Work Text:
He sat by the window in the dining area of their small one-bedroom apartment, looking out on to the sepia hued summer day. The view from the window overlooked the cheerful bustling of Diagon Alley. He smiled when arms encircled him and looked down to where his lover’s hands rest on his heavily pregnant belly. Inside he could feel their child move restlessly.
“I’ll be yours as long as I live,” his lover’s voice rang tenderly in his ear.
Oliver Wood awoke suddenly and sat up straight, his body soaked in a clammy sweat. A tear stole its way down his cheek and his breath hitched slightly. He felt cold, alone in this dark room. Lying back down, he felt the emptiness within him as he hugged his flat stomach. His heart weighed heavily in his chest, and he bitterly remembered the dream of what could have been. If only…
He curled into a semi-foetal position on his side, grey memories resurfacing. His lover explaining his obligations to his father and his required position in the second war against Voldemort; himself making the decision he could not raise a child on his own; his appointment at St. Mungo’s for the abortion spell.
If only he’d been braver, he’d have demanded his lover to stay; he’d have told him of the child; his dreams would be more than fantasy.
He cried himself to sleep in that empty, dark apartment. Before sleep reclaimed him, he whispered one word: “Marcus…”
—30—