I started writing this story about two years ago and finally resurfaced this prologue the other day and decided that it was time to finally continue on with it as I had originally planned. The story idea came from Lanni at fictionalley, as well as many others that I may also write depending on how people react to this story :).
Prologue
A dim light shone as a figure sat, hunched over a wooden desk. Natural stains and rings of the rich oak could be easily traced with a fingertip. Papers flew from in front of the huddled body; a quill sped across the parchment in a whirl. The point of the quill was occasionally dipped shallowly into inkwells of various colors. Lines, arrows, and crosses were scribbled onto the parchment, a mess of colors swept across, only causing the parchment to be crumpled and tossed over the crouched shoulders as the previous had.
As the night grew older, balls of paper lined the floor, starting with one layer, then two, and eventually rising to a meek five. Rays of sunlight revealed themselves from beyond half-closed, crimson curtains. Two arms stretched out from the huddled body as it straightened in its chair. Relaxation came over the bold muscles that protruded from the arms. A sigh of relief escaped a tired mouth as a mutter could be heard from across the room.
"These are perfect," Oliver Wood stood up from his seat, a glimmer in his eye and a grin in his heart. Dark circles lined around the bottoms of his eyes as he made the journey to his bulletin board on the opposing wall of his room, the desk still cluttered with parchment, ripped, torn, and crumpled.
The board was neatly organized, sectioned off into evenly measured boxes. To the right, were pictures and facts on various Quidditch players, all successful and determined in their sport, athletes who would give anything for a victory. On the left side, there were headings of scarlet and gold, constructed of the words, 'Gryffindor Quidditch Team.' In the upper corner, there was a roster holding the name of each team member and their positions: Katie Bell, Chaser, Angelina Johnson, Chaser, Alicia Spinnet, Chaser, Fred and George Weasley, Beaters, Harry Potter, Seeker, and lastly, Oliver Wood, Captain, Keeper. Alongside each person's name was a list of their strengths and weaknesses, such as Harry's inability to stay out of the Hospital Wing, or Katie, Angelina, and Alicia's teamwork.
Underneath the roster stood an empty, barren surface; Oliver picked up a thumbtack and pinned up the sheets of parchment he had just completed; the ink was still wet, but not so much that it ran down the page, creating streaks and smears along all the hard work and dedication that had gone into its contents.
Oliver took a step back and nodded his head in approval. The lines, arrows, and crosses mapped out a new training program he had spent his entire summer designing. He was going to be entering his seventh year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; it was also to be his third and final year as Quidditch Captain for his house. Gryffindor had not been triumphant in winning the Quidditch Cup since the legendary Charlie Weasley had left the school. Ever since Oliver's fifth year, when he was named captain, he had been more determined than ever thought possible to win the cup for his house. He ate, drank, and breathed Quidditch; it became impossible for him to imagine life without it. When his team had failed to bring a victory back to their house the year before, he decided it was time for a new training program. They would work harder, longer, and he would not give up on them until they had nightmares of him drilling them at night. Passion burned deep within him for the game, and the fire was building as the time for school to begin again drew near.
Oliver's memory traveled back to the past couple of months. He had gone over millions of maneuvers, turns, angles to shoot at, until his heart had felt that he had compiled the greatest training program Hogwarts will have ever seen. A small, one-sided Quidditch pitch resided in his back yard, the most perfect birthday present his parents had ever treated him to. Three golden hoops would sparkle in the sunlight as he tore past them, diving and circling. His eyes blinked, causing him to return back to his bedroom. Giving a small sigh, his memories flooded back to him, reminding him of the happiness, the rush, that he had felt over the summer while creating a new workout for his team. Eyes wandering to see his bed, still neatly made with the scarlet comforter and deep, golden sheets, he stared at the trunk that rested at its foot.
It was his own personal treasure; he had received it as a gift for his last birthday. Inside was a Quaffle, the equivalent of glimmering rubies to Oliver, two Bludgers, coal in its roughest and most rigid form of Carbon awaiting the transformation to a diamond, and the Snitch, gold as pure as it could be. To Oliver, it was as if he had struck it rich.
A smile came upon his face and confidence was instilled in him. He knew that his team could bring home the Quidditch Cup this year. With all the hard work he had put in over the summer, they would catch his virus, his determination, and take the games with all seriousness, never giving in without a fight.
"Nothing," he whispered to himself quietly, his voice started to turn a bit hoarse, "nothing will get in the way of us winning this year."