Air

AIR

Chapter 4 The Drive to Win

Oliver was spending a quiet evening at home after another punishing practice, when Dominic walked into the living room.

He tossed Oliver a question as he settled his large frame into their couch. "Do you mind if I listen to the Sports Report?"

"Is it eight o'clock already?" Oliver yawned. "Go ahead. Turn it on."

They caught the tail end of the familiar opening theme song, and then waited for the wizarding sports news to commence.

"Today's top story. The Chudley Cannons' entire first team remains hospitalized today after being nearly killed during their match yesterday against the Tutshill Tornados It seems a raging thunderstorm was at fault, during a bizarre sequence of events occuring directly after their Seeker, Roscoe Remington, caught the Golden Snitch. The Cannons celebrated in their usual way, forming a circle around Remington, each player clasping the next one's shoulder. Then tragedy struck. Witnesses say the Seeker raised the Golden Snitch in victory as one of the other players reached out to clap him on the back. At that exact moment, lightning struck. The bolt coursed through the Snitch, then through each player in succession, though it all happened so fast that witnesses say it appeared instantaneous. Miraculously the team survived, but was injured severely enough to be taken immediately to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries in London. But do not worry, Cannon fans, the reserve team has been pulled up in the interim, and the playing schedule will continue uninterrupted. Next match is against Puddlemere United. It is as yet unclear whether or not all of the players will make a full recovery. Of most concern regarding return to play is Seeker Remington, whose hand is quite badly burned... "

Oliver dropped the playbook he had been studying and Dominic whistled incredulously. Both of them stared at each other over the wireless in their living room, as the announcer's voice droned on. Oliver knew Dominic must be thinking the same things as he; the extreme danger of Quidditch and how luck can turn in an instant. Bloody hell, it could have been Puddlemere's reserve team, and they could have been in the hospital right now.

Dominic's blue eyes were wide. "That could have been our first team, Oliver. Than we would have been pulled up to play on the first team!"

"Yeah - or it could be us in hospital right now."

Dominic examined his hand. He must have been imagining the Seeker's burned one. "Merlin. Poor blokes."

The two of them sat there for a few moments, sober expressions on their faces, until a knock at the front door startled them.

Oliver rose to answer with a faint groan. "What's worse - lightning strikes or Coach Winston? I can't believe it hurts even to climb up from this old couch," he complained. "I feel like I'm fifty years old." Coach Winston was pushing them harder this week than he ever had previously, and they were both exhausted and sore from head to toe.

"I'm just glad you got up first, mate." Dominic responded, plastered sideways on his end of the couch.

Oliver opened the door. "Mary?" he said with surprise.

He hadn't seen Mary since that time at the lakeshore several days ago. That didn't mean he hadn't thought about her, though. He had. She was the one bright spot during this last tough week.

Since his move to Dorset, whenever he had felt lonely or stressed, he could at least enjoy Quidditch or laugh at Dominic's antics. But this past week had been different - Dominic was moody and Coach Winston's practices were becoming more and more brutal. There had not been those usual pleasures to lift him up. And that's why this week, whenever he had felt particularly bad, he would find himself remembering Mary's smile, or the wind blowing her hair, or the soft touch of her hand, and of course their kiss, and then he would feel better.

She gave a shy smile and said, "Hi."

She held a plate piled high with chocolate biscuits, which, by the smell, were probably fresh out of the oven.

Oliver took a step back and motioned her inside. "Come on in."

"Thank you." She walked into their small entryway. "I baked these for you...uh," She glanced towards Dominic. "...and your flatmate...because I know how hard you have been working this week. My dad has been impossible to live with, and I've seen how it's been even worse on the practice field."

Oliver laughed. "Well, Coach is trying to get us ready for Ballycastle. They're the team to beat this season."

Mary shook her head. "They're always the team to beat."

Oliver and Dominic turned to each other briefly, and Oliver could see that Dominic's puzzled expression mirrored the question in his own mind. Why was Ballycastle always the team to beat?

