I Never Thought You'd Get So Low

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Between shifts of volunteering down in Hogsmeade and lurking in the dungeons enough that he almost felt like he was back in school, Théodore had taken to wandering the grounds of Hogwarts. He had never taken much time to do so in his school years, always more interested in his school work than what sort of weather was going on outside, or any kind of activities that required him actually leaving the common room, his dormitory, or the classrooms. Nowadays he sort of wished he had, because Hogwarts had some very beautiful scenery, and some truly amazing views to take in. With the teachers in the school so Hell bent on keeping the ministry employees bound to the first floor, Théo had found himself more interested in breaking the rules than anything else. He wasn’t really looking to cause any sort of trouble – he just needed a break from all the work he was far from interested in helping with. He had stumbled, at some point, onto a flying class and watched in bemusement as old classmate Oliver Wood worked with the first years. Théodore had taken a seat on the grass in the distance, leaning back on his bare elbows as he watched students fumbling with their brooms, some of them getting off the ground and some falling flat onto it. Théo had to admit he had a bit of sympathy for those who couldn’t fly, as he’d never been too good at himself. All the women in his family seemed to be rather good at it, but he certainly wasn’t. He remembered his first flying lesson, when his broom had flown rather harshly into his side as he commanded it up and into his hand. It had knocked the wind straight out of him and had left him bruised for several weeks afterwards, which was simply no fun. It certainly made breathing rather difficult for the first few days afterwards. The class seemed to dismiss and students wandered off in all directions, likely to their next classes. At that, Théodore leapt to his feet, tucking his hands confidently into the pockets of his trousers as he strutted over with a pride in his step that hadn’t changed from his school years. “Oliver Wood. I’ll be damned.” He smirked, looking the boy that was only one year his senior over up and down. “Some things never change, do they? I thought you would’ve had dreams to be a professional quidditch player, or whatever it is you do.” He waved a hand dismissively. “And look at you. Still here at Hogwarts. Has to be a boring existence, doesn’t it? Dealing with children all day, every day?”

oliver | 446

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“Yes, that is good, Emily, just use slight shifts in your posture to show the broom where it needs to go.” Oliver lauded a beaming first year who had just managed to fly a little circle around her other classmates. She was a talent, she hadn’t had any fear of the broom from the start of their lessons, and now she was getting bolder without being too reckless. With her and a few others he could think of already doing a few basic quidditch moves next week, tossing the quaffle back and forth between them with others trying to intercept. If he had any intuition about good Quidditch players, he might see Emily in the Ravenclaw team in two year’s time. He might be a bit unorthodox in his teaching methods sometimes, like using the students’ first names instead of calling them Miss or Mr, but it would have rubbed wrong with him to draw the high professor card just yet, as he was nothing but an assistant teacher and scarceyl ten years older than his students.

He would have never imagined how much fun he would have with this, passing on what he had learned and what he knew to the next generation without having the pressure of needing to win something or having the responsibility of failure or success. As an old Gryffindor, he of course would like to see his old house team getting the cup, but as Flying Teacher he was essentially impartial and just liked to see young children growing fond of which had once been the only true thing in his life. Call it sentimental, call it weak, but Oliver was glad he had chosen this new path over the old one, driven by ambition.
“Timothy, Angela, I’d like to see a little more courage next week, but you’re on a good way. Bettany, don’t force your will on the broom, it has its own most of the time, never forget, a broom is more than just a piece of – well, yes, wood”, he finished with a slight grin as a few First Years giggled at the anticipated pun. “Everyone, you did well, I see you next week, and if you have any questions, feel free to drop by at my office, or seek me out in the Quidditch surroundings. Take the brooms back to their closets, if you please.”

Chattering between themselves, the students began to disperse and walk back towards the castle. Oliver was just about to gather up his things, when he saw the figure of a young man stride towards him – at a pace that rang some bells inside his memory. And when the young man came closer, he recognized him immediately, his brows slightly furrowing. Thédore Rochefort… as snarky as he ever had been. Oliver could even feel the old anger tugging at his guts, but he forced it down and tried a friendly smile. “Théodore Rochefort it is. Didn’t expect to see YOU at Hogwarts either, and I can’t even imagine you as a teacher, so what are you up to?” The comment about the Quidditch career stung, just like it had been intended to most likely, but he was careful to not snap. That would lead nowhere. “Oh, I’ve been there, Rochefort, you know. Tried professional Quidditch, but sometimes it is just time to grow up and not pursue a boy’s dream anymore.”

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Théodore gave Oliver another once over, sizing him up without even meaning to. Théo had never been this much of a jerk in his school days – alright, perhaps that was a lie. Especially when it came to the Gryffindors, Théo had tended to be exactly what they expected him to. It had been unfair for them to craft a preconceived notion, and so he had responded as accordingly as he knew how. Besides that, he knew of Oliver’s fierce reputation as the Gryffindor quidditch captain through his sister, who had never much liked him. She had always been rather shrewd. It really was a wonder that she hadn’t been sorted into Slytherin. The laugh that fell from the Obliviator’s lips was smug and condescending all at once as Oliver retorted in a way that he certainly hadn’t expected. “You’re four years out of school, Wood.” The Irishman rattled, rolling his eyes as he shook his head. “I’m fairly certain you’re still too young to be giving up on boyish dreams.” He mocked the assistant professor freely now, unafraid to show the slightest hint of his apparent distaste for the other man. He had strode over with every intention of attempting to be an adult, but that need had long since been washed away by the old habits of his school days. Théo wagged a finger in Oliver’s direction. “Do you want to know what I think, Mr. Wood? I think you gave professional quidditch a shot and realized you didn’t have nearly as much talent as you thought you did. Isn’t that right?” A single brow rose, challenging at best and somewhat daunting at worst. His confident posture and sneering expression hadn’t shifted or altered by even a hair. His goal of being mature had vanished with the desire to watch the other boy snap. That had, in some ways, always been a bit fun at the very least. Oliver’s comment about him not being a teacher should have been mildly insulting but wasn’t, because the ministry worker had moved onto bigger and better things, straight out of school. There had been no latency, no hanging around hoping for something better. He’d shot for the stars and he’d reached them. Lowering his slightly quirked brow, Théo shook his head. “A teacher? Oh no. I’ve gone on to much more rewarding opportunities.” He canted his head, grin widening. “I’m with the Ministry now. Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes.” Without missing a beat he had drawn the badge from his pocket and had flashed it, all too happy to be conceited about such a feat. “I’m here to help with the relief effort. And to help clear any memories if people saw more than they should have, of course. Muggles who might have witnessed and the like.” The words ‘the like’ shouldn’t have been laced with as much distaste as they were. Théodore would be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted to wipe the mind of every bastard who had thus far tried to identify one of his fellows, but the eyes on him were too often to even dream of it. He shook the thought from his mind and turned his attention back to Wood. “So this is it for you, then? Following on Madame Hooch’s coat-tails for the rest of her life until you can swoop in on your pathetic excuse for a broom and steal her position?”¬

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