Quidditch Through the Ages

He was an excellent flier, she thought, watching him soar across the blue sky. How she ached to be up there with him. She wanted to play Quidditch so badly. But first years weren't allowed to be on the House teams. She kicked up some of the grass with her shoe.

She was eleven years old.

She touched the broomstick down to the ground, her heart pounding with anxiety. Shyly, she lifted her eyes to look up at him. He was grinning widely at her. "You still have a lot to work on, of course, but you're very good. I think that you could be a great reserve." She thanked him earnestly and smiled, extremely pleased with herself.

She was twelve years old.

"You have definitely improved! Brilliant flying!" He clapped proudly. "Now that we have an open spot this year on the team, what would you say to being a Chaser?"

"Yes!" she said, incredulous that he'd even have to ask such a thing.

His brown eyes sparkled as he looked down at her. Her stomach flopped.

She was thirteen years old.

Taking a deep breath, she looked around her to make sure no one was nearby. She could not believe she was doing this. She withdrew the Valentine's Day card from the pocket of her robes and stared at it fondly. She had charmed the drawing to move, so Snitches and Quaffles were flying all over the cover.

She quickly found his Quidditch bag and placed it inside, then hurried out of the locker room.

She was fourteen years old.

He hadn't been seen ever since they lost the Quidditch game. After overhearing Fred Weasley state his whereabouts, she found herself in the boy's locker room. She could hear a shower running and blushed deeply. Slowly, she approached the shower stall he was in, able to see the outline of his body.

"It's me," she said loudly, so he'd be able to hear her. "I just came in here to tell you it's not your fault that we didn't win today's game. And there's plenty of chances to win the Cup. I know we're going to win it this year! Please come out. Everyone's worried about you."

The shower door opened and she saw felt her breath hitch in her throat at the sight of his wet body. "Are you?" he asked, his voice trembling.

"Yes."

She was fifteen years old.

"I certainly didn't expect to find you here," said an amused, yet excited voice. Her heart stopped as she turned around, coming face to face with him. Before she could stop herself, she had thrown her arms around his neck. Blushing, she pulled back.

"Of course I'm here! Which team are you supporting?"

"Ireland," he stated matter of factly. "Here, you can have my rosette."

She blinked. "No, I couldn't - "

"It's no problem," he said firmly.

She barely let out a breath as he pinned it to her robes.

She was sixteen years old.

"I didn't make Quidditch captain," she told him, not looking him in the eye.

"Hey, I don't care about that," he said softly.

Crying, she buried her face into his chest, clutching the fabric of his Puddlemere United uniform in her fingers.

She was going to miss him again this year. She didn't know how much longer she could deal with their being apart.

She was seventeen years old.

Oh God, he felt good against her. The way he kissed her sent hot shivers through her body. She thought she might melt from the heat. He made love like he played Quidditch - with all of the passion he had inside him.

She was eighteen years old.

You-Know-Who was defeated by Harry Potter the next year, but not without loss. Alicia Spinnett found Oliver Wood lying on the Quidditch pitch, a simple Avada Kedavra to his chest.

She lived on, knowing she would never play Quidditch for the rest of her life.

She was only nineteen years old.