Day 1 - Oliver Woods / preHogwarts
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Flying broomstick was the best thing wizardkind had ever invented. Even at a tender age of six years old, Oliver Woods knew this to be true. And anyone who tried to convince him otherwise can go to he—
He stopped himself before he could finish the sentence. His mother did not tolerate foul language—your mother did not raise a barbarian, so you will not use that horrible words ever again, Oliver!—in the house. And he obeyed. If only because his mother has threatened to lock away his beloved Bluebottle if he dared to utter any in her presence. The habit was just carried over to his subconscious. Nothing would ever get between him and his broomstick!
"What's with that frown, little cousin?"
Jerking with fright and automatically drawing his broomstick closer, Oliver whirled around.
"Ray!" Forgetting his ire, Oliver ran forward to hug his favourite cousin. And no, it was not just because the older boy had introduced him to the world of flying broomsticks. Much. Anyway, cousin!
"How's my little Ollie doing?"
Pulling away with a frown that only make his way older cousin chuckle, Oliver settled on stomping on a shoe-clad foot. Hard. The corresponding yowl could never be more satisfying.
"A little hellion, you are," was said with an obvious fondness, followed with a familiar hair ruffle, "Clearly a Gryffindor cub in the making."
Ducking the hand with a laugh, Oliver grabbed his cousin's hand before proceeding to drag the older towards the back door. The older boy could easily held his ground, but instead allowed his baby cousin to drag him away. It was obvious where the boy wanted to go.
"You want a race?"
Oliver rolled his eyes heaven-wards, "What else, dummy? Come on!"
A chuckle, and then he was suddenly airborne. Just for a split second, before he was settled on his cousin's hip. Well-used to the older randomly carrying him, Oliver only moved his hand so that he could grab a fistful of sweater.
"You know, there's something else we could do aside from just flying."
"But flying is the best!" was said with a skeptical frown on his young face.
Ray laughed cheerfully, "But it's so lonely, flying by yourself. If you want a game to play with your friends, Quidditch is the one to go with."
Olliver snorted from where he was perched on his cousin's hold. Eyes already focusing on the spread of green, green grass below a clear blue sky. Perfect weather for flying!
"Laugh while you can, little cousin. I'll bet you'll learn to love the game by the end of the day."
He needn't bother to give such a long time period. Olliver had fallen in love with the game ten minutes in.
