The Marauders - Order of the Phoenix Part Three

The Blasted Door

The front door slammed shut and the moment it had done, Mrs. Jennings rushed over and locked it, did up the chains and the latch, her hands shaking. She turned about, her face positively livid, and her eyes fell on Oliver Kent standing on the stair well.

"You little bastard," she hissed.

He stared at her, dumbfounded for a moment, then reached for his wand -- but he'd left it upstairs in his bed, under the pillow, where he'd been laying before coming down.

Oliver turned and bolted up the steps, his feet thundering on the wood.

She came after him. 

There was a shout as Kevin, halfway down the stairs after Oliver to see what would happen, dove out of the way, and Oliver rushed past him, panting as he skid down the hallway and caught himself on the door to their bedroom. Mrs. Jennings was hot on his heels and as he careened into the room, she caught him about the wrist and jerked him back, turning him to face her. She slapped him across the face, her palm striking his right cheek and sending shockwaves through the bruised area, the crack of her hand on his face loud and gut wrenching.

Kevin let out a shout of disapproval and Mrs. Jennings, never losing her clutch on Oliver's wrist, and slammed the door shut. She took the key from her pocket and locked it. He was shouting and trying to wrench away, but he was very small for fourteen, the very thing which made him good on the quidditch pitch made him terrible at defending himself. She turned back 'round and back handed him, letting go of his wrist so that between the strike and the sudden lack of restraint, he fell backwards and landed on his side on the floor.

"You good for nothing little -- do you realize what you've done? Now there will be an inquiry on this house - this house that's saved you from having to be in a proper orphanage so you could have fine things and be well cared for. Three square meals and none of them that nasty oatmeal they feed all the useless children that nobody wants, like you!"

"You're a hag!" Oliver said, and though his voice shook, he said it as bold as he could.

He rolled, sitting up and scooted back as she reached for him again. He scrambled backward, and stood up, rushing across the room, tripping on his own trainers that he'd kicked off and left laying about when he'd come home earlier and he fell forward, catching his own face on the footboard of the bed so that his nose cracked and he let out a yelp of pain, clutching his face and rolling as he fell. Blood fell over his upper lip and chin and into his palm, which he cupped around his nose. It was broken, he could feel it was broken. The sound it had made when he hit the footboard so hard was too loud to be anything but broken. He couldn't believe it, his own damned trainers -- his own clumsiness --

He'd used excuses like this so often it was almost funny now and despite everything, Oliver laughed.

The door was being banged upon loudly...

Oliver was still laughing and he pulled away his palm and an absolute river of blood fell onto his shirt and the floor, smearing on the duvet as he reached to brace himself to stand up.

He was sure she was shouting, he could see her mouth moving but the words were swimming about him as he blinked blearily... Oliver was so dizzy that he barely could do it as he crawled over the bed, reached under the pillow -- 

But the wand wasn't there.

It wasn't there.

Panic rose in Oliver.

Mrs. Jennings came across the room and Oliver slid off the far side of the mattress, nearly tripping , but catching himself against the wall. She stepped 'round the bed, had him virtually cornered and she grabbed a hold of his shirt and ---