Rating:
G
House:
Riddikulus
Characters:
Minerva McGonagall Oliver Wood
Genres:
Humor Drama
Era:
Multiple Eras
Spoilers:
Prizoner of Azkaban
Stats:
Published: 06/08/2003
Updated: 06/08/2003
Words: 704
Chapters: 1
Hits: 956

The Argument

Dezi Lupin

Story Summary:
"I'll go and talk to her, Harry," he promised. "I'll make her see reason... a Firebolt... a real Firebolt on our team... She wants Gryffindor to win as much as we do... I'll make her see sense. A Firebolt..." ``Oliver tries to convince McGonagall to give Harry his broom back.

Chapter Summary:
"I'll go and talk to her , Harry," he promised. "I'll make her see reason... a Firebolt ... a real Firebolt on our team... She wants Gryffindor to win as much as we do... I'll make her see sense. A Firebolt..." Prisoner of Azkaban, (page 235 US edition)
Posted:
06/08/2003
Hits:
956
Author's Note:
Once again, Thank you to Possibly one of the best Beta readers on FA, Emily.


"I'll go and talk to her , Harry," he promised. "I'll make her see reason... a Firebolt ... a real Firebolt on our team... She wants Gryffindor to win as much as we do... I'll make her see sense. A Firebolt..." Prisoner of Azkaban, (page 235 US edition)

Oliver Wood continued rambling on as he walked out of the portrait hole and into the hallway , completely unaware of his fellow students staring at him. A few Hufflepuff girls giggled to each other as the strikingly handsome Gryffindor Quidditch captain walked down the hallway muttering to himself. Every now and again he could be heard to mutter "Firebolt", "I can't believe it" or "what's wrong with her?"

"Professor McGonagall, I'd like to have a word with you," he demanded as he stood in the doorway of her office.

"Yes, Wood ?" she said as she looked up from a paper that she was grading. Oliver breathed calmly for a moment, knowing that if he didn't relax he'd overexcite himself and lose the argument. However, as much as he tried to calm himself, it didn't help much.

"Professor...Harry...Firebolt... confiscated ... how could you?!"

"Wood, I have my reasons. The broom could be jinxed. I'm doing this out of concern for Harry's best interests," she replied.

"Jinxed! Who would be so cruel as to jinx a Firebol- I mean Harry's Firebolt!?" exclaimed Oliver.

"We don't know, Wood. All that we know is that the broom was received without any card identifying who it came from," she replied.

"Yes , but Black couldn't possibly afford a Firebolt! Even if he did have the money he couldn't just walk into Quality Quidditch Supplies and buy one! Everyone is looking for him." Oliver was now wringing his robes tightly in his hands. Look , you want Gryffindor to win this match as badly as we do. I haven't won a match since I first started playing Quidditch and I'm graduating this year. We can't have a victory with Harry on a Shooting Star!"

"Yes Wood, I do want you to win. It is true that Gryffindor hasn't won the Quidditch House Cup in years. But I won't have us win at the expense of a teammate," she said very curtly.

"But you're stripping it apart! Harry will have kindling by the time Madam Hooch and Professor Flitwick get done with it." Oliver was becoming progressively more upset by this. All he could picture in his head were pieces of Firebolt in a small pile on the Quidditch pitch.

"I assure you that it will be as good as new by the time Harry gets it back -- that is, if we find nothing wrong with it ," she said , staring up at him.

"If?! If?! We can't win against Hufflepuff if Potter is going to be on a school broom! Listen, I don't care if he gets thrown off the thing, as long as he catches the Snitch first!" asserted Oliver, overexcited and now wringing his robes so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

"Oliver Wood! Where are your priorities!? You're willing to risk a fellow teammate's life so that you can win a Quidditch match! Honestly Wood, I would've thought better of you! I ought to deduct points from Gryffindor due to lack of loyalty!" She had become quite loud and angry by this point and Oliver felt himself shrinking down to nothing. Being yelled at by McGonagall was far worse than being yelled at by any other professor. She was the only one that could actually make you feel guilty, even if you had done nothing wrong at all.

Oliver, his face now as white as his knuckles, slowly backed away and headed for the doorway. "Professor, how long will you be keeping it for?" he asked, a little more timidly.

"As long as is necessary, Wood," she replied sternly, in a voice that allowed for no further discussion.

"Yes , Professor," he replied quietly as he let go of his robes, which were now a wrinkled mess , and walked out the door. Once outside he crouched down against the wall, buried his face in his hands and muttered to himself, "We're doomed, completely doomed."