It begun to rain with heavy wind, chilling over his skin and striking onto his bones. Oliver was returning home, by foot. What was good using the broom? He was not good enough to play for the Puddlemere United, therefore why would he fly that blasted invention. Though, in this harsh Highland weather, he could easier connect to his grief.
"Oliver! Whit happened!" said a woman in her forties when he came inside a stone house. Her face features were sharp with defined chin and eyebrows. Her dark hair was tied in the tail.
"Naethin', maw," Oliver said indifferently, putting aside his broom. He didn't throw it, but tidily put it where it always stood.
"Yar drooched tae eh bain, Oliver" she said, going somewhere and appearing back a second later, carrying a blanket.
"Thanks" said he, as she wrapped it around him.
"Noo go upstairs an' change," she demanded pushing him towards the narrow staircases.
Oliver did what she told him to without much thinking or questioning. Eventually words like 'fuckin Aherne' would escape his lips, but nothing else.
Oliver was summoned down for the tea. His mother, Agnes, and his father, Golly, were sitting at the table. His younger sister, Miranda, was stretched on the sofa, reading something.
"Ur ye better noo, hen?" his mother asked, pouring hot soup into his plate.
Oliver nodded.
"Be a cheil, son. Be prood, don't lit 'at Gabriel Aherne defeat ye, lad. Jist because ye didn't gie eh chance tae be oan eh team, fur third year in eh raw, doesn't pure techt 'at he's better 'en ye. Yoo're a brae laddie, eh bluid ay scottish clan chi s runs ben yer veins... Remember yer great-grandpa, Duncan... eh chieftain ower eh chieftains... he coods sly aw eh Sassenach wankers in ower swin' ay eh sword," his father said.
"Aye," nodded Oliver carelessly.
"Golly nae noo. Ye trysted me ye won't speak ever again abit bloodshed at eh table," Agnes sighed, sitting down herself, and starting on the dinner.
"Och, an' ye Campbell's betrayed Scootlund in 1746... Bonnie Prince Charlie got defeated because ay ye... Culloden feel," Golly was saying.
"Jesus, foo mony times dae Ah huv tae teel ye 'at i'm nae ay 'AT bloodline?" Agnes snarled at him and Golly kept quiet for the rest of the dinner.
It was same to Oliver if his parents would be yelling at each other, or just sitting in uncomfortable silence, broken only by Miranda's humming. He didn't care.
"When yoo're finished eh tatties an' neebs, i'd like ye tae come tae eh livin' room, tae try yer kilt oan. Ye ken, it's ready. It looks pure nice in uir clan coloors..." his mother said, leaving him along with his father, as Miranda went to her room and played her music loudly.
"Whit dae Ah need new kilt fur?" Oliver finally spoke.
"It's Aunt Maighread's weddin' eh morn, ye ooght tae wear somethin' new."
"But faither, wa didn't anyain teel me anythin' abit it?"
"Och Ah don't ken, mebbe because thes is eh first time in months we see ye at yam. Yoo're aye it practisin' quidditch. Son, it's nae everythin' in Quidditch - it's in Scoottish pride."
Oliver didn't comment this, just went of to try on the kilt.
His mother snatched him in the living room, taking his pants off, and dressing him in traditional Scottish attire. Oliver protested about her seeing him naked (you don't wear anything under the kilt), but she snapped at him how she's his mother. Did he complain when she was chaning his diapers?
"Nae bad," he said emotionlessly. He wore streaked red kilt and red stockings, with black shoes that lace. He had white shirt on and toga-like cape over his shoulder, done in the same tartan pattern and colours as his kilt.
"Yoo'll be eh bonniest lad thaur, every birdie will be lookin' at ye, at eh weddin'," his mother said proudly, and called his father to join her adoring their son.
"Am Ah pure nae alood tae wear anythin' under?" Oliver asked cautiously.
If his father haven't slapped him now, he never will. But he was too appalled to move or act mad.
