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Silence	By : thenextjourney Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Het - Male/Female Views: 2049 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: JKR owns the Harry Potter Series in its entirety, and I don't write for money.

Chapter List
- 1-Silence
- 2-Fate
- 3-Poison
- 4-Almost
- 5-Keeper
- 6-Illusion
- 4
- 5
- 6
Silence

Oliver woke the next morning at his usual time as the sun rose over the treetops. He sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes, his feet dangling off the edge to touch the cool floor. Through the windows, he could tell the morning was chill; coating the window was a thin frost, cracking into designs as the light touched it. It was the time of year when the leaves begin to turn, and the street was alight with brilliant gold, orange, and red.

It was surreal to wake up on a morning like any other to realize that things had changed. The biggest hint was that Godric was missing from Oliver's bed. He had slept next to him since he was a pup.

But it wasn't only something he could see. Oliver felt as if something in the air was different, as imperceptible as the shift in season.

He stood and dressed in a warm sweatshirt and a pair of jeans before stuffing his wand into the back pocket and heading out into the hallway. It was as still and quiet as it always was when he got up. It was hard to believe that Hermione Granger, brains of the Golden Trio, was asleep just down the hall. It was hard to believe that any of it had happened.

At the end of the hall, Godric was fast asleep on the floor in front of the guest room, one paw raised against the seam of the door as if he were knocking. Oliver frowned when he realized Godric had been trying to get in for most of the night. Though he was a bit upset his dog's loyalties had changed so quickly, maybe Godric realized who needed more compassion at the moment.

Oliver stepped over Godric, but stopped when he glanced at the door. Part of him wanted to make sure she was still there, but the other part of him didn't want to get slapped in the face. He placed his hand on the doorknob before trying to turn it slowly. It wouldn't budge.

He sighed and turned for the kitchen to make his morning cup of coffee. Hermione had to come out some time, and when she did he would try his best to convince her that he wasn't a serial killer.

In the meantime, he'd have to do something about the lack of food. It was embarrassing; there wasn't enough to even get them through the day. While his coffee pot bubbled and brewed, dribbling dark liquid into his Quidditch World Cup mug, Oliver cleaned out the rotten food from the fridge and freezer. His cupboards were luckily bare, so while his cup was half full, he pulled his wand to wash the piles of dishes in the sink.

Oliver had never been embarrassed about the state of his house when he was alone, but now that another person had seen, he was a bit mortified at how much of a bachelor pad it had become. Whenever his mates from Puddlemere wanted to hang out, they picked a bar, club, or one of their flats. Oliver's house was never considered; he didn't want his quiet refuge invaded by a flock of muscle-bound drunks, however well-meaning they were.

The only people who had seen his house were old Hogwarts mates, Quidditch friends or one-night stands. The Hogwarts students didn't care, the Quidditch players didn't notice, and the one-night stands weren't thinking about dishes.

The coffee pot dinged as he finished cleaning, and Oliver grabbed the steaming cup. He blew on the top and took a sip, sighing as the liquid's warmth spread all the way down to his stomach. It wasn't nearly as hot as it looked due to a clever magical pot, but he liked the steam.

Leaning against the counter, he wondered if Hermione liked coffee and decided after a moment that she probably did. It was easy to picture her sitting in his living room late at night, legs folder under her, a cup in one hand and a book in the other.

Shaking his head, he flicked his wand and muttered a spell to keep the pot warm for her. Maybe he would go out and get groceries while she was asleep, but he didn't like the idea of her waking up to no one home.

Maybe she was the strong, brave war hero, but she shouldn't be left to herself so soon.

Just as Oliver set his mug down to pick up a dirty rag off the floor, a piercing scream ripped through the house. He looked up so quickly that his neck cracked; his other hand snatched his wand out.

In the breadth of a second, the house fell silent except for the sound of Godric whimpering. Oliver stood stock still, trying to assess what was happening and what he could do. Suddenly, muffled noises and another scream shattered the quiet. Putting his athletic reflexes to good use, he jumped over the countertop and sprinted down the hallway, nearly hitting Godric on the way.

Through the guest bedroom doorway, he could hear terrified whimpering similar to Godric's. Oliver tried the door before remembering it was locked.

"Alohamora!"

He threw it open, expecting chaos but finding nothing like it. Hermione lay on the bed twisted in the covers, her skin glinting with cold sweat in the morning light. As he watched, her face crinkled in what looked like pain and she whimpered, turning violently to the right.

"Fuck," Oliver said, pocketing his wand as Godric rushed in and started licking Hermione's hand.

