QWC-1999

Chapter One

---------------

February 16, 1999

'To the first England victory in six months, and those who made it possible!'

Everyone in the hall raised their glasses to the ten Quidditch players seated conspicuously at the center table.

It was a large congregation of many important people, arranged by the Ministry of Magic, in commemoration of England's sterling performance in the latest match of the ongoing Quidditch season. The turnout was exceptional, and included wizarding greats from all over the country: everyone wanted to be a part of this historic moment. The newest Minister for Magic stepped up to the podium, to a round of polite applause.

'Well, Oliver, tell us, how does this compare to winning the Quidditch cup in your last year?'

Oliver turned away from the Minister's speech to look at Katie, seated on his right. Katie Bell, his former team mate from Gryffindor, had been part of the revamped England Quidditch team that Francis had talked about almost a month earlier.

He chuckled deeply. 'Well, it's close. But we have a long way to go, really. We need to work on the Sloth Grip Roll some more, the Porskoff Play is still a bit iffy and there are some new diversionary tactics that I've been thinking of that I'm going to go over with you guys in the next practice. I was thinking though, if we beat Morocco, and have a close match against Pakistan - about fifty points here or there, with a bit of luck we'd probably qualify for the Champions trophy and a good showing in that might raise our rankings just enough to ....'

'Earth to Oliver?! Hello? You there? Care to return to the realm of us mere mortals now?'

Oliver broke off mid-sentence as Katie looked at him incredulously, and had the grace to look somewhat bashful. 'We just won our first match in ages, you were the bloody man of the match, you moron! And instead of enjoying yourself, you're planning strategy???' Katie shook her head, before her face lit up with a mischievous smile. 'What you need is a bit of romance in your life . . . .'

Oliver stared.

'Oh come on Oliver, it's been ages since... '

Oliver turned away.

'You don't know what you're talking about.'

'Oliver...'

'Just forget about it Katie. . . . Now this match against Morocco, I was thinking . . .'

------------

It was almost five in the morning when Oliver returned to his home in central London, fumbled in his pocket for his keys before finally locating it and unlocking the door, and walked into his apartment.

A murmured spell turned on the lights, revealing plain, almost spartan surroundings. The walls were bare, except for the fireplace, and some small picture frames on the mantel-piece. Corridors led off from the main living area to the bedroom, study and bathroom, while a small kitchenette and dining area were located to one side.

Oliver dropped his keys on the table beside the door. He walked into the kitchen area, loosening his tie, and poured himself a drink. It was a cold night: he had forgotten to activate the heating charms before leaving, a fact he now regretted. As he stood at the counter in the chilly interior of his lonely flat, he found his mind wandering back to his previous conversation with Katie.

He thought about the past, the consequences of the War, and how it had affected his future. He finished his drink in one large gulp, grimacing at the taste of the fruit juice. No Firewhisky for the devoted Quidditch captain....

Oliver peered moodily at the empty glass, dimly noting the light refracting through the glass causing a show of color on the counter-top. It's not like I don't want a relationship! It's just... complicated...

He shook his head, dumped the glass in the sink and trudged to his bedroom. He indulged himself in a long shower, before finally collapsing into his large lonely bed.

------------