"Ay coorse," his mother said stiffly through her teeth.
Oliver noticed the awkwardness of the situation, so he added:
"Whit if eh wint blows an'-"
"Be prood ay it, bairn," Golly tapped him fatherly on his shoulder and smiled again.
Miranda was sitting on the chair, sucking onto a lollipop, and trying to unsaw all the threads of her tartan dress. As always, no one was any paying attention to her. If they would, bunch of angry aunts and cousins would scream at her not to do that to her traditional wear.
Oliver was talking to the bride and groom, who were smiling mirthfully. Then he spotted someone else amongst the guests.
"Hello Professor McGonagall," he said, shaking her hand.
"Hello, Oliver," she replied happily, seeing her former student.
"Hello Minerva," said Agnes, elbowing past her son.
"Oh Agnes, long time no see."
"How's Tracy."
"Good, Agnes..."
In that moment Agnes shrieked angrily and excused herself hastily. Minerva and Oliver followed her with their eyes, as she ran to Miranda. Miranda got smacked lightly over her head for ruining her tartan. Few of her aunts came over to her and started preaching her how that is wrong.
Oliver looked over the other side of the field where the wedding was, under the white tent, his father was getting pissed drunk. He was singing, with his mates, 'The Flower of Scotland'.
"You look sad, laddie" said Minerva quietly to Oliver, not interesting to what were row of women doing to Miranda - lecturing her.
"Och, I'm jist tired," answered he, trying to conceal his disappointment because of being rejected to join the team again. But he knew he could not hide anything from Minerva. She was like a mother to him; they've gotten really close in last several years.
"I am sorry you didn't get on the team."
Oliver scrutinised her face for a moment and saw some traits of beauty, but mostly compassion.
"You know, Madam Hooch just resigned and we don't have anyone to teach Flying for next year. I'd be delighted if you'd come to Hogwarts, you'd immidiately take over her responsibilities" she said, smiling.
Oliver thought for a second - he could not say no to her.
"Fine," he said and smiled. She hugged him, but when she couldn't see his face, he made an expression of defeat.
"Oliver! Whit happened!" said a woman in her forties when he came inside a stone house. Her face features were sharp with defined chin and eyebrows. Her dark hair was tied in the tail.
"Naethin', maw," Oliver said indifferently, putting aside his broom. He didn't throw it, but tidily put it where it always stood.
"Yar drooched tae eh bain, Oliver" she said, going somewhere and appearing back a second later, carrying a blanket.
"Thanks" said he, as she wrapped it around him.
"Noo go upstairs an' change," she demanded pushing him towards the narrow staircases.
Oliver did what she told him to without much thinking or questioning. Eventually words like 'fuckin Aherne' would escape his lips, but nothing else.
Oliver was summoned down for the tea. His mother, Agnes, and his father, Golly, were sitting at the table. His younger sister, Miranda, was stretched on the sofa, reading something.
"Ur ye better noo, hen?" his mother asked, pouring hot soup into his plate.
Oliver nodded.
"Be a cheil, son. Be prood, don't lit 'at Gabriel Aherne defeat ye, lad. Jist because ye didn't gie eh chance tae be oan eh team, fur third year in eh raw, doesn't pure techt 'at he's better 'en ye. Yoo're a brae laddie, eh bluid ay scottish clan chi s runs ben yer veins... Remember yer great-grandpa, Duncan... eh chieftain ower eh chieftains... he coods sly aw eh Sassenach wankers in ower swin' ay eh sword," his father said.
"Aye," nodded Oliver carelessly.
"Golly nae noo. Ye trysted me ye won't speak ever again abit bloodshed at eh table," Agnes sighed, sitting down herself, and starting on the dinner.
"Och, an' ye Campbell's betrayed Scootlund in 1746... Bonnie Prince Charlie got defeated because ay ye... Culloden feel," Golly was saying.
