Unintended

"Oliver, I don't think this is a very good idea," said Percy once again, nervously playing with the buttons on his shirt.

"I can't hide from them forever," replied Oliver. "And I don't plan to. I think hiding is cowardly. Besides, it's not like they can actually do anything to me, can they? They can write what they want about me--they always have."

Percy had to admit that Oliver's reasoning did make sense. However, he was still worried. He was quite prepared to help Oliver go into hiding if necessary. But Oliver was right. He couldn't hide forever. That would completely defeat the purpose of quitting the team. Oliver what do what he wanted, which is exactly what he had always done.

"Five minutes," said Percy, looking down at his watch.

"Bring it," said Oliver, rubbing his hands together and looking mischievous.

A few minutes later, Percy was escorted into the conference room, where he was ushered to the podium. Many journalists and reporters sat waiting, chattering excitedly. Percy cleared his throat.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, wincing at the sound of his voice being magically magnified, "I am sorry to disappoint you, but I have absolutely nothing to say on the subject of Mr. Wood's alleged disappearance. But I believe Mr. Wood himself would like to have a few words with you."

There was a collective gasp from the audience as Oliver strode into the room, confidently approaching the podium. He grinned at Percy and then took his place at the podium. Flashbulbs exploded and reporters began shouting questions, as journalists scribbled furiously in their notebooks.

"Hello," said Oliver, still smiling. "I believe you've all been looking for me."

"Mr. Wood," called out a journalist from the back, "How did you get to London undetected?"

"Well," said Oliver, smugly, "I took a WizardAir plane. I guess you just missed me."

"WizardAir?" said a reporter. "But I was there, and I asked some of the passengers. No one had seen you."

"I'm telling you, I was on that plane," said Oliver.

"Sir, what made you quit the team? I hear that your resignation was voluntary," said a bespectacled journalist, quill poised above parchment.

"Yes, it was completely voluntary. Coach did not kick me off the team, as some people have heard. They'll probably have to fly in the reserve Keeper, though he hasn't had to play since the seven hour tournament with Romania. As for the reason, well, I hardly think anyone here would understand it."

The crowd murmured, slightly angry at losing their chance to regal the waiting readers and watchers with more news about Oliver.

One woman seemed particularly intent on getting the answer out of him. "We're all educated adults here," she said contemptuously, "I'm sure we would understand."

"It's not a matter of intelligence," replied Oliver. "It's a matter of heart, of feeling. And I doubt any of you are actually capable of empathy. Besides, I think telling you would make my job more difficult."

Some of the reporters looked incensed, others bored. What a waste of time. They had learned nothing at all. But somewhere, somehow, someone would dig out the information and pass it along. It was what the media had always done, and what they would always be doing.

"Then you have nothing more to say to us?" inquired a man with curly black hair.

"Only this: don't think that you, or anyone for that matter, can force me to rejoin the team. I won't be swayed by my fans' disapproval, though I am sorry that I have to disappoint them. I'm going to do what I think is in my best interest, and that includes calling this conference to an end right now."

He fixed them with a steely gaze, challenging someone to speak, but all was silent except for the scratching of quills and the clicking of cameras. Then he began walking out of the room, and Percy quickly followed him. They didn't speak on the way back to his office.

"Well," said Oliver, once they were back in Percy's office, "I'm glad that's over with."

"You did quite well," said Percy, nodding approvingly.

Oliver sighed. "I couldn't have told them why I quit, Perce. I don't even know the reason myself. I don't know what I'm going to do now."

"Find a job?" suggested Percy.

"No, I don't want a job," said Oliver, leaning back in his chair. "Not a regular one anyway. I want to do something extraordinary."

"But you already have," said Percy.

"Quidditch isn't very extraordinary," disagreed Oliver. "I meant something useful. Maybe I could invent something...a spell that will help people..."

"New spells are awfully hard to create," said Percy. "And you have to submit them to the Ministry for extensive testing before they're approved. The process can take more than a year sometimes."

"Oh, well, I was just throwing around some ideas." He sighed. "Maybe it will all come to nothing and I'll be back on the team in a week."

"Don't be like that, Oliver. You'll think of something soon enough."

Percy tossed him a pile of envelopes and told him to place stamps on them while he folded the outgoing letters. They made quite a team, and the envelopes were stuffed in no time.