Oliver turned back to Mary and responded, "Well, Ballycastle is undeniably strong this season. But that's only because of a recent series of fantastically shrewd trades. They were at the bottom of the league for the last two years before that."

"Yes, but they've had the same reserve team coach for the last eight years. He's my uncle. My father's older brother. And Daddy's always out to prove that he's no longer the little brother who can't compete." She frowned. "It's actually quite painful. Brings up all sorts of sobering family history." Her features brightened. "But it'll be over soon. And everything will be back to normal. And now you've got a load of chocolate to help you through it!"

So that explained the punishing practices lately, Oliver thought. He nodded towards the biscuits. "They smell great."

A pleased smile lit up her face as she held the plate out to Oliver. "They taste pretty good, too."

"Let's try 'em right now. Would you like to stay for a bit, then?" Oliver took the plate from her and placed the biscuits on the table next to Dominic, who caught his eye for a brief second with raised brows.

Oliver reddened and cleared his throat. "Um...Dominic, have you met Mary? She and I ran into each other on the lakeshore the other day. We...talked for a bit."

Dominic nodded his head in an infuriatingly knowing manner, and stood up asking, "Well, those biscuits could do with some milk, or a cup of tea. What would you two like?" And he took their requests and headed to the kitchen.

Oliver turned to Mary. Now that the surprise of seeing her had worn off, and Dominic's perceptive gaze was no longer upon him, he could concentrate on her. She had removed her cloak and laid it on the arm of the couch. She was dressed in a powder blue collared shirt which matched her eye color. Her sleeves were cuffed just below her elbows and the shirt was unbuttoned down to...well...he took note of how the skin on her chest was satiny smooth and unfreckled. She had pewter grey slacks which fit low on her slim hips and flared out at the foot. He could see just a peek of her shiny, pointy-toed, sleek heeled black pumps. She looked incredible.

He pointed to their sofa. "Please. Sit down."

Oliver watched as she sat and crossed her long legs up behind her, then turned towards him. Where should he sit? Next to her, or across, on the chair? And what was taking Dominic so darned long in the kitchen?

Mary appeared perfectly comfortable, however, and patted her hand on the sofa cushion next to her, motioning for him to sit. He did. She was the first to break the silence. "I hope you don't think it too forward of me to pop in on you like this."

"Of course not. I've...been meaning to see you...but our practices this week..."

She laughed. "I know. I completely understand."

Oliver shifted on the couch, unsure of what he should say next.

She finally spoke again. "So, are you feeling ready for your match this Saturday?"

He rolled his eyes. "We should be! But I don't think we'll have a match. Dom and I just heard on the radio that the Cannons had a freak accident yesterday." And Oliver told her what they had just heard.

Mary shook her head with disbelief, tousling her silky hair. She fingered it back from her eyes as she responded, "Well, that will teach people not to raise a metal object during a lightning storm! Although I thought everyone already knew that."

Oliver sat up straighter, brows raised. "But they were simply celebrating. It was an accident...and a terrible thing to have happen."

She studied him for a moment, then spoke, nodding her head. "Absolutely horrible. I didn't mean to sound callous. It's just...well, Quidditch is a terribly dangerous sport. One can't be too careful out there. But I do hope they're healed and back on the pitch soon. Now, how are you..."

Their conversation was interrupted by Dominic's return with tea for Mary, and two tall glasses of milk for himself and Oliver. The cookies were delicious, still warm and gooey from the oven. Once Dom returned, there was a nice flow to the conversation, and plenty of laughter as they tried to one up each other on stories about Coach Winston's blustery temper. Mary won. But then again she had eighteen more years of him than they had.

Soon the clock chimed and Mary stood up to leave.

"I know Daddy's got you up at the crack of dawn and finishing with the sunset. I'd better be going now."

