Rory stared up at the ceiling, fixed on the dulling paint and the cobwebs draping the corners. Her peeling flowered wallpaper was covered in a fine layer of dust, and she struggled to remember the last time she'd cleaned it. Come to think of it, every item in her room had been settled over with a sheen of grime.
Unused books her dad had given her about Quidditch and even more unused Victorian dolls that her mother had passed down.
The row of porcelain figures was eerily present in Rory's peripheral view. Annalise. The name flashed through her mind.
Straw colored hair and a part, painted pink smile. A memory of her mother presenting her with the doll, the hope she'd had that somehow it would make Rory more like her. More normal. More not magic.
Annalise's glowing blue irises were unwavering, a haunting reminder of what Rory could never be. For either of her parents.
Her room was filled with those. Dashed dreams and unfulfilled expectations.
It didn't matter how many top marks she pulled or prefect badges she earned. It didn't matter that she was Head Girl or got near perfect scores on her OWLS. She wasn't Quidditch captain. And she wasn't a high society Muggle girl who threw garden parties and shopped on Bond Street.
That was all that mattered to her parents, as much has Rory pushed herself in school. It really was all for nothing.
She sighed, lifting the cold compress off of the rapidly growing welt on her cheek. Shaking, she rose from her mattress, making her way over to the gilded mirror on her dresser.
Rory winced at her reflection, withdrawing her mahogany wand to begin a simple Glamour charm. She heard the front door open below and her heart sank in her chest. Her father was back, and drunk from the way he was banging around downstairs. Drunker than he had been when he'd slapped her across the face.
Oliver could be a mean drunk, ranting, raving, storming around the house with a bottle of whiskey in his hand. But he had never hit Rory before. Not until now. Yesterday she'd arrived home from the station, greeted by her inebriated father, and no mother to be found.
Her dad had been a sight, red in the face, in fit of rage the second she stepped foot in the house. Through his drunken bellows, one thing had been made clear, Amy was gone. She'd left him, left them. Rory realized things must have gotten worse, much worse since the summer' stony silence. Oliver's condition had intensified, and Rory wondered if he'd hit her mother too.
In any case, it seemed that her mum had finally done it. Left Oliver for good. It was about time. But she'd left her daughter behind to clean up her mess, and now Rory was facing the consequences. Her mother had left her behind. Threw her to the wolves, so to speak. And Rory couldn't leave.
How could she? She was the only person her father had left. His sole surviving family. The only one who hadn't abandoned him. How could Rory leave? Everyone else already had.
He hadn't always been this way. He had been a good dad once. Rory remembered him carrying her to bed every night when she feel asleep reading on the porch swing. She remembered when he lifted her to his shoulders to put the star on top of the Christmas tree, and always gave her an extra bedtime story. He loved her mother too, more than he should. They used to dance in the kitchen together, Rory smack dab between them. They sang to her when she was sick, and watched the little plays she put on.
Then came the fighting. The slammed doors and tearful phone calls her mother made. The drinking and the silence, apologies that never lasted long. It only increased as Rory grew older. Her mother pulling father and farther away from anything magic, reeled back into the safety of her previous Muggle lifestyle. Her father growing more and more resentful as time passed, blaming anything and everything for his doomed Quidditch career.
Rory would hide under her daisy printed covers, shining a flashlight to her book page, desperately attempting to drown out the echoed screaming matches. Pressing her ear to doors, trying to make out hushed conversations, wondering if it was somehow her fault.
School was an escape. Rory threw herself into it, and that was how it all started. When she'd brought home top marks on her exams that first year, her parents had been so proud. So proud of her that they were distracted from their issues. They took her shopping in Diagon Alley, let her pick anything she wanted as a present. They got Fortescue's ice cream on the way home, and even though Rory was twelve and too old for it, she'd held both her parents hands as they walked down the street. Her sticky fingers firmly secured in theirs. For the first time in a long time, Rory felt like they were a family again.
From then on, Rory's only focus was doing well in classes. It was something she was good at. Really good. And it felt amazing to succeed, to excel. She enrolled in every honors course, did every extra credit assignment, whatever it took so that her parents were happy. Weren't fighting. It worked for a little while. Soon, however, even her prowess in academics wasn't enough to take away from the problems rooted deep within Oliver and Amy's marriage.
Rory worked even harder, pressure beginning to take its toll. Maybe she could fix it. Was it her fault? What if it was her fault? She wasn't what either of her parents had wanted. It was her fault. She couldn't fail. Rory couldn't fail. Rory Wood didn't fail.