"I ant oo ance," said Oliver, as he licked the last envelope.

"What?" said Percy.

"I want to dance," he said more clearly. "I want to learn ballroom dancing."

"Ballroom dancing? Why do you want to learn ballroom dancing?" asked Percy, completely bewildered.

"Because I don't know how to do it," said Oliver. "I've been thinking, and I've decided that every day I'm going to learn something new. I've got a whole list of things lined up in my head already. I want to learn how to bake a cake, how to play the piano, and how to build a card house without the damn thing falling down every two seconds. There are so many things that I don't know, Perce."

"I don't think you could learn to play the piano in just one day," said Percy skeptically. "And there's no way you could learn everything. No one could."

"Not everything," said Oliver. "And you're right about the piano. But all the same, I'd like to learn it."

"Well," said Percy, reaching behind him to take down a thick book from the shelf, "I think you'll be able to find a dance instructor in here."

"Thanks, Perce," said Oliver, flipping through the address book. Presently, he came to a small ad that read: "Ballroom dance instructor available for private or group lessons. Fee depends on class size." Below it there was an address and a telephone number. Oliver quickly dialed it.

"Hello, Merriman Dance Company, how may I help you?" said a female voice.

"Hi," said Oliver, "I saw your ad about the dance lessons and I was wondering if they're still available?"

"Oh, that ad's rather old," said the receptionist. "But I can check to see if there are still any spots open."

There was a click as the phone was set down, and a then a rustling of papers.

"You're in luck," she said after a minute. "We have one more opening in the small group lesson. The instructor is Christine Merriman. This session just started last week, so I doubt you'll have missed too much."

"A group lesson?" said Oliver, slightly apprehensive.

"It's very small," she assured him. "Six people including the instructor."

"That doesn't sound too bad," said Oliver. "Will you put me down then?"

"Of course. May I have your name please?"

He hesitated for a moment, but then remembered that these people were Muggles. "Oliver Wood," he said.

"Great," said the receptionist, jotting his name down. "Lessons are Tuesdays and Saturdays, six to seven-thirty in the evenings."

"Thanks," said Oliver, hanging up. He looked up and saw Percy staring at him. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," said Percy, shaking his head. He wondered what Oliver was hiding. He seemed out of sorts.

"Did you want me to sign you up too?"

"No, thank you," said Percy firmly. "I already know how to dance. Well, sort of."

"Well, good," said Oliver. "I'm going to need someone to practice with."

Percy groaned inwardly at the thought.

---------------------

As Saturday neared, Oliver tried hard not to think of the team's match in Athens. He busied himself with other tasks, such as cleaning up the small space he took up in Percy's apartment. He had adamantly unrolled his sleeping bag in the corner of Percy's room. Percy had insisted that Oliver sleep in the bed, but he refused even though he really wanted to.

Percy had yet to return from work, but he would soon, so Oliver decided to do something useful and make dinner. He opened the small refrigerator in the kitchen and peered inside. There was a half empty jug of orange juice, a few eggs, and something that looked like bread. It was hard to tell, as it was covered in a layer of bluish mould. Disgusted, Oliver disposed of it using a Vanishing Spell. He opened the cupboards and looked inside. There was a collection of spices, and in another, cereal and coffee creamer. He looked at the clock on the wall and dashed out the door.

He walked along the street, scanning the signs for restaurants and cafes. A few blocks away, the sign of a small Italian restaurant caught his eye. He ducked inside and found himself in a restaurant with a seating area no bigger than Percy's apartment. The hostess immediately came up to him.

"Hello, there," she said, smiling and reaching for a menu. "How many? Just you?"

"I was wondering if you do takeaway here," said Oliver, smiling back. The hostess, who was quite young--perhaps only seventeen--blushed at his smile.

"Yes, we do. Here's a menu," she said, handing one to him.

"Thanks," said Oliver, studying the menu. A minute later, he had placed his order, complete with dessert.

He sat down at one of the empty tables to wait. He was surprised when the hostess sat down across from him.

"I thought I'd wait with you. You know, since there doesn't seem to be anyone coming in at the moment," she said, gesturing at the door.

"That's kind of you," said Oliver.

"You must be really hungry," she said conversationally, "ordering all that food. Or are you having a party?"