Oliver walked her to the door. With Dominic's back to them, she motioned to him to follow her out. He did and closed the door behind them. As soon as the door clicked shut, Mary turned to him, the porch light framing her features in a soft glow. He liked how the light reflected off the rose shine of her lip gloss.

He found himself studying that pouty bottom lip when she reached out and placed her hand on his arm. It felt fiery warm against his tee shirt. Her expression turned serious. Her voice was soft.

"I am very sorry for the Chudley players...but I am so very glad that you didn't have to play out in that storm...and that you're safe here, tonight."

Oliver shrugged his shoulders. "That's one of the things about Quidditch. You never know from one minute to the next what crazy - or wonderful - thing might happen."

Her hand still lingered on his arm. "You're very brave out there, you know. It is quite something to see."

Oliver smiled modestly but felt something warm inside him, with those words. Somehow, she knew what he had been missing since moving to Dorset. She had done the same thing the other day at the lakeshore and now she had done it again tonight. Someone appreciated him. Someone was worried for him. It made him feel like a warrior, going off to battle. She understood how tough the sport was. It wasn't a frivolous game, as his father constantly implied.

Mary reached up on her toes, kissed him softly on his cheek, and whispered, "When can I see you again?"

"Saturday night after practice? Dinner? I can come for you at seven o'clock."

She smiled. "I'll be waiting." And she stepped back from him, raised her hand in a slight wave, then drew her wand and Apparated home.

Oliver took a deep breath and let it out slowly. This girl was something. She was pretty and smart, and she understood him. And she wouldn't get in his way of reaching his goal in Quidditch. Things were going his way. He turned and walked back into his flat, bracing himself for some smart remark and teasing from Dominic.

But Dominic just drained his glass of milk and smiled, telling him as he reached for another cookie, "That girl can cook! Hope you keep her around for a while."

Oliver just shook his head. And then he noticed the pile of mail, and the week's worth of Daily Prophets rolled in rubber bands on the entry table, next to a framed picture of Dom standing with his parents and his little sister. Neither he nor Dom had gone through the mail for the last few days. On top was a letter addressed to him from Uncle Will. Oliver opened it and read.

Dear Oliver,

I've got some news for you, nephew. You might want to sit down for this. Catherine and I have just been married. In Rome. It wasn't planned. We didn't mean to leave our loved ones out of it. We simply were...swept away. Catherine has been so resistant to taking this next big step - we both had difficult experiences the first time around - but there we were, surrounded by so much beautiful ancient history. And it struck us, I think, that we are here for such a short time in the grand scheme of things. It made us want to seize the day. We've been engaged for some time now, and finally, she was ready...

A surprised smile broke out on Oliver's face.

"Wow." He said it softly

"Wha?" Dominic asked, with a mouth full of cookie.

"My uncle Will and Catherine just got married! In Rome. He's still there with her right now."

Dominic wrinkled his nose. "Married? Why weren't you - "

"They eloped."

Dominic raised his eyebrows. "Eloped? Does your uncle seem the impulsive type?"

Oliver thought for a moment. "Impulsive...I don't think so. He just knows how to live in the present...enjoy it for what it is now. He's always seemed bigger than life to me...so different from my dad who's always planning and worrying about the future. But married...I guess I just didn't expect that."

Dominic feigned a worried expression. "Is there something in the air? There's a lot of that kind of stuff going on around here these days."

Oliver laughed. "Oh yeah? So now a plate of cookies equals true love? Bollocks, Dom!"

He grabbed a Daily Prophet off the table and threw it at Dominic.

* * *

As Oliver had suspected, the Cannon's reserve unit was pulled up to play Puddlemere's first team, leaving Oliver's reserve team with no match. Coach Winston grumbled about how they were losing valuable playing time, and how this would set them back for the Ballycastle match, and then ratcheted up the intensity of their practices even more, if that was possible. It was a grim two weeks.

