In All His Quidditch Glory

A sharp swerve to the right brought Oliver out of immediate harm from a bludger with a vendetta. A bead of sweat rolled from the beginning of his hairline into his eyes causing him to blink momentarily, missing the action for an instant. He scanned all aspects of the field, keeping a constant vigil on the status of the Quaffle as he noticed any openings left by both teams. His captaining instincts had not yet worn off and he swallowed the urge to tell a player to position herself were he saw fit.

The aroma of the intense game filled the stadium. They had been playing for eight hours and the immense atmosphere was overwhelming--sweating players, leather padding chafing his prickling skin, the sound of a twenty-thousand-strong crowd and the feel of the air thrust past him as players conducted the most beautiful and complicated moves he had ever seen with such experienced simplicity. Oliver felt the happiest moment of his life and closed his eyes softly for a split second, savoring this moment of international stardom.

* * *

Oliver opened his eyes and remembered his train left in half an hour. He scrambled out of bed only to realise there was someone else in there with him. He cursed as he remembered the farewell party his former teammates had given him as he was leaving London. His memory of the night began to get blurred around the time he remembered the fourth round of drinks being ordered.

He looked at the face of the person his bed and was relieved by the sight of an ex-teammate. At least now he could leave without the fear of having anything of his stolen. Hurriedly getting ready, he wrote a note and was just about to leave before he heard a voice call from his bedroom. He walked back and stood in the doorway.

"Leaving?" Last night's lover was propped up on one elbow looking decidedly melancholy.

"My train leaves in about ten minutes," Oliver said, shuffling his feet and looking over his shoulder at his already packed bags lying so close to the door. He was never good at this 'morning after' stuff.

"You know you could floo there. Later on today..."

Oliver didn't know what to say. He hadn't expected someone to be here when he left. He just wanted to pack up and go, no last minute goodbyes, no reason to feel like he was attached to someone. Besides, he needed his time on the train to collect his thoughts. Going back wasn't altogether easy for him. He though it was all over when he left those years ago. He'd moved on in his life, to something better. The initial idea of returning had repulsed him and then saddened him, he really thought his life would be different. The sudden chiming of the clock brought him out of his thoughts and he turned back to the scantily covered body on the bed.

"Lock the door behind you when you leave?" was all he said and only felt a slight pang of guilt as he quietly picked up his bags and left the apartment.

* * *

His burgundy red robes flowed, billowing about his heels as he strode through the intricately carved double doors of the Great Hall. Oliver Wood had not looked upon this enchanted room for four years, since his graduation within its walls. Students seated at their house tables turned to stare and whisper at the sight of this internationally recognised young man. The first, second and third year students had only read about him in the papers. Him being swept up by a Quidditch scout at the end of his seventh year, his rapid climb in the international Quidditch arena and his sudden downfall that left his dreams ruined.

Oliver made his way to the teachers' table, trying hard to ignore the gaping eyes and mouths of the students. With a curt nod of greeting towards Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore, he sat and gazed anywhere but at the students, struggling to keep hidden his agitation at all the sudden attention. It was the one thing he had never gotten used to while off the Quidditch field. Thousands of eyes had stared at him during his games but that was nothing; he was in the air doing what he loved best, what he lived for, and a few eyes couldn't cloud that. Off the field he didn't understand the reason for his popularity, especially amongst his female fans. Fame wasn't what he had asked for.

Dumbledore rose to give his traditional beginning of year speech and Oliver, instinctively tuning out, thought back to his early years at Hogwarts, his nervousness as a first year and his feelings of loneliness as he had not known a single student. This however, hadn't lasted for very long as his Quidditch skills were discovered in their first lesson with Mch. Though, as there were no positions open, he could not be placed as a permanent on the Gryffindor team till his third year. His slim but agile body had made him perfect for Chaser until, of course, his true defensive skills came to light and could not be ignored. He was made captain in his fifth year after their old captain had graduated. He had learnt a lot from that boy, more than just Quidditch. Now after all this time, he could barely remember his name. Oliver started at the sound of his own name and realised Dumbledore was still speaking to the mass of students.

"...will be spending a few months here at Hogwarts. I assume you all know the reasons for Mr. Wood's discontinuation of playing Quidditch at international level. However, I, along with the headmistresses and masters of other witchcraft and wizarding schools around the globe, have devised an inter-school Quidditch championship. Mr. Wood will be in charge of selecting and training a Quidditch team to represent Hogwarts in the championship."

At this an excited murmur ran through the seated students. The prospect of being on a unified Hogwarts team to represent the school was too much for some to handle silently. Dumbledore began to tap softly on his glass to bring the noise level down and continued.

"Any student is able to tryout for the team and try out times will be posted in each common room."

Not much else of Dumbledore's speech was heard as the students stayed quiet but let their minds wander.

As dinner was served, the teachers began talking about their doings over the summer break. Oliver had never had such insight into the lives of people he never even considered human, let alone with lives of their own.

"So Oliver," began Madam Hooch, turning to him. "Looking forward to being back on your old field?"

