Soaring Above the Pitch

Quidditch, think about quidditch Oliver! You're about to go out there and play. Get focused. He thought to himself. He hadn't been able to get the events of the night before out of his head. Come on Oliver, concentrate.

"Let's go Wood," the coach yelled as Oliver lingered back for a moment. "France is waiting."

Scrimmages in the pre-season were often held against teams from other countries. Today Puddlemere was playing Quiberon Quafflepunchers from France and they were never easy to beat.

Oliver set his face and squared his shoulders as he walked out into the pitch. It was game time. The players mounted their brooms and departed to their positions. He hovered in front of the goal posts, putting on his gloves. All other thoughts leaked from his mind as the wind played across his face. The sun was high in the sky and it was a perfect day for Quidditch. He was ready to play.

Ten minutes into the game, Quiberon scored their first goal. Oliver was furious with himself, but he needn't worry about that now, there was more Keeping to be done. A few minutes later Puddlemere got back in the game, scoring two goals in a row. Shortly there after, Quiberon chasers were heading back down the pitch toward him. Oliver dove, catching the quaffle in one hand and threw it quickly to Duncan on his left. That was a near miss.

The game ended with Puddlemere coming out on top once again. Oliver was still furious with himself for letting in more goals then he should. He didn't even bothering showering afterward, but left the pitch quickly after coach's talk, Disaparating from the locker room to the empty apartment. He stormed around the room angrily, burning off some energy, before retreating to the bathroom to take a shower. The warm water helped him calm down a bit, but he still couldn't help thinking that his mind hadn't been completely on the game.

He didn't know how long he had been in the shower until he heard the front door slam shut. Shutting off the water, he stepped out, and got dressed. He opened the bathroom door and walked into his bedroom without saying a word to the others. He flopped onto his bed, looking miserably at the ceiling, which he had a habit of doing lately when he was frustrated. He laid there for quite some time, deep in thought. At one point he thought he heard the apartment door open and shut. No noise was coming from the living room. He grumbled and turned on his side facing the wall, feeling a bit left out.

Not long after, there was a soft knock at his door. This startled him a little as he thought they all had gone out. The door opened slowly and Dayla poked her head in. She looked at him nervously, probably having been forewarned by Brysten that Oliver wasn't happy after the match.

"Alright, Oliver?" she asked, sliding herself into the room and shutting the door behind her. She sat down timidly on the end of his bed and locked him in a stare.

Oliver took a deep breathe before nodding.

Dayla peered at him, knowing full well he wasn't telling the truth. She watched as his eyes reverted to the ceiling and said quietly. "Is this about last night?"

He shook his head, but not in a very convincing manner. She nodded her head. He could tell she didn't believe him. Her gaze moved down to her hands where she was fiddling with one of her bracelets.

This was getting awkward Oliver thought after a moment of silence. He sat up on the bed. "I didn't play as well as I should have today."

Dayla's brow arched slightly as she looked at him, almost with annoyance. "You didn't play that bad Oliver."

"Well I could have played better," he said, a little more sharply than he would have liked.

Dayla smiled softly and set her hand on top of his as she spoke. "Well, you have been playing quite a bit. You're probably just tired. Perhaps you should get some rest." She started to stand up but Oliver grabbed her hand.

It didn't matter how upset he was about his performance earlier, he didn't want her to leave. He was about to tell her that, but before he could say anything she let out a sigh of exasperation.

"You might not have been thinking about last night, but I sure have," she said sheepishly, biting her lip gently as her turquoise eyes locked with his. "I mean it was a bit unexpected."

He grinned, not knowing what was getting into him. Her usual sarcasm seemed to be affecting him. "Do you know how many girls would kill to be you right now? And here you are complaining?" He raised his eyebrows with a grin.

She seemed slightly taken aback, but recovered quickly and poked him playfully in the shoulder. "What makes you think I'm complaining?" she asked, inching closer to him with a smirk on her face. "How do you know this wasn't my plan from the beginning?"

It was Oliver's turn to be a bit surprised. "Wha...What?" he stammered.

Dayla shook her head. "Blimey, Oliver what do you think?"