Finally, the morning of the big match against the Ballycastle Bats arrived, and it wasn't a moment too soon for any of them. The weather was dark with rain, and it was cold, just above freezing. There was something in the air besides the bad weather, however. Coach Winston's intensity during the preceding three weeks had been getting to all of them, and Oliver and Dominic felt much more was riding on this match than simply a win or loss. They had to prove themselves. They had to make their coach happy. And they all knew the Bats were stronger and had greater depth than their own team.

While they were forcing themselves to eat breakfast, their appetites poor from nerves, the mail arrived. This time there were three letters, two for Oliver and one for Dominic. Dominic read the envelope of his and scrunched up the entire letter, throwing it into the garbage before he even opened it.

"You didn't even read it!" Oliver scolded.

"No need. It's from my dad. I know exactly what it says."

Oliver frowned at Dominic and then looked down at his own two letters. One was from Mary and one was from his mother. He opened the one from Mary.

Dear Oliver,

I just wanted to tell you how much I've enjoyed spending time with you over the last three weeks. I'll be in the stands watching your match today. Good luck. I know you will be strong and play your best.

Mary

He smiled. They hadn't had much time to themselves, with his practice schedule, but they had been able to squeeze in walks and dinners, and even a picnic. Oliver was getting quite used to her presence and definitely enjoyed her attention.

Dominic spoke. "Let me guess. Mary?"

Oliver nodded.

"Wishing you luck?"

Oliver stood up straight and faced Dominic squarely. "Yeah. What about it?"

Dominic just grinned. "Nothin'. That's a hell of a lot better than a pep talk from my dad."

"At least your dad cares about how you play." Oliver looked towards the other letter. He hesitated a bit, but then opened the one from his mother. It would be the first good luck letter he had received from either one of his parents, since he started playing with Puddlemere.

Dear Oliver,

I hope you are doing well. We have not heard from you for sometime now. We are hosting a wedding reception for your Uncle Will in two weeks time. Your father and I are just so thrilled he's finally settling down with a wonderful girl. The party will be held Saturday, 27 January, and cocktail attire will be appropriate. We do want you to attend. I checked your playing schedule thoroughly so I am confident it does not conflict with any scheduled matches or travel.

Oliver, your last conversation with your father was not a pleasant one. I am actually quite surprised at your behavior. I feel you were unfair to him, and he deserves an apology. Please take care of this matter between you, so that we can enjoy this coming time together as a family. Your father has been under some stress lately, and so I hope you can clear this up as soon as possible. You know that we love you.

Mum

Oliver took a deep breath and stared at the letter. "I should have done the same thing as you did, Dom, and not even opened this. Not before the match."

"What's wrong? Family okay?"

"Everyone's fine. But my mother wants me to 'take care of things' with my dad. Like it's that simple."

Dom sighed. "I hear you, mate."

Oliver could feel his flatmate's eyes on him for a moment, but he kept his eyes on the letter.

Then Dominic put his hand on Oliver's shoulder, and spoke again, softly. "Ballycastle's waiting, man. Let's go give it to 'em."

* * * *

For the first time in as long as he could remember, Oliver didn't enjoy being out on the pitch. The rain was lashing and constant, and he had been soaked through to his skin almost immediately. It was cold - a biting, icy, painful kind of cold that numbed his fingers and made his joints ache. And the weather wasn't the only thing that was out of sorts. He tried desperately to keep his head in the match, but failed miserably. He wasn't sure if he was angrier at his mother for sending him that letter on the morning of this particular match, or at himself for opening it.

His guilt was palpable. He kept remembering the harsh words he had hurled at his father, how satisfying it had felt to shout them out, how he had wanted to hurt his father with them. And then he remembered the strange mixture of relief and mortification when he had found out his father had actually written to him, informing him of the funeral. Whenever his thoughts wandered to that moment when Dominic had handed him the letter, Oliver would see brief images of their argument play out - his father's initial surprised expression and smile when Oliver walked into the office; how he had stood up and extended his hand immediately to his son; the flash of hurt when Oliver hadn't taken his proffered hand; the uncomprehending look when Oliver had begun to lash out about the funeral. His father must have felt gobsmacked. And he deserved an apology. Oliver had known that much for the last three weeks. He was angry at himself for not being man enough to have done it already. Forget it, man. Forget it just until the end of this match. Just play. Get your head in the game!

