The Marauders - Order of the Phoenix Part Three

XCIII: Olivia

Oliver Kent hung back, a feet away from the tent he'd wandered a good deal, checking the names posted in front of the plots, and carefully keeping his head down to avoid being recognized. He stood about a watering pump, watching the tent across the pathway, staying inconspicuous among a crowd of boisterous wizards, all dressed in unmatched muggle clothes that made them stand out even among the crazy things happening all over the field. One of them had on a woman's flannel night dress with little flowers all over it and great big galoshes and was shouting, arguing with a Ministry official about whether he ought to change and if his bollocks would be properly aired in a pair of trousers.

The tent flap Oliver was watching over opened and out came a wizard, properly dressed in denim trousers and a t-shirt, his hair longish, though shorter than Oliver remembered it. He felt a pit in his stomach and ducked behind the bloke with the nightie, peering 'round his back as Wally turned 'round and held out his hand, a little girl running over to him from the tent, giggling and holding onto his hand as she tripped and he scooped her up from the ground in response. His face was sun-kissed, and he looked merry, cheeks fuller than they'd been - he'd put on a bit of weight since Oliver had seen him last.

"Why can't I fly my broomstick, dada?" the girl asked.

"We're playing muggle right now, darling," he answered her, kissing her face, "You remember how mummy and I told you we had to play at being muggles, Olivia?"

"Yes."

"Well muggle children don't have broomsticks, love," he explained. "How about you ride up on dada's shoulders?" he suggested, and he lifted her smoothly up over his head so she was sitting on his neck, her legs hooking into his arms as she spread her arms out like a bird. Wally laughed and held onto her legs gently and made a sound like an airplane engine with his mouth as he swooped and walked along the path, dodging 'round the people in their way as he went.

Oliver followed after at a discreet distance.

Wally took his little one down closer to the pitch, near to the line of the woods, and Oliver watched as they stopped at a merchandise booth that had been set up there, and they bought goggles and a program. Wally laughed as he put a headband with little bobbing shamrocks onto Olivia's head, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she hugged his legs and he tugged on a commemorative t-shirt in Irish green.

As if the moment could be any more bitter, Oliver's eyes caught sight suddenly of what could only be Harry Potter - right there in line behind Wally in what had to be a cruel game played on him by fate. Harry looked so much like James, it took Oliver's breath away, and he was suddenly looking at the two things that had broken his heart the most in his entire life.

"Shite," he muttered, and he turned away - slamming directly into the chest of another young wizard, knocking him for a spill. "Oh blast, I'm so sorry!" Oliver bent forward to pull the kid up and he knew the moment he was recognized for the boy's eyes widened. "Shh, shh --"

But it was too late.

"Bloody hell! You're Oliver Kent!"

Oliver's face turned as red as the boy's hair.

"I - I'm sorry." Oliver turned to rush off to his tent, before he could be flooded by autograph-seekers, and in turning, he knocked over Olivia Grant, who was dancing ahead of her father on the path, and she burst into tears as she dropped onto her bum on the ground. "Oh no, no," he gasped, and looked up, eyes meeting Wally's squarely.

His heart nearly stopped.