Moments In Time

Wood’s Letter

The sun had just risen over the loch as Oliver Wood raced around the makeshift Quidditch pitch next to his house on Glen Mor, the wind whistling through his robes.  It was probably the second best birthday present an eleven-year old boy could ask for, a Clean Sweep Four racing broom. The only thing that would be better was getting his letter from Hogwarts, but for now all that mattered was flying.

He loved to fly and play Quidditch, in fact Quidditch was quite and obsession for Oliver.  He knew by heart every team and player, their records, and any statistic you could think of. He’d been keeper on his Junior Quidditch League team, the Carn Ospreys, since he was seven and had been made captain last year.  He was hoping that someday he’d be keeper for Gryffindor, maybe even captain, and go on to play professionally after graduation.  Of course there was the off chance that he could get sorted into Ravenclaw. His mum and his older sister had been Ravenclaws, however everyone else in the Wood family had been Gryffindors, including his brother who was going to start his seventh year.

“Hey Ollie,” Hamish Wood shouted. “Fancy a little practice now that ya have that spiffy broom?”

Oliver smiled at his older brother. “Ya know I’m always up for Quidditch. Let’s see if ya can keep up old man.” 

“Feelin’ a bit cocky are ya. We’ll just see about that then shall we?”

Hamish launched in to the air, an extremely beat up quaffle under his arm. He raced toward Oliver, who had now taken up a position in front of the three makeshift hoops.  With a glint in his eye Hamish threw the quaffle as hard as he could towards the far right hoop.  Somehow Oliver managed to reach the ball just in time and swatted it back with his broom tail.  He gave his brother a lopsided grin and cocked an eyebrow. 

The boys played back and forth for hours before their mum called to them. “Hamish! Oliver! Time for lunch!” 

“Okay mum, we’ll be right there!” Hamish yelled back.

“I’ll race ya back to the house,” Oliver said. “Loser has to the winner’s chores for the rest of the week.”

“Deal. Three, two, one, GO!”

Both boys raced towards the house. Hamish had a slight lead on Oliver, as the house loomed nearer. Slowly though Oliver started to gain on Hamish and by the time they reached the house, both of them touched down at the same time. Well, actually they came to a stop as a tumbling heap at the front door, a tangled mess of legs, arms, and broomsticks. Laughing they got up and went into the kitchen.

“Owl post just came. There’s something for both of you,” Mrs. Wood smiled.  “I think it’s a late birthday card from your Aunt Gertrude, Ollie. It’s sitting over there on the table.” She winked at Hamish.

Dejectedly Oliver walked over to the table.  He thought for sure it was his letter from Hogwarts, after all there was his brother’s letter sitting on the table. He looked at the letter and then back to his mom and brother; they looked kind of funny, like they were trying not to laugh.  Sure enough there was the card from his aunt, but then he noticed something else underneath it and his eyes went wide as he pulled it out from underneath the card.

A letter addressed to him in emerald green script.  Mr. O. Wood, Third Bedroom on the Second Floor, Wood Lodge, Glen Mor. Oliver ran to his mum, gave her a great big hug and then raced around the room whooping and hollering, his mum and brother laughing.

“What’s all this then?” Mr Wood said as he entered the kitchen. Oliver raced up to his dad waving the Hogwarts letter in his hand.

“Look da. It came, it finally came,” he said excitedly.

“Well are you going to open it, or just race around the kitchen like a banshee?”

“Oh right.”  Oliver sat down on the nearest chair, carefully opened the letter and read out load.

Dear Mr. Wood, 

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.  Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

He looked up and smiled at his family. Now this was the best birthday present an eleven-year old boy could ask for.