Author's Note: This is PART 2 of the epilogue. Due to the length of the epilogue, I had to split it into two chapters because some sites limit submission lengths. If you haven't read "Epilogue: Weasleys," this part won't make much sense.
Epilogue: Woods
(Part Two of the Epilogue)
Oliver Apparated to my small house in Hogsmeade after he finished Quidditch practice. Because of the wards I had placed on my house during the war, Oliver had to Apparate outside of the front door, but he didn't bother knocking.
"It hasn't rained this hard in a long time," Oliver said as a greeting, closing the door to keep the weather outside where it belonged.
I had been watching the dishes clean themselves, and I walked out of the kitchen, into the small living room. "You're not wet," I said.
"Of course not," Oliver replied, grinning. "I Apparated under the overhang."
"Then why are you complaining?" I asked, laughing as I hugged him.
He pulled back a bit so that he could kiss me shortly. After we walked over to the couch to sit down, Oliver asked, "So?"
I knew what he was asking about, and I sighed. "It went horribly."
"So he said no?"
"We both knew he'd say no. There for a few minutes, I thought Percy wasn't even going to agree to come to the wedding at all."
Oliver let me tell him what had happened. The story was a little shorter than when I'd told it to Ian; I'd forgotten some details over the day. I exaggerated more while talking to Oliver, but I didn't leave any parts out. Like Ian, Oliver was good at agreeing with me at the right moments and offering sympathy when I needed it.
"I should have come, too," Oliver said after I finished the story. "If I'd come and apologized—"
"I don't want you to apologize to him. All of that should be over by now, and all of us know that."
"But it might have helped," he persisted.
I shook my head. "No, you weren't really the problem, Oliver. The problem was that Percy and I hadn't spoken in about six years, and it was impossible for him to pretend like he could step into a role as big as the one I was asking him to step into."
Oliver put his arm around me, and I accepted his shoulder, but not because I needed it. "I'll be fine," I said, and I meant it. "It's not like anything's changed. Percy and I just…went separate ways. This morning had nothing to do with that."
"No, I guess you're right, but it's still not fun to suddenly realize that you aren't as close to someone as you were," Oliver said, leaving his arm where it was.
I looked up at him, and he smiled. I kissed him on the cheek and got up so that I could finish preparing for the party. Bernard's present was already wrapped—Oliver had done that months previously—but I had promised chocolate chip cookies and a homemade chocolate cake. The boxed cake mix made my cooking tasks relatively easy, although I had a harder time icing the cake than I should have. Finally, Oliver came into the kitchen and magicked the icing onto the cake.
"I thought magic makes it taste worse."
"They'll never know," Oliver said.
I grinned at him as I placed the lid on the pan in which I'd made the cake. After I lifted it off the counter, Oliver picked up the dish of cookies and the gift for Bernard, and we were ready to go to his parents' house.
"Meet you there," Oliver said before Disapparating.
I Apparated at the bottom of the few steps leading up to the Woods' front door. Oliver waited for me to walk beside him before raising a hand to open the door. Bernard must have heard Oliver and me Apparate; the door opened before Oliver could even touch the doorknob. Oliver's aunt, Celeste, was standing behind her son.
"Hooray, a present!" Bernard hugged Oliver's legs, then my legs, and then he reached up to Oliver. "I'll take the present to the dining room."
Oliver didn't protest. It was easier to hand him the gift and let him sprint off with it. It was rather amusing to watch the small boy run while carrying a box almost tall enough to cut off his line of sight. Bernard could hardly get his arms around it.
"I was so worried you'd get him a broomstick," Celeste said, sighing out of relief.
"I did," Oliver said simply. "Just put it in a big box to throw him off. Don't worry," he added after seeing his aunt's face. "It isn't a real broom. It can only fly about three feet in the air and not very fast at all."
"It doesn't have to fly fast or high for him to hurt himself," she said.
Oliver laughed. "You're not the overprotective type."
She grinned and shook her head. "Everyone's the overprotective type when her child is five." She hugged him in greeting (or in forgiveness; I'm not sure), and then hugged me as well. I smiled to myself when the hug seemed genuine, not a hug given out of mere politeness.
"Are we late?" Oliver asked. He'd been worried about keeping everyone waiting, but he couldn't get out of practice early. The captain had taken a week off for a funeral, and Oliver was in charge in his absence.
"Of course not," Celeste answered.
"Is everyone else here?" Oliver rephrased the question.
"Almost."
There was a sound from the small room that contained the fireplace used to travel by Floo Powder. Bernard tore back into the entryway and into the Floo room to greet the newcomers.
"Hooray! A present!" After a few seconds, the boy ran out of the room with another wrapped box.
"Are we last?" Mrs. Lanolin, Oliver's other aunt on his father's side, asked, walking up to our small group.
"Yes," Celeste replied simply, but kindly, hugging her older sister. "Where's—"
"Oh, John's taking his time. Come on, John. We're holding up the party."
