Post by Oliver Russell Blishwick on Apr 19, 2024 9:28:02 GMT -7
21 April 2029
Ollie was Not Okay (TM). His study schedule hadn’t panned out the way he’d planned – apparently you couldn’t just cut out sleep and hope for the best. The closer he got to his NEWTs, the more he’d realized that a change of plan was necessary. So Oliver had written off a couple of subjects in which he’d likely get good marks without putting in too much effort, and he’d doubled down on the rest. To that end, Easter break hadn’t been much fun so far. He’d shut himself in his room with his textbooks and his spreadsheets, since he was never going to find this much quiet time in the halls of Hogwarts. His mum wasn’t a bother – working overtime at the bank – but Ollie had warned his dad off from entering his room…unless he was bringing snacks, of course.
He'd warded off the usual questions (did he really intend to spend his whole break like this, was he really so worried about his exams) and shut the door in his dad’s concerned face. Oliver had figured that would have consequences, but he should have known that his dad wouldn’t choose a usual means of punishment. No, he wouldn’t give him extra chores or tell him off. He’d call for reinforcements. He wasn’t sure which Blishwick would be called in to handle the situation, but Ollie could at least make some educated guesses. It wouldn’t be one of the cousins his age, if only because Lulu was somewhat flighty, and Jimmie had absolutely no bedside manner. And it probably wouldn’t be one of his uncles, who likely weren’t in London anyway (their holidays were always spent abroad or working, no in-between at all).
Until then, he’d enjoy every last moment of quiet. Oliver was sprawled out on the couch, nose in his textbook and reading glasses perched precariously on his nose (he despised those glasses, but he’d surpassed his ability to squint today). Even so, the words were beginning to blur slightly on the page and he crinkled his forehead as he tried to blink away the exhaustion. Not that he found potions to be a particularly fascinating subject, but it wasn’t one of his best. He excelled in the theory classes, where he could memorize and then spout off a whole bunch of information. The practical exams were going to kill him if he didn’t focus. There was a knock at the door, but Oliver ignored it and eventually the problem solved itself when someone opened it anyway. “Mum’s at work and Dad’s out,” he said distractedly, figuring he could guess and address whatever they wanted so they’d go away faster and he could keep reading.
oberon anteros blishwick