He jogged over and placed a hand on her shoulder, but she screamed when he touched her. Startled, he tried to back away, but her eyes shot open, wet and dark, before a hand flew up to slap him. He barely caught her wrist, and her eyes widened. Like when she first woke up in his home, she looked like a trapped animal, not actually looking at him or anything in particular.

"What's wrong?" he bit out, struggling to keep her still as she fought against his grip. He was surprised at how strong she actually was, and his muscles flexed with the effort to keep her down.

"Let me go! Get off of me!" she screamed, trying to hit him with her other fist, but he caught that wrist, too. Godric backed away from the bed and growled nervously.

"Stop it, Hermione. It's just me! For fuck's sake, open your eyes! Don't you remember?" Oliver asked, putting a knee up on the bed to get a better vantage point.

Hermione's eyes were wild, and she stared at him as if she wasn't actually seeing. Oliver wondered if she was really awake.

"You! You were…you were…," she said, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Suddenly, she flushed with anger and sat up to try to hit him with any part of her body she could move. Oliver barely dodged her attacks before swinging up onto the bed completely. Godric barked as he straddled her upper thighs, pinning her hands by her head to keep her down.

Hermione screamed and tried to arch up against him when she realized she was stuck, but Oliver's grip was strong.

"I didn't do anything to you," Oliver said, trying to keep his voice steady. She wouldn't meet his eyes. "Look at me."

When she tried to knee him in the side, he pushed her back against the bed, his grip tightening.

"Look at me!"

Finally, she turned, her face twisted with fear that slowly leaked away. Oliver kept a firm grip on her until she was in control of herself, her heart rate and breath slowing. When she fell limp against the bed and unclenched her fists, she looked tormented to the point of tears.

"Oh…" was all she choked out, a few tears leaking from the corners of her eyes and down into her hairline.

He loosened the grip on her wrists, still leaning over her, but kept his hands there, afraid she wasn't completely back yet.

"What happened?" he asked.

She shook her head a little bit, her eyes averted to where Godric was standing by the door.

"It was just a dream," she said softly. "I'm sorry I tried to hit you. You surprised me."

"Were you dreaming about being attacked?"

She shook her head again.

"No. Well. Of sorts. It has nothing to do with me almost being killed."

Oliver wanted to cradle her against him so he didn't have to see the tortured look in her eyes.

He knew he couldn't.

Instead, he let out a breath through his nose and rolled off of her to stand at the side of the bed, running a hand wearily through his hair.

She was going to kill him if he wasn't careful.

"It's ok. I heard the screaming and thought you were in trouble. Are you alright now?" he asked as Godric settled in next to him.

Hermione sat up slowly as if she was testing the durability of her body. When she was satisfied with whatever she was examining, she pulled her uninjured leg to her chest, resting her cheek on her knee to look at Oliver. Her cheeks were wet, but she wasn't crying anymore.

"Psychologically, it's normal for people who have experienced trauma to have nightmares. It didn't help me figure out anything, if that's what you're wondering," she said, her voice nearly robotic as she avoided his question.

He nodded and patted Godric's head, who merely seemed confused by the commotion.

"Are you alright now?" he repeated.

She sniffed and wiped the tears from her cheeks, looking despondent.

"Yeah. I'm sorry I attacked you. I didn't mean to…it won't happen again."

Oliver watched her posture fold in on itself, and his arms began to tingle with the want to hold her up himself. Her eyes were dark, trying to fight the need to curl up and protect her body, but she looked tired from a night spent within her mind. Eventually she folded, pulling his Nan's quilt over her shoulders to keep warm.

He hated feeling helpless. He was a person who understood actions and physicality, but not so much emotion and mind. She didn't need what he could offer. She needed support, and he didn't know how to comfort or care for anyone but his dog.

He took a calming breath.

He had to at least try.

"I'll be right back," he said, before turning on his heel and heading to his room. He walked over to the bookshelf and began shuffling through the spines, skimming the titles as he went.

Quidditch, Quidditch, playbook…Quidditch, Quidditch…plays, Athletics in the Wizarding World…

Finally, he pulled out an old textbook he'd had during his Hogwarts years. Despite his less than pristine grades, McGonagall had insisted he take Advanced Charms during his seventh year. It turned out he had been good at it during the Quidditch off-season.

Oliver had many vague memories of spotting the little bookworm in the library or the Gryffindor Common Room, and he hoped she would find solace within the textbook's pages. At least she wouldn't have to dwell on her nightmares for a while.

