Oliver!

OLIVER!

*** DAY ONE ***

Harry winced as the cold air brushed across his face. As much as he loved flying, he still preferred practicing in nicer weather. However, the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Oliver Wood, would not be thwarted by high winds and snow on the ground. Instead, Wood took this opportunity - the only day in weeks without heavy snowfall - as the perfect time for the Gryffindor team to polish up before their match with the Slytherins (okay, you staunch Harry Potter fans, Slytherin vs. Griffindor IS the first game of the season, and don't gloat at your superior knowledge because we can do whatever the blazes we want! This is FAN FICTION!). That was another thing Harry didn't relish, playing the Slytherins in cold weather. His heavy breathing might fog up his glasses, giving his nemesis Draco Malfoy (yes you know him too, O arrogant ones) a chance to grab the snitch.

As Harry swooped over the frosted pitch, he caught a glimpse of the other players, all struggling to keep from freezing due to the icy air. Only Oliver seemed poised and vigorous. Quidditch was his natural element, Harry noticed. Suddenly, as his eyes scanned the playing area, Harry saw a glint of gold, flickering near the spot where Fred and George Weasley, the two beaters, were playing with a bludger nonchalantly. Harry swooped towards the gold shimmer, narrowing his focus so that he could see all the details of the snitch's motion. He reached out his hand to anticipate a turn the tiny golden ball was making, when he was suddenly thrown off course. In fact, the thrust of sudden impact with a mysterious object threw Harry off his broom altogether. As he hurtled through space, falling helplessly towards the sparkling pillow of snow below him, he could hear the voice of George Weasley, calling,

"Sorry, Harry! I was aiming for Fred's. . ." SPLAT! With an intense jolt of pain, Harry landed in the cold wetness. All was dark.

***

Swimming in blackness, Harry realized that he was no longer lying on the ground. Instead, he floated in a mysterious void, and he could hear a voice calling his name. It was a deep voice, with the sounds of heaven and earth encompassed in its godlike tone.

"Harry. . ." The voice crooned. Was this the end? Harry wished that he would see a speck of light in this tunnel of darkness, if only so that he could find the being which possessed this voice.

"Harry? Harry are you okay?" The voice continued. "Come on! We need you for the Slytherin match! Harry!" Now, hands like satin caressed him, gently rousing Harry into consciousness with vigorous shaking. As Harry's head bobbed maniacally, he opened his eyes to see the blurry outline of his savior.

"Harry?" the gorgeous creature questioned.

"Oliver," Harry gasped, his composure greatly threatened by Oliver's imposing manliness. Though Harry had never seen it before, Oliver Wood was truly an angelic being. Oliver put Harry down, now, causing Harry to emit a groan of displeasure.

"Good, you're okay. Now, back to practice everyone!" It was at this moment that Harry finally noticed the scene. The whole Gryffindor Quidditch team was staring worriedly. Angelina Johnson seemed to be mumbling something to Katie Bell. The two girls burst into giggles. Harry figured they must be talking about some boy, but now Fred and George were giggling too. This was too weird. Harry wrenched himself up, mounted his broom, and jettisoned himself to an overhead position. He had to impress Oliver (who was rosy as ever in the cold wind, which blew his hair around fetchingly), and this was no time for giggles.

The rest of practice went very strangely indeed. While Harry concentrated on finding the snitch, everyone else seemed to be performing badly. Several players collided with each other riding past him, and he felt the strange sensation that everyone on the team was watching him. As much as Harry usually enjoyed practice, he was glad that it was over. He was especially thrilled when Oliver asked him to go over some special new moves before the game next Saturday.

As Harry headed, still reeling from the events of the day's practice, to the dining hall, he noticed that Quidditch was not the only strange thing afoot. When he saw Draco Malfoy and his insidious companions Crabbe and Goyle in the hallway, he expected a challenge, or at least some taunting. Instead he found them talking intently about. . . Buddy Holly? Harry wracked his brains but he could not think of any other famous person with dark hair and glasses. Crabbe actually seemed to be drooling! However, he was not sure about Buddy Holly having bright green eyes, or a scar of any sort.