"Jesus, foo mony times dae Ah huv tae teel ye 'at i'm nae ay 'AT bloodline?" Agnes snarled at him and Golly kept quiet for the rest of the dinner.
It was same to Oliver if his parents would be yelling at each other, or just sitting in uncomfortable silence, broken only by Miranda's humming. He didn't care.
"When yoo're finished eh tatties an' neebs, i'd like ye tae come tae eh livin' room, tae try yer kilt oan. Ye ken, it's ready. It looks pure nice in uir clan coloors..." his mother said, leaving him along with his father, as Miranda went to her room and played her music loudly.
"Whit dae Ah need new kilt fur?" Oliver finally spoke.
"It's Aunt Maighread's weddin' eh morn, ye ooght tae wear somethin' new."
"But faither, wa didn't anyain teel me anythin' abit it?"
"Och Ah don't ken, mebbe because thes is eh first time in months we see ye at yam. Yoo're aye it practisin' quidditch. Son, it's nae everythin' in Quidditch - it's in Scoottish pride."
Oliver didn't comment this, just went of to try on the kilt.
His mother snatched him in the living room, taking his pants off, and dressing him in traditional Scottish attire. Oliver protested about her seeing him naked (you don't wear anything under the kilt), but she snapped at him how she's his mother. Did he complain when she was chaning his diapers?
"Nae bad," he said emotionlessly. He wore streaked red kilt and red stockings, with black shoes that lace. He had white shirt on and toga-like cape over his shoulder, done in the same tartan pattern and colours as his kilt.
"Yoo'll be eh bonniest lad thaur, every birdie will be lookin' at ye, at eh weddin'," his mother said proudly, and called his father to join her adoring their son.
"Am Ah pure nae alood tae wear anythin' under?" Oliver asked cautiously.
If his father haven't slapped him now, he never will. But he was too appalled to move or act mad.
"Ay coorse," his mother said stiffly through her teeth.
Oliver noticed the awkwardness of the situation, so he added:
"Whit if eh wint blows an'-"
"Be prood ay it, bairn," Golly tapped him fatherly on his shoulder and smiled again.
Miranda was sitting on the chair, sucking onto a lollipop, and trying to unsaw all the threads of her tartan dress. As always, no one was any paying attention to her. If they would, bunch of angry aunts and cousins would scream at her not to do that to her traditional wear.
Oliver was talking to the bride and groom, who were smiling mirthfully. Then he spotted someone else amongst the guests.
"Hello Professor McGonagall," he said, shaking her hand.
"Hello, Oliver," she replied happily, seeing her former student.
"Hello Minerva," said Agnes, elbowing past her son.
"Oh Agnes, long time no see."
"How's Tracy."
"Good, Agnes..."
In that moment Agnes shrieked angrily and excused herself hastily. Minerva and Oliver followed her with their eyes, as she ran to Miranda. Miranda got smacked lightly over her head for ruining her tartan. Few of her aunts came over to her and started preaching her how that is wrong.
Oliver looked over the other side of the field where the wedding was, under the white tent, his father was getting pissed drunk. He was singing, with his mates, 'The Flower of Scotland'.
"You look sad, laddie" said Minerva quietly to Oliver, not interesting to what were row of women doing to Miranda - lecturing her.
"Och, I'm jist tired," answered he, trying to conceal his disappointment because of being rejected to join the team again. But he knew he could not hide anything from Minerva. She was like a mother to him; they've gotten really close in last several years.
"I am sorry you didn't get on the team."
Oliver scrutinised her face for a moment and saw some traits of beauty, but mostly compassion.
"You know, Madam Hooch just resigned and we don't have anyone to teach Flying for next year. I'd be delighted if you'd come to Hogwarts, you'd immidiately take over her responsibilities" she said, smiling.
Oliver thought for a second - he could not say no to her.
"Fine," he said and smiled. She hugged him, but when she couldn't see his face, he made an expression of defeat.