Alicia's light sandy hair was spread over her pillow as she slept in her four-poster bed. Her mouth was slightly agape and her pale skin glowed in the early sunlight that streamed through the dormitory window. Oliver thought she looked quite peaceful. She was the only one he felt a twinge of regret for having to do this to. He placed his hands on her shoulders and roughly shook her awake.
"Spinnet!"
Alicia's hazel eyes snapped open in alarm as she looked up at her Quidditch Captain – fully dressed in his Gryffindor robes.
"Whatshappening? Wood? What in the name of Merlin are you doing?" she squealed, quite shocked to find a boy in the girl's dormitory.
"Quidditch practice," replied Oliver simply, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "If we want the Cup, then we have got to train. Come on, the rest of the team is up!"
Spinnet groaned and her eyes squinted in protest while attempting to adjust to the light. She looked over to her left and found Angelina sprawled unconscious on her bed, it appeared as though she had been in the process of putting a boot on. It was then that Spinnet noticed the time.
"Wood! It's 4:30 in the morning!"
Johnson grumbled from her position on the bed, "I am going to kill you, Wood. I really am. When you are sleeping, I am going to come into your dormitory and I'm going to get a pillow and I'm going to – " but Johnson had dozed off again.
"How on earth did you get up the stairs?" Spinnet asked.
"I flew, of course," Oliver replied, patting his shouldered Comet Two-Sixty.
"Gosh, Wood. You're obsession knows no bounds does it?" Alicia commented as she reluctantly rose from her bed and reached blindly for her robes.
Oliver smiled, and a mad glint shimmered in his eyes, "Down at the Quidditch pitch in 20 minutes."
Oliver mounted his broom and left the dormitory, hovering down the staircase. He could feel it. This year was it. This year the Quidditch Cup was his. He had been denied what was rightfully his for too long, but it was time for him to grasp the cool metal of the Cup's handle. With the rest of the team awake, he left the Gryffindor Common Room and headed down to the pitch – a fierce determination dominating his stride.
His insides still boiled and eyes watered at the memory of the past two Quidditch losses – his champion Seeker unconscious in the hospital wing resulting in a humiliating defeat to Slytherin and the year after that when Quidditch had been cancelled because of a mythical monster. It was not that Oliver had not tried to do everything in his power to secure a win and make others see reason. It wasn't as if he hadn't implored Madam Pomfrey to give Harry a Reviving Remedy to wake him up – "It's what Potter would want!" he'd told her. And it wasn't as if he hadn't argued with Professor McGonagall until he was hoarse and received several months of detentions. No. No one else understood Quidditch like he did. No one else shared his passion or enthusiasm for the most incredible game in the world.
As he entered the change rooms and strolled out onto the pitch, the fresh morning breeze stung his face; but the brisk breeze carried something in the air – the sweet taste of victory. Oliver closed his eyes and savored the sensation. He could already picture it now: the stadium a flood of red and gold as the stands erupted into cheers to celebrate their House's win; the Weasley twins slapping everyone on the back; Potter still clutching the fluttering Snitch; and the girl's hugging their teammates; and Spinnet's smiling face particularly vivid among the mass of people. Oliver's heart swelled at this image and let out a cry of surprise when a call brought him back to the present.
"Oi, Wood! You going to stay out there staring up at the Quidditch gods or you going to bore us back to sleep with your strategies?" yelled one of the twins, his head sticking out of the change rooms.
As Oliver hurried back inside and took his place in front of the team, who looked exhausted and bleary eyed, he retorted, "I don't like that attitude, Weasley. We've got to be ready to give this tournament everything – I want you to eat, sleep, breathe, be Quidditch this year. This is our year, our victory! We should have had the Cup before," he gulped painfully and attempted to suppress the horrible memories. "But we are going to win this year and we are going to train like never before! Now, over the break I have devised a completely new regime that is going to ensure our success."
Oliver turned towards the board where he had previously set up his diagrams the night before. He pulled out his wand and tapped the first one, and seven figures began moving across a Quidditch pitch.
"I've analysed our tactics from last year and I think we're lacking in our technical maneuvers. Potter – you need to learn the Slothgrip Roll. It's tricky; but we need to aim high and since you're the primary target for Beaters this is perfect for you. If you look at this diagram…"
Oliver quickly lost himself in the speech and his obsession with Quidditch overtook him; it was blissful discussing his favourite sport and he could focus on nothing else. If he had been paying attention, he might have noticed that half his team had already drifted back to sleep.
It was an hour later when Oliver startled the team from their daze and ordered them out onto the pitch to practice the new training regime. They kicked off the ground and soared into the air – it was liberating, streaking across the pitch. Oliver ran his team through some warm-up drills with the Quaffle; then he let the Bludgers and Snitch out and got the Weasleys and Potter to practice their new techniques, while he and the Chasers ran through the Porskoff Ploy.
"Tuck your legs up, Johnson! Bell, you need to be quicker in getting underneath her if we're going to beat Slytherin! Timing is the essence!" Oliver shouted.
Johnson covertly dropped the Quaffle to Bell, hovering below her, and tossed it to Spinnet who was out of Oliver's sight and scored a goal.
"Excellent, Spinnet! Good work, girls!"
