Shattered Dreams

It wasn't as if Oliver had never seen it before. Heck, he'd seen it nearly every day for seven years of his life. It was nearly as familiar to him as his own childhood home. The long tables, the stone walls, the enchanted ceiling, the decorations that changed from season to season... it brought back a sense of familiarity that had been missing from Oliver's life for quite a long time. But the Great Hall was different now too. The old, welcoming, homey feel it had when he was a student at Hogwarts was gone. From where he sat, perched next to Hagrid at the professors' table, he scanned the four long tables crammed full of students. Oliver didn't know who or what he was looking for, but as he looked over the hall, he could feel the eyes of the students upon him. He could hear the low hum of whispers, and judging by the stares, he knew they were talking about him. This wasn't anything new; over the years, Oliver had grown used to the stares and the awed whispering. It was part of the reward of being a Quidditch star... or was it part of the curse? Oliver never could decide. He looked around the Great Hall, thinking how he'd lived seven years of his life waiting for the day when he could escape these walls and pursue his dream. What he'd never expected, sitting at that long table among the other students, was that the dream world he longed to escape to wasn't all he'd thought it would be. Hogwarts was the birthplace of his dream. It was here that Quidditch had become his life, his love, his purpose. It was within these walls the dream had been born, that he knew, and perhaps that was why the place drew him now. Yes, he knew this place well. He simply never thought, sitting at those tables years ago, that he would one day return, his dream world shattered.

The first couple of years after he'd left Hogwarts had gone surprisingly well, even in Oliver's eyes. He'd finally been able to concentrate solely on Quidditch, and this resulted in the great improvement of his skills. The management of Puddlemere United, the team he'd signed with, was even more pleased than they'd hoped to be. For three years in a row, Oliver Wood led them to the World Cup, and for two years in a row, he won it for them. But the third year, something was different. Halfway through the tournament, Oliver suddenly realized that something was missing. He still loved Quidditch, to be sure, but his overwhelming passion for it was gone. For the first time, he was suddenly tired of all of it: the fans, the popularity, the pressure, and even the practice. He felt it, and his team felt it too... they left that year without a trophy in their hands. Oliver had gone back to his apartment in Edinburgh feeling rather bereft. For years, Quidditch had been what he lived for, and now, suddenly, for seemingly no cause whatsoever, he longed for a new meaning in life. The question was, where was he going to find it?

Not knowing what to do, Oliver kept on with Puddlemere when they began practices one month after the World Cup. Besides, he still had a year left on his contract, so he felt like there wasn't really much else he could do. But the loss of his passion was soon obvious to others besides himself. It affected his performance during practice, and it wasn't long until Puddlemere's coach pulled him aside to discuss it with him. Oliver didn't know what to say, and the coach didn't know what to do, so Oliver continued with practices, growing moodier by the day. Finally, two months into practice, after a rather abrupt meeting with his manager, Puddlemere's coach, and the team managers, Oliver's position on the team was "temporarily suspended" so that he could "sort out the underlying issues that were causing him mental distress." At least, Oliver was pretty sure it was something like that. Amazingly, the public still didn't know. It had only been about two weeks, and his absence from practice was passed off by the media as illness-related - and Puddlemere wasn't refuting the story.

Oliver supposed this wasn't a complete lie; he certainly felt ill, at least mentally if not physically. As he left the meeting that had resulted in the suspension, he realized that for the first time he could ever remember, his life had no direction. He didn't really need a suspension that he was sure would be months long to figure that out, although the realization certainly rocked him. For a week, he sank deeper and deeper into himself, teetering precariously on the edge of depression. At the end of the week, a letter from Hogwarts arrived at his apartment. He had almost cracked a smile when he saw whom it was from. Dumbledore had always had perfect timing.

Mr. Wood, the letter read,

I have heard of your unfortunate suspension from Puddlemere United. It is for this reason that I wish to extend to you an invitation to come and visit us here at Hogwarts. Have no fear, for although there are many of your fans here, none of them is privy to the same knowledge I am about the cause of your absence from the team. You are more than welcome to stay here as long as you feel is necessary. I am sure that the house captains (especially young Mr. Weasley) would appreciate your assistance with the training of their teams, which would serve well as an excuse to stay, if you deem one necessary. Simply send word to inform us when you will arrive. I look forward to seeing you again.

Yours etc,

A. Dumbledore

Oliver was wise enough to see that he couldn't go on as he was. He thought it through, and decided that Dumbledore's offer was really the best option he had (considering he didn't really have any others, this didn't take long to figure out). Hogwarts had been the place that he had first decided to dedicate his life to Quidditch. Now that he had lost his passion for it, perhaps going to the original source would help him figure out where to go and what to do next. And even if it didn't, well, it was something to do.

He owled Dumbledore that night, informing him that he would be arriving in five days time. Oliver had some things he needed to tie up in Edinburgh, and besides, he did need some time to adjust to the idea of going back to Hogwarts. He then drove straight through from Edinburgh to Hogwarts, arriving there late Monday night.