"Not quite a party," said Oliver, laughing. "I'm taking it back to my friend's place for dinner. He hasn't got a thing worth eating in his apartment. But yeah, I am hungry. I eat a lot."

"Most guys do," she said, shrugging. "I couldn't--I wouldn't be able to dance if I ate that much."

"Oh? You dance?" said Oliver, now curious.

"Ballet," she said stretching out a leg and putting her arms above her head. She laughed. "I've been dancing since I was four. My mum's a dancer too. She teaches me."

"I just signed up for dance lessons," said Oliver. "Ballroom dancing."

"Ah, ballroom dancing," she said, nodding. "I tried learning once, but I think I prefer ballet."

"Order twenty-three for Oliver?" said an inquisitive waiter, walking up to their table with a paper bag.

"I'm Oliver," he said, taking the bag. "Thanks."

He turned back to the girl. "Thanks for waiting with me."

"No problem," she said, smiling. "I hope you enjoy your dinner."

She waved as he walked out the door. He walked back to Percy's apartment, the paper bag cradled in his arms. He could feel the heat of the food through the bag. He went inside the apartment and arranged the food in dishes. Just then, Percy came home.

"What's this?" said Percy approaching the table. "It smells good."

"Dinner," said Oliver. "You don't have anything to eat in here...I had to throw out the mouldy bread..."

"Oh, I haven't gone grocery shopping in a bit," said Percy, sitting down at the table. "I'll probably have to go tomorrow. I'm all out of milk, and bread, I guess."

"You're out of basically everything," said Oliver, waving a fork around. "If you're going grocery shopping, then I'm coming with you. Clearly, you don't know what's good to eat."

"You should make a list then," said Percy, conjuring quill and parchment. "You'll never remember it if you don't write it down."

"You write it," said Oliver. "My handwriting's terrible. I can't even read it."

Sighing, Percy began to write.

"Eggs, milk, bread..." read Oliver. "You've forgotten steak, potatoes, wine...oh, and cake mix."

"Cake mix?" said Percy, writing rapidly.

"I'm going to learn how to bake a cake," said Oliver. "You can't possibly expect me to make one from scratch."

"Very well," said Percy, looking down at the list. "Anything else?"

"Well...I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to wear for my dance lessons," said Oliver, looking down at the tiramisu on his plate.

"Having never taken lessons, I don't know either," said Percy. "But I guess you could just wear some casual clothing. It shouldn't really matter, should it?"

"I guess not," agreed Oliver.

They finished eating and cleared the table. With nothing else to do, Percy turned on the television, and the two of them flopped down on the couch. Percy began flipping through the channels, looking for something interesting to watch. He found a televised rugby match, and as Oliver made no objection, they settled on that channel.

Oliver made no objection because he was deep in thought. Seeing the rugby match reminded him of his own teammates, and he had to make an effort not to sigh in front of Percy. It was not that he regretted his decision, but still, after spending so many years with his teammates, they had become his brothers. They were the only family he had, not including his father.

He never included his father in the count. He hadn't done so for years. He had told his teammates and his coach that his father was deceased. It certainly felt that way to him, as the two of them had not spoken since that afternoon on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. His father had written him letters, but he had tossed them in the Common Room fire without opening them. As the years passed, the letters became fewer, until finally there were none at all.

He seldom thought of his father--it was only recently that the memories began to plague him. He wondered where his father was living now, or even if he was still alive. These past days, he had thought of maybe contacting his father, but had discarded that idea quickly. What would he say?

"Oliver? Oliver?"

"Huh?"

"Oliver, are you alright?" Percy was peering into his eyes, looking concerned.

"Oh, yeah," he said, blinking a few times. "Just thinking."

"You look tired," said Percy, turning off the television. "Maybe you should go to sleep."

"Yeah," nodded Oliver.

They both changed into pyjamas and brushed their teeth. Oliver made for his sleeping bag, but Percy stopped him.

"Come on, Oliver," said Percy, "Just come sleep on the bed."

"I'm fine," said Oliver stubbornly.

"It's bad for your back," countered Percy.

In the end, Percy won, and Oliver slipped under the covers.

"You know, Perce. I'm really grateful that I have you as a friend."

Then he rolled over and fell asleep. It was Percy who remained awake, pondering the meaning of Oliver's words.