Seven hours later the match was still going. Perhaps it was the driving rain, the wind, and the dark skies, but both Seekers were having difficulty even getting near the Golden Snitch, and the players were simply exhausted. They were all shivering and dripping wet. And where was Mary? Oliver hadn't seen her in the stands for at least an hour. Why was that getting to him? Why should he expect her to stay out in this foul weather just to watch him play? He should stop looking and concentrate on the match. And yet, just minutes later, he found his eyes wandering over to that area of the stands again. This time he saw her, under an umbrella and wearing a heavy coat and a knit cap. She waved a gloved hand at him. He felt better just seeing her somehow, and he turned to protect his goals with renewed grit.

Suddenly a flying object came tearing across his field of vision, just a few feet away. "What the...?"

It was Dominic's bat! Dom dived down to retrieve it. His flatmate was struggling. Oliver had never seen him have such a hard time making good contact with the Bludgers and had never seen his bat slip until today. And this was the second time his bat had slipped this match, necessitating him to abandon his position to retrieve it, and leaving the rest of the team vulnerable while he did so.

At one point the referee called for a time out, in order to make sure that the Golden Snitch was, indeed, still in play and that it was functioning properly. It seemed that everyone wanted the match to end. During that time out, the rain slowed to a sprinkle for the first time since breakfast that morning. Oliver took the opportunity to call out over the din of the wind, "Dominic, what's happening to you out there?"

Dominic let out a flurry of curse words that would have made an Azkaban veteran squirm and yelled, "Sorry about the bat, man."

"So what's wrong?"

"Can't you see him, Wood? Over there? You'd have to be blind, not to!"

He pointed towards the stands and Oliver followed his finger to a massive, bouncing umbrella that was brightly colored half blue and half gold. Oliver squinted. Underneath it could be seen a large hulk of a man, wearing robes that were bright Puddlemere blue, with sparkling gold bulrushes on the front of them. As a matter of fact, even the man's face and hair was painted those colors.

Oliver's face broke out into a wide, teeth chattering grin. "So that's your..."

"Shut it, Wood. I can't even concentrate on this bloody game, with him over there making a spectacle...yelling...blowing that blasted horn."

"Yeah. That horn is pretty loud. Even over the wind and rain."

"He has to put ear protection charms on his entire section before he's allowed to blast on that! He learned that lesson the hard way, after a hefty fine from the Quidditch Commissioner."

"Ha! Well, I can't wait to meet him, Dom! At least you've got family here supporting you."

But before Oliver could decipher Dominic's response, the whistle had blown and the match was back on.

* * * *

Finally, after nine hours of play, Ballycastle's reserve team Seeker caught the Golden Snitch. The match was over. Puddlemere had lost. Oliver slammed his hand into his broom and cursed under his breath. He hated losing more than almost anything. Especially when he knew he had been distracted for much of the match. But then a thought hit him that chilled him along with the driving rain. Coach is going to have it in for us now.

He heard some other curse words and looked over to see Dominic who was hovering on his broom, head down, his massive shoulders slumped. And then Randall, their Seeker, who wouldn't catch anyone's eye, probably blaming himself for the loss. And Pete, whose chest was still heaving rapidly with the exertion and who looked pale. Oliver knew Pete had been sick the last few days, but had forced himself to play anyway. Oliver looked from one player to the next - his entire team - and saw the same picture of dejection and total exhaustion in each. Coach Winston had pushed them hard these last few weeks. Perhaps too hard. They'd had little left for a punishing match in brutal weather.