Mrs. Lanolin's husband lumbered out of the fireplace room, not bothering to hide that he'd rather have been almost anywhere else. Mrs. Lanolin elbowed him in the side as soon as he was near enough. "Smile," she ordered. "It's the boy's birthday, not his funeral."
Mr. Lanolin managed to keep a small smile while exchanging civilities with us and then with the rest of family that had made it to the event. I understood why Mr. Lanolin thought of Wood family functions as a chore. The family was small, but close. The three Wood siblings communicated often. Most families have a lot to catch up on when they gather, and they rarely have to venture into uncomfortable topics of conversation; they can just fill each other in on what happened since the last holiday. The Woods already knew what the others in the family had done the previous weekend, so coming up with something to discuss could be difficult, especially for those of us who didn't have as much of a past with the family.
Dinner was served almost immediately after Oliver and I arrived, which took away a lot of the burden of conversation. If I didn't have anything to say, I didn't have to speak unless someone asked me a direct question, which I was happy to answer. I spent most of that meal in silence, content to listen to the light chattering surrounding me.
Bernard rushed his guests through dinner as quickly as he could by reminding us of the cake that was to follow. All of us knew that he really had more interest in the presents than the dessert, but the rest of the family genuinely seemed motivated to eat quickly in order to get to the "homemade" cake I'd made. And, to my pleasure, they weren't disappointed by the box-mix cake that they got, even though Oliver had cheated with the frosting.
Watching Bernard open his presents completely lifted the pressure to be social with the Woods. While the family made small talk about all of the gifts (of which Oliver's training broomstick was clearly the best), I was able to hide behind my camera, documenting the event for Bernard's parents and Mrs. Wood, who requested prints of whichever pictures I was willing to develop for her. Seeing as she was about to become my mother-in-law, I told her I was willing to develop copies of the whole roll, and she thanked me sincerely for the offer.
After the opening of the birthday presents, we weren't stuck in the dining room anymore. The Woods began leaving and entering the party at will. I split my time between being glued to Oliver's side and taking pictures of the group. I suspect that my picture-taking was part of the reason that Mr. Lanolin took several long smoking breaks, coming back into the house only because Mrs. Lanolin's scolding was worse when she had to go outside to check on him.
After about twenty minutes, Bernard couldn't wait any longer to try out the new toy he'd gotten from his older cousin, and Oliver himself was rather excited to see the training broom in action. After Oliver promised many times to never take his eyes off her son, Aunt Celeste agreed to let Bernard take the broom outside for a test run. Ultimately, she and her husband couldn't trust Oliver quite enough, and the two joined him in the backyard to watch their son fly.
Without Oliver next to me, the small talk with the Woods became ten times more difficult. I could usually count on him to ask his family members questions to keep the discussion flowing. I was never as good at coming up with those polite questions quickly enough, and after half an hour of struggling in the dining room alone, I decided to flee to the backyard.
I walked slowly down the short hallway that connected the kitchen to the dining room. As I reached the door to the kitchen, which held the door to the backyard, I heard a raised voice. I didn't recognize the voice at first, and when I realized that it was Oliver's mother, I almost decided to go outside through the front door and walk around the house to get to the backyard. However, my curiosity got the better of me when Mr. Wood responded to his wife in his calm, cool manner.
"If you'd have told me how important the photo album is to you, I'd have been sure to have gotten it before tonight." There was no sarcasm in Mr. Wood's voice, although Mrs. Wood's response suggested that there must have been something insincere in his facial expression.
"Don't take that holy tone with me, Frank," she snapped. "I told you a million times that I wanted to give Celeste some copies of the pictures of Bernard that we have. I was going to ask Laura if she could make the prints. Perhaps you conveniently forgot that detail, too."
"We can give Laura the pictures any time, via Oliver. I'm not sure why having them tonight—"
"I wanted to have the copies tonight. Tonight. Bernard's birthday. The pictures won't mean as much on another day."
"The album's with your parents," Mr. Wood said, irritation entering his voice for the first time in the argument. "I'm not sure why you never went to get it."
"Because you said one million times that you would!"
Mr. Wood didn't respond immediately (his wife hadn't left much room for more argument), and I stood still, knowing that I should hurry away from the scene, but too startled to do so. Oliver's parents had always gotten along smashingly while I was around them. Up until that point, I'd only heard Mr. Wood direct his passive aggressiveness at me, and I'd never heard Mrs. Wood raise her voice, let alone yell at someone.
I had to admit that listening to Mrs. Wood beat her husband in an argument using open hostility—my type of anger—as opposed to Mr. Wood's false indifference made me rather happy. I was smiling when Mr. Wood opened the door in front of me. I narrowly escaped being hit in the face since he wasn't watching where he was going.
"We should get back to the guests," he told Mrs. Wood before turning his head enough to see me.