His bewildered expression turned into a grin. "I think this was your plan from the start. I just have to warn you now. It's not easy having relationship with a Quidditch player."

Dayla just smirked and reassured him. "Don't worry I know what I'm getting myself into."

Oliver grinned as he leaned over slightly and kissed her.

***

It had been two weeks since that kiss. Dayla continued to visit often. She was at every match in Puddlemere. It took Brysten a few days to realize what was going on between Oliver and Dayla, but once he figured it out, he went on about how he knew it would happen sooner or later. Surprisingly, the new addition to Oliver's life didn't affect his game. He was still playing well enough to impress the coach, who insisted on playing him more.

Oliver woke up one morning to an annoyingly repetitive tapping noise coming from near the window. When he couldn't take it any longer he stood up and peered outside. A large tawny owl was perched on a tree branch that reached out near the window. It had a letter tied to its leg. Immediately, he recognized it as, Comet, the family owl. Upon opening the window, Comet swooped inside. It held out its leg as Oliver untied the letter, then immediately took off. Oliver sat down on the edge of the bed and tore open the letter.

Dear Oliver,

Hello darling, I hope you are doing well. I just wanted to let you know your father and I are coming into Puddlemere later for the game. We do hope you are playing. It seems like you have been having a good pre-season so far and winning loads of games. I am so proud of you. I am going to bring your favorite cake with me tonight, so we can celebrate a Puddlemere victory. See you after the game.

Much love,

Mum

XOXO

Oliver ran his fingers through his hair, staring at the letter. Today, they're coming today! Don't give you much notice do they? He thought as he reread the letter. He wrote to his mother every week letting her know he was doing alright. He usually included some details of the matches from that week. One small detail he managed to leave out so far was Dayla. It wasn't that he didn't want his parents to know, but he wasn't sure how to bring her up in a letter. It didn't matter any more, they'd find out about her soon enough. He knew they would come to a game. They always did. He just didn't realize it would be so soon. He sighed as he decided to get ready for the day.

His nerves were accumulating all day. Fortunately it was an afternoon game and he didn't have long to wait. He and Brysten headed off to the pitch early as the coach had requested. Brysten looked over at his team mate with a trace of concern. "You look a little sick, mate? You alright?"

Oliver nodded before speaking. "I'll be fine." He paused for a moment. "It's just my parents are going to be here..."

"Really?" Brysten cut in. "Mine are coming too."

Oliver's insides froze. "Your parents are coming too? Wonderful..." He threw his hands in the air. "How am I expected to do well under this pressure?"

Brysten quirked a brow. "Pressure?"

Oliver took a deep breath and explained as they neared the pitch. "First off, I always get nervous playing in front of my dad. He expects a lot from me when it comes to Quidditch. The other thing is that my parents don't know about your sister." He looked anxiously at his friend hoping maybe he'd have a suggestion. "If your parents are here, I suppose I'll have to meet them. At least they know about Dayla and I, right?"

Brysten nodded slowly trying to take in all that Oliver threw at him. "Listen mate; just relax until the game is over. Don't worry about my parents so much. They already like you, no need to impress. As for your father, you've been playing spectacularly all summer. He shouldn't have anything to complain about."

***

"Puddlemere down by one goal, ah, make that two. The Quaffle just slipped between the outstretched arms of Keeper Wood," the commentator roared from the press box, his voice echoing through the stadium as the game tore on.

Oliver swore loudly after the miss. He had to refocus. He watched Brysten and India Panzer streaking toward the Portree Keeper. India faked, tossing the Quaffle down to Brysten who shot and...

"SCORE!" shouted the magnified voice of the commentator. "Brysten Whitman of Puddlemere with his third goal of the game, Coach Vance better take a good look at this kid when it comes time to choose his first string players."

Oliver glanced into the stands where the Whitman family was cheering loudly for Brysten. Dayla was banging on the side of the box and yelling loudly. He couldn't look too long, because Portree was heading his way with the Quaffle. The Pride's Chaser launched the ball toward the right hoop. Oliver leaned that way feeling his hands close around the ball, then...