It was obviously unimportant Slytherin business. Most likely very evil and disgusting. Harry hurried towards the table where his best friends Ron and Hermione sat, trying not to think about Malfoy, or what he might be up to.

"Hello, oh man of my dreams!" cooed Hermione in what might of been her most seductive voice, had she been in love with Harry. She was such a kidder.

"Oh, hi, Hermione," Harry chuckled.

"See, Hermione?" Ron said, matter-of-factly. "He has no interest in you. You're just wasting your time" Ron bit into a rather large chicken leg, and spoke with chicken bits flying across the table. Harry felt very fond of his friends. At least they were normal.

"Do you want to hear some of my unimportant business that you always listen to without complaining and take inordinate interest in stupid things which nevertheless end up being important?" Harry asked, as he always did about this time of day. Ron and Hermione, who seemed to be arguing over who Harry liked most (silly Hermione, everyone knows that Harry shows blatant favoritism to Ron!), immediately snapped to attention, vigorously nodding their heads. "Oh good," Harry said. "Because I thought maybe you were too intent on your little conversation to notice me. . . I'm so angsty!" Ron especially looked genuinely concerned about Harry's well-being.

"Is there anything I can do for you, angel?" Ron asked sweetly.

"Angel!?" Hermione said disgustedly. "You're always so corny, Ron!" And then she added sheepishly, "I prefer Heavenly Hunk." Harry wondered. Was this a new flavor of ice cream? Were they serving it for dessert!? He would inquire about it later. For now, he had to tell Ron and Hermione about the weird things at Quidditch practice.

"You can listen to my story, Ron, for starters," Harry was beginning to be annoyed.

"Yes dear," Ron and Hermione chorused in unison (you notice that never Actually happens in real life. Ah, the magic of fiction!).

"Now that that's settled," Harry sulked. "Anyway, I was at Quidditch practice and. . ." Suddenly, Harry's story was rudely interrupted by a clamor outside the dining hall. Someone seemed to be running with great speed, and bumping into many people on the way.

"Harry! Are you okay!?" The headmaster Albus Dumbledore shrieked as he entered the hall. He seemed a little on edge. Harry wondered how he could have learned about his Quidditch accident, but then, as Hagrid always said, "news travels fast 'round Hogwarts."

"I'm not injured," Harry commented, but it was too late. Already Dumbledore was asking more questions.

"Is the food satisfactory? I can make the house elves work harder, if the food's not as good as it is supposed to be," Dumbledore rushed around the table inspecting dishes.

"I like the food," Harry said, and then he remembered. "Are we having 'Heavenly Hunk' ice cream for dessert?"

"What! Heavenly Hunk! I never thought of that! Why didn't I think of it!? I'll go to the kitchen right now to fix it! I love you!" Dumbledore shouted, running madly, "I mean, I love! The food! The food is great! Bye!" Dumbledore lunged towards the doors to the dining hall, opening them straight into the face of Harry's new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Remus Lupin. Lupin fell over, ungracefully, grunting as Dumbledore leaped nimbly over him.

As Harry wondered listlessly what Oliver would do had he been in Harry's situation, he came to the disconcerting realization that everyone in the dining hall was staring at him, even the tattered Professor Lupin. Harry had probably provoked Dumbledore's sudden insanity by his accident, he realized with a pang of guilt. Some people seemed so worried about him that they had tears in their eyes. Malfoy, however, was looking straight at him and licking his lips. Harry hoped that didn't have anything to do with the upcoming Quidditch match. The only person who seemed to be unconcerned was Oliver Wood, who was prodding his mashed potatoes with his wand, building a magical Quidditch pitch. The excitement of the fake game made Oliver look especially attractive, Harry thought.

As he lay in bed that night, Harry reflected on the unpleasant events of the day, hoping the next day would be better. He doubted his prospects for the following day, however, because he felt three pairs of eyes watching him in the darkness as he tried, unsuccessfully, to fall asleep.