly groan, but he covered it with a cough. None of this would have happened if he hadn't been a stubborn arse to Rory.