Fortunately, the door almost breaking my nose had taken the smile off my face. Instead of looking pleased, I probably looked afraid. Mr. Wood didn't say anything to me. He looked at me carefully for several seconds, raised his eyebrows, and moved past me. I didn't watch him walk down the short hallway. Instead, I looked to Mrs. Wood.
She grinned. "Well, now you know where Oliver got his rather…loud temper."
"I have wondered about that," I said before I could stop myself. I smiled back as an apology.
"Not the best trait I could have passed along," Mrs. Wood said, and I wondered if she was apologizing. She didn't give me long to ponder it. "I probably should have asked you if you could make some copies for us before ordering Frank to get that photo album."
"Oh, no, I'd be happy to," I said.
"Thank you." Mrs. Wood let me nod in acknowledgement of her thanks before she spoke again, preventing any uncomfortable silence. "You know, Laura, we should probably start attempting to make some wedding cakes soon."
"Oh." I'd almost forgotten the tradition of the bride and mother of the groom baking the wedding cake for the guests.
"I think I still have some recipes—magical ones—for wedding cakes somewhere. It's been a while since I looked at them…."
When Mrs. Wood and I had something to talk about, our conversations usually would go smoothly, even without Oliver around. To my pleasure, our talk about wedding cakes went better than normal. When I'd found out about the tradition while attending Tara and Adam's wedding, making the wedding cake with my fiancé's mother seemed as if would be some kind of test. I started looking at it as an opportunity to more easily become one of the Woods.
I did very much want to be a part of that family.
Just as Mrs. Wood and I agreed that vanilla cake with vanilla icing was best for a wedding cake (chocolate lovers be damned), the door to the kitchen opened, and Mr. Wood stepped into the small space. I stopped talking immediately, figuring I was less likely to get myself into any trouble that way. I might have even taken a few steps towards one of the walls in the room, trying to blend in with the scenery as much as possible. Not that I thought Mr. Wood would start anything in front of his wife, especially right after bickering with her. It was just an automatic response.
I needn't have bothered moving out of Mr. Wood's way. He was uninterested in me. A quick glance was his acknowledgment of my presence. He walked over to the table and placed a thick book on the kitchen table, next to some dirty dishes from the night. When he turned around, Mrs. Wood smiled at him, and he grinned back.
"Your father wanted me to say hello."
Mrs. Wood chuckled and looked over at me. "One thing about the Wood men is that they're horrible at actually saying they're sorry."
Mr. Wood laughed. Genuinely laughed. "Spoken apologies are rare. Doesn't mean we're not sorry, though."
His wife nodded, her eyes only on her husband, but her words were for me. "The key is seeing the apologies in their actions."
I turned my eyes to the floor, partially because I thought Oliver's parents were going to kiss and I didn't want to intrude on their moment, but mostly because Mrs. Wood's words hit me pretty hard. I saw how much more smoothly my relationship with Oliver would have gone—from the time we were little kids—if I'd demanded slightly less than a verbal apology and looked for the signs that he was sorry for what happened between us.
I didn't look up again until I heard the door leading to the backyard close. I had assumed that Mr. Wood was leaving, and I took yet another step backwards when I saw him looking at me curiously. He didn't have much else to look at, seeing as we were the only two in a room he'd seen thousands of times.
For a few minutes, neither of us said a word. Mr. Wood pretended to be busy, moving dishes from one surface to another. That he didn't just leave the room to end the awkwardness proved that Mrs. Wood must have told him to talk to me, not unlike Ian demanded that I talk to my future father-in-law. I spent too much time debating, one more time, whether or not Ian truly could beat me in a duel. After deciding my chances against my photographing friend weren't good, there was nothing else to angst about; I surely would have no better opportunity to talk to Mr. Wood.
All that was left to decide was what to say. This took another couple of minutes. Finally, I opened the conversation with honesty.
"I'm not very good at apologizing, either."
Mr. Wood had his back to me, but he turned his head, as if trying to hear me better. "You want to apologize?"
"Not really," I said. "I probably should, though."
Oliver's father didn't respond. He did slow down in his busy work, though, perhaps thinking.
"I'm not really sure why I'm apologizing," I admitted.
Mr. Wood laughed again as he turned to face me. "Naturally."
I could feel my anger rising at his quip. I was trying to improve the relationship, after all. I was at least making an effort, which seemed a poor reason to attack my character. Then, I saw it was possible that Mr. Wood hadn't meant it as an attack at all. It was possible that he'd simply meant it was natural for one not to know why he or she should apologize. It wasn't likely, but why was I inclined to take everything he said in the worst possible way? Out of all of the conversations we'd had—I only chose to write about the worst—I was rarely even the subject of his comments, let alone the target of any of his attacks.
"I'm sorry for taking everything so personally."
Mr. Wood shrugged. "I've usually meant things personally."
My temper started rising again, and this time, I didn't try to give Mr. Wood the benefit of the doubt. I raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything, still in control enough to know that a verbal response at that point could only make matters worse.