He still loved her mum more than anything, Rory could tell. That was why he was so drunk and angry. He never thought Amy would leave him too. He was hurt. Rory knew how he felt. She was hurt too. He was still her father. He raised her. And there were moments, rare as they were where she saw him again. Brief glimpses of her dad.
The trouble was, Rory never knew which Oliver she was getting. Would it be the mellow, happy drunk, who sang old Weird Sisters songs and baked, acted like he was interested in her day? Or would it be the teary eyed, sentimental Oliver, who looked at old photo albums and school mementos? One moment he was apologizing profusely, begging for her forgiveness, and vowing to do better. The next he was telling her how much he loved her, how proud of her he was, that she was his favorite daughter.
I'm your only daughter, Dad.
And you were so perfect we had no need for anymore
Then he was screaming at her, hurling insults and sharp objects, calling her foul things. You were my second chance and you failed! I gave up everything because of you! A vengeful, selfish bitch just like your mother! Or more recently...he was slapping her.
Rory couldn't tell anymore what was the real him and what was the alcohol talking. He was hardly sober so what did it matter anyways? Maybe it was all alcohol and maybe it wasn't. At this point, Rory would take what she could get.
She heard another crash downstairs. The sound of glass breaking. Her father's subsequent curse. Well that was just perfect. Rory set her wand down, and hurried down the stairs, steeling herself for whatever carnage she was about to witness.
"Oh— Dad!" Rory's head hung low as she came upon the scene, jumping into action. There was a shattered bottle of mead on the living room floor, shimmering amber liquid seeping into the rug. A vase had been knocked askew in the kitchen, and the permeating stench of her father was tracing through every room like a whisper. Oliver was swaying side to side, eyes bloodshot, incoherent. He bent down to clean up his mess, and nearly toppled face first into the pile of glass. "No— Dad— just— let me."
"I—"
"Dad just go— I don't know, lay down or something. You—"
"You never let me do anything by myself, Amy! I am capable of—"
"Mum's not here, Dad," Rory told him with a resigned sigh. "It's Rory. You're drunk, again. Go—"
Oliver was still raging, stomping through the glass and only scattering his mess further. "Never believed in me did you, Amy?! I was always the deadbeat loser, no good—!"
"Dad, stop it!" Rory lost her cool, clutching her head. "You're only making it worse!"
"That's right, I make everything worse!" Oliver thundered, swinging his arms wildly. Rory ducked, a mixture of fear and fury surging through her. "Treat me with some damn respect, you bitch!" he spat, and she recoiled. He ambled through the house, another, louder thump alerting Rory that he'd passed out into a drunken stupor.
The quiet that followed was hollow, as Rory searched for a dustpan and broom. His word echoed through her mind over and over, and she willed herself not to cry. Her entire body ached, and her cheek still throbbed from where he had struck her earlier. Rory was tired. She was so so tired.
Unable to find a broom, she knelt down to the floor and began to work with her hands, sweeping and collecting. The jagged shards of crystal slashed and stung at her bare skin, small pinpricks of blood dotting her wrists and fingertips. Rory didn't care.
She was defeated. She had nothing left to give, and there was still so much more she had to do. Her mum was supposed to be here. She was supposed to have help. She wasn't supposed to be taking care of her father. He was the parent. It should be the other way around. He was supposed to take care of her. It wasn't fair. Rory wanted to go hide in a closet and cry, but she couldn't.
She couldn't because she had glass to pick up and stains to get out of a rug. She couldn't because she had to make sure there was food in the refrigerator so they wouldn't starve to death.
Her father never went anywhere but a bar nowadays. Rory had to make sure he ate and didn't crack his head open because he was so drunk he couldn't see straight. She had to do laundry and clean every inch of the house so he wouldn't drown in his own mess or inhale some toxin from mold growing on the dirty plates stacked high in the sink. Everything was up to her now, and there were still a million things— wait— what was that?
Rory's ears perked up. Was that a knock? No— but there it was again. More persistent. Hope sparked through her. Could it be? Had her mother come back? Had she decided not to abandon Rory? Was she here to save her? Maybe she'd had a change of heart.
But then— why was she knocking? The key was under the broomstick statue like always. Cautiously, she crept to the front entrance, and opened the door. Please let it be her mum. Please, please, pl— oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.
No. No, no. no. No!