"Oof," he grunted as a Bludger hit him in the stomach. Slumping over his broomstick for a moment, he tried to shake off the tremendous amount of throbbing in his stomach. India was below him shouting, he dropped the Quaffle to her and she took off down the field. The pain was sickening, but he knew he had to play through it. Taking in a painful breath of air he straightened up, trying to ignore the stabbing pain he was experiencing in his side.

The Pride had regained the Quaffle after a skillful maneuver by their chaser, Meaghan McCormack. She was streaking toward him with increasing speed. The Quaffle soared above his head. He reached his arms up, but the twinges of pain only allow him to reach so high. Luckily, as the uncaught Quaffle soared through the hoop, the whistle sounded signaling the end of the game. Hurley Turner had caught the Snitch. Puddlemere won two hundred and twenty to seventy.

Oliver landed on the ground in a hurry. Stumbling off his broom, he slumped to the ground clutching his side. The medi-wizard came pelting from the benches. He asked Oliver a series of questions before performing a simple spell, eliminating the pain. Oliver thanked him and headed to the locker room.

Coach pulled him aside the moment he reached the door. "How's the injury?"

Oliver just nodded his answer.

"Listen, Wood, I am giving you the next two days off. Don't take it the wrong way, you just need a break. You've been playing brilliantly for us these last few weeks. I can almost guarantee your spot on the first team this year."

Oliver nodded, he knew he had been over worked, but he didn't want coach to think he was weak. "I'll be ready to go tomorrow if you need me!"

The coach clapped him on the shoulder. "Real warrior, aren't you, Wood? I'm still giving you time off. You'll thank me after you've had some rest."

Even the mention of getting first team couldn't lift Oliver's spirits as he thought about who was waiting for him outside. He took a long shower, wanting to delay the meeting with his parents for as long as he could. When he couldn't put it off any longer, he walked outside.

Most of the fans who stayed after the games had left, but there still were a few waiting around for him in particular. He glimpsed around the lot and noticed his parents standing off to one side. As he signed autographs he avoided looking in their direction. On the other side of the lot was the Whitman family, talking cheerfully to Brysten. At least he had played a good game.

Finishing up the last signing, he waited as the young witch ran off to a group of her friends. Dayla appeared at his side shortly after.

"Hey," she said taking his hand in hers. "Are all your insides still intact? That looked ghastly from the stands."

"I'm fine!" he said a little harsher then probably necessary. His gazed strayed to where his parents were wandering toward them. He dropped Dayla's hand when his mother rushed in to embrace him.

"Oh sweetheart, you played a fantastic game today. They mended you right up after, did they?" she asked anxiously looking over her son.

She was considerably shorter then Oliver was, a thin but sturdy looking woman with a cheerful disposition. She wore small framed spectacles and her graying hair was tied in a neat bun at the back of her head. She wore robes of navy, evidently for support of her son.

Oliver nodded as his eyes glanced at his father's stern expression. It was uncanny how much he looked like his father, dark hair, dark eyes, straight nose, and broad shoulders. There was no mistaking them for father and son.

"Dad," Oliver said briskly with a nod as he greeted his father.

"Son," replied his father, but attention was quickly turned away from him as his wife spotted Dayla.

"Oh, Oliver dear, aren't you going to introduce us to your friend?" his mother asked, peering at Dayla with a warm smile.

He turned to Dayla, who had stepped back slightly while he greeted his parents. She smiled at him as he introduced her.

"Mum, Dad, I want you to meet Dayla Whitman. Her brother is trying out with the team," he said looking only at his mother. He heard his father mumble something that sounded a lot like, figures. He hoped that Dayla hadn't heard that. He turned back to her. "This is my mum, Moira, and my dad, Gerald.

"It's lovely to meet you Mr. and Mrs. Wood," Dayla said with a friendly smile.

"And the same for you, dearie," Mrs. Wood replied touching Dayla's elbow in a motherly fashion. "Oliver's never mentioned you before..." She gave her son a pointed look.

"Oh he hasn't, has he? Why's that? Do I embarrass you Oliver?" Dayla teased, poking him in the side. She stopped abruptly when she saw the expressionless look on his face, so she spoke to his parents instead. "He's been playing so well this summer. I am sure you're very proud of him. We sure are."