Mr. Wood sighed dramatically, not unlike how his son would when exasperated with himself or someone else. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean that."
Nothing could have prepared me for those words. I'd have been better prepared to hear that I'd just been named Minister of Magic. To say that my shock must have been apparent to Mr. Wood would be an understatement. Even I was aware that my jaw was slack and my eyebrows were threatening to join my hairline.
"Don't look so stunned," Mr. Wood said, crossing his arms but grinning.
"I'm trying not to, but I can't help it."
Mr. Wood laughed at my attempt to make my facial expression more neutral, and his laughter helped snap me out of my surprise.
"Oliver must have ended up as horrible at apologizing as I am, I take it?" he asked.
"No," I answered. "I think he might actually be worse." I wasn't kidding.
"It runs in the Wood family."
"I've heard."
Mr. Wood nodded. For such an uncomfortable conversation, Mr. Wood seemed in no hurry to get through it. Yet again, after a few silent minutes, I was forced to say something I didn't really want to say.
"I'm sorry for what happened Second Year." I paused, but got no response. "Between Oliver and me. That fight with Percy."
"Oliver seems to have got over it," Mr. Wood said.
I nodded since that obviously was true. "Yes, he has." I gathered up my nerve. "Are you?"
Oliver's father cocked his head slightly to one side. "Am I? Over the fight you had with my son?"
I nodded, just once.
"I wasn't aware I was involved."
"I…." I stopped talking to gather my thoughts. "I thought that's why you didn't like me."
Mr. Wood leaned up against the side of the counter, near the kitchen sink. His back bumped the pile of dishes waiting to be washed, but Mr. Wood ignored their clinking. He uncrossed his arms to put his hands on the edge of the counter, on either side of him. His more casual position made his son's resemblance of him blatant.
Oliver often took a similar posture while standing in the kitchen of my small house or his even smaller apartment, while I supervised the dishes magically washing themselves. The dishes didn't need to be watched, but I knew that once the two of us left the kitchen, there would be less conversation. Once we left the kitchen, in the living room, Oliver would usually work on Quidditch strategy and I would read, the radio offering plenty of background noise. Oliver seemed to understand why I stayed in the kitchen to "wash" the dishes. Perhaps, I thought, Mr. and Mrs. Wood had a similar routine. The idea—one that had never really occurred to me before that night—made me at least a little more comfortable with the conversation, for whatever reason.
"I have to admit that I've always been a bit…wary of you because of that fight." After a pause, Mr. Wood added, "Maybe that was unfair."
It was as close to an apology as I was likely to get, and I accepted it, not verbally or even with a nod, but with a weak smile.
Mr. Wood chuckled a bit, mostly to himself. "You want an explanation for why I've been…cold towards you sometimes."
"Yes," I said, unsure why that was amusing but glad we were finally getting to the point.
"You're sure?"
"Yes," I said again, but now a bit unsure even of that.
"I never really got to meet you when you were very young, before you and Oliver stopped being friends, but Oliver brought Percy to the house frequently. So, based on what Oliver told me about you and what I saw in Percy, I've always seen the two of you as being the same, more or less."
I wasn't following what he was saying very well. "You saw Percy and me as the same?"
Mr. Wood nodded.
I paused. "And you didn't like Percy?"
Mr. Wood shrugged. "I didn't dislike him, but he reminded me of his mother when she was about his age."
"Mrs. Weasley?" I asked doubtfully.
"Well, he had to get it from somewhere, and it certainly wasn't from Arthur," Mr. Wood answered, smirking a little.
"You're saying Mrs. Weasley was as much of a…workaholic as Percy?"
Mr. Wood thought about it for a second before admitting, "I never talked to Molly much after Hogwarts, but I would assume that she used to be just as serious about her role as a mother as her son is about his job at the Ministry. At least, that's what I gathered at the…." Mr. Wood checked my facial expression before finishing, "At the funeral."
"You were there?" I asked, taken aback, especially since Oliver had stayed away.
"In the back." Hastily, he added, "With the rest of the Ministry members."
"I suppose," I said, "now that I think about it, I see how Percy took after his mum quite a bit."
Mr. Wood had had a point: Mrs. Weasley had been very serious about her work as a mother. And, the more I thought about it, other similarities occurred to me. Both Mrs. Weasley and Percy had subtler senses of humor than the rest of the family. Both Weasleys placed a great deal of faith in books: Mrs. Weasley's books on housekeeping and life, Percy's books on government and politics. Because Mrs. Weasley's priorities differed so much from her son's priorities, the great similarities between their two personalities had escaped me—me and probably most of the Weasleys, too.
"And, both Molly and Percy are a bit different than they were when they were younger," Mr. Wood said, breaking into my thoughts. "Percy seems to have gotten more serious, Molly a little less so."