Dread pooled in the pit of her stomach. It couldn't be. It couldn't be. This wasn't happening. Not now. Why was this happening now?! "Potter?" she squeaked, complexion pale. She screwed her eyes shut, foolishly wishing it was all a dream. That she'd wake up and not see the beaming, ruddy cheeked face of her boyfriend.
"Surprise!" James cheered excitedly, pulling her into a hug. He took her silence and lack of excitement, as shock, happy he'd managed to stun her. Not much got past Rory, and he was glad that he could do things like this for her.
Before he could peer past her into the house, Rory slammed the door shut with her foot, leading him off of the porch Why was he here? Why was he here? He couldn't be here. He just couldn't. James's brow wrinkled in confusion, but he shook it off, "Hey, Wood. You surprised?"
"Very surprised, Potter," Rory managed, doing her best to keep her voice even and a smile on her face. "Very, very, very surprised." One too many verys, Wood, she chastised herself. She shoved her hands in the pockets of her cardigan, "Erm— why are you here? I thought— what happened to spending time with your family. We talked about this—what about your mum—?"
The furrow in James's brow deepened. This was not the reaction he was expecting. "Are you— are you not happy I'm here?" he ventured.
"No— no, no. No," Rory backtracked quickly. "Of course I'm happy you're here, James. Of course. I'm taken off guard. I just— we had a conversation about—"
"Mum's on a mission, and Dad decided to ship us off to Grimmauld Place," James explained. "I know you wanted me to spend time with my mum, but that didn't matter anymore. I promise it's not an inconvenience, and I'm glad it worked out this way, don't worry—"
Rory cut him off, glancing down at what he was carrying, "Is that— is that a bag? What—?"
"I told you. I want to spend Christmas with you," James smiled, shrugging. Panic set in, then. He wanted to stay here? Here in her house? Overnight? It was one thing to have him here for an hour or two. At least then Rory could control the situation, ensure he was kept a safe distance away from the house containing her drunken father. He was still talking. "So, Wood, you gonna invite me in or what?"
Rory blanched, stammering, "Oh— you know— right now is not really a good time. My parents— well they might be out? Or— or— busy. We could go get something to eat in town and then—"
"I knew it," James's nostrils flared. His worst fears had been confirmed. He set his trunk down in the snow with a huff, pacing, "I knew you didn't want me to meet you parents! I knew—"
"No— James, that's not what I meant. I swear—"
"Yeah right," James scoffed. Hurt and upset. "Don't lie to me, Rory! Just admit you're still embarrassed to be dating me. I can't believe—" he threw his hands up in the air, and Rory automatically flinched. She didn't mean to, it just happened. James stopped in an instant, "Wood— what—?" For the first time, James noticed the state Rory was in. The stain on her wrinkled cardigan, bags beneath her eyes. And most importantly, the mark just below her eye, a tiny, fresh scab to its left. "What is that on your cheek?" James asked, reaching out in concern.
In her haste, Rory had completely forgotten that she'd never finished the glamour charm. Her hands flew to her face, desperate to conceal it, "I— I fell. I tripped and—"
"Your hands, what—?" James gasped, mouth falling open when he saw the cuts and scratches traversing her hands. "Oh my god— Rory what's going on? Di someone— did someone do this to you? Did someone hit you?"
Rory was at a loss. She couldn't lie. Not to James. She didn't know what to say. She was frozen. "I— I—," her breath caught in her throat, tears pooling in her eyes.
James emend to have figured it out, pieces clicking into place. Rory saw his jaw clench, words low and dangerous, "Who did this to you? Who hit you?"
She backed away, "No one— I— James it was an—"
"Who did this to you?" James repeated, breathing heavily. "Who hurt you?" Rory had never seen James this angry. Never. Not when he thought Teddy hd betrayed him, not when he found out about Junie and Teddy, not even when Xavier Zabini called his twin sister a slut. His fists were curled tightly, knuckled white and veins popping out. His eyes had darkened, blue eyes nearly black. "Who hurt you, Rory?" He seethed, "I'll kill them. I'll kill them. I will make them pay for—"
"James— no— you can't!" Rory pleaded, grabbing at his shirt to try and stop him from charging in the house. He was so strong.
"Someone hurt you, Rory!" James shouted, "Someone hurt you! No one is allowed to hurt you! I'll kill—"
"It was my dad!" Rory cried out, a tear falling. "My dad— he was drunk and he— you can't— it was my dad, James. My dad hit me!" And then she burst into sobs, sinking down onto the snowy ground.
