Nothing to Lose: Oliver's Story

Nothing To Lose: Oliver's Story

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Scared Stiff

"Wood, do we have practice today?" Fred Weasley said to me.

"Yes, Fred. And you'd better show up," I said warningly.

I don't know why I said that. After all, Fred's never missed a single Quidditch practice. Sure, he's fallen asleep through more than half of them, but he's never missed one on purpose.

Fred smirked at me and sauntered off to the library, which I found quite odd. Fred Weasley--or George, for that matter--don't exactly relate to libraries. Too quiet and boring for their liking. Inwardly I knew that I should get my bottom in there and study for the N.E.W.T.s, but I had other things in mind.

Quidditch. I don't think there was a single day that I didn't think about Quidditch. I remember my first year here at Hogwarts. I went to a Gryffindor versus Slytherin match and was just--blown away. I mean, who wouldn't have been? Not a single, bloody person, that's who. From then on, I knew I wanted to get into that sport. Legendary Charlie Weasley set the standard for Hogwarts. He was a brilliant Seeker and Team Captain. How I idolized him! Moving on, as first years weren't allowed to play and yadda, yadda, yadda, I spent my free time observing Quidditch practices and have never missed a single one since I'd been here (a bit reminiscent of Fred). Now, in my second year, I tried out for Gryffindor Keeper, and was actually chosen by Charlie himself. That was the greatest day of my life--of my seventeen years, at least. And alas, in my fourth year, I was appointed Gryffindor Quidditch Captain! But not even that could surpass the feeling I had when I was chosen to be on the team. After all, that's how I got to where I am now.

The other thing on my mind (how I had rambled on!) was--I trust that you won't tell a soul. The second thing on my mind was a girl. Not just any girl. And I'm not telling you what her name is. But I will give you this: she's a young'n. I have no idea what it is that draws me to her, but something does. Maybe it's the way she smiles or the way her eyes light up when she finds a bloody good read. Well, whatever it is, it's pulling me in--fast. Trouble is, she has no idea. Partly because I only know her through one of my Quidditch chums. Crazy, now that I think about it. But really, this girl's different. She keeps her cool around me, unlike those mental Gryffindor girls that go wild for me at matches. And she's also the one thing that has the ability to take my mind off Quidditch at will.

Now, where was I?

If you're wondering what I'm up to, then wonder no more. I'm walking down the corridor that leads to the Hogwarts grounds. It ended with an iron gate, which I pushed open with difficulty. It was pretty rusty and creaked as it was swept aside. Now outside, I made my way over to the Quidditch Pitch rather quickly. Everyone always told me I constantly had a fast pace when moving around. I guess they had a point after all. I planned to slow down, but before I could, I hit something hard.

I fell backwards making an "oof!" sound and looked up. It was the school's gamekeeper, Hagrid.

He looked down at me, surprised. "What's the rush, er, Oliver?"

"No rush, Hagrid. Just heading down to the field, that's all."

Hagrid bent down, picked me up by the scruff of my neck, and set me down. He waved good-bye at me and walked off to his hut.

I massaged my neck and stood there for a moment, wondering how on the bloody earth I didn't see him coming. After all, he was a giant. I shook my head and proceeded down to the field.

Upon reaching it, I grabbed a school broom and took off, the wind blowing through my hair. It took a few laps around the pitch to realize that someone was in the stands. Automatically, the word "spy" popped into my head. I sped off in their direction and came to a halt as I realized who it was: Hermione Granger. I swallowed, uncertain of what to do. She sat there, her face hidden behind a large leather book. How'd I know it was her? No one in our whole school read books that enormous--except her. Hermione's never been here unless there was a match. And she's rarely been around without that Potter kid and Ron.

"Ho there," I called to her.

She lifted her head up so only her eyes were visible. I was surprised and shocked to see they were red; her normally honey-brown ones seemed to have lost their color.

"What's wrong?" I asked her, edging my broomstick closer.

"Oh, it's nothing. I'm fine."

She was never a good liar--that I knew of anyway. Anyhoo, it was obvious that she was.

"C'mon, you can tell me," I said.

Hermione looked at me as if she was considering something then at last, she set her book down. I grinned and brought myself ever closer so I could rest my arms on the edge of the stands where she sat.

I waited.

"Harry and Ron are mad at me."

"Oh," I replied, nodding.

"See, I--I--shouldn't tell you what I did," Hermione said slowly, opening her book again.

"It's good to get it out of your system," I said encouragingly.

"You'd just be against me as well."

How could I possibly be against her on anything? I mean, she's done nothing to me and I don't hang with her much--so how could be against her in any way?

"How could I be? Maybe I won't."

"But you will."

"Just tell me and we'll see."

"Okay. Well, Harry got this Firebolt for--for Christmas--''

"A FIREBOLT!" I couldn't help but interrupt.

A real Firebolt. On my team. Wow. No way. We could actually have a shot at winning the Cup this year!! I immediately imagined myself thrusting the Quidditch Cup into the air victoriously, but was rudely brought back to reality as Hermione started speaking again.

"Now I know you're really going to be upset when I tell you what I did," she said miserably.

"Just go on."

"Well there was no tag, no note, so I figured it could have been from anyone, like Sirius Black. So I--I turned it in to Professor McGonagall," she said faintly, covering her face with her hands.

"YOU DID WHAT?!" I couldn't help it. I had to yell. I mean, really, my moment of glory lasted for about two minutes and it was gone. Professor McGonagall was the strictest person I have ever known and probably wouldn't give it up now!

Hermione cowered down in her seat as I shouted. "I told you," was all she could get out.

I instantly felt guilty. Here Hermione was, telling me about her bloody problems, and here I was, acting like a bloody arse. She needed me to listen, to help her, and I had failed.

"Look," I said, trying to calm down, "it's not a big deal. Harry and Ron'll bounce back, I'm sure."

"But I'm--I'm," she broke off, tears in her eyes. It was then that I knew I hated to see her cry.

"You're..."

"Scared."

Confused, I carefully got off my broom and lept into the stands and seated myself next to her. "Why are you scared?" Guilty and lonely, yes, I understood that, but scared?

"I was just trying to--to protect Harry," she cried. "That Firebolt could have been from anyone... probably from Black. And I thought it'd be safer if, if McGonagall inspected it to see if it wasn't jinxed. Because--because Sirius Black's after him. He escaped Azkaban to get to Harry. As revenge for You-Know-Who."

And suddenly, I understood. So she was just trying to protect that Potter kid. I wondered if she fancied him. And then I wondered how I'd feel if she did. I shook my head to rid myself of those thoughts and looked at Hermione. She was staring at the floor silently awaiting a response from me. She took that broom and turned it in--there was no doubt in my mind that I hated that. But I didn't hate her. And I didn't know what to say that could help.

Instinctively, I placed an arm around her and drew her in, just how I used to do when my little sister, Mina, was upset. She huddled up next to me and burst into tears. We sat like that for an hour, me trying to calm her down and her telling me about how she was scared stiff that Potter and everyone in Hogwarts would be in danger, should the infamous Black step inside the castle grounds. She did leave after a while, but only because the rest of the Quidditch team had shown up on the field an were wondering out loud where I, the "maniac" as they called me, was and if that was my broom up there; Harry among them.