I nodded my agreement, at least with what he'd said about Percy, while sitting down on the edge of the table, which was next to the wall and was used for eating quick meals and keeping junk off the floor.
"Molly was very studious at Hogwarts. She was a Gryffindor Prefect, like Percy was obviously going to become."
"Wait," I said. "I see how they're similar. So…you think—or thought—I'm like Percy?"
"More or less."
"And…Percy reminded you of Mrs. Weasley."
"Very much so."
"And…you didn't like Mrs. Weasley?" I asked, feeling even more lost than I had before trying to work out what Mrs. Weasley had to do with Mr. Wood being less than kind to me sometimes.
Mr. Wood looked at me carefully, standing up straighter and folding his arms again. To my astonishment, he started laughing. "Oliver never told you?"
"Told me what?" I asked, slightly annoyed, slightly worried.
Mr. Wood laughed even more, but I thought I detected a little uneasiness this time. "I dated Molly while we were at Hogwarts."
I was suddenly very glad that I was sitting down because, if I hadn't been, I might have fallen over. Of course, I had been aware that Oliver's parents and Percy's parents were roughly the same age, so naturally, they went to school together, but I had never pursued the idea further. I was overcome by that extensive confusion that only comes as facts begin coming together.
"Merlin's beard…" I said to myself, nothing intelligent coming to me fast enough.
"Oliver never told you?" Mr. Wood asked. He didn't need an answer. "I wonder why."
I wondered why, too, but there were more pressing issues.
"When?" I asked bluntly.
Mr. Wood shrugged, but he knew the answer. "My seventh year, her sixth."
"You didn't date Mrs. Wood at Hogwarts?"
"No," he said, leaning back again, bumping more dishes, still guarding his chest with his arms. He looked over towards the door leading outside as it opened, but whoever had begun to enter had changed his or her mind. "We started dating after I began at the Ministry." He grinned. "She was my boss's secretary."
I laughed a little. "Well…I suppose things worked out for the best."
"Oh, yes," Mr. Wood said. He freed a hand to wave it flippantly in front of him. "Molly was very happy with her family, and I with mine."
I nodded, and although Mr. Wood's past was becoming clearer, what it had to do with me was still rather perplexing, and I said so.
Mr. Wood nodded a little to acknowledge that he'd heard the question before turning away for a minute to think about how best to answer me. I watched as he performed a charm to make the dishes in the sink start cleaning themselves. He watched the spell working for a few more seconds before turning around again, twirling his wand in one hand.
"I suppose I thought the past was going to repeat itself," he said. He knew that this wasn't going to make much sense to me, so he continued, "Oliver's very much like me, after all. And you're similar to Molly."
"All of us have quite a bit in common," I interrupted.
"I've come to see that in the last few years, thanks to you and Oliver," Mr. Wood said, passing his wand to his other hand, which he used to continue twisting it between his fingers.
"So…you assumed Oliver and I would date?"
"I didn't think about it much when you and Oliver were young. Then, when I thought Oliver hated you, obviously it didn't occur to me. But, your seventh year, at New Year's…let me show you something."
Mr. Wood walked across the small kitchen, to the door that led towards the dining room. He picked the photo album he'd retrieved for Mrs. Wood off the counter. After flipping through a few pages, he found what he was looking for and motioned for me to come nearer. When I did, I saw a picture of Oliver and me, dancing.
I smiled and took the album out of Mr. Wood's hands so that I could see it more clearly. "I remember you taking this picture," I said. It had been at the first New Year's party I'd attended at the house. Oliver had one arm around my waist, and my hand was on his shoulder. We both looked like we'd been interrupted, and I suppose we had been by the camera's sudden presence. As I kept watching the picture, Oliver and I turned to look at each other, and laughed.
"Not a bad picture, no?" Mr. Wood asked.
"Not at all," I answered, looking up at him and grinning. "Mind if I make a copy?"
"You can have that one if you want it," he said. He kept talking before I could take his offer personally. "Anyway, I knew that, if I was able to walk up right in front of Oliver and still take him by surprise, he was dealing with a fairly big distraction."
I looked down, still smiling but not wanting to rub it in Mr. Wood's face.
"You should be proud. It's not easy to distract a Keeper," Mr. Wood said, and even though there was sarcasm in his voice, there was humor, too. Kindness, even.
I laughed politely and looked up at Oliver's father again. I thought I had a good picture of what had been going through his mind when he'd warned me to stay away from his son.
"You thought history would repeat itself. Not meaning the fight Second Year. Meaning your relationship with Mrs. Weasley, which…didn't work."
"Well…first of all, she wasn't Mrs. Weasley then," Mr. Wood said, laughing and taking the photo album from me. He placed it back on the counter. "But other than that, you've got the basic idea."
"Only the basic idea?" I said, asking him to continue.
Mr. Wood smiled and blushed slightly. "If history would have truly repeated itself, you would have broken up with Oliver, not the other way around."
