Chapter 11 - Crashing

Chapter Eleven: Crashing

It was a Saturday evening as Oliver sat silently at a large table that consistent of his family members. It was the end of of his sixth year at Hogwarts and the school year had gone well enough for him, grade wise, and Quidditch wise, as he had a seeker who hadn't fail to win him a game yet. His year, concerning Marcus, was like it was every year, strained. It also didn't help that Marcus and Terrence finally had their falling out as Oliver had predicted, making Marcus become even more unstable than he was before. Oliver almost felt sorry for the Slytherin House. . . almost.

Putting that aside, Oliver's grandfather was glad to have his eldest grandchild home and made sure a huge feast was prepared for Oliver when he arrived. Oliver watched as his aunts, uncles, and younger cousins ate and talked lively among themselves. It would have been picture prefect if it weren't for one thing. . . his mother.

She was suppose to have come and picked him up. He had been looking froward to seeing her his entire trip on the train. Then as the long journey came to an end and he stepped off the train, the first person he saw was Gale Flint. They made eye contact for a moment and she smiled sadly at him as she gave him a small wave. Oliver almost waved back, but didn't have time as he watched Marcus almost break down as he reached his mother. He looked so worn and tired as he wrapped his arms around her and she comforted him. As she stroked her son's head, she looked up at Oliver one more time before she Apparated, taking Marcus with her.

Oliver than looked around for his own mother, but was disappointed to see that she hadn't come to pick him up, but his aunt Enatina. He asked her were she was and Enatina simply told him that something came up that she had to handle. So he went with his aunt to the family estate where the rest of his family was happily waiting for him to come home.

Oliver had grown to love his family, but all he really wanted was the attention of his mother that always seem to be out of his reach. He thought when she came back for him, that everything was going to be different. He thought he would never be left alone again, but in truth he just felt like he was passed from one family to another.

After dinner, the family insisted that he stay a little longer, but he told them he was tired and just wanted to get home to his own bed. They protested a little longer, but eventually Oliver won out before having someone Apparate him outside of the home he and his mother now shared. “Mum?” Oliver called out, entering the seemingly empty house, after closing the front door behind him. He sighed when he heard nothing.

“Oliver, is that you?” he finally heard Siliva upstairs. Oliver made a curious face, her voice sounded far away and weak.

“Yeah, it's me,” he responded back as he followed the sound of her voice up the stairs. Lights turned on as he traveled towards his mother's bedroom. Outside the close door he knocked and then turned the knob and stepped in. “Why weren't you there to pick me-” he stopped in the middle of his question as Siliva came into his sight. She was sitting on the floor, leaning against the bed as she breathed heavily. Her hair was all awry and her face was covered in scratches and bruises. Her robes where torn and tattled as she held her stomach tightly. “Mum!” Oliver quickly made his way to her before dropping to his knees to help her up. “What happened? Who did this to you?” he asked as she laid down.

“I need my medication,” was her only response to his question.

Oliver gently ran his fingers across Siliva's face. “You need a Healer,” he told her as he removed her hand from her side and looked through the hole in her robe, which looked as if it had been burned off. It was a huge black and blue bruise that seem to cover her whole stomach. “This looks bad.”

“My medication,” she said again, indicating her nightstand. Oliver turned to it. “In the drawer,” she told him.

Oliver reached over and pulled the top drawer. Inside were several small zip-lock bags full of a white power. Oliver had seen this stuff before a few years back and had asked Siliva about it. She had only told him it was Muggle medication that she needed. Oliver took out one of the bags out before closing the drawer. “I don't think this stuff helps you,” he finally told her. Every time he had seen her after taking her 'medication' she always appeared worst off then before.

“Of course it helps me,” she told him angrily. “I need it, it relaxes me,” she told him, taking the bag from his hand.

“I want you to see a Healer,” Oliver tried to tell her, but she wasn't listening as she sat up, cringing in pain as she did so, and opened back up the drawer again to pull something out of it. Oliver watched as Siliva poured some of the bag's contents onto the table before cutting it into several small strings. Oliver had seen this all before during his visits home for summer and Christmas break and with every visit his mother always looked paler, sicker, weaker, and he was tired of seeing her wasting away and not seeking the proper help. They had the money now and all she did was spend it on this useless Muggle medicine.

“Stop it!” Oliver demanded as Siliva was about to snort the white powder up her nose. He knocked it off the desk and it flew like dust into the air and onto the floor.

Siliva looked to him angrily. “What is the hell is wrong with you!” she yelled at him. “I need that!” She reached into the drawer and pulled out another packet.

“I said, no!” He took the bag out out of his.

Siliva then slapped him hard against the face, causing him to drop the bag on the floor. “Get out my room,” she told him. Oliver held his face as his narrowed eyes looked upon his mother. He first reached for the bag on the floor, he then reached into the drawer and gathered the bags into his arms. “What are you doing?” she asked him frantically. “What are you doing!” She grabbed onto his shirt as he began to walk away. He paid her no mind as she was dragged out the bed. “Oliver, stop! What are you doing?” she cried. “I'm your mum, dammit, listen to me!”

Her words stopped Oliver dead in his tracks. “My mum? My mum!” he yelled as he finally yanked her grip off of him. He looked at her as she lay on the floor. “You may have given birth to me, but you are not my mum,” he told her cruelly. “You don't even know how to pretend to be one.”