Oliver had always enjoyed driving, and although it had taken him awhile to get used to, he was glad that his manager had thought it in his best interest to have one. His flat, after all, was in a primarily Muggle area of Edinburgh, and that's they way Oliver liked it. He had a hard enough time keeping a low profile as it was without having to actually live in closer proximity to his fans. The drive to Hogwarts was little different from the drives Oliver often took through the Scotland's countryside on his days off (or sometimes in the middle of the night if he was feeling restless). The only difference was that it was slightly longer, which only made it more enjoyable, in Oliver's mind. At any rate, he arrived at Hogwarts late Monday night, a bit worn out from all the driving.

He was expected, and the gates were opened for him by Hagrid, who shook Oliver's hand vigorously in welcome.

"Hello Wood," Hagrid said, in the deep voice that Oliver suddenly realized he had missed.

"Hi Hagrid," Oliver replied, grinning at him. It was the first time he had smiled in too long, he realized as Hagrid directed him to a spot where he could park his car. Climbing out, he was met again by Hagrid, who led him into the castle through an entrance that Oliver had never realized existed. The students and most of the professors were already in bed, but Dumbledore had waited up for him.

"Mr. Wood," he greeted Oliver, reaching out his hand as he came forward. "It is an honour to have you with us. It has been far too long since we last saw you here at Hogwarts. Welcome."

"Thank you, Professor," Oliver said, feeling a little awkward. "It's a pleasure to be here."

Dumbledore simply smiled, and looking at Hagrid, said, "Thank you for everything, Hagrid. I'll show Mr. Wood here to his quarters."

"At your service, Professor," Hagrid said. "Good night to the both of you."

"Good night," Oliver said. "Thank you, Hagrid."

As Hagrid turned and walked away, Oliver turned back to Dumbledore expectantly. "Your quarters are this way," Dumbledore said, turning away and walking down the hall. "And let me say upfront that you're welcome to stay with us as long as you desire, Oliver. We are all most pleased to have you back at Hogwarts. I - we - have all missed you very much."

Oliver's heart warmed at these words, and he managed to reply, "Thank you, Professor."

They reached a door in a secluded area of the castle, and Dumbledore stopped in front of it. Pulling out a key, Dumbledore handed it to him saying, "You will find a staircase here, Oliver. It leads up to your quarters, which are in a more - open, if you will - hall. This door is charmed to require a password as well as a key. The password is 'warlocks.' I thought you might be in need of an escape route sometimes, which is why I brought you this way. We do, after all, still have the Mr. Creeveys in attendance."

Oliver gave a small laugh as Dumbledore smiled at his own joke. Continuing, he said, "I'm sure you want your rest, and I know I am in need of some as well. You will find your bags are in your quarters. We shall see you in the Great Hall for breakfast, shall we not?"

"I wouldn't miss it, Professor," Oliver said, smiling a bit. I'll see you in the morning."

"Sleep well, Oliver," the Professor said with a smile, as he turned to walk away.

"Sleep well, Professor," Oliver called after him, before placing the key he held into the lock. "Warlocks," he said, softly, and the door opened smoothly. Oliver tucked the key into the pocket of his robes and climbed the winding staircase in front of him. They ended at an unlocked door, which opened into what appeared to be a small living room. It was sparsely decorated, yet comfortable, and a fire roared in the fireplace. Oliver was greatly pleased with it, and he crossed the room to the door that he assumed would lead to the bedroom. He was correct in his assumption, and he spent the next few minutes exploring the three rooms - bedroom, bathroom, and living room/office - that made up his new home. But the drive had taken its toll on him, and Oliver soon stripped down to his boxers and undershirt and without even bothering to brush his teeth, he climbed into bed, falling asleep seconds after his head hit the pillow.

Out of force of habit, Oliver awoke the next morning at exactly 5:20. He briefly considered making an attempt to fall back asleep, but decided against it. He doubted it would work anyway, it never had and probably never would. Yawning, he rolled out of bed and quickly dressed for a run. He exited the castle the same way he'd come in the night before, hoping it was actually as secluded as it seemed. Apparently it was, but then, it was only 5:35 in the morning. No one had ever been up at this hour when he'd been a student at Hogwarts; except, of course, his Quidditch team. It seemed doubtful that anyone would be as much of a drill sergeant as he had been.

It wasn't long before Oliver realized that he'd been wrong in that assumption. As he neared the Quidditch pitch, he heard the sound of voices. Oliver smiled a bit, wondering which house the team was from, but he didn't bother to find out. Instead, he ran around the edges of the pitch, hoping no one would spot him, or that if they did, no one would try to discover his identity. Oliver realized as soon as he reached the first end of the pitch that the team was Gryffindor; he would have to have been blind not to notice the two shocks of red hair that indicated a Weasley. He managed to get in two laps around the pitch before he saw the team rise up into the air on their broomsticks. Jogging over to a tree, he sat down, though he immediately began to stretch so that his muscles wouldn't cramp.

The group, which was obviously made up of both the regular team and the reserve team, ran through several formations and patterns of play before scrimmaging for a bit. Oliver watched them for quite some time, rather impressed. They're good, he thought, watching them carefully. Damn good. Weasley really does know what he's doing out there. He left before they were finished, wanting to get back to the castle before the Gryffindor team began to head in that direction themselves. Making his way back to his room, Oliver showered and dressed before heading down to the Great Hall. He met Hagrid on the way, and the two headed into breakfast.

As soon as he sat down, Oliver began to doubt the wisdom of his decision to come back to Hogwarts. As breakfast wore on, his doubts grew, but he knew there was no turning back now.