"Oh, Rory," James hugged her tightly. And Rory told him the whole sordid tale. Once she started talking, she couldn't stop. The dam had been broken, the story flooding out of her in one swift motion. She told him everything that had been going on. From the beginning. The drinking and the fighting between her parents. Her mother's aversion to the magical world. How it had only gotten worse over time, significantly ramping up in the last two years. How her mother had left. Everything. Including how her father had hit her.
James just listened. Not interrupting once. Not pressing her when she had to stop because she couldn't get through a part. He just sat there. Comforting her, stroking her hair and squeezing her arm. He felt awful. He'd accused her of— he felt awful. How had this been going on for so long? How had she been hurting for so long and he hadn't done anything about it. When she finally finished, James closed his large hands over her battered ones, gentle. He pressed a soft kiss to her fingers, "Rory— I'm so sorry. I'm so so sorry." His features were grief stricken, "I didn't- I had no idea. I should've—," he shook his head, "how did I not know this was happening? I should've known, Rory. I should've been there for you. If I had— I should've known. You've been suffering all this time, and it's my fault. I'm supposed to protect you—"
"No," Rory cupped his face, "James, no. Do not blame yourself. You do not need to apologize. This is not your fault, at all. I'm sorry. I should've told you."
"Why didn't you?" James asked. "I could've helped."
"I know— I know." Rory swallowed back more tears, choked up. "I just— I didn't want you to know. I didn't want anyone to know. I'm so embarrassed of my— I didn't want you to see this part of my life. I wanted to be perfect. Perfect Rory Wood, I was worried if you knew—"
"I'd what— break up with you?" he said in disbelief.
"You're James Potter. I'm still afraid that I won't live up to— I'm not good enough for you. I'm damaged goods, James. Your family is so great, and mine— mine's a dumpster fire. I didn't want you involved in my—"
"Rory, I love you." James stated, plain and simple. He laced his fingers through hers. "Always. That's never going to change. I love every part of you. Your dumpster fire is my dumpster fire. I don't want perfect. I don't need perfect. All I need is you."
Rory's irises glistened, "I know I should've told you. I'm so stupid. I'm sorry—"
James cut her off with a kiss, "Don't apologize. You are certainly not stupid. This is not your fault either. Okay?"
"Okay," Rory nodded. She kissed him again, "I love you." Her voice cracked, "So so much."
"I love you so so much, too, sunshine," James whispered, helping her off the ground. Both of their trousers were soaked through with slush and Rory shivered. James threw his own coat over her shoulders, decisively, "You're coming with me. Okay, Rory?"
She began to argue, "James I can't just—"
He steamrolled right ahead, "We'll send for you things later. You'll come to Grimmauld Place and spend the rest of holiday at ours. Summer— you can stay with us too. My parents won't mind, they love you."
"James—"
"Rory you are not going back in that house! Do you hear me?" he continued adamantly, tugging on her hand. "I am not letting you go back there. You can't stay there. I can't—" James exhaled. And Rory realized he was trying not to break down.
"He's my dad," she protested. "He's still my dad. Don't you see, James? I can't just leave him. When he drinks— it changes him. But he's still my dad. No matter what he did— please try to understand. Without me he has no one. He'll die, James."
James rubbed a hand over his jaw, "I don't want you to go back in there, Rory."
"I know," Rory sniffed, tone thick with emotion. She hated doing this to him. "I know you don't, James." She placed a calming hand on his arm, "He's passed out now. I'll be fine. I just have to get him to bed, make sure he doesn't choke on his own vomit, or get a head injury. Make sure he drinks some water and leave enough food for him. Clean up— and then I'll go with you."
"You'll go with me?" James questioned. "Promise?"
"Promise," Rory swore, hand over her heart. "I just have to make sure he's okay first. I'll meet you out here in a sec with my stuff." She stepped froward, but James drew her back.
"Nice try," he circled a firm arm around her waist, unrelenting. "We're in this together, sunshine. There's no way in hell I'm letting you go in there alone. I'm here. Your dumpster fire is my dumpster fire. Remember, Wood?" He cracked a half smile that Rory returned. It wasn't as if she could say no.
As much as she wanted to keep James out of this. Wanted him not to shoulder this burden, have to deal with this. She needed him. She needed him with her. He made her feel secure. He gave her strength. So Rory led him into the house, and he took it in a stride.
Not wavering at the stench of alcohol or the stains everywhere. He merely helped her clean up, waving his wand at the glass on the floor and siphoning up the spilled mead.
"Feel better?" he traced her cheekbone, having just finished a healing charm. "Al taught me that one."