It was the only thing he could think of doing.

Oliver jogged back to the guest room and stepped in. Godric was lying with his head in Hermione's lap. She had moved to lean against the headboard, her eyes closed and her skin pale as she stroked his fur.

"I found this in my room. If you want to try to get more sleep-"

"No," Hermione said without opening her eyes.

"Right. I'll leave it here," Oliver responded, placing the book on the bedside table. Hermione's eyes opened slowly, and she looked down at the text.

"AdvancedCharms," she read, tilting her head. "Is this from Hogwarts?"

"Mmhm. I thought you might like something to read…to get your mind off of things."

Hermione looked up at Oliver and actually smiled, the warmth touching her eyes.

"Thank you," she said gently, reaching out to grab the tome. Her fingers played over the old leather cover, and her face softened as she was wrapped in the comfort of memories at Hogwarts.

Oliver smiled back at her, surprised that he had done something right. He licked his lower lip absently, tasting the remainders of his coffee.

"Oh, shit. That reminds me. Do you want a cup of coffee? I make it black. I don't have anything to put in it right now, so I hope you don't mind," he said.

Hermione didn't move her eyes from the book, flipped over so she could read the back.

"I take my coffee black. That would be lovely," she murmured, already lost in the words of Bartholomew Dignacium the Third.

Oliver smirked to himself, knowing he'd been right about his coffee assumption, before exiting to the kitchen and filling his old Gryffindor mug with coffee. When he came back, Hermione was fully upright in bed with the book propped on her knee. She was petting Godric's back, and he looked like he was in heaven. When Oliver came in, Godric looked up and gave him a look that could only mean, "Can we keep her?"

Oliver scowled at his dog before setting the mug down on the side table. She didn't seem to have noticed he'd come back, so he leaned against the wall and watched her flip through the pages slowly. Every once and a while, she'd nod as if remembering a particular spell or movement. She looked completely drowned in his oversized jersey and the huge quilt, but Oliver couldn't help the smile creeping up his lips.

He cleared his throat as she let out a small laugh.

"What?" he asked. He didn't remember anything particularly funny about Advanced Charms.

"You wrote in the textbook," she said, looking up at him, her eyes not quite warm but at least bright. Amber. Oliver found himself looking down at her, one eyebrow cocked.

"Oh, really? I don't remember that," he said.

She lifted up the open book and Oliver stepped closer to look at it. He made a face when he recognized a poorly drawn Quidditch play to the side of an advanced levitation spell. In his messy scrawl, it said, "Use height to Chaser's advantage." To the left of the spell instructions, it said, "Maybe important for the test? Ask Percy."

"Erm," Oliver said, standing up straight and rubbing his neck. "Quidditch season."

Hermione pulled the book back before grabbing the mug and taking a sip. She closed her eyes as she swallowed and let out a sigh.

"You have a one track mind," she commented, opening her eyes again.

"I do not. I like dogs, too," he responded, pulling a mock-offended face. He leaned over her to pat Godric's backside, who looked up at him with his tongue lolling out and his tail wagging.

Hermione snorted before reluctantly closing the book and setting it on the bed. She turned to Oliver, her face suddenly serious. He was a bit taken aback.

"It's Sunday," she stated.

"Right."

"Tomorrow everyone will know I'm missing."

"No one would have looked for you over the weekend?"

"No, I doubt it. Everyone's been too busy with the Ministry killings. If anyone had time off, I'm sure they'd spend it with their families."

Oliver nodded, noting an odd tone in her voice but deciding not to press it. He went back to leaning against his spot on the wall.

He had to go to Quidditch Monday, but he didn't think bringing that up would help much.

"What do you think we should do, then?" he asked after a moment.

"I have to die," she remarked before sipping her coffee.

"Excuse me?"

"Well, a fake death. It'll be highly publicized in the Prophet. Like I said before, I can't have anyone else aware that I'm alive. I have to be able to investigate my own almost-murder without being afraid for my life," she said, sounding like she was explaining to a child.

"You say it like it's so simple. You said the Ministry wasn't safe, though. So how do you do it without their help?" he asked.

When she didn't answer, Oliver tilted his head to try to catch her eyes. She avoided him, burying her face in the fur at Godric's neck. After a while, she finally spoke.

"I have to think. I'll figure it out, alright? Merlin," she muttered.

"I didn't doubt it, lass," he said, immediately cursing himself for slipping back into his Scottish habits. He tended to do it when he was stressed.

"Can you go for a while?" she asked, a little stiffly. "I need some time alone."