"If he's played like he did today, I don't think it can be called well," his father said darkly, finally speaking. "You were in very poor form today, son."

"Don't start now Gerald, he played very well," said Mrs. Wood quickly, her eyes darting from Dayla to her son in slight embarrassment.

Dayla bit her lip nervously, feeling it was time to bow out. "Well, it was lovely to meet you both. My parents are here as well, so I better get back to them. I hope to see you later." She gave Oliver a swift kiss on the cheek before heading back to her own family.

Oliver remained rooted to the spot, not moving to say goodbye to Dayla. His father's gaze had immobilized him. Mrs. Wood looked at her husband with much apprehension.

His father's eyes followed Dayla back to her family before turning on Oliver. "Now we know the reason for your performance today. You've only been here for three weeks and you've already found yourself a girl? One of those fans of yours I take it!" his father said disbelievingly. "What have I always told you about getting involved with fans? It's risky, son. They only like you for your status and fame, not for anything else...well maybe something else. But your focus needs to be on the field and not on some girl."

Oliver could feel the anger and embarrassment rising inside him. "It's not like that, dad! She is not a just a fan. She wasn't even here for me to begin with, her brother is my roommate. We knew each other at Hogwarts. He introduced us. Besides my focus is where it should be. I just had an off night."

His father shook his head. "You mean to tell me that while the Quaffle soared over your head, you had your mind entirely on the game? I highly doubt that! You were thinking about that girl, weren't you? Thinking about what the two of you were going to do after afterward! Don't you shake your head at me, son! Your mother and I came here today because we heard you had been excelling on the field. I saw the scores in the Prophet, you were doing well. I did not come here to meet your latest girlfriend. I came here expecting to see my son play a decent game of Quidditch. Boy was I disappointed. Where was your form tonight, Oliver? When someone comes down the pitch with the Quaffle it's your job to keep them from scoring. I don't think snogging some girl will help you remember that! The game was sloppy, very sloppy, at least on your part."

Oliver's face flushed from the humiliation of being told how to play Quidditch. There were still people lingering about witnessing this. He was about to respond but his mother spoke first.

"Now Gerald, he had some good saves too. You always look for the negative in the game," his mother said defending him, something Oliver always appreciated.

"It's the only way he'll learn. I'd be surprised if Vance chooses you for his first team after the way you played tonight. You better sort out your priorities, son, and take a good look at your future. Are you willing to give up all you've worked for, for some girl?"

"None of this has anything to do with Dayla!" he shouted angrily. Somehow Oliver knew this was going to happen. It never fails, his father always had something to complain about. "I enjoy knowing she is in the stands cheering for me. I like having someone there who wants to see me play well. This has never been about the girls, dad, and you know it. It is always about the game. Why have I been playing all my life if it's never been about the game? Why is it that I usually do choose Quidditch over girls? She understands this is important to me. She isn't trying to get in my way." He paused for a moment taking in a breath before speaking again. Then he remembered something that surely would stop his father's harassment. "Do you want to know what Coach Vance told me tonight? He said I'm practically a shoe in for the first team. What do you say to that, dad? I obviously have been playing well enough for him. He is even giving me a few days to rest because he thinks I was just over worked tonight." His chest was heaving as he glared at his father, who stared at him in silence. Finally, something his father didn't have a comment for.

His mother had gasped in happiness at the news of first team and hugged him saying how wonderful it was, that she was so proud. His father on the other hand, just shook his head, now having thought of something to say. "Good Quidditch players don't get over worked, they only work harder." He Apparated on the spot after these words.

***

Oliver and his mother walked back to the apartment. He was still furious from his father's lecture. His mother reassured him, as she always did, that his father loved him and was only trying to help. She did mention that she thought Dayla seemed like a sweet girl and if she made him happy then she didn't have any objections. Oliver was grateful for his mother's understanding of how his father made him feel.

Entering the apartment, the Whitman family was sitting around drinking Butterbeers and cheerfully discussing the match. Mr. Whitman immediately stood from his seat when they entered and crossed the room to shake Oliver's hand.