Oliver turned his attention to the rest of the team. The twins were doing a superb job of the Bludger Backbeat – which involved hitting the Buldger from behind to surprise the opposition – and Potter had caught the Snitch at least five times from what Oliver had seen.
The sun was up now and some of the school was coming down to the pitch to watch the practice as it was a Saturday morning. Conscious of Slytherin spies, Oliver called the team back down to the ground to congratulate them on a great start to the year. He also informed them, with a brilliant and albeit mad smile, that these Saturday morning sessions would be permanent. Oliver was too flushed with excitement to notice Fred Weasley pretend to strangle him from behind.
As the group slowly started packing up and making their way up to castle, even more tired now after training, Oliver hung back to continue working on the training regime. It took a while for him to notice that one of his teammates was lingering.
"Er, Wood?" Spinnet said.
Oliver turned around and saw Spinnet leaning against the doorway; her face flushed with strands of hair escaping her ponytail, "Good effort today, Spinnet."
"Thanks," she replied, "Actually, I wanted to let you know that the rest of the Gryffindor fifth, sixth and seventh-years are planning on having a study session after lunch today in the library. You know, with OWLs and NEWTs and all this year."
"Oh. Right." Oliver ran a hand through his short, dark hair. What with Quidditch and his new regime, Oliver hadn't really been focusing on his schoolwork lately. He knew he should but all too often did he find his attention drifting out to the pitch and scribbling diagrams when he should have been taking notes. Many times had he been snapped out of his thoughts by McGonagall's stern face and blazing eyes.
"I thought I would have heard about this earlier?" he asked.
"Yeah, well – you're pretty busy with Quidditch and all," Spinnet smirked. "Anyway, will you come?"
"I think I better – don't want to get a Howler from my mother…"
"Great," she beamed and then turned on her heel to go back up to the castle.
Oliver watched Spinnet walk away. He supposed he could spare a few hours from Quidditch to do some schoolwork and spend some time with his fellow seventh-years. He hadn't really talked to Alfie or Russel in few weeks. Yes, he thought as Spinnet disappeared into the castle, it would be worthwhile to study and catch-up with his friends.
xxx
It wasn't long before Oliver found himself in the library, sitting at a large table of studying students. The table was covered with thick textbooks; many opened to reveal minuscule writing, complex illustrations and odd Arthimancy symbols. Oliver was working on Snape's essay with Russel and another seventh-year, Matthew Smith.
"One foot long!" exclaimed a frustrated Russel. "This is ridiculous! The git! How am I supposed to know which people Veritaserum works better on?"
"The answer's got to be in here somewhere," murmured Matthew as he bent over a very ancient potion book from the restricted section.
Oliver had progressed little on Snape's nasty essay. Admittedly, he'd only been studying for an hour but he wanted more than anything to be organising his next training session.
"Ha! Here it is – Veritaserum 'works best upon the unsuspecting, the vulnerable and those insufficiently skilled to protect themselves against it.'" Matthew explained.
Quills started scratching as they scribbled down the answer.
"Right," said Oliver. "That'll do for today."
"What do you mean, Wood?" Spinnet replied who was sitting nearby – struggling with an Ancient Rune translation and staring at Oliver as though he was mental. Guessing what Oliver was thinking, she said, "Quidditch can wait."
Oliver let out a frustrated sigh and reluctantly pulled his Herbology towards him, dipped his quill in his ink point and started to write.
The group had just finished their History of Magic homework when their brains declared defeat and would work no more. Together, they wandered down to the Great Hall for dinner. The bewitched ceiling reflected a clear night sky as the stars twinkled above the chattering crowds. Oliver filled his plate with shepherd's pie as his mouth watered with hunger. He was shoveling down his third helping when Russel and Alfie started a conversation about the World Cup that was to take place early next year.
"No way – Wales hasn't got a shot of qualifying for the quarter finals, let alone the final! Since Mulgrove left, the team's fallen apart," Russel banged his lanky arm against the table as if to say that settled the matter.
"But they've got the best Beaters!" argued Alfie, some shepherd pie flying from his mouth.
"It's going to be Ireland – no doubt about that; they're in top form. I reckon America and Bulgaria have a shot too," Wood joined in, his dark eyes alight with enthusiasm.
The boys continued to bicker, until Matthew interjected with an exasperated sigh, "Are you still talking about Quidditch? Honestly, don't you have anything else to talk about?"
They started at Matthew blankly. The truth was, Oliver and his best mates (perhaps not to the same degree as Oliver) loved Quidditch and, really, it was the basis of their friendship.
"Like the fact that there's a mass murderer on the loose?" he added.
When the boys would still not say anything and gawked at Matthew as if he had suggested that they hug a Sphinx, he rolled his eyes and returned to his conversation with Spinnet and Johnson.
"Always thought he was weird," muttered Russell in an undertone.
Oliver nodded in assent. There was nothing more important than Quidditch, he thought while watching Spinnet laugh at a joke told by the Weasley twins; her hair shinning gold in the light cast by the floating candles.
A/N: Hey! Hope you guys liked the first chapter! This is my first fanfic and I am very excited. I absolutely love this couple - to me they just make sense. I decided to write about them as there are not a lot of fanfics out there about them and, if any, they are mostly one-shots so I wanted to explore their relationship :) Anyway, hope you enjoyed this :D Pretty please review xx