"Yeah. Just yell if you need anything."

With that, Oliver turned and left, closing the door on the way out. As he walked away, he couldn't shake the feeling that they had gained nothing.

Until past noon, Oliver cleaned his disaster of a house and watched his chaotic thoughts trickle by. For a moment he had thought he and Hermione were making progress. She had smiled, the first smile, and they had joked around. He thought she had been better, but clearly that wasn't the case. Her changes in mood reminded him of the Quaffle changing hands during a Quidditch match; constantly unpredictable and sometimes dangerous. He couldn't predict it, nonetheless intercept it.

He supposed he understood why she was like this. It made sense psychologically, as she had said. But something bothered him. It wasn't so much that she was jumpy; she was downright traumatized.

Hadn't she gone through more in the War, especially since she couldn't remember now? Why was she like this? Was it all creeping up on her in one big wave?

What was that muggle saying?

The straw that broke the camel's back?

And no matter what he did, why couldn't he get through to her?

And for fuck's sake, what were they going to do?

Everything sounded like a suicide mission.

He hated himself for it, but he found himself wishing he hadn't taken Godric for a 3 am walk.

To keep that terrible thought at bay, he worked more furiously at cleaning, pushing out his frustration through the mechanic actions. He washed the pile of dirty laundry, stacked up the Quidditch books and parchment, and shot off a letter to the Puddlemere captain to say that he wasn't feeling well and might miss practice tomorrow.

Around three in the afternoon, Hermione limped out with Godric to state that she was taking a shower. In the meantime, she asked him to wash her clothes, and Oliver obliged with all the gentlemanly charm he could muster. She said nothing about a solution for her faked death.

He stood outside the bathroom door while she undressed, hating his thoughts with a new passion. He could tell she'd been crying.

However much he tried, though, he couldn't pull the stab of bitterness from between his ribs.

Several slow minutes later, a slim arm extended and handed Oliver the Gryffindor jersey and shorts, and he took them before the door closed and locked.

With an exasperated sigh, he headed to the laundry room and threw the clothes in with the rest. Back in the kitchen, the coffee pot was still warm from his spell. As he added a splash of brandy to his refreshed mug, there was a tapping on the glass of the window.

Oliver jumped and almost dropped the brandy bottle, pulling his wand.

It took him a moment to realize he was pointing at an owl.

The letter attached to the barn owl's leg was a response from Darius Crawley, the Puddlemere captain.

Oliver took a large gulp of his drink, his eyes narrowed, as he read through the page.

Wood-

Sorry to hear you're ill, but can't you take a Pepper Up and head over for a while tomorrow? We really need you to run the plays from last week. Game season is almost here.

See you tomorrow.

Darius

Could this day get any worse?

Oliver Wood quickly found out that it could.

A few minutes later, a knock sounded at the front door. His stomach dropped as he grabbed his wand and slid off the seat. Godric ran to the door, letting out little barks with his tail wagging.

"Wood? You in there, mate?" a familiar voice called out.

Godric barked louder as Oliver suddenly remembered with a flash of dread who he'd invited over for dinner a few weeks ago. In all the commotion, he'd forgotten.

"Fuck, fuck, shit," he muttered, running to the door and swinging it open.

Godric jumped up and began licking any part of Harry Potter he could reach. The younger man laughed, flicking his shock of charcoal hair from his eyes and revealing the famous scar.

"Godric! Down boy. Good to see you, too. Hey, Oliver. Hope your cooking is better than last time," Harry said, holding out his hand. He pulled it back when he noticed the look on Oliver's face. "You alright?"

Oliver shook his head, looking up and down the deserted street.

"Look, Potter, I'm sorry I didn't owl you earlier. This is a really bad time."

At that exact moment, there was a click and the sound of a door opening down the hall. Wet feet hit the wooden floor unevenly.

"Fuck!" Oliver swore, turning on his heel to see Hermione standing at the opening of the hallway. She was wearing only a towel, one arm against the wall for support, curls dripping down her scarred shoulders.

"Oliver, I need-"

Harry's eyes widened as he took in the scene.

Oliver saw his fists clench.

Godric whined.

"Mione?" Harry choked after a stunned moment.

Hermione and Oliver swore in unison before Harry stepped in and slammed the door shut, his wand at Oliver's throat.

A/N: For anyone worried, no, Harry doesn't think Oliver would actually hurt her. Though he is impulsive…you'll see what I mean next chapter.

I hope you had a great Halloween and Day of the Dead!

Next chapter in 1-2 weeks.

Happy November!
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Silence