Nothing to Lose: Oliver's Story

Nothing to Lose: Oliver's Story

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Thrice Blacking Out

I'm currently lying in the Hospital Wing. Surprising, ain't it?

Well, just so you don't think I'm a total Quidditch-driven seventeen-year-old, I won't discuss what happened at practice. However, I can't just leave you in suspense. So I'll only tell you the important parts--but only because those are the only things I can remember.

After Hermione snuck back out of the stands and back to the castle, I hopped on my broom and looked down at them all. Everyone was there: Fred, George, Alicia, Katie, Angelina, and Harry gazed up at me, their faces contorted with puzzlement. I had to laugh. Never have they paid so much attention to me.

"Wood! What're you doing up there? You're a player, not a spectator!" George Weasley shouted.

"I was just--waiting for you guys!" I cheerfully answered back. It was then that I noticed Hermione's big red book. She had left it behind. I hastily tucked it away from view and descended down to the team.

My eyes roved from every face and paused at Harry. He looked especially irritated about something, and I realized he had a school broom clutched in his hand.

I decided to ask young Potter what the matter was, feigning ignorance, as I already found out from Hermione.

He merely furrowed his brow and remained silent.

I didn't press on it much further.

Well, Fred and George, the idiots, accidentally whacked a mad Bludger into a school window. Knowing Filch would have a cow, I ordered them to go ahead and fix it. The Bludger flew out of the glassless window and back onto the field. With the two Beaters busy, I dove for it and caught it--then remembered I was still many feet up in the air... on a broomstick.

The little bugger in my arms was hard to get a hold of, and I struggled to keep it in a tight grip. That was before I lost my balance and got thrown off my broom. I screamed my bloody lungs out and couldn't tell how many more seconds I had to live since my eyes were shut and was preparing myself for the impact. I was falling with my back to the ground. My teammates were shouting things I can't recall and then...

THUD.

My life didn't even have time to flash before my eyes. You'd think things would slow down, but no, things actually speeded up. Oh yeah, and I blacked out too.

Next thing I know, I'm lying here in the Hospital Wing. I have tons bandages tightly wrapped around my chest and a cast on my left arm. Apparently it's nighttime since the lights are out and Madam Pomfrey isn't bustling around like the usual.

I slept the whole day and now I have to be awake the whole night with no sort of entertainment whatsoever.

I'm not bloody nocturnal.

Sorry, that was out of the blue. But I'm not. I'm not used to being up all night and then sleeping in the day. I'm not a bat. Or a possum.

Great, now I'm listing nocturnal animals. Well, at least it's keeping me entertained...

* * *

Okay, apparently I blacked out again shortly after and now it's morning. I've been up for about four hours and I think I'd rather die than go through the living heck I'm in.

The pain is excruciating. If I breathe--inhale and exhale--it feels like... It feels like Hagrid is sitting on my chest and crushing my ribs. My left arm is in the process of being fixed--and it's no hoot either.

The team has sent me cards and such, all of which are resting on my bedside table. And as my left arms is in a cast and supported up on a sling hanging from the ceiling, I can't reach them for my reading pleasure. Believe me, I already tried to grasp those cards and it didn't work. The sling snapped for some reason and my broken arm fell and smacked the side of the table and I howled in pain until--you guessed it--I passed out.

When I came around, my arm was still in a cast, but supported on a new sling. Madam Pomfrey saw I was conscious again and told me never to pull that number ever again. I must have caused a ruckus in the Hospital Wing, what with the sling snapping off the ceiling and the thud of my arm on the table and not to mention my screams... which I'm willing to bet woke up the whole school.

I sat in bed--what else could I do?--and half-listened as Madam Pomfrey went on about my injuries. I caught several phrases like: "not too serious", "took quite a fall", "arm is broken", "back is not in good shape", and "be in here for a week."

Wait a second.

A WEEK?!

I snapped out of my daydreams and looked at Madam Pomfrey. She was mad, mental, crazy!

"A week?" I sputtered.

"A week. You are in no shape for walking, flying, or working. You need bed rest," she said sternly.

"But--but--the team!"

"The team can wait."

"We need practice if we're going to win the Cup this year!" I merely shrieked.

Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips and in one quick motion, she slapped my cast and I yelped in pain. But that sure shut me up. She strode out of the ward and shut the door to her office.

I stared at the wall facing me on the other side of the room. I was frustrated and stunned.

No practice for a week. That was unfair! That was wrong! That was... just plain injustice!