"Well, it'll be a change from what I've gotten used to but it will be nice looking for new talent," Oliver replied, noncommittally.

"I've a few students you may want to take a close look at--some have real potential. Anyway, you'll have time later to decide all that. Tell me about your life. Last thing I read you were dating the girl from that horrible teen band, what was it called? Acroama? Some unimaginative thing such as that," she continued ardently.

"No, no. I'm not with anyone right now, nor have I heard that particular story before. My last break up has put me off dating for a while," Oliver said tersely, yet so adorably due to his strong accent. He raised a glass of pumpkin juice to his lips.

"Oh, she really meant something then? What was her name?"

"His name was Charlie," Oliver ended, putting down his glass and giving Madam Hooch a coy smile.

"Oh, yes." She looked slightly flustered, then, regaining herself, added, "Yes, I heard about that. Your liking to play on... both sides of the field." She smiled to herself slightly, admiring her own Quidditch allusion.

Oliver took this opportunity to look around the hall. Many students were beaming at him and one seventh year girl in Ravenclaw winked. Ignoring this, he scanned the Gryffindor table for familiar faces, only recognising a few. Students that he had seen when they were only in their first, second and third years were now grown into quasi-mature fifth, sixth, and seventh years. His eyes eventually fell on Harry Potter and his friends. He gave a warm smile to the one person in the room he could come close to calling a friend. He knew he was here on professional grounds, but it was difficult trying to speak to people he instinctively called 'Miss' and 'Sir.' He needed companionship and his age was closer to that of Harry and his friends than the youngest teacher on staff. After dinner, Oliver stole a moment to go down to the Gryffindor table.

"Oliver! Oliver! Over here!" He turned to see one of Harry's friends calling him, the bright red hair instantly giving away that it must be Percy's youngest brother. He made his way over to their end of the table and was greeted by the redhead with a strong brotherly pat on the back. The boy was grinning madly.

"I don't think you remember me, but I'm Ron Weasley. I've been following your career from the very beginning, while you were still here. Remember, I was the one who got you to sign all my Quidditch gear before you left? They must be worth a fortune now, especially now that... you know."

Ron trailed off as Harry cut in and smiled at Oliver.

"It's good to see you again, Wood. It's been what, nearly a year since that horrible photo shoot for Teen Witch Weekly?" Harry and Oliver both started laughing at the memory of having to pose as Britain's two hottest celebrity wizards. A poll had been taken and the entire reading audience of the magazine could not decide between the two. Afterwards, the teen market had decided to leave these two 'good boys' alone and focus on the charming, and many sordid, exploits of Draco Malfoy.

"How have you been, Oliver?" Harry continued, and then realised Hermione was looking very out of place. "Oh sorry, do you remember Hermione Granger?"

Hermione smiled politely. Oliver may have been good looking, but she had never really had a large interest in Quidditch, unless Harry or Ron was playing.

"Yes, I think I do. You went out with Jeremy Cohen, didn't you? I remember how many games he lost focus looking for you in the crowd." Oliver smiled as Hermione blushed and Ron bristled.

"Well, I'm with Ron now," was her only reply as she noticed Ron's face.

"That's great," smiled Oliver and looked back at Harry. "You're obviously going to try out, aren't you Harry?"

Harry smiled and was about to reply when he was cut off by a drawling voice.

"I'm sure Potter will try as hard as he can, but we all know who the best seeker here is." Malfoy had strolled up behind them and was now facing Oliver, who was taken back by this once boy turned man. His breath caught for a second at the obvious lean strength Malfoy possessed.

"Just shut up, Malfoy," Harry said tiredly.

"Make me, Potter," Malfoy said, turning back to Harry, now with a different glint in his eye. Harry looked at him wearily.

"I made you shut up nicely that night after our fifth year final dance. Do you remember that, Malfoy? You were begging to have me... shut you up," Harry ended with a strange maliciousness emanating from his entire frame.

Malfoy glared at him but said nothing. With a last fleeting glance at Oliver, who would swear that Malfoy's eyes were smoldering, he strode away without any sense of hurt pride.

"What was that about?" Oliver looked back at the trio. Ron looked slightly disgusted, Hermione a little embarrassed and Harry was looking at Malfoy's receding figure, still seething but with another feeling in his manner.

"It was nothing," Harry said, turning around and smiling at Oliver.

At this point Dumbledore motioned for Oliver to come back so that he could show him to his quarters. Oliver was led into a beautifully arranged room which had much of the atmosphere of his old Gryffindor common room.

"I hope you will be most comfortable here," Dumbledore said with a smile. "If there's anything you need, just visit my office."

After Dumbledore left, Oliver sighed and flopped onto the bed. He closed his eyes and thought about the strange encounter at dinner. Malfoy had grown quite a bit and obviously there was much changed in his relationship with Harry. He thought of the amount of tryouts and training the year had in store for him, and the eventual team. By the sound of the students, he would likely get a large number flaunting any type of flying skill they had. This would make for quite a 'fascinating' few months.