"Mrs.—Molly broke up with you?" I struggled with the name and the idea.
"It's not very much fun, is it?" Mr. Wood asked, more sympathetically than I'd have expected.
"No," I agreed. "It's not very much fun at all." After a moment, I added, "Not something you'd want your son to experience."
"Well…not if it was inevitable, which is how I viewed things between you and Oliver, I suppose."
The two of us stood in silence for a minute, not looking at each other, but not making that as obvious as it had been earlier in the conversation.
"Why did she break up with you?" I asked, probably getting too personal, but it seemed important to understanding why Mr. Wood had sometimes gone out of his way to make it clear I was hardly his favorite person.
"I never really knew," Mr. Wood answered. "She had reasons, of course. She wasn't the type not to have reasons. Something about me graduating, going to work, and her last year of Hogwarts, which would take a great deal of time. Something about not wanting to waste my time…or hers. Like I said, I'm not sure I ever really understood, but…." The more he spoke, the less he seemed to want to say. "Maybe she didn't really know, either."
"There's a very good chance of that," I said, thinking of Oliver's reasons to break up with me that hadn't occurred to him for several months, if not several years, after actually doing so.
"But it doesn't really matter now," Mr. Wood said.
Throughout the conversation, he had given me no reasons to think otherwise. He spoke of Mrs. Weasley fondly, like an old friend, but their relationship had ended too long ago for any real pain to remain. After all, as Mr. Wood had said, everything had turned out well for the two of them. Overall. And, what more can someone really ask for?
…For one's family and friends to be happy, too.
"Are you still afraid I'll hurt Oliver?" I asked as gently as I could.
Even though I had been upfront with my questions from the beginning of the conversation, this question caught Mr. Wood off guard. He stopped moving his wand through his fingers and looked directly at me for the first time in several minutes.
"Will you?" he asked.
I started to say no, of course not, I would rather die, all of the usual answers that come immediately to mind when asked if you will hurt someone you love.
"Not on purpose," I said, finding more truth in this answer. "I don't want to hurt him."
Mr. Wood nodded twice, maybe three times, his eyes losing focus as he thought. "He'll probably hurt you, too," he said, and although I could tell he wasn't happy about this, as I might have expected him to be, he did seem to find comfort in the thought. I could understand; there is comfort in believing people will get back what they give, pain included, whether they mean to give it or not.
"Not on purpose," I said. When Mr. Wood's gaze turned back to me, I smiled, thinly but not sarcastically.
He returned the smile, and I was pleased when the smile reached his eyes. "You'll be OK," he said, nodding as if to further convince himself. "Both of you. The two of you."
"I know." I nodded, too, trying to hide that my eyes were tearing up, cursing myself mentally for getting emotional.
Mr. Wood took the point of his wand and scratched his temple with it, thinking. "I do wonder why Oliver didn't tell you about Molly and me. I always thought you knew and that everything I told you tonight…you would just figure out on your own."
"Maybe he was embarrassed."
Mr. Wood raised his eyebrows, surprised, but also insulted.
"I mean…!" I started. "I mean, not that there's anything wrong with it. Nothing to be embarrassed of. Just because of Oliver and Percy…being friends and then not being friends."
Mr. Wood's look of indignation was turning into one of puzzlement as his eyebrows lowered and his forehead creased. He put his wand back into the pocket of his cloak and waited for a better explanation.
"I mean…I'm sure Oliver never told Percy, either, or Percy would have told me. Unless Percy was embarrassed." I caught myself quickly. "Not that he should have been."
"I thought Percy would tell Oliver," Mr. Wood said, holding out his hands, palms up, as if I would place answers in them.
"How would Percy know?" I asked, putting my hands in front of me in the same way. If I hadn't been so confused, I would have noticed how I'd picked up the mannerism from Oliver, who must have gotten the gesture from his father.
"I thought Molly would tell him," Mr. Wood responded, raising his hands exasperatedly, the answer apparently supposed to be obvious.
"Like you told Oliver?"
There wasn't a good answer to that, so Mr. Wood stood there, staggered, for a full minute. Finally, he shook his head. "I've been assuming quite a lot for quite a few years."
I nodded, but I grinned sympathetically. "I don't think it's that uncommon."
Mr. Wood laughed slightly as the door to the backyard opened enough for Oliver to stick his head around it to peek inside. "I didn't want to interrupt before," he said.
"You're not interrupting," Mr. Wood and I said, almost in unison. Both of us were happy not to be alone in the small room, even though our conversation had gone better than either of us had probably expected.
Oliver walked into the room, smiling at the two of us, most likely thanking Merlin that there was no need to reverse any curses.
"In fact," Mr. Wood said, "I was just about to come tell you that I dated Molly Prew—Weasley. At Hogarts."
Oliver stopped smiling rather abruptly at that. He didn't move much for more than a minute, although he did blink more than was necessary. I did my best not to laugh at his reaction, forgetting that my own hadn't been much different. My fake coughing brought Oliver out of shock, and he finally said, "I only came inside to tell everyone that Bernard likes his broom."