"Mmhmmm," Rory hopped off the chair she'd been sitting in. He'd fixed up her hands too, good as new. Gotten her a clean change of clothes and packing up everything she need when she'd showered. Rory hadn't realized how much she'd needed him. How lost and alone she'd truly been.
Rory had saved the issue of her father for last. And she'd tried to convince James that she could do it on her own, but he was not budging. Just as stubborn as Junie, she thought. And she was grateful for it, despite the fact that she didn't want him to see her dad like that.
"Just— yeah get on that side," Rory directed. Her and James heaved her father up to his bed. James couldn't believe she'd been doing this on her own so long. Oliver Wood was lanky, yes, not a big guy, but Rory was still tiny. Half James's size. He was in awe of her determination.
Oliver was stirring as Rory guided him into his room, eyes glazed over and unfocused "Harry?" he peered at James, "Rory, what is Harry doing here?"
James looked to Rory for an explanation, and she mumbled, "He thinks you're your dad. He mixes up names when he's drunk."
"It's not Harry, dad," Rory said, supporting him with difficulty. He was slack weight. "This is his son. He's in my year at Hogwarts, remember?"
Oliver was beginning to regain his bearings, stumbling when he gripped the banister. He pointed a lazy finger at James, head bobbing jovially, "Harry and Miranda's boy. What a pleasant surprise, James Potter isn't it?"
"Yes, sir." Rory commended James for his ability to remain polite. Seeing as he looked like he'd murder anyone in his path an hour ago.
Oliver wobbled forward towards the staircase, "Well don't worry. I'll leave the two of you be."
"Wait— Dad where are you going?" Rory stepped in front of him backing his path.
"Down to the market," he brushed her off airily.
"Dad—"
He turned around again, "It's just down to the market, Rory."
"Dad you can't go out right now!" Rory stomped her foot, tugging on his sleeve.
"I'm going to the market, Rory," his volume heightened. "I can go where I want. I am a grown man. You are a child. It is just the market."
Rory couldn't take it anymore. "We both know you aren't going to the market, Dad!" she yelled. "You're going to get more alcohol because you spilled your last bottle that was left in the cabinet. Or you're going to the bar!"
"Ungrateful child," Oliver snarled, speech slurred. "I was trying to be a good host for your boyfriend, you spoiled brat." He got up real close to her face, shaking his fist. "I am going to the market!" he roared, spit flecks flying at her.
"Dad—"
"Why don't I go?" James interjected, inserting himself between the father and daughter as a protective measure. He was taller than Oliver. Oliver didn't like that.
He sized him up, chuckling, "Pretty boy wants to be the knight in shining armor, eh? Figures. Harry always did enjoy playing hero."
"Dad, don't," Rory ordered. James didn't deserve to be spoken to like that.
James ignored his harsh digs, "What do you want? Gin, whiskey, beer?"
"Whiskey," Rory answered for her father tiredly, deflated.
"Alright then," James said, "I'll go out and get you some whiskey, Mr Wood. You just get on into bed, have some water and an aspirin, yeah? I'll go out for you. Just get into bed." There was a beat, but Oliver agreed, letting Rory and James take him back to the master.
"Come on, Dad," Rory said, slipping his shoes off. "Just in here. Lay down, now."
"Shut up, you bitch," Oliver retaliated in parting, right as Rory shut the door.
Rory closed her eyes in defeat, slumped against the wall. It was done.
"Rory," James said, gazing at her. She was trembling, trembling like the last leaf on a tree. "C'mere, sweetheart," he wrapped his arms around her.
Rory collapsed into him, burying her face into the steady familiarity of his chest. He held her tightly, as close to him as humanly possible. "I've got you," he murmured into her hair, "you're okay. I'm here. I'm here, Rory." His warmth and his words were soothing, Rory inhaling the scent she'd grown to know and love. "It's all over, sunshine. I'm here now." And for the first time in a long time, Rory felt safe.
He pressed a kiss to her forehead, "You ready to go home?" Rory blinked back tears and nodded, linking her arm through his in preparation to apparate.
Home.
James was her home now.
this was a rough one
pretty heartbreaking
if you like oliver im sorry this is just my characterization of him it has nothing to do with his character in the books it is merely a device used to develop rory's story arc
last bit of christmas content coming
OH!
AND I AM SO SORRY IVE BEEN SLOW UPDATING
UGH I FEEL HORRIBLE
ILL DO BETTER I PROMISE
LOVE YOU
thoughts, predictions, anything——————————>
XXXXXX
-colleen