“Don't say such things. I'm a good mother,” she tired to convince herself. "A good mother."

“Yeah, alright.” Oliver rolled his eyes before continuing down the hall towards the bathroom. “I should have never come back to you. I should have never broken my promise to Marcus,” he said to himself. “I should have stayed with Dad and Gale.”

“He was a Death Eater!” Siliva yelled as Oliver made it to the doorway of the bathroom.

“What?” Oliver looked at her curiously. “Who?”

“Flint,” Siliva said breathlessly as she slowly rose from the floor and leaned against the wall. “Alvin Flint,” she hissed.

Oliver shook his head. “How much of this stuff have you take today?” he asked referring to the powder in his arms. He then stepped into the bathroom and started pouring the packets into the toilet.

A moment later, Siliva rested against the door frame and watched her son pour the drugs into the toilet. “Do what you want to it. I can always get more,” she told him.

Oliver said nothing as he flushed the last of it and rose. Siliva stood in his way as she tried to leave. “Move.”

“I wasn't lying,” she began, her son not making eye contact with her. “Flint was a Death Eater. He worked for You-Know-Who.”

“You're lying. Dad is a good man,” he said in a way that almost dared her to question him.

“Stop calling that man your Dad!” she yelled infuriated. “Your father was named Oliver Card and he was a good man!” she made clear. “He died at the hands of Death Eaters. Death Eaters just like Alvin Flint was!”

Then as she spoke something occurred to Oliver. “Why do you keep referring to him in the past tense?” he asked softly.

A shiver ran down Oliver's spine as he watched Siliva. “Because I finally got him.” Oliver shook his head, he didn't understand. “Didn't you ever wonder why I was always gone when you were a little boy?” He only looked at her. “Didn't you ever wonder what mummy did for a living?” Oliver only looked confused. “I was actually paid to go out and kill the bloody bastards who took your father away from us,” she explained. “I was good at what I did. I was the best when I left the Organization and I still am.” Tears filled her eyes and slowly ran down her cheeks. “I even came out of retirement, to go after the ones who were there when your father was killed. Guess who was among them?”

As Oliver heard Siliva's words he didn't know what to think or what to believe, but as she wiped away her tears and a look he had never seen before entered her eyes, a sickening feeling came over him and he knew she wasn't lying, but he still could not help the words that slipped from his lips. “It's not true. It can't be.”



Marcus was in his seventh year and it was the day before N.E.W.Ts. He was alone in his dorm as he studied. As he did for his O.W.Ls, he studied to the point of making himself sick. It was his last year and this test meant everything. Marcus then sighed as he allowed his book to rest on his lap and rest his head on his headboard. He looked over at Terrence's bed, or what used to be Terrence's bed.

Terrence had requested for a room change at the beginning of the year after Marcus had come up to him the first night they had returned. Marcus had handed him a piece of parchment and asked him to sign it. Terrence asked what it was and Marcus told him it was a request for resignation. Marcus knew that Terrence wanted to be a Professional Quidditch Player and that it wouldn't look good if Marcus straight up fired him from the team, so resignation was the next best choice.

Terrence didn't understand, he didn't want to quit the team. Marcus then explained the situation that was at hand when it came to Lucius Malfoy and his son, Draco who was only a Second Year. Terrence was not happy to learn that during his last year he was being replace by a kid who could barely play the game. More so, he couldn't believe that Marcus had done him so wrong, he was his best friend for crying out loud. Friends weren't suppose to turn on each other for something as lowly as a set of new brooms. Their argument could be heard all down the hall of their dormitory and when it was over, it was over and the two hadn't said more than a word to each other the entire year.

Marcus would never admit it out loud, but he missed him, and he knew he was wrong. Having the latest and fastest broom for his team didn't make up for experience, which was something Terrence did have over Draco. It was the worst decision he had ever made. It not only greatly lowered his chances at the cup, but destroyed a relationship with someone he should have valued more.

Marcus then once again picked up his book and began to read over his material. He hadn't been at it for long when he remembered his mother's letter. It had been given to him that morning when the family owl arrived, but he had quickly stuffed it in his pocket as he was almost done with one of his subjects and didn't want to be distracted.

He figured he needed a break anyway and so threw his book down his bed before reaching into his pocket to pull out the letter. He sat back and crossed one ankle over the other as he broke the seal and began to read. Not more than a few sentences into his letter Marcus bolted straight up and now gripped the letter tightly in both hands. He began to hyperventilate as he eyes frantically scanned over the letter. “It's not true. It can't be,” he said himself as the color drained from his face. His father was dead, not just dead, but murdered.

Out in the Slytherin common room, Terrence was resting by the fireplace with some of his friends he had made that year in a small study group, but studying was the last thing on their minds as they laughed and joked around. Suddenly, there was a scream so loud and so fierce that it startled a lot of the people in the common room. “I think that's Flint,” said one of the people sitting with Terrence's group.

“Why are you looking at me?” Terrence asked offended before picking up his book. He then pretended to read it, but as he heard Marcus' cries, he ached to see what was wrong, but his pride would not allow it and so with everything he had, blocked out his former best friend's cries. “Flint is no longer my concern,” Terrence said annoyed at those who were still looking at him as if he should go check on the other. With those words everyone went back to what they were doing and left Marcus to survive his demons alone.

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