"You knew he would," I said, no longer hiding my laughter.
Oliver looked from me, to Mr. Wood, and then back at me. "I thought the two of you were talking about…, well, the two of you."
"We were," I said simply.
"And what does that have to do with Mrs. Weasley?" Oliver asked.
"Quite a bit," I answered, just as simply. I glanced over at Mr. Wood to see how he would respond. He nodded, slowly, smiling at his son's facial expressions.
I knew that Mr. Wood's past relationship with Mrs. Weasley couldn't account for all of the bad feelings that had arisen between the two of us—feelings that both of us, most of the time, were good at hiding while around each other. Although I did not doubt that Mr. Wood's problems with me began with my similarities to Percy, his explanation did not really cover his actions at Tara and Adam's wedding, where Mr. Wood had told me that he hadn't known that Oliver and I had been dating at Hogwarts until Oliver broke up with me. Something else had been behind that (I never asked what): Mr. Wood may have merely been trying to protect his son, or he may have been jealous or angry that I had taken away a little of Oliver's tendency to confide everything in his father. And, it's always possible that Mr. Wood simply didn't like me for personal reasons. Whatever it had been, it wasn't going to disappear because of one short conversation in a kitchen at a boy's birthday party.
But, both Mr. Wood and I knew that it didn't really matter anymore. I had an explanation for at least some of the bad feelings for us, and Mr. Wood had some assurance that Oliver's life wasn't going to be ruined by his marriage to me. Most importantly, the conversation would allow Mr. Wood and I the opportunity to be around each other without being so preoccupied by how we didn't like each other. We wouldn't have to be so conscious of how we were only pretending to get along, which would give us the opportunity to discover we could get along easily enough, and maybe eventually grow to like one another.
I walked over to Oliver, who was getting over his surprise but not his confusion, and smiled at him openly before kissing him on the cheek. "I'm going to go see your mum about some pictures that she wants copied. I think your dad probably has some things he'd like to tell you."
I would laugh later about how strange it was that Oliver grew up telling his dad everything while his dad shared few stories about himself—something that Mr. Wood would begin to correct, slowly, and something that had very little to do with me outside of making my family happier.
Oliver looked down at me, questioningly, and I knew he wanted permission to ask his dad to be a groomsman. I nodded, still not loving the idea because it went against tradition, but willing to give in. Oliver smiled broadly before kissing my cheek.
As I took the photo album from its place on the counter and opened the door to the small hallway leading to the dining room, I wished the men good luck for their parts of the talk that was to follow, not that they really needed it.
When Oliver found me, about an hour later, I was sitting alone with Mrs. Wood in the living room. All of the guests had left due to bedtime or running out of things to talk about. It had taken next to no time at all for Mrs. Wood to request that I copy any picture at all that had Bernard in it, so we were sitting in silence. Mrs. Wood read a novel while I flipped through the album large enough to contain pictures dating back to Oliver's late Hogwarts days.
"You never told me your dad was so interested in photography," I said, closing the album to give Oliver the attention I should after the conversation he'd just had.
Oliver shrugged. "I guess I never really thought about it. He takes pictures, like every other parent."
I laughed, and Mrs. Wood joined me without even glancing at the two of us.
"But, unlike most parents' snapshots, your dad's pictures are actually good."
Oliver raised his eyebrows and took the photo album from me, flipping it open randomly. "I wouldn't know, I suppose," he said after realizing this was true. He handed the pictures back to me and smiled. "It will give the two of you something to talk about."
"Where is Frank?" Mrs. Wood asked, turning a page while bending the corner down, so she could find her place later.
"Upstairs. I said goodbye already. He asked me to say goodbye to Laura for him."
"You're not staying the night?" his mum asked.
"Not tonight. We both have to be at work tomorrow morning," Oliver answered. He walked over to her as she placed her book on a coffee table and stood.
"All right. I'll go upstairs, too. You can stay as long as you both want."
"We'll probably just Apparate to Laura's."
Mrs. Wood didn't ask questions. She hugged her son briefly. I got out of my chair so I could hug her, as well. She thanked me yet again for agreeing to make copies of the pictures for her, and said goodnight and goodbye before leaving the room.
I didn't want to wait until after we Apparated to my house to hear what Mr. Wood had said. Assuming that I had a good enough idea of what Mr. Wood had told Oliver about Mrs. Weasley, I asked, "What did he say about the wedding?"
"He said that he will stand at the front of the ceremony as a groomsman if it won't interfere with his role as father of the groom," Oliver said.
I nodded in acceptance.
Oliver sat on the sofa on which his mum had been sitting, and he patted the cushion for me to join him. We took a position I'd grown accustomed to: his right hand on my left knee, my left hand on his right forearm, my legs draped over his, my right arm draped around his neck, my head on his left shoulder.
Oliver kissed the top of my head. "Laura?" he asked.
"I'm fine with your dad being a groomsman," I said, moving my head away from him so I could show him I wasn't lying. I wasn't lying.
"Thanks," Oliver said before kissing my forehead.
I felt bad for putting up such a fight over the issue, seeing how much it meant to him. I put my head back onto his shoulder.
"Laura?" he asked again.
"Yeah?"
"I do wish things were different with Percy."
"I know," I said, nodding because I truly did know. "I think it's too late, though."
"You're probably right," Oliver said, pulling me a little closer to him with the arm he had wrapped around my waist.
"I'm all right, you know? About Percy? I wish things were different, too, but I'm OK." I looked up at him.
"I know."
I took my hand off Oliver's arm so that I could wrap both of my arms around his neck. He moved his hand from my leg to return the hug, which should have been more uncomfortable considering our position.
"I love you, you know?" I said into his shoulder.
"I know," Oliver whispered into my ear.
"And I think everything's going to be fine with your dad. Maybe better than fine."
"I know," he said again.
"Your dad said we were going to be OK. Together. The two of us."
"I think he's going to be right."
"I know," I answered, lifting my head and smiling.
Oliver chuckled. "Who knows?" he said. "Maybe, someday, Percy will show up on our doorstep, one bridesmaid short."
The two of us laughed, embarrassedly on my part, and I hit him playfully on the shoulder. He responded by pulling me closer to him.
I knew what Oliver had meant: Percy or I could change in a way that would make a real friendship possible again. Maybe we would have children the same age. Maybe work would bring us into contact with each other. That night, how it was possible wasn't as important as it being plausible. Oliver knew that, even though maybe, someday's rarely turn into today's, they make today's a little easier.
"I'm not sure Aunt Celeste is going to speak to me ever again," Oliver said, obviously changing the subject, not because it was making him uncomfortable but because the topic of conversation was finished.
"Bernard didn't get hurt, did he?" I asked.
"Of course not, but until he gets a real broom, there will always be that possibility."
"Well…then Celeste will speak to you again in about…five years," I said, laughing at my own joke.
"It's better than forever," Oliver agreed, laughing as well, probably politely. "I'll just have to communicate with her through you."
"I'm so glad to be useful."
Oliver laughed more genuinely and unwrapped his arms from around me. "Let's go home."
I stood up first—there wasn't another option, really—and after Oliver followed suit, he pulled me to him, teasingly, most likely trying to lift my spirits in case I was still upset over Percy or his father's role in the wedding but not telling him. I laughed before kissing him briefly.
"I'll meet you at the house," I said.
Oliver grinned, stepped back a few steps and Disapparated.
Giving Oliver enough time to unlock the front door of my house, soon to be our house, in Hogsmeade, I walked to the chair and picked up the photo album. I hadn't made it to the end of the album while waiting for Oliver to come back from his talk with his dad, and out of curiosity, I flipped to the one of the last pages to see a picture of the table Oliver and I had been sitting at on New Year's, the night we finally realized how stupid we were being. The picture had been taken from a distance, but all of us were in focus. I hadn't seen my former classmates since that night, other than by accident for a few minutes in Diagon Alley, but from all I'd heard, they were doing well. They were safe, working too much, but happy.
I laughed at myself at the memory of how uncomfortable I had been that night because of the awkwardness with Oliver. In retrospect, no other group had ever made me feel more wanted, and they had managed that during what had started as a miserable year. It was fitting that all of them would be in the upcoming wedding party. Leaving out one of the girls would have been unthinkable, not only because it would have been insulting to that woman, but because it had taken all of the girls, working together, to help get me to leave my loneliness. I had needed all of the Seventh Years' very different personalities—Cedar's bluntness, Tara's passive compassion, Mark and Adam's comical honesty, Rose's self-centeredness, and, of course, Joan's nosiness—to let me be myself. It shouldn't have mattered to me at all who was in the wedding party if all of the old Seventh Years were.
Granted, shouldn't have mattered and did matter were two vastly different things. But, Mr. Wood being in my wedding made Oliver happy and would make my friends happy. So, I'd get over it.
Still grinning, I closed the photo album, held it closely to my chest, and Disapparated before Oliver would start wondering what was taking me so long.
Author's Note:
Thanks to every one of you who made it through all four hundred pages of this fan fiction! I never would have had the dedication to finish this if others hadn't taken an interest in Laura and Oliver. Those too-long waits between the later chapters (which I am sincerely sorry for) would have become permanent hiatuses if it weren't for all of you.
And for those of you reading this after the fic was completed, thank you for giving a romance story with an original character and a minor canon character a chance.
Thanks especially to Marie (electronicquillster). If it weren't for our chats, this story would have been unbelievably different, and no where near as good (however good that is). And, if I've gotten nothing else out of this story, I've made a great friend. Much better stories have probably brought much less to their authors.