"Hell of a game son! Portree has always been a tough team, way to keep it close." He said shaking Oliver's hand with a smile. Then he turned to Mrs. Wood. "You've got one fine Quidditch player there, ma'am," he added complimenting Oliver's mother. "Ah, yes, sorry, I'm their father, Derek, and this is my wife, Viola," he introduced himself, also gesturing to Mrs. Whitman who was sitting beside Dayla on the sofa. "It's a pleasure to finally meet the both of you."

Oliver smiled vaguely. "Nice to meet you too Mr. Whitman and thank you, at least it was a win for Puddlemere."

"Moira Wood, it's lovely to meet you all. Your son also played very well today," she said with a smile, glancing at Brysten.

Dayla left the room to retrieve two more bottles of Butterbeer from the kitchen. She handed one to Mrs. Wood as she took the empty seat beside Dayla's mother. "Ah, thank you, dear," she said politely and immediately engaged Mrs. Whitman in a conversation.

Dayla stepped away from loud chatter of her family and slowly made her way to where Oliver was standing, alone. She handed him the Butterbeer gazing into his darkened expression. "Something wrong, Oliver?" she asked unknowingly of the situation that had occurred. "Where is your father?"

Oliver didn't answer right away, but took a sip of his drink, and then answered darkly. "I don't know actually." Anger still filled his voice as he dwelled on the conversation he had with his dad. He wasn't ready to share his humiliation with someone else.

She slipped her arms around his waist in an attempt to comfort him even though she didn't know what was wrong. He held her close for a moment then broke away shaking his head. Dayla let him go with out protest. They walked over and sat on the couch. She placed her hand in his as she joined the mothers' conversation. He let her hold his hand. It was comforting. He was glad she hadn't pushed him to talk about what had happened. He just sat in silence listening to the two mothers' conversation about the best enchantments for food.

"Oh, goodness me, I almost forgot." Mrs. Wood glanced at her son. "Oliver, I brought you a hazelnut cake." She pulled a wand from the depths of her robes and gave it a flick. A nice size cake appeared on the coffee table in front of them. It looked delicious and filled the room with the scent of hazelnut.

Eating cake, discussion turned to recent events in the wizarding community. Not long after it was cut short by a knock at the door. Brysten was first to jump up. He strolled across the room to open it. When he did Mr. Wood entered the room. Oliver's face dropped slightly as he saw the new arrival.

Gerald Wood looked around the room with his dark eyes. He looked disconcerted and annoyed as he moved further into the room.

Mr. Whitman was the first to speak. "You must be Oliver's father. I'm Derek Whitman." He extended a hand for Mr. Wood to shake.

Mr. Wood nodded and shook Mr. Whitman's hand. "Your son played very well today, excellent flying skills."

Oliver took his hand from Dayla's and stood up. His father's gaze moved from Oliver to Dayla and back again in disgust. It was as though he was daring his son to say something about what happened earlier. Oliver could feel his cheeks flushing as his father's gaze lingered on him.

Mr. Wood spoke briefly. "Sorry I'm not able to stay longer, I am a busy man. Moira if you're ready, please." He gave a meaningful look at his wife.

Mrs. Wood stood thanking Mr. and Mrs. Whitman for their company. Then she smiled at Dayla and winked. "I hope my son doesn't give you too much trouble." She kissed Oliver goodbye and the two of them Apparated and were gone.

It wasn't long after the Wood's left that the Whitman's decided to leave too. Mr. Whitman shook Oliver's hand once more, wishing him the best of luck. Mrs. Whitman smiled and nodded at her husband's side, then the two of them also Apparated.

Brysten yawned looking at the other two for a moment. He mentioned that he was tired and better be off to bed, since he was playing tomorrow. He bade good night and retreating to his room.

Oliver and Dayla's eyes met briefly. She took to straightening up the living room as he stood there motionless. She worked her way around the room until she was next to him. A look of concerned spread across her face, but she didn't say anything.

He shook his head slowly and then retreated to his bedroom for the night. He couldn't bring himself to tell her about the evening's events with his father, it was too shameful. As he lay in bed it felt as though that medi-wizard had never eased the pain from that wild Bludger.