The Marauders - Order of the Phoenix Part Three

CXXVI: I'm Here Aren't I?

Oliver could barely breathe.

It was the way every single memory of his past was flooding him, filling him up so that he felt like his mind was swimming, lost among the corridors of Hogwarts and flashes celebratory nights after Quidditch matches. The smell of locker room showers, that one soap that Wally always commented on that was green and blue in scent, filling up far-off hotel rooms with lush sheets and vibrant colors in city lights and clubs and concerts and the heady thrill of celebrity with Wally at his side...

Wally's hand on Oliver's face was warm and soft and his cheek savored the sensation of the touch that was altogether familiar yet so long forgotten that it felt new all over again.

Again and again and again.

Deep in his core, he was still that ickle little first-year, sitting on the edge of his bed, hearing his best mate say pretty things before there came a soft peck of the lips and the entire world exploded from black and white into screaming color. He was learning how to believe in things that were good like that moment had been again. Sure, on the surface he was also the internationally famous Quidditch Seeker with a hundred thousand fans - including a lot of young witches that got into the sport only because of him and his gorgeous hair and facial structure - but that surface layer with an ego and an attitude of self confidence was like a glamour worn by the boy whose toes didn't reach the carpet...

Everything in Oliver had come to a screaming halt at the breakfast table on 1 November, 1981, and although life had gone rattling on around him, he'd stopped there in so many ways.

This was the first time he'd felt like he was moving again... and it was terrifying.

It had been almost a week since Oliver had opened the door and found Wally Grant on the stoop, since they had stood in the dining room and Wally had asked to kiss him...

And so Wally had kissed him - just like he had in first year, with all his strength.

Without breaking the kiss, Oliver had started backing them into the living room, setting sights on the plush white couch. Wally had easily followed his lead at first but stumbled on the edge of a rug that hadn't been there when he'd lived at the house too. It was that small change that had made them break apart, Oliver having stepped over it without hesitation, their lips losing contact and Wally's mind coming-to out of the fog of the excitement of the kiss. Wally looked down at the carpet - it was blue - and he was reminded of Declan Alectric's hair. Of news stories and public turmoils and press with their camera flashbulbs...

"Wait, wait." Wally's voice was funny, breathless, fighting a current about to pull him back under.

Oliver barely could hear him, he was on fire, and his hands were on Wally - the rip tide.

"Ollie, wait." Wally pushed Oliver back and Oliver stood, panting, staring at Wally in confusion. Wally took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. Oliver's blonde hair had already become disheveled and that was always one of Wally's favorite things (and those if the many adoring fans who were less into quidditch and more into Oliver). It was the way the locks hung over his forehead all windswept-looking, strands of it getting into his eyes like some handsome Hollywood actor, his baby-face peeking out behind those golden strands and taking away Wally's concentration and good moral judgements. "God how do you look the same now as you did ten years ago?"

Oliver tossed his head, flipping the hair back off his forehead. Another of Wally's favorite things. "What do you mean?"

"I mean - you. Look at you. I've become a fat slub and you're --" Wally shook his head.