The rain was coming down again in slanted sheets, and Oliver had now been soaked through for hours. Although he wanted nothing more than a long, hot shower and then a good sleep, he knew he should at least fly over to Mary and thank her for watching. Oliver was touched by her loyalty. And it was a way of putting off, for just a few more moments, the inevitable gouging by Coach Winston's post-loss sermon. Dominic's dad was only a few yards away from Mary, and so Oliver flew over to his roommate.

"Come on, Dom. Mary's over by your dad. Let's go see them."

Oliver could see Dom hesitate, and so he pushed a little more, jerking his head in the direction of Mr. Meath.

"Let's go. They stuck it out with us, man."

Dominic looked like he was heading towards his executioner as he answered, "Right." But he flew over with Oliver.

Oliver had just begun to thank Mary, when he heard a deep, booming voice behind him shout, "Sorry about the loss, my boy." Oliver turned to see Dominic's father clap him on the back so hard that Dominic, already barely able to stand up, pitched forward and almost lost his balance.

Oliver exchanged glances with Mary who told him, "Rough match. Dominic's play was off today. You seemed distracted, too."

Before Oliver could answer, Mr. Meath continued. "My first time this season being able to see my son play, and it had to rain torrents the entire time! But it didn't get to you, did it? Little things like wet and cold don't bother Meath Quidditch heroes, do they?

Dom turned beet red. "Dad! I'm not a hero! And the rain does bother me. I'm frozen through. I can't even feel the broom. I could barely see anything out there!"

His father continued, "I saw the bat slip early in the match, son. Funny, as I was just reading about a new invention in Quidditch Illustrated. It's called Sticky Grip. I've already ordered you some. I put it on rush delivery." Dominic's father pointed to a large pile of boxes next to his seat, with an umbrella hovering over the top, which was keeping them quite dry.

Dominic sighed. He looked resigned to it all, with no emotion in his response. "You sure you ordered enough there, Dad?"

Oliver turned back to Mary with a frown. "We did the best we could out there, Mary. It was brutal." He was fighting the urge to shiver.

"I know." Mary reached for him. "Oh, your hand is like ice! And you look positively spent."

Dominic's father spouted on in the background. Oliver caught snippets - "You all right, boy? I know you just suffered a loss, but the Meath men learn from adversity. What are you going to take from this, Dom? Dominic? What's wrong, boy? Where's the fire? You've had this dream for so long...Puddlemere, son! Puddlemere United! You're here! You're continuing the legacy! Don't you understand what that means? How proud you make us?"

As Mr. Meath spoke, Oliver caught Mary's direct stare. She looked like she wanted to say something...and like she was disappointed.

His frown deepened. "What?"

Mary bit her lip and sighed. "It's just that..."

"WHAT?"

"Well...this was not the day to lose your edge."

Oliver's temper flared. "Mary, I'm sorry about your father's family problems, but we didn't try to lose this match!"

"Oh, Oliver, I'm not worried about Daddy! He'll recover. But the first team's scout was here!"

Oliver's stomach dropped.

This time she reached up to smooth his dripping hair away from his face. Her voice softened. "I just wanted you to hammer it home to him today. To show them how much they need you."

Oliver flinched. He shook his head to get the rain out of his eyes and to stop the annoying drip off the tip of his nose. He let go of her hand. "Why didn't you tell me the scout was going to be here today?"

Mary shrugged her shoulders. "Some people get nervous when they know they're being watched like that. I didn't want it to affect your play."

Oliver sighed and stepped back. He couldn't hide the anger in his voice. "Coach'll be waiting for us. We'd better get into the team room."

Mary took both of his hands again, and pulled him towards her a little. "Wait, Oliver. Please, don't be angry. I know how badly you want to be moved up. And I know it's just within reach. Given the circumstances, I'm sure he was still impressed. After all, you only let two goals through, and one of them should have been disqualified, if the referees had any eyes! Anyway, I've been hearing rumors that Jagger Carlson wants to be traded. I don't think the scout was here to critique your play, so much as to confirm what he already knows - that you're ready for the big team. I believe that you are. I believe you have been for some time. And I think that's what he's going to be telling Daddy today."

Oliver hesitated. Mary hugged him. He could feel her warmth through his soaked uniform.

She spoke softly into his ear. "I guess I got a little carried away for you. But I was there, Oliver. I was out there in the cold and wet with you. I stayed." She stepped back. Her gaze was direct. "I want to be there for you.

Oliver was silent.

A look of worry suddenly creased her brow. "What's wrong?"

"I...I don't know. I hate losing. I hate not playing my best. I hate worrying about other things when I'm supposed to be in the game."

"What other things?"

He shook his head. "Nothing...I don't know...scouts and trades and impressing people..."

"Oliver..."

His voice rose a little. "I just want to play, Mary. I want to play my best, and I want to win. Is that too much to ask?"

She stared at him closely, assessing. It took her a moment before she spoke. "No...No of course not. And you're right. You have a pure love of the game. And you are an amazing competitor. It's rare to see that nowadays. People want everything else that comes with it - the money and fame. I see that a lot. And after being around that so much, I guess I forgot what is in the true player's heart...what is in your heart."

Oliver's shoulders relaxed, and the tension began to ebb from his neck. He hadn't even realized how tense he had been. Mary had just been trying to help. And she had been there for him. She simply wanted him to get what he himself had been striving for. She was the only one here who understood that.

She reached out and gently rubbed the sore muscles on his shoulders. "This was a tough day. You're exhausted, and chilled to the bone. Why don't you let me take care of you, after you're finished with the team? Something warm and delicious to eat?"

He sighed.

She tilted her head and smiled. "And then a massage?"

He felt himself begin to smile back. "All right. At my flat later? But right now Dom and I had better head to the team room. But thanks. Thanks for staying." He reached out and briefly touched her cheek, then let his arm drop.

He turned, walked up to Dominic, and extended his hand to Mr. Meath. "Hello, sir. I'm Oliver Wood, Dominic's flatmate. I just wanted to tell you that your son is the best Beater I've ever played with. He never takes his eye off my back, and he's strong and consistent. I'm proud to be on the same team with him."

Mr. Meath's face melted into an expression of pure bliss. "That's my boy. He got robbed, not going up to the first team this season."

Oliver continued, "Thanks for your support out there. But we've got to head back." He turned to Dom. "Coach is waiting."

Mr. Meath crushed Dominic in a bear hug. The man was huge. "Go on, Dominic. I"ll be waiting. And I'm taking you to dinner right after. We can go over the strategy and plays while we eat."

* * * *

Oliver and Dominic began the walk back, heads down. Dominic was the first to speak.

"So now you know."

"Yeah. I see what you mean. It's funny. My dad doesn't care a lick, and yours..."

"It's always been that way, Oliver. The Meath family is crazy about Quidditch, and the Meath men have been Puddlemere players for generations. I grew up with this constantly around me. I've had no choice but to play."

Oliver's head shot up. "No choice? You mean you wouldn't have chosen to do this?" He couldn't keep the shock out of his voice.

"Quidditch? Bollocks, no! No. I wouldn't be playing Quidditch. I'd be..." He looked at Oliver carefully before he continued to speak, then looked away. "Ah, hell. Forget it. It's no use anyway."

"Dom, wait! What? What would you be?"

But as they neared the team room they could hear Coach Winston already calling everyone to attention. They hurried inside.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's note: Thank you Aggiebell, for your wonderful beta help. And thanks to my Sugar Quill helpers where this story was first posted, including Suburban House Elf , Eudora Hawkins and St. Margarets, who has helped with plot and characterization throughout.

I hope you are continuing to enjoy the story. Oliver's got some rough stuff ahead, poor guy. He